Clean Slate - Chapter Six
Title: Clean Slate - Chapter Six
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,157
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean, Bobby.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Summary: Death: 'Nasty, those memories. You don't want to know what they'll do to him.'
After an accident, Sam's memories of the last two years are wiped. What
starts out as a blessing soon turns into a curse as Sam's memories are
reawakened.
LIMP!HURT!SAM WORRIED!DEAN
Set S7 Episode 06 - Story picks up at the end of Slash Fiction and becomes AU.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: Up to Season Seven: Episode 6
Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta’ing this fic.
Chapter Six
Doctor Saunders paused for a moment outside John Smith's room, bracing herself. She knew the legal team had been in to speak with the family and that they were now aware of all the hospital's failings in John's care. The two men sat in chairs on either side of the bed, and they were deep in conversation. It didn't take a genius to work out what they were talking about.
Knowing she was being a coward lurking outside the room, she tapped on the door and then pushed it open. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said in a tone of forced brightness.
Bobby nodded in return to her greeting, and Dean stared balefully at her. He would be trouble, she surmised.
Noting the cart the doctor was wheeling in ahead of her, Dean asked, "What's that for?"
"We need to run another test on John."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty vague. Want to give me a little more to go on?"
The doctor sighed. "This is called an Electroencephalograph. It will monitor John's brainwaves to give us a greater understanding of his level of brain function."
Dean gulped. No matter how cheerily the doctor said it, it sounded seriously bad to him.
"Brain waves." Cold fear gripped Bobby's heart. "You mean there might be damage?"
"Brain damage!" Dean gasped. He was grateful that he was already sitting, as he didn't think his legs would have held him if he had been standing. "My brother has brain damage?"
"We don't know," Doctor Saunders said somberly. "That is what this machine will tell us. Prior to John's cardiac arrest, he was showing active brain waves; there was no sign of damage. When he crashed in the OR, the oxygen flow to his brain was compromised. That may have caused some damage. I don't want you to worry, yet. There is-"
"Doc, I can guarantee we're gonna worry," Bobby said. "It's an automatic reaction when someone mentions brain damage. Now, how's about you set up that machine and set all our minds at ease."
The younger man implored her with his eyes, and the doctor thought she had never seen such a tragic expression.
The two men got to their feet and stepped away from the bed, giving the doctor a clear path to her patient. She smoothed back his hair, and set about attaching the electrodes to his scalp. She took her time, wanting to make sure she did a good job. The last thing she needed was to foul up somewhere and cause more stress to the two men. When she was satisfied with her work, she stepped back from the bed.
She thought it was better to be upfront with the family; it might help them to know what they were looking for. This could backfire on her if there was no activity, of course. She had faith in John Smith though. He had already come through so much. She hoped this time would be no different. "We're looking at the activity on this readout, the more the better."
Dean and Bobby stepped around the bed so they had a clear view of the machine. They looked at the doctor expectantly, and she flicked on the machine. Immediately there was a rush of movement on the monitor as the machine whirred to life. It settled into smooth lines of movement. It ebbed and flowed rhythmically.
Dean felt wetness pool around his eyes at the sight. There was activity; his brother was going to be okay.
"That's good, right?" Bobby said, watching the lines streak across the screen.
Doctor Saunders didn't respond immediately. She too was examining the readout, and she didn't feel the same rush of relief as the two men. There was something wrong.
Dean turned to look at her, worry twisting his gut. He stepped closer to the bed and gripped Sam's lax hand. "What's wrong?"
"There is activity," Doctor Saunders said carefully.
"And that's a good thing?" Bobby prompted.
The doctor sighed heavily, hating what she had to say next. "The activity is depleted."
Though Dean stood motionless, it felt as though he had just careened into a brick wall. The breath was forced from his lungs in a harsh whoosh. He stared down at his brother on the bed, and, not for the first time, he wondered how things could have gone so wrong so fast. Two weeks ago, he was happy hunting with his brother, then they had fought, and that had been bad enough, but now this… He didn't know how much more he could take.
"What do you mean depleted?" Bobby struggled to keep his voice steady as a tidal wave of shock and horror washed over him.
"I mean that the activity we had seen before today was much greater than this." She sighed. "I will need to run the test for at least twenty minutes more to get a clear read, but what I am seeing at this moment is decreased brain activity."
"How bad is it?" Bobby asked in a hoarse voice.
