Thank you so much Ktoon for beta'ing this for me. You're a star. Thank you also VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading and helping me hammer out all the details xxx
Chapter Three
The drive was hell.
Dean caught up to Mary on the interstate, and they kept pace with each other in the slow traffic that was made worse by a pileup on Route 97. When they cleared that, they were able to build some speed again before coming to the slower roads around the city.
Stopping for gas was torture as the tank wouldn't fill fast enough, and when the clerk at the gas station on the California border had trouble running his card, Dean nearly reached over the counter and strangled him. It was only the fact they had to keep their records clean for their jobs that stopped him, a stupid thing to care about when there was something so much more important waiting for him at the end of the journey.
The fact he had been teasing his mother on the way out of the forest and had been thinking of how he could brag to Sam about how he'd killed a wendigo while Sam had spent the week with his head in books seemed awful now—like he'd let him down. He and Mary had both had done that already. They'd spoken about getting a satellite phone for ages, but they'd never gotten around to it. If they'd had one, Bobby would have been able to get hold of them as soon as it happened. They could have been there sooner. They could have helped.
When he finally saw the high white face and glowing windows of the hospital ahead of him, Dean yanked the wheel to the left to overtake a minivan that was taking its sweet time moving and turned into the parking lot. It was late and there were spaces, so Dean skidded into the first spot he saw and threw himself out of the car. He ran to the entrance, not waiting for his mother, even though he saw her turning into a spot only a few cars away from the Impala and knew she would be on his heels.
When he got inside, he went straight to the desk. There was a man fumbling with a piece of paper and asking for directions to the cardiac unit.
Dean shifted from foot to foot, willing the man to get out of his way, but he seemed to be having trouble understanding the directions he was being given. When he could bear it no longer, he stepped around the man and leaned over the counter.
"Sam Winchester," he said curtly. "He was in a fire. Where is he?"
"I will be with you in a moment," the matronly woman said. "Let me just help this gentleman first."
Dean's fists clenched and he was forming an angry retort when someone grabbed his arm and tugged him back. He turned, breathing hard and preparing to face off with whoever was planning to interfere with him, and saw his mother standing behind him, her eyes tight with tension.
"Bobby called. He's on the fourth floor, ICU."
Dean's heart hitched up its pace even higher. ICU meant it was really bad. Sam was really hurt. Was it burns? They could be serious. Or smoke inhalation. Both could be life-threatening.
Mary pulled him away and Dean kept up with her fast pace to the elevators. He slammed a finger against the button to summon a car and watched as the lit number above the door crept down from floor five to four.
"Breathe, Dean," Mary reminded him.
Dean hadn't even realized he was holding his breath. He forced himself to unlock his lungs and draw in a breath, feeling the fog in his mind clearing slightly.
The car arrived and they both rushed inside. Dean hit the button for the fourth floor and Mary mashed her fingers down on the button to close the doors.
The man that had been at the desk was making slow progress towards them, leaning heavily on his cane and calling to them to hold the elevator, but the doors slid closed before he could reach them, and Mary called an apology to him. There was more than one elevator, and the man would get where to he was heading soon.
Mary took Dean's hand from where it was thrumming against his leg, and Dean squeezed her fingers, feeling her trembling. He had never seen her like this before. She was fearless when hunting, only showing stress when he or Sam were in trouble, and that was rarer now that Sam had stopped hunting and Dean had become experienced in the field. Now she was scared, and that made it even harder for him to be strong, though he knew he needed to be for her the way she always had been for him.
"He's going to be okay, Mom," he said quickly. "He's strong."
She nodded, seeming comforted. "I know."
Dean wished there were words he could use to comfort himself. The facts were working against it. Sam was in ICU, possibly fighting for his life, and even when they reached him, there would be nothing they could do but be with him. It was doctors and medicine that were going to save him, which meant Dean had to put his trust in people that weren't family to save his brother. He'd never been good at trusting other people to do things for him, especially not for something as important as this.
The car came to a stop and Mary tugged Dean's hand as she slipped through the half open doors. Dean rushed out with her and stopped and followed her gaze to a sign on the wall where directions were displayed.
"Through here," Mary said, turning right. She reached for the door with their linked hands and then seemed to realize she was still clinging to him. She gave him a small forced smile before releasing her grip on his hand and swinging open the door.
They stepped through and immediately the knot in Dean's chest tightened. It was much quieter here than in the lobby where he'd been waiting for directions, and the atmosphere was oppressive in its tension. Even without looking through the windows set into the walls revealing people surrounded by machinery, it was clear that this was a place for the seriously ill.
They rushed down the hall to a large desk where two people in pale blue scrubs were occupied with paperwork and a third was on the phone.
"Sam Winchester," Mary said loudly. "He was in a fire."
A man looked up from the chart he was completing and frowned. "If you could keep your voice down."
