Fade
A/N: This chapter's a bit shorter than the others. I tried to lengthen it a bit but I didn't want unnecessary stuff that's obviously just there to make the chapter longer. Hope you enjoy!
Oh, have some more free tissues, just in case you need them. I'll just put them over here…
Chapter Nine
It's not looking good.
Sam's Hickman catheter becomes infected and the doctor forbids visitors for three days. Dean imagines his already sick and dying baby brother burning with fever with only strangers to look after him. He fumes and panics and can't do anything about it.
The infection clears but almost straight away someone coughs, and Sam, his body depleted of all antibiotics, gets sick. He has nothing left to fight off even a simple cold.
In the lungs, the infection quickly turns into pneumonia and Sam gives up breathing on his own. In a flurry of activity, the nurses try to nudge Dean and Bobby out of the room while the doctor intubates him. Dean wont leave but he can't watch. He just can't.
The monitors record almost no blood pressure, barely a pulse. The doctors are forced to halt the chemo and instead run antibiotics, glucose, morphine through the Hickman.
Dean and Bobby have to wear masks when they see Sam now. Dean sits at his bedside, face itching under the material, only leaving his post for bathroom breaks and even on those he hurries back, terrified that he's missing the last moments of his little brother's life.
"I know of someone."
Dean turned his mask-covered face to Bobby, standing framed in the doorway. The room was so small, so plain. A terrible place for someone to spend his or her last days. Dean hated it, with a passion. When this was over, when Sam was better, he was never going to step foot in a hospital ever again.
"Another healer?" he asked wearily.
Bobby nodded. "I just got off the phone. He's leaving in a couple of days, just needs to sort some things out before he heads here. He thinks he can help."
Dean couldn't bring himself to get his hopes up.
Bobby swept his gaze over Sam's limp form, lingering on the tube in his mouth that forced the artificial rise and fall of the youngest Winchester's chest. He's in Dean's hoodie again. Dean dressed him in it that morning, careful not to disturb anything, hoping that the familiar feel of it would help, maybe remind Sam to keep fighting. He makes sure the beanie's in place too. He knows that Sam hated losing his hair.
"You think he can hang on until Lee gets here?"
Dean threw a glare at him, "Of course he can." How dare you suggest that he wont?
Bobby nodded wordlessly and watched Dean slip his hand into Sam's almost skeletal one, weaving their fingers together. He was well beyond caring about people seeing his affection. The only person that mattered was lying unconscious in front of him.
"You can do this, Sammy. Just keep fighting."
Bobby could only just hear the muted words and they left a dull crushing pain in his chest.
God, these boys were breaking his heart.
~~~~0000~~~~
Time limped onwards. The nurses took blood and Dean could tell that what they found wasn't good, not just by the hurried transfusions of red and white cells, plasma and platelets, but by the looks on their faces.
Sam was dying. Dean knew it with every fiber of his being. He could feel it. It was like a part of him was slipping away, and he didn't know how to pull it back.
Every day the monitors recorded a few less heartbeats per minute, Sam's blood pressure continued to drop. Bobby had to drag Dean from the room when Catherine suggested that perhaps he should say his goodbyes, which he supposed was a good thing because the nurse was in imminent danger of having her head bashed in.
But really, say goodbye to Sammy? He couldn't do it. He wouldn't do it. He just hoped he wouldn't end up regretting it.
"Hey, Sammy?"
A cart rattled its way past in the hallway, accompanied by soft footsteps, an alarm was beeping in a nearby room along with hurried voices, but Sam stayed silent, except for the hiss-whoosh of the ventilator.
"That healer I was telling you about, the one Bobby called? He'll be here tomorrow, so…" Dean adjusted his mask, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened. This was all wrong. He shouldn't have to be here. Sam shouldn't have to be here. And he shouldn't have to wear a God damned mask just to talk to his brother.
Dean took a deep breath, "Just… don't give up, Sammy, please? Don't leave. I know it's hard but… I can't… After Dad… I need you, okay? You've got to hang on."
He forced out a weak, hollow chuckle, "Here I am, having one of those chick-flick moments you're always jonesing for, and you're sleeping through it."
He meshed a hand into Sam's, "C'mon, Sammy. Wake up."
The room melted into silence and Dean sat there, twisting his fingers to rest on Sam's wrist, taking what little comfort he could from the slow, barely-there beat of his brother's pulse.
He sensed, rather than heard, Bobby's entrance but still didn't turn his gaze away from the unmoving figure on the bed. He couldn't. If he turned his back, Sam might just disappear on him. Watch out for Sam.
"Got you a coffee."
