Keep The Empty From His Eyes 5/6

[lennelle]

Summary: John gets what he wished for, Sam pays the price.

Previous chapter



It must have been quite a sight, Dean thought, to see Bobby and two of the Winchesters hauling a deathly pale and bloody boy into a waiting room. A woman rocking her feverish child had looked up and gasped, a construction worker nursing his hand had yelped.

The bright, clean lights of the hospital only made Sam look worse. There was no trace of colour in his skin; nothing but dark red dripping a long trail onto the linoleum flooring. The nurse behind the desk had gasped and jumped from her seat. Dean realised that she must have only hesitated for barely a second but it was too long. He shouted at her, he doesn't remember what he said, but she had flinched as she'd made an urgent call.

Doctors and nurses came in from all sides, Dean wondered what they'd been doing if they could just appear when needed. Sam had been pulled from his arms and settled onto a gurney, Dean hadn't let go of him, even if his fingers barely touched Sam's shoulder, he wouldn't let go. He wouldn't let Sam think he was alone.

He'd been pushed back, or pulled away, or both. The point was that Dean wasn't near his little brother anymore, Sam was being wheeled down a corridor and he wasn't allowed to follow. Dean's feet were moving by instinct, blindly stepping in Sam's direction. There was a hand on his shoulder and he stopped, turning to face his father.

"Let them help him, Dean, we can't do anything else for him.

He'd nodded, feeling numb and half awake, like he was stuck in a dream. He didn't realise his hands were shaking until his father grabbed a hold of them to keep him steady. Dean looked down and all he saw was red. Stained fingers; wet and cold and red.

He mostly stumbled to the bathroom to wash Sam's blood from his hands, Bobby followed him quietly. He scrubbed, watching with morbid fascination as the water turned pink. His hands were still red, he scrubbed harder, digging the dry flecks of blood from under his nails. He scrubbed harder. His hands wouldn't be clean.

The next thing he knew he was throwing up into a toilet, Bobby's strong, rough hands were rubbing his back gently, speaking softly in with the most comforting words he could think of. Dean didn't hear any of it; he just heard the witch's voice. Make yourself bleed. Sam did.

He spent a few moments sitting on the floor of the cubical trying to breath. Bobby stood quietly in the doorway, giving him some time. He got his breath back and got to his feet, straightening himself out; he flushed the toilet and shouldered his way past Bobby. When he washed his hands again he noticed the blood was all gone.

He looked up, coming face to face with himself; his skin was pale, making the freckles across his nose stand out, his eyes were red and wet, he quickly wiped at them. When he turned back Bobby was still there and he gestured for Dean to go with him. Bobby patted his shoulder as they walked back to the waiting room.

John was waiting by the desk, he swallowed when he saw them. Dean felt his heart stop. John seemed to sense Dean's dread and he hurried forward, shaking his head.

"No, Sam's fine…" he stopped and looked away quickly before looking back to his son, "They're still treating him, he's not…"

Not dead. Dean nodded shakily.

"They want us to go to a different waiting room," he went on, casting a glance around. Most of the people seemed to have minor injuries; something a couple of stitches or a prescription would fix. Most people seemed to be staring at them too, no doubt because they'd witnessed their dramatic entrance.

Dean turned back and nodded, "Sure," his voice was croaky, he cleared his throat, "Where, uh, where?"

John just nodded his head in one direction and mouthed, 'Come one'. They followed a coloured line down the corridor which led to a much smaller waiting room. There weren't as many people waiting but the ones who were either crying, trying not to cry, or had done very recently.

"Mr Winchester?" Dean startled when a nurse approached them.

"Is Sam okay?" John asked immediately. The nurse smiled sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't have any news for you," she said, "I need you to fill out some forms."

She handed John a clipboard of papers and pens. "We'll let you know as soon as we can," she promised. John gave her a dismissive shake of his head and she left.

They took three seats as far from the other people in the room as they could. John sighed and scratched his pen down the list.

"You can use my insurance," Bobby offered, holding out his hand for the pen. John was frozen for a moment, like he'd honestly not thought Bobby would offer. He nodded gratefully and handed the pen over.

Bobby left soon after, promising to return once he'd cleaned up at home. Dean thinks he wanted to give the two of them some space and he was grateful for that. As much as he appreciated everything Bobby had done for them he still needed some time with just his family.

The time they spent together was silent. John gritted his teeth and stared at the floor, Dean followed the hand tick by on the clock opposite, watching each second count away until a few hours had passed.

He has to be okay.