Dean's voice rose with his anger. "Tell us where he is!"
"Sir, if you cannot remain calm I will have to ask for you to be removed. This is intensive care. Our patients need peace to heal."
Dean's hand banged down on the counter; he was on the point of shouting, all sense and caution leaving him now that he was so close to Sam but being blocked from seeing him. Mary placed her hand on his and gripped it hard. She was still shaking and that acted like a bucket of cold water over Dean, taking his anger and replacing it with the determined calm persona he'd perfected hunting.
"Please," Mary said. "We just need to see him."
"Mary, Dean, thank god."
They both spun around and saw Bobby approaching quickly along the hall behind them. He looked awful. His eyes were shadowed, and his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. His clothes looked as though they'd been slept in and the hair creeping below his cap needed shampooing.
"Bobby!" Mary said, rushing towards him. "Where is he?"
"Through here," Bobby said gravely, indicating back along the hall.
"Mr. Singer," the man that had threatened to remove Dean called after him.
"These are Sam's mom and brother," Bobby said, his voice tense now.
"I see," the man said grudgingly. "I'll send the doctor in as soon as he's available."
"Thanks," Mary said distractedly, walking away with Bobby.
"That's Stuart," Bobby said quietly. "Real piece of work."
Neither Mary nor Dean replied as they rushed after him, coming to a door that Bobby opened and passed through. Mary pursued him, and Dean took a deep breath in an attempt to prepare himself before following.
It was loud inside, with beeps and a whoosh and clicking sound filling Dean's ears before he forced himself to look up from the floor and see Sam. He froze and gripped the doorway for support.
There was a plastic brace around Sam's neck and a mask over his face that held a tube that led into his mouth—and, Dean knew, down his throat—which was connected to a white machine beside the bed that made the whoosh-click sound. The beeps came from the heart monitors and a machine attached to an IV pole, which linked to a tube in the back of Sam's right hand. There was a grey oximeter clamped to his finger and electrodes on his chest. A blood pressure cuff wrapped around his left arm, and his right forearm bore a white dressing.
He was covered to the waist with a thin sheet and his skin was flushed. There were blue plastic bags filled with liquid positioned around Sam's bare flesh that Dean knew were cool packs. He and Mary had used them on many hunting injuries.
Mary was pale, and she swallowed reflexively as if fighting nausea. Dean felt the same way; his feeling of horror was making him sick.
Mary staggered toward the bed and stroked Sam's hair back from his face with a hand that trembled, and then bent and kissed high on his cheek where the mask didn't cover the skin. "Hello, love," she said gently.
Dean tried to take a step toward the bed, but his legs felt weak. Bobby came to him and gripped his elbow. "Come sit down," he said.
Dean took the offered support and stumbled forward to the left of the bed and collapsed on the chair Bobby had pushed close. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and said, "Hey, Sammy." He reached out to his brother and then pulled his hand back, unable to make contact.
"You can touch him," Bobby said. "You won't hurt him."
Dean forced himself to take Sam's hand, feeling the heat of his feverish skin and the tremor that he now noticed was present in his whole body.
Though he could feel the heat of Sam's skin, he was shaking as if he was freezing. "Is he cold?" he asked.
Bobby pushed a chair under Mary and she perched on the edge, her eyes fixed on Sam's face and her fingers stroking his upper arm.
"It's the fever," Bobby said. "He's not cold really. They talked about giving him paralytics to protect his spine, but they're worried there will be side effects for his chest.
"Is his…" Mary trailed off and wiped at her eyes that were tearing. "His spine?"
"It's not broken," Bobby said. "He's got reflexes in his legs and feet, but they're not sure what else is going on there. He took a fall. He had a concussion, too, but they think that's healed."
"How did he fall?" Mary asked. "I thought it was a fire."
"Something in the building exploded and he was thrown down the stairs. He's not been conscious since then."
"Why didn't you tell us it was this bad?" Dean asked, his forehead pinched tight over his brows.
"How would it have helped? You were already driving hell for leather and worrying. Knowing more would have just made the drive harder on you."
"We should have known," Dean growled.
Bobby raised his hands at his sides. "I did what I thought was right, what Sam would have wanted me to do."
"What makes you think you'd know what he'd want?" Dean asked, his voice rising.
Bobby started to retort, a bite of anger in his tone, but Mary spoke over him. "Stop, both of you. It's not helping anything, and Sam doesn't need to hear it."
Dean looked at her, seeing the tears that had wet her cheeks and the way her lips were pressed into a tight line as if she was holding back a cry. "Can he hear us?" he asked.
Though the question had been addressed to her, Bobby was the one that answered with an apologetic look to Mary. "The doctor said he probably can. He's not deeply unconscious; he can feel pain."
"He's in pain?" Dean asked, suddenly feeling very young.