Dean found a plastic cup shoved under his nose. He took it gratefully with his free hand. Sam couldn't stand the smell of coffee anymore but then, Sam wasn't awake to smell it so Dean figured it didn't matter.
"No change?" Bobby asked, settling himself down in the chair on the other side of Sam's bed.
Dean took a long swig of his coffee, barely tasting the rich, slightly burnt flavour. He hadn't properly tasted anything for a long time. He ate when Bobby brought him food, only because he had to. He had to be strong.
"The Doc reckons the pneumonia's beginning to clear. He might be able to breathe by himself in a few days." He sighed, "But he's in blast crisis again, and they can't do chemo until he's strong enough."
He was so sick of all these medical terms. Words that were so familiar now, catheter, blasts, chemo. He never wanted to have to say them ever again.
Bobby nodded grimly, "Sam's a fighter. If anyone can do it, he can."
Dean chewed on his lower lip for a moment.
"You really think Lee can help?" he asked tentatively, not sure he could handle a negative answer. Hell, he was positive that he couldn't handle a negative answer.
Bobby heaved a sigh, eyes on Sam's prone form. He was wasting away, dying before their eyes and there didn't seem to be anything they could do to stop it. Dean had never felt so helpless, and he could see that Bobby felt the same way.
"Boy, I sure hope so."
~~~~0000~~~~
Jessica was beautiful.
There had never been any other way to describe her, and Sam was awestruck and terrified at the same time.
She stood in front of him, wearing the nightdress she had died in, but there was no blood, no singed burns like in his nightmares. She was whole and beautiful and there. Right there before him.
He knew what her being here meant. He knew it and he loved her and, God, he wanted to be with her. It could be so simple, so much easier, but… he didn't want to go with her.
He didn't want to leave Dean alone, especially not when their father's death was still fresh and painful. He'd walked out on Dean too many times; he didn't want to do it again. How would Dean cope if he were gone?
"Jess…" he breathed, and in that moment he realized that the tube in his chest was gone. There was nothing down his throat impairing his ability to talk. He could feel hair brushing over his forehead. The constant metallic chemical taste in his mouth was gone, along with the exhausted nausea. He felt… well, he didn't feel anything and that was a blessing.
This was the light at the end of the tunnel, where his poisoned blood and the agony along with it were gone. No medical miracle, no supernatural cure. Just Jess. The light at the end of the tunnel was death.
"Sam."
It had been forever since he'd heard that voice, so soft and filled with love, and it sounded so good that it almost hurt. Maybe it would have if he could feel anything.
Jess smiled and held out a hand.
For what felt like forever, the only thing Sam had wanted was to get out of that hospital bed, and now he wanted to stay. He wanted Jess and he wanted this numb oblivion, but damn it, he'd take all the pain, the tubes and the drugs because he'd promised Dean. He'd promised to stay, that he wouldn't leave. In turn, Dean had promised that he'd fix this, and Winchesters take promises seriously.
He loved Jess, would never stop loving her, but Jess was gone, had been gone for over a year now, and Dean was here, and had been there, through everything.
But, as had often been the way, Sam had no control over his life, or death, and Jess was here to take him away.
~~~~0000~~~~
Lee Stanton was an ordinary-looking man. He was of average height, average build, with thinning hair and glasses, wearing blue jeans and a white button-down shirt. He could easily have been a dentist or an account manager. Something equally ordinary to fit such an ordinary man.
Dean felt hope die.
"Are you serious?" he hissed to Bobby, pulling the older hunter aside. "This guy is meant to be able to cure cancer?"
Bobby shrugged but the older hunter was looking at the supposed healer doubtfully. "He said he could help."
"Look at him!" Dean exclaimed with barely controlled outrage. "He looks like an accountant! He's just wasted our time!"
And Sam didn't have much time left, certainly not enough to track down another healer. This was their last chance.
"Let him try, Dean."
Dean grudgingly backed down and turned his attention to Lee, who was standing quietly at the end of Sam's bed, masked like him and Bobby. Dean couldn't bring himself to care that the man had probably heard their conversation.
"He's very sick," Lee said, his eyes not leaving Sam.
"No shit, Sherlock," Dean growled, ready to move from his corner to forcefully eject this monster of a fraud from his brothers room. What kind of a man exploits other peoples suffering? He'd be asking for money next. How dare he even look at Sam?!
"There's a girl here. He calls her Jess."
Dean froze. He glanced questioningly at Bobby but he shook his head, negative. Didn't tell Lee anything about Jess. The anger and frustration melted into cold fear. Any words he might have spoken stuck in his throat, flooded by the wave of terror.
