Chapter 4
The last five weeks flashed through Sam's mind as he watched his brother's involuntary contorting and convulsing slowly reduce itself to twitching and quivering until he finally went still, his only movement an occasional shiver. The memories paraded past Sam's eyes one by one, each just as painful as they had been when they'd originally been etched into Sam's memory.
The night of the accident when they'd finally made it to the hospital, they'd whisked Dean away, leaving Sam to the obligatory paperwork, on to his frantic call to Bobby, then on to start the waiting game he hated. It had been two long hours when someone, he still wasn't sure who and hasn't seen since, had come out, not to offer any updates on his brother's condition, but to offer his condolences and ask Sam if Dean would be in need of a priest, minister, or rabbi. In a sick sort of way, Sam guessed that question was an answer in itself. Knowing his brother's feelings on the whole organized religion subject, and God himself for that matter, he swallowed the dry lump in his throat, answering not for his brother, but for himself, telling him a minister would be appreciated. Dean may not want any kind of final absolution, but Sam needed it for him.
Another two hours later, a doctor finally emerged through the 'Authorized Personnel Only' doors, his eyes trained directly on Sam, somehow knowing exactly who he was looking for as he came through. He offered a hand in greetings, and as Sam shook it, he instantly knew things were worse then he thought they were, and since they already offered a priest, he didn't know how much worse things could actually be. The doctor escorted Sam to somewhere private, yet another really bad sign, and proceeded to give him the prognosis. He said they were having a hard time keeping Dean stable, but if they didn't stop the internal bleeding now, he wouldn't live to see the morning. Operating now was a huge risk, but they had no other choice. The doctor was frank with Sam, also telling him that it would be a miracle if he made it through the surgery itself, then asked Sam what he wanted them to do. Bouncing between miracle and certain death, Sam's choice was a simple one, his only request that he get to see Dean before they took him away, needing to see him alive just one more time. The doctor sympathetically obliged, showing Sam to his brother's bedside, where the minister already stood waiting.
Sam stood next to his brother's shoulder and took his hand in his own, careful not to jar the needle and tubing attached to it or slow the red flow going through it. Taking the offered had of the minister in his other, he bowed his head as the minister prayed, each word he spoke bringing another set of tears streaming down his face for him to wipe away on his shoulder. Once the final 'Amen' had been said, the minister excused himself, leaving the brothers alone. Sam held on to Dean's hand as tight as he dared, wanting to say so many things, but being unable to find the right words.
Sam felt like he'd only had barely five minutes with Dean before they came for him, telling Sam they needed to get started now. Sam leaned into his brother, whispering the only thing he could think of to say before he let them take him away.
"Please don't leave me alone Dean, please," he begged, gently laying his hand back down as he took in its warmth for what he knew could quite possibly be the last time. They wheeled him away, leaving Sam alone again.
The minister reappeared as if sent from heaven, offering Sam a clean pair of scrub pants and a t-shirt, his clothes still covered in Dean's now dried blood, making them stiff and somewhat odoriferous. The man had a truly kind heart, offering Sam the use of the showers to clean himself up, knowing he would be their guest for the remainder of the night and well into the morning, and Sam gratefully accepted.
Placing his soiled clothes in a bag for safe keeping, he stood under the hot spray for a short eternity, hoping the water would work out some of the knots and kinks in his sore, aching muscles. The steamy fog relaxed him somewhat, but not much. He shut off the water, drying and dressing quickly and throwing his towel in the bin with the rest of the dirty laundry. Grabbing the bag he'd stowed his bloodied garments in, he shivered at the thought of why he was actually keeping them in the first place, knowing full well he may need to burn them later.
The minister had handed Sam over to an overly compassionate nurse, who escorted him to the waiting area, offering him coffee, pop, juice, or water. Declining each and every one, Sam just sank into an awaiting couch as the nurse silently offered him a blanket, which he did accept thankfully. So here he was, watching the time tick away and waiting for them to come and tell him his brother was dead.
As the hours crept by, Sam's adrenaline had totally worked its way from his system, leaving him utterly exhausted. He didn't know how long it had been when he dozed off, but when he woke, he was more then grateful to see he wasn't waiting alone anymore. Bobby had made it there sometime during his sleep, silently taking a seat next to Sam as not to wake him, and taking over the vigil for him.
Bobby told him he'd towed the car to the nearest gas station, filled it up, and towed it to the hospital, expertly maneuvering it into an open parking space as if someone had pulled it in himself. He'd told them downstairs that he was their uncle, asked what was going on, and was only told to go upstairs and wait; someone would talk to them shortly. He'd done just that, finding Sam sleeping soundly against the arm of the couch, and did what he was told, waited. That had been just over an hour ago.
