A/N: Whew... This chapter was a lot more difficult to write than I thought it would be. Hopefully, its not a complete failure, but I have to warn you that I am not a doctor nor have I ever played one on TV, so most of the medical jargon and such has come from what I gathered on Wikipedia, thus it is probably chocked full of mistakes. But despite that, there's quite a bit of shmoop and angst and I hope you like it. Happy Easter! :D
Chapter 9
John swept a hand through his hair unconsciously, his mind reeling with worry and uncertainty. One minute he had been watching his son sleep peacefully and the next everything had gone to hell.
It was only a short while ago when John finally felt that they were getting over the worst of Sam's injury. His doctor was pleased to see Sam's white blood cell count falling, indicating that the antibiotics were working and the infection was clearing up. His fever was finally starting to come down and for the first time in days, Sam was getting some much needed, undisturbed rest.
The best news of all was that Sam would keep his leg and hopefully, with therapy and possibly another surgery, he'd gain full use of it again. Feeling some relief for the first time since Sam was attacked, John momentarily let his guard down and while Sam slept, he too began to doze in his chair and fell into a deep sleep.
The next thing he knew, alarms were going off. John startled awake only to find Sam looking wild-eyed up at him, his faced masked with terror. He gripped his chest and panted while sweat dribbled freely from his forehead and soaked his hair.
John was immediately up and out of his chair, going to his boy. "Sammy?...What is it? What's wrong?"
"Chest...it hurts...can't...breathe.." Sam wheezed as he tried to speak, his lips taking on a bluish tint. Panic swept across Sam's face, reflecting the ungodly fear that had gripped him.
"It's okay, Sammy...it'll be okay. "John tried to reassure him, even though his own heart skipped several beats seeing his son in such distress. "I'm gonna get help."
John started for the door, but Sam grabbed him by the arm in a death grip. "Dad...don't...leave..." he panted heavily, squeezing his eyes shut, tears rolling down his face.
"I won't, I promise." John scrabbled for the bedside call button, pressing it several times, then giving up on it altogether, raised his voice. "Somebody! I need help in here!" He shouted to the open door.
Soon the room was flooded with nurses and doctors. A mask was placed over Sam's face to help him breathe and all the while his eyes remained fixed on John pleadingly, his hand still firmly locked tight to his arm. John took his hand, but soon found himself being pulled away by someone from behind him.
"Please, sir...we need you to clear out."
"I'm not leaving him." John stated firmly, but the voice and the hand on his shoulder were unrelenting.
"You'll only be in the way, sir...please, we need to take care of your son."
"No!" John whirled, coming face to face with a thin, grim-faced, male nurse, ready to fight him tooth and nail so he could stay.
"Do I have to call security, sir?" The man asked, sensing John's hostility. John could have easily snapped this guy's arm for all of the anxious anger coursing through him, but getting kicked out of the hospital wouldn't help Sam and reason prevailed.
He turned back to Sam, the fear was still there and John was reluctant to let him go, but it was Sam who released him, letting his arm go and nodding to him, putting on a brave face and telling John with his eyes that he'd be okay without him.
"I'll just be outside, Sam."
After that he found himself outside the room, pacing back and forth like a caged tiger, waiting once again for someone to tell him something, anything about Sam's condition. He hated being so out of control like this, not knowing what was happening or what they were doing to Sam. It was hard to think straight while people strode in and out of Sam's room with hurried steps and their serious faces only heightened his anxiety.
There was nothing he could do. He was useless and he hated this feeling of helplessness building inside. There was only one thing he could do and without much thought, he pulled out his phone and dialed. He didn't want to call and disturb Dean's sleep, but he knew that Dean was already pissed enough at him for sending him to the motel room when he clearly wanted to stay, but he'd never forgive him if he didn't let him know what was happening to Sam.
Dean was over-protective of Sam and sometimes he accused him of coddling the boy, but John knew full well that it was due mostly to Dean taking on the role of parent far too often while the boys were young and he couldn't take them with him, leaving them for days at a time in crappy motel rooms all over the country. They never had a permanent home, they only had each other and acknowledging that now, sent another spear of regret in his heart. He should have been a more attentive parent to them, he knew, but God-forgive him, he had had a job to do: He had to find the thing that killed Mary, keep it from doing what it had done to her from coming after his kids and if that meant killing every damned, evil creature from here to the ends of the earth in order to kill it, then he would.
