I know, I know, I know. I'm a terrible person for keeping you guys waiting all this time. I've spent just about every night on the phone for the past couple of months and that was always my writing time. My sincerest apologies to you all, and I hope this makes up for it. I will do my best to post the next one sooner, but just keep on me if I don't. I promise you all, I will finish this story. Thanks so much for your reviews.
Dean was crying. He'd never seen Dean cry. They'd spent the better part of their lives together, living side by side as they went from one crumbling mess of a motel to the next. They'd shared more carbon dioxide fumes from the Chevy Impala than he cared to think about. They'd fought battles too numerous to count, stitched each other up more nights than he could even remember, and even dealt with the torment of not knowing what had happened to their missing father. Together. And yet in all that, Sam had never once witnessed his brother in tears. But there he was; the hospital room in shambles, blood spattering the bedclothes and floor, as moisture spilled unceremoniously down the older hunters face.
Slowly, quietly, Sam rolled himself across the door, away from the window. He flattened his back against the wall, palms pressed tightly to the flat surface. His breath came in shallow spurts as he attempted to hold down the yelp that threatened to escape as his already bruised hand hit solid wall. He didn't dare look back through the window, so he could only hope Dean hadn't just heard him out in the hall. Dean couldn't know he'd just seen what he had. If he ever wanted Dean to allow him back into his life, Dean could never know that Sam had seen him cry.
"Young man! What on earth are you doing?" A curious nurse, one Sam had never seen before, nearly gave his hideout away as she called out loudly to him from across the hall.
Sam jumped, immediately pressing a finger to his lips and shushing the heavyset woman before she could cause too much commotion. It would be bad enough if she alerted Dean to the fact that he'd been out in the hall watching, but if Dean's doctor found him out here it could mean being kicked out of the hospital again. He just couldn't take that.
She looked like his grandmother, not that he'd ever known either of his grandmother's, but if he had known them this nurse looked exactly the way he imagined them to look. And as she placed hands on plump hips, an amused glint in her eye as she regarded the boy stealthily crossing the hallway toward her, Sam decided that the best way to approach her would be to pull out the Winchester charm.
"Sorry 'bout that ma'am," Sam crooned, flashing her his perfected million dollar smile that made all the women, young and old, immediately rush to him. He could never claim to hold Dean's power of seduction, but his own smile was nothing to scoff at. Usually the smile resulted in a plate of cookies or a home cooked meal, but this time it just resulted in the woman relaxing her stance and returning his gesture with her own rosy faced smile.
"Son, you weren't doing anything wrong, you just looked so odd standing there. Like you were too scared to move."
"I...I, uh," Sam hesitated for a second before scolding himself. Tell her the truth, Sam. It's easier that way. "My brother's in there...and I was about to go in, but then I noticed he was upset. And well, you don't know my brother, ma'am. He's usually so strong...holds everything in, you know? So when I saw him...crying...I just thought I'd give him a few minutes to himself. He wouldn't want me to have seen that."
She smiled sympathetically, releasing the last bit of skepticism she'd held, and placed a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. "He's the young man who suffered the stroke, isn't he." It wasn't a question, and she didn't wait for an answer before continuing. "Such a shame. To be so young–""He's going to be fine," Sam cut her off, unwilling to hear any speculation in the negative. "My brother's a fighter. He'll get through this."
"Of course he will," she agreed, the same hand she'd laid on his shoulder now moving up and down as she patted him, offering Sam a small bit of solace. He couldn't help but think that it shouldn't be her giving comfort, or any stranger for that matter. There were people who were supposed to give that kind of comfort; Dad's for example, although his father had yet to answer any of the numerous messages Sam had left on his cell phone since the nightmare had begun. And Dean was the one who needed the comforting, not the other way around, so he was out of the running. The thought struck him hard as Sam allowed this nurse, whom he only knew to be Sophie because of the silver name badge she wore on a lanyard around her neck, to give him the comfort he so desperately needed. With no friends or family to rally around the boys in their hour of need, they were alone. Of course, Dean had Sam, whether he wanted him or not. But with Dean submerged in self-pity and a substantial bout of depression, Sam was really and truly alone.
