A/N: Although we don't celebrate Thanksgiving here in Denmark, I'll take the opportunity to thank the universe for letting me meet my wonderful beta and mentor MuffyMorrigan, who I can honestly say has changed my life. Thank you, sis!

Hitting Walls and Getting Scars

Chapter 6

Present

Dean thought he had been shocked by Sam's earlier revelations, but these final ones struck him as if he had been punched in the stomach. Several times over. Oh God, Sam, I'm so sorry you saw that… I can't even imagine what that must have felt like… And Sam, please don't blame yourself, you saved my life, you saved Dad's life… Can you understand that? And you sewed up that wound yourself because you were afraid how Dad and I would react if we saw you at the hospital? But wait… you were there that day? Was that what you said? Hiding in the bathroom? You heard me and Dad? Oh Sammy, that wasn't what I meant, not at all! Was that why you didn't call us later on? Why you didn't return my calls? You thought… you thought we really didn't want you with us? Oh Sam! It was never like that, never… My God, it's all my fault, those years, all my fault…

Unable to contain the terrible guilt that welled up inside him, Dean got up and started pacing the room again, trying to ease his sudden nausea through movement, his mind shying away from imagining what Sam must have felt by seeing him being brought back to life in the hospital, only to be rejected – or so he thought – by him a few hours later.

Being at a loss as to how he could ever make Sam believe that none of what had happened was his fault, Dean suddenly stopped and stood looking at Sam for several moments, suddenly noticing the silent tears that made their way down his little brother's face as he sat at the table, head bowed, shoulders slumped in despair, light shivers running through his entire body. I have to do something, I have to ease the pain that he's feeling. Oh Sam, I hate to see you like this, broken, and knowing that I was the cause of this… unwillingly, yes, and without knowing it, but still it was what you saw and, even more so, my words that made you believe… Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry! To think how much time those words cost us… How can I make this better, how can I convince you…

Dean finally found his voice, realising that he had to get through to Sam right at that moment if he wasn't to lose him completely to the horrible thoughts that were about to take over his mind.

'Sam?'

Sam didn't react.

'Sammy? You in there?'

Sam moved his head slightly, indicating that he heard Dean but that he wasn't inclined to answer him.

Dean took a deep breath, then said: 'Sam, listen to me. Neither of us – not Dad, not me – would ever think that you were to blame for what happened. Ok? Yes, they had to bring me back that morning in the hospital, but that was because of something THEY did, not something you did, ok? Do you understand that? And I'm so very sorry that you had to see that. And I wish that Dad had been there, so you wouldn't have had to face it alone. He told me later that he'd gone back to the motel for the night because the doctors had told him I was ok and that he should go. He was devastated when he came back and they told him…' Dean grew still at the memory of the sheer terror he had seen in his father's eyes that day when the doctor told him what had happened.

'And listen, Sam…Those things you heard… at the motel, in the hospital… I never meant that I didn't want to see you. I meant… Hell, Sam, when I told Dad not to call you, it was because I didn't want you to know that I was hurt, I didn't want you to know what had happened to me, what that spirit did… But you already knew, you were there…' His voice tapered off again as he realised how Sam must have felt, how terrified he must have been to hide in the bathroom. Then a memory from that day struck him.

'I heard you! I heard you that day, Sam! I thought I was dreaming that I heard your voice, that I felt your hand on mine… When I woke up I looked for you, but it was Dad who was sitting next to me, so I figured… You know, for a moment there, I wished it were you sitting next to me instead of him… And you were so close, only a few feet away… If I'd only known… Hell, if Dad or I had just gone to the bathroom so we could've found you there, then maybe we could have solved it all back then…' I know it's too late to think this way now, Sam, but how I wish we'd found you that day… Maybe you wouldn't have gone back with us…Maybe we could have helped you, oh God, Sam, sewing up that wound on your own… Wait a minute…

'Sam… that scar… it looks so bad… it wasn't just because of you sewing it up, was it? And it wasn't just because of what you heard that you felt so bad in that bathroom, was it? It was infected, wasn't it? God, Sam, what were you thinking? You could have gotten horribly sick!' Dean's words came out harsher than he intended, the pain and regret that Sam's confession had caused making him act like a worried parent, his worry coming out as a scolding. What if… what if he really WAS sick and I wasn't there… Infections can be really serious if they aren't treated correctly at once. Please, Sam, please tell me you didn't get an infection on top of everything else…

Sam's only answer was a slight defeated shrug that did nothing to ease Dean's worry.

