A/N: Thank you again for reading and for all the wonderful reviews I'm getting! Also a huge thank you for all the alerts and favs!!! And of course a huge thank you to my beta MuffyMorrigan who sets those plot bunnies spinning in my head.

Hitting Walls and Getting Scars

Chapter 7

Past

Palo Alto

When Sam came to, the first thing he registered was the fact that he was lying in a bed beneath a soft sheet. Then he noticed the light sound of movement beside him. He fought to open his eyes, struggling to defeat the heaviness lying upon his eyelids. When he finally managed to force them open and blink a few times, he glimpsed a figure slumped in the chair beside him.

'Dean?' he asked weakly.

The figure in the chair started at the sound of his voice, Sam started to reach out a hand towards his brother, then suddenly stopped as the realisation hit him. No, it isn't Dean, Dean's in the hospital, because of me… But who, then? And what happened? Where am I? I remember… I remember the doctor… Water, then pain… His mind flinched at the memory of that pain and he started breathing more lightly, not wanting to risk jolting his side or ribs again.

'Hey, mate, you're awake!' He recognised the voice as Zach's.

'Yeah, sort of… Where am I?' Sam was relieved that his voice seemed a little stronger. I'm in the hospital… Oh my God, no, please no, not where…

'Stanford Medical Center. We brought you here after you passed out at Richard's place. Seriously, Sam… Why didn't you tell us it was that bad? Even if you didn't want to go to an ER, we could still have found you a doctor… Richard told us how difficult it would have been to suture that wound… God, Sam… How… How did you even manage to do that?'

Thank God I'm somewhere else. And stupid of me not to think about going here in the first place. Brilliant thinking, Sam. But what do I tell him? I can't tell him the truth, he'd think I was crazy and leave… The thought of being alone in the hospital frightened him more than he cared to admit, even to himself. I've never been alone in a hospital before, Dean's always been there… The ache that the thought of his brother caused in him almost took his breath away. He closed his eyes, fighting to contain the tears pressing behind his eyes. Without thinking, he drew in a shuddering breath, then immediately regretted it as the movement brought a myriad of aggrieved nerve endings back to life. Trying to breathe through the pain, he couldn't stop a groan forming in his throat.

'Sam?' Zach's worried voice sounded on the other side of the haze of pain that threatened to pull him back into unconsciousness. 'Hey, Sam, you ok?' Sam tried to nod, fought to stay conscious, but Zach's voice wasn't enough, wasn't the right one, Sam started to float off again, unable to stay without his brother's voice and hand to keep him anchored.

He woke up again the next day, still feeling weak and slightly nauseous but less fuzzy-minded. He turned his head to look at the chair beside his bed. It was empty. Of course it's empty, what did you expect? That they would mysteriously show up? They don't even know I'm here, and even if they did, they probably wouldn't come anyway. Dad would think that being in the hospital over such a small thing just proves what a wuss I am. He ignored the tiny voice in his head that tried to tell him that maybe he was being a little unfair. Dean would probably want to be here, but he's got more than enough on his plate… I'm sorry, Dean, I hope you're ok! I have to figure out a way to call the hospital, I have to know…

His thoughts were disturbed when the door opened. For a second he felt hope burning in him, but it was soon quenched when Zach's doctor friend entered. Richard, wasn't it? Never did get a last name. The doctor smiled at him. 'Hey, son. Good to see you're awake. You gave us all quite a scare there. Hope you aren't planning to pull a stunt like that in the near future. There's no shame in asking for help with something this serious, ok?'

Yeah, tell that to Mr. Drill Sergeant Winchester. Sam nodded. 'Promise. And thank you for your help!' A memory suddenly came back to him and he felt the blood rise in his face. 'Uh, erm, I'm, er… I'm sorry about what happened…'

The doctor looked at him in confusion, then his eyes widened in understanding and he smiled at Sam. 'Oh, that! No worries, son. I've seen worse. And anyway, you didn't even hit me, you know.'

Sam flashed him a small, grateful smile, then asked, 'So… What exactly is wrong with me? When can I go home?'

'Whoa, easy now! You're not going home for the next twenty-four hours at least. Your fever's gone down some, but you're still fighting a serious infection, and you were seriously dehydrated, not to mention that it seems to have been some time since you'd last eaten. The doctors had to re-open and clean out the wound before suturing it back together. And they've wrapped your broken ribs as best they could without putting pressure on the wound. You're getting IV fluids, antibiotics and painkillers, and they're monitoring your fever closely. But like I said, you seem to be improving, the last day's sleep has done you good, it seems.'