"Hello?" He heard is oldest son pick up after a few rings.
"Dean..." John spoke curtly, trying tramp down the worry in his voice. "You need to get down here." He didn't need to say any more than that and hung up the phone before Dean could start asking question he couldn't answer.
OOOOOOOOOO
Thankfully for Dean, the hospital was only a few minutes drive from the motel, traffic was light at this time of night and he made it there in record time. Not that he was keeping track of that, his thoughts were solely on getting to his brother as quickly as possible. Squealing into a parking space, he was running for the hospital's doors before the engine had completely shut off.
Once inside, he didn't bother with waiting for the elevator, instead took the stairs two at a time up to the third floor where Sam's room was. Immediately after pushing his way through the door to the floor, he caught sight of his father, standing outside of Sam's room, looking up and over at him. Even from his vantage point at the end of the hall, Dean caught a sense tension coming off of his dad.
Wasting little time, Dean was up to his father seconds later. "Dad?...what's going on?...Is Sam okay?"
"Sammy...he was having a hard time breathing. I don't know much more than that."
"Why aren't you in there?"
John didn't get a chance to respond, but from the fierce look in his face, Dean could see that he had struck a raw nerve in his father and he regretted asking. As soon as Dean had finished his question, the door beside them opened and a short, younger doctor, one Dean hadn't seen before, stepped out and turned to John.
"Mr. Winchester?"
"Yes."
"I'm Dr. Berkowitz." he held out his hand, but John didn't take it, instead, he went right into questions.
"What's going on? What's wrong with my son?" the doctor lowered his hand somewhat awkwardly before sticking them into his pockets.
"Well, we need to run some tests..."
Dean cut him off, frustrated with being in the dark. "What kind of tests?"
"We need to do a CT scan before we can be certain of a proper diagnosis..."
"What do you think is going on?" John asked , clearly just as frustrated as Dean and needing the doctor to cut to the chase. Dr. Berkowitz began speaking rapidly, pulling his hands out of his pockets and gesturing as he talked.
"Sam is stable for the moment, but is showing the classic signs and symptoms of a pulmonary embolism, which is a blood clot in either of his pulmonary arteries. It most likely formed in his leg as part of the healing process there, but broke loose, traveled up a vein and lodged in his lung, blocking flow of blood into his lungs and making it difficult to get enough oxygen into his system. It's not uncommon for this to occur after injuries like Sam's, but it is quite serious. So what we'll do is perform a CT scan to determine if there is a clot, how big it is and where it is located exactly. If we do find a clot, we will most likely have to perform a catheter embolectomy to take it out since the use of thrombolytics and clot-busting drugs are contra-indicated due to his injury and could cause severe bleeding."
Most of what he spouted went over Dean's head, and while he did his best to follow the doctor's explanations and pick out the parts that mattered the most, he still had one burning question that demanded an answer right away. "Is he gonna be okay? I mean...what are his chances here?"
"Actually, I think his chances are really good if we can find and remove the clot quickly enough."
Dean swallowed the rising fear down and looked to his father. John nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to the doctor and Dean saw just how exhausted he appeared. He had deep bags under his eyes, he hadn't shaved in days and the stubbly, five o'clock shadow he started out with before the hunt was thick enough now to rival Grizzly Adams' beard. "Do what you whatever you need to do to help him."
"We will." The doctor assured him and seconds later Dean saw an orderly emerge from Sam's room.
"We're ready to move him, Doctor." He said.
"Good, let's get him up to CT, they should be waiting for us." The other man nodded and went back into the room, moments later he was back, this time walking backward as he pulled Sam's hospital bed out of the room. Dean was moving to him before the bed was even completely out of the room, causing the orderly to stop the bed. He looked down at Sam's face and though his nose and mouth were covered by an oxygen mask, he could still see the corner of his mouth curl up weakly when he recognized his brother was by his side.
"Hey, Sammy." Dean ruffled his hair.