Bobby considered before answering. "He shouldn't be right now. They've got him medicated, but when they test his pressure points, he reacts. That's a good thing," he added for Dean's benefit as Mary seemed to be lost in Sam. Dean guessed she already knew all this from her many years of hunting and first aid knowledge.
Dean nodded and set Sam's hand back down, hating the feeling of his overheated skin.
"What exactly happened?" Mary asked, looking up from Sam at last.
"I just know what the kid that came in with Sam told the doctors," Bobby said. "There was a fire and he dragged Sam out. When the place exploded, Sam was thrown over the rail and down the stairs. I got the call Monday and took the first flight out. I got here that afternoon."
Dean did a quick calculation. "He's been like this for four days?"
"No, he was worse before," Bobby said. "It was touch and go for a while with the smoke and head injury. They're not worried about his head anymore, but it's his chest now. He's got pneumonia."
Mary gently placed her hand on Sam's chest, as if she could heal him with her touch, and then stroked his cheek. "He'll be okay," she whispered, more to herself than to them, Dean thought.
The door opened, and Dean and Bobby looked around to see a man in blue scrubs and a white coat enter.
Bobby looked relieved. "Hey, Doc."
The doctor smiled slightly. "Mr. Singer. I understand the rest of Sam's family have arrived."
Bobby nodded. "This is Sam's mother, Mary Winchester, and his brother, Dean. This is Doctor Kempner. He's one of the doctors that have been taking care of Sam."
Mary seemed to drag her eyes from Sam again to look at the doctor. "How is he?"
The doctor approached the end of the bed and picked up a folder that he flipped open and turned a page of as he read down the notes then said, after a long pause, "He's stable."
Dean gaped at him. Was that all he was going to say? Sam was obviously seriously ill, fighting for his life even, and they were supposed to be comforted by the fact he was stable while doing it? Dean supposed he should be grateful the news wasn't worse, but he was poised on the edge of outright despair and he needed something to really hold on to.
The doctor seemed to realize he needed to give them more than that, and he set the chart back in its place and said, "Sam suffered a fall and smoke inhalation, along with the burn to his arm. The burn is only partial thickness, so it hasn't reached muscle or deep tissue, and while it will scar, it's healing well. We treated the smoke inhalation with oxygen therapy at first, but the damage to his lungs caused respiratory arrest so we introduced mechanical support."
Mary shuddered, and Bobby placed a hand on her shoulder as the doctor went on.
"He is triggering the vent on occasion—trying to breath for himself out of rhythm with the machine—but it's not enough yet that we feel safe removing him from the ventilator. The head injury we were concerned about has shown no signs of damage upon the immediate and following diagnostic head MRI's. We haven't been able to do an MRI of his back, as he deteriorated at the point we were going to take him to radiology. Though it is possible to do an MRI while on mechanical ventilation with the right equipment, we have decided against it for now as he's showing no indication that the injury is serious. His reflexes to stimuli are good, but we are keeping the neck brace on him as a precaution. When he regains consciousness, we'll do scans if they're indicated; he may be able to tell us enough to know that it's not needed."
Mary looked into his eyes as if searching for something. "He is going to wake up then?"
Dean hated that she even needed to ask. Sam had to wake up.
"There are never guarantees," Doctor Kempner said. "But I am hopeful. As I said, his head injury isn't serious, which is lucky given the height of the fall. I believe he is unconscious now as a result of the damage to his lungs caused by the smoke and the complication of pneumonia. His body is trying to deal with the stress by shutting down. We're treating him proactively, though. He is being given two broad-spectrum antibiotics intravenously and oxygen through the ventilator."
Dean knew he was careful not to make them promises that he might not be able to keep, but he wished the doctor could give them more than just his assertions of hope. Perhaps he understood what they needed, as he went on in a more positive tone.
"Sam has improved already. He was deeply unconscious when he was admitted, but now his GSC is five. His blood pressure and pulse are good. He's fighting this, trying to breathe alone and wake up. When we're confident he can maintain his own respiration unaided, we'll remove the ventilator, as that can add its own complications to pneumonia." He looked from Mary's scared face to Dean's. "I know it looks scary here with the equipment, and he is seriously ill, but he's strong and fighting back."
"He would," Bobby said quietly. "Kid's too damn stubborn to do anything else."
Dean's lips quirked into a smile. Sam was stubborn, and that had made growing up with him hard sometimes, but he was grateful for it now as it aided Sam's fight to recover.
The doctor approached Mary's side of the bed and checked a readout on the machine. "We need to adjust Sam's medication and attend to some of his personal needs. You will need to leave for a while. There is a room you can use while you wait. We'll tell you when you can come back in."
"Sure, okay," Bobby said, standing without showing the concern and reluctance Dean felt.
Dean didn't want to leave already, he wanted more time with his brother, but Mary was getting to her feet and following Bobby to the door. She glanced back when she realized Dean wasn't with them and smiled sadly with understanding.
