AN: See? I can get a chapter out on time. Once in a while. But you might not want to get used to it, tbh.
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"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things.
Of shoes and ships and ceiling wax
Of cabbages and kings."
The Walrus and the Carpenter by Lewis Carroll
* * *
Sam knew he was in the hospital before he ever got his eyes open. He must have subconsciously registered the sounds and smells, he decided. That and the particular feeling of having pain but being distant from it at the same time. That only happened with hospital grade painkillers.
And that meant that something very bad had happened. Dean could and would take care of most injuries in chez motel-of-the-week.
As his senses slowly came online, Sam tried to remember what landed him here. There was a lingering feeling of dread, but it was almost like a remembered pain. Yet, he felt safe. Oh, that was why. He could hear Dean's voice. He concentrated on the words, at the same time putting together the events that had led to this point.
"...miles of the stuff, and it goes under half the buildings in town."
Oh, yeah. Titaniferous magnetite. Oneiroi. Tree. Ow.
A different voice was talking, but Sam missed what it said.
"I have no idea. We'll get Sammy's big brain working on it." A pause. "No, not long any more. He's just cinching up the string to make sure all his marbles are in place."
Sam couldn't help but be amused by the oh-so-Dean way of saying that Sam was trying to put his memories in order. The corner of his mouth curled.
"See? Toldja. He's just holding out on us. Time's up on your nap, Sammy."
Dean sounded so proud that Sam almost kept his eyes closed another few seconds out of sheer little brotherliness. Except he'd also heard the note of worry under Dean's easy words that probably nobody else would notice. And Sam just couldn't make him wait one more second.
He opened his eyes slowly, but it still seemed way too bright, and the light seemed to stab straight into his brain. But he squinted instead of closing his eyes because even barely awake, he could tell that Dean needed the connection.
There. Dean's face conveniently moved right in front of him. "Bout time you opened up those eyes. We've been waiting forever." Dean's words indicated annoyance, even indifference, but Sam's vision was clear enough to see the lie in Dean's eyes. He'd been worried, skirting the edge of freaked out.
"Cliff notes?" requested Sam, not really surprised that it came out hoarse. His mouth felt incredibly dry, which probably meant he'd been on an oxygen mask for a while, though now there was only a nasal cannula. Dean magically produced a styrofoam glass of water and offered it to him. Sam pushed his hands away and took a drink himself. As he'd expected, his question and show of independence made the line on Dean's forehead ease.
Dean would know that Sam was asking What happened? How badly am I hurt? Are you okay? and What's our cover? all in one. But instead of answering, he asked, "What do you remember?"
Sam considered. "FBI agents, missing kid, oneiroi, tree, you went for help, then the ground disappeared from underneath me." He frowned. "Though that could have been part of the dreams..." He trailed off. The dreams were a blank, except for a feeling of malevolence and the knowledge that the oneiroi was trying to kill him. But the specifics were gone. He could pull up a few fleeting images, but they were too disjointed to make any sense.
And trying to remember was giving him a killer headache. Sam slipped off the oximeter and rubbed his eyes. At the same time, he did a fuller inventory. Hospital bed, propped up at about 45 degrees, IVs in one hand and the other arm, one foot propped up with weighted pillows on each side of it and an ache deep in his hip on the same side.
"No, you were mostly buried when we found you." Dean answered his query. "But, hey, it meant you weren't stuck under the tree any more."
That was the second time Dean had said we. Sam rubbed his eyes one more time and was finally able to make out the person behind Dean, and the sight made him forget all of his questions. "Bobby?!"
Unfortunately, that was when a nurse came in. She paged the doctor and put Sam through a barrage of questions and checked everything over.
"How's your pain?" she asked at one point.
"Two," said Sam, rounding down a bit.
"Always round up with him, because he downplays how much it hurts," Dean threw out casually. "And I bet his headache's at least a six or seven."
Sam glared at his brother, in no small part because he was right about all of it. "My headache is getting better the longer I'm awake." That was true.
The nurse looked amused at the brothers' interaction. She handed Sam a silver button. "If you need pain relief, just push this button. Especially if your hip hurts. It wasn't out of joint when you came in, but the doctor believes it was minorly dislocated at one point, and we don't want to allow any swelling in the joint." Her pretty face grew serious. "Don't be tough about it. There's no place for the swelling to go, so it can cut off circulation and lead to a whole lot bigger problems than the current injury."
Sam sighed but nodded. He really wished Dean hadn't heard that.
She wasn't done, either. "For now, move around as little as possible, so we can get you out of here as soon as possible. Speaking of not moving, do you need the bedpan before I go?"
Sam blushed to the roots of his hair, ignoring Dean's sniggering at his reaction. "No," he said quickly.
The nurse pointed at a red button on Sam's other side. "Push that when you do, or if you need anything else, agent. Can I get you anything else?"
"Call me Sam," he mumbled, still not quite used to taking on a different personas. Then he brightened. "And, actually, I'm really hungry. Can I have something to eat?" He gave the nurse a hopeful smile and was surprised when she blushed in response.
