A/N Just FYI, I am working on another story and it should be posted sooner rather than later (unlike last time)
A huge THANK YOU to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favorited! You guys make it so much easier to push through the hard days and to keep writing. :)
Chapter Seven
That evening, Dr. Holland came around and Dean held his breath as she examined Sam, hopeful that she would have the tube removed. Dr. Holland only shook her head, however, and ordered the breathing tube to be kept in for an additional twelve hours to ensure that Sam's lungs had an adequate time to heal.
That was probably for the best, but it was still disappointing.
In the privacy of Sam's room, Dean and Cas had debated the benefits and disadvantages of Cas simply healing Sam but, in the end, they decided against it. For one, they weren't quite sure how to pull the tube out without creating more damage and Dean was very sure that Sam didn't need any more traumatic hospital memories than he already had.
The hospital staff was also paying them far too much attention. Dean knew that they were trying to make up for what had happened with Fred, but them popping in at any random moment to provide any service that they could possibly need was not what Dean liked or was used to. It would also bring far too many questions if Sam was suddenly and miraculously healed.
Perhaps the biggest reason, however, that Dean chose not to immediately grab Sam and run came early in the afternoon with a soft knock at the door.
Gordon was standing there, holding the hand of a woman. Dean quickly stood, and Cas followed suit.
"I came to see Sam," Gordon said quietly after a gentle prompting from the woman who could only be Mrs. Sato. Dean and Cas shared a look.
"He's…sleeping," Dean settled on, bending down to be at eyesight with Gordon, who looked crestfallen at the news.
"I really want to see Sam," he persisted stubbornly.
"I know, buddy, but the doctors gave him some stuff to make him sleep, and he's pretty out of it right now." Dean cocked his head to the side, forcing a small smile. Gordon didn't need to see Sam with all the machinery that he was attached to. It would only upset him.
Gordon looked up at his mother for guidance, who said, "We'll come back later, he'll be awake then."
Dean looked at her fully for the first time, and couldn't help but notice that her eyes were red and puffy.
It had been a rough day for family members all around.
"Is Sam really okay?" Gordon blurted out the question and Dean looked down to see to his horror that the wide, youthful, and innocent eyes were swimming with tears. "Sam saved me, he can't—I don't want him to die! He promised that we wouldn't die!"
"Gordon—" Mrs. Sato began softly, bending down to be at his height as well, but Dean took over as he shifted positions, squatting a little and bracing Gordon's shoulders.
"Sam's not dying, kiddo," he said firmly. "He's just sleeping. His body was tired, but he's going to wake up sometime tomorrow."
"Are you sure?" Gordon asked, using his arm to wipe at his eyes. "He saved me," he repeated, sniffing a little.
Mrs. Sato wrapped one arm around her son's shoulder, her face crumpling as her eyes filled with tears that she quickly blinked away.
"Sam will be fine." This time it was Cas who spoke from where he stood slightly awkwardly to the side. He smiled at Gordon, lifting a hand in acknowledgment.
Dean nodded. "You hear that? Cas is kind of like a doctor, he helped you and your dad out there on the ocean. And he says that Sam will be fine so that must mean that he is going to be. So why don't you come back tomorrow, you can see him then. Does that sound like a plan?"
Gordon hesitated, but finally nodded, still looking tearful. Dean stood, grunting a little as his knees popped. Damn, he was getting old. "Is Mr. Sato doing okay?" he asked in a soft voice to Mrs. Sato. Sam would want to know when he finally woke up.
"They are keeping him one more night for observation and some of the burns will scar, but they are optimistic. They say that it is nothing short of a miracle that they both survived." Mrs. Sato smiled wetly at them, before bringing her son in closer and giving him a look filled with such warmth and love that Dean felt like he had suddenly walked in on a very private moment. "Thank you. Thank you for both of them, my son and my husband. I can't…thank you."
"Sam and Cas are the ones that you should be thanking," Dean said awkwardly, feeling his face flush. "They did all the work." He gestured for Cas to come closer, but he just nodded deeply, still looking hesitant.
