A/N: I can't thank you enough for the amazing response I'm getting. It means the world to me. As always a huge thank you to my wonderful beta MuffyMorrigan who in spite of everything still supports and helps me with my writing. Thank you, sis!
I can't claim any medical knowledge, so I apologise if I've made any glaring mistakes.
Hitting Walls and Getting Scars
Chapter Five
Past
When the Impala's taillights finally disappeared, Sam sank to his knees among the trees, the tight knot of fear in his stomach for Dean's sake taking his breath away. Please hurry, Dad, please get him help, I think he needs it badly! He's lost so much blood… Dean, please be ok, I don't know what I'd do if you… Against his will, a sob escaped him at the thought. No, stop that, he's going to be ok. He has to. I just wish I could be there with him in the hospital. What if it's serious and I'm not there? It looked so serious! But he wouldn't want me there, it's my fault he's hurt. Oh God, Dean, I'm so sorry!
When he finally rose to go back to Zach's car, he felt the pain from the wound in his side and noticed that his t-shirt and waistband of his jeans were soaked through with blood. Shit! Looks like I'm going to need stitches… I can't go to the hospital, what if I meet Dad… His mind flinched at the thought of the anger that he would see on his father's face when he told him how he'd screwed up. How I got them both hurt, and Dean seriously… That wound looked so bad. No, I can't go there, I can't face him right now. I'll have to do it myself.
He started back through the woods towards the car, noticing absent-mindedly that somehow he'd managed to grab hold of both his knife and his canisters of salt and gasoline when he hid in the forest. At least they won't find any evidence that I was here. Dad is going to come back and close up the grave once he's sure Dean's out of danger. The thought caused another stab of terror in Sam's stomach. Please, Dean, please be ok, please come through this.
Reaching the car, he opened the front door, dumped the canisters and the knife behind the front seat and grabbed his jacket from the back, spreading it over the front seat before getting in. I hope I don't get blood on the seats… That would be a little difficult to explain. Then he started the car and headed back to Stanford, his dorm room and a first-aid job he was in no way looking forward to.
When he got there, he pulled the car into the parking lot, got out and draped his jacket around the canisters and the knife before heading for his room. Better not get caught walking down the hall with that one in my hands, they might think I'm some kind of lunatic. Story of my life, isn't it, always hiding something away. When he was about to enter his room, he heard Zach calling his name.
'Hey, Winchester, you're back! Did things turn out ok?'
Did things turn out ok? No, not really… My brother's badly hurt and in hospital, may even be dying… Dean, please hang on! My father almost got killed by a homicidal spirit, and I've got a couple of broken ribs not to mention a gash in my side that I really need to get stitched up before it gets any worse. Oh, and I may have a slight concussion and I hope to Hell that you won't notice the blood on my shirt or in my hair. And I might be a little freaked, no, a lot, I'm starting to sound like Dean.
'Yeah, everything's ok now. Thanks for letting me borrow your car again! Hey, can I keep the keys until tomorrow? I may have to do a quick errand sometime early tomorrow,' he said, trying to appear normal.
'Sure, no problem, just fill her up before you return her, would you? And are you sure you're ok, you look a little pale?' Zach said.
'Yep, no sweat, mate, as you would say, I'm fine. Just had a rough couple of days with the food poisoning and all. I just need a little rest, that's all.'
'If you say so. See you tomorrow, then!' Zach left him, giving him his trademark parting knock on the arm, not noticing as he walked away that the consequent jolt of Sam's ribs almost brought him to his knees, the only things stopping him being his iron will and the wall he was leaning against.
He struggled for a moment to catch his breath, then opened the door to his room and stumbled inside, sinking down to sit on the bed. His head was pounding, the wound in his side was stinging and his ribs hurt with every breath he took. Of all crappy days… I thought I was done with this… But the pain isn't the worst, the fear… Oh God, the fear. How could I ever think that I could escape that? That not knowing would be better than knowing? And now I've screwed everything up and I can't even be with him now that he's… Dean, please be ok, please… This is killing me, being apart from him… from them. But they wouldn't want me there after what I've done… I've failed them again, I'll never be good enough, I don't belong with them. But oh God…
He fought to hold back the tears of desolation and fear that pressed behind his eyes. I have to snap out of this, I have to focus upon what I have to do… First rule of first aid: Stop the damage. He slowly rose and fetched his first aid kit from the closet. Then he sat down next to the desk, laying out the things he needed on top of it and pulling the wastepaper basket closer. There's no way I'll be able to pull my t-shirt over my head, I have to cut it off. The blood's probably ruined it anyway. Dean… No, I have to focus, they won't know anything about his condition now anyway… I wonder if Dad will call me, if…God, what do I say if he does? FOCUS, Sam! You've got a job to do here. He shook his head slightly shouldn't have done that then picked up the scissors and started on his shirt, revealing the forming bruises on his ribs and the large bloody area low on his left side.