"It will have to be something light until we know how it sets with the morphine you're on, but I'm sure I can find something." Determinedly avoiding Dean's amused gaze, she turned to the other men. "How about you two? Can I get you something?"
"That would be nice," said Bobby luckily before Dean could say something lascivious. Dean smirked but stayed silent.
"You," the nurse pointed at Dean. "Don't forget to use your crutches. You're lucky that the break is so minor, but if you aggravate it, you could end up with surgery after all."
"Break? Surgery?" Sam demanded as the nurse -- Terri -- stepped out.
The next few hours went by surprisingly fast, considering he was in the hospital, where Sam knew from experience, time usually dragged. They all ate soup, and he got the lowdown on Dean's injury from Bobby. Dean had a slight crack in the bottom of his fibula, but there was massive swelling in and around the ankle because he'd spent so much time walking on it -- even carrying Grace.
Sam was thrilled to learn that Dean had come across the girl, and that she was essentially unharmed. He was surprised to hear that Irv had given her "the talk," saying she was tough enough and old enough to hear it, and it was kinder than for her to forever doubt what she'd seen.
On the topic, Bobby said only "Irv has good instincts with kids." Neither Sam nor Dean had pushed for more information. Even the most affable Hunters seemed to have tragic backstories worth of a comic book hero.
To Dean's irritation, Bobby also related that the former was zero weight bearing until the swelling went down enough for him to get a walking boot -- which he'd need to wear for a minimum of four weeks.
That was about when the doctor came in. By the time he was done with his exam, Sam's pain was no longer quite so distant. The man, Dr. Kent, warned Sam just as sternly as the nurse had to treat pain by pushing the morphine button because it could indicate dangerous swelling.
He also explained that they were "mildly" concerned about Sam's foot. It had been twisted and without adequate blood flow for a while. Tests so far indicated that it was simply sprained, the muscles and tendons stretched and irritated, but not seriously injured. But they couldn't be sure until they took more images.
"Either way, you're going to be using crutches or a cane for a while, I'm afraid," he said sympathetically.
Sam sighed but nodded. "Well, it could've been a lot worse." And it could have. He'd heard from Bobby that the oneiroi had killed other victims when trying to trap them. He'd been a matter of inches from permanent injury or death. But it was still frustrating.
Dr. Kent had then had Sam push what Dean called "the happy button." Then he'd kicked Bobby and Dean out so a nurse and orderly could change Sam's bed linens and help him clean up and go to the bathroom. It was less painful and less embarrassing than it would have been without the pain medication, but it was still highly unpleasant.
Shortly after Bobby and Dean had been let back in, Grace's parents had come in to thank everyone, especially Dean. They'd even convinced Dean to swing by her room to say hi before she got released, admitting that she had a little crush going on.
Sam helped goad Dean into going. Dean needed to hear thank you more often.
A side benefit was that it gave Sam a few minutes with Bobby.
"Hey, Bobby." To keep himself busy, Sam pulled off the nasal cannula and oximeter. Unlike Dean, Bobby wouldn't mind much. "I, uh...I was gonna call and tell you about, uh, Jess" Damn, it was still hard to say her name. "I just...I didn't know how to say it over the phone, ya know? Especially how..." This wasn't much easier than the phone call would have been and Sam rubbed irately at the stubble on his chin. Bobby had been the only person from Sam's old life to know about Jess. The whole time he'd been at Stanford, they'd spoken at least once a month, and had emailed occasionally, especially when Bobby had an interesting case to share.
Actually, Bobby had always encouraged Sam to call Dean, though he'd never pushed. It wasn't fair that Sam hadn't told him he was back to Hunting with Dean or what had happened.
"When Dean told me, I figured that was it," said Bobby, not angrily, but with a wealth of understanding. "Seems like if you don't talk about it, it ain't real. Then time passes and you don't know what to say or how to explain why you said nothin' earlier."
Sam blinked up at his friend and mentor. That sounded like first hand experience, but no way was he pushing for more. "Yeah, exactly. It wasn't about you, not at all."
"I know. And I'm sorry about her, Sam."
The words were so simple, but they felt more genuine than 99% of what Sam had heard from the seemingly millions of people who'd come to Jess' visitation and funeral. Sam nodded his thanks and took a deep breath, and just like that, it was over.
Needing to avoid going down the rabbit hole of Jess memories and mourning, Sam changed the subject. "So, tell me about the oneiroi so we can figure out how to take care of it for good."
Bobby leaned forward and scratched his head under his cap. It was such a familiar position that Sam couldn't help but smile. It was Bobby taking on a thorny mental problem.
Dad and Dean were fine researchers -- damn fine, actually. But Bobby was the one who shared Sam's love of teasing out the necessary information to solve some riddle or puzzle. They'd spent many hours pouring over and old books and bouncing ideas and findings off each other.
Dean and Dad were more than capable, but they didn't love the search in and of itself like Bobby and Sam. In the same way, Bobby and Sam were no slouches to physical fighting, but they didn't revel in it the way the other two did. And that connection had always meant a great deal to Sam, especially in his teenage years when he'd often felt like the odd man out.
