Of Obligations and desperation
Chapter 2
Author's notes: So here is the promised chapter. Unfortunately I didn't quite get the polishing time I hoped for but you guys seemed so eager to read on and I was running out of time. Hope its ok. Many thanks for all your wonderful reviews and support. Really needed right now I'm afraid.
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Two hours later he was still searching when the call came.
"Sam?"
The silence was worrying, though Dean could hear shaky breathing on the other end of the line.
"Sammy come on, talk to me." Shifting the phone so it rested more comfortably in the crook of his neck, he manoeuvred the heavy car round a hair pin bend. "Look Sam…"
"M'sorrrrry D'n."
Dean frowned. "Sammy, are you drunk?"
Light slurred chuckling was followed by a retching noise and Dean winced. It sounded like his brother was being sick.
"Hey," he called softly "tell me where you are and I'll come get you."
The retching eventually stopped and Sam's sad voice spoke up. "Nah…no point bro. S'alittlelateanyhow…jus'...wannasayI'msorry…loveyou…alwayshave...D-Dean…" A soft groan and a slight thud echoed down the line before everything went quiet again.
"Sam?" Dean's grip on the cell tightened to almost breaking point as sheer unadulterated fear kicked in. "Sammy what have you done? Sam! SAMMY!"
Dean kept the line open and stomped down on the throttle, heading for the nearest ER. He kept on talking, trying to get through to him and praying Sam's phone didn't run out of juice.
Gritting his teeth, Dean's nostrils flared angrily. He should have known. Should have seen it coming. The despair demon was gone but it left one last victim in its wake. And who better than Sam Winchester, whose head was a minefield of guilt and angst? The poor kid was ripe for the picking, must have stood out like a damn beacon, emotionally vulnerable after their father's demise and declaration of Sam's possible destiny.
And Dean's own role in all this? Sure he'd been angry, but the minute those hateful words left his mouth he'd known it was wrong.
"Seems like Sam wasn't the despair demon's only target in all this." Dean muttered aloud. And that actually made a lot of sense in the long run. Two for the price of one.
It was a wonder his little brother hadn't tried to off himself sooner.
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His vision was fading, head achy, body weakening, and ever so slowly he was letting go. Blood pumped, surrounding him, its bitter metallic scent filling his nostrils. Distantly he could hear Dean yelling for him, voice tinny and small from the earpiece of his cell phone.
"Dean…m'cold....so c-cold" he tried one last time but the dark thoughts crowded round, prying him loose.
…doesn't need you…
…doesn't trust you…
…hates you…
He let out one final whimper, before all conscious thought faded.
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The dispatcher was able to trace Sam's cell phone easy enough, and Dean followed the ambulance through the dark streets, rain still pounding the windshield like it wanted to smash right through the glass. His heart was thudding painfully, hands sweating and slipping on the steering wheel as they raced through the night.
The park was poorly lit by old-style carriage lanterns, soft light strategically placed for romantic effect, but Dean couldn't really appreciate the finer points of the recreation ground, not with the rain soaking him to the skin for the second time that day and a little brother lying out there somewhere, probably in a pool of his own vomit. And that was actually good news. If Sam really was puking his guts up earlier then it was good chance anything he'd swallowed down with alcohol would be mostly clear from his system, leaving the kid in an alcohol induced sleep. Assuming he didn't die of liver poisoning or choke on his own vomit, he'd be fine.
Yeah, real comforting.
The two EMTs split up, one searching the north end of the park, the other the Eastern side. Dean took up the task of sweeping the rest, checking every park bench and anywhere else he could think of; he searched every inch of the place. But as the old saying goes 'always in the last place you look'.
The bandstand was a large ornate iron structure raised up on a wooden platform. The heavy roof was a little worse for wear after years of being battered by the elements, but it kept the rain off the figure lying unmoving on his stomach at the back. Dean's flashlight picked out a mop of messy damp chestnut hair but it also revealed a frightening amount of blood and vomit.
Oh God!
"Sam?" Dean took the steps in one leap and dropped down by his brother's side, fingers already reaching for the kid's neck. "Oh Christ kid what the hell have you done?"
There was a pulse but it was weak and thready, barely there. Rolling Sam on to his back, Dean checked his breathing, relief flooding him at the slight rise and fall of the boy's chest. But it was his wrists…
Long gashes, starting near the base of his hands and ending an inch or two from his elbows, still pouring with blood. How the hell the kid managed it on both wrists, given the severed nerves and tendons, Dean couldn't figure out. Presumably the demon made it possible, sticking to the same MO.
