Back For Good Chapter 6
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"Here," a dram of fine single malt was shoved under Dean's nose. "You look like you could use it."
Dean grabbed the crystal tumbler and knocked it back in one go, earning a grimace from Sam's doctor.
"Is that any way to treat a twenty year old Macallan? Shame on you!" Kathy poured him another two fingers. "At least savour this one a little."
Dean grinned sheepishly and took it a little slower this time. They were sitting in Kathy's office, indulging in her emergency stash of scotch, and given how the shake in Dean's hands had almost died down, the calming influence of the slow warming amber liquid was greatly appreciated.
"Is he really gonna be ok?" Dean asked quietly, staring into the golden depths of his drink. He really wanted to be back in Sam's room, watching over his brother; in fact he never wanted to leave him again. But Kathy had insisted, pulling him from the room once Sam was calm and stable, dozing under the influence of a mild sedative. "I mean, he stopped breathing. How the hell can it get so bad that he stops breathing!"
Kathy shrugged. "He's still very weak. The slightest shock could upset his equilibrium; his lungs are still struggling with the pneumonia and let's not forget that he was traumatised already. It was just too much for him to take in, but I'm pleased that he can still breathe on his own now. I've already had...words...with the orderly that left the news rag in Sam's room, though it's the horse and stable door scenario I'm afraid." She tilted her head a little to study him. "How did you know?"
Dean turned and noted the strange look on her face. "I just do. He wouldn't have freaked out like that for any other reason; he's just not the type." He sighed tiredly. "He remembers now. Dad's death, the kidnapping, the torture...what I did to him." Dean hung his head.
"And what exactly did you do to him? Or perhaps I should rephrase that." Kathy lifted an eyebrow. "What does that stubborn brain of yours think you did to him?" This was old news to the doctor, having had this conversation not long after Sam was admitted for skin graft surgery, and whilst she agreed that Dean's actions in pushing Sam away had been cruel she also sort of understood his reasoning, even if it was messed up. Of course, she didn't know the full story and if Dean had his way she never would. Even to a doctor as kind and compassionate as Kathy the explanation of the 'Family Business' would be too much, and in Dean's opinion the woman didn't need or deserve the additional nightmares.
He thought about ignoring the question at first but knowing Kathy he guessed she wouldn't let it go.
He took a long sip of the scotch. "When Sam announced he wanted to go to college our Dad went ballistic and forbade him to leave." Dean waved a hand at the incredulous look on the doctor's face. "Yeah, I know what you're gonna say. Why would any parent begrudge their child a decent education, right? Don't ask. It's..." another hand wave "...complicated. It's enough to say that Dad was worried Sam wouldn't be safe out there on his own."
Kathy nodded. "That's what parents do." She had two grownup children of her own now, both married with good careers, but she still worried for their safety.
"So there's this huge fight in which Sam's about to walk out, but then Dad....stupid bastard...tells him if he leaves that he's to stay gone." Dean lowered his gaze back to the tumbler. "It was two years before I even spoke to my little brother again." A frown formed as he thought about the time since Jess's death. "I guess I always blamed Sam a little more than Dad for that. But recently?...I dunno...I realised I'd only ever really looked at that night from Dad's point of view. But now I've spent the last few months getting to know my brother again I've seen how much that fight hurt Sam. Really hurt him. Then Dad dies, I pretty much accuse him of being a bad son, and I tell him to get lost." He snorted without humour. "Thought I was doin' him a favour sendin' him back to school, keepin' him safe. He's all I got left and I go do the exact same thing to him that our father did, only this time it nearly gets him killed. Some brother I turned out to be."
Kathy set her glass down on the desk with a small indignant thud. "Total nonsense! You couldn't have known what would happen, there's no way either you or Sam could have guessed that bastard was lying in wait. It was just plain bad luck Sam stepped into his sights when he did." She reached over and grasped Dean's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "But it could've happened at any time; in the convenience store, outside a coffee house, hell even the parking lot of the local bar. So stop blaming yourself. Yes you have a lot to apologise for where Sam's concerned, but not that." Another squeeze to emphasize her point as she finished quietly with "Not. That."
Dean didn't know what to say, just sat there staring at his whiskey. Something else had occurred to him. According to Sam's letter, his brother had no intention of going back to Stanford, just wanted to disappear off the radar. How badly had Dean fucked up that Sam felt he had no other option?
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Sam had been awake for a while now but had yet to open his eyes. The oxygen mask was back, that much was obvious and though it still irritated him to no end, without it breathing was a constant battle with his aching ribs, wheezing windpipe and raging sore throat.
