'Cliffhanger'

Chapter 8

Notes: I just want to thank everyone for the awesome response to this little fic, your wonderful comments, reviews, alerts and fav's just make me glow ;)

Just a small heads-up. I am planning on finishing this story on chapter 10, mainly because that is how it played out in my head. Hopefully it will be rounded off nicely so that I don't leave you disappointed or craving more LOL :)

Thanks as always to my amazing beta's PADavis and Amarintha who are infinitely patient with me and my weird moods swings, and also to Kelly for the final proof read – they are the icing on my cake ;)

I'm busy with a new project … cause I can't sit still ;) … I'm doing a 'comic book' version of PADavis' story 'OBX' - and yes, she has given me permission to play in her sandbox LOL ;) - The cover page is up on DeviantArt, so if you'd like to keep a look out, visit the link from my homepage. I'm going to try and have a panel finished every week.

Next POV from John and then from Sam … enjoy.

Warning: Language

Dean's POV

Sammy?

I try to gulp in a lungful of air.

Oh god … he fell … I let him fall … his fingers slipped through mine … I watched him disappear over the edge …

I want to scream, my throat aching, swelling shut, my heart racing in my chest … what have I done?

I let him die?

"Smy?"

God … hurts …

"Dean, don't fight the medication, buddy … just try to relax …"

Focus … need to focus …

A man … leaning over me … keeps shining a light in my eyes … goddamnit … headache … have a headache, asshole.

"Nhnn…"

I squint, eyes watering … need to concentrate … have to find …

"Sm…?"

"Dean, Dean … take it easy, kid, don't try to move …"

The man looks at me in concern … where am I? Body feels weighed down, people holding me … eyes trying to close. No … can't … can't sleep …

"… please … m' broth …"

"Shit, keep him still … Dean, listen to me, Sam is doing okay, he's in the room next door."

Room … next door … not dead … he's not dead, just a nightmare … thank god … just a …

'Dd?"

"He's not here son, he left, he'll be back later."

He … left? … probably mad … still mad … at me …

*****

"He needs to recover, Jim … I rely on him to back me up but if that arm doesn't heal he's going to become a liability on hunts … he'll have to retire from this gig … and frankly, I don't think I can do this on my own..."

Dad? … m'okay … I'll get better … won't be … liability …

*****

"… still a bit concerned about the low grade fever, but we have him on broad-spectrum antibiotics …"

Hello? … Someone out there? … Don't feel so good ...

"We have him heavily sedated, but we're lowering the doses. He should wake up in the next day or two."

*****

There was this girl I met once in Tulsa … pole dancer … man, she could swing her hips like nobody's business … almost like the nurse over here.

I grin lopsidedly at her as she swaggers around me but she doesn't smile back, all business with a wet facecloth. Boy, does she fill that outfit out in all the right places. I force my tired eyes to stay on her every movement … she's giving me a sponge bath … woke up to the awesomeness of it all just a few minutes ago, the grin still on my face.

The morphine I'm on is fucking awesome, man, and luckily strong enough that my appreciation at her ministrations doesn't show up physically.

Still connected to wires and machines and catheters and IV lines … feel like a friggin' lab experiment. Been getting more lucid over the last three days. Hardly seen Dad in all that time, though. He spends most of the day at Sammy's bedside. The thought makes another painful knot tighten in my stomach. He told me, after I threatened to check for myself, that Sammy's in a coma. God … he may even be paralyzed … and they still won't let me see him … it's starting to seriously piss me off …

"You're not strong enough yet, kiddo."

All they have to do is wheel me into the room with Sam so I can just see him – how fuckin' strong do I have to be for that?

The look of fear and apprehension Dad throws my way every time the physiotherapist comes to check in on me is making me slightly nervous.

"You need to get better, son, need to heal fully."

I find myself frowning at the nurse now, wishing she would just hurry up already and leave. She finishes off with the clean dressings, and shifts me into one of those gawdawful hospital gowns. I'm still too weak to do anything but let her manhandle me. She doesn't acknowledge me as she leaves, but I find that I just don't have the energy to care. I'm still looking down at the green gown in disgust when there's a soft knock on the door.

"Hey, Sport."

"Jim?"

