Sam dies…
Sam sat up in bed and the hotel bed, his stomach turning uneasily. The nausea had caught him unexpectedly and awoken him from his first deep sleep in weeks. He threw his legs over the edge and let his feet hit the cold floor, just as the acid burning began rising in the back of his throat. From there, he extended his long arms for the wastebasket sitting next to his bed. After he slid it right under his hunched over form, he began to dispel the contents of his stomach. Luckily, he hadn't eaten much tonight, so nothing to major came back up, but this meant that more stomach acid was going to climb up his esophagus. His body was shaking and his hands and legs felt weak when he was finally finished. Straightening up, he looked over to Dean's bed and realized that it was empty.
"Hm." Sam managed to say, before he knew he had to get up and get rid of the evidence of him getting sick. He knew this would only hinder the case they were on, and no way was Sam going to give Dean a reason to blame him for something else. He tried to rise from the scratchy motel sheets, but his legs ached, in fact, his whole body ached. He sat for a second before making a second attempt, and succeeding. He grabbed the trash bag out of the trash can, and the smell of the vomit made his stomach churn, but he had to do it. Sam grabbed the key card off of the end table, and went out to throw the bag into the dumpster around the back of the hotel. When he opened the door, Dean's car was not parked out front, and this made Sam shrug his shoulders. "Probably out hustling the locals out of house and home" Sam concluded, letting out a small pained chuckle. His long and slow adventure to the dumpster began as he shuffled his feet because his legs were too sore to bear the feeling of picking them up.
He dropped the damp trash bag into the dumpster and took a minute to take a breather. He noticed the run down condition of most of the motels they stayed in where, but this one was different, this was a whole new definition of run down. The bricks were even beginning to chip away off of the building. The vines were let run rampant up the East side of the building, and where resting against most of the air conditioning vents in the rooms, which was a fire hazard. Sam realized he needed to get back to the room, the cold air was doing nothing for his wheezing and the smell of the garbage was doing nothing for his stomach. He pushed his body off of the side of the trashcan and the world began to spin. Sam tried to throw out his hands in front of him to catch himself the minute he knew he was going down, but he couldn't get his sore arms to cooperate. Before he knew it, he felt a hard surface impact his right cheek. At least I turned my head. He thought to himself, as he realized the concrete was wet and it was soaking through his clothes. Sam put his arms underneath his body to lift himself up, but they just buckled at the elbow and he fell back down, once again on the right side of his face, which he noticed was stinging. Probably busted it open. He was laughing on the inside. But he knew he had to get himself back to the room and cleaned up before Dean made the arrival back to their room. Like it was on que, Sam heard the Impala's engine arrive in the parking lot. Damn it. Sam cursed to himself. He knew he would have to explain why he was on the ground and not getting up, he knew Dean would put two and two together, and Sam would be in for a scolding, and a fresh batch of steaming hot blame would be laid on his plate.
The squeaky hinge of the driver's side door of the impala squeaked and he knew Dean was getting ready to bust in the room and rub in his winnings. But he would soon realize Sam wasn't there and start to worry. My cell phone. Sam concluded, he had to get it out of his pocket and assure Dean that he just went to get some food or something. That would buy him some time to find an excuse for his now soaking wet clothes and his busted face; it would also give him enough time to find a way to get off of the ground before someone saw him laying here and called 911. Sam tried to get his arms to reach around to his pocket but they protested and staid where they were. Damn it. Sam once again cursed. He picked up his hand slightly and noticed his knuckles were bleeding badly. But upon closer examination Sam realized there was no wound on his hands, at all. This confused him, but he soon felt the source of the blood. A white hot pain shot across his hip. He let out a grunt and managed to roll himself onto his side. He looked down, and noticed the pooling blood and the glass on the ground underneath his body. Another thing to explain to Dean. Sam thought. He willed himself to sit up slowly, because the contents of his stomach were once again getting riled up. He pushed hard on the wound over his hip bone, with a lot of pain, he knew he had to stop the bleeding. Sam sat for a second, and finally made the resolve to call Dean and ask him for help, but he had to think of a way to explain this. Well, the injury is over my hip bone, I could just say I can't stand up because of it. That would probably work; this does look deep enough to cause some damage. Sam hissed as he released the pressure on the wound, and began slowly digging around for his phone, upon his fingers touching it; he drew it out of his pocket. Speed dial number one, then the green button, Sam didn't even have to focus to operate his phone, which was a good thing because his head was spinning and his vision was blurring slightly.
"Oh shit" Sam groaned as he realized he had maybe a couple of more minutes of consciousness. He listened as the phone rang and rang, and on the third ring, he heard the gruff voice answer,
"Sammy, where are you?"
"Dean, East side of the building, you need to come…" but Sam's voice faded out as he erupted into a coughing fit. Some blood spewed out of his mouth and onto the ground. Sam stared at it for a minute before the blackness surrounded his being, and he let the warmness take him.
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"Aw guys tough luck" Dean chuckled as he exited the dive bar not far from the hotel room. His hand held a wad of cash, only ones and fives so nothing to get too excited about. But enough for him and Sam to have a good meal in the morning with, he chuckled as he approached his car. "I should probably call Sam." Dean sighed to himself, pulling his phone out of his pocket. But he quickly set it on the hood of his car. Kids probably asleep, plus, I need some time away. Dean concluded as he slid the phone back in his jacket. He climbed behind the wheel and put the key in the ignition, revving the engine, he peeled out of the parking lot, and back on his way to the motel room. The ride was quite, he didn't want to listen to any music, and he sure as hell didn't want anyone disturbing the peace, so he had his windows rolled up, and his heater blasting. The clanking from the legos he shoved down there years ago rattled loudly. I hope Sam is asleep when I get back. Dean thought to himself, as he pulled up in the parking spot in front of the room. He noticed something was off though, the lights were all dimmed in the room, but the door was slightly open. His heart skipped a quick beat, and Dean exited the car hurrying to the trunk, he popped it, and lifted the secret latch. There was a shotgun sitting front and center, and he grabbed it. Holding it at the ready, he approached the door slowly, pushing it open with the end.
"Sam?" Dean called out into the room. There was no answer. Dean then flicked the lights all the way on and noticed no one was here, but the room did have a putrid smell to it. Dean gagged slightly, only to recognize the scent, puke? Dean questioned as he walked over to Sam's bed. He noticed puke strewn on the side of the blanket. Oh god Sammy. Then his phone rang, the familiar ring tone meaning Sam was trying to get his attention. He couldn't get it out of his pocket, and hoped he didn't miss the call. As soon as it was in his hand, he flipped it open. "Sammy, where are you?" He practically yelled. So much for remaining calm. He told himself. But when Sam started to speak, he knew something was very wrong.
"Dean, East side of the building, you need to come…" Then nothing, not a sound, like the phone had hung up.
"SAM!" Dean yelled into the small phone. When he got no answer he ran out of the door. East side of the building. He told himself as he sprinted. When he finally reached it, he realized it was really to dark to see anything, so Dean did what Dean did naturally…call out to his brother and hope to god he was able to answer. "Sammy?" Dean called warily. In response there was a gagging cough, and Dean recognized it. "Sam?" Dean called again, and followed the coughing to about four feet away from the dumpster. He dropped to his knees next to his brother and put his head in his lap. "Sammy, speak to me, what's wrong?" Dean knew the chances of Sam answering in his current state were slim to none, but he figured he would give it a try. He slapped Sam's face lightly, and when that didn't work, he began rubbing on Sam's shirt to see if he can find something. It only took a minute for Dean to feel the warm liquid soaking Sam's shirt. He lifted it up so he could see it in the tiny floodlight, and indeed there was now blood dying Dean's hand red. "SAM?!" Dean yelled shaking his brother lightly, but rough enough to finally get a response out of him.
"Dean?" Sam asked weakly. His eyes were darting side to side, and he looked very confuse and very pale, to pale for his brothers liking.
"Sammy, it's ok, we are going to get you some help ok?" Dean choked back tears as he reached for his cell phone, the only way Sam was going to make it was if Dean called 911 and he knew that.
"Dean, why is it so cold?" Sam asked, his eyes beginning to close.
"No Sam, sorry you can't do that, you can't go to sleep ok?" Dean asked him smacking his face a little more. "Now I want you to keep your eyes on me, tell me a story, or sing me a song, something." Dean prodded as he waited for the 911 operator to come on the line.
