Author's note: Howdy everyone. Sorry I haven't updated the multiple stories of late. Life got really crazy and then I lost my computer. It crashed like the Titanic. I lost all of my outlines (and more-cries) and had to redo it all. So, I finally got a bit accomplished. I got a new computer. It's so freaking sweet! Hope you enjoy.
The smooth tile floors reflected the overhead fluorescent lights, giving them a glow halo. For all the times Sam prayed, it was hard not to be bitter that his family had suffered so much and have fought so hard to end up here. At this point Sam would take divine intervention, even if it came in the form of Della Reese or Roma Downey. He sunk further back into the darkness of his spot in the waiting room, like his presence could hold back any dark coming for Dean.
He imagined his brother walking out of the operating room as if this was no big deal, making fun of them for acting like overprotective mother hens. The image in his mind was light and happy; maybe he could make that into being if he thought hard enough. The perfect picture of his brother formed in the recesses of his wishes, walking on the luminescent shined floors, letting the reflection shine on him like a halo of health and happiness. But its all a mirage of hope. Nothing has changed since they arrived.
By now, Sam knows the emergency room routine. There had been enough Winchester emergencies to last a thousand life times. Sam knows the nurse at the station will only have yes or no answers for him until the doctor updates them. So far, that information has been they are working on him and its critical. And the fact Dean has been on the operating table for such a significant time doesn't mean anything good. "He's got to be okay."
"Can't keep that boy down. Bet he has ten numbers by now or gone to the local watering hole with a few… he is just….." Bobby tried his best not to dwell on the worry building in his own mind.
"Yeah, and someone is dancin' on the pool table right now." Sam said unconvincingly and sadly as he could. He would pay anything if that could be the truth. It wasn't. Dean was hurting and neither of them could stop it. And the "he'll be okay" scenarios weren't helping either of them really. It was something to say to pass the time, instead of ripping off the doors to get to him.
The time ticked onward, the only thing changing was the way Sam grew accustomed to the smell of hospital disinfectant, the pungent odor becoming second nature. When he finally glanced at Bobby again, the man he knew looked pensive and distant. Yet, somehow their "adoptive uncle" knew the he was watching him.
"Thinking of some darker days." He said. "Can't help it."
"Have there been darker?" Sam asked.
"Hard to gage that. Haven't really figured out what is the lesser of the evils."
The conversation might have continued had the doctor not exited the operation room. His stark blue scrubs were covered by so much blood it was hard to determine what color it should be. The Asian man, exhausted and relieved the procedure was over, pulled the coverings off his head and mouth, letting out a sigh before he began.
"GOD NO!" Sam gasped.
Bobby nudged Sam's shoulder, bracing the boy for bad news. Truth was he couldn't bear to hear it either.
"I don't know how he is alive, but he fought really hard. We lost him on the table once, but managed to pull him back. I want you to be ready..."
"For what? What's wrong with HIM?"
"There was severe blunt force trauma to the chest cavity. Looks like someone or something struck him extremely hard, causing internal bleeding."
"He said someone jumped and tried to mug him on the way home last night... fended him off and came on home." Bobby lied, covering the fact the injury had to happen last night when they took down the werewolf. Sam and Bobby had heard the smack when Dean diverted the beast's attention, but no one thought it was that serious.
"He suffered from hemothorax. There was a puncture to his right lung, a cracked rib jammed in there, filled it with blood. The pressure in the pleural cavity stressed the mediastinum and trachea. We had to intubate him to supply oxygen and put in a chest tube to relieve the pressure."
"What does that mean for recovery?" Sam demanded.
"There's a slew of complications from empyema, fever, chest pain, cough, sweating and shortness of breath. We repaired the wound, but he lost a lot of blood and his blood pressure was too low. It stressed his heart to tachycardia- too fast for too long with little pressure. I'm afraid..." the doctor stopped, obviously sympathic to the news he was delivering. "He slipped into a coma right after we pulled him back with the paddles."
