Consequences Chapter 2
Due to popular demand I spent at least some of my 2 weeks holiday lounging by the pool and writing this out by hand. Said hand is currently under protest for the constant cramp, my head hurts from the constant re-reading and re-writing of the chapter, and I just know I'm gonna have a bad case of eye-strain by the time I've finished typing this up and have it posted.
All I can say is that I hope you guys aren't too disappointed with the result, and I equally hope you don't find it too confusing; I've tried to get the perspectives of all three Winchesters as smoothly as possible.
As a result, I may have just cocked it right up, but I'll let you be the judge.
Just remember: I am a sensitive soul so please be nice 'cos I'm not entirely sure what I'm talking about.
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1 week later...
Sam sat down heavily on his bed and sighed. In spite of the talk Dean had with him shortly after waking up things were still a little tense between them. His latest outpatient appointment hadn't helped, even given the doctor's optimistic outlook, and Sam couldn't quite understand it. After all, it wasn't like he was terminally ill or anything, just more vulnerable than ever before, which as far as Dean was concerned was a red rag to an already worked up bull.
Once released from hospital, Dean refused to let his brother out of his sight, constantly hovering, asking Sam if he needed anything, if he felt ok, was he sleeping any better. When Sam opened the bathroom door one morning and found Dean leaning against the frame, the youngest Winchester felt his patience was close to cracking. Clearly his big brother had been listening through the door for any signs of distress, ready to burst in just in case Sam had another episode and drowned in the bath. But Sam couldn't bring himself to call Dean on his behaviour, and not just because it felt nice to be cared for and protected, but because he knew his brother was still badly shaken by what Sam had done to himself.
John hadn't said much though Sam got the distinct impression he had plenty to say. His dad just smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder from time to time, as though he was having trouble putting his thoughts into words. Sam could only guess at what was going through his father's mind and he was pretty certain that disappointment was a big part of it.
"Brought ya somthin' to eat."
Sam was startled by the sudden break in silence and glanced up. Speak of the devil...
John's expression was unreadable as he crossed the threshold holding out a plate of plain toast.
"Just somethin' light; I know your stomach's still a little sore..." he trailed off before mentioning stomach pumps when Sam just stared at him sadly. What's going through that messed up head of yours kid? He was dying to ask but he wasn't sure Sam would answer him honestly; there were some strong trust issues hanging between them and John just didn't know how to fix it. He knew he deserved it; he'd let Sam down badly and now he had to soldier on and hope to win him back.
When Sam made no move for the toast John smothered a sigh.
"Come on son, you've hardly eaten anything these last few days." He grasped Sam's wrist and gently rubbed his thumb over the bones jutting through; this was worrying. His youngest son could ill afford to lose any more weight. "You don't wanna get sick again right?" John hoped using reason and a softer than usual approach would work, but clearly Sam had other ideas.
"I'm not very hungry." Sam's gaze dropped to his hands, fiddling nervously in his lap. "Sorry Dad," he mumbled softly. He felt the bed dip as his father sat down next to him, releasing his hold.
"You've nothing to be sorry for Sam." There came that fatherly shoulder squeeze again. "If anyone should be apologising here it's me. I pushed you too hard, missed your parent's night when I knew how important it was to ya, and to top it all off I was too damn busy blaming you for a hunt gone bad to notice you were seriously injured."
Tears sprang unexpectedly to Sam's eyes as he shook his head. "No. You were right the first time Dad. I wasn't concentrating and the ghost nearly killed Dean. I screwed up, plain and simple. And I'll never forgive myself for it." His voice gave out as the silent sobs shook his thin frame.
John could feel Sam's self-disgust and shame, and it made him hate himself all the more. To Sam's amazement, John snaked an arm round his shoulder and pulled him into a tight hug.
"I guess we both dropped the ball on this one, kid." He rested his chin gently on his youngest son's head. "But the fact is... it's my job to watch out for you both and I failed. Big time. I had no right to hold you responsible for what happened. And like I said before, if you hadn't reacted when you did, your brother would have died. I'm the so-called adult here; I shoulda known better."
They both stayed silent and still for a few moments whilst John let that sink in. But he had a point to make, one he had to make Sam understand. He drew back, grasping Sam's upper arms tight enough to leave bruises and gave him a small shake.
"But nothing, nothing justifies taking your own life, Sammy. You hearin' me kid?" A hint of desperation crept into his voice and Sam's amazement grew when he saw tears sparkling in his father's eyes to match his own. "We nearly lost you son. Promise me you won't ever try that again, that you'll talk to us first if things get that bad for you. I know you probably don't feel you can turn to us for help, but you can Sammy. Just don't ever do that again, son. Please, promise me..."
