Redemption 5/8 (part 2)
Redemption 5/8
(Arc 1 of a three part series - rehab)
Author: Neonchica (with assistance by co-author Betzz)
Title: Redemption 5/8 (Chapter 5, part 2)
Author: Neonchica (and Betzz)
Rating: R
Characters: Sam, Dean
Disclaimer: Not mine
Spoilers: Anything through season 2 is fair game.
Pictures by neonchica and Angela
Summary: Death was always an option. This - this was not. Dean has been rendered permanantly disabled by one of his enemies. Now, quadriplegic and ventilator dependant, Dean and Sam must work hard to overcome these new obstacles and learn to accept this new definition of living.
Pain and guilt and exhaustion and shame and a million other emotions overwhelm Sam as he tears from the room. All he can see is red, a burning desire to punch something - anything - as long as it’s not his paralyzed, emotional train wreck of a brother. Because he knows that’s not right, and as much as he would give just about anything for Dean to be healthy enough to murder, his mind recognizes the major ramifications of attacking him right now.
He stumbles blindly down the hall, trying not to hyperventilate on top of everything else, and eventually makes his way to the cafeteria where a handful of patients and staff watch in shock as he starts beating on the painted cinderblock wall to within an inch of its life. He’s screaming nonsense, cursing and spitting and kicking and panting until he suddenly feels arms wrapped around his, squeezing them to his sides and pulling him back away from the wall with quiet shushing sounds whispered into his ear.
For a minute he lets himself think it’s Dean. He lets his body collapse completely into the arms, sobbing and heaving into his brother’s embrace, and then he remembers that it’s not possible for Dean to be hugging him right now, or soothing him, and his sobs get louder as he fights against the person holding onto him.
“Hey, shhh. Sam, come on, shhhh.” Finally turning around Sam finds himself with Stu, Kyle sitting in his chair just a little ways off. Sam finally calms down, embarrassed by his display of emotion, and he wipes away the tears from his face and shakes his right hand a bit when he realizes just how much it hurts from pounding it into the wall.
“I’m sorry guys. I don’t know what got into me. I’m sorry.” He tries to walk away, but Kyle is faster, skirting into Sam’s path and grabbing for his bruised hand with more speed than he would have expected possible. Kyle scrutinizes the knuckles for just a second before making a decision.
“Hey Stu, go get him some ice. I got this,” Kyle orders to the aide before turning back to Sam. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”
For some reason, Sam doesn’t even question the command despite the fact that he’s only used to obeying Dean’s and his father’s voices. But Kyle’s air of authority is enough for Sam to respond, or maybe it’s just a matter of need - a need to relinquish control and let somebody else take the reins for a change.
“Now, what’s going on?” Kyle demands.
The Winchester’s are familiar with clamming up, bottling their feelings and their emotions. But Sam is way past that right now, so done with not having anyone to talk things over with, and he just spills all before he’s even got a chance to think about what he’s saying. “It’s Dean. He’s pushing me away and just giving up. Bastard won’t even fight for himself!”
Kyle is silent for a minute, scrutinizing Sam and waiting for him to calm down enough to listen. “Then you’re just gonna have to fight twice as hard for the both of you,” Kyle finally says, forcing Sam to meet his gaze. “This is the point where you can’t give up on him, no matter how much he tries to force you away. This is the critical point.”
Stu comes back with the ice and Sam busies himself with adjusting it on his bruised knuckles, assessing Kyle’s advice as much as he does his next question. He waits, watches, as the aide sits down beside and a little bit behind Kyle, ready to jump in if he’s needed but otherwise prepared to stay out of the conversation.
“I don’t know how to deal with this. I’ve never had to deal with something this extreme before. And he won’t let me call any of our friends, either.” Not that we have many, Sam adds only to himself.
“You think there’s a manual out there for this kind of thing?” Kyle scoffs. “Dealing with tragedy 101? Quadriplegia for dummies? It doesn’t work that way, Sam. Everybody is different. Everyone grieves the loss in a different way, deals with the fallout at a different rate. It’s not supposed to be easy - but trust me when I tell you, man…the way you handle this now is going to make a world of difference in the way Dean responds in the future. You just gotta give it time.”
Sam sighs, shaking his head as he drops it down into his hand to hide the tears that are about thisclose to falling.
“I wasn’t exactly a dream to deal with when I first got hurt either,” Kyle adds.
A snort accompanies it, presumably from Stu, and Sam’s assumption is confirmed when the aide speaks up. “Understatement of the year. Dude, you were the biggest freakin pain in the ass on the planet. Seriously - Dean’s got nothing on you. Had just enough mobility to throw things on the floor and lash out with a mean right hook; not nearly enough to control exactly where things landed. And geez, when you got off that ventilator we could hear you screaming all the way on the other side of the building.”
