All I want for Christmas
By Merisha
Part 1 of a 2 chapter story – enjoy ;0)
A double dose of angst and owies … just in time for the holidays ;0)
Just another quick note to say thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews and support ;0)
This story is also dedicated to deangirl1 – hope this little fic makes you feel better and wishing you a speedy recovery ;0)
Disclaimer: They're on my Christmas wish list … so I won't own them until Santa drops them off on the 25th ;0)
Warning: Mild language – as usual ;0)
I lean forward in the uncomfortable plastic chair as I gently brush Sammy's fringe out of his eyes. He's still unconscious … it's been two days and the doc's not very optimistic. He says it's hard to tell with this kind of head injury how long he will be in a coma, but I'll wait, I'll wait as long as it takes. I sigh wearily as I look at his still features. He's going to wake up … please Sammy … you need to wake up. I rub my dry eyes, I have no more tears … just the pain of failure and the fear of loss. In my head I keep replaying the lecture I'm going to give my baby brother if … when he wakes up.
A nurse came in a while ago to check his vitals and administer some more drugs. 'No change' is all she could tell me. The doc said that they'll know more once the brain swelling goes down. From the results of the CT scan the injury is pretty serious … moving in front of guy swinging a bat at your older brother will do that to you.
"The cerebral cortex is badly bruised and the contusion is causing a dangerous rise in intracranial pressure."
It sounded technical but I got the picture. Bile rises in the back of my throat and I swallow … a burning sensation settling in my stomach. I should be lying there. I rub my hands through my hair irritably. Damnit Sammy … it should have been me, that hit was meant for me … not you!
The cold tendrils of dread wrap themselves around my heart again. When Sammy put himself between me and that bastard, getting knocked full force on the side of his head … shit ... I'll never forget that sound. I don't remember much after that, just that it took four men to pull me off the bloody mess that was our attacker. If they had left me a minute longer … I look down at my bruised and swollen knuckles and rub them absently. I nearly killed that guy but I really don't give a rats ass.
It was just a game of pool that turned into an argument and then into a full out bar room brawl. It's happened before, it'll probably happen again and we had the situation under control, until someone unexpectedly pushed me into a table. I quickly regained my balance, turning around to get my bearings and looked straight at the bat swinging for my head. My eyes closed in anticipation of the impact that never came, instead Sammy fell back into my arms, blood pouring from a gash on his temple. I managed to lower him to the floor, holding him steadily as I supported his head … but it was the blood … the blood coming out of his ear that sent me over the edge.
Thankfully nobody called the police. Apparently those thugs had been harassing the owner and patrons for some time. My full attention was on Sammy just before the ambulance arrived, so I didn't see when they left with their bleeding pal in tow.
I lean back, listening to the swooshing sound of the ventilator. It's keeping him alive. I swallow another lump in my throat. Shit … this is definitely not how I planned us spending Christmas eve together. I dig into my jacket pocket and pull out the 'Swiss Army Renegade watch' I bought Sammy for Christmas. It has a compass attachment which he's seriously gonna flip over. I take it out of its pouch and hold it in my hands, smoothing the surface with my thumb. He's never said anything, but I've seen the looks every time we pass a shop window. It costs more than we can afford, but I've been saving my own money, doing without the odds and ends I usually buy, haven't had an M&M for months … I just hope I get a chance to give it to him and to see the look in his eyes when I do.
I suddenly need some air. Shaking, I push myself up, replacing the gift in my pocket while I squeeze Sammy lightly on the shoulder. My voice sounds strained, "Hey bro, just need to stretch my legs, I'll be back … don't you go anywhere!"
Silence … except for the soft swooshing and beeping of the instruments surrounding his bed. He looks so pale, the white dressing plastered over the gash standing out in contrast to the dark bruises snaking their way across his forehead. I turn away reluctantly. I've been watching him fight for his life, waiting and wandering if his next breath will be his last … I'm making myself crazy. I look up at the wall clock. It's 2:32 in the morning. The corridor is quiet and the night nurse just smiles at me as I walk past on the way to coffee machine. I smile back tentatively … I don't have the strength to start a conversation. I pour a cup and drink the bitter, black brew as I move away to the balcony. The air is crisp and cold but I take a deep, long breath. Don't know when I last slept or even ate but I can't … I can't carry on living until Sammy's back.
The coffee doesn't fill that hollow spot inside my chest and I suddenly feel sick. I dash back in, slamming the restroom door as I rush over to the toilet to throw-up. The hot liquid makes an unpleasant reappearance and I heave until there's nothing left. I find myself sobbing again, resting my sweaty brow on my arms as I hang over the bowl … god Sammy, please come back to me …
I don't know how long I've been hugging the rim, but I eventually manage to push myself up, staggering to the basin to scrub my hands and splash water over my face. I look at my reflection in the mirror, the person looking back seems older and so very soul weary … shit I look like crap. I cup water in my palm and rinse my mouth … spitting into the basin while trying to steady myself. I dig into my pocket for the pack of Wrigley's, the sharp mint killing the unpleasant taste in my mouth.
Rubbing my sore stomach absently I walk down the maze of passageways and corridors, Level A – Ward 1, Level C – Ward 5 … I don't know where I'm going cause I have no destination, I'm just walking, fighting the urge to run, fighting the urge to weep.
Don't know how I got here, but I'm standing, looking through the window at the babies sleeping in the nursery.
"You a dad?"
I jump slightly. I thought I was alone, but there's a man standing to my right. He's wearing overalls.
"What, no … no … well not that I know of … my brother, he's in ICU … I was just wandering around … and I kinda landed up here."
"Sorry to hear it … is he going to be okay?"
I don't know … but I nod my head. He holds out his hand and I shake it firmly.
"The names Mike."
"Dean. One of these yours?"
He chuckles.
"Nope, I'm a doctor … I come here to relax when I get a break. I don't know what it is, but seeing these little innocent souls, full of possibilities for the future, it just gives me peace when I need to clear my head."
I know how he feels.
"Don't you have a family, its Christmas dude."
He snorts.
"Yup … I'm having lunch with them tomorrow. It's a real gathering let me tell you … and to add to my miseries, every year I have to listen to my mom go on about how she'd love to have grandchildren while my dad keeps threatening to take us all on a family camping trip."
We both chuckle.
"I wouldn't take it for granted though … trust me, just enjoy every minute with them while you can."
He looks at me sympathetically and it makes me uncomfortable … people are always trying to analyze me but that's Sammy's job. I smile at the thought even though tears are threatening to make an appearance. My protective barriers immediately go up.
"If you could have anything in the world, what would you wish for?"
The question surprises me, don't know why he's asking … I mean what would I wish for? I don't get asked that question … but his words bring back a memory of a time when mom did.
"Make a wish Dean, what do you want for Christmas sweetheart?"
Mom was four months pregnant. She said that if I closed my eyes and made a wish, whatever it was, no matter how big or small, I'd get what my heart desired.
Christmas came and I did make my wish … but I got a bike instead.
A month later it was my birthday, I made the same wish … but I got an 'Action Man' figurine instead.
And then one day dad rushed mom to the hospital while I stayed at home. Our neighbor looked after me until dad returned to tell me that mom and my new baby brother would be home soon. I didn't know it then but there had been complications so I didn't get to see them in hospital and that made me sad. I was already sad cause it was the same week 'Hector Winchester the Third' had gone belly up like his predecessors, over a short period of three months. I was never very good with goldfish. But all that changed when they came home.
I sat on the couch while dad placed the little squirming bundle into my small arms.
"Dean, this is Sam."
His little face was peaking at me through the blankets.
"Sam, this is your big brother Dean."
Those words planted a seed of protectiveness which only grew with each passing year. I don't think I've ever been as proud as I was at that moment. I was only four but I was a 'big' brother. I remember looking down at him, he was so small and helpless, his fine hair already curling into his eyes as I clumsily moved the wisps out of his face.
"Sammy?"
I remember the smell of him. He smelt soft and special and new. He smelt warm and safe, he smelt like mom. It was the best smell in the world.
"Dean? Dean?"
Someone's calling me, tapping my face … strange … I don't remember going to sleep … I open my eyes.
"Hey … you with me?"
I'm looking up at Dr Mike ... I read his name tag … Killian. I'm lying on the floor. He leans down to lift me up into a sitting position.
"Take it easy kid … how you feeling?"
"I don't know, what the hell just happened?"
He looks worried.
"Well we were talking and suddenly your eyes rolled back and you fainted."
"I don't faint dude … pass out … maybe!"
He snorts at my comment, "I checked your blood pressure and its pretty low, when last did you eat something?"
I lie.
"Lunch time, had a turkey sandwich."
"Well you'd better eat something now … you seem a bit shaky, I think I'd best check you over, just to be sure."
I push myself up, trying to keep my balance as my head swims again. The burning feeling in my stomach isn't helping matters.
"Listen doc, no offence, but I think I'll be okay. It's probably just stress … I'll have a bite to eat and I'll be fine … besides I don't want to know how much you charge for a check-up."
He laughs at my weary expression.
"Okay, but I'm walking you back to the ICU … I don't need the law suites if you 'pass out' in one of the corridors."
I smile back at his sarcasm, 'Touché dude!"
We walk back slowly, I'm using ever bit of stubborn willpower I posses to look as casual and in control as I can, even though spots are dancing in front of my eyes and a swishing noise has filled my ears. I make it back to Sammy by shear force of will and collapse into the hard chair while Dr Killian organizes a sandwich for me. He reads Sammy's chart and tries not to show it, but from the look on his face there isn't much hope. I'm good at reading faces. His eyes are still full of concern and my stomach churns uncomfortably.
"Take it easy okay Dean. I'll come back a bit later to check on you."
I nod my head in thanks as he leaves. The sandwich remains untouched on the bedside table.
Nothings changed. I was silently hoping, even praying that I'd come back and he'd be awake, asking me where I've been, telling me how bored he's been waiting for me, asking if we can leave this joint. But he hasn't moved. I reach over to rub his arm while I wipe my hand vigorously over my stubbled chin. Come on Sammy … please I'm begging you man … just wake up.
