Dean and Sam arrive in a small college town where coeds are mysteriously disappearing, but the aftermath of the hunt leaves the boys struggling with something they never dreamed could happen. Will they be able to deal with the consequences or will the boys finally have to give up the hunt?
I do not own Dean and Sam, just the story.
OK, so it's a little short, but this is really the best stopping place for tonight. I promise - no cliffhangers this time. I'll write more soon. Thanks again for all the support. You guys make this all worthwhile!
"Quit stalling," Dean spat, ignoring the order to sit. "Just tell me. My brother– how is he? Is he OK?"
The doctor sighed and looked at Dean sympathetically. "I'm sorry son. Your brother is still alive, but he most certainly is not OK. It was touch and go there for a while. We lost him twice on the operating table. We have him stabilized right now, but he's still in critical condition."
"Oh God," Dean's legs gave out underneath him, and he landed with a loud thud on the chair he'd vacated just seconds before. He buried his head in his hands, consciously forcing himself to breathe. He knew Laura had sat down beside him, placing her hands comfortingly on his back, but her touch felt like it was miles away. He gave himself several long seconds to compose himself before making eye contact with the doctor again. When Dean looked up he found that Dr. Reynolds had seated himself across the aisle and was waiting patiently to explain more.
"OK Doc, give it to me straight. Just how bad are Sam's injuries?"
The doctor pursed his lips, using the pause to decide the order he would explain the injuries. "Right now I'm most concerned with Sam's lungs. He came in with two broken ribs and several cracked ones. One of them punctured his right lung, which is why he was having so much trouble breathing. I've repaired the lung and we have him on a ventilator right now so it can heal without too much strain. He also received a mild concussion, and there was some internal bleeding. That's all under control now, though."
"So he's gonna be fine then, right?" Dean begged pitifully. "I– I mean, after his lung heals and stuff then that's it. He'll be fine."
"Dean, I'm so sorry. There's something else. You're brother, he...uh–"
Dean shook his head forcefully, daring the doctor to be stupid enough to tell him what he didn't want to hear. No, he's not gonna say it. It's not true. Sammy was just messing with me back at the dorm. Sam's gonna be fine. He's got to be. There's just no other way this can happen.
Sadness clouded Dr. Reynolds eyes. This was the part he hated the most. The part where he had to tell families that their loved one would no longer be the same. That a life had been permanently altered because of some cruel twist of fate. "Sam's spine was bruised at T9; that's the ninth thoracic vertebrae of the spinal column, about waist level. He currently has no sensation or movement below that point."
In that split second Dean's world exploded. He didn't hear a word the doctor said after that; just kept repeating those fateful words over and over again in his head. Sam's spine is bruised. No sensation or movement. NO. No. Nononononononono. This can't be happening. Sam's fine. I just have to wake up. This is a nightmare. If I can just wake up Sam and I will laugh about this and--"
"Dean. DEAN!" Laura's voice interrupted his rambling and Dean forced himself to turn glazed eyes on his new friend. "Dr. Reynolds wants to know if you want to see Sam."
His neck felt like molasses as he attempted to nod his head. "Yeah," he croaked, finding that he'd suddenly lost his voice. Dean cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes," he agreed more forcefully this time. "I want to see Sam. But I need to get something straight first."
"Of course." Dr. Reynolds sat patiently, offering his full attention. Little did he know the can of worms he'd just opened. It would be a much harder door to close.
Dean spoke slowly, pointedly. "I need to understand how my brother has, in his lifetime, survived God only knows how many broken bones and concussions, knife wounds, gun shots, lethal doses of poisons and so much more, but you're telling me that a bruise – one tiny little bruise – is going to keep him from walking. Tell me how that makes sense!"
The doctor swallowed hard. He'd noticed the many scars tattooed over his young patient's body during the surgery, but he'd never dreamed there could be such a history behind them. "The spinal cord is still a mysterious and undiscovered entity," Dr. Reynolds answered apologetically. There are still so many things we don't know about how it works or why it doesn't heal the way the rest of our body does. I wish I could give you the answers you want, Dean. But the answers just don't exist yet. I'm so very sorry."
"So you don't know?" Dean spat. "You're a doctor! How can you not know? Never mind. Just take me to my brother. I'll get the answers I need without you."
Rising solemnly, the doctor motioned for Dean and Laura to follow him. Not a word was spoken until they arrived outside the door to Sam's room where Dr. Reynolds found it necessary to explain a few more details before granting Dean entrance. "We have Sam sedated right now to give his body time to heal. You can talk to him, but he probably won't be awake to respond. I'll be just out in the hall in case you have any other questions for me."
Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he turned the knob to Sam's door. Thanks, but I'll be saving my questions for someone who can actually answer them. I'm sure there are doctors around who didn't get their degrees from clown college. Dean shut the door behind himself with a soft click, grateful that Laura had understood his need to see Sam by himself. He hadn't yet worked up the nerve to look at Sam, keeping his back to the bed. But now he turned around, and froze. One by one Dean's senses consumed the situation. Dean's sense of smell was the first to awaken and he curled up his nose at the nursing home quality of the air. Oh man, Sammy we got to get you some room freshener and maybe some cologne. This isn't gonna do anything in the quest for the ladies. The sounds came second: the steady, rhythmic whoosh of the ventilator as it breathed for Sam, the high pitched beeping to the heart monitor proving he was still alive. Sight was next as Dean's eyes scanned over Sam's motionless body. From Sam's mouth protruded the white plastic mouthpiece of the ventilator, attached to it wasa length of blue accordion tubingsnaking away from his body and hooking to the actual machine. His upper body was bare except for the square of white gauze concealing the newest surgical scar where they'd gone in to repair his lung. A plastic pulse ox machine was clamped to Sam's right index finger, and in the same hand was inserted an IV needle feeding him steady drops of morphine and other medications. The rest of Sam's body was hidden from view, covered by a thin white hospital sheet.
"Man, Sammy, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Dean asked quietly, sitting down in the chair beside his brother's bed. Taking another glance at Sam's face to make sure his eyes were shut Dean gripped Sam's hand between his own. "How the hell are we gonna get you out of this one?"
As if in answer to Dean's question the heart monitor skipped a beat. "You can hear me, Sammy. I know you can. And I'm telling you right now that I'm gonna figure this one out. I don't care what that quack out in the hall says. I don't care how many cities we have to visit or how many specialists we have to see. You will walk again. Hear me? I'm not accepting anything less than total recovery."
The monitor skipped again and Dean looked up at Sam's face, afraid he might wake up and see the tears that had begun to form in his eyes. Dean wiped at his face angrily, annoyed that his emotions were betraying him. "Just sleep little brother. Let me take care of this. You get some rest."