Hi everyone! This chapter is the last one, though I hadn't originally intended it to be that way. I'm not really happy with the ending but that's something I'll fight out in editing. Which brings me to my next order of business, this has NOT been edited, so let me know what mistakes you come across. I apologize for the delay in getting this out, I had really hoped that I'd be able to post it during my snow day Thursady, but my school decided that an ince of ice wasn't really that big of a deal, but that's a whole other rant. Anyway. . .
THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO TOOK THE TIME TO REVIEW! Your support and encouragement has been invaluable and I am so beyond thankful to you guys.
Disclaimer: I own only those characters not seen on The WB.
Chapter Eight
Dean paced the empty hallways of the hospital, wincing as his footsteps broke the silence, echoing off the bare walls. It seemed like years ago that he'd brought Sammy in, carrying his brother through the sliding, emergency room doors. He'd followed the doctors as they whisked Sam away on a gurney, but was stopped by a formidable looking nurse when he tried to go through the heavy wooden doors marked, "Hospital Personnel Only." Left to his thoughts Dean couldn't help but ponder what had happened back at the motel room. What had caused the hypothermia that was afflicting Sam now? What had caused the cuts that covered Sam's body? Why had he stopped breathing? What had he started again? Dean had performed plenty of exorcisms in the past, but never one to separate two people and he wondered if that was enough to explain what had happened to his brother. Thinking of Sam, Dean checked the clock again, rubbing his arms. For being a place that was supposed to heal people, Dean imagined they created more patients with their freezing halls, or perhaps that was just Dean's heart freezing at the idea that he could still very well lose Sam. If Dean had learned anything in the past few years it was what anything could happen when you least expected it, especially something negative.
Sighing, the elder Winchester returned to his seat, the hard plastic digging into his back. If every clock within sight wasn't wrong, Sam had been with the doctors for over an hour and a half. Dean couldn't figure out if that was something good or bad. He'd gone to the nurses' station so many times that they now seemed to brace themselves for his arrival, and each time they told him the same thing, "We'll come and get you when we know something." Dean leaned his head back against the wall and tried to get the image of an unconscious, purpled Sam out of his mind. His frustration was building by the moment. All he needed was to see Sam, to make sure that his little brother was okay, that he was still fighting, because Dean was certain that he couldn't do this thing without his little brother. Dean couldn't handle that kind of loneliness. When he was sure that he would lose it if he had to wait another minute, a doctor exited the swinging doors, the first Dean had seen all night.
"Are you Dean Winchester?" The white haired man in green scrubs asked as he approached the elder Winchester. Dean nodded numbly, the man didn't look pleased.
"You're brother was suffering from a serious case of hypothermia when you brought him in and could have died if you hadn't brought him in when you did. We've got him under some heating blankets now and we've been running his blood through a machine that is warming it before pumping it back into his body along with giving him heated oxygen that should help with his breathing trouble. The majority of his cuts were minor and the deeper ones had begun to clot by the time we saw him, he was very lucky." Dean sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall, unsure of whether or not his legs would continue to hold his weight.
"I don't mean to alarm you, Mr. Winchester, you're brother is going to be okay in no time. We'd like to keep him under observation for a few days to keep an eye on his lungs and to make sure he doesn't develop and infection, but at the moment I'm not too concerned, he's been responding to the treatments well." The doctor elaborated and Dean was sure that his knees were going to buckle.
"Can I see him?" He asked shakily. The doctor nodded.
"Yes, just as soon as we get him settled into a private room. One of the nurses will take you up." Dean thanked the doctor profusely before dropping heavily into the pathetic, plastic chair. He fought the urge to hyperventilate. Sam was going to be okay. The thought ran through his mind on a loop. He took a series of shaky breaths, trying not to burst into hysterical laughter born from the greatest relief he'd ever felt. Fifteen minutes later Dean was following a petite red head to his brother's room, 2115. He thanked her as he entered slowly, able to see the various tubes and machinery from the doorway. Dean couldn't lie, it freaked him out to see Sam connected to so many tubes and wires, all of them beeping and pumping and pulsing, but Dean pushed that fear aside as he approached his brother's bedside. Up close the machinery seemed less frightening. Dean could see that there was an IV in the back of his left hand, pumping warmed saline into his body, while from his right arm, the bend in his elbow, his blood was being pumped out of his body, through a warming machine, and back into his body through a similar tube in his left arm. A mask covered his nose and mouth, allowing Sam to breathe in warm air, something gentler on his lungs, Dean hoped. He knew that underneath Sam's hospital gown were the few stitches Sam had required, but he was going to be okay. Taking a deep breath Dean pulled up a chair, took Sam's limp hand in his own, and prepared to sit vigil for a long night.