"Thank you," Mrs. Sato repeated to both of them and Dean forced another smile. She returned it and began to tow Gordon gently towards the door. She stopped abruptly and fumbled in her purse. "Oh, I almost forgot. I ran home earlier to get clothes for Gordon since he's being released and I grabbed some cookies, here…" She thrust the container at Dean. "Please, they aren't as fresh as they could be, but...anyway, I know that we can never thank you enough, please accept this."
"Thank you," Dean said, taking them from her when she persisted.
They left, Gordon looking over his shoulder once with a sad expression on his face.
Right then and there, Dean decided that Sam should stay, if only for both Sam and Gordon to find the closure of seeing the other alive and well. Sam had had so many things stolen from him in his life, Dean wouldn't take this as well.
Sam needed to know that there were reasons to keep fighting.
I let go…
The words were still haunting Dean. That, and Cas's little speech about how he had acted similarly a few weeks before. Was this overwhelming fear and terror what Sam had been feeling? If so, it explained some of Sam's overprotectiveness and desperate desire to make Dean happy. It explained his requests not to be alone because being without his brother was the worst thing that Dean could imagine.
The feelings were both humbling and terrifying, especially since it was now Dean's turn to carry the buck, but it also brought warm pride. Sam had been doing this for weeks now, even before the ghosts and Dean's stunt. He had been doing it ever since Dean had admitted to feeling lost. He had done it while grieving for Cas, while mourning their mother. While looking out for Jack.
Sam was an unstoppable force when he wanted to be, but then again, maybe that was all part of the show. Because Sam was struggling, and maybe Dean just hadn't been able to see it before, or perhaps he hadn't wanted to. He wouldn't have been able to handle Sam's grief, not with the crushing weight of his own.
Sam's own little stunt had been a wake-up call, and things were going to change now. He had learned his lesson, he wasn't going to leave Sam to face the despair all alone.
Dean was going to anchor Sam to him, give him hope and a reason to live, just like Sam had done for him before.
Now he just had to wait for the tube to come out so that he could tell Sam this, to tell him that he was sorry. Tell him that he truly wasn't alone, that Dean had his back.
The next day, Dr. Chase returned—with a set of butterfly bandages all of his own—and deemed that Sam would be able to have the tube out. The relief must have been evident on Dean's face because Dr. Chase had smiled warmly at them before instructing Dean and Cas to leave for an hour while they pulled out the tube and weaned Sam off the sedation.
They left to go get food, and Dean had a noticeable bounce in his step.
Sam was just starting to come around when they came back, and Dean quickly shooed the nurse that had been waiting with Sam away. He could handle this just fine, thank you.
The tube was gone and there wasn't even an oxygen mask anymore, just a nasal cannula.
Dean's shoulders dropped with relief.
Sam was breathing on his own, actually taking deep breaths, and his oxygen numbers were far higher than they had been even before the attack. They weren't completely back to normal, nor was his breathing, but Dean would take what he could get.
Hitching himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, Dean watched as Sam's head shifted, subconsciously tracking their movements even though he wasn't fully awake yet. Cas stood over Dean's shoulder, watching.
"Hey," Dean said and couldn't help a fond smile as he rested a hand on Sam's arm. "You gonna wake up, Sleeping Beauty? C'mon…time's a wasting. Cas is getting antsy with no Netflix to watch. Plain old TV doesn't do it for him anymore. You've spoiled him."
Cas shot Dean a dark glare, but he just raised a hand, showing him his middle finger.
Sam hummed a faint response, attempting to pull in a deeper breath. He coughed thinly and pulled his arm out of Dean's grasp to wrap tightly around his chest, a grimace of pain pulling at his features.
"Hey, take it easy. You've just graduated to being able to breathe on your own, so don't push it."
Cas shifted, moving forward. "I could heal him in a moment, now that the tube is gone," he said pointedly and Dean nodded.
"In a minute, if Sam agrees to it."
Sam dragged in another breath, and his eyes flickered open before closing again. They didn't reopen and Dean snorted. "C'mon, make a choice, dude. Either go back to sleep or wake up. We're getting mixed signals here."
"Shut up," Sam slurred out, trying to roll over and shift positions again to alleviate the pressure on his ribs.
"Don't try that, you did quite the number on yourself." Dean placed a warning hand on Sam's chest and he stilled.
"What happened? Is everything okay?" Sam asked, his voice rough and hoarse from the tube.
Dean shook his head in disbelief. "Everyone is okay but you. How are you feeling?"
"Tired. And sore."
"That is probably an understatement." Dean chewed on his lip, watching as the gears in Sam's head turned. He wasn't surprised when his eyes flashed open a moment later, a look of alarm on his face.
"Jones, Fred Jones, he—" he began urgently, but broke off in another coughing fit. Dean looked around and gestured pointedly for Cas to get the pitcher of water sitting on the bedside table before searching for the controls to move the head of the bed into a higher position.
Cas hastily poured a glass of water, offering it to Sam, who took it and drank shakily, still warding off coughs. Dean waited anxiously for them to die down.
"You okay?" he asked again and Sam nodded, wiping the water from his eyes with the back of his hand.
"I'm good. Just…" he shrugged but didn't need to finish the sentence. Dean relaxed slightly, thumping Sam on the knee.
"Don't worry about Fred. We got there not even ten minutes after he attacked you. He's in police custody and, with a little help from Cas, has confessed everything. He's going to go to jail for an obscenely long amount of time. If not, then I'm gonna visit him and teach him a lesson that he's never going to forget. I would've already but Cas won't let me."
Sam's brow creased into a frown as he continued to look confused. "How long have I been asleep, then?"
"About a day and a half. They had to intubate you, so you should be glad that you were asleep for all of it."
"Sam," Cas stepped forward and Sam looked up at him. "Do you wish for me to heal you completely? We didn't do it before because of the tube, but now I can."
"I'm fine," Sam repeated even as he brought a hand up to his chest, bracing and protecting his ribs.
"Right. That's why they had to stick that freakin' tube down your throat so that you could do something as simple as breathe. Cas is all juiced up again, or at least as much as he's gonna get, might as well put him to use."
Cas nodded solemnly, but Sam still hesitated. Dean frowned, giving Sam a knowing look.
"Sammy…we've talked about this. You've talked to me about this. We can't keep holding onto things, you can't punish yourself for what happened."
Sam snorted. "It's not that…" he trailed off with a shake of his head. "Never mind."
"Sam?" Cas asked again. Dean gave Sam another pointed look, and he sighed carefully.
"Oh, fine. I can't form an argument against either of you while on all these drugs. I feel like my brain is all scrambled." Sam winced again, waving vaguely at the IV port that was still in his arm. Cas looked as relieved as Dean felt and stepped forward, pressing two fingers against Sam's forehead.
He stepped back a moment later, and Sam blinked rapidly, full awareness filtering back into his eyes.
"Thanks." He gave Cas a thin smile that Cas returned.
"So, ah, are we finally getting out here of then?" Sam asked, shifting to sit up straighter. His usual grace was back, his face clear of any pain, and Dean felt satisfied.
"Finally? Man, you've been out of it. You don't get to complain about how long we've been here. But, no, not quite yet. Tonight, after the shift change you can make your great escape."
Sam's lips thinned. "I'm not sitting here for a couple of hours pretending to be injured. Just get me out now, and we can make a run for it. Where are my clothes?"
Dean smirked. "Ah, but where would be the fun in that? Also, don't you want to see Gordon?"
That got Sam's attention. "Gordon is here? Is he okay? You told me that he was alright, that he was alive, didn't you—?"
Some of the panic had reentered Sam's voice and Dean flapped a hand at him. "Calm down. I promise you, Gordon's fine. They released him yesterday and he came by to try and see you. Mr. Sato is getting released today, and I think they plan to stop in before they leave."
"They also brought you cookies," Cas piped up seriously, "but Dean confiscated them."
"Dude, I swear," Dean began, putting his hands up at Sam's accusatory look. He couldn't help a smile, though, the look was so Sam… "It's not because I was the one eating them. Cas was doing that, that was all him."
"Right…" Sam said incredulously.
"I wasn't!" Dean defended himself and Sam rolled his eyes, not commenting further.
They lapsed back into a comfortable silence, but Dean was watching Sam closely. Despite having just been healed, he looked tired, his eyes hiding a wealth of unsaid sadness that constricted Dean's heart. How long had he been ignoring this, or just overlooking Sam's pain?
Clearing his throat, Dean gave Cas a significant look.
Cas looked blankly at him before his eyes widened slightly and he said "Oh!" far too noticeably. He began to swing his arms a little awkwardly. "Sam, I must—Dean wanted coffee earlier. I said I would get him some, so I must go."
With that, he left. Sam stared after him and Dean resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands in embarrassment.
"He's never going to get more subtle, you know that, right?" Sam said and Dean looked over to see him smiling.
"Man, we try. We've tried so hard to teach him. I guess some dogs just can't learn new tricks." Dean cracked a smile of his own, but it quickly failed. Sam's did as well, and a now slightly awkward silence stretched between them. Sam was picking at the blanket covering his legs, refusing to look at Dean.
Dean rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to find the perfect way to word what he had already been rehearsing.
Sam beat him to it, however. "Dean…you want to talk about something, clearly, but I don't know if I'm ready for—"
"If you say that you're not ready to talk or don't want to, then I really will know that something is wrong." Dean tried again for humor, but Sam was still staring down at his legs and he sighed, leaning forward.
It was probably best just to jump in and forget everything that he had rehearsed.
"I think that I owe you an apology."
"An apology? For what?"
"I shouldn't have done what I did, with the ghosts. I shouldn't have been so careless with my own life, I didn't—I wasn't thinking about how if it didn't go according to plan, it would hurt you. I just…I just wasn't thinking."
"You never do," Sam intoned, still not looking at Dean.
"I mean, yeah, kinda what I do, isn't it? That's not my specialty for the team."
"Dean," Sam cut in, rubbing at his forehead and suddenly sounding extremely tired. "Can we not? I'm not doing that again."
Dean made a face. "I'm trying to apologize here, man, don't make it harder."
Sam didn't say anything else and Dean fumbled for a moment. "Look," he angled himself on the bed so that he was more directly facing Sam. "I know that things haven't been exactly easy ever since Mom and Cas—and looking back I think that I dumped a lot of junk onto you, and that wasn't fair—"
"You don't have to apologize for that, Dean. It's fine. It wasn't a big deal."
"Yeah, I know, I just…I know that you're still upset about Mom. And then there was Jack, and you took him under your wing and I know that I didn't make things any easier. You carried all of us while Cas was…gone. But it doesn't have to be that way anymore. I'm here to help, okay? I've got your back, so whatever you need, I'm here. Okay?"
Sam nodded slowly in apparent understanding. "This is about something I said, earlier, when I was half out of it on drugs, isn't it?"
"You sure weren't talking about unicorns and rainbows. You told me that you let go, Sam. That scared me." Years ago, Dean might not have put it so bluntly but a lot had changed between them since then, and probably for the better although Dean would never admit that last bit out loud.
Sam shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, not really. And I'm good. I swear, I'm good."
"Are you sure?" Dean pushed, because Sam didn't look relieved, he still looked heart-wrenchingly sad and tired.
Sam's mouth twisted upwards in a poor attempt at a smile as he nodded thickly. His eyes were starting to glisten, and Dean's heart dropped as Sam quickly looked away.
"Sammy…?"
Sam licked his lips before his jaw clenched shut and he was silent as he gathered himself together. "Why did you do what you did, with the ghost?" he asked in return, his voice tight and slightly choked up.
Dean made a face, exasperated. "This isn't about me, Sam. I'm asking you."
"And I'm asking you. Why did you do it?"
Dean leaned his head back, praying for patience. "I'm good. I really am doing okay. Hell, I'm really good now that you're okay. It's you that I'm worried about. C'mon. Talk to me, let me help."
"I want to know why you did it," Sam repeated stubbornly and Dean ran both hands over his face. He didn't want to talk about those weeks when he thought that Cas was dead, but he guessed that he was asking rather a lot from Sam as well by forcing him to dig through emotions that he would rather have left untouched.
"It went dark, Sam. I already told you that. I couldn't—everything just went black and I stopped caring about what would happen to me and it just…I did what I did because it seemed like a solution to finishing up the hunt. I wasn't trying to kill myself—like you seem to think—I just didn't thoroughly think through everything. In the moment it just seemed like a solution. There. Now I've told you, why don't you tell me what happened out there on that boat?"
"I—" Sam hesitated, looking both concerned and scared. For all that he liked to talk about other people's feelings, Sam wasn't very good about doing it for himself. "Dean, do we have to do this right now?"
"Yes," Dean pushed stubbornly. Turnabout was fair play as far as he was concerned. "C'mon, let me in, help me understand."
A muscle in Sam's cheek twitched, and he went back to staring at his legs. "I don't know what you want me to say. It's a similar story. I was just tired. Hypothermia's not exactly a lot of fun, and I dunno. I thought that Gordon was dead and I know it's dumb but I was so determined to save him, and when you told me that he was dead, it felt like the rug had been pulled out from underneath me, you know? It was like it didn't matter. You had Cas back—I know that Cas would have helped Jack and you'd—" Sam trailed off, his face flushing as he seemingly realized that he had said more than he had intended to.
Fear was boiling up hot and strong in Dean's belly as he listened to Sam talk, because all of the sudden, this felt too much like they were back in that old, crumbling, church, with Sam saying 'so?' when faced with his own death. Maybe it wasn't as high of stakes, and Sam wasn't holding a metaphoric gun to his head, but it was giving Dean a similar bad taste in his mouth.
Shaking his head, Dean snapped, "God help me, if the next words out of your mouth are that I'd be okay, then I will—"
"No, no, I wasn't—" Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not an idiot, it's just…" Sam seemed to be struggling to put into words what he was feeling and Dean waited. "You were happy, or you had been over the last few days and right then it just seemed like the easiest thing to do. Holding on was…I couldn't do it. It seemed impossible."
Dean stared at Sam, trying to read between the lines of what his brother was saying. "You know that's not true, right? That you didn't fail, and that even if Gordon had died it wouldn't have been your fault?"
Sam scoffed, but Dean couldn't help but notice the slightly self-deprecating look he gave Dean. "Sure."
"Sammy, man, it wasn't your fault. It was that asshole Fred's fault, there is no way around that. You saved Gordon! Without you, him and his dad would have died."
Sam shook his head. "Dean, they wouldn't have been in that position in the first place if I hadn't been there."
"Well," Dean didn't know if that was true or not, but he let it slide. "Still, Sam, you didn't—look, we save people, all the time. You haven't failed. You—" and suddenly words were getting harder and Dean could feel his face warming as he rubbed self-consciously at the back of his neck. "I don't want to think about how Jack would have ended up if it hadn't been for you. And you've been working relentlessly on a way to save Mom, and you sure as hell carried my sorry ass, and-and those are just the times from like the past month, never mind your whole life. Without you, Sam…I…you were the only reason that I could keep going this last month." He had always just assumed that Sam had known that, and that he wouldn't need to actually say it, but Sam sometimes needed things spelled out.
He ducked his head, trying to get a better view of Sam's face. He squeezed his arm to get his brother's full attention, wanting him to understand the significance of his next words.
"You haven't failed me. At all, Sammy."
Sam nodded blindly and Dean reinforced it, gripping Sam's arm hard enough that it probably hurt.
"Together, we can do anything, right?" Sam was smiling at Dean, albeit a little wetly. It was an old notion for them, but one that still hit home deeply. Other people came and went—some people they even accepted into their small family—but it would always go back to being the two of them against whatever life threw at them.
"You remember that. The two of us, we'll work everything else out, alright? I've got my head out of my ass and I've got your back," Dean alliterated, letting go and thumping Sam lightly on the leg.
