The side of the car was banged up but the door was still openable—albeit it was a workout forcing it partially ajar. Bobby felt sick to his stomach at the sight of Sam, hunched over the steering wheel, blood trickling down the side of his face. There was no seatbelt to undo and it was a miracle Sam hadn't been projected through the windshield.
Bobby knew better than to move Sam, seeing the damage that could be fatal if the wrong movement jarred the unconscious man. Gently, Bobby eased a calloused hand forward and stroked Sam's hair behind his ear to expose his pale, bloody face. The skin beneath his fingers was cooler than it should have been and more panic arose in the older man.
He pressed two fingers to Sam's neck and nearly collapsed in relief when he felt a pulse. He then pulled his phone from his pocket, ready to take Dean's outrage when he would have to tell him he found Sam… and called for an ambulance.
They weren't big on the idea of ever involving the police or hospitals, especially now that Sam was doing something very much illegal. Bobby didn't care and wasn't about to let his godson die because Dean wants to handle everything himself.
The operator picked up and Bobby tried to calm himself before saying, "My son was in an accident—he's cold but breathing. I don't know if he'll make it… We need someone here now!"
The world slowed down and dulled in color when Dean heard those words over the phone.
"I found Sam; it's not good. Meet us at Saint John's Hospital."
Every part of this, every little implication, terrified Dean. His brother was hurt, his brother was hurt enough to need a hospital. His hands were shaking when not tightly gripping the steering wheel. Dean blindly reached his right hand to click on the cassette player and continue where the Metallica tape stopped at. He found that even the music couldn't calm his nerves.
The hospital parking lot was large and full. Dean didn't want to waste time and parked in the back with the intent of running through those doors and finding his brother.
Inside he found the desk with a receptionist he normally would hit on had he not been there for Sam. Even the perfect angle he stood to see down the woman's shirt was ignored as he breathlessly asked for help.
"My—my brother was just in an accident. I need to, to, I need to know where he is."
The woman tried to give him a warm smile and spoke softly as not to rile up the panicking man. "What's his name?"
Dean mentally kicked himself. "Sorry—Sam, uh, Samuel Winchester."
The woman frowned lightly when she informed Dean he couldn't see his brother yet, as he was being treated for his accident and undergoing other examinations. He swallowed back his stinging emotions and walked away to find Bobby in the waiting room.
Bobby sat alone with his hat in his fists, looking close to prayer. Dean wordlessly sat beside him and huffed a breath out.
"We really screwed up, didn't we?" He asked, tone dull.
Bobby didn't look up. "We did what we thought was best."
Dean leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head rested in his palms. His heart was still racing from the drive over and the intake of all the bad news.
"He's going to live, Dean."
Dean said nothing.
After an eternity of waiting a doctor came out to retrieve Dean and Bobby, who had been worrying themselves sick in their seats since they sat down. He led them down hall after hall until they reached Sam's room.
The room was a bit cramped and very grey in color. The sight of Sam, sat on the inclined bed with a tube in his mouth, was like a punch to the gut. Sam had been cleaned up since Bobby had seen him, though the new look of tubes and wires wasn't much of an improvement over the blood.
His long hair was brushed behind his ears and exposed a stitched gash over his left eye. There were ugly bruises along his face, giving his innocent face a black eye and making his nose appear swelled. A tube was taped around his mouth to help him breathe and Dean wished they could have given him something that was less terrifying to see, like one of those masks.
Sam's right wrist was in a splint. His chest, though not exposed through the gown, had wires all around; Dean assumed to check his heart, going by the annoying beeping monitor. There was an IV in Sam's good arm.
The doctor turned to the men, ready to give a full explanation to Sam's condition. "Mr. Winchester," he addressed Dean. "Your brother has sustained a number of injuries from the car accident he was in earlier today. His right wrist is broken, his shoulder was nearly dislocated, his ankles are bruised and sprained, and he hit his head which required stitches. However, we believe his accident to be caused by his intoxication. His tox screen came back positive for oxycodone, marijuana, and ketamine. We've already begun treatment for his overdose—"
Dean choked. "Overdose? Sammy overdosed?!"
