Do You Smell Toast?
6:30. Alarm in his phone buzzing.
Sam would likely sleep some more, but doesn't give himself the luxury. There is work to do – a lot to research, gear needs cleaning after the latest hunt – really messy one. No, definitely no naping. But why his head hurts so fuckin' much?
He drags himself out of the bed and walks to the kitchen. Somebody has to make a morning coffee and, from his experience, it's not gonna be Dean.
Sam's head hurts so much that, to be honest, he can't see clearly. Maybe a morning run would help? Who knows.
He takes the jug from the coffee maker and fills it with water. Then something strange happens: in the corner of his eye Sam sees something… something like a table set richly with candy - all kinds of it. Yes, now he perceives it fully – there are M&M's, cakes, Cheetos, jelly beans and… marshmallows on nachos?! What the hell?!
Sam doesn't get the chance to process all of this occurrence, because something (somebody), jumps at him from the back yelling "hiiiiii!" and oh fuck, Sam's instincts take control and he deals a punch right in the creature face, and it (he?) falls on the floor.
"Who are you?!" Sam growls, holding the intruder by the front of his shirt.
"It's me, Sam!" answers the human-shaped creature in a striped shirt and pants with suspenders. "It's Sully!"
"What?" gasps Sam.
"You remember me, right? I made all your favorite snacks! We're friends… like best friends, you remember?"
Sam is holding his fisted hand high, ready to punch again, eyes wild with confusion.
"Sully, yeah" he hestitates. "No. You're not real."
"How'd you punch me, then?" giggles the apparition that calls himself Sully.
Sam is just standing there, frozen, with one arm stretched straight grabbing Sully, and other one holding high, ready to strike again.
"This can't be happening" Sam states, but his conversation with Sully interrupts Dean, who comes to the kitchen in his slippers and bathrobe.
"Dude" – Dean calls. "Who are you talking to?"
"Him?!" – divulges Sam, not loosening his grip at nothing.
"Are you having a stroke?" – implies Dean, looking around the room. "Do you smell toast?"
Sam looks at Dean, then to the left, disoriented. He lowers his hands unsurely.
"What…?" he asks weakly, swaying. Pain in his head increases abruptly. He presses his hand to his forehead in a reflex.
"Whoa, whoa! Sam? You okay?" – Dean is close in one fierce jump, grabbing his arm and keeping him upright. "Talk to me!"
"My head hu…uurts" – the last word is slurred. Why can't he talk normally?
This is the last thought Sam have before darkness takes everything and drags him with it to the floor.
OOO
"Fuck!" swears Dean, trying to safeguard Sam's fall to the floor, so he doesn't harm any part of his body too much. When Sam lies safely on his back, Dean pats him on the cheeks and shakes him lightly, trying to rouse him. "Sam! Sammy! Wake up, c'mon!"
Dean's body is flooded with adrenaline. Sam is still unresponsive. His body starts to seize, convulsions starting in the right side of his body, but after just a few seconds it expands to his left side also.
"Okay, oh right, oh right, I gotcha, I gotcha." – mutters Dean, holding Sam's head so it wouldn't trash on the floor while his body jerks.
The seizure goes on for agonizing fifty-five seconds (Dean is aware enough to count, just like dad instructed him a long time ago), and then Sam's body stills. Sam is unconscious, but breathing. His pulse is fast and erratic. Dean puts him in a recovery position and runs to the garage. This is wrong. This is very wrong. He has to get his brother to the hospital right fuckin' now.
OOO
Sam is a weighty sonofabitch. Despite the rush of adrenaline, carrying him to the Impala is not an easy task, but Dean manages.
He drives as if chased by a pack of hellhounds, breaking every speed limit on the way. He stops just in front of the ER sliding door. Jumps out of the car and storms into the ER, yelling:
"Help! I need some help here!"
He must look really needy, because a rescue team approach him almost immediately.
"Sir, tell us what's happening." – orders one of the paramedics.
"My brother. He is in the car." – he gestures to the Impala. "I don't know what happened, he said that is head hurts and lost consciousness, then he had a seizure." – Dean explained, but before he even finishes, paramedics are getting Sam out of the car and placing him on a stretcher.
Everything happens hurriedly. There are shouted commands, movements, doctors, bags of fluids, syringes, overall turmoil. Sam is wheeled somewhere, but they don't let Dean follow. They tell him to wait, to be calm, to sit down. He truly can't. He is pacing back and forth in the waiting room.
