Where Is Your Heart?
Title: Where Is Your Heart?
Author: Ibelieveinsam
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 7050
Summary: Post 8x03 After their separation, Dean thinks Sam's head just isn't in the game. However, after a hunt gone awry, Dean gains some new perspective. Limp!Sam
Dean was getting sick of this. He hated to sound like a wimp or like he couldn’t take care of himself but he’d had enough.
“Sam, what the hell are you doing?” He barked, from his position on the floor. He hadn’t been able to get up since the vengeful spirit had tossed him on to a decaying antique coffee table. He figured his ankle was either badly sprained or maybe even broken. He didn’t know how the rest of him was either since he pretty much hurt everywhere.
“Sam!” He yelled again, impatiently. Sam was completely off his game. Ever since he had taken his year off to go live the good life with his girlfriend, leaving him stuck in purgatory, his hunting prowess had gone out the window.
Now I do sound like a wuss, Dean thought to himself, which only agitated him more.
He figured this should have been a cakewalk. They were on their way back from Colorado after dealing with a Mayan God. It was Cacao, for God’s sakes, yet they couldn’t even work as a team to get rid of an angry spirit?
He had found out about the case through his own research since he was the only one who seemed interested in even finding hunts at all these days that a vengeful spirit was terrorizing a fraternity house at a college campus. One student had been killed after falling through a window and several others injured.
Sam seemed more interested in taking in the college campus surroundings than asking questions about what exactly had gone on there. Dean was surprised he didn’t go visit the Admission’s Office and ask for an application or ask what they offered for extracurricular activities.
Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket the minute they walked in to the fraternity house. Apparently the spirit was pissed when they dared come back into his territory after the college had shut the place down. Even though no one was buying the story of an “evil looking young man dressed in a black polo” picking people up and throwing them around, they weren’t taking any chances and locked the house up. He and Sam had picked the lock, although Dean swore it took Sam longer than usual to get the door open.
He had figured out that the spirit was most likely a former student and fraternity member named Hans Brimfield after interviewing some of the victims. He was the one who had looked up former fraternity members too and matched the face to the name based on descriptions, and he had discovered Hans had killed himself. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was the only one actually participating in this hunt, physically and mentally that was. Sam’s research skills had deteriorated too in his year off so now he really felt like he was doing all the heavy lifting.
There were no bones to burn and no locks of hair as far as he knew. They had spoken to Hans’ family and barely got too much out of them. Sam looked spacey, his eyes glazing over as he looked around at beaming photographs of Hans. He wasn’t even able to turn on his usual puppy eyed, sympathetic charm. All they could do was assume there had to be something else, most likely a cursed object, tying him to the house. When they opened the front door, they started rummaging looking for anything that would keep the ghost from resting in peace. Dean had suggested he do the looking while Sam provided backup. Sam had shouted a warning to Dean that Hans was in the vicinity but it was far too late. He was tossed right into the air. Now Sam was off doing the searching while he sat there uselessly.
“Dean?” Sam called.
“I’m over here!” Dean yelled.
“Are you okay?”
“Does it look like it Sam?” Dean asked. “You know you could have warned me that he was right behind me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see him until it was too late,” Sam said, sheepishly. “I still don’t know what this thing is tied to. He was cremated so there has to be something.”
Sam felt guilty, and the shame crept up the back of his neck making his face burn hot. It was his fault that Dean had been hurt and he was doing his best to figure out how to get them out of his mess. However, Dean yelling at him wasn’t helping.
Chaos was still continuing to reign down around them, as books flew off shelves and they attempted to dodge furniture. Hans hadn’t showed his face again but they knew it was just a matter of time.
“What was the story that student told us about?” Sam asked suddenly, remembering some information.
“I don’t know!” It’s kind of hard to think through the pain,” Dean said, sarcastically.
“He said something about an award, remember? Didn’t Hans win an award for all of his achievements? The house was named after him after his death. The students said they tapped it for good luck before finals. It was a plaque,” Sam rambled, ignoring him.
I’m surprised he even remembers anything or that we are on a hunt at all, Dean thought bitterly.
Then Sam dashed off down the hallway toward one of the bedrooms. He returned with a gold plated plaque engraved with the name of the spirit. Before he could figure out how to destroy the item, the spirit launched Sam forward into the air. He landed hard against the corner of an ornate stone fireplace, his chest colliding with it with a resounding thud.
Sam couldn’t describe the pain that richocheted through him. The impact had made his teeth rattle and fiery hot pain tore through his chest. However, he knew Dean was worse off and he had to finish this.
“Come on Sam!” Dean yelled. Right now he didn’t have a ton of sympathy even as he watched Sam struggle to get his wits about him, apparently winded.
Sam slowly turned around, the spirit facing him now, flickering in and out, ready to strike.
“Where is your heart, Sam?” The spirit asked him, accusatory.
Sam ignored him and held the plaque in his hand. The enraged spirit sent fire rushing out of the fireplace. Sam took this opportunity to throw the plaque into the flames. As the plaque started to burn, so did the spirit. However, the rush of the flames had set some surrounding items on fire and the place was starting to burn.
Sam rushed over to Dean then, hauling him to his feet.
“Easy!” Dean chided. He figured he had some bruised ribs on top of everything else.
“Sorry,” Sam said, sounding breathless. “We need to get out of here.”
He draped Dean’s shoulder over his own and tried to get them moving forward. However, he seemed to be having difficulty.
“God Sam, I’m not that heavy,” Dean groused.
Sam didn’t know what was wrong with him but the pain in his chest had intensified and he could barely support Dean.
Dean knew he was slow because he could not put weight on his ankle at all. However, Sam wasn’t moving too fast either. They both began coughing on the acrid smoke.
The place was filling quickly with smoke as they approached the stairs. Suddenly there was a loud crash and Sam looked back to see the floor give way just behind them. Now they couldn’t turn back and the floor beneath them was ablaze as well. Sam felt fear pierce through him like a sharp knife and he knew it was all up to him.
“Come on,” Sam said, through gritted teeth. He picked Dean up, draping him over his shoulders, even as the sheer agony tore him inside out, and ran down the stairs towards the door. Each step felt like he was colliding with the fireplace again and again, blow by blow hitting him in the chest.
The lower level of the house was practically engulfed now, flames licking at the front door, their only means of escaping.
Sam grunted to keep hold of Dean as he reached for the knob pulling it open. He ran outside and down the small set of stairs of the porch, trying to get Dean as far away from the burning house as possible.
Sam placed Dean down on some grass, and then bent over, hands clenched on his knees, coughing and panting with exertion.
Dean sat on the ground, taking in lungfuls of fresh air, his ribs and ankle pulsing painfully.
“Are you okay?” Sam rasped out.
“I think so but-“ Dean began.
Dean didn’t get to finish his sentence as he watched a strange look of pain cross Sam’s face. He reached a hand up to his chest and Dean watched as Sam visibly paled.
“Sam?” Dean queried.
Sam didn’t respond. Instead Dean watched in horror as Sam’s eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed in a heap on to the ground.
At first Dean thought maybe Sam had just fainted. After all, it had been awhile since he had done so much hunting. He thought maybe all the exertion, the adrenaline rush had been all too much. However, he could see Sam was in distress. He was gasping for air, his lips turning blue.
“Sammy! Sam!” Dean called, unable to control the fear he felt for his brother despite being angry before.
Dean could hear sirens in the distance so he knew someone had seen the building on fire and called for help.
He got up off the ground slowly, painfully limping over to Sam’s still form. He crouched next to him wondering if it was smoke inhalation.
“Just breathe Sammy,” Dean instructed his brother. He figured maybe being out and away from the burning building would rouse Sam and he’d catch his breath. However, he did not see any improvement. He couldn’t even see Sam’s chest rising and falling any longer.
“What do we have?” A voice interrupted him. It was a paramedic and he also crouched down to assess Sam.
“I don’t know. We just escaped from the fire and he collapsed. He was fine before,” Dean explained.
The paramedic placed his fingers against Sam’s pulse.
“No pulse,” the paramedic informed his partner. They immediately began chest compressions.
“What’s happening?” Dean asked.
“He’s in full arrest,” the other paramedic confirmed.
Dean sat there shell shocked. What the hell had just happened?
He watched as Sam’s shirt was cut open and electrodes were placed on his chest. Then he heard the shrill high pitched wail of the machine. Dean didn’t see any signs of visible injury on Sam. There was no blood. The only sign of injury was a small triangular shaped bruise forming on Sam’s chest where he had hit the fireplace. The defibrillator paddles were brought out and they shocked Sam to no avail.
“We got to roll,” the paramedic said, urgently. They brought out a backboard and placed Sam on to it, all the while pumping his chest. Dean watched as his brother was whisked away from him, as the ambulance doors slammed in his face. He remained on the ground, his injured leg painfully tucked under him, his face bathed in the red glow of the sirens. He never felt so lost before in his life. Sam was dying and he had no idea why.
“Sir are you injured anywhere?” A voice asked him. It was another paramedic, a female.
“My leg,” Dean managed to get out. He also made a waving motion to his bruised ribs. Her partner brought over a stretcher and they helped Dean to sit on the edge of it.
“What happened?” She asked.
“I don’t know,” Dean answered truthfully, because he really didn’t know what was going on. He was the one with injured leg so why was Sam now at death’s door?
She cut some of his pant leg and examined his ankle.
“It’s pretty swollen and your ribs look bruised too. We better take you in for some x rays.”
Dean waved the paramedics away as they tried to get him to settle on the stretcher. He wanted to walk. Maybe walking would help him figure it out, understand how Sam went from walking, talking, living, breathing to possibly dead in such a short span of time.
He limped over to the waiting ambulance, no longer even registering the pain. He felt numb to it all. He managed to climb up with some help from the other paramedic and sit down on the stretcher.
The ride to the hospital was a short one so he knew at least Sam was receiving medical help quickly. Since the paramedics had listened to his lungs in the ambulance, treated him for some minor smoke inhalation, and decided he wasn’t on the verge of death, he was placed in a small curtained off cubicle in the ER to wait his turn to be seen by a doctor. He sat on the gurney hoping someone would come in soon to collect his information so he could ask about Sam. Luckily he didn’t have to wait long.
“Can I ask for information on a patient?” Dean immediately asked the woman. He didn’t even allow her to introduce herself.
“I think I need to get your information first,” she said, smiling politely.
“I want to know if my brother was brought here. We were involved in that fire at the college campus.”
She looked at him confusedly and seemed quite flustered as if she has never encountered such a situation before. Finally she left him telling him she’d be back.
However, Dean was tired of waiting. He figured if this was an emergency room, Sam would have to be in this area. He carefully got off of the stretcher and gingerly placed his feet on the ground. His ankle ached again and pounded along with his ribs. However, he inched his way down the corridor, past other curtained off areas. The receptionist area was practically abandoned at this time of night so no one attempted to ask where he was going and even if they did, he was going anyway.
He wasn’t sure how he got there but he found himself in front of a room with frantic activity happening around someone who was on the gurney in the center of the room. There were impossible amounts of blood everywhere and Dean found himself transfixed, rooted to the spot. He couldn’t tell, didn’t dare to believe, who the person was but they were in bad shape. There was a heart monitor keening in the background as doctors rushed around back and forth. Then abruptly one of them moved and Dean saw and he knew.
He couldn’t quite get over the shock of seeing his brother sprawled on the bed like that, face ashen, hair spread around his face like some kind of halo, or the macabre sight of his chest gaping open wide while a doctor leaned over massaging his still heart, another standing by with metal paddles in his hand.
“Clear!”
He practically jumped out of his skin as the metal paddles shocked Sam’s heart. It was too late though, the image forever burned into his retinas. Then he started to retch. He fell down on the floor practically in a crawling position, dry heaving.
“What is he doing here?” He heard someone ask. Then he was being helped up off the floor and guided back to his cubicle. He barely remembered much of what happened next as he figured they drugged him. He welcomed the darkness however, hoping what he saw was only his worst nightmare.
ooooo
He woke up slowly, feeling slightly numb. For a second he forgot where he was but then it all came rushing back in an instant. He was propped up on some pillows, a slight ache settled in his ribs. His ankle was encased in a removable boot and an IV drip was suspended over his head. He was going to push the call button when a doctor came walking in.
“Good to see you awake. I’m Dr. Welsh and you are?” She asked, pleasantly.
“Dean,” he answered. He was distracted still trying to forget the horrors he had witnessed before, too afraid to even ask the question because he inevitably knew what the answer would be. Sam was dead. There was no way anyone could survive after going through something like that.
“Are you in any pain?” She asked him, sensing his discomfort.
He shook his head but didn’t meet her eyes.
“I heard about what happened to your brother.”
Dean instantly looked down at the pillows. He didn’t want to know.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she continued. “However, it was necessary to save your brother’s life.”
Wait a minute. Save his life? Was Sam alive? Dean thought.
“My brother? Is he…” Dean asked, dropping off, afraid to complete the question.
“Yes he is still alive.”
Dean couldn’t believe it. He still didn’t even know what had happened to Sam and what they were even doing to him.
“Our staff has been very curious about our two John Does. You both had us on our toes last night. What exactly happened to you two?”
“We were checking out that frat house, just to see what all the hype was about. Then we saw smoke so we went in to see if there was anything we could do. I tripped and hurt my ankle and ribs and then my brother, Sam, just collapsed,” he said. Even he didn’t believe the story but it was all he could muster.
She eyed him carefully.
“I would have thought you’d been in some kind of scuffle to be honest with the bruising on your ribs and fracture to your ankle. Luckily the fracture is minor and so was the injury to your ribs. You should be back on your feet soon.”
“What happened to Sam?” Dean asked, ignoring the doctor.
“Sam suffered a blunt force chest trauma which led to an aortic rupture.”
“What? How?” Dean asked, not fully comprehending the extent of Sam’s injuries.
“Based on the bruising, it’s consistent with him hitting his chest against something with a high velocity of speed. Usually we see this with car accident victims. Luckily we had a cardiologist on call, who had an inclination that Sam was bleeding inside his chest cavity.”
“You mean when he hit himself against that fireplace, it caused that much damage?” Dean asked, without thinking.
“Fireplace?”
“Sam tripped too,” Dean said stupidly, feeling like an idiot. “When we were trying to escape from the fire.”
Dr. Welsh paused again, skepticism written all over her face.
“Why did Sam look like that?” Dean asked, changing the subject.
“Unfortunately due to the severity of Sam’s injury, we needed to perform an emergency thoracotomy or in layman’s terms, crack his chest, not to sound crude. It’s not pretty and we only do it as a last resort. We were trying to control the bleeding around Sam’s heart until we could get Sam to surgery. The paramedics were able to restart Sam’s heart en route to the hospital. However, he flatlined again when we were examining him. Sam required cardiac massage and internal defibrillation to get his heart started again. Then he was taken to surgery to repair the rupture in his aorta.”
“What’s the prognosis?” Dean asked, tentatively.
“I’m afraid his prognosis isn’t good.”
“Wait a minute,” Dean began. “So you are telling me you went through all these great lengths to save Sam and that he survived the surgery. Now you’re telling me he’s not going to make it?”
“Dean, I’m sorry if I gave you false hope. However, these types of injuries are almost always fatal. Most people die before they ever even get to the hospital. Also, the fact that we had to crack Sam’s chest puts him at a high risk of mortality.”
“I want to see him,” Dean said, not meeting her eyes.
She didn’t answer him right away as if she was weighing if it was a good idea or not.
“Dean, last time you saw your brother, it didn’t go over so well.”
“I don’t care. Take me to him.”
ooooo
Thirty minutes later, Dean had signed his release forms and agreed to be brought into Sam’s room in a wheelchair. The doctor didn’t think Dean was in any condition to be using crutches yet with his bruised ribs. Dean suspected she was afraid he’d pass out again.
Dean peered down the hallways and at the various signs as the orderly wheeled him down the hall. He saw a sign that said CCU: Cardiac Care Unit and he knew they were in the right place.
Dean allowed the orderly to wheel him in beside Sam’s bed and he took in his brother’s appearance. He was hooked up to a ventilator and a tube was also inserted down his nose. There were chest tubes snaking under the blankets. Sam's doctor told him he should expect this, that they had to make sure Sam’s incision was draining properly. The doctor also said Sam was heavily sedated because of the amount of pain associated with the procedure of open heart surgery. They didn’t want to risk any further damage to Sam if somehow he managed to pull through.
Overall, Dean could sense the doctor’s pessimism and that he doubted Sam would make it. Apparently they “were doing all they can” and “now it was up to Sam.” Before Dean would have argued, said for sure that Sam would fight to his dying breath, that he would not give up. However, now even he had to admit he had his doubts. He just wasn’t sure what Sam wanted anymore. Did he want to fight alongside him? Or did he wish to be somewhere, anywhere, else?
He stood up slowly, once the orderly was gone and placed his hand on top of Sam’s. He didn’t know what else to do, what encouraging words he could speak. He just wanted Sam to know he was there, to feel his connection.
Do we even have a connection anymore? The thoughts intruded even as he tried to think positive for Sam and he desperately tried to push them aside but found that he couldn’t stop them, couldn’t rid himself of the deep down resentment he still felt. He felt repulsed by his own mindset, letting these thoughts overpower him when he looked at the shape Sam was in but he couldn’t help it.
ooooo
Two days later, Dean got the surprise of his life when Sam opened his eyes. The doctors had said they were guarded in believing Sam could pull through given he was still alive 48 hours post surgery. However, Dean never expected his brother to wake up this soon and definitely not in such a violent way.
He instantly began gagging on the ventilator, thrashing his limbs. The heart monitor responded in kind with a frantic beeping. Dean panicked because he knew any unnecessary strain on Sam’s heart could cause dire consequences. He also knew jostling any of the tubes in Sam’s chest could be fatal too.
A medical team rushed into the room before Dean could even consider what he should do and hustled him out the door. He had been wheeled over to the waiting area when his phone alerted him he had a new message. He expected it to be from Garth or about another hunt but this was different. It was another e-mail from a college Sam applied to, asking him to please resend his essay because it was the last thing he needed before they could decide if they would accept him or not. He nearly laughed at the irony of it all.
“Dean, Dean?”
He was interrupted by Sam’s doctor calling out to him.
“How is he?” Dean asked.
“Well he’s not out of the woods yet,” the doctor began.
Dean sighed heavily in response.
“He woke up which is a good thing,” the doctor continued, sensing Dean’s impatience. “However, his body still has a lot of healing to do. We don’t want him getting too stressed, given his fragile condition. We were able to remove the ventilator but we’ve given him some more pain medication and a sedative, hoping he’ll continue to rest. We are going to send him off for some tests soon and we’ll know more then.”
Dean wasn’t exactly satisfied with the doctor’s answers, or lack thereof, as he entered Sam’s room. Sam was propped up slightly in the bed this time. The ventilator and nasal tube were indeed gone, replaced by an oxygen cannula under Sam’s nose. His head was facing the wall so Dean figured the sedatives must have kicked in and Sam was asleep. However, Sam turned to face him as he approached the bed.
“Stupid,” Sam said simply and forlornly.
“What?” Dean asked. He had no idea what Sam meant.
“So stupid of me to believe I could ever get out,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “Brick couldn’t get out and neither could Hans.”
Dean watched as his brother’s eyebrows knitted together in pain and a thin sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. Then Sam began adjusting himself in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said. Then he let out a loud yelp in pain, taking in ragged breaths.
“Sammy?” Dean said, alarmed. “You need to calm down. You hurt your heart and you can’t let yourself get this upset,” Dean continued, hoping to calm Sam down.
However, it was too late. Sam dissolved into sobs unable to even form coherent words.
“Dean, it hurts,” he managed to gasp out, biting into his lip so hard it drew blood. He gripped Dean’s arm so tight that his fingers left gouge marks in his arm.
Dean could tell that Sam was in an unimaginable amount of pain and he couldn’t understand why the sedatives and medicine were not helping him.
Dean ran out into the hall, calling for help.
Once again, Sam’s room was crowded with medical personnel and he was thrown out. However, this time when the doors to Sam’s room opened, Dean knew the news was not good. They were wheeling Sam out of the room and away from him.
“We have to make sure he’s not having another bleed,” a nurse told him quickly before dashing off.
Dean just stood there staring down the empty hallway, contemplating how much the odds were now stacked against his brother, wondering how he could be so stupid. He knew Sam was more than just in physical pain. He was enduring his own mental anguish. However, he had ignored Sam’s pain and focused on his own. He only hoped he would have a second chance, that the doctors could repair Sam so he could repair the relationship with his brother.
ooooo
Dean sat in the waiting room for over an hour, waiting for word. He figured if they had to take Sam back to surgery, they would let him know. Finally, Sam’s doctor emerged and asked to speak with him.
“Thankfully it wasn’t another bleed,” the doctor said before Dean could even ask about Sam’s condition.
“So he doesn’t need surgery?”
“No, he needs rest. His heart rate spiked again due to his pain levels. We’ve put him on stronger pain meds as well as the sedative to give his body time to heal.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“I think he has a shot,” the doctor said, finally sounding hopeful. “However, I think it might be best if you went home for awhile.”
Dean got quiet for a moment letting the words soak in. Was this guy telling him he couldn’t see his brother?
“Are you telling me I can’t go in there?” Dean asked, wanting answers.
“No,” the doctor said. “However, I think it’s best he has as little stress as possible.”
Dean knew that the doctor was implying his presence had caused Sam to have some stress induced attack and that he thought he somehow upset Sam. Did I? Dean wondered. He hadn’t exactly been “Mr. Sensitive” lately.
“Okay,” Dean said, simply. He wasn’t sure why he’d ever agree with the man but something was tickling at the back of his brain and he felt maybe he had a point. He agreed to return the next day.
Before he left, Dr. Welsh checked him over again and handed him a pair of crutches. She assured him Sam's doctor was excellent and he was in good hands. She also promised to check in on Sam too and keep him updated.
ooooo
Dean wasn’t sure where to go. His car had been impounded so he needed to take a Taxi to the lot to get it out. Then he found a hotel. As he unpacked their sparse belongings, he pulled out Sam’s laptop and rubbed his hands over it. Instantly his mind was hit by an image of Sam hunched over the thing telling him information about their latest hunt. He missed that, terribly. He missed when they could share their own insights and figure things out, together.
Then he remembered the e-mail he found when he had been the one researching, the one he and Sam had fought over.
“Look, I'm not saying I'm bailing on you. I'm just saying make room for the possibility that we want different things. I mean, I want my time to count for something,” Sam had said, regarding keeping his options open. Those words had hurt him more than Sam knew. Sam was still getting offers too. He felt a mixture of anger and pride at the same time.
How could he let himself get so consumed by Sam’s words though? Sam was still by his side anyway, albeit reluctantly.
I’m not bailing on you.
Sam’s words echoed in his head. Sam never intended to cut him out of his life, ever. Also, hadn’t he always been happy that Sam kept this options open? He even at times encouraged him to believe that he could have a future, a normal one. He knew Sam wanted him to feel the same way too, to have that hopefulness that somehow they could both survive, have regular jobs, share holidays and be uncles to each other’s kids. He couldn’t though. It just wasn’t his nature. However, having Sam’s faith balance out his doubt kept him going at times, from falling into the hole of bleakness and despair.
He opened the laptop and found the essay. He was going to make sure the college got it, that Sam did have an option if he wanted to take it. He was going to simply reply to the e-mail he got and send it as an attachment, but instead the title caught his eye: Because I Had A Dean. Dean read the prompt below the title. Sam was to write about what set him apart from the other college candidates.
He saunters into the room, all bravado. However, his tough guy façade is merely that, a thinly veiled mask that hides his inner turmoil and his fierce devotion to his family. I keep that image in my mind whenever I need the motivation to continue, even if it means fighting back tears.
Dean stopped in his tracks. Was Sam talking about him? Dean continued:
See, what sets me apart from the other candidates is not a “what” at all. It’s a” who.” I had a brother named Dean and he made all the difference in my life. Dean was everything I could have asked for in a brother. Now it’s so difficult to talk about him in the past tense because it means he’s not here anymore.
As a kid, I was a pipsqueak, barely 5 feet as a freshman in high school. However, Dean was there with me, giving me a “hey Sammy” when he walked down the hallway. It made me feel ten feet tall. He never acted embarrassed to be seen with his little brother, a lowly freshman. Dean wasn’t one for academics, yet he inspired me to pursue my goals. He’d keep the radio on extra low even if Led Zepplin, his favorite band ever, was playing making sure I wasn’t disturbed when I was doing my homework. If I asked him to help me study, he’d readily recite words for me to spell or break out the flashcards. He always beamed when my report card showed all A’s. I know he sacrificed his own goals just to make sure I could achieve mine.
We didn’t have a mom or a strong father figure in our life but Dean fulfilled those roles completely. He’d say “no chick flick moments” but if I was going through something, he wanted to hear all about it. Even if I thought it was stupid, Dean would always lend an ear. We had a few kitchen mishaps but Dean could whip up a mean hamburger when he wanted to. We’d sit at the table and I’d tell him about my day. It was usually just the two of us but we were a family, not perfect but whole. When I had nightmares at night or I was scared, I could always count on hearing his breathing in the bed next to me. I’d match my breaths to his own, wanting to emulate him as best as I could.
As we grew, I told Dean about my goals, how I wanted to be a lawyer because I knew he wouldn’t laugh at me or tell me it wasn’t possible because we were expected to go into the “family business.” He always looked so proud when I told him what I wanted to do. I’ll never forget when I was going to Stanford, his eyes were bright, wet with unshed tears. However, I knew deep down they were more than just tears of joy. They were tears of sadness too because it meant I’d be gone. I was scared then. Was it the right thing for me to do? Could I make it at college without Dean? Dean looked at me then and said simply, “I’m proud of you kid” and ruffled my hair. This time he had to reach up to do it since I’d grown taller than him. However, he stood at a level I could never reach, still can never reach. His reassurances were all it took for me to know it was okay.
Dean was my role model, still is. I can keep that in the present tense because it never fades. I know if he read this he’d laugh right now. I sit here and imagine him doing it, loud and strong. It makes me smile and want to cry at the same time because more than anything I wish he was here. I wish I could have saved him the way he always saved me. However, he will always be with me guiding me every step of the way. He taught me so much about life and love. I had a Dean and it made all the difference.
Dean closed the computer then, the hot tears dripping down his face. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. How could he forget Sam felt that way about him? How could he forget that he felt that way about Sam?
He instantly sent the attachment. He sat back down on the hotel room bed, hit by the realization over how much this hunt and the last one had particularly struck a chord with Sam. They had investigated Brick Holmes who was actually the Mayan God Cacao. He, like Sam, had even tried to find normal, get married and fall in love. Then he knew though that it would never happen and he gave up. Then there was this case with Hans. Hans had been an academically gifted student and a standout in sports. His father took ill suddenly and he was thrust back into a life he didn’t want, running a hardware store that his father couldn’t take care of anymore. Like Brick, he gave up too and killed himself. Well, Dean knew one thing for sure. He wasn’t going to let that happen to Sam. His brother wasn’t going down without a fight.
ooooo
Dean arrived back at the hospital twelve hours later. Sam’s doctor looked slightly peeved but he allowed Dean to go in, reminding him again that Sam needed to rest.
When Dean entered the room this time, Sam was actually asleep, his head facing the door. Dean stopped a moment, taking in how young Sam still looked, wondering how it was even possible with all they’d been through, all they’d seen, loved, and lost.
He pulled up a chair, feeling his connection to his brother stronger than ever.
“I’m sorry Sammy,” he whispered into the darkness.
He leaned back in the chair, letting himself fall into a light doze. The doctor said he expected Sam to be out for hours and he had the best chance of recovery if he actually slept.
Dean kept up his vigil for nearly 24 more hours before Sam started to come around. He knew instantly that Sam was in terrible pain again, but this time he was prepared. He hit the call button.
“Sammy look at me,” he said, drawing his brother’s eyes toward him.
“Hurts,” Sam whimpered, reaching up his hand to rub at his chest.
Dean pushed his hand back down as the alarm bells starting going off again. He felt fear taking the wheel from him but he didn’t let it. He grabbed Sam’s hand and placed it over his heart.
“Sammy, you feel that? My heartbeat. Focus on it and my breathing,” Dean said. He breathed slowly in and out. “Remember Sam? From when we were kids and you’d do that?”
Sam cocked his head as if wondering how Dean knew but he obeyed, slowing down his own breathing to match Dean’s. The alarm bells stopped sounding.
The doctor arrived shortly after and gave Sam some more pain medication, then asked to speak to Dean outside.
“What’s the verdict, doc,” Dean asked.
“I’m hopeful,” he acquiesced. “He seems to be mending. He is going to have a few rough days ahead of him but I think he’s going to make it.”
Dean’s doubts were gone now. He already knew Sam would be fine.
ooooo
The next few days were as difficult as the doctor said they would be. Sam was in and out of consciousness and when he was awake, he was in excruciating pain. However, thankfully tests had confirmed his heart was indeed healing. Dean knew it was healing physically but he knew emotionally, it would take time. Dean worked on the breathing with Sam to get him to calm down each time his chest would flare with pain. The doctor thought it best to keep Sam on oxygen as his breathing became labored during his pain induced episodes but Sam didn’t want to be constantly drugged so the doctor was working with him to lower the dosages of pain medication each day.
Sam hadn’t said too much too him, mostly made small talk asking his brother how his ankle was but Dean was happy any time Sam was lucid and painfree enough to talk at all.
“Hey Dean,” Sam said, in the early morning hours after he had been hospitalized for close to 2 weeks.
Dean took in Sam’s color then and noticed it was a lot better, that Sam’s speech was clear, less pain inflected. However, he could tell Sam had been deep in thought and he wanted to talk seriously to his brother.
“Remember what Hans asked me?”
“Hans?” Dean asked, genuinely confused. He didn’t remember.
“He asked me, where is your heart?”
“Yeah, so?”
“He knew Dean. He knew my heart wasn’t in it. Remember what Brick’s wife said, the heart is the key. What good am I if my heart is so torn all the time that I can’t even focus on the hunt?”
Dean was taken aback by Sam’s candid confession. This was the first time Sam had said anything more than a few sentences and something so substantial too.
“You’ll just end up hurt, Dean. I’m useless,” Sam continued. “I-"
“Stop,” Dean said, cutting him off.
“No, it’s true, Dean,” Sam finished.
Dean could see Sam’s chin quivering and the last thing he wanted was Sam crying. He could imagine the stress it would put on him. However, Sam kept going.
“I can tell how much it hurt you that I didn’t look for you. I’m sorry.”
“Sammy, you don’t need to apologize.
”
“You know why I didn’t look for you?” Sam continued.
Dean listened intently. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to know.
“Because I knew I would screw up. I’d make the wrong choice and just let you down. You always believed in me Dean but I never made you proud. Even trying to find normal was a mistake because I failed at that too.”
“Sammy, please,” Dean begged. He knew how hurt he was by the whole purgatory thing but was now realizing how badly it had affected Sam. The poor kid felt like every move he made was the wrong one. “I’m not angry at what you did Sam and I don’t want you to stop trying to find normal, whatever it is. You know I always admired that about you.”
“Thank-you Dean. And I just want you to know I’m here. I’m committed now,” Sam said.
“I’m glad Sam because I do need you beside me, but don’t give up on your dreams, okay?”
Dean saw Sam’s whole body relax and he laid back against the pillows, his eyes half lidded as if now he could truly rest. Dean watched Sam as he dropped off to sleep. He put his hand over Sam’s heart, just listening to the steady beat of it, knowing that it beat in time to his own. They might never meet eye to eye on everything, but Dean knew they’d always meet heart to heart.
The End
Author: Ibelieveinsam
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 7050
Summary: Post 8x03 After their separation, Dean thinks Sam's head just isn't in the game. However, after a hunt gone awry, Dean gains some new perspective. Limp!Sam
Dean was getting sick of this. He hated to sound like a wimp or like he couldn’t take care of himself but he’d had enough.
“Sam, what the hell are you doing?” He barked, from his position on the floor. He hadn’t been able to get up since the vengeful spirit had tossed him on to a decaying antique coffee table. He figured his ankle was either badly sprained or maybe even broken. He didn’t know how the rest of him was either since he pretty much hurt everywhere.
“Sam!” He yelled again, impatiently. Sam was completely off his game. Ever since he had taken his year off to go live the good life with his girlfriend, leaving him stuck in purgatory, his hunting prowess had gone out the window.
Now I do sound like a wuss, Dean thought to himself, which only agitated him more.
He figured this should have been a cakewalk. They were on their way back from Colorado after dealing with a Mayan God. It was Cacao, for God’s sakes, yet they couldn’t even work as a team to get rid of an angry spirit?
He had found out about the case through his own research since he was the only one who seemed interested in even finding hunts at all these days that a vengeful spirit was terrorizing a fraternity house at a college campus. One student had been killed after falling through a window and several others injured.
Sam seemed more interested in taking in the college campus surroundings than asking questions about what exactly had gone on there. Dean was surprised he didn’t go visit the Admission’s Office and ask for an application or ask what they offered for extracurricular activities.
Everything had gone to hell in a hand basket the minute they walked in to the fraternity house. Apparently the spirit was pissed when they dared come back into his territory after the college had shut the place down. Even though no one was buying the story of an “evil looking young man dressed in a black polo” picking people up and throwing them around, they weren’t taking any chances and locked the house up. He and Sam had picked the lock, although Dean swore it took Sam longer than usual to get the door open.
He had figured out that the spirit was most likely a former student and fraternity member named Hans Brimfield after interviewing some of the victims. He was the one who had looked up former fraternity members too and matched the face to the name based on descriptions, and he had discovered Hans had killed himself. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he was the only one actually participating in this hunt, physically and mentally that was. Sam’s research skills had deteriorated too in his year off so now he really felt like he was doing all the heavy lifting.
There were no bones to burn and no locks of hair as far as he knew. They had spoken to Hans’ family and barely got too much out of them. Sam looked spacey, his eyes glazing over as he looked around at beaming photographs of Hans. He wasn’t even able to turn on his usual puppy eyed, sympathetic charm. All they could do was assume there had to be something else, most likely a cursed object, tying him to the house. When they opened the front door, they started rummaging looking for anything that would keep the ghost from resting in peace. Dean had suggested he do the looking while Sam provided backup. Sam had shouted a warning to Dean that Hans was in the vicinity but it was far too late. He was tossed right into the air. Now Sam was off doing the searching while he sat there uselessly.
“Dean?” Sam called.
“I’m over here!” Dean yelled.
“Are you okay?”
“Does it look like it Sam?” Dean asked. “You know you could have warned me that he was right behind me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see him until it was too late,” Sam said, sheepishly. “I still don’t know what this thing is tied to. He was cremated so there has to be something.”
Sam felt guilty, and the shame crept up the back of his neck making his face burn hot. It was his fault that Dean had been hurt and he was doing his best to figure out how to get them out of his mess. However, Dean yelling at him wasn’t helping.
Chaos was still continuing to reign down around them, as books flew off shelves and they attempted to dodge furniture. Hans hadn’t showed his face again but they knew it was just a matter of time.
“What was the story that student told us about?” Sam asked suddenly, remembering some information.
“I don’t know!” It’s kind of hard to think through the pain,” Dean said, sarcastically.
“He said something about an award, remember? Didn’t Hans win an award for all of his achievements? The house was named after him after his death. The students said they tapped it for good luck before finals. It was a plaque,” Sam rambled, ignoring him.
I’m surprised he even remembers anything or that we are on a hunt at all, Dean thought bitterly.
Then Sam dashed off down the hallway toward one of the bedrooms. He returned with a gold plated plaque engraved with the name of the spirit. Before he could figure out how to destroy the item, the spirit launched Sam forward into the air. He landed hard against the corner of an ornate stone fireplace, his chest colliding with it with a resounding thud.
Sam couldn’t describe the pain that richocheted through him. The impact had made his teeth rattle and fiery hot pain tore through his chest. However, he knew Dean was worse off and he had to finish this.
“Come on Sam!” Dean yelled. Right now he didn’t have a ton of sympathy even as he watched Sam struggle to get his wits about him, apparently winded.
Sam slowly turned around, the spirit facing him now, flickering in and out, ready to strike.
“Where is your heart, Sam?” The spirit asked him, accusatory.
Sam ignored him and held the plaque in his hand. The enraged spirit sent fire rushing out of the fireplace. Sam took this opportunity to throw the plaque into the flames. As the plaque started to burn, so did the spirit. However, the rush of the flames had set some surrounding items on fire and the place was starting to burn.
Sam rushed over to Dean then, hauling him to his feet.
“Easy!” Dean chided. He figured he had some bruised ribs on top of everything else.
“Sorry,” Sam said, sounding breathless. “We need to get out of here.”
He draped Dean’s shoulder over his own and tried to get them moving forward. However, he seemed to be having difficulty.
“God Sam, I’m not that heavy,” Dean groused.
Sam didn’t know what was wrong with him but the pain in his chest had intensified and he could barely support Dean.
Dean knew he was slow because he could not put weight on his ankle at all. However, Sam wasn’t moving too fast either. They both began coughing on the acrid smoke.
The place was filling quickly with smoke as they approached the stairs. Suddenly there was a loud crash and Sam looked back to see the floor give way just behind them. Now they couldn’t turn back and the floor beneath them was ablaze as well. Sam felt fear pierce through him like a sharp knife and he knew it was all up to him.
“Come on,” Sam said, through gritted teeth. He picked Dean up, draping him over his shoulders, even as the sheer agony tore him inside out, and ran down the stairs towards the door. Each step felt like he was colliding with the fireplace again and again, blow by blow hitting him in the chest.
The lower level of the house was practically engulfed now, flames licking at the front door, their only means of escaping.
Sam grunted to keep hold of Dean as he reached for the knob pulling it open. He ran outside and down the small set of stairs of the porch, trying to get Dean as far away from the burning house as possible.
Sam placed Dean down on some grass, and then bent over, hands clenched on his knees, coughing and panting with exertion.
Dean sat on the ground, taking in lungfuls of fresh air, his ribs and ankle pulsing painfully.
“Are you okay?” Sam rasped out.
“I think so but-“ Dean began.
Dean didn’t get to finish his sentence as he watched a strange look of pain cross Sam’s face. He reached a hand up to his chest and Dean watched as Sam visibly paled.
“Sam?” Dean queried.
Sam didn’t respond. Instead Dean watched in horror as Sam’s eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed in a heap on to the ground.
At first Dean thought maybe Sam had just fainted. After all, it had been awhile since he had done so much hunting. He thought maybe all the exertion, the adrenaline rush had been all too much. However, he could see Sam was in distress. He was gasping for air, his lips turning blue.
“Sammy! Sam!” Dean called, unable to control the fear he felt for his brother despite being angry before.
Dean could hear sirens in the distance so he knew someone had seen the building on fire and called for help.
He got up off the ground slowly, painfully limping over to Sam’s still form. He crouched next to him wondering if it was smoke inhalation.
“Just breathe Sammy,” Dean instructed his brother. He figured maybe being out and away from the burning building would rouse Sam and he’d catch his breath. However, he did not see any improvement. He couldn’t even see Sam’s chest rising and falling any longer.
“What do we have?” A voice interrupted him. It was a paramedic and he also crouched down to assess Sam.
“I don’t know. We just escaped from the fire and he collapsed. He was fine before,” Dean explained.
The paramedic placed his fingers against Sam’s pulse.
“No pulse,” the paramedic informed his partner. They immediately began chest compressions.
“What’s happening?” Dean asked.
“He’s in full arrest,” the other paramedic confirmed.
Dean sat there shell shocked. What the hell had just happened?
He watched as Sam’s shirt was cut open and electrodes were placed on his chest. Then he heard the shrill high pitched wail of the machine. Dean didn’t see any signs of visible injury on Sam. There was no blood. The only sign of injury was a small triangular shaped bruise forming on Sam’s chest where he had hit the fireplace. The defibrillator paddles were brought out and they shocked Sam to no avail.
“We got to roll,” the paramedic said, urgently. They brought out a backboard and placed Sam on to it, all the while pumping his chest. Dean watched as his brother was whisked away from him, as the ambulance doors slammed in his face. He remained on the ground, his injured leg painfully tucked under him, his face bathed in the red glow of the sirens. He never felt so lost before in his life. Sam was dying and he had no idea why.
“Sir are you injured anywhere?” A voice asked him. It was another paramedic, a female.
“My leg,” Dean managed to get out. He also made a waving motion to his bruised ribs. Her partner brought over a stretcher and they helped Dean to sit on the edge of it.
“What happened?” She asked.
“I don’t know,” Dean answered truthfully, because he really didn’t know what was going on. He was the one with injured leg so why was Sam now at death’s door?
She cut some of his pant leg and examined his ankle.
“It’s pretty swollen and your ribs look bruised too. We better take you in for some x rays.”
Dean waved the paramedics away as they tried to get him to settle on the stretcher. He wanted to walk. Maybe walking would help him figure it out, understand how Sam went from walking, talking, living, breathing to possibly dead in such a short span of time.
He limped over to the waiting ambulance, no longer even registering the pain. He felt numb to it all. He managed to climb up with some help from the other paramedic and sit down on the stretcher.
The ride to the hospital was a short one so he knew at least Sam was receiving medical help quickly. Since the paramedics had listened to his lungs in the ambulance, treated him for some minor smoke inhalation, and decided he wasn’t on the verge of death, he was placed in a small curtained off cubicle in the ER to wait his turn to be seen by a doctor. He sat on the gurney hoping someone would come in soon to collect his information so he could ask about Sam. Luckily he didn’t have to wait long.
“Can I ask for information on a patient?” Dean immediately asked the woman. He didn’t even allow her to introduce herself.
“I think I need to get your information first,” she said, smiling politely.
“I want to know if my brother was brought here. We were involved in that fire at the college campus.”
She looked at him confusedly and seemed quite flustered as if she has never encountered such a situation before. Finally she left him telling him she’d be back.
However, Dean was tired of waiting. He figured if this was an emergency room, Sam would have to be in this area. He carefully got off of the stretcher and gingerly placed his feet on the ground. His ankle ached again and pounded along with his ribs. However, he inched his way down the corridor, past other curtained off areas. The receptionist area was practically abandoned at this time of night so no one attempted to ask where he was going and even if they did, he was going anyway.
He wasn’t sure how he got there but he found himself in front of a room with frantic activity happening around someone who was on the gurney in the center of the room. There were impossible amounts of blood everywhere and Dean found himself transfixed, rooted to the spot. He couldn’t tell, didn’t dare to believe, who the person was but they were in bad shape. There was a heart monitor keening in the background as doctors rushed around back and forth. Then abruptly one of them moved and Dean saw and he knew.
He couldn’t quite get over the shock of seeing his brother sprawled on the bed like that, face ashen, hair spread around his face like some kind of halo, or the macabre sight of his chest gaping open wide while a doctor leaned over massaging his still heart, another standing by with metal paddles in his hand.
“Clear!”
He practically jumped out of his skin as the metal paddles shocked Sam’s heart. It was too late though, the image forever burned into his retinas. Then he started to retch. He fell down on the floor practically in a crawling position, dry heaving.
“What is he doing here?” He heard someone ask. Then he was being helped up off the floor and guided back to his cubicle. He barely remembered much of what happened next as he figured they drugged him. He welcomed the darkness however, hoping what he saw was only his worst nightmare.
ooooo
He woke up slowly, feeling slightly numb. For a second he forgot where he was but then it all came rushing back in an instant. He was propped up on some pillows, a slight ache settled in his ribs. His ankle was encased in a removable boot and an IV drip was suspended over his head. He was going to push the call button when a doctor came walking in.
“Good to see you awake. I’m Dr. Welsh and you are?” She asked, pleasantly.
“Dean,” he answered. He was distracted still trying to forget the horrors he had witnessed before, too afraid to even ask the question because he inevitably knew what the answer would be. Sam was dead. There was no way anyone could survive after going through something like that.
“Are you in any pain?” She asked him, sensing his discomfort.
He shook his head but didn’t meet her eyes.
“I heard about what happened to your brother.”
Dean instantly looked down at the pillows. He didn’t want to know.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she continued. “However, it was necessary to save your brother’s life.”
Wait a minute. Save his life? Was Sam alive? Dean thought.
“My brother? Is he…” Dean asked, dropping off, afraid to complete the question.
“Yes he is still alive.”
Dean couldn’t believe it. He still didn’t even know what had happened to Sam and what they were even doing to him.
“Our staff has been very curious about our two John Does. You both had us on our toes last night. What exactly happened to you two?”
“We were checking out that frat house, just to see what all the hype was about. Then we saw smoke so we went in to see if there was anything we could do. I tripped and hurt my ankle and ribs and then my brother, Sam, just collapsed,” he said. Even he didn’t believe the story but it was all he could muster.
She eyed him carefully.
“I would have thought you’d been in some kind of scuffle to be honest with the bruising on your ribs and fracture to your ankle. Luckily the fracture is minor and so was the injury to your ribs. You should be back on your feet soon.”
“What happened to Sam?” Dean asked, ignoring the doctor.
“Sam suffered a blunt force chest trauma which led to an aortic rupture.”
“What? How?” Dean asked, not fully comprehending the extent of Sam’s injuries.
“Based on the bruising, it’s consistent with him hitting his chest against something with a high velocity of speed. Usually we see this with car accident victims. Luckily we had a cardiologist on call, who had an inclination that Sam was bleeding inside his chest cavity.”
“You mean when he hit himself against that fireplace, it caused that much damage?” Dean asked, without thinking.
“Fireplace?”
“Sam tripped too,” Dean said stupidly, feeling like an idiot. “When we were trying to escape from the fire.”
Dr. Welsh paused again, skepticism written all over her face.
“Why did Sam look like that?” Dean asked, changing the subject.
“Unfortunately due to the severity of Sam’s injury, we needed to perform an emergency thoracotomy or in layman’s terms, crack his chest, not to sound crude. It’s not pretty and we only do it as a last resort. We were trying to control the bleeding around Sam’s heart until we could get Sam to surgery. The paramedics were able to restart Sam’s heart en route to the hospital. However, he flatlined again when we were examining him. Sam required cardiac massage and internal defibrillation to get his heart started again. Then he was taken to surgery to repair the rupture in his aorta.”
“What’s the prognosis?” Dean asked, tentatively.
“I’m afraid his prognosis isn’t good.”
“Wait a minute,” Dean began. “So you are telling me you went through all these great lengths to save Sam and that he survived the surgery. Now you’re telling me he’s not going to make it?”
“Dean, I’m sorry if I gave you false hope. However, these types of injuries are almost always fatal. Most people die before they ever even get to the hospital. Also, the fact that we had to crack Sam’s chest puts him at a high risk of mortality.”
“I want to see him,” Dean said, not meeting her eyes.
She didn’t answer him right away as if she was weighing if it was a good idea or not.
“Dean, last time you saw your brother, it didn’t go over so well.”
“I don’t care. Take me to him.”
ooooo
Thirty minutes later, Dean had signed his release forms and agreed to be brought into Sam’s room in a wheelchair. The doctor didn’t think Dean was in any condition to be using crutches yet with his bruised ribs. Dean suspected she was afraid he’d pass out again.
Dean peered down the hallways and at the various signs as the orderly wheeled him down the hall. He saw a sign that said CCU: Cardiac Care Unit and he knew they were in the right place.
Dean allowed the orderly to wheel him in beside Sam’s bed and he took in his brother’s appearance. He was hooked up to a ventilator and a tube was also inserted down his nose. There were chest tubes snaking under the blankets. Sam's doctor told him he should expect this, that they had to make sure Sam’s incision was draining properly. The doctor also said Sam was heavily sedated because of the amount of pain associated with the procedure of open heart surgery. They didn’t want to risk any further damage to Sam if somehow he managed to pull through.
Overall, Dean could sense the doctor’s pessimism and that he doubted Sam would make it. Apparently they “were doing all they can” and “now it was up to Sam.” Before Dean would have argued, said for sure that Sam would fight to his dying breath, that he would not give up. However, now even he had to admit he had his doubts. He just wasn’t sure what Sam wanted anymore. Did he want to fight alongside him? Or did he wish to be somewhere, anywhere, else?
He stood up slowly, once the orderly was gone and placed his hand on top of Sam’s. He didn’t know what else to do, what encouraging words he could speak. He just wanted Sam to know he was there, to feel his connection.
Do we even have a connection anymore? The thoughts intruded even as he tried to think positive for Sam and he desperately tried to push them aside but found that he couldn’t stop them, couldn’t rid himself of the deep down resentment he still felt. He felt repulsed by his own mindset, letting these thoughts overpower him when he looked at the shape Sam was in but he couldn’t help it.
ooooo
Two days later, Dean got the surprise of his life when Sam opened his eyes. The doctors had said they were guarded in believing Sam could pull through given he was still alive 48 hours post surgery. However, Dean never expected his brother to wake up this soon and definitely not in such a violent way.
He instantly began gagging on the ventilator, thrashing his limbs. The heart monitor responded in kind with a frantic beeping. Dean panicked because he knew any unnecessary strain on Sam’s heart could cause dire consequences. He also knew jostling any of the tubes in Sam’s chest could be fatal too.
A medical team rushed into the room before Dean could even consider what he should do and hustled him out the door. He had been wheeled over to the waiting area when his phone alerted him he had a new message. He expected it to be from Garth or about another hunt but this was different. It was another e-mail from a college Sam applied to, asking him to please resend his essay because it was the last thing he needed before they could decide if they would accept him or not. He nearly laughed at the irony of it all.
“Dean, Dean?”
He was interrupted by Sam’s doctor calling out to him.
“How is he?” Dean asked.
“Well he’s not out of the woods yet,” the doctor began.
Dean sighed heavily in response.
“He woke up which is a good thing,” the doctor continued, sensing Dean’s impatience. “However, his body still has a lot of healing to do. We don’t want him getting too stressed, given his fragile condition. We were able to remove the ventilator but we’ve given him some more pain medication and a sedative, hoping he’ll continue to rest. We are going to send him off for some tests soon and we’ll know more then.”
Dean wasn’t exactly satisfied with the doctor’s answers, or lack thereof, as he entered Sam’s room. Sam was propped up slightly in the bed this time. The ventilator and nasal tube were indeed gone, replaced by an oxygen cannula under Sam’s nose. His head was facing the wall so Dean figured the sedatives must have kicked in and Sam was asleep. However, Sam turned to face him as he approached the bed.
“Stupid,” Sam said simply and forlornly.
“What?” Dean asked. He had no idea what Sam meant.
“So stupid of me to believe I could ever get out,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “Brick couldn’t get out and neither could Hans.”
Dean watched as his brother’s eyebrows knitted together in pain and a thin sheen of sweat formed on his forehead. Then Sam began adjusting himself in the bed, trying to find a comfortable position.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” he said. Then he let out a loud yelp in pain, taking in ragged breaths.
“Sammy?” Dean said, alarmed. “You need to calm down. You hurt your heart and you can’t let yourself get this upset,” Dean continued, hoping to calm Sam down.
However, it was too late. Sam dissolved into sobs unable to even form coherent words.
“Dean, it hurts,” he managed to gasp out, biting into his lip so hard it drew blood. He gripped Dean’s arm so tight that his fingers left gouge marks in his arm.
Dean could tell that Sam was in an unimaginable amount of pain and he couldn’t understand why the sedatives and medicine were not helping him.
Dean ran out into the hall, calling for help.
Once again, Sam’s room was crowded with medical personnel and he was thrown out. However, this time when the doors to Sam’s room opened, Dean knew the news was not good. They were wheeling Sam out of the room and away from him.
“We have to make sure he’s not having another bleed,” a nurse told him quickly before dashing off.
Dean just stood there staring down the empty hallway, contemplating how much the odds were now stacked against his brother, wondering how he could be so stupid. He knew Sam was more than just in physical pain. He was enduring his own mental anguish. However, he had ignored Sam’s pain and focused on his own. He only hoped he would have a second chance, that the doctors could repair Sam so he could repair the relationship with his brother.
ooooo
Dean sat in the waiting room for over an hour, waiting for word. He figured if they had to take Sam back to surgery, they would let him know. Finally, Sam’s doctor emerged and asked to speak with him.
“Thankfully it wasn’t another bleed,” the doctor said before Dean could even ask about Sam’s condition.
“So he doesn’t need surgery?”
“No, he needs rest. His heart rate spiked again due to his pain levels. We’ve put him on stronger pain meds as well as the sedative to give his body time to heal.”
“Do you think he’ll be okay?”
“I think he has a shot,” the doctor said, finally sounding hopeful. “However, I think it might be best if you went home for awhile.”
Dean got quiet for a moment letting the words soak in. Was this guy telling him he couldn’t see his brother?
“Are you telling me I can’t go in there?” Dean asked, wanting answers.
“No,” the doctor said. “However, I think it’s best he has as little stress as possible.”
Dean knew that the doctor was implying his presence had caused Sam to have some stress induced attack and that he thought he somehow upset Sam. Did I? Dean wondered. He hadn’t exactly been “Mr. Sensitive” lately.
“Okay,” Dean said, simply. He wasn’t sure why he’d ever agree with the man but something was tickling at the back of his brain and he felt maybe he had a point. He agreed to return the next day.
Before he left, Dr. Welsh checked him over again and handed him a pair of crutches. She assured him Sam's doctor was excellent and he was in good hands. She also promised to check in on Sam too and keep him updated.
ooooo
Dean wasn’t sure where to go. His car had been impounded so he needed to take a Taxi to the lot to get it out. Then he found a hotel. As he unpacked their sparse belongings, he pulled out Sam’s laptop and rubbed his hands over it. Instantly his mind was hit by an image of Sam hunched over the thing telling him information about their latest hunt. He missed that, terribly. He missed when they could share their own insights and figure things out, together.
Then he remembered the e-mail he found when he had been the one researching, the one he and Sam had fought over.
“Look, I'm not saying I'm bailing on you. I'm just saying make room for the possibility that we want different things. I mean, I want my time to count for something,” Sam had said, regarding keeping his options open. Those words had hurt him more than Sam knew. Sam was still getting offers too. He felt a mixture of anger and pride at the same time.
How could he let himself get so consumed by Sam’s words though? Sam was still by his side anyway, albeit reluctantly.
I’m not bailing on you.
Sam’s words echoed in his head. Sam never intended to cut him out of his life, ever. Also, hadn’t he always been happy that Sam kept this options open? He even at times encouraged him to believe that he could have a future, a normal one. He knew Sam wanted him to feel the same way too, to have that hopefulness that somehow they could both survive, have regular jobs, share holidays and be uncles to each other’s kids. He couldn’t though. It just wasn’t his nature. However, having Sam’s faith balance out his doubt kept him going at times, from falling into the hole of bleakness and despair.
He opened the laptop and found the essay. He was going to make sure the college got it, that Sam did have an option if he wanted to take it. He was going to simply reply to the e-mail he got and send it as an attachment, but instead the title caught his eye: Because I Had A Dean. Dean read the prompt below the title. Sam was to write about what set him apart from the other college candidates.
He saunters into the room, all bravado. However, his tough guy façade is merely that, a thinly veiled mask that hides his inner turmoil and his fierce devotion to his family. I keep that image in my mind whenever I need the motivation to continue, even if it means fighting back tears.
Dean stopped in his tracks. Was Sam talking about him? Dean continued:
See, what sets me apart from the other candidates is not a “what” at all. It’s a” who.” I had a brother named Dean and he made all the difference in my life. Dean was everything I could have asked for in a brother. Now it’s so difficult to talk about him in the past tense because it means he’s not here anymore.
As a kid, I was a pipsqueak, barely 5 feet as a freshman in high school. However, Dean was there with me, giving me a “hey Sammy” when he walked down the hallway. It made me feel ten feet tall. He never acted embarrassed to be seen with his little brother, a lowly freshman. Dean wasn’t one for academics, yet he inspired me to pursue my goals. He’d keep the radio on extra low even if Led Zepplin, his favorite band ever, was playing making sure I wasn’t disturbed when I was doing my homework. If I asked him to help me study, he’d readily recite words for me to spell or break out the flashcards. He always beamed when my report card showed all A’s. I know he sacrificed his own goals just to make sure I could achieve mine.
We didn’t have a mom or a strong father figure in our life but Dean fulfilled those roles completely. He’d say “no chick flick moments” but if I was going through something, he wanted to hear all about it. Even if I thought it was stupid, Dean would always lend an ear. We had a few kitchen mishaps but Dean could whip up a mean hamburger when he wanted to. We’d sit at the table and I’d tell him about my day. It was usually just the two of us but we were a family, not perfect but whole. When I had nightmares at night or I was scared, I could always count on hearing his breathing in the bed next to me. I’d match my breaths to his own, wanting to emulate him as best as I could.
As we grew, I told Dean about my goals, how I wanted to be a lawyer because I knew he wouldn’t laugh at me or tell me it wasn’t possible because we were expected to go into the “family business.” He always looked so proud when I told him what I wanted to do. I’ll never forget when I was going to Stanford, his eyes were bright, wet with unshed tears. However, I knew deep down they were more than just tears of joy. They were tears of sadness too because it meant I’d be gone. I was scared then. Was it the right thing for me to do? Could I make it at college without Dean? Dean looked at me then and said simply, “I’m proud of you kid” and ruffled my hair. This time he had to reach up to do it since I’d grown taller than him. However, he stood at a level I could never reach, still can never reach. His reassurances were all it took for me to know it was okay.
Dean was my role model, still is. I can keep that in the present tense because it never fades. I know if he read this he’d laugh right now. I sit here and imagine him doing it, loud and strong. It makes me smile and want to cry at the same time because more than anything I wish he was here. I wish I could have saved him the way he always saved me. However, he will always be with me guiding me every step of the way. He taught me so much about life and love. I had a Dean and it made all the difference.
Dean closed the computer then, the hot tears dripping down his face. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. How could he forget Sam felt that way about him? How could he forget that he felt that way about Sam?
He instantly sent the attachment. He sat back down on the hotel room bed, hit by the realization over how much this hunt and the last one had particularly struck a chord with Sam. They had investigated Brick Holmes who was actually the Mayan God Cacao. He, like Sam, had even tried to find normal, get married and fall in love. Then he knew though that it would never happen and he gave up. Then there was this case with Hans. Hans had been an academically gifted student and a standout in sports. His father took ill suddenly and he was thrust back into a life he didn’t want, running a hardware store that his father couldn’t take care of anymore. Like Brick, he gave up too and killed himself. Well, Dean knew one thing for sure. He wasn’t going to let that happen to Sam. His brother wasn’t going down without a fight.
ooooo
Dean arrived back at the hospital twelve hours later. Sam’s doctor looked slightly peeved but he allowed Dean to go in, reminding him again that Sam needed to rest.
When Dean entered the room this time, Sam was actually asleep, his head facing the door. Dean stopped a moment, taking in how young Sam still looked, wondering how it was even possible with all they’d been through, all they’d seen, loved, and lost.
He pulled up a chair, feeling his connection to his brother stronger than ever.
“I’m sorry Sammy,” he whispered into the darkness.
He leaned back in the chair, letting himself fall into a light doze. The doctor said he expected Sam to be out for hours and he had the best chance of recovery if he actually slept.
Dean kept up his vigil for nearly 24 more hours before Sam started to come around. He knew instantly that Sam was in terrible pain again, but this time he was prepared. He hit the call button.
“Sammy look at me,” he said, drawing his brother’s eyes toward him.
“Hurts,” Sam whimpered, reaching up his hand to rub at his chest.
Dean pushed his hand back down as the alarm bells starting going off again. He felt fear taking the wheel from him but he didn’t let it. He grabbed Sam’s hand and placed it over his heart.
“Sammy, you feel that? My heartbeat. Focus on it and my breathing,” Dean said. He breathed slowly in and out. “Remember Sam? From when we were kids and you’d do that?”
Sam cocked his head as if wondering how Dean knew but he obeyed, slowing down his own breathing to match Dean’s. The alarm bells stopped sounding.
The doctor arrived shortly after and gave Sam some more pain medication, then asked to speak to Dean outside.
“What’s the verdict, doc,” Dean asked.
“I’m hopeful,” he acquiesced. “He seems to be mending. He is going to have a few rough days ahead of him but I think he’s going to make it.”
Dean’s doubts were gone now. He already knew Sam would be fine.
ooooo
The next few days were as difficult as the doctor said they would be. Sam was in and out of consciousness and when he was awake, he was in excruciating pain. However, thankfully tests had confirmed his heart was indeed healing. Dean knew it was healing physically but he knew emotionally, it would take time. Dean worked on the breathing with Sam to get him to calm down each time his chest would flare with pain. The doctor thought it best to keep Sam on oxygen as his breathing became labored during his pain induced episodes but Sam didn’t want to be constantly drugged so the doctor was working with him to lower the dosages of pain medication each day.
Sam hadn’t said too much too him, mostly made small talk asking his brother how his ankle was but Dean was happy any time Sam was lucid and painfree enough to talk at all.
“Hey Dean,” Sam said, in the early morning hours after he had been hospitalized for close to 2 weeks.
Dean took in Sam’s color then and noticed it was a lot better, that Sam’s speech was clear, less pain inflected. However, he could tell Sam had been deep in thought and he wanted to talk seriously to his brother.
“Remember what Hans asked me?”
“Hans?” Dean asked, genuinely confused. He didn’t remember.
“He asked me, where is your heart?”
“Yeah, so?”
“He knew Dean. He knew my heart wasn’t in it. Remember what Brick’s wife said, the heart is the key. What good am I if my heart is so torn all the time that I can’t even focus on the hunt?”
Dean was taken aback by Sam’s candid confession. This was the first time Sam had said anything more than a few sentences and something so substantial too.
“You’ll just end up hurt, Dean. I’m useless,” Sam continued. “I-"
“Stop,” Dean said, cutting him off.
“No, it’s true, Dean,” Sam finished.
Dean could see Sam’s chin quivering and the last thing he wanted was Sam crying. He could imagine the stress it would put on him. However, Sam kept going.
“I can tell how much it hurt you that I didn’t look for you. I’m sorry.”
“Sammy, you don’t need to apologize.
”
“You know why I didn’t look for you?” Sam continued.
Dean listened intently. He couldn’t deny that he wanted to know.
“Because I knew I would screw up. I’d make the wrong choice and just let you down. You always believed in me Dean but I never made you proud. Even trying to find normal was a mistake because I failed at that too.”
“Sammy, please,” Dean begged. He knew how hurt he was by the whole purgatory thing but was now realizing how badly it had affected Sam. The poor kid felt like every move he made was the wrong one. “I’m not angry at what you did Sam and I don’t want you to stop trying to find normal, whatever it is. You know I always admired that about you.”
“Thank-you Dean. And I just want you to know I’m here. I’m committed now,” Sam said.
“I’m glad Sam because I do need you beside me, but don’t give up on your dreams, okay?”
Dean saw Sam’s whole body relax and he laid back against the pillows, his eyes half lidded as if now he could truly rest. Dean watched Sam as he dropped off to sleep. He put his hand over Sam’s heart, just listening to the steady beat of it, knowing that it beat in time to his own. They might never meet eye to eye on everything, but Dean knew they’d always meet heart to heart.
The End