'Answer me, Goddammit, Sam! Was it infected? Did you get sick?' Please say no, I'll never forgive myself if…

'Yes.' Dean could hardly hear the word.

'What was that?' Oh Sam, oh no…

'Yes, I let it get infected, I screwed up again, I know it, ok?' Sam sounded so young and forlorn it almost broke Dean's heart.

'No, Sam, that wasn't what I meant… I didn't mean to say… I just meant…' Me and my big mouth, I sound just like Dad, and that gets me nowhere with Sam. Sam, do you understand what the thought of you seriously ill does to me? And thinking that you were fighting that on your own… He felt his stomach contract at the mere thought of it. I promise you, Sam, I'll do anything to prevent anything like that ever happening to you again. Anything. And thinking that it happened because you saved my life…

'It's ok, Dean. I know how you feel, Hell, I feel that way about myself, I have for a long time. It seems I screw up every time I turn around, getting other people or myself hurt in the process, always needing others to sort out my messes. Seems I can't take care of anything on my own, least of all myself' Sam's voice was filled with self-contempt.

'What do you mean?' Dean asked, puzzled, dreading the answer.

Sam shrugged. 'Almost all my life you've been taking care of me. And that thing proved very well that I'm incapable of doing it myself. If it hadn't been for Zach and Becky…'

'Sam?' Dean looked at him questioningly.

Sam's shoulders slumped even more, his final defences breaking, resigning himself to telling Dean the last part of what happened during those days.

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Past

Palo Alto

When Sam woke the next morning, he knew at once that something was seriously wrong. His t-shirt was drenched with sweat, he felt shivery and nauseous, and as soon as he moved, a shaft of pain went from the wound in his side and through his entire body, lodging itself in his brain like the tip of an arrow. Oh no, this is bad, this is really really bad… The wound must have become infected, how could I be so stupid that I didn't notice? Then the memory of what he had seen and heard the day before came back to him and all he wanted to do was curl up in a foetal position under the sheets, hiding away from a world where the reality of his situation was too much to bear. Fighting the sobs of loneliness that he unwillingly let out, he clenched his fists and prepared to rise from the bed to get to the first-aid kit and get ready to check the wound. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and rose to a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the floor, his head resting on a pair of jeans-clad legs, a cool sensation on his forehead.

'Sam?' a worried male voice said.

'Dean?' No, that isn't right, it wasn't his voice… Then who?

He heard someone move near him, the cool sensation on his forehead disappeared and he felt a gentle shake of his shoulder.

'No, mate, sorry, it's just me, Zach. And Becky.'

Sam slowly opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times in confusion. 'What happened?' he asked.

'You tell me. We knocked on your door because I needed my car keys back, and when you didn't answer and we realised the door was unlocked, we came in, and you were just lying there. What's the matter with you? This is more than just food poisoning, isn't it?' Zach said, the worry audible in his voice.

Damn, how do I get out of this? I can't tell them what happened, I can't, they can't know… Oh God, I can't let them discover… What do I say? I wish Dean were here, he was always better at lying… At the thought of his brother, he felt tears starting to rise in his eyes. Forcing them back, he tried to focus on what to tell Zach and Becky. How can I make them leave me alone? I can't let them see that wound, they would freak out not to mention want to know how I got it…

'I'm ok, just a little fever I think, and having too little to eat yesterday, I was working on my paper and forgot to eat,' Sam said, trying to force his voice into sounding normal.

