Work Text:
2 minutes. 2 minute 15 seconds. 2 minute 30 seconds.
‘Come on, Sammy. Come back to me, come on.’
He’d been repeating the same mantra for the past 3 minutes now, but Sam showed no sign of coming to.
3 minute 15 seconds. 3 minute 30 seconds.
Dean knows he’s gonna have to call 911 if it lasts any longer, but his phone is on the nightstand and they are sitting on the floor at the end of Sam’s bed, what seems like miles away.
4 minutes. 4 minute 15 seconds. 4 minutes 30 seconds.
‘Come back to me, Sammy. Come on, come back.’
And then suddenly the tightness lifts from Sam’s muscles and he goes lax against Dean. Dean heaves a deep sigh and lets the feeling of relief wash over him. He closes his eyes for a second to will away the tears that had gathered in the corner of his eyes during the episode. God, he hates Sam’s seizures with a vengeance. Damn Cass for bringing that fucking wall down.
He dares to move Sam a little so he’s leaning against Dean more comfortably before releasing Sam’s hands and massaging his arms a little. He doesn’t want Sam to be in any more pain when he fully comes to. Except it doesn’t look like Sam is coming around.
‘Sam? Sammy, are you with me?’
Dean shakes Sam a little, craning his neck to look at Sam’s face. It’s blank, eyes closed, slightly pale. And non responsive. Fuck.
‘Sammy? Come on, Sammy, don’t do this to me. Snap out of it. Sam!’
He scrambles to get out from under Sam, a constant thrum on “no, no, no, no” humming under his skin. He carefully levers Sam to the ground and bends over him to check for breathing. His cheek comes away damp, thankfully, and when he checks Sam’s pulse he finds it. It’s weak and slightly off, but it’s there. Relief momentarily floods through his system but it is short lived.
Worry sets heavy in his gut again. Sam’s out cold and Dean doesn’t know why or what to do. This has never happened before. He tries shaking Sam again, slap his face a little, even pinch the thin skin on his thigh. Sam stays unresponsive.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit Sam, come on!’
He takes his hands off his little brother and sits back, frantically trying to think of something to do. Just when he’s about to call an ambulance, phony story about epilepsy hastily thought up, Sam sniffles and his eyes flutter open. Dean is on him in nano-seconds, pushing him gently down when Sam tries to scramble up.
‘Wha-... What happened? Why’m I on the floor? Dean?’
Confused eyes meet Dean’s and he cracks a forced smile.
‘Welcome back, princess. Decided to catch some sleep in the middle of the day, huh?’
He hears the shiver in his voice and by the small frown between Sam’s eye brows, Sam hears it too. He struggles to his elbows and then upright when Dean lets him.
‘What happened, Dean?’
Sam sounds genuinely confused, which is a new one for Dean. Sam always, fucking always remembers the flashbacks from his time in hell, no matter how much Dean wishes he didn’t. He’s not sure what’s different now, but he also knows he can’t lie to Sam. “You just fainted” won’t go unquestioned for sure and “You got hit and went out cold” brings up different but equally unanswerable questions.
‘You had a fit.’
He won’t elaborate, but he doesn’t have to he knows. Sam’s face clouds over as expected, but then changes into confusion, also expected. Sam’s not stupid.
‘Why don’t I remember it? I always remember it.’
He looks at Dean as if he would have an answer, but all Dean can do is shrug.
‘Don’t know. But just take it, okay? Do you want to remember?’
Dean briskly gets up from his crouch and stomps to the bathroom to splash some water in his face. He doesn’t know why he is suddenly pissed off and he knows he shouldn’t take it out on Sam, but damn it, Sam was out for almost 5 minutes and Dean couldn’t do a damn thing! He got scared okay? Real scared.
Sam appears in the narrow doorway, the earlier frown still present on his face, although Dean suspects it’s for a different reason now.
‘Everything alright, Dean?’
He heaves a sigh and straightens to face Sam with an apologetic shrug.
‘Yeah. Just tired, is all. Your diva fainting spells give me migraines, man.’
They both know it’s a lie, but Sam doesn’t call him on it and Dean’s not about to admit it. Instead, he calls Sam frail and pushes past him out of the bathroom. He rummages through his duffle to stall having to look at Sam and be faced with Sam’s puppy dog eyes and pout that Dean knows he won’t be able to resist. He’s just not feeling the chick flick mood right now.