John stared at him, almost pleading. He'd had the misfortune to witness a couple of Sam's fits since he left the hospital and sure enough it had scared the hell out of him, but nothing compared to seeing his son lying unconscious and on a respirator after attempting suicide. Nothing should have made Sam that desperate, and John swore to himself that it wouldn't happen again. He just wished he'd found the words earlier.
Sam had never heard his father sound like this before, never seen that lost expression on his face; he searched John's eyes, found nothing but absolute honesty and slowly nodded. "I promise Dad," he whispered back.
John smiled and raised a hand to rest against the side of Sam's head, gently brushing the soft too-long fringe back behind his ear.
"No matter what it takes, we'll help you get a handle on your epilepsy. In fact, your neurologist told me there's a good chance that once you hit on the right drugs it could be years before you have another seizure, if at all."
Sam merely nodded again, obviously not completely convinced. "Yeah, may be." He murmured, eyes once again fixed on the carpet.
"Hey," John cupped Sam's jaw, turned and tilted his head upwards to meet his gaze. "Have a little faith. And remember, you aint in this alone now."
"Damn straight he's not!" Dean announced from the doorway suddenly, face stern and eyes almost burning into Sam's. "Now eat your toast," he softened a little on seeing how confused and worried his little brother obviously felt. "It'll be ok Sam, but you need to eat kiddo."
Sam nodded slowly once more and reached out to the offered plate.
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Dean sighed with relief at seeing his kid brother finally eating something. It had been a long week for all three Winchesters, with Sam going into another seizure the moment they brought him home. Fortunately it was relatively mild compared to the first one and didn't last long, though John was tempted to take him straight back to the hospital.
Dean was more than aware of the some of the freaky shit his father had seen over the years but witnessing his youngest son in an epileptic fit for the first time had truly shaken him. John had locked himself away in his bedroom for the rest of the night whilst Dean kept a close eye on Sam. Not wishing to jump the gun, they held off and waited to see how Sam felt when he woke up.
He had thankfully recovered well after a few hours sleep, but it still begged the question about the anticonvulsants he'd been prescribed, because another far more ferocious fit less than twenty four hours later soon snapped John out of his self-pity, and a barely conscious Sam was returned to the ER for a full examination by the neurologist. The result had been a complete change in medication and another whole host of reassurances that Sam's condition could be brought under control. It was just a question of time and a lot of patience.
But Dean was worried about far more than just the epilepsy, though that was something plenty big enough to be going on with. Sam seemed so despondent of late, not that Dean could blame him given what the kid's own family had done to him. But these latest seizures had really left Sam...broken. It was the only way Dean could describe it, and it was scaring the shit out of him. The very last thing he wanted was to come home one day and experience another desperate search for his little brother, only to find him dying alone in some crap hole purely because he felt there was no other way out.
No. It couldn't happen again. Not to his Sammy. Dean was determined to do his job right this time and if that meant getting into the deep and meaningfuls with their father then so be it. In fact, once he'd addressed his concerns over Sam it became immediately apparent to Dean that John hadn't really spoken to the kid about all this. And that in itself would have led to one bitch of a fight if Sam hadn't been grabbing some much needed sleep in the next room. After a silent yet fierce staring match, John soon realised what a prick he'd been, took his oldest son's words to heart, and headed off to the kitchen to fix some toast, just as Dean heard his brother wake up and head off to take a quick shower. Back in guard dog mode, Dean had waited outside the bathroom just in case Sam needed him, and hid a small smile at the incredulous look on Sam's face when he finally finished and opened the door to find his big brother looming over him.
Dean had smiled softly on hearing his father's muted conversation with Sam, his brother finally responding. John wasn't a bad parent, Dean had thought on more than one occasion, but he was often blind to what was going on right under his nose and needed a jolt from time to time to remind him that trouble wasn't always supernatural, and as such could usually be found right on their own doorstep.
Dean listened in again, frowning a little. Judging by the tone of Sam's voice they still had a way to go, and Dean was determined to help him through it. Now that John was finally up to speed the three of them could pull together as one supporting unit, and maybe Sam would learn to see himself as an important part of the family because Dean was taking every opportunity to point it out to him; or as Sam would say, ramming it down his throat every minute of the damn day.
Watching his little brother from the bedroom doorway as he chewed slowly on the now cold toast, Dean couldn't help the pang of guilt hit him again. Sam, broken hearted that their father cared more about the hunt than his youngest son's well being, had ultimately saved Dean's life and received a life-altering condition in exchange. That sure was one hell of a 'thank you' for his trouble.
