Back From The Brink

"We were able to stop the bleeding in time, but we had to give him four transfusions. This was a very serious injury that could have killed him, but you all got him here in time."

"Can we see him?" Dean asked, anxious. He'd been sitting in that waiting room for over four hours after they'd carted Sam off to God knows where. The doctor in front of him pushed his glasses back onto his nose and hugged Sam's chart closer to him. The doctor seemed almost scared.

And he was kind of scared to be truthful. He'd seen Dean pacing that room like a caged tiger, had seen the young man's face as they'd brought the boy in, watched as Dean's face had filled with rage when they had taken his brother away and had not allowed him to follow, and he knew the man in front of him was capable of removing anything that stepped between him and his family, and that was just from a short exposure. And right now the doctor was that thing standing between him and the youngest member of the family. He almost wished he hadn't traded shifts with Dr. Stevens.

"I'm sorry, but he's being prepped for the post-surgery tests. He had massive trauma to some very vital organs, and we were very lucky to be able to repair them. Nothing had to be removed, he was very lucky."

"I don't consider a near death experience very lucky doc," Dean said, his tone serious.

"Alright Dean, that's enough, why don't you go sit," John said as he returned balancing three cups of coffee.

"I…"

"Now."

Dean's jaw clenched but he didn't say anything. Taking one of the cups, he settled himself on one of the couches.

"How is he?" John asked after setting the other two cups on the small table.

"With some rest and careful observation, I believe he'll make a full recovery."

"When can we see him?"

"He should be done in about an hour. I will come and get you myself when he is ready."

"Thanks."

John turned and faced his other son. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, and then pulled up a small chair so he could face the couch.

"Dad, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I...well...when I punched you..."

"Oh son," John chuckled. "While I must admit it surprised the hell out of me, I think I'll be ok."

"I don't even know why I did it."

"I'll bet I can guess," Jim said, sitting down next to Dean. "Grief. Shock. Anger. You had one heck of a cocktail of nasty emotions Dean, it can get to the best of us and make us lash out."

"Yeah? I'll bet you've never decked your father."

"No, but I've decked yours."

Dean's eyes widened in surprise. John let out a small laugh. Even Pastor Jim smiled, a twinkle in his eyes.

Dean frowned again. "What I felt…it doesn't even come close to the hell Sammy was feeling."

"What do you mean?" John asked, leaning forward.

"The demon, she showed me what he was feeling. He was being straight up tortured. I don't think we're going to be getting the same Sam back."

"Demon's lie, you know that," John said, grabbing Dean's arm and giving it a small reassuring squeeze before letting go.

"No, I felt him. I felt Sam. In all that chaos, Sam was there. The demon couldn't fake that. I…I don't think Sam's going to be ok."

All three men fell silent at the statement. They all hoped to God it wasn't true.

It was not just the physical injuries Dean was worried about. The three men had speculated that the demon had done some major damage to Sam's body as she exited, probably out of desperation to be alive, clinging to her last means of survival. She had torn at his insides, almost killing him. Dean was scared.

-SN-

It was so cold. It surrounded him, stealing heat from his body, leaving him empty. He was alone, he knew that.

He wondered where he was. He had been in that Hell. He had never felt such raw and powerful emotions. They had torn through him mercilessly, not leaving a shred of peace or hope behind. He knew he'd never see his family again, he just accepted it. He was so tired of fighting.

But he was somewhere new. He could feel something hard beneath him. He heard the sound of a constant beeping off to his side. A small burning itch on the back of his hand caught his attention. He moved his hand, and was relieved when he felt the burning itch intensify. He was sure that meant he was alive again.

A small click sounded to his left. He heard soft footsteps pad across the room.

The smell of old leather drifted towards him, comforting him. He knew that smell.

A hand grabbed his arm, softly, and shook it.

He peeked his eyes open, and waited for his vision to focus.

"Dean."

Dean smiled when he heard Sam say his name. "How ya doin' Sam?" He didn't care if he got caught; sneaking in there had been worth it to see Sam awake.

"I feel like crap."

"Having a demon tear you apart from the inside can have that affect on you."
Sam's eyes widened and Dean immediately regretted letting that slip. "Sorry Sammy."

"Is that what happened?"

"How much do you remember?"

"I remember the ritual…then…" Sam lowered his gaze, tearing it away from Dean's. "Nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"What do you mean 'am I sure'?"

"I know what happened to you."

Sam stayed silent. What could he say to Dean? How could he even come close to describing the pain and torment he'd felt in that God awful place?

"Sam, talk to me."

"I can't."

