Summary: Sam's visions seem to get the best of him. Is Dean the key to setting him free? Action takes place directly after Croatoan.
A hearty thanks to all of you who left me reviews. I really appreciate hearing from you!
Thank you Faye Dartmouth for the great beta on this fic. If you readers had only seen the first draft of this you'd understand how much time and energy Faye put into the story to make it better.
(Lyrics to "Blow Up the Outside World" by Chris Cornell)
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Blow Up the Outside World – Part 2 (I've given everything I could)
I've givin' everything I need
I'd give you everything I own
I'd give in if it could at least be ours alone
I've given everything I could
To blow it to hell and gone
Burrow down in and
Blow up the outside World
Dean stared in horror as Sam's blood continued to puddle on the patio. He heard footsteps pounding across the floor. "Oh my God! What happened?" Mr. Johnson wailed.
"Call 911!" Dean didn't have time to deal with a hysterical Mr. Johnson. He needed to figure out where all of the blood was coming from and stop it. Fast.
Carefully easing Sam onto his back Dean quickly saw the problem. A hunk of glass was sticking out of Sam's neck. It must have nicked an artery because great spurts of Sam's blood were now pumping onto the ground in time to the beats of his heart.
Dean felt nauseous. He was afraid to remove the glass; removing it could speed the loss of Sam's blood. Tugging off his shirt he carefully wadded it up and held it tightly against Sam's neck, trying to avoid the glass obscenely protruding from Sam's skin.
"Sam, just hold on. Help's on the way." Dean could hear the wail of sirens in the distance. He reached up with one hand, steadily applying pressure to Sam's neck, and cupped Sam's face with the other, smearing blood across his cheek. This couldn't be happening.
Dean felt panic climbing up his throat and forced himself to slow his breathing. Sam needed him. But all's he could see was red.
There wasn't a trace of color on Sam's face save for the blood smeared across it.
"Sir, please, you'll have to move back."
Dean felt relief as the paramedics arrived. They could stop the bleeding. They had to stop the bleeding.
"Unresponsive white male, early to mid 20's, massive blood loss…there's a shard of glass sticking out of his neck…" Dean heard someone on a radio at the same time he heard someone vomiting in the background. Even the paramedics were having a hard time dealing with this scene.
Sam's blood was everywhere.
The paramedics quickly transferred Sam onto a backboard and loaded him onto the stretcher.
"We need to start the Type O blood. He's bleeding out. BP's almost non-existent…" Dean followed behind as Sam was carted to the ambulance and loaded inside. As the doors banged shut he felt overcome by a wave of grief.
There was so much he needed to say to Sam. So much they needed to do.
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Sam was adrift, floating aimlessly on the water. The current tugged him this way and that but he kept his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation. He felt something on his left hand. A pressure. Ignoring it he concentrated on the feel of the water.
"Sammy, it's time to wake up now. I'm sick of watching you sleep." Dean was talking to Sam, begging him to wake up, as he'd done steadily for the last twenty-four hours.
The doctors had been able to remove the glass from Sam's neck and close up all of his wounds but his vital signs hadn't rebounded yet. Severe blood loss.
Dean reached out and cradled Sam's left hand between his own. It was so cold. He rubbed Sam's hand against his own cheek, trying to drive the chill away.
Dean stared at Sam's face willing his eyes to open. Willing his condition to improve. His skin was waxy and so white that it blended into the white sheets. Even his lips were colorless. The only color visible on his face came from the stitches scattered across his forehead, nose and right cheek and the deep purple marks under Sam's eyes.
But Dean would take the shadows under Sam's eyes any day over the ugly wound hidden under the gauze wrapped around Sam's neck. Every time Dean closed his eyes he pictured the glass embedded in Sam's neck, sucking the life out of his little brother.
"Sam, I'm getting bored here. You've slept long enough." Dean tried to inject some sternness into his voice but the attempt fell flat. He was too tired and too scared.
Dean sat up straighter, his gaze riveted on Sam, as his brother began to twitch.
Sam felt the floaty feeling dissipate as dizziness slammed through him.
He was standing next to the Fire Demon. He felt the earth shift under his feet. An earthquake. The New Madrid fault was moving. The Fire Demon threw back his head and laughed.
"It's time, young one. It's time you join me. I can make all of your pain disappear." The Demon held his hand out to Sam yet didn't touch him.
Sam could feel something building along his nerves. Energy was humming through his body. Reaching out he grabbed onto the Demon, clutching his arm.