I have to clean it before I can see how wide it is… I hope I'll be able to reach the other end of it. This is going to be a bitch to do. But I have to, I can't go to the hospital. And I can't rely on other people fixing my messes all the time anyway. Now get on with it!
He took a deep, slow breath, trying to spare his ribs while doing so, then picked up a piece of clean cloth, drenched it in Iodine and proceeded to wipe off the blood on his side. Seems like it's mostly stopped bleeding, luckily. Damn this hurts like a bitch, I have to use my left hand also, but when I lift it, I can feel those ribs… He gritted his teeth against the pain and continued. Soon he had cleaned the area and although the wound was long, the sharpness of the knife had made it a clean cut.
After cleaning the wound as well, fighting the nausea and threatening blackness that the stinging of the Iodine brought on, he used some pieces of Band Aid to hold the wound together while he started doing the stitches. Guess I'm lucky I can actually reach all the way, but I swear, I'm never going to do this again. I wish Dean was here… Dean, please be ok! The breath hissed between his teeth with every stitch as he steeled himself to push the needle through his own flesh to suture the wound. Fighting the black spots before his eyes, he forced himself to continue without pause, knowing that if he let up for only a few minutes, he'd never be able to start over again.
When he was finally finished, he placed a sterile gauze patch over the length of the wound, sticking it in place with pieces of surgical tape. The he dropped all the blood-stained pieces of cloth into the wastepaper basket better remember to empty that one out tomorrow before anyone sees it, rose, and stumbled to the bed, grabbing his phone from the bedside table before allowing himself to gingerly lay back into the pillows. Damn, should have wrapped those ribs as well… But they don't feel that bad, it'll have to wait until tomorrow. Dad would kill me for that thought, not to mention Dean, but there's just no way I'm getting back over to that table right now.
Trying not to let the fear for Dean, which now hit him full force, bring him down, he tried to steady his breathing before grabbing the phone book and, finding the number of the hospital he'd visited earlier that day was it only this morning? he dialled the number with trembling hands, holding his breath, the only words screaming in his mind Dean, please be ok, please be ok, DEAN! When the phone was picked up, he was surprised at the steadiness of his tone when he proceeded to enquire into the health of his cousin Dean Harrison who had just been admitted to the ER following a bad accident. The nurse asked him to wait a few moments while she made enquiries, moments that felt like the longest in Sam's life, his whole body trembling, his insides twisting together into a huge Gordian knot that would never loosen.
The nurse came back on the line. 'He was in pretty bad shape when he came in, and it may still be hit and miss with him, but they just finished operating on him and they expect him to make it,' she said in a compassionate voice. Sam stammered a 'thank you', then hung up, the relief making his body tremble almost more violently than the fear had just moments before. Tears ran unnoticed down his face when he finally succumbed to the welcoming darkness of sleep, able to do so now that he knew that Dean was going to make it.
'Dean, where's Dad?' 'He's with Pastor Jim, you know that, Sammy, he told us when he left last night where he was going.' 'But Dean, what are they doing? Dad doesn't even like Pastor Jim's church, why does he go there so much?' Dean sighed. You don't want to know, Sammy, please stop the questions, ok? 'They're out helping people, Sammy, like Dad has told you…It's important, so that other children like you and me don't have to lose their mother like we did.' Sam looked at Dean with a frown on his little face. 'Why did no one help Dad and Mommy, Dean, so Mommy didn't have to leave?'
Sam shifted in his bed, the pain from his side causing him to roll onto his right side.
