Chapter Four
Sam woke up in the middle of the night, figuring he'd go check on Adam. The boy was fast asleep, stretched out diagonally all over the bed with his head dangling off one end and his feet hanging off across the other end, blankets tangled between his limbs. He was snoring in a very Dean-esque manner, and that made Sam smile. Adam was a lot like the both of them in so many ways, and he didn't even know it.
He looked sound asleep and comfortable, though, and Sam estimated the hallucinations wouldn't be back too soon. He left the door ajar again, just in case.
Exiting the room, he decided to go to the loo, after which, no longer sleepy, he made his way to the library. Dean would probably kill him for overworking himself, but what Dean didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides, his snores were audible throughout the Batcave, and he was dead to the world. Sam figured a little researching before getting back into bed couldn't hurt.
Now that he was somewhat (but not completely) rested and his brain was functioning a little, he began reflecting on Dean's behavior of earlier. During the night Dean had somehow managed to wrap both arms around Sam and drape himself all over Sam's curled form, holding on like he hadn't since Sam had died for the first time. Sam had woken mainly due to the overload of body heat and the sense that he was practically being used as a cuddling pillow. Or that his brother had fashioned himself into a human blanket for his benefit.
Sam knew Dean needed physical proximity at times; averse as he was to sharing and caring feelings, sometimes the nature of their lives drove him to seek whatever comfort he could find, the alternative being going stark, raving nuts. At those times Dean would sit a little too close to Sam, or look for excuses to offer small gestures like making him food, running a hand through his hair in passing or, rarely, even giving him half a bear hug that he later insisted was perfectly manly, thank you very much. Sam understood it all too well, for there were times when all he wanted was to hide his face in Dean's shoulders again and go back to the times when it could solve every single issue in the world.
But those times usually happened after one of them had died (or, conversely, come back from whichever hellhole they'd been cast into this time) or after a particularly grueling, emotionally exhausting hunt. Nothing of the sort had happened this time, so what was up with Dean?
Sam knew he was afraid of losing his brother to the trials, but that fear was mostly well-hidden and didn't warrant such clinginess. Sam coughing up blood had intensified that fear, but it still didn't explain Dean's sudden need for closeness. It was boggling Sam's mind, and he intended to get to the bottom of it (read: somehow getting Dean to open up and talk about his *cue drumroll and suspenseful music* feelings).
With that resolution, Sam sat down at the long table and pulled the nearest pile of unread books towards himself, taking one off the top and opening it to the first page. Ye Olde Booke of Death and Beyonde – the title was creepy but it didn't dissuade Sam. With one look at the clock – 2.15 AM – he began reading.
But it was getting harder to focus with each passing minute, and soon Sam was nodding off. Words passed through his brain leaving no vestige of understanding behind, and the harder he tried to concentrate, the sleepier he got.
...death can be reversed only by the trade of one's soule, unless the power of celestial beings can be harnessed...
...life does not ende with one's death... Heaven and Helle await beyonde the veile...
...Helle is a realm unknown to mankinde, but that it strikes fear into the hearts of God-fearing people... demonkinde dwell in the deepest recesses of Helle, awaiting fresh souls to devoure...
...none can escape.
Sam groaned and pushed the book away. Another useless bunch of pages, another hour wasted. He knew for a fact that getting out of Hell was quite possible, since his brother, his father and he himself had accomplished the feat.
And now Adam as well.
One thing he hated about old books was the number of extranous e's suffixing just about every single noun. He just didn't see the point. It only served to make reading harder. As if his job wasn't hard enough as it was, what with both his brothers being so anti-book.
He sighed and picked up another book, but before he could begin reading he felt a bout of coughing coming on. Quickly he grabbed a wad of tissues and pressed it to his mouth in an effort to muffle the sounds, not wanting to wake his brothers up. The coughing was worse this time around; it rubbed his throat painfully raw and brought water to his eyes. Gasping for breath, he reached for the nearby glass of water with shaking hands and attempted to drink from it. It proved impossible, however, mainly because he couldn't stop coughing long enough to take a few sips.