And Sophie seemed to recognize that fact as she pulled the boy tightly against her chest, much like he imagined a grandmother would do, stroking his hair and allowing him the opportunity to grieve. But the moment soon passed as Sam became self-conscious of the fact that he was sobbing in the arms of a complete stranger. He pushed back, straightening his shirt as he mumbled an awkward thank-you to the woman. "I think I'm gonna go check on my brother again. He's probably OK now."
She smiled, her lip turned up just enough to tell him that she understood, and patted him on the shoulder. "Your brother's lucky to have you."
Yeah, too bad Dean doesn't seem to know that, Sam scoffed to himself as he made his way back to the door. Cautiously, he peeked through the window again, once again facing the wreckage that resulted from Dean's earlier rant and then turned back to Sophie. "I think we may be needing your help in here."
As Sam entered, Dean was quick to swipe his arm across his eyes, removing any lingering moisture that hadn't already dried. His eyes were still swollen, a tell-tale sign that he'd previously been crying, but Sam ignored it because that's what Dean would want him to do. He also ignored the mess Dean had created, figuring he'd save that for one of the orderlies. There was only one thing on his mind right now, and that was getting through to Dean.
"Hey," Sam broached hesitantly, carefully making his way to Dean's bedside. "Mind if I come in?"
You're already in, now aren't you. Dean glared at his little brother, telling Sam that he still wasn't welcome without saying a word. But Sam persisted, stepping closer before pulling up a chair beside the bed.
"We need to talk," he said sternly, arms crossed and gaze holding steady. He meant business.
Dean looked away, suddenly finding the bland white walls ultimately more appealing than his brother's stern face. He wanted so badly to get out of bed and stalk off, escape the lecture he knew was coming, but his damn leg wouldn't cooperate, though he couldn't be sure his nerves would be much better. But the gods were with him, if only for a few minutes, as Sam's lecture was interrupted by the presence of a nurse.
"Good lord, young man, what have you done to yourself," Sophie's worried voice cut through the tension in the air as she raced forward, immediately shutting off the IV that had continued to flow without notice from either of the boys. She took stock of the situation, disappeared for a minute, and then returned with the appropriate equipment. She worked quickly, cleaning the dried blood from Dean's arm and reinserting the IV before he knew what had happened. And then an orderly was retrieved and Dean was moved swiftly from the bed to a wheelchair in order to change the bedclothes.
As Dean moped, offering no help to the nurse or the orderly, Sam stood across the room, watching intently. His heart sank as he realized just how close to the edge Dean actually was. His brother had lost all hope. It had only been a day, and yet Dean had completely withdrawn into himself, totally convinced that this was the end of his life as he knew it.
There's got to be something I can do. Thoughts and ideas popped up in Sam's mind, offering themselves as solutions to the problem. But Sam discarded every one without much more than a seconds thought, labeling each as it was tossed aside in his subconscious. Too complicated. Too risky. Takes too long. He'd never go for it. Solving problems had never been his forte; that was Dean's area of expertise. Sure, Sam usually did the research, compiling every last bit of data he could find. But then he handed the information off to Dean and waited patiently for big brother to come up with the solution. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Lost in his thoughts, Sam had barely taken notice as Sophie and the orderly finished changing the bedclothes and mopping the floors, but he snapped back to reality when they returned to Dean's side, preparing to move him back to the bed.
"Wait," Sam spat out louder than he had intended. Three faces turned to look at him, curious at the outburst.
Sam paused, unsure where he was going with his request. "I...uh...I think maybe some fresh air might do him some good," Sam finally choked out, ignoring the daggers Dean was currently shooting at him from the depths of his eyes. "Would it be alright if I took Dean out to the courtyard?"
If anyone had bothered to ask Dean his opinion of the cockamamy scheme he would have adamantly refused to go anywhere. He was in no mood to be paraded around in front of the group of strangers that would undoubtedly occupy the courtyard on this warm evening, and he was certainly in no mood to go anywhere with Sam - Mr. Sunshine himself. But nobody bothered to ask him what he wanted, and he wasn't sure if he would have been able to get his response out anyway. So, in lieu of a verbal response, Dean simply glared. And much to his chagrin, his expression and feelings were blatantly ignored.