He wanted out.
He needed out.
He was fed up with this bed, this room, this life!
Why are you even still here?
Sam's eyes snapped open, tears suddenly leaking from nowhere. He hadn't even realised he was about to cry.
Seriously....You planned to go back to school, right? Well here's your chance.
He coughed a little, feeling another burning ache but this time deep in his heart.
Just go. You don't wanna be here, and I sure as hell don't want you around.
No longer able to hold it in, Sam broke down into desperate, painful sobs, large tears rolling down his face and he couldn't find enough shame or energy to wipe them away. Now he remembered why he'd left; now he knew how the demon had gotten to him. Dean hadn't wanted Sam around anymore, fed up with the sight and sound of him, the reminder...
...Dad died but I lived...
Nothing made sense, everything seemed turned upside down. Even the demon had agreed that Sam was a waste of space, just another burden on his brother's shoulders.
Dean's always watched my back, but he'd be better off without me. He's finally realised the truth and now he's trapped again. Trapped by guilt into staying with me.
Sam glanced over at the wheelchair Kathy had left for him, and wondered if maybe some fresh air would do him good. He needed a change of scenery after being stuck in this room for weeks on end and he hoped with a bit of luck it might help clear his head. Getting into the garden from here would be easy enough; someone had left the French windows slightly open and there was a small neatly kept path leading across the lawn and into the rose garden beyond.
The panic hit him with almost physical force and the feeling of being trapped threatened to overwhelm him. It was like being back in the warehouse.
Have to get outta here!
Sam hauled his body into the wheelchair, biting his tongue into silence against the pain, and folded a blanket over his knees. The exertion left him breathless and he gave himself a moment's grace to get his breathing back on track. It wasn't until the last minute that Sam finally removed the oxygen mask, IVs and monitoring equipment before leaving the room via the French doors. Someone would likely be alerted at the nurses' station but he hoped to be some distance away by then. The path sloped downwards so it wouldn't take up too much of his strength, providing him with a much needed head start, and Sam almost laughed at that. He sounded like a prisoner making a break for it.
But that's what it feels like.
A light breeze on his overheated skin made him shiver as he wheeled himself down the path, keeping control of the speed so the chair wouldn't runaway with him. By the time he reached the rose garden and he'd ducked inside, well out of sight of his room, Sam was exhausted. Looking round he spied the roof of what appeared to be an open summer house or gazebo in the distance and headed on over, somewhat dismayed by its dilapidated appearance; its roof was covered in moss, with green ivy creeping up the support struts and winding in and out of the broken windows. Clearly hardly anyone had visited this place recently, standing long forgotten on the far side of the grounds. Sam began to envy the small garden shelter its anonymity and peace, having spent most of his life wishing for the same. As he wheeled closer Sam realised he liked it more and more; it was pretty in a ruined castle kind of way, no longer of much practical use but holding its own precious memories within.
The rain hit before Sam was even halfway there, soaking him in seconds, and now it was imperative he get under cover of the summer house. Shivering, water virtually blinding him and dripping off his nose, Sam pushed hard and finally made it, gasping for air. The bandages on his hands and arms were almost shredded from the combination of being soaked and the effort of pushing on the wheels; calming a little, he grimaced and refused to look too closely at the stubby nails that were growing back, or the rope abrasions and fading bruises on his lower arms. The bandages on his chest and shoulders were protected only a little from the rain by his shirt, but at least his feet were completely covered by the breathable waterproof material that shielded his injuries from infection and water whenever he took a bath.
Glancing up at the roof of the summer house, Sam could see where time and the elements had worn holes in the structure and rain water poured in, splashing on the rough cement flooring beneath. He stayed by the entrance and stared out into the garden, fully sheltered under an undamaged part of the roof. Shivering more violently, his wrecked lungs put up an angry fight and another bout of vicious coughing had him writhing in pain. What little strength he might have had left after this small journey soon dwindled to nothing, and he slumped in defeat.
He certainly hadn't put any thought into how he was getting back to the room, and under other circumstances he might have cared. It would all be an uphill effort and even Sam wasn't so far gone to realise what an impossible task it would be.
Does it even matter anymore?
Sam drew the blanket up and round his shoulders for what little benefit the sodden material might provide, and leaned his head wearily against the rotten doorjamb. A cold wind swept on through the garden, the rose buds nodding and quivering as the rain drops continued to fall, but Sam didn't feel it. In spite of the uncontrolled shivering he felt flushed and sick, head fuzzy and stuffed with cotton wool, lungs rattling with unforgiving mucous, and the garden swam in and out of focus. But for the first time since he was kidnapped by Meg he felt truly free.