The tissues were too bloody to use by this point, and Sam began coughing into his sleeve. His throat was burning and dry as a bone, and when he tried for the second time to drink some water he ended up spewing blood into the glass, giving the water a dark pink tinge. Panicking slightly, he debated whether or not to wake Dean, but before he could decide he was overcome with another wave of coughing. He was practically throwing up blood by now, feeling it gush up inside him and seep the strength from his bones. He wondered if he was ever going to stop coughing – at the rate he was going it didn't seem likely.
Realizing that the situation was far out of his control, he attempted to call for his big brother. "De–" was all he could choke out before the coughs overtook him. "De–!" he tried again, struggling. "De–!" but his voice was too weak to carry to Dean's room. Grabbing onto the edge of the table for support, he tried to stand and maybe walk to Dean's room, but it wasn't going to happen – the minute he tried to stand he began coughing again and, unable to support his own weight, collapsed with a loud crash, hitting his head on the edge of the table on his way down.
The pain startled him out of his coughing fit long enough for him to register the sound of footsteps running in his direction. Recognizing the footfall as his big brother's, he managed to choke out one last time, "De–!"
"SAMMY!" The footsteps got quicker and in less than a second Dean was kneeling beside his brother. "Sammy, oh God–" He gripped Sam's arm tightly and tried to help him to his feet; Sam, who was coughing again, tried but failed to stand and collapsed again, dragging Dean down with him. A particularly nasty cough had him spraying blood all over Dean's shirt – Sam was literally choking on his own blood, and was powerless to stop it. Knowing better than to give him water (he'd seen the bloody glass) or to help him up again, Dean called out, "ADAM!" In the meanwhile he dragged Sam onto his lap and held him upright, supporting his head against his shoulder and rubbing his back. "Adam!" he called again. "Hurry up!"
The boy came running into the room, looking sleepy. "What is it–" He stopped short when he saw Dean cradling Sam and the blood everywhere. "Oh my God!"
"Adam," said Dean, his tone authoritative, "the car keys are on the dresser in my room. Get the car ready, we've got to get Sam to the hospital."
"De, no," Sam began, but was cut off by Dean.
"You don't get a say in this, Sammy. Go, Adam!" he added sharply, and the boy sprinted off.
"De, no hospital," Sam tried again, clutching weakly at Dean's sleeve. "Awkward questions, De."
The shortened version of Dean's name hadn't been used since Sam had been maybe nine or ten, and the fact that Sam was in that much pain to revert back to its usage heightened Dean's anxiety. Pushing that aside, he said, "Sam, this is way beyond our league and you know it. You need help, kiddo."
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but just then the roar of the Impala's engine sounded out. Knowing better than to try to get Sam to his feet again, Dean simply chose the next plausible alternative; he shifted the arm that had been rubbing Sam's back and placed it securely around Sam's shoulders, and locked his other arm around Sam's knees. With a grunt of effort he staggered to his feet, his brother limp and barely conscious in his arms, and began making his way to the door.
Carrying Sam should not have been possible, realized Dean. The kid was easily 180 pounds of pure muscle, and yet he felt alarmingly light in Dean's arms. It seemed as if he'd lost somewhere around 15 pounds recently – and not told Dean. The oldest Winchester made up his mind to interrogate Sam about it later, but right now the priority was to get Sam help.
Reaching the car, Dean yelled for Adam to open the back door, and when he'd done so, Dean gently set Sam down. Immediately Sam listed to the side, and without having to be asked Adam got in next to him and let him rest on his shoulder. With a nod of thanks Dean raced to the front seat, got in, slammed the door shut and then proceeded to floor the accelerator.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Adam quietly, supporting Sam with one arm.
"I don't know, he coughs up blood every now and then but it's never this bad, he's practically vomiting the stuff, and he's lost weight but he never told me..." Dean was rambling, but he didn't care, his worry and fear were all leaking out of his mouth and there was nothing he could do to stop it even if he wanted to.
"De," croaked Sam from the backseat, "I don't feel so good, De."
"I know, Sammy, it's all right, you're going to be fine," assured Dean, convincing nobody. "We're almost there."
"Hang in there," added Adam. "It's going to be all right."
"Okay," said Sam, surprisingly complacent, and before either Adam or Dean could react he closed his eyes and went limp.