Sam was sitting in the Impala, thinking what an absolutely shitty way this was to spend his 12th birthday. His brother and father had gone off into the woods, telling him to stay in the car and keep the doors locked. I hate it when they go off without me, I hate this waiting, not knowing… Oh God, please let them come back unhurt! He tried to concentrate on the book he'd brought along for the purpose, but the only thing he could think about was that Dean might get hurt in the hunt. He started when someone - DEAN! – knocked on the window, then quickly unlocked the doors to let his father and brother into the car. 'Woohooo, Sammy, you should have seen it! I shot that sucker right in the heart! And boy, did it make a nice fire afterwards!' Noticing Sam's discomfort even in his adrenaline-induced high, Dean placed his arm around Sam's shoulders, holding him close to him for a few seconds. 'What do you say, kiddo, that we rent a movie and spend the night with pizza to celebrate your birthday, huh?' 'You remembered?' 'Of course, I did. Who knows, there might even be a present waiting for you back in the motel room! Happy birthday, Sammy!' Dean ruffled Sam's hair. 'Yes, happy birthday, Sam,' his father echoed from the front seat. 'Dean?' He added. 'You did good out there, son. You did good.'
Sam shifted again, groaning as his movements sent a stab of pain into his ribs. Then he was once again swallowed by the memories haunting his dreams.
'Happy 18th birthday, Sammy!' Dean said, handing Sam an oddly-shaped gift. 'It's Sam,' the now-automatic reply came as Sam, strangely pleased that Dean had gotten him a present and seemed highly excited about it, took the gift and started unwrapping it. When he removed the paper, he revealed a wicked knife, its blade curved and looking extremely sharp and menacing. Sam looked up at Dean, speechless. 'Dean… Thank you. This must've cost a fortune!' Dean shrugged. 'Well, it isn't every day that your pain-in-the-ass little brother turns 18, is it? And anyway, with me going off on hunts of my own soon, you need something to defend yourself, right?' His flippant tone betrayed the seriousness of his words. Sam recognised the knife for what it was and tried to hide the thoughts running through his mind. Thank you, Dean, it's a wonderful gift, but soon I won't be needing it. I'm sorry I haven't told you yet, but I'm soon done with hunting. I just hope you will understand and accept my decision. I know Dad won't.
'Dean?' Sam softly called in his sleep. When he received no reply, he pulled the covers closer to him, almost waking when his hand brushed against the wound in his side, but the call of his dreams was too strong and pulled him under once again.
The knife was floating in the air, slowly revolving. 'Now, I wonder how you'd feel knowing that I killed him with your knife?' the spirit said. Then the knife flew towards Dean before Sam could react, embedding itself in his chest, blood spurting from his mouth seconds later.
'DEAN!' Sam was violently jolted awake by the pain that the nightmare-induced scream caused in his ribs. He struggled to catch his breath while at the same time sparing his ribs, the terror of the nightmare latching on to him like a leech, unwilling to let him go. Dean! Something's wrong, something's terribly, horribly wrong. Something's happened during the night, maybe he's… I have to go to him, I have to go there now! Hold on, Dean, I'm coming!
He scrambled out of bed as fast as his bruised body allowed him to, his hands shaking while he pulled on his clothes and shoes, then grabbed the car keys from the desk and ran from his room to the parking lot. The sun was rising in the sky as he sped down the road, the brightness of the sky an ironic contrast to the black turmoil he felt rolling inside him. His nightmarish vision of Dean falling, drenched in blood, with the knife in his chest, kept pulling itself across Sam's eyes in spite of his continuous attempts to tell himself that it's just a dream. It didn't happen. The dread that the nightmare had caused came close to wearing down his last defences, finishing a job that had started with the phone call to Pastor Jim only two days earlier.
I never thought it would be this bad, that being apart can even be worse than hunting together… I thought I would be free of the fear when I went to Stanford, that I would finally be able to feel safe, not having to feel this terrible dread all the time… But ignorance is worse than knowing. Can I do this? It was so easy to leave back then – Dad made it easy. But this… this being apart from them when Dean is hurt… It's killing me. And it won't be the last time it happens, I know that. What if… What if someday one of them dies and I'm not there? Can I ever forgive myself if that happens?
The emotions tore through him, the need to be with his family battling against the knowledge that he didn't fit into what his father called 'the family business' and the suspicion no, it's more than a suspicion now, I heard Dean say it! that they might not even want him there anymore.
