Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this for me and Gredelina1 for all your help. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. You're all awesome.

Chapter Nine

Dean was woken the next morning by Alfie's arrival. He thought at first that they'd slept later than usual—Sam was still sleeping—but when he checked his watch, he saw that it was still quite early. He pushed down the feet on to the sleeper chair and took off his blanket.

"Good morning, Dean," Alfie said cheerfully. "How was your night?"

"Better," Dean said. "This chair is way more comfortable than the couch was, and Sam slept well. I only woke a few times, and when I did, he was out."

Alfie handed him a paper cup of coffee and pulled up a chair. "The couch must have been really uncomfortable if that is better. I heard people complain about those chairs for years."

"Believe me, it's a step up," Dean said.

"This must have been very difficult for you."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, it's been tough for sure."

He had been through actual hell before, but this had been worse. There wasn't much in his life that he'd experienced that had been harder than this, and the things that were this kind of bad all centered around people he loved dying.

He sipped his coffee and said, "You're here early."

"I was sent," he said. "Elsie wanted you to have a fresh breakfast, and I was getting under her feet. She's preparing the house for your stay, and I was trying to help. I should have learned before now that my help is not always welcome when she has a project. There was little to do in the garden, so I left her to do it unhindered."

"Well, it's good to see you. I wanted to get cleaned up, but I didn't want to leave Sam alone in case he wakes up."

"I can stay with him," Alfie said. "You take care of yourself for a while."

Dean thanked him then got out of his chair and carried his coffee out and along the halls to the locker room where he'd stowed his duffel the night before. He nodded a greeting to the people at the nurses' station as he passed and smiled. The rehab ward was much nicer than the ICU had been. The people there had been great and very kind to him, but there had always been an underlying tension there due to the seriousness of their work and the precarious condition of the patients. Rehab was calmer, though it was louder.

He drank the last of his coffee and tossed the cup into the bin before opening his duffel and taking clean clothes and his wash kit out. He figured with Alfie watching Sam, he had long enough to shower properly.

He set his clothes down on the bench and went into one of the curtained off showers. The water ran cool and gradually built to hot, but Dean wasted no time before shampooing his hair and soaping up. He still didn't want to be gone longer than he had to be. The water felt good though. It eased some of the knotted muscles that had been tense so long he'd stopped noticing them. It was only when they were relaxed that he realized how bad a state he'd been in.

When he was cleaned up, he dried off and wrapped a towel around himself and went back to the benches to dress. He left his chest bare as he moved to the mirror to brush his teeth and shave.

He was just swiping the razor over his chin when the door opened and a smell of vomit preceded a man into the room. He was about Sam's age and he was wearing pale green scrubs, the shirt of which he carefully pulled off and tossed into a laundry bag. Dean saw a spatter of puke on it.

"You're Dean, right?" he asked. "Sam Smith's brother. I heard you'd be in here."

"Yeah," Dean said, rinsing his face and patting it dry with a towel.

"I'm Ethan." He gestured to the laundry bag. "One of the patients didn't tolerate his meds as well as we'd hoped."

"Not Sam?"

"No, Sam's fine. He's happy talking with your buddy. I'm going to be his assigned nurse today. We're trying to give him continuity of care by sticking with the same staff as much as we can. It's proven to provide better care for someone with Sam's condition."

"Brain damage you mean?"

Ethan shook his head as he took a clean scrub top from a locker and pulled it on. "I don't like that term. I prefer injured. Damaged seems final, and those kinds of injuries rarely are. Sam doesn't need to hear it either. Injuries can heal. Survivor is another word I like to use."

Dean thought of all the things Sam had been through in his life and realized the term was perfect. Sam had been through tremendous grief and loss, demonic and archangel possession, a lifetime of monsters and a demon's plan set into action when he was just six months old. He had actually gone to Hell and been trapped there almost two centuries. Yeah, he was a survivor.

He even felt a little better at the idea. He had treated this thing like a tragedy and it was, but it was also one more thing for them to fight their way through: another case. They knew what the monsters they were facing were—a brain injury, epilepsy, PTSD—and now they had to find out how to beat them. Medication, therapy, and time were the first steps. Dean needed to educate himself, read the "lore" associated with Sam's conditions. He needed to be prepared for whatever these monsters threw at them the same way he would on a hunt. He was going to give Sam the best chance at getting back to how he had been as he could. This time he had to do his own research, not rely on Sam's.

