Still goin stong... Don't know what's gotten into me, but I can't say I'm complaining about it. This is setting up for the final corner - you should find out next chapter what I've got in store for Dean's prognosis. I will try to continue on my weekly posts, but be warned that I have 3 tests this upcoming week so I may end up taking a few more days. With any luck, though, the muse will remain and I'll stay on the roll I've created for myself. Hope you all are continuing to enjoy!
Like something out of a movie, Sam conveniently makes it just far enough to tell Dean they're back in cell phone range, wait out his brother cautiously pulling the car to the edge of the road, before he finally succumbs to the blood loss that's been threatening his well-being.
Dean knows it the instant Sam is no longer conscious, and his hands grope around his brother's body until he finds the carotid artery in Sam's neck, checking to make sure he's still alive. Feeling the pulse under his fingers, weak, but steady, Dean breathes a sigh of relief and reaches into his coat pocket for his cell phone.
He's learned the key pad by heart, knows exactly where the numbers are and the talk button by feel alone, and his fingers quickly tap over 911. Waiting out the operator on the other end is agony, greater still is the agony of knowing that Sam is now at their mercy. If no help finds them, there is nothing Dean can do about it.
Giving them the details of their location is harder than Dean expected it to be as he realizes he's really not entirely sure what road their on. He knows the name of town they're in, and that's a start, and finally manages to give enough information that the operator can pinpoint their location, tells him the ambulance is on the way and that they'll come upon them soon.
But when the operator finally tells Dean to sit tight and relax, disconnects the call, he starts to feel panic overwhelm him. He checks Sam's pulse again, listens to his breathing, makes sure the gauze he's packed around the wound is good and tight and not completely saturated in blood. And then there's nothing left to do but just sit there, blind, helpless once again.
"Bobby!" Dean finally shouts into the oppressive silence, remembering that he needs their old friend to come clean up the rest of the mess. He picks the phone up once again and hits the speed dial number for Bobby's house, hoping like hell that he's made it back from the pick up he'd been on.
The wizened hunter seems slightly annoyed when Dean announces himself over the phone, and immediately jumps into a rampage about the boys not leaving a note to say where they were going or when they'd be back. Dean has to interrupt him midway just to finally get a word in edgewise.
"Bobby, Sam's been hurt," he finally blurts out. And boy, wasn't exactly the way he'd planned that one. But what's done is done and he takes the ramifications as they come.
"He's what? Where are you boys? How the hell'd he get hurt?" Bobby demands, words tumbling out a sonic speed.
"We were on a hunt–"
That's all Dean manages to get out before he has to pull the phone away from his ear to keep from going deaf as well. Bobby's anger and concern is understandable, and Dean knows he's in for the reaming out of his life. But right now he's got bigger concerns. He interrupts Bobby right back.
"Look, Bobby, there's an ambulance on its way here right now, and I've got to get this out before they can overhear, alright?"
Bobby calms down, understanding the rationalization behind Dean's words, and listens intently as Dean tells him a shortened version of what happened and how he'd gotten Sam to their present location, asks the older hunter to come clean up the site and then meet them at the hospital, preferably with the car if he can swing it.
The older man grudgingly agrees, but not before informing Dean that their discussion is not over yet, both he and Sam have a lot to answer too.
Dean hears the sirens before they've hung up, and he breathes a grateful sigh of relief, tells Bobby that help is here and he's got to go, then climbs from the car to flag down their saviors.
He stands there, pressed in between the open door and the frame of the car, and waves a hand frantically, although he's sure they're the only car out on the road right now. The siren gets louder, then stops with a final blip and the only sound left is that of the idling ambulance.
It seems to take an eternity between the time the bus stops and the time he hears the first voice. But then time speeds up and it's a frantic race from there on out.
"What's going on?" Dean hears a deep male voice ask.
"My brother…he's losing a lot of blood," Dean says frantically, turning so that he's facing inside the car again. "Sam, helps here. It's gonna be okay."
His brother doesn't answer, completely passed out and oblivious, and Dean feels his chest clench. Last he'd checked Sam still had a pulse, but anything could have happened in the time it's taken him to flag down help. He hears the sound of one door creaking, then another, and guesses there's a paramedic in the backseat as well as one at Sam's side.
A pitchy female voice joins the male, and the two speak back and forth to each other for a minute, assessing Sam's condition. Dean catches little clips and snippets of their conversation. Mention of IV's and thready pulse, non-responsive, bloodloss.
"What's going on? Is he alright?" Dean begs. He hates that he sounds so desperate, but there's not much else he can do. He can't see the situation for himself, doesn't know enough medical jargon to understand what they're saying. It's his brother, for christ sake.
"You packed this yourself?" the male voice asks again, finally at least speaking to Dean.
He nods hesitantly, expecting to be scolded.
"You did a good job, kid. May just have saved your brother's life with that move. He'da bled out if you'd pulled this from his shoulder."
Dean breathes a sigh of relief. Only allowing himself to hear the good in the comment. "So he's going to be okay then?"