Bobby placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, to calm and to warn. The doctor nodded.
"Yes, I understand it may be hard to hear. Your brother is stable now, but he did suffer a seizure in the ambulance and has had trouble breathing, which is why we have him intubated."
Dean shot a dirty look at Bobby, who avoided his gaze. He just had to avoid telling Dean about what happened in the ambulance.
"We've given him naloxone to reverse the effects of the oxycodone. Mr. Winchester, it is truly a miracle your brother survived the accident. If this happens again, I'm not so sure he'll make it."
The grave tone hit hard within Dean and he nodded numbly. He was going to get it right this time—he wasn't going to lose Sam. He was too close to losing him today and he wasn't going to watch his brother be buried.
"Hello?"
"Garth, it's Bobby."
"Well, I know that! I've got you on the caller-ID," Garth chuckled. He got up from his dusty, patched-up couch and paid no mind to the few roaches to crawl out from under his cushion. He approached his old 1950's television to turn the knob and silence it while he talked.
"Garth, I ain't got time for you being an idjit," Bobby said gruffly. "I need you to do something for me."
"Well, sure, Bobby," Garth said as he sat back down on the couch. "What'cha need?"
"Have you heard of a man named Crowley?"
"Well, who hasn't? He's a pretty big name around here. One of my neighbors gets monthly visits from one of his men for not making payments."
Bobby hummed. "You don't seem bothered."
"Why would I be?"
"Because you've witnessed a drug dealer having your neighbor shaken down."
Garth gasped. "Crowley is a drug dealer?! I thought he was just a loan shark!"
"How is that any better?" Bobby asked dryly.
"What—what do you need me to do with Mr. Crowley?" Garth asked with some hesitation.
"He needs to be taken care of. He almost got Sam killed."
"You want me to kill him?"
"What am I, a mob boss? No, you idjit! Run him out of town, threaten him, you need to do something. I'm sending Rufus over to you. Dean's itching to get his revenge but knowing that idjit, he'd end up in jail because he doesn't think. I'm not letting that Crowley bastard anywhere near Sam ever again."
Garth nodded into the phone and felt some confidence bloom in his chest. He knew Crowley wasn't someone to trifle with—but Sam was his friend and he'd be damned if he let Crowley hurt his friend again! And maybe, just maybe, they'll tell him what's going on without being so vague.
The beeping of the heart monitor was just as irritating as it was concerning. The past hour had been spent with Dean sitting by his brother's side, watching the ugly tube push air into his lungs and keeping him stable. He wanted Sam to wake up and say he's all better, but he didn't want to be around when he woke up gagging on the tube.
Someone came by to administer more naloxone after a while and Dean wondered if Sam would have to go through another week of withdrawal. Color was faint on Sam's skin but at least it wasn't blue—Dean was googling overdose symptoms on his smartphone and nearly vomited when he inevitably imagined each symptom on Sam.
An unconscious Sam, skin blue and bloody. His heart beating much too fast yet barely able to breathe. Falling into a coma and never waking up, dying instead before he could reach help.
Dean wiped a tear from his eye before it could fall. It was best not to do this to himself. Not now. Not while Sam actually was unconscious and struggling to breathe in the hospital.
Bobby entered the room, nodding to Dean before taking his own seat on the other side of the bed. They spent their time in an uncomfortable silence, only hearing the sounds of the equipment or people in the hall. They would watch Sam's face intensely, as if willing him to just wake up. Sometimes they'd stop to take in the ugly mars all over Sam's skin.
They waited until they were asked to leave. Abandoning his brother didn't sit well with Dean.
The room was too bright and the overwhelming need to cough and gag sent panic through Sam before he could register that he was, in fact, breathing.
He felt light and groggy and the world was hazy. Someone came in to see him and check on him, though he was too out of it to pay much attention. A man he assumed to be a doctor came in to check on his breathing.
Sam may have been sleepy or possibly high, but he wasn't an idiot. He was in a hospital and it didn't take a genius to figure it out. He was on his back, in a white room, feeling a restriction and numbness unlike when he took Oxy.
