A/N: Unfortunately, I haven't earned a medical degree since the beginning of this story, so, again, I apologize for any inaccuracies in this and subsequent chapters. Also, I was too lazy to look up hospital protocol, so I just made up my own. I suspect each hospital varies, anyway.
Chapter 11
Sam and Bobby finally made it to the surgical waiting area at the hospital after getting stuck for an hour in rush hour traffic. It had been the most frustrating, nerve-racking experience of Sam's life, and he would have completely blown a gasket if Bobby hadn't been the voice of reason and kept him calm.
Thank God the ambulance with TJ in it had been able to make its way fairly quickly through the stalled traffic, and TJ had made it to the hospital way before Bobby and Sam.
Luckily, Gretchen had still been at work and at the hospital when Sam found her number in TJ's phone, which Bobby'd had the presence of mind to grab from TJ's apartment, along with her purse. Gretchen had sprung into action, finding where TJ had been admitted and filling out paperwork while Bobby and Sam were on their way.
The waiting area was sparsely occupied, and Sam immediately spotted Gretchen sitting alone in a bank of blue chairs along one wall, wearing the usual work clothes of the PTs at the hospital—a polo shirt and khaki pants.
She looked up and caught his eye, giving him a strained half-smile, worry etched on her face.
Sam wheeled himself over to her. "How is she?" he asked, foregoing any pleasantries.
"Not good."
His heart sank, and he felt almost lightheaded. "You said on the phone they just took her to surgery?"
"Yeah."
"What's wrong with her?"
Gretchen looked up at Bobby, who stood next to Sam, and gave him a wan smile. "Hi. I'm Gretchen, TJ's old roommate."
Sam got the feeling she was stalling, and his worry increased, his body tensing.
Bobby nodded to her. "Bobby Singer, a friend of Sam and TJ."
Gretchen patted the seat of the chair next to her. "Have a seat, Mr. Singer."
Bobby shot Sam a look and then walked around Sam's wheelchair in order to sit next to Gretchen.
"Gretchen," Sam prompted, his words deliberate, "what's wrong with TJ?" He was losing his patience—what little of it he had left.
Gretchen took a deep breath, leaned forward a little, and looked Sam directly in the eye the way she had the day he met her. "She has a rupture in her esophagus. It's very serious."
Sam let that soak in, his heart stopping for a split second.
Gretchen looked intense. "I'll explain as much as I can in a minute, but I need to know something, first. You said when I talked to you on the phone that you had been with her earlier in the morning, and she was fine, right?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"She didn't seem like she was in pain or feverish?"
"No."
"Did you—when you saw her earlier in the day, before you found her in the apartment, did you notice any red dots around her eyes?"
"What?"
"I know it sounds weird, but think back. They might have looked a lot like freckles."
Sam frowned, thinking back to when he'd been in the car with TJ at the strip center where the yoga studio was. He'd been close enough to her that he would have seen the dots if she'd had them, and then he remembered seeing what he thought were freckles around her eyes when she'd been lying on the sofa. "I saw them when I found her in the apartment, but not before that."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
She nodded, as if he had confirmed something. "Okay. That's good news. If an esophageal rupture is caught within the first twenty-four hours, there's a seventy-five percent chance of survival."
Sam frowned, wondering what the red dots had to do with anything, but he felt slightly relieved. The muscles in his upper body loosened a bit, although a seventy-five-percent chance of survival still wasn't a guarantee.
"Thank God you guys went to check on her, Sam. The ER doc said she was in the early stages of shock, which can be fatal if not dealt with in time."
"I know," Sam said quietly.
"And thank God you called me. I was able to give them a good history on TJ, which probably helped them figure out what was wrong much quicker. Esophageal ruptures are often misdiagnosed."
Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. "So, is it just a matter of repairing the rupture now?"
She exhaled. "This is out of my area of expertise, but I think they will repair the rupture and clean out the mediastinum, which is the middle section of the chest cavity. When her esophagus ruptured, food and fluid more than likely leaked into the area, which can cause inflammation and infection."
"Jesus," said Sam, holding his head in his hands.
"What could have caused this?" asked Bobby in his usual practical manner.
Gretchen didn't answer, and Sam looked up to see that she had leaned back in her chair.
She looked grim. "This particular kind of rupture is called Boerhaave's syndrome. It's caused by violent vomiting." There was a heavy pause, and then she said, "TJ never told you that she had an eating disorder, did she?" It was more a statement than a question, like she already knew the answer.
"No, she didn't." Sam glanced at Bobby, who looked surprised and concerned, and then he refocused on Gretchen, feeling his heart plunge down to his stomach.
She tucked her blond hair behind her ears in a nervous gesture and continued. "She started extreme dieting when she was a freshmen in college, and that's when she started purging, too. She wasn't my roommate when we lived in the dorms—I was a year ahead of her in school at the time—but we lived on the same floor and got to be really good friends. By the time she was a sophomore, she had lost a lot of weight, but she was good at hiding it. Things didn't come to a head until she got sick with gastritis, which is an inflammation of the lining of the stomach.