Moving into the bedroom, Dean sat down next to Sam so the youngest found himself in the centre of a protective wall of Winchesters.
"You ok Sam?" His voice was soft but the expression on Dean's face just dared Sam to lie to him.
"I...I don't know." Sam answered in a small voice. He dropped the unfinished toast back on the plate and stared out the bedroom window. "I'm scared," he now whispered. "I just don't know what to do or say."
Dean's heart clenched at the sad, lost look on his kid brother's face. Sam took a shaky breath, stood up and turned to face his family. "What happens now? I mean, I'm no use to you now right?" The dull gleam in his eyes was begging John and Dean to deny it. "I'm just more of a liability than ever before."
"Son, sit down." John ordered softly. When Sam hesitated, he added "Please," much to both boys' surprise. "Sure we're gonna have to make a few changes to how we work." John continued when Sam sat down on the opposite bed this time. "But let's take this one day at a time, ok? No more hunts for any of us until you're feeling better about all this." He held his hand up palm outwards when Sam opened his mouth to protest. "We will all attend your check ups, learn as much as we can about your medication, how to spot the early signs of a seizure, and discuss what you feel could be the triggers. We already know that flickering fluorescent lights, and by default probably strobe lights, can start one off. As can stress and exhaustion." His gaze was pointed this time.
How could Sam forget? The store's faulty overhead light had triggered his first seizure, and on being released from the hospital after the overdose Sam, feeling ashamed and lost, had panicked at the thought of facing the outside world, hence the second seizure. The third fit had been brought on after Sam refused sleep in order to catch up on all the school work he'd missed whilst in hospital. Looking back, even Sam had to grudgingly admit he'd been pretty stupid; but he'd been trying to escape and ignore what was happening to him, and his body had rebelled fiercely at the abuse.
Tugging a hand through his unruly hair and taking a deep breath, Sam gazed at his family, feeling a small spark of hope at the blatant concern and affection reflecting back.
"Ok." He nodded, a small smile forming.
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Six months and a few weeks later...
"Sam, drink some more water." Dean's tone brooked no argument as he mock-glared at his little brother.
Sam sighed, dropped his back pack and sat down on a rock. "I drink anymore and I'll be peeing every five minutes," he complained good- naturedly, but grabbed the bottle from Dean's hand and took a swig anyway.
It was a hot day, not a cloud in the sky and the brothers were resting in the cooling shade of a cluster of thick pines after a long, exhausting but altogether pleasant hike. John was out of town on a hunt with Bobby Singer, and the boys were making use of their time to celebrate Sam's sixth months of being seizure-free. They'd finally hit on an AED, or anti-epileptic drug as Sam's consultant explained, that helped him stay in control, though there were a few shaky starts when Sam forgot to take his medication from time to time and ended up seizing on the floor of the classroom, laboratory and gym respectively; usually with the teacher panicking and sending one of the other students out to find Dean; his big brother was the only one Sam would allow anywhere near him after a fit, such was Sam's hate for being so out of control.
Dean didn't think he'd ever get use to seeing his brother in an epileptic seizure, or the almost catatonic state he went into during the aftermath. It never got easier to bear; in fact sometimes he found that it scared him more and more. He had no control over it, he couldn't stop it; all he could do for Sam once it started was to make sure his environment was safe – no electrical wires, water he could drown in or furniture he could hurt himself on - keep his head from cracking the floor in time with the convulsions, and let him ride it out. Once the fit was over, Dean would hold him close, check his heart rate and breathing, and generally keep him calm and safe until the ambulance arrived.
Their Dad hadn't originally planned to go on the hunt but Bobby had desperately needed the help, so on Dean's reassurance that he'd keep an eye on Sam, John had almost reluctantly agreed.
Almost reluctantly.
Dean could easily detect the gleam in his father's eye; that need for the hunt, the chase, the kill. He couldn't blame him for it really, after all there was a part of Dean that wanted to join their Dad but there was no way he was leaving Sam's side. And that had nothing to do with being a baby sitter but everything to do with being more scared for Sam than for John. In Dean's eyes, Sam would always come first because that was the way he'd been raised, but even more so now. Sure, he'd fucked up big time sixth months ago but he'd been slowly making things right ever since.
Sam had tried his best to hide the guilt. He knew his epilepsy was holding Dean back and he hated himself for it. As always, his older brother proved way too astute to miss it.
