Sam was dying. No one had said as much but Dean could see it in the eyes of Pastor Jim and Bobby. Sam had not woken up, at first they thought it was a good sign of the boy getting some much needed rest but as the night drew on and Sam's fever spiked going from 101 to 105 in a matter of hours Dean knew that this was far from a positive turn. Around 2 in the morning Bobby brought in someone, some sort of doctor friend Dean assumed. The women checked Sam, blood pressure, temperature, did a lot of poking and prodding with a solemn expression, frowning at the results each time.
Bobby was with ner now, talking in hushed tones in the kitchen as Dean sat on the floor by the couch, holding Sam's hand. Jim was sitting across the room, head bowed and hands clasped together and wearing such a solemn expression Dean's mouth curled into a scowl. Asking God for help? What the hell would that do, if God intended to help he would have never let Sam fall into the hands of demons. Dean squeezed Sam's hand, begging silently for Sam to squeeze back. "Come on little bro" He whispered. "You can pull through this man, you're out, we got you out, you just gotta not give up now." Sam didn't answer, just lay nearly motionless aside from the tremors that spasmed through him.
Is this why John left? He couldn't be there to watch his Son die? Just another way for him to leave Dean alone to watch over Sammy. "Please Sam." Dean whispered, laying his head on the couch next to Sam's chest. "Please you can't leave me." Dean's breath grew tight as the full weight of reality began to seep through the cracks in his mind. Was this really happening? He had felt like he was living a nightmare for months but he always had faith they would find Sam, that Sam would get better, that things would be okay and now-
"Dean."
Dean looked up, Bobby stood in the kitchen, face emotionless as he nodded to the kitchen, becoming Dean to come.. Dean got up slowly, letting Sam's hand fall limply to the cushion as he let go. His legs felt like jello, not listening to his commands as he nearly stumbled, catching himself against the wall.
"This is Dr Freshcot, she's in the know." Bobby introduced Dean to the women who stood tall, nearly taller than Bobby with tight blond curls that gave the illusion of youth on the aging face.
"Dean your brother isn't well, I understand he was introduced to some kind of supernatural drug?" The Dr spoke softly, a motherly tone that made Dean want to cry. He needed to get ahold of himself, needed to stop his emotions from spirling.
Dean steadied himself, remembering his training and letting out a slow breath before speaking "Yes Ma'am, first time we have encountered it. Is there anything you can do?" He couldn't help the bud of hope that showed through his eyes.
The woman shook her head. "I can set up an IV, give him fluids, but i am afraid his symptoms are past that." She pursed her lips as she paused. "Normally we would take him to the hospital and administer a dose of the drug, let him get off of it slowly, give his body time to cope but without knowing the kind of drug or having access to it, anything the hospital gives him could equally cause his body to shut down."
Shutting down
It was such a nice way to say dying
"John isn't here" Bobby said softly, putting a strong hand on Dean's shoulder. "I can make the choice if you want lad, but he is your brother so it is up to you."
"I'm sorry we don't have more time, there is a chance that Sam can still pull through this here, being in a comfortable place is good, and I can start an IV which may help some." Dr Freshcot gave a comforting smile. "There is no wrong choice."
"So." Dean let out a breath, willing his throat to work, willing the words to come out as mature and confident. "Either he stays here and probably dies, or goes to the hospital where he will either for sure die or maybe get better." He wasn't sure how well he kept the tremors out of his voice but judging by Bobby's hand tightening on his shoulder it wasn't great.
"'Fraid so son." Bobby said gently. "You don't have to choose, no one expects you to. If you give me your permission I will make the decision instead."
That was tempting, god was that tempting, to put all the blame on Bobby. Dean trusted Bobby, he did, and if Sam did "Shut down" Dean could move on knowing it wasn't his decision, knowing that Bobby was the one who had made the call.
"No," Dean said, attempting to stand up straighter, to calm his rapid heartbeat. "No, I know Sam and if he could choose he wouldn't want to be in a hospital." He looked at the doctor "Can you get some of the drugs they would give him? Maybe try doing it here?"
She frowned "Dean are you sure? They could do blood work, maybe find similarities between the drugs we have and the ones in his system."
