Sam hated hospitals. They seemed so cold and unforgiving, with their mercilessly bright lights and unbearable sterility. It wasn't the kind of place a person would think to find Dean Winchester, monster hunter extraordinaire, yet here he was, lying still as death, his bloody clothes bunched up on a chair beside him.
Not Sam's favorite place to be, but a place where Dean seemed to be spending more and more time lately.
He watched his brother sleep, only gaining comfort from the fact that this time he was breathing on his own, moving, twitching, even smiling a little. Hazel eyes moved under closed eyelids, as if he were having a dream, a vivid one that was helping him form the plan that would finally get him everything he'd ever wanted.
Sam didn't like to dwell on dreams, though. He found them annoyingly painful and heart-wrenching. He was just fine watching Dean sleep, listening to the beeping of the heart monitors and the small snores that passed through his brother's barely-parted lips. That was all he needed to feel good, to feel safe. To know that his brother and protector was alive and well, just taking a little nap in the shiny Wisconsin hospital.
All he needed was Dean. That was enough. The little bit of his family that was left. They were all they had, and they needed to stick together, no matter what. That was all he wanted. That feeling of safety and love that had rushed at him back in the motel room. He wanted his brother. He wanted his family.
The steady beeping stopped. It was replaced by a long, loud tone that signaled death, the last sound Sam had heard in his father's hospital room before Dean had collapsed, whether from exertion or something else, he wasn't sure. He'd never asked.
That didn't matter now, though, because this wasn't dad. This wasn't the man Sam had fought endlessly with, the man he'd told to go to Hell, the man he'd resented and loved for all of his life.
This was all he had left. This was Dean.
Hurried footsteps, people rushing down the hall. He could hear them, but he didn't want to leave. Never wanted to leave. Not again. He couldn't. At one time, long ago, it may have seemed tempting, getting out into the world and living his own life, making his own decisions, but not anymore. Now the only thing he really needed was lying in a hospital bed, not breathing, as that long, ominous tone sounded.
More footsteps, people in the room, pushing, pulling, out the door. Sammy stood in the hallway, looking at the door that stood between him and his brother. A doctor with a kind face and soft eyes grabbed his arm, leading him away from the commotion. They were going to do all they could. They were going to save Dean. The nice doctor said so. Sam didn't believe him, though. Nothing could make this all right.
He sat down in one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room, the kind that make your butt hurt after a few minutes so you stand up to pace the floor, grimacing at the embarrassing pins and needles shooting up your spine. He ran his hands through his hair, just thinking.
It hadn't been too long since he'd told Dean his master plan. Kill the demon and hightail it back to Cali. Back to normal, safe, loved. The only thing he'd overlooked was that he wasn't normal, wasn't safe, wasn't even loved. All of those feelings had burned on a ceiling in November 2005. The only place he could get them was his brother, his ever-vigilant protector.
Although, come to think of it, it might be nice to get away for a while, to just sit back and relax and take a few classes. Maybe not pre-law, but something challenging. No more hunting, that was for sure.
Maybe he could even get Dean to go with him. They'd rent an apartment, get real jobs…
Sam shook his head. Dean wasn't the type to settle. He'd never go for that. No, it was best to just go it alone, head back to Stanford and see if that scholarship was still waiting for him.
That sounded good. Head back to school, get back into the swing of things, forget about hunting and fires and demons and Dean. That was the original plan, after all, the one he'd set up in his head as the Impala had pulled away from Palo Alto that cool winter morning so long ago. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd been thinking, imagining spending the rest of his life with his overprotective brother. He'd never wanted to do that. That was the kind of thing Dean wanted.
An exasperated sigh escaped the young hunter's lips as he realized what was going on. "Dean," he whispered, hardly liking the angry tone in his voice. His brother was dying, no need to be angry. He should be scared, sad, nervous. Not angry. But he couldn't help it. Dean had manipulated him.
Sam hadn't been aware of it, and that was probably the scariest part. On the ride to the hospital, with his unconscious brother slumped over in the backseat, his mind had been on Stanford, on the fact that the demon was finally dead. He'd been thinking of freedom, of normalcy, of getting to be just another human being. He'd never considered Dean.