"Six more months Sammy," Dean repeated the mantra quietly, "and we're both back on the job. That's good enough for me." And he meant it, and that was the agreement. One full year without an epileptic fit and Sam was good to go.
Sam scratched his neck, head bent self-consciously. "Yeah I know," he stopped, unwilling to sound like an ungrateful, whiny brat, and caught a peek at the soft smile on his brother's face.
"It'll soon go kid. But in the meantime," Dean got to his feet, shook out the contents of his back pack and laughed at the sudden wide-eyed expression on Sam's face when he spotted the packed dome tent. "Let's get our camp set up for the night, maybe go fishing before sundown and chill out for the rest of the evening."
"Camping out? Really?" Sam smiled excitedly at Dean's nod and grin of confirmation.
Next came the discussion regarding where to pitch the tent. After some good natured squabbling, when Sam pointed out they'd come in full circle and were almost back at the car, the brothers decided to head on back to their starting point; there was a lake right by the car that the boys could wash up and clean off the day's grime before hitting the sack. With some light ribbing from Sam about Dean's questionable map reading abilities, hotly protested by the older Winchester of course, they got stuck into the task of setting up camp. Neither of them mentioned that Dean had deliberately headed back to the start. Sam knew what he'd done and though it angered him a little he couldn't bring himself to call his brother on it; Dean was just being his overprotective self as usual, and tonight Sam would come to appreciate it anew.
Sam was grinning broadly as he helped his older brother set up the tent. "Thought you hated camping."
"Nuh uh," Dean shook his head. "Said I hated camping with some big ugly-assed Wendigo moochin' round the trail. Tends to put a crimp on ya happy hour, know what I'm sayin'?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Yeah, like Dad let him take a chick on a hunt!
"Yeah, I can see how that would spoil things," Sam responded instead with a wry chuckle and a slight blush, but it got him thinking.
Sam had been considered too young for that particular hunt so he was left with Pastor Jim for company. All he remembered of the night his family came home, exhausted and furious, was that Dean had been bleeding out through a bad gash in his thigh. The wound had been jagged and deep, the sight of raw flesh almost enough to send the most ardent and committed carnivore screaming for forgiveness and signing a sworn declaration that they'd never touch meat again.
One warning glance from his father and Sam had shut his mouth, grabbed the first aid kit and began cleaning and stitching. When he finally plucked up the courage to ask, once the wound was carefully wrapped, his father had uttered only one word.
Wendigo...
Later on, some surreptitious research on the internet, mainly Googling 'Wendigo' and discovering the details of some really crap horror movie, had Sam scared shitless just thinking how bad the situation could have become.
Sam knew that Dean still carried the scar with pride, particularly in the presence of young, big-breasted females who would gaze wide eyed at him as he boasted about his heroic efforts against a Great White. Sam would merely sit in the background nursing a soda snorting loudly from time to time and earning angry glares from his older brother.
But he still hadn't been told what really happened, and as he now sat with his brother by the lake, lines cast as far as possible, Sam's need to know once and for all reared its ugly head.
"Dean?"
"Hmm?"
"What exactly happened that night?"
"What?" Dean seemed genuinely confused and Sam realised that he'd been quiet for so long that his big brother had just been introduced half-way into an imaginary conversation.
"Um..." Sam hesitated at this point; John had never spoken about it, and even grew angry when pressed, so would Dean react any differently? "That hunt...for the Wendigo I mean," he bit his lip seconds before finally biting the bullet, "what happened?"
Dean frowned as he thought about it. "Not much more to tell. We underestimated what we were hunting, I got jumped, and Dad killed it with a flare gun. That's about it." Dean's answer was as blunt and straight to the point as always, but he slid a sidelong glance at his brother just before re-casting his line. "Why dya ask Sammy?"
Sam sighed. "Not sure really."
And Dean remained quiet, knowing his kid brother was building up to asking another question.
"Dean?"
Here it comes. Dean heard Sam swallow nervously.
"Do you think Dad's ashamed of me, of my...condition?"
Dean blinked long and slow.
Now there's a bolt way out of the fucking blue!
Dean felt a sharp tug on his line, indicating their supper was due, and kept his voice calm, relaxed and neutral. "What makes you ask that?" He reeled in the catch as he waited for the answer.
"Dad hardly lets me see Bobby these days, or Caleb for that matter..." Sam's voice trailed off in poorly disguised defeat.
Dean thought long and hard about his response, knowing his brother not only deserved the truth but would see through any attempts to gloss it over. But he could soften the blow a little.
