Consequences Chapter 4
I hope I managed to reply to everyone's reviews at some point. My sincere apologies to those I missed. Many thanks to you all for your support.
Please note that there is only a certain set time frame at the start of the chapter, but as it moves on I've pretty much left that up to the individual reader to decide whether or not this takes place over days, weeks or months. A cop out I know; I just couldn't make up my mind and I was bound to piss someone off no matter which way I played it.
I apologise for any typos etc. This is an extra long chapter and there are only so many times I can read through it before I kill myself.
Some of you wanted more Limp Sam? You got it: completely over the top limpness, and protective Dean 'til it comes out of your ears. Don't say I never give you anything!
Here we go boys and girls.
The concluding chapter…
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
"Come on Sam, please. Just give me a sign here, squeeze my hand, kick me in the balls…something." Dean sighed as he watched over his kid brother.
Since banishing the water spirit Dr Mitchell had began gradually weaning Sam off the drugs, but that was days ago. And not one sound, not even a muscle twitching in the kid's face signalled he was waking up from the induced coma. There had been mild talk of permanent damage but Dean refused to listen at first, just stayed by Sam's bed side and hoped the sound of his voice would bore his little brother into coming round.
Worryingly, Sam's kidney and liver function were declining again, and his EEG suggested he was catatonic.
John was worried as hell about both his boys. Sam in a coma, and Dean seemed on the verge of one himself, having not slept or eaten properly since this all began. He clearly blamed himself, in spite of his father's reassurance that he'd done everything he could.
Bobby and Dr Mitchell despaired at all three of the Winchesters. John blamed himself for this, having allowed the kids to go off by themselves for the weekend, but as Bobby and Tony pointed out, they'd needed the time and space.
It didn't matter one iota who blamed who, or who indeed was actually responsible, because Sam wasn't waking up.
Nothing was working and Dean found himself fighting back tears for the umpteenth time that week. This wasn't right. It wasn't fair damnit! Sam was only just beginning to live again, getting his life back on track after the devastating diagnosis of epilepsy more than sixth months ago. His kid brother was desperate to get back on the hunt, to prove himself, and now it seemed like this incident with that bitch of a water spirit might have taken that away.
"If it's any help, I think he's just taking some time out." Dr Mitchell's voice caught Dean's attention from the door to Sam's room.
Dean turned his head and frowned. "But you said…"
"I said possible permanent damage. I never said it was set in stone." Tony nudged away from the door and sat down on the opposite side of the bed. "You have to remember," He continued quietly, "that your brother's been through a lot. Those were some damn powerful seizures and most people wouldn't have survived this far. Your brother's strong, he came through, and as far as I can tell he's still here."
Dean stared at Sam sadly. "Yeah." He dropped his gaze to his hand, clutched tightly around that of his unresponsive brother's.
Tony seemed to take the hint, slowly got to his feet and left. He had some more of Sam's results to sift through anyhow and the sooner the better.
Dean didn't watch the doctor leave.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Five days later and there was still no change, except that Sam seemed thinner and paler. He was being kept alive by a nasal gastric tube, fed through his nose, down his oesophagus and straight into his stomach, providing Sam with much needed vitamins and nutrients.
In all honesty Dean was freaked by the tube, strapped to Sam's face by the vast amount of medical tape and bandages, which Tony had assured was necessary to prevent nosebleeds should the tube become dislodged if Sam moved or woke up.
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and tried hard not to feel overwhelmed with despair. At least Sam could breathe for himself, though maybe it was only a matter of time before that changed. There was already some discussion of placing Sam on a direct gastric feeding tube, one that would be inserted through an incision in the kid's abdomen and into the stomach. But this was just in case of full respiratory arrest and Sam needed a ventilator.
Dean was somewhat disturbed by just how much information he was getting on listening in on conversations between John and Tony. It was the last thing he'd wanted, hadn't planned to listen, and didn't want to hear that not only might Sam's coma continue but that his condition might well deteriorate further.
Most nights John sat with him, but often his father was out pacing the halls in frustration, wearing thin tread marks in the tiled floor. John Winchester had never been known for his patience, particularly when his boys were sick or hurt. And judging by the matching unhealthy pallor of each kid this was certainly the case.
Dean refused to budge, showing that stubborn streak so famous to the Winchester line. John refused to give up on bringing his oldest son breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper, proving that he was still master of the Stubborn Game.
In the end a compromise had to be reached, because Dean was swaying in his seat, stomach so bundled up tight with nerves John was worried he really was getting sick. It came down to a simple threat. Eat and sleep, or leave.
Dean had glared at his father, who was looming over him, arms folded and jaw set, then rather ungraciously grabbed the large sandwich from the nightstand and unceremoniously shoved the whole thing into his mouth at once. He deliberately chewed with his mouth open and if Sam had been awake it was a safe bet the poor kid would have vomited at the sight.
John wouldn't give him the satisfaction of grimacing at such uncouth behaviour, merely smiled smugly and went in search of some coffee, confident that Dean wouldn't dare go back on the deal. John would soon know if he had, especially if the kid really did get sick.
In the meantime, Tony ran more blood tests and kept up the close monitoring, but to Dean, Sam appeared to be stuck in some kind of stasis, or suspended animation; or was the world on hold just waiting for him to awaken and resume his life?
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Two in the morning and the moment that everyone had been dreading…
Dean woke to the sound of monitors wailing out, and his little brother's lips turning blue.
Sam had gone into respiratory arrest very suddenly and Tony swore under his breath as he fitted his patient with a breathing tube and set up the gastric feeding straight into Sam's stomach.
Dean watched on, tears streaming down his face unchecked. He no longer cared. His baby brother was dying, unable to breathe without help and all because of a stupid fucking camping trip!
After the doctor left he slumped once again beside the bed, ignored his breaking heart and tried to muster some hope, something to keep himself going. Dean had no idea if Sam had been able to hear him all this time but had to keep talking, since it helped him feel closer to his brother.
And that was the real bastard of it all. Sam was only lying right next to him, but he might as well have been hundreds of miles away.
"Oh Christ Sammy come on." Dean begged for what must have been the thousandth time. "You can't give up, not now. Please kiddo, you can't go like this. Just open your eyes for me."
After that, for some reason he couldn't put into words Dean felt a renewed sense of determination and pulled out all the stops. He asked Bobby to find out everything he could on spells, incantations, healing rituals, the whole works. John and Bobby only went along with it for Dean's sake, not really believing that they'd find anything, but if it gave Dean something to fight for until….well, even the ever-optimistic Tony Mitchell was beginning to admit defeat and had even engaged John in very private talks about the future possibility of letting Sam go; the boy's EEG was showing a gradual deterioration in cerebral function and wasn't likely to improve as time moved on.