Maybe I'll just stay here.
He wasn't even aware when his eyes slid shut.
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"Dr Grey?" A knock at the door was followed by an anxious looking nurse poking her head into the room without waiting for an answer. "We have a problem."
"What is it Nora?" Kathy was on her feet immediately.
"Uh...Sam Winchester's monitors alerted us that he'd crashed and..."
"What!?" This was Dean, who was not only on his feet by now but also striding towards the nurse, his face contorted with fear.
"It's ok!" Nora was quick to reassure them. "He didn't. Just the opposite in fact...er..." She bit her lip unsure of how to put it.
"And?" Kathy raised an eyebrow, her heart performing somersaults in her chest. They'd come way too far to lose the kid now.
"It seems he disconnected his medication, and went for a stroll...ah, by which I mean he went for a...ride? His wheelchair's missing and he's nowhere in the hospital. Uh...the garden doors were open..."
All eyes turned to the office window instantly noting the pouring rain and the steadily rising gusts of wind.
Dean was the first to leave the office, Kathy hot on his heels, and sprinting towards his brother's room, the nurse's calls of "...orderlies out looking for him..." ringing in his ears.
What the hell was he thinking?
Stumbling into Sam's room, Dean soon confirmed it. The bed was empty, the sheets rumpled and IV lines were lying haphazardly across the sheets or hanging down the sides. His brother had completely disconnected himself from the monitors, antibiotics and all the other essential nutrients his body desperately needed, and gone for a joy ride in the damn wheelchair. The rain seemed especially loud in this room, or so it seemed to Dean and he raced over to the wide open French terrace windows.
"SAMMY!" Dean yelled angrily, then took off down the small path in search of his brother.
Kathy grabbed some blankets from the bed, swiped up a small oxygen tank and mask, then followed the irate guy out onto the lawn. Dean was turning round and round, eyes straining to see properly through the pouring rain, water cascading down his face.
"SAM! SAMMY?" He stomped off down the path, going deeper into the garden. The place was huge, had to be several acres at least and that was just the gardens. According to Kathy the grounds became a rose garden then eventually turned into wild, untamed grassland and ancient woodlands. She'd had several generous offers over the years from developers who wanted to turn the beautiful landscape into family homes, but she'd always refused. For a start she didn't need the money, having inherited a fortune from her grandfather many years before, but mainly just the thought that some small part of the natural world fell under her domain came as a great comfort. It was virtually untouchable and she'd even managed to take out some kind of protection order on the land so that even long after Kathy had passed away, it would still be here, unchanged and left at peace.
But right now, peace was the last word she would use to describe the gardens. Dean was yelling in fury, frantically searching every corner, every possible hiding place as though his younger brother were aged three rather than twenty three.
"Dean," Kathy called gently. "I really don't think he's going to be hiding under that wheel barrow. Come on," she passed him the oxygen tank, then hefted the blankets back up under her arm to keep them as dry as possible. "We've a lot of ground to cover," she spat out rain water, her hair a slopping mess by now.
It was taking too long and Dean was on the verge of panic when he spotted another path that headed through the rose garden and out the other side. Squinting into the distance, the rain dampened wooden roof of a small building caught his attention and he broke into a run, instincts screaming at him to get there fast. All anger had melted away by now to be replaced by the familiar adrenaline surge of fear and Dean raced through the rosebushes, tearing along the footpath. Already he could make out the entrance...and someone was sitting just inside, leaning heavily against it.
"SAM!"
He heard the pounding of feet along the now wet and soggy ground behind him and knew that Kathy was on the case.
"Sammy!" Dean put on another burst of speed, finally reached the building and collapsed to his knees in front his baby brother. "Hey! Open your eyes and look at me. Sam?"
Sam's eyes remained closed, brows pinched into a frown and he was breathing in short, fast, laboured pants. Air wheezed in and out as Sam struggled to fill his lungs, his face shiny with perspiration and unnatural heat rolled off him in waves.
"God Sammy, what the hell are ya doin' out here huh? Let's dry you off a little." Dean removed the soaking blanket from round his brother's shoulders, replacing it with the one that Kathy shoved at him, wrapping Sam up tightly and rubbing his arms.
Wasting no more time, Dean tilted his brother's head back, resting his neck in the palm of his hand to open his airway then slipped on the oxygen mask, whilst Kathy got to work checking his pulse and blood pressure with the small kit she carried with her.
