Not Like This – Chapter 3
Dean hated the ICU unit; it was like another world, womblike and warm, yet as far from comforting as any place could be.
Under the dim lights, Dean could see the other beds and the vague outlines of people like him; friends, relations, loved ones; hunched over, clutching at cold hands, stroking back hair from lifeless faces. Sometimes one of the monitors would screech and beep and doctors would come running; voices would be raised in desperation and, more often than not, soft sobs would follow as the machines beeped into nothingness.
He looked down at Sam. His brother looked worse instead of better, his face so pale it was almost paper thin across his bones. His breath was shallow, laboured and his eyes flickered behind closed lashes, as if he were dreaming. Dean brushed a hand across sweaty bangs, pushing them back, watching intently for some sign, some movement that would indicate to him that Sammy was still in there, still fighting.
He wondered how Sam could have contracted the disease; sneezing, coughing or kissing, the doctor had said. Well it certainly wasn't the latter; Dean huffed with wry amusement, their existence was so transient, so unstable, that it was hard to pinpoint just who or what they had come into contact with. Ghost girls, vampires, pissed off demons; all of them dangerous, but none of them responsible for what had happened to Sam. Dean stretched his limbs, creaking and aching, he wanted nothing more than to grab his brother and run, but all he could do was sit here, watching Sam and hoping for a miracle.
"He has some swelling on the brain" the doctor was honest and to the point "We had hoped to avoid it, but we have no option but to operate, to relieve the pressure" she smiled at Dean, a pale, wan smile "If we do this we might avoid brain damage – but it is a case of wait and see I'm afraid"
"Will he…" Dean swallowed; his game face abandoned "Will he be alright? After the operation I mean?"
"We can't guarantee anything Mr Cleaver – I'm sorry"
"He's my baby brother" Dean felt the bitter sting of tears "He's all I have"
"Mr Cleaver – Dean – I wish I could be more positive" her voice was soft, kind and the hand on his arm gentle "We will do as much as we can – I promise you that" she reached into her pocket and handed him a tissue "I'll see you after surgery"
They had shaved Sam's head and under normal circumstances Dean could have gained some amusement, some ammunition from that. Sam was barely recognisable now, pale, swollen face, his head swathed in bandages. Dean felt at a loss, unable to touch his brother's hand because of the IV's and the cast, unable now to even stroke his hair. Instead he sat by the bed, his head resting next to Sam's on the pillow, talking quietly to his baby, his Sammy, wanting nothing more than to see those bright eyes open and hear his brother's voice again.
The nights were the worst, Dean thought. Long, hot, endless. He knew he must look bad and he probably smelt worse but he couldn't leave his brother's side, couldn't risk not being there when…IF... Sam woke up. He could do with a coffee and his stomach was rumbling, but he sat stoically by the bed, his fingers rubbing Sam's neck, his ear lobe, any bit of skin he could actually see. Tears started up again and he clenched the tissue the doctor had given him in his fist, shredding it, taking his anger and frustration out on that tiny bit of paper "Come on Sammy" he hissed, his throat dry and raw, "We've beaten so much – you can't let this be the thing that gets you" he remembered the doctor's words and the fear of brain damage "Come on Sam – I need your geek boy brain – who else can do research? Who else can I rely on to speak Latin" he was openly sobbing now and he was acutely aware of other eyes on him, other desperate people reaching out to him in the darkness "Please Sammy – please"
Sam felt warm and content; drifting in his white and calm world. He had wanted to stay here, but something was pulling at him, something was nudging at him and he couldn't relax any longer. He felt something on his neck, water? What the fuck was that? He moved his head a little and he began to feel the whiteness fade; all of a sudden he could feel intense pain, in his head, in his limbs, in his throat. He began to panic, as the wetness seeped into his skin, was he bleeding? What was happening? The whiteness was gone now and all he could see was a flickering behind his eyes; then he heard a voice, distant but clear "Please Sammy - please"
Dean had been staring at Sam's face for so long his vision had blurred. Sam seemed different; something had changed. Dean bent closer and, all of a sudden, it hit him like a bullet in the chest. Sam's eyes were open and staring right at him. "Sam!?" Dean put his hand up to his brother's face "Sam can you hear me?"
Sam looked alarmed; his hands went automatically to the tube in his mouth and Dean gently slapped them away "No Sammy – let me call the doctors" he pressed the button beside him "Just don't panic little brother ok?"
Sam could barely move, but he heard Dean's voice, Dean's reassurance and he felt better. He lay back and let the doctors' work on the tube; tears of pain and frustration running freely down his cheeks. His head felt funny, strange and his neck still hurt a little. His hands were stiff from the IV's and his body felt as if a great weight was pressing on it. He kept his eyes on his brother; Dean was hovering in the background, shouting instructions to the nurses and getting some filthy looks. Sam wished he could remember how he got here and what had happened, but all he was feeling now was pain and he wished he could retreat back into his peaceful white dreams but he could see, from the look on Dean's face, that that was clearly not going to be an option. TBC