"TJ was lucky. Her Residential Advisor was shrewd and knew the signs of bulimia, so the RA figured out what was going on and called TJ's parents. They got her a doctor and a counselor, and TJ was diagnosed as bulimic with anorexic tendencies. It means she starves herself like an anorexic until she can't stand it anymore, and then she goes on a binge, consuming huge amounts of food, and purges it."
Sam sat back in his chair, stunned by what Gretchen had just told him. He'd spent so much time with TJ. How could he have not seen it, the weight loss, the fact that he hardly ever saw her eat anything? He'd known that something was wrong, but an eating disorder had never occurred to him. He felt like such an idiot for not figuring it out.
As if reading his mind, Gretchen said, "She's good at hiding it, Sam. It's part of the disorder. They don't want anyone to interfere, and, also, they're ashamed of it. I knew her for two years and never had a clue."
Gretchen drew her legs up into her chair and hugged her knees, suddenly looking like a young girl instead of a medical professional. "I'm the one who dropped the ball here." Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she swallowed. "I knew she had relapsed when I saw her with you the other day. God, she was so thin. It was more noticeable because I hadn't seen her for a few months. I knew, and I didn't do anything."
"Hey," said Sam, "this isn't on you."
She shook her head. "I should have called her mom immediately, but I was hoping TJ would talk to me. I called TJ several times but always got her voice mail. I knew if I called her mom behind her back she would never speak to me again, so I was hoping she would come around without having to do that." She rested her forehead on her knees.
Sam closed his eyes, aching for TJ, hating that she'd been trying to deal with everything on her own, that she was ashamed. He understood what it was like all too well and was heartbroken by the fact that TJ must have been feeling the same painful feelings of humiliation and embarrassment that he'd felt, only for different reasons. She'd been there for him, and he'd finally opened up to her. It had felt good to be able to talk to somebody, and he was sorry that she hadn't been able to do the same.
He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. "It's not your fault, Gretchen. You couldn't have known this would happen."
She looked up and wiped tears from her cheeks. "I knew it was a possibility. I've learned a lot about bulimia from knowing TJ, and I knew this is one of the complications, although it's extreme. When you told me her symptoms, I suspected immediately what had happened. The dots..." She trailed off, giving a small, apologetic smile, eyes filled with sadness. "The dots around the eyes are a sign of purging. They're blood vessels that have burst from the strain of vomiting."
No one seemed to know what to say to that, and then Bobby finally said, "Don't beat yourself up, kid. Hindsight's twenty/twenty."
They all sat in silence for a while after that, staring at the TV that replayed the same "breaking news" stories on CNN over and over. It seemed like years since TJ had been taken into surgery, but, in reality, it had only been around two hours. For Sam, the waiting was excruciating.
Bobby finally got up to go get coffee. When he came back, he had some ham-and-cheese sandwiches and three small bags of Lay's potato chips that he'd found in a vending machine somewhere, along with thermal containers of scalding-hot coffee, which he passed out to everyone.
Sam and Gretchen both thanked him, but Sam had no appetite, and Gretchen didn't look like she was in the mood to eat, either. It had been a while since Sam had any food, though, so he made an effort, not really tasting any of it. When he was done, Bobby helped him transfer to one of the waiting room chairs next to Gretchen for a change of position, even though they didn't have a transfer board.
The only time Sam really needed the board now was if he needed to do a transfer by himself or if TJ or Karen were helping him. In the last few days, he'd been transferring without the board if someone stronger, like Dean or Bobby, were there to help him. He knew Karen probably wouldn't approve, but it really didn't tax his bad shoulder any, and it was less hassle than always having to have the board handy.
They sipped their coffees for a few minutes, and then Gretchen said, "Oh, by the way. You're TJ's brother."
Sam frowned. "What?"
"TJ's parents can't be here for a while, so I told the critical care staff that her 'brother' would be here so that they'd let you in to see her. I know TJ would want you there with her."
Sam snorted, remembering the way they had parted the last time he'd seen her. "Don't be so sure of that."
"Oh, I'm sure," said Gretchen with unexpected certainty. "She'll be in the ICU once she gets out of recovery, and they may not let anyone in to see her except immediate family. They won't tell you anything about her condition unless you're family, either, so I made you her brother." She smiled. "Your name is Sam Nelek."
Bobby snorted in derision.
Sam gave Bobby a knowing, halfhearted smile. As hunters, they'd had so many aliases in their lifetimes they'd lost count.
"I told her parents about it. Her mom already knew all about you."
Sam was surprised by that.
"Her parents are pretty cool—kind of nutty, actually—and her mom joked that she'd always wanted a son, so don't worry about them blowing your cover once they get here."
"So what are my parents' names?" asked Sam.
"Vernon and Ferna Sue, otherwise known as Vern and Fern," she said, in a pretty good imitation of TJ's Kentucky accent.