"I think survivor works," he said. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Anytime," Ethan said easily, moving to the basin to wash his hands.

Dean quickly packed up his kit and stowed it back into the locker before pulling on a t-shirt and buttoning up his shirt over it. "I'll see you," he said before slipping through the door onto the ward.

When he got to Sam's room, he saw he was sitting up in bed with a Tupperware bowl on his lap, spooning up fruit salad. Dean grimaced at the thought that fruit was on offer for him, too, and then smiled as Sam grinned at him. "Alfie's wife sent this for us."

"You sure that's not my breakfast you're eating, Sam?" he asked with false seriousness.

"Would I let him do that after what he said about you eating the wrong food?" Alfie asked. "Elsie sent plenty for you both."

"You'll like it," Sam said guilelessly.

Dean watched him spoon up some blueberries and smiled. "I'm sure."

"Elsie is a woman on a mission," Alfie explained. "I told her about your dietary habits, Dean, and she is going to make some good, wholesome food you."

Dean scowled. "You've busted me, Sam. I was getting pie, too."

"Dean likes pie," Sam supplied.

"Well I am sure she can still be persuaded to make a pie," Alfie said with a smile.

Sam laughed at Dean and, feeling the lightness Sam brought when he was like this, Dean pointed at him. "Yeah, laugh it up, I heard it's cheeseburgers for lunch."

Sam shook his head. "Alfie brought sandwiches, too."

"Doomed to a life of health," Dean said sadly.

"Yes, you are," Alfie said. "Now that we know the truth, we'll be very careful with you. Once my Elsie gets something in her head, she's unstoppable. She's a forceful character, and her mission now is your heart health."

Sam laughed, and Dean relaxed. It all felt so normal and right. He could almost believe the doctors were wrong about Sam's brain injury. But then his bubble was burst as Sam paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth and his gaze became unfocused.

"Sammy?" he asked.

Alfie held up a hand to him and watched Sam carefully. "This is not a seizure," he said quietly. "Something else is going on."

"That's what the shrink said," Dean agreed. "He thought it could be Sam's way of protecting me from what he's seeing with the trauma."

"He could be right," Alfie said. "The brain can be a mystery even to me. There's no real way to know exactly what's going on unless Sam can tell us what happens to him. We shouldn't ask him though; it might upset him. We have to wait to see if he tells us himself."

Sam stayed inside himself for a long time. Ethan came in before he returned and frowned when he realized why Sam didn't answer his greeting. He didn't push him; he just waited for Sam to take a deep breath and his eyes to focus again.

He seemed a little confused, and blinked drowsily at Ethan as he said, "The doctor is coming in soon to run through some more checks with you, Sam."

"I don't like having checks."

"I know you're probably tired of them, but the sooner they're done, the sooner they can work out when you can get out of here," he said. "You want to get home, don't you?"

"Yes," Sam said quickly. "I want to go now."

"Maybe not now, but soon, I'm sure. And the checks are a big step towards that. So I was thinking maybe you'd want to get cleaned up before they come. Have a wash and a shave."

Sam rubbed a hand over the scruff on his jaw and nodded. "I want that."

"Have you got some clean clothes?" he asked. "I bet you're sick of the hospital clothes."

"I don't know," Sam said, then glanced at Dean. "Have I got something?"

"You should have some sweats in your duffel," he said, thinking of the clothes Sam had bought when he started his running sessions. "I'll go get them."

"Okay," Sam said, looking a little unsure.

Dean stood and smiled reassuringly at Sam. "I'm coming right back."

"Thank you."

"I'll come, too," Alfie said. "I should stretch my legs."

They walked out of the room and along the hall to the elevators. Alfie pressed the button to summon a car, and when it stopped, there were already people in it. They stepped in and rode down in the awkward silence of a group of strangers trapped together for a short time. It pinged to a stop and then all stepped out and went their separate ways, Dean and Alfie heading for the exit.

Dean realized as he stepped outside, that he hadn't had real fresh air for days, not since he'd gone to retrieve his duffel from the car and check it out after Garth called him to say it was ready. He drew deep breaths and smiled slightly. It felt good, normal.

"It's been a while since you saw the sun too, hasn't it?" Alfie asked.

"We had a window," Dean said with a shrug.