“Thanks man,” Kyle mutters good naturedly. “Didn’t really need the visual and audio to go with that.”
But actually, that’s exactly what Sam needed. Because, were Dean able to use his arms he’s got a pretty good hunch that he would have been reacting in much the same way. And yet, clearly Kyle has managed to get his emotions under control, get his life under control. Doesn’t necessarily mean the same can be said for Dean, but it gives him hope nevertheless.
He swipes his arm self-consciously across his eyes, not having realized he’d actually been crying until he felt the wetness on his shirt. “I really hope you guys are right about him accepting things and moving on. Because I’m not sure how much more I can take of this. Thanks, though. Really.”
Kyle smiles, nods. “Just stay the course, man. You guys’ll get through this. You seem like maybe you’ve made it through worse.”
You’ve got no idea, Sam thinks to himself as he stands up, intent on leaving. “I think I just need a little bit longer to get myself together - maybe give Dean a chance to let this blow over. Can you do me a favor and tell him I’ll be back in tomorrow?”
“Will do, man,” Kyle agrees. “You take care of yourself, y’hear. Me ‘n Stu - we’ve got Dean covered.”
*******
Sam makes it as far as the parking lot before he realizes he doesn’t have a way home. Looking at his watch, he realizes Milla isn’t due back for another three hours and he just doesn’t have it in him to explain why he’s leaving so early. Besides, he’s carrying enough pent-up frustration to demolish a small city. An outlet would be nice, and Sam realizes it’s been over a month with no real exercise. A walk is just what he needs.
Testing his knee, Sam decides it’s plenty healed to handle some low key cardio, realizes it’s been over a week since he’s even noticed a twinge in the once injured limb, and he starts out toward the main road at a nice, brisk pace.
As he walks, though, his mind filters through everything that’s happened since Dean got captured. He finds himself realizing all the simple things he takes for granted that Dean can no longer do, will never do again. Like taking off on a walk, or for that matter, taking off on his own - period. Instead of clearing his mind, the walk ends up just adding more to it, inciting more frustrations and agony. All he wants to do is find a silver lining in all the pain, yet he can’t come up with a single positive.
After a while, Sam finds himself in the middle of a park. All around him kids are playing baseball and tennis, climbing on the jungle gym, parents are talking and laughing and yelling at their children. Dogs bark as they run circles around their owners. And the sound of birds chirping overhead provides a soundtrack to the day.
Here, the world hasn’t stopped. Here, people go on as though everything is perfect. They have left their cares and their fears behind, escaped their homes and their offices and their hectic lives to live in a sense of solitude and quiet. Here, Sam can pretend that he doesn’t have a brother being kept alive by a ventilator, isn’t facing a life of wheelchairs and tubes and adaptive equipment. Here, Sam can go back to being a child again, innocent and trusting and so certain of everything in life; knowing that as long as big brother is there to watch out for him everything will be alright with the world.
So why is it that Sam can’t allow himself the escape? Why can’t he get Dean and the hospital and stupid Adam and Lori Ann out of his mind? Why can’t he disappear from the pain just for a few seconds?
Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, drops himself into an empty bench on the outskirts of the park and just watches for a while, willing his mind to go blank. But instead, he unconsciously finds himself reaching into his pocket and pulling out the envelope the banker had given him the day before.
It’s wrinkled and worn already, the ink smudged over the ‘m’ in his name from where sweaty hands have turned the envelope over and over in indecision. He’s debated all day over whether or not to show it to Dean, whether he should open if first or they should open it together. That morning, Sam had finally decided they would look together. And then Dean had gone to OT, and he’d ended up in such a foul mood after discussing all the equipment he would need that Sam had no longer been in much of a mood to discuss it with him.
Which brings him back to the present and the overwhelming pull he feels towards that envelope. Like somehow, the answer is inside if he would just open it. But at the same time, Sam has no doubt that the answer to their problems won’t come without a huge price and he’s not sure it’s a decision he wants to have to make. Maybe not having options is better than having too many.
He’s got his suspicions about what’s inside. There were enough clues in the previous letters to figure out that Adam was trying to support Dean in this new life. What Sam can’t figure out is why - why Adam would go to the trouble of paralyzing his brother and then start sending them money. But inside the envelope, Sam is sure he will find the answer.
Shaky hands fumble with the seal, trying to tear it open cleanly and giving up halfway through, ends up tearing it down the center on one side. He pulls out a folded up sheet of paper from inside, opens it to reveal a type-written letter and gulps in a breath as the first line reveals exactly what he’d suspected. Adam had opened up a savings account in Sam and Dean’s name, had deposited enough money inside to get them through the first year. And as he reads on, hatred filling his heart, he discovers why.