Dean nearly drove into a tree. "What the – SAM!"
Adam was shaking him, trying to get him to wake up. "Sam. Sam. Wake up, Sam!"
Sam didn't. There was blood all over the backseat of the Impala but Dean couldn't bring himself to care – much as he loved the car, as far as he was concerned it could go to Hell as long as it meant Sam was going to fine, and wasn't that a distant possibility.
Swerving, Dean rolled into the parking lot of Lebanon General and parked, the front bumper of the car barely a millimeter away from kissing the wall in front. Before he'd even killed the engine, Adam had jumped out and was yelling, "Somebody! Help!"
Dean got out and wrenched the back door open, and then wrapped his arms around Sam and lifted him out of the backseat. "Lock the car!" he called to Adam as he began running in the direction of the ER. Adam obeyed and was behind his brothers in a few seconds, jogging to keep up and joining Dean in shouting for help.
They were met by medical personnel halfway, and at once Dean deposited Sam on the stretcher they had with them. The kid looked pale and fragile, with blood caked around his lips and covering a good portion of his shirt. "What happened?" asked one of the medics, as the rest began attaching devices to Sam.
"I don't know, I just woke up and heard him coughing, and then he began throwing up blood–" Dean explained frantically, running along with the medics as they wheeled Sam away. "Help him, please!" he added desperately.
"We'll try our best, sir," said the medic. "Now you've gotta sit in the waiting room for a bit, and we'll call you when we have him stabilized."
Sam was stirring a little. Opening his eyes blearily, he said, voice hoarse, "De?"
"I'm right here, Sammy," responded Dean at once. "Look, you're going to be okay, all right? They're gonna fix you up. Just you hang in there."
"De–" began Sam again, but he was wheeled away before he could finish.
"It's okay!" Dean called out one last time, before turning with a sigh and heading towards the empty waiting room. Adam followed silently. He would never admit it, but seeing Sam like that had frightened him, and even now he was worried sick. Because no matter what, Sam was his brother, who'd protected him in the Cage, and for that and a lot more, Adam owed him.
Sitting down next to Dean on the hard and cold plastic chairs, Adam glanced at the wall clock. It was almost 4 AM. Beside him, Dean was staring at medical and insurance forms, looking so lost without Sam that it hurt a little to see. Even before his possession by Michael Adam had spent enough time with his brothers to realize how far they were willing to go for family, and for each other, and if seeing Sam like that had shaken Adam, then Dean was positively devastated.
So, his voice quiet, Adam said, "Let me help."
Dean blinked at him. "Help?" he repeated hoarsely. "How?"
Adam gestured towards the forms. "I'll fill them in. Just tell me what to write."
After a moment's consideration Dean handed Adam the forms, and began telling him what to write. But he was tense and distracted, and a good many mistakes were made before the forms were finally filled in and handed to a nurse. It was 4:20.
"Will he be okay?" asked Adam after a few minutes.
"I don't know," admitted Dean, looking miserable. "It's never been this bad before. And it wasn't supposed to be him. This was supposed to be on me."
Adam didn't reply. After a few seconds of wringing his hands, Dean continued, "I tried so hard, you know? It's always been my job to keep him safe. And I've failed, Adam. I've failed so many times I don't even know how he still trusts me to watch his back anymore. I just..." he sighed. "I don't know what to do, you know?"
He looked at Adam, and in that second he seemed to age a decade. For the first time, Adam felt sorry for him. "You're his brother," he said, after some thought. "Our brother," he added. "He trusts you no matter what. And you haven't failed him."
Dean looked skeptical. "Come on, Small Fry. No offense, but what do you know? You haven't even seen half the crap we've seen, and that's in spite of your little holiday in the Cage."
"You're right," conceded Adam. "But I'll tell you what I do know. We're family. We've got to trust each other."
Dean regarded his youngest brother for a while. "You're not too bad, Small Fry," he declared eventually. "Guess I'm going to have to listen to you, huh?"
Adam nodded seriously. "Yeah."
They sat in amiable silence for half an hour or so, and then Dean asked, "How come you're worried, though? Don't get me wrong, Small Fry, but you've only known us for a total of what, three days?"