Sam smiled, despite his worry. It seemed somehow fitting that those would be the names of TJ's parents.
"Her mom is taking the first flight she can get out tomorrow, so hopefully she'll be here around noon. I'm going to pick her up from the airport. They live in a small town that isn't near a major airport, so it's difficult to find a decent flight. Her dad is driving out, but it'll take him probably at least two days to get here."
Bobby said, "Why ain't her dad flyin' out with her mom?"
"Too expensive. They're not exactly rich. Her dad's a farmer and her mom's a school teacher."
Bobby nodded.
Another couple of hours went by, and it was getting late into the evening. Sam looked at his watch and figured Dean and Heather would probably be getting there soon, after they got things closed up at Shorty's. Sam had called and given them an update after Gretchen had explained things.
Just when Sam thought he would go crazy from the anxiety of waiting, a tall, salt-and-pepper-haired doctor in his forties wearing green surgical scrubs came into the waiting area. "TJ Nelek?"
Sam raised his hand to get the doctor's attention. "I'm her brother," he lied with ease. He'd learned a long time ago how to play a part convincingly, and he had no qualms about it. He'd do anything to find out how TJ was doing and to be allowed to see her.
The doctor came over and shook Sam's hand. "I'm Dr. Wahl. I'm the thoracic surgeon that did your sister's surgery."
"I'm Sam."
The doctor pulled one of the waiting room chairs over in front of Sam and sat down, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. He had a sort of exuberance that was oddly reassuring, like he was excited about his job and knew what he was doing.
Sam's wheelchair was at the end of the row of chairs that he was sitting in, so he didn't know if the doctor had clued in that he couldn't stand, but he liked the fact that the doctor pulled up the chair and was at his eye level.
Dr. Wahl glanced at Gretchen and Bobby and raised a brow at Sam, as if asking if it was okay to speak in front of them.
"It's okay," said Sam. "They're close friends. This is Gretchen Koenig and Bobby Singer."
The doctor nodded in polite acknowledgment and looked at Gretchen. "You're the friend that gave the patient's history?"
Gretchen gave him a quick, polite smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yes."
The doctor noticed the hospital logo on her shirt. "What department are you in?"
"I'm a PT for the sports medicine facility."
"Ah, yes. Well, Gretchen, you probably saved Miss Nelek's life."
To Sam, he said, "The rupture was pretty large—four centimeters—and it's located in the lower third of her esophagus, near where it meets the stomach. There was a lot of leakage. The quick diagnosis of the rupture has hopefully helped us avoid any severe contamination or sepsis. There was, however, moderate mediastinitis, which is inflammation in the tissues of the mid chest caused by food contents spilling from the esophagus. She was put on aggressive, intravenous, broad-spectrum antibiotic therapy and fluid-replacement therapy to combat the mediastinitis, prevent sepsis, and to reverse the shock."
Sam swallowed a lump in his throat as the direness of TJ's condition was rapidly becoming apparent.
"During the surgery, we repaired the rupture and debrided and irrigated the field surrounding it. I inserted a Silastic mediastinal tube for drainage of the mid chest area. There was—"
Sam's right leg had started to spasm, jiggling up and down, distracting the doctor. Embarrassed, Sam cleared his throat and said, "Sorry. It's—I have spasticity in my legs."
The doctor glanced at the wheelchair, then back to Sam and nodded, and that was the only reaction he showed. "Anyway, as I was about to say, there was significant pleural effusion, which was caused by the mediastinal inflammation. Pleural effusion is extra fluid that accumulates in the fluid-filled space that surrounds the lungs. It was making it difficult for—you call her TJ?"
Sam nodded.
"—TJ to breathe, so we put in a chest tube in order to drain fluid from that area, as well. She'll probably be on a ventilator for at least a day or two until we're sure she can breathe easily again." He paused for a second. "Do you have any questions, Sam, before I go on?"
Sam shook his head. He didn't have any questions so far, but it was disheartening that the doctor wasn't done.
"She won't be able to eat or drink anything for at least five days because we want to completely bypass her esophagus and stomach in order to give the sutures time to heal, but then we'll do an esophagogram to check for leakage around the repair. We've inserted what's called a gastrostomy tube or G-tube into her stomach to relieve gas pressure and any fluids that might accumulate, and we've placed a feeding jejunostomy or J-tube into her small intestine for nutritional support. She'll receive a continuous flow of a special formula for feeding until the esophagogram is performed, and if that comes back clear, she should be able to start eating a soft diet within twenty-four hours after that."
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, feeling a headache coming on, hating what the upcoming days would hold for TJ. His right leg was getting worse, jiggling like crazy, and he realized he was overdue for a dose of his antispasticity med. He was thinking that he should call Dean and ask him to go home and get his medication, when Dean and Heather walked into the waiting area, not saying anything once they saw that Sam was talking to the surgeon. Sam acknowledged them with a nod and then refocused on Dr. Wahl.