I grin broadly as he comes into the room and pulls up a chair to sit next to me. He's been at the hospital, visiting me and Sam, every day since I woke up.

"Doc says you're doing good … how ya feeling?"

"Shit, with a side-order of shit … you?"

He chuckles, patting me lightly on my taped up arm. My whole left side is a tribute to highly efficient bandaging skills. I feel like a wrapped up Christmas present. I'm completely immobile, can barely shift to get comfortable before things start to ache.

"I didn't take a nose dive off a cliff, kid."

He's smiling at me, but his eyes are full of a strange sadness. He offers me a few ice-chips from a cup next to my bed, and I swallow them gratefully before I try to focus on him again, blinking a few times, weakness threatening to pull me back into sleep.

"Have you heard anything … bout Sammy?"

My voice is barely a whisper as Jim leans forward in his chair.

"Not yet, but he's holding his own …"

His voice fades out as my traitorous eyes force themselves closed.

"… but I'll keep praying for him … for both of you."

*****

The better part of the next week goes by in a blur of complete hospital boredom. Being bedridden sucks, big time. I use what energy I have to work on my limited mobility with the physiotherapist, memorizing each routine. It hurts like a bitch, each movement a lesson in unbearable pain. I find myself constantly battling not to throw up from the effort. Dad comes through to visit me when he can, encouraging me to work harder, get stronger … it seems to make him happy … so I find myself spending any alone time I have doing those same exercises by myself. I work through the agony, only stopping when the room starts spinning, or black dots start dancing in front of my eyes.

I'm still impossibly weak and I can only manage short sessions before exhaustion finally pulls me into restless sleep. On the anniversary of our accident, one week to the day, the Doc orders me to stop with the physiotherapy, saying that my fever is up and I'm overdoing it. He thinks I need to rest, but I ignore him, still doing those small exercise routines when nobody is around, ignoring the soreness of muscle and bone, while a constant headache has made a permanent home behind my eyes. I need to heal up quickly, can't let Dad leave me behind, can't let him think I'm a burden.

*****

My eyes open to find Dad sitting next to me, a tentative smile on his lips when he notices that I'm awake.

"Hey son, you with me?"

I nod tiredly, thankful for the cool oxygen flowing freely from the tubes into my nose.

"Got some good news for you, Dean-o. Sammy … he's finally woken up, he came out of his coma about an hour ago."

"Oh, thank god, Dad … thank god!"

I sigh, a trembling chuckle passing my lips.

God, the relief those words bring is unbelievable, joy surging through every part of my body, giving me a much needed boost. Waiting around like this, being sick, not in control … it's been killing me … but knowing Sammy is finally awake, it just makes everything better.

"… he also managed to wiggle his toes … the doctor says there isn't any permanent damage … he's just going to need a lot of physical therapy, like you … but he'll be up and around in no time."

Tears well in my eyes at his words, that heavy fear finally lifting from my soul … oh, god, I'm starting to cry, right in front of Dad.

I sniff, swallowing back the tears.

"Let me see him, please, just let me see him."

"Soon, Dean, you just need a bit more time."

For the first time in over a week I sleep peacefully.

*****

"Shit Jim, they told me Sammy regained consciousness, but it's been two days, and they still won't let me up to go and see him. Couldn't I sit in a wheelchair? Can't he sit in a wheel chair – Jim, what's wrong with Sam? I thought he was better …"

"Sam is going to be fine and so are you, but you're not Superman, Dean. You still need to regain your strength, kiddo, you need to take it easy, no matter what you think, you're not ready …"

I can see the concern in his eyes, he's one of our closest friends … and I know he's been worried … but I need to see my brother.

"How can I not be ready to see Sam? It will make me better not worse!"

"Damnit, Dean … we nearly lost you."

"Yeah, well, I'm fine now, and I've had my fill of this." I wave my working hand around in disgust.

To prove a point I tentatively start pushing myself up, grunting, trying to find some leverage. Jim is next to me in an instant, pushing me back down with ease, which only manages to piss me off, big time.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Need to see him."

"Dean … you're not going anywhere, son!" Dad's voice makes me stop instantly, and I grin at him sheepishly as he moves into the room to stand over me.

"Dad? God, it's good to see ya … how is he?"