Sam felt the energy leave his body and enter the ground. A bright flash of light. Everything was gone. The Demon was gone. And so was Sam.
Sam's eyes snapped open as he wildly looked around. He couldn't catch his breath.
"Sam, buddy, it's okay. It's Dean. Just relax." Dean had never seen anything so beautiful in his life before. Sam's eyes were open and he was looking at Dean with recognition in his eyes.
The monitors attached to Sam began to bleat their distress and nurses began pouring into Sam's room.
Sam parted his lips to say something and began coughing instead.
"Sir, you need to step back."
Dean had never been 'sirred' so many times in his life and he didn't appreciate it. But he quietly stepped back to make room for the staff. Sam needed their help.
Sam's attending doctor, Dr. Ford, flew into the room and began barking orders. More blood tests were ordered and the doctor finished checking Sam over. Slowly the crowd thinned out as Sam stabilized.
The doctor pulled Dean to the side. "Try to keep him quiet. I ordered some tests and will be back in a short while to talk to you both." The gravity of the doctor's voice unnerved Dean, but for now, he needed to focus on the positive. Sam was awake.
"Sam, it's about time." Dean pulled his chair back up next to Sam's bed and settled it where Sam would be able to see him, too. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Sam quietly said, exhaustion evident in his voice, and was rewarded with a snort from Dean. "What happened?"
"That's what I want to know. We were looking at 'the house' and then you seemed to have another vision. You wind-milled back through the plate glass door. I have to say, Sammy, red isn't your color." Dean tried to keep his tone light, but he couldn't disguise the worry in his voice. He'd come so close to losing his brother.
The brother he was supposed to protect. The brother he was responsible for and had felt so since his Dad had placed a wriggling Sam into his arms the night of the fire.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to make a scene," Sam said as he eyeballed the gauze on his right arm and felt the stitches on his face. He was reaching up to touch his neck when Dean intercepted his hands.
"Easy there. You don't want to undo the good doctor's work, Frankenstein." Dean continued to hold Sam's hand even after Sam stopped trying to touch his neck.
"What happened to my neck?" Sam whispered. The room was swirling around in earnest and he felt so tired.
"Just rest. We'll talk when the doctor gets back." Dean didn't want Sam to go back to sleep but the kid couldn't keep his eyes open.
As Sam drifted off he thought of his latest vision. He had a way to kill the Demon. It meant he would die, too, but at this point he was willing to do anything to take that bastard out. He restlessly tumbled into sleep.
Dean continued to hold Sam's hand. The iciness had been replaced with warmth. Almost too much warmth. He looked at Sam's face and saw a thin sheen of sweat. He was reaching for the call button when the doctor reappeared.
"We've got a problem, Mr. Whitecastle," the doctor began. Reaching forward Dr. Ford touched Sam on his undamaged arm and squeezed lightly, "Sam, can you hear me?" The doctor watched avidly as Sam slowly blinked up at him.
"Sam, you have what we call Transfusion-associated graft-vs-host disease. GVHD refers to an immune attack by transfused cells against the recipient. It's an exceedingly rare complication of blood transfusion and only occurs in severely immunosuppressed patients. We're going to do everything we can to stabilize you." The doctor patted Sam on the arm before turning to Dean.
Sam stared at the doctor in disbelief.
"May I please see you outside for a moment?" the doctor asked Dean.
Nodding, Dean turned to Sam, "I'll be right back Sammy."
Sam nodded his head in understanding but he was already in another place, trying to work out what was happening.
Following the doctor into the hallway Dean knew he wasn't going to like this conversation.
"Why didn't you tell us that your brother's been sick?" Dr. Ford asked Dean as he crossed his arms in front of him.
"What are you talking about? I thought he was coming down with a virus or something." Dean was taken aback by the doctor's question and his body language.
"GVHD only occurs in people with congenital immune deficiencies, of which your brother appears to be free of, or to people with hematologic malignancies who are receiving intensive chemotherapy."
"Chemotherapy? Like for cancer?" Dean was trying to wrap his head around what the doctor was telling him. Sam didn't have cancer.
"I suppose it's a moot point now. GVHD is fatal." Dr. Ford's features relaxed as he saw Dean's face fall. "We're going to make Sam as comfortable as we can but I'm afraid he only has a short time to live." Clasping a floundering Dean on the shoulder he headed off to the nurses station.
Dean watched the doctor go, his mouth slightly open, his fingers tingling.