"Yeah, keep it sick, keep it bloody. Shoulda remembered that." Dean swore viciously then shrugged out of his jacket and began tearing strips off his shirt to tightly wrap the boy's ruined wrists, but the material was soaked through in seconds. An overdose was still a possibility but doubtful and even as he thought about it, Dean knew that wouldn't be Sam's suicide method of choice.
Choice....right...
"Hold on Sammy," Dean whispered to his unconscious brother. "Just hold on. Help's on the way."
Pulling out his phone he put in a call to one of the EMTs, barking out his position at the bandstand, informing them of Sam's condition, and pretty soon two flashlight beams cut through the dim park in the distance, bobbing up and down jerkily. One suddenly split off and headed away at speed back to the park entrance.
Sam's face was slack and pale, lips slightly parted, and the pungent bitter odour of second hand tequila hung in the air almost like a haze. An empty glass bottle lay on its side nearby next to Sam's bloodstained hunting knife, and Dean supposed he should have been grateful his brother hadn't been armed with a handgun.
The kid was soaked to the skin; small tremors running up and down his cold body had Dean carefully pulling Sam up into his arms, cradling the limp body close, trying to keep him warm.
The EMT made it to the steps of the bandstand and clambered up, calling out questions and lugging his medical kit with him.
"Was he unconscious when you found him?"
Dean nodded not taking his anxious gaze off Sam. "Uhuh. He hasn't woken up at all, but he's still breathing. Just."
He held on tight, grateful the EMT didn't try to take Sam from him as he began treatment. Whispering softly in his brother's ear and holding the offered oxygen mask over the kid's mouth and nose, Dean felt his panic recede slightly as the plastic fogged up with every shaky breath Sam took.
Given the state of his wrists the paramedic opted to insert an IV line in Sam's neck, attached a small pulse oximeter to his left index finger, and finally covered both Winchesters in warm blankets.
"Jack will be back with the ambulance soon," this EMT had introduced himself as Pete during the desperate search for Sam. Dean liked his calm demeanour and quiet voice, appreciating the guy's job was to also keep him calm. "I'd like to wrap his wrists in sterile bandages but I could use your help." Pete raised an eyebrow with a kind worried smile
Dean cleared his throat nervously. "Sure. What do you want me to do?"
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The ambulance was backed up as far as it could go to the bandstand, red lights flashing through the still pouring rain. Jack carried a collapsible gurney across the grass, boots shining wetly and reflective jacket streaming with water.
Dean ignored the rain pounding on the roof and kept watch over his brother. Sam was cocooned in the blankets and Dean's arms, the cold slowly fought off by shared body heat as the youngster warmed up.
Pete heard the older brother's whispered words of comfort and encouragement but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to intrude. Besides, some of it didn't make any sense and he figured he was better off minding his own business.
"I'm sorry Sammy. So sorry for what I said." Dean gently rocked the kid to and fro, eyes fixed firmly on his little brother's face. "I shoulda known the demon got to you. I knew something was wrong and I just let you walk away. Please don't leave me Sammy....not after...not after Dad..."
The EMT continued working on the poor kid, trying to slow the bleeding and replace lost fluids, whilst his colleague set down the gurney and wiped rain water from his stinging eyes.
"Hellish bad weather. I swear it's gotten worse." Jack spluttered out then sniffed loudly. "Ok, let's get the kid strapped in and in the back of the ambulance. Sooner we all get out of this monsoon the better." He glanced up at the angry sky and grimaced.
Pete followed his gaze, nodding in agreement. "He's gonna need a hell of a transfusion."
"I already radioed ahead," Jack confirmed with a tight grin. "The boys and girls are ready for him." He took a closer look at the older brother. "You ok there buddy?"
Dean gave a shaky nod and rested his chin on Sam's head. "Yeah, just…please don't lose him. I can't let him go. He's all I've got left."
Jack's face softened when he saw the unshed tears in Dean's eyes. "He's in good hands. We'll do everything we can for him, I promise."
Dean clenched his jaw to almost breaking point as he allowed the medics to take his little brother from him. His arms felt cold and empty without Sam's weight but he reached out and gripped on tightly to a lifeless hand, the EMTs working round him with little difficulty.
"Ok we're ready to go." Pete and Jack lifted the gurney allowing the legs to drop down, and swiftly wheeled their unconscious patient to the ambulance. Dean followed on, and climbed up to take his place beside his brother. Not one word of protest was made by the medics when Dean refused to be dropped off at his car. He'd collect it later once he knew Sam was going to be ok.
Glancing down at the pale, still figure on the gurney his heart clenched with fear.
And he will be ok. Dean was determined. He's not gonna die on me 'cos I'm not gonna let him.
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Author's notes: So there you have it. Medical facts aren't particularly sound in this, and please remember that this is hurriedly written since my priorities really are with the Top Secret project. This was just a break for me.
Kind regards,
ST xxx