[Fic] Nobody's Fault but Mine
Fic Title: Nobody’s Fault But Mine
Author: youaregonecas
Fandom/Genre: SPN, Gen, hurt, hospital fic,
Pairing(s): None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3.740 words
Warnings: Slight violence, hospital setting, hurt Dean
Summary: After a solo hunt ends in Dean being brought to the hospital and in a coma, Sam’s worried about his brother. It is in seeing his brother bruised and broken that he realizes that family feuds, no matter how big, are worth putting aside.
This fic features art by the wonderful sillie82. It was wonderful getting to work with you Silvia! You can find her amazing art right here.
This fic on AO3.
Sam Winchester didn’t realize just how much trouble they were probably in until it was too late. Dean had been gone when he came home from school, not a note, nothing. Sam had waited four hours, waiting for him to come back before he called his cell repeatedly.
He knew that Dean had wanted to go after the Djinn. He had told him that he wanted to do this one solo, without any help from Sam.
If he hadn't found a way to track Dean's cell phone, he would have never found him. And hell was it a sight. His brother was a heap on the floor, blood was streaming down from his nose over his clothes and dark bruises blossoming on his skin.
“Dean!” he hissed, shaking him roughly, “Dean.” His eyelids didn’t even flutter as Sam propped him up, resting his head against the wall. At least his blood was still warm, he could still feel his pulse beating, weak, but it was still beating. “Dean!”
In that horrid moment, Dean stopped breathing.
The hospital hallway was quiet, except for the beeping of machines and footsteps outside. Sam had in the ER for hours now, the day slowly turning into night. Dean still hadn't regained unconscious, not even after being attached to too many machines.
Sam’s hands had shook when he called the ambulance, in that moment not even caring whether their insurance - or would cover it or not. Another town, another name, another insurance company.
They had worked on Dean at least fifteen minutes before taking him to the hospital, his condition finally stable enough to be transported there. Sam had counted every minute they worked, every minute that Dean’s eyes didn’t open and his breathing slowed down.
Worst thing about the whole situation was that the doctors couldn’t say a damn thing. Not about when he would wake up. One doctor even dared to say if he would wake up. He had curled his hands into fists on his sides, trying his hardest not to hit the doctor right there. Hitting somebody wouldn’t help, not right now.
It had all been such a stupid accident. If John had been there, things wouldn't have gone south. At least not that much. If their ass of a father hadn't been out hunting on his own, again, Dean wouldn't have been hit by the Djinn that hard. And it was Sam’s fault. No matter how he looked at it.
If he hadn’t insisted on arguing with Dean about not being experienced enough to go out alone and if he hadn’t said that he couldn’t do it without dad, maybe Dean would have listened for a change. He had driven dad away sooner than he had wanted to go.
John hadn’t been supposed to leave for another two or three days when he left. They had had an argument, a huge one, even for them. That night, he had been drunk and the following morning, Dean said that he had left. At the moment, he hadn’t minded it that much. He never missed John. Now, Sam realized that he shouldn’t have. He should have bit his tongue.
Said father wasn’t answering his cell - as usual. For some reason, it quirked him out more than usual. After all, he was still their father, he still had to look out for them. Especially when the doctors thought that maybe, Dean wouldn’t wake up. He had accepted the fact that John Winchester was a deadbeat dad a long time ago. It had always been Dean that raised him, that had become a second father for him. John had never been that, never been who he was supposed to be.
“Hi dad, it's me, again,” Sam had said, not even hours ago while pacing in the hallway. “Something's up with Dean. It was a Djinn. We're at the hospital now. Please, come. For Dean. Call if you get here. Please dad.” He had hung up with a heavy heart, knowing that he probably wouldn't come, no matter how much he would plead.
But he had still hoped. There still was hope, that he would at least get a call back. Nothing. There still was that hope, that John was mid hunt and he couldn't call or look at his phone. The hope was idle he knew, but it was there, in the pit of us heart.
The doctors came in and out of the room, checking his vitals, changing the settings on the ventilator. He didn’t even know if they turned them up or if his lungs were slowly healing and he was needing less oxygen.
It took more than five hours before one of them told Sam that there was a room upstairs that was being readied for Dean. Getting a room was a start. At least, if he woke up in a room where he was alone, he wouldn't be as grumpy about being in the hospital, Sam hoped.