"That's not the same and you know it. This is called taking care of yourself, Dean, as we keep reminding you."

"It'll be easier now," Dean said. "Sam's doing better, and he'll hopefully be out of here soon. We can take care of each other then."

They got to the spot where Garth had parked the Impala and Alfie examined it. It was an insult to the name Impala, a plastic piece of crap, but it was roadworthy and legal, and therefore not going to get them busted for grand theft auto.

"So this is the car Sam told me you call Baby," Alfie said.

"What? No!" Dean said, offended on behalf of the real Impala.

"It's not?" Alfie frowned.

Dean realized his mistake and quickly tried to cover. "No, I mean yeah, this is Baby." He felt wrong even saying the words.

He saw Alfie was unsure, but he didn't push the subject. He waited beside the car as Dean rooted through the duffels of weapons looking for the one with Sam's clothes in it. He pulled it out and slammed the trunk closed. He started back to the entrance, and then realized Alfie wasn't with him. He turned back and saw Alfie standing by the cars still. "What's up?" he asked.

"We need to talk," Alfie said, walking to meet him.

"About?"

"Sam's diagnoses."

"Can we not?" Dean asked. "Can't we just get this back to Sam?"

"We can do half of those things," Alfie agreed. "We can take Sam his things, and then we can talk while he washes up."

Dean frowned. "And if I don't want to?"

"I don't imagine you do, but as this is for Sam, I think you will."

Dean walked away to the entrance and then through the lobby to the elevators. Alfie fell into step at his side and neither of them spoke as they waited for the elevator car and rode up to the third floor. When they got into the room again, Dean saw that Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed looking expectant. The IV in his hand had been clipped off.

"Ethan said I can get up now," he said happily.

Dean looked to Ethan for confirmation and he nodded. "We've already tested Sam's strength and balance. He knows he's going to feel a little weak, but he's ready to try."

"You sure, Sam?" Dean asked.

"Yes!" Sam snapped. "I want to."

Dean raised a hand. "Okay, man. As long as you're ready, go ahead." He handed Ethan the duffel and said, "Everything you'll need is in there."

"Here we go then, Sam," Ethan said, moving to stand beside him. "Just like before. Lean on me if you need to."

Sam rose to his feet slowly and laid a hand on Ethan's arm to get his balance before setting off to the bathroom. He looked a little unsteady but he was doing it, and Dean didn't want to make him pissed again, so he didn't ask if he was okay.

"Well, you're much taller than I realized," Alfie said. "Seeing you lying down was deceptive."

"Tell me about it," Dean said. "Kid's a damn giant."

"Not a kid, Dean," Sam said, though there was no heat to the words. He walked into the bathroom and Ethan followed him in and shut the door behind them.

"Very tall," Alfie said thoughtfully. "But he is younger?"

"Yeah. He was a midget growing up, and then he went through this growth spurt around sixteen and I don't think he's stopped growing since."

Alfie smiled. "It's good sometimes for the younger sibling to have some advantages."

"He's definitely got them," Dean said. "He's smart as a whip and his hands are damn fast. He…" He trailed off as he realized what he was saying. Sam was smart as a whip but he couldn't access that now. He was tottering across the room to get to the bathroom. If Dean put a gun in his hands now, would he lock and load like lightning still or would he not know what he was doing?"

Alfie seemed to know what he was thinking as he said, "He's still that person."

"I know," Dean said. "What did you want to say about Sam before?" He didn't want to hear it, but at the same time he didn't want to explore the other topic more.

Alfie sat down and smoothed the wrinkles in his pants. "I was wondering if you wanted to speak about what happened yesterday with Doctor Platt, what you discovered."

"I didn't think they'd tell you anything about it."

"They didn't. I read Sam's chart while he was sleeping. I wasn't prying," he said quickly. "I was just checking on his stats and the diagnosis was listed there."

"He's got PTSD," Dean said. "Did you know that before?"

"I thought it could be from what you said, yes. What have they recommended as treatment?"

"He's got to take some meds now. Antidepressants and an antipsychotic."

"Is that all?"

Dean shrugged. "The shrink was talking about therapy, too. He's offered to do it pro bono, coming to Sam instead of me bringing him back here all the time."

"That's wonderful. It will make the process much easier on Sam. They can use my study to meet in. It's at the rear of the house, so we won't disturb them while they're talking, and it's comfortable."