A thump behind him has him looking up anyway, but not to the sight he expects. Instead, he finds the doorway to the bathroom empty, save for Sam’s feet sticking out. Dean is up in half a second.
‘Sam?’
He rushes to the bathroom. Sam is lying on his back, his face contorted with pain, his hands clench and unclench into fists and loose. Dean can almost hear Sam’s teeth scrape over each other in the tight set of his jaw. Before Dean can think of what to do, Sam’s head starts thrashing around, slamming into the toilet bowl and on the ground and he has to act, now.
‘Shit! Sam, no! Fuck Sammy, shit, shit, shit.’
He curses his way through the small space to Sam’s head, rearranging his limbs so he can sit at Sam’s head, resting it in his lap. He’s pressed awkwardly into a corner between the bathtub and the toilet, but he could be sitting in a pile of fire ants and glass for all he cares right now. He needs to help Sam.
Dean holds Sam’s head between his hands to try and prevent it from thrashing around too much. But then Sam’s entire body jerks and starts flailing uncontrollably. Sam’s legs kicking out, his arm swinging around and hitting everything within reach, his back bowing and straightening so fast and hard it has to hurt.
Shifting around, Dean finds a position so he can sit with his back against the tub and pull Sam closer to him. He stretches out his legs, blood rushing back to his toes with a tingle. He hooks his arms under Sam’s armpits and hauls him up and against his chest. Sam’s head lolls to the side, resting against Dean’s shoulder. The jerking has stopped and Dean breathes a sigh of relief that Sam at least won’t head butt him. It is short lived.
As soon as Sam is half upright against Dean’s chest, his body locks up tight and his breathing stops. Dean can actually feel it hitch in Sam’s chest and not release.
‘Sam? Come on, Sammy, breathe! Breathe, damn it!’
Panic floods his system and the only thing he can think of doing is bend Sam over at the waist and thump him in the back, between his shoulder blades and force the air back in and out. It’s more of a roll to the side, Sam’s body rigid and stiff, but Dean manages to pound Sam’s back twice before he hears the desperate gulp for air.
He hauls Sam back up against his chest and cranes his neck to look over Sam’s shoulder. Sam is panting, his face red and his eyes watering.
‘Sammy? You okay?’
Sam shakes his head jerkily, still gasping for air, but Dean can feel his chest expanding a little more with every breath. He places a hand on Sam’s chest to feel his heart, thankful to find it fast but not irregular.
‘Just breathe, Sam, okay? Come on, breathe.’
He keeps murmuring encouragements in Sam’s ear until Sam has calmed down for the most part. He’s getting breath normally and the seizure seems to have stopped. Only then does Dean dare to let out the breath he had been holding.
‘Sammy?’
Sam’s voice is wrecked, but it’s there when he answers.
‘Yeah.’
‘Good.’
And he has to ask. He has to figure out what is going on. He can’t just sit here, with his seizing little brother in his arms, and not know what is happening to Sam.
‘Lucifer?’
Sam just shakes his head.
‘Good.’
It’s not, it means he’s no closer to knowing why Sam is having these episodes, but at least he’s not being tortured by hallucinations of Lucifer on top of it. He counts it as a minor win.
He keeps his arms around Sam, Sam still slumped against his chest. They sit in silence for what feels like hours, Dean every so often pinching Sam and Sam pinching back. I’m still here. The cold from the tiled floor is seeping through both their jeans, but neither are able to care. It’s Sam who speaks up first.
‘Dean? I don’t feel too good...’
Dean’s heart stops and he has to swallow down the bile threatening to come up and spill. It’s the last thing he wants Sam to say to him right now. Instead of freaking out like he really, really wants to do, he swallows a few times and forces his voice to sound calm. Or calmer. He can’t freak out Sam if there is something really wrong.
‘How?’
Sam shifts in his lap, moving his head so it’s resting on Dean’s shoulder more and Sam can look at Dean. His eyes are dull and the frown in between them indicates the massive headache Sam must have. His speech is slightly slurred too.
‘I don’t...Headache. I’m nauseous and my fingers tingle. My head spins too. Like... dizzy. I think I’m gonna...’
Sam doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before his eyes roll back in his head and his breath hitches again. Dean panics and shakes Sam to try and keep him awake, with Dean.
‘Oh no, no, no, no... Don’t so this to me again, Sammy!’
Sam’s head jerks up and bangs against his shoulder hard coming down. He flinches, it’s his bad shoulder too. But when Sam’s limbs start shaking and spasming too, he doesn’t have the strength and time to change positions. He has to protects Sam from hurting himself while also trying to get him out of the seizure. Sure, Dean, and cure cancer while you’re at it too.
One thing at a time then. Dean pulls Sam up by his arms so he’s almost completely upright against Dean’s chest and wraps his arms around Sam’s torso. He manages to grab Sam’s arms and force them to bend at the elbows so he can fold them against Sam’s chest and hold him still by the wrists. He traps Sam’s legs with his own legs, Sam’s head now the only thing free to flail.
He gets head butted by Sam a few times, but it’s mostly his shoulder that gets the brunt of it. Sam’s head is hard and the spasms wracking his muscles are strong. Dean can practically feel the bruise forming on his shoulder. It goes stiff already, too hurt too many times to take this. But he’ll gladly take it if it means Sam’s not hurting himself.
When the seizure lets up and Sam goes still and unresponsive again, Dean heaves a deep sigh. He lets his head drop to Sam’s shoulder and closes his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep himself in check. No use in freaking out now. He can’t let go of Sam yet, curled around Sam is comforting him a little. He can feel Sam breathing under his hands, his heart beating. Sam’s alive. Unresponsive, but alive.
He tries to wake Sam, but it’s no use. Sam’s out cold - again - and Dean can’t do shit. With one last attempt, he prays.
‘Cass? Shit man, I don’t even know if you’re alive or what. But... If you can hear me, if you’re still out there? I need help. Anyone, please.’
He shakes his head, he knows no one will answer. But it’s all he’s got and he’s desperate.
‘Please, someone, anyone. I know you don’t give a shit about us, but we could really, really use your help right now. Please. I’m not asking for a lot, just let me keep Sam. Let me keep him, please.’
He buries his face in Sam’s neck and takes a few deep, steadying breaths. Sam’s smell is comforting, familiar, safe and it calms him slightly. His mind slows down until it’s nothing more than “Let me keep Sam, please. Let me keep him.”
Forcing the tears down and his voice steady, he takes one last desperate attempt.
‘Please. Just... If anyone, anyone at all, is out there? Please just take five seconds to help us. Help me. Let me keep Sam, please. Don’t take him away now. Not now, not after everything. I know we’ve already asked for a lot, but we’ve also given a lot, you know? Please. Just... He’s had such a hard time already. He doesn’t deserve this. Please, just... Make him better, let him stay. Please.’
‘Not going anywhere, Dean.’
Sam’s voice is nothing more than a broken whisper, but it’s there. Dean’s heart leaps and he shuffles them a bit to be able to look at Sam properly. He’s pale and his eyes are bloodshot, but he’s awake and that’s all Dean needs right now.
Sam cracks a tired, broken smile.
‘It’s hell... Just... Hell. Just hell after all.’
It sounds almost comical, “just” hell, but Dean has never been happier to hear those words. Just hell. It means Sam’s not having some freak seizures that he can’t explain. It means Sam is Sam and they can deal with this. They can. Dean’s not sure how and quite honestly horrified by the thought this might get worse and one day Sam might actually not come back to him. He might lose Sam anyway, choked to death on his own memories.
‘Stop thinking so loud and help me get to bed. Please.’
Sam sound tired, but like Sam. Bitchiness evident in his voice with an underlying tone of gratitude and love.
‘Yeah yeah, princess. Let’s go.’
Dean pulls himself up, knees popping and blood rushing to his numb butt, and then helps Sam sit up and eventually stand up on wobbly legs. They make their way to the bed and Sam crawls under the covers as soon as Dean has pulled his boots off.
Dean feels Sam’s forehead and neck for warmth. He forces Sam to drink some water and take some Tylenol for the headache. He checks Sam’s heartbeat again.
‘How’re you feeling? Headache, nausea?’
Sam shakes his head and closes his eyes.
‘Nah, just tired. Leave me alone, mother hen.’
A small smile forces its way onto Dean’s face and he lets it. Sam’s here, alive and he’s gonna be fine. Dean’ll make sure of that. The cold vice around his heart finally releases and Dean takes a deep breath. He puts his hand on Sam’s chest and just feels his heart beating.