"We won't know until he wakes up," she said evasively.
"And when will that be?"
Though it was Bobby that had asked, Doctor Saunders addressed Dean next. "What you need to understand is that your brother has-"
"We've already had the 'been through a lot' and 'time to heal' speech, thanks," Dean snapped. "He's been through more than you can imagine, and he's come through it all intact. I want to know when my brother is going to wake up."
Doctor Saunders drew in a quick breath at the unmasked hostility in the younger man's eyes. It scared her a little.
"What my nephew means is that we need straight answers," Bobby said, casting Dean a remonstrating glance.
"Don't talk for me!" Dean growled and then he turned his glare on the doctor again. "I want to know when my brother is going to wake up!"
"Mr. Smith, it's impossible to tell-"
"Tell me!" Dean bellowed.
"Maybe never." As soon as the words left her mouth, Doctor Saunders cursed them. She had been taught how to react in situations like these. It was her job to deliver bad news in a gentle way. But this young man had forced it out of her.
"Never?" Dean's voice was barely audible. He wavered on his feet and Bobby rushed to his side and eased him into a chair.
Gripping Dean's shoulder, Bobby swallowed back the bile in his throat. "Please explain."
"John is in a deep coma. There are certain tests we perform to grade consciousness, and John isn't scoring high on them. He is showing no response to pain, not even involuntary movements. He may never wake up."
"But this can change, right?" Bobby asked.
"Absolutely!" she said wholeheartedly. "There is a chance he can come out of this a good chance, but you also need to be prepared for the opposite."
"Get out," Dean said quietly.
"I'm sorry, what-"
"I said get out!" Dean snarled. "Get out of here. Leave us alone. Leave my brother alone. Just get out."
"Dean!" Bobby chided.
"No, Bobby," Dean pushed off Bobby's restraining arm. He advanced on the doctor, looking positively murderous. "Leave now."
The doctor turned on her heel and scurried from the room. For the first time in her career, she felt like a failure. John Smith was making her feel like a failure. She had failed to see the signs of internal bleeding in John in time and now she had failed his family, too.
Dean stood and watched her go, breathing heavily through his nose. He was full of rage, rage borne of the news she had given him. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to believe it, but her words wouldn't leave him.
'He may never wake up.'
He looked down at his brother and tears welled in his eyes and fell down his cheeks. He stepped closer to the bed and took Sam's hand in his own again. "Dammit, Sammy," he moaned.
"Dean." Bobby stepped up beside him. "It's going to be okay, son."
For once, Bobby's words held no comfort for Dean. The time for empty promises and comfort had come and gone. All that mattered was the truth, and the doctor had just delivered it.
Dean gripped Sam's shoulders and squeezed them. "Come on, Sammy. You have to wake up. Prove them wrong. Wake up!"
"Dean, you're gonna hurt him." Bobby tugged on Dean's elbow. "You can't…"
"Come on, Sammy. Wake up!" Dean implored. "For me. Wake up for me."
Bobby jerked Dean's hands away from Sam. Dean's grip had left pale marks on Sam's bronze skin.
Dean looked down at his brother and horror built in him. Horror for what he had done and horror for what he had heard. He couldn't stand to be in that room a moment longer. He felt like he was drowning for fresh air. Turning away from his brother and Bobby, he crossed the room in long strides.
"Where are you going?" Bobby asked.
"Away." He flung open the door. "Away from this damned place."
"Your brother needs you," Bobby said.
Dean looked once at his brother and shook his head. Sam didn't need him anymore. Sam needed a miracle.
Dean slammed his glass down on the bar and gestured to the bartender. "Fill me up."
The bartender was a young girl, probably only early twenties. She was pretty in a homespun way, and on any other day Dean would have been looking to get her into bed. Not today though. Today he had other concerns.
The bartender refilled his glass and Dean skulled it back.
"Bad day?" she asked.
If it weren't for the dire situation he was in, Dean would have laughed at the cliché line.
"Bad doesn't even begin to cover it."
"Want to talk about it?"
In truth, the last thing that Dean wanted to do was talk about the crap-storm that was his current situation, but he found himself speaking anyway.
"I have this friend…"
The bartender gave him a knowing look. "A friend, huh?"
"Yes, a friend." Dean's tone was firm. "And he's got this kid brother. He's a good kid, but he attracts trouble like nobody's business."