“We don’t know when he’ll wake up,” one of the doctors told him, probably for the dozenth time. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Thank you doctor,” he said, forcing a smile. He was, once again, reminded about the visiting hours closing in an hour. He could hardly leave Dean to wake up on his own. The doctors had to know that.
But he probably wouldn’t wake up tonight, not by a long shot. Sam knew his brother, knew that he fought but sometimes, he just needed his time.
They were in the room fifteen minutes later, Dean drifting back into consciousness, but just barely. It started with the twitching of his fingers and later, the fluttering of his his eyes. Sam couldn't put in words how relieved he was to see Dean at least a little responsive. Part of his doubt and self-blaming ebbed away when he saw those green eyes look at him, even if they were angry.
The hunting lifestyle brought along scrapes and bruises all the time. They rarely ended up in the hospital. Even back in the day, when Dean had spiked a fever high enough for John to consider bringing Dean in, they never actually went. Sam had almost begged him on his knees, to at least get his brother checked out. But John said no.
This time though, the bruises had been worse. The Djinn had seriously injured him. The black eye, cuts along his arms. Now that he was cleaned up a little, it wasn't as horrifying as it had been before. Not that seeing your brother on the ground not breathing was ever not horrifying.
Seeing the readings on the monitors stable barely made him worry less, as the nurses told him that it should. All they said was that Dean was breathing and that his heart was beating, that was all. He didn’t know what his brother had seen when he was with the Djinn, if he would miss what he saw.
That was his biggest fear. That Dean would open his eyes and want to go back to wherever the Djinn had brought him. It wasn't a mystery what Dean would want. Mom back, dad in the picture. Sam there, somewhere but not so much the focus of attention there.
Sam knew what he would dream. Mary there, John too, Dean with a stable job and a wife or well, a girlfriend at least. They would all be out of the hunter lifestyle, happy instead of surrounded with death like they always were these days.
“Mister Jefferson?” A nurse stood in the doorway, a clipboard in her hands. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to leave soon. Could you help us with some information? Anybody to call?” The hospital didn’t seem to trust a sixteen year old with information like this.
“Okay,” he muttered, getting up from the chair. “Dean, I’ll be right back.” He promised it even though Dean couldn’t hear him. He only realized it when the look in her eyes changed to pity. “What do you want to know?”
The nurse asked more questions that he had been asked in centuries. Even midterms weren’t as hard to answer as some of the questions. There were the standard questions about the insurance, after which they checked if all the medical info that Sam had given them when they arrived at the hospital was right.
If they looked for Dean Jefferson, son of John Jefferson and brother of Sam Jefferson, there would be no results. It was why Sam hoped that they wouldn’t do that. He could hardly start explaining.
“Thank you sir,” the nurse, Anna, said with a slight smile, “you can stay another half an hour if you want to, until visiting hour. If anything about his condition were to happen during the night, we’ll call.” He had given them his actual cell number, not the one for one of the fake cell phones that they had collected over the years.
“Thanks.”
Dean didn’t wake up that night. He left an hour after visiting hours ended with a heavy heart. He almost felt as if he left part of his heart, but mostly his confidence in the situation behind in the room on the second floor. After those signs of waking up, which the nurse had told later that they didn’t necessarily have to mean anything, there was nothing else.
Quite the contrary even. His breathing became shallower and his heart rate dipped dangerously low. If the machine hadn’t alerted the nurses, he would have yelled for a nurse within the second.
Dean recovered from that little dip in the road, at least for a little while. Sam tried reading what the doctor wrote on Dean’s chart about what had happened, but the writing was almost illegible. He could ask, but, quite honestly, Sam wasn’t completely sure if he even wanted to know.
Sam came back the following morning. He arrived at the hospital the second that he was allowed back in Dean’s room. The night before had been a rough one, Sam waking up covered in sweat around three AM and after that completely losing the ability to sleep.
Seeing dean slumped to the ground had been bad enough before, made him feel guilty enough and now it was haunting him in his dreams too. The utter numbness in Dean's eyes when he had opened them for a second before losing consciousness completely. The way that he had clung to Sam, holding on as if he was is anchor into being here, staying here in this universe.
What made things worse was that John still hadn't called. He'd left a dozen voicemail messages even last night, after the nightmare, he had attempted to call once more. Still, he didn't pick up. If Sam hadn't been so worried about Dean, he would have worried about John too. If something happened to their father as well as to Dean, Sam just didn’t know what he would do.
When he entered Dean’s room, nothing had changed. The machines were still beeping steadily, the ventilator was still in place, his heart rate still beating in a comforting rhythm on the monitor. He wished that it would bring him more comfort than it actually did.
“Hey Dean,” he muttered, stopping the urge to stretch out and take his hand, “I’m back, like I promised last night. The hospital didn’t call, I guess nothing too bad happened.” The room stayed silent. “I waited by the phone you know? Even made sure that it was on ‘loud’ so I didn’t miss the call.”
The only answer was the silent wheezing of the machines around him and the ticking of the clock, way too loud for the tiny room.
“You know, I was kind of hoping to see you up again. You know, laughing, talking. Or even just asleep, off off his ventilator and machines. Without a IV too. Guess that is not going to happen soon now, is it? Yeah, guess I knew that.” He huffed. “You get back with us all, you know. This food sucks.” He bit back a laugh. Dean would catch him on his lie in a second.
“Yeah, just, you know, get back here. Dad and I fight enough with you here to calm things down. I don’t even know what would happen if you don’t come back. Hell. I’d be out of there within seconds, you know that, right?” He fell silent, swallowing against the tears threatening to spill. “So, come back.”
The Impala pulled into the hospital parking lot later that day. Sam dreaded seeing it, even though he had hoped that his father would be there soon. He had wanted Dean to be awake, Dean to be with them again. But he wasn’t, not yet. The day had showed promise though.
He had been blinking a lot and for a change, his stats had been good. He had went into distress once, but it cleared up soon enough. Whatever they were pumping in his body through the IV, it was working.
He walked downstairs to meet his father in the lobby, figuring that whenever they were going to fight about this, they’d better not start by John having to ask for his son in the lobby.
“Sam,” John said, managing to voice that accusation that he felt so clearly that Sam flinched at his words alone. “Where is Dean?”
“Upstairs, I’ll take you to his room,” Sam sighed before starting the by now all too familiar path upstairs.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s,” he started, not sure how to say it, how to take away the accusation that would be there in John’s voice. “He’s stable right now, I think. He still has to wake up. They are waiting for him to do so before they can say more.”
“What happened?” Sam told him, not into details, that was for Dean to do when he came around again. The sheer disapproval in John’s eyes was like daggers cutting through his skin. He may not say it, but even without, Sam knew that his father would yell at him later for it, bring it up every fight they had.
And Sam, he couldn’t say that his father didn’t have the right. He messed up.
It surprised Sam how long it took before they started fighting, or well, at least before they started snapping at each other. It was only after they heard more about how Dean was actually doing did they start. It appeared that the doctors hadn’t told Sam everything that they knew and well, Sam guessed he understood. After all, Sam was just sixteen years old, nobody would trust a practical kid with information like that.
Dean was coming around again or at least, that was what the doctors thought was happening. If they could depend on the readings, which they did, his breathing and overall vitals were better. The swelling in his brain - something they had failed to mention to Sam, to his great annoyance - was disappearing. If they had to make a guess, there was a good chance that he would wake up sooner then they all thought he would.
“Thank you.”
When the nurse left the two of them alone, John turned on him, face showing the fury that he must have been holding back all this time. Sam flinched back from it from the sole memory of his father’s rage all too clear in his mind.
“What were you thinking?” His voice sounded hollow. “What the hell were you thinking Sam? You know your brother.”
“It wasn’t like I had any choice.” Sam tried to keep his voice calm, keep the anger that he had felt when each of his phone calls went unanswered. “It’s not like Dean magically listens to a thing I say!” His fingernails dug into the soft skin of his palms. “I’m not you. I’m not his boss, he doesn’t have to listen to me!”
“You should have been there to stop him from going!” John was starting to lose his temper, the careful wall of public friendliness breaking down in front of Sam. “You and your brother both know that you are not ready to go into the field solo.”
“How do you suggest I stop him? Tie him down on a chair?” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his words, not anymore. “He’s twenty dad. I don’t think you know it, but he can take care of his own. He could walk right out of your let’s get payback for mom business, without your consent. And yet he sticks around because he doesn’t want to let you down.” He bit his tongue, trying to stop the following words from coming out, but couldn’t. “You know, there’s experiments like those, about conditioning, Pavlov, Skinner. Does it ring a bell dad?! We’re not dogs. You can’t make perfect little soldiers from us, things like this happen. You don’t care about us, all you see us as is your soldiers, sergeant.”
“If I didn’t care, would I be here?” John snapped back at him. “Does it look like I don’t care about you kids?”
“I called, dad. Twenty times, at least. You didn’t even bother picking up. Don’t even try pretending that you care.”
“I showed up.” He almost spit the words at him. “The second I got that phone call, I finished off the ghost, jumped into to Impala and drove here. Without ever stopping.”
“Keep your crap for Dean, dad. He might still believe in you or be too intimidated to say something, but I don’t.” He walked away, leaving John with Dean knowing that he’d be facing his father’s wrath later.
Sam came back two hours later, only to see Dean sitting up in bed, his eyes open and him off the ventilator. Just seeing him breathe on his own was such a relief. He still looked sleepy and well, not healthy, but he was up. Hell, Dean even managed to muster a little smile for him. Sam was glad to see that, his brother up and talking, smiling, or well, just breathing. Healthier than before, when the machines were keeping him out of trouble.
Sam couldn’t say that the machines had been keeping him alive and that only because he wasn’t sure of it. It could be that Dean would have survived if they hadn’t, but maybe, just maybe Dean would have pulled through without the medical help.
John was nowhere to be seen, but then again, he had never been good at the touchy feelings stuff. Nobody with the last name Winchester was. It was almost in the job description. Winchester, doesn’t do feelings. If Dean was an expert at that, John was the mastermind behind it.
“Heya Sammy, long time no see.” Dean smiled a little at him, before shifting in the hospital bed. He cast an annoyed glance at the wires as they kept him in place.
“Dean.” He was next to the bed within seconds, hugging his brother probably a bit too tight. “You scared me. Scared the living crap out of me.”
“Sorry, but what the hell Sammy? You brought me in?” If his brother was trying not to accuse him, he was failing, big time.
“You weren’t breathing. If I didn’t bring you in, you would have died.” Not that Sam was sure about that, maybe he would have pulled through in time. After last night, he doubted it. “Where is dad?”
“Talking to the doctors,” Dean shrugged, “he’s seeing what will happen next.” And when they could leave the hospital, to head to the next town, to go ahead and continue with their lives as if all of this had never happened. Always the patented Winchester way.
“Good,” Sam breathed, pushing the guilt back in its’ corner of his mind. “That’s good. How are you feeling, good? Better? You are, right?”
“Sleepy,” he sighed, “but I’m good. Really.” Sam let Dean fall back asleep, happy just to sit there by his side, looking as the monitors gave him his numbers. He was going to be okay. Dean was going to be okay. Sam didn’t have to be afraid of his brother never coming out of the coma.
Dean was discharged an hour later. Sam was surprised about how fast the doctors had cleared him, but then again, John had always been very persuasive. Whatever he may feel about his father, he pushed it aside for a little while. Bickering back and forth wouldn’t help his brother in recovering, if anything, it would only make things worse.
He wore one of Sam’s hoodies and sweatpants to make it more comfortable for him. He had tried jeans, but practically yanked them off the second he realized just how much they rubbed against the bandages on his legs. It was too cold for a normal t-shirt outside anyway and well, he had wanted his brother to be comfortable.
Of course, being pure Dean, he refused to sit in the wheelchair that the nurses had fetched him and walked out of the hospital on his own powers. Sam kept close to him, let Dean cling to him whenever he needed the reassurance.
Dean didn’t even bitch about sitting in the back of the car instead of the front. John had pulled out a couple of blankets to pull over him, put them in the back without saying a word about it. The drugs they had given him still worked, thank god and made him drift off in slumbers. Sam kept checking back on his brother, who didn’t wake up at all during the drive to the motel. One time, after they’d been on the road for about an half an hour, John shifted in his seat and turned his head.
“Thank you Sam.” If Sam hadn’t been listening, he wouldn’t have caught his words. And if they made him feel happy? Well, he never spoke about it.
After, they didn’t speak about the experience, the scare they had all had, but it was there, in the back off their minds. The next hunts were quieter and they were careful until Dean was completely better. But things went back to normal. The road went on, the earth kept spinning and the Winchester men were off again, to the next monster, the next kill.
Author: youaregonecas
Fandom/Genre: SPN, Gen, hurt, hospital fic,
Pairing(s): None
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3.740 words
Warnings: Slight violence, hospital setting, hurt Dean
Summary: After a solo hunt ends in Dean being brought to the hospital and in a coma, Sam’s worried about his brother. It is in seeing his brother bruised and broken that he realizes that family feuds, no matter how big, are worth putting aside.
This fic features art by the wonderful sillie82. It was wonderful getting to work with you Silvia! You can find her amazing art right here.
This fic on AO3.
Sam Winchester didn’t realize just how much trouble they were probably in until it was too late. Dean had been gone when he came home from school, not a note, nothing. Sam had waited four hours, waiting for him to come back before he called his cell repeatedly.
He knew that Dean had wanted to go after the Djinn. He had told him that he wanted to do this one solo, without any help from Sam.
If he hadn't found a way to track Dean's cell phone, he would have never found him. And hell was it a sight. His brother was a heap on the floor, blood was streaming down from his nose over his clothes and dark bruises blossoming on his skin.
“Dean!” he hissed, shaking him roughly, “Dean.” His eyelids didn’t even flutter as Sam propped him up, resting his head against the wall. At least his blood was still warm, he could still feel his pulse beating, weak, but it was still beating. “Dean!”
In that horrid moment, Dean stopped breathing.
The hospital hallway was quiet, except for the beeping of machines and footsteps outside. Sam had in the ER for hours now, the day slowly turning into night. Dean still hadn't regained unconscious, not even after being attached to too many machines.
Sam’s hands had shook when he called the ambulance, in that moment not even caring whether their insurance - or would cover it or not. Another town, another name, another insurance company.
They had worked on Dean at least fifteen minutes before taking him to the hospital, his condition finally stable enough to be transported there. Sam had counted every minute they worked, every minute that Dean’s eyes didn’t open and his breathing slowed down.
Worst thing about the whole situation was that the doctors couldn’t say a damn thing. Not about when he would wake up. One doctor even dared to say if he would wake up. He had curled his hands into fists on his sides, trying his hardest not to hit the doctor right there. Hitting somebody wouldn’t help, not right now.
It had all been such a stupid accident. If John had been there, things wouldn't have gone south. At least not that much. If their ass of a father hadn't been out hunting on his own, again, Dean wouldn't have been hit by the Djinn that hard. And it was Sam’s fault. No matter how he looked at it.
If he hadn’t insisted on arguing with Dean about not being experienced enough to go out alone and if he hadn’t said that he couldn’t do it without dad, maybe Dean would have listened for a change. He had driven dad away sooner than he had wanted to go.
John hadn’t been supposed to leave for another two or three days when he left. They had had an argument, a huge one, even for them. That night, he had been drunk and the following morning, Dean said that he had left. At the moment, he hadn’t minded it that much. He never missed John. Now, Sam realized that he shouldn’t have. He should have bit his tongue.
Said father wasn’t answering his cell - as usual. For some reason, it quirked him out more than usual. After all, he was still their father, he still had to look out for them. Especially when the doctors thought that maybe, Dean wouldn’t wake up. He had accepted the fact that John Winchester was a deadbeat dad a long time ago. It had always been Dean that raised him, that had become a second father for him. John had never been that, never been who he was supposed to be.
“Hi dad, it's me, again,” Sam had said, not even hours ago while pacing in the hallway. “Something's up with Dean. It was a Djinn. We're at the hospital now. Please, come. For Dean. Call if you get here. Please dad.” He had hung up with a heavy heart, knowing that he probably wouldn't come, no matter how much he would plead.
But he had still hoped. There still was hope, that he would at least get a call back. Nothing. There still was that hope, that John was mid hunt and he couldn't call or look at his phone. The hope was idle he knew, but it was there, in the pit of us heart.
The doctors came in and out of the room, checking his vitals, changing the settings on the ventilator. He didn’t even know if they turned them up or if his lungs were slowly healing and he was needing less oxygen.
It took more than five hours before one of them told Sam that there was a room upstairs that was being readied for Dean. Getting a room was a start. At least, if he woke up in a room where he was alone, he wouldn't be as grumpy about being in the hospital, Sam hoped.
“We don’t know when he’ll wake up,” one of the doctors told him, probably for the dozenth time. We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Thank you doctor,” he said, forcing a smile. He was, once again, reminded about the visiting hours closing in an hour. He could hardly leave Dean to wake up on his own. The doctors had to know that.
But he probably wouldn’t wake up tonight, not by a long shot. Sam knew his brother, knew that he fought but sometimes, he just needed his time.
They were in the room fifteen minutes later, Dean drifting back into consciousness, but just barely. It started with the twitching of his fingers and later, the fluttering of his his eyes. Sam couldn't put in words how relieved he was to see Dean at least a little responsive. Part of his doubt and self-blaming ebbed away when he saw those green eyes look at him, even if they were angry.
The hunting lifestyle brought along scrapes and bruises all the time. They rarely ended up in the hospital. Even back in the day, when Dean had spiked a fever high enough for John to consider bringing Dean in, they never actually went. Sam had almost begged him on his knees, to at least get his brother checked out. But John said no.
This time though, the bruises had been worse. The Djinn had seriously injured him. The black eye, cuts along his arms. Now that he was cleaned up a little, it wasn't as horrifying as it had been before. Not that seeing your brother on the ground not breathing was ever not horrifying.
Seeing the readings on the monitors stable barely made him worry less, as the nurses told him that it should. All they said was that Dean was breathing and that his heart was beating, that was all. He didn’t know what his brother had seen when he was with the Djinn, if he would miss what he saw.
That was his biggest fear. That Dean would open his eyes and want to go back to wherever the Djinn had brought him. It wasn't a mystery what Dean would want. Mom back, dad in the picture. Sam there, somewhere but not so much the focus of attention there.
Sam knew what he would dream. Mary there, John too, Dean with a stable job and a wife or well, a girlfriend at least. They would all be out of the hunter lifestyle, happy instead of surrounded with death like they always were these days.
“Mister Jefferson?” A nurse stood in the doorway, a clipboard in her hands. “I’m afraid that you’ll have to leave soon. Could you help us with some information? Anybody to call?” The hospital didn’t seem to trust a sixteen year old with information like this.
“Okay,” he muttered, getting up from the chair. “Dean, I’ll be right back.” He promised it even though Dean couldn’t hear him. He only realized it when the look in her eyes changed to pity. “What do you want to know?”
The nurse asked more questions that he had been asked in centuries. Even midterms weren’t as hard to answer as some of the questions. There were the standard questions about the insurance, after which they checked if all the medical info that Sam had given them when they arrived at the hospital was right.
If they looked for Dean Jefferson, son of John Jefferson and brother of Sam Jefferson, there would be no results. It was why Sam hoped that they wouldn’t do that. He could hardly start explaining.
“Thank you sir,” the nurse, Anna, said with a slight smile, “you can stay another half an hour if you want to, until visiting hour. If anything about his condition were to happen during the night, we’ll call.” He had given them his actual cell number, not the one for one of the fake cell phones that they had collected over the years.
“Thanks.”
Dean didn’t wake up that night. He left an hour after visiting hours ended with a heavy heart. He almost felt as if he left part of his heart, but mostly his confidence in the situation behind in the room on the second floor. After those signs of waking up, which the nurse had told later that they didn’t necessarily have to mean anything, there was nothing else.
Quite the contrary even. His breathing became shallower and his heart rate dipped dangerously low. If the machine hadn’t alerted the nurses, he would have yelled for a nurse within the second.
Dean recovered from that little dip in the road, at least for a little while. Sam tried reading what the doctor wrote on Dean’s chart about what had happened, but the writing was almost illegible. He could ask, but, quite honestly, Sam wasn’t completely sure if he even wanted to know.
Sam came back the following morning. He arrived at the hospital the second that he was allowed back in Dean’s room. The night before had been a rough one, Sam waking up covered in sweat around three AM and after that completely losing the ability to sleep.
Seeing dean slumped to the ground had been bad enough before, made him feel guilty enough and now it was haunting him in his dreams too. The utter numbness in Dean's eyes when he had opened them for a second before losing consciousness completely. The way that he had clung to Sam, holding on as if he was is anchor into being here, staying here in this universe.
What made things worse was that John still hadn't called. He'd left a dozen voicemail messages even last night, after the nightmare, he had attempted to call once more. Still, he didn't pick up. If Sam hadn't been so worried about Dean, he would have worried about John too. If something happened to their father as well as to Dean, Sam just didn’t know what he would do.
When he entered Dean’s room, nothing had changed. The machines were still beeping steadily, the ventilator was still in place, his heart rate still beating in a comforting rhythm on the monitor. He wished that it would bring him more comfort than it actually did.
“Hey Dean,” he muttered, stopping the urge to stretch out and take his hand, “I’m back, like I promised last night. The hospital didn’t call, I guess nothing too bad happened.” The room stayed silent. “I waited by the phone you know? Even made sure that it was on ‘loud’ so I didn’t miss the call.”
The only answer was the silent wheezing of the machines around him and the ticking of the clock, way too loud for the tiny room.
“You know, I was kind of hoping to see you up again. You know, laughing, talking. Or even just asleep, off off his ventilator and machines. Without a IV too. Guess that is not going to happen soon now, is it? Yeah, guess I knew that.” He huffed. “You get back with us all, you know. This food sucks.” He bit back a laugh. Dean would catch him on his lie in a second.
“Yeah, just, you know, get back here. Dad and I fight enough with you here to calm things down. I don’t even know what would happen if you don’t come back. Hell. I’d be out of there within seconds, you know that, right?” He fell silent, swallowing against the tears threatening to spill. “So, come back.”
The Impala pulled into the hospital parking lot later that day. Sam dreaded seeing it, even though he had hoped that his father would be there soon. He had wanted Dean to be awake, Dean to be with them again. But he wasn’t, not yet. The day had showed promise though.
He had been blinking a lot and for a change, his stats had been good. He had went into distress once, but it cleared up soon enough. Whatever they were pumping in his body through the IV, it was working.
He walked downstairs to meet his father in the lobby, figuring that whenever they were going to fight about this, they’d better not start by John having to ask for his son in the lobby.
“Sam,” John said, managing to voice that accusation that he felt so clearly that Sam flinched at his words alone. “Where is Dean?”
“Upstairs, I’ll take you to his room,” Sam sighed before starting the by now all too familiar path upstairs.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s,” he started, not sure how to say it, how to take away the accusation that would be there in John’s voice. “He’s stable right now, I think. He still has to wake up. They are waiting for him to do so before they can say more.”
“What happened?” Sam told him, not into details, that was for Dean to do when he came around again. The sheer disapproval in John’s eyes was like daggers cutting through his skin. He may not say it, but even without, Sam knew that his father would yell at him later for it, bring it up every fight they had.
And Sam, he couldn’t say that his father didn’t have the right. He messed up.
It surprised Sam how long it took before they started fighting, or well, at least before they started snapping at each other. It was only after they heard more about how Dean was actually doing did they start. It appeared that the doctors hadn’t told Sam everything that they knew and well, Sam guessed he understood. After all, Sam was just sixteen years old, nobody would trust a practical kid with information like that.
Dean was coming around again or at least, that was what the doctors thought was happening. If they could depend on the readings, which they did, his breathing and overall vitals were better. The swelling in his brain - something they had failed to mention to Sam, to his great annoyance - was disappearing. If they had to make a guess, there was a good chance that he would wake up sooner then they all thought he would.
“Thank you.”
When the nurse left the two of them alone, John turned on him, face showing the fury that he must have been holding back all this time. Sam flinched back from it from the sole memory of his father’s rage all too clear in his mind.
“What were you thinking?” His voice sounded hollow. “What the hell were you thinking Sam? You know your brother.”
“It wasn’t like I had any choice.” Sam tried to keep his voice calm, keep the anger that he had felt when each of his phone calls went unanswered. “It’s not like Dean magically listens to a thing I say!” His fingernails dug into the soft skin of his palms. “I’m not you. I’m not his boss, he doesn’t have to listen to me!”
“You should have been there to stop him from going!” John was starting to lose his temper, the careful wall of public friendliness breaking down in front of Sam. “You and your brother both know that you are not ready to go into the field solo.”
“How do you suggest I stop him? Tie him down on a chair?” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his words, not anymore. “He’s twenty dad. I don’t think you know it, but he can take care of his own. He could walk right out of your let’s get payback for mom business, without your consent. And yet he sticks around because he doesn’t want to let you down.” He bit his tongue, trying to stop the following words from coming out, but couldn’t. “You know, there’s experiments like those, about conditioning, Pavlov, Skinner. Does it ring a bell dad?! We’re not dogs. You can’t make perfect little soldiers from us, things like this happen. You don’t care about us, all you see us as is your soldiers, sergeant.”
