Hey everyone, back again! Hope you had a good weekend, and hope this might help getting back to the grind ;) As always thanks for those who have taken the time to read and review this story!
This chapter was written by: LadyWallace
Chapter Nine
Dean had almost finished reading The Hobbit by the time Bobby came back to the hospital that afternoon. He had been both elated and disappointed that in that time Sam had twitched a couple more times, though without waking. The more he showed signs of it, however, the better Dean started feeling. He just hoped Sam would be himself when he woke up; that was all he asked, even if he took a long time to recover, he just wanted his little brother to be in there, whole and still memory free from his time in hell.
"Docs think he'll wake up soon?" Bobby asked after Dean had related the news.
The elder Winchester shrugged helplessly. "They won't really say; guess they don't want to get our hopes up, but it's a good sign apparently."
Bobby pulled the second chair over to the bed and touched Dean on the shoulder. "You should go get some rest."
Dean shook his head. "No way, not now. There's no way I'm gonna be gone if he wakes up."
Bobby decided to let it slide for now, for which Dean was grateful. He just couldn't stand the thought of Sam waking up and not finding him there. Who knows what kind of conclusions he would come to if that happened? No, even though he really could use some sleep in a real bed, he wasn't going to leave. Instead, he picked up the book again and continued through the last chapter as Bobby left him to get something to eat, promising to bring back coffee.
Dean was just finishing up the book when he looked up and saw Cas standing in the doorway. He set the book aside.
"You don't have to knock, you know," he said.
The angel stepped up to the bed, looking down at Sam. "How is he?"
"Better, actually," Dean said, then amended that. "Well, the docs say he could wake up soon, anyway. Whether or not he's actually better is yet to be determined."
Cas touched Sam's forehead briefly. "He seems not so deeply unconscious, but I still can't tell you where his mind is. He does seem to be somewhat agitated though."
Dean shifted, not sure that was a good thing or not. "So what if it's the worse case scenario? What do we do? The doctors aren't going to know what to do for him, there's nothing they would be able to do and they'd probably call him crazy and clap him in a straitjacket and ship him off to the first loony bin they could find."
Cas was quiet for a long moment before he turned to meet Dean's eyes. "I have looked into some things and I found that it would be possible to transfer memories if it came to that."
"And how does that work? Who would we transfer them too?" Dean asked.
"I don't know," Cas told him, looking away. "But let's hope we won't have to worry about it."
Bobby came back then and greeted Cas as he sat down and handed Dean a cup of coffee, cutting off their conversation for the time being.
"You got any inside info on Sam here, Cas?" Bobby asked the angel.
Castiel shook his head. "I can't tell, I think he's still a little confused. But he seems closer to the surface than the last time I checked him. I would say it's possible he could wake within the next few days."
Sam's eyelids flickered as if in agreement, and all three men leaned in closer, Dean sliding his hand over Sam's arm, squeezing slightly. "Come on, buddy," he pleaded quietly. "I know it's nice to get some sleep, but I really need you to wake up."
He slumped back after another few minutes of nothingness. Cas gave him a small smile.
"Do not be discouraged, Dean. I have seen you and Sam come back from more than I could ever imagine a human could. Sam will wake up when he is ready." He didn't say what they were all thinking—that maybe it was a mercy Sam had been unconscious for this long.
Cas had to leave again shortly, and Dean and Bobby kept vigil quietly for a while before Dean started reading again, finishing the book and decided he would start it over again the next day or maybe get another book he and Sam had read as kids. It at least gave him something to do while he waited for Sam to wake up and he hoped it might help.
It was getting late again, and Bobby finally announced he was going back to the hotel for a few hours of sleep. Dean hardly acknowledged his leaving. He just kept watching Sam, seeing his eyes now shifting under his eyelids and his brow furrowed slightly as if he were having a troubling dream. Dean rubbed his arm lightly, his new mechanism of comfort since he no longer had Sam's long hair to smooth back. He missed that more than he would ever admit to his brother.
The night more on, and Dean started to drift off on several occasions before he jerked himself back into wakefulness. There was no way he was going to fall asleep and miss Sam waking up. Yeah, he knew he was going to have to get sleep sometime, especially if it took several more days, but he just had a feeling that it would be sooner, and he couldn't stand the thought of missing it. Eventually, however, he was almost prying his eyes open and he finally stood up with a sigh and stretched.
"Sorry, Sammy, I'm gonna have to get some coffee at least. I'll be right back, I promise."
He hurried out of the room to the coffee machine down the hall, unknowingly leaving his brother locked in a nightmare back in the room.
Sam didn't know where he was. He had woken up in a hospital room, but no one else seemed to be around. He couldn't even tell where he was hurt except that his head was pounding. Must have hit it, he decided as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was a bit shaky, but he could get around. He grabbed his clothes and then hurried out of the room, wondering where Dean was.
He vaguely remembered the hunt they had been on, the ghost on the highway. He remembered seeing the hitchhiker and then the Impala running off the road into the ditch and then nothing. He must have been knocked out. Boy, Dean had to be hopping mad about the Impala; he hoped she wasn't too badly damaged.
But he had to find Dean first. He walked down long corridor after long corridor but could never seem to find anyone. No one was around. The place was eerily quiet. He wished he had some sort of weapon, maybe something had happened here while he had been unconscious. How long had he been out anyway?