"There's still a lot of blood. And he'll need surgery. We gotta get him to the hospital. But you did good."
That's not really the answer Dean's looking for. It's too ambiguous, too uncertain. He opens his mouth to ask for more, but stops mid-sentence when he makes out the sound of the medics getting ready to load Sam onto the stretcher and move him. Dean holds his breath to the three count, and winces with Sam when the shifting of his body wakes him enough to gasp in pain.
"Sam, it's okay," Dean calls out, wants his little brother to know he's still there with him. "Just hold on a little longer. They're gonna get you to a hospital and get that thing outta your shoulder. You hear me?"
Sam groans a response that Dean can't quite make out, but the sheer fact that his little brother is making sound is enough to ease his mind. Dean hears the rattle of the stretcher being pulled up as its wheels drop to the ground, hears the sound of the doors shut and the female medic say "Let's roll." He closes his own door and works his way around the side of the car after them, unsure what he'll do once he runs out of vehicle to hold onto.
"Sorry kid," the deep voice says, just as Dean reaches the trunk. "Don't have enough room in the bus. You're gonna have to follow in your car."
Dean lets out a sort of huff through his nose in disbelief. Apparently these medics have been too busy with his brother to notice that he hasn't exactly been making eye contact. He's not entirely sure how to feel about that, grateful that they've been so focused on Sam, but unable to understand how anyone can miss his disability. To him, it's about as obvious as the grand canyon.
"I, uh...I can't drive a car," he finally stammers, thinks how ironic it is that he actually did just drive the car.
That fact hasn't escaped the paramedics notice, either, and he hears the man's deep voice ask, "You drove it to here, didn't you?"
"I drove it until he passed out," Dean says, feeling utterly useless in his admission. "We had to make it to cell range, and he kind of...directed...me. I...I'm blind." He points to his eyes, then immediately looks down at his feet, too afraid of what they'll see if they look too closely.
"You drove a car blind?" the medic asks incredulously, and Dean can't tell if it's amazement over his achievement or over his stupidity that has him reacting the way he does.
"Didn't have any other choice," Dean says, shrugging. "My little brother needed help. Now can I ride with you to the hospital or not?"
The response is quick, stammered. "Yeah, yeah you can ride up front with me. Just let us get your brother settled in the back and I'll come get you. If you need to bring anything with you, you might want to grab it now."
At first Dean shakes his head, no. He's got his wallet and Sam's, got his phone, and the car keys. That should be enough. But then he realizes where they're going, that he'll be alone until Bobby can get there, grudgingly decides that maybe having his cane might not be such a bad idea.
As quickly as he can Dean makes his way around the car. His cane is in the glove box, and Dean makes fast work of grabbing it. When he stands back up, closes the door behind him, he can hear footsteps coming towards him and the guy's voice breaks through the air once again.
"K, he's all loaded up and ready to go. We gotta move. Can I give you a hand to the bus?"
Throwing all pretenses aside, Dean nods. "Just give me your arm. And...a name?" Right now all he's got to go on is the voice and Dean feels he needs more than that. The guy's taking care of his brother after all.
Feeling the familiar slippery feel of the standard polyester EMT jacket near his hand, Dean grabs onto the man's bicep and allows himself to be led the rumbling ambulance several feet away. "I'm Gene," the medic growls out. "My partner is Eva."
Dean nods, gives him his own name, and climbs into the waiting seat as fast as he can. It's almost too quiet in the space behind him and Dean immediately feels the need to check on his brother, make sure things are going alright with him.
"Sammy, you awake back there, man?" he asks, turning his body to face the back despite its futility; not like he can see anything anyway.
Eva's voice filter's from the back. "He's resting again. But he's stable, holding his own."
Feeling the ambulance pull away, Dean braces himself and waits out the ride. It's thankfully uneventful, although he finds the siren and the constant back and forth commentary with the hospital to be a bit disconcerting. Dean tries to listen as best he can, to focus on the medical jargon and work out what it all means, but there's too much noise, too much distraction, and ultimately he gets no more information than he'd been able to glean on his own.
As they near the hospital Gene takes some time to tell Dean what's going to happen, about the organized chaos that will surround their arrival. He suggests that Dean stay put in the ambulance until Sam has been turned over to the staff at the hospital, and then Gene will come back and get Dean, get him settled in the waiting room. As much as Dean hates to accept the solution, he realizes it's probably his only option. Without Sam to guide him he doesn't stand a chance at finding his way anywhere in the massive hospital. It's a disaster in the making.
It may be the hardest thing Dean has ever had to do, remaining seated in the ambulance as his brother is whisked away by the ER staff. He's come to terms with Gene's point, and fully appreciates the fact that the EMT even gave thought to Dean's ability to find his way through the hospital on his own. But that doesn't make it any easier to let Sam be taken from him. He's not used to being so out of the loop on Sam's care.
An eternity seems to pass after the initial frenzy when they pulled into the ambulance bay, and Dean soon finds his anxiety rising. Gene needs to get back now, needs to help him into the waiting room where, at the very least, the doctor's can find him when they have news on Sam. When Dean thinks he can no longer stand not knowing what's going on with Sam, he grips onto the door handle and yanks hard, letting his frustrations out on the small square of metal. In his other hand, he's got his cane clutched in a death grip, almost certain that his fingers are turning white from blood loss.
