Clean Slate - Chapter Fifteen
Title: Clean Slate - Chapter Fifteen
Rating: T
Word Count: 2,056
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean, Bobby.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Summary: Death: 'Nasty, those memories. You don't want to know what they'll do to him.'
After an accident, Sam's memories of the last two years are wiped. What
starts out as a blessing soon turns into a curse as Sam's memories are
reawakened.
LIMP!HURT!SAM WORRIED!DEAN
Set S7 Episode 06 - Story picks up at the end of Slash Fiction and becomes AU.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: Up to Season Seven: Episode 6
Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta’ing this fic.
Chapter Fifteen
Dean hummed to himself as he exited the elevator and strolled along the corridor. He was in a good mood. The success of his diner bought breakfast for Sam had buoyed his mood. He had brought a chicken salad in to hopefully persuade Sam to eat lunch, too. If it meant his brother would eat, he would ship in diner food for every meal. If Dean could just get him eating properly, it would be a weight off his mind. Maybe it would even help Sam's mood.
As he passed the nurse's station, he nodded to Charlotte. She smiled back.
"How is he?" he asked.
Charlotte smiled. "He's good. He did well in PT this morning."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "He did?"
"I'll let him tell you about it."
Dean smiled and continued down the corridor a little faster. He was wondering if whatever had happened to him in PT would have lifted some of Sam's depression.
He pushed open Sam's door and stopped dead in his tracks. Sam was nowhere to be seen. The wheelchair was in the middle of the room, empty, and Sam's shoes were discarded on the floor.
"Sam?"
There was no response. Dean's fear ratcheted up another level. He scanned the room, and saw the bathroom door was ajar. Crossing the distance in three strides, he swung it open and froze in place at what he saw.
Sam was lying prone on the floor. His arms were twisted under him, as if he had tried and failed to break his fall. There was a gash on his temple, and blood had pooled beneath his head.
"Sammy?"
Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother and cupped his face in his hands. His skin was cool. Dean's heart pounded in his chest. With shaking hands, he pressed his fingers to Sam's neck. He exhaled a gust of relief when he felt the strong steady pounding of life beneath his fingers.
He reached to cradle his brother's head, but stopped himself in time. Sam had a head injury,. aA head injury on top of a previous brain bleed. Sam was in real danger, again.
"Okay, Sammy. Just hang on a little longer," he said.
Sam didn't respond. His eyes remained closed and his face was void of all emotion.
Dean yanked the pull cord beside the toilet, summoning help. He heard soft footsteps, and then Charlotte's voice.
"John, is everything…" She trailed off as she caught sight of Sam on the floor and Dean kneeling beside him. "Oh my." For a moment, she was stunned then cool professionalism took over. "Dean, I need some help. Go to the nurse's station and tell them what happened. If there is no one there, press the red button behind Sam's bed.
"But that's the code button! Sam's not…"
"No, Sam's going to be okay, but I need help, and that will get people in here faster."
Sensing the urgency of the moment, Dean pushed himself to his feet and ran from the room.
Beth was at the nurse's station along with a doctor Dean didn't know the name of.
"My brother's had an accident," he panted. "He needs help!"
They hurried around the counter and raced to Sam's room. Dean followed them at a run.
Dean wanted to be with his brother, but he knew that Beth and her colleagues would be better able to help him, so he stood back and let them work. Sounds became muted and Dean's vision blurred as he watched them working over his brother.
The doctor barked orders and people came and went from the room for supplies. Someone pressed a gauze pad to Sam's temple and another fastened a brace around his neck. An orderly wheeled in a gurney, and Dean watched with fear tightening his gut as they eased his unconscious brother from the floor.
As they wheeled Sam to the door, Dean found his voice. "Where are you taking him?"
"He's going to need a scan," the doctor said. "We're taking him down to radiology."
"Can I come?" Dean wasn't ready to be apart from his brother again.
"No family members allowed," the doctor said. "Sorry."
Dean watched as they wheeled Sam from the room. A hand rested on his arm, and Dean turned his head slowly to look at Charlotte.
"I've got to go with John now. Will you be okay?"
Dean shrugged. He didn't really know. He felt sick to his stomach.
Charlotte noted Dean's pale complexion. She led him to a chair and pressed a glass of water into his hand. "He'll be okay, Dean," she said reassuringly. "The scan is just a precaution." She patted him on the arm and turned to leave.
"Charlotte, you'll tell me a soon as there's news, right?"
She paused at the door and turned to look at him. "I promise."
Dean was still waiting for Sam to return when Bobby strode into the room. Dean's head snapped up as he saw the door open, and he sighed when he saw Bobby.
"Good to see you too," Bobby said irritably.
"I was hoping you were Sam." Dean said. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were hanging back at the motel, waiting for a call from Frank."
"I was, but I got a call from the hospital telling me Sam had taken a tumble and you needed me."
Dean looked up. "I didn't need you."
Bobby scowled. "Of course you don't. Mr. Dean Winchester doesn't need anybody but his brother. Well suck it up, princess. I am as much a part of this as you are. I care about Sam, too, and it shouldn't have been a nurse calling me up to tell me what happened; it should have been you."
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're right. I'm sorry. I was distracted, and I didn't think."
"You're forgiven," Bobby said with a smile. "Now tell me what happened."
"I don't really know. I found Sammy bleeding out on the bathroom floor."
Bobby visibly sagged on his feet. "How the hell did he end up in the bathroom?"
"He must have tried to take a walk and fell."
"He took a walk!" Bobby said incredulously. "That damn fool boy. What the hell was he thinking?"
Dean shrugged. "I don't know, but I intend to find out."
Bobby sank down into a chair and leaned forward with his hands on his knees. "You might want to go easy on him, Dean."
"Easy on him! Do you know what I thought when I found him on the floor? I thought he was dead. The idiot could have killed himself!"
"I know that, and I know how scared you must have been, but put yourself in Sam's position for a moment. He's been knocked on his ass by fate, and he's struggling to get back on his feet. You know how depressed he's been lately…"
"You think he knew this would happen? That he was trying to hurt himself?"
"God, no. I'm saying I understand how he feels. It wasn't all that long ago that I was wheeling it around the place. I remember that desperation to make it better. If I could have got out of that chair and taken a stroll around, I would have done it. No matter how much of a damn fool idea it was."
Dean considered Bobby's words carefully. He could understand Sam's desperation to make it better. He wanted his brother back to how he had been, too, but that didn't mean Sam should go taking risks. As demonstrated by what had just happened, he could get hurt.
Bobby and Dean allowed the silence to lengthen as they each sat in quiet contemplation as they waited for news. It came half an hour later. Charlotte entered the room and took in the sight of the two worried hunters. Their gaze snapped to her as she stepped inside.
"How is he?" Dean asked immediately.
"He's okay. He's on his way back now. The scan was clear; there was no sign of damage. He's a little sedate though. He woke in the MRI and was distressed so we gave him a light sedative."
"You doped him?" Bobby asked with a quirked brow.
"We needed him calm for the scan. It was a very light sedative. He'll be back to normal in no time."
A few minutes later, the door opened and Sam was wheeled inside. Dean saw immediately what they meant about him being sedate. His eyes were at half-mast and his expression was serene. There was a gauze dressing on his temple, covering the gash Dean had seen.
Sam was eased into his bed again and the room emptied of all but Sam, Dean and Bobby.
"Hey," Dean said. "How are you feeling?"
Sam blinked lazily and tried to focus his gaze on his brother. "Headache," he murmured.
"Yeah, I bet. You really cracked your head on the way down. Want to tell me how that happened?"
"Fell," Sam said laconically.
Bobby huffed a laugh. "We figured that part out for ourselves, son. What were you doing in the bathroom anyway?"
Sam raised his eyebrows. "What do you think?"
"I think you were pushing yourself too hard," Dean said, leaning forward in his chair and locking his eyes on Sam. "In short, I think you were being a damn idiot."
Through the haze of medication, Sam felt a pang of hurt. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal."
"Not a big deal?" Dean said angrily. "Do you know how scared I was when I saw you on the floor? I thought you were dead!"
Sam flinched. "I'm sorry. I walked alone in therapy today. I thought I could do it again."
"That's great when it's safe with people there to help you. Why couldn't you have just waited for me?"
"Because you wouldn't have let me."
Dean knew Sam was right. If his brother had told him that he was able to walk alone, he would have been thrilled, but he wouldn't have let him try it again. He would have been scared Sam would get hurt. He would have been right.
Sam let his head fall back against the pillow. "You can chew me out later, Dean. I'm tired now." He was tired, but more than that, he wanted to get away from his brother. He couldn't stand to see the accusation and disappointment in his eyes.
Dean saw his exhaustion, and he nodded. "Okay, Sammy. You get some sleep."
Sam closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift on the ebb and tide of sedatives.
When Sam awoke Dean was nowhere in sight. Bobby sat alone by his bedside, with a magazine in his hands. As Sam shifted on the bed, Bobby looked up and tossed his magazine onto the table.
"How're you feeling, son?"
"Better," Sam said. "Less stoned. Where's Dean?"
"I sent him out to get some dinner for us."
Sam was surprised that Dean had left him willingly. Least of all for something so simple as food.
"He wasn't keen on the idea," Bobby said. "But I told him I wanted some time alone with you to talk."
Sam looked at Bobby curiously. "What do you want to talk about?"
Bobby leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his chest. "About you and what's happened to you."
"What's happened? Bobby, I took a walk is all."
"I'm not talking about that. Although that was a damn fool move. I'm talking about that hole of depression you are sinking into."
Sam winced. He had thought he had hidden it better than that. If Bobby knew, it was a foregone conclusion that Dean knew, too. All his efforts to act normal were wasted. He felt like a failure. He had been trying to protect Dean and Bobby, and it was pointless.
"I can't help it," he said. "You don't know how it feels, Bobby. I'm worse than useless lying in this bed."
"You are not useless. You're healing."
"I'm wasting time!" Sam said savagely. "Worse than that, I'm putting other people at risk because of it. I lost two years, but I'm not stupid enough to think the world changed in those two years. There are still fuglys out there that need killing, and there are still people dying. You and Dean should be out there fighting them, but instead, you are wasting your time here with me."
"We're not wasting time," Bobby said sadly. "We're right where we should be."
Sam scoffed. "Taking care of the weak one."
"No, Sam. We're taking care of the strong one. You have been strong to come through all this, and you're still coming through it now. You need to give yourself time."
"Did you give yourself time, Bobby? After that demon landed you in a wheelchair."
"That was different, Sam. I had no chance of coming out of that chair on my own. It took me a damn demon deal. You're getting out of the chair. You just need to give yourself time."
"We don't have time, Bobby. Are you honestly telling me that here is where you should be? That there is nothing going on in the world that you should be dealing with?"
Bobby sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you, boy, bad stuff is happening."
"And you're not working it because you are here."
"We're here, but there are a dozen other hunters working on it. This time, it's not our responsibility to save the world."
Sam smirked. "And Dean's on board with this. He's the poster child for misplaced responsibility."
"Dean is exactly where he wants to be," Bobby said honestly. He and Dean were still working the Leviathan problem, but they were doing it with help for a change. Every other hunter Bobby knew was working towards taking out the leviathans.
Sam sighed. "This is all so messed up, Bobby. I don't know what to do anymore. I'm just so tired of it all."
"I know how you feel," Bobby said. "I carried a bullet around in my shirt pocket for a year, waiting for the day I would have the strength to load it into the gun and pull the trigger."
Sam frowned. He didn't want to think of Bobby like that.
Bobby saw the sadness in Sam's eyes and he hurried to reassure him. "I got through it. It took me getting out of the chair, but I did it, and you will too."
Sam understood that Bobby had been in a much darker place than the one he was inhabiting, and he had come out on the other side. If Bobby had done it, Sam could, too.
Bobby saw the change in Sam's eyes, and he grinned. "Now you're getting me. I'm not saying it's going to be easy. You're going to need to let us help you. Like you and your brother helped me. That means being honest about how you're feeling. No more trying to hide it."
"I know. I just…"
"Don't like admitting you need help?" Bobby guessed. "No one does."
Sam shook his head. It wasn't just that he didn't like admitting help; it was that he knew he needed more help than his brother and Bobby had to offer. Though he was loathe to admit it, he needed something more than emotional support.
"Bobby, you think you can get the doctor for me?" he asked.
Bobby's brow creased with concern. "You feeling okay?"
"Yeah, there's just something I need to ask her."
Bobby pushed to his feet and patted Sam on the arm. "Sure, I'll go find someone for you."
Sam watched him go, and leaned back against the pillow. He was going to have to swallow his pride and ask for some help for a change.
Bobby left the room and a few minutes later Doctor Saunders came in. "John, your uncle said you wanted to see me. Is everything okay?"
Sam pushed himself up in his bed. He didn't want to have this conversation lying back like an invalid; he already felt weak doing this.
He opened his mouth to speak, and the full story came pouring out-the depression he was feeling, the way it was taking over his life, and most of all the fact he couldn't claw his way out of it alone.
She nodded sympathetically as Sam told her his tale, and when he was finished, she smiled. "I know it's not easy to admit something like this. I'm glad you have come to me. We have different therapies available to you. The hospital has a comprehensive psychiatry department. I will ask for someone there to come talk to you."
"Can't you just give me some pills?" Sam asked.
"Medication is probably the way to go," she said. "But talking therapy is also vastly effective for someone in your position. You have suffered a trauma and now a loss with your amnesia. Talking to someone may help."
Sam shook his head. He couldn't talk to someone without hiding huge chunks of the story for their own protection, and his own. If he started talking about his guilt for almost ending the world, he would be in padded restraints by the end of the day.
"I'll arrange a psych consult and you can discuss your concerns with them."
Sam didn't like the idea of a psych consult, but he had put himself on this path and he would have to follow it through.
"Okay," he said eventually.
She smiled. "You're doing the right thing, John, seeking help. This isn't something you can do alone."
Sam knew she was right, but it didn't make it any easier to accept.
Rating: T
Word Count: 2,056
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean, Bobby.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Summary: Death: 'Nasty, those memories. You don't want to know what they'll do to him.'
After an accident, Sam's memories of the last two years are wiped. What
starts out as a blessing soon turns into a curse as Sam's memories are
reawakened.
LIMP!HURT!SAM WORRIED!DEAN
Set S7 Episode 06 - Story picks up at the end of Slash Fiction and becomes AU.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: Up to Season Seven: Episode 6
Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta’ing this fic.
Chapter Fifteen
Dean hummed to himself as he exited the elevator and strolled along the corridor. He was in a good mood. The success of his diner bought breakfast for Sam had buoyed his mood. He had brought a chicken salad in to hopefully persuade Sam to eat lunch, too. If it meant his brother would eat, he would ship in diner food for every meal. If Dean could just get him eating properly, it would be a weight off his mind. Maybe it would even help Sam's mood.
As he passed the nurse's station, he nodded to Charlotte. She smiled back.
"How is he?" he asked.
Charlotte smiled. "He's good. He did well in PT this morning."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "He did?"
"I'll let him tell you about it."
Dean smiled and continued down the corridor a little faster. He was wondering if whatever had happened to him in PT would have lifted some of Sam's depression.
He pushed open Sam's door and stopped dead in his tracks. Sam was nowhere to be seen. The wheelchair was in the middle of the room, empty, and Sam's shoes were discarded on the floor.
"Sam?"
There was no response. Dean's fear ratcheted up another level. He scanned the room, and saw the bathroom door was ajar. Crossing the distance in three strides, he swung it open and froze in place at what he saw.
Sam was lying prone on the floor. His arms were twisted under him, as if he had tried and failed to break his fall. There was a gash on his temple, and blood had pooled beneath his head.
"Sammy?"
Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother and cupped his face in his hands. His skin was cool. Dean's heart pounded in his chest. With shaking hands, he pressed his fingers to Sam's neck. He exhaled a gust of relief when he felt the strong steady pounding of life beneath his fingers.
He reached to cradle his brother's head, but stopped himself in time. Sam had a head injury,. aA head injury on top of a previous brain bleed. Sam was in real danger, again.
"Okay, Sammy. Just hang on a little longer," he said.
Sam didn't respond. His eyes remained closed and his face was void of all emotion.
Dean yanked the pull cord beside the toilet, summoning help. He heard soft footsteps, and then Charlotte's voice.
"John, is everything…" She trailed off as she caught sight of Sam on the floor and Dean kneeling beside him. "Oh my." For a moment, she was stunned then cool professionalism took over. "Dean, I need some help. Go to the nurse's station and tell them what happened. If there is no one there, press the red button behind Sam's bed.
"But that's the code button! Sam's not…"
"No, Sam's going to be okay, but I need help, and that will get people in here faster."
Sensing the urgency of the moment, Dean pushed himself to his feet and ran from the room.
Beth was at the nurse's station along with a doctor Dean didn't know the name of.
"My brother's had an accident," he panted. "He needs help!"
They hurried around the counter and raced to Sam's room. Dean followed them at a run.
Dean wanted to be with his brother, but he knew that Beth and her colleagues would be better able to help him, so he stood back and let them work. Sounds became muted and Dean's vision blurred as he watched them working over his brother.
The doctor barked orders and people came and went from the room for supplies. Someone pressed a gauze pad to Sam's temple and another fastened a brace around his neck. An orderly wheeled in a gurney, and Dean watched with fear tightening his gut as they eased his unconscious brother from the floor.
As they wheeled Sam to the door, Dean found his voice. "Where are you taking him?"
"He's going to need a scan," the doctor said. "We're taking him down to radiology."
"Can I come?" Dean wasn't ready to be apart from his brother again.
"No family members allowed," the doctor said. "Sorry."
Dean watched as they wheeled Sam from the room. A hand rested on his arm, and Dean turned his head slowly to look at Charlotte.
"I've got to go with John now. Will you be okay?"
Dean shrugged. He didn't really know. He felt sick to his stomach.
Charlotte noted Dean's pale complexion. She led him to a chair and pressed a glass of water into his hand. "He'll be okay, Dean," she said reassuringly. "The scan is just a precaution." She patted him on the arm and turned to leave.
"Charlotte, you'll tell me a soon as there's news, right?"
She paused at the door and turned to look at him. "I promise."
Dean was still waiting for Sam to return when Bobby strode into the room. Dean's head snapped up as he saw the door open, and he sighed when he saw Bobby.
"Good to see you too," Bobby said irritably.
"I was hoping you were Sam." Dean said. "What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were hanging back at the motel, waiting for a call from Frank."
"I was, but I got a call from the hospital telling me Sam had taken a tumble and you needed me."
Dean looked up. "I didn't need you."
Bobby scowled. "Of course you don't. Mr. Dean Winchester doesn't need anybody but his brother. Well suck it up, princess. I am as much a part of this as you are. I care about Sam, too, and it shouldn't have been a nurse calling me up to tell me what happened; it should have been you."
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "You're right. I'm sorry. I was distracted, and I didn't think."
"You're forgiven," Bobby said with a smile. "Now tell me what happened."
"I don't really know. I found Sammy bleeding out on the bathroom floor."
Bobby visibly sagged on his feet. "How the hell did he end up in the bathroom?"
"He must have tried to take a walk and fell."
"He took a walk!" Bobby said incredulously. "That damn fool boy. What the hell was he thinking?"
Dean shrugged. "I don't know, but I intend to find out."
Bobby sank down into a chair and leaned forward with his hands on his knees. "You might want to go easy on him, Dean."
"Easy on him! Do you know what I thought when I found him on the floor? I thought he was dead. The idiot could have killed himself!"
"I know that, and I know how scared you must have been, but put yourself in Sam's position for a moment. He's been knocked on his ass by fate, and he's struggling to get back on his feet. You know how depressed he's been lately…"
"You think he knew this would happen? That he was trying to hurt himself?"
"God, no. I'm saying I understand how he feels. It wasn't all that long ago that I was wheeling it around the place. I remember that desperation to make it better. If I could have got out of that chair and taken a stroll around, I would have done it. No matter how much of a damn fool idea it was."
Dean considered Bobby's words carefully. He could understand Sam's desperation to make it better. He wanted his brother back to how he had been, too, but that didn't mean Sam should go taking risks. As demonstrated by what had just happened, he could get hurt.
Bobby and Dean allowed the silence to lengthen as they each sat in quiet contemplation as they waited for news. It came half an hour later. Charlotte entered the room and took in the sight of the two worried hunters. Their gaze snapped to her as she stepped inside.
"How is he?" Dean asked immediately.
"He's okay. He's on his way back now. The scan was clear; there was no sign of damage. He's a little sedate though. He woke in the MRI and was distressed so we gave him a light sedative."
"You doped him?" Bobby asked with a quirked brow.
"We needed him calm for the scan. It was a very light sedative. He'll be back to normal in no time."
A few minutes later, the door opened and Sam was wheeled inside. Dean saw immediately what they meant about him being sedate. His eyes were at half-mast and his expression was serene. There was a gauze dressing on his temple, covering the gash Dean had seen.
Sam was eased into his bed again and the room emptied of all but Sam, Dean and Bobby.
"Hey," Dean said. "How are you feeling?"
Sam blinked lazily and tried to focus his gaze on his brother. "Headache," he murmured.
"Yeah, I bet. You really cracked your head on the way down. Want to tell me how that happened?"
"Fell," Sam said laconically.
Bobby huffed a laugh. "We figured that part out for ourselves, son. What were you doing in the bathroom anyway?"
Sam raised his eyebrows. "What do you think?"
"I think you were pushing yourself too hard," Dean said, leaning forward in his chair and locking his eyes on Sam. "In short, I think you were being a damn idiot."
Through the haze of medication, Sam felt a pang of hurt. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal."
"Not a big deal?" Dean said angrily. "Do you know how scared I was when I saw you on the floor? I thought you were dead!"
Sam flinched. "I'm sorry. I walked alone in therapy today. I thought I could do it again."
"That's great when it's safe with people there to help you. Why couldn't you have just waited for me?"
"Because you wouldn't have let me."
Dean knew Sam was right. If his brother had told him that he was able to walk alone, he would have been thrilled, but he wouldn't have let him try it again. He would have been scared Sam would get hurt. He would have been right.
Sam let his head fall back against the pillow. "You can chew me out later, Dean. I'm tired now." He was tired, but more than that, he wanted to get away from his brother. He couldn't stand to see the accusation and disappointment in his eyes.
Dean saw his exhaustion, and he nodded. "Okay, Sammy. You get some sleep."
Sam closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift on the ebb and tide of sedatives.
When Sam awoke Dean was nowhere in sight. Bobby sat alone by his bedside, with a magazine in his hands. As Sam shifted on the bed, Bobby looked up and tossed his magazine onto the table.
"How're you feeling, son?"
"Better," Sam said. "Less stoned. Where's Dean?"
"I sent him out to get some dinner for us."
Sam was surprised that Dean had left him willingly. Least of all for something so simple as food.
"He wasn't keen on the idea," Bobby said. "But I told him I wanted some time alone with you to talk."
Sam looked at Bobby curiously. "What do you want to talk about?"
Bobby leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his chest. "About you and what's happened to you."
"What's happened? Bobby, I took a walk is all."
"I'm not talking about that. Although that was a damn fool move. I'm talking about that hole of depression you are sinking into."
Sam winced. He had thought he had hidden it better than that. If Bobby knew, it was a foregone conclusion that Dean knew, too. All his efforts to act normal were wasted. He felt like a failure. He had been trying to protect Dean and Bobby, and it was pointless.
"I can't help it," he said. "You don't know how it feels, Bobby. I'm worse than useless lying in this bed."
"You are not useless. You're healing."
"I'm wasting time!" Sam said savagely. "Worse than that, I'm putting other people at risk because of it. I lost two years, but I'm not stupid enough to think the world changed in those two years. There are still fuglys out there that need killing, and there are still people dying. You and Dean should be out there fighting them, but instead, you are wasting your time here with me."