Dr. Wahl looked sympathetic. "I know it sounds like she's got more tubes than the London subway, but, hopefully, they can be removed fairly quickly if all goes well."
"Is she gonna be okay?"
The doctor drew in a deep breath and exhaled. "I won't lie to you, Sam. She's stable right now but still critical, and there's a lot of complications that can arise from a rupture like this. There's a high risk of infection and the possibility that a leak could develop in her esophagus where the repair is, but if all goes well, she should eventually make a full recovery—at least physically."
The meaning of the doctor's words hung ominously in the room for a moment before he continued. "Obviously, in light of everything that's happened, I'm sure you're aware that TJ's eating disorder is a very serious matter. Once she's over the initial health crisis, she'll need to be evaluated by someone in our psychiatric department."
Dean and Heather looked at each other, but they didn't seem very surprised, and both Gretchen and Bobby kept their faces neutral.
Sam felt a pang of sympathy for TJ, knowing how she was going to hate having to see a shrink.
"Any questions?" asked Dr. Wahl.
Sam thought for a moment. "No, not right now." He offered his hand for a shake. "Thank you, Doctor."
The doctor shook his hand firmly. "If you think of any questions, the ICU nurses here are fantastic, but if there's something they can't answer, have them page me." He put a sympathetic hand on Sam's shoulder, the good one. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of her," he added reassuringly. "You should be able to see her in a few minutes, once they have her settled in the ICU. There were no major complications while she was in recovery. If you guys want to move up to the ICU waiting area, a nurse will let you know when she's ready." He stood to leave. "Oh, do you take baclofen or something for your spasticity? If you need a dose, I can prescribe it for you and have it brought up here."
Dean spoke up. "Uh, thanks, Doc. I got it for him."
The doctor looked at Dean as if noticing him for the first time. He just nodded, though, not asking who Dean was or why he would have gotten Sam's medication. He nodded and was gone in that purposeful way that doctors had, as if he was needed somewhere else.
XXXXXXXX
A few minutes turned into another hour. Sam, Gretchen, Bobby, Dean, and Heather all sat around the ICU waiting room—all worried, tired, and not knowing what to say. Sam's leg had stopped spasming after his medication kicked in, and he was glad that Dean had thought to swing by the apartment and bring it to him, along with his overdue dose of antidepressant—and the painkiller, just in case.
Finally, a nurse in blue scrubs came into the waiting room and looked around. Her eyes stopped on Sam, who was, again, in his wheelchair. "Sam?" Obviously, word had gotten around that TJ's "brother" used a wheelchair.
"Yeah," he said, nodding and exhaling a relieved breath.
"Your sister is TJ Nelek?"
"Yeah."
"She's ready. You want to follow me?"
Sam nodded and pushed himself past the others, who shifted in their seats and watched him as he left. He felt bad that Gretchen couldn't come, since she had actually known TJ a lot longer, but she had been right. They were only letting immediate family in to see TJ at this time, and he was grateful that Gretchen had had the presence of mind to come up with the ruse that he was TJ's brother.
She had been afraid to say that she was TJ's sister, since she was an employee of the hospital and might easily run into someone she knew. Of course, if Sam ran into Dr. Salazar or Dr. Ogden, he was screwed, but he wasn't going to worry about that right now. Besides, it wouldn't matter in a few days when TJ was better and her visitors weren't restricted. He refused to think there could be any other scenario.
He followed the nurse past the bustling nurses' station, absently noting that the area looked, smelled, and sounded familiar from when he'd been in the ICU after he'd hurt his shoulder. He remembered what it was like, the smells of antiseptic, food, and medicines; the voices of nurses talking to each other and unaware of how loud and disruptive they were; the clattering of various types of carts being pushed around; the beeps of monitors; the bright lights; the constant interruptions and poking and prodding of the staff. It was hard to rest in an ICU unless you were unconscious or drugged.
It was a large hospital complex, and this was a different ICU than the one he'd been in, but he still didn't like it. It made him uncomfortable, both from bad memories and because it was disturbing that TJ was there.
The nurse finally stopped at the open door of a room with an observation window, which, of course, was above Sam's head, and he couldn't see through it. He knew it must be TJ's room, though, and he took a deep breath, steeling himself.
The nurse with the blue scrubs spoke to someone inside the room. "Hey, Patti. The patient's brother is here to see her."
Patti, who he assumed was another nurse, apparently said it was okay for him to come in, because the blue-scrub nurse stood aside, making room for him to get through the doorway.
He pushed himself into the room and saw TJ lying in a bed which had been positioned almost more like a recliner, her head and upper body at a thirty- to forty-degree angle, legs slightly bent. She was hooked up to all kinds of IVs, tubes, wires, monitors, and a ventilator. She was wearing a hospital gown that was loose and made her look small and childlike.
He took in another deep breath, fighting the narrowing of his throat.
