Alright guys, so here's the deal. The response to this last chapter was incredible. And as a Thank You, I have decided to post another one tonight. It's hard to wait out such a cliff hanger, so I'm going to help you all out and give you something more to chew on. Thanks so much for the wonderful responses! Here we go...
Dean would do anything for his baby brother. This is a fact that has never wavered in twenty-three years. It's something he's never questioned, something he's never doubted. He has spent his entire life jumping in front of bullets and pushing him out of the way of monsters, carrying him from burning buildings not once, but twice. The day of Sam's six month birthday clinched the deal for big brother; he would protect Sammy at all costs. And the decision to do so, and how to do so, has always been black and white.
Until now.
Now, Dean is faced with a dilemma greater than anything he's experienced in his entire life. To save Sammy means his own body has to die, yet his mind will live.
To save Sammy means condemning himself to life as a statue - a talking, thinking statue.
To save Sammy means condemning Sam to a life of guilt and servitude. Because no matter which way he plays it, Sam will never leave Dean's side if he's an invalid. He will no doubt feel responsible, that Dean has gotten hurt saving his life. He will devote his life to caring for Dean.
And Dean can't let that happen.
But the alternative is to let Sam die; to watch the noose cinch tighter and tighter around his baby brother's neck, slowly squeezing the life out of him. It's a frightening way to die. It's slow, and torturous, and humiliating, and there's no way Dean can allow that either.
And that's not even considering his own feelings at his proposed fate. He's just spent two days trapped within his own body and he nearly went insane. How the hell is he expected to spend his entire life like this? It's one thing to be ready to die. Death, he can deal with; the whole here one minute, gone the next thing - that he can do. He's prepared himself for death, accepted it as inevitable in his line of work. He's been willing to trade his life for Sam's for as long as he can remember, longer in fact.
But this isn't death. This fate that Adam has seen fit to throw at Dean is living at its worst, and he's not sure he can subject himself to that fate. It's been pure torture being hooked up to a machine to breathe for him, letting some stranger feed him and wash him and help him with daily life functions. And something tells him it will actually be worse if he has to allow Sam to do those same things for him. He can't do that, can't be that.
Which brings him back to square one. The dilemma. The first time in his entire life that he's questioned what the right thing is when it comes to Sam. And he's got to make the decision soon, because as he sits here, mind locked in a tormented fight over what's right and what's wrong, the rope is slowly tightening around Sam's neck.
Dean blinks several times, bringing himself back to the present where Sam is staring at him with those desperate puppy dog eyes he's so good at, imploring him to be the hero he knows big brother to be. Begging him to do something. Anything. Just make a decision, Dean.
Sam's feet are still on the ground, so Dean knows the rope hasn't done damage yet, but he's now on his tip-toes. It's only a matter of time before Sam's hanging by a noose off the ground. His throat will close up and his air supply will be shut off, and Dean will slowly watch his baby brother choke to death.
The irony behind this is that Dean thinks - no, he knows - that Sam believes in him wholeheartedly. Sam honestly and truly believes that Dean has a plan to get both of them out of this dire situation without more injury. His little brother has faith that Dean can save him without screwing himself in the process, and Dean knows this because otherwise Sam would be martyring himself for Dean just as Dean is about to martyr himself for Sam. He knows Sam would no more want to see Dean destroyed than Dean wants to see Sam hang. It's that faith that spurs Dean into action.
But he doesn't have a plan; no plan A, and certainly no plan B, C, or D. All he's got is Adam's decree - that moving the chair forward, pulling on the cord literally attached to his neck, will loosen the grip of the rope on Sam's neck. By slicing through his own spinal cord, Dean can save his brother.
He makes the decision in an instant, realizing it is really the only decision he can make, the only option he has. His entire life has always been devoted to saving Sam, keeping Sam safe. So he'll sacrifice himself, sacrifice his body, and put his little brother back onto firm ground. When all is said and done, Dean figures he'll find himself some Kevorkian wannabe and put an end to his suffering once and for all. But only after he's certain that Sam is safe.
There's a tingle in both arms now, starting in his fingers and running all the way up to the elbows, and he can pretty much wiggle every finger at least enough to be noticeable, but that's where the feelings and the movement stops. Dean has nothing in the majority of his arms, or the rest of his body, and he still knows the ventilator is breathing for him – he's yet to trigger a breath on his own.
