Chapter Twenty-Five
"Are you certain you want to do this, Mr. Gorman?" Dr. Greene asked the man sitting across from him in his office.
"Yes," Randall said, "I am sure."
Dr. Greene nodded, "If everything goes well and you are indeed a compatible match to Sam Winchester you will be doing a very selfless act of kindness."
Randall tilted his head.
"It is rare non-family members volunteer for living donation of organs," Dr. Greene explained.
"Ah," Gorman said, understanding, "I just want to do good for someone who deserves it. I'd heard about the situation at Dunhill and wanted to help out."
The doctor nodded, "Before you can even be considered we need to run a few tests. A blood test, for one, to make sure that you're the same type as Mr. Winchester and a nucleic acid test to detect HIV or Hepatitis C."
The doctor looked at the man somewhat apologetically as he described the reason for the last test but explained that it was necessary. Randall told the doctor that he was willing to do the tests.
Dr. Greene handed him a stack of forms that he was required to fill out and Randall set to work, determined to help the young man he had never even spoken to.
SPN
"What's for dinner?" Dean asked as his stomach rumbled.
Bobby looked up from the head of lettuce he was carefully cutting, "Roast chicken and salad."
Dean made a face, "That's it? No chili? No steak? What's with the girl food, Bobby?"
John, sitting at the kitchen table to keep his friend company looked at his eldest, "Sam's on a strict diet. No excess salt or fluid and minimal protein. Bobby suggested that it didn't really make sense to prepare two separate meals so we're going to eat what Sam has to eat."
Dean stared at his father; surprised that John wasn't forgoing the near-vegetarian meal for a heartier substitute.
"We're all going to eat it?" Dean asked and John nodded.
The young man nodded, "Okay."
John returned the gesture and turned to speak to Bobby.
"One question though," Dean interrupted, "Who are you and what have you done with my Dad?"
John looked at Dean, his expression hurt. Bobby turned around, plastic knife in hand, "What, son?"
Dean took a breath, "Not that I'm complaining or anything but… before we knew about Sam's kidney, Dad, you were ready to bail. What changed?"
John sighed and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.
"Sam's worse. That's what. Before… he was blind and yeah, that's shitty but he could get along fine with some practice… now… he can't go on the road whether I want him to or not. He may be on dialysis for a long time… he could get very sick and if I wasn't with him… Well, let's just say that I've smartened up a bit, okay?"
Dean nodded; his lips pursed but accepted his father's answer.
"I understand," he told John; and he did, sort of, "Just do one thing, alright?"
"Anything," the father replied, leaning forward slightly.
"Don't you ever act like that again," Dean said coldly, "Or I will personally kick your ass."
With that said, the twenty-two year old left the kitchen.
John sat stunned for a moment before looking at Bobby.
"You wanna put the chicken in the pan?" the grizzled hunter asked, ignoring the father's astonished expression.
SPN
Sam's fingers flew over the raised dots of Braille with a new confidence. He'd almost begged Dean to use the label-maker Rayann had given Bobby to print out Braille labels for every item in the house within reach- from the coffee table to the older hunter's desk, the bookshelf, closet and more- and now was memorizing the words for them, hand trailing across the markers Dean had placed around the first floor.
"You want to take a break, Sammy?" Dean's voice asked from behind him, "You're gonna get blisters if you keep that up."
Sam chuckled, dropping his hand- the other gripping the handle of his cane- and turned.
"How are you feeling?" Dean asked as Sam approached, judging the distance by the sound of his older brother's voice.
"Great," Sam replied and he could almost hear Dean's eyebrow rise.
"Great? Huh, maybe I should try dialysis," he commented.
Sam smirked.
"C'mon," Dean said and Sam felt his brother's hand on his arm, "Bobby's making something special for supper."
SPN
Randall Gorman slipped his jacket off and onto the back of a rickety, slightly sticky motel room chair.
It would take a couple of days for the blood work to come back so he had only time to kill.
He sat down on the end of his bed- a black and red tartan blanket covering the white sheets- and turned on the television.
The news came on- the usual tales of doom and gloom- and Randall quickly changed the station. Leaning back on his elbows, he settled into watching some sappy movie on the Hallmark channel.
His mind however, drifted.
He wasn't a bad guy, no, as far as bad guys went he was pretty mild in comparison.
Sure he did jobs for shady people and organizations but he'd never killed anyone. He was certain that at least some of the people he'd tracked down were dead but that wasn't his fault, now was it?
