A/N:
All I say is that the significance of sleep is overrated anyway.

Now enjoy!

Rude Awakening

'
He was drifting in a comfortable haze, the darkness and detached feeling wrapping around him like a warm blanket, sheltering him from harm. The clicking, beeping and whooshing sounds that filtered through from the noisy world outside were oddly in tune with his very being like it was the rhythm of his life. Each new beat equally reassuring and soothing.

Sam had no idea how long he floated on the edge of consciousness, enveloped in his cosy cocoon of protection and medically dulled senses. The first thing he became aware of was the utter lack of pain, a feeling he relished and drank deeply into his core. It was a peculiar thing too in light of the slowly returning memories of pain when the veil of oblivion seemed to lift for brief moments. Strange images assaulted him then, cattle on a farm, panicked eyes, quakes in the ground and earth-shattering screams. His mind fled from the sudden onslaught like a scared child and hid in the far corners of forgetfulness. He needed to dwell in denial just that little bit longer.

The next time he came round, the noises felt far more pervasive than before, the formerly soothing regular pattern becoming more grating by the minute. Also something rough was terribly irritating his throat. He tried to cough in order to get rid of the intrusion or turn his head away but nothing happened. Thankfully the rest of his body seemed to still enjoy the comfort of not making itself known with any additional aches. Obviously drugs held the pain at bay, which meant he must be in a hospital.

For the sake of getting a little more rest before finally facing the world, Sam lingered on in the confines of dimmed awareness, enduring the scratching sensation until it got too bothersome to ignore. Reluctantly he forced his weary eyes to half-mast, needing several tries to blink his surroundings into focus.

He was in a hospital alright, he could tell as much from the non-descript white tiles on the ceiling. In that respect all hospitals were the same, god forbid there was even the merest hint of colour. But still, something was uncharacteristic for every single one he had seen, either as a patient or a worried family member: somehow the typical smells of disinfectant were missing.

As he set to turn his head to the side, seeking the comfort of his big brother in the plastic chair beside the bed, he found he couldn't. His neck was locked in something unyielding that didn't allow him to move as much as an inch. He wanted to swat at the offending object around his neck, yet his hands remained unresponsive no matter how much he struggled to make them obey. With a growing sense of panic he realized there was more to the complete lack of pain throughout his body, there was no sensation whatsoever beyond his chin, not the blanket covering him, nor the mattress he was lying on, nothing. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes, and the fact he couldn't reach up to wipe them away, enforced the utter feeling of helplessness, cruelly driving the devastating point home that he was trapped inside his own body, paralyzed.

xXxXx

The doctor rubbed pensively over his stubble while he eyed the blissfully unaware young man in the bed before him carefully. He and his colleague had no doubt that the sandy-haired man's vitals were indicative of a punctured lung, an injury they had earlier missed when they had removed the ruptured spleen. Their hopes that the damage wasn't severe enough to require yet another surgery – his third after the spleen and the correction of his torn ligament in the shoulder – were crushed. As much as the doctors had tried to avoid subjecting their patient to a further anaesthesia, it had come to the point where there were no other options left. They had to act.

"Page the on-call surgeon and clear an OR, I'm afraid there are no two ways around it any more." His colleague nodded his affirmation and stepped out of the room.

xXxXx

"Oh, sweet-heart," the elderly nurse chimed, her heavy accent tinged with regret, "since when are you awake?" She took another couple of steps towards the bed, then leaned over to appear in Sam's limited line of vision. Taking in the tear marks that ran down the side of his face, she slowly extended a hand and stroked his right cheek.

"I know you're scared out of your wits right now, dear. But don't you worry, we're taking good care of you." After a short pause she continued, "You are on a ventilator because you can't breathe on your own at the moment. There's a tube down your throat, that's why you can't speak. But… well, I guess your doctor can explain that much better than me. I'll just be outside to get her. She'll be here in a minute to talk to you. Just take it easy, okay."

Several minutes later, a petite female entered the room, but for all her delicate features, an aura of authority accompanied her. She had clearly got to her position with decades of hard work, something Sam appreciated and would pick over a cocky youngster every day of the week. When she came into his view and addressed him, her voice had a hard edge to it, belying the gentleness displayed in her facial expression.

"Hi, I'm Dr Weasly." She nodded for emphasis. "It's good to see you finally awake, Mr Page. You had us a bit worried here." She took another pause, quietly gauging how much of the truth he could take.

"When you were brought in, you had lost a great amount of blood, and we had a hard time controlling the bleeding in your right leg. You needed several blood transfusions. Your condition was very critical for the last day or so; therefore, we haven't been able to address the multiple fractures of your leg yet, seeing as you were too weak for surgery. But your vitals are rebounding nicely, so we hope to schedule you for the procedure tomorrow morning."