"He's not ashamed of you Sam, he just wants to give you the best chance at recovery," He's worried you'll get yourself killed. Dean fixed Sam with an honest gaze. "Dad thought that keeping you away from hunting for a year would be the answer, give you a chance to catch up with your school work." He smiled at the disbelief on Sam's face, noting the cynically raised eyebrows. "Yeah I know, sounds lame, but this is Dad we're talking about dude. He's only doing what he thinks is best for you. Stress avoidance remember? He's scared shitless for ya."
When Sam nodded uncertainly, Dean tried another track.
"Ya know this weekend hiking expedition was his idea?" Dean smiled when his brother shot him a surprised glance. "Well, not totally. The hike was my idea but Dad suggested camping out over night. He thought you deserved a little fun after all the crap you've been through." That was totally the truth, Dean thought proudly of their father.
"Really?" Sam asked softly as he turned his head away sharply, though not before Dean caught a glimpse of tears. He just felt relieved they were happy ones this time.
A small uncomfortable silence followed as Sam tried to come to terms with these revelations.
Dean smiled in sad remembrance of his own hormone-ridden puberty. He'd had it a lot easier than Sam, that was for damn sure.
"Ya see Sammy?" Dean offered quietly, then reached out and gently squeezed Sam's shoulder. "He's always thinking of you kiddo, even if it's a little skewed sometimes."
Sam nodded slowly and observed as his brother gutted and cleaned their supper.
"And besides," Dean continued as he worked and threw the fish guts aside for safe disposal later on. "He did say that once you reached the sixth month he'd let you help out with research again. Maybe even take part in some training sessions, provided you don't push yourself too hard." Dean smiled when Sam's eyes lit up.
The conversation turned on a pivot at this stage and the boys found themselves in deep discussion about 'Sam and the hunt', or as Dean put it 'the importance of being Sam'. But Dean didn't mind at all because they needed it.
It was strange, even Sam had to admit, that since being banned from hunting – though technically John had extended that to encompass all three of them - he'd taken a deeper interest, even mourned its loss and prayed every night that things would return to normal soon. At least, what was considered normal for the Winchesters. And all this despite having previously hated the 'family business' as it was so often referred to.
Dean's theory, which was stated with no malice or hidden agenda, had been simple: the epilepsy had taken away Sam's chance at being an equal to his father and brother, the chance to prove himself. Sam worried that he would never be whole again, never gain any respect, always doubted by the people he loved. But as Dean went on to explain, that so wasn't the case. Just the opposite. The fact that Sam was willing to try, that he hadn't given up despite the obstacles along the way – the seizures, the change in medication, even the strange looks and avoidance from his classmates – and because of that fortitude and determination in the face of an extremely challenging sixth months? In Dean's eyes, that added up to one pretty amazing kid brother.
Sam once again hid his face by dropping his head, but Dean could see the faint blush creep up his neck. Heaving a quiet sigh of relief that he'd obviously said the right thing, Dean seasoned the fish a little more whilst pretending he hadn't seen the proud smile on his brother's face when he leaned over to grab some plastic plates and cutlery.
Pretty soon a delicious smell was wafting up Sam's nostrils and made his mouth water as the day's catch cooked slowly over the campfire. Dean grinned at the sound of his kid brother's stomach growling like an inpatient pup, and nudged him with an elbow.
"Hungry Sam?"
Sam smiled back shyly and folded his arms across his embarrassingly loud stomach. "Yeah I guess so."
Dean hid his relief well as he dished up their supper, watching as Sam reachd for a slice of bread to soak up the juices. When he first came out of hospital Sam appeared so pale and fragile that Dean feared he'd break like fine porcelain if he so much as breathed on him. Sam's poor appetite meant he was barely eating enough to function, and Dean was positive this additional stress had contributed to the seizures that followed.
But now Sam was back to the relatively normal teenage calorie intake, which loosely meant consuming the entire contents of the fridge, freezer and snack cupboard at any given opportunity. And he still barely gained any weight.
Damn kid must have the metabolism of a dragster! Dean smiled at that thought, feeling only slightly envious.
Unlike his big brother however, Sam could often be seen tucking into a large portion of fresh vegetables along with a healthy steak, and Dean had lost count of the number of times Sam had smiled happily at him over the top of an enormous pile of fresh fruit first thing in the morning.
Surely he was an orang-utan in a previous life! I mean, just look at all that hair!
It was quickly becoming evident that Dean's baby brother was turning into a health food fanatic, and that was enough to set Dean's teeth permanently on edge. He'd always felt vaguely uncomfortable around vegetarians and anybody that believed in the low fat options, but Sam was one small step away from becoming a natural yoghurt eater, and as far as Dean was concerned it was only a matter of time before he lost his brother to the real dark side ...organic foods. Definately four letter word material in his view!