'Then what's that?' Zach said, pointing towards Sam's abdomen. Sam lifted his head from Becky's legs and looked where he pointed, paling slightly when he saw the large dark patch on his t-shirt above the patched-up wound. Damn, must have bled through during the night. Damn, damn, damn! Fighting down the dizziness and pain-induced nausea that returned as soon as he started moving, Sam slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position by using his right hand, discovering that using his left jarred both the wound and his busted ribs. Leaning against his bed, he looked at his friends, suddenly touched by the worry and concern that were evident on their faces.

'Really, I'm ok. It's just a scratch, had a bit of a run-in with a branch yesterday when I went running in the park,' he said. Please believe me. I don't like lying to you, but I have no other choice.

'And you didn't get it checked out? Sam, the way you look, it seems like you've got an infection!' Becky's voice took on a slightly freaked-out note at the last word.

'And sorry, mate, but we just found you passed out on the floor, so I'm not so sure 'ok' is a word I'd use to describe you right now,' Zach added.

Sam looked from one to the other, realising there was no way he would be able to convince them to leave him alone to deal with his wound in peace. He sighed. 'Ok, maybe it's more than a scratch. But really, I'm ok, I just need a couple of painkillers, then I'll be back upon my feet. Could you get me the first-aid kit on that shelf, Zach?'

'Sure.' Zach brought him the kit, looking at him in concern as he took out the bottle of painkillers and shook out the last two onto his palm. Before Sam could ask, he passed him the water bottle from the desk. Sam swallowed the pills, then leaned back his head to rest against his bed, waiting for them to take effect.

'Sam?' Becky's voice sounded worried. Sam opened his eyes, realising he hadn't noticed when he had closed them.

'Yeah, just give me a sec, ok? Then I'll be quite ok and back upon my feet.' He tried to sound more confident than he felt. Maybe if I say it to them I'll believe it myself.

Zach and Becky looked at each other, then at Sam. Zach spoke first. 'Sam, mate… There's obviously something serious going on with you, and we'd like to help you, ok? And… if you don't mind my asking… Who's Dean?'

Sam closed his eyes again. You just had to ask that, didn't you? 'Dean's… Dean's my brother.' His voice shook a little when he said the words.

'Brother? I never knew… Oh!' Becky's voice went from surprise to understanding. 'I guess there's a reason why you haven't told us about him.'

Sam shrugged and looked at the wall in front of him, not wanting to elaborate any further. To change the subject, he pulled up his feet, preparing to rise, hoping that might convince his friends to leave him alone and give him a chance to look at the wound. His plan was thwarted, though, when he barely started to rise and the pain from the wound returned, causing black spots to dance before his eyes, making him topple forwards. If Zach hadn't caught him, he would have ended up back on the floor. As it was, Zach supported him until he regained his balance, then helped him sit down on the bed, slumped forward with his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, trying to breathe through the pain coursing through his body.

He felt more than saw Becky sit down on the bed beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. 'Sam, I don't think this is just a scratch. Please let me look at it, please let us help you, ok?' She gently tucked at his t-shirt, pulling it away from the soaked gauze patch underneath it. Sam winced slightly, then sighed in resignation. 'Need to clean hands first,' he said. That sounded like one of Dad's orders, not very nice of me, she's just trying to help. 'Sorry, Becky, didn't mean to sound bossy.' Becky nodded, went to wash her hands and then gently started pulling at the tape holding the gauze in place while Zach kept the t-shirt away from it. Sam gritted his teeth against the pull on his skin when the tape was ripped away from it, the slightest movement jarring the wound, sending new shafts of pain through him.

