A/N: Thanks everyone! So here we are with yet ANOTHER really late update, sorry about that everyone. I'm behind on stories gain. It's because I keep getting attacked by violent, unrelenting plot bunnies, so I end up getting really distracted lol. I'll try to do better. Oh, and I did warn against language, didn't I? Just want to mention that because Dean gets pissed in this chapter lol.
P.S. I know little to nothing about human anatomy and what happens when something messes with your insides. I skipped anat and phys in high school due to the fact that I didn't want to dissect the (required) cat. So, any mistakes regarding medical jargon are mine.
P.S.S. I love Castiel to death, I really do, but I made him a jerk in this. Don't crucify me, it's just for plot's sake lol.
Brothers, Always
Dean
The lower part of his liver and his large intestine took most of the hit. I'm surprised he survived the surgery, to be honest with you, since he coded at the scene. It was pretty touch and go for a while, we lost him for a moment, but he got through it. Since his liver was nicked, we were mostly concerned about the internal bleeding. We managed to stop it but there is always a possibility that it will start again. Now the major concern is his concussion and how long he was without oxygen at the scene. More than three minutes and there is usually permanent brain damage, any more than that and it's almost guaranteed that he won't wake up. Do you understand what I'm saying, son? Sam's in a coma and he may not wake up. You might want to make some arrangements, prepare for the worst. I'm sorry.
Dean's not sure which emotion to deal with first. There's panic pressing on his chest so hard and tight that he's struggling to breathe. There's grief that's intensely tugging at his heartstrings even though Sammy's still breathing. There's confusion because Dean doesn't understand how Sam coded not just once but twice before he slipped into an undisturbed, possibly final sleep. Then there's the red hot rage pulsing through his body after the Doc suggests he make arrangements for Sam, because he's trying to tell him that his brother is going to die, for real this time.
Dean immediately dismisses it with a soft, near tears sniff and a stone cold expression. Sam isn't dying. There's no way. The only thing Dean's going to prepare for is revenge against two unfortunate souls who'd better start praying, because they made the worst mistake of their lives hurting Dean Winchester's little brother. Yeah, blood is going to spill and heads are going to roll, Dean's going to make sure of that. But first he's going to make sure that Sam walks out of this hospital on his own free will because there's no way he's burning his brother, it's not going to happen. Dean doesn't care if he has to make another crossroads deal, go back to hell in ten years or even today; Sam's not going to die.
Dean shuffles the chair he's sitting in closer to the hospital bed, causing the metal feet to screech painfully against the floor. One of Dean's hands goes to Sam's lax palm and the other goes to Sam's head, his fingers carding through his brother's hair.
It's easy to forget about the past few painful months like this, with Sam looking younger than he actually is and all the vengeful, hateful emotion erased from his face. Dean hates that the only reason he looks like this is because he's balancing between life and death, but he can't deny that it's not nice to see. He misses his little brother, the kid who was only concerned about saving people, denying his psychic gift, and being brothers with Dean. Things obviously changed drastically when he went to hell, for both of them, and Dean wonders if everything that's so muddled and broken will ever right itself.
Dean sighs deeply and grabs a hold of Sam's hand tighter, "We really screwed this up, huh, bro?"
Dean's honestly not sure if he's referring to the botched hunt, the street fight they were just in (and lost), or the torn relationship between them. Probably all of the above.
"I was so pissed at you…but you probably already knew that," Dean starts and then swallows, "You know I'm not good with emotions, even worse now that I've been downstairs. Which I guess isn't such a bad thing because you don't seem to be in much of a sharing mood now days anyways."
Dean pauses and stares at Sam, who's shown no reaction at all. Briefly Dean wonders if he's talking for Sam or if he's talking for himself.
"But I don't know, Sammy. I just don't know what to do anymore. You're scaring the shit out of me, you know? I just don't want to see you get hurt. Bang up job on that, huh?"
Dean stops because his throat is closing at the memory of a knife sliding into Sam's side, blood bubbling out of his brother's mouth. He has to swallow to clear his airway again.
"You don't have to be who you were over the summer. I know it's not that easy, we've both changed, but you don't have to watch your own back anymore. I'm here, Sammy, and I'm not going anywhere, I promise. You just have to wake up, ok?"
Hiss whoosh hiss whoosh. Sam's oxygen supply is the only reply he gets other than that, the room is unearthly still and quiet, and Sam still looks like he could reach out and touch death. Dean holds his hand tighter, thinking that maybe he can keep his brother grounded if he didn't let go. Four hours later when Dean finally falls into an extremely light sleep, his hand is still connected with Sam's.
It takes seventeen days, three CT scans, a doctor offering to pull the plug and being escorted off the property for assault for Dean to finally lose it.
After security manhandles him outside, he leans over the safety railing in front of him and vomits over the side of the ambulance dock. Combine the sounds of him puking and the sounds of him sobbing and he's sure he makes a pretty pathetic scene, one that under normal circumstances would be really humiliating. However these aren't normal circumstances and Dean just doesn't care who sees him fall apart. That's not all he doesn't care about. He doesn't care that he's as weak as a kitten because he hasn't been eating or sleeping. He doesn't care that he's sporting a new beard and that there's alarmingly dark smudges under his eyes. He doesn't care that the apocalypse is still pounding on their door and Dean hasn't lifted a finger in over two weeks to stop it. What Dean does care about is the fact that Sam isn't getting better and the doctors are losing faith in the fact that he might wake up.