He refused to get sucked in and briefly considered fashioning a crucifix out of a T-bone for every time his brother came near him brandishing a particularly fresh piece of fruit or a low fat, no flavour candy bar. He was dreading the day that social pressure and the commercialisation of healthy eating lead to the rise of low sugar M&Ms.
No fucking way dude!
Dean was determined to put a stop to this nonsense before Sam came to the conclusion that a loin cloth would be healthier than jeans - perhaps because it let the air circulate? I dunno! - and living in a tree would not only be fun but more environmentally friendly than, say, a centrally heated apartment or motel room with pay-per-view.
He shuddered at the thought.
The boys ate in a comfortable silence whist Dean was waging this internal debate, and so felt rather surprised when Sam nudged him sharply in the ribs.
"Dean, those storm clouds sure moved in quick," Sam raised a concerned eyebrow as he pointed to the western sky out across the lake.
Sure enough, dark clouds heavy with rain had appeared from nowhere and begun crowding the once beautiful sunset, turning the oranges, turquoises and indigoes a muddy shade of reds and browns, reflecting in the oddly still water.
Even as he replied Dean didn't take his wary gaze of the spectacle before them. "Let's get packed up Sammy," he ordered quietly and because something about the evening had changed, making him feel distinctly uneasy, he added "I think we should sleep in the car tonight. Let's go, now!"
For once Sam didn't argue with him, just got to his feet and started gathering pots and pans to wash in the lake.
Dean could already feel the first spots of rain by the time he scrambled up the slope and reached the car, but when he turned back a wave of fear washed over him when he realised Sam wasn't immediately behind him. Something was happening out on the lake and a suddenly terrified Dean yelled for Sam to get a move on.
His little brother was crouched down by the water's edge, scrubbing at their dirty dinner plates and cutlery - what the hell's he doing? - Completely unaware of the strange, flickering being that quickly appeared out of the storm clouds. It's grey, misty form drifted silently across the water towards Sam and Dean's eyes widened with shock and fear.
Where the hell did she come from?!
For as she moved closer it became apparent that this was most definitely female. Or, at least, had been once upon a time. Given the darkness in her eyes Dean's first thought had been 'demon', but on now seeing her clearly his opinion was beginning to lean towards 'spirit', and a dangerous one at that.
"Sammy get back here!"
"Huh?" Sam's head shot up on hearing the panic in Dean's voice but before either brother could react, the ghost swept forward with stunning speed and enveloped the younger Winchester in her misty shrouds.
Then the rain well and truly hit, coming down in a deluge of almost monsoon proportions, and Dean was instantly soaked to the skin. But he barely noticed and wouldn't have cared anyhow.
"Sam!" Dean ran like hell towards his struggling brother and he almost made it, would have made it.
Red lightning suddenly crackled through the grey mist and Dean caught sight of Sam's face. His expression was one of intense agony, mouth stretched open in a silent scream, his entire body jerking painfully, held prisoner by the spirit's power as it pulsed through him.
Dean's heart sank; he could see his little brother was weakening under the onslaught of electrical energy, the attack draining him unmercifully. Still struggling ever onwards to reach Sam before it was too late, Dean felt a surge of anger. His limbs were clumsy and slow, like fighting his way through thick treacle, and Dean just knew the bitch was somehow responsible for this, trying to stop him rescuing Sam.
"Sammy hold on!" He had no idea if Sam could hear him but he kept trying, "Keep fighting her Sam!"
It seemed as though the closer Dean got to his goal the further away she appeared, until he realised that the ghost was slowly pulling his brother deeper into the water, and Sam, whose unnaturally rigid body was already chest deep, was helpless to stop it. Dean could just make out the tears of pain, fear and frustration on Sam's face, and gathered all his strength to launch one final attack against whatever force was keeping him at bay. "Sammy!"
By the time he broke free, Sam had slipped beneath the surface of the water with barely a ripple. Dean roared in anguish and undiluted rage as the spirit let loose a deep evil laugh of satisfaction, then promptly winked out of existence taking the storm with her, the rain stopping immediately.
Dean stumbled, regained his footing then plunged into the lake, practically clawing his way through the water. He kept his eyes on the last spot he'd seen Sam, then dived under.