"Come on, Dean," she said encouragingly.
"It won't be for long," Bobby said confidently. He was obviously used to the routine from the days he had spent here with Sam alone.
Dean forced himself to his feet and patted Sam's hand. "We'll be right back," he said, and then turned and walked past his mother and Bobby out of the room.
Bobby led them to a door at the other end of the hall and pushed it open, leading them into a small room with a comfortable looking couch and chairs across from a table with a coffee pot and paper cups. On the middle of the coffee table was a strategically placed box of Kleenex that made Dean think this was the place where bad news was usually given. He picked up the box and threw it into the corner, ignoring Bobby and Mary's surprised looks and soft-spoken words.
He dropped down onto the couch, and Mary sat down beside him and took his hand. He allowed her to link her fingers through his. He was sure the comfort was being taken as well as offered, and that made the touch bearable, even though he felt like his nerves were raw and exposed, just as he had since he'd walked away from Sam's bedside.
Bobby poured two cups of coffee, doctored one with a pot of creamer and packet of sugar the way Mary liked, and then put them down on the table in front of them. Neither Winchester reached for a cup, though the caffeine would surely be as welcome to Mary as it would be to Dean after their nights of restless sleep in the tent and the long drive.
Mary cleared her throat and her hand twitched in Dean's as she said, "Bobby, what about Jess?"
Bobby bowed his head. "She didn't make it out of the fire."
Dean fingers clenched for a moment before he heard Mary's gasp and realized he was crushing her hand. He pulled free and apologized quietly.
He was horrified. Jessica was dead. He'd only met her a few times, though he'd spoken to her on the phone between times when he'd called Sam and she'd answered. She was a sweet girl that had obviously adored Sam, which had endeared her to them straight away. Sam had loved her, too. She had been good, kind and smart, and she was gone. Dean felt a lump form in his throat.
"I thought she had to be," Mary said, wiping away the tears that had started to fall again. "I heard the voicemail, but…" She sucked in a jerky breath. "This is going to destroy him."
Bobby nodded. "Her parents have come in every day to see Sam. They're…" He rubbed a hand over his face. "I don't even have words to tell you what a mess they are. They come and ask about Sam, and they obviously care about him, but I feel so damn relieved when they're gone."
Dean frowned. Bobby knew grief; he had felt his own and he'd been in the hunting life a long time so he'd seen other peoples' sufferings. He'd never seemed unable to face anything before.
"Is it that bad?" he asked, unsure whether he wanted to hear the answer.
"It's probably worse than you're imagining," Bobby said. "You can feel their pain just being close to them. But that's not the worst thing. When I see them and how they're hurting, I can't help but be glad it's them and not me. That fire could have killed Sam just as easily as it did Jess, and I am so damn grateful it was her not him. Looking into their eyes when you're thinking that, knowing they know it, too, makes you feel like a monster."
Dean understood what Bobby was saying as he felt the same way. He was devastated that Jessica was dead, and not just because of what it meant for Sam, but he was also guiltily grateful that it had been her and not Sam. If it had to cost one life, he knew which he needed it to be.
Mary sniffed and said, "We all feel it, Bobby. They would feel it too if it had ended the other way around. It's human. It doesn't matter now, anyway. Sam has to be our only concern. When he wakes up, he's coming back to a world where he's lost the person he loves. We know how that feels. He's going to need us strong, not twisted with guilt for something we can't do anything about."
Bobby nodded and cleared his throat gruffly. "I know. You're right."
Dean picked up his coffee and took a sip for something to do. He held the cup with both hands in an attempt to stop their shaking. He had been scared since they'd got out of the forest and Mary had gotten that voicemail, terrified even, and he'd thought there was no room to feel more, but now he did. He realized that, even if they were lucky enough to get the best outcome of this whole nightmare, for Sam to wake up and recover physically, there would still be hell for Sam to pay mentally. After the trauma he'd gone through, the guilt he was surely going to feel as the survivor of the fire that had killed the woman he loved, his grief…he was going to be wrecked.
Dean had never loved anyone the same way Sam loved Jess, but he loved his family. Mary, Sam and Bobby were the most important people in his world. He didn't know how he would be able to live without them, but that was what they were expecting Sam to be able to do. They didn't just need him to be physically strong to come out of this. He had to face a different hell and live, too.
It would be better for Sam to sleep as long as he could, to be spared that pain, but Dean was counting on him to be awake and with them again soon, even knowing what it would mean for him.
He felt like a monster, too.
So… They're together at least. Writing Mary was hard in this story as it isn't the version I've written before in my late season stories. She's essentially a different character that's lived a different life. I had to find her voice and decipher how she would feel and then show it through her actions as Dean was the one telling this scene of the story. I hope I managed to make her come to life for you.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx
