Sorry this took so long guys, I kind of got caught up in everything not related to Supernatural these past few days. But there should be 2...with a slight possibility of 3 chapters left, depending on how the last little twist goes, and then you'll have the complete story...and I think I already have an idea for my next one...-grins evilly-
Enjoy...
Chapter 6
Sam's fear-filled confession rocked Dean as it hit him like a ton of bricks. He now knew what had seemed so off when Sam had woken for that instant a few days before. As scared as he was, as angry as he may yet become at Dean; when he had been looking for comfort, his eyes had passed over Dean and his father, but they had never locked onto anything. There had been nothing for the boy to see to calm him. No wonder he had been thrashing so violently.
The youngest Winchester screwed his eyes as tightly closed as he could and then burst them wide open, hoping to catch something…anything…in his line of vision. There was nothing. Whimpering quietly, the boy clenched onto his brother's hand so tightly that he was sure he was going to leave bruises. Or he would have been sure; if he had been able to think of anything other than the blackness that was surrounding him. It was tightening its hold on him, gripping him so fully in it's clutches that the only thing he was sure of was Dean's hand on his chest. But he could feel his older brother's longer fingers tensing as well, and fear struck him more deeply. Dean was never afraid of anything.
But then the guardian was aware of his baby brother's plight and was instantly feigning calm for him, relaxing his fingers and smoothing Sam's locks. He whispered softly to the boy while his eyes sought out their father. John motioned towards the door, signaling that he was going for one of Sam's doctors. Dean nodded and continued to reassure both Sam and himself as well.
"Shh, Sammy. It's going to be all right now. It's okay, don't worry about it. Just keep your eyes shut for a minute and then you can pretend it's just really dark in here, okay?"
Sam tensed and his head swung towards the sound of the door closing. His breath caught in his throat and he could feel himself beginning to shake.
"It's just Dad, Sammy. He's going to find your doctors to let them know you're awake. You've been a sleep for a long time, little brother."
Sam tried to nod, but it came out frantic and betrayed more of his fear. It was beginning to stake its claim on him, and he could feel his breaths starting to grow shorter.
"Oh no you don't, Sammy. Breathe for me kid, come on." Dean carefully lifted his little brother's head and shoulders, scooting himself behind the smaller boy and enveloping him in the largest hug he could manage while still making sure not to aggravate any injuries. He felt some of the tension leave his brother and allowed himself a small smile at staving off the panic attack.
Sam contented himself to sit in his brother's embrace the way he was for only a moment before whipping his body to his right and burying his head into Dean's shoulder. His left hand left his brother's and wrapped into the older boy's shirt, and his right tried to do the same. He was concerned when the appendage wouldn't work exactly as planned.
"Dean? What's wrong with me?" Sam mumbled into his brother's shoulder, sniffling as he did so.
For his part, the older brother acted perfectly to Sam's new position; repositioning his arms so that his right came up and gripped Sam's shoulder, and the left came around and began rubbing slow circles on the boy's back. He heard the question and tensed a little. Now that his brother was awake, he wasn't sure he was ready for this conversation.
"What do you remember, Sammy?"
"I remember…the car. And the ball. And you coming to rescue me…like always," Dean could feel his brother's smile through his shirtsleeve. "I…I don't remember anything after that."
Dean had to bite his lip when Sam glossed over why the ball was in the street in the first place, but he knew he only had a limited amount of private time with his brother and didn't need both of them to have broken down when their father got back. Not that I break down of course, but… Dean's thoughts trailed off when Sam sniffled again.
"You were hurt pretty badly, Sammy. God, I thought I'd…I thought you were…you've been out for almost two weeks, little brother. You're pretty busted up and you're going to have some cool battle scars from this one. You've got a cast on your arm and leg, and when you get off whatever pain meds you're on, your ribs aren't gonna 'preciate you being curled up like this."
"What else?" Sam may have been young, but he knew that his brother wouldn't be that tense over a couple broken bones and a concussion.
"Sam…you almost…God, you almost…I…you're gonna be okay now, kid. That's all that matters, okay? We'll just…figure out the rest as it comes, all right?"
Sam nodded, hearing the tell-tale crack in his brother's voice and he knew it must have been bad. "Dean?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"I'm scared." The admission was a whisper and was accompanied by a tightening of his hold on Dean, as if he needed to hold on to his place in the world.
"I know, kiddo. They'll fix it, you'll see." Dean lightly kissed the top of his brother's head, pulling him in a little closer to assure himself that this was really real, and shot his head up as the door opened again.
Ever in big brother mode, Dean leaned down and whispered who had just entered to his brother, hoping to ease some of Sam's fear.
The pediatrician introduced himself as Mack to Sam, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder below Dean's hand to let the child feel his presence. He explained step-by-step what he was doing as he first checked over Sam's other injuries, and then began to look at Sam's eyes. When he was done, Mack turned to John and explained to him that they were going to send for a CT scan to gauge the damage before making any judgments. Dean's eyes widened slightly, knowing that the imaging meant that Sam was going to be alone for a bit, but he didn't let his fear show to the younger boy.
After the test was called for, Sam was wheeled up to the Radiology suite, Dean still holding onto him protectively. Outside the doors, Mack turned once again to Sam.
"I bet you're the bravest one in your family, aren't you Sam?" Mack hoped the boy would be confident and make this easier. He should have known better.
"No way. Dean's the bravest one, easy." A genuine smile lit Sam's face for a moment and John was heartened slightly by it.
To his credit, Mack didn't miss a beat. "I'll bet you want to be just like him, though. Am I right?"
Sam nodded vigorously, leaning slightly more into his brother as he did so.
"And I'll bet that Dean wouldn't be scared of having to get a CT scan, now would he?"
Sam wasn't as quick to answer this time, starting to see where this was headed. "I have to do this by myself, don't I?" The timbre of his voice had changed, not sure he wanted to handle the dark by himself just yet. Dean's heart plummeted at the quiver in his brother's words.
"Yeah, I'm afraid you do, son. But Dean is going to be in the next room with me the whole time, and you can talk to him all you want, as long as you don't move your head, okay?"
The nod wasn't quite as forthcoming, and nowhere near as vigorous this time, and Dean had to turn away from the adults to compose himself. These past weeks had been a rude awakening to the older boy; showing him just how little he could really protect Sam from.
"Just think about it like hide and seek, Sammy. When you like to hide in the closet and stay really still so I don't find you. And as soon as you're done I'll call 'olly olly ox and free' and you can sit up. How's that?" Dean looked to the doctor and his father for confirmation, seeing the latter beaming with pride.
John had been a bit put off that none of the three were trying to include him in this, but then again, wasn't that how he was trying to shape the boys? To be independent of him should they lose him like they lost their mother?
By the time Dean had called the all-clear, Sam was a little bit more accustomed to the dark and felt a little less claustrophobic about it. That wasn't to say he wasn't overjoyed when he felt Dean's hand in his again, but he had made it through this, and Winchesters were survivors after all. His brother had said this would be fixed, and Dean never lied to him.
The boys were laughing and attempting a thumb war when Mack found the little family the next day with the results. He motioned for John to follow him outside, and the two adults left. Sam didn't realize the man had entered, but felt Dean's hand slacken slightly. He took the advantage for what it was, pinning his brother's thumb and grinning triumphantly.
"1-2-3-4, I won the thumb war! Dean? Hey, Earth to Dean? Come in, Dean." Sam started to get nervous when his brother hadn't demanded a rematch immediately.
"Shh, Sammy. Your doctor just took Dad outside." Dean's eyes were glued to the door, waiting for the men to come back in and tell him his brother would be back to normal soon.
"We got the results back, Mr. Winchester. It looks like there's some swelling around Sam's optic nerve. It's not terribly uncommon in serious head injuries like Sam had, and we could have caught it sooner if he had not been unconscious for so long."
"Swelling? So that will go away, right? He'll be okay?"
"You need to remember that even now he's okay, Mr. Winchester. He needs to know that in case this doesn't turn out well. The swelling will go down, yes. But there may be some damage to the nerve that is causing the swelling. His sight could come back in a few days, a few weeks or months…or…"
"Never." The word was whispered and accompanied by an almost broken look towards his son's door. How can Sam hunt and protect himself if he can't see what's coming after him?
"It is a possibility that you and your sons have to prepare for. There are plenty of things he can still do, that he'll learn to be able to do. Some days, you may even find yourself forgetting that he can't see…should his sight not return that is."
"The odds?"
"With the time frame and the extent of the swelling, it's anybody's guess right now. It all depends on him, really. What his body can and can't handle. He'll be okay, Mr. Winchester. One way or another." Mack paused. "I have some prescriptions for him, and a pair of dark sunglasses. It's imperative that he wear these anywhere it's going to be even a little bit bright…more than a reading lamp."
"But he can't see anyway."
"I know that, sir. We need to rest his eyes and let that nerve heal as much as we can. The more light his eyes take in, the more taxed out the nerve becomes, the longer it takes to heal."
John nodded. "When can I take him home?"
"I'd like to keep him a few more nights for observation. He's bounced back faster than almost any coma patient I've ever seen, and I think a lot of credit for that goes to your older son. He's really helped Sam figure out that this can all work out well, and Sam's injuries have had plenty of time to heal in the past two weeks. He's going to feel weak for a while, but keeping him here may only worsen that. He seems very active."
John thought of the self-defense sessions held daily with the two boys, even in his absence, and had to laugh at the thought of his youngest being just 'active'. He made active children look docile.
Sam's spirits had dropped slightly when his father had explained that he may never see again, but the father had padded the odds to a ten percent chance that he wouldn't regain his sight, and both boys were hopeful.
Then John had handed Sam the sunglasses he had to don. The plastic eyewear felt bulky and square in his hands, and the youngest's lip had curled. Both his brother and his father could see the boy picturing the glasses in his head, something that he was slowly learning to do.
"They're old."
John laughed. "Mack assured me that they're brand new, Sammy."
"No. I know that. They lo…they…" Sam struggled to put out a word that didn't involve sight. "Old people should be wearing these. Not me."
Dean laughed and ruffled his brother's hair, glad that his kid brother couldn't see the look of guilt that crossed his features as Sam had flinched, unable to anticipate the rough housing. "If you wear them until we get home, Sammy, I'll give you the ones I found. How's that sound?"
Sam grinned and hooked the earpieces around his head. "Okay, big brother. But remember, you promised, so no backing out when we get home."
They spent the next three days dealing with Sam's newfound handicap: Dean reading the comic books to him, playing thumb wars and arm wrestling, and helping him to relearn how to use utensils; and John staying off to the side, ready to help his boys if he was needed. He didn't really know how to handle Sam's adaptability to this, but he was more concerned that once they left the sanctity of the hospital, every evil thing that he, himself, saw coming after the boys in his dreams would have one more weakness to exploit. He knew how to teach the boys to shoot and melt silver and wield knives, but how would he teach Sam to be strong again now? The boy knew how to fight what wasn't really there, but how would he be able to fight what he couldn't see? It would take a leap of faith that he wasn't sure any of the Winchesters had in them.
Sam sat anxiously on the edge of the bed as a nurse cut the bulky plaster cast from his leg. He heard the whirring of the blades, and if he hadn't been able to feel his brother's hand on his shoulder, the boy may have been more panicked. As it was, he was swearing vehemently in his head that he wouldn't move a muscle, despite Cindy's repeated assurances that it could never cut him. Both boys sighed as Sam's stiff ankle was wiggled around for a few minutes before being recasted in lighter fiberglass, with an arch in the bottom so that Sam could walk, halted as it would be.
When the cast had dried, Cindy had told Sam he could get up and try walking around a little bit. Everyone in the room could see the boy visibly tense. It was his last hurdle before being allowed to go home.
Sam stared straight ahead, trying as hard as he could to see something…anything. Being wheeled around the hospital for the past few days completely in the dark had been bad enough, but now everyone wanted him to actually stumble around in it; Sam wasn't sure he could take those steps.
Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Sam started to slide off the bed. He had only made it a few inches, his feet still dangling in the air, when he started to whimper. With nothing to gauge how far he had to go, Sam felt as if he was falling off a cliff.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean whispered, "only a few more inches. That's it, there's the floor." The older brother hopped off the bed next to his younger counterpart and grasped his shoulder. "I'm right here, little brother. Nothing's going to get in your way now. Just a few steps now."
Sam's anxiety was instantly gone when his brother's hand steadied him. His steps were sure, if not awkward, and he found that the limp from not being able to bend his knee was only slightly limiting. Another grin broke out on his face as the dark didn't seem quite as scary now, and he found himself wrapped in his family's arms.
"I'm proud of you, Sammy," a young voice whispered in one ear.
Nothing came from the other. What good did a few steps do the boy? John was ecstatic to see his boy come out of this relatively uncrippled, but he was still in danger. There would be time to praise Sam when he found out how to defeat ghosts and demons the way he had just conquered his room.
Sam's heart dropped. His father didn't care.
A few hours later, Sam was being wheeled through the emergency room to a chorus of cheers. Each person who had worked on him the two weeks previous had bet that the boy was doomed when he had left their care, and were now pleasantly surprised to see him protesting having to sit in the wheelchair as they left. Emily's mother had given John a lift to pick up the Impala an hour ago, and now Dean was wheeling his brother towards the door and their ride 'home'.
It had taken only a few seconds for Sam to be maneuvered into the back seat and strapped in, and from there on out the three expected clear skies and smooth sailing. They didn't expect anything else to go wrong.
But then John had raced the engine out of habit. It was the first time either boy had really heard a car since Sam had been hit, and neither one was prepared for their heart to clench with it. Dean swallowed his fear quickly, knowing that if the sound of the car had spooked him, his brother must be petrified.
Petrified didn't begin to cover the terror that gripped Sam. He could feel his lungs beginning to seize on him as the Impala's engine purring morphed into tires screeching. The boy began to shake as he felt the car moving beneath him and backing out of the parking garage. He heard himself begin to squeak as his shoulders shot up and down, trying desperately to pull oxygen through his fear. He wanted to reach out to his brother or father, desperate for someone to help him, but his arms felt like they had every duffle bag full of his father's weapons stacked on top of them.
Dean heard the squeaking as soon as they started, however, and so did his father.
"Get him calmed down, Dean. Now! We can't afford him to have a panic attack now. These have got to stop if he's ever going to hunt with us."
"He may never hunt with us anyway, Dad," Dean whispered, thankful that he knew from talking to Sam that the boy couldn't hear them right now anyway. He rubbed circles on his brother's back and hugged him close, feeling his brother's fear soak his sleeve as tears fell. It took longer than his father usually managed, but Sam fell into a light sleep none the less. Dean only hoped it was last until they could get him tucked in in the safety of his own bed.
TBC…