Summary: Gen. A possible future drabble. Sequel to “Line of Sight”. Sam has another seizure.
Word Count: 887
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Not for profit.
Author’s Notes: Okay so one-shot no more heh. Will have a couple more parts. Vague spoilers for S2 finale and core plot for S3.
“Go to sleep, Sammy. Please, just go to sleep.”
Dean takes the ice cold hand in both his warm ones and holds on tight. The tremors still keep coming strong as ever, like Sam is re-living a nightmare, the nightmare, over and over again. And there is not a damn thing Dean can do but wait for the drugs to kick in. Which sometimes they do, and sometimes they don’t.
Can’t believe he is actually wishing to go back to his usual chanting of “wake up, Sammy please wake up.” At least, when Sam is calm and unresponsive on the surface, Dean can pretend that he is okay inside.
Swallows his tears of frustration down, watches as Sam’s glassed over eyes stay fixed on the moving shadows overhead even while the rest of his body convulses violently against the restraints. The doctor comes in to try one more time.
“Mr. Carpenter, it’s been three hours. He is clearly not responding to medication. You have to let us give it another try…”
“I said NO!!!”
Dean’s voice is loud and firm and downright scary, not that Sam is listening thank God, maybe. He is not going to let them stick electrodes all over his little brother’s body and shock the hell out of him again. His brother isn’t crazy, just… trapped. He allowed it four months ago and Dean never wants to hear Sam whimper like that ever again. Nor is he ready to have Sam start flinching away from his touch again any time soon.
The scientists are baffled beyond belief – how could a perfectly healthy twenty-four year old suddenly develop such an extreme form of catatonic schizophrenia practically overnight? Dean knows how, and science unfortunately will not buy his explanation for it.
“There is nothing they can do for him,” Bobby had said, his voice breaking. “Not when Sam’s been touched by such darkness, the greatest and darkest of them all…”
Dean pushes the terrible memories away, glares at the Swedish medic until he leaves the room in a hurry, then returns to his chair beside Sam’s bed. Squeezes the hand again until he hears bones crack, and he starts to talk.
“I called Bobby, he’s gonna be here anytime now, kiddo. Hang in there, alright? I got ya, shhh… I got ya…”
Sam continues to gasp and tremble, his struggles half-hearted and infrequent as he gradually exhausts himself. His fingers fall loose splaying out and Dean entwines them with his own. Strongly suspects it to be a greater comfort for him than it is for Sam.
“It’s a full moon night, you’re gonna love it. I know I will.”
Bobby pulls the wheelchair in after him and Dean quickly gets to work. Undoes the straps so quietly even Sam doesn’t seem to notice. Together they quickly dress him in clothes that once fit Sam well, but now hang off his emaciated frame as if from a hanger. Dean bundles him up in a coverlet as well as his own leather jacket to keep him warm. And then they’re off.
It’s when Dean is lifting him out from the wheelchair and buckling him into the seat that his agitation briefly returns. “C’mon, work with me here little brother, or you’re going in the back. You wanna ride shotgun don’t you? Don’t you Sammy?”
The interstate leading out of Boston is empty and wide open given it’s barely four in the morning. Sam stays slumped in his seat, his head resting on top of it with arms loosely crossed in front of his stomach exactly where Dean left them. Dean watches Sam about as closely as he does the road, and anyone else might have easily missed it… but Dean doesn’t.
The eyelids flutter first, then the head comes up just that discernible bit. Dean casually rolls his window down and Sam lifts his face to feel the cool fall’s breeze washing over his skin… touch the shimmering moonlight like he hasn’t in a very long time.
His wheezing recedes until all they hear is the proud rumble of the ’67 Impala. Dean exhales heavily, reaches out a hand to softly ruffle Sam’s hair and expectedly, with the latest episode now behind them, he gets no reaction.
Hour later, Dean takes the exit back to Mass General where he knows absolute chaos must have ensued by now. He smirks and looks at the old man in his rearview mirror. “Thanks for looking after my car, Bobby. Think I needed to get out of there as much as my little troublemaker here…”
The old man dabs discretely at the corner of an eye but before he can respond, Dean is furiously slamming the brakes and pulling onto the gravel.
“Did you hear him?”
Bobby frowns. “Did he say something?”
Dean leans closer to Sam’s placid face, eyes wide and frowning. “I thought I heard him… like, a laugh. Scoff or something…”
Silence follows for maybe a minute as Bobby stays frozen, Sam stays impassive as always and Dean stays… hopeful.
Bobby sighs, can’t decide who his heart is breaking for more – Sam for the state he is in, or Dean for getting his hopes dashed over and over again. Chooses instead to curse a little; that usually helps.
“Roll up the window, you ijjit. It’s freakin’ cold outside.”
A/N: Please let me know what you think?