“If I didn’t care, would I be here?” John snapped back at him. “Does it look like I don’t care about you kids?”
“I called, dad. Twenty times, at least. You didn’t even bother picking up. Don’t even try pretending that you care.”
“I showed up.” He almost spit the words at him. “The second I got that phone call, I finished off the ghost, jumped into to Impala and drove here. Without ever stopping.”
“Keep your crap for Dean, dad. He might still believe in you or be too intimidated to say something, but I don’t.” He walked away, leaving John with Dean knowing that he’d be facing his father’s wrath later.
Sam came back two hours later, only to see Dean sitting up in bed, his eyes open and him off the ventilator. Just seeing him breathe on his own was such a relief. He still looked sleepy and well, not healthy, but he was up. Hell, Dean even managed to muster a little smile for him. Sam was glad to see that, his brother up and talking, smiling, or well, just breathing. Healthier than before, when the machines were keeping him out of trouble.
Sam couldn’t say that the machines had been keeping him alive and that only because he wasn’t sure of it. It could be that Dean would have survived if they hadn’t, but maybe, just maybe Dean would have pulled through without the medical help.
John was nowhere to be seen, but then again, he had never been good at the touchy feelings stuff. Nobody with the last name Winchester was. It was almost in the job description. Winchester, doesn’t do feelings. If Dean was an expert at that, John was the mastermind behind it.
“Heya Sammy, long time no see.” Dean smiled a little at him, before shifting in the hospital bed. He cast an annoyed glance at the wires as they kept him in place.
“Dean.” He was next to the bed within seconds, hugging his brother probably a bit too tight. “You scared me. Scared the living crap out of me.”
“Sorry, but what the hell Sammy? You brought me in?” If his brother was trying not to accuse him, he was failing, big time.
“You weren’t breathing. If I didn’t bring you in, you would have died.” Not that Sam was sure about that, maybe he would have pulled through in time. After last night, he doubted it. “Where is dad?”
“Talking to the doctors,” Dean shrugged, “he’s seeing what will happen next.” And when they could leave the hospital, to head to the next town, to go ahead and continue with their lives as if all of this had never happened. Always the patented Winchester way.
“Good,” Sam breathed, pushing the guilt back in its’ corner of his mind. “That’s good. How are you feeling, good? Better? You are, right?”
“Sleepy,” he sighed, “but I’m good. Really.” Sam let Dean fall back asleep, happy just to sit there by his side, looking as the monitors gave him his numbers. He was going to be okay. Dean was going to be okay. Sam didn’t have to be afraid of his brother never coming out of the coma.
Dean was discharged an hour later. Sam was surprised about how fast the doctors had cleared him, but then again, John had always been very persuasive. Whatever he may feel about his father, he pushed it aside for a little while. Bickering back and forth wouldn’t help his brother in recovering, if anything, it would only make things worse.
He wore one of Sam’s hoodies and sweatpants to make it more comfortable for him. He had tried jeans, but practically yanked them off the second he realized just how much they rubbed against the bandages on his legs. It was too cold for a normal t-shirt outside anyway and well, he had wanted his brother to be comfortable.
Of course, being pure Dean, he refused to sit in the wheelchair that the nurses had fetched him and walked out of the hospital on his own powers. Sam kept close to him, let Dean cling to him whenever he needed the reassurance.
Dean didn’t even bitch about sitting in the back of the car instead of the front. John had pulled out a couple of blankets to pull over him, put them in the back without saying a word about it. The drugs they had given him still worked, thank god and made him drift off in slumbers. Sam kept checking back on his brother, who didn’t wake up at all during the drive to the motel. One time, after they’d been on the road for about an half an hour, John shifted in his seat and turned his head.
“Thank you Sam.” If Sam hadn’t been listening, he wouldn’t have caught his words. And if they made him feel happy? Well, he never spoke about it.
After, they didn’t speak about the experience, the scare they had all had, but it was there, in the back off their minds. The next hunts were quieter and they were careful until Dean was completely better. But things went back to normal. The road went on, the earth kept spinning and the Winchester men were off again, to the next monster, the next kill.