"Let me guess. He's got himself in trouble and it's your friend's job to get him out of it again?"
Dean shook his head. "If only it was that easy. No, he's got himself in trouble, but this time my friend can't help. It's down to him to pull himself out of it, and I don't know if he can. He's been through a hell of a lot lately, and this might just be too much for him."
"Maybe your friend is underestimating his brother. If he's come through bad stuff before, he might be able to do it again."
Dean raked a hand over his face and knocked back the whisky the bartender had poured for him. He would like to think that Sam could come back from this, but he had no hope left. This was just one thing too many for him to handle. And if it was too much for Dean to just watch it happen, how could Sam bring himself out of this?"
"Has your friend tried talking to his brother?" The bartender asked, replacing Dean's shot glass with a bottle of beer-he was getting through the shots too fast for his own good. "That might help."
"He's tried," Dean admitted. "But it's a little complicated."
"Complicated how?"
Dean sighed heavily. "The thing that's happened, it was an accident. Now my buddy's brother is in the hospital, in a coma."
"Oh!" The bartender's mouth dropped open. "I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, sorry." Dean nodded. "Me too."
"And there's no hope?" she asked.
"According to my buddy's brother, there is always hope. He's one of those guys that believes in second chances. He always has hope. He's the glass half full guy."
"And you're not?"
"I'm a realist. The doctors say he might wake up, but here's the kicker, they did this test this morning and there's something wrong with his brain. Some damage from one of the surgeries. Now, he may wake up, but there's no knowing what state he will be in when he wakes up. My buddy, he doesn't know which is worse. The fact he may not wake up at all, or the fact he might."
"You're scared," she stated. "Scared of what he'll be like when he wakes up."
"Terrified," Dean admitted, no longer caring that she was seeing through his pretence of a friend and his brother. "What if he's not Sam anymore?"
"Surely it's better to have some part of him back, better than nothing at all."
"That's the question, isn't it? Will he still be my brother if he doesn't know me anymore? If he doesn't remember all the things we have been through together. What if he looks at me and I am a stranger to him?"
"Then you'll remember for the both of you," she said gently. "I can't imagine what you are going through, but I know one thing, sitting here in a bar isn't going to help anything. You should be with your brother. How would you feel if he woke up and you weren't there?"
A wave of sadness separate to the grief he was already feeling swept through Dean. The thought of Sam opening his eyes without Dean being there was chilling. He pushed his beer away and got to his feet.
"Thanks… um."
"Shelly," the bartender said. "My name's Shelly. Do me a favor, okay? Come back sometime and let me know how things work out."
"Thanks, Shelly. And I will. I promise."
"I'll pray for your brother. What's his name?"
"Sam. His name is Sammy.
Bobby sat at Sam's beside and wondered how things could have come to this. He had thought the greatest threat to his boys was the leviathans and the other creatures they chased-not a day went by that the brothers were out on the hunt that Bobby didn't worry about them. It turned out he was wrong. Something as simple as crossing the street had almost stolen Sam away.
"Oh, Sam, why did this have to happen?" Bobby asked aloud.
He watched Sam's chest rise and fall with the rhythm of the ventilator and tried to take comfort in it. He tried to tell himself that it was a good thing, that it was a sign that Sam was still alive and fighting, but knowing that it was not Sam doing it for himself stole any comfort from the scene.
"I tell ya, boy, you have to come out of this soon. I don't know how much more your brother can take. He don't seem to work right without you. He's drowning at the moment; you have to give him something to hold on to."
He searched Sam's form for a sign of reaction, but there was none.
"C'mon, Sam," Bobby pleaded. "You have to give us something."
He knew in his heart that it was foolish to expect his words to reach Sam. The doctor had said he was in a deep coma. He was beyond their beckoning.
A nurse came into the room and Bobby got to his feet. "Everything okay?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm just doing some checks." She hovered around the bed, checking tubes and wires. She pulled back the sheet covering Sam's abdomen and nodded approvingly. "It all looks good."
Bobby nodded. "That's good, right?"
"Yes. There are no signs of a further bleed. In a moment, someone will come and take Sam down for a CT."
"You just said he was good."
"We aren't taking any chances with John," the nurse said. "We need to be sure."