"You guys helped me earlier tonight," Adam reminded Dean. "And you're my brothers. You may be weirdos and freaks–" he offered Dean a small grin to show he was joking, "but you're still the only family I've got left. And besides, like Sam said, Lucifer didn't lay a finger on me while Sam was with me."
"Not that the idea of Lucy torturing my baby brother doesn't bother me," replied Dean, "but I can totally see him doing that. He's just so Sammy, you know?"
Adam nodded. "A bit overgrown, but definitely too Sammy for his own good."
"I agree on the overgrown part," Dean said. "Honest to God, sometimes I still wonder what Mom put in his formula."
"Extra human growth hormone?" suggested Adam with a straight face, but his eyes gave away his mirth.
"You know, I think that might be it," Dean said, surprised to find himself giving the idea some thought. "I remember he'd always been a smallish baby, and maybe Dad continued corrupting his formula even after Mom died."
Adam couldn't help it; he cracked up. Just the idea of rough, tough John Winchester having anything to do with baby formula was too hilarious. Dean watched Adam laugh for a while, allowing himself a small smile before his mind returned to Sam and his smile died. He allowed himself to think what would happen if Sam wasn't going to be okay. He was perfectly willing to sell his soul again, but he doubted Crowley would allow it. They were, after all, planning on shutting Hell up forever.
Well, figured Dean, whatever happened, he'd figure out a way to make sure Sam was okay. Even if it meant he wasn't. He'd take the trials upon himself if he had to, find and hunt down another Hellhound. He'd close the Gates of Hell himself if it came to that, as long as it meant the Sam would be okay. Screw whatever promises he'd made to Sam – the kid's safety came first no matter what.
And if Sam wasn't going to be okay at all? Then Dean would do the trials, close the Gates of Hell, and if he survived... he was going to end it all. Heaven with Sammy wasn't such a bad idea.
It was 5:30 when a nurse finally entered the waiting room and asked, "Dean Jonas?"
Dean stood so fast he almost fell over. "Is my brother all right?" he demanded. "Is he okay? Tell me!"
The nurse, an old matronly type, frowned at him. "Calm down, Mr. Jonas," she commanded. "Sit down."
"But my brother–" began Dean.
"Sit down," she repeated firmly, "or I'm not telling you a word about your brother."
Huffing angrily, Dean obeyed. "Good," she said approvingly. Next to Dean, Adam was attempting to suppress his laughter. Dean kicked him in the shins before looking up at the nurse expectantly. "Such behavior from grown men," she muttered, before saying, "Now listen. Your brother has lost a lot of blood, which we've replaced. He's stable now."
Dean and Adam heaved identical sighs of relief. "Where is he?" asked Dean at once, earning himself another disapproving look from Nurse Pullman, as her ID badge declared her to be.
"Patience, young man," she clucked. "Before you can see him, there's another issue that needs to be discussed."
"What?" Dean asked petulantly, glaring daggers.
Nurse Pullman was unfazed. "His blood pressure when you brought him in was 90 over 60 – that's very low. He was in shock. We've replaced the lost blood and stabilized him, but when he was examined for the cause of his vomiting, we found nothing."
Dean and Adam just blinked at her, uncomprehending. With an impatient sigh she clarified, "There is nothing physically wrong with him. He is perfectly fine."
"Then why–" began Adam, but the nurse cut him off.
"Exactly," she said. "It's baffling. We're going to keep him for further observation, for an undefined amount of days, and in the meantime you can visit him."
For once Dean didn't protest to letting Sam stay in the hospital, knowing that Sam's health was at risk. However, the nurse's words had worried and confused him, and he couldn't help thinking about them as he and Adam followed the nurse to where Sam was.
All thoughts were erased from his mind the minute he laid eyes on Sam. The kid was just lying there, looking so still and lifeless it was scary. If there was nothing wrong with him how had he lost so much blood? Where had it all come from?
Dean approached Sam's bed slowly, Adam right behind him. The kid was asleep, with an ECG machine hooked up to him. "To monitor his heartbeat," Nurse Pullman told Dean, noticing his questioning look. "It's just a precaution, since his BP's fine now, but we don't want to take any chances."
