The Dying of the Light

By Spense

2008

CHAPTER FOUR

By the late afternoon of day two, Sam was out of ICU and into a regular room, his condition upgraded to stable. His blood work was clearing slowly, but nicely, and he was recovering well from the surgery. He still slept a lot, and was restless when he was awake. Dean was keeping a wary eye on him, recognizing that Sam was still pretty edgy. There hadn't been any repeats of Sam's panic in the ICU ward, and Dean just chalked that up to the medication they'd given him to calm him. The stuff was doing it's job of keeping Sam's panic under wraps, added to the natural clearing of the crap that had been used on him while he was missing. Plus, Sam was just too damn exhausted to work himself up. But it didn't stop him from being restless and out of sorts. Regardless of his lack of conscious memory, his reactions were those of post-trauma beyond a shadow of a doubt, and his unease was just another example.

Dean didn't make an issue of it, but he kept a careful eye on his little brother. Sam was clearly in pain, and Dean made sure the nurses knew when it was getting out of hand. Sam may not say anything, but Dean had no compunction. He also knew that the pissy attitude his brother was displaying was a combination of pain, uncertainty and fear. Fear of not knowing what happened, how it happened, and how to stop it from happening again. So far he hadn't ask Dean about theories and Dean didn't push, but he knew it was getting close. And when he was ready to put his mind too it, Dean was turning the research over to his little brother. It would help him mend. But in the mean time, Dean was just keeping a close eye on him, and it was making both of them crazy.

Sam pushed at the blanket in frustration. He was hot, then he was cold, then he was roasting. He knew it was the fever but it didn't help.

"Leave it, Sam," Dean said quietly, not even looking up from the Guns and Ammo magazine he was reading. They were waiting for Bobby to arrive back from the motel where he'd gone for a nap. He was going to check in with Leary on his way back.

Sam glared at him, and shoved at the blanket again in frustration. He knew he was being an ass, but he couldn't help it, he felt lousy.

Dean still didn't pry his attention from the magazine he was reading; he just reached out the flipped the blanket back up over his little brother.

"Dean!"

Dean sighed, and looked up at his querulous brother. "Sam, you have a fever. You don't want to get any sicker, okay? You've been battling hypothermia, isn't that enough?" he asked patiently. Sam was acting about 8 instead of 23. But honestly, Dean couldn't blame him. Sam had to feel absolutely lousy.

The bruises on Sam's face and jaw were remarkable colors, and the swelling in his right eye still kept it closed. The bandage showing around his wrists and binding his left hand were the visible signs of damage, as was the elevated foot of the bed. The unseen tally of nearly 80 stitches, 45 of which were evenly spread between his feet and the gash on this left ankle, added to the internal damage, worst being the badly bruised kidneys and cracked ribs, although the pain from his damaged hip made the score dauntingly high. Add hypothermia, unknown drugs, blood loss, and the fear of pneumonia lurking close was enough to make sure that everybody would be keeping a close watch on him for quite awhile. And even as alert and with it as Sam was, he wasn't going anywhere for awhile.

Sam shifted restlessly, the TV just not holding his attention. He was too edgy to read, and ditto with the computer. He shoved at the blanket again.

"Sam," Dean said warningly, looking up briefly and fixing the blanket once more before returning to his reading.

Bobby broke the impasse by knocking perfunctorily and then entering the room before either brother could say something.

"Oh Thank God," Dean groaned at the sight of the older man, tossing his magazine to the side. Sam was making him absolutely crazy. "Got something?"

"Yep. Got all the archival information on Turner, and a research job for ya."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Bobby, and thought a moment glancing surreptitiously at Sam. "I'll take the files. Give the research to Sam."

Bobby looked questioningly at him. 'You sure?'

Dean gave a sharp nod.

Sam's mood changed instantly, slowly levering himself up carefully on the bed. Dean just sighed, and hit the controls to raise the back of the bed. "Okay?" he asked when the level looked like to would support Sam comfortably.

Sam nodded, reaching for the table with the computer that had been at his brother's elbow where Dean had been looking into Turner earlier. Dean rolled it into place as Bobby dumped the papers onto it.

"I need you to take these accounts and plug them into the computer and see if we can come up with a central spot. These are all the sightings that I could dig up in the library archives on Archibald Turner. He was all over the area and knew the mines and timbers operations inside out. These are the places he worked and frequented. We need as solid a list as we can get, so Dean and I can check them out."

"Now?"

Dean could practically see Sam's mind click over at the thought of Dean leaving. Getting close, but nope, not quite ready for that yet.

"No, genius. Not now. You have to do the research first." Dean grinned.

Sam smiled slightly, nodded, and turned to the computer.

Bobby picked up on Dean's plan to stay immediately. "I'll meet Leary in the cafeteria. He'll bring over whatever he's got. Want me to get you something Dean?"

"Yeah. Bacon Cheeseburger and a coke. And a giant coffee." Dean settled back into his chair, the file of archive info waiting for him.

"Lots of caffeine. Got it." And with that Bobby headed out, leaving the brothers in a much more congenial silence than he'd found them.

SNSNSNSN

By late evening, Sam's state of mind had improved. He was still restless, but not nearly as unsettled as he had been. As Dean had predicted, doing something to help had steadied him somewhat. Be that as it may, Dean stayed the night at the hospital, using the resident's shower to clean up and shave when he was sure Sam was completely and deeply asleep.

He'd come back to see that Sam had apparently woke, and tried to get up. Sam was scowling and wouldn't talk to him when Dean came back, and the nurses were stern. Sam was conveniently asleep before Dean could berate him for being stupid, but apparently the nurses had done a good job of that as the wheelchair that had been by the bed was now well out of reach, and Sam was still wearing a sulky pout, even in sleep.

Dean couldn't be budged from the room after that. He'd always protect his brother from unknown enemies, but it was also his job to protect the stupid kid from himself. He was doubly glad he'd stayed when he had to wake Sam out of a couple of ambiguous nightmares. He wasn't sure Sam was even aware of them.