"I think that's a wonderful idea!" Sophie's over-eager voice exclaimed as a wide smile claimed her face. "Fresh air does wonders for the soul." She crossed the room to the closet in three large strides, collecting several pillows before returning to her patient. The pillows were strategically placed at Dean's right side and underneath his arm to help prop him up on his weaker side, and then she transferred his IV to a pole on the back of the wheelchair, making him mobile.
"He's all set," Sophie announced to Sam while absently patting Dean on the shoulder. "Just give us a holler if you two need any help."
Sam nodded, circling around to the back of the chair, effectively cutting off Dean's last bit of communication. He could glare and scowl all he wanted, but Sam would not see it.
The wheelchair lurched forward, bumping a little before Sam fell into a smooth, steady forward momentum. They passed several nurses, most of whom had appeared in Dean's room at least once, but save for a man on a pay phone with his back turned to them, they passed no other civilians in the hallway. For a minute, Dean allowed himself to relax, assuming the same lack of people would greet them in the courtyard.
He couldn't have been farther from the truth, and Dean's anger and embarrassment at being presented as the newest spectacle to the courtyard freak show almost succeeded in providing him enough power to propel the chair back the way it came. Almost. His left hand dropped to the side of the chair, gripping the wheel tightly, abruptly halting the forward motion. Sam startled, almost running into the back of the wheelchair before regaining his footing. And Dean pushed hard against the wheel, grunting as he created new movement, but as physics will tell, any object moving around a pivot point will only succeed in circling around its axis. Dean got nowhere, and only proved to make himself slightly dizzy as he called greater attention to himself from the courtyard audience. Regaining his control of the wheelchair, Sam pushed Dean past the group of patients and families, barely noticing the eyes that followed them as they settled in the far end of the courtyard. He didn't care to acknowledge the stares; scorned them, but didn't react to them; because they didn't gawk out of curiosity, but rather gazed with sympathy, issuing a silent welcome into the pain induced club that had only one requirement - traumatic injury. Sam didn't want their sympathy, and Dean didn't need to know it existed. Sam was certain Dean was too far locked in his own self pity to notice anything more than the simple fact that they were being watched, but he still issued a silent prayer that Dean would ignore them.
The wheelchair was parked facing out over the wall of the courtyard, giving Dean a birds eye view of the parking lot, and effectively keeping Dean's back to their company. Sam planted himself directly across from his brother, his butt on the edge of the concrete wall, and crossed his arms against his chest. A low sigh emitted from his partially open mouth, and then a slightly louder one as he worked to get Dean's attention.
Finally, after sigh number five, Dean finally looked up at Sam with an annoyed glare. I'm trying to ignore you, imbecile. What the fuck do you want?
"Dean–" Sam hesitated, unsure how he wanted to start. "This isn't working." He sighed again, this time scrubbing his hand down his face. When he looked up, Dean was looking at him with confusion. Apparently his brother hadn't quite expect that specific comment; probably expecting something more along the lines of 'Dammit, get a hold of yourself, man."
"You...you–" he struggled, mind searching desperately for a moments epiphany on how to get through to Dean. It came to Sam with a sudden whoosh of comprehension, slamming into his skull with almost as much force as his visions usually did; but this wasn't a vision. It was simply a solution. The answer to their problems wasn't in the word 'you,' it was in the word 'I.' As much as he hated to admit it, the best solution to getting Dean to stop feeling sorry for himself was to give him something else to focus on. Give him Sam to focus on.
He spoke, the emotions in his words conveying far more confidence than he felt in himself. But this was no time to be weak. Even when the words themselves made Sam sound small and inconsequential, internally he had to be stronger than ever. "Dean, I need you to want to get better...for me. Please!"
Sam paused, searching his brother's eyes for any sense of recognition, and for a split second he thought he noted a familiar spark ignite in the older hunter's eyes. There was hope, and Sam continued. "I'm falling apart here, man. Look what I did to my hand, for crying out loud." He held the injured appendage up in front of Dean's eyes, immediately regretting showing his own weakness but there was nothing he could do about it now. And it worked.
Dean's left hand shot out, anxiously grasping Sam's hand around the wrist and examining the multitude of black and blue coloring, immediately focusing on the broken finger in among the patchwork of bruises. In that moment, Dean was Dean again; 'big brother, always looking out for Sammy, always putting Sammy first Dean.'