Bobby knew she was referencing the mistakes that had already been made in Sam's care. Bobby and Dean had discussed it at length, and though they were both furious, there was nothing they could do about it. John Smith didn't really exist. Luckily for them, the hospital hadn't asked about insurance so far. Bobby was hoping shame would keep them from asking, as neither Dean nor Bobby had anywhere near enough money to cover the treatment costs.
The nurse left and Bobby settled back in the chair.
"Ya hear that, Sam? You're doing good."
The only response was the continued click and hum of the ventilator.
When Dean got back to the ICU, he found Bobby standing in the hallway. His heart contracted painfully and he stopped dead in his tracks.
"No!" he moaned.
"No, it's okay," Bobby called, hurrying towards him. "It's okay. They've just taken him for a scan. He's okay."
"Oh, thank god," Dean breathed. "Hold on. Why are they scanning him again?"
"Sam's getting the VIP treatment. They just want to be sure they haven't missed anything."
Dean exhaled and leaned back against the wall. "That's good, I guess."
"Damn right it's good. Now, you care to tell me where you've been?"
"I went to a bar."
"I know that. I'm practically getting drunk off the fumes. I want to know where your head was at when you decided to walk out on your brother."
"I just needed some space, Bobby. I can't breathe in this place."
"And you're better now?"
"I am. I had someone talk some sense into me."
Bobby wished he could have been that person. He was used to having the answers for the boys, but he was out of his depth here. He didn't know what to say to help Dean, and he didn't know how to bring Sam back.
"Sam's gonna be a while," Bobby said. "Let's go get us some coffee."
"I don't want to be too far away," Dean said uncomfortably. He had already walked out on his brother once today; he would not do it again. If, no, when, Sam woke up, Dean wanted to be the first person he saw.
"Okay, son. I don't think they'll mind if you hang in his room. I'll go get us some coffee and then I should see about finding us a motel. I don't know how long they'll let us hang around."
"I'm not leaving him, Bobby. I don't care what they say. It's their fault he's as bad off as he is. If they think I am going to leave them to look after him alone, they've got another thing coming."
"I hear ya, but you need sleep."
"I can sleep here," Dean said doggedly. "You go get some sleep though. Sammy will understand."
Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "If you're staying, so am I."
Dean smiled a grim smile. "Thanks, Bobby, for everything."
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,157
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean, Bobby.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Summary: Death: 'Nasty, those memories. You don't want to know what they'll do to him.'
After an accident, Sam's memories of the last two years are wiped. What
starts out as a blessing soon turns into a curse as Sam's memories are
reawakened.
LIMP!HURT!SAM WORRIED!DEAN
Set S7 Episode 06 - Story picks up at the end of Slash Fiction and becomes AU.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: Up to Season Seven: Episode 6
Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta’ing this fic.
Chapter Six
Doctor Saunders paused for a moment outside John Smith's room, bracing herself. She knew the legal team had been in to speak with the family and that they were now aware of all the hospital's failings in John's care. The two men sat in chairs on either side of the bed, and they were deep in conversation. It didn't take a genius to work out what they were talking about.
Knowing she was being a coward lurking outside the room, she tapped on the door and then pushed it open. "Good evening, gentlemen," she said in a tone of forced brightness.
Bobby nodded in return to her greeting, and Dean stared balefully at her. He would be trouble, she surmised.
Noting the cart the doctor was wheeling in ahead of her, Dean asked, "What's that for?"
"We need to run another test on John."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "That's pretty vague. Want to give me a little more to go on?"
The doctor sighed. "This is called an Electroencephalograph. It will monitor John's brainwaves to give us a greater understanding of his level of brain function."
Dean gulped. No matter how cheerily the doctor said it, it sounded seriously bad to him.
"Brain waves." Cold fear gripped Bobby's heart. "You mean there might be damage?"
"Brain damage!" Dean gasped. He was grateful that he was already sitting, as he didn't think his legs would have held him if he had been standing. "My brother has brain damage?"
"We don't know," Doctor Saunders said somberly. "That is what this machine will tell us. Prior to John's cardiac arrest, he was showing active brain waves; there was no sign of damage. When he crashed in the OR, the oxygen flow to his brain was compromised. That may have caused some damage. I don't want you to worry, yet. There is-"
"Doc, I can guarantee we're gonna worry," Bobby said. "It's an automatic reaction when someone mentions brain damage. Now, how's about you set up that machine and set all our minds at ease."
The younger man implored her with his eyes, and the doctor thought she had never seen such a tragic expression.