Hang on, what did he say? 'Day?' Sam asked incredulously.

'Yes. Zach and Becky brought you to see me yesterday morning, and now it's 2 pm. You've been here for a little over a day, and apart from being briefly awake yesterday evening, you've been out like a light.'

Oh my God, I've been out of it for more than a day! Dean! I hope he's ok, I have to call the hospital and ask them… What if… what if something like the other day has happened again? What if… No! He's ok, he has to be. He was getting better. He's ok.

Sam realised the doctor was looking at him, waiting for a response. 'Sorry, it… I'm a little surprised to hear that,' Sam said. He paused. 'I guess I really did need that sleep. I do feel better now.'

'That's good to hear. Now, son… Do you want to tell me more about how you got that wound? I really think you should report it to the police, you know.' Richard looked at him, the concern evident in his eyes.

I feel bad lying to him, but I can't tell him the truth, and I can't tell him some fabricated story when I don't have anything to base it on. Better just to tell him nothing. 'Not much to tell except what I've already told you, I'm afraid… I didn't really see the guys, they were wearing hoods, I didn't see their faces.'

Richard looked at him appraisingly for a few seconds, then nodded as if accepting that he wasn't going to get any more information out of him. 'Well, nothing to do about that, I guess. I just wish the ones who did this to you would get what they deserve.' He sighed, then patted Sam on his arm. 'Better get back, my patients probably miss me. I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. And Zach and Becky wanted me to tell you that they will be around later after classes.'

Sam nodded gratefully. 'Thank you again… For everything.'

'No worries. I'll expect you and Zach to take good care of my garden next spring, deal?'

Sam smiled. 'Deal.'

The doctor nodded his goodbye and went out the door, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts. I wonder if Dean feels like this too, this emptiness… Probably not, Dad will be there with him, or bring him stuff to read. If he's awake, that is. But of course he is. He has to… Oh Dean, please be ok. God I wish you were here. He lay staring at the ceiling, thoughts of his future without his family tormenting his mind, before he finally fell into a restless sleep.

He felt like he was floating, his consciousness flickering, patches of sensations getting through to him, but nothing being connected, nothing making sense. There was pain, there was noise, there was heat, there was coolness, there was weightlessness, there was a heavy weight on him. Then suddenly there was a voice that he could hold on to, a beacon in the confusing whirlpool of sensations that was constantly sweeping him off into turmoil. He went for that voice, held on to it like an anchor, feeling how that hold enabled him to pull himself out of the whirlpool, up towards the light, towards the voice, towards where he knew he ought to be. Then he felt a reassuring warmth on his hand, and he was pulled the rest of the way to the surface. When he opened his eyes, he found Dean looking at him, worry and concern evident in his eyes. When Sam tried to smile, he saw an answering smile on his big brother's face. 'Hey, Sammy. It's good to have you back!'

Sam opened his eyes, for a moment savouring the feeling of safety that always accompanied the presence of his brother. Then the reality of his situation came crashing down upon him as he turned his head and once again saw the empty chair beside his bed. All he wanted to do was turn over and burrow his face in his pillow to hide the tears that started spilling from his eyes, but fear of the pain that such a movement might cause him held him paralysed in place, the tears instead flowing out the corners of his eyes and down into his hair. He brought his right hand up to cover his face, using a corner of the sheet to dry his eyes, but the tears just kept coming, the trauma of what he had seen and felt over the last few days finally being too much. He did his best to control his breathing so as not to cause himself more pain, and apart from a few gasps that he couldn't control and which sent shafts of pain through him, he managed to avoid the blinding pain of earlier.

After a few minutes, his tears slowed and his breathing eased off. At that moment, Zach and Becky came through the door. Great. Perfect timing, just in time to see weepy Sammy Winchester. He felt his face go red as he looked at his friends, but the contempt that he had expected to see didn't appear. Instead, Becky rushed to his side, grabbed his right hand and gave it a squeeze. 'Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry we couldn't be here earlier, we had classes – everyone misses you! – and then, well, we figured we'd better do something about the blood on the front seat before anyone saw it and started asking questions! I didn't even consider how it might be for you to wake up here on your own, I'm so sorry, Sam!'

