"Traumatic glaucoma." Sam's eye doctor announced dismally as Sam sat stiff in the hospital bed, too terrified to move. The younger boy clung to his brother's arm like a lifeline, his fingers twined so tightly through Dean's that the older boy occasionally winced.
Dean kept his hand in place. What Sam was going through was so terrible that Dean could barely comprehend it. If all he could offer was his hand as comfort, he damned sure wasn't going to deny Sam that.
"It's temporary, right?" John's voice wavered a bit.
The doctor hedged. "We can treat it. The first line of defense is medication to relieve the pressure that's built up inside his eyes. If the medicine doesn't work, then the next step is surgery."
"Is the surgery guaranteed to work?" Dean asked.
The doctor sighed. "Nothing is guaranteed, son. But let's not cross that bridge until we have to, okay?"
"But Sam will get his vision back, right?" John wanted promises.
"Honestly, I don't know."
Sam whimpered, his hand flexing in Dean's.
Dean reassured him by rubbing the boy's arm.
"What are his chances?" John was close to barking. "Give us numbers, at least."
"I don't have them, John. I'm sorry. It all depends on whether scarring has occurred, and if so, how much. I suspect Sam has intraocular bleeding that caused angle recession. Typically, we don't see this much degeneration until years after the injury. The fact that Sam went downhill so quickly gives me hope that it's just a build-up of pressure that's changed the angles of drainage in his eyes. If so, his vision will return once the pressure is relieved."
John nodded, able to breathe again. "So what do we do?"
"Take him home. There's no need for him to have to remain here. We'll get him started on the antiglaucoma meds and see where they take us."
"I wanna stay here." Sam spoke up quietly.
The room fell silent.
"What was that, Sam?" The doctor asked.
"I wanna stay here. I wanna stay until I … I can see again. I can't l-leave here blind."
The man placed a comforting hand on the thirteen-year-old's shoulder. "I know it's a scary place to be right now, Sam." He said, pulling up a chair and sitting next to the bed. "But we'll start you on the medication before you leave, and then you'll come back here every week, okay? In the meantime, you have your father and your brother to look after you." The doc looked down at Dean's hand woven so tightly in his brother's. "And something tells me you're going to be well cared for." He smiled.
Sam's throat worked convulsively. "Please!" He whispered. "Please, let me stay!"
The doctor looked away, trying to gain control of his voice before speaking again. What was happening to the boy before him was one of the saddest things the man had ever witnessed.
"Sam." He stopped to clear his throat. "I'm going to give your dad the number of a counselor who specializes in helping people deal with overwhelming obstacles. She'll be able to …"
"No!" Sam screamed, wresting his hand away from Dean's and exploding from the bed. He took two steps and ran up against the edge of the open bathroom door so hard he bounced. He stumbled backward then and hit the hard wooden corner of the chair arm before coming to rest on all fours on the floor. "No! I don't wanna counselor! I want to see! Please!" It became a wail, "Please! Make me see again!"
"Shit, Sam!" Dean dropped to the floor beside his brother. It had all happened so fast, Sam was on the floor before Dean even realized he was moving. He grabbed him by his slight shoulders and pulled him up. "You're gonna see again, Sammy." He promised. "You will. But we're not leaving you here, little brother. No way." He pulled him close and rocked him gently. "You will, Sam. I know it."
Sam lost it then. He placed his forehead on his brother's shoulder and burst into pain-filled sobs. "Why, Dean?" He mourned. "Why is this happening to me? All of it? I … what did I do wrong? What? Tell me? I can't … I don't think I can take any more. Make it st-stop, Dean. Please, make it stop."
Dean's eyes closed. Sam never suffered that his brother didn't feel it like a knife in his own chest. If he could, Dean would take Sam's blindness from him without thinking twice about it. In fact, the older boy knew he would happily spend the rest of his days locked inside a world of darkness if it meant that his little brother might have light.
But this was one burden Dean knew he couldn't lift from Sam, and it broke his heart.
"Come on, Sammy." He tugged the boy up off the cold floor. "Let's take it one step at a time, okay? You take the medicine. We'll take you home. And then we'll figure it out from there, okay?" Dean reached for the box of tissues on the bed tray, and gently wiped the tears and snot away from his brother's face. "Just … one step at a time, little bro. We'll get there. I promise."
And the trauma of the day might have ended there if a young man in a three-piece suit wasn't waiting outside in the hospital corridor to engage them. When the trio stepped out of the room, Dean leading Sam by an elbow, the man stepped forward into their path.
"Are you John and Dean Winchester?" He asked in a friendly sort of way.
When Dean nodded, the man placed an envelope into each man's hand and beat a hasty retreat. "You've been served." he smiled back, winking.
As Dean stood stunned, John opened his summons and read it, his face turning a brighter shade of red by the moment.
"Son of a …" He uttered, disbelieving.
Dean frowned, afraid to look at his own. "Dad? What is it?"
"It's a summons to testify as a witness at Leslie's trial."
Dean was confused, "Weren't we going to do that anyway?" He asked.
"For Dell, Dean! We were going to testify against her. This is a summons to appear as a witness FOR the defense, not against it."
"What does that mean?" Maybe it was all the stress of last few weeks, but Dean still didn't get it.
But John was too pissed to sugarcoat it. "I think It means we testify on her behalf, Dean. FOR her and AGAINST your brother."