Dean nodded. "Is he going to be okay?"
"We can't tell," Pullman told him. She seemed a lot more sympathetic now that she saw how concerned Dean was about Sam. "This is most unusual. It's certainly never happened before, as far as I know. The doctors are working on it, don't you worry."
Dean nodded again. "Please," he said in an uncharacteristic display of desperation. "Just make him okay."
Nurse Pullman, instead of replying, just offered the brothers a small, pitying smile and then left. Without further ado Dean moved forward and sat at Sam's side, taking his hand carefully between his own. "I'm so sorry, Sam," he whispered, having forgotten about Adam's presence. "I should have taken better care of you."
Adam sat down at Sam's other side. "You didn't know this would happen," he reasoned. "Quit blaming yourself."
"He lost weight and I didn't know. I should have known it would get worse."
"Oh, shut up," interjected Adam, somewhat irritably. "It's. Not. Your. Fault. End of story. Ugh."
Dean raised both eyebrows at Adam, but before he could reply Sam groaned softly, opening his eyes. "De?"
Immediately Dean forgot Adam again. "I'm here, Sammy. How do you feel?"
"Better," replied Sam, attempting to sit up. Not having any of it, Dean placed his palm on Sam's chest and gently but firmly pushed him back down. "Oh no you don't, kiddo," he said. "You're not getting up until I say you can."
Knowing it was pointless to argue, Sam huffed and lay back down. Then he asked, looking confused, "Dean, is there a bandage over my eyes or something?"
"No there isn't," Dean answered, bewildered. "Why?"
"I can't see, Dean!" Sam sounded panicked at Dean's answer. "I can't see!" Flailing a little, he released his hand from under Dean's and then reached it up and fumbled in midair before finally finding Dean's face. "Dean?" he cried.
Dean gripped the hand on his face tightly. "I'm right here, Sammy," he reassured. "But what do you mean you can't see?"
"It's just darkness everywhere!" Sam said, panicking and scared. "Dean, what's happening to me?"
Dean looked into his brother's wide green eyes. The usual spark, that little light, was missing, and in that instant Dean knew his brother really couldn't see. His worry reaching biblical proportions, he squeezed Sam's hand and said, "I don't know, kiddo, but I'm going to fix it. I promise."
"But, Dean, what if you can't?" Sam's voice had taken on a hysterical quality. His already weakened state was making him much more vulnerable and emotional than usual, but he was unable to help it. Being able to hear Dean but not see him was almost unbearable.
"He will," said Adam quietly, and Sam's head whipped in that direction, his hair almost slapping Dean in the face. "I'll help, Sam. Don't worry. We've got you."
"Adam?" Sam's voice was uncertain. "Is that you?"
Adam patted the top of Sam's other hand. "The one and only."
"Oh my God," breathed Sam. "Are you okay, Adam?"
Dean almost facepalmed. Of course Sam was worried about others while he himself was landed in the hospital with a blood transplant and unexplainable blindness. Of course.
"I'm fine, Sam," Adam assured him. "Lucifer isn't bothering me right now. It's you we're worried about."
"I'm sorry," stated Sam. "I never meant to be so much trouble–"
"Shut up, Sam," said Dean and Adam in unison, both rolling their eyes.
Sam smiled a little. "Okay." Then his expression changed and he said, "Dean, how am I going to complete the rest of the trials now?"
"You're not," Dean told him. "I'm doing the trials, Sam."
"No," objected Sam at once, sounding hysterical again. "No, Dean, you'll be hurt."
"Better me than you," insisted Dean.
"No!" Sam said emphatically, tears beginning to fall from his unseeing eyes. "I won't let you!"
"You can't stop me," challenged Dean.
Sam moved his hand from Dean's face down to his shirt, sitting up. This time Dean didn't protest, just sat there as Sam pulled at his shirt in frustration, leaning forward. "No, De, please," he implored, using Dean's old nickname. "Please, De."
"Dammit Sam," said Dean roughly. "You can't do this to me."
"You can't do this to me," Sam told him, fisting both hands in his big brother's shirt. "Please, De, please."
