Wounds Beneath Scars, for lauehime
Title: Wounds Beneath Scars
Recipient: lauehime
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5600
Warnings: None
Author’s Notes: So this is the first time I’m doing this and I must say it was super fun! :D I had a difficult time choosing what I wanted to write because the prompts were super good. Anyway, I just want to thank my beta (you know who you are) who is also a really good friend for being such a darling and enduring all my rants and being the most patient person ever.
Summary: Set after S02E01 ‘In My Time of Dying’. It’s been a week since they’ve cremated their father. Dean is distant and closed up and Sam is just trying to help them both deal with their father’s death. Things soon take a turn for the worse when Sam suddenly starts deteriorating and all Dean can do is hope and hope that he doesn’t lose his brother too.
.~.~.
Sam slumped onto his bed, rubbing his eyes to stave off the headache that had been bothering him for a while. He had been trying to get Dean to talk about their father again but it had blown up into a yelling match with Dean clamming up and storming out of their motel room. Sam had only just managed not to whimper as Dean had slammed the door shut.
All the noise they’d been making had only made the pain worse.
Sam sighed as he thought back to their argument. He was just trying to help his older brother. With the way that Dean kept waking up at night whispering out for his father; oblivious to the fact that Sam would be awake, the fact that he would avoid any discussion what so ever when it came to John Winchester made Sam’s suspicions positive that Dean wasn’t dealing with the death of their father at all.
You hardly even knew the man, Sam!
Scrunching up his forehead as the words seem to almost reverberate in his head, Sam took a deep breath. That was kind of true. John had hardly been present in Sam’s life. Most of his time would be spent with Dean in some random shitty motel room. The only time John would appear would be when they would have to move onto the next hunt.
Hell, Sam was sure they’d spent more time with Bobby Singer than their own father.
But that didn’t mean that he hadn’t cared. Every day in Stanford he’d been terrified that he’d pick up the phone one day, to find out that his brother or dad had died.
He may not always have agreed with the decisions that John had made, but that didn’t mean that he completely hated the man.
When he was alive, you’d contradict his every decision and now that he’s gone, you want to follow in his footsteps?!
Sam slowly got to his feet, Dean’s words swimming around in his head, and unsteadily made his way to the first aid box stashed in Dean’s duffel. Taking out a bottle of painkillers, he shook out two pills and swallowed them with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.
True.
Sam and John may not have had the best father-son relationship, but sometimes John’s orders had been outrageous; quite often than not landing them in unnecessary peril.
Sam, in his younger years, had never understood his father’s obsession with the thing that had killed their mother. He’d never understood the need to move around from place to place. He’d just wanted to be a normal kid with a normal life. He’d wanted to go to prom, have a girlfriend, get good grades, and get accepted into college.
And he technically did get that...
But it all had come with a price.
After losing Jessica, Sam had finally understood his dad’s relentless mania to find the monster that had ripped their family apart. He, in a way, had understood the pain that his father had felt losing his wife.
Which was why he wanted to do everything he could to honour John’s memory. John may have been a bastard, a reckless father and more of a drill sergeant than an actual parent, but Sam finally understood why.
Because right now, all he could think of was finding the Yellow-Eyed Demon
All he could think of was revenge.
Jessica had just been a normal girl who had fallen for the wrong guy. She hadn’t deserved to die. She’d deserved to age gracefully and sit outside on a porch watching her grandkids. She deserved to be in love with someone other than Sam and make a lot of difference in the world before departing this world peacefully.
Not by burning on a ceiling with your torso slashed open.
Sam wiped at the tears welling up in his eyes. No matter how much he’d convince himself, he still wasn’t over losing her.
He never would be.
Mentally shaking his head to rid himself of the negativity filling up his mind, Sam flopped back onto his bed hoping that an hour or two of sleep would elevate the headache that just didn’t seem to want to quit.
.~.~.
Dean drained his glass of whiskey before motioning the bartender to give him a refill. He licked his lips as the words kept coming back to him again and again and again.
Do all you can to save Sammy, but if it’s too late, if things turn upside down, you’ll have to be strong, son. You’ll have to kill him.
What kind of a father dumps this on their kid? Kill, Sam? Hell, Dean was afraid of hurting the kid while sparring. He’d taken care of Sam all his life; he’d tended to his wounds, stayed up nights when the kid was sick. He still harboured guilt over the times he may have unintentionally hurt his brother or not looked out for him properly during a hunt. So what the hell was John thinking when he told Dean that if he couldn’t save his brother, he’d have to kill him?
Dean clenched his jaw as he barely kept in the anger that was simmering just below the line lately. And it didn’t help that Sam tried to get him to talk every chance he got.
Sam didn’t know what he felt like. Dean was more than positive that John had died to save him. His father had died because of him.
His life wasn’t worth it.
Dean nodded thanks as the bartender filled up his glass and walked away. The feeling of the whiskey burning down his throat gave him something to concentrate on other than images and scenarios of him shooting or stabbing Sam.
He felt guilty. He knew Sam was only trying to help but Dean was barely keeping it together without yelling out the words his father had dumped on him into his brother’s face.
He and Sam had been fighting a lot these days over the subject of their father.
You keep saying you’re dealing with it, Dean, but you’re not! I have to bring you home from the bar every other day because you’re too drunk to even walk, let alone drive!
Talking was how Sam dealt with issues. Not him. He got drunk, drunk to the point of oblivion. And screw anybody that tried to tell him to do different.
He knew it was unhealthy, but it was how he dealt. John would drink, Bobby would drink, so why the hell was he being the one reprimanded for doing so?
I’m just trying to finish what Dad set out to do, Dean.
Dean knew that Sam understood his father’s sentiment after losing his girlfriend, but the fact that he wanted to follow in the old man’s footsteps just pissed Dean off because it just wasn’t Sam.
This was the kid that argued with every decision made.
This was the kid who decided to go to college and be independent rather than be a part of the family business.
This was the kid that followed his own footsteps and no one else’s.
Dean groaned inwardly. When had his life become so shitty? Deciding to not get drunk today and to be easy on his brother for once, he took a deep breath before finishing his glass in one go. He deposited a few notes under the glass and walked out of the bar before sliding into the crappy sedan that he’d borrowed from Bobby.
He missed his Baby.
.~.~.
Sam yelped in pain as the motel room door opened to let in the stark, unforgiving sunlight, making the pain in his head increase tenfold. He heard a muffled curse and the sound of the door being shut.
“Next time you decide to scream like someone who’s seen a ghost, warn me, would you? I almost dropped our lunch,” Dean said, depositing plastic bags onto the small table in their room. He looked over at his brother and frowned. He walked over and slapped his brother’s thigh. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Sam muttered as he slowly sat up. “Just a headache.”
Sam looked up at his brother’s concerned gaze, easily reading the question within. “No, Dean. Not a vision. Just a headache.”
Dean nodded. “Take some Tylenol or something?”
“Yes,” Sam sighed as he slowly made his way to the table and sat down. He watched Dean munch on his burger but barely ate his own salad, not feeling so hungry. He snorted seeing the look of pleasure on Dean’s face.
“Dude, could you sound any dirtier?” Sam teased as Dean let out a particularly loud moan as he savoured his grease-filled lunch.
Dean gulped and snorted, “Hey, this is heaven, okay? I don’t even know how you live on the rabbit food.”
“It’s not rabbit food! It’s called eating healthy, jeez,” Sam argued.
“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Dean muttered but then narrowed his eyes at Sam picking on his salad. “You gonna eat that anytime soon?”
Sam shook his head distractedly. “Not hungry,” he mumbled before pushing his food away and walking over to his bed. He pulled up his duffel and began stuffing his belongings inside.
“What are you doing?” Dean asked, looking bewildered as to why Sam was suddenly packing his stuff.
Sam gave Dean an equally confused look. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Sam pursed his lips before shrugging. “Okay, maybe I forgot. Bobby called up, said he’d like it if we came over for a few days. Besides, he could use our help on researching on a case for some friend of his.”
Dean nodded as he finished his lunch, washed his hands and starting packing his own belongings. “You and Bobby can do all the research you want. I’m going to work on Baby. The sooner I fix her, the sooner we can get rid of that ugly looking thing,” Dean said, giving a sour look to the rust bucket parked outside.
Sam snorted, trying not to show how much the headache was bothering him. Dean already had too much on his mind; he didn’t want to add another cause for worry.
Besides, maybe this headache would wane off soon enough. Lord knows he used to have them as a kid.
It was nice to have rare moments when they didn’t fight. It felt stiff sometimes with the lingering tension around them, but it was nice. Sam knew it was going to get a little awkward later on when they didn’t have anything to talk about on the ride to Bobby’s. But they’d deal with that later.
.~.~.
Bobby smiled as he saw his old car drive up through the gate. He knew that their father’s death was hard on his boys. But he wasn’t the kind of sappy old man to ask them to come over so they could have a break.
So the good old excuse for research was always handy.
Bobby opened the front door as the vehicle pulled up and frowned, knowing something was wrong straight away. The car had barely been turned off before Dean got out and slammed the door shut, pulling his duffel out with him.
He gave a curt nod to Bobby before heading into the house.
Bobby watched as Sam slammed the dashboard with his fist before climbing out himself. His frown deepened even further as the kid seemed to sway a little before closing his eyes and regaining his balance.
“Hey, Bobby,” Sam said, smiling half-heartedly.
“Hey, Sam,” Bobby greeted, giving him a curious look.
Sam sighed. “Don’t ask.”
As Bobby and Sam entered the house, Dean stalked past them and outside the door, heading towards where he’d parked his Impala. Bobby eyed the sad look on Sam’s face as he stared out the door after his older brother, but said nothing.
He took out two bottles of beer and even heated up some coffee in case Sam didn’t prefer the beer as the Winchester freshened up.
Bobby wasn’t surprised when Sam headed downstairs and immediately picked up the beer rather than the coffee.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping on their drinks.
“So, you’d said you could use a hand with research,” Sam said, finally breaking it.
Bobby nodded and pointed towards his work desk. Bobby smirked when Sam’s eyes seemed to widen at the large pile of books on his table. He was sure that if he sat behind his desk right now, no one would even realize someone was in the room.
“Yeah,” Bobby replied to the incredulous look on Sam’s face. “It’s one o’ those cases. I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I could use a hand.”
Sam snorted as he joined Bobby. He took a part of the pile of books and set them on the small table in the middle of the living room while Bobby resumed his seat on his desk. He passed a few papers to Sam that showed the highlights of the case so that he would know what to look out for, and then Bobby picked up what felt like the millionth book and opened it.
Bobby had a habit of keeping an eye on Dean and Sam whenever they used to be around as youngsters, so it seemed natural to him to keep glancing up at Sam every now and then.
And he was glad it had become something so ingrained in him because after almost two and a half hours of non-stop researching, Bobby could easily point out that something was wrong with Sam. He could tell that something was off. The kid had been staring at one particular page for the past twenty minutes, and his eyes seemed unfocused.
He’d waited long enough. He needed to get to the bottom of this.
Bobby walked over to Sam and lightly laid a hand on his shoulder, expecting the slight jerk. He sat down next to Sam and asked, “You okay, Sam?”
Sam frowned and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Uh, I think. Why?”
Bobby felt troubled. “You’ve been starin’ at that page for a while now, boy.”
“Have I? Shit. Sorry, Bobby,” Sam said, looking flustered.
Bobby’s worry deepened. Sam never acted like this. He was the type of person who organized things; relied on his memory and research skills that sometimes rivalled Bobby’s.
“What’s going on with you?” Bobby asked.
Sam glanced at Bobby before sighing. “My head’s hurting a little, that’s all. It’s been on and off for a while today. It’ll go away.”
Bobby didn’t buy it. The pain lines around Sam’s eyes told him exactly how much Sam was suffering. “How about you go get some rest and I finish this up? I think I found something, could be what we’re looking for.”
Sam shook his head, pulling the book in front of him towards himself. “No, I can help.”
Bobby once again laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You go rest, boy,” he said with a firm tone.
Sam nodded in defeat after a few seconds and slowly got to his feet, unsteadily making his way to the room he and Dean shared.
Bobby scrunched his face in annoyance as Sam left the room. “Idjits. These two will be the death o’ me one day,” Bobby muttered to himself.
He got up from the sofa, marked his page in the book he was reading and headed out the door to Dean.
These boys would never solve their problem if he didn’t intervene. He knew the Winchesters. They’d keep it all bottled up until it blew up in their faces.
Grumbling under his breath about egoistic kids and being too old to deal with shit like this, Bobby made his way towards where Dean would be working on the Impala.
.~.~.
“DEAN!”
Dean cursed under his breath and bumped his head on the roof of the car. He’d managed to whip the framework of the car into shape. So it was progress.
“What?” Dean whined, rubbing the back of his head as he emerged.
“Don’t you take that tone with me, boy. What’s goin’ on with you and Sam?” Bobby accused.
Dean stiffened, immediately wanting to avoid the topic. “It’s nothing, Bobby. Let it be.”
“The hell I’ll let it be. I know you’re havin’ a hard time dealin’ with your daddy being gone and all that but that don’t mean that you should dump all the crap on Sam.”
Bobby’s words hit Dean with a pang. He knew he was being too hard on Sam, especially when all Sam was trying to do was help. But he couldn’t seem to help it.
“Bobby - “ Dean tried to say but shut his mouth when Bobby held up a hand.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Sam isn’t himself. He seems off. How long has he had that headache?” Bobby asked.
Dean frowned. He’d shared Bobby’s thoughts but had let it go, not wanting to start a fight again. Fear coursed through him when he realized that he didn’t really know how long Sam had been feeling unwell. It was only when he’d bought their lunch did Sam actually voice it out loud.
Dean’s silence gave Bobby his answer.
“I thought Sam used to be your first priority, Dean. You love the kid. Don’t become like John. Take care of your brother, would ya? You two need each other now more than ever, son,” Bobby said before nodding towards Dean and leaving.
Dean didn’t know how long he stood there contemplating Bobby’s words. The man rarely ever talked like this so for him to personally come to Dean and talk about Sam meant that something was seriously wrong.
Dean felt guilty as he realized that he’d rarely given his brother a thought; always dwelling on his father’s last words.
Finally putting down the tools in his hand, he wiped his hands on the rag he kept with him and hurried towards the house. As he entered the house, he was grateful when Bobby understood his look and pointed towards the stairs which led to his and Sam’s room.
Dean hesitated as he reached their bedroom. He knocked on the door twice, calling out Sam’s name but got no answer. He felt anxious. Was Sam pissed at him? Or was he sleeping?
Knowing that he’d have to go in sooner or later, Dean pushed open the door to find sleeping on his side, facing away from him on the bed the farthest from the door.
Dean was about to leave the room, thinking of talking to Sam when he woke up, when he heard it.
Sam was breathing too fast.
And he’d never done that before.
With dread hanging like an ominous black cloud over him, Dean walked over to Sam’s bed and sat down next to him. Dean’s alarm increased seeing Sam’s breaths coming out too quickly, almost like he was panting.
“Sam?” he called out, lightly patting his brother’s face, hoping this was all a nightmare and Sam would wake up.
“Sam, come on, buddy you’re scarin’ me here,” Dean said, trying to mask the fear that he felt inside. He couldn’t understand what could cause this. Sam had complained of a headache, but that wasn’t a big thing. He’d had migraines as a kid so if that’s what it had been back at the motel, then Dean would have known. Sam’s expressions were an open book. This wasn’t a migraine. This was something else.
Something worse.
Dean laid two fingers on the side of Sam’s neck, while glancing at his watch to time it; anxiety increasing tenfold realizing that Sam’s pulse rate was too low. Dean shook Sam lightly by the shoulders, panic evident. “Come on, kiddo,” Dean muttered, feeling his resolve break slightly.
That’s when Sam stopped breathing altogether.
“Sam?!” Dean immediately checked Sam’s pulse again, feeling a little relief that it was still beating. But he knew that if Sam had stopped breathing, something was wrong.
He rubbed Sam’s sternum hoping it would cause a reaction and the sense of foreboding deepened when Sam didn’t even twitch.
“Don’t you do this to me, Sam!” Dean almost yelled, going for Sam’s pulse again.
What was happening?!
“BOBBY!” Dean bellowed, seeking the only solution that sprang into his head.
A minute later he heard thundering footsteps nearing his door.
“Sammy, please,” Dean whispered brokenly. As Bobby appeared in the door, Dean gave his adoptive father a helpless look. “Bobby, his pulse is low, he was breathing too fast a minute ago and now he’s just...not breathing.”
Bobby rushed in and Dean watched anxiously as Bobby loosened up Sam’s clothes, titled his chin; put the back of his hand near Sam’s nostrils to check for breathing.
“Son of a bitch,” Bobby muttered.
Dean’s hopes seemed to fall when nothing that Bobby did seemed to help. He unceremoniously pushed away Bobby’s hands and looked at his brother.
“No,” Dean snarled. “You are not doing this to me. Not after Dad,” Dean said and went for the last option that came into his head. He was about to give Sam mouth-to-mouth when Sam suddenly took in a deep breath and the shallow fast breaths started all over again.
Dean slumped in relief against Sam’s chest, needed a second to compose himself.
“We gotta get him to a hospital, Dean. This isn’t something we can handle,” Bobby said.
Dean nodded and with a joint effort, he and Bobby managed to get Sam towards the beat-up sedan they’d been using. Bobby slid into the front behind the wheel without question as Dean deposited Sam in the back seat and got in with him.
“Floor it, Bobby.”
.~.~.
Dean wasn’t one for praying or having faith. He’d lost faith a long time ago. But right now, with Sam in the operating room, prayers were all he had. Faith that the doctors would fix his brother was all he had.
Sam had to get out of this alive.
Because this was too close, too fucking close.
It had been a week since they’d cremated their father and if Sam decided to kick the bucket too...
And it wasn’t only that. Sam was Dean’s world. Dean had grown up practically being a mother to the kid.
He couldn’t lose, Sam. Period.
But what if...
“No!” Dean told himself. Sam was going to make it. Sam had woken up on their way to the hospital, looking confused and in pain, but he’d been alert enough to understand that something was wrong and that he was in a car.
Dean.
Dean fisted his hands in his hair as Sam’s words before he’d lost consciousness seemed to resonate around him.
Dean could count on one hand the number of times his brother had called his name out in fear. And this was one of them. Sam’s voice had been shaky but the fear in his tone and in his somewhat unfocused eyes had been clear as day.
Refusing to let the tears pooling up in his eyes fall, Dean hastily wiped at them hoping Bobby sitting opposite him hadn’t noticed.
It had been six hours. And there hadn’t been a peep from the doctor. Which should indicate good news since it probably meant that the doctors were doing all they could for Sam.
Dean licked his lips as his foot tapped against the floor nervously as he tried to swallow down the guilt that kept bubbling up.
What if something happened to Sam?
What if Dean never got the chance to apologize?
They’d fought in the car on the way to Bobby’s and all Dean could think about was the last thing he’d said to his little brother.
”Look, all I’m trying to say is I’m here for you - “
Dean barely resisted jerking the car to a halt and walking off. He’d thought he would avoid this talk but every time Sam would find a way to bring up the same topic. “Enough, Sam!” he said sternly, as he turned and entered Bobby’s scrap yard.
But Sam being Sam, he went on. “No, Dean! You cared about him, and you’re not even trying to make peace with his death, or get closure. I cared too okay, but -“
“NO! Don’t you even think for one second that you cared! All you ever wanted to do was walk out on us. Every time you screwed up, I was the one that took the crap for you! I DID EVERYTHING FOR YOU AND YOU LEFT. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
The only reason you came back was Jess. You are not here for Mom or Dad, Sam! You are here for her! If she hadn’t died, you wouldn’t have given a shit about whether Dad and I were alive or dead, so don’t you dare tell me you cared.”
Dean put the car into park, yanked his duffel from the bag seat and got out, slamming the door shut.
But not before he saw the broken look on Sam’s face.
“Goddamn it, Sammy. I didn’t mean any of that,” Dean whispered to himself.
“He’ll be okay, Dean. He’s a fighter,” Bobby said quietly. Dean looked up and gave a half-hearted smile.
“Yeah, he is.”
.~.~.
Sam winced slightly as he regained consciousness, his gaze first landing on Dean sitting in a chair with his head resting on Sam’s bed. He slept using his hands to cushion his head. One of Dean’s hands were lightly holding onto Sam’s.
Sam frowned as he eyed the white, almost familiar hospital walls. They’d been in these too much over the years. He pursed his lips in annoyance when he felt the I.V. in his hand tug slightly as he moved it. He hated these IVs.
Sighing through the building ache in his head, he looked back at his brother and smiled
He wanted to make a snarky comment to wake his brother up but instead ending up coughing mid-sentence as a result of his dry throat. A jolt of pain shot through his head and he groaned; squeezing his eyes shut.
The next minute he heard Dean’s gentle voice coaxing him to drink up. Feeling a straw come up to his lips, Sam eagerly sipped the water; his own hands reaching up to hold the plastic cup of water.
His hands were slapped away and the straw removed and he opened his eyes to give Dean an annoyed look.
Dean chuckled. ‘You can bitch all you want, Sam. But I don’t need you spilling water all over yourself,” he teased as he set the glass aside. “So, how you feeling?”
Sam shrugged. The pain was subsiding and his head felt heavy at the most. His memories were fuzzy. “I’m...in a hospital?” he voiced.
Dean nodded. “Yeah.”
Sam frowned, frustrated that he couldn’t remember. “What...?” he trailed off, lifting his hand towards his head. His eyes widened as he realized that all he could feel was bandages. “Dean!?”
He felt his hands being pulled down and then Dean said, “Hey! Hey, Sammy? Look at me. You’re okay, all right?”
Sam looked at Dean and seeing the gentle and caring look that he rarely ever saw in his brother’s eyes made him instantly calm down. He stayed silent, waiting for an explanation.
Dean ran a hand over his face and that’s when Sam saw him properly for the first time. Dean’s hair wasn’t gelled up like he always kept it. It was product-free and all over the place. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked tired.
“That bad?” Sam asked softly.
Dean nodded as he licked his lips. “You’ve been out for three days. In a coma. Scared the crap outta me, man.”
Sam gave his brother an apologetic look. They both knew what it felt like to have your brother be in a life-threatening situation. “So, what happened?” Sam asked, scrunching up his forehead.
Dean took a deep breath as he ran a hand through his head. “What do you remember?” he finally asked after a moment of silence.
Sam pursed his lips as he tried to remember. “Um, Bobby told me to get some rest so I remembered going up to our room. I lay down on the bed and...my head was hurting so I tried to sleep. I think I drifted off...and now I’m here?” Sam explained, sounding uncertain.
Dean nodded, avoiding eye contact.
“Dude, what’s going on? Why is my head wrapped in bandages?” Sam asked, trying not to sound scared. Dean was hardly ever this shaky or disturbed.
Dean cleared his throat as he finally looked up at Sam. Sam was startled to see the hint of fear he could read in his brother’s eyes. Even though he very much wanted answers, he waited patiently.
Dean cleared his throat once again. “I think a few minutes after you headed up to bed, Bobby came out back where I was working on the car and he knocked some sense into me. Told me something seemed off about you.
“I - uh - I headed up to the house, knocked on our door but you didn’t open. So I got in and heard you breathing weird. Like you’d just run a marathon and were trying to catch your breath. So I tried to wake you up and you wouldn’t. And then suddenly you stopped breathing altogether. And scared the fuck outta me.
“I called Bobby and nothing we did was working. But all of a sudden you started breathing again but you still wouldn’t wake up. So we managed to carry you to the car and you woke up once on the way there, but that’s it.
“Then -uh - you were pulled into surgery and...now we’re here.”
Sam nodded, absorbing the information. He frowned. None of that explained how he exactly ended up here. “But-“ he was cut off by Dean.
“When Dad...um, when we left the hospital a week or so ago, you’d signed yourself out AMA right?” Dean asked.
Sam nodded. “But what’s that got to do with this?” Sam asked.
Dean rested his hands on his knees as he looked at his younger brother. “Dude, you had a subdural haemorrhage. It’s this thing about blood pooling outside your brain and pressing on it which was probably why your head was hurting. The doc said that they probably missed it in the scans in the other hospital. Man, why the hell didn’t you tell me it was hurting that bad?” Dean accused.
Sam looked away, fumbling with the sheets. “You already had a lot of crap on your shoulders, man, with Dad and....I just didn’t want to add to it.”
Sam jumped when Dean stood up and flung his chair back, yelling, “Are you kidding me, Sam!? This is not something you hide from me! You almost died! Do you have any idea what this was like? Especially after...” Dean trailed off, fuming.
Sam waited for his brother to calm down. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, giving his brother a sincere look.
Dean sighed as he nodded and sat back down on his chair. “I know. It’s not your fault. Sorry. Don’t scare me like that again, would ya?” Dean requested, smiling half-heartedly at his brother.
Sam smiled and nodded. “I’ll try.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“Hey, Sam?”
Sam looked towards Dean. He watched as Dean pursed his lips as though figuring out how to frame something. “I’m sorry. What I’d said back in the car? About you not caring and giving you all that shit about Mom? I didn’t mean any of that and-“ Dean stopped talking, looking awkward and guilty.
“Hey it’s no big deal. It’s fine,” Sam said.
Dean smiled.
Sam sighed, feeling tired, smirking when Dean chuckled.
“Go to sleep, Sasquatch. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Dean said.
Sam nodded as he yawned. And then something struck him and horror filled him. “Dean?” he asked, trying to mask the slight amusement seeing the worrying look on his older brother’s face. “Did - did they cut off my hair?”
There was a beat of silence and then Dean erupted in laughter. Sam was annoyed. This was not a laughing matter.
“Dude, after everything that has happened to you, you’re worrying about your hair?”
Sam glared at Dean. Dean held up his hands in surrender and said, “They had to open up your geeky head so yes, your hair is gone. But it’ll grow back. And it’ll be back to prissy princess length in no time.”
Sam scowled. “I’m not a prissy princess.”
Dean shrugged. “Get some rest, bitch.”
“Whatever, jerk.”
END
Recipient: lauehime
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5600
Warnings: None
Author’s Notes: So this is the first time I’m doing this and I must say it was super fun! :D I had a difficult time choosing what I wanted to write because the prompts were super good. Anyway, I just want to thank my beta (you know who you are) who is also a really good friend for being such a darling and enduring all my rants and being the most patient person ever.
Summary: Set after S02E01 ‘In My Time of Dying’. It’s been a week since they’ve cremated their father. Dean is distant and closed up and Sam is just trying to help them both deal with their father’s death. Things soon take a turn for the worse when Sam suddenly starts deteriorating and all Dean can do is hope and hope that he doesn’t lose his brother too.
.~.~.
Sam slumped onto his bed, rubbing his eyes to stave off the headache that had been bothering him for a while. He had been trying to get Dean to talk about their father again but it had blown up into a yelling match with Dean clamming up and storming out of their motel room. Sam had only just managed not to whimper as Dean had slammed the door shut.
All the noise they’d been making had only made the pain worse.
Sam sighed as he thought back to their argument. He was just trying to help his older brother. With the way that Dean kept waking up at night whispering out for his father; oblivious to the fact that Sam would be awake, the fact that he would avoid any discussion what so ever when it came to John Winchester made Sam’s suspicions positive that Dean wasn’t dealing with the death of their father at all.
You hardly even knew the man, Sam!
Scrunching up his forehead as the words seem to almost reverberate in his head, Sam took a deep breath. That was kind of true. John had hardly been present in Sam’s life. Most of his time would be spent with Dean in some random shitty motel room. The only time John would appear would be when they would have to move onto the next hunt.
Hell, Sam was sure they’d spent more time with Bobby Singer than their own father.
But that didn’t mean that he hadn’t cared. Every day in Stanford he’d been terrified that he’d pick up the phone one day, to find out that his brother or dad had died.
He may not always have agreed with the decisions that John had made, but that didn’t mean that he completely hated the man.
When he was alive, you’d contradict his every decision and now that he’s gone, you want to follow in his footsteps?!
Sam slowly got to his feet, Dean’s words swimming around in his head, and unsteadily made his way to the first aid box stashed in Dean’s duffel. Taking out a bottle of painkillers, he shook out two pills and swallowed them with a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.
True.
Sam and John may not have had the best father-son relationship, but sometimes John’s orders had been outrageous; quite often than not landing them in unnecessary peril.
Sam, in his younger years, had never understood his father’s obsession with the thing that had killed their mother. He’d never understood the need to move around from place to place. He’d just wanted to be a normal kid with a normal life. He’d wanted to go to prom, have a girlfriend, get good grades, and get accepted into college.
And he technically did get that...
But it all had come with a price.
After losing Jessica, Sam had finally understood his dad’s relentless mania to find the monster that had ripped their family apart. He, in a way, had understood the pain that his father had felt losing his wife.
Which was why he wanted to do everything he could to honour John’s memory. John may have been a bastard, a reckless father and more of a drill sergeant than an actual parent, but Sam finally understood why.
Because right now, all he could think of was finding the Yellow-Eyed Demon
All he could think of was revenge.
Jessica had just been a normal girl who had fallen for the wrong guy. She hadn’t deserved to die. She’d deserved to age gracefully and sit outside on a porch watching her grandkids. She deserved to be in love with someone other than Sam and make a lot of difference in the world before departing this world peacefully.
Not by burning on a ceiling with your torso slashed open.
Sam wiped at the tears welling up in his eyes. No matter how much he’d convince himself, he still wasn’t over losing her.
He never would be.
Mentally shaking his head to rid himself of the negativity filling up his mind, Sam flopped back onto his bed hoping that an hour or two of sleep would elevate the headache that just didn’t seem to want to quit.
.~.~.
Dean drained his glass of whiskey before motioning the bartender to give him a refill. He licked his lips as the words kept coming back to him again and again and again.
Do all you can to save Sammy, but if it’s too late, if things turn upside down, you’ll have to be strong, son. You’ll have to kill him.
What kind of a father dumps this on their kid? Kill, Sam? Hell, Dean was afraid of hurting the kid while sparring. He’d taken care of Sam all his life; he’d tended to his wounds, stayed up nights when the kid was sick. He still harboured guilt over the times he may have unintentionally hurt his brother or not looked out for him properly during a hunt. So what the hell was John thinking when he told Dean that if he couldn’t save his brother, he’d have to kill him?
Dean clenched his jaw as he barely kept in the anger that was simmering just below the line lately. And it didn’t help that Sam tried to get him to talk every chance he got.
Sam didn’t know what he felt like. Dean was more than positive that John had died to save him. His father had died because of him.
His life wasn’t worth it.
Dean nodded thanks as the bartender filled up his glass and walked away. The feeling of the whiskey burning down his throat gave him something to concentrate on other than images and scenarios of him shooting or stabbing Sam.
He felt guilty. He knew Sam was only trying to help but Dean was barely keeping it together without yelling out the words his father had dumped on him into his brother’s face.
He and Sam had been fighting a lot these days over the subject of their father.
You keep saying you’re dealing with it, Dean, but you’re not! I have to bring you home from the bar every other day because you’re too drunk to even walk, let alone drive!
Talking was how Sam dealt with issues. Not him. He got drunk, drunk to the point of oblivion. And screw anybody that tried to tell him to do different.
He knew it was unhealthy, but it was how he dealt. John would drink, Bobby would drink, so why the hell was he being the one reprimanded for doing so?
I’m just trying to finish what Dad set out to do, Dean.
Dean knew that Sam understood his father’s sentiment after losing his girlfriend, but the fact that he wanted to follow in the old man’s footsteps just pissed Dean off because it just wasn’t Sam.
This was the kid that argued with every decision made.
This was the kid who decided to go to college and be independent rather than be a part of the family business.
This was the kid that followed his own footsteps and no one else’s.
Dean groaned inwardly. When had his life become so shitty? Deciding to not get drunk today and to be easy on his brother for once, he took a deep breath before finishing his glass in one go. He deposited a few notes under the glass and walked out of the bar before sliding into the crappy sedan that he’d borrowed from Bobby.
He missed his Baby.
.~.~.
Sam yelped in pain as the motel room door opened to let in the stark, unforgiving sunlight, making the pain in his head increase tenfold. He heard a muffled curse and the sound of the door being shut.
“Next time you decide to scream like someone who’s seen a ghost, warn me, would you? I almost dropped our lunch,” Dean said, depositing plastic bags onto the small table in their room. He looked over at his brother and frowned. He walked over and slapped his brother’s thigh. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Sam muttered as he slowly sat up. “Just a headache.”
Sam looked up at his brother’s concerned gaze, easily reading the question within. “No, Dean. Not a vision. Just a headache.”
Dean nodded. “Take some Tylenol or something?”
“Yes,” Sam sighed as he slowly made his way to the table and sat down. He watched Dean munch on his burger but barely ate his own salad, not feeling so hungry. He snorted seeing the look of pleasure on Dean’s face.
“Dude, could you sound any dirtier?” Sam teased as Dean let out a particularly loud moan as he savoured his grease-filled lunch.
Dean gulped and snorted, “Hey, this is heaven, okay? I don’t even know how you live on the rabbit food.”
“It’s not rabbit food! It’s called eating healthy, jeez,” Sam argued.
“Yeah, yeah whatever,” Dean muttered but then narrowed his eyes at Sam picking on his salad. “You gonna eat that anytime soon?”
Sam shook his head distractedly. “Not hungry,” he mumbled before pushing his food away and walking over to his bed. He pulled up his duffel and began stuffing his belongings inside.
“What are you doing?” Dean asked, looking bewildered as to why Sam was suddenly packing his stuff.
Sam gave Dean an equally confused look. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Sam pursed his lips before shrugging. “Okay, maybe I forgot. Bobby called up, said he’d like it if we came over for a few days. Besides, he could use our help on researching on a case for some friend of his.”
Dean nodded as he finished his lunch, washed his hands and starting packing his own belongings. “You and Bobby can do all the research you want. I’m going to work on Baby. The sooner I fix her, the sooner we can get rid of that ugly looking thing,” Dean said, giving a sour look to the rust bucket parked outside.
Sam snorted, trying not to show how much the headache was bothering him. Dean already had too much on his mind; he didn’t want to add another cause for worry.
Besides, maybe this headache would wane off soon enough. Lord knows he used to have them as a kid.
It was nice to have rare moments when they didn’t fight. It felt stiff sometimes with the lingering tension around them, but it was nice. Sam knew it was going to get a little awkward later on when they didn’t have anything to talk about on the ride to Bobby’s. But they’d deal with that later.
.~.~.
Bobby smiled as he saw his old car drive up through the gate. He knew that their father’s death was hard on his boys. But he wasn’t the kind of sappy old man to ask them to come over so they could have a break.
So the good old excuse for research was always handy.
Bobby opened the front door as the vehicle pulled up and frowned, knowing something was wrong straight away. The car had barely been turned off before Dean got out and slammed the door shut, pulling his duffel out with him.
He gave a curt nod to Bobby before heading into the house.
Bobby watched as Sam slammed the dashboard with his fist before climbing out himself. His frown deepened even further as the kid seemed to sway a little before closing his eyes and regaining his balance.
“Hey, Bobby,” Sam said, smiling half-heartedly.
“Hey, Sam,” Bobby greeted, giving him a curious look.
Sam sighed. “Don’t ask.”
As Bobby and Sam entered the house, Dean stalked past them and outside the door, heading towards where he’d parked his Impala. Bobby eyed the sad look on Sam’s face as he stared out the door after his older brother, but said nothing.
He took out two bottles of beer and even heated up some coffee in case Sam didn’t prefer the beer as the Winchester freshened up.
Bobby wasn’t surprised when Sam headed downstairs and immediately picked up the beer rather than the coffee.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping on their drinks.
“So, you’d said you could use a hand with research,” Sam said, finally breaking it.
Bobby nodded and pointed towards his work desk. Bobby smirked when Sam’s eyes seemed to widen at the large pile of books on his table. He was sure that if he sat behind his desk right now, no one would even realize someone was in the room.
“Yeah,” Bobby replied to the incredulous look on Sam’s face. “It’s one o’ those cases. I wasn’t lyin’ when I said I could use a hand.”
Sam snorted as he joined Bobby. He took a part of the pile of books and set them on the small table in the middle of the living room while Bobby resumed his seat on his desk. He passed a few papers to Sam that showed the highlights of the case so that he would know what to look out for, and then Bobby picked up what felt like the millionth book and opened it.
Bobby had a habit of keeping an eye on Dean and Sam whenever they used to be around as youngsters, so it seemed natural to him to keep glancing up at Sam every now and then.
And he was glad it had become something so ingrained in him because after almost two and a half hours of non-stop researching, Bobby could easily point out that something was wrong with Sam. He could tell that something was off. The kid had been staring at one particular page for the past twenty minutes, and his eyes seemed unfocused.
He’d waited long enough. He needed to get to the bottom of this.
Bobby walked over to Sam and lightly laid a hand on his shoulder, expecting the slight jerk. He sat down next to Sam and asked, “You okay, Sam?”
Sam frowned and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Uh, I think. Why?”
Bobby felt troubled. “You’ve been starin’ at that page for a while now, boy.”
“Have I? Shit. Sorry, Bobby,” Sam said, looking flustered.
Bobby’s worry deepened. Sam never acted like this. He was the type of person who organized things; relied on his memory and research skills that sometimes rivalled Bobby’s.
“What’s going on with you?” Bobby asked.
Sam glanced at Bobby before sighing. “My head’s hurting a little, that’s all. It’s been on and off for a while today. It’ll go away.”
Bobby didn’t buy it. The pain lines around Sam’s eyes told him exactly how much Sam was suffering. “How about you go get some rest and I finish this up? I think I found something, could be what we’re looking for.”
Sam shook his head, pulling the book in front of him towards himself. “No, I can help.”
Bobby once again laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You go rest, boy,” he said with a firm tone.
Sam nodded in defeat after a few seconds and slowly got to his feet, unsteadily making his way to the room he and Dean shared.
Bobby scrunched his face in annoyance as Sam left the room. “Idjits. These two will be the death o’ me one day,” Bobby muttered to himself.
He got up from the sofa, marked his page in the book he was reading and headed out the door to Dean.
These boys would never solve their problem if he didn’t intervene. He knew the Winchesters. They’d keep it all bottled up until it blew up in their faces.
Grumbling under his breath about egoistic kids and being too old to deal with shit like this, Bobby made his way towards where Dean would be working on the Impala.
.~.~.
“DEAN!”
Dean cursed under his breath and bumped his head on the roof of the car. He’d managed to whip the framework of the car into shape. So it was progress.
“What?” Dean whined, rubbing the back of his head as he emerged.
“Don’t you take that tone with me, boy. What’s goin’ on with you and Sam?” Bobby accused.
Dean stiffened, immediately wanting to avoid the topic. “It’s nothing, Bobby. Let it be.”
“The hell I’ll let it be. I know you’re havin’ a hard time dealin’ with your daddy being gone and all that but that don’t mean that you should dump all the crap on Sam.”
Bobby’s words hit Dean with a pang. He knew he was being too hard on Sam, especially when all Sam was trying to do was help. But he couldn’t seem to help it.
“Bobby - “ Dean tried to say but shut his mouth when Bobby held up a hand.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Sam isn’t himself. He seems off. How long has he had that headache?” Bobby asked.
Dean frowned. He’d shared Bobby’s thoughts but had let it go, not wanting to start a fight again. Fear coursed through him when he realized that he didn’t really know how long Sam had been feeling unwell. It was only when he’d bought their lunch did Sam actually voice it out loud.
Dean’s silence gave Bobby his answer.
“I thought Sam used to be your first priority, Dean. You love the kid. Don’t become like John. Take care of your brother, would ya? You two need each other now more than ever, son,” Bobby said before nodding towards Dean and leaving.
Dean didn’t know how long he stood there contemplating Bobby’s words. The man rarely ever talked like this so for him to personally come to Dean and talk about Sam meant that something was seriously wrong.
Dean felt guilty as he realized that he’d rarely given his brother a thought; always dwelling on his father’s last words.
Finally putting down the tools in his hand, he wiped his hands on the rag he kept with him and hurried towards the house. As he entered the house, he was grateful when Bobby understood his look and pointed towards the stairs which led to his and Sam’s room.
Dean hesitated as he reached their bedroom. He knocked on the door twice, calling out Sam’s name but got no answer. He felt anxious. Was Sam pissed at him? Or was he sleeping?
Knowing that he’d have to go in sooner or later, Dean pushed open the door to find sleeping on his side, facing away from him on the bed the farthest from the door.
Dean was about to leave the room, thinking of talking to Sam when he woke up, when he heard it.
Sam was breathing too fast.
And he’d never done that before.
With dread hanging like an ominous black cloud over him, Dean walked over to Sam’s bed and sat down next to him. Dean’s alarm increased seeing Sam’s breaths coming out too quickly, almost like he was panting.
“Sam?” he called out, lightly patting his brother’s face, hoping this was all a nightmare and Sam would wake up.
“Sam, come on, buddy you’re scarin’ me here,” Dean said, trying to mask the fear that he felt inside. He couldn’t understand what could cause this. Sam had complained of a headache, but that wasn’t a big thing. He’d had migraines as a kid so if that’s what it had been back at the motel, then Dean would have known. Sam’s expressions were an open book. This wasn’t a migraine. This was something else.
Something worse.
Dean laid two fingers on the side of Sam’s neck, while glancing at his watch to time it; anxiety increasing tenfold realizing that Sam’s pulse rate was too low. Dean shook Sam lightly by the shoulders, panic evident. “Come on, kiddo,” Dean muttered, feeling his resolve break slightly.
That’s when Sam stopped breathing altogether.
“Sam?!” Dean immediately checked Sam’s pulse again, feeling a little relief that it was still beating. But he knew that if Sam had stopped breathing, something was wrong.
He rubbed Sam’s sternum hoping it would cause a reaction and the sense of foreboding deepened when Sam didn’t even twitch.
“Don’t you do this to me, Sam!” Dean almost yelled, going for Sam’s pulse again.
What was happening?!
“BOBBY!” Dean bellowed, seeking the only solution that sprang into his head.
A minute later he heard thundering footsteps nearing his door.
“Sammy, please,” Dean whispered brokenly. As Bobby appeared in the door, Dean gave his adoptive father a helpless look. “Bobby, his pulse is low, he was breathing too fast a minute ago and now he’s just...not breathing.”
Bobby rushed in and Dean watched anxiously as Bobby loosened up Sam’s clothes, titled his chin; put the back of his hand near Sam’s nostrils to check for breathing.
“Son of a bitch,” Bobby muttered.
Dean’s hopes seemed to fall when nothing that Bobby did seemed to help. He unceremoniously pushed away Bobby’s hands and looked at his brother.
“No,” Dean snarled. “You are not doing this to me. Not after Dad,” Dean said and went for the last option that came into his head. He was about to give Sam mouth-to-mouth when Sam suddenly took in a deep breath and the shallow fast breaths started all over again.
Dean slumped in relief against Sam’s chest, needed a second to compose himself.
“We gotta get him to a hospital, Dean. This isn’t something we can handle,” Bobby said.
Dean nodded and with a joint effort, he and Bobby managed to get Sam towards the beat-up sedan they’d been using. Bobby slid into the front behind the wheel without question as Dean deposited Sam in the back seat and got in with him.
“Floor it, Bobby.”
.~.~.
Dean wasn’t one for praying or having faith. He’d lost faith a long time ago. But right now, with Sam in the operating room, prayers were all he had. Faith that the doctors would fix his brother was all he had.
Sam had to get out of this alive.
Because this was too close, too fucking close.
It had been a week since they’d cremated their father and if Sam decided to kick the bucket too...
And it wasn’t only that. Sam was Dean’s world. Dean had grown up practically being a mother to the kid.
He couldn’t lose, Sam. Period.
But what if...
“No!” Dean told himself. Sam was going to make it. Sam had woken up on their way to the hospital, looking confused and in pain, but he’d been alert enough to understand that something was wrong and that he was in a car.
Dean.
Dean fisted his hands in his hair as Sam’s words before he’d lost consciousness seemed to resonate around him.
Dean could count on one hand the number of times his brother had called his name out in fear. And this was one of them. Sam’s voice had been shaky but the fear in his tone and in his somewhat unfocused eyes had been clear as day.
Refusing to let the tears pooling up in his eyes fall, Dean hastily wiped at them hoping Bobby sitting opposite him hadn’t noticed.
It had been six hours. And there hadn’t been a peep from the doctor. Which should indicate good news since it probably meant that the doctors were doing all they could for Sam.
Dean licked his lips as his foot tapped against the floor nervously as he tried to swallow down the guilt that kept bubbling up.
What if something happened to Sam?
What if Dean never got the chance to apologize?
They’d fought in the car on the way to Bobby’s and all Dean could think about was the last thing he’d said to his little brother.
”Look, all I’m trying to say is I’m here for you - “
Dean barely resisted jerking the car to a halt and walking off. He’d thought he would avoid this talk but every time Sam would find a way to bring up the same topic. “Enough, Sam!” he said sternly, as he turned and entered Bobby’s scrap yard.
But Sam being Sam, he went on. “No, Dean! You cared about him, and you’re not even trying to make peace with his death, or get closure. I cared too okay, but -“
“NO! Don’t you even think for one second that you cared! All you ever wanted to do was walk out on us. Every time you screwed up, I was the one that took the crap for you! I DID EVERYTHING FOR YOU AND YOU LEFT. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
The only reason you came back was Jess. You are not here for Mom or Dad, Sam! You are here for her! If she hadn’t died, you wouldn’t have given a shit about whether Dad and I were alive or dead, so don’t you dare tell me you cared.”
Dean put the car into park, yanked his duffel from the bag seat and got out, slamming the door shut.
But not before he saw the broken look on Sam’s face.
“Goddamn it, Sammy. I didn’t mean any of that,” Dean whispered to himself.
“He’ll be okay, Dean. He’s a fighter,” Bobby said quietly. Dean looked up and gave a half-hearted smile.
“Yeah, he is.”
.~.~.
Sam winced slightly as he regained consciousness, his gaze first landing on Dean sitting in a chair with his head resting on Sam’s bed. He slept using his hands to cushion his head. One of Dean’s hands were lightly holding onto Sam’s.
Sam frowned as he eyed the white, almost familiar hospital walls. They’d been in these too much over the years. He pursed his lips in annoyance when he felt the I.V. in his hand tug slightly as he moved it. He hated these IVs.
Sighing through the building ache in his head, he looked back at his brother and smiled
He wanted to make a snarky comment to wake his brother up but instead ending up coughing mid-sentence as a result of his dry throat. A jolt of pain shot through his head and he groaned; squeezing his eyes shut.
The next minute he heard Dean’s gentle voice coaxing him to drink up. Feeling a straw come up to his lips, Sam eagerly sipped the water; his own hands reaching up to hold the plastic cup of water.
His hands were slapped away and the straw removed and he opened his eyes to give Dean an annoyed look.
Dean chuckled. ‘You can bitch all you want, Sam. But I don’t need you spilling water all over yourself,” he teased as he set the glass aside. “So, how you feeling?”
Sam shrugged. The pain was subsiding and his head felt heavy at the most. His memories were fuzzy. “I’m...in a hospital?” he voiced.
Dean nodded. “Yeah.”
Sam frowned, frustrated that he couldn’t remember. “What...?” he trailed off, lifting his hand towards his head. His eyes widened as he realized that all he could feel was bandages. “Dean!?”
He felt his hands being pulled down and then Dean said, “Hey! Hey, Sammy? Look at me. You’re okay, all right?”
Sam looked at Dean and seeing the gentle and caring look that he rarely ever saw in his brother’s eyes made him instantly calm down. He stayed silent, waiting for an explanation.
Dean ran a hand over his face and that’s when Sam saw him properly for the first time. Dean’s hair wasn’t gelled up like he always kept it. It was product-free and all over the place. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked tired.
“That bad?” Sam asked softly.
Dean nodded as he licked his lips. “You’ve been out for three days. In a coma. Scared the crap outta me, man.”
Sam gave his brother an apologetic look. They both knew what it felt like to have your brother be in a life-threatening situation. “So, what happened?” Sam asked, scrunching up his forehead.
Dean took a deep breath as he ran a hand through his head. “What do you remember?” he finally asked after a moment of silence.
Sam pursed his lips as he tried to remember. “Um, Bobby told me to get some rest so I remembered going up to our room. I lay down on the bed and...my head was hurting so I tried to sleep. I think I drifted off...and now I’m here?” Sam explained, sounding uncertain.
Dean nodded, avoiding eye contact.
“Dude, what’s going on? Why is my head wrapped in bandages?” Sam asked, trying not to sound scared. Dean was hardly ever this shaky or disturbed.
Dean cleared his throat as he finally looked up at Sam. Sam was startled to see the hint of fear he could read in his brother’s eyes. Even though he very much wanted answers, he waited patiently.
Dean cleared his throat once again. “I think a few minutes after you headed up to bed, Bobby came out back where I was working on the car and he knocked some sense into me. Told me something seemed off about you.
“I - uh - I headed up to the house, knocked on our door but you didn’t open. So I got in and heard you breathing weird. Like you’d just run a marathon and were trying to catch your breath. So I tried to wake you up and you wouldn’t. And then suddenly you stopped breathing altogether. And scared the fuck outta me.
“I called Bobby and nothing we did was working. But all of a sudden you started breathing again but you still wouldn’t wake up. So we managed to carry you to the car and you woke up once on the way there, but that’s it.
“Then -uh - you were pulled into surgery and...now we’re here.”
Sam nodded, absorbing the information. He frowned. None of that explained how he exactly ended up here. “But-“ he was cut off by Dean.
“When Dad...um, when we left the hospital a week or so ago, you’d signed yourself out AMA right?” Dean asked.
Sam nodded. “But what’s that got to do with this?” Sam asked.
Dean rested his hands on his knees as he looked at his younger brother. “Dude, you had a subdural haemorrhage. It’s this thing about blood pooling outside your brain and pressing on it which was probably why your head was hurting. The doc said that they probably missed it in the scans in the other hospital. Man, why the hell didn’t you tell me it was hurting that bad?” Dean accused.
Sam looked away, fumbling with the sheets. “You already had a lot of crap on your shoulders, man, with Dad and....I just didn’t want to add to it.”
Sam jumped when Dean stood up and flung his chair back, yelling, “Are you kidding me, Sam!? This is not something you hide from me! You almost died! Do you have any idea what this was like? Especially after...” Dean trailed off, fuming.
Sam waited for his brother to calm down. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, giving his brother a sincere look.
Dean sighed as he nodded and sat back down on his chair. “I know. It’s not your fault. Sorry. Don’t scare me like that again, would ya?” Dean requested, smiling half-heartedly at his brother.
Sam smiled and nodded. “I’ll try.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“Hey, Sam?”
Sam looked towards Dean. He watched as Dean pursed his lips as though figuring out how to frame something. “I’m sorry. What I’d said back in the car? About you not caring and giving you all that shit about Mom? I didn’t mean any of that and-“ Dean stopped talking, looking awkward and guilty.
“Hey it’s no big deal. It’s fine,” Sam said.
Dean smiled.
Sam sighed, feeling tired, smirking when Dean chuckled.
“Go to sleep, Sasquatch. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Dean said.
Sam nodded as he yawned. And then something struck him and horror filled him. “Dean?” he asked, trying to mask the slight amusement seeing the worrying look on his older brother’s face. “Did - did they cut off my hair?”
There was a beat of silence and then Dean erupted in laughter. Sam was annoyed. This was not a laughing matter.
“Dude, after everything that has happened to you, you’re worrying about your hair?”
Sam glared at Dean. Dean held up his hands in surrender and said, “They had to open up your geeky head so yes, your hair is gone. But it’ll grow back. And it’ll be back to prissy princess length in no time.”
Sam scowled. “I’m not a prissy princess.”
Dean shrugged. “Get some rest, bitch.”
“Whatever, jerk.”
END