So it takes a considerable effort to get his hand close enough to the joystick to make it worthwhile, and as he struggles to do so, pulling the dead weight of his arm towards the front of the armrest with just his tingling fingers, he can see the rope around Sam's neck pulling tighter and tighter. Another centimeter more and Sam's feet won't even be touching the ground anymore.
Dean can see Sam's face starting to turn purple as the oxygen is depleting from his system. His eyes are bulging out, and he's scrambling with his hands, behind his back, in a fervent effort to break free of his restraints, but the effort only tugs more at the rope, tightening it faster.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see their captors, looking all too calm in the face of what is too come. There's not a sign of remorse or a hint of squeamishness shared between the two of them. Lori Ann has her hands on Adam's shoulders, softly kneading the muscles as her eyes dart back and forth between Dean and Sam, eagerly awaiting the outcome.
Adam has not once taken his eyes off of Dean, and it's clear from the unwavering gaze and the hatred in his eyes that he's enjoying this way too much. Although, what he would prefer Dean's choice to be – death or paralysis – is unclear.
The only thing Dean knows is that Adam wants him to have to make the choice, wants him to understand the torment that comes out of making a choice like that. Dean does; but not for the same reason Adam wants.
Behind Adam and Lori Ann are the three zombons, lined up in a straight row with their arms at their sides and their heads facing straight ahead, at a soldier's attention. At first glance they seem to be staring into space, gaze focusing on nothing, and Dean is really too busy to notice anything different. He's got more important things to think about…namely, Sam. Later, in his hospital bed, he'll look back at that pose and realize something wasn't quite right.
But not now. Now, Sam is barely hanging on to life. He's still struggling, but it's slowed down as his throat constricts from the pull of the rope and his brain is deprived of the much needed oxygen.
It's now or never. The tips of Dean's fingers are close enough to be touching the joystick, and he's had enough time to hesitate in the molasses-like trek to drag his hand to the steering mechanism. With one final effort he brings his hand closer and pushes his fingers against the joy stick.
From there, everything happens too fast for him to wrap his mind around it. The wheelchair lurches forward and he's struck by a blinding, white hot pain in his neck at the same time as he feels his hand knocked off the armrest, away from the joystick. The room spins and his ears fill with the sound of buzzing, and he fears he's about to pass out. Dean closes his eyes against the pain, both emotional and physical, knowing there's nothing more he can do. His life is over. But he's saved Sam. That's what's important. That's what matters.
A lifetime seems to go by as his brain struggles to reconnect with the exterior world. It's only after the buzzing stops and the dizziness allays that he finally realizes he can hear shouting; angry words and demands and shrieks are being tossed all over the room. A female voice is screaming, I know. I know. I'm on it, while a male voice – it has to be Adam – is frantically shouting commands, desperation in the tone as it becomes clear to Dean that the captor has somehow managed to lose control of the situation.
He pries his eyes open, blinking in fast repetition for several seconds as he fights through the swirling mass of color and frenzy in front of him, his own desperation clear as he searches for Sam among the chaos. His little brother isn't where he'd left him; he's not dangling from the rafters by a noose around his neck anymore. It's several more seconds before he realizes that Sam is on the ground, and that the two zombon nurses are hovering over his lifeless body, touching him and shaking him.
"Let him go!" Dean croaks out in little more than a whisper. He's hysterical now, searching anxiously for a way to get to Sam and finding he's shit outta luck. Diverting his eyes to the armrest and the joystick he sees that his right hand is now dangling completely off the edge of the rest, and his fingers will no longer move to pry the arm back up.
He spends another half minute working his way through the chest clenching realization that his fingers aren't moving anymore; that he can't make them move anymore, and that he's back to where he started, only this time it's probably permanent. Fuck!
He hadn't really expected the wire to actually rip through his spinal cord. He hadn't really expected the threat to be true. There had always been a thought in his mind that Adam was just messing with him, was just fucking with his mind and trying to make him think something might happen that really wasn't going to. Now he knows that thought, that hope, wasn't real.
Across the room, Sam's still on the ground and the two zombons are still fussing with him. Their hands are all over his face and neck and chest, pawing at him, pounding on him. In his haze of consciousness, Dean is barely able to grasp the fact that they're performing CPR, that the pounding is chest compressions and the hovering is rescue breathing. His mind still wants to scream at them to get away from Sammy, but his heart forces him to see that their ministrations are for the best.