Dean wasn't convinced (quite the opposite, in fact; he was now more determined than ever to do the trials instead of Sam) but, not wanting to argue with Sam when the kid was so weak, he simply said, "Sammy." And before Sam could respond, he wrapped his arms around him and held him close.
The gesture broke Sam, and he began sobbing into Dean's shoulders. "Dean, please, don't," he cried, holding on to Dean for dear life. "Please, Dean, don't, I can't lose you again!"
The admission shook Dean to his core. "You think I can?" he questioned quietly, his voice shaking. "It's hell for me to see you suffer, Sammy, knowing there's nothing I can do."
"De, please," Sam sobbed in reply. "Please, De, don't..."
Dean didn't answer; he couldn't. Sam didn't normally break down like that, he knew better. But the trials and nearly dying from blood loss and then the unexpected blindness had taken a lot out of him, and he simply couldn't keep it in anymore. Dean knew Sam hadn't meant to start crying like that, after not having cried in so long, and it was all the oldest could do to make sure his brother was all right. Knowing just what to do, Dean just quietly held Sam close and ran his fingers through his long hair. "Shh," he whispered in Sam's ear. "It's okay..."
"No, it's not!" Sam countered. "Nothing is okay, De, nothing! I just want – I just wanna be all right, De! I want us to be okay!"
"I know, shh," Dean murmured, feeling lost and helpless. He could relate to Sam all too well – after all, he still went to bed most nights wishing they'd never been born, so they wouldn't always have to suffer so much.
Sam just cried harder, soaking Dean's shirt with his tears, holding on so tightly his knuckles hurt. And Dean held him closer and rocked him back and forth slowly, like when they'd been children, until Sam's sobs petered out and he fell asleep in Dean's arms, exhausted.
Adam just watched silently, wondering how in the hell his broken little family was going to be all right. Sam with the trials, Adam with the hallucinations and Dean, who had to look after both of them and bear the burden of knowing that he might lose both his brothers. It was a recipe for catastrophe, and the chances of everything working out in their favor were so slim they almost didn't exist. It was all so messed up.
It was all so hopeless.
Okay, I totally died when I saw the response for yesterday's chapter. Words cannot explain how much I love you peasants.
Soooooo I posted this a day earlier than planned ^_^ You're welcome :D *waves arms magnanimously*
Yeah, so, how's it going there, with the whole 'hopeless-feels' thing? NO PEASANTS, STOP IT, I WILL NOT TOLERATE A REVOLUTION. GO BACK TO YOUR PLOTS OF 3-ACRE LAND AND REVIEW ON YOUR iSTONES. SHEESH. CAN'T A CZAR UPLOAD A CHAPTER WITHOUT A REVOLUTION?
I feel very Russian. Even though I am not. You may call me Czar Remy the One and Only.
Also, I've been laid up with the most horrific coughing for the past week or so, I'm just about ready to rip my own throat out with a toothpick, so I guess I decided to make Sam suffer alongside me. Only I haven't been coughing up blood... just grosser stuff. Ugh.
Hehe, I just realized - Dean Jonas. That makes them the Jonas brothers xD I've got to make a reference somewhere... *begins thinking*
Next chapter's one-thirds written, but it won't take long, I've got it all planned. My spring break lasts until next week, and after that updates might be a little less frequent, because school is an ass and I don't understand why I can't give this shit up and go be a hunter or something. I happen to be good at shooting things ^_^
Also, I got a couple of new readers so welcome, peasants, and be warned, I am slightly insane. Proceed at your own risk. I am completely serious. Thanks to those peasants who favorited and followed as well.
Okay, so I also wanted to ask you people something, to make this shitass long AN even longer, because I am Czar and will do whatever I want. Is there any song you associate with the Winchester brothers? If so, which ones?
For me, it's Nothing Else Matters by Metallica (of course), Cat and Mouse (Red Jumpsuit Apparatus), Live to Rise (Soundgarden) and Robot Boy by the epicness known as Linkin Park. As Czar, I hereby pronounce classic/contemporary rock (and Linkin Park) as a mandatory part of your education.
Reviewers get a nice 5-acre plot of land to grow potatoes on or whatever.
-Peace x