Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Kripke and his extremely talented staff own all rights to the Winchesters and Supernatural. I have borrowed them for this story.

Hours later, the door opened to Dean's room and a very weary Dr. Ashcraft eased in quietly. John was sitting hunched over, staring at the floor. Dean was in bed, which surprised her, but sat up quickly as soon as he saw her. Without any other preamble, she began. "A knife pierced his intestines and that's going to take a while to heal. We have to be careful about infection. The biggest problem he has to face is blood loss. He also had some wounds on his wrists that looked cauterized. Did you do that?"

"No, he wasn't bleeding from his wrists when I found him." What had happened to Sam? Had he done it to himself? Was it something that thing had done to him?

"Anything else?"

"Well, his collarbone had to be reset. He's in recovery and doing as well as can be expected. The only other thing is. . ."

"What?" Dean remembered the blank look in Sam's face.

"He's catatonic. He doesn't respond to any outside stimuli. Tests show his brain is functioning, but he's just not responding. It happens when someone is under extreme stress or had a severe shock. I'm thinking Sam had both." She paused to let her words sink in.

"When will he come back?" John asked softly. Dean could only stare at her.

"I don't know. It could be a long time. I've arranged for both young men to share a room. Maybe Dean can bring him out of it. You must promise me, young man, that you will not hurt yourself trying to help Sam. I need you to rest; Sam needs you to rest, or you can't help him."

"When will you bring him here?"

"If he continues to recover at the rate he is now, within a few hours. I'm going back down to check on him. He's alive and not in any immediate danger. Your call, Dean, alerted me so I had everything ready. We were able to give him an immediate transfusion without having to type. The rest of it. . . well, I hope you can reach him. I don't know how to deal with that." She turned and exited the room, leaving two defeated men behind her.

The door opened and an orderly wheeled a new bed into the room. Dean tried to see his brother's face but stayed in bed out of the way. He wanted to see Sam when he was finished and gone. Finally he was done setting up all the machines and IV's; the orderly left. Dean struggled out of bed and joined his father beside the youngest Winchester. Sam's face was pale, hair sticking up from his head in jagged peaks. Dean reached a shaky hand to smooth the unruly locks. Sam's eyes were open but nothing registered in them. John had hoped that Sammy would wake from his nightmare. He staggered back to his chair and sank down. Dean dragged his chair over next to Sam's bed. He took his brother's hand and started talking to him. He believed if Sam knew he was safe that he would come back.

ooooOOOOoooo

Dr. Ashcraft had bet herself what she would find and she wasn't surprised: Dean was asleep, his head pillowed on his brother's bed. However, she was surprised at a line of white powder across the doorway. It looked as if it had been put there intentionally. Housekeeping would have a fit. She went over to Dean and shook him awake, reminding him of his promise. "Get back into your own bed and sleep for a while."

Dean complied with an anguished look back at Sam. He had not moved once in the night. What could they do? How could they reach him? Only the anesthesia of sleep stopped the thoughts circling in Dean's head.

ooooOOOOoooo

Sunlight was streaming into the room when Dean awoke. His father was gone. Dean slipped out of bed to check on his brother. He looked down and memories of a happy Sam, an angry Sam, a hurt Sam flashed through his mind. An empty pit equal to his brother's gaze threatened to engulf him. He swung around as the door opened, and his father was framed in the opening.

"I've got an idea, son. It's about a five hour trip from here to Lawrence."

"Missouri? Will she help?"

"I called her, and she said she'd try. I think she might be able to reach Sam with her gifts. Watch your brother. It will take me about a day. I don't know if I can drive nonstop with this leg, and I know Missouri can't drive that far to come here." The door eased shut behind John's retreating back.

Dean turned back to Sam. "Hey buddy, come back. Nothing is going to come at you right now. Dad's gone to get Missouri. She'll make you listen to me." Dean hoped she wouldn't blame him for falling down on the job and letting Sam get hurt. His breath caught in his throat. Dean got up long enough to grab a pillow from his bed, stuff it behind his back, sit down and prop his legs up on another chair. He settled with one hand on Sam's forearm. And began to talk. Dean shared parts of himself he had never shared with anyone else. His fears. His drives. His goals. He felt safe doing it while Sam couldn't respond, give him that accusatory glare or his patented "puppy dog" look.

Darkness found Dean still talking. He was drained. There were still some things he had kept in his innermost self, but Sam, if he had heard, would know more about Dean than he ever had before. Dean's voice trailed to a stop. A silence filled the room that was broken only by the monitor's beeping.

Dr. Ashcraft saved the Winchester room for her last visit of the day. Neither patient was critical, and she hoped that some improvement had occurred for both their sakes. A heart-rending sight met her eyes. Dean had his feet propped up on a chair but leaned against the side of the bed, his head resting on Sam's right arm. She moved slowly so as not to startle him. "Any change?" she whispered.

Dean's chin lifted and she was taken aback by the dark shadows under his eyes. "No," he croaked. His voice was harsh from talking all day. She turned her attention towards the still figure on the bed. Sam's eyes still gazed at nothing. His wan face was crowned by a thick thatch of hair that had been smoothed carefully and lovingly.

"Where's your father?" John had been hovering over both sons, so his absence was obvious.

"He's gone to get help."

"Do you know a psychiatrist who deals with catatonia?"

"Nooo. Missouri is a family friend who might be able to reach Sam wherever he is."

"What can she do that you can't? I would think that you of all people would be able to reach Sam."

Dean had to make a choice. Should he tell her nothing. . .something…or all about their life? The compassion visible in her eyes decided Dean. Something. "You'll need a seat."

Bemused, she pulled up a chair not knowing what to expect but sensing it would be a shocker. She wasn't mistaken.

Taking a deep breath, Dean began. "Our mom was killed when Sammy was six months old. A . . .demon killed her." He paused to check her reaction.

A lifting of the brows was the only visible sign. Inwardly, she wondered what the family was? Were they deluded? Their injuries. . Dean's chest wound from the inside out. It helped convince her that there was something bizarre here. She'd hear him out.

Seeing she wasn't going to call for an orderly to tie him down, Dean continued with a much-edited version. "Dad trained me and Sam how to hunt from the moment we could hold a weapon. As we got older, he took us on hunts. We moved a lot. Sam . . . left us to go to college." Should he tell her? "Dad disappeared and we went to find him. Sam's girlfriend was killed, just like Mom. We've been on the road looking for Dad. The demon. We found both. That's what happened, how we got hurt. It's what caught Sam and tried to kill him."

It was obvious that Dean believed this. It explained a lot. "What's that across the door?"

"Salt. It repels them."

Dr. Ashcraft had seen a lot of weird things during her residency. "So how can this Missouri help Sam?"

"She's a psychic. She might be able to get inside his head. I'm betting he kinda hid from what the demon was doing. . .or saying." Sam had been torn apart by what he'd been told in the cabin. Dean hoped he could give Sam support enough to believe in himself and his place in this family. He swallowed. "I've seen her in action; she's the real thing." Remembered rebukes about his thoughts made him flush.

"You've given me a lot to think about. I hope your friend can help Sam. Dean. You have to sleep in your bed. How can you help Sam if you're hurting? I'm sure he knows you're here. Come on."

Dean levered himself out of his chair to clamber into bed. "Satisfied?"

"Only if you stay there." She honestly didn't believe he'd stay there the whole night, but she hoped he'd get some rest. He really did need to recover from his injuries. Saying goodnight, she left.

Dean counted to 1000, slunk out of bed and resumed his post. Authority figures be damned. Sammy needed him.

TBC