Patti, a pretty, chocolate-skinned nurse with short hair that sort of reminded him of Halle Berry, smiled reassuringly at him. She was standing by TJ's bed with a portable computer cart, typing something into a laptop. "You must be Sam, right?"
"Yeah," he said, barely getting his voice to work.
She nodded. "Dr. Wahl said you were here for TJ. I'm almost done with this," she said, indicating the computer, "and then you can have some time alone with her. I'm Patti, by the way. I'll be TJ's primary nurse for tonight."
He tried to smile politely, but it felt more like a grimace. This was all too familiar. It hadn't been that long ago that he had visited Dean in an ICU like this after the car crash with the semi. Dean had been on the brink of death, and their dad hadn't even made it to the hospital before he'd died.
Sam thought with anguish that maybe it was him. Maybe he was cursed, maybe because of the demon blood. Maybe he wasn't supposed to have anyone to love. Everyone he touched seemed to wind up dead or hurt in some way.
Patti broke into his thoughts. "I know all this looks scary, but she's doing well. She's a fighter. She was bucking the ventilator in recovery, so we had to give her a pretty heavy sedative once we were satisfied that she was responsive. We can't let her get too agitated because those J-tubes can sometimes come out pretty easily."
She eyed an IV pole that had a bag of clear liquid hanging from it next to TJ's bed. A tube from the bag fed into a white machine with a small screen and flat buttons, which was positioned lower on the pole, and then another tube ran out of the bottom of the machine and disappeared under the thin, white sheet covering TJ loosely from her waist down. Sam assumed the tubing went to TJ's lower abdomen.
"Dr. Wahl explained that he put a J-tube in and what it is, right?" asked Patti.
"Yeah, he did."
"Good. That machine you see is a feeding pump, and it regulates the amount of formula she receives automatically. She's being given saline for the first twenty-four hours so that we don't shock her system and cause what's called osmotic diarrhea, but then we'll start her on a continuous feed of formula so she can get the proper nutrients and hydration that she needs. The concentration of the formula will get thicker once her intestines are in full swing again."
Patti explained that TJ's chest tubes were being suctioned by and draining into a square-looking machine with liquid measuring chambers. It was hanging on the side of the bed that Sam could see, and Patti further explained that TJ's G-tube was draining into a Foley bag on the other side of the bed where he couldn't see. He knew there would be a Foley bag to collect urine there, too, and he felt sorry for TJ, knowing how she was going to feel when she woke up—scared, in pain, humiliated, and pissed off—just like he had after his SCI and his shoulder injury. He wished to God there was some way he could spare her from it.
Patti finished recording TJ's vitals and pushed the computer cart away from the bed. "I'll let you have some time with her now, Sam. Not too long, though. Okay?"
Sam nodded and pushed himself up beside TJ's bed, careful not to bump any of the equipment. He turned his chair sideways so he could be flush up against her bed in order to reach her better. The bed was higher than his chair, but he could still reach her hand easily, and if he leaned forward, he was able to brush her soft, dark-brown hair away from her face. At least he still had long arms, even if he didn't have the advantage of height anymore.
He placed his palm gently on her cheek. Her skin was a little too warm, but not as hot as it had been when he'd touched it at the apartment. The telltale dots had faded around her eyes and were almost gone, but her girlish freckles were prominent against her pale skin. Now he knew why someone had coined the phrase "white as a sheet." It was an apt description.
He ran his thumb along her cheekbone and jawline. Whatever drug they had sedated her with had worked because she was out cold, and she didn't stir whenever he touched her hair or her face. Her only movement was the steady rise and fall of her chest in time with the hiss and click of the ventilator. It was scary that she was having trouble breathing, and he was disconcerted by the vent tubing and the tape securing it to her mouth. It looked no better on TJ than it had on Dean. He was used to seeing her mouth quirked in a wry smile or grinning or saying something to tease him—not covered up and unmoving.
He couldn't believe that this had happened to her, that it was so serious, that she had done it to herself. He wasn't judging or blaming her, though, and he was going to do his best to understand why and help her through it.
He knew how Gretchen felt, understood her guilt. If only he had made the doctor's appointment sooner and dragged TJ there, maybe this could have all been prevented.
TJ's hands were resting at her sides. He could see an IV in the back of her left hand along with a pulse ox clip on her finger. He took her right hand in his, gently squeezing, letting her know he was there. He could feel the bones in her fingers and was struck by how fragile they felt. She looked so vulnerable, so frail, like the bed might swallow her. He wanted to speak to her, but he was suddenly overwhelmed. He was afraid for her, and he felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to sting.
He looked up at the ceiling, trying to regain control of his emotions. All he could think about was that, if he lost her, too, there was no way he could resist Azazel. If he lost TJ, he was done. To hell with the idea he'd come up with to fight the demon. To hell with everything. He had only known her for a short while, yet he felt like she'd always been there for him, and he couldn't imagine his life without her.