Then he heard Becky gasp. Looking down, he realised he had to raise his arm to be able to see properly. Great, that'll reassure them. He gingerly started to move his arm away from his body, being careful not to jar his broken ribs or the wound in the process. When he had finally lifted it far enough to see the wound, he almost wished he hadn't. The skin around it was angrily red, the edges swollen and scabs of yellow pus further evidence that it was indeed infected. Actually I didn't need to see it to know that, the way I'm feeling that was pretty obvious. But damn, that looks serious, I'm not sure I can take care of that myself, but I don't really have a choice. I just don't know how I'm going to convince Zach and Becky about that. They seem pretty freaked.

He looked at them as they sat there staring at him, and suddenly he realised that it wasn't just the fact that the wound was infected that had silenced them, but the sheer size and nature of the wound in the first place. 'Uh…' Sam said. Damn, what do I tell them, what do I tell them… Come on, Sam, think! Would be a little easier if the room stopped spinning, I think. He took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself.

'Sam? What happened to you? This wasn't caused by a branch, was it? This… this is a knife wound, Sam! Whatever happened to you?' Zach's voice sounded strained. 'Oh my God, Sam, you must've had it last night too, when you got back… And I didn't even notice…'

Sam realised he had to give them some kind of plausible explanation, so he went for the first cover story that popped into his mind. 'I, er… I got mugged. And when I didn't want to give them my wallet, they… they sort of pulled a knife on me.'

'Yeah, I can see that,' Zach said dryly, trying to mask his concern. 'But those sutures… surely you didn't…'

Sam looked down, his hair shielding his eyes from Zach's questioning gaze. 'Yeah, I did. My Dad taught me how, a long time ago. And… I don't have any medical insurance.'

Zach looked at him as if he were an alien. He looks at me like this now… How much worse will it be if he ever learns the truth? No, I can't ever let them know. Then Zach seemed to make up his mind about something, he rose and grabbed the car keys from the desk. 'Becky, put the gauze back on, we're taking Sam to see Richard. I'll get Sam down, you fetch the car and bring it as close to the entrance door as possible.'

'No, Zach, it's ok, I'll just clean it up again, it'll be ok,' Sam protested.

'No way, Sam, I'm not leaving you to deal with this on your own. And don't worry, Richard is ok, he's my cousin, he'll help you for a very small fee. I'm helping him out in his garden once in a while, so if it's a problem, you can always give me a hand mowing the lawn once you're better. End of discussion.'

Realising that there was no way Zach was going to let this go, Sam shrugged in defeat. Dammit. Have to figure out more to tell that doctor. But Zach is right, I can't deal with this on my own… If only Dean or Dad were here, they would have known what to do… Dammit! Why can't I ever do anything right? Then all thoughts disappeared as Zach helped him stand and gently draped his right arm over his shoulders, supporting him out the door and down the hallway towards the front entrance. Huh, lucky that I slept with my jeans and shoes on Sam thought detachedly. They had to stop a couple of times on the way when Sam's dizziness threatened to overtake him, but finally they made their way to the door and, with Becky's added help, down the front steps to the car, where Sam gratefully sank down in the passenger seat. Becky hurried around to take her place at the wheel, while Zach jumped into the back seat. Neither of them commented on the dark patch of dried blood that was visible on the driver's seat.

I guess I should apologise for that. I'll have to remember that later. Not sure I can actually say anything coherent right now. Guess going to the doctor isn't such a bad idea after all, I don't feel that good. He rested his head against the window, not realising he had fallen asleep until Becky gently shook him awake. 'Sam? We're here.' He looked at her confused, then looked out the window at the low white building in front of the car. 'Huh? Oh. Ok.'

The door beside him opened, and Zach gently took his arm. 'Come on, Sam, let's get you inside and checked out, ok? I called ahead, he'll see you right away, it's really his day off, but I told him it was serious.' With Zach's help, Sam managed to stand up, swaying on his feet as the black spots once again danced in front of his vision. He leaned heavily on Zach on their way to the door, which was opened from the inside by a thirtyish man in a white coat. 'Hi Zach, Becky. Bring him along here.' He pointed towards an open door a ways down the hallway. Why does it always have to be the door farthest away?