Very private talks. Because he was pretty certain that had Dean knew about it there would have been a serious uproar, possibly involving Dr Mitchell, a scalpel, and absolutely no anaesthetic.
Tony was saddened that it had got to this stage, and although he still held out hope, it was his duty to go through the motions. And unfortunately, as he quickly explained to an extremely angry and distraught John Winchester, this was one of said duties. No one liked it, but it had to be discussed.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Dean rubbed his eyes and blinked hard to clear them. He'd read through enough journals, text books, and ancient mythology books to satisfy his geek brother for a year at least. He'd been all the way through from Catholicism to Islam, from Wicca to Chinese healing. He even briefly considered the idea of acupuncture but discounted it; he wasn't sure he trusted some stranger to stick pins into his brother's body. It was bad enough he had to let the hospital quacks anywhere near Sam at all.
No. There had to be something. Dean wasn't giving up on his little brother, no matter what anyone said. He wasn't stupid; he was more than aware of what his dad and Tony had been discussing behind closed doors, and as much as it angered and frightened him to even think it, Dean knew it was an inevitable conversation. After all, Sam was looking worse each passing day and it was only a matter of time before his heart wouldn't be able to sustain him. Dean might have been stubborn but he was also realistic, and that somehow made him all the more determined to find a way to help Sam, help him find his way back.
"Comeoncomeon in all this folklore and healing spells and damn voodoo there must be something!" Dean flipped impatiently through yet another of Bobby's books, searching desperately for a lead, even a small one. He glanced up at his brother from time to time, just to remind himself that Sammy was right here. Not dead, which meant there was a chance. "Don't worry kiddo. It's here somewhere, I can feel it." He whispered, reaching over to stroke Sam's unruly hair back from his face.
Christ he looks so pale.
Taking another shaky breath Dean carried on, scanning through book after book, scroll after scroll, reading and reading until his eyes felt like they were going pop straight out of his head from sheer exhaustion. His brother definitely had the edge on him when it came to research, spending hours at a time, nose happily wedged in a book, and Dean wondered how in hell Sam had managed it for such long periods of time without going blind.
After another hour or so his eyes began to drift shut, his body slackening as sleep took hold. His current book, Native American Healing: body, mind and spirit, slid to the floor with a loud thud jolting him upright in his seat. Dean shook his head and reached down to pick up the book, his intent to just throw it back on the nightstand, marked as another waste of time. As he leant over something caught his eye; the book had fallen open about twenty or so pages from the end, and the tiny subheading Awakenings: the mind stood out. He realised he hadn't scanned that far back and soon became engrossed in the paragraph. Dean turned the page to read on, and it wasn't until he later glanced at his watch that he'd found he'd been reading for over an hour.
This could be it, he thought excitedly. Sammy I think I've found a way to get you back!
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Bobby frowned at Dean worriedly as the kid stared back at him, hope written right across his young face.
"I don't wanna disappoint you son, but these are just legends. I've never heard of a single incident where it's actually worked." He raised an eyebrow at John, who just shrugged. Both Winchesters were ready to try anything at this stage.
Dean shook his head. "That's not what it says here," he pointed to a reference in the bibliography section. "Read this."
Bobby sighed.
…a severe head injury in 1976. Doctors maintain that the girl came out of the coma due to medical intervention, but the parents believed that responsibility lay with a native American family friend who performed the mind healing ceremony, allowing the child's mind to awaken and take back control of her body…
"Dean, this doesn't mean anything. The doctors coulda been right all along." Bobby read through it again, wishing he could find some small grain of hope. "There's still no definite proof it's anymore than myth."
"Can't hurt to try though, right?" Asked Dean, trying to keep his patience in check. "I mean in our line of work, anything's possible."
"Kid's gotta point." John tentatively agreed. "We come up against legends and myths all the time that turn out to be true." And this might be Sam's only chance.
Bobby nodded his head tiredly, hearing the unspoken words. "Yeah…it can't hurt to try. I'll go make some phone calls." He turned to go but couldn't leave it at that. "Just…don't pin ya hopes on this, ok? Either of ya."
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
"Hey little bro. Look what I gotcha." Dean set the cuddly toy gently down on Sam's stomach, careful not to dislodge or place pressure on the gastric tube. It was cute, even Dean had to admit. He couldn't find a simple teddy bear in the hospital gift shop so had to make do with a light blue lop-eared bunny rabbit around the size of a large coffee carafe, with adorably over-sized paws and its thick, soft ears trailed right down to its butt.
Dean smiled sheepishly, eyes full of hope. "Yeah, I know. You're just dying to wake up and tell me you're too old for stuffed toys huh?" he gently stroked the soft fluffy material, then shuffled the rabbit forward over Sam's chest, paw by paw, until it's nose brushed against Sam's sunken cheek. "What's up doc?" Dean rolled his eyes at the poor imitation of Bugs Bunny.
As expected, Sam remained eerily silent and even the ventilator seemed unusually quiet. It was still functioning, filling his little brother's lungs with oxygen at every soft whoosh and click, but the sound was subdued as though it too was now aware of just how fragile Sam's hold on life had become.
Bobby was still asking around about the Awakening, contacting old friends and hunters for information and equipment, but had so far drawn a blank. He promised to keep trying, and Dean continued to promise Sam the same. But staring at Sam now, with the stuffed rabbit resting on his chest, soft nose buried in Sam's neck under the protruding ET tube...
Dean couldn't stop it. The fatigue, fear and loneliness caught up and overwhelmed him. His hands began to shake, followed shortly by his arms and shoulders and pretty soon full on silent sobs wracked his tired body with grief for his little brother.
Sam wasn't dead yet, but Dean knew it wouldn't be long.
He barely felt strong arms holding him up in his chair; he would have slid to the floor without even noticing if not for his father. And his crying was no longer silent.
John had never seen his oldest child so distraught or heartbroken, never heard him cry like this, not even after his momma died. He felt the boy's young body shaking violently in his arms and held on tight, silently praying to a god he didn't believe in to give both his sons the strength to get through this.
"That's it son," John whispered softly, rocking him back and forth. "Just let it go." He held back his own tears with an iron will. This was about helping Dean, helping him come to terms with what was going to happen. There would be time enough later for John to grieve.
John had no idea how long they stayed that way but Dean had cried himself to sleep, the dry tear tracks on his face making him seem impossibly young. During that time, the sun had slid down the sky casting shadows on the windowsill whilst the evening sky lit up in a silent but beautiful firework display of clouds and colours, just the kind of sunset that his youngest would have been fascinated by.
Sam won't get to see anymore sunsets.
John choked back his own feelings of despair and helplessness when the treacherous thought pushed to the front of his mind. It made him feel dangerous and reckless. He wanted to throw something violently through the window in an attempt to smash the sunset and any other sunsets that might have followed.