If he lost TJ, he was done fighting his fucking destiny. He would go off to lead Azazel's army of the damned, and Dean and Bobby would be better off without him. Dean could go back to hunting, go back to doing what he did best. Dean could hunt Sam and put an end to Sam's miserable life and put an end to Yellow Eyes once and for all.
Still holding TJ's hand, he leaned forward, again brushing his fingers through her long hair, which was loose and framing her face. In a thick voice, he said, "Hey, Teej. It's Sam. You'd better get well real quick, or I'm gonna get real pissy." He paused for a second, taking in a shaky breath. "You think I'm bad now? You have no idea."
He looked up at the ceiling again, feeling another surge of tears threatening to fall and forcing them back. "So I don't wanna hear any of that crap about the danger of you springing a leak or getting an infection. That's not an option. Tomorrow, you're gonna start breathing better on your own, and they're gonna take that vent out, and each day you're gonna get stronger. You hear me?"
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, giving it a chaste kiss.
"Sam?" said a voice behind him.
He gently laid TJ's hand back down by her side and twisted to see Patti at the door.
"There's some things we need to check with TJ. I'm sorry."
He nodded, understanding that it was time for him to go. He turned to TJ and rubbed his thumb over her hand. "I'm not leaving you. Okay? I'm just gonna be in the waiting room, and I'll come back when they let me. I'll be back."
There was no response from TJ. Her eyes were so soundly closed they seemed almost sealed shut, and Sam wanted more than anything in that moment to see her long lashes flutter, for her eyes to open and light up with humor. It obviously wasn't going to happen right now, though, so he gave her hand one last squeeze and reluctantly left the room.
He wheeled back into the waiting room, feeling drained.
Everyone looked up when he entered, the question of how TJ was doing written on all their faces.
Gretchen was the first to put it into words. "How is she?"
Sam exhaled a deep breath and raised his good shoulder in a half-shrug. "She never woke up while I was in there. They gave her a pretty strong sedative because she started fighting the ventilator in recovery." He felt a knot in his chest and rubbed it with his hand, taking a breath. "She's hooked up to a lot of stuff. The nurse said she was doing well." He knew it wasn't a lot of information, but it was all he could offer.
Gretchen nodded. "How...how did she look?"
"Pale." He didn't want to tell her how fragile and weak TJ had really looked. It seemed a disservice to TJ.
Gretchen nodded and looked away from him, pulling her legs up into her chest again on the chair.
"I don't think—" Sam felt a lump in his throat and cleared it. "She's stable, but I don't think they're gonna let anyone in to see her, except maybe me in a little bit. TJ has no idea what's going on, and I don't think she's going to for a while, so I think it's okay if you guys want to leave. I know it's late and everyone has work tomorrow. TJ wouldn't want you guys sitting here twiddling your thumbs, worrying about her."
Gretchen gave a small, tired smile. "You think once we leave here, we'll stop worrying?"
Sam gave a halfhearted smile back. "No. But I think TJ would rather you worry about her in the comfort of your own home than here."
Gretchen sighed. "I've got a full day of patients again tomorrow, or I'd stay. You promise you'll call me if anything changes?"
"Yeah."
She stood up and grabbed her purse. "Anyone need a ride?"
Heather gave Dean an inquiring, hopeful look.
Sam watched them closely, curious to see how they interacted. He noticed that Heather's coppery hair was knotted in a loose bun and secured with a pencil in the back. It was one of those things girls with long hair did that had always sort of fascinated Sam. It reminded him of Jess, and he felt the usual pang of grief he always got when he thought of her, but he suddenly felt guilty for thinking of Jess when TJ was so deathly ill not too far away. It felt wrong. Why, he didn't know.
It wasn't like his relationship with TJ was the same as what he'd had with Jess. It was different, but he realized with a jolt that he felt just as strongly about TJ, and he found it disturbing. Was he having not-so-"brotherly" feelings for her? He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the headache in full force, trying to push the thought away. He didn't want to deal with that and the implications of it right now.
Dean gave Heather a look of apology. "Do you mind catching a ride with Gretchen? I'm staying here with Sam."
Sam felt a surge of annoyance. "You don't need to stay, Dean. I'll be okay. You and Bobby should both go."
Bobby's face remained neutral, but Dean looked adamant. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Dean, you have to work two jobs tomorrow."
"She's my friend, too, Sam," argued Dean. "I've known her longer than you."
It might be true, but Sam knew that wasn't the reason Dean wanted to stay. He wanted to keep an eye on Sam—because of the demon, because he thought Sam was helpless—and the same old anger Sam had felt over the last year caused his blood pressure to rise.
Sam was still furious that Dean and Bobby had gone behind his back and gotten the Colt without telling him, but then he reminded himself that he hadn't exactly been forthcoming, either. I have demon blood in me. The thought was sickening and cooled his ire a little, and he suddenly felt exhausted. He was so tired—tired of Dean acting like he couldn't take care of himself, tired from worrying about TJ, tired of not sleeping and thinking about the fucking demon. With a sigh, he said, "Fine. Whatever."