Dean Winchester,
Or, I should probably be addressing Sam, yes? Because knowing how the two of you operate Sam is probably reading this letter alone, trying to figure out how to protect poor, helpless big brother Dean from evil little me.
As I’m sure you have learned by now, I have deposited a significant sum of money into a bank account with your names on it. Five hundred thousand dollars, to be exact. And more will follow as you find need for it. How I came up with the money is of no consequence to you - just know that its origins can’t be traced. The money is yours to use, yours to spend on Dean’s mounting hospital bills and impending medical needs. Use it for the building renovations you will most certainly require in a place of your own, use it for the equipment he is sure to need. Use it for whatever you choose - just so long as it keeps Dean living, keeps him rotting away in that horrible chair, keeps him eternally dependent on others just to survive, to function in this god-forsaken world.
Just as Dean has sentenced me to live as a mere shell of who I once was, so have I sentenced him. Enjoy this new life, Dean. Enjoy the hell it brings you. And just know… I will be watching, witnessing your suffering and pain, and enjoying every single minute of it.
Sam feels a lump form in his throat as he recoils from the brutal honesty of Adam’s letter, folds it back up and tucks it back into the envelope only because he can’t bear to leave it lying around for anyone else to find. As he’s doing so, he notices for the first time something else tucked into the envelope and reaches in for it, fearful of what else he might find.
It’s another photograph, this one of Dean in his room at the rehab hospital. By the darkness of the room Sam can tell it’s late. Dean is asleep, propped on his side and supported by pillows, braces on his hands and feet and neck. He is clearly unaware that anyone is even in his room, let alone taking photographs of him, and Sam can’t help but let out a little moan of remorse at how easily Dean allows himself to be snuck up on these days, and how little Sam can do about it when he’s forced from the room at night.
He’s got no clue how the picture was taken. Doesn’t know if it was a member of the staff or another patient, or someone sneaking into the building after hours. But the who doesn’t really matter as much as the how, and the why, and most importantly the question of what Sam can do to stop it from happening again.
It has never been more obvious to him than now just how helpless Dean is, how much assistance he will require every day, and how much that is going to cost him. The idea of taking Adam’s money disgusts him in more ways than he can count, but the idea of allowing Dean to suffer for want of finances scares him more. And Sam can think of no better way than to use Adam’s money, and turn around and prove to him just how adaptive Dean can be. They’ll show that bastard that Dean can turn this around, can become the picture of peace, make do and persevere with what little he’s got left. Adam wants a miserable shell, so they’ll shove it right back in his face and prove to him just how happy Dean Winchester can be with his current situation.
Now all Sam has to do is convince Dean of that.
He swallows hard, bites on his lower lip. They’ve sure as hell got their work cut out for them…
SUPERNATURAL
(Just after their argument…)
Sam doesn't bang the door shut when he leaves, but to Dean his brother's sudden exit still has more than enough dramatic effect, and he stays behind, staring at the wall and contemplating the nature of sacrifices. He has known he fucked up for some time, knew that things wouldn't turn out well even before he touched the joy stick in the old school, before he sealed the deal and tore his life apart. But for some reason the true extent of his failure, the magnitude of the burden Sam has to carry now and that Dean himself put on his brother, hasn't been clear to him until now.
He didn't mean for things to turn out this way. Back in that school, being faced with the choices he was given… wasn't much of a choice, really, his life for Sam’s. It’s always been Sam, from the time his little brother was placed into his arms after the fire everything has been about Sam. And during the intensity of the moment, when Sam’s life was on the line, there was nothing to do but save him.
Except Dean hadn't planned on living; at least not the way he’s living now. Sure, he’d understood the ultimatum just fine, understood the semantics of there’s a fucking wire around your spinal cord that will sever all the synapses with one push of the joystick. But in that moment it just didn't matter. What mattered was the part about moving the chair forward and saving Sammy from being strangled to death. What mattered was the part where Dean didn't plan on surviving the severing of his spinal cord, didn't plan on sticking around to face the torture of what was to come.
And he sure as hell didn’t plan on putting his brother through all this torture. Sam doesn’t deserve this; he never did. Sam is supposed to have a normal life with a normal job and a normal wife, 2.5 normal children living in a normal house with a normal white picket fence in a normal neighborhood right smack in the middle of the suburbs in Normalsville, USA.