The hours tick by slowly, it's morning. Kids everywhere are waking up to gifts and Christmas trees, tearing paper off presents, squealing with delight. We never had Christmas' like that. Dad used to buy us each a gift which we'd find at the bottom of our beds in some motel room we were staying in. It was usually something practical, something we could use on a hunt … followed by a roadside diner lunch with processed turkey on the menu, if we were lucky. But dad did the best he could to make it as enjoyable as possible. He'd spend the whole day with us and we'd go hiking or play ball on some deserted field. We'd joke and laugh and I'd ignore the look in Sammy's eyes when he spotted a Christmas tree through the window of some 'normal' family's house. I was content just to be with them … but Sammy's always wanted a bit more. More than dad could give, more than I could offer.
I lean forward onto the mattress, resting my head in my hands. I sigh tiredly. If I could have anything in the world, what would I wish for?
A sound interrupts my train of thought. I look up. Sammy's moving. My heart races. He's moaning softly, his fingers twitching as he reaches up for the tube in his mouth. I stop his hand. He starts coughing, his eyes wrinkling in pain and then opening, looking at me in confusion. He's awake! He coughs again. Shit! I press the call button and yell for a nurse.
I get pushed out the way as the buzz of activity erupts around Sammy. The fear of brain damage and memory loss takes a back seat. He's awake! I'm grinning. I can't stop myself.
But my legs nearly give way under my weight when I hear the soft, hoarse whisper.
"Dean …?"
I move forward, not certain if I'm hearing things, weary that I've fallen asleep and I'm just dreaming this. But as the nurse moves out the way and his hand reaches out to me, I take it in my own and it's solid and warm. He is awake, I'm awake … I grin again!
"Sammy … thank god," I choke on the words.
"Hey …"
His voice is scratchy, but he's looking at me lucidly, frowning at my tear streaked face.
"You … okay?"
I sniff and chuckle.
"Yeah, I'm okay … it's you who's been wasting time just sleeping all day princess."
He smiles … but the doctor needs to do what he calls a 'Rancho's levels test' to check Sammy's response levels … so I'm ushered out into the passage. The nurse explains that the test will give an indication on the extent of the brain injury … but so far it's looking good. I lean up against the wall with relief, my hand rubbing at the pain in my midsection.
Half an hour later I'm allowed to go back in. Sammy's asleep but the doctor tells me that he's going to be just fine. He says that it's practically a miracle. All I can do is thank him profusely as I settle in to watch my baby brother sleep. He finally wakes up again 2 hours later.
"Hey Sammy, you with me?"
He looks at me groggily, his face wrinkling.
"Yeah … head hurts though!"
"No shit Sherlock." I lean forward to brush his forehead gently, "Do you need something for the pain?"
"Nah … I'm good … did you get the number plate?"
I snort as I give him a sip of water, "what can you remember?"
"Not sure, I think we were in a bar … everything's a bit fuzzy after that … what happened?"
I explain but as I talk the fear that I felt begins to consume me and my temper flares … I didn't want to do this now, I should just be happy that he's alive and awake … but the hours of worry suddenly just bubble over and before I know it I'm lecturing my dazed brother on the stupidity of throwing himself in front of me, of all the hair-brained ideas. I mean, he has no right … my gut wrenches … that's my job damnit.
He looks back at me angrily, his eyes full of pain.
"You know what, you're full of shit Dean … I mean how many times have you done the same thing … am I just supposed to sit around and let you get hurt? Is that it? Cause we can do that if you want ... you can just take care of yourself and I'll look after myself … that way nobody gets in anybody's way!"
He starts rubbing his temples and I stand up in agitation. He knows very well that's not what I want.
"Sammy! You nearly died … how am I supposed to handle that? Hey? Please tell me! I can't function when you're hurt or dying … don't you understand … I can't do this anymore … I'm tired and I'm sick to death of this life we lead …"
My stomach is starting to cramp and I cough painfully but I can't stop my tirade.
"… I can't fight and I can't go on ... I can't do any of this if I'm by myself … I don't want to be alone Sammy … I can't be alone!"
I start coughing again, shaking as I hold my chest while waves of pain wash over me. I bend over trying to ease the burning sensation. Crap, why are we fighting? … I didn't want to fight …
"Dean …hey, hey … what's wrong? Shit … are you okay? Speak to me!"
Sammy is sitting up, leaning forward as his hand reaches out to steady me … worry etched on his pale face. I try to straighten up.
"I'm fine Sammy … sorry, I didn't mean to … just give me a minute …"
My ears are ringing again and the room seems to fade in and out as I sway on my feet.
I look at Sammy mouth, his lips are moving but I can't hear a word he's saying. I blink profusely as he reaches for the call button, his mouth shouting my name. A sharp pain shoots through my body, doubling me over. My legs buckle and my last coherent thought before I collapse is … Shit, I should have had that sandwich.
TBC ;0)