The fading evening light rendered the underworld gloomy, hindering Dean's frantic search. Pushing through the growing darkness, his lungs burning for air, eyes sweeping round, he finally spied a shadow drifting motionless against a backdrop of darker shadows and made one final push, legs kicking powerfully. Fabric brushed his hand and he caught hold of his brother in a desperate grip, dragging him upwards. On breaking the surface Dean gasped and spluttered, greedily sucking in much needed air as he pulled Sam's limp body back against him. Keeping one arm tight around Sam's chest, Dean used his remaining limbs to side-stroke to shore, trying hard to ignore the blue lips, damp hair plastered around Sam's too pale face, instead concentrating on getting his brother to safety and holding in the fear that threatened to emerge and swallow him whole.
On reaching the shore Dean slid an arm under Sam's knees and carried him up to the tent, their clothes sending up clouds of steam into the warm evening air. Sam's heart beat was thankfully strong and steady; Dean was just grateful it was beating at all. He hoisted Sam higher in his arms and muttered words of encouragement in his baby brother's ear as he trudged onwards.
Its ok Sam, you're safe now...
Stay with me kiddo...
Everything's gonna be ok Sammy...
Can you hear me? Please wake up little bro...
To his shock and relief, the instant he laid Sam out on his sleeping bag a flood of water gushed out of Sam's mouth and nose as he coughed violently, gasping and struggling to breathe. Dean flipped him gently on to his side still whispering reassurances, and rubbed soothing circles on his back.
"You with me Sammy?" Dean pleaded anxiously as he rearranged Sam's pliant arms and legs until he resided in the recovery position. "Come on kid talk to me."
When he received no response he leaned over and wiped away droplets of water and damp hair to completely reveal Sam's face. Yes, he was still too pale but the blue tint to his lips was fading. Now it was just a question of when he would wake up.
Sam was shivering lightly and Dean reached out to touch his hand, gasping in shock.
"Shit Sam, you're freezin'!" He rummaged through the nearest back pack, not caring that it turned out to be his own, and pulled out some dry clothes.
Though Sam was fast catching up to Dean in height as his rather troubled puberty progressed, the clothes would be way too big for the skinny teenager; but Dean didn't waste time worrying about it and soon had his brother stripped of his cold wet clothes – weird; I don't remember the water being that cold. Damn ghost! – dried off and re-dressed in Dean's old Black Sabbath T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Dean smirked at little as he grabbed at the dry sleeping bag – the one Sam hadn't vomited lake water on; the youngster looked ridiculous in his older brother's clothes, the T-shirt was several sizes too big and made him look like a coat hanger, and if he had any hope of walking around in those jeans he'd need to roll them up just to avoid tripping over.
Chuckling softly with relief and amusement, Dean manoeuvred his brother inside the sleeping bag, zipped it up and tightened the drawstring hood round his head.
"Alright Sam, let's get you to the car huh?" In the same manner as before Dean carried him to the rear seat of the Impala, carefully settling him inside, then reached over to switch on the ignition. Warm air soon jetted out of the vents as he angled them towards his unconscious brother, and he spent a few minutes knelt down in the foot well between the rear and front seats, just checking his breathing, pulse, and praying that he would wake up soon.
"Come on kid let me know you're ok. Please Sam."
Something in his voice must have filtered through because Sam's eyelids started fluttering, and he let out a small pained whimper.
"Sammy?" Dean placed a gentle hand on the side of his face. "You with me?"
"Dean? Wha hap'nd?" He slurred out once his eyes finally opened to reveal heavily bloodshot whites and dazed blue-green irises. As awareness seeped back in, Dean felt his anxiety lessen only for some other emotion to get a head start. And it wasn't a pleasant one.
Dean stared hard at him for a second, relief warring with the slowly growing anger. "What do you remember?"
Sam blinked a few times before finding the strength to answer.
"Washing plates, you...called to me...sounded scared..." he frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "Too hot..." Exhaustion weighed heavily on his eyelids once again but Sam valiantly tried to stay awake.
Dean said nothing as he unzipped the sleeping bag and untied the hood, but Sam could see a wealth of emotions in those green eyes, and chief amongst them was fear and anger.
"Dean? You ok?" Sam whispered sluggishly as his brother helped him shrug aside the thick material. Dean glanced away for a moment then returned a heated gaze.
"You almost got your ass handed to you by a ghost Sam," the gazed turned into a glare. "If I hadn't found you in time you would've drowned."
Sam felt instant remorse but still wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. He just couldn't remember "Dean, I..."
"This is what Dad got so mad about!" Dean's voice grew louder and he leaned over his brother. "Always questioning orders, not focussing on the dangers..." he shook his head and tried to calm down. "Next time I tell you to get to the car you drop what you're doing and get to the godamned car Sam!"