"No.. He can't be like this... never again..."
"Easy, Sam." Bobby urged, trying to keep the doctor in the dark about some of the finer and deadlier scares of the hunting world. The last thing anyone needed was a cop wondering why Dean had so many close calls.
"We have him in ICU with a Mannitol drip to keep down swelling. He is not suffering."
"OF COURSE HE IS! DO YOU THINK THIS IS NORMAL?" Sam yelled, his eyes flaring with a dark bitterness like never before.
"Easy Sam… sorry doc…."
"I understand. We'll do all we can for him. Once we get him settled, you can see him. I'm sure it will help to know you are nearby."
When Sam entered the room he thought he had entered the scene of a really bad sci-fi movie. The vision of all the tubes, machines, wires and needles sprouting in and out of his brother made him wonder where machine began and his brother began. At this moment, it looked like machine was taking over the human side like a bastardized form of Borg.
All he knew was seeing a tube down his brother's throat again broke his heart. It was as if fate had finally came back round to finish Dean off. "Do you think he is in pain?"
"No... The doctors took care of him. I think he is taking a long nap and when he wakes up... he'll be annoyed at the fuss we made. He just needs time to recover."
"That sounded almost believable."
"Boy ain't checkin' out yet. Always been a determined little hellion."
Somewhere deep inside, Dean heard them. "I'm here!" He screamed, but no sound came from his lips. It was as if he were trapped in his own body, unable to do anything about it.
"I promised him I would never give up on him and I won't." Sam said with a bit more conviction than he felt. "You hear me Dean!'
"Sammy! I hear you. Listen to me!"
"I won't give up."
"There's my fighters. Those are the boys I know." Bobby confirmed. "We'll be right here until he wakes up."
...1989...
Bobby heard a gentle thump outside his door when his bottle crashed. He grabbed the shotgun, moving slowly towards the door, pushing it open with his acquired hunting skills. "Who's there?" Bobby demanded, cocking his gun. Surely, the ghoul he stalked earlier was long dead and they don't travel in packs. He had made sure that damn thing paid it. "I said who's there!?"
The wind whipped large clumps of snow into his drunk-warm face. He stared out into the dark, squinting. At first, he didn't see anyone or anything to aim his favorite weapon at, but when a figure of a boy stumbled out an inch from behind a tree, his only thought was that he was imagining an image of his long dead son. But, he knows no real kid could survive out here for long. The agony of seeing the form ate away at him. Thoughts of his wife and child were never far from his mind; however this had to be the worse. He could just imagine Mark and he playing a game of hide and seek. He could just run over to that tree and swing his son around in the air, and declare victory. His wife would laugh and call him foolish, reminding him of the days they met.
In all these years, he'd thought he'd get is life back together. But what kind of life could he have when the only thing he saw as he closed his eyes was stabbing his wife and the dead body of his child. His mind replayed the surprised look in his wife's eyes as the demon left her dying body. When he was sure that his mind played another trick on him, he went back inside, collapsed on his bed, and waited for his previous drinking to take him to a dreamless sleep.
Dean waited patiently, albeit frozenly, for the man to reappear. He knew adults could be dangerous and that one didn't seem like the friendly type, especially when his "how do you do" was a shotgun. Still Dean had his own weapon, but he proceeded with caution. He doubted he would find anyone else in this area, even though he didn't imagine this man would be a big help. He peered through the window, looking at the warmth inside, noting the happily drunk and passed out person. He wanted to ignore it, but something was telling him to go inside. Dean moved quietly towards the cabin, not wanting to call anymore attention to himself. He froze in fear as the door creaked open, placing a hand on his shotgun just in case.
Instantly, he noticed the provisions on the butcher block table. It was all there, waiting to give substance to Sam, like a beacon to save. He remembered what his mother always told him about stealing, but he knows Sam needs this to survive. He put his gun in his waist band, the weapon sticking out too far, but he didn't mind the jab in his ribs. He started to shove food in his backpack, hoping Sam was still asleep and he would make it back in time to have dinner on the table.