"John?" Bobby was standing in the doorway, looking unsure as to whether or not this was the right time to enter. It was a forlorn sight, John kneeling on the floor with Dean in his arms and staring hopelessly at the occupant of the bed. Maybe what he had to tell them would change their outlook.
"Boys, I've had a lead on that ritual." Bobby smiled slightly when John raised his chin from Dean's shoulder. "It's gonna be tough, but the good news is I think it could work."
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Dean got rather shakily to his feet when Bobby introduced the guy, and held out his hand. Which was completely ignored. Dean would have glared but didn't have the energy, so instead his tired gaze swept over the tall, dark haired guy standing next to his brother's bed. His name, according to Bobby, was Jack 'Hawkeye' Blackfeather, to which Dean did his best to conceal a loud derisive snort by turning it into a false sneeze. Judging by the look on Jack's face he wasn't fooled for a second, and he looked Dean up and down with a matching air of distain.
God! If only Sam were awake to see this guy. We'd be knee deep in eye rolls!
Even John had to silently agree with that one. This man was a walking cliché that almost screamed Geronimo. Resisting the very same eye roll inherited by his youngest, John kept calm and quiet.
But really...all that's missing is the tomahawk and the totem pole!
"Jack was one hell of a lucky find; he's been practicing the Awakening for the last five years since his little sister nearly died from Diphtheria." Bobby ignored the apparent hostile atmosphere. In truth, he didn't much like the guy either. Jack was surly, rude, arrogant, and he nearly made one of Sam's nurses cry. But if he could do the job, bring Sam back, then personalities couldn't matter.
John followed Bobby's neutral lead and cleared his throat politely. "So, need any help setting up?"
Jack sneered at him. "Not from the likes of you, hunter!"
A deadly silence filled the room and Dean slowly raised an eyebrow.
"Why don't we leave you to it huh Jack?" Bobby attempted to smooth ruffled feathers, "We'll just wait outside." To John and Dean he whispered "pipe down! I'll tell ya later!"
Jack's voice struck out a sharp command. "Not him," he pointed to Dean, then jerked his head in the direction of the door. "The rest of you can go."
John and Bobby watched in astonishment as the door virtually slammed in their faces. After a brief pause John and Bobby turned their backs to lean against the frame, both heaving out a long breath.
John glanced over at his companion. "Who the hell is that guy?"
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
"What happens now?" Dean began but quickly shut his mouth at the grim glare thrown his way.
Jack clearly wasn't one to mess with, and given that he held the power to save Sam's life, Dean wasn't going to try anything. Though he was tempted. This guy had the kind of smug superiority that was just begging for an ass kicking.
"Sit." Jack, voice softer, attitude a little more gracious now for some reason, indicated Dean should climb on to the bed and face his brother. Dean heard a match flare to life followed by a warm, sweet fragrance that made him think of Home. Not that home was something he could define; it was... just what it was...home.
A light tapping followed by some low chanting then Jack sat on the other side of Sam, cross-legged, palms out, eyes trained on Dean.
"You're brother's still here; the Great Spirit guards him." Dean managed to hold back the smirk. "Sam must return soon but needs guidance. Only you, of his blood, his brother, can guide him..." Jack reached out and gently grasped Dean's wrist, turning the hand over. A strange looking stone knife appeared in his other hand and before Dean could protest the blade was drawn across the lifeline of his palm, blood oozing lightly from the shallow cut. Oddly enough he didn't feel any pain, just a sense of disconnection from his own body.
Jack watched him closely and nodded. "You seek your brother, to bring him home." The knife turned and cut into the palm of Sam's hand. "Blood seeks blood." Jack pressed the two bleeding hands together, smiling slightly when Dean's fingers automatically entwined with Sam's. "Now go... Protector."
The guy began chanting again in a low voice that was kind of relaxing, and Dean felt himself drifting off, convinced Jack was going to chew him a new one if he caught him sleeping on the job but not caring. The last thing he remembered was staring briefly into Jack's vivid eyes, sinking into the dark chestnut depths and thinking...huh! Funny, he really does have eyes like a hawk...
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
"What's his story?" John was nursing a hot coffee, his back resting against the wall whilst Bobby tried to listen in at the door. He gave up after a while, unable to make out what was being said, and joined his friend.
"He was raised in a middle class family, went to college, majored in Natural History and has a Masters degree in Anthropology. Well known in some circles, but pretty low key in others. Keeps himself to himself, honest and law abiding with no known vices."
John stared at him. "Huh? I thought you said he was Native American."
Bobby grinned. "I never said that. And neither did he, but his family are descended from one of the local tribes. His grandfather taught him the ways of his people, but his years at college filled him in on the rest."
"Interesting guy," John nodded thoughtfully. "So what's his beef with hunters?"
Bobby's grin faded, his face growing a little dark. "He and his younger brother were close, practically raised the kid. But the younger had a special gift, a frightening one." He watched John take a sip of his coffee, "he was a skin walker" and watched it explode outwards as John coughed and spluttered the warm liquid across the floor.
"He...wha..." another splutter and John coughed loudly to clear the coffee from his lungs. "He what?"
Bobby nodded. "Yep, that's what I thought. Took the shape of a hawk mostly but sometimes a bear. He was eventually killed by a group of hunters. Our kind that is. He was a good kid, never did anyone no harm. It's a long story but they figured out what he was, and as you know it's pretty much ingrained in a hunter to believe that anything even slightly supernatural is dangerous and evil."
John stared down into his coffee for a long moment. "So why's he helping us? The very people he hates."
Bobby shrugged. "He didn't go into much detail, he's a private guy. Just said he knew what it was like to lose a brother. Didn't wanna see anyone else go through that if it could be helped. Oh, and something about Sam having a natural light about him, as though he's been touched by evil but protected by love..." he shook his head with a wry grin. "I aint too sure what the guy means, but if it helps Sam..."
John nodded worriedly but had nothing else to add to that. "Where dya find 'him?"
"Uh," Bobby scratched his head a little nervously. "He, uh, kinda found me."
"What?"
"Now hold on, don't go jumpin' the gun here. The guy didn't set out to find Sam, just said he'd heard about all this, knew we were looking for someone who could help. I'd just about chased down another dead lead, next thing I know this huge guy in a chief's costume is leaning against my truck." Bobby stared hard at John. "Once you hear the shovel strike the dirt it don't take long to find the digger."
John snorted. "Where dya get that from? The Gold Rush Book of One-liners?"
Bobby managed to look offended in spite of the reluctant grin curling up his moustache. "Nope. The Bobby Singer Book of Wisdom."
"Huh. Figures."
"Like ta see you do any better."
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Dean opened his eyes and...just stopped. Stopped moving, stopped breathing for a moment. He wasn't sure what he expected but it sure wasn't this.
Home? For Sam? You're kiddin' me!