Sam didn't necessarily look happier or less tired, but his smile was lighter—more real—as he nodded again.
Dean met his eyes, searching them deeply for a moment before sitting back, satisfied that for at least the moment they were both good. All the same, he vowed to himself to keep a closer eye on Sam—more so than usual—to make sure that he was okay. Make sure that he was happy, or at least as happy as they could get.
Smiling widely, he thumped Sam on the leg harder. "You do anything stupid like letting go again, and I will come for you. That was a real bitchy move," he said and Sam rolled his eyes.
"Whatever," he said, scratching absently at the tape that was securing the IV to his arm.
"Stop that." Dean slapped his hand away.
"You aren't seriously going to make me sit here for the rest of the day, are you?" Sam asked pointedly and just like that the emotionally charged tension disappeared and they settled easily back into old rhythms.
#
Dean kept the TV playing for the rest of the day, and the three of them—Cas had returned with a cold cup of coffee for Dean—watched in easy silence, only making comments regarding what was on the screen.
Sam thought that it was actually kind of nice…it made it so that he didn't have to think about everything else that was happening, all that they still needed to accomplish.
As the afternoon sunlight drifted in, warming the room, Dean fell asleep with his head propped up in his hand, snoring gently.
"He has not slept much since you've been in the hospital," Cas informed Sam in a low tone.
"Doesn't surprise me," Sam said, giving his brother a fond look.
Cas shifted in his seat, casting a glance at Dean, before leaning forward. "I want you to know that I talked with him like you asked me to."
Sam's heart lifted a little. At least someone had helped Dean over the last few days, Sam had just scared him witless. "Good. Thank you. What did he say?"
Cas shook his head, giving Sam a helpless little shrug. "He did not desire for me to repeat it all back to you, but he said that he would tell you."
Sam snorted, and he shook his head. Dean might, someday, but he doubted it would be anytime soon. Especially not now that he had freaked Dean out, he would think that Sam couldn't handle whatever it was that he was feeling.
"You sure that you can't tell me?"
"I promised Dean."
Sam didn't push it, that felt like it would take too much energy at the moment. Besides, the next time that he and Dean were alone, or went on a hunt, he would do a little digging. He felt better with the knowledge that Dean had at least gotten some of his feelings out into words.
Cas was still looking at Sam.
"Did he say anything else?"
"No. I was just thinking…Sam, you scared Dean. Badly. And I now realize that we were all so worried about Dean, that you've fooled us."
Sam bit out a laugh. "Fooled? I haven't been trying to fool anyone."
"Not directly." Cas shook his head, looking frustrated. "But Dean hasn't been the only one to lose people that he loves recently yet he is the only one that you will discuss, that any of us are discussing. So now I ask you, how are you doing, Sam?"
The kindness and concern there were almost enough to bowl Sam over but he shook his head. He didn't want to do this again, not after a morning of hashing it out with Dean. "I'm fine."
Cas sat back, frowning. "Both you and Dean use that phase frequently, but if you look at the definition, you do not use it correctly. At all."
Sam rolled his eyes. "That's Winchester logic for you. And don't pretend like you haven't picked it up."
"Well, yes. But—"
Dean snorted in his sleep, and they both fell silent for fear of waking him.
Once Dean had settled, however, Sam looked sideways over at the angel.
"Hey Cas?" he said at last and Cas looked over at him. "I was just…you know that night that Fred attacked? I was…I don't know how that all went down. Was someone…was there someone there who jumped in to help?"
Cas frowned, tipping his head to the side. He was silent for a long time. "I think, well, we know," he began slowly. "We know that Jack came and visited you. I think that he saved your life."
Sam's mouth dropped open. "Jack? Really? But how did he even know…?"
"I prayed to him when you were missing and when we found you, I was hoping that he would come back."
Sam mulled over the information, his lips pressed together. "I hope that he's okay out there. That we didn't screw him up too bad."