Dean raised his brows and looked at Bobby, as if surprised that Sam had given in so easily.
Bobby nodded in his usual stoic way. "Well, you don't have to twist my arm. I'm beat. I'll come back in the mornin', Sam. Call me if you want me to bring you anything."
"Okay. Thanks, Bobby. Change of clothes would be good."
Bobby nodded again and adjusted his cap. "Tell her I'm rootin' for her."
Sam knew that Bobby really liked TJ, and he was moved by Bobby's concern. "I will."
Heather turned reluctantly to Gretchen. "I guess I could use a ride, if you don't mind."
Gretchen shook her head. "No, not at all." To Sam, she said, "Call me if anything at all changes."
"I will."
Heather said to Dean, "I'll see you at Shorty's tomorrow."
"Yeah. We're gonna be shorthanded. I'll try to get someone to fill in for TJ, but be ready to shag ass."
She gave a coy smirk, her sky-blue eyes lingering on him. "I'll be ready."
Dean looked furtively at Sam and coughed into his fist.
Sam would have laughed at the absurdity of Dean acting uncomfortable around a girl if he hadn't been so annoyed with Dean and worried about TJ at the same time.
Heather and Gretchen headed toward the elevators, along with Bobby.
There were a couple of other families in the waiting area on the far side of the room, and a TV blared in one of the corners of the room, but Dean and Sam were left pretty much to themselves.
Sam arched over the backrest of his wheelchair, giving his back a stretch, and pushed down a little on the seat cushion with his hands to lift his butt and give it a minute of pressure relief.
Dean arched a brow. "You need to change positions? You wanna sit in a regular chair?"
Sam gritted his teeth. "Did I say I needed to change positions?"
Dean rolled his eyes, and they sat in silence for another little while.
Finally, Sam couldn't contain his irritation any longer. "Dude, this is ridiculous. I don't need you here to watch me sit in a hospital waiting room."
Dean snorted. "Not everything is about you, princess. That potted plant over there is more interesting to watch than you. I'm here for TJ."
"Right. Because you're such good friends."
"Sam, I've worked with her four or five days a week for over seven months. I know you two have gotten close, but I know her better than you think, maybe better than you in some ways."
"Yeah. Right."
Dean huffed and rubbed his fingers over his mouth. After a moment of tense silence, he said, "What happened today, Sam? You were with her earlier, right? Did she seem okay then?"
Sam winced, still feeling the dull throb of the headache. It wasn't bad enough to warrant taking one of his strong painkillers, but it was bad enough to be annoying. "No. I mean, I don't think this," he waved a hand, meaning everything with TJ, "had happened, but we got into an argument. She wanted me to take yoga lessons."
Dean snorted. "No fucking way."
Sam quirked his mouth wryly. "That was my reaction. She drove me to the studio and tried to talk me into going to a private session with some yoga instructor who's a para that Karen recommended. I refused, so TJ was already pissed off at me because of that. Then, I—" He stopped abruptly, feeling his throat tighten again. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands. He felt like a complete dick for hurting TJ's feelings, even if he'd only been trying to help her. "She wouldn't listen to me, and I was getting desperate. I mean, she was so thin and always so tired."
"Yeah," said Dean, a bit of remorse in his voice. "Heather and I had noticed, too."
"I made her a doctor's appointment for tomorrow, which she, of course, refused to go to."
"No surprise there."
Sam continued. "I knew something was wrong. On top of everything else, she's been sort of...irritable, lately. Anyway, I shouldn't have said it, but it just sort of came out. I told her—I told her that she needed to see a doctor because she looked like shit."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Jeez, Sam. Real smooth. I'm sure that went over well, especially coming from you."
Sam sat back up straight. "What do you mean, 'especially' coming from me?"
Dean just looked at him for a moment, as if there was something he wanted to say, but then he shook his head and looked away.
"What, Dean?"
Dean looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. "Ah, hell. She's gonna kill me for this."
"Dude, what the hell are you talking about?"
Dean exhaled. "Did you ever think TJ's feelings might go deeper for you than just friendship?"
Sam leaned back and balanced his chair on the back wheels, more than skeptical. "Oh, come on. You gotta be kiddin' me. We're just good friends. Why? Did she actually say something?"
"She didn't come right out and say it, but-"
"That's what I thought. We're just friends," Sam reiterated.
"You're so fuckin' clueless when it comes to girls, Sammy."
Sam came back down on all four wheels, angry, hands gripping the tires so tightly he felt the tread imprinting his hand and an ache in his bad shoulder. "Oh, yeah? What makes you such an expert, Dean? When's the last time you were with a girl?"
Dean's face colored, and his usually unnoticeable freckles stood out. He looked away from Sam, staring at the TV in the far corner.
"Answer me. Heather's obviously attracted to you, and you are to her, so why haven't you acted on it?"
Dean didn't answer, just kept staring at the TV.