"We're not wasting time," Bobby said sadly. "We're right where we should be."
Sam scoffed. "Taking care of the weak one."
"No, Sam. We're taking care of the strong one. You have been strong to come through all this, and you're still coming through it now. You need to give yourself time."
"Did you give yourself time, Bobby? After that demon landed you in a wheelchair."
"That was different, Sam. I had no chance of coming out of that chair on my own. It took me a damn demon deal. You're getting out of the chair. You just need to give yourself time."
"We don't have time, Bobby. Are you honestly telling me that here is where you should be? That there is nothing going on in the world that you should be dealing with?"
Bobby sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you, boy, bad stuff is happening."
"And you're not working it because you are here."
"We're here, but there are a dozen other hunters working on it. This time, it's not our responsibility to save the world."
Sam smirked. "And Dean's on board with this. He's the poster child for misplaced responsibility."
"Dean is exactly where he wants to be," Bobby said honestly. He and Dean were still working the Leviathan problem, but they were doing it with help for a change. Every other hunter Bobby knew was working towards taking out the leviathans.
Sam sighed. "This is all so messed up, Bobby. I don't know what to do anymore. I'm just so tired of it all."
"I know how you feel," Bobby said. "I carried a bullet around in my shirt pocket for a year, waiting for the day I would have the strength to load it into the gun and pull the trigger."
Sam frowned. He didn't want to think of Bobby like that.
Bobby saw the sadness in Sam's eyes and he hurried to reassure him. "I got through it. It took me getting out of the chair, but I did it, and you will too."
Sam understood that Bobby had been in a much darker place than the one he was inhabiting, and he had come out on the other side. If Bobby had done it, Sam could, too.
Bobby saw the change in Sam's eyes, and he grinned. "Now you're getting me. I'm not saying it's going to be easy. You're going to need to let us help you. Like you and your brother helped me. That means being honest about how you're feeling. No more trying to hide it."
"I know. I just…"
"Don't like admitting you need help?" Bobby guessed. "No one does."
Sam shook his head. It wasn't just that he didn't like admitting help; it was that he knew he needed more help than his brother and Bobby had to offer. Though he was loathe to admit it, he needed something more than emotional support.
"Bobby, you think you can get the doctor for me?" he asked.
Bobby's brow creased with concern. "You feeling okay?"
"Yeah, there's just something I need to ask her."
Bobby pushed to his feet and patted Sam on the arm. "Sure, I'll go find someone for you."
Sam watched him go, and leaned back against the pillow. He was going to have to swallow his pride and ask for some help for a change.
Bobby left the room and a few minutes later Doctor Saunders came in. "John, your uncle said you wanted to see me. Is everything okay?"
Sam pushed himself up in his bed. He didn't want to have this conversation lying back like an invalid; he already felt weak doing this.
He opened his mouth to speak, and the full story came pouring out-the depression he was feeling, the way it was taking over his life, and most of all the fact he couldn't claw his way out of it alone.
She nodded sympathetically as Sam told her his tale, and when he was finished, she smiled. "I know it's not easy to admit something like this. I'm glad you have come to me. We have different therapies available to you. The hospital has a comprehensive psychiatry department. I will ask for someone there to come talk to you."
"Can't you just give me some pills?" Sam asked.
"Medication is probably the way to go," she said. "But talking therapy is also vastly effective for someone in your position. You have suffered a trauma and now a loss with your amnesia. Talking to someone may help."
Sam shook his head. He couldn't talk to someone without hiding huge chunks of the story for their own protection, and his own. If he started talking about his guilt for almost ending the world, he would be in padded restraints by the end of the day.
"I'll arrange a psych consult and you can discuss your concerns with them."
Sam didn't like the idea of a psych consult, but he had put himself on this path and he would have to follow it through.
"Okay," he said eventually.
She smiled. "You're doing the right thing, John, seeking help. This isn't something you can do alone."
Sam knew she was right, but it didn't make it any easier to accept.