Dean shoved his half-eaten cafeteria grilled cheese out of way as a nurse and Dr. O'Brien wheeled Sam's bed back into the room.
The doctor, sweat beaded on his brow, his green scrubs smeared with red in places, smiled, "He did great."
Dean nodded. Sam looked nearly the same as he had that morning, before he'd gone into surgery but for the new bandages mummifying his left arm from shoulder to fingertip.
"That's it?" Dean asked, "No more surgeries?"
The doctor shook his head, "While we were amputating his fingers, we took care of the rest of his arm. All he needs to do now is heal."
The hunter sighed with relief and brushed his brother's bangs back from his brow. That morning, before he had gone under the knife again, Sam had been in and out of consciousness, still quite dazed and groggy. Dean had decided not to tell him about everything that had happened until his brother was more lucid. Now that he didn't have to have more surgeries, and he could just focus on healing, Dean hoped his brother would regain his mental clarity quickly.
"Sam should wake up from the anesthetic soon," Dr. O'Brien told Dean, "If he's in pain, press the call bell."
The older Winchester assured the doctor he would.
"Oh Sammy," Dean murmured gently to his brother as soon as they were alone in the room, "I've got so much to tell you… not all of its good. But we'll make the best of it, we'll get through it together, just like we always do."
Dean paused, taking a large bite of his sandwich.
"You're a fighter," Dean continued, talking with food in his mouth, "You won't let this stop you."
W
Forty-five minutes later Sam's eyelids began to twitch.
Dean leaned forward and murmured encouragements to his sibling. He carefully squeezed his brother's uninjured right hand.
"C'mon Sammy," he whispered, "C'mon man, open your eyes. I know you can. C'mon."
His brother eyes twitched again, his fingers jittering against Dean's steady ones. Dr. O'Brien had arranged for Sam to start his new medication- along with something called 'pregabalin' for nerve pain- once he'd come out of surgery.
"Sammy," Dean whispered his brother's name, his face inches from his brother's, "Wake up, Sammy, c'mon."
Slowly, as though they weighed a ton, Sam's eyelids lifted halfway and the younger Winchester gazed tiredly at his brother.
Dean smiled and squeezed his brother's hand tightly.
"Atta boy, Sammy," he crowed.
"D'nnn," the raspy voice whispered, barely audible.
"I'm right here, Sammy," Dean assured him, "I'm not going anywhere."
"Huur'sss," Sam breathed, "Huur'sss."
"Okay," Dean murmured and reached with his free hand to press the call bell, "I'll get the nurse. She'll give you something for the pain."
Sam closed his eyes again, the lashes suddenly moist.
Dean frowned and grabbed a tissue from the box on the bedside dresser. He dabbed at his brother's face, shocked that his brother was crying and wondered just how much pain he was in.
The door to the room opened and a nurse appeared.
"Sam's awake but he's in a lot of pain," he told her, tossing the tissue into the garbage can beside the bed.
The nurse nodded and left.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean told his brother, a sharp pain in his throat making it difficult to talk, "We'll get you something for the pain."
The nurse returned, this time holding two plastic cups; one filled with water, the other containing two small, white capsules.
"Sammy," Dean squeezed his brother's uninjured shoulder, "Wake up, man. The nurse has some pills for you."
The nurse instructed Dean to use the buttons on the side of the railing to raise the head of the bed enough so that his brother could take the pills without choking. As he did as instructed, Sam opened his eyes again, his gaze glazed.
The nurse stood on the opposite side of her patient from Dean and spoke in a soft tone.
"Sam?" she said his name and his eyes slowly slid to look at her, "I'm going to give you a couple of pills. They'll help with your pain. Do you think you can take them for me?"
After a moment's hesitation the younger man jerked his head once. The nurse tipped the cup with the capsules against his lips, and then lowered it.
"Here's the water," she told him and brought the cup with water to his mouth.
Sam took a sip and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.
"Do you need more?" the nurse asked and gave him some more water.
Once Sam had had his fill, he closed his eyes and sighed.
Dean thanked the nurse but didn't put the bed back down right away. Sam needed to know what he was going to have to look forward to and Dean wanted to tell him sooner rather than later.
"Sam?" Dean leaned foreword and spoke at slightly raised volume, "You awake?"
His brother opened his eyes, all the way this time and looked at him without turning his head.
"I've gotta tell you some things, Sammy," Dean told him, finding his brother's uninjured hand again and gave it a squeeze, "And they're not all good."