He finally arrived at the hospital, relieved to find no sign of the Impala in the parking lot. Dad's probably gone to clean up the grave and all that. That must mean that Dean is ok, if something's wrong, Dad would be here! At least I hope so. Maybe that'll give me time to sneak into Dean's room. I need to see him, if only for a few moments. I just hope he won't send me away, if he's awake. I almost hope he isn't, I'm not sure I could take hearing him say that to my face…
He got out of the car and slowly made his way to the front entrance. He approached the woman at the front desk and enquired about the room number of one Dean Harrison, trying to still the trembling in his body. She gave him the number and informed him that visiting hours were not until two hours later, so he would have to wait until then to visit his 'cousin'. She doesn't sound concerned or compassionate, maybe he really is ok, maybe I was just freaked out because of the nightmare. I hope so, Dean, please be ok. He thanked her and walked towards the waiting rooms down the hall. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her turn towards her computer screen, and he quickly went up the staircase to the next floor where Dean's room was located.
When he got to the top of the stairs, he looked around to locate Dean's room number, but he was distracted by a group of nurses and doctors running down the hall towards a room at the other end, pulling various medical equipments with them. When he stepped into the hall and noticed the numbers on the walls between the rooms, he felt all life drain from his body. Dean! No! Dean! He stumbled down the hall as fast as he could, coming to a halt at the open door to Dean's room.
'Charging, clear!' The doctor's commanding voice resonated in Sam's mind. Dean's body bucked underneath the paddles, but the whining note of the machine next to him didn't change. 'Charging, clear!' Dean's body bucked again. Come on, Dean, oh, please come on! Sam held his breath along with the doctor and nurses, only releasing it once he heard the steady sound of the machine. He felt his entire body shake with a mixture of shock and relief, his legs barely able to carry his weight as he leaned heavily on the wall.
As if in a daze, not really understanding what they said, he heard the doctor give the nurses orders to keep his brother sedated and to change the antibiotics ASAP. 'It seems he's having an allergic reaction to the new antibiotics that we gave him this morning,' he heard the doctor say, but all he could think was he almost died… no, he actually died, they had to bring him back… and it's my fault, it's my fault, I should have stopped it… Once he heard the doctor say that Dean was stable again, he turned around and walked slowly towards the staircase, the guilt and shock over what he had just witnessed filling him, and he knew that if it wasn't for the fact that he hadn't eaten anything for almost a day, he would have vomited all over the floor. He almost died… Oh God, he almost died because of me…
When he finally got to Zach's car, he couldn't remember how he got there, he just suddenly found himself sitting behind the steering wheel. His hands were trembling so hard, he could barely turn the key in the ignition, but he finally managed it, pulling out of the parking lot and instinctively ducking when he saw the familiar black Impala turn into the parking lot from the other direction just as he left.
On the drive home, he tried in vain to stop the tears that rolled silently down his cheeks, the horror of seeing his brother dead, he was dead! playing over and over in his mind. Maybe I should have stayed… but how could I, knowing it was my fault… I have no right to be there…Oh Dean, I'm so sorry! I can never go back, never… The realisation stuck him full force in that moment, and he had to quickly pull over to avoid crashing into another car in his inability to concentrate on driving. I can never go back, if they ever learn what I did, how I almost got them killed… Dad would be so angry, and Dean… Oh God, Dean, I'm so sorry. He'd… he'd despise me. I can't take that, I can't see that look on his face… Then better to stay away, hide the truth… Never let them know, never risk them finding out the truth. That's what I'm going to do. They'll be fine without me, and I'll have to be fine without them.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions that his decision arose in him, then pulled out into the traffic again and drove the rest of the way back to Stanford.
Once back in his dorm room, he lay down on his bed, exhausted but unable to sleep after what he had seen and the decision he had made. Every time he tried to close his eyes, the image of Dean being resuscitated played on the insides of his eyelids and the unbroken scream of the machine resounded in his ears. Sleep escaping him, his mind was instead attacked by the stark realisation that he now had to face a future without his family in it. The feeling of loneliness returned, tearing through him, breaking down the last pieces that were left after the exploding guilt that had ripped him apart earlier that morning.
I only wanted to make them proud, to show them that even though I'm no good as a hunter, I still have abilities, I can still do good in the world… I thought they would understand why I chose law school… But they don't… They don't, and now with this I can never go back… Oh God, I can't share this with them… Can't share anything with them any longer… They won't be here when I graduate… The thought of not being able to share those important moments, those achievements, with the ones who meant the most to him left him feeling empty and desolate.