Sam looked at her in confusion, then her words started to sink in. They miss me? What? But they hardly know me… Then Zach came into his line of vision, holding out a couple of magazines and a novel. 'Didn't quite know what you wanted, but I bought the newest Preston and Child novel. Look here what it says: "A MARVELOUS WORK…COMPELLING…RICH IN DETAIL…THE SCIENTIFIC THRILLER AT ITS VERY BEST." Thought that would be right up your geeky alley.' Sam smiled at him, for a moment unable to speak, overwhelmed by the concern that his friends were showing him. You are so not going to cry again, no way. Stop behaving like a child. He found his voice again. 'Thank you… both of you. And, really, it's ok, it isn't that bad being here, the nurses are sort of hot, and very nice.' Good. Divert the conversation, find some safer ground, less prone to girlish tears now.

They spent the next couple of hours chatting, Zach and Becky telling him what had been going on in classes and among their friends, and Sam telling about his visit from Richard. Zach also jokingly told him how they had been unable to get all the blood out of the front seat so he'd had to go out and buy new upholstery. 'But no worries, mate, I'd been planning to do that for ages anyway – you just gave me an excuse to do it now!' Sam tried to convince him to let him pay for it but Zach wouldn't hear of it, brushing off Sam's continued attempts to raise the topic again. Finally, when visiting hours drew to a close, Sam asked Zach if he could borrow his cell phone to make a call before they left.

'Sure,' Zach said, handing him the phone. Sam looked at him in embarrassment, not wanting to ask them to leave but unwilling to have them listen in on his conversation. Becky understood his dilemma and rose, nodding towards the door. 'Come on, Zach, let's go get some coffee.'

When they had left, Sam dialled 411 to get the information, then asked for the number of the hospital where Dean was admitted. He then dialled the number and went into the whole 'my cousin's admitted' routine, praying that the answer he got would be the one he wanted. When the woman came back on the line, he was relieved to hear her unworried voice. 'He's improved markedly these last couple of days, the doctors expect him to be able to leave in a few days' time.' Sam thanked her, then sank back into his pillows in relief. He's ok. He's fine, he's ok.

Shortly after, Zach and Becky returned, both carrying cups of coffee. 'Sorry, Sam, we wanted to bring you some, but the nurses wouldn't let us. Not even a vanilla latte.' Sam shrugged and smiled briefly, then handed Zach back his phone. 'Thanks,' he said. 'For everything, I mean.'

'It's ok, mate, no sweat. That's what friends are for, you know.'

Sam nodded. 'Yeah, I know.' Actually, I don't. Well, maybe now I do. But never before. I've never had friends like that before.

Zach and Becky looked at each other, then Becky cleared her throat. Uh oh, here we go. Please, can't you just let it go? I don't really feel like talking about it now. But I guess that's too much to ask for.

'Sam… We know that you don't talk about your family, but you clearly miss your brother… Is there any way we can contact him and tell him that you're in the hospital? I mean – he'd want to know, you know. I'm sure of it!' Becky looked at him with concern.

Sam shook his head. 'No, sorry. I appreciate your effort, but he's got enough on his plate. He doesn't need to worry about me.' And anyway, he doesn't want to see me. Can we please change the subject? I don't want you to see how painful this is for me. I don't want you to see how unable I am to do anything without my brother. I made my decision, now I have to live with it.

'Sam?' Zach's voice was soft. 'He'd want to know.' Maybe he's right? Maybe Dean would want to know. But I can't put this on him right now, especially since it's my fault that he's in the hospital in the first place. How do I convince them to let this go? With a huge effort he steeled himself, patching up the crumbling walls shielding his soul from friendly eyes. The he looked up at them and took a deep breath. 'No. He wouldn't,' he said bleakly.

Please believe me. Sorry, Dean, I don't want to make you look bad in their eyes, but you know how it is – sell a lie to buy the truth. And I need to keep that truth to myself, I can't let them know, can't let them see, because the questions would start and I can't… I can't stand that, that would make me break and call you. And I can't do that. I have to go through this on my own.

'You don't mean that.' Becky's voice was horrified.

'Yes, I do. He doesn't want to know, he doesn't need to know.' Sam looked her in the eye, hoping that he would manage to pull it off. Maybe all those years of lying to people's faces will pay off after all. Practice makes perfect, and I've had a lot of practice. Please believe me, Beck, please let it go.

Becky looked at him appraisingly for a moment, then she nodded, apparently accepting his words. 'If you say so, Sam. But… Well, you don't have to go through this on your own, you know. We're here to help you, ok?'

