Gah, so tired. I've been sitting on this chapter for two days, not sure if I should add more or not. You're free to tell me if I chose right or not.
Dean watched with no small amount of fear as Sam's chest rose from the bed with every contact of the paddles. His hand clenched painfully at the doorway of Sam's room, his other hand clenched in a white knuckled fist.
"C'mon Sammy, breathe, breathe little brother, please," Dean whispered, not aware of anything he was doing, just watching Sam's back arch, hear the heart monitor and the paddles. He was pulled from the trance as the doctors just... stopped, stepped away from Sam's bed.
The monitor's cries were silenced, a doctor's voice floated over.
"Time of death, 7:54 PM..."
The only word registering in Dean's mind was death. Sam's heart had stopped. He was dead. He'd just watched his baby brother die.
He blinked, and he was leaning over Sam, shaking him, shouting.
"No! You come back, you hear me? You come back! You don't get to die Sam! Sammy wake up you bastard!"
He was being pulled back and he was struggling against them. He had to get to Sam, he had to keep telling him to wake up. No matter what it was, Sam always listened to him, did as he said. Well, except when he left for here. But Sam had to see the mistake of that now. He could get Sam to come back, he'd make him wake up. Threaten to dye his hair pink, or maybe just shave it off, burn his books, write on his face with permanent maker. He always had ways of getting Sam up.
He blinked again. He was outside, a security guard had a hand on his shoulder. The guy had to be his dad's age, actually looked a little like him, dark graying hair, beard was a little thicker, and his eyes were blue, but could pass as a cousin of his dad's if he wanted to.
"-we had to drag you out like that, son. But when you calm down, we'll let you in. Call your family, I'm sure they'd like to know about your brother. Do you understand?"
Dean nodded weakly, leaning weakly against the side of the building. He ignored the man's next words and the guard left. Dean looked out at the college's campus, paved walkways, well tended grass, trees, he could distantly see a court yard with a fountain. The place was like it's own little town. Place to sleep, eat, buy clothes and wash them, work, even a hospital. He stared blankly at the students, the scenery, trying not to think.
He found his phone in his hand, half way dialing through his dad's number. He hesitated, then continued. He put the phone to his ear, waiting for his dad's comforting gravelly voice. At the sound of John's voice, he couldn't keep in the grief, breaking down as reality finally hit him.
He told his dad everything, shutting off the phone without much thought to what else John would have to say. Either they were having time skips like that Futurama episode, or something was wrong with him. What felt like a blink, only seconds after he'd hung up with his dad, the Impala pulled up in front of the hospital. John got out, spotting Dean instantly.
He walked over, slumping down beside his son. Dean nearly jumped as an arm curled around his shoulders, pulling him beside John.
"I'm sorry son," John whispered.
Dean wanted to laugh, or scream, he settled for sighing. "I'm not the one who should be hearing that apology."
"You deserve one just as much as Sam does- did."
"He's the one who got kicked out, that- we let him die alone."
"He had you with him."
"I don't think he knew that. He woke up before he died." Dean tried to hold in a shudder. "He was terrified Dad, he looked right at me and he was still scared."
There was a long silence. "You boys deserved so much better, more than I could ever offer."
"You did your best Dad."
"No," John chuckled humorlessly. "I don't think I did. You boys did your best. I don't think I could be any prouder of how you two turned out."
Dean knew he would cry right then. He was going to embarrass himself in front of his dad. Before he could so much as try to choke off a sob, the hospital doors opened and Dr. Abram hurried over to them, eyes wide.
"Oh, good, you're both still here."
John helped Dean up. "Not to be rude, but what do you want? My son and I need our time to mourn."
"I think both of you need to come to Sam's room, please. There's something I need to show you."
"Oh, I'm allowed inside now?" Dean interrupted, voice tight.
"I'm sorry security escorted you out Dean, but some of the staff felt threatened by your actions."
"Yeah well I guess that's how someone's gonna act when doctors let their little brother die," Dean hissed.
With the patience of a saint, Dr. Abram ignored the accusation and spoke evenly. "I don't understand why Sam's heart stopped, he was perfectly stable, there was no reason for it. Just as I am confused why his heart restarted with no assistance shortly after security escorted you out Dean."
"What?" Dean asked, throat tightening. There was no way he heard that right. Was Dr. Abram insinuating Sam was alive?
"His heart started again. He was clinically dead for almost fifteen minutes and I don't know what sort of effects that will have on his brain or body, but he's breathing and he shows enough mental activity that I'm confident he'll wake up."
"H-he was dead. His heart stopped, they called time of death," Dean babbled, nearly collapsing in shock, if not for the quick reflexes of John.
"Yes, and several minutes after time of death was called, a nurse noticed his chest rising and falling. He miraculously started breathing on his own. I've been a doctor for over thirty years and I have seen some pretty astonishing feats of recovery, but even this... It's like nothing I've seen before. Now please, follow me."
Quietly, the two followed, not really even sure they should believe the doctor's words. It seemed like a cruel joke. Although when they saw Sam, still pale, but alive, breathing, it was true.
There were no whoop for joys, no tears of happiness, no promises to deities to 'be better men'. They both walked into the room, sat on either side of Sam's bed, and grabbed a hand. Although inside, both felt a rush of warmth and life flow through them, energizing them, calming them, healing them.
When Sam opened his eyes, the world was fuzzy and gray. Things started to come into focus after a few moments, and he could hear sounds too. His hand twitched at the loud rumbling of something, and he tried to lift it and it's partner to cover his ear. He was going to kill the guy who had parked his car next to Sam's head.
There were two startled snorts, and then moving, shifting.
"Sammy?" A voice, a familiar, dearly loved voice sounded where the rumbling had stopped. "Sam, you awake? C'mon, you can't leave me in the dark like this. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
Sam followed the command, looking where he'd heard the voice, seeing a blurry human face.
"Dad! He's awake! 'Bout time too, I was getting tired of his dead opossum impression, which sucks by the way." Dean directed the last part at Sam. Sam didn't even have to see to know Dean was talking directly to him.
"Same here. I'll go get someone," John's voice said, the other blur
"'Kay," Dean said, something softly stroking Sam's hand.
Dean's face finally started to come into focus. It hadn't even been a year since they'd last seen each other, yet his brother looked closer to thirty than twenty-three.
Sam tried to say something, opened his mouth, all that came out was a dry rasp that didn't sound like any kind of word. More like a dying animal.
Dean smiled, brushing a hand over Sam's hair. "Should've warned ya, your throat's dry as a bone, Sammy."
'Jerk' Sam mouthed tiredly.
"Bitch," Dean laughed softly, squeezing Sam's hand.
Now, I could leave the story at this. It really seems to me like no more really needs to be said. What the boys do from here can be pretty easily imagined. However, if you think it's too open ended/incomplete, feel free to tell me. I'll try to add more if my readers feel dissatisfied. For now, this story is complete. Now excuse me while I celebrate by sleeping, it's three in the morning right now.