He decided to call out for Dean, but nothing came out of his mouth but a whisper. No matter how hard he tried, that was all he could manage. He thought about calling Cas too, maybe he would know what had happened, or where Dean was. Sam reached into his jacket pockets for his cell phone, hoping that would work, but it wasn't there. He must have lost it in the accident.
Okay, things were really starting to annoy him now. His head was pounding more than he could stand and he held it with one hand while he stumbled down more hallways that were just as deserted as the rest.
Finally he made it down some stairs, not really knowing where he was going until he felt the chill air and saw the drawers on the walls and realized he was in the hospital morgue.
He tried calling out here too, but no one was there. There was just one table in the center of the room with a sheet-covered body lying there. Sam didn't know what possessed him to step forward, but he suddenly knew he had to look. He had to know what was under that sheet. His head pounded even more as he stepped forward; and then carefully, his heart in his throat, he grasped the edge of the sheet and peeled it back.
Dean's face stared back at him.
Sam screamed, or tried to, it was more a yelp. His eyes flew open, and he looked around, horrified to find himself in a hospital room. He was disoriented, woozy, feeling a sense of déjà vu, and his head pounded so much it nearly blinded him. But not enough so that he couldn't see that Dean wasn't there.
He tried to move, to call out, but nothing came out of his mouth, his throat was so dry, he almost choked. Finally after several poor attempts, he managed a short "D'n," but barely a whisper. Frustrated, he reached for a cup he saw on the side table but only knocked it off instead. Tears slid down his face uncontrollably. Where was his brother? He just wanted Dean.
What if the dream he had hadn't been a dream, or had been some sort of hallucination? Maybe Dean really was dead, and he was all alone here, confused, with his head aching so much he had to close his eyes again.
He wondered if he should hit the call button for the nurse, but couldn't even make out which one it would be. He was very disoriented, and in pain, and frantic to find Dean or at least what had happened to him.
"D'n," he tried again, his tongue so heavy he could barely maneuver it around his brother's simple name, let alone project his voice enough to be heard. Defeated, and feeling alone, he slumped back and closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks and sobs shuddering in his chest. Where was Dean?
Dean finally got the coffee and headed back to the room, hoping the caffeine would help to wake him up. He decided it wouldn't hurt to catch a few minutes of sleep in the chair. Surely if Sam did wake up that night, he would let him know.
As he approached the room, a muffled sound stopped him in his tracks. It was faint and hardly distinguishable, but Dean would know any form of his name if it came from his brother at a time of distress, and his heart leapt into his throat as he practically barreled into the room, his eyes instantly on the bed. Sam's blankets were disheveled, a cup of water had splashed to the floor, and his brother was sobbing in the bed, his hands twisting in the blanket.
"Sammy," Dean breathed.
His little brother's eyes shot open and mixed feelings spread over his face as if not sure what he was seeing was real. Dean hurried over to the bed and grabbed Sam's hand, his own trembling with emotion as Sam's wet, hazel eyes locked onto his.
"Sammy, I'm here, it's okay."
"D'n," it was only a whisper, but that was all Dean needed. Tears slid down his own cheeks as he grinned, relief surging through him that his brother was back and seemed more or less whole, if a little distressed.
"It's okay, little brother. You're gonna be alright," he told him.
And all of a sudden Sam reached out and gripped Dean's arms tighter than the elder Winchester thought possible in his condition, his fingers grasping and pulling at Dean as if letting go wasn't even an option. There was real fear in his eyes as tears continued to fall, and Dean moved to sit on the side of the bed, reading his brother's expression without having to hear him say anything.
"I'm sorry I was gone, Sammy. I'm so sorry. But I'm alright, and you will be too now."
Dean saw his brother's chest shudder in another sob, maybe of relief this time, or residue fright, and he couldn't take it anymore. For the sake of not jostling him too much, he bent over and wrapped his arms around Sam, gathering him against his chest, hoping it would calm him.
"I was so worried, Sammy," Dean whispered into his ear, feeling the trembling still shaking through Sam's body. His brother felt so frail against him and it made him swallow hard. "I was so afraid you would never wake up."
The contact seemed to settle Sam. He eventually stopped shaking, and his breathing evened against Dean's throat, even though his hands still clutched Dean's shirt in a deathgrip.
"D'n," Sam whispered again. There was a pause, and Dean heard him clearing his throat but nothing came. He pressed against Dean's chest and the elder brother gently laid him back, so he could see his face but kept a hand on his shoulder.
"Sammy?"
"D'n," Sam whispered insistently, a frown deepening his brows as his mouth worked, but nothing came out. His hands tightened in Dean's shirt until his knuckles were white and Dean finally grabbed his wrists and pulled them away, letting Sam's fingers wrap around his own.
"Sammy? You good?" Dean asked, a sick feeling starting in the pit of his stomach.
Sam's mouth worked again, as he frowned in frustration, his fingers digging into Dean's hands, and then finally, his face crumpled as he looked up at Dean in desperation.
Dean swallowed hard and voiced the thought that was in his head. "Sammy? Can you…can you talk?"
Tears streamed down Sam's cheeks as he shook his head and Dean held him close to him again so his little brother wouldn't see the fear in his own eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sammy," he whispered as a little of his former relief came crashing down.