Holding in his smile for fear that it might elicit a regression to the minute bit of progress he'd just made, Sam let out a long breath of relief. Dean was back, if not physically then at least mentally, but for how long? How long would it be before a spill in physical therapy or an inability to speak the desired words would send Dean flying back to the dreadful state of mourning and misery he'd claimed as his own after the stroke? How long before he again lashed out at Sam for simply existing, for trying to help?
Sam didn't speak, didn't move, hell, he barely allowed himself to breathe as Dean made a thorough examination of his mangled hand. He waited, patiently allowing his brother to reclaim his rightful place in the big brother throne. It became apparent that his few voiced words had actually spoken volumes to Dean when the older man finally looked into Sam's eyes and glared at him again. But this was not the 'I hate you' glare that Sam had received so many times in so very few hours, this glare was different. This glare said, 'Sammy, you're an idiot.'
As if the expression weren't enough to get the point across, Dean decided that this was an adequate time to try using his voice again, the vow to remain silent immediately forgotten by the need to point out little brother's stupidity. Dean furrowed his brow in concentration and formed his lips around the word. "Ffffoooool," he slurred, finding the right word on the first try.
It was hard to know whether to smile at Dean's accomplishment or chide him on the reasoning behind the comment in the first place, so Sam did both. He grinned, arm stretching out to pat Dean on the shoulder. "Yeah, I guess I am a fool," Sam admitted lightheartedly, but then added, "But if you hadn't kicked me out of your room in the first place none of this would have happened. So I guess you're the one I should be blaming."
Dean rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion, allowing a slight smile to form on his face. "Nnnnnoooot my f– foot– f– fault. Yyyyyoooou h– h– hover."
Sam watched his brother suck in several deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to regain oxygen and composure from his two sentence monologue and debated whether or not he would feel guilty if he continued to goad his ailing counterpart. Desire won out over reason and Sam's mouth was soon open again. "I learned to hover from the best there is, big brother. Nobody hovers and mother hens better than Dean Winchester himself." His fist shot out, gently tapping Dean on his good arm and was surprised to find the wrist caught as he withdrew. Opening his eyes wide, Sam stared at Dean with curiosity as he waited patiently to hear his next words.
His brother's grip was still as tight as it had ever been, but he loosened his fingers around Sam's wrist when he realized he had the younger's full attention. Unshed tears glistened in Dean's eyes and Sam's chest tightened as he recognized the internal struggle his brother fought with himself over whether to release Sam's hand and wipe them away or to simply ignore their existence. When Dean finally chose to ignore them, Sam did the same, instead focusing on Dean's lips as he attempted to piece together more garbled words that refused to be properly voiced.
Dammit Sam, that's just it. I'm the big brother! I'm the only one who gets to hover and mother hen. That's why I'm so good at it, because it's my job! It killed him. It absolutely killed Dean to have so many thoughts and feelings and emotions running through his mind and yet no way to clearly express them. He laughed to himself a little, realizing just how ironic that thought was. Here, he'd spent 26 years of his life bottling every emotion, piling more and more bricks on top of the hated thoughts in an effort to repress his feelings. Dean Winchester did have emotions - at least that's what he'd tried to pass off to his family every opportunity he got. And yet now, when he had no way to share those feelings without sounding like an illiterate troll, now he wanted to share. He had to share, right? For Sam? Because Sam was hurting and Sam needed him.
Dean pursed his lips and gave Sam his sternest big brother look, the expression so effective Sam almost missed the fact that the words coming out of Dean's mouth were sub par at best, and in an instant Dean was Dean again. "Y– yyyou n– n– iii nnneeeed d– doct– t– or l– loooook aaaat h– h– and," Dean insisted, panting again.
"Nnnnnnooowww," he added when Sam prepared to shake his head in protest.
The final word stopped him dead as Sam realized just how important it was to his brother to take control again and Sam redirected the left right motion of his head to an up and down one. "OK, Dean. I'll get it looked at right now. Let's go."
The smugness in Dean's smile was unmistakable as Sam began pushing the wheelchair from the courtyard, and only Sam's own smug smile rivaled that of his brother as he leaned down to Dean's level. "It's good to have you back, big bro," Sam whispered softly in Dean's ear. "It's good to have you back."