Fatal? That didn't make sense. Sam wasn't meant to die in some hospital. He was supposed to go out in a blaze of glory, with Dean by his side. Butch and Sundance style.
Dean pushed back into Sam's room, unsure of what exactly to say to Sam. He fidgeted from foot to foot, trying to find the right words.
"It's okay, Dean. I'm going to be fine." Sam had seen his own death, and it didn't happen in some hospital.
"Sammy. The doc said it's fatal." Dean looked at Sam, his eyes swimming in tears.
"No, Dean. The doctor's wrong." Sam knew he probably sounded like he was in denial but he knew his time wasn't up. Not yet.
"Please promise me, if I'm not dead by tomorrow you'll get me out of here. Promise me Dean," Sam whispered.
"Sure, Sammy. Whatever you want." Dean valiantly fought back his sobs in the face of Sam's determination.
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Dean continued to watch Sam as he moved restlessly on the hospital bed. Sam's fever had spiked to 103 which made his joints ache. It also made his dreams more vivid.
Dean tried to comfort Sam with a cold compress but Sam just couldn't seem to get comfortable.
"Dean?!" Sam weakly cried as he tried ineffectually to sit up.
"Right here, Sammy. Lay back and relax," Dean tried to sooth Sam who must have suffered yet another nightmare.
"Dean, please, I need to know…what did Dad," harsh coughs interrupted Sam's question to Dean.
Dean fetched a cup of water from the tray table and stuck a straw in it. Leaning forward he gently placed the straw between Sam's lips. Sam was able to take one sip before he turned his head to the side, violently coughing.
Dean rubbed Sam's arm. His skin was so moist and hot that contact was probably uncomfortable but since he didn't try to pull away Dean continued to stroke his arm. Dean hoped that some of his strength was conveyed to Sam by touching him.
Sam finally settled back against the bed, cheeks flushed. Dean hated seeing Sammy like this. Completely lacking in energy and subdued. Not to mention in distress.
Dean wanted to tell Sam what their Dad had said to him. It might be unfair to unburden himself while Sam was so sick but he didn't want there to be any more secrets between them. Especially if…he couldn't let his mind wander there. Sam had to get better.
"Sam, about Dad. He said," Dean paused as Sam seemed to wilt against the sheets.
"Sammy, you with me?" Dean leaned forward in concern. Sam's breathing seemed more labored and he didn't respond to Dean.
Dean grabbed the call light and activated it. Someone needed to find a way to fix his little brother because Dean refused to let him die.
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Twenty-four hours later found Sam propped up in his bed, feeling vastly better. He still had intermittent dizziness but the fever had finally broken and the coughing had dissipated.
"Your red blood cell count is still off and there's a low level of radiation in your body that we can't account for," Dr. Ford said, pausing to stare first at Dean and then Sam, still not believing that Sam hadn't recently undergone chemotherapy. "All signs point to you regaining your health."
Dr. Ford left the room after telling Dean and Sam that the GVHD seemed to have spontaneously cleared. He was now making arrangements for Sam to be transferred to a cancer institute for study. Something about miracle cures.
Dean, at a loss for words, leaned forward and pulled Sam into a hug, shocking his brother. Winchesters didn't hug.
Sam weakly returned the hug.
"I think it's time to get out of here before I'm shipped across the state. Did you bring me clothes?" Sam asked as he slid his legs out of bed. He gave himself a moment to adjust and let the dizziness pass before he pulled on the jeans and shirt Dean threw on the bed.
"I'm going to grab a wheelchair. Be ready to roll in five, no pun intended." Dean said as he cracked the door open. The hallway was clear as he made his way toward the nurses station where he'd seen a spare wheelchair earlier. His luck was still holding. The chair was his for the taking.
Dean propelled the chair back to Sam's room and was dismayed to find Sam kneeling on the floor next to the bed.
"Sammy? Let me help you up." Dean gently tugged Sam upright, mindful of his stitches and sutures and deposited him in the wheelchair.
"Maybe you're not ready to make a break for it yet," Dean said as he took in Sam's pallor. The doctor might have been wrong about Sam having a fatal illness but he still wasn't the picture of health.
"Just a little dizziness. It will pass. Can we please get out of here now?" Sam turned his large, pleading eyes on his brother who caved in immediately.
"Fine, Princess. But you'd better not pass out on me again." Dean checked the hall before pushing Sam out of the room.
It was time to take Sam home. Home being wherever the Impala took them both.