Once in the room, Sam sank gratefully down on the exam table, wanting nothing more than to lay back and give in to the oblivion that would release him from the physical and emotional pain that was tearing him apart inside. 'Hey, son, stay with me, ok? I need to know what happened to you, what symptoms you have, ok?' the doctor what was it Zach said – Richard? said. Sam blinked, trying to focus on him. The doctor looked at Zach and Becky. 'How about you wait in the kitchen? Go ahead and make some tea or coffee if you like. You know where everything is. I'll take good care of your friend here.' Becky looked at Sam in concern until Sam nodded slightly, then she and Zach left.

When they had left the room, Richard looked at Sam. 'Ok, son, tell me what's wrong with you and when everything happened. Zach mentioned a knife wound?' Sam nodded, pointed towards his side. 'There. Last night. Cleaned it with Iodine, then sutured it. Also a couple of broken ribs, I think. And a knock to the head, but that isn't a problem.' The doctor looked at him as if saying 'let me decide that', then gently moved Sam's t-shirt upwards to look at his side and back, flinching slightly at the sight of the huge dark patches that showed where Sam had impacted with the walls. He carefully touched Sam's ribs, determining where the broken ones were, then moved on to remove the gauze from the wound. And froze. Great. Now the interrogation starts. I'm so not up to that right now. I wonder if he'll let it go if I play delirious? Wouldn't be that hard to do, really.

'Son… Whatever happened to you?'

'Got mugged. Didn't want to give in to them. Made them angry,' Sam answered, slurring his words. Did that on purpose. Yep.

Richard raised an eyebrow at that, but didn't ask Sam to elaborate. Instead, he looked closer at the wound, then asked 'did you suture this yourself?'

Sam nodded, looking at the doctor from underneath half-closed eyelids. 'Don't have medical insurance. My Dad taught me how.'

The doctor shook his head, mumbling something about fathers needing to teach their children to seek help when necessary, not to play Florence Nightingale on themselves. 'Did you take any painkillers? Antibiotics?'

Sam nodded again. 'Painkillers. No antibiotics.'

The doctor looked at him, then shook his head again, huffing slightly. 'I hope they were good.'

Sam shrugged. I guess they were, only not for this kind of injury. And I think they've mostly worn off already.

He felt the doctor putting back the gauze and gently releasing his t-shirt, then, as if through a daze, heard him enquire about the head wound. Trying to make his voice obey his commands, he slurred 'back o'head' in answer. Then he felt two strong hands grip his shoulders, giving him a slight shake.

'Hey, son, stay with me, ok? I need you awake to answer my questions, ok?'

Sam struggled to open his eyes. 'K,' he said. 'Water?' he added, suddenly feeling terribly thirsty in spite of his nausea.

'Of course. Can you stay sitting up if I release you?' Sam hadn't realised until then how much he'd leaned into the doctor's supporting grip. He pulled himself upright a little, leaning heavily upon his right arm, then nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. Don't think moving my head – or any other part of me – is a good idea right now. I don't feel so good. Guess coming here was a good idea after all.

When Richard returned with a glass of water, Sam tried without thinking to lift his left arm to grab it, but the movement sent a white-hot stab of pain through his body, blocking out everything else. When he finally managed to breathe through it and defeat the darkness threatening to overwhelm him, he found himself once again supported by Richard. Embarrassed by his show of weakness, Sam tried to pull back, but the doctor didn't release his hold on him.

'Easy, son. Drink this first, then I'll let you lie down, how's that?' He held the glass to Sam's lips and helped him drink a few swallows. After swallowing the water, Sam started to lay down with help from the doctor, but before he managed to do so, he felt the bile rise in his throat, and unable to prevent the heaving of his stomach, all the water resurfaced. Then the agonizing fire that the muscle spasms from his stomach caused in his ribs and wound consumed him and he knew no more.

To Be Continued