Sam started asking Bobby more questions, but was silenced by the footsteps coming down the hall. Both men stood as the doctor approached, his face not displaying anything either man could decipher as positive or negative. He shook Sam's hand yet again, and then shook Bobby's as he proceeded to deliver his news.
He told them both Dean somehow made it through surgery, then told them something else which Sam didn't really hear, the words 'made it through' tumbling around in his head were leaving no room for anything else. He knew Bobby was listening though, so he really didn't need to pay attention anyway, his mind too taxed to process anymore. He did start paying attention when the doctor said they could see him, but only for a little while, they still had numerous things to do yet.
They'd entered the room prepared for the worst, and the worst was exactly what they got. There weren't very many spots on Dean's body that didn't have a tube or hose or wires or bandages or bruises, as machines whined and beeped and hissed everywhere. If Bobby hadn't been standing right behind Sam to catch him, he would have fallen flat on his ass, his knees going weak and buckling under him as he fully entered the room. Even covered by a thin white sheet, Sam could see Dean's leg bent in places it shouldn't be, and swollen to almost twice its normal size. The doctor had followed them in, ready to answer any questions they had, and Sam had a lot of them. Too bad he couldn't voice them very well, his thoughts too unfocused to come out intelligently. He asked about the leg, the doctor explaining it would require surgery to repair the crushed hip the leg attached to, and the leg would require some repair too, the impact of the car crushing the bones inside. It would have to wait though, until he was stable enough for them to do it safely.
The doctor also explained to them that there was bleeding in his brain from the impact against the tree that may requires surgery too, but for now they were watching him carefully for any negative changes. They didn't want to have to deal with that until absolutely necessary. That was really the last thing Sam heard, he had to stop listening or he'd go stark raving mad. He and Bobby sat in silence after the doctor excused himself, Sam silently praying in his seat and hoping God would hear him. Why not, he'd listened the first time, hadn't he? After all, Dean was still alive.
A little while ended up being the remainder of the night, which was actually morning by chronological standards, the sun up and shining bright by the time they'd been chased from the room. Dean seemed to improve somewhat over the last few hours; at least that's what Sam told himself. Sam and Bobby both been in and out over the next day or so, patiently waiting for something to happen.
Happen it did too, the swelling in Dean's head becoming dangerous as they took him away yet again, for hours that seemed to have no end. They'd brought him back bandaged up, but Sam knew under all the white they'd shaved Dean's head, and man, he was going to be pissed, with a capital p.
More days passed uneventfully, Dean never once even remotely showing signs of waking, By the end of the first week, they felt confident they could take care of that hip and leg, knowing they'd probably already waited too long. Off Dean went again as the hours passed, Sam silently thanking god when he'd returned, hoping that it would be the last time. He hated it when they took Dean away, the fear he wouldn't come back nagging at him each time he knew they were putting him under, even though he wasn't conscious to begin with.
The next days dragged on into weeks, as slowly things began to improve, to everyone's amazement. Bones had been set and casted, they'd finally been able to remove the ventilator, only to make way for the feeding tube they'd stuck down his nose, not knowing when Dean would be able to eat or drink, since that required being conscious, and there was no sign of that happening any time soon,
Someone had generously footed the bill for a private room and arranged for Sam to also stay in it around the clock. Sam didn't know whom, but he had his suspicions. It was obviously someone scared that they were going to be sued for running down a person that was innocently walking down the road. Sam mentally laughed at that, thinking 'If they only knew who'd they ran over'.
By the fourth week, Dean let out an occasional mumble or moan, but still never made any effort to open his eyes. He'd twitch or jerk occasionally, each movement filling Sam with anticipation, only to have it ripped away when it was nothing more then just that, a twitch or jerk. Bobby had finally left, needing to take care of some business, but promising Sam he'd be back as soon as he could. Since their dad died, Bobby had become their surrogate father, and right now, Sam needed him.
Bobby had been gone for only a few days when Dean finally opened his eyes, speaking to Sam for the first time in what seemed like forever. He was walking on cloud nine, until the seizure hit. Dragging the doctor and nurses into the room, he stood by helplessly as Dean's body did whatever it pleased, that one blue eye seemingly staring right through him, it somehow taking on a life of it's own. He wanted to know why this was happening now, after all this time. Sam should have known he wouldn't get an answer right away, and a few hours after the seizure struck, they took Dean away again.