"You know, Sammy, I don't think I've ever been that scared before. When I thought you were. . . gone," he found himself unable to say the word dead, "I lost it." Dean paused here and studied his brother's prone form.
"I don't ever want to feel that feeling again, Sammy. So, you need to pull through this and come out one hundred percent, because I'm not ready to be alone. I need you, little brother." He confessed, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. Dean pushed them back, unwilling to give into the tears that destroyed him back at the motel. Sam's grip tightened on his hand slightly and Dean stared at him, waiting for his gentle brown eyes to open, but there was no movement from the younger Winchester. Dean yawned, emotionally and physically drained, as he scratched he eyes with one hand, unwilling to let go of Sam. He never intended to, but Dean laid his head next to Sam's hand and in no time had drifted off to sleep.
In his dreams, Sam was back before the gate, staring at the hauntingly beautiful girl again, though he knew that this time he was dreaming.
"What happened to me?" He asked, zipping up the ski jacket that he'd never seen before. During this visit, Sam was happy to note, he was not bone chilling cold. In fact, he was quite warm.
"I thought you went to college? Stanford, no less. You, Samuel Winchester, lived. Instead of being sent on to your next life, going back to correct whatever mistakes you made, you went back to your old life. The cosmos or God or who knows what decided that you weren't quite done living this life, that those on Earth weren't ready to let you go quite yet, and so you were sent back." She explained, exasperated.
"So then what caused the cuts and the hypothermia? Why did I almost die?" Sam asked, equally frustrated.
"Humans cannot cross between the realms. Your subconscious can cross without your body suffering damage, like you are now, but your spirit cannot. When your brother exorcised Adelaide from you and you from her, you were sent here, an offshoot of Hell according to some, a vestibule to others. Your body suffered the effects, and for a minute there you really did die. Your brother didn't take that very well, probably part of the reason they sent you back." She explained haughtily. Sam frowned. He hadn't given any thought to what Dean had experienced while he 'played' in the spirit realm.
"Who are you? What are you?" Sam asked, studying her more closely. It was impossible to determine her age, she managed to look old and young at the same time.
"I'm the gatekeeper. I am. . .was human. When I died I was destined for Hell where Satan offered me immortality. He made it sound as though I'd be living the high life, that I'd be godlike. He didn't lie about that, but I'm only godlike in that I will never truly die. I will forever be nineteen but I will grow darker and darker. I don't even look like myself anymore." This last part she said so softly Sam wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly.
"I'm sorry."
"I don't need your sympathy, Samuel Winchester!" She bit out
Sam waited before asking his next question, "Will I always dream of this place?"
"I do not know how long until you move away from this place completely, most likely when you have completely healed. I'll see you again, Samuel Winchester, but for now you must return to the waking world. Your brother needs you, the living need you." She told him, though her words sounded as though they were trickling down to him from a great distance. Sam sighed and felt a wave of exhaustion slip over him and could see no reason to fight it, and so Sam let himself drift away.
Bright lights. It was the first thing that Sam noticed when he opened his eyes. He still felt cold, but now it was not the bone numbing chill he'd felt before, but just a dull coldness. Sam felt a yawn building and was surprised when plastic rubbed against his nose and down around his chin. What was that and where had it come from? Where was he for that matter? Feeling a little more alert, Sam tried to take stock of his surroundings. The antiseptic smell, the beeping, whirring machines, and the bright lights. Hospital. Sam sighed. The last time he'd been in the hospital he'd been eighteen and had almost died when a vengeful spirit had thrown him through the wall of a dilapidated building, but he'd had Dean there to entertain him, and entertain Dean had. Dean. Where was his older brother? Anytime Sam had been hurt Dean had been right there with him, tending to both physical and emotional needs. Sam tried to push himself up off the bed and found that not only was he too weak to do so, but a very heavy, warm, and fuzzy object was crushing his arm, a hand clasping his own. Sam freed his hand and ran it over the obstruction, trying to turn his head enough so that he could see it at the same time.
"Sammy," he heard a familiar voice mumble, and he had to smile.
"Dean." God did his voice sound awful, scratchy and raw, as though he'd been screaming for days. He continued to stroke his brother's head, too weak to push him, and, really, how nice would that have been anyway?
"Dean, come on man," Sam called again, a little stronger this time. He turned his head to the side a little more and caught sight of Dean stirring.
"Sammy?" He mumbled, slowly easing into an upright position as he fought to wake himself up. Sam waited for his brother's eyes to meet his before speaking.
"Hey, you totally killed my arm, man." Sam said with a smile, words muffled by the plastic mask that he still didn't understand.
"What?" Dean returned scratching his head causing the already sleep tousled hairs to be further displaced.