"It's because I can't, isn't it?" Sam didn't realize he was raising his voice until one of the people across the room looked over at him.
Dean remained riveted to the TV.
"Look at me, Dean."
Dean finally looked in his direction, but not quite into his eyes.
"I'm the one in the fucking wheelchair, not you. This survivor's guilt or whatever you wanna call it doesn't do you or me any good. How do you think that makes me feel, knowing you're denying yourself because of me?"
"I'm not denying myself."
"Oh, so you've decided the life of a monk suits you? Thinking about taking up the cloth, maybe taking a vow of celibacy?"
Dean didn't respond.
"Jeez, that's so noble of you. How about you start using a wheelchair and get yourself a catheter while you're at it, too?"
Dean turned a darker shade of red. "Shut the fuck up, Sammy!"
"Why, Dean? Because it's crazy? Because it's stupid?" They were attracting the attention of the other people in the room again, and Sam lowered his voice, although he was still intense. "It's no more stupid than you not having sex, and no matter how much you resist temptation, at the end of the day, I'm still gonna be in this chair."
Dean's body was rigid, and his chin trembled almost imperceptibly. "Don't you think I know that? It's my damn fault, Sammy, and I relive it every fucking second of every fucking minute of every fucking day."
"What's your fault, Dean? That I got hurt? How could it possibly be your fault?"
"I shoulda had your back! It's always been my job to watch out for you, and I failed. I should've been behind you that day." He dipped his head into his hands, his posture the epitome of anguish and defeat. "How am I supposed to live with that?"
For a second, all the air seemed to leave Sam, and he felt a deep ache take its place. He knew the pain and guilt Dean felt because he'd felt it himself a thousand times—the what-ifs, the feeling of failure, the sense that he'd let down his dad and Dean.
He nudged his chair closer to Dean, and for the first time since his SCI, Sam willingly touched his brother, not because he needed to make a transfer or because he needed help in some other way, but because he wanted to. He squeezed Dean's shoulder, his voice low and full of compassion. "Dean, there's no way any of this was your fault. I should have been more careful. It's all on me, dude."
Dean regarded Sam with remorse in his eyes. "You were exposed. I left you exposed. It doesn't matter how careful you were; you had no escape, no cover, nowhere to go."
"You didn't know the thing was gonna start throwing knives. Neither of us did. Still, if I'd just ducked or even moved just an inch or two in either direction, it would have at least missed my spine. We can torture ourselves with what we might have done differently for the rest of our lives, but maybe we should just...let it go. We can't go back in time and fix it, so maybe we should just move on."
They were both silent for a moment, mulling that over, and Sam felt as if a little of the heavy weight that had been smothering him for months began to lift. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Maybe sometimes shit just happens. Maybe we're both stupid for blaming ourselves."
Dean snorted and looked away, surreptitiously wiping at his eyes.
"So, dude, cut out the abstinence. The whole born-again virgin thing doesn't fit you."
Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, not saying anything.
Sam sat back against the backrest of his chair, his tone persuasive. "God, Dean. You've never had a real relationship, never had the time to take things slow and get to know someone. You have that chance, now, with Heather. You've definitely got the slow part down. Don't you think it's time you took the next step and asked her to dinner or something?"
Dean looked sideways at Sam. "What about you? How do you feel about TJ?"
Sam could feel his chest compress, as if his heart was having its own reaction to her name. "We're talking about you, not me."
Dean persisted. "What if TJ does have feelings for you? How do you feel about her?"
"We're just friends."
"That wasn't my question."
"She doesn't have those kinds of feelings for me," said Sam, sounding more sure than he actually was. In the back of his mind was the memory of TJ's reaction to him wanting to go to lunch with Gretchen and her lashing out at him in the car, which was so uncharacteristic of her. Had she been jealous, even though she'd denied it?
"How do you feel about her, Sam?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Why?" Dean challenged.
Sam was saved from having to answer Dean—and himself—when Patti came into the waiting room.
"Sam," she said, "we don't usually do this, but Dr. Wahl has pulled some strings and found an empty bed for you to sleep in, if you'd like. It'll give you a chance to stretch out for a while. It's not far from TJ's room."
Sam swiveled and pushed his chair toward her. "Thanks. That'd be great."
He heard Dean exhale behind him and turned to look at him. "Go home, Dean."
Dean shot him a meaningful look. "You sure you'll be okay, Sammy?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm in a hospital, Dean, so, yeah."
The corners of Dean's mouth curved upward a little. "Bitch."
Sam held in a smile of his own. "Jerk."
Patti frowned, looking a little perplexed and disapproving of their exchange.
Sam cleared his throat and raised his brows, indicating to her that he was ready to follow.
She took the lead, and Sam wheeled behind her, not looking back at Dean. He wanted to tell his brother everything about Yellow Eyes, but Azazel's threat to kill both Dean and Bobby and the memory of how the demon had almost crushed Dean's insides and sliced him to ribbons at the cabin kept Sam quiet. It was just too dangerous.
TBC