Caring for his disabled 27 year old brother has never been on the agenda. Neither was worrying himself sick over how he’s supposed to come up with a quarter of a million dollars just to keep Dean alive for a year. One fucking year - that’s it. That’s all that amount of money will cover. And then there will be another year, and another one after that, just throwing money away into a black hole. Because let’s face it, Dean thinks, he can’t even control his neck, let alone any of the other muscles in his body. And with those kind of odds there’s no way he’s ever going to amount to being a productive member of society.
A black hole; a money pit - that’s all he is. All he’ll ever be anymore. And the possibility of Sam’s future as Dean’s constant caregiver is a shit poor way for Sam to be living, especially compared to the potential he’s got in other avenues. It all comes down to a sacrifice poorly thought out and then executed in vain. Dean has failed. Failed himself, and failed Sam.
Oh, Sammy.
Dean is still deep in thought when Lanie comes back to do some stretching exercises. The first thing she does is remove the pillows behind his back and then she slowly rolls him on his back again, one hand keeping his head and neck steady all the way. He knows that he flops around whenever they turn him, and his legs and arms inevitably end up in positions that look unnatural and - it's the first time ever he thinks about it - must be horribly uncomfortable.
She’s got him angled in such a way that he can see how his right leg crosses limply over the left, the way both feet are hyper-extended, toes curled in but pointing towards the wall as though locked in an eternal stretch. He can see his arms, so still as they flop against the atrophying muscles in his abdomen, his hands and wrists curled in toward his body. It disgusts him to see what has become of the body he once took such pride in.
Dean has noticed Sam watching him a lot lately, staring expressionless as he fights to hide his emotions, and Dean can’t help but wonder if the same thoughts are going through Sam’s mind as are going through his own. Is Sam as disgusted as Dean is by the shape of his body? Is he as uncomfortable with seeing the way the limbs curl so unnaturally, as though they’re trying to shrivel up and disappear?
He can’t help but hate himself for doing this to Sam, for giving his little brother yet one more reason to feel self-conscious and uncertain. Their lives are screwed up enough as it is, constantly feeling the need to hide and blend in, not get caught. And now this… The wheelchair and the ventilator and the mechanics. How do they hide something like this? How do they blend in with a crowd, try to stay inconspicuous when he’s suddenly become anything but? It’s not fair to Sam to make him have to deal with it.
Lanie doesn't seem to be interested in Dean's philosophical mood and continues to straighten him out in his new position. The pillow between his knees stays where it is, and the one between torso and right arm gets put under his elbow. One last maneuver to adjust his head, then she sits down on the chair Sam vacated a good thirty minutes ago and takes his left hand in hers, massaging it gently. Everyone with a pair of eyes could tell that Dean isn't in the present right now, definitely not in the mood for talking, and so they both stay silent while she carefully bends and rotates each joint in his hand.
“There you go”, she says softly as she puts his hand back down on the bed and takes her chair to the other side to start working on the other one. Dean doesn't hear her.
Lanie is just about to finish with her task when a stream of low cursing from the corridor announces Kyle's return and pulls a disoriented Dean out of his thoughts. It's nothing new to see Kyle worked up about something - it's part of his alpha dog act - and he can rant about trite topics like hospital food for hours, but today there is a new dimension of feeling in his voice when he greets Lanie that is unusual enough to attract Dean's attention. And sure enough, instead of transferring to his bed immediately as he normally does, Kyle stops his chair in the space between their beds and turns to face Dean, getting as close to him as possible. Lanie, who has already proven not to be the most perceptive one, doesn't react with more than a smile and a nod before she arranges Dean's hands on his chest and stands up to leave.
"Could you...?", Kyle asks and motions to Dean's head that is positioned to look straight at the wall. "I'd like to have a little talk with him. Just from man to man, you see." He winks, and Lanie laughs and gives Dean a questioning look. Nothing done to you without your permission, the look reminds him. Yeah, how true.
Dean blinks once, because for one thing he doesn't really care what they do to his body right now but mostly because he can tell that behind the flippant facade, Kyle is actually dead serious about something and Dean is still himself enough to find the hint of a mystery absolutely irresistible even in the darkest of moods. Kyle waits until Lanie has raised the bed a little more, turned Dean's head to the left, and is way out of earshot, then all the humor drains from his face like water from a leaky pipe.
"Now listen, kid, I know it's not fair to spring this on you while you still can't talk, but apparently you can communicate well enough to make Sam cry" - Dean squeezes his eyes shut at this; too much information, too much memory, but Kyle is merciless - "no, open your eyes, Dean. Listen to me."
Kyle's voice is so very much John Winchester's now, the same unshakable sense of authority drenching every word, that Dean simply has no other choice than to do whatever the voice asks him to do. When he looks up again, Kyle's face is filled with sympathy.
"Believe me, I know that it's not easy. And it will be far from easy for a long time, but... You see, my point is that life... life really does go on even if you don't believe it ever will. And for that you need your family around. No, Dean, eyes open, remember? So, can you tell me that you weren't trying to push Sam away? Or why else was he punching holes into the cafeteria walls earlier, hm? Dean, just don't, okay? I guess what I want to say is that family is important. Don't make it harder on yourself than it needs to be. And especially don't make it harder for them. It's not only you who's hurting. It's usually just as hard for the family.... sometimes even harder."
At the last words Kyle's eyes wander to the overflowing cork board on the wall, and for the first time Dean can see that Kyle is a father, too, and probably even a good one. His words, however, are nothing but salt in Dean's emotional wounds.
“Just think about what I said, huh?” Kyle implores. His eyes bore pleadingly into Dean’s, begging for obedience.
Dean doesn’t even try to respond, taking advantage of his inability to speak as an excuse not to. He closes his eyes again, and this time Kyle doesn’t order them open. Instead, Dean registers the sounds of Kyle transferring back into bed, and then the muted sounds of a television coming on and the volume turned down low.
His throat tightens reflexively as he thinks about what his roommate has just said, emotions of right and wrong warring with each other in the vast openness of his mind. The logical part of him knows that Sam is hurting too, knows that there is no greater pain than seeing someone you love going through so much hurt. Even back in the hospital when Adam was mocking Dean and trying to convince him that Sam would leave…even then he’d known there was no way Sam was going anywhere. He knows this because he’d be feeling the same way if it were Sam.
But the irrational part of his brain wonders if Sam is only staying out of some skewed sense of obligation. There is no doubt in Dean’s mind that Sam feels responsible for what happened to him; Sam as much as admitted it outright. And Sam’s got a history of jumping into things without thinking clearly, without realizing what he’s admitting to until it’s too late to retract. He wears his heart on his sleeve…constantly taking emotional situations and dropping himself right into the middle of them. He’s always finding ways to blame himself no matter how little choice he might have had in the situation. Jessica’s death was a prime example of that, with Sam ultimately chasing after the demon out of guilt and revenge. Dean can’t help but worry that Sam is thinking the same thing now, refusing to leave Dean behind because he blames himself for the decision Dean made.
Dean can’t let him do that. Somehow, he’s got to make this right.
He’s still worrying about Sam and his misplaced idea of duty when Mona comes in to start his evening routine. Like Lanie, the older woman seems to realize that Dean isn’t really in the moment, isn’t up to participating in a conversation. She seeks his permission to begin, but then leaves him to his thoughts as she goes about her duties. It’s all more of the same as she suctions his trach and flushes water into his stomach through the g-tube before starting his dinner. And as the Ensure is flowing, she grabs a washcloth and a basin of soapy water and starts to bathe him.
It’s nothing he hasn’t experienced before, but usually he manages to tune it out and find someplace in his imagination that he’d rather be.
This time is different.
This time Dean starts paying more attention to the actual tasks and to Mona’s part in them. He starts to imagine Sam in that job, acting as a caregiver and a nurse. They don’t have money; there’s no way they can even pay for rehab, so Dean knows they won’t be able to afford in-home care. It will be all on Sam, his baby brother. Dean can’t even begin to stomach it.
The worst part by far is the bowel routine. He always makes sure he’s somewhere else for this one, absolutely despises the idea of someone else being down there, physically stimulating him to make him take a crap. This time, though, he watches. Because he wants to understand what he’s subjected Sam to, wants to remind himself of just how bad things are and how much they can’t stay this way.
Mona frogs his legs, bending them out and up, and then tucks pillows underneath to support them as she slides a waterproof pad under his ass before beginning to collect the supplies she will need. She’s got gloves and suppositories and wipes, and just watching her begin the routine is beyond unbearable. But then it gets abundantly worse when he imagines Sam in her place and begins to picture what it would be like to have Sam doing for him everything the nurses do. Dean isn’t sure who would hate it more - himself or Sam - but he decides right then and there that he doesn’t want to find out.
Dean feels his face begin to flush just thinking about it. It’s bad enough that Sam feels guilty for Dean being paralyzed, but he’ll be damned if he lets Sam start to resent him for having to take care of him. It can’t happen - no matter what, Dean can’t let their relationship go beyond brotherhood.
He finally closes his eyes when things start to happen down there, when his insides get to churning and releasing and suddenly he can no longer stomach even the idea of what’s happening. This is why Dean always breaks away, because he can’t deal with the reality.
He doesn’t even realize when Mona finishes with him. Once he’d turned off his awareness of the outside world that was it. His mind has wandered elsewhere, to a place where Sam can be Sam and Dean isn’t standing in his way, a place where disabilities and wheelchairs and home care are just things out of other people’s worlds. Not theirs. He’s thinking of a place where Sam is free of Dean and his problems, where Dean is simply free.
Something jars him back several minutes (or hours?) after Mona is gone, but he never registers what it is. Just that it makes him return his thoughts to his room in the rehab facility, makes him come back to his nightmare. Everything is darker now. Only the emergency lights are still lit in the room and the hallway, and the floor is quiet. He knows Kyle must be asleep, but can’t turn his head to verify that. And he knows he needs to be sleeping too. He’s just not ready yet.
Admittedly, it has been a pretty tiring day, with all the thinking and freaking out and stuff, but Dean has had more exhausting ones and he won't give in to sleep just yet. But with the medicine the nurse administered just at the end of his bedtime routine flowing swiftly through his veins it is becoming more and more difficult for him to keep his eyes open. He can tell he’s starting to fall asleep as his thoughts become muddled and the sound of Kyle’s soft snoring merges with the whoosh and swish of the ventilator, creating a unique hissing sound that Dean ironically finds soothing.
He fights the sleep with all his might, despite the fact that even if he was able to turn his head away from looking at the ceiling, there would be nothing to see in the dark room. That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that Dean desperately needs to figure some things out before Sam inevitably returns. He knows his little brother won’t stay gone for long. There is a solution to all their problems at the end of all this thinking, Dean's absolutely sure of it, but right now all he gets is the result of “Sam must be free of this” without any idea of how to achieve it.
He sinks farther into sleep, falling into that final stage between awake and asleep when suddenly something changes. Something bad, he knows, but for a split-second he can't tell what exactly it is; then all the air is gone from his lungs.
In an instant adrenaline has him wide awake and realization comes to him at once. Alarms scream as he tries ineffectually to gulp in air against lungs that refuse to respond to his brain’s request. He immediately rewinds to a time not so long ago in the hospital when Lori Ann had pulled the plug on his ventilator. It’s a nightmare he has refused to acknowledge since that time, unwilling to think it could happen without her ruthless hand causing it.
An eternity goes by in the dark as Dean struggles against the blatant tightening in his chest and his lungs expend the last of their remaining air. And then there are footsteps and voices. A light goes on overhead, blinding him as he blinks furiously in the war with black spots on fluorescent lighting.
The stillness of the night turns into organized chaos as orders are given and carried out. “It’s a pop-off, people. Kate, check the plug. Thomas, the lines on the vent. I’ve got the trach site.”
“We gotcha, baby. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.” Mona’s face, expression serious and business-like, appears above Dean but she doesn’t look at him as her fingers gloss easily around the seals on his trach. He feels the tug and push as she secures the seal before working her way down the tubing.
It’s right then, at Mona’s words, that the answer comes to Dean. Suddenly Dean realizes that this is his out. Sam’s out. Just a few more seconds without air and he’ll slip into oblivion, then death and a release from the hell he’s found himself in.
He stares at the ceiling, a calm finally settling over him as he waits for the inevitable. Fully prepared for what is to come. He knows Sam can get over his death, just like he got over Jess’s and their dad’s, and someday he might even come to appreciate the sacrifice Dean made for him so that he might have a better life. Resignation settles over Dean and he stops struggling and lets his eyes slide closed, ready for death to take him.
“Guys, we’re gonna lose him. Get me the ambu bag!”
Dean’s eyes shoot open, not expecting the measures the nurses are prepared to take to save him. ‘NO!’ he mouths, blinking his eyes two times over and over again. There is sudden panic in his expression. ‘No, please. Nononononono.”
Mona isn’t even looking at him, though, as she removes the hose from the trach and replaces it with the mouth of the ambu bag. She is squeezing before the equipment is fully sealed, and Dean suddenly finds himself choking on the stale air that she pumps into his rebellious lungs.
He keeps blinking and mouthing ‘no’ over and over again until finally Mona looks up at him with confusion in her eyes. “We gotcha, hon. I promise,” she insists, smoothing the sweat dampened hair from his forehead.
I don’t want you to promise! Dean wants to scream. I don’t want your help. Just let me go. It’s better for everyone.
But Mona either isn’t understanding the frantic no’s he keeps blinking or she doesn’t want to, either way she is conveniently overlooking his desperation to be freed from the prison he’s been trapped in for the last month; a life sentence with no parole.
She just keeps pumping air into his lungs as the rest of the nursing staff inspects the faulty equipment for the malfunction. Tears finally well in Dean’s eyes when Thomas lets out a relieved ‘got it,’ and then makes quick work of sealing the leak before they trade off the ambu bag for the vent once again.
The hissing of the machine starts up again and the three nurses look down to see what they perceive as tears of joy. “See baby, I told you we weren’t going to let anything happen to you. You’re fine,” Mona says. She has yet to stop stroking his hair, and Dean trembles in frustration underneath her ministrations.
‘NO! I wanted to die!” He mouths to her, still blinking a steady stream of ‘no.’ Two blinks and a pause, two blinks and a pause…
“Sweetheart, I don’t understand,” She says, finally realizing Dean is trying to tell them something. “Say it again.”
‘Let. Me. Die.” Dean repeats the words slowly, enunciating each one with his lips in an effort to be understood. It’s still only Sam who can read his lips so well; no one else even comes close.
She still doesn’t get it, and neither do the other two nurses at her side. Dean’s anxiety gets worse, desperation to be understood coming out in the only way possible. His face get’s red, sweat beading on his forehead, and he makes an attempt at holding his breath.
It’s that - the action more so than the result - that has Mona coming to a realization that Dean isn’t exactly pleased with the lifesaving measures that have been taken. “He’s panicking. Someone needs to call his brother. Thomas, go. And a sedative - Kate, go get approval from one of the doctors. Come on, move it team!”
His attempts to hold his breath are met with the reality that he doesn’t control his own lungs, can’t save himself by breathing, but can’t kill himself either. Frustrated beyond all reason, Dean does the one thing he can control, bites down so hard on his lower lip that it begins to bleed and Mona calls louder for someone to hurry up with that sedative.
Within moments there is a syringe in Mona’s hands, brought within his line of sight and down towards his neck where he feels a slight prick and suddenly lines blur and sounds mix and everything gets hazy. He thinks he hears a male voice - Kyle probably - comment on what a stubborn son of a bitch he is, and then it’s all psychedelic colors and distorted voices and a sense of fading and floating.
*****
The sedative doesn’t put him fully out like the ones at the hospital used to. This one is more of a twilight haze, just enough to keep him on the edge of lucidity and awareness but still ease the anxiety screaming throughout his body. He’s got no concept of time as detached voices filter in and out of his awareness. He sees a few faces over the course of his haze, vaguely recognizes the soothing gestures for what they are as hands stroke over his sweat soaked forehead.
At some point, Dean senses a bit of a frenzy in the room as the gentle massage of fingers on his face comes to a halt. He forces heavy eyes open, blinks several times to clear the haze, and can finally make out a tall shadow fidgeting anxiously just inside the doorway, lit by a soft glow of the hallway light. He can tell in an instant that it’s Sam, clearly still sleepy. His hair is a mess, disheveled and matted and flying every which way. He’s wearing a wrinkled t-shirt that he’s most likely been sleeping in, and when Sam steps closer Dean realizes that it’s one of his favorite Metallica shirts. Aww, Sammy.
The sound of voices - Kyle and Sam and Mona - conversation filters in around him, hollow and distant, and he only picks up on a few choice words. Pop-off. Panicked. Could have died. I wanted to die, he thinks. They should have let me die.
And then Sam is hovering over him, eyes puffy and red from crying and interrupted sleep. “Dean, I’m so sorry about everything. I should have been here, should have come back sooner. I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”
Dean can’t look at Sam. He looks away, eyes roaming to the window as he lets his head roll to the right. He blinks back his own tears and tries to forget the fact that Sam is crying as well. All he can think about is how his one chance to make things better has been ruined. The nurses at this place are too quick, too well trained. He shouldn’t have survived the pop-off; shouldn’t have been saved. Shouldn’t be here wondering how he can explain to Sammy that his plan has failed, but that it was meant to help.
“Look at me, Dean.” Sam orders. There is a quiver in his voice that he can’t hide, but he doesn’t seem too concerned about it at this point.
I can’t, Dean wants to say. I can’t look at you, Sam. I’ve failed you - again. Shit-poor excuse for a big brother, I am. Can’t protect you, can’t save you. I can’t even die right for you. He squeezes his eyes shut, tight until he sees stars in the blackness behind his eyelids. It serves a dual purpose: to keep the outside world out and to keep his despised tears in.
“Dean, please look at me. We need to get past this. We need to fight together - I can’t fight for the both of us.”
‘I don’t want you to fight for me,’ Dean mouths out, finally realizing that Sam isn’t going anywhere if he doesn’t say something to get rid of him.
“What, Dean? What did you say?”