Realising that there was no way he was going to be able to sleep, he went to the desk where he found the bottle of painkillers in the first-aid kit. Swallowing two with a mouthful of water, he noticed that there were only four left and made a mental note to buy some more later that day. He considered going to get some breakfast, but the mere thought of eating made him feel nauseous. How can I eat when Dean is fighting for his life because of me? Then he proceeded to clean away all evidence of his suturing work the night before and stored away the first-aid kit. Finally, he carefully cleaned his knife, the sight and smell of the blood almost making him gag. Then he stored that away as well.
Afterwards, he sat down at his desk and started working on a paper he had due the following week, knowing that the familiar work routine would serve to calm him some. He tried to concentrate on the paper, but every time his thoughts strayed to Dean, his stomach clenched with fear, and more than once he had to fight back tears when he thought about the decision he had made. He called the hospital a couple of times during the day, each time holding his breath until he got the reassuring answer that Dean was ok and would suffer no after-effects of what happened that morning, and that the new antibiotics seemed to be working well. Thank God, he's going to be ok, or so they say. I hope they're right, they said the same thing last night, and then this morning… Oh Dean, please be ok!
Finally, late in the afternoon, he couldn't take it anymore. They tell me that he's ok, that he's improving. But I have to see him, I can't go the rest of my life with that image of him being brought back to life being the last one I've got. I need to… I need to see him. With that thought, he rose from his chair and, fighting a short spell of dizziness have to get some food when I get back, he once again set off for the hospital, hoping against hope that his father would have gone to get dinner and that Dean would be asleep.
What am I going to do? I need to see him… But Dad won't let me, if I meet him I won't be able to hide the truth from him… I can't let him see me, I can't let him keep me from Dean. And even if Dean won't want me to be there, I still need to see him, I need to know that he's ok… I have to see him one final time. The closing thought tore through him, but he gritted his teeth and fought down the grief that it caused him with a determined effort. It's the right decision. Better they don't know. I can't let them know. Am I being a coward? The image of his father's disapproving face and sound of his scornful voice came to his mind. No. If I don't stay away, I'll have to tell him and he'll just repeat those words he said, tell me to never come back. He'd go ballistic if he knew that I almost caused Dean's death. I can't… I can't face that. I just can't.
He soon found himself at the hospital and started towards Dean's room with growing trepidation, fearing what he might find when entering the room.
What he found was almost complete silence. Dean lay on the bed, pale, sleeping, oblivious to the world, the only thing proving that he was still alive the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Sam released a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding, then slowly went to sit in the chair beside Dean's bed, careful not to disturb the IV in his arm. 'Dean?' he quietly asked, not wanting to wake up his brother, yet somehow both hoping he would and hoping he wouldn't. God, he looks so awful… those bruises… seems it wasn't just his body that the spirit targeted with those tools… I hope they're right in saying that the new antibiotics are working. But he doesn't look sweaty or feverish, just exhausted. Oh God, I can't do this, this can't be goodbye, I can't stand the thought of never seeing him again, I just can't. I have to find some way to keep in touch with him, I have to make him forgive me.
Unconsciously, he placed his hand on top of Dean's, needing the contact to confirm to him that Dean was ok. 'Hey, Dean… I don't want to wake you up, you probably need all the rest you can get, but I wanted to say this to you now that I have the chance…' he said quietly, his voice hardly more than a whisper, thickened by the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him now that he was reunited with his brother. He frowned, then took a deep breath and went on. 'I'm so sorry for this, Dean. I should have prevented it, but I screwed up. I know I don't belong with you, Dean… I never did. I'm not a hunter at heart, that's not the life I want. And I suck at it anyway. But that doesn't mean I don't… that I don't want anything to do with you, Dean. God, man, if you knew how much I've missed you since I left… And I know that you're angry at me right now and don't want to see me, and if you knew what happened last night you would be even more angry…but Dean, I hope that maybe someday we can be friends again. I can't…'
He swallowed. 'I need you, Dean. I need to know that you're there for me, out there somewhere. That you're only a phone call away. I can't do this alone, not knowing where you are or what you're doing. I can't, Dean.' He angrily wiped at the tears that had started down his face. 'You'd laugh at me if you saw me now, wouldn't you? A Winchester crying. You'd never do that, nor would Dad. Which I guess is just one more proof that I'm different than you, isn't it? I guess you really are better off without me. Do you have any idea what it felt like to see you like that last night and this morning, knowing that it was my fault? What it feels like to know that some day I'm going to cause your death if I keep hunting? I can't live with that, Dean. But I can't live without you either.'