"Sammy, you have to-"

"I SAID I CAN'T DAMNIT!!" Sam snapped, his eyes filling with anger.

Dean took a step back, shock etched in his face. He could only stare in amazement at his fuming brother.

"Please, just leave," Sam said quietly as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow. Why was he so angry? He really didn't want Dean to leave, for him to be alone. But right now Dean's presence was suffocating...

"Alright, you want to be alone? Fine," Dean replied quietly. He immediately regretted his choice of words, the look that now settled on his brother's face was killing him. Shaking his head before he could regret saying anything else, he turned and left.

He had felt the torment Sam had been subject to. He didn't even know how Sam was alive. Any lesser being would have given up after five minutes in that place, including himself.

He also knew, deep down, Sam would never be okay. The job had scarred him, and Dean didn't know how to help him. For once, Dean couldn't protect him. How was he supposed to save his brother from himself?

"Dean, there you are. Doc said we could go see Sam now," John said, walking up to him.

"I'll be outside," Dean said, not even looking at his father.

"Dean, did you hear what I just said? Let's go see your brother."

"I'll be outside," he repeated, heading out the double doors.

John stared after his son in confusion. Shaking his head, he decided one son at a time.

"I'll go talk with Dean," Pastor Jim offered. John nodded, and the men split up.

"Sam?" John said, pulling up a chair next to Sam's bed. Sam didn't move, didn't open his eyes. "Son, come on, time to wake up now."

The sight of Sam laying in that bed killed him. Dean's words echoed in his head…I don't think Sam's going to be ok…

John shook his head in denial. No, Sam was strong, both of his sons were. He'd be ok.

"Dean?"

"I don't want to talk Jim, I just wanna be alone."

"Well that's too bad," Jim replied, winking. He sighed when he got no reaction out of Dean. "Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Well, I think you should."

"Well, Jim, no offense, but I'm not a big fan of the touchy feely stuff."

"This doesn't have to be touchy feely. You're a little too full of yourself, you know that?"

Dean met the older man's eyes, raising his eyebrow.

"Maybe I came out here to find out about Sam. Did you think about that?"

"Why would you talk to me to find out about Sam?"

"I know you went to see him. Judging by your current attitude, it didn't go well. Dean, tell me what happened. Maybe I can help him."

"He's just so angry. I've never seen him like that. Not a whole lot scares me, you know? But I'm honestly scared for him." The words poured out of Dean before he could stop them. His confession had stunned even himself. Is that how he really felt? He watched the range of emotions that passed over Jim's face, and surmised that he was also fearful for the youngest hunter.

Dean continued, not bothering to stop the next flow of words, "I mean, I don't know how to help him. How am I supposed to save him from himself? And I've never been any good with emotions…how am I supposed to help him?" He honestly wanted an answer from the older man.

"You can be what you've always been to Sam. A big brother."

"That doesn't really help."

"You'll understand what I mean. Just continue to be the support that Sam needs."

"That still doesn't really help."

Jim chuckled. "It will."

John rubbed his tired eyes, frustrated. Sam had woken, but hadn't said a word. He just lay there, looking out of the window, silent.

"Sam, look at me."

Nothing.

"Sam, damnit, look at me!" He couldn't help the frustration that added anger to his words. Sam was hurting, it was obvious, and John didn't know how to make the hurt go away. He couldn't kill it, he couldn't exorcize it, all he could do was sit there and stare at his broken son.

A thought struck him: why did he think his son was broken? Of all the words he could use to describe Sam, broken was the term that came to mind.

"Dad." The single word choked out of Sam. "Dad, I don't want to hurt anymore."

"Where does it hurt?" Alarm grew, sending panic through his system.

"Everywhere," his son whispered before closing his eyes once more.

"No, no, this is not going to happen," John said with a new sense of determination. He'd be damned if a demon took another Winchester.

Jim and Dean walked carefully into Sam's room, and were surprised to find it empty. John was no where to be found.

"Sam?" Jim said carefully, walking slowly up to the bed. Sam continued to stare out the window, not even acknowledging his visitors. Dean stood near the door, almost afraid of stepping any closer to his brother.

"Sam, talk to me," Jim said, pulling up a chair and settling himself in. Sam's head still faced the window, his expression still blank.

"Do you know what it feels like?" Sam said, startling both his visitors.

"What does what feel like?" Jim asked.

"Hell."

"No."

"Then how are you going to help me?" Sam's blank gaze came to rest on the pastor. "I could open my heart and soul to you, tell you all about the badness, and how are you going to make it go away?"