Of course, he had yet to connect the dots as to why he was in the hospital. When he woke up more he was surely going to panic.
The man inspected Sam, paying close attention to the tube and his breathing. Sam was disappointed when the tube wasn't removed just yet, the doctor saying something about needing to be sure he didn't still need it.
The tube was long gone by the time Dean came back to visit. There was a relief radiating off his face when he saw his baby brother awake and breathing on his own. Sam still seemed half-asleep with his drooping eyes and calm demeanor.
Bobby came in behind Dean and had the same relief hit him. Sam felt something tugging in his stomach at the reaction—was it guilt? Why would he feel guilty when it was Dean and Bobby being dicks to him last time he saw them?
"Sammy," Dean nearly whispered, eyes set on his brother's sleepy face. He approached him and was careful not to touch the bruising around Sam's black eye when he brushed the wayward bangs back. It was a gentle motion, a soft touch Sam hadn't felt since his first day of withdrawal when Dean laid with him.
"Dean," he tried to say back, the sounds being dry from his sore throat.
Bobby came back into view, greeting Sam, "Welcome back to the land of the living."
Sam's eyes went from Dean to Bobby and back. "What happened?"
The deep lines and wrinkles on Bobby's face furrowed before he answered. "You were in a car accident. You, uh… overdosed while driving."
Sam's eyes widened. That's why he was in the hospital? The doctors would know about the drugs, he was going to go to jail, or, or—
"Sammy, calm down," Dean shushed his brother, the monitor picking up speed. He rubbed Sam's shoulder and conveyed all the calmness he could. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble, okay? Right now all you need to worry about is getting better."
Sam nodded and bit his lip, failing to push aside the fear of being caught again. His visitors took their seats and Dean had all the patience in the world as he explained what Sam had hurt in the accident and how long it would take before he could do certain things again.
"You scared us bad," Bobby said after the silence to fall after Dean's ramblings. "When I found you like that, barely breathing, I thought… I could have sworn you were…"
Tears prickled at Sam's eyes and he bit his lip again.
Dean swallowed before admitting in a strained voice, "It felt like a fuckin' nightmare, Sammy. Even seeing you like this now—it's hard to breathe, man."
The hatred Sam had felt before had completely faded. The resentment of being forced to dry out and being watched like a hawk felt so childish. He felt selfish now, being in a hospital after wrecking Bobby's car and tricking Dean and running away to do more pills.
There was a burning in his heart and a constriction all around when he saw the hurt men before him. Just imagining what it had to have been like for Bobby to find him was heart-wrenchingly painful. Dean couldn't even trust him to stay put for an hour! He used his dead mother's photograph to escape—and he ran to Crowley, of all people!
Crowley, who was fine sending him off in a stolen car to beat up some kid!
The world came crashing down and Sam felt like he was being thrown into the sun. The sound of his hoarse, broken sobs sent Dean and Bobby's attention back to him from their gazes at the floor.
Sam was a mess, once again. His head was bent down to his chest; arms too heavy to bring up to his face to hide himself or wipe tears away. He was lucky, though, to have a brother suddenly engulfing him in a hug. Dean shushed him and held him as tight as he could without hurting him.
"I'm so sorry," Sam sobbed into Dean's shirt. His tears were falling hot and fast, starting a puddle on Dean's shirt. "I'm sorry… sorry… sorry…"
This time Dean believed it.
A/N: I did a lot of research to make this as accurate as possible. And, hey, Ruby's mystery drug was ketamine! Fun!
My research on withdrawal and overdose symptoms show a lot of similarities, though I tried to not make it all a bunch of repeated Sam suffering. I like torturing him in new ways. Which is fucked up, I guess, but whatever.
And now we have my dirty pleasure, Garth! I don't plan to make him a big part of this. We'll mostly see Sam and Dean, less Garth or Charlie.
The story is coming to a close, I just have to see how many chapters to get out of my final plans. Seems this won't be a tragedy ;( Oh, but next time... Sam can't escape his fate forever.