Somewhere along the line the zombons have changed sides. Dean doesn't know how that happened, or when, and definitely not how. All he knows is that the frenzy clear in Lori Ann and Adam's voices is enough to tell him that they are no longer in control of the situation.
The next thing Dean knows, there are hands on his face and a soothing voice filtering in and out of his mind, and he figures he must have lost consciousness for a minute or so because he can't remember how the hands and voice came to be near him. He blinks, trying to focus, and finally finds himself face to face with the zombon doctor. There is a soft smile on her face, intermingling with the obvious concern as her mouth moves up and down. But Dean can only make out hollow sound, no real words.
He tries to shake his head, clear his mind so he can actually understand what she is saying, but the hands are holding tighter to his face than he had originally realized. Somehow he knows not to be afraid of her anymore, though.
Several more seconds go by before Dean can finally understand what the woman is saying. "Stay with me, Dean. Don't move, Dean. You need to keep your head still. You're going to be fine." She repeats the same mantra over and over again, trying to get a response, and Dean finally groans to let her know he's with her.
"Dean? You with me?" She prods, voice more forceful now that he's responding.
"Sam. Where–"
"They've got him, Dean. He's breathing again," the doctor assures, still bracing his head firmly against the head rest. He tries to push forward against her hand, trying to see for himself that Sam is fine, and she tightens her hold even more.
"You can't move you're head. Can't move your neck," she insists. "I don't know how much damage the cord did to your spine before I stopped you."
More confusion enters his mind. "Wait, you– you stopped." breath "All of this? But." breath "How? You were–"
"I'm not sure," she admits. "I just...all of a sudden I felt my control come back to me. We all did. I've been fighting it for so long, but all of a sudden I was okay again."
"Adam? Lori Ann?"
She seems to understand his question and turns to inspect the room, eyes widening in surprise when she discovers they've managed to disappear in the frenzy. "They're gone."
"They're what?"
"I don't know. They're just gone. I have no idea what happened."
Dean can't hide his surprise either, amazed that they've just given up and booked it, a niggling feeling in the back of his mind telling him that it can't be as easy as that. But there's no time to dwell right now. Sam needs a hospital.
"Call an ambulance."
The doctor nods firmly. "I already did," she assures him. "The paramedics are on their way."
Rolling his eyes to the right, Dean tries once again to see his brother, weakly pushing his forehead against the doctor's hand. He can just make out Sam's still form hidden behind the two nurses. He's not moving. And despite the fact that Sam is apparently breathing again, there still seems to be too much activity surrounding his little brother.
But the doctor is adamant, raising her voice to demanding as she presses harder against Dean's forehead. "DEAN," she shouts at his groggy gaze. "Unless you want to be paralyzed like this forever you have to STAY STILL."
That gets his attention, and he shudders as an unbidden tear streams down his cheek. "I don't want to." breath. "Be paralyzed. Can't live like this."
"I know, Dean. I know," she soothes. "I'm doing what I can. You have to work with me, though. No moving, do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Say it Dean. Repeat it back to me. No moving."
"No moving. I understand."
Although her hand never budges from Dean's head, she seems to calm down as he assures her he won't try to move again. Simply seeing Sam isn't going to help his brother, and Dean selfishly decides he wants to save himself, too, if possible. He can feel himself panicking, once again knowing the only thing keeping him from hyperventilating is the sheer fact that he no longer controls his own breathing; the irony being that it's also part of the reason he's panicking in the first place.
It's all Dean can do to calm his emotions enough to think lucidly. He needs answers. Now. Before the cops and the paramedics swarm the place. And right now the doctor in front of him is his only chance.
"What happened to you?" He asks, voice weak but still demanding.
For a minute it's clear that the doctor doesn't think now is the time to be telling her story, and she falters. But then she seems to realize it's the only thing that will keep Dean occupied, keep his mind off his brother and his situation, and she offers him the Reader's Digest Version of what happened. Maybe, later, she'll give him the whole story.