Dads hand ghosts to my forehead, feeling the heat still radiating from my skin. But it's nothing, just a little fever, the antibiotics will eventually take care of it … I'm pretty sure.

"He's doing really good, kiddo … he's driving me nuts on that side, asking to see you. You two are making your old man crazy, you realize that of course?"

I give him my best 'butter-won't-melt-in-this-mouth' smile. "Can't you bring him in to see me?"

He snorts, shaking his head as he brushes his hand through my damp hair.

"You, young man, just need to concentrate on getting back on your feet. There are things waiting to be hunted … we can't leave them waiting for too long, now can we?"

I shake my head slowly.

"And the sooner you're on your feet, the sooner you can hit the road in your new car."

I grin happily at the thought … I was worried that he may have changed his mind.

Jim clears his throat loudly, giving Dad a stern look, but I can only continue to smile happily, already looking forward to breaking out of this joint.

"John, I think we need to let Dean rest up for a bit, he looks tired."

I cock an eyebrow at Jim's words, not sure what he means, I feel fine as I yawn loudly.

My eyes open again to an empty room. Don't even remember falling asleep. God, must be all this shit they keep pumping into my system. I carefully turn my head to look at the equipment still surrounding me.

It's quiet … and I lie still for a full five minutes before I start getting antsy.

Shit, this is more than I can handle, I've been in bed for over a week, and Sammy's just next door … god, I just want to see him.

I hum 'Eye of the Tiger' as I try to distract myself, making it through to the second verse, before I stop. My eyes dart to the door, my good leg bouncing slightly under the covers in agitation.

Fuckit … I'm going … I need to check on my baby brother … see him with my own two eyes.

I press the button of the auto injector, letting the warm flow of the morphine run through my veins before I even attempt to move. I've been in hospitals more times than I care to remember. We've had to make a few quick get-aways without alerting the medical staff, so disconnecting myself from all the equipment, silently and efficiently, it's like second nature. It takes me a while to remove the leads on my chest from under my gown. I cringe a little before removing the catheter and IV tubes. Ow! Sonnavabitch. I wince, my eyes watering at the sting.

I choke slightly, coughing, as I pull the nose canulla off my face, but finally I'm free … even though I suddenly feel light headed.

I manage to rock myself slowly until I can get onto my right side, pushing with my good arm until I'm seated on the bed, legs dangling. I huff, trying to steady my breathing as the room spins, the urge to throw up hitting me full force as I swallow the sensation back.

Okay, this isn't going to be as easy as I thought … I'm tempted to just fall back … but my need to see Sammy outweighs everything else. After a few minutes, I manage to push myself into a standing position, putting all my weight on my right leg. I keep a steady hand on the bed as I fight to keep my knee locked, can't fall over now.

Pain is shooting up my left arm to my neck, wrapping like a vice around my chest. I take more breaths, it doesn't seem to help … Oh god. Just breathe through it … just breathe.

My left leg is tightly wrapped up, the knee in a secure brace as I test my weight on it. Thanks to the morphine, all I feel is a dull ache, and I find I can manage a hop-shuffle as I make my arduous trek towards the door.

"Please don't let anyone walk in … please don't let anyone walk in."

I'm wheezing by the time I make it to the door, sweat pouring off my body, and suddenly realize there's a breeze where there really shouldn't be one.

My eyes widen in shock. Oh shit. I forgot. My ass is sticking out. Damn hospital gowns.

I reach out behind myself slowly, trying to pull the material as close together as possible. I'm friggin' naked under this stupid thing.

The world starts tilting again as I lean heavily against the wall, my gaze returning to the bed, the bed that suddenly seems miles away. Friggin' hell. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea.

I spare the bed one last longing look before my stubborn Winchester determination takes over and I open the door a little. I nearly fall back, my heart jumping in my throat, as nurses and doctors rush past. I watch them through the slightly ajar door as they go by. Alarms are going off and orders being shouted as they enter a room down the passage. I stick my head out further. The passage is empty. Some poor dude is probably buying the farm, but at least it's giving me a chance to sneak in to Sammy.

The burn of sweat stings my eyes as I push myself along the wall, making my slow progress down the hall. My breathing is ragged and every muscle I possess is aching. I don't want to even know what it's going to feel like when the meds wear off.