"Dean." Sam could barely be heard as he spoke with a wheeze then slowly blinked as a single tear escaped and rolled down his face. Dean could see the fear written in his face and much of it he felt himself. But, he plastered on a cocky smile in order to show his little brother that if he wasn't afraid, then he didn't have to be either, even if on the inside Dean was scared to death.
"You're gonna be fine, alright? Dad and I got your back and we'll make sure the doctors get you better."
"Or what?..." Sam whispered brokenly, struggling to breathe between words, but still slightly grinning in a way that left Dean feeling some relief in seeing some of the fear in Sam's eyes dissipate. "You'll...kick... their...asses?"
Dean gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze. "Yeah...something like that."
"We got to get moving." The doctor interrupted them, starting to push the bed forward and Dean lost his grip on Sam, but followed after them, his father right taking off with them as well on the opposite side.
When they reached a set of double doors, the orderly continued to push Sam's bed through, but the doctor stopped and held up a hand before John and Dean could pass through as well.
"I'm sorry, but only one of you can come with us, there just isn't enough room in the control room for the both of you."
Dean felt his heart drop, looked towards his father and met his eyes. He hoped his dad would see his need to stay with Sam and would recognize the fact that he had always been there for his brother when he was hurting or sick, how he had practically been the one that had raised him growing up and how much it would kill Dean to be left behind. But John squared his shoulders and hardened his features, his mind made up.
"Dad-" Dean nearly pleaded.
"No Dean. I'm his father...I need to be with him."
Dean felt like arguing, like telling him off and yelling at him about all the other times he and Sam needed him, but he wasn't there. However, Dean caught something in his father's eye: his own need to make up for some of the mistakes he had made and for a chance to make some of them right. Dean had almost forgotten the fight between his brother and father on the mountain and maybe they both needed this: Sam needed to know his father cared while John needed to be the parent he sometimes forgot he was.
Reluctantly, Dean backed off, feeling the wind go out of his sails as John disappeared behind the doors, leaving him on his own to sit around and wait. Frustration, anger, worry and an utter sense of uselessness crashed into each other all at once they and Dean felt like hitting something.
So he did.
His fist flew out, hitting the solid brick of the wall beside him. Pain immediately shot up from his knuckles and hand.
Damn, that was stupid, he thought. But despite the pain, the release of pent-up emotion had been liberating. If only he could use his fists to somehow make Sam better...
Wincing, he shook it out and swore, but not before he heard an angry voice shout at him.
"Dean! What the hell, man?" Caleb was on him a moment later, he must have followed him here to the hospital from the motel room. "Jeez...your hand" he growled as he grabbed it.
Dean cared little for the blood dribbling down from his knuckles to the floor, but Caleb apparently did and was dragging him away to the bathroom.
Caleb practically pushed him to the sink and turned the water on for him. "Wash your hand."
He ordered in a way that reminded Dean a little too much of his father.
"It's fine." Dean snapped back, snatching his hand away from Caleb's grip, but he found his hand being thrust under the water anyway. He didn't want his help and he certainly didn't want him telling him what to do and treating him like a child having a temper tantrum. Caleb would never be able to understand what he was feeling right then; how he felt as though he could never stand up to his father even when he took away the one job he took the most seriously: taking care of Sam, staying with him through thick and thin, protecting him from pain and fear. One felled swoop, John had pulled the 'I'm the father' card and stolen the one thing that mattered most to Dean and he still wasn't sure how to process it all.
Sure, he was most likely over-reacting, but Dean couldn't help but feel like he was being pushed aside.
After a few moments under the water, Dean pulled his hand away once again and stalked off to the paper towel dispenser, angrily ripping several sheets out and pressing them onto his bloodied and sore knuckles.
"What's going on, Dean?" Caleb approached, concern in his voice. "What happened?"
Dean sighed, feeling a little ashamed for acting so foolishly towards Caleb as he was only trying to help. He went on to explain what was going on with Sam and what little he understood about what was happening to him.
"So, that's why you tried to take down the wall with your bare fist?" Caleb asked wryly.
Dean shook his head. "I guess...I suppose I was just...I dunno...like I was letting Sam down, ya know? Like I should be doing something, but there isn't anything I can do...I'm just useless."
"Dean-" Now it was time for Caleb to shake his head. "I hate to break this to ya, kid, but there are always going to be times when we have to trust in others to fix things and you can't always be in control. That doesn't necessarily mean you're useless and I'm pretty damned sure that Sam doesn't think that, so why don't you just give yourself a break."