But it was right in front of him in all its glory. The gleaming black paintwork, shiny chrome bumpers, the sleek yet boxy lines...and Sam.
Sam was curled up in the passenger seat, staring fearfully out the windshield. He hadn't yet clocked Dean's presence, just stared into the distance, as if watching and waiting.
Dean studied him for a moment, resisting the desperate urge to run to the car, wrench open the door and pull his brother into his arms. He didn't want to scare the poor kid, and by the looks of things Sam was already deeply troubled.
And why wouldn't he be? He's in a coma, has no idea what's going on, and now he's sitting in the Impala stuck out...where exactly?
Dean took a good look round for the first time.
A graveyard?
Now he recognised the place as it swum into focus. It was the place where it all first happened, where Sam lost his identity, lost his purpose, where he lost his sense of family.
Aw Sammy. That his kid brother had become trapped here of all places was heart breaking. And there was no doubt in Dean's mind that Sam was indeed trapped.
Dean turned, dreading what would greet him but had to see anyway.
...he skidded to a halt at the sight of his brother sprawled on the ground, groaning and clutching his wrist, the spirit poised over him ready for its next attack, and his father desperately trying to scramble out of the grave and frantically yelling for Sam.
The spirit dove for Dean, wrapping cold grey hands around his neck, and Sam could hear his brother gasping for breath as his windpipe was slowly crushed.
Biting back his panic, Sam raised the shotgun and fired. The spirit screeched angrily, didn't dissipate in the slightest, just changed direction and suddenly the young Winchester found himself the target of one very pissed off ghost. Standing his ground, head high, Sam fired again just as she swooped in for the kill and shortly realised he was airborne a split second before the back of his head connected with a stone mausoleum. Fighting to stay conscious, Sam reached sluggishly into his jacket pocket for more rock salt shells. He could just about see the ghost lunging for him one more time and he knew he was too slow.
The smell of accelerant suddenly filled the air followed by burning wood and bone. A loud screech was cut short leaving a shocking silence in the night air.
Sam understood what happened; his father had used Sam's distraction to salt and spray the corpse then throw in the lit match, because even with his darkening vision he could spot the flames leaping inside the grave, right from where he lay on the cold damp ground.
The spirit was taken care of.
But Dean was hurt and that didn't sit well with Sam, especially as he knew full well it was his fault. If he hadn't been distracted by his own self-pity it would never have happened. It was that thought that forced Sam to snap open his eyes. Just how bad was his brother hurt?
Nononono...she was strangling him...please Dean be ok...
Ignoring the skull splitting pain in his head, with the help of the very stone monument that caused it, he got shakily to his feet and tried to make his way over to his family in double time.
His dad was crouched beside Dean, one arm round his shoulders and helping him to stand up. Dean groaned in pain, still holding his wrist which was now swelling nicely.
"Dad? Is he ok?" Sam called softly, anxiously.
"I'm gonna get him to the ER. That wrist's probably broken and needs a cast." And Sam bit his lip at the neutral tone, and the way his father wouldn't even look at him.
"Let me help." And Sam made to slide an arm round Dean's other shoulder to assist him to the car.
"Leave it Sam." John replied, voice still neutral though this time there was a distinct edge to it.
Sam backed off and trailed behind his family, self-loathing and misery warring for space in his head. He fought back tears as his head suddenly pounded with renewed viciousness, and swallowed back a gasp of pain. Blinking frantically to stay awake, Sam trudged onwards. His family would hardly thank him for passing out on them after his performance tonight. God, he was such a screw-up they'd probably just leave him lying there if it weren't for the one hell of a bawling out he knew was coming. Sam was resigned; it was nothing more than he deserved...
Dean hung his head in shame and remorse. He was now seeing that night from Sam's point of view, so different to his own. Sure, they'd talked about it, but Dean hadn't really got it until now. Now he was feeling Sam's own shame, and worst of all his dejection, and Dean wasn't sure how to fix it.
Sam's still feeling guilty about all this? Why? We told him...
But Dean knew. It was the innate Winchester guilt complex along tied in with typical Sammy head space, and he wondered how he'd missed it. He should have known before...
Not going there. Leave that for later. Bring him back NOW!
With a sense that time was really running out, Dean followed his initial instincts.
The clocks ticking...
He raced to the car,
Not long now...
yanked open the door,
Times running away...
and pulled Sam forcefully into his arms. He didn't expect the fight...
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
"Is this really gonna work? I mean, it's been hours." John huffed impatiently, worried for his kids.
"Can't rush these things John." Bobby didn't even open his eyes as he rested his head against the wall, sitting on his ass, legs stretched out to mirror John's position, and just sighed. He'd heard this argument too many times now; John would just have to learn some patience...
Yeah right!
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
He didn't understand what was happening to him. He felt weird. Sam had checked his eyes in the mirror and there was no sign of concussion, though he knew it could be a delayed response setting in. His head still hurt like a bitch and he just couldn't get coordinated. Sam was fairly certain he'd managed to keep it to himself however, and hoped his family just put his behaviour down to brooding over last night's events. Which wasn't far from the truth.
The water suddenly felt cold and he realised he'd been standing there for at least half an hour. Where's the time gone? Turning off the water and towelling himself dry, Sam stared at himself in the mirror once more. He realised just what he was looking at. An utter failure. Before tears threatened once more, he turned to make his way into the bedroom and dressed slowly, reluctant to face the day.
Down in the kitchen his brother and father were chatting away amiably, but as soon as he entered the room all talk ceased. It was all he could do not back out and head up to his room but he forced himself to sit at the table, hair once again hiding his face. He wasn't all that hungry but a bowl of cereal had been placed in front of him, so to avoid an interrogation he dug his spoon in and took small bites, chewing without enthusiasm. He didn't speak unless he was spoken to and only then he kept the answers to 'yes sir' or 'no sir' for his father, and with Dean he just 'hmmed' and 'snorted' in the appropriate places. Truth be told, he had no idea what they were talking about and didn't much care to get involved. His head just felt so fuzzy, and it was starting to scare him the way he kept fazing in and out without even realising it until he found that time had passed and he had no recollection.
A sudden firm grip on his arm made him look up into the less than amused face of his father.
"…you hear me Sam? You better quit this sulking real soon 'cos I'm already getting tired of it. We talked about it and it's time to let it go. We all make mistakes Sam, what's important is that we learn by them."
Sam stared at him in confusion. He had no idea what he was talking about so he just nodded along with it. "Yes sir."
Then without another word he got up, took his cereal bowl to the sink, washed and dried it, then left the kitchen...
"Sammy you have to stop this!" Dean shook him hard. "Please kiddo..."
But he was force to watch as...
...Sam took out the anticonvulsants and stared at them for a long time. Two containers of tiny pills that would forever rule his life. And he couldn't, he just couldn't.