"Dean, Sam's stats are getting lower. We're doing all we can but he's losing the fight. We will do everything we can but if things don't turn around soon…you should think about what Sam would want, if he'd want to be kept alive. I know pulling the plug isn't easy…"
That's when Dean had hit him, hard, because there's no way he's pulling the plug. That would mean that Sam would die. That would mean that he failed.
"Dean."
Dean wipes his face to get rid of the remaining tears and spit, and turns slowly.
Castiel's eyes narrow in masked concern, "You do not look well."
Dean's not in the mood for small talk, in fact, he not really in the mood for anything other than making sure Sam wakes up from his coma.
"Bring him back," Dean says, coming out as more of a plea than anything.
Castiel tilts his head like he doesn't understand or like he wants Dean to keep talking.
"Sam. Bring him back, please. He's not…he's not waking up, and I need him to. I can't do this without him, I don't want to. Please, you have to."
He's not above begging at this point. In fact, if Castiel asked that he get down on his knees and lick his holy feet, he'd do it, if he brought Sam back.
"Dean…"
"No!" Dean shouts, fury and desperation rushing over him like a tidal wave, "Don't use that voice, that apologetic 'I can't do shit' voice! Bring. Him. Back."
"I can not do anything, my orders are as such," Castiel replies.
"Screw your damn orders! If you want me to take any part in this save the world crap, you'll save my brother and make sure he is in one piece!" Dean rages as he wildly points a finger in the hospital's direction.
"He doesn't want to wake up," Castiel counters softly.
Dean freezes, wondering if he heard the angel right and praying that he didn't, "What are you talking about?"
"My orders are to leave Sam Winchester be, to let him make his own choice about waking or not," Castiel clarifies as Dean stares at him with horrified eyes, "And he does not want to come back."
Dean swallows and tries to press on against the hole in his chest that burns like acid, "Like I said, you can take your orders and shove them up your feathery ass. Sam's waking up, whether he wants to or not."
Then Castiel gets this look on his face, a look that closely resembles the one he wore when he threatened to throw Dean back in the pit. Dean wonders if 'feathery ass' was such a good choice of words. However, nothing could've prepared Dean for Castiel's next words.
"And what exactly would he be waking up to? A world that he's helping destroy? The demon that's poisoning him?" Then Cas narrows his eyes, "Or his brother, who is doing nothing to save him?"
Dean blinks, his thoughts pin balling between, 'What's his deal?' to 'Like hell I'm not doing anything.' But he couldn't really defend himself, not really, not when Cas was right. If he wasn't, then Sam wouldn't be lying half dead in the hospital.
"I warned you to stop Sam or we would, his time is due," Castiel continues when Dean doesn't answer.
Suddenly, Dean's angry. Not the kind of angry that he was two seconds ago, but the kind of white hot rage that only comes over him when someone threatens Sam and suggests there's nothing that can be done about it. It's the kind of anger that he only unleashes on Supernatural beasties and crazy backwoods hicks. It's the kind of anger that he'd unleash on the angel if he thought it'd get him somewhere other than dead or worse, hell. He can't save Sam if he's dead or getting cozy with hellfire again.
But it was this anger that snapped him out of his 'woe is me' attitude and thrust him right back in to being Dean Winchester, the one that's been missing since May 2, 2008.
The thing is, he's been looking out for Sam for a long time, way before angels got thrown into the mix. He's spent his entire life making sure that Sam got to school ok, that bullies got what was coming to them the second they set their sights on his little brother, and that he was between Sam and whatever threat was charging at them. This is no different. Angels want his brother dead, his brother who is already giving up the fight and is lying there like a piece of meat for the wolves. It's not going to happen, not while Dean's still breathing.
Dean lets out a huge gust of air from his nose and then smacks on a half smirk, "Know what? Screw this, I'm outta here."
"Where are you going?" Castiel demands as he watches Dean turn on his heel.
"I've got a brother to save, Chuckles, where the hell do you think I'm going?" Dean throws back, his stride not slowing or pausing in the slightest.
It took some doing but Dean managed to slither back into the hospital undetected by security. He knows that he's not out of the woods yet, if Sam's doctor or nurse spots him in the room, he'd be screwed but until then, he has work to do.
Dean stands at the end of Sam's bed and stares at his brother intently, taking in his pale skin and sunken cheeks.
"I'm going on faith that you can hear me somewhere, bro, and here's the thing," Dean starts determinedly, "Cas is telling me you're not waking up and that you don't want to. Normally I'd tell you 'too damn bad, wake your sorry ass up and get out of that bed.' But I know that you don't do too well with orders."
Dean smiles affectionately as he thinks of Sam's rebellious, overly independent attitude, "So I'm going a different route and I sure as hell hope you can hear me, because you're never getting this kind of chick flick moment again," Dean pauses and then, " I need you, Sammy. I don't care about your powers, what you've been doing with Ruby, or whatever. I don't care. You're my brother and there's still nothing I wouldn't do for you, you hearin' me? There's still no one else I want watching my back. But we can't fix it Sam, not with you lying there like a bump on a log, so you need to wake up. Ok?"
He didn't know what he was expecting but he tried not to be disappointed when all he got was more woosh hiss woosh of the ventilator. But he wasn't going anywhere and he wasn't giving up.
"Not going anywhere, Sammy, and neither are you. I won't stand for that rolling over and giving up crap, and I know if I was you, you wouldn't either."
Dean plants himself back in the chair next to Sam's bed, promising himself that nothing was going to move him from it, not angels, the apocalypse or second rate hospital security. He was back on big brother duty.