The two men got to their feet and stepped away from the bed, giving the doctor a clear path to her patient. She smoothed back his hair, and set about attaching the electrodes to his scalp. She took her time, wanting to make sure she did a good job. The last thing she needed was to foul up somewhere and cause more stress to the two men. When she was satisfied with her work, she stepped back from the bed.
She thought it was better to be upfront with the family; it might help them to know what they were looking for. This could backfire on her if there was no activity, of course. She had faith in John Smith though. He had already come through so much. She hoped this time would be no different. "We're looking at the activity on this readout, the more the better."
Dean and Bobby stepped around the bed so they had a clear view of the machine. They looked at the doctor expectantly, and she flicked on the machine. Immediately there was a rush of movement on the monitor as the machine whirred to life. It settled into smooth lines of movement. It ebbed and flowed rhythmically.
Dean felt wetness pool around his eyes at the sight. There was activity; his brother was going to be okay.
"That's good, right?" Bobby said, watching the lines streak across the screen.
Doctor Saunders didn't respond immediately. She too was examining the readout, and she didn't feel the same rush of relief as the two men. There was something wrong.
Dean turned to look at her, worry twisting his gut. He stepped closer to the bed and gripped Sam's lax hand. "What's wrong?"
"There is activity," Doctor Saunders said carefully.
"And that's a good thing?" Bobby prompted.
The doctor sighed heavily, hating what she had to say next. "The activity is depleted."
Though Dean stood motionless, it felt as though he had just careened into a brick wall. The breath was forced from his lungs in a harsh whoosh. He stared down at his brother on the bed, and, not for the first time, he wondered how things could have gone so wrong so fast. Two weeks ago, he was happy hunting with his brother, then they had fought, and that had been bad enough, but now this… He didn't know how much more he could take.
"What do you mean depleted?" Bobby struggled to keep his voice steady as a tidal wave of shock and horror washed over him.
"I mean that the activity we had seen before today was much greater than this." She sighed. "I will need to run the test for at least twenty minutes more to get a clear read, but what I am seeing at this moment is decreased brain activity."
"How bad is it?" Bobby asked in a hoarse voice.
"We won't know until he wakes up," she said evasively.
"And when will that be?"
Though it was Bobby that had asked, Doctor Saunders addressed Dean next. "What you need to understand is that your brother has-"
"We've already had the 'been through a lot' and 'time to heal' speech, thanks," Dean snapped. "He's been through more than you can imagine, and he's come through it all intact. I want to know when my brother is going to wake up."
Doctor Saunders drew in a quick breath at the unmasked hostility in the younger man's eyes. It scared her a little.
"What my nephew means is that we need straight answers," Bobby said, casting Dean a remonstrating glance.
"Don't talk for me!" Dean growled and then he turned his glare on the doctor again. "I want to know when my brother is going to wake up!"
"Mr. Smith, it's impossible to tell-"
"Tell me!" Dean bellowed.
"Maybe never." As soon as the words left her mouth, Doctor Saunders cursed them. She had been taught how to react in situations like these. It was her job to deliver bad news in a gentle way. But this young man had forced it out of her.
"Never?" Dean's voice was barely audible. He wavered on his feet and Bobby rushed to his side and eased him into a chair.
Gripping Dean's shoulder, Bobby swallowed back the bile in his throat. "Please explain."
"John is in a deep coma. There are certain tests we perform to grade consciousness, and John isn't scoring high on them. He is showing no response to pain, not even involuntary movements. He may never wake up."
"But this can change, right?" Bobby asked.
"Absolutely!" she said wholeheartedly. "There is a chance he can come out of this a good chance, but you also need to be prepared for the opposite."
"Get out," Dean said quietly.
"I'm sorry, what-"
"I said get out!" Dean snarled. "Get out of here. Leave us alone. Leave my brother alone. Just get out."
"Dean!" Bobby chided.
"No, Bobby," Dean pushed off Bobby's restraining arm. He advanced on the doctor, looking positively murderous. "Leave now."
The doctor turned on her heel and scurried from the room. For the first time in her career, she felt like a failure. John Smith was making her feel like a failure. She had failed to see the signs of internal bleeding in John in time and now she had failed his family, too.
Dean stood and watched her go, breathing heavily through his nose. He was full of rage, rage borne of the news she had given him. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want to believe it, but her words wouldn't leave him.
'He may never wake up.'
He looked down at his brother and tears welled in his eyes and fell down his cheeks. He stepped closer to the bed and took Sam's hand in his own again. "Dammit, Sammy," he moaned.
"Dean." Bobby stepped up beside him. "It's going to be okay, son."
For once, Bobby's words held no comfort for Dean. The time for empty promises and comfort had come and gone. All that mattered was the truth, and the doctor had just delivered it.
Dean gripped Sam's shoulders and squeezed them. "Come on, Sammy. You have to wake up. Prove them wrong. Wake up!"
"Dean, you're gonna hurt him." Bobby tugged on Dean's elbow. "You can't…"
"Come on, Sammy. Wake up!" Dean implored. "For me. Wake up for me."
Bobby jerked Dean's hands away from Sam. Dean's grip had left pale marks on Sam's bronze skin.
Dean looked down at his brother and horror built in him. Horror for what he had done and horror for what he had heard. He couldn't stand to be in that room a moment longer. He felt like he was drowning for fresh air. Turning away from his brother and Bobby, he crossed the room in long strides.
"Where are you going?" Bobby asked.
"Away." He flung open the door. "Away from this damned place."
"Your brother needs you," Bobby said.
Dean looked once at his brother and shook his head. Sam didn't need him anymore. Sam needed a miracle.
Dean slammed his glass down on the bar and gestured to the bartender. "Fill me up."
The bartender was a young girl, probably only early twenties. She was pretty in a homespun way, and on any other day Dean would have been looking to get her into bed. Not today though. Today he had other concerns.
The bartender refilled his glass and Dean skulled it back.
"Bad day?" she asked.
If it weren't for the dire situation he was in, Dean would have laughed at the cliché line.
"Bad doesn't even begin to cover it."
"Want to talk about it?"
In truth, the last thing that Dean wanted to do was talk about the crap-storm that was his current situation, but he found himself speaking anyway.
"I have this friend…"
The bartender gave him a knowing look. "A friend, huh?"
"Yes, a friend." Dean's tone was firm. "And he's got this kid brother. He's a good kid, but he attracts trouble like nobody's business."
"Let me guess. He's got himself in trouble and it's your friend's job to get him out of it again?"
Dean shook his head. "If only it was that easy. No, he's got himself in trouble, but this time my friend can't help. It's down to him to pull himself out of it, and I don't know if he can. He's been through a hell of a lot lately, and this might just be too much for him."
"Maybe your friend is underestimating his brother. If he's come through bad stuff before, he might be able to do it again."
Dean raked a hand over his face and knocked back the whisky the bartender had poured for him. He would like to think that Sam could come back from this, but he had no hope left. This was just one thing too many for him to handle. And if it was too much for Dean to just watch it happen, how could Sam bring himself out of this?"
"Has your friend tried talking to his brother?" The bartender asked, replacing Dean's shot glass with a bottle of beer-he was getting through the shots too fast for his own good. "That might help."
"He's tried," Dean admitted. "But it's a little complicated."
"Complicated how?"
Dean sighed heavily. "The thing that's happened, it was an accident. Now my buddy's brother is in the hospital, in a coma."
"Oh!" The bartender's mouth dropped open. "I'm so sorry."
"Yeah, sorry." Dean nodded. "Me too."
"And there's no hope?" she asked.
"According to my buddy's brother, there is always hope. He's one of those guys that believes in second chances. He always has hope. He's the glass half full guy."
"And you're not?"
"I'm a realist. The doctors say he might wake up, but here's the kicker, they did this test this morning and there's something wrong with his brain. Some damage from one of the surgeries. Now, he may wake up, but there's no knowing what state he will be in when he wakes up. My buddy, he doesn't know which is worse. The fact he may not wake up at all, or the fact he might."
"You're scared," she stated. "Scared of what he'll be like when he wakes up."
"Terrified," Dean admitted, no longer caring that she was seeing through his pretence of a friend and his brother. "What if he's not Sam anymore?"
"Surely it's better to have some part of him back, better than nothing at all."
"That's the question, isn't it? Will he still be my brother if he doesn't know me anymore? If he doesn't remember all the things we have been through together. What if he looks at me and I am a stranger to him?"
"Then you'll remember for the both of you," she said gently. "I can't imagine what you are going through, but I know one thing, sitting here in a bar isn't going to help anything. You should be with your brother. How would you feel if he woke up and you weren't there?"