Obviously, everything that had been going on inside his body and soul back in that room wasn't really him. It was Dean, still projecting his emotions, even in the deep sleep that had plagued him since the demon's attack. The only questions remaining were whether or not he knew he could do it, and, if he did, would he purposely start manipulating people?
"He wouldn't do that," Sammy muttered, shaking his head, "he's not like that. Is he?"
"You know," a familiar voice called out, "talking to yourself is never a good thing."
Sam spun around to find Missouri Mosley standing in the doorway, looking frazzled yet respectable. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to see your brother."
"Might be a while," the hunter said softly, "he's, uh…"
The older psychic nodded. "I know. That's why I'm here."
"You wouldn't happen to know if he's gonna make it, would you?"
"I think he'll be fine, Sam. Now, what about you?" She crossed the room and pulled a chair close to the younger psychic, seating herself across from him and watching him carefully.
"I'm not sure," Sam mumbled, shaking his head and watching his bangs flap around, "I thought I was fine. Felt like I had my entire future planned out, and then Dean flatlined. He did something to me. Right before he died, he was… he made me want to stay with him."
"Is that really such a bad thing?"
"No, but he can't go around manipulating people. He needs to learn-"
"He's unconscious, Sam."
"You're saying it was unintentional?" Sammy asked.
"New things take a while to get used to," she stated softly, "this thing's grown so much since he was a child. Give it time."
"I don't have time to hang out with him when I could be getting back to my life."
The older psychic shook her head. "All of this and you still don't get it, do you?"
"I get it," he defended, "I do. He has abandonment issues. I shouldn't leave until he's emotionally stable. He's helped me so much in my life that I should help him. I just want to be like everyone else."
"When are you just gonna accept the fact that you can't?"
"I can't do that. I'm not giving up. I can have my own life, I just have to work for it."
"You can have a life right here, no effort required."
"I'm not going to do this for the rest of my life," Sammy insisted angrily.
"I'm not asking you to. Just try to think of someone other than yourself for once."
"You're starting to sound like Dean."
Missouri sighed, sitting back in the hard chair and placing her hands in her lap, a sure sign that the serious debate over the rest of Sam's life was over. "Speaking of our favorite little empath," she said, "what exactly happened to him?'
Sammy shrugged. "My vision came true. Almost. The demon came after us, but Dean got it down. He got the host to claw his own eyes out. The demon didn't escape. It's dead."
"And so is Dean."
"He was fine on the way here," the young man explained, "he was unconscious, sure, but not dead. Nowhere near dead. I don't know what happened. He was all right. The doctors said he'd be fine."
"Do you want to know what happened?"
"You know?"
She nodded. "You remember that day your brother had been practicing?" Sam nodded. "Remember how tired he was? That kind of thing takes a lot out of you. Facing that demon was bad. Forcing that wanting on you was worse, whether he realized he was doing it or not. He overtaxed himself."
"But he'll be all right?"
"You suddenly care?" she asked, leaning forward and locking eyes with him.
"You're not going to guilt me into staying with him. I can make my own decisions."
"I know that. Your brother does, too. That's the problem." Missouri stood up and grabbed her purse, heading towards the door.
"You're not staying?"
"I have something back home to take care of. It's taking everything I've got to get some of my customers back. That brother of yours really has them spooked. Tell Dean I dropped by."
Sam nodded, collapsing back into his chair as the door to the waiting room swung shut, leaving him all alone in the sterile atmosphere he hated so much.
"You're a selfish bastard, you know that? You don't think of anyone but yourself." More than one occasion. Dean had shouted that at him on more than one occasion, but always let him come back, no questions asked.
Forgiveness. Redemption. Family. That long, loud tone echoing through his heart, signaling the end of his hunter's life and the beginning of his normal one. No one left to pull him back into the unknown, no one left to sit up with him when the nightmares got too bad, no one left to chase the demons away. No demons left to chase. No more instantaneous forgiveness. He was on his own.