"I don't know," Dean said evasively. "I'm still not sure we're saying yes yet."

"Why wouldn't you?" Alfie asked. "This is a gift, Dean. He's willing to do it for no charge. Do you know what therapy would cost otherwise?"

"He wants to use Sam as a guinea pig. He wants to do some case study and then write an article about him."

"Would that be so bad? What is an article for but to share knowledge and help others? I have written many in my life, and I never thought of a patient as a guinea pig. They were enabling me and others to save lives in the future. Why would you deny Sam something he needs out of some false sense of protection or pride?"

Dean frowned. "You think this is about my pride?"

"Don't you? Be honest with yourself. Is this not even a little bit about Doctor Platt offering to do something for Sam that you think you should be able to do yourself? I have seen how much you love your brother and how hard you will fight for him, but this time that fight isn't just on you. It's on me and Elsie, Katherine and Doctor Platt, the nurses and orderlies; we're all fighting for Sam. You would not deny Sam treatment from a surgeon as they can do something for Sam that you can't, so why would you deny Doctor Platt's expertise?"

Dean considered. He had thought he was protecting Sam by not agreeing to the therapy straight away because he didn't want Sam's condition to be splashed across journals and articles. He didn't think Sam would want that, but now he thought he might be wrong. If Sam knew he could help other people somehow, he would agree to it in a heartbeat. He was a hunter, a man that gave everything to help.

Dean hadn't lived a sheltered life—it was the furthest thing from it in fact—but he had lived in a kind of bubble. He'd known about the real world, the world of demons and monsters, since he was a kid, but he didn't know enough about the world other people lived in. Before Lisa, he hadn't had a normal home since he was a child; he'd never paid a utility bill in his life or written a check; he'd barely dealt with doctors and never real insurance. That was Lisa's world, Alfie's world, and he needed help. He had to let Alfie guide him.

"Okay," he said. "He can do it, help Sam. I'll let him, and I'll explain it to Sam. He was pretty honest with the doc yesterday, so maybe he will be again." Though hopefully not too honest.

"Good," Alfie said, satisfied. "While we're on the topic of explaining things, how much of Sam's diagnoses do you plan to share with him?"

"I don't know. Do I have to tell him any of it? It might really upset him to know about his PTSD or brain injury."

"It might, and perhaps waiting to see how Sam settles would be wise before springing that on him, but I think he should know about the seizures. If one strikes again, a big one, he won't be unaware of it. It will be far more frightening if he doesn't know what's happening to him."

"I know," Dean said, raking a hand over his face. "I just don't want him to be scared."

"He will be more scared if it happens to him and he's not warned."

Dean thought back to his revelation that this was another case for them. He would never hold back information on what they were hunting, no matter how much it would scare Sam, because that would get him hurt. It would hurt Sam to not know what was happening to him now, too. This was how he could protect him: by arming him with information the way he would have armed him before with a gun. He wanted this case to be a win, so he had to do what he could to prepare them both.

"I'll tell him," he said. "And if there's a need to tell him about his injury or the PTSD at some point, I'll explain that, too. I don't think there's a reason to yet. He can't prepare himself for that."

"I agree," Alfie said. "There's one more thing," he said. "I have been given instructions by Elsie to find out a little more about you both. It's established that you are a pie man, and apparently Sam has distaste for cheeseburgers—which I don't think Elsie has ever cooked in her life—but I need to know more. Is there anything either of you are allergic to?"

"Nothing," Dean said.

"And what foods does Sam prefer?"

Dean considered. "He's not exactly fussy, but he does prefer being healthy. Eating on the road means he eats a lot of salad because even when we find a diner, he says they load extra fat and salt into everything. On the rare occasions we eat somewhere decent though, he'll eat anything that he calls 'real food'. He doesn't like burgers or fast food, but I'm guessing that won't be a problem with Elsie."

"You're quite right," he said. "She's is very much a three kinds of vegetables per meal cook. The only time I ate fries after I was married was in the cafeteria here. I miss them," he said a little dolefully.

Dean laughed. "Before they check Sam out, I'll buy you a cafeteria lunch. You can have all the fries you like."

"I'll hold you to that," Alfie said, pointing a finger at him. "Ah, here we are."

The bathroom door opened and Sam came out, followed by Ethan. He looked a little pale, as if he had worn himself out cleaning up, but better now he was cleanshaven and dressed in his own clothes. His eyes were bright, too, though when he got to the bed he sat quickly and sighed.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. Feel much better."