A wave of sadness separate to the grief he was already feeling swept through Dean. The thought of Sam opening his eyes without Dean being there was chilling. He pushed his beer away and got to his feet.
"Thanks… um."
"Shelly," the bartender said. "My name's Shelly. Do me a favor, okay? Come back sometime and let me know how things work out."
"Thanks, Shelly. And I will. I promise."
"I'll pray for your brother. What's his name?"
"Sam. His name is Sammy.
Bobby sat at Sam's beside and wondered how things could have come to this. He had thought the greatest threat to his boys was the leviathans and the other creatures they chased-not a day went by that the brothers were out on the hunt that Bobby didn't worry about them. It turned out he was wrong. Something as simple as crossing the street had almost stolen Sam away.
"Oh, Sam, why did this have to happen?" Bobby asked aloud.
He watched Sam's chest rise and fall with the rhythm of the ventilator and tried to take comfort in it. He tried to tell himself that it was a good thing, that it was a sign that Sam was still alive and fighting, but knowing that it was not Sam doing it for himself stole any comfort from the scene.
"I tell ya, boy, you have to come out of this soon. I don't know how much more your brother can take. He don't seem to work right without you. He's drowning at the moment; you have to give him something to hold on to."
He searched Sam's form for a sign of reaction, but there was none.
"C'mon, Sam," Bobby pleaded. "You have to give us something."
He knew in his heart that it was foolish to expect his words to reach Sam. The doctor had said he was in a deep coma. He was beyond their beckoning.
A nurse came into the room and Bobby got to his feet. "Everything okay?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm just doing some checks." She hovered around the bed, checking tubes and wires. She pulled back the sheet covering Sam's abdomen and nodded approvingly. "It all looks good."
Bobby nodded. "That's good, right?"
"Yes. There are no signs of a further bleed. In a moment, someone will come and take Sam down for a CT."
"You just said he was good."
"We aren't taking any chances with John," the nurse said. "We need to be sure."
Bobby knew she was referencing the mistakes that had already been made in Sam's care. Bobby and Dean had discussed it at length, and though they were both furious, there was nothing they could do about it. John Smith didn't really exist. Luckily for them, the hospital hadn't asked about insurance so far. Bobby was hoping shame would keep them from asking, as neither Dean nor Bobby had anywhere near enough money to cover the treatment costs.
The nurse left and Bobby settled back in the chair.
"Ya hear that, Sam? You're doing good."
The only response was the continued click and hum of the ventilator.
When Dean got back to the ICU, he found Bobby standing in the hallway. His heart contracted painfully and he stopped dead in his tracks.
"No!" he moaned.
"No, it's okay," Bobby called, hurrying towards him. "It's okay. They've just taken him for a scan. He's okay."
"Oh, thank god," Dean breathed. "Hold on. Why are they scanning him again?"
"Sam's getting the VIP treatment. They just want to be sure they haven't missed anything."
Dean exhaled and leaned back against the wall. "That's good, I guess."
"Damn right it's good. Now, you care to tell me where you've been?"
"I went to a bar."
"I know that. I'm practically getting drunk off the fumes. I want to know where your head was at when you decided to walk out on your brother."
"I just needed some space, Bobby. I can't breathe in this place."
"And you're better now?"
"I am. I had someone talk some sense into me."
Bobby wished he could have been that person. He was used to having the answers for the boys, but he was out of his depth here. He didn't know what to say to help Dean, and he didn't know how to bring Sam back.
"Sam's gonna be a while," Bobby said. "Let's go get us some coffee."
"I don't want to be too far away," Dean said uncomfortably. He had already walked out on his brother once today; he would not do it again. If, no, when, Sam woke up, Dean wanted to be the first person he saw.
"Okay, son. I don't think they'll mind if you hang in his room. I'll go get us some coffee and then I should see about finding us a motel. I don't know how long they'll let us hang around."
"I'm not leaving him, Bobby. I don't care what they say. It's their fault he's as bad off as he is. If they think I am going to leave them to look after him alone, they've got another thing coming."
"I hear ya, but you need sleep."
"I can sleep here," Dean said doggedly. "You go get some sleep though. Sammy will understand."
Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "If you're staying, so am I."
Dean smiled a grim smile. "Thanks, Bobby, for everything."