He shook one out and balanced it in the palm of his hand, summoning what little was left of his waning courage. If Sam was no longer around to screw things up then at least Dean and his father stood a chance...
Dean's despair grew as more was revealed. Is this really what was going through his mind?
"No! We never stood a chance without you, never without you." He held his little brother tighter, then whispered "come home. Just come home and I'll keep you safe. I promise."
But Sam kept staring out the windshield, seeing the same scenes over and over again, eyes moving, searching.
This is why he's trapped.
It kept playing out in front of them both, and Sam seemed mesmerised and terrified all at the same time. He watched time and again as his brother was nearly choked to death, saw his own suicide attempt, the distraught faces of his family as he was wheeled out from under the bridge, breathing tube in his mouth, barely alive.
"Sammy, don't watch it. It's in the past." Her heard Dean speaking softly somewhere in the background. "It doesn't matter now. It wasn't your fault, listen to me buddy, I'm right here."
Sam began to struggle against his brother "no" he whispered, but his voice soon rose to a shout when Dean refused to let go "you have to let me stay here; it's where I belong."
Dean tightened his hold, voice hard. "What? You deserve to spend the rest of your life here being punished tortured for what was completely beyond your control? No fucking way!"
"You don't understand…" Sam was kicking out, desperate to get free.
"No, you don't understand. Sammy if you don't come with me, if you don't leave this place now, you'll die." Dean gave him a hard shake to get his attention when Sam wouldn't meet his gaze. "Look at me! Not over there damnit look at me!" He grabbed Sam's jaw and forced his head round. When Sam finally looked at him, really looked at him, he stopped struggling and stared. He reached up a shaky hand to brush a featherlike touch against Dean's cheekbone. "Is it really you this time?" he sniffed, and blinked sending hot tears rolling down his thin face. "Please tell me you're real…"
Dean couldn't believe his ears. Is this what the so called Great Spirit had in mind when guarding Sam? As a prisoner in his own mind? What kind of cruel sadistic bastard…
"Come on." Dean whispered as he gathered his brother in his arms, resting his chin on Sam's head. "I'm taking you home Sammy. You're safe now."
Sliding an arm under Sam's knees, Dean gently lifted him from the car, stood up and faced the past.
"If you wanna punish someone so bad, then punish me. I'm his big brother, I shoulda been watchin' out for him but I let him down." Dean squared up, trying not to notice how light Sam was even here….wherever here was. "He's coming home with me, where he belongs."
As though someone had flicked off a TV, the replays stopped, the car disappeared and Dean was back on Sam's bed, holding his brother close. He could feel the rise and fall of the kid's skinny chest, hear the cardiac monitor bleeping away quietly.
"Sam's hope was fading. He was given a reason to keep going, keep fighting until you could find him." Jack spoke up quietly. "The Great Spirit is not cruel without good reason."
Dean glanced up at him in shock, at a complete loss for words.
"He'll need more time." Jack slid off the bed and strode to the door, "But he will be back. Take good care of your brother." Before Dean could respond the guy had slipped from the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Dean laid Sam back, adjusting the pillows behind his head. For a moment there he was worried the ET tube feeding oxygen into Sam's lungs had developed a kink, effectively suffocating him, but all seemed fine. Dean was little disappointed that Sam hadn't woken up yet, in fact there was no change at all but for some reason he believed what Jack had told him. When Sam was ready, Dean would be waiting for him.
As he brushed Sam's hair from his face, checked the gastric tube in his stomach, generally got him settled and hopefully more comfortable, Dean thought about Jack 'Hawkeye' Blackfeather. He still wasn't sure if he liked the guy but he did hope for the opportunity to thank him one day.
Dean smiled softly, hand still stroking absentmindedly through Sam's thick hair. "When ya ready Sammy."
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Both men were dozing, sitting on the tiled floor, backs to the wall when Jack came out of Sam's room. He studied them for a long moment, a half smile on his face. He'd been inside the minds of both boys, if only briefly, and he appreciated the experience. He still ached for the loss of his brother so many years before and knew he always would. But the love and compassion running through this family, in spite or maybe because of the tragedy he sensed in their pasts and also, sadly, their future, he was learning to identify with his own guilt and pain.
Maybe not all hunters are mindless murderers.
He stepped soundlessly round the sleeping men and made for the exit.
No sooner had he disappeared but Dr Mitchell came out of the elevator and stopped short trying not to laugh. John was dozing, his head on Bobby's shoulder, and the older man was resting his head on top of John's. And both were drooling.
Tony wondered briefly about taking out his cell phone and snapping a picture, but soon squashed that idea. These were hunters after all, and though he wasn't really afraid of them, he'd seen some of the spells, curses and incantations amongst Bobby's arsenal and didn't like the thought of waking up to a nest of killer bees in his bedroom. Or maybe something worse, and he now knew that his lifelong fear of anything small, winged, making an ominous buzzing noise and attacked without provocation, was nothing compared to some of the things he caught a glimpse of in one of Bobby's grimoires.
"Uh, guys?" Tony tried out a sort of small shout, but when they still didn't wake up, he yelled "Hey! What is this? A homeless shelter?"
Both men woke at the same time, each opening one eye.
"Nah, food's edible in a homeless shelter." John grumbled, then froze when he suddenly realised whose shoulder he'd been using as a pillow. He sat up straight, wiping his mouth and avoiding Bobby's eye. Which wasn't difficult since Bobby wasn't all that keen to look at John right then either.
A grinning Tony watched the hunters compose themselves as they got to their feet.
"So, has it worked? Has that guy been able to help Sam?" He didn't have a problem with Complementary Medicine, and certainly hadn't objected to the idea of a Native American trying out some sort of mojo on his desperately sick patient, especially if it worked.
John rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shook his head. "Dunno yet. They're still in there…"
"Dad?" Dean was standing in the doorway his face expressionless.
"Hey kiddo, how's Sam doing?" John studied him carefully, not wanting to leap to any conclusions.
"Jack said he'd be ok in time." Dean sounded as tired as he looked, but there was something else about him…relief. And if Dean believed The Awakening had worked then that was good enough for John.
Tony laid a hand briefly on Dean's shoulder, then moved into the room to examine his patient.
John, Bobby and Dean stayed outside, waiting anxiously for the Doc's verdict. John attempted to ask Dean what happened, but his son avoided answering any questions, just stayed silent and pensive. The boy was clearly shaken and nowhere near ready to talk about it, maybe never would.
Dean was staring at the floor, shoulders tense, mauling his bottom lip when Tony finally stepped from the room. He slowly raised his head, eyes searching the Doc's face. Tony smiled, nodding encouragingly and Dean finally allowed a small smile of his own to escape.