But karma was a bitch and Randall decided he should get all the Brownie Points while he still could.
It wasn't only that, though, he'd seen the North Hall of Dunhill Psychiatric, had sensed the emotions of the people who'd been kept there for the greed of others and he felt compelled to do something about it.
He might not be able to help all of the kids who'd ended up been hurt by Findlay and his goons but he if he could help one- Sam Winchester- then maybe that would be enough.
Randall smiled suddenly; thinking of the much-used quote that stated that with great power comes great responsibility.
When he was a kid he never imagined he would use his power- his ability- to potentially ruin peoples lives. When he was a kid he was just happy that he'd been crowned the champion of hide-and-seek among his friends.
And now what was he doing? Tracking down idiots hiding from the Mob and cheating spouses?
Yeah, he'd really make his mother proud if she could see him now.
So, deciding to be selfless- altruistic- for one moment in his life, Randall had decided to donate his kidney. After all, the average person could live quite comfortably with only one kidney.
And something about Sam Winchester had struck Randall. He didn't know what it was but he knew he'd be a fool to ignore
SPN
"Sam!" Dean ran up the stairs, taking two at a time when he heard the loud crash come from the bathroom.
"Sammy!" He threw open the door without knocking and stared at his brother sprawled out on the floor, the plastic shower curtain tangled around him and the spray of hot water spilling over the tub and onto the floor.
"Sammy," Dean breathed and reached down to help his brother up, "What happened?"
He sat Sam on the closed toilet lid and brushed his wet bangs from his brow, grimacing at the cut above his eyebrow.
"Jesus Sam," Dean murmured and grabbed a towel to wrap around his sibling's shoulders.
"I'm okay, Dean," Sam muttered, raking his hair back from his forehead, "I just slipped."
"I can tell," the older sibling replied.
"Dean? Is everything alright?" John's voice coming from the bottom of the stairs startled both brothers, Dean turned to the door, hoping their father wouldn't enter the room.
"Yeah! We're okay!" Dean called and he listened as John's footsteps moved away.
"Okay," Dean turned back to his brother, "Let's get you cleaned up and dressed."
He handed Sam his clothes- a pair of old sweatpants and a t-shirt to sleep in- and grabbed the First Aid kit Bobby kept under the sink.
Carefully, once Sam was changed into his clothes, he dabbed at the cut on his brother's brow with a piece of gauze.
"I don't think it'll need stitches," Dean told his brother, "It's already stopped bleeding."
Sam smiled slightly, "Sorry for…"
"Hey, don't worry about it," Dean assured him, "It was an accident."
Sam nodded, blushing slightly with embarrassment.
"Why don't you call it an early night?" Dean suggested, "You've had a big day."
Sam chuckled, "Yeah, first ever dialysis appointment and finally making it home after all that time in the hospital; exhausting."
Dean breathed a laugh and squeezed his brother's shoulder.
Sam stood and frowned.
"Sorry for the-" he began but Dean interrupted, shaking his head, "Don't worry about it. I'll clean this up."
The brothers headed down the hallway to the bedroom and Dean let Sam go the rest of the way on his own. Sam didn't even need his cane, he knew where everything in the bedroom was and counted the steps it would take to get from the doorway to his bed.
Dean watched as Sam reached down and grabbed the sheets, pulling them back before climbing onto the mattress and searching for the blankets a moment before he found them and pulled them up.
"Good night, Sammy," Dean called and his brother muttered a response, already falling asleep.
W
"What happened?" John asked, looking up as Dean stepped into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
"Sam fell in the shower," he replied and both Bobby's and John's eyebrows raised in surprised.
"He alright?" The grizzled hunter asked, concerned.
Dean nodded and took a drink of his beer, "He has a cut on his forehead but other than that he's fine as paint."
"Is he coming down?" John asked.
Dean shook his head, "I sent him to bed. He's beat."
John glanced at the clock on the stove, "It's only seven o'clock."
His eldest son shrugged, "Sam needed it. I think that dialysis did a number on him."
"He should be better tomorrow," Bobby added.
John looked up at Dean and smiled hesitantly.
His son met his gaze steadily and nodded, "He'll be alright."
Author's Note:
Thanks to SPN Mum, whimsicalbarwench, Ghostwriter, BranchSuper, mandancie, MysteryMadchen, and SamDeanLover28 for reviewing.
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