"He loves her," Lee murmured. He inhaled a deep breath and, before Dean's stunned eyes, the illusion of a plain-collar accountant fell away, replaced by a man with power. Under his glasses, Lee's blue eyes darkened. The air in the room suddenly seemed charged, like some sort of static electricity, and any doubts Dean had had vanished. This man could save his brother. But…
"Does he…" Dean choked slightly, "Does he want to go with her?"
Because, first and foremost, Dean was a big brother. How could he bring Sammy back to this life that he'd never wanted in the first place? Bring him back to all the pain and suffering that went hand in hand with hunting?
How could he be selfish and tear Sammy away from the girl that he loved if Sam just didn't want to come back? No matter how much he wanted to, how much he needed his little brother, he knew that he'd let him go if that was what Sam wanted. It was what big brothers did.
It didn't stop the crushing pain in his chest when Lee turned to him, solemn powerful eyes piercing him.
"Yes, he does."
For a moment, Dean forgot to breathe, couldn't breathe, because how could he breathe if Sammy wasn't? How could he live if Sammy didn't? He always tried to do what was best for his brother, but how could that mean letting him die?
Lee flashed him a smile, real happiness sparkling in his face, and before Dean had time to be outraged, Lee continued. "But he wants to stay with you more."
Dean choked on something that could have been a sob. God, he loved that stubborn kid.
"I told him I'd fix it," he managed, beseechingly.
Lee nodded solemnly and stepped around to the side of Sam's bed, his back to Dean and Bobby.
Dean went to move. He didn't want to let Sam out of his sight, but Bobby's firm hand on his shoulder halted him. Dean turned, a growl already growing.
Bobby shook his head, his face awash with hope, "Give him some space."
Grudgingly, Dean backed down and stared hard at Lee's back.
Lee stood still; one hand slowly moving down the length of Sam's body, then back up until it hovered over Sam's chest. Dean heard a melodious rolling of words. They sounded Latin but he couldn't pick out any translations. They were transfixing, the way they wound together and danced around each other…
Dean almost forgot that there was anyone else in the room, regardless of Bobby's tight grip on his shoulder.
Time lost its meaning. He could have been listening for minutes or hours. Dean shifted so he could see Sam's face but he looked the same as he had before; sick, inches away from death. Hope was bursting inside of him and his mind kept up a desperate litany of please please please…
Suddenly, Sam arched off the bed, his eyes flying open for the first time in over a week, gagging around the tube in his throat. Alarms started bleeping.
Dean was moving before his brain had time to understand what was happening, because Sam was dying but now he was awake, when the doctor had said even that was unlikely. Halting the chemo to let Sam recover from the pneumonia had basically been a death sentence, allowing the cancer to build in his blood until it smothered him.
Sam was reaching for the ventilator, trying to tear it from his mouth, eyes wide and terrified. Dean shoved Lee out of the way and grabbed for his hands, pulling them away.
"Sammy, Sammy, hey, calm down, it's okay."
~~~~0000~~~~
He couldn't breathe.
He'd been torn away from the comforting numbness, from Jess, and he couldn't breathe.
Sam panicked.
He knew his eyes were open but everything he saw swirled and faded in and out. Where was he? What was going on? He tried to raise his hands to tear away whatever was in his mouth, suffocating him, but immediately someone was holding him down. He fought, ineffectually, until a familiar voice filtered through the rush of blood in his ears.
"Sammy, calm down. You're on a ventilator, just relax. Let it breathe for you. Calm down, Sam, please!"
The please caught his attention. Dean didn't say please. Dean said, do it, bitch. Now. So Sam obeyed, forcing himself to relax, and slowly, breathing became easier. He looked around the room, trying to make sense of the disconcerting blurs, until his gaze came to rest on a shape that could only be his brother. He recognized the jacket, the build, and finally, the shape morphed into Dean.
"Did it work? Did it work?"
Dean was looking over his shoulder at someone Sam couldn't see, his tone frantic, but the answer, whatever it was, must have been good because when Dean turned back to Sam years had melted off of his face. He let out a deep shuddering breath, gripping Sam's hands even tighter.
"You're okay now," Dean soothed, "You're gonna be okay."
Gathering himself, giving up on trying to make sense of what was happening, Sam nodded, the only response he could make with the tube down his throat. He was okay, he could feel it. Apparently, his older brother was still a superhero.
He wished he could tell Dean to stop crying though.
TBC…
A/N: Okay guys, one more chapter to go. I suppose it's more of an epilogue than a chapter but anyway, stay tuned!
Reviews are ALWAYS appreciated and ALWAYS give me warm fuzzies. I'll hand out cookies again ;)