"You fell asleep on my arm and cut off my circulation. My hand's buzzing." Sam elaborated. He sounded ridiculous, he decided, with the mask and reached his hand up to move it. Dean captured the hand before it even made it to Sam's face.
"No, you need to leave the mask on, Sam."
"Why? What's going on, Dean?"
"You're in the hospital, Sam. You suffered a pretty severe case of hypothermia. Right now your blood is being pumped through a machine that's warming it and you're getting warm saline. The mask is warming the air that you breathe in, so don't go messing with it." Dean commanded and Sam smiled. The tightness in Dean's chest loosened a little at the flash of the younger man's pearly whites.
"What happened, Dean?" Sam asked softly. Seriously.
"I don't know, little brother, you tell me?"
"The last thing I remember is being in the shower with you, weird by the way. After that I was back there."
"Back where?" Dean gave his brother a sharp look.
"She called it the 'in-between.' She said that some view it as an offshoot of Hell but others think of it as a vestibule. She said that I was sent back, but that I died for a little."
"Yeah, well, you lived. That's the important part." Dean replied gruffly. He'd just as soon not revisit those all too fresh memories.
"Yeah, she said that you didn't take it too well." Dean looked away.
"You try losing your brother some time, see how much you like it."
"I thought I had when that Wendigo took you. I'm sorry I put you through that, Dean."
"Let's just try not to do it again, ever. How's that sound?" Sam smiled though it quickly turned into a wide yawn.
"You need to get some more sleep, Sammy. We can talk more about it your trip to the 'in-between' tomorrow, and who that girl was." Sam nodded at his brother's suggestion. He'd truly wanted to stay awake, but he was just so exhausted.
"Go back to the motel and get some sleep, Dean. Besides, I'm sure visiting hours are over."
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, when are you gonna learn? No one can resist this face!" Sam tried to smile but a yawn beat him out again.
"That's it, sleep. . . now."
"G'night, Dean."
"Go to sleep, Sam."
"I love you too, Dean."
"Sam! Sleep!" The younger Winchester just laughed
Four Days Later
"Dean, I am fully capable of walking to the car." Sam argued the moment he saw the wheelchair. In the four days he'd spent in the hospital he'd quickly regained his strength and with it he found himself suffering from cabin fever. Sam had been ready to leave by day two.
"According to Nurse Anna you have to go out the way you came in, on wheels." Dean stated, loving every moment of torturing his brother. Sam shook his head, this was his dignity they were talking about. Sam was about to respond to his brother when a knock on the door interrupted them. Both Winchesters turned to find Adelaide and Caleb standing in the doorway, both smiling despite the sling that protected Adelaide's left arm.
"Hey, Adelaide, how are you doing?" Sam asked eagerly. She smiled softly as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
"I faired far better than you did on the whole. I'm sorry I did come to see your sooner. According to Caleb I've been sleeping for the past two and a half days." Adelaide confessed.
"I see the 'in-between' agreed with you just as well. How's the elbow?" Dean asked.
"It'll be fine in a few more days. They say I can lose the sling as soon as Friday. After that I just have to get Caleb to give up the guilt trip he's been on since it happened." Caleb ducked his head at this statement while Sam and Dean exchanged a look. They knew that would take longer to heal than any physical wound, mental ones always do.
"I'm just glad we were able to sever the connection. I haven't been dreaming of you at all. What's it like on your end?"
"I haven't been dreaming of anything. I hope I haven't lost all of my abilities, but I can't say that I'll miss your dreams, Sam. You're life is a little bit much for me." She joked to hide her discomfort. Adelaide was, in truth, depressed that her abilities seemed to have been completely stripped from her. Without them she wasn't sure who she was.
"Well, we can't stay but we wanted to come by and thank you for everything you did for us." Caleb announced. Adelaide nodded her agreement.
"It's what we do." Sam shrugged, as if such a simple statement explained it all. Adelaide went to him first and stood on tiptoes to wrap her small arm around his broad shoulders.
"Try to be careful, Sam. I know that what you do is dangerous by nature, but you don't have to take some of the risks that you do. Take care of yourself, please." She pleaded and Sam gave her a strong hug in return, careful of her elbow.
"I'll try, Adelaide." A promise he wasn't sure he could keep. When she released him she moved on to Dean who was hesitant to be hugged, something she very well knew, but still she held him.
"Look after your brother, Dean, but don't forget to let him look after you sometimes. You don't always have to be the strong one."
"Yes, I do." Dean responded. Adelaide left it there, Dean was stubborn enough without motivation from an outside influence. They shook hands with Caleb, exchanged last goodbyes, and then Dean and Sam were left alone again.
"So, what's next?" Sam asked.
"I read something about a mermaid in Lake Erie; that could be interesting."
"We're going after Ariel?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Who?" Dean asked. Sam just shook his head. It was good to be alive.
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