Dean regretted the overly harsh words when Sam's eyes filled with confusion and tears, and he slowly rolled his head to the side, hiding his face.
"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly, "didn't know there was a ghost...m'useless, can't even go hiking with m'brother without screwin' up, shoulda left me to die..."
Dean closed his own eyes very briefly. Shit, what I have done? "Sam..."
"Toldya...not good 'nough, never will be...why did you look for me? Ya coulda been free...drugs woulda finished it...m'so pathetic..."
"Sam that's enough!" Dean broke in fiercely, the mention of the overdose from sixth months ago just too much, but Sam didn't seem to notice and carried on whispering self-recriminations over and over.
Sam felt overwhelmed with grief and shame, a darkness filling him to the brink, scaring him, leading him onwards. He barely felt the hot tears rolling down his face as panic took over, panic of living; of existing...he was coming apart at the seams.
"Sammy I said that's enough!" Dean gripped his shoulders, giving him a small shake. "You're not useless, ok? I'm sorry I shouted at you kiddo, but I was just so damned scared. You were dying...Sam?"
Dean's eyes widened with fear when Sam's head rolled bonelessly on his shoulders and he began hyperventilating, as though undergoing an extreme panic attack.
"Hey! Easy now, come on Sam breathe slowly!" Jesus! Way to go Dean! The kid's probably in shock, doesn't remember what happened, and you yelled at him? What in hell's the matter with you? No wonder the poor kid's freaked!
"Easy there, come on now, just relax. I promise I won't yell at you again. I'm sorry Sammy, it wasn't your fault, it was mine, you didn't know..."
Sam slowly brought his breathing back under control on hearing Dean's calm words and felt the panic releasing him. But he felt strange and didn't know how or what to tell his brother.
When Dean thought about it later, he would have described it as watching a silent switch being flipped in Sam's mind. One moment his little brother was gazing up at him sorrowfully, and the next...
Click
Sam's eyes rolled sharply back in his head and his body went from quiet and still to full on convulsions, limbs flailing helplessly, breath caught in his throat, mouth snapped shut and neatly slicing his tongue open. Blood and spittle dripped down his chin and a low strangled keening noise sounded from the back of his throat.
Dean launched himself forward, slid behind Sam in one movement and clamped his arms down, trying to still his brother's upper body. But one painful blow from the back of Sam's head against Dean's chin and he figured a change in tactics was needed. Scared half to death for the second time that evening, Dean quickly grasped hold of Sam's thin wrists together in one strong hand, pulling them downwards to rest against his brother's stomach, whilst he held the other to his forehead, pulling Sam's head back firmly, tightly, against his own shoulder. It was the only way he could stop Sam from hurting himself and help his breathing until he came up with a better plan, and the truth was this had to be the worst fit Dean had ever witnessed.
Fifteen minutes and no cell phone signal later, it proved to also be the longest.
Oh God what have I done? Sammy I'm so sorry...
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Author's notes:
Yeah, awful cliff hanger I know. But it seemed the best place to end it for now.
Again, I apologise to anyone who suffers from epilepsy and knows far more about it than me, but I promise you there is a reason behind all this as you will find out in the next chapter (if you haven't figured it out already). From what I understand about epilepsy, a seizure can last from a few minutes to over half an hour, depending on the severity, though I can imagine it must seem much longer to the sufferer and their carer, so I warn you that I will start to push the boundaries of reality with this one. (yeah, like I haven't already!)
No offense is meant towards epileptics or their families, and I hope I've handled this matter with some decorum and sensitivity. Although not a sufferer of epilepsy myself, I am aware of some of the difficulties faced and I have nothing but the utmost respect for these brave people.
Someone mentioned something about Sam's 'little pills' in the first chapter, in comparison to their relative's rather larger pills. All I can say in explanation is that every country, every primary care trust will likely have slightly different recommendations and guidelines with reference to treatment. But also please take into account that anticonvulsant therapy, including dose, type and number of drugs prescribed will probably differ from patient to patient; known as biological variation. We humans are, after all, extremely individual creatures and no two of us are exactly alike. No, not even identical twins if you read the fine print, and it has always been my argument for 'tailor made health care', costly though it would be (that little anecdote is probably meant more for the UK readers given out current climate). Don't let me launch into that particular hornets' nest...ok shutting up now!
And to that same reviewer I also must say: now perhaps you understand the 'weirdly abrupt ending' to the first chapter. It was just a sounding board, a sample perhaps, just to see how people would react. Hope you enjoyed this continuation sweetheart and it didn't disappoint you too much.
Kind regards,
ST.xxx.