"You look it," Dean said. "More like yourself."

Sam nodded. He pulled himself up the bed and crossed his legs in front of him. He looked at Dean carefully while toying with the hem of his hoodie sleeve nervously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Dean said quickly.

"You're upset." He looked at Alfie for an explanation. "What happened?"

Dean drew a breath and looked at Ethan. "Can you give us a minute? Maybe tell the doctors to give us a little longer before they come for their checks."

"Of course. Let me know when you're ready."

"Thanks," Dean said.

Ethan walked out and closed the door behind him. Alfie's eyes followed him and then he turned to Dean. "Would you like me to go too?"

"Sam?" Dean prompted. "We need to talk about some stuff. Do you want it to be just me and you?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What stuff?"

"Important stuff," Dean said evasively.

"About me?"

"Yeah," Dean said, refusing the urge to avert his eyes from Sam's to avoid seeing his distress.

"Alfie can stay," Sam said. "He's good."

"He is," Dean agreed, the innocent statement making him smile. He was pleased that Sam had taken to Alfie so quickly, just as he had. There was just something about the older man that made you trust him. He had a feel to him.

"Tell me," Sam said.

Dean gripped his knees and said, "When you were in the accident, you hit your head, Sam. Do you remember?"

"No."

"That's okay, it doesn't matter, but you were hurt. Before they could get you out of the wreck, you had a seizure. You had one when you were in the scanner before the surgery, too."

"Surgery?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed.

"They had to operate to save you. You'd hurt your liver, and there was another bleed and it was hurting you."

"Okay," Sam said slowly.

"You had more, Sammy. When they did the test on you with the light, it made you have another one, and there was one before you were awake."

"That's four," Sam said. "I don't remember them. Why don't I remember them?"

"It's normal," Alfie said. "You were unconscious for most of them, and it's common to have some amnesia of the event after. It's nothing to worry about."

"But they're gone," Sam stated. "So it's okay now that I'm awake."

Dean swallowed hard. "They're not, Sam. The test with the light was to find out if you were epileptic, and you are."

"I'll have more?"

Dean looked at Alfie pleadingly, needing him to intervene.

"Perhaps," Alfie said. "You have been started on a course of medication that will help to control them. That's one of the pills you've been taking. I have seen some people have no more once they're medicated. I have seen some have more before we find the right medication for them. It's trial and error."

"I don't want this," Sam said, his breath quickening. "I don't want seizures!"

"And I don't want you to have them," Dean said sadly. "But this is what's happening. We have to find a way to deal with it now. The medication will help you, but you need to keep taking it."

"It'll fix me?" Sam asked.

"It will help," Alfie said carefully.

Sam turned to Dean. "You'll fix me?"

Dean wished more than anything he could. "I am going to learn everything I can about it," he promised. "I'll know how to deal with it if it happens so I can keep you safe."

"I will teach him," Alfie said. "We can take care of you together."

Sam still looked unsettled. He frowned at Dean. "You can't fix me?"

Dean shook his head. "I wish I could, Sammy. You know I would if I could, but this is something we have to fight, not fix. Understand?"

A tear streaked down Sam's cheek and he wiped it away quickly. "I don't want this, Dean."

Dean stood and walked to the bed. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled him close. He felt Sam's body shake as he began to cry openly.

"I don't want this," he moaned.

"And I don't want it for you," Dean said hoarsely. "But I'm going to take care of you like I always do. We're going to kick this thing in the ass and you'll be stronger."

He felt Sam stiffen and he pulled back quickly, thinking Sam was going to seize again. He didn't, but his face was blank and his eyes distant. Dean paled.

"He's okay, Dean," Alfie said.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly. "He'll come back, I know that, but what's he coming back to now he's scared? Look at him, Alfie. He's alive, he's here, but he's gone at the same time." He turned wet eyes on his friend. "And I can't fix him. He wants me to, he needs me to, but I can't save him from any of this."

"I know," Alfie said solemnly. "I'm sorry."

Dean turned to Sam again and waited for him to come back so he could do the little that was possible for him to help, wishing all the while there was a way for him to fix it for Sam.

So… That was a heck of a revelation for Sam. Being able to write his reaction as more than the dismissal we'd have in canon was a pleasant change.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx