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Dean hadn’t really thought about it, in the initial hectic move back to Bobby’s, but once he had Sam settled in bed with a Klonopin he started to mentally kick himself. Of course, Sam couldn’t handle living in an apartment building. Elevators! Noise from other tenants! Sirens!
He banged the door behind him as he walked out into the yard. He’d initially intended to go and take some aggression out on a few of the junkers but was drawn up short when Bobby called to him from a chair on the side porch.
“Dean.”
“Not now Bobby.”
“I can see you beating yourself up from here. May’s well come and sit with me and have a beer as take it out on the cars in the yard.”
Dean came up and sat, breathing hard.
“It’s no good tearing yourself a new one. You had no way to know it wouldn’t work. And you were the one who told me you had to try something. There’s no shame in it not working out.”
Dean nodded, and they sat in silence. He opened a beer and took a few sips. “That’s crap Bobby. Course I shoulda known. I’ve known that kid his whole life. Known every single thing about him. Who else would know?”
“No one. That’s my damn point.”
A few more minutes passed in silence. “I don’t know if this plan of yours is gonna work Dean.”
“What do you mean? What plan?”
“I mean, that as much as you don’t want to put Sam in a hospital, it don’t mean it ain’t the best place for him.”
“What! I can’t do that Bobby. I’m not sending my brother away.”
“I know you don’t want to, but you may not have a choice if he goes off like that in public. And it’s best to be prepared.”
Dean jumped to his feet, knocking over the beer he’d put down. He ignored it and began to pace. “I can’t let them take him Bobby. I know you think they could help, but if Sam got lost in his head who would pull him out? He doesn’t listen to anybody else.”
“Those hospitals see all kinds Dean. He can’t be the first,” started Bobby, but Dean cut him off.
“Yes, he is Bobby. He is the first human to spend hundreds of years with Lucifer, he is the first to come back, and he is the first to be even a little bit functional. You’ve got to remember that before you start deciding what you think is best for my brother.” Dean kicked the beer bottle off the porch before storming off.
“Balls,” said Bobby to the night air.
In the morning, Sam was groggy and cold. He also didn’t know where he was, so he lay very still, trying to breath evenly. Maybe if he didn’t move, Lucifer wouldn’t notice him. He couldn’t hear much – just someone else’s breathing. He decided to risk opening one eye and jumped at how bright the sunlight was. Jumping woke the sleeping person next to him. It looked like – Dean!
“No, no, no,” he moaned, backing out of the bed and falling to the floor. Fire began to creep into his vision, flickering distractingly, and he could feel the flames licking at his feet. He screamed in pain and fear.
“You promised,” he wept, “you promised to leave him out of this!” He didn’t care that he’d be punished for arguing. Lucifer using Dean’s face was the most painful thing he could think of.
“Sam, Sam!” He could hear Dean’s voice which seemed odd since Dean was standing in the fire and his lips had burnt off.
“Sammy take a deep breath.” Sam tried, but his chest felt tight and too small, like there was a cinder block on top. He looked down and saw the cinder block and panted under it’s weight.
“Up here, Sam,” came Dean’s voice. “Eyes on me.” When he looked, Dean’s face was back to normal. “Take another deep breath.” He managed a small breath, but it felt like a victory around the weight on his chest.
“And again.” He was able to take a deeper, slower breath this time. He realized that there was something soft in his hand and he gently touched the soft fabric. He rolled it between his fingers over and over and as he did, his breathing began to slow into a regular rhythm.
The fire in his vision faded until he could see Dean and their bedroom at Bobby’s house. This time he was pretty sure it was real. When he looked at his hands he knew it. He was holding Winnie Bear. Winnie Bear was new, had come After. Winnie Bear was real.
“There you are Little Brother.” Same looked up at Dean’s face when he heard his brother’s voice. He reached out and touched Dean’s lips, enjoying being able to see Dean’s face put back together. The two men sat there on the floor for a minute. Sam studied Dean. Something was wrong, something in his face, even though he had lips. His eyebrows were at the wrong angle, and he was holding his mouth wrong. Sam touched Dean’s face again; wincing as the tight scars on his back pulled with the movement. He pulled up one corner of Dean’s mouth.
“VCIM.” Dean’s whole face looked stricken and Sam flinched away when he realized that he’d spoken Enochian again. It was hard not to, but Sam worked hard at it because Enochian made Dean sad.
“Smile,” he said, reaching out to push Dean’s lip up again. Dean looked even sadder.
“Sammy,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry man. I know should have known better….”
“Stop!” Sam took Dean’s hand in his. “No! No!”
Dean snapped to attention, looking for the problem. Sam grunted in frustration as the words he wanted to say evaded him, leaving him trapped in silence and unable to explain what he meant to Dean. One of the most frustrating things about his new life, his life After, was having to relearn his own first language – to have lost that too.
Dean babbled his usual stream of reassurances into the silence. Sam took a deep breath – in through his nose and out through his mouth, just like he and Dean had practiced. Dean noticed (Dean noticed everything these days) and relaxed a bit himself. Sam listened to the steady flow of nothing from Dean.
“That’s it Sammy, relax, nothing’s happening, we’re back at Bobby’s where it’s nice and quiet…”
“No sorry,” Sam managed finally. “Don’t sorry. You are my… Dean. I need you. Family.”
Dean looked shocked, and his voice was husky with emotion. “I know Sammy, man, I know. That’s why I’m so sorry, because I know that you are counting on me to make good decisions.”
“No sorry. You help me. I help you. We good. You try. Okay?” And with that he held Winnie Bear out on shaking hands. When Dean stared at him in shock, he picked up one of Dean’s hands and began to stroke it on Winnie’s soft fur. “See, nice. Soft. Makes feel… better. Makes YOU feel better,” he corrected himself.
Dean didn’t move, just let Sam move him. They sat like that in the quiet for a minute until Sam looked up at Dean and saw a tear trailing down his cheek. He scrambled back from Dean. “No hurt – sorry. Sorry.”
Winnie Bear tumbled from Dean’s lap to the worn, wooden floor between them. Sam whined, and Dean knew that Sam wouldn’t reach for his comfort item when he was spooked.
“No worries Sam. You didn’t hurt me. I’m just – amazed. You are amazing.” He handed Sam his bear before he continued. “Just, here you are with Hell running through your head til you can hardly talk or eat, but you still manage to make me feel better. And be a giant chick and make me have a chick flick moment.”
“Not a chick,” grumbled Sam, still rubbing Winnie Bear.
“Nah, your fucking amazing Sam. And I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Just a toy, Dean.”
“I know that.”
“Sure?”
“Shut up Sam.”
“Who is chick?”
“Yeah yeah.” But Dean was smiling.
Dean was still smiling when he went downstairs and started making breakfast for Sam. He could hear Bobby clanking around outside and let himself relax with his family around him. Sam curled up on the couch in the living room watching kids TV. He would get embarrassed if anyone brought it up, but Dean understood. Morning preschool programming had the kind of mild plots Sam could handle right now – nothing even a little scary and no deaths. And all the reading and educational crap was helping Sam relearn English.
Once he had the oatmeal ready, he called Sam in. “Thank you, Dean,” he said in the stiff formal way he’d spoken since he’d begun to relearn English. It reminded Dean of Castiel sometimes.
“No worries, Sam.” With Sam eating the oatmeal at his usual turtle-slow pace, Dean scrambled himself some eggs and popped in a few slices of toast. He missed bacon sometimes, but not enough to risk sending Sam into a panic attack. Or worse, a seizure. He still remembered how hard it was to eat pork products after his return from the Pit. There’d been a reason the phrase “Long Pig” had caught his attention during the Rugaru hunt after all.
By the time Dean had his eggs and toast on a plate, Sam was only half done his bowl of oatmeal, but his attention was starting to wander.
“Sam dude, eat up,” Dean reminded him.
Sam jumped, and ate another spoonful before drifting away again.
“Come on Sammy. You’re too skinny anyway. Eat. Please!”
This time Sam looked up at his and started eating as fast as he could. Which still wasn’t very fast, but at least got some more food into him.
Dean ate his own breakfast in silence. Sam had so much trouble with both eating and talking that there was no way he could do both at once.
When he’d finished, Sam had eaten three quarters of his bowl, and was staring into space again. Dean figured that was as good as it was going to get this morning and took the bowl. He started the dishes before asking Sam “What’s going on in your head today Sammy?”
Sam jumped in his seat when Dean said his name. “Numbers,” he said.
“What kind of numbers?”
“House numbers.”
“You mean, like the address?”
“GE – no. Numbers for a house for us.”
Dean’s face fell. “No Sammy, remember? The apartment – it was too loud, and too bright.”
Sam nodded. “No apartment. House.”
“Oh! Sammy, we can’t afford to buy a house.”
“No buy. Like apartment, but house.”
“You want to rent a house?”
“Yes – rent a house,” Sam parroted back, please to have the correct word to use.
“Rent a house,” Dean considered, “That would be expensive. Maybe too expensive.”
“Maybe,” agreed Sam. “But house, far away house.” He paused for a second to think before continuing. “A country house.”
That got Dean thinking. He’d tried moving them to small city, because initially it seemed like a good idea to be close to a hospital since Sam was having seizures. But he hadn’t had one in a while, and Dean had never had to take him anyway. And Sam was right – he did better in the country and houses would be cheaper to rent.
“That’s a good idea Sam. I’ll look and see what we can find.”
“Here. Numbers.” Sam handed him a page of classifieds from a newspaper. It had several houses listed for rent circled in Sam’s shaky hand.
“These are a little less than the apartment, but I’d have to find another job – when did you do this?”
“Morning. TV is boring.”
“Well Sammy – at least we’ve got somewhere to start!”
Sam seemed please, smiling at Dean’s enthusiasm. He stood up still smiling. Dean turned back to the dishes. He’d started to whistle “Nothing Else Matters” before he heard the thud. Turning around he saw – Sam was seizing again.
“Shit Sammy, no!”
It only took Dean a second to jump into action, pulling Sam’s long frame clear of the dining table, moving chairs out his way and in general trying to minimize the damage Sam inflicted on himself.
Dean also kept an eye on the clock. He knew that if it got past the 5 minutes mark he should think about an ambulance. It never had before. And he wasn’t sure what exactly a hospital could do for him. It wasn’t like there were specialists in Hell-Trauma. Plus, as he’d told Bobby, he was scared that he’d lose Sam in his head if he had to spend time in a hospital, which would make him worse and then they’d take Sam away from him. The whole idea was all his worst nightmares from his teen years all over again. Except now he worried about Adult Protective Services instead of Child Protective Services.4
The sound of Sam’s body relaxing as the tremors stopped broke Dead from his thoughts.
“Hey Sammy. You in there?”
Sam answered, but it was in Enochian.
“Can we try in English?” Dean asked, trying to stay positive. He worried that Sam would regress with every seizure, would go back to the screaming, bloody mess he’d pulled from Lucifer’s grasp.
“Tired,” Sam managed, before his eyes drifted closed again.
“I know Sam,” Dean said. He took off his hoodie to put under Sam’s head as a pillow and then ran upstairs. He grabbed Winnie Bear, and the easy to wash blanket he used for after seizures. Sam often pissed himself during a seizure which, according to the internet, was common. Dean was able to throw the blanket in the wash after Sam’s post-seizure sleep. (Post-ictal state, Dean reminded himself.)
With Sam asleep, Dean had nothing left to do but finish the stupid dishes, though he no longer felt like whistling.
Bobby came in just as he was finishing. “Seizure?” he said, raising an eyebrow at Sam sound asleep on the kitchen floor.
“No, he just felt like taking a siesta on your floor. Of course, it’s a frigging seizure.”
“Don’t bitch at me boy,” Bobby snapped back.
“Then don’t ask me stupid fucking questions Bobby!”
Bobby sighed and took a minute to wash the grease off his hands. When he returned to the kitchen Dean had finished with the dishes. The two men stared at each other.
“Well, come on then, let’s get the Friendly Giant here upstairs before Collins drops that piece of shit Ford off.”
“You sure you’re up for this old man?” Dean teased, trying to apologize in his own way for snapping at Bobby. He rolled Sam onto his back and patted his face.
“C’mon Sammy, rise and shine. Let’s go.”
“No, D’n” mumbled Sam without opening his eyes. Dean grinned – for post-seizure Sam that was practically well-spoken.
“Yeah man, let’s head upstairs while Bobby’s free, or you’ll fuck your back up again.”
Sam’s eyelids fluttered, and he moved with Dean into a sitting position.