Sam swallowed, touched by the concern and commitment in her voice. Are you trying to make me cry, Becky? Because you're doing a quite good job, then.

He flashed her a small grateful smile, for a moment at a loss for words. She seemed to understand, though, because she smiled back at him, then said: 'We have to leave now, visiting hours are over, but we'll be back tomorrow, ok? And maybe we'll be able to take you home, Richard said you might be well enough by then to get discharged.'

'Sounds great!' Sam replied. 'I'll be going crazy if I have to stay here for more than a day, I hate hospitals!' Ooops. Shouldn't have said that.

If Zach and Becky caught the deeper meaning of his words, they didn't acknowledge it. They just smiled and with a 'See you tomorrow, then!' went out of the room.

When they had left, Sam went back to sleep, only waking when the nurses came in to check on him and to bring him dinner. Later, he started reading the novel, grateful that Zach had picked one that managed to capture his attention and distract him for a while. Hmm. I agree with that reviewer, this is great! When at last he went to sleep, he again slept fitfully, his dreams full of Dean, old memories mixed with new and ending with the nightmare visions of Dean dying, by his knife and in the hospital. At one point he woke himself up by screaming Dean's name, and the night nurse came running into his room. Realising what was the matter, she offered him a sleeping pill and he accepted, on the reason that if he didn't get any sleep, he wouldn't be better the next day and might not be allowed to go home.

He felt quite refreshed when he woke up the next morning, and during the day he felt much calmer than he had the days before. The thought of not seeing Dean or his father again still lay in his stomach as a constant ache, however, and he shied away from thinking about the consequences of his decision. When Zach and Becky arrived that afternoon, they brought Richard with them, and after questioning Sam on how he felt, he convinced the doctor at the hospital that it would be ok to let Sam come home. To Sam's disgust, he was ordered into a wheelchair and driven down to the parking lot where Zach's car was waiting for him, but none of the others would listen to his continued protests that he was quite capable of walking on his own.

When they came back to the campus, Richard gave him a bottle of painkillers and some antibiotics, with strict orders to take them as prescribed. Then they settled him into his bed in his dorm room, at which point he was quite ready to go back to sleep, having been forced to admit to himself that he would probably need a couple of days' bed rest more before he would be up and about again.

Waking up later that evening, he suddenly realised that he had not checked his cell phone for messages since getting back. It had been lying on the floor of this room since his collapse days before, so the battery had gone flat. Plugging it into the charger, he waited for it to turn on again, slightly disappointed to find no new messages. He did find a couple of missed calls from the day before must be before the battery died, from a number he didn't recognise. He tried dialling it, but got no answer. Shrugging, he called the hospital to check on Dean, then laid the phone on his bedside table within easy reach. He read for a couple of hours, then went back to sleep.

The nightmares were back full force. Dean taking care of him, him waking up in hospital drawn to Dean's voice, then Dean being tortured by the ghost, dying with the knife embedded in his chest, then in the hospital bed being resuscitated. He would wake up screaming, then go back to sleep, only for the nightmares to start all over again. At one point he woke up, sensing someone beside him, and with hope in his voice he asked 'Dean?', only to feel a pang of grief when Zach's voice answered. Zach helped him take a couple of painkillers, then stayed with him until he went back to sleep. The nightmares continued until in the early morning he finally gave up hope of getting any solid sleep that night, the terrible night once more having worn down his defences, laying him open to the myriad of painful thoughts that had been kept at bay the day before.

When Zach came to check on him in the early morning, he could take no more and begged to be allowed to borrow his car for a short run to do an errand. Zach would hear nothing of it considering Sam's condition, so in the end Sam asked him in desperation if he would be willing to take him for a drive without asking any questions. Zach looked at him in confusion, but noting Sam's dishevelled state, he agreed, figuring that Sam would get worse being forced to stay in bed than he would if taken for a ride in the car.

They arrived at the hospital shortly before 9, and just when they were about to turn into the parking lot, Sam notice the Impala parked close to the front entrance. That means he expects to get Dean out of there now… I'm too late! Asking Zach to park in a lot across the street from the hospital, he watched when a few minutes later the two familiar figures emerged, Dean leaning slightly on his father. John gently helped Dean into the car, then walked across to the driver's seat, slid in behind the wheel, started the car and drove away.

Neither of them saw the tall, dark-haired figure sitting in the car across the street, tears falling unhindered from his eyes. Just as he didn't see the sleek black car taking a detour around the Stanford campus before heading north towards a new motel, a new hunt.

To Be Continued