Unaware of Sam's musings, Bobby spoke. "Well, I s'pose you already know that the usual way to kill an oneiroi is to weaken or destroy its avatar, then say a certain incantation that appeals to Nyx."
"Avatar, in the Sanskrit sense? Or Hindu?" Sam sat up straighter, pain forgotten as he got caught up in the quest for knowledge.
"This geek party closed, or can the cool kids join too?" asked Dean from the doorway.
"No more cool kids allowed, but you can come in," Sam grinned, happy to be doing something. Bobby, naturally, just rolled his eyes at their repartee.
"Bitch," said Dean, awkwardly closing the door with one of his crutches. "I told Terri that Sammy and I will be napping, so nobody's gonna bother us for a couple hours at least. You're welcome, by the way."
He settled himself into the surprisingly plush chair someone had found for him -- hero status is handy -- and propped his legs up.
They began their unique combination of brainstorming and verbal abuse and Sam realized that, hospital bed and all, he was almost...happy. This felt like family. Their own strange version of it, but still family. He had loved Stanford and the challenges there, loved making friends and falling in love and learning to sleep in the same bed every night. But there had been a hole in his life, and this was it.
Suddenly, Sam wished Dad were there too. Even when they hadn't gotten along, he'd been an important presence in Sam's life. He'd helped Sam feel safe, played a big role in teaching him to be strong. Oh, there was no doubt that Dean had played the starring role in all of that, and was still the most important person in Sam's life, but Dad was important, too.
Sam realized that Dean was giving him a searching look. But if Jess was a rabbit hole, Dad was a minefield, and Sam was not about to go there. Besides, "I have an idea. But I'm not sure exactly how to do it..."
By the time they had a rudimentary plan in place, Sam was hard put not to squirm. The pain in his hip was becoming a living thing, but he wasn't ready to actually take that nap yet.
"Okay, that's it," said Dean suddenly, interrupting himself in midsentence. "Where's that morphine button?"
He made motions to start looking, but he was at an awkward angle, so Sam got it first. He wrapped his hand around it protectively. "It's here, but I don't need --"
As quick as a flash, Dean reached out, but he didn't try to get the device away from Sam. Instead, he pushed his thumb hard into Sam's wrist at the base of his thumb, making his hand contract and push the button.
"Jerk," complained Sam, annoyed at having the choice taken away, but unable to argue that he was hurting. He looked at Bobby, who only shrugged.
"Don't look at me. 'S done now. 'Sides, the doc told you you'd need it."
The pain was already receding, and the room starting to look soft around the edges. Still, Sam couldn't let Dean off the hook that easily. Catching his brother's eyes, more or less, he grumbled the Spanish phrase Luis liked to use when he was really irked at someone. Sam vaguely thought it meant I shit in your milk.
Bobby snickered, but Dean just leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "And you used to such a sweet kid." He sniffed, pretending offense. "Well, don't expect me to climb in bed with you and make it all better if you have a bad dream."
Sam's eyes didn't seem to want to stay open, but he was awake enough to succinctly tell Dean exactly what he'd do if Dean tried it.
He was asleep before Dean answered.
* * *
AN: I struggle with the chapters where characters have to catch each other up and share information and make a plan. So I hope it kept moving okay even though there wasn't a lot if action. I assure you that, though they're literally out of the woods, they aren't figuratively out of the woods!
Jenjoremy: Glad to scratch the itch! :-) I think I've got the rest of the story sketched out in my brain now, so I shouldn't be asking you too many more questions. I'm so happy you like Barb. She's my favorite.
Timelady66: You have the best reviews! First of all, the Winchester version of a trust fall is fabulous, as is the question about Sam recognizing visions versus dreams. Also, I first read miners as minors (late at night) and I was confused. LOL
supernaturalsammy67: But I'm a midwesterner; we apologize for everything! LOL I like how you and I are on the same page about the h/c. I've never been told something was smashing before, but I love it!
Christine: I had a similar way of dealing with tantrums when I ran a daycare. Kind of takes the wind out of their sails! And I'm so happy that you like Barb. :-)
Kathy: Yay! So glad you were entertained and not weirded out. The death portents turning into mini visions was a last minute addition, mostly to up the creep factor. Everyone's together now (even a little Sam / Bobby bonding), but there's still a monster out there.
JaniceC678: Oh, my, what a fabulous prompt! I think it's safe to say I'll use it! I can't promise that it'll be the next story, but it's very definitely on the list! Be aware that I'll bug you a lot while I'm writing with questions. :-) Stella is very much like my mom was...she was a nurse and was completely unrattleable. (Is that a word? Hmmm.) Anyway, it was fun to write Dean trying to figure out how a grandmotherly type outmaneuvered him, but it was really Jenjoremy's idea.
muffinroo: Have you been using your crystal ball again? Or are we just on the same wavelength because we've talked about some of this stuff before? Cuz I decided that Sam and Bobby needed to have a bonding moment, and I even made it that they stayed in touch during Stanford. As for the contract, I suppose that's what I get for not reading the fine print! Just supply plenty of peanut M 'n' M's and coffee (with the good creamer) and I'll write as much as you want.