Still gently cradling the back of Sam's neck and head with both hands, Dean's fingers brushed against damp curls and he whispered softly to his little brother, trying to wake him up. Sam let out a faint whimper of pain but his eyes didn't open.
"Come on Sammy please, we need you to wake up little bro." Dean sensed the doctor's concern, could see the worried frown on her face in his peripheral vision, and it very suddenly re-fuelled his anger.
And he snapped. "You've come too damn far to pull this shit ya hear me? I won't let you give up! Ya think Dad wanted this for ya huh?" The rain pounded even louder on the roof and Dean had to shout to hear his own voice. "You hearin' me Sam? You're my brother and I love you. I'm not losing you to her, to Meg, or any other fucking demon. Sure, they can try but I WON'T let them win. I know I fucked up, but I WON'T let them get that close to you again I swear!" Dean's tirade ended in a heartfelt sob as he pressed his cheek against Sam's superheated skin, and whispered brokenly into his ear, "I'msorrypleasecomeback I'msorrypleasecomeback I'm sorry I'm sorry..."
A light squeeze on his arm caused Dean to pull back a little and he smiled in relief when he saw his brother's eyes slowly opening. Sam was staring at him, shivering, clearly dazed and trying to speak, his hand dropping weakly back into his lap.
"It's ok. Just stay still Sam." Dean tucked the blanket round him even closer. "You're real sick buddy but we're gonna have to wait it out here 'til the rain lets up." With a shaky smile he started rubbing Sam's arms through the blanket again. "I think you've taken on enough water for one day huh?"
"Dean...ssoorryy..." Sam started coughing violently into the mask and Dean's eyes widened with worry when he couldn't get his breath back. "...ya don...hafta...s...stay..."
"Sammy..." The meaning sunk in even if Dean did have a hard time hearing his brother's voice over the rain. He shook his head sadly and palmed Sam's face. "Not goin' anywhere without you kiddo. Now calm it down buddy, you need to breathe slowly."
Confused as he was, Sam nonetheless seemed to understand what was being asked of him and he sought to comply, a hard struggle though it was. The oxygen helped but the urge to cough up his lungs must have been tempting.
Kathy turned at the faint sound of her name being called; there was no one in the garden but people were out looking for her. "Dean, I have to go tell the orderlies we found Sam, and I'll also arrange for a covered gurney to collect him. We need to get those wet bandages changed before infection sets in. You two be ok here on your own?"
Dean pulled his wheezing, shivering brother closer and nodded grimly. "Sure."
"Alright." Kathy had one more thing to say before she headed off into the rain storm. "And stay out of trouble!" One final reassuring grin and she was gone.
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Kathy watched the brothers from the door to Sam's room and smiled. The youngster had calmed down and seemed to improve under the watchful eye of his big brother. Dean had assisted the doctor with getting his brother dry, warmed up, and even changing his bandages. The wounds hadn't looked any worse in spite of the drenching, and even looked a little healthier.
Kathy had grinned at that; she had a list of diplomas, degrees and PhDs as long as her arm but she just couldn't compare to the awesome power of Mother Nature.
In the mad dash to get her patient out of the rain and wind, Dean, Kathy and the orderlies were a little worse for wear and the domestic staff were preparing hot meals and fresh dry uniforms for all.
Sam's temperature was dangerously high, the pneumonia flaring up, and Kathy had administered an anti-febrile drug in case of seizure along with humidified oxygen. The touch and go moment on arriving at his room had her considering the possibility of intubation, but Sam was trying hard to breathe on his own so Kathy decided to have a little faith in the poor kid.
The IV lines had been reattached, broad spectrum antibiotics slowly filtering their way into Sam's blood to help fight the pneumonia. Kathy had forced Dean to take an analgesic just in case he came down with a bad cold, and he now sat in a comfortable chair beside Sam's bed adorned in fresh hospital scrubs, blanket wrapped round him and talking so softly to his kid brother that Kathy would have strained her ears to listen if she hadn't appreciated their need for privacy.
Dinner would be served soon, and Kathy still had the rounds to do before then so she slipped silently from the room.
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He was back in that damn warehouse, running and screaming his brother's name. Sam's voice was all around him, whispering, rising and falling like the tide.
...Did he say anything?...
...Can we talk about this?...
...Dean, please don't shut me out...
...too little too late...
...I'm not alright, not at all...but neither are you...
He was so close yet so far, every time he turned a corner or entered another room he expected to find his brother, but it was always a false horizon. And yet still Sam's voice haunted him, now sounding scared, begging for help...