"911 what is your emergency?" The operator's calm voice came over the receiver.
"My brother has been hurt; I need an ambulance at the Chester Motel." Dean kind of yelled. The nice voice on the line put the phone down, and he heard her voice saying something to someone, then she got back on the phone.
"You are going to need to calm down sir; the emergency crew is on the way." Assuring him made him feel no better, just more scared. "Now sir, can you stay on the line with me until emergency service…" Dean hung up the phone and placed it on the ground, turning his attention back to the wavering Sam. His eyes were fluttering, he was trying to keep them open, and Dean saw that, but he knew that Sam wasn't going to be able to stay conscious much longer.
"Sammy listen to me, you can't fall asleep on me ok? I mean, this injury isn't even that bad." Dean assured him, but the tears welling up in his eyes would have said different.
"De'n, d'nt cry." Sam kind of chuckled, his bloody lips spreading apart into a smile. But it faded as fast as it came, and Sam's raspy breaths stopped.
"SAM!?" Dean yelled. When there was no answer, Dean checked for Sam's pulse. Nothing. "SAM!" Dean yelled as he grabbed his brother's head and cradled it. "No, you can't do this. I hear the sirens you little bitch" Dean tried everything to get Sam to open his eyes again, but nothing, and by the time the paramedics showed up and dragged Sam out of Dean's hands, he had been dead for at least six minutes.
The woman paramedic held onto Dean, while the large male began working on Sam. He inserted a tube down Sam's throat, then looked up at the female paramedic,
"We have a slight thready pulse; we need to get him in now." His voice was stern and strict. She looked at Dean with her bright blue eyes and apologized swiftly. She ran to Sam's side, and Dean was frozen in place. He watched as they lifted Sam onto the stretcher, and as they loaded him in the ambulance. When Dean offered to ride along, the paramedics informed him there was going to be no room in the back, and Dean quietly stood aside, his heart and soul in tethers and the shock of everything happening so quickly finally setting in. With the ambulance sirens now fading, Dean slumped to the ground, his hands covered in Sam's blood. The tears began to drip down his cheeks; he didn't know what to do.
Quickly he collected himself, and lifted his body off of the ground. He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and he jumped behind the wheel of his car. I will be there when Sam wakes up. Dean coaxed himself to start the car.
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The hospital smelt strange as Dean hovered over a nasty cup of coffee. His face nearly between his knees, the sensations of exhaustion and worry flooded his entire being. He had just gotten off of the phone with Bobby who would be here as soon as he could. Dean glanced down at his watch and rose from the uncomfortable chair in the "person waiting room". He had a cousin once when he was younger, and when she got into a car accident, they put the family in a room like this, so they could break the bad news about her being dead without freaking out the rest of the waiting room. Sammy you better not die on me or I will bring you back just to kill you. Dean scolded to himself.
"Are you the brother of Sam Smithson?" A gruff voice asked, making Dean spin around quickly. He hadn't even heard the man open the door.
"Yeah, I am." Dean rushed to the doctors' side.
"Well, Sam is very lucky. We lost him three times on the operating table, but we were able to bring him back every time, he sure is a fighter. But his kidney was cut open, and he had a lot of internal bleeding." The doctor closed his chart and looked at Dean.
"Well doc, does that mean he is going to be ok?" Dean prodded, giving the man a very stern Winchester look.
"Well, in a sense, yes. But, we had to remove the Kidney. Meaning, he is now going to have a hard time doing things of contact, because, well, if he gets hit on his side of his good kidney and damages it, there isn't another one to compensate, and then things will get very tricky. But besides that, we recommend Sam staying here for the next couple of days to rest and make sure there are no complications from the surgery." The doctor informed a now relieved looking Dean. His pager went off, and he apologized and rushed out of the room. But in a passing glance the doctor yelled to Dean, "room number 311, I am sure he will be glad to see you."
Dean immediately bee-lined for the elevator, sure he couldn't get up there fast enough. When he reached the door, he saw Sam was still asleep, a tube going through his nose, and monitors beeping, Dean took a seat right next to his bed. You see Sam I told you I would be here when you woke up. Dean chuckled to himself. He grabbed Sam's hand and squeezed tight. The tears welling up in his eyes.
"Everything is going to be ok now Sammy. I promise." Dean whispered.