"He's a tough kid, he'll be okay," John assured him, though there was a feeling of dread in his words. Dean startled, he hadn't noticed he'd said anything out loud.

"He said my name," Dean said, "He recognised me."

"He did," John agreed, "I think the spell broke."

Dean nodded, "I think it's because of what you said to him; that you needed him and you wanted him to do what he wanted."

John didn't say anything and at first Dean thought he was ignoring him until he noticed a doctor wearing scrubs striding towards them.

"Samuel Winchester's family?" She asked. The two of them stood up and followed her without another word. The doctor was young, smaller than both Winchesters but she set her shoulders in a way which made it seem like you wouldn't be able to knock her off her feet. She moved with as surety which comforted Dean.

She held a door open for them and walked into an office. They all took seats around an orderly desk.

"My name is Doctor Wells, I've been treating Samuel since he arrived in the ER. Samuel had a very close call," she informed them. Dean was thankful she'd just cut straight to it, "But we managed to keep him with us."

"Sam's okay?" Dean sighed with relief. The doctor's mouth set into a thin line.

"Samuel lost a lot of blood," she said clearly, "This was a very serious suicide attempt."

"He didn't try to kill himself," Dean blurted, John grabbed his shoulder and squeezed hard.

The doctor eyed him for a moment before her expression turned sympathetic, "I understand it can be difficult to understand why a close relative might do something like this."

"He understands," John cut across before Dean could say anything, "He's just a little overwhelmed." He squeezed Dean's shoulder a little tighter and Dean decided to keep his mouth shut.

"Of course," the doctor agreed, "I just wanted to fill you in on Samuel's current condition, as well as what our next steps are towards him making a full recovery, then I'll take you to see him."

Dean's foot began to tap impatiently.

"Sam had lost a lot of blood when he arrived, we managed to give him transfusions. He nicked an artery on one of his arms which we were able to seal, and we've stitched up the wounds. He's receiving fluids and a transfusion right now. We've settle him into the ICU for monitoring."

"Thank you," John said sincerely.

The doctor smiled, "It's my job, you thought quickly to put pressure on the wounds and bring him in so quickly," she said, "Now, I'd like to ask you about what happened. You told us you found Sam at home with his wrists cut?"

Dean glared at his dad, John ignored him and nodded at the doctor.

"Has Sam had a history of mental illness?"

"No," John said firmly. The doctor wrote something down.

"Did he show any signs that he was planning to commit suicide such as talking about death, giving away personal possessions, writing a suicide note? Anything like that?"

"No," John answered.

"Do you know of any mental illness in the family?"

"No."

"Are you saying Sam made an attempt on his life without any sort of warning signs?" she asked, looking up at them.

"Yes," John said calmly.

The doctor nodded, still writing, "Sometimes it can be hard to tell. Some suicide attempts are a cry for help, usually there are signs. Other attempts, when a person is completely set on it, they will do it, they won't let anyone stop them. I believe Sam wasn't trying to ask for help."

Dean grit his teeth, telling the truth wouldn't help. There was no other explanation to give the doctors other than that Sam had tried to kill himself.

"Sam will stay here for a couple of days for observation and rest; he will be on suicide watch which means he won't be alone for even a second. I'll take you to see him in a few moments but first I'd like to discuss treatment for Sam after he's been discharged from the hospital."

"Treatment?" Dean asked, leaning forward in his seat.

"We need to know what drove Sam to attempt to kill himself," the doctor said, "We need to diagnose him and understand what his condition is."

"Sam's not crazy," Dean scoffed.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Of course not," she said, "But what he is, is very sick. He'll talk with one of our psychiatrist when he's able to, then we'll discuss if he should be moved to another hospital for in-patient treatment."

"Sam's not going to a nuthouse," Dean growled.

"Psychiatric ward," Doctor Wells corrected, "And I didn't say that, I said we'd discuss it. We'll be able to figure out our best option once he wakes up and can be evaluated. It may turn out that Sam can return home, so long as he sees a therapist regularly. Do you understand?"

"We understand," John was quick to stop Dean before he even had a chance to speak.

"Good," Wells said, satisfied. She pushed out her chair and got to her feet, "If you'll follow me I'll take you to Samuel."

Sam's room was private, someone was situated by the door to guard it, there was even a nurse sitting at his bedside, Dean could see her back through the window. There was no way Sam could off himself with this kind of security even if he wanted to.

"He's still unconscious," the doctor told them, stopping just outside the door. Dean had to use all his energy to keep himself from shoving the doctor aside so he could go in. "It's likely he won't wake up for a while yet, inform a member of staff immediately if he does."

John and Dean nodded. The doctor held the door open and indicated for the nurse to leave; she slipped by them with a pitying look on her face.

To say that Sam looked horrible would be an understatement. Sam looked dead, if it weren't for the beep of the heart monitor Dean would have believed he was, he was whiter than the crisp hospital sheets he was in, his lips were bloodless and dry, his eyes were dark and bruised, his hair was a mess, his cheeks seemed sunken, and his wrists… Dean was just thankful that the doctors had bandaged them up so tightly.

"Oh, Sammy…" Dean went over to the empty chair and sat down. He didn't touch Sam, he didn't dare. John pulled another chair over to the other side of the bed and gently slipped his hand into Sam's hand, not moving it from where it rested on the sheets.

"He'll be okay, Dean," John promised, sounding surer than he had the last time.

"Not if they ship him off," Dean said bitterly, "How could you do that, just let the doctor think Sam did this to himself?"

"What else could I have said?" John argued, "Should I have told them that Sam was cursed to be obedient and he slit his wrists because a witch told him to?"

Dean didn't answer, just dropped his shoulders and fell back into the chair. He looked at Sam, wondering how he managed to look so young after being so close to death, his features were smooth under the nasal cannula, soft and far too white.

"Do you think he'll remember?" John asked suddenly.

Dean shrugged. "I hope not… but I don't think it would be a picnic to wake up on suicide watch with no memory of how you got there. This whole situation is screwed to hell."

"However he is when he wakes up, we'll look after him."

"Always do," Dean said under his breath.

*

They were allowed to stay the night, which wasn't usual, but it seemed Sam's situation was urgent enough that his family could stay past visiting hours. John and Dean waited for him to wake up but Sam just slept. Dean was determined to be there when Sam woke up but it had been a long time since Dean had rested properly and he couldn't stop his eyes from drooping shut.

Dean wasn't sure what woke him in the early hours of the morning; maybe it was the uncomfortable position he was in in the chair. It was more likely his instinct that jolted him awake from a dreamless sleep because when he opened his eyes he found two more staring tiredly back at him.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, relieved.

Sam blinked heavily a couple of times and smiled at him, though it seemed to take a lot of energy to do so, and he quickly fell back to sleep. Dean found himself more awake and got up for a break. John was asleep in his chair, his head falling back in way Dean was sure would hurt in the morning.

Not much had changed when he returned with a can of coke and a bag of M&Ms a few short minutes later. He didn't notice falling asleep that time.

When Dean woke up again, he found Sam staring at him with a puzzled look on his pallid face. Dean jumped up a little in his seat and leaned forward.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean whispered, not wanting to wake their father so he would have a chance to be alone with Sam.

"Hi," Sam croaked back, sighing tiredly.

"Do you remember what happened?" Dean asked.

Sam's face scrunched up for a moment, "M'not sure," he said quietly, "Hospital?"

"Yeah," Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, "You gave us a scare."

"Sorry," Sam whispered.

"Don't apologise," Dean said, sounding snappier than he meant to, "Just remember that this wasn't your fault?"

"Wha'?" Sam frowned and glanced around, he froze when he saw his bandaged wrists. He tried to lift them, which resulted in a hiss of pain.

"You okay?" Dean asked worriedly. Sam shook his head and tried to shift his arms away from Dean.

"It wasn't a dream," Sam muttered miserably, "I thought…" He took a deep breath and frowned again, the same way he did when he was figuring out a particularly difficult puzzle. "Witch… a spell… being stuck…" he frowned again, "Red hair… blood."

Sam looked down at his hands, "My blood," he said, remembering.

"You were awake the whole time?" Dean said sadly.

Sam nodded tiredly. "Some," he mumbled, "It was foggy… like a dream that was too real. I couldn't move… but I could barely think about what that meant."

"You're okay now," Dean promised, "The spell's gone, so is the witch."

Sam nodded but kept his eyes locked on his wrists. There was a look on his face which Dean hadn't seen before, or maybe he had and it had just been a long time. Sam's eyes were heavy and tired, but somehow managed to be wide at the same time. It was the look of a person who'd seen something unimaginably horrible.

Dean didn't want to push Sam so soon after waking up.

"Are you tired?" he asked, trying to focus the conversation on something else, "You should sleep. Or if you're hungry I can get you something good, not that crappy hospital food."

Sam's lip curled slightly, like smiling any more would have taken too much energy. "I've been sleeping long enough," he said, "And I'm not hungry."

Dean watched him for a moment; Sam barely moved and for Dean it was too reminiscent of when Sam had been cursed. He cleared his throat, "That's fine. But I'll make sure you eat something later, you hear me?"

Sam gave a small huff, which almost sounded like 'Whatever'.

"Sam?" John's voice came from the other side of the bed and he sat up, eyes shining slightly as he smiled at the sight of Sam awake. "Thank God."

Sam's mouth twitched awkwardly and he ducked his head even further. John went to take Sam's hand but Sam carefully manoeuvred it onto his lap.

"Aren't you supposed to get a doctor or something?" he said quietly, not looking at either of them, "I mean, now that I'm awake… they'll want to do check-ups."

John and Dean looked at each other, both feeling equally as helpless. John got to his feet.

"I'll let someone know you're awake," he said. He stopped in the doorway for a moment, watching Sam, like he hoped Sam might say something. When he didn't, John left.

"Sam, you know none of this is your fault?" Dean asked.

"Yes, Dean," Sam bit back, "Stop saying that. I hadn't even thought about it."

"Sam, I can tell something_"

"Good morning," Doctor Wells stepped into the room, she smiled at Sam, "I'm glad to see you awake."

Sam nodded absently and the doctor went ahead with the check-up. When she went to carefully remove the bandages from his wrists Sam jerked them away.

He flushed, as much as he was able to, and said, "Sorry… you can… I just…"

He looked at John and Dean out of the corner of his eye. The doctor seemed to understand. "Would you like your brother and father to leave the room?" She asked.

Sam nodded.

Dean opened his mouth to protest but John was already dragging him from the room. He shut the door behind them and ushered Dean down the corridor.

"He needs space," John said, "And time."

"He knows, doesn't he?"

John looked at him, puzzled.

"He remembers that we let him forget about college," Dean explained, "No wonder he's mad at us."

John stopped and sighed, "You really think so?"

"What else could it be?" Dean argued. John nodded his agreement.

"What did I do?" John said miserably, "God, I can be such an ass at times."

Dean's eyebrows shot up, his mouth opened and closed. John laughed at his expression.

"Yeah, I know I can be… difficult sometimes," John assured him, "I know that when I get myself focused on something I find it hard to think about anything else."

Dean shrugged, "Only a little bit."

"Trying to spare my feelings?" John smirked. He sighed again and looked at Dean seriously. "When your mother… when she passed, I was terrified of losing you and your brother. I thought I had to avenge her to keep you safe, to stop that thing coming for you too, I thought I had to get you ready in case it did… all I was doing was putting you in the line of fire, and Sam got hit."

Dean was silent for a moment. "You always did your best," Dean said.

John gave a small smile; like he appreciated the words but he didn't quite believe them. "Let's get some coffee then head back to Sam."

The returned to Sam's room with two cups of hot, strong coffee and a candy bar for Sam. The doctor was gone but a nurse was sitting with him. Sam had curled up onto his side, facing away from the nurse.

"Doctor Wells wants to talk with you, Mr Winchester," the nurse said when she noticed them. She got to her feet and walked over to them. "He's not doing very well, he won't really talk to anyone, barely looks at them," she said quietly so Sam wouldn't hear, "But that's expected with… situations like Sam's."

"Right," Dean said tightly.

"I'll get the doctor for you," she hurried out the door.

Dean waited for her to go before he approached Sam's bed. He dropped quietly into the chair and cleared his throat before he spoke.

"I really sorry, kiddo," he said, "But we just wanted you to be safe, you know?"

Sam shifted a little under the blanket but he didn't look at him.

"I know you want to go to college_"

Sam sat up and squinted at him, "College?"

"Yeah… applying for college… we're sorry," Dean insisted. He sat still and waited for Sam to unleash hell.

"Dean," Sam said slowly, like Dean was an idiot, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Dean frowned and shared a glance with their dad. He turned back to Sam. "What do you mean?"

Sam scowled. "I mean I have no idea what you're talking about," he hissed, "Why are you suddenly blabbing on about college?"

Dean's mouth dropped open. "What about the brochures?" he asked, eyeing Sam carefully.

"What brochures?" Sam groaned, flopping back against the pillows, "Dean, I'm not going to college… why did you think so?"

Dean closed his eyes for a moment and took and deep breath. It turned out some commands stuck even long after the curse was gone. Sam had no memory of his desire to apply for college.

"No reason," Dean said, "Just ignore me… I'm tired is all."

Sam glared at him for a moment longer before rolling back over to face the wall.