Not Like This – Chapter 5
Sam stood, on shaky legs, and gazed into the bathroom mirror.
He could barely recognise the person staring back at him; his face was way too thin, cheekbones standing out starkly, eyes black circled and sunken, lips dry and chapped. He hadn't eaten properly for a very long time, in fact it felt years since he had actually sat down and eaten a three course meal. Hospital food was bland and unsatisfying, but Sam didn't have much appetite anyway and he had spent the best part of a week in bed so he wasn't exactly burning up much energy.
A trembling hand reached up to run across his head and he sighed, wincing as his long fingers caught on the tiny stitches at the base of his scalp. He wasn't a vain person by any means but he couldn't stop staring at this hairless creature in front of him, brown stubble barely covering his skull. He had had long hair for as long as he could remember; he had hated haircuts as a child and his father had long since given up trying to keep his hair as razored and as short as Deans. He had kept his hair deliberately long as he grew older, a childish show of rebellion and when he had gone to Stanford Jess had confessed her weakness for long haired men and he had kept it that way ever since. Foolish tears pricked his lashes; Dean had tried to joke with him about his shaved head and he'd smiled along with his brother, anxious not to cause him anymore distress, but in reality he hated the fact that his head was shaved, hated the fact that his face was so white, hated the fact that even his tightest tee-shirt hung off him and that he could feel his fucking ribs.
He splashed his face with water and cleaned his teeth. Today they were letting him out; granted with a long list of pain meds and instructions and orders to rest. Sam spat into the bowl and grinned at himself humourlessly, sure – rest – that would be a new one.
He couldn't rest; how could he? If they didn't hunt then he wouldn't be able to save people and if he couldn't save people – how long before he turned? How long before the yellow-eyed demon came for him. He swayed a little and gripped the sink determinedly, he couldn't let Dean see how weak he felt, couldn't let him see how much he needed to just stop. Dean had already stated that he was tired of the hunt; how he wanted to visit the Grand Canyon or Amsterdam. Sam let his head rest on his hands for a moment; he never in a million years saw this reversal of ideals coming. Dean wanting to be normal; Sam wanting to hunt.
Sam sighed deeply and raised his head again, fingering the week old stubble on his chin. Maybe he should grow a beard to compensate for his lack of hair. He wondered, randomly, how long it would take to grow back – six months? A year? His thoughts ran on – what bitter irony that he should survive a demonic virus only to fall foul to bacteria – if it wasn't so fucking tragic it would be hysterical.
"Sam – you fall in dude?" Dean's voice carried through the bathroom wall and broke into Sam's thoughts "Come on bro – I brought the Impala round – we're all ready to go"
"Yeah – ok – give me a minute" Sam tossed the razor into the sink angrily – he would grow a beard – a fucking huge one. He gave the stranger in the mirror one more smirk and went out to join his brother.
Dean knew Sam was hurting. Hell you can't spend most of your life with someone and not be able to read them like a book and, to add to that, Dean had always seen through Sam and it was no different now than it had ever been. "Sam – you wanna stop?" Dean put a tentative hand on Sam's thigh, a gentle squeeze to attract attention "I'm kinda hungry"
"Nah – I'm good – I'll eat when we get to the motel" Sam pressed his face up against the Impala's window and closed his eyes, evidently not in the mood for chat.
Dean gripped the steering wheel and clenched his teeth to stop from snarking. He had to be gentle; he had to take care of Sam.
He had been surprised and a little uneasy when Sam suggested they move on. He had been planning on staying put for a bit, the town wasn't that bad and he figured Sam needed his rest – but not Sam – no the stubborn bastard wanted to be up and at 'em before he had even had a chance to pack his stuff. Dean knew that Sam was still feeling sick and he knew that his was a bad idea – but he just couldn't say no to Sam – never could – probably never would. His baby brother had him by the balls and Dean was ashamed of himself for not being stronger.
Dean had re-lived, over and over, the moment in the hospital when Sam had told him that he loved him. Dean loved Sam too and wanted more than anything to respond but, as usual, his stubborn pride had kept him from replying to Sam. He hoped that he hadn't hurt Sam too much and he prayed that Sam knew, in his heart, what Dean felt. Dean glanced again at Sam, at those closed eyes, the white face, the newly acquired beard, the shaven head. His brother seemed like a stranger to him and he felt further away from Sam now than he had ever felt when his brother was at Stanford.
Sam could feel his stomach rolling and he knew that they would have to stop soon. His head was hurting and he realised, much to his horror, that he was going to throw up. He gripped Dean's arm in desperation "Dean – pull over I'm gonna…." Too late "AGGHH" Sam doubled over and retched, the liquid contents of his stomach turning to bile
"Sam – Sammy?" No sarcastic comments about the upholstery or his beloved car, Dean looked swiftly in the mirror, turned sharply and pulled on to the hard shoulder. Sam flung open the door and spilt out, falling onto his hands and knees, heaving and sobbing until he had done.
Dean kept by his brother, rubbing his hand in small circles on Sam's back, keeping his voice soft and soothing "Come on Sammy – come on now – breath through it"
"Your car" a voice so harsh it was virtually unrecognisable "I'm sorry"
"Fuck the car" Dean sounded angry "I'm more concerned about you – Sam – why are we driving here? Why didn't we just stay put till you felt better? Why are you driving yourself on like this? Sam – you're not gonna need me to kill you little brother – that much is for sure"
"Dean" the voice was small "You promised"
"Oh yeah – but Sam – you won't need me to kill you – because you're so damn determined to do it yourself!" and with that, Dean stalked back to the Impala and left Sam in the dirt with his thoughts. TBC