"He is Kelly's son through and through, not Lucifer's," Cas said firmly. "We will find Jack, I'm sure of it and we will help him find his footing. He is not alone, Sam. Nor are you. Your friends are here to help you," he paused, giving Sam a significant look, and Sam dropped his gaze. "As for finding a way to reach Mary, we will work on that as well once you are better and—" Cas looked like he still had more that he wanted to say, but a soft knock at the door broke him off.
Dean jerked himself awake, looking around blearily as the knock sounded again. He reached for the remote, muting the TV, as Cas moved to open the door.
Mr. Sato was standing there, dressed in street clothes, and apparently ready to be released. Mrs. Sato and Gordon were at his side.
Gordon smiled at Sam, and something warmed in his chest.
"Hey," Sam said, sitting up straighter.
"Hi," Gordon, and there was an echo of the exultant cheeriness that had been there the first time they met even if it wasn't there completely. "Dad gets to go home today, but I wanted to see you, I wanted to give you this—" He held up a small gift bag.
Dean backed away from the bed to make room for the Satos. Gordon disentangled his hand from his mother's, and moved to Sam's bedside, offering over the gift bag.
Sam took it, offering a smile of his own. "I don't have anything to give to you."
"You gave us everything. Gordon is alive, because of you," Mr. Sato said, his voice catching thickly, and Sam was surprised to see tears in his eyes. Could they not see that they had only been in danger because of Sam in the first place?
"I also have something for you, Sam Winchester," Mr. Sato said, limping forward. He held up a small, spiral-bound, notepad. "I have not forgotten why you came to visit us, and I'm sure that your notes were ruined while in the ocean. I cannot replace everything there, but I have copied down what I told you earlier. I hope that it helps you find your mother." He handed the notebook over, and Sam took it gratefully.
"You lost the coin, didn't you?" he said mournfully a moment later. Mr. Sato actually smiled, shaking his head.
"It was still in my pocket when the hospital returned my clothes."
"Good," Sam said and meant it. That was one less thing for him to feel guilty about, at least. He held up the notebook. "Thank you." It was touching, really, the kindness that was being shown to them. "If you ever—ever—need anything…just call us."
Mr. Sato paused, sharing a look with his wife. "I'm not sure of everything that happened out in the ocean. But I know that we owe our lives to you and your companions. I can't explain everything…" he trailed off and Dean shifted uncomfortably, folding his arms across his chest.
Sam nodded slowly. "I'll call you," he promised. "I can explain some of it, just not right now."
"Thank you." Mr. Sato inclined his head and then reached out, shaking Sam's hand. The grip was still firm, if lacking in some of the strength that it had had the first time they met. "We will not keep you. I am sure that you need your rest. And I am sorry for all the grief that Fred Jones has caused you. I did not wish that for you."
"That wasn't your fault," Sam said firmly, and pointedly ignored Dean's hand settling on his shoulder in a silent, 'if it wasn't his fault, then it wasn't yours either.'
Mrs. Sato gave them all a brilliant smile and then tugged at her husband's arm. "Sam needs rest, as do you," she said and Dean nodded in agreement. The family turned for the door, but then Gordon paused, looking over his shoulder. He rushed back to Sam's side and, reaching up on his tiptoes, wrapped his arms around Sam.
The hug took Sam by surprise even as he returned it.
"You're a good kid, Gordon. Keep it up," he said and Gordon nodded into his shoulder before breaking the hug and hurrying back to his parents.
"Hey," Dean said, stepping forward and offering his hand for a high-five. Gordon grinned sheepishly, returned it, and then the Satos were gone.
Sam watched them go.
"Hey." Dean nudged him. "What did they get you?" He gestured at the bag, and Sam pulled it open to find a card and a small stuffed animal—a brown bear that said 'get well soon'—that had surely been purchased at the little gift shop in the lobby.
"That's original," Dean said dryly, and Sam rolled his eyes.
"He's a kid, Dean."
Dean shrugged before stretching until something cracked and then settled back into his seat, unmuting the TV.
"Wait. Doesn't that mean that we can break out of here, now? Dean, I am not staying in this bed any longer than I have to. I'm fine."