"There isn't anything like what he has, '' Dean said confidently. "They won't find a match for this stuff, but maybe something that matched his symptoms." Dean glanced at Bobby who nodded in agreement, giving encouragement to his plan. "This stuff, it made him compliant, shut down, like he couldn't think anymore." He said, remembering the video and what John said.
"That could be a lot of things." Dr Freshcot said in thought. "But I will bring what I can and if this is what you want we can do a small dose, see if his body reacts to it."
Dean nodded, his heart thudding in his chest with the anxiety of the decision. The bead of hope was struggling to survive the waves that kept pounding his breath. Dr Freshcot said something else and then Bobby but Dean couldn't hear them, the ocean was so loud now, crashing against him and shoving his thoughts around keeping him from focusing on things. He needed to get it together, needed to figure this out, he needed Sam to be okay, needed to know he was making the right decision, he needed John, needed his Dad.
Bobby was looking at him now, saying something else with a frown. He took Dean's arm and glided him to a chair, sitting him down. Dean didn't realize how close he was to falling over until he collapsed in the chair, head hung low, arms against his chest begging himself to just breathe.
Bobby placed something in his hands, he spoke some more but Dean couldn't hear it, put a hand on Dean's back and began rubbing it slowly.
Mom
His mom used to do that, used to hold him in her arms and rub his back as he cried.
He had done something, what was it? Something to do with a cat, right, there was a cat in the yard and Dean wanted to play with it, he just wanted to pet it and it was so pretty, orange with yellow eyes. They didn't own a cat, but the neighbors did, and its name was Spooky. He wanted to pet spooky and the cat came right up and lied down, rolling in the dirt. When Dean went to pet its belly Spooky had scratched him, a small cut on his face, Dean was confused and hurt and he started crying, Marry came out and picked him up and started rubbing his back, hushing him softly and humming to him.
He had done the same to Sam after the fire, but he wasn't always able to pick him up well, couldn't cradle him like Marry, couldn't hold with one hand a rub with the other, couldn't hum like she could, Sam had gotten a lousy excuse for a mother.
Was he crying? Dean looked down at his lap to see a smooth stone in his hand, rubbed and polished with years of handling. He rubbed his thumb in the small crease focusing on how it felt. Smooth, no ridges, no bumps, just gentle and small and cold to his fingers.
"Hey there ya go son." Bobby spoke gently, continuing his rhythmic touch.
The waves were quieter now, Dean was able to focus on the stone, focus on the touch. "Sam." He breathed out, breath hitching.
"You made a good decision Dean." Bobby said. "It was the right call no matter what."
"Where is John?" Dean asked, noticing the fresh teardrops on his jeans. He reached up to rub his eye, quickly getting rid of the evidence though he was sure it made no difference.
"Hasn't answered the phone." Bobby said with a frown. "I've left him messages but it isn't even ringing. I'm sure whatever he is doing it is something to help."
Dean barked out a cold laugh. "Sure, he's probably out helping someone, doing something to save someone but it sure as hell isn't his own damn son."
Bobby gave no reply to that, but he did take his hand away as Dean sat up straighter, and didn't mention it when Dean continued to feel the stone, rubbing the circle repeatedly over the small ridge.
"How long until we know if the drug helps?" Dean asked, and Bobby shrugged. "She's gonna sneak some out for us, might take her a bit of time but without Sam being an official patient we got to keep things off the books. She'll be back as soon as she can."
As soon as she could prove to be 2 1 ⁄ 2 hours, Dean went from pacing the floor, to sitting with Sam, to calling John, obsessively checking his phone, making sure the volume was on, and feeling his rage build with every beep of the voicemail.
"Where are you Dad?" He nearly yelled once, taking a step into the cool night air as if to feign privacy. "Where the hell are you? Sam isn't well. He's going to" Deans choke on the words, anger threatening to turn to sobs "He's not well Dad, and he needs you, I need you." Dean didn't send that message, choosing to press 7 to erase and hang up without saying a word. It didn't matter what he said John wasn't going to show up.
By the time Sam got the drugs he wasn't well. The tremors turned to spasms, Dean didn't recognize them as seizures until the doctor mentioned it. She administered the drug through the IV and Dean sat, every molecule in his body on edge as he watched his brother. Sam showed no change, until he stopped breathing.