W
Dean took a sip of the coffee he'd poured into the stupid Styrofoam cup and promptly burnt his tongue, badly.
"Son of a bitch!" he swore, glancing over his shoulder at the little girl who was starting at him, wide-eyed.
"Sorry," he muttered and fitted the plastic lid over the cup and slouched away from the coffee machine.
He found himself an empty table and sank into the hard metal chair. It was getting close to dinnertime at the hospital and the cafeteria was bustling with patients, family members, nurses and doctors all trying to get something halfway decent to eat before continuing on their own journeys.
Dean wasn't the least bit hungry. In fact, he really felt sick to his stomach. He'd reminded Sam about the lighting bolt that had struck him down, then, probably against his better judgment, told him exactly why he was in the hospital.
Whenever Dean closed his eyes, even if it was just to blink, he couldn't get the sight of his brother's face out of his mind: his pale face growing even whiter, the eyes large and disbelieving, mouth poised to deny what his older sibling was telling him.
Sam hadn't yelled, hadn't cried. He simply closed his eyes as though this was the dream, and refused to look at Dean again. Eventually the older brother had gotten up and left the room, his heart aching.
He knew Sam would come to grips with what had happened- he had no other choice- but right now he was still processing and Dean needed to respect that. Even though all he wanted to do was to hug his baby brother, have Sam cry on his shoulder, speak comforting words to him like he would do when they were kids and then everything would be okay again.
Dean knew that this was not like when they were kids and he would slap a Band-Aid on Sam's scraped knee or bumped elbow, kiss the top of his head and minutes later all hurts would be forgotten about. These wounds would not be healed overnight; this pain would not be eased with a kiss and a hug; the struggles had only just begun.
Dean jumped in his seat as his cell phone rang and vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he checked the caller ID and swore; he'd forgotten to call Bobby.
"Hey," he answered listlessly, putting on no false pretenses.
"Oh good," Bobby grumbled, "I was starting to think you'd fallen of the edge of the Earth."
When Dean didn't reply right away, the veteran hunter asked, "Shit, what's wrong now?"
Dean, that pain in his throat again, told Bobby everything that had happened since he has last spoken to him.
"Sam'll be all right," Bobby assured him, "He's tough. This is a big shock for anyone. He just needs time to process."
"What if he hates me? He's the one who wanted to leave the graveyard and I just yelled at him! He wouldn't even look at me after I told him about… about…"
Dean hadn't realized he'd started crying, something that he would be extremely embarrassed to do in public- but then again, he was in a hospital and those around him were no strangers to seeing grown men break down in tears- but he couldn't seem to stop.
"Pull yourself together!" Bobby snapped, "Blubbering like a baby ain't gonna help your brother!"
Dean sniffed and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt, took a large drink of coffee and nodded.
"You're right," he muttered.
"'Course I'm right," Bobby told him, "I'm always right."
"Now," he continued, "You leave Sam alone tonight. Don't go back to his room. Go straight back to the motel."
"But-" Dean began, only to be interrupted.
"Yer brother needs to think through this on his own," the older hunter told him, "And he can't do that with you hovering around him like some helicopter parent."
Dean sighed, "Okay… I guess I could do that."
"You will," Bobby corrected him.
"I'm just-" He tried again but was again stopped.
"Sam doesn't hate you. He may be angry, yeah, but he doesn't hate you. Neither of you could have known what would happen. He knows that."
Dean nodded even though Bobby couldn't see it.
"Go back tomorrow and don't mention it," the veteran hunter advised, "Just focus on getting Sam better."
"Okay," Dean told him, "I will."
"I really wanna see you two," Bobby told that and ended the call.
Dean chugged the rest of his coffee and left the cafeteria, walking out the front doors of the hospital and into the parking lot where he'd left the car. He felt a little bad for leaving Sam without saying goodbye, but he knew Bobby was right; his brother needed time to think things over and he didn't need him mother henning him all evening.
W
That night Dean ordered pizza and watched a Death Wish marathon on TV in his motel room and forced himself not to worry about his brother at all.
Sam was in good hands; Dr. O'Brien was a capable and competent surgeon and would take care of.
That night, when Dean laid his head down on the lumpy motel pillow to sleep, he had a dreamless slumber.
Author's Note:
Thanks to Zeldalsis, need2no, jensensgirl3, TXKimsonFan, TweetyRulz, bagelcat1, reannablue, Trucklady53, mandancie, AlxM, elliereynolds777 and Guest for reviewing.
Please leave a review and I'll try and post again really soon!
