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Sam was trapped.
Darkness swirled around him, painful, suffocating.
He couldn't move. He couldn't even scream for help.
Couldn't scream for Dean.
There were things in the darkness. Things that would laugh at him, that would hurt him. He could feel their claws and teeth tear into his flesh, their putrid breath as they whispered in his ears.
He never saw them, not completely. Mostly he just saw their eyes. The eyes glowed. The eyes mocked him. He would see them from away, and then they would disappear—only to reappear right in front of his face.
The torture was constant. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape, nor could he remember how he got there. All he really cared about was Dean—where was he? Was he okay?
Was he trapped here too?
"Dean!" he tried to scream, but his voice wouldn't work. His mouth didn't even move.
Help me. Please, Dean, somebody, help me.
Jenny was singing to John Doe.
Her shift had ended two hours ago, but she'd still remained with the boy. She had the weekend off, so today she didn't have to worry about getting home early to sleep.
Jenny ran her fingers through the young man's hair, singing an old hymnal she'd learned as a child. Her mother had always sung it to her when she was sick, and in turn she'd sung it to her son when he was a child.
She'd learned a long time ago that it was always good to stimulate a coma patient's senses, by talking to them, touching them, things like that. That's why she always read or sang to him, and made sure to hold his hand or stroke his hair. Occasionally she thought she saw a finger or an eyelid twitch, but she couldn't be sure.
She went to tuck his hair behind his ear when her fingers suddenly brushed against something wet. Jenny frowned and leaned forward to get a better look.
A single tear was trickling out of the corner of his eye.
While Jenny knew it was good that his body was reacting to something, a sudden pain in her chest made it hard to breathe. "Oh, honey," she whispered, wiping the tear away as her own eyes began to moisten.
Dean tore down the hospital hallway, glancing at room numbers. He'd finally arrived at the hospital Sam had been transferred to, and as soon as the receptionist had given him a room number he was gone.
"Where the hell are you, Sam?" he muttered.
Finally he spotted the number he was looking for and slowed. Someone was in there, he could hear their voice. But his hesitation lasted less than a second and then he was barreling into the room.
There was a woman there. Her graying hair was pulled up in a tight bun and she was dressed in scrubs, so she must have been a nurse. Her back was turned, and Dean could hear that she was the one speaking. She was brushing her hand over Sam's cheek.
Sam.
An oxygen cord ran under his nose, he was hooked up to an IV and several different beeping monitors, and goddammit, he looked so damn small and young. His face was horribly pale, eyes sunken, lips chapped. And he was still, way too still. Sam had always been a restless sleeper. Now the only moving he did was to breathe.
"Sammy?" he finally croaked.
The woman jumped and quickly turned in her seat. "Hello?" she called to him, standing up. "Can I help you?"
Dean ignored her approached the bed slowly. "Oh, god, Sammy—" his voice cracked and he reached out to take Sam's hand.
The nurse gasped. "You know him?" she asked.
Dean nodded. "He's my little brother."
If Dean didn't have his back turned, he would've seen the huge grin on her face. "What's his name?" she asked.
"Sam. Sam Willard." Dean sank into the chair previously occupied by the nurse. "What's wrong with him?"
"Let me call his doctor, and he'll explain everything."
Jenny pressed the call button for the doctor and then turned to study the man holding John Doe's—no, Sam's hand.
"Hey Sammy," he said quietly. "'S good to finally see you again."
His voice sounded so weary and broken that Jenny had to fight back tears and restrain herself from pulling him into a tight hug.
Finally Dr. Widener entered the room. Jenny immediately waved him over to the bed, saying, "Dr. Widener, the patient's name is Sam Willard, and this is his brother . . ."
"Dean," the man supplied. He looked up at the doctor. "What's wrong with him?"
The doctor reached out and quickly shook Dean's hand with a polite smile. "Well, your brother here was brought in as a John Doe. He didn't have any ID on him, and his phone was broken, which is why we weren't able to call any of his emergency contacts. We don't know exactly how he obtained his injuries, but here's what we do know: Sam has some bruising on his torso and two broken ribs. His left shoulder has what appears to be an animal bite of some kind, but we're having some trouble identifying it. Whatever it was had plenty of small, sharp teeth that caused a bit of nerve damage that required microsurgery and lots of stitches."