Dean closed his eyes for a moment. His hand was starting to swell and throb in time to his heartbeat and before he could open them again, he felt a hand resting on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and found himself being pulled to the door.
"C'mon, boy...let's get you patched up and caffeinated. Looks like we're in for a long night."
OOOOOOOOOO
Sam wasn't usually claustrophobic, but being unable to move coupled with tight, labored and painful breathing while inside of the small, enclosed confines of the scanner had his heart racing.
He stared at the top of the tube he was in. The tip of his nose had to be only an inch or so awat from it and even though he closed his eyes and tried to focus on something other than the feeling of being buried alive and suffocating.
He chest constricted and each breath became harder and harder to pull in. Try as he might to force the panic away, it was becoming more and more like a Chinese finger trap, the more he struggled the tighter everything became and the more fear took over and his thoughts became a frightening mantra:
Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't breathe....Can't...Breathe!...
He shifted uncomfortably. He just wanted out of this damned thing and he didn't want to be alone.
"You need to hold still, Sam." he heard a voice echo into the tube, but he didn't give a damn what they wanted him to do, he needed to breathe, dammit! He needed out!
"Sammy! Listen to the doctor." Now Dad's voice was barking at him. Well, fuck him too, he didn't need his orders- not now...he needed air and they were killing him in this thing. He wheezed, trying to draw in a breath, but the pain in his chest was growing worse.
Please, somebody let me out! He wanted to shout, but his voice wouldn't work without any oxygen in his lungs.
"Sam...you need to calm down." John ordered again, but his words were useless to Sam now. Panic had him in its grip and it wasn't letting go.
Let me out, let me out...let me breathe, let me breathe!...please, please, please!...
OOOOOOOOOO
"Dean!" Dean looked up from bench he shared with Caleb in the hall outside Sam's room and saw his father jogging up to him.
Seeing the concern on his face, had Dean adrenaline pumping and he was on his feet in a flash, his mind racing to all of the things that could have gone wrong with his brother. Was he worse? Was he dying? He almost didn't want to know, yet at the same time, not knowing was worse.
"Dad...what is it?" He asked, racing up to his father.
"Sam needs you right now. He's having a hard time getting in the scanner and he won't listen to me. You need to talk to him."
Dean was in the control room with the doctor moments later, looking through the window into the room where the scanner loomed like a giant over his little brother. Sam was laying down at the end of the scanner, his breath fogging up the mask over his face in fretful puffs. He was shaking his head towards the technician with him, refusing to be sent back into the coffin-like machine.
"How do I talk to him?" Dean asked the doctor.
"Just press this button here and hold it down while you talk."
Dean nodded and pressed the button, leaning close to the glass so that when Sam heard him, he'd be able to see him as well.
"Sammy...you little bitch, what the hell are you doing?"
Sam instantly turned his head and met Dean's eyes, relief flooding his features. "Don't tell me you're actually afraid of that thing. It's just a machine, it's not like it's Skynet, it's not self-aware and it won't hurt you."
Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. Dean knew he didn't want to go back in there, he also knew Sam had to feel foolish for letting panic get the best of him. He had to lighten Sam's mood if he was to get him back in there. "Hey Sam...tell you what. You get back in that tube and I'll tell you the story about how I, yours truly, got to see Kendra Wilson, the head cheerleader at that crap high school we went to in Indiana, make out with her friend, Stephanie Ames behind the bleachers one day after school. True story..."
Sam shook his head, but Dean saw his body relax as he went into the tale. The doctor shot him a couple of disgusted looks as he went on, but Sam did go back into the scanner and managed to complete the scan without another incident. In fact, by the time Dean had finished talking and Sam was being taken out of the machine, he had relaxed enough to fall into a light sleep.
Dean was momentarily pleased with himself and the feeling of helplessness he had felt earlier had dissolved somewhat. But all of that was to change when the Doctor beside him furrowed his brow as he studied the computer image of the scan.
"Damn...that's not good." Dr. Berkowitz muttered to himself, not realizing how intensely Dean was watching him or how his words caused his heart to thump wildly in his chest.
TBC...