"I won't know anything for sure until his blood results come back, but his colour's already improving and his blood pressure's stabilising nicely." Dr Mitchell looked somewhat bewildered but happy. "Why don't you guys go on in and keep Sam company? I gotta get these blood specimens to the lab." With a wink and a small salute, he hurried off down the hallway.
Bobby watched him go then turned to Dean. "So it really worked?"
Dean nodded, appearing rather shell-shocked. "I guess so."
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Dean was reading to his brother and even enjoying 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' though he'd never admit it to anyone, least of all Sam. He'd perfected the voice of Aslan, was proud of his portrayal of The White Witch and was working on all four voices of Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy, with laughable results. Peter and Edmund were fine, Susan not so bad, but when Dean tried for the higher little girl's voice of Lucy he came off sounding like a mouse with its tail caught in a trap. After nearly choking on his own vocal cords one too many times, Dean sighed in defeat and reverted to his own voice for Lucy. It sounded stupid but at least it didn't hurt.
He yawned and stretched wondering how much longer his father was going to be, stomach growling in anticipation of a nice big greasy burger. Dean glanced over at his brother with a small smile. The kid was still on the vent, still a little pale but improving all the time.
Sam's renal function was back to normal, yet further evidence of his recovery and Dean was already planning a welcome back party for his little brother. Low key of course so as not to overwhelm the poor kid, but the banner was up and stretched across the opposite wall and somewhere out in the offices a confused Tony was blowing up balloons and wondering how in hell he'd managed to get roped into this.
Dean's gaze returned from the banner to his brother and he suddenly leapt out of his seat.
Sam was staring up at the ceiling, tired eyes blinking, and one hand coming up to grab at the tube in his mouth.
"Hey, welcome back kiddo." Dean loomed over him smiling broadly, eyes glistening. "Let's see what Tony says before we take that out huh?" He gently caught Sam's hand in his and gave it a small squeeze, rubbing his arm.
Sam looked scared and confused, his eyes darting round the room in almost panicked movements.
"It's ok Sammy." Dean tried to calm him down. "You were gone a while but you're back now; nothing to be afraid of here. Dad and Bobby will be back soon and boy are they gonna be happy to see you awake at last." Sam's eyes lit on him and Dean could see the fear gradually residing. "S'good to have you back. You scared me kid."
"So sleeping beauty awakes at last!" Sam's eyes flittered across the room to see his father standing in front of the door, holding two takeout bags already saturated with grease.
"Welcome back son." Three long strides and John leaned over his youngest child, pressing a firm kiss to the top of his head. "Everything's gonna be ok Sam, just relax and get better. Dean needs his little brother to run circles round him, put 'im in his place."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah like that's ever happened." Without thinking he grabbed at one of the takeout bags with his free hand and began rummaging for his burger, but John's pointed clearing of his throat made him pause. Dean looked up then glanced at Sam guiltily. His kid brother was still on gastric feeding; eating solid food in front of him seemed grossly unfair.
"Sorry little bro. I'll take this outside." But Sam held onto Dean's hand like a vice and shook his head slightly. His big brother read the silent message easily enough. It's ok, please don't go.
For once Dean settled back to eat his burger almost gracefully and John did his best to hide a smile. Sam was watching his brother with wide eyed intent, a tiny grin forming around the ET tube suggesting he couldn't quite believe it either.
Dean with table manners? Wonders will never cease!
"Hey there kid…" Bobby and Tony entered the room and Sam was subjected to another few rounds of 'good to have you back'.
There was a brief spell of gloom and disappointment when Tony later tried to remove the ET tube. Sam's eyes widened in desperation and his mouth gaped open, whilst Dean gripped his hand in panic.
"Too soon." Tony muttered apologetically. "Sorry kid. You're not strong enough yet, but you will be. We'll try again tomorrow ok?"
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and heaved a sigh of relief when Sam settled down again. Sure it was disappointing but the sheer terror on Sam's face when he realised he wasn't getting any oxygen…Dean swallowed hard and tried to calm down; his heart was still pounding nineteen to the dozen.
"Jesus Sammy, you gotta stop scarin' me like this." His little brother somehow managed a sarcastic look which suggested he wasn't exactly happy about it either.
But he seemed resigned to his fate, another night with a breathing tube down his throat and Dean offered up a shaky smile of reassurance.
"It's ok. We've waited this long, we can hold on another day, right Sam?"
Half hour later and Dean could tell Sam was growing tired again, too many people in the room and talking at him was wearing him down, and his eyelids drooped; the hand gripping Dean's relaxed as sleep crept up in him.
"Go to sleep buddy. I'll be right here when you wake up."
Sam gazed gratefully up at his brother one last time before his eyes slid shut.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
"Ready Sam?" At the slight nod, Tony slowly and gently tried the extubation again. It was the third day since Sam had woken up, and Dean and John hovered anxiously in the background, fingers crossed and hearts in mouths.
"That's it…well done Sam. We're there." And Sam was suddenly breathing on his own. Tony reached over to the night stand and passed Dean a small cup of ice chips, instructing him to make sure Sam took them slowly. The Doc began checking Sam's IV, gastric tube and catheter, making sure there were no signs of infection, made a few adjustments, and after clipping an oxygen tube under Sam's nose finally took his leave. The family needed some time to themselves and Tony still had other things to do. Since barging into the hospital he'd accepted a few of the more specialised neurology cases from the overtaxed staff and now had a full workload. Though Sam had always taken priority, until now.
The boy was still under close observation in case of a return of the seizures but his latest EEG results indicated the anticonvulsants were doing their job. Tony, however, was still reluctant to release Sam from the ICU and into a private room just yet. It was too soon after extubation, and they needed to be prepared in case Sam suffered a relapse.
"How ya feelin' son?" John gently pulled the blankets up a little, just something to keep his restless hands occupied. He was a little nervous and wasn't quite sure why but he managed to hide it from both his boys under a veneer of concerned calm.
Sam nodded. "Ok I guess." He croaked out painfully and both Dean and John winced. That must have hurt. But it was a relief to hear something other than their own voices, or the noise of the vent and cardiac monitors.
"Who made the banner?" Sam finally got to voice the burning question he'd been waiting three days to ask. 'Welcome home Sammy' had been the first thing he'd really seen on waking up, next to his big brother of course. The balloons had made him smile and reminded him of birthday cakes and ice cream.
Dean grinned and held out his arm with a flourish. "You like? Made it myself."
Sam grinned back. "Never knew you were such an artist." His throat was hellish sore but it was getting easier to talk the more he used his vocal cords. "Thanks Dean. I love it."
Dean ruffled his hair affectionately. "Not a problem kid."
The three of them chatted light heartedly for a while, steering deliberately away from any heavy topics by silent agreement. At least until Sam was strong enough.
"Can I go home now?" Sam fixed his family with the wide pleading puppy dog eyes.