I stop to cough, pain radiating through my chest, feeling something pull, but I'm almost there … almost there.

As I shuffle nearer to Sammy's room, I hear the distinct sounds of an argument. It's muffled, low tones … but I've witnessed enough of them to know that Sammy and Dad are having a go at each other.

You've gotta be shitting me.

I lean heavily against the wall, shaking my head slowly. I can't believe those two. They're going to be the death of me. Anger starts blossoming in my chest at Dad, I'm ready to seriously tear into him for arguing with Sammy … the kids just come out of a coma, damnit … there's a time and a place … and now is not it …

I gingerly start moving forward again, keeping a wary eye out for doctors and nurses, anyone who will stop my progress, but luckily there's still nobody in the hallway.

Absently I notice that my gown is wet … there's something soaking my torso, and I glance down at my bare feet, watching stupidly as red splashes of … blood … drip onto the floor. I watch as a small red stain blossoms through the gown near my ribs. Ah shit!

"… you're pushing him too hard …"

Its Sammy's distressed voice I hear clearly first as I finally get to the doorway, the frame acting as a crutch, holding me up as I lean against it with my right shoulder. God, I'm uncomfortably hot … feel sick.

"… he'll do anything you tell him to do Dad … he follows you blindly …"

I freeze. His words hitting me like a kick to the jewels. I desperately try to pull air into my suddenly deflated chest. Crap, I hope I'm not having one of my friggin' panic attacks.

"I don't like your tone, Sam … remember who you're talking to!"

"Yessir … it's just ... the doctor told me he still has a fever … if you carry on pushing him like this … well, it's going to kill him …"

"SAM! Are you telling me that you think I'd willfully endanger Dean's life … goddamnit … I think I know more about his injuries than you do!"

"No sir … but …"

I'm suddenly way beyond angry, at both of them … the weight of the world settling on my sore and weary shoulders … god, I'm so fucking tired of this …

I try to catch my breath again as I feel the room sway and tilt.

Dad thinks I'm a liability, Sammy thinks I follow Dad blindly … I've disappointed them both but for totally different reasons. I can't win, I just can't win. What the hell exactly do I have to do to prove myself to them?

I push away from the door frame, hobbling unsteadily forward, my anger fueling each step I take as I move further into the room, trying to get past the dark curtain blocking my view.

I'm gripping my secured left arm, my chest still aching, in more ways than one, as a vice like grip tries to squeeze the life out of me.

So tired … so damn tired …

I move around the curtain, reaching out at the foot of Sammy's bed to steady myself. I don't miss the brief looks of disappointment they give each other, before my arrival makes them turn, both their eyes widening in shock.

Sammy's voice breaks with concern as our eyes meet. "Shit, Dean, what are you doing here?"

Dad tries to move towards me, but I hold up my hand, stopping him. I can't seem to breathe past the lump in my throat, betrayal more painful than the hurt coursing through my body.

"Dude … you shouldn't be out of bed …"

I just look at them both in disbelief.

"… he'll do anything you tell him to do, Dad … he follows you blindly …"

My eyes dart from my brothers pale, stunned face, to my fathers. And I hurt … god I hurt so bad …

"… if that arm doesn't heal he's going to become a liability on hunts …"

I fight and I fight for this family … I've given them every thing I can give … and it's still not enough …

"Dean?"

Sam tries to push himself up, tries to reach out for me …

"Dean!"

But I'm sick of fighting … let them fight with each other if they want … to hell with it … they'd probably kill each other without me there as a buffer … but right now, I don't care anymore … I just don't care …

I look at Dad again, the betrayal I feel like an open wound … the will to fight leaving me so suddenly, I almost feel stunned.

"Shit, son … is that blood?"

I glance at my hand stupidly as I move it away from my chest … looking at the red stains on my fingers … before my eyes return to Dads.

"Don't want to fight anymore, Dad … so tired of you two always fighting, please stop… just want to rest …"

My body seems to agree with my thoughts as I feel my knees buckle.

"DEAN?"

They scream in unison … I catch a small glimpse of Dad rushing forward, Sammy trying to reach for me again ... why is the floor so close?

TBC