"Nerve damage?" Dean asked, his stomach twisting. "What does that mean?"
"I can assure you, it's very minor. He might have some stiffness and occasional phantom pains, and there will be a small area on his shoulder—about an inch in diameter—where he won't have any feeling, but other than that it should be fine. Part of the problem with the bite is that it wasn't just a bite—whatever it was took a chunk of Sam with it."
Dean clenched his fists. Oh, when he found the thing that hurt Sammy . . .
"Unfortunately, Sam will have an ugly scar," the doctor was saying, "But as long as it's given the proper treatment it shouldn't cause too much trouble. Now, he also had a mild concussion, but we suspect that may just be from when he collapsed and struck his head on the asphalt. We've taken care of it already."
"What about the coma?" Dean asked. "Why won't he wake up?"
Dr. Widener sighed. "I'm afraid that's what we're worried about. We've run every test in the book, but we just don't know what's causing this. It's like he fell asleep and can't wake up."
"So," Dean swallowed thickly, "There's really nothing you can do?"
The doctor smiled sympathetically. "I promise you, Mr. Willard, we aren't giving up. We'll keep a close eye on him, and we can experiment with different treatments to see if we can wake him up. Oh, and one other thing I think you should know—" the doctor reached into his pocket and produced a small Petri dish. "We found this substance in his eyes. We've run several tests, but so far we haven't learned anything about it. Would you happen to have any idea what it is?"
Dean reached out and took the Petri dish, peering in through the plastic lid. A few grains of what looked like black sand speckled the interior. The ridges caught the light a bit, giving the grains an almost crystalline appearance. Dean frowned and turned the dish from side to side, wracking his brain. Finally he shook his head. "Sorry, I got nothing." He started to hand it back, but paused. "You mind if I take a picture of it?" he asked.
Dr. Widener shrugged. "That would be fine."
Dean quickly whipped out his phone and snapped a picture before handing the dish back. The doctor nodded politely before excusing himself to go tend to other patients, and Dean sank back into the plastic chair next to Sam.
He started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see the nurse smiling down kindly at him. She pulled up another chair and sat next to him. "We didn't get properly introduced," she said, sticking her hand out. "I'm Nurse Jenny Faith. Call me Jenny."
Dean shook her hand, but frowned slightly. "You don't have other patients to take care of?"
She waved a dismissive hand. "My shift ended two hours ago."
Dean's eyebrows rose. "And you're still here?"
Jenny looked over at Sam with a smile and rested a hand on his arm. "I guess you could say I've taken a bit of a shine to your brother. He sort of reminds me of my own son, and it just upset me to know that he was here all alone . . ." she shrugged. "During breaks and after my shifts I started spending time with him. It's always good to talk to coma patients, so I would read or sing to him. The thought of this young man being in a hospital with no one to be with him . . . I just couldn't do that to him."
Dean was shocked. Never in their lives had some complete stranger show this amount of kindness to either of them. She was using up her breaks and staying at the hospital hours after her shift –she could be relaxing at home right now, and instead she was choosing to stay with Sam.
Dean's heart swelled and suddenly he felt very indebted to this woman. "Thank you," he said softly.
"No thanks necessary, dear," she smiled. "It's just my job—as a nurse and as a mother, even if he isn't my son." She looked over at Dean. "Would you like to have some time alone with him?"
"Please," he nodded.
Jenny stood and squeezed his shoulder once before exiting the room.
As soon as she was gone, Dean dug his phone out of his pocket. He quickly dialed a number and waited for an answer.
"You find 'im?" Bobby's gruff voice immediately greeted him through the receiver without preamble.
"Yeah, but . . ." Dean took a breath and ran a hand over his face. "It's not good."
"What's wrong?"
Dean spent the next few minutes filling Bobby in on everything he'd learned about Sam and his condition. "The doctor says it's like he just went to sleep and can't wake up. They also found something that looks like black sand in his eyes—hang on; I'll send you a picture."
After a few moments Bobby acknowledged that he'd received the photo. "Alright, I'll hit the books. Call if you need anything. You take care of that boy."
"I will. Thanks, Bobby." Dean ended the call and stuffed his phone back in his pocket before silently taking Sam's hand once again.
Sorry the chapters are so short, but maybe this way I'll be able to keep updates relatively frequent. Also I have absolutely no medical knowledge whatsoever, so sorry if I get shit wrong.
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