"Oh I think they'll wanna keep you here a little longer," his father easily resisted just as he sensed Dean weakening. "Just take it easy ok? You've been in a coma Sam, you need to rest."
Dean instantly slid a hand over his eyes when Sam turned to him again. "Don't look at me like that! And Dad's right; I'll bet you can't even stand up let alone walk outta here…" he risked a peak at his brother then slapped his hand back in place. "Cut it out Sam!"
His ridiculous behaviour was rewarded with a hoarse giggle followed by a low groan as Sam's throat protested at the treatment.
"Hah! Serves ya right, bitch!" Dean grinned in triumph. "That'll teach ya to keep ya mouth shut!"
"You couldn't shut up on pain of death, Jerk!" Sam retorted with a smile of his own.
Their father just sat back and listened in pained amusement as the friendly abuse continued well into the evening. Neither brother would back down, and Sam was starting to lose his voice when John finally called it a night, and threatened both boys with a heavyset nurse carrying a syringe full of sedative.
"Aw Dad, no fair!" Dean whined petulantly, "I was winning."
"Only because Sam was running out of steam," John explained, trying to smother a grin. When he got up to tuck his youngest in for the night, he missed Sam sticking his tongue out at Dean, and when he turned back it was to sad, mournful eyes that suggested butter wouldn't melt. John knew better of course. "Get some sleep. And no more bickering either of you!"
"But he started it…yes sir." Dean grumbled under his breath at his father's stern glance then headed on over to the cot under the window. "'Night Sam."
"'Night Dean," then Sam mouthed sucker before blowing a kiss and chuckled when Dean recoiled in disgust.
"Ew!"
"Dean! Bed! Now!"
"Yes Dad." More low grumbling, and soon the boys were settled with soft snores filling the room.
"G'night boys." John whispered softly before turning down the dimmer switch above Sam's bed.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
After a few days the gastric tube came out and Sam was officially allowed solid food, though only in small portions. Not that Sam was all that hungry, more often at the dangerous end of an angrily waved fork or spoon when Dean threatened him with violence if he didn't eat. He tried, he really did but his stomach was a little too unsettled and just wasn't used to real food. On the last occasion it made Sam so sick he threw up what little he had managed, and Dean was immediately full of remorse as he helped to clean him up.
"I'm sorry Sam, I didn't realise just how bad it was." He brushed away the nurse when she attempted to change Sam's sleep shirt, preferring to deal with the task himself. "There ya go. Better?"
Sam nodded tiredly, reaching for a glass of water to wash away the taste of vomit. "It's ok Dean. Just go easy on me? Please?" Sam asked softly as he stared up at his older brother through his long unruly fringe, looking rather lost and scared. "I'm trying, I promise. It's just too much…"
Dean sighed. "Yeah I know. I…I just want you to get well again." He shrugged, and glanced down at the floor. "You lost so much weight and…and I just felt so damn useless. I couldn't help you…I thought I was gonna lose you. Again."
The brothers fell silent as Sam took that in. He'd never seen his brother like this before, so tired and fearful.
"Dean, I…"
"Just promise me you won't give up." Dean raised his green gaze to Sam, eyes boring into his, and Sam got the impression there was more to this than the coma.
Sam cocked his head to one side. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Dean just continued to stare at him strangely. "Do you remember anything? When you were in the coma I mean?"
Sam just shook his head. "The last thing I can recall is you holding me down so that Dr Mitchell could give me the drugs. I was about to seize again…but you guys stopped it." Dean was holding back. "Come on Dean, tell me. I know something's wrong."
Dean stayed quiet for a moment, considering what to tell him. "You're still pretty down on yaself, huh?"
Sam blinked. He wasn't expecting that. "I…what?"
"I thought it was down to the epilepsy, but it goes deeper than that." Dean continued, partly to himself. "It goes back further than that. We need more time together as a family; I'm gonna talk to Dad about taking a vacation, all three of us this time…"
"I'm not a part of this conversation am I?" Sam smirked when Dean looked over at him a little startled.
"Sorry, I just…" Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Here, if you're feeling up to it lets work on those routines the physical therapist recommended."
Sam kept up the smirk but gingerly lowered the blankets. His legs had lost a serious amount of weight and muscle mass along with the rest of him and Dean tried not to stare in anguish at the stick thin limbs.
"Ok, let me know if this hurts, and don't push yourself too hard this time!" Dean admonished. In contrast to the tug of war over food, Sam had a tendency to be too impatient and Dean was determined to slow him down a little. He accomplished this by keeping a firm but gentle grip on Sam's calves, preventing him from going at it too fast.
Sam actually enjoyed these moments with Dean; his brother was surprisingly gentle and patient with him, always encouraging and lightly teasing. The bending and stretching was hard work on the atrophied muscles and Dean often took up the slack, manipulating the limbs and telling Sam to relax and let him do all the work.
Half an hour into it, Sam's sudden stifled gasp alerted Dean to trouble and he stopped the movement of Sam's legs, noting the speed at which his little brother grew pale.
"Cramp?" At Sam's nod, Dean went to work, digging his fingers into the offending area and kneading away at cramping muscle.
"Just breathe through it kiddo," Dean muttered, eyeing his brother worriedly. It was perfectly normal under the circumstances, and Sam had suffered a number of painful cramps during therapy, but sometimes he even woke up at night crying out in agony.
Sam's eyes were scrunched shut against the pain, which gradually began to subside under Dean's expert ministrations. He slowly relaxed back into his pillows, resisting the urge to scratch out the IV on the back of his hand. Damn thing was annoying the hell out of him, and kept pulling on him whenever he tried to move, which just added to his already growing list of frustrations.
"That's enough for today," Dean narrowed his eyes when Sam's mouth opened in protest. "Until tomorrow Sam, then we'll try again for longer."
His voice brooked no argument as he reached out, grabbing the TV remote off the nightstand, practically crowing with delight at the first channel he flipped to. "Transformers! Cool!"
Sam huffed out a small laugh and let his eyes drift close; just a small nap. That's all he needed. Pretty soon he was snoring softly under the watchful gaze of his brother.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
"Dad we need to talk." It was a simple yet straight forward way of starting the conversation and instantly grabbed John's attention. Dean had made up his mind to tell his father about the Awakening, or at least an abridged version. He had to make him understand what this meant to Sam, what it might mean in future.
Once his kid brother had fallen asleep the film about robots turning into cars, and back again, no longer held his attention, and Dean went in search of his father.
John was silent for a moment, sensing this was going to be a somewhat deep discussion, then nodded. They wandered out in the hospital gardens and found a quiet sunny spot near a fountain.
"Dad, this isn't over. Sam needs more from us, more than just an understanding of his epilepsy. We need to try and understand him. The kid's crying out for us…he's not like us Dad, and he's so lonely…."