...then finally pleading for death.
A loud gunshot rang out and Dean stopped dead in his tracks, heart pounding in his chest. A few more tentative steps, another room, and he found what he was looking for.
Sam sat silently, secured to the chair in much the same way Dean had found him before, chin slumped to his chest, still gagged and blindfolded.
The dreadful smell of scorched flesh still hung in the air along with the copper of fresh blood and hot cordite; Dean gagged and nearly dry-retched. One more step and he was right in front of his little brother, cupping his bruised jaw and tilting his head up.
It was then that he saw the bullet hole right in the centre of Sam's forehead...
...If you can't save him, you have to kill him...
...the smoking gun in his own hand...
...I'm not alright....but neither are you...
...and Dean started screaming.
He jolted awake, shaking like a leaf and drawing in panicked breaths. A quick glance at his sleeping brother assured him that Sam was still here, still very much alive.
"Jesus Christ," Dean muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. The dream had seemed so real, too real, and to suddenly have his father's words thrown in his face by his own sub-conscious was downright cruel. Dean wasn't ready to deal with that just yet and he was in no way ready to tell Sam about it. But that dream...was that me? Did I kill Sam? Is that what this is about?
Well it wasn't going to happen. Ever. Dean would rather take his own life than kill his brother.
Except...he almost died 'cos of me. Maybe that's the whole point...
"Dean?"
The low painful rasp of his brother's voice interrupted his thoughts and Dean turned to Sam, smiling softly, hoping all evidence of that terrible dream had faded from his face.
"Hey little bro. How ya feelin'?"
Sam appeared to think for a moment before answering. He nodded slowly.
"Been better, but at least I can breathe properly now." The kid was on nasal oxygen which came as a relief to both brothers. The fever had broken during the early hours of the morning which was why Dean had finally allowed himself some sleep, though he was starting to regret it. The nightmare was still vivid, the image of his brother tied to a chair, beaten, tortured....dead...
"You ok Dean?" Sam was looking at him worriedly.
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face distractedly and blew out a breath. "Yeah. Yeah I'm good."
"You sure? You look a little pale. You been getting any sleep?" Dean glanced at Sam's own sickly features and refrained from suggesting he take a look in the mirror.
Instead he suddenly leaned forward, elbows on the bed and gave his brother a genuinely happy smile. After all, he had a lot to feel grateful for. Sam was recovering slowly but surely when he could have died so many times: in the warehouse, the demon drugs, during the flight to the ER, from shock, from the burns, the pneumonia,..
Yeah, there was a lot to be thankful for and Dean never was one to miss an opportunity.
"I'm just glad to have you back kiddo. You scared the shit outta me." His smile faded slightly as his eyes searched Sam's face. "I've said this so many damn times since we found you in the warehouse, but each time you were either unconscious or out of it from drugs and fever." Dean locked eyes with Sam, voice desperate now. "I never wanted you to leave. And I don't mean just this time round but the last time, when you went off to school. I know why you had to, I even understood back then but I hated seeing you go and I missed you so damn much. I'm sorry I've been such a jerk since Dad died, and I'm sorry that I didn't even notice you were hurting too. 'Course, I didn't exactly make things easier on ya by telling you to leave, but I never meant it Sam. I swear, I was just being an asshole, I felt so angry..."
"I know." Sam whispered back sadly. "And...I know why you're angry. He died, but I lived."
Dean stared at him, completely thunderstruck.
"It's ok Dean, I know how much you worshipped him. I understand what he meant to you, what you lost." Sam sniffed, no longer able to look his brother in the eye. "And I'm sorry too. This whole thing would have been easier on you if I'd died in his place."
He could feel Dean's gaze still on him, the atmosphere suddenly supercharged with an emotion Sam couldn't identify.
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Author's notes:
Me thinks Dean's going to have a hard time keeping his temper on this one. But can we really blame Sam for thinking that way after all he's been through? Maybe, maybe not.
I'll leave it for you to decide.
Not too sure about American heritage laws when it comes to protecting land and ancient woodlands so I just made it up. It's more fun that way anyhow.
Cheer for all your fantastic reviews once again, and I promise lots of brotherly heartache and love to follow for those fellow angst junkies out there, but let me also reassure you there is still an actual plot going on, and I suppose you could say it runs sort of parallel to BUABS but my version is way better for us LimpSammy/Protective Dean fans.
So be patient, stay with me and I promise you won't regret it.
If you do however then may you spank me 'til my cheeks burn red.
Kind regards,
ST xxx