Emergencia
Disclaimer: Being the property of their respective copyright holders, Supernatural, its characters or any other publicly recognizable names don’t belong to me in any way, shape or form. This was written for the sole purpose of entertainment, not monetary gain. No copyright infringement is intended.
~ Oh my, would the boys be in trouble if I had a say... Just one word: SFTCOL(AR)S
A/N: Response to Enkidu07 and the gang’s Drabble Challenge. Thanks for letting me participate.
~ And muchísimas gracias to my twin sister twinchy for the beta!
A/N 2: In memoriam Kim Manners who did an extraordinary job working on Supernatural. May he rest in peace. He will be sorely missed. And my heart goes out to his family and friends.
First Published: 25/01/ - 03/03/2009
Summary:
The paramedic shook his head, “Sounds like you’re reading the table of contents from the med-book.” 1st chapter in drabble format but turns into multi-chapter hurt/comfort story.
Prompt: nausea
Word Count: 7,076
Helicopter Ride
The helicopter whirred through the air at nauseating speed, the paramedics working frantically on their two critical patients.
“Dislocated collar bone, fractured ribs, rigid abdomen, so probably internal bleeding, and a ruptured ligament in his shoulder,” one of the tending paramedics rattled off.
“Sounds like you’re reading the table of contents from the med-book,” his colleague sighed.
“How’s the other one doing?”
“He’s barely holding his own. The right leg is shattered in several places and bleeding profusely; plus, we’re still worried about a spinal injury. He’s not even breathing on his own.”
“What the hell happened to these boys?!”
Damage Control 101
‘What the-’ he felt like diving through a swamp. Not only was everything inky black but wherever his consciousness tried to emerge, he had to struggle for every single inch of progress, and he felt weighted down with lead.
“I think he is slowly coming to.” A voice declared somewhere miles away. The tone was hectic and seemed to float around in the murky pond surrounding his head.
There was also some strange kind of white noise in the background, everything just a little too fuzzy to make sense of. A dull ache began to pound mercilessly behind his skull, making its way through his whole body, growing in intensity. He wasn’t even able to pinpoint what part of his body hurt, or what didn’t.
“Sir, can you hear me?” The voice was back.
Annoyed, he tried to shoo the offending hands away. Suddenly they were all over his body. And how many hands were on him to begin with?!
“Mr Plant? Sir? Can you hear me?”
Even more hands, and not all of them gentle.
When he opened his eyes to mere slits, staring ahead with blurry vision, he was greeted with a dumb smile. “Mr Plant, do you know where you are?”
An unintelligible mumble made it past his vocal chords. He tried again and again but the words remained sealed within his mind, not that he knew what he was trying to say in the first place.
And then lightning struck when realization hit him, making him bolt upright. ‘Sammy!’ Unfortunately his feeble efforts at sitting up ended in a meagre attempt at raising his head off the soft surface beneath him and more hands holding him down.
“Sir, you need to stay calm. You are in a hospital. We are trying to help you.”
He wanted to fight harder; it shouldn’t have been a problem to shake those hands off but in fact, it was. Finally he resigned himself to letting his head sink back, muscles slowly relaxing from the sheer exhaustion of simply lifting his head.
“S’my,” Dean rasped almost inaudible, then a little firmer and clearer he repeated the name when he had the distinct feeling he was being ignored.
“Who is Sammy? Someone we should call?” the woman - a nurse? - asked. Her eyes were gentle but also held a world-weariness he had rarely seen before.
“No.” More air than sound but the meaning came across. After a short pause to gather his strength, “the guy… with m-me.”
Nervous glances were exchanged between her and a bulky man - a doctor deciding by the scrubs and lab coat - but no answer was forthcoming. Something was wrong, very wrong, and he needed to find out what had happened to his brother. NOW.
Once again he tried to get his act together and sit up; yet, just as before, he was immediately stopped with ridiculously little effort. Damn his current weakness!
“Mr Plant, you need to lie still. You have a ruptured spleen; you are bleeding internally. We are going to operate as soon as we have sufficiently assessed your condition.” This time it was the doctor who addressed him.
“No… no surgery… before I k-know… m’brother,” Dean protested weakly.
“The young man who was with you is your brother?” the nurse asked incredulously.
He gave her a minute nod, his last reserves quickly depleting, darkness already creeping back in from the edges of his vision.
She looked deep into his eyes, evaluating the best course of action, then sighed. “Alright, I’ll try to find out.”
Leaving his field of vision, the nurse stepped through the door into the adjacent emergency room, taking in the hectic atmosphere while doctors and nurses frantically worked on their patient, bagging him and desperately trying to stem the extensive bleeding on his right leg.
One of the attending nurses hurried over when she saw her colleague standing in the door.
At her inquiring look she learned the clipboard version of the young man’s condition. “He’s loosing too much blood and his vitals are all over the place.”
“His brother was asking for him. We are about to take him to the OR for a ruptured spleen.”
Her younger colleague turned wistful eyes towards the examination table. “Tell him he is going to make it,” she whispered.
“Is he?”
The following silence told her everything she needed to know.
A sudden commotion from the next room alerted her and she rushed back through the swinging door.
“Shit, his blood pressure is bottoming out!” The doctor cursed under his breath and started barking orders. “We need to take him to surgery NOW!”
From the distance she locked eyes with her fading patient, giving Dean a reassuring smile just in time before his heavy lids drooped and he surrendered to unconsciousness.
Rude Awakening
He was drifting in a comfortable haze, the darkness and detached feeling wrapping around him like a warm blanket, sheltering him from harm. The clicking, beeping and whooshing sounds that filtered through from the noisy world outside were oddly in tune with his very being like it was the rhythm of his life. Each new beat equally reassuring and soothing.
Sam had no idea how long he floated on the edge of consciousness, enveloped in his cosy cocoon of protection and medically dulled senses. The first thing he became aware of was the utter lack of pain, a feeling he relished and drank deeply into his core. It was a peculiar thing too in light of the slowly returning memories of pain when the veil of oblivion seemed to lift for brief moments. Strange images assaulted him then, cattle on a farm, panicked eyes, quakes in the ground and earth-shattering screams. His mind fled from the sudden onslaught like a scared child and hid in the far corners of forgetfulness. He needed to dwell in denial just that little bit longer.
The next time he came round, the noises felt far more pervasive than before, the formerly soothing regular pattern becoming more grating by the minute. Also something rough was terribly irritating his throat. He tried to cough in order to get rid of the intrusion or turn his head away but nothing happened. Thankfully the rest of his body seemed to still enjoy the comfort of not making itself known with any additional aches. Obviously drugs held the pain at bay, which meant he must be in a hospital.
For the sake of getting a little more rest before finally facing the world, Sam lingered on in the confines of dimmed awareness, enduring the scratching sensation until it got too bothersome to ignore. Reluctantly he forced his weary eyes to half-mast, needing several tries to blink his surroundings into focus.
He was in a hospital alright, he could tell as much from the non-descript white tiles on the ceiling. In that respect all hospitals were the same, god forbid there was even the merest hint of colour. But still, something was uncharacteristic for every single one he had seen, either as a patient or a worried family member: somehow the typical smells of disinfectant were missing.
As he set to turn his head to the side, seeking the comfort of his big brother in the plastic chair beside the bed, he found he couldn’t. His neck was locked in something unyielding that didn’t allow him to move as much as an inch. He wanted to swat at the offending object around his neck, yet his hands remained unresponsive no matter how much he struggled to make them obey. With a growing sense of panic he realized there was more to the complete lack of pain throughout his body, there was no sensation whatsoever beyond his chin, not the blanket covering him, nor the mattress he was lying on, nothing. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes, and the fact he couldn’t reach up to wipe them away, enforced the utter feeling of helplessness, cruelly driving the devastating point home that he was trapped inside his own body, paralyzed.
xXxXx
The doctor rubbed pensively over his stubble while he eyed the blissfully unaware young man in the bed before him carefully. He and his colleague had no doubt that the sandy-haired man’s vitals were indicative of a punctured lung, an injury they had earlier missed when they had removed the ruptured spleen. Their hopes that the damage wasn’t severe enough to require yet another surgery - his third after the spleen and the correction of his torn ligament in the shoulder - were crushed. As much as the doctors had tried to avoid subjecting their patient to a further anaesthesia, it had come to the point where there were no other options left. They had to act.
“Page the on-call surgeon and clear an OR, I’m afraid there are no two ways around it any more.” His colleague nodded his affirmation and stepped out of the room.
xXxXx
“Oh, sweet-heart,” the elderly nurse chimed, her heavy accent tinged with regret, “since when are you awake?” She took another couple of steps towards the bed, then leaned over to appear in Sam’s limited line of vision. Taking in the tear marks that ran down the side of his face, she slowly extended a hand and stroked his right cheek.
“I know you’re scared out of your wits right now, dear. But don’t you worry, we’re taking good care of you.” After a short pause she continued, “You are on a ventilator because you can’t breathe on your own at the moment. There’s a tube down your throat, that’s why you can’t speak. But… well, I guess your doctor can explain that much better than me. I’ll just be outside to get her. She’ll be here in a minute to talk to you. Just take it easy, okay.”
Several minutes later, a petite female entered the room, but for all her delicate features, an aura of authority accompanied her. She had clearly got to her position with decades of hard work, something Sam appreciated and would pick over a cocky youngster every day of the week. When she came into his view and addressed him, her voice had a hard edge to it, belying the gentleness displayed in her facial expression.
“Hi, I’m Dr Weasly.” She nodded for emphasis. “It’s good to see you finally awake, Mr Page. You had us a bit worried here.” She took another pause, quietly gauging how much of the truth he could take.
“When you were brought in, you had lost a great amount of blood, and we had a hard time controlling the bleeding in your right leg. You needed several blood transfusions. Your condition was very critical for the last day or so; therefore, we haven’t been able to address the multiple fractures of your leg yet, seeing as you were too weak for surgery. But your vitals are rebounding nicely, so we hope to schedule you for the procedure tomorrow morning.”
Dr Weasly took a deep breath. Her growing unease wasn’t lost on her patient as she approached the heart of the matter. “Upon arrival in the ER, you were unable to breathe spontaneously and unresponsive to any stimuli below the neck. Our fears of a permanent spinal injury, however, were alleviated after X-rays and scans. Those were merely indicative of two dislocated cervical vertebrae, the fourth and fifth,” she explained, pointing to the according ones in her neck, “which resulted in extensive swelling of the tissue surrounding the spinal cord. This is the reason for the momentary paralysis you are experiencing. But we were able to address the dislocation and have immobilized your neck with a brace to give it time to heal. There is no sign of permanent damage to the spinal cord. The paralysis should therefore be only temporary.”
Sam’s eyes shone with relief but he still felt there was something the doctor wasn’t telling him.
“Mr Page,” she continued after a few seconds to let her words sink in, “I understand that not being able to move at all must be a very disconcerting feeling for you but your prognosis is actually very promising. We are confident sensation to your extremities will return once the swelling recedes. And we expect a full recovery. You simply need to give it some time.”
Before she finally turned to go, she glanced at Sam once more. “Are you in any pain? Since you can’t talk at the moment, blink once for yes or twice for no. The tube in your throat is probably quite uncomfortable, especially when it’s about the only thing you can feel.”
At his response, she gave some orders to the nurse who stood close-by, then she gave him a sympathetic smile that stood in stark contrast to the encouraging news she had delivered, making Sam once again apprehensive of what the doctor might have omitted or sugar-coated.
‘Was something wrong with Dean? Why wouldn’t they tell him where his brother was? Had he been as gravely injured? Or worse?’ With no means to ask the doctor or nurse, he pushed the troubling thoughts away. His brother was okay; he had to be. Period.
Not long after the nurse had administered some more drugs into his IV port, he felt himself begin to drift once more, sleepiness washing over him and taking him back under.
There was no measure of time before he slowly crawled to awareness again. Still more out than in, voices wafted around him, words beyond what he was able to process as of yet bleeding into his mind. After a while the voices became clearer and he recognized that of Dr Weasly. She was speaking to a colleague. When he listened more carefully, straining to concentrate on the meaning of the words, he realized they were talking about him, his upcoming surgery.
Both doctors rattled off a list of medical jargon while discussing the procedure. But the words from the male doctor were completely lost to him, the soft timbre of his voice lulling him back to sleep. Because of her voice, Sam caught a couple of words from his doctor but was already too far removed from wakefulness to make sense of them just yet.
It took a while for him to return to a state of consciousness where he was able to grasp the meaning of the words he had overheard. Yet, when he did, it terrified him to the core. Dr Weasly had expressed her worries that they probably couldn’t save the leg and had to amputate at mid-femur.
Sam frantically struggled to come out of his drugged slumber. He wanted to scream… hell, he wanted to jump to his feet and run as fast as possible in the other direction! He wanted to… But the devastating truth was he was helpless to do anything. With his unresponsive body even panicking failed miserably, not even the steady beat of his heart-monitor accelerated to a level that came close to his distress. When he finally managed to pry open his eyes, crying hot tears of utter despair was all he was capable of.
And where in all good heavens was Dean?
xXxXx
Sam’s eyes blinked sluggishly when he was wheeled into the operating theatre. During preparation that morning they had dosed him up to the gills with drugs. He had prayed that his vitals would take a nose-dive and delay the inevitable for just a while longer. Yet, all hope was quenched when the staff had announced they were happy with his physical condition and set to prep him for surgery. No amount of silent pleading with his eyes had deterred them from going through the routine. And now he was at their mercy.
Technicians and nurses cautiously lifted him onto the table in the OR. Sam knew it should feel cold underneath him but he felt nothing. And he was almost too out of it to care any longer. Once they had connected him to the respirator, a balding man took his place at the left side of his head. He recognized the bulky man immediately. The anaesthesiologist had seen him earlier, taking his time to learn about the patient who was submitted to his care.
The man reached over, stroking Sam’s cheek, gently providing comfort and turning his patient’s attention to him. Sam involuntarily leaned into that touch as much as possible, holding onto that last bit of reprieve like a life-line.
“Jimmy, I’m going to put you under now,” the anaesthesiologist said removing his gloved hand; and Sam felt all the more despondent for its loss. “Just relax, think of someplace nice, and it will be over before you know it.”
The last words petrified Sam more than anything, yet as his eyes drooped, there was nowhere to flee but ahead into the darkness and as his mind faded to oblivion, he was out like a candle with the flame gone.
Need to Know
There was cotton in his mouth… a lot, and in his brain too because it had never taken him so much effort just to think. A kingdom for a clear thought. Maybe once the dull throbbing in his head eased up a bit but for now it was rather increasing in intensity. Happy day!
He sensed a presence in the room but still mulled over the question whether it might have been Sammy when the steps retreated. His mind succumbed to drowsiness before the echo was out of hearing distance.
Dean shot to awareness again when a small hand made contact with a particularly tender spot on his chest.
“Sorry,” a female voice whispered, immediately withdrawing her fingers at his unexpected flinch.
He forced his lead-laden eyes open, momentarily confused by his whereabouts. Yet, once the dizziness that had briefly overwhelmed his senses, subsided, he remembered scattered pieces of being treated in the ER. Duh, hospital, go figure!
A soft moan escaped him when he tried to shift his aching body into a more comfortable position. Not that he seemed to be able to shift much, or find a more comfortable position for that matter. His whole body pounded so mercilessly, he wanted to crawl out of his skin.
Something touched his lips lightly, interrupting his feeble attempts to escape the dull but terribly persistent aches. He gingerly looked down to find a straw in a glass with clear fluid, water.
“Here, take a few sips.” The young nurse guided the straw into his mouth, tipping the glass marginally back when Dean started drinking too greedily. “I take it your throat must be dry like the desert. Or do you prefer ice chips?”
“Oh, that was like heaven!” Dean proclaimed as soon as the cool liquid had run down his throat and quenched the most acute thirst. “Thank you,” he sighed, his head sagging back into the pillow, relief smoothing out the creases in his forehead.
He had already begun drifting back to sleep, thinking the sweet nurse with the curly red hair had left as quietly as she had moved around the room before. “I think I’ll be getting your doctor,” she announced. Dean cracked an eye open and saw her gesturing hesitantly but still lingering on. “Okay?”
‘Man, she really was cute!’ The older Winchester flashed her a smile that would have melted the polar caps faster than any climatic warming could have. She blushed slightly and looked to the floor, then left the room in a hurry. ‘Gotcha! No woman in her right mind could resist that patented Dean-Winchester smile.’ He sighed contentedly before cautiously beginning to take stock of his injuries by concentrating on what body parts throbbed most fiercely.
Hardly getting beyond realizing his left arm was bandaged to his torso to keep him from moving his shoulder, a haggard-looking doctor entered the room, effectively stopping his inventory.
“Mr Plant, I’m hearing you are awake and lucid. I’m Dr Herger.” A thin-lipped smile spread across the doctor’s face. “You’ve had us a little concerned for the past few days. You had a bit of a reaction to the anaesthesia when we operated on you the first time. The one we used afterwards you seemed to tolerate far better.”
Dean smirked uneasily. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You really should,” Dr Herger answered soberly. “Did you ever have a reaction to an anaesthetic before?” Dean shook his head. The doctor nodded. “Okay, now let’s see what is wrong with you.” He looked at the file in his hand. “Well, you had a ruptured spleen which we had to take out, three fractured ribs, a punctured lung, a torn ligament in your left shoulder and a dislocated collar bone, also on your left side.”
“Sounds painful,” Dean quipped.
“It sure is but with rest,” he looked pointedly at the young man, “and proper PT, it should heal up nicely without any impairment to the shoulder.”
“Thanks doc. Now where is my brother?” For the elder Winchester it was high time to find out about Sam.
The doctor looked puzzled. “Your brother? I’m sorry, Mr Plant, but to my knowledge there wasn’t any contact information-”
“No,” Dean recovered quickly from his slip, “I mean my partner, Jimmy Page. You could say we’re brothers in arms. As far as I know he was injured too.” Yes, he was velvety smooth.
“I’m sorry, Mr Plant, really I am, but I can’t help you. Only immediate family-”
“Come on!” Patience wearing thin, “The two of us, we’ve been working together for almost an eternity now.” The guy must be kidding him!
“I’m sorry.” Dr Herger, however, held his own in the ensuing staring match, not giving an inch.
“Tell me, or I’ll go in search of him myself.” Dean accentuated his resolve by swinging back the thin blanket.
“Are you crazy?! You’re in no condition to leave the bed!”
“Try me,” Dean challenged, getting up as carefully and swiftly as he dared, yet two pairs of hands stopped him mid-motion, pushing him down resolutely. From the periphery of his vision he saw the doctor empty the contents of a syringe into his IV while he was gently restrained by the nurse who had stood beside the doctor up until a moment ago.
“No, get off me,” he weakly protested as the fast-acting sedative began taking effect. His pathetic attempt at breaking away failed miserably when the fight left his body and he sank deeper into the mattress. The discarded blanket was spread over him and smoothed straight once again as his thoughts scurried away and his mind gave in to the forced slumber.
In the Dark
Muted sounds of the ICU at night filtered into Sam’s sleep-drunken semi-awareness. Leisurely floating between here and there, he listened to the steady rhythm of his heart-beat, the whoosh/thunk of the ventilator and the gentle buzz of the dimmed lights.
Sam had no concept of how much time had passed since he had regained consciousness. Often enough he internally jerked from a peaceful nap without having noticed he had drifted off in the first place. The after-effects of the general anaesthesia still held him in its grip. The first few times he’d come around, he had attempted to move something - anything - yet his body was still numb from neck to toe. There was no way of knowing how the surgery had gone. No one had cared to share the news so far. The night nurse was the only person who had come to see him but she had hardly paid attention to the fact that he was awake, sort of. She had shuffled in and out of the room in a hurry, checking his vitals and leaving him be; pitilessly letting him stew in his own juices. And how cruel was that?!
If only Dean were here. He needed to find Dean! How he craved to hear his voice, mercilessly teasing his little brother for being so afraid; and yet providing an indestructible anchor for whatever lay ahead. The sentiment nearly brought fresh tears to his eyes. He kept them in check, however, not wanting to appear weaker than he already felt.
Before the sun eventually rose, allowing light to flood the room through the ivory-coloured blinders, expelling the dark night shadows into the farthest corner, the nurse returned for morning rounds carrying several new infusion bags. She fumbled with the IV pole for a couple of minutes, then scribbled down his vitals one final time before excusing herself, wishing him a good day.
Soon after the nurse left, Sam sensed something lukewarm trail up the side of his cheek. It was a pretty peculiar feeling. When whatever-it-was reached his nose, he noticed for the first time there was something stuck inside one of his nostrils. Irritably he scrunched his nose, making funny faces while trying to explore what it was. Suddenly realization hit him and he felt disgusted. Since he was on a respirator, they needed to feed him through a tube in his nose that was going right to his stomach. ‘Liquid food, excellent!’ At least he didn’t have to taste it. Thank God for small mercies.
Within a few minutes the awkwardness of the situation ceased, so he let his eyes slide closed again, relaxing minutely. Unfortunately the relative peace didn’t last long as a male nurse entered and went straight to the bathroom. He was huge and packed with muscles. If the guy ever encountered a grizzly while camping out in the woods, Sam’s Vegas money was most definitely not on the bear.
Moments later the man emerged with a basin of water and a washcloth. Sam’s head turned a dangerous shade of pink from pure embarrassment at what was about to happen. He wished he could disappear completely from the face of the earth. ‘Super! His day was getting better and better!’ For the first time Sam actually viewed his body’s unresponsiveness as an advantage.
During the procedure, Sam zoned out as much as he could, retreating into the blissful forgetfulness of his mind. All of a sudden a new thought wormed its way into his little hideaway: Maybe he could sneak a peek at his leg while the bedspread was flung aside. He pondered the idea for a few minutes, indecisive whether staying in the dark, possibly avoiding a bitter truth wasn’t preferable. Ultimately comprehending that no amount of willpower would delay the inevitable, Sam braved a glance towards the end of the bed; yet, try as he might, he couldn’t even lift his head enough to take a look at his feet. It was useless. From his vantage point he could barely see the junction between the ceiling and the wall.
Probably sensing the uneasiness that radiated off his patient in waves, Hank - as the nurse had introduced himself - talked a mile a minute, mainly about irrelevant things. If he noticed Sam’s exertions to repeatedly lift his head from the thin pillow, he never gave any indication that he did.
xXxXx
Dean woke with a start, turning his head away from the rays of sunshine that invaded his optic nerves even through closed lids. He groaned when his rash movements spiked a jolt through his shoulder and upper body. Sucking in a harsh breath to manage the pain and swearing extensively at his foolishness for having forgotten about his injuries, he slowly relaxed his tense muscles and melted back into the waiting mattress.
As soon as his aching body was on speaking terms with him again, he tenderly assessed how much he could change position without aggravating the dull throbbing. If he moved slowly enough, he realized with growing satisfaction, his body didn’t give him too hard a time, so he pushed a little further.
Suddenly the door swung open, admitting the red-head from the previous day into his room. Dean scrunched his eyes closed and hissed at the sharp daggers that seemed to curse through him when he flopped back into his pillow too hastily.
“Good morning, Mr Plant. How are you today? Did you have a good night’s sleep?” she asked cheerfully, not noticing or not paying attention to the pain that was displayed on his face.
“Yeah well, being put down like a rabid dog was a fascinating new experience for me but very relaxing in fact,” Dean shot back acerbically.
The nurse stopped in her track as if struck by lightning, obviously hurt by her patient’s outburst. She looked at her feet for several moments; and Dean feared she would turn around and flee the room to never come back, taking the breakfast tray with her - which would have been a shame considering he was starving, especially since it looked surprisingly appetizing for hospital food, at least from the distance.
Dean stared at his own feet, appropriately chagrined as he muttered a short, “Sorry.”
The offended nurse seemed to ponder his apology for a moment but then gave him an honest smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry too. That was kind of inconsiderate.” She put the tray on the nightstand, rolling it over so the extended arm was over the bed within easy reach, then headed out of the room again.
“Hey,” Dean called after her in the nick of time. When she stopped short of the door, he continued, “I’m Bobby. And you are?”
The dimples returned to her face. “Leony, Nurse Leony,” she replied softly.
“I was wondering, Leony, if you could do me a little favour.”
“Sure,” the nurse answered innocently, “if I can.”
Dean worked his best Winchester charm, knowing this might be his only chance to find an ally. “Do you know what happened to my partner? I really need to know; we’re like brothers.” He added a dramatic pause. “Please.”
She mulled over his request, seeing how deeply he obviously cared for the other man. Giving in she sighed, “Okay, I’ll see what I can find out. What was his name again?”
Dean almost slipped, ‘Sammy’ rolling too easily off his tongue. He bit his lip before supplying, “Jimmy, Jimmy Page.”
“Okay, but no promises. And don’t tell anyone.”
Home Stretch
Sam was bored out of his skull. With nothing to do but stare dully at the once pristine ceiling, he was honestly debating how long it might take for him to finally snap. He had already counted the tiles in every possible direction, even counted the tiny holes in each tile and multiplied it by the number of tiles in the room. Once he began calculating at what velocity the ceiling seemed to close in when he gazed long enough at one and the same spot, he started doubting his remaining sanity in earnest, fearing by the time he regained full range of mobility, he was a docile dimwit rightfully confined to a rubber room.
“Morning, sugar!” The elderly nurse with her heavy accent breezed into the room, saving him from his pointless musings. Her calm and friendly presence made him instantly feel at ease. “I heard Hank has been in. Said you were a quiet fellow.” She busied herself with some equipment outside of his view, “but then, he talks for two anyway.”
Stepping back to the side of Sam’s bed, she looked intently into his eyes. “Now how are you doing today, honey? After the surgery yesterday you were pretty out of it for the rest of the day. I bet you don’t remember a thing. No wonder with the heavy meds they dosed you up with. Poor thing!”
Hoping to finally learn the details of the operation, Sam’s attention was focused on the motherly woman’s every word. His heart rate picked up and she turned away momentarily to first study the screen then his face caught between curiosity and anxiety.
“Now, now,” she soothed, “you need to calm down, sweet-heart, nothing to worry about. Everything went just fine with the surgery. You might set up the metal detectors at airports now but you’ll be up and on your feet in no time, believe me. I’m sure Dr Weasly will explain everything to you when she comes in for morning rounds.” The creases on Sam’s forehead vanished, and she smiled at the obvious relief on his face.
“Anyway,” she changed the subject, “I’ve had a little chat with Leony, a colleague, and she says your partner, what’s his name again… um Plant, Bobby Plant, that’s it. He’s really worried about you, kept asking for you since yesterday.” The nurse couldn’t help but smile at the way Sam’s face lit up at the mere mention of the name. There was something in his eyes that told her he had been equally concerned about the other man. “Are you alright with him knowing what’s up with you?”
Sam wanted to jump out of bed for pure joy and make a dash for Dean’s room. Eagerly he nodded as best he could with the stiff neck brace. He desperately wanted to see his big brother, know that he was okay.
“You must know your partner has been a little roughed-up himself. It was touch and go for a while, and he needed three surgeries but now he’s on the mend. And from what Leony told me, he’s giving the nurses and doctors a hard time.” She chuckled at the thought. “Maybe we can even arrange a short visit after lunch when the both of you feel up to it. What d’you say?”
No words could have expressed the gratefulness Sam felt towards the nurse. He felt the irresistible urge to hug her, fiercely. And by the way she beamed down at him, the sentiment clearly wasn’t lost on her.
“Good. Now that this has been settled, you try to get some rest while I change the bandage on your leg. After all, you would want to look presentable when he comes to see you, right?”
xXxXx
Dean was considering mutiny by the time Leony returned to his room with a lunch tray. “Do the words ‘cruel and unusual’ mean anything to you?” he scowled by means of greeting.
“Do the words ‘I’m working’ mean anything to you?” she deflected his not-so-subtle accusation. “I wasn’t just sitting around polishing my nails, you know. Here is your lunch.”
At least Dean had the decency to blush a little. Especially coupled with her kind heart, he thought her temper made her even more attractive. It painfully reminded him of his baby brother. For all the growing-up and independence Sam craved so much, his gentleness and empathy was really the essence of his soul. “Did you find anything out?”
“Yes,” she hedged, making Dean’s heart plummet.
“What?”
“First of all you need to know that everything is going to be fine.”
“What is it? Please, I need to know,” he implored, waiting for the other shoe to drop. His heart was racing so fast, it threatened to skip a beat, or a couple.
“Your partner sustained multiple fractures to his right leg but the doctors were able to fix the bones with screws and safe the leg. He also suffered from two dislocated vertebrae, which caused significant swelling along the spinal cord.” Dean blanched at Leony’s words, so she hurried to carry on. “At the moment he is paralysed from below the neck. He is on a ventilator, he can’t breathe on his own right now.” Although she wouldn’t have believed it possible, Dean paled another few shades. “Don’t worry though, the doctors are positive that the paralysis is only temporary, that he will make a complete recovery. The paralysis should slowly ebb away within a couple of days.”
She studied Dean’s withdrawn face for a second, seeing the devastation gradually melt away as he processed the information and the optimistic prognosis. “Does he know?” he whispered forlornly.
“Is he conscious you mean?” Leony clarified. When he nodded solemnly, she gave him an understanding smile. “Yes, he’s awake.” After a short pause she added, “I thought you might want to pay him a visit after lunch. Seems like he’s as anxious to see you as you are.”
“Well, screw lunch,” Dean exclaimed, throwing back his blanket. “I’m ready to see him now.”
“First food then visiting hours!” she ordered. “I’ll come to pick you up in 30; and the plate better be cleaned by then.”
xXxXx
“Hey, dude,” Dean said softly as Leony pushed the wheelchair to the side of Sam’s bed, so that they could see each other. Much to his displeasure the nurse had insisted on him being wheeled to Sam’s room. At first he had thrown a temper tantrum but when she had threatened to cancel the trip altogether, the heated discussion had died down instantly. Halfway up the long hall of the ICU Dean had already felt exhausted. He was still weak, his body battered and bruised. Just sitting upright in the wheelchair was slowly but surely wearing him down. He had to admit that he certainly wouldn’t have made it to his brother’s room under his own steam; yet, this secret he would take to the grave.
A myriad of emotions washed over Sam’s face when he finally saw his big brother. The older hunter looked a little worse for the wear but otherwise in one piece. Tears pooled at the edge of Sam’s eyes, threatening to spill. Gently Dean stroked his brother’s cheek, wiping away the wetness when tiny rivulets made their way down the side of the younger man’s face. Dean’s heart ached for Sam trying to lean into the touch as best he could.
Feeling utterly out of place, Leony was still unable to draw her gaze away from the scene that unfolded before her. The intimacy between the boys was mesmerizing, and she had a hard time pulling herself away. “Um, I’ll leave you alone now,” the nurse muttered, sensing she was nothing but an unwelcome intruder. “If you need anything, just press the call button.” Neither of them paid attention to her retreating steps. They seemed to be in a world of their own, shutting out everything else.
“Sammy, you poor bastard,” Dean sighed regretfully while combing through his younger brother’s long hair. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come sooner but I’m here now. Don’t worry, Sammy, everything’s gonna be fine, I promise. I promise.”
How Sam had missed being called by that nick name! It held all the brotherly love in one simple word. ‘Sammy’ was protection and comfort and family and Dean.
xXxXx
With Dean’s presence and reassurances cradling him, Sam had eventually drifted off. His waking though was somehow peculiar even if he couldn’t place it at first. There was something heavy on his arm and a tingling sensation made itself known in his fingertips.
Suddenly his eyes flew open when an idea dawned on him. It was the first time he’d felt anything below his neck! Thank goodness the paralysis was finally receding!
Sam tried to pull his hand away from the heaviness but the weight wouldn’t budge. After a few seconds’ delay, it lifted ever so lightly, then Dean’s head shot up. At first there was alarm in his eyes, the question what had happened to his little brother before the same realization hit him. The movement had been feeble but it was a huge step in the right direction. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Dean cautiously patted Sam on the shoulder, hoping he was able to feel that as well.
“Do you think we should let your doctor in on the secret, Sammy?” the older brother said cheerfully, pressing the call button excitedly.
xXxXx
The next morning found Sam bitching like an old woman. For all the joy Dean had felt when his little brother was finally able to come off the ventilator, he sure was already rolling his eyes at Sam’s constant complaining. In spite of the doctor’s advice to not talk too much because of his irritated throat from the breathing tube, the younger hunter’s continuous stream of words hadn’t failed yet.
Completely ignoring Dean’s sour looks and blissfully oblivious to his big brother’s desire to shut him up with a strip of duct tape over his mouth, Sam kept moaning about the ever-increasing tingling sensation throughout his body, the lingering weakness, how weird it still felt to breathe without the support of the respirator, the scratchy voice and the occasional coughing fits, which according to Dr Weasly were exclusively due to his incessant ramblings.
Just as Dean considered fratricide, the one-sided conversation took an unexpected turn. “We ganked it, didn’t we?”
“The spook? Yeah, we did,” he said confidently, recognizing his brother’s need to know that their job was finished, that they hadn’t been run over by a friggin’ stampede on the godforsaken cattle farm for naught. “I have to admit my memory is a bit sketchy on the details but I’m pretty sure it was the screeching of the ghost when we torched its ass that made all the cows go wild.”
“Pretty sure?”
“Really pretty sure,” Dean added with a wink.
He noticed Sam’s eyelids were slowly drooping, and each time they closed, they were taking longer to open again. A smile crept onto his face as he saw his brother relax and snuggle deeper into the comfort of the bed. Sam stretched his limbs contently, relishing in the fact that he could.
But before he finally succumbed to sleep, he squeezed his brother’s hand and opened tired puppy-dog eyes. There was a seriousness and sincerity in them that Dean hadn’t seen in years. “Thank you.”
“What for?” he asked stunned.
“You know, for being there.” ‘Being you’ remained unsaid when the silence stretched and Sam’s breathing finally evened out.
Hesitantly Dean pressed the call button and with baby steps slowly shuffled over to the waiting wheelchair to be picked up by Leony, ready to return to his own room for a quick nap, giving his own over-taxed body a chance to heal.
FIN
.
~ Oh my, would the boys be in trouble if I had a say... Just one word: SFTCOL(AR)S
A/N: Response to Enkidu07 and the gang’s Drabble Challenge. Thanks for letting me participate.
~ And muchísimas gracias to my twin sister twinchy for the beta!
A/N 2: In memoriam Kim Manners who did an extraordinary job working on Supernatural. May he rest in peace. He will be sorely missed. And my heart goes out to his family and friends.
First Published: 25/01/ - 03/03/2009
Summary:
The paramedic shook his head, “Sounds like you’re reading the table of contents from the med-book.” 1st chapter in drabble format but turns into multi-chapter hurt/comfort story.
Prompt: nausea
Word Count: 7,076
Helicopter Ride
The helicopter whirred through the air at nauseating speed, the paramedics working frantically on their two critical patients.
“Dislocated collar bone, fractured ribs, rigid abdomen, so probably internal bleeding, and a ruptured ligament in his shoulder,” one of the tending paramedics rattled off.
“Sounds like you’re reading the table of contents from the med-book,” his colleague sighed.
“How’s the other one doing?”
“He’s barely holding his own. The right leg is shattered in several places and bleeding profusely; plus, we’re still worried about a spinal injury. He’s not even breathing on his own.”
“What the hell happened to these boys?!”
Damage Control 101
‘What the-’ he felt like diving through a swamp. Not only was everything inky black but wherever his consciousness tried to emerge, he had to struggle for every single inch of progress, and he felt weighted down with lead.
“I think he is slowly coming to.” A voice declared somewhere miles away. The tone was hectic and seemed to float around in the murky pond surrounding his head.
There was also some strange kind of white noise in the background, everything just a little too fuzzy to make sense of. A dull ache began to pound mercilessly behind his skull, making its way through his whole body, growing in intensity. He wasn’t even able to pinpoint what part of his body hurt, or what didn’t.
“Sir, can you hear me?” The voice was back.
Annoyed, he tried to shoo the offending hands away. Suddenly they were all over his body. And how many hands were on him to begin with?!
“Mr Plant? Sir? Can you hear me?”
Even more hands, and not all of them gentle.
When he opened his eyes to mere slits, staring ahead with blurry vision, he was greeted with a dumb smile. “Mr Plant, do you know where you are?”
An unintelligible mumble made it past his vocal chords. He tried again and again but the words remained sealed within his mind, not that he knew what he was trying to say in the first place.
And then lightning struck when realization hit him, making him bolt upright. ‘Sammy!’ Unfortunately his feeble efforts at sitting up ended in a meagre attempt at raising his head off the soft surface beneath him and more hands holding him down.
“Sir, you need to stay calm. You are in a hospital. We are trying to help you.”
He wanted to fight harder; it shouldn’t have been a problem to shake those hands off but in fact, it was. Finally he resigned himself to letting his head sink back, muscles slowly relaxing from the sheer exhaustion of simply lifting his head.
“S’my,” Dean rasped almost inaudible, then a little firmer and clearer he repeated the name when he had the distinct feeling he was being ignored.
“Who is Sammy? Someone we should call?” the woman - a nurse? - asked. Her eyes were gentle but also held a world-weariness he had rarely seen before.
“No.” More air than sound but the meaning came across. After a short pause to gather his strength, “the guy… with m-me.”
Nervous glances were exchanged between her and a bulky man - a doctor deciding by the scrubs and lab coat - but no answer was forthcoming. Something was wrong, very wrong, and he needed to find out what had happened to his brother. NOW.
Once again he tried to get his act together and sit up; yet, just as before, he was immediately stopped with ridiculously little effort. Damn his current weakness!
“Mr Plant, you need to lie still. You have a ruptured spleen; you are bleeding internally. We are going to operate as soon as we have sufficiently assessed your condition.” This time it was the doctor who addressed him.
“No… no surgery… before I k-know… m’brother,” Dean protested weakly.
“The young man who was with you is your brother?” the nurse asked incredulously.
He gave her a minute nod, his last reserves quickly depleting, darkness already creeping back in from the edges of his vision.
She looked deep into his eyes, evaluating the best course of action, then sighed. “Alright, I’ll try to find out.”
Leaving his field of vision, the nurse stepped through the door into the adjacent emergency room, taking in the hectic atmosphere while doctors and nurses frantically worked on their patient, bagging him and desperately trying to stem the extensive bleeding on his right leg.
One of the attending nurses hurried over when she saw her colleague standing in the door.
At her inquiring look she learned the clipboard version of the young man’s condition. “He’s loosing too much blood and his vitals are all over the place.”
“His brother was asking for him. We are about to take him to the OR for a ruptured spleen.”
Her younger colleague turned wistful eyes towards the examination table. “Tell him he is going to make it,” she whispered.
“Is he?”
The following silence told her everything she needed to know.
A sudden commotion from the next room alerted her and she rushed back through the swinging door.
“Shit, his blood pressure is bottoming out!” The doctor cursed under his breath and started barking orders. “We need to take him to surgery NOW!”
From the distance she locked eyes with her fading patient, giving Dean a reassuring smile just in time before his heavy lids drooped and he surrendered to unconsciousness.
Rude Awakening
He was drifting in a comfortable haze, the darkness and detached feeling wrapping around him like a warm blanket, sheltering him from harm. The clicking, beeping and whooshing sounds that filtered through from the noisy world outside were oddly in tune with his very being like it was the rhythm of his life. Each new beat equally reassuring and soothing.
Sam had no idea how long he floated on the edge of consciousness, enveloped in his cosy cocoon of protection and medically dulled senses. The first thing he became aware of was the utter lack of pain, a feeling he relished and drank deeply into his core. It was a peculiar thing too in light of the slowly returning memories of pain when the veil of oblivion seemed to lift for brief moments. Strange images assaulted him then, cattle on a farm, panicked eyes, quakes in the ground and earth-shattering screams. His mind fled from the sudden onslaught like a scared child and hid in the far corners of forgetfulness. He needed to dwell in denial just that little bit longer.
The next time he came round, the noises felt far more pervasive than before, the formerly soothing regular pattern becoming more grating by the minute. Also something rough was terribly irritating his throat. He tried to cough in order to get rid of the intrusion or turn his head away but nothing happened. Thankfully the rest of his body seemed to still enjoy the comfort of not making itself known with any additional aches. Obviously drugs held the pain at bay, which meant he must be in a hospital.
For the sake of getting a little more rest before finally facing the world, Sam lingered on in the confines of dimmed awareness, enduring the scratching sensation until it got too bothersome to ignore. Reluctantly he forced his weary eyes to half-mast, needing several tries to blink his surroundings into focus.
He was in a hospital alright, he could tell as much from the non-descript white tiles on the ceiling. In that respect all hospitals were the same, god forbid there was even the merest hint of colour. But still, something was uncharacteristic for every single one he had seen, either as a patient or a worried family member: somehow the typical smells of disinfectant were missing.
As he set to turn his head to the side, seeking the comfort of his big brother in the plastic chair beside the bed, he found he couldn’t. His neck was locked in something unyielding that didn’t allow him to move as much as an inch. He wanted to swat at the offending object around his neck, yet his hands remained unresponsive no matter how much he struggled to make them obey. With a growing sense of panic he realized there was more to the complete lack of pain throughout his body, there was no sensation whatsoever beyond his chin, not the blanket covering him, nor the mattress he was lying on, nothing. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes, and the fact he couldn’t reach up to wipe them away, enforced the utter feeling of helplessness, cruelly driving the devastating point home that he was trapped inside his own body, paralyzed.
xXxXx
The doctor rubbed pensively over his stubble while he eyed the blissfully unaware young man in the bed before him carefully. He and his colleague had no doubt that the sandy-haired man’s vitals were indicative of a punctured lung, an injury they had earlier missed when they had removed the ruptured spleen. Their hopes that the damage wasn’t severe enough to require yet another surgery - his third after the spleen and the correction of his torn ligament in the shoulder - were crushed. As much as the doctors had tried to avoid subjecting their patient to a further anaesthesia, it had come to the point where there were no other options left. They had to act.
“Page the on-call surgeon and clear an OR, I’m afraid there are no two ways around it any more.” His colleague nodded his affirmation and stepped out of the room.
xXxXx
“Oh, sweet-heart,” the elderly nurse chimed, her heavy accent tinged with regret, “since when are you awake?” She took another couple of steps towards the bed, then leaned over to appear in Sam’s limited line of vision. Taking in the tear marks that ran down the side of his face, she slowly extended a hand and stroked his right cheek.
“I know you’re scared out of your wits right now, dear. But don’t you worry, we’re taking good care of you.” After a short pause she continued, “You are on a ventilator because you can’t breathe on your own at the moment. There’s a tube down your throat, that’s why you can’t speak. But… well, I guess your doctor can explain that much better than me. I’ll just be outside to get her. She’ll be here in a minute to talk to you. Just take it easy, okay.”
Several minutes later, a petite female entered the room, but for all her delicate features, an aura of authority accompanied her. She had clearly got to her position with decades of hard work, something Sam appreciated and would pick over a cocky youngster every day of the week. When she came into his view and addressed him, her voice had a hard edge to it, belying the gentleness displayed in her facial expression.
“Hi, I’m Dr Weasly.” She nodded for emphasis. “It’s good to see you finally awake, Mr Page. You had us a bit worried here.” She took another pause, quietly gauging how much of the truth he could take.
“When you were brought in, you had lost a great amount of blood, and we had a hard time controlling the bleeding in your right leg. You needed several blood transfusions. Your condition was very critical for the last day or so; therefore, we haven’t been able to address the multiple fractures of your leg yet, seeing as you were too weak for surgery. But your vitals are rebounding nicely, so we hope to schedule you for the procedure tomorrow morning.”
Dr Weasly took a deep breath. Her growing unease wasn’t lost on her patient as she approached the heart of the matter. “Upon arrival in the ER, you were unable to breathe spontaneously and unresponsive to any stimuli below the neck. Our fears of a permanent spinal injury, however, were alleviated after X-rays and scans. Those were merely indicative of two dislocated cervical vertebrae, the fourth and fifth,” she explained, pointing to the according ones in her neck, “which resulted in extensive swelling of the tissue surrounding the spinal cord. This is the reason for the momentary paralysis you are experiencing. But we were able to address the dislocation and have immobilized your neck with a brace to give it time to heal. There is no sign of permanent damage to the spinal cord. The paralysis should therefore be only temporary.”
Sam’s eyes shone with relief but he still felt there was something the doctor wasn’t telling him.
“Mr Page,” she continued after a few seconds to let her words sink in, “I understand that not being able to move at all must be a very disconcerting feeling for you but your prognosis is actually very promising. We are confident sensation to your extremities will return once the swelling recedes. And we expect a full recovery. You simply need to give it some time.”
Before she finally turned to go, she glanced at Sam once more. “Are you in any pain? Since you can’t talk at the moment, blink once for yes or twice for no. The tube in your throat is probably quite uncomfortable, especially when it’s about the only thing you can feel.”
At his response, she gave some orders to the nurse who stood close-by, then she gave him a sympathetic smile that stood in stark contrast to the encouraging news she had delivered, making Sam once again apprehensive of what the doctor might have omitted or sugar-coated.
‘Was something wrong with Dean? Why wouldn’t they tell him where his brother was? Had he been as gravely injured? Or worse?’ With no means to ask the doctor or nurse, he pushed the troubling thoughts away. His brother was okay; he had to be. Period.
Not long after the nurse had administered some more drugs into his IV port, he felt himself begin to drift once more, sleepiness washing over him and taking him back under.
There was no measure of time before he slowly crawled to awareness again. Still more out than in, voices wafted around him, words beyond what he was able to process as of yet bleeding into his mind. After a while the voices became clearer and he recognized that of Dr Weasly. She was speaking to a colleague. When he listened more carefully, straining to concentrate on the meaning of the words, he realized they were talking about him, his upcoming surgery.
Both doctors rattled off a list of medical jargon while discussing the procedure. But the words from the male doctor were completely lost to him, the soft timbre of his voice lulling him back to sleep. Because of her voice, Sam caught a couple of words from his doctor but was already too far removed from wakefulness to make sense of them just yet.
It took a while for him to return to a state of consciousness where he was able to grasp the meaning of the words he had overheard. Yet, when he did, it terrified him to the core. Dr Weasly had expressed her worries that they probably couldn’t save the leg and had to amputate at mid-femur.
Sam frantically struggled to come out of his drugged slumber. He wanted to scream… hell, he wanted to jump to his feet and run as fast as possible in the other direction! He wanted to… But the devastating truth was he was helpless to do anything. With his unresponsive body even panicking failed miserably, not even the steady beat of his heart-monitor accelerated to a level that came close to his distress. When he finally managed to pry open his eyes, crying hot tears of utter despair was all he was capable of.
And where in all good heavens was Dean?
xXxXx
Sam’s eyes blinked sluggishly when he was wheeled into the operating theatre. During preparation that morning they had dosed him up to the gills with drugs. He had prayed that his vitals would take a nose-dive and delay the inevitable for just a while longer. Yet, all hope was quenched when the staff had announced they were happy with his physical condition and set to prep him for surgery. No amount of silent pleading with his eyes had deterred them from going through the routine. And now he was at their mercy.
Technicians and nurses cautiously lifted him onto the table in the OR. Sam knew it should feel cold underneath him but he felt nothing. And he was almost too out of it to care any longer. Once they had connected him to the respirator, a balding man took his place at the left side of his head. He recognized the bulky man immediately. The anaesthesiologist had seen him earlier, taking his time to learn about the patient who was submitted to his care.
The man reached over, stroking Sam’s cheek, gently providing comfort and turning his patient’s attention to him. Sam involuntarily leaned into that touch as much as possible, holding onto that last bit of reprieve like a life-line.
“Jimmy, I’m going to put you under now,” the anaesthesiologist said removing his gloved hand; and Sam felt all the more despondent for its loss. “Just relax, think of someplace nice, and it will be over before you know it.”
The last words petrified Sam more than anything, yet as his eyes drooped, there was nowhere to flee but ahead into the darkness and as his mind faded to oblivion, he was out like a candle with the flame gone.
Need to Know
There was cotton in his mouth… a lot, and in his brain too because it had never taken him so much effort just to think. A kingdom for a clear thought. Maybe once the dull throbbing in his head eased up a bit but for now it was rather increasing in intensity. Happy day!
He sensed a presence in the room but still mulled over the question whether it might have been Sammy when the steps retreated. His mind succumbed to drowsiness before the echo was out of hearing distance.
Dean shot to awareness again when a small hand made contact with a particularly tender spot on his chest.
“Sorry,” a female voice whispered, immediately withdrawing her fingers at his unexpected flinch.
He forced his lead-laden eyes open, momentarily confused by his whereabouts. Yet, once the dizziness that had briefly overwhelmed his senses, subsided, he remembered scattered pieces of being treated in the ER. Duh, hospital, go figure!
A soft moan escaped him when he tried to shift his aching body into a more comfortable position. Not that he seemed to be able to shift much, or find a more comfortable position for that matter. His whole body pounded so mercilessly, he wanted to crawl out of his skin.
Something touched his lips lightly, interrupting his feeble attempts to escape the dull but terribly persistent aches. He gingerly looked down to find a straw in a glass with clear fluid, water.
“Here, take a few sips.” The young nurse guided the straw into his mouth, tipping the glass marginally back when Dean started drinking too greedily. “I take it your throat must be dry like the desert. Or do you prefer ice chips?”
“Oh, that was like heaven!” Dean proclaimed as soon as the cool liquid had run down his throat and quenched the most acute thirst. “Thank you,” he sighed, his head sagging back into the pillow, relief smoothing out the creases in his forehead.
He had already begun drifting back to sleep, thinking the sweet nurse with the curly red hair had left as quietly as she had moved around the room before. “I think I’ll be getting your doctor,” she announced. Dean cracked an eye open and saw her gesturing hesitantly but still lingering on. “Okay?”
‘Man, she really was cute!’ The older Winchester flashed her a smile that would have melted the polar caps faster than any climatic warming could have. She blushed slightly and looked to the floor, then left the room in a hurry. ‘Gotcha! No woman in her right mind could resist that patented Dean-Winchester smile.’ He sighed contentedly before cautiously beginning to take stock of his injuries by concentrating on what body parts throbbed most fiercely.
Hardly getting beyond realizing his left arm was bandaged to his torso to keep him from moving his shoulder, a haggard-looking doctor entered the room, effectively stopping his inventory.
“Mr Plant, I’m hearing you are awake and lucid. I’m Dr Herger.” A thin-lipped smile spread across the doctor’s face. “You’ve had us a little concerned for the past few days. You had a bit of a reaction to the anaesthesia when we operated on you the first time. The one we used afterwards you seemed to tolerate far better.”
Dean smirked uneasily. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You really should,” Dr Herger answered soberly. “Did you ever have a reaction to an anaesthetic before?” Dean shook his head. The doctor nodded. “Okay, now let’s see what is wrong with you.” He looked at the file in his hand. “Well, you had a ruptured spleen which we had to take out, three fractured ribs, a punctured lung, a torn ligament in your left shoulder and a dislocated collar bone, also on your left side.”
“Sounds painful,” Dean quipped.
“It sure is but with rest,” he looked pointedly at the young man, “and proper PT, it should heal up nicely without any impairment to the shoulder.”
“Thanks doc. Now where is my brother?” For the elder Winchester it was high time to find out about Sam.
The doctor looked puzzled. “Your brother? I’m sorry, Mr Plant, but to my knowledge there wasn’t any contact information-”
“No,” Dean recovered quickly from his slip, “I mean my partner, Jimmy Page. You could say we’re brothers in arms. As far as I know he was injured too.” Yes, he was velvety smooth.
“I’m sorry, Mr Plant, really I am, but I can’t help you. Only immediate family-”
“Come on!” Patience wearing thin, “The two of us, we’ve been working together for almost an eternity now.” The guy must be kidding him!
“I’m sorry.” Dr Herger, however, held his own in the ensuing staring match, not giving an inch.
“Tell me, or I’ll go in search of him myself.” Dean accentuated his resolve by swinging back the thin blanket.
“Are you crazy?! You’re in no condition to leave the bed!”
“Try me,” Dean challenged, getting up as carefully and swiftly as he dared, yet two pairs of hands stopped him mid-motion, pushing him down resolutely. From the periphery of his vision he saw the doctor empty the contents of a syringe into his IV while he was gently restrained by the nurse who had stood beside the doctor up until a moment ago.
“No, get off me,” he weakly protested as the fast-acting sedative began taking effect. His pathetic attempt at breaking away failed miserably when the fight left his body and he sank deeper into the mattress. The discarded blanket was spread over him and smoothed straight once again as his thoughts scurried away and his mind gave in to the forced slumber.
In the Dark
Muted sounds of the ICU at night filtered into Sam’s sleep-drunken semi-awareness. Leisurely floating between here and there, he listened to the steady rhythm of his heart-beat, the whoosh/thunk of the ventilator and the gentle buzz of the dimmed lights.
Sam had no concept of how much time had passed since he had regained consciousness. Often enough he internally jerked from a peaceful nap without having noticed he had drifted off in the first place. The after-effects of the general anaesthesia still held him in its grip. The first few times he’d come around, he had attempted to move something - anything - yet his body was still numb from neck to toe. There was no way of knowing how the surgery had gone. No one had cared to share the news so far. The night nurse was the only person who had come to see him but she had hardly paid attention to the fact that he was awake, sort of. She had shuffled in and out of the room in a hurry, checking his vitals and leaving him be; pitilessly letting him stew in his own juices. And how cruel was that?!
If only Dean were here. He needed to find Dean! How he craved to hear his voice, mercilessly teasing his little brother for being so afraid; and yet providing an indestructible anchor for whatever lay ahead. The sentiment nearly brought fresh tears to his eyes. He kept them in check, however, not wanting to appear weaker than he already felt.
Before the sun eventually rose, allowing light to flood the room through the ivory-coloured blinders, expelling the dark night shadows into the farthest corner, the nurse returned for morning rounds carrying several new infusion bags. She fumbled with the IV pole for a couple of minutes, then scribbled down his vitals one final time before excusing herself, wishing him a good day.
Soon after the nurse left, Sam sensed something lukewarm trail up the side of his cheek. It was a pretty peculiar feeling. When whatever-it-was reached his nose, he noticed for the first time there was something stuck inside one of his nostrils. Irritably he scrunched his nose, making funny faces while trying to explore what it was. Suddenly realization hit him and he felt disgusted. Since he was on a respirator, they needed to feed him through a tube in his nose that was going right to his stomach. ‘Liquid food, excellent!’ At least he didn’t have to taste it. Thank God for small mercies.
Within a few minutes the awkwardness of the situation ceased, so he let his eyes slide closed again, relaxing minutely. Unfortunately the relative peace didn’t last long as a male nurse entered and went straight to the bathroom. He was huge and packed with muscles. If the guy ever encountered a grizzly while camping out in the woods, Sam’s Vegas money was most definitely not on the bear.
Moments later the man emerged with a basin of water and a washcloth. Sam’s head turned a dangerous shade of pink from pure embarrassment at what was about to happen. He wished he could disappear completely from the face of the earth. ‘Super! His day was getting better and better!’ For the first time Sam actually viewed his body’s unresponsiveness as an advantage.
During the procedure, Sam zoned out as much as he could, retreating into the blissful forgetfulness of his mind. All of a sudden a new thought wormed its way into his little hideaway: Maybe he could sneak a peek at his leg while the bedspread was flung aside. He pondered the idea for a few minutes, indecisive whether staying in the dark, possibly avoiding a bitter truth wasn’t preferable. Ultimately comprehending that no amount of willpower would delay the inevitable, Sam braved a glance towards the end of the bed; yet, try as he might, he couldn’t even lift his head enough to take a look at his feet. It was useless. From his vantage point he could barely see the junction between the ceiling and the wall.
Probably sensing the uneasiness that radiated off his patient in waves, Hank - as the nurse had introduced himself - talked a mile a minute, mainly about irrelevant things. If he noticed Sam’s exertions to repeatedly lift his head from the thin pillow, he never gave any indication that he did.
xXxXx
Dean woke with a start, turning his head away from the rays of sunshine that invaded his optic nerves even through closed lids. He groaned when his rash movements spiked a jolt through his shoulder and upper body. Sucking in a harsh breath to manage the pain and swearing extensively at his foolishness for having forgotten about his injuries, he slowly relaxed his tense muscles and melted back into the waiting mattress.
As soon as his aching body was on speaking terms with him again, he tenderly assessed how much he could change position without aggravating the dull throbbing. If he moved slowly enough, he realized with growing satisfaction, his body didn’t give him too hard a time, so he pushed a little further.
Suddenly the door swung open, admitting the red-head from the previous day into his room. Dean scrunched his eyes closed and hissed at the sharp daggers that seemed to curse through him when he flopped back into his pillow too hastily.
“Good morning, Mr Plant. How are you today? Did you have a good night’s sleep?” she asked cheerfully, not noticing or not paying attention to the pain that was displayed on his face.
“Yeah well, being put down like a rabid dog was a fascinating new experience for me but very relaxing in fact,” Dean shot back acerbically.
The nurse stopped in her track as if struck by lightning, obviously hurt by her patient’s outburst. She looked at her feet for several moments; and Dean feared she would turn around and flee the room to never come back, taking the breakfast tray with her - which would have been a shame considering he was starving, especially since it looked surprisingly appetizing for hospital food, at least from the distance.
Dean stared at his own feet, appropriately chagrined as he muttered a short, “Sorry.”
The offended nurse seemed to ponder his apology for a moment but then gave him an honest smile. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry too. That was kind of inconsiderate.” She put the tray on the nightstand, rolling it over so the extended arm was over the bed within easy reach, then headed out of the room again.
“Hey,” Dean called after her in the nick of time. When she stopped short of the door, he continued, “I’m Bobby. And you are?”
The dimples returned to her face. “Leony, Nurse Leony,” she replied softly.
“I was wondering, Leony, if you could do me a little favour.”
“Sure,” the nurse answered innocently, “if I can.”
Dean worked his best Winchester charm, knowing this might be his only chance to find an ally. “Do you know what happened to my partner? I really need to know; we’re like brothers.” He added a dramatic pause. “Please.”
She mulled over his request, seeing how deeply he obviously cared for the other man. Giving in she sighed, “Okay, I’ll see what I can find out. What was his name again?”
Dean almost slipped, ‘Sammy’ rolling too easily off his tongue. He bit his lip before supplying, “Jimmy, Jimmy Page.”
“Okay, but no promises. And don’t tell anyone.”
Home Stretch
Sam was bored out of his skull. With nothing to do but stare dully at the once pristine ceiling, he was honestly debating how long it might take for him to finally snap. He had already counted the tiles in every possible direction, even counted the tiny holes in each tile and multiplied it by the number of tiles in the room. Once he began calculating at what velocity the ceiling seemed to close in when he gazed long enough at one and the same spot, he started doubting his remaining sanity in earnest, fearing by the time he regained full range of mobility, he was a docile dimwit rightfully confined to a rubber room.
“Morning, sugar!” The elderly nurse with her heavy accent breezed into the room, saving him from his pointless musings. Her calm and friendly presence made him instantly feel at ease. “I heard Hank has been in. Said you were a quiet fellow.” She busied herself with some equipment outside of his view, “but then, he talks for two anyway.”
Stepping back to the side of Sam’s bed, she looked intently into his eyes. “Now how are you doing today, honey? After the surgery yesterday you were pretty out of it for the rest of the day. I bet you don’t remember a thing. No wonder with the heavy meds they dosed you up with. Poor thing!”
Hoping to finally learn the details of the operation, Sam’s attention was focused on the motherly woman’s every word. His heart rate picked up and she turned away momentarily to first study the screen then his face caught between curiosity and anxiety.
“Now, now,” she soothed, “you need to calm down, sweet-heart, nothing to worry about. Everything went just fine with the surgery. You might set up the metal detectors at airports now but you’ll be up and on your feet in no time, believe me. I’m sure Dr Weasly will explain everything to you when she comes in for morning rounds.” The creases on Sam’s forehead vanished, and she smiled at the obvious relief on his face.
“Anyway,” she changed the subject, “I’ve had a little chat with Leony, a colleague, and she says your partner, what’s his name again… um Plant, Bobby Plant, that’s it. He’s really worried about you, kept asking for you since yesterday.” The nurse couldn’t help but smile at the way Sam’s face lit up at the mere mention of the name. There was something in his eyes that told her he had been equally concerned about the other man. “Are you alright with him knowing what’s up with you?”
Sam wanted to jump out of bed for pure joy and make a dash for Dean’s room. Eagerly he nodded as best he could with the stiff neck brace. He desperately wanted to see his big brother, know that he was okay.
“You must know your partner has been a little roughed-up himself. It was touch and go for a while, and he needed three surgeries but now he’s on the mend. And from what Leony told me, he’s giving the nurses and doctors a hard time.” She chuckled at the thought. “Maybe we can even arrange a short visit after lunch when the both of you feel up to it. What d’you say?”
No words could have expressed the gratefulness Sam felt towards the nurse. He felt the irresistible urge to hug her, fiercely. And by the way she beamed down at him, the sentiment clearly wasn’t lost on her.
“Good. Now that this has been settled, you try to get some rest while I change the bandage on your leg. After all, you would want to look presentable when he comes to see you, right?”
xXxXx
Dean was considering mutiny by the time Leony returned to his room with a lunch tray. “Do the words ‘cruel and unusual’ mean anything to you?” he scowled by means of greeting.
“Do the words ‘I’m working’ mean anything to you?” she deflected his not-so-subtle accusation. “I wasn’t just sitting around polishing my nails, you know. Here is your lunch.”
At least Dean had the decency to blush a little. Especially coupled with her kind heart, he thought her temper made her even more attractive. It painfully reminded him of his baby brother. For all the growing-up and independence Sam craved so much, his gentleness and empathy was really the essence of his soul. “Did you find anything out?”
“Yes,” she hedged, making Dean’s heart plummet.
“What?”
“First of all you need to know that everything is going to be fine.”
“What is it? Please, I need to know,” he implored, waiting for the other shoe to drop. His heart was racing so fast, it threatened to skip a beat, or a couple.
“Your partner sustained multiple fractures to his right leg but the doctors were able to fix the bones with screws and safe the leg. He also suffered from two dislocated vertebrae, which caused significant swelling along the spinal cord.” Dean blanched at Leony’s words, so she hurried to carry on. “At the moment he is paralysed from below the neck. He is on a ventilator, he can’t breathe on his own right now.” Although she wouldn’t have believed it possible, Dean paled another few shades. “Don’t worry though, the doctors are positive that the paralysis is only temporary, that he will make a complete recovery. The paralysis should slowly ebb away within a couple of days.”
She studied Dean’s withdrawn face for a second, seeing the devastation gradually melt away as he processed the information and the optimistic prognosis. “Does he know?” he whispered forlornly.
“Is he conscious you mean?” Leony clarified. When he nodded solemnly, she gave him an understanding smile. “Yes, he’s awake.” After a short pause she added, “I thought you might want to pay him a visit after lunch. Seems like he’s as anxious to see you as you are.”
“Well, screw lunch,” Dean exclaimed, throwing back his blanket. “I’m ready to see him now.”
“First food then visiting hours!” she ordered. “I’ll come to pick you up in 30; and the plate better be cleaned by then.”
xXxXx
“Hey, dude,” Dean said softly as Leony pushed the wheelchair to the side of Sam’s bed, so that they could see each other. Much to his displeasure the nurse had insisted on him being wheeled to Sam’s room. At first he had thrown a temper tantrum but when she had threatened to cancel the trip altogether, the heated discussion had died down instantly. Halfway up the long hall of the ICU Dean had already felt exhausted. He was still weak, his body battered and bruised. Just sitting upright in the wheelchair was slowly but surely wearing him down. He had to admit that he certainly wouldn’t have made it to his brother’s room under his own steam; yet, this secret he would take to the grave.
A myriad of emotions washed over Sam’s face when he finally saw his big brother. The older hunter looked a little worse for the wear but otherwise in one piece. Tears pooled at the edge of Sam’s eyes, threatening to spill. Gently Dean stroked his brother’s cheek, wiping away the wetness when tiny rivulets made their way down the side of the younger man’s face. Dean’s heart ached for Sam trying to lean into the touch as best he could.
Feeling utterly out of place, Leony was still unable to draw her gaze away from the scene that unfolded before her. The intimacy between the boys was mesmerizing, and she had a hard time pulling herself away. “Um, I’ll leave you alone now,” the nurse muttered, sensing she was nothing but an unwelcome intruder. “If you need anything, just press the call button.” Neither of them paid attention to her retreating steps. They seemed to be in a world of their own, shutting out everything else.
“Sammy, you poor bastard,” Dean sighed regretfully while combing through his younger brother’s long hair. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come sooner but I’m here now. Don’t worry, Sammy, everything’s gonna be fine, I promise. I promise.”
How Sam had missed being called by that nick name! It held all the brotherly love in one simple word. ‘Sammy’ was protection and comfort and family and Dean.
xXxXx
With Dean’s presence and reassurances cradling him, Sam had eventually drifted off. His waking though was somehow peculiar even if he couldn’t place it at first. There was something heavy on his arm and a tingling sensation made itself known in his fingertips.
Suddenly his eyes flew open when an idea dawned on him. It was the first time he’d felt anything below his neck! Thank goodness the paralysis was finally receding!
Sam tried to pull his hand away from the heaviness but the weight wouldn’t budge. After a few seconds’ delay, it lifted ever so lightly, then Dean’s head shot up. At first there was alarm in his eyes, the question what had happened to his little brother before the same realization hit him. The movement had been feeble but it was a huge step in the right direction. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Dean cautiously patted Sam on the shoulder, hoping he was able to feel that as well.
“Do you think we should let your doctor in on the secret, Sammy?” the older brother said cheerfully, pressing the call button excitedly.
xXxXx
The next morning found Sam bitching like an old woman. For all the joy Dean had felt when his little brother was finally able to come off the ventilator, he sure was already rolling his eyes at Sam’s constant complaining. In spite of the doctor’s advice to not talk too much because of his irritated throat from the breathing tube, the younger hunter’s continuous stream of words hadn’t failed yet.
Completely ignoring Dean’s sour looks and blissfully oblivious to his big brother’s desire to shut him up with a strip of duct tape over his mouth, Sam kept moaning about the ever-increasing tingling sensation throughout his body, the lingering weakness, how weird it still felt to breathe without the support of the respirator, the scratchy voice and the occasional coughing fits, which according to Dr Weasly were exclusively due to his incessant ramblings.
Just as Dean considered fratricide, the one-sided conversation took an unexpected turn. “We ganked it, didn’t we?”
“The spook? Yeah, we did,” he said confidently, recognizing his brother’s need to know that their job was finished, that they hadn’t been run over by a friggin’ stampede on the godforsaken cattle farm for naught. “I have to admit my memory is a bit sketchy on the details but I’m pretty sure it was the screeching of the ghost when we torched its ass that made all the cows go wild.”
“Pretty sure?”
“Really pretty sure,” Dean added with a wink.
He noticed Sam’s eyelids were slowly drooping, and each time they closed, they were taking longer to open again. A smile crept onto his face as he saw his brother relax and snuggle deeper into the comfort of the bed. Sam stretched his limbs contently, relishing in the fact that he could.
But before he finally succumbed to sleep, he squeezed his brother’s hand and opened tired puppy-dog eyes. There was a seriousness and sincerity in them that Dean hadn’t seen in years. “Thank you.”
“What for?” he asked stunned.
“You know, for being there.” ‘Being you’ remained unsaid when the silence stretched and Sam’s breathing finally evened out.
Hesitantly Dean pressed the call button and with baby steps slowly shuffled over to the waiting wheelchair to be picked up by Leony, ready to return to his own room for a quick nap, giving his own over-taxed body a chance to heal.
FIN
.