The pack was half filled when the worse happened. Dean stopped dead in his tracks, a strange feeling came over him, then a gunshot tore through the air. Instinctively he dove when the sound echoed in the cabin and debris from the wood ceiling fell. As he slowly rose, he came face to face with the wrath of the man.
"What the hell you doing!" Bobby demanded, bumping his head into a light bulb hanging above the table, seeing for the first time that his intruder is a child.
Dean didn't respond, knowing in a second the man could fire and kill him. Thoughts of how that would affect Sam circled in his mind, like a caged wildcat. His eyes flashed fear at that moment.
Bobby may have had a few, but he knew he scared the boy as soon as he yelled. Sure he was pissed to have an intruder, but a lone kid wandering these woods and stealing food was a new one on him. He would have stern words for the youngin's parents once he got answers from his new companion. "What you doin round here?" He demanded in a more even tone.
Dean stayed silent, glaring at the man.
"Answer me, boy."
Dean tried to regain calm, reaching for his own shotgun fast and unexpectedly. He let the arch go wide, not trying to hurt the man, but distract him. He didn't have a chance in a fight with a much bigger opponent. Although, John had taught him well, and for a nine year old he thought he was pretty worldly, he wasn't insane or cocky enough to fight an adult just yet. The bullet hit his glassy bull's-eye, the overhead light bulb shattering glass and darkness over his would be captor.
"Dagnabbit!" Bobby cried out in surprise, hearing the boy take off in a run and slam the door, leaving with part of Bobby's provisions with him.
The cold stabbed through Dean's jacket in a few seconds when he bolted from the cabin. The backpack beating against his back feels like it is bruising him with every flop. Dean headed to the treeline and ran faster than he ever had. He could still hear the man cursing and knew he had to lose him in the wilderness. He couldn't lead the man towards his brother. Hoping to find a place to lose his tagalong, he ran and ran and ran. The forest grew darker by the second, thick and hazy with falling snow.
Behind him, he heard noises matching his pace in a full run, closing in on him. The man pursuing was surprisingly light on his feet. Bobby spied the tiny body in the distance, a dark speck against the white snow. His steps trudged faster when he felt the temperature drop further. As angry as he was, he set aside that for a later time. A kid stood no chance in the subzero temperatures.
The youngster ran like hell was nipping at his heels. Dean whipped round a fallen log, and he disappeared from view momentarily, speeding towards a thicket of trees, hoping his pursuer would pass him. He scrambled under some roots up heaved on a almost fallen tree, blending in as best he could. His breathing was hard after his quick sprint, almost breathless from the cold and exertion. He'd only meant to go so far, but now he was scared to death. He was getting lost and he had to keep his focus on how to get back to his little brother.
He pushed back further and found only air, feeling like he was losing the safety of the ground. Snow had obscured the fact he was on a mountain side with a sheer drop. Now he knew why the tree had uprooted. When this revelation hit him, he knew he was close to Sam. They had passed this on the way to the cabin. A couple of miles more and he would be safe. At least luck was on his side now.
He curled inside the strong root twists and turns as the blizzard continued, burying his shoes under a fresh coat of white powder. His clothing did very little to shield him from the cold. Shivering, he felt the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end from the goose bumps that plagued his skin. The sensation made him try to grip the gun, thinking it was a warning of danger finding him, but his hands refused to obey the will. Danger had slithered upon him the moment he stopped running, bringing an icy grip upon him.
He gave up on the gun, feeling numbness in his fingers. Instead he jutted his hands under his armpits, hoping to keep the numb extremities warm. For a moment, he felt the sensation of warming, but the comfort he felt would be short lived. His body was feeding off his heat to keep the major organs warm and functioning. The longer he lingered in this frozen wasteland, the more likely it was he would never return.