"Whoa, back up here." John was finding this hard to take in, and was more than a little surprised at his oldest son's sudden outburst. "Start from the beginning…"
Dean took a breath and explained what he'd seen during Jack's ritual, whilst John stayed silent unwilling to interrupt whilst his son was in full flow.
As Dean ran through it all, his father's heart sank a little second by second. It had never occurred to him that Sam would have been re-living the last sixth months, never crossed his mind just how damaged his youngest son had become by it all.
"Shit Dean," John whispered in despair.
"Yeah, I know. Kinda blew me away at the time." Dean acknowledged, giving his father a break. After all, they were both responsible for this; neither had seen it coming.
"You think that's why he didn't come out of the coma without help?" Dean asked tentatively, not all that certain he was going to like the answer. "'Cos I'm not sure I believe all that stuff about a Great Spirit."
John had to admit it seemed likely. But to think that Sam somehow managed to lock himself away in his own head, at risk of death…he shuddered. He shared Dean's belief or rather lack of in a higher power, whether it be God, The Great Spirit, or any kind of alcoholic beverage come to that, and was more inclined to think this was down to Sam. Though it didn't explain how Dean was able to step in and bring him back, some sort of powerful hypnosis perhaps? Or just plain luck?
Whatever it was, it didn't matter. John believed what Dean saw in his brother's head and it scared him. Scared him to the point of acknowledging it was time to take action.
After further discussion, in which Bobby joined them for the latter half, they finally came to a decision. It was time to start acting more like a family and less like a military unit. Sure, there were hunts out there that couldn't go unattended, but there had to be a balance, and Bobby Singer was going to help maintain that balance. Several phone calls to Caleb and Pastor Jim later, and a rota was set up. A hunting rota.
Bobby and John would go out on the next job, after that it was Caleb and whoever Pastor Jim came up with as his partner, though Caleb was more inclined to work alone these days.
Any which way, Sam and Dean were kept out of it. For now. John knew Sam would deem it unacceptable to be left out on a permanent basis, and if his seizures were truly back under control then Sam could once again get involved.
But that was on a back burner. The important part was making sure the kid felt his family needed him for something other than hunting, that he was one of them regardless of the family business. Sam had to see just how much he had going for himself.
John, Dean, and Bobby felt a little better now that they had a definite plan and made their way back to Sam's room. The youngster was still sleeping when they turned up, and Tony was busy checking his blood pressure.
"Everything ok?" Dean asked anxiously, eyeing the cuff round his brother's arm.
Tony smiled. "He's fine." He mouthed back. Satisfied with his patient's progress the Doc tiptoed over to the kid's family.
"I just gave him something to help with those night cramps you told me about. He should rest easy now."
John nodded and took hold of Tony's arm. "Mind if we have a word?"
"Sure."
Dean left his father and Bobby to it and quietly moved over to his little brother, content just to watch him sleep. He blinked back sudden tears, the warm salt water taking him by surprise.
God, he loved this kid. Had no idea what he'd do without him.
Dean had been like his father, obsessed with hunting, mistaking devotion to the hunt for being the same as devotion to his family. But it had all been an illusion. What was the point in hunting if your family died?
He'd come close to losing Sam so many times over the years, and now all Dean wanted to do was take care of him, let him have a normal childhood and enjoy ordinary kid things. But it was too late for that and all they could do was move on from this place, allow Sam the breathing room and love he needed to grow into his own person.
"No more stifling, Sam. No more trying to hammer a square peg into a round hole." Dean smiled. "Geek boy." He whispered.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
The family vacation, when suggested, had been eagerly accepted by Sam, and the kid surprised everyone by announcing his desire to go to Bobby's place. It soon emerged that Sam had overheard a conversation about a hunt and wanted to get stuck into some research.
Dean's hot protests died a quick death in the face of those puppy dog eyes, but John took a little more convincing.
"Please Dad. I want to help. It's what I do best." The unspoken it's all I'm good for didn't go unnoticed, and John sighed deeply.
Kid, we gotta lot of work to do.
But the prospect of helping out really did seem to bolster Sam's spirits and his dimpled smiles put in a welcome appearance more often. Tony popped in on regular visits to draw blood, make the usual health checks and generally discuss Sam's well being. Tony was overall very pleased with the progress the boy had made and even commented on how much happier he seemed.
The kid was relegated to a wheel chair for the first few weeks since he was still pretty weak and needed to gain a lot more weight, but he was sleeping better, the physical therapy getting easier, and with the constant encouragement and support from his family Sam was picking up a healthy glow.
Sam was being home schooled by a local tutor under Bobby's recommendation, and during his study hours – which started out as only a couple of hours a day – Dean spent his time under the hood of one of Bobby's wrecks, his father offering up handy hints and tips on how to get certain tasks done more quickly.
Singer's Salvage Yard seemed to be a constant echo of laughter these days, not that anyone was complaining. It was a pleasure to hear Sam laughing at Dean's lame jokes or, as he got his strength back, playing hide 'n' seek amongst the cars, Bobby and John sometimes joining in with the childish game. Sam was still a kid after all, in spite of the sometimes precocious attitude – which was more than welcomed as a sign of Sam's growing confidence.
However, Dean still held the prestigious title King of the Pranks.
"Sam!" He whispered, then gestured at him from behind an old Ford. Sam scrambled over to his brother, their backs pressed against the battered car. "Dad's at three o'clock!"
Sam nodded. "Bobby's to the South…" His eyes widened when he saw what Dean held in his hands. "You're not….really?"
Dean nodded, a mischievous grin stretching from ear to ear. "Yup."
"Ok," Sam's own brand of mischief shone from his face, "I'll round 'em up. You get ready." Dean watched his little brother with no small amount of pride as he silently slipped away.
In a manner similar to a sheep dog, and a sneaky one at that, Sam moved round, set off strange noises and distractions at appropriate points, and slowly but surely lured his father and Bobby into Dean's trap.
Bobby and John knew it the instant they turned round and saw Dean standing firm, feet shoulder width apart and holding a…
"Dean! Don't you dare!"
…water hose.
"Oh, I dare" And with the most charming yet smug grin Sam had ever seen on his brother's face, Dean let rip.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Dean studied the furious faces of his Dad and Bobby with some interest, then having correctly interpreted the expressions of malice and revenge, nodded to himself.
"Sammy?" he spoke casually.
"Yep?"
"Run!"
Laughter. And the sound of rapidly retreating feet filled Singer's Salvage Yard.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Author's notes:
I know it's not the best of endings, and it's been a really weird chapter for me I must confess, but it's the best I could do. I do intend to return to this AU at some point in the future, but for now this particular story is at an end. I have other fics in the fire so to speak…
Many thanks for all your support with this so called one-shot. And to Gidgetgal, hope you enjoyed the extra helping of Limp Sam and Dean Angst in this one.
Kind regards,
ST.xxx.