“All right Sammy, I got this side and Bobby has that one. On your feet in 3, 2, 1” It took a fair amount of effort to get Sam on his feet, but from there he could shuffle himself, they just had to keep him balanced.
Once he was settled in bed with Winnie Bear tucked under his arm, Dean went back down to the empty kitchen. Bobby was outside talking to someone – Dean guessed it was Collins dropping off the truck Bobby hated. He wished it were later in the day so that he could have a drink.
On the table in front of him was the newspaper Sam had circled things in. That idea seemed miles away now. How could they live alone if Sam was having seizures and couldn’t be left alone? At the same time, living at Bobby’s wasn’t ideal. For starters there was the risk of other Hunters and the things they hunted following them. And Bobby wasn’t used to sharing his house long term. Dean could tell it was wearing on him, which was why he’d tried to move them out in the first place.
He was still sitting at the table with his head in his hands when a mug of coffee appeared in front of him. He looked up quick, not having heard Bobby finish with his customer and come back in.
“Thanks Bobby,” Dean mumbled.
Bobby sat down with his own mug. “Stupid piece of crap. Don’t know why Collins doesn’t trade it in. S’not like that Ford is going to get any better.”
Dean shrugged. “People get attached.”
Bobby snorted. “You’d know all about being overly attached to a vehicle, huh?”
Dean rolled his eyes and took a drink.
Picking up the paper, Bobby noticed the circles. “What’s all this then?”
“Well it ain’t the crossword.”
“Don’t get smart with me boy. What’s Sam been up to?”
“He thought that we should look for a house to rent.”
Bobby nodded as he took another gulp of coffee. “Not a bad idea, better than the apartment.”
“Bobby, if you want us to go, we’ll go. But we can’t live anywhere if Sam’s dropping seizures again.”
It was Bobby’s turn to roll his eyes. “Course I don’t want you to go Dean, least, not until you’ve got somewhere proper to go to. But I was thinking about what we were talking about last night. And you are right, no one else has ever been through what Sam’s been through. But lots of other people have similar symptoms.”
“So?” Dean glared over the top of his mug.
“So, most of the medicine that people take is aimed at the symptoms and not the disease.”
“Okay. But how do we get the medicines?”
“I had this crazy idea that we’d take him to a doctor.”
Dean’s glare was back, hard and intense. “Bobby…”
Bobby put his hands out in a peaceful gesture. “Hang on, hang on, hear me out. I’m not talking about a big hospital. I’m actually thinking along what Sam was thinking, if I’m looking at these addresses right. A regular old GP in a small-ish town. Someone to keep an eye on Sam and prescribe medication.”
Dean nodded. “But where would we even start? And how do I justify not having taken him to see a doc before? Or even talk about what happen to him?” He put the cup down and sighed. “I don’t want Sam to be hurting, and Bobby maybe it ain’t right, but him and me? We don’t do so good when we’re apart. And with him hurtin’ like he is? If they take him, I don’t know what I’ll get back.”
“I know Dean,” Bobby said, putting a gnarled old hand on top of Dean’s in comfort. “And I shouldn’t have said what I said last night. But I don’t like to see him hurting neither.”
Dean nodded, before he pulled back and picked up the coffee again, uncomfortable with the physical affection.
“Anyway, the point is, I know someone who was married to a hunter. She’s a full-on GP now, though she was just a student when she was married to Willy. Willy and her split up a few years ago, and he ended up on the wrong end of a werewolf a year ago or so. Anyway, I think we should take Sam to her for a first. And then she’ll be able to give you a medical file to take with you, wherever you and Sam end up.”
During Bobby’s speech, the sun had been rising in Dean’s eyes. With a face lit up with hope, Bobby reminded himself that Dean was only 31. Very young still, to be dealing with a disabled brother who was unable to care for himself.
Dean nodded as the logic of Bobby’s plan struck him.
“Yeah, that’s… well that’s something.”
“I’ll go and call up Lorna. See what she has to say.”
Dean sat at the table looking into his lukewarm coffee. They could maybe do this. Get Sam stabilised. Have someone with a medical background to refer to, rather than having to Google everything. He could get a job and build a life for Sam. A real life. The normal kind Sam had wanted as a kid.
Dean laughed as he swallowed the rest of the coffee in one gulp. “Well, normal might be stretching it,” he muttered to himself. Picking up the paper, he started to read the listings that Sam had circled.