Jim was speechless. Sam's words sounded cold, calculated.

"I will never be able to shake that feeling," he continued. "I'll always remember how it felt. I'll always remember who sent me there." Sam's eyes shifted to Dean, accusation pouring from them.

Dean's lips trembled as he stared at his little brother. Without a word he turned and left, not able to bear what he had seen in Sam's eyes.

"Sam, he didn't send you there, I did," Jim said, his anger growing. He tried to keep it at bay. Sam had been through a lot, and it was going to take time. Time was going to take patience. Patience was not one of the stronger Winchester traits.

"Well he sure didn't do anything to stop it, did he?" Sam turned and faced the window again.

Putting his face in his hands, Jim listened as Sam's breathing evened out. He was asleep. Sam needed help, he needed his family. The one of the two people he could count on also needed help after what had just happened, and the other was no where to be found. So Jim did the only thing he could think of, he prayed.

Sam didn't know why he was so angry. He hurt. Everything hurt. The physical pain he could endure. He had endured much of it throughout his short life. It was the emotional that he could not. Every fiber of his being was overwrought with pain. One emotion rose above the rest, consuming him until he thought he was going to burn up from its intensity. Anger. Sheer, unabashed, unapologetic, unleashed anger.

It scared him, the fact that it could take over him and make him say those things to his family. His life. He needed to be alone now, he couldn't take the concern he saw on Jim's face. Turning his head back towards the window, he slowly let his breath even out, as if in sleep. He heard Pastor Jim murmuring quietly. He was praying.

Sam wanted to tell him it would do no good. Surely there was no Lord up there, only the hell below them. The hell that had stolen his life, his love of his family, any positive emotions he once felt were lost in the inner turmoil that now consumed him.

As soon as Pastor Jim had finished his prayer, he got up and slowly left the room. Sam raised his head, letting out a small gasp as the movement caused pain to ripple through his chest. Ignoring it, he reached up and flipped off the machine.

He knew if he removed the little paddles, they would begin to shriek at the loss of a heartbeat. After the machine powered down, he removed the little sensors. Next, he reached down and removed the IV. Fluid began to drip, soaking the sheets. Uncaring, he threw it to the floor where it continued to create a puddle.
He carefully lowered himself to the floor once he was free of the machines. His head swam as he stood, threatening to send him crashing back down to the floor.

He pressed his hands into the bed, willing the world to righten itself. When it did, he took a shaky step towards the cabinet in the corner. He sighed with relief as he reached it, and found a pair of his clean clothes inside. His laptop was even perched in the corner.

Knowing he didn't have much time, he dressed as quickly as the pain would allow. Grabbing the strap to the laptop, he hoisted it over his shoulders, wincing as the physical pain tore through his chest. He then made his way to a cabinet on the other side of the room. Grabbing as much gauze, sterile wipes, and antibiotic ointment as he thought he'd need to care for his stitches, he shoved the supplies into the pocket of his laptop case. The pain once again made itself known as he adjusted the strap so it rested higher on his shoulder.

Ignoring it, he walked carefully to the door and listened for a presence outside. He heard nothing. He sighed again as he popped his head out into the hallway, and found it empty. He stepped out into the deserted hallway and made his way to the elevators.

He had just stepped inside and pressed the bottom floor as Dean rounded he corner.

Dean was furious. How dare Sam? After all they'd been through, after all of the moments he wanted to have, how dare Sam shut him out? He was going to fight for his brother whether his brother wanted it or not. Sam was not just going to become bitter and allow the anger to overcome him. Dean was going to help him through it.

Pastor Jim had helped him to see that anger made Sam say what he had said. He knew that Sam wouldn't blame him for sending him, that was not the way he was, even if it had been Dean's fault.

Dean was going to step up and be the bigger brother. He was going to be the support Sam needed. He was going to be that kick in the ass his brother would need to step back into reality.

As he rounded the corner, he heard the elevator close, but paid no attention. His gaze was fixed on Sam's door, nothing was going to distract him. He had the whole conversation played out in his head, and he didn't want to forget any of it.

All of it blanked in his mind as he stared in shock at the empty room. The pads that had previously been monitoring his brother's heart lay scattered on the bed. The IV needle lay on the floor in a large puddle. The cabinets that had housed Sam's clothes were open and empty.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, running to the window. He got there in just enough time to watch in a horrid fascination as the Impala race out of the parking lot. He jammed his hand in his pocket and pulled the keys out. "Son of a bitch!" he repeated. He stormed out of the abandoned hospital room, now on a search for his father.

Ok, just a few more. Thanks for following. :)