He slowly slides from the idling bus, cautious until his feet finally touch solid ground. Taking a deep breath to control his nerves and talk himself through the next step, Dean unfolds the cane and carefully begins to move it from side to side as his hand drags along the side of ambulance, taking slow steps.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Dean jumps at the intrusion to his silence, but recognizes the voice as Gene's and quickly relaxes. He's just reached the edge of the vehicle and would have soon had to rely solely on his instincts to get inside.
"Couldn't wait any more. You were taking too long."
Gene sighs, although whether it's frustration or resignation Dean isn't sure. Regardless, the EMT wisely chooses to forego a fight and simply help. "Sam's being examined as we speak. Come on, I'll take you to the waiting room."
Dean nods, and finds Gene's arm, latching onto it in a firm grip. "Thank you," he whispers hoarsely, surprised at how easily the words slide off his tongue. It's not easy asking for help, especially from strangers, but Dean has quickly realized that some things are worth biting the bullet for. Sam is one of them.
They work their way through hallway after hallway, up an elevator, and down another hallway before Dean finally feels his hand being placed on the armrest of a chair.
"We're not in the ER anymore, are we?" he asks, lowering himself into the padded vinyl chair and folding up his cane. He can tell it's a small room, can hear the whispered conversations around the room.
"This is the surgical waiting room," Gene answers. There is a creaking sound and a whoosh of air as the paramedic sits beside Dean. "Sam is still in the ER right now, but he'll inevitably be taken up to surgery. I've already given the doctors and nurses a heads up on where to find you. They'll come here when they have news."
"Thank you," Dean says for the second time in ten minutes. "You've gone above and beyond. I really appreciate it."
"It's not a problem, Dean. I'm happy to help. Is there anything else you need before I take off?"
Taking a minute to think about it, Dean can't really come up with anything he needs. Except, maybe, for Gene not to go. His chest clenches tightly, anxiety at the prospect of being left alone here, unprotected, vulnerable. It's one thing to be alone at Bobby's. He knows his way around, knows he's secure with the protection charms and symbols. This is a whole new ballgame.
But damned if he's going to admit he's scared. Puffing himself up, Dean shakes his head. "No, I'm good. Our uncle should be here soon."
Dean hears the medic release a breath, clearly relieved to know the boys have help on the way. "Okay, they I guess I'll be on my way. You take care of yourself, Dean. Good luck with your brother."
Dean chuckles at the comment, forming his own inside joke. Oh, the luck I need to deal with him, he thinks. But doesn't share. Instead, waves a hand in appreciation.
And then is finally alone. For a while Dean just sits there, rigid in his seat as his hands fumble with the metal armrests. He can hear whispered conversations around him and assumes there are at least 3 other families in the waiting room with him, each lost in their own troubles.
Time goes by slowly, slower still when Dean realizes he isn't wearing the special watch Sam had gotten him, the one with the open face so he can feel the hands. He'd taken it off when he was working on the engine, afraid to bump it and break it. God, that feels like a lifetime ago; hard to believe it's only been a few hours since he and Sam left on this hunt.
Eventually he hears Sam's name called and stands up, looking in the general direction of the voice. A few seconds later and there is a hand on his arm, and he tries not to jump at the contact. "You're Sam's brother?" the female voice asks.
"Yeah, I'm Dean. How is he?"
"Here let's sit," she says, guiding him back to the seat he'd just vacated. "I'm Melody Thomas, I'm a nurse assigned to your brother's case."
"My brother," Dean pleads again, skipping past the introductions as politely as he can.
"He's stable right now. They're bringing him up for surgery as we speak. I just need to get some information from you."
Dean feels the agitation coming on again, and wrings his hands nervously. "I...I can't fill out any forms. I'm–" he gestures to his eyes, embarrassed, and tries to look away.
"It's alright," Melody assures him. "The EMT's who brought your brother in filled us in on your situation. We can wait until your uncle arrives to deal with insurance papers. Right now I just need some information on Sam's medical history, allergies, that sort of thing."
"Oh, okay." Dean says. "Well, in that case. What do you need to know?"
For the next several minutes Dean answers the nurse's questions the best he can, hears the scratch of pen on paper as she writes everything down. And then she excuses herself and he's all alone again, unsure how he should be reacting.
He's used to pacing the floors, punching walls, scheming to get beyond restricted borders. Yet right now he's certain he couldn't even find his way to the bathroom. This blindness has never felt more stifling, more inhibiting as it does now. Coming off the hunt, having been the one to ultimately salt and burn the bones, Dean should be on top of the world. Instead, he's wallowing in fear and self-pity, stuck sitting in this uncomfortable chair in a waiting room he doesn't know somewhere within the bowels of a hospital he's never been to.
When Bobby arrives half an hour later all Dean can think is 'thank god,' because he's finally not alone anymore.