Sam is so excited at the prospect that Dean has decided to communicate with him that Dean almost can’t bring himself to repeat it. But he reminds himself that he’s got to be the responsible one, needs to be the one to send Sam back out into the world where he can find a life for himself.
‘Don’t. Fight. For. Me.’ Dean repeats, forming his mouth perfectly around each word so that Sam is sure to understand. ‘Didn’t. Want. You. Here.’
He knows that must sting, is even more certain of it when he watches Sam flinch and take a while to recover.
“Did you tell the nurses not to call me?” Sam demands, angry. And he doesn’t seem entirely surprised at the question he’s asking although it still clearly disgusts him. Dean figures Mona must have filled Sam in on more than he’d thought - just as sure as he knows Sam denied the possibility until just this very second.
One blink, yes, is all Dean offers. He keeps his eyes closed after that, fighting back more tears that threaten to spill.
There is a pause as Sam takes in the implications of Dean’s actions, thoughts, and then incredulousness, whispered. “Did you tell the nurses not to reconnect the ventilator? Did you ask them to let you die?”
Dean keeps his eyes shut for a long time. The actual act of dying, he realizes, doesn’t scare him. But admitting it to Sam terrifies him. And he realizes that letting himself go without finalizing things with Sam is the cowards way out. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s a coward - no matter how much it means saving Sam in the end.
Finally, Dean opens his eyes, slowly as though the lids are made of several tons of lead. He stares through Sam, refusing to connect with his brother’s steel gaze, and then allows his eyes to close again. One blink. Yes.
“Oh god, Dean. Why - why would you do something like that? Why would you give up on life like that?”
He doesn’t want to explain, isn’t really sure he can. But Dean knows he owes Sam something. ‘For you.’
Sam gets that one right off the bat, eyes going wide. “For me?! Why would you think I want you to die?”
‘Too much money. Too much time.’
“Dean…”
‘Burden. Can’t let you ruin your life.’
Sam doesn’t seem to get the whole of Dean’s words, but he catches onto the first and he’s livid when he responds. “If you think for one second that I would even think twice about whether or not to be here for you one hundred percent then you’re delusional,” Sam snaps. “You’re not a burden to me - you never could be. I’m right where I want to be, Dean. Don’t you think I should be allowed to make my own decisions?”
It’s a hard question to answer, a trap really, and Dean immediate response is to not respond. Because, yeah, Sam needs to make his own decisions. He needs to be independent, and that’s pretty much the point Dean is trying to get across. But right now Sam is thinking with his heart and not his head - he’s not thinking about the years and years worth of servitude he’ll be subjecting himself to by choosing to stay with Dean. He’s not thinking about the limitations he will face, the experiences he’ll lose out on. And for that, Dean has to be the one to make the decisions. Sam isn’t ready to choose for himself - not this.
“I asked you a question, Dean,” Sam says when enough time has passed in silence. “Don’t you think it’s only fair that you let me make my own decisions about my life?”
When Dean still refuses to answer, Sam sighs and tries another tactic. “Okay, Dean, here’s the deal. You’re making it pretty obvious that you don’t want me around. I can’t for the life of me figure out why you would want to go through this alone…lord knows I couldn’t do it…but it’s clear that you’re trying to get rid of me. So just say the word. Tell me to leave, tell me to never come back, and I’ll go. Is that what you want?”
An eternity passes as Dean runs through the scenario in his head. It’s exactly what he wants. It’s what he’s been trying to say all along. Dean blinks once, ready to leave it at that, and finds some uncontrollable force pushing his eyes closed a second time. No. No, that’s not what I want.
No matter how much he wants to, he can’t push Sam that completely out of his life. He can’t live without his little brother - that was the point all along, the reason why the pop-off was such an opportunity. Because he wouldn’t have had to be left alone… Sam could get past it; that much he knows. But Dean also knows that he has always been the weak one, the one that can’t live without his family there by his side, the one that can’t be left alone.
He blinks twice again, tears on his eye lashes as he finds that he can’t look at his little brother, too afraid that his weaknesses are on display for all to see. Before long he feels Sam’s hand fall gently to his forehead, callused thumb stroking gentle lines against the creases in his furrowed brow. Dean leans into the gesture, desperate to soak up the touch that he craves so much. He resigns himself to let tonight go, to not dwell on what might have been and instead look towards the future and finding his next opportunity.
In the meantime, he will let Sam stay. Under the guise that Sam has asked it, not because Dean is too weak to let his brother walk away.
Sam lets out a soft snort as Dean starts to relax under his touch, falling once again under the spell of the light sedative he’d been given. “This has been quite a night, hasn’t it big bro. Quite a day, really. Almost as exciting as old times, right?”
Masterlist On to Part 3 Back to Part 1