Dr Weasly took a deep breath. Her growing unease wasn't lost on her patient as she approached the heart of the matter. "Upon arrival in the ER, you were unable to breathe spontaneously and unresponsive to any stimuli below the neck. Our fears of a permanent spinal injury, however, were alleviated after X-rays and scans. Those were merely indicative of two dislocated cervical vertebrae, the fourth and fifth," she explained, pointing to the according ones in her neck, "which resulted in extensive swelling of the tissue surrounding the spinal cord. This is the reason for the momentary paralysis you are experiencing. But we were able to address the dislocation and have immobilized your neck with a brace to give it time to heal. There is no sign of permanent damage to the spinal cord. The paralysis should therefore be only temporary."

Sam's eyes shone with relief but he still felt there was something the doctor wasn't telling him.

"Mr Page," she continued after a few seconds to let her words sink in, "I understand that not being able to move at all must be a very disconcerting feeling for you but your prognosis is actually very promising. We are confident sensation to your extremities will return once the swelling recedes. And we expect a full recovery. You simply need to give it some time."

Before she finally turned to go, she glanced at Sam once more. "Are you in any pain? Since you can't talk at the moment, blink once for yes or twice for no. The tube in your throat is probably quite uncomfortable, especially when it's about the only thing you can feel."

At his response, she gave some orders to the nurse who stood close-by, then she gave him a sympathetic smile that stood in stark contrast to the encouraging news she had delivered, making Sam once again apprehensive of what the doctor might have omitted or sugar-coated.

'Was something wrong with Dean? Why wouldn't they tell him where his brother was? Had he been as gravely injured? Or worse?' With no means to ask the doctor or nurse, he pushed the troubling thoughts away. His brother was okay; he had to be. Period.

Not long after the nurse had administered some more drugs into his IV port, he felt himself begin to drift once more, sleepiness washing over him and taking him back under.

There was no measure of time before he slowly crawled to awareness again. Still more out than in, voices wafted around him, words beyond what he was able to process as of yet bleeding into his mind. After a while the voices became clearer and he recognized that of Dr Weasly. She was speaking to a colleague. When he listened more carefully, straining to concentrate on the meaning of the words, he realized they were talking about him, his upcoming surgery.

Both doctors rattled off a list of medical jargon while discussing the procedure. But the words from the male doctor were completely lost to him, the soft timbre of his voice lulling him back to sleep. Because of her voice, Sam caught a couple of words from his doctor but was already too far removed from wakefulness to make sense of them just yet.

It took a while for him to return to a state of consciousness where he was able to grasp the meaning of the words he had overheard. Yet, when he did, it terrified him to the core. Dr Weasly had expressed her worries that they probably couldn't save the leg and had to amputate at mid-femur.

Sam frantically struggled to come out of his drugged slumber. He wanted to scream… hell, he wanted to jump to his feet and run as fast as possible in the other direction! He wanted to… But the devastating truth was he was helpless to do anything. With his unresponsive body even panicking failed miserably, not even the steady beat of his heart-monitor accelerated to a level that came close to his distress. When he finally managed to pry open his eyes, crying hot tears of utter despair was all he was capable of.

And where in all good heavens was Dean?

xXxXx

Sam's eyes blinked sluggishly when he was wheeled into the operating theatre. During preparation that morning they had dosed him up to the gills with drugs. He had prayed that his vitals would take a nose-dive and delay the inevitable for just a while longer. Yet, all hope was quenched when the staff had announced they were happy with his physical condition and set to prep him for surgery. No amount of silent pleading with his eyes had deterred them from going through the routine. And now he was at their mercy.

Technicians and nurses cautiously lifted him onto the table in the OR. Sam knew it should feel cold underneath him but he felt nothing. And he was almost too out of it to care any longer. Once they had connected him to the respirator, a balding man took his place at the left side of his head. He recognized the bulky man immediately. The anaesthesiologist had seen him earlier, taking his time to learn about the patient who was submitted to his care.

The man reached over, stroking Sam's cheek, gently providing comfort and turning his patient's attention to him. Sam involuntarily leaned into that touch as much as possible, holding onto that last bit of reprieve like a life-line.

"Jimmy, I'm going to put you under now," the anaesthesiologist said removing his gloved hand; and Sam felt all the more despondent for its loss. "Just relax, think of someplace nice, and it will be over before you know it."

The last words petrified Sam more than anything, yet as his eyes drooped, there was nowhere to flee but ahead into the darkness and as his mind faded to oblivion, he was out like a candle with the flame gone.


to be continued…