He tries to listen, really he does, but there's a combination of nausea, dizziness, and pain taking control of what little bit of his mind he's still holding onto and all he gets are a few scraps of information here and there. Grabbed in the hospital parking lot...woke up trapped in her own mind, no control...forced to care for Adam...tried to find a cure for his paralysis...couldn't...then Dean and Sam...
The important parts he grasps onto, but his consciousness still wavers uncontrollably and he finds he can't really comprehend all that she's telling him. She finally gives up, finishing a sentence without continuing, not completing the story, and instead just sits quietly with Dean's semi-conscious form until the paramedics burst in.
xxxxxxxxxx
The information given the emergency dispatcher by the doctor means that the entire place crawls with cops and EMT's within ten minutes of the call. They burst in with a grand flourish, bypassing any kind of a stand off when their inspection through the windows reveals there to be no sign of Adam and Lori Ann.
There is an uncertainty as to whether the three women hovering over the brother's are dangerous or not, and the first officers to burst in demand they raise their hands in surrender. The two nurses do so immediately, eyes wide and darting back and forth from the officers to their downed patient. But the doctor refuses, and frantic voices order her louder to let go of the 'man' and put her hands up.
"I can't!" she shrieks back, unwavering. In his haze, Dean wonders how it is that she's managing to remain so calm, but that's just another thing to add to his list of questions for later. Right now, he knows why she isn't letting go and he can't let her get shot for him.
"It's alright," Dean insists, words slurring as he tries to remain conscious. "She's helping--"
His words are so quiet, Dean doesn't even get to finish before the cops are once again shouting at the doctor to remove her hands, and she screams once again, seemingly oblivious to the multiple guns aimed at her.
"He's got a spinal cord injury! I can't let go. I have to hold him still!"
They blink at this, staring dumbly at the frantic woman with her hands clenched around the kid's head, suddenly unsure how to proceed. The doctor, on the other hand, knows exactly what to do.
"Get me a c-collar over here and a back board. He needs to be immobilized immediately!"
Two medics finally spring to action, crossing the room with their gear as the cops continue to aim their weapons at the doctor.
"You were told to step away from him," one officer calls out, stepping closer to the commotion.
"And you were told to get him help!" the doctor screams back. "Once he's stabilized you can do whatever you want with me." She turns her back to the guns, speaking quickly as the medics do their job. In all this time, Dean is barely cognizant of what is going on around him as his mind floats somewhere in outer space. He makes out bits and pieces of the conversation, blinking now and then to remind them he's still alive, but no longer responds to their questions.
"His name is Dean," the doctor informs them. "Twenty seven year old male with a suspected SCI."
The medics look at her as though she's grown a second head. The kid is strapped into a wheelchair, unmoving, breathing through a ventilator. Of course he has a spinal cord injury. Any medic with half a brain can see that.
She shakes her head, frustrated at the situation. "No. He didn't really have one before. Adam just..." It's too long of a story to tell. One for another day. "Never mind. He's been on drugs. Neuroblockers. But this injury is fresh. Real. We can still save him if we're careful."
The medics nod, already unhooking the vent to slip a c-collar around Dean's neck. His eyes go wide as he's cut off from his air supply again, but they medic is quick and soon he's breathing again, the hose protruding from a large hole cut into the collar.
Dean feels the change of control as the female medic slips her hands along the side of his face and the doctor removes hers, immediately lifting them over her head and stepping away from him. Somewhere deep inside he knows he should be doing something, that it's wrong for her to be taking the blame for what Adam has done, for what Lori Ann has done. But his mouth feels all cottony, his tongue dry and swollen, and he can't talk anyway because the speaking valve has been removed when they put the c-collar on him.
He tries anyway, moving his lips slowly and deliberately. She's O-K. Let her go. No one hears him. The hollow sound of voices fills his mind in place of his own thoughts and he finally lets go, allowing other's to deal with the situation. If he's still alive later, he'll save the doctor.
From over his shoulder, Dean hears a gasp, a cry of horror from the male medic as he circles around to secure the collar at the back of Dean's neck. "My god, look at this. Look what they did to him. Who would do something like this?"
The female's eyes go wide, questioning. She can't leave her post, holding his head still, not until the head and neck are completely stabilized. But the guy wasn't talking only to here; he's calling to the officer's, too. Three break formation, the doctor and the two nurses now cuffed and secure, and come to look at what Dean knows is the cord still clipped to his neck. The doctor had stopped him from going any farther forward in his chair – or maybe that was his spinal cord severing and destroying the synapses between his brain and his limbs – either way, she didn't have time to remove the line before the cops burst in.