He stopped suddenly, hearing raised voices from the hallway. When he recognised one of them as his father's he panicked, knowing there was no way he could get out of the room unseen. Instead, he hid in the bathroom. And how clichéd is that? Dean would laugh his head off if he ever heard about this. Moments later, he heard John enter the room, the tail-end of his conversation with a doctor or nurse audible through the door. 'I know it isn't visiting hours yet, but I have things to do and I want to be with my son right now. Period.' Good luck arguing with that voice. If you succeed in getting him out of here, you'll be the first one ever. He heard an annoyed but resigned huff, then the door closed and his father was alone in the room with Dean.
Sam heard the chair creak and his father sigh, then John started talking to Dean, just like Sam had done moments before. He used a tone that Sam had seldom, maybe never, heard before; a gentle, tired, almost sad tone, revealing more emotion than he usually allowed. 'Hey, Dean. I cleared up out at the house. It should be ok now, no evidence left and the spirit gone for good. Good thing you managed to torch the bones before it went for you, son.' He sighed. 'They say you're going to be fine, you just need to rest for a day or two. But it was a close call, you lost a lot of blood. And then this morning… I can't tell you how sorry I am that I wasn't here when that happened. When I came back and they told me… You gave me a little scare there, kiddo, you know that?' The chair creaked again, indicating that his father had shifted slightly. 'There were some missed calls on my phone last night, with a California area code. I wonder if it's one of my contacts or if maybe it was Sam. But he doesn't know we're here, so I doubt it. I thought about calling him, letting him know you're hurt, but I haven't. You said last night that you didn't want me to, so I haven't. But I think you should call him when you wake up, you know. Maybe let him know you're in the area.'
Sam heard a low sound, then it was repeated, a little louder.
'No.'
Then John's voice, questioning. 'Dean? Are you awake? What?'
Dean's voice, slightly stronger. 'I said no, Dad. Don't call him. Not now. Don't want… see him now.'
'Ok, Dean, I won't. Don't talk, son, just rest, ok?' He paused. 'I'll just go back to the hotel and take a shower, then I'll be right back. And I'll talk to the doctor, find out when I can get you out of here, right? Ok, see you later, son.' Then Sam heard the door open and close again. He stood completely still in the bathroom, paralysed by once again hearing that Dean didn't want to see him, that even though their father wanted to, he didn't let him call him. His mind went blank, filled with a blind panic that left no room for thought, he was unable to hold on anymore and he felt himself break into a million little pieces at the final rejection from the one person who had always been the glue holding him together, the rock upon which he was standing. He felt like he was being suffocated, the emotions threatening to rob him of air; his empty stomach rebelled, threatening to spill its meagre contents, and his knees trembled, threatening to give in and leave him lying on the floor. I have to get out of here, I have to get away, they can't find me here, I have to get away… I don't belong here, I don't deserve to be here, Dean doesn't want to be near me.
Finally he re-gained enough control to be able to silently open the door and look out of the crack at Dean, who seemed to have gone back to sleep. Then he walked to the door and slid out, across the hallway and down the staircase. He stumbled into the entrance hall and was on his way to the front door when a nurse stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'Hey, son, are you alright?' Sam nodded, then, seeing her concerned look, realised that he must look a mess with tears running down his cheeks, pale face and hunched pose as he unconsciously cradled his left arm to spare his bruised ribs and the wound in his side from being jostled. He straightened slightly and answered her more convincingly. 'Yes, thank you, I'm fine. Just got some bad news, I'm afraid.' He flashed her a small smile then continued on his way out the door. Please just let me go, I don't want to crumble here in front of them, and Dad might be back any minute. Please, I have to get home, please don't stop me again.
His unhindered escape out the doors did not bring him any sense of relief, though, as he continued across the parking lot towards the car, almost running the last few paces to hide inside its relative safety. Keep it together just a little while longer, I need to get home. I'm not going to show them how I feel, I can't face their questions. Keep it together, don't lose it now. Don't think about them, don't think about Dad and for God's sake don't think about Dean. He turned the key in the ignition and sped towards the empty dorm room that he now called home.
Once back there, he lay down on his bed, this time instantly falling asleep, not realising that the tremors wracking his body and the nausea he felt were not just effects of the storm of emotions raging inside him but rather symptoms of something much more serious.
To be continued