An hour passes. And then another.
Dean feels like he has to punch something, or he will go insane.
"Family of Sam Fitzmartin?" – a young doctor asks, throwing him out of his boiling panic.
"Yes!" - reports Dean, approaching the man in a smock. "I'm his brother, Dean Fitzmartin. How is he?"
"Mr. Fitzmartin, let's sit down" – suggests the doctor, pointing to the nearest chairs. It's bad – thinks Dean. Sitting down foreshadows bad news.
"My name is Adam Olsson, I'm professor's Richings assistant. Professor Richings is a neurosurgeon and he is operating your brother Sam right now."
"N… neurosurgeon?" – gasps Dean weakly.
"Yes, Mr. Fitzmartin. Were you aware that your brother had a condition called brain aneurysm?"
"Aneurysm…? No… No, I wasn't."
„A brain aneurysm is a bulge or ballooning in a blood vessel in the brain. You can imagine it as a berry hanging on a stem."
"That doesn't sounds so bad." - notes Dean.
"Unfortunately, a brain aneurysm can rupture, causing bleeding into the brain." - doctor continues. "In your brother's case, all indicates that an aneurysm in his brain was leaking firstly for some time, and then it ruptured, causing a hemorrhagic stroke."
"A stroke…?" Dean feels nauseous. Are you having a stroke? – he remembers his dumb joke, and instead of laughing he wants to scream.
"Yes. I'm really sorry to tell you this, but it was an extensive one." - doctor Olsson sounds really sympathetically. "Professor Richings is trying to extract as much blood as he can, but some damage was already done. He will also attempt to safely remove a second aneurysm, which we found in your brother's brain scan."
Somebody is fumbling in Sam's brain right fuckin' now. A neurosurgeon. It's so bad that they called a fuckin' neurosurgery professor to operate Sam.
"Are you telling me that my brother will be brain-damaged?" - asks Dean in a brittle voice.
"All I say is that you must be ready for that eventuality." - clarifies dr Olsson. "We don't know how substantial the damage will be, it's hard to perform a proper assessment when patient is unconscious."
"So, he might be all right as well?" - supposes Dean.
"Mr. Fitzmartin, he might, but it would be a miracle. I have never seen a patient come out of it completely unscathed. The stroke affected the left cerebral hemisphere mostly, so we're quite sure that there will be problems with the right side of Sam's body. Paresis and paralysis are possible. Left side was affected by the stroke too, but in a lesser extent. Now our main concern for Sam is to survive the operation."
Dean is speechless. Words like "neurosurgeon", "brain-damage", "survival", "paralysis" compared to his brother petrify him.
"Is there any other question I can answer for you, sir?" - inquires the doctor.
Dean managed to forget about doctor's presence, so sudden question startles him.
"When… ekhm…" he has to cough to get his voice out. "When can I see him?"
"When he is out of surgery, he will be transported to the ICU. You'll be allowed to see him there."
"Okay."
"Okay. Once your brother is settled, a nurse will take you to him. Now, if you excuse me, I will return to work."
"Thank you, doctor."
Dr. Olsson just smiles kindly, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes, and he leaves the waiting room.
OOO
The surgery took five hours. It's 3 p.m. when they call his name again in the waiting room, and a nurse escorts him through levels and corridors to the Intensive Care Unit. She orders him to put on a disposable scrubs and mask to protect the patients from germs and they enter the ward.
If the nurse haven't pointed him the exact bed, he wouldn't recognise his brother.
Sam is lying on his back, sorrunded tightly by machinery and monitors. His head is bandaged, there is a cannula sticking out from the dressing. He is on the ventilator, so he has a tube in his throat. There are electrodes glued to his chest. Honestly, there is so much tubes, lines and monitors that it makes Dean dizzy. Sam doesn't even look like Sam. Hell, he doesn't even look like a human, more like a white-blueish alien, lying livelessly on a laboratory table. Machines are beeping, humming and clicking silently, the light is bright and cold and oh God, this is so close to dying that Dean feels like he has to throw up.
"B... Bathroom?" - he asks the nurse in a thick voice.
She instructs him and he walks fast, closes the cabin door and pukes.
Are you having a stroke?
All he sees is white, burning light that causes his eyes to water, all he feels is biting, acidic flavour in his mouth.
Do you smell toast?
He retches again.