"We need to get some pictures of this," one of the cops insists.
"Yeah, well we need to get him stabilized and to the hospital," the male medic replies just as insistently. "Bitch was right, he could have an SCI. This is just freaky."
Clearly the cop isn't giving up on the picture request because he hears the female growl an annoyed, "fine, but stay out of our way."
Then he sees bright flashes of light encircle him from the back as he feels two blocks of plastic foamy things take the place of the female's hands and tape secure them around his head. They're red, he can see out of the corner of his eye.
"We've got to move him. Give us a hand here."
Suddenly he's moving, floating through the air as face after face come into his view, both cops and medics.
"You're gonna be alright, kid. We've got you," the female medic soothes, still hovering over his face. She's pretty, kinda surfer like. Bottle blonde hair, blue eyes, dark tan. She smiles at him, revealing a row of perfectly straight, dazzling white teeth. "You still with me?"
Dean blinks once. Yes.
It's a disconcerting feeling, floating. He can feel hands on his head, on his neck, but the rest is just a numb void of nothingness; might not even be there for all he knows. They lower him to the floor and he can see a little bit of the straps they're using to secure him to the back board. There's been plenty of opportunities to learn the inner workings of backboards and stretchers between him and Sam. Sam! Fuck. Sammy!
Immediately his docility falters and he's wild with fear, head thrashing the little bit it can against the neck brace and the foam restraints as he remembers Sam. Sam, who was too still on the ground before. Sam, who tried to save him and ended up kidnapped instead. Sam, who he'd risked his own life and mobility for just to get him free from the noose. Sam, who he'd forgotten about, once again, in his half lucid state. What kind of a brother did that?
Surfer medic appears in his line of sight again, hovering over him as she puts a hand to his face. Contact. Where touch is in limited supply, he feeds off of the feel of her hand pressed against his cheek. "Dean, you're name's Dean?" she asks, remembering what the doctor had said earlier.
He blinks once, flares his nostrils, and mouths 'yes,' but continues to strain to see Sam. She smiles again.
"Dean, I need you to calm down for me. Can you do that? Can you stop trying to move?" He sees something large pass over his head and settle somewhere lower on his body, and realizes it the portable ventilator.
'Sam,' he mouths desperately, and when the girls face screws up in confusion, trying to figure out what he's saying, he mouths it again. And again. And again. 'Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam."
"Let's move out," the male EMT orders, pulling against the gurney as surfer medic finally gets what he's saying. The ceiling, the only direction Dean can see, begins to move. Slow at first, then faster. He's not just floating anymore, but flying.
Surfer medic stays right there in his line of sight, arms stretched out to guide the stretcher, but eyes directed on him. "Sam?" she asks tentatively, as though deciphering the wrong word coming from his mouth might just break him. Dean's not so sure it won't.
Yes! Sam, that's it. Sam. My brother – how is he? He squeezes his eyes shut then opens them, realizing for the first time that they're moist, glossy.
"Is Sam the other guy that was in here?"
Dean's eyes go shut again, tighter this time, and when he opens them back up again he mouths 'yes.' He bites his trembling lower lip then sticks out his dry tongue in a failing attempt at moistening the chapped lips.
Surfer medic's mouth pinches a little bit and her eyes become locked in concentration, as though she's searching her mind for what to tell him. She settles for the bare minimum. "He was stabilized and they took him in an ambulance just a minute ago. You two will be taken to the same hospital, so they can tell you more once we get there."
It's not enough information to go on, doesn't satisfy Dean's anxiety, but for now it will have to do. Knowing Sam was alive a minute ago will have to do.
The medics and cops wheel him through the hallway and out the door of the cafeteria to a set of steps where they have to collapse the wheels and carry the stretcher to the top. From there he's rushed outside to the waiting ambulance, rocking a little as they lift him inside and slam the double doors shut. The vehicle pulls away with its sirens blaring and lights flashing, led by a police cruiser whose occupants have been assigned to hospital duty; guard the victims. Aside from a dull feeling of jostling in his head, Dean doesn't feel a thing. This time he knows it's not from the drugs. This time he knows it's serious. Adam has won.