Dean began to flip through the channels. "Hold your horses. The nurses are making their rounds soon, give it an hour and we'll be out of here. While you're waiting, you can ask Cas what he thinks about Jurassic Park."
"You showed him Jurassic Park without me?" Sam asked incredulously and Dean shrugged.
"Hey, I offered pizza and a movie, and you rejected me to freeze your ass in the ocean. Great choice, by the way."
"You know where you can shove that, Dean," Sam snapped but Dean just smirked up at the screen.
The shift changed thirty minutes later, and Dean sent Cas down to pull the Impala around. That in and of itself spoke of how shaken up Dean was by Sam's recent experiences and of his lingering fear.
Sam was dressing as quickly as he could—he was more than ready to be gone—when Dean cleared his throat.
"You want to take this with you?" He nodded his head towards the little bear. He was already balancing the notebook and a bag of food in his hands. The card from the Satos sat atop the notebook, but he was staring into the bear's beaded eyes with mistrust.
Sam huffed as he began to button up his shirt. "What am I going to do with that?"
"I dunno, but it was probably ridiculously expensive. Hospital gift shops be that way, which kind of seems horrible if you stop to think about it."
"I don't want it, but if you want it…or we can give it to the next kid that we traumatize." Sam shrugged into his jacket, watching with no little amusement as Dean made a face as he picked up the bear.
"Stuffed animals always creeped me out. They just stare at you."
"Yeah, well, try not to take it personally."
"Right. It's going into the trunk. You ready?" Dean looked around the room, making sure that they hadn't forgotten anything.
"Yeah."
They slipped out the door, shutting it carefully behind them, and hurried to the elevator. Sam leaned against the back wall as the doors slid closed and folded his arms against his chest as they began to descend.
"You should keep this, though," Dean said quietly and seriously. Sam looked around to see him jabbing a finger at the card. "I read it, Sammy. This…this is why we always keep fighting, okay? Don't you forget that."
Dean was searching his eyes, almost begging Sam to answer, to assuage his fears.
"I'm not giving up, I swear," Sam reassured Dean. It was the truth. The world—his life—was weighing more heavily on him recently, but he wasn't to the point of giving up, not yet. He had had much lower points than this.
He would keep pushing forward until things got better or until the world broke him completely.
"Good." Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder, his hand lingering there for longer than was strictly necessary and Sam felt himself steady. Dean was right.
They were in this together. And maybe they would fail and maybe the future held nothing for them but more heartache, but at least he wouldn't be alone…and that was comforting.
The End
Thank you again for sticking with this story.
I don't know if anyone is interested at all, but some tidbits about this story are below.
To make a long story short, I wrote my Senior Thesis paper about one of the Internment Camps that Japanese Americans were forced to relocate to during WWII and, when I was working on this story, I pulled from that research to name several of my OCs after historical figures. I guess I just want to acknowledge these individuals and the hardships that they went through and that they always kept fighting for what they believed in even when faced with an impossible situation that never should have happened.
Below are the inspirations behind the names:
Gordon: Gordon Hirabayashi is a fascinating figure in history. He was one of the few Japanese Americans to resist interment. He peacefully protested the blatant denial of his rights and because of this ended up in and out of jail during WWII.
Guntaro: Guntaro Kubota was interned at the Heart Mountain Internment camp, and joined a group that resisted the drafting of Japanese American young men from the camps while they were still being denied their rights, even though he was not eligible. He went to prison for his resistance, leaving behind a young family. His wife, Gloria, supported him full-heartedly and fought just as hard for this cause.
Stanley: Stanley Hayami was a young man who was drafted from Heart Mountain into the segregated 442nd regiment along with his brother Frank. He died fighting for the freedoms that he had been denied.
And, even though she was never really a part of the story, I briefly mentioned that Gordon had a sister named Amy. Amy Emi has largely been forgotten by history, but she was the wife of Frank Emi, another leader of the draft resistance at Heart Mountain. Her struggles and sacrifices as a woman, wife, and mother during these years have for the most part gone unheralded.