Chapter Text
"Heya, buddy. Ready to go?"
Dean crouches in from Baby's open side door and smirks at his baby brother, who peers at Dean under his bangs, his hands reaching forward on his sprawled position, chuckling happily. Dean takes Sam's arms, placing them to both sides of his own neck, and slides his own arm under Sam's jeans-clad butt and another behind Sam’s stiff neck, checking that the wedge cushions are left behind as they proceed.
Right now Sam’s neck is rigidly holding up on its own, but Dean can't risk it falling limp all of a sudden and Sam getting hurt. He lifts Sam up, hoping fervently that the spasm won't proceed further, and pats the mop of hair on the back of Sam's head.
"Hold tight, okay, Sammy?" He ensures, taking care that his own arms are securely around his younger brother, keeping him up against his own chest. Sam's answer is but a soft breath tickling his ear, but he knows what it means. "Good, here we go."
He takes the small steps backwards needed to get his brother up and out of the car, towards Sam's stroller that is waiting just outside, assembled ready before opening Sam's door in the first place.
Sam owns a wheelchair as well, but he prefers his stroller because he simply likes it better: he can lay asleep on it if he suddenly gets tired and needs a nap, and its soft form is gentle for his achy back. Dean assumes Sam's preference has got something to do with the stroller's form as a protective nest too. From Dean’s own point of view, if Sam accidentally wets or soils himself or he has to struggle with his excessive production of saliva, he will be protected from the curious or judgmental glances.
However, where they are now they don't need to worry about things like that. Dean turns Sam's stroller around, so that the boy can see the big, white-tiled building opening to a beautiful lake view, and chuckles gently at Sam's delighted squeal as he goes around Baby and locks the doors meticulously one by one.
Sam feels safe and loved here, and he is always happy to come back. Seeing that kind of ease completely fill Sam’s whole being makes Dean always warm inside, although a little sentimental and sad too. Sam hasn’t got many places in his life like that nowadays.
"Here we are, buddy," he says to Sam evenly, arranges Sam’s still rigid arms inside the stroller to not to get hurt as they go and starts to push the stroller towards the building's side doors. "It's a pool day today. Your favourite, huh?"
Sam complies, letting out a voice some random people would call just an indecipherable groan. To Dean, however, it is all unique to Sam, telling plenty of Sam's current condition, both physical and mental, as well as his mood. The pitch and intonation of the voice, its length, the amount of coarseness or softness in it. And to Dean's relief, right now Sam's good, splendid even.
"Hi, Winchesters!"
A tiny, blond lady with a perky ponytail is striding towards them, waving her hand as she approaches. The stroller trembles as Sam jumps uncoordinatedly up and down, hollering his enthused greeting at the young physical therapist.
"Woah, don't you take off, buddy," Dean exclaims as he barely dodges the stony edge of the path as the stroller takes a sudden turn at Sam’s antics. Sam stops right at that, almost freezes, and his voice is tiny and trembling as he vocalizes his apology.
Dean is quick to relent, stopping the stroller and going around it, kneeling in front of his brother. "Don't need to apologize," he tells his brother softly, reaching to wipe a bang of Sam's tousled hair off of his face. "I was just startled, that's all. If you want to fly, I will learn to ride the plane for you, dude."
Sam lets out a soft coo, recognizing the lyrics of a song Dean sings to him every night and always makes up the new words for. Dean answers with a smile and a little thumb rub on Sam's temple, and Sam leans to the touch instantly.
"You're a real huggy bear, you know that Sammy," Dean says softly before he turns to the sound of steps against the concrete. "Are we ready for some playing in the water?"
Sam chuckles, and Dean taps his little brother's arm and stands up to see the physical therapist beside them. "Hello, Jo," he greets. "Your number one fans have arrived."
Jo smiles at him, then turns to Sam and extends her hand to touch Sam's arm. "Hello, Sam," she says warmly and receives a groan from Sam thats tone is what Jo recognizes as a greeting. "I think that goes the other way around as well. This way, please. I thought today we would exercise with Sam in a deep water. And later, with Naomi, there would be some swallowing exercises as you told me Sam is still on a puree diet. How’s that sounding?"
Dean moves Sam's stroller matching his speed with Jo's, his brow frowning. "I think Naomi should be warned that there could be some challenges," he starts. "Sam hates the swallowing still. But we have talked at home what it means if he can do it properly again, and I think the idea of eating whole strawberries appeals to him."
Jo laughs. "Good point."
"Deep pool though…," Dean sighs and glances at Sam, who travels in his stroller looking contented and relaxed, turning his head towards sounds and voices to look what’s going on around them. There is always much to see for Sam here — people walking around the park, others coming in and out of the main building, some sitting on the lawn or the benches and having a good time or chilling out with their families, friends or carers. -I know Sam would love that.
Jo is quick to catch the older brother's hesitation. "But?" She says encouragingly.
Dean shakes his head, a little unsure. "I don't know if this is my over-protectiveness again," he starts apologingly. "But... I think I found Sam's legs a little weak this morning when we had our morning stretch. I don't know... A little less sinewy than usual, maybe."
Jo nods solemnly at that, opening the door and letting Sam and Dean enter the building before herself. "Good that you brought that up," she reassures. "Hey, let's move today's exercise to a shallow pool. I can do the same exercises there with a little adjustments and it's easier for me to follow Sam's proceedings and less daunting for him should there be something off today, she tells the older brother."
"I have Claire assisting me today, so we'll have two sets of eyes if needed at any time. And if you’d like, I can ask dr. Lafitte to check on Sam after we are done?"
Dean nods, his smile relieved. "Thanks Jo, you're over the top," he says.
Jo returns the smile, waving the praise away. "Not at all," she says perkily. "Are you going to join us today at the pools, Dean?"
"I will wait in the cafe this time," Dean tells her. "I have made an appointment there. I will help Sam into his swimming trunks and to the pool and then I'll be off."
"That's fine, we’ll give you a call when dr. Benjamin is ready with Sam," Jo replies as she turns to the right from the end of the hall. "Good luck with the meeting!"
"Thanks," Dean says, not saying out loud the nervous it will be needed he suddenly has playing in repeat inside his head. Instead, he turns Sam's stroller to the left, where the dressing rooms are, and ruffles his baby brother's hair playfully. "Come, Sam, let's go and make you a real Aquaman."
—
Castiel has woken up at 5 a.m. to get ready for his job interview. He has checked the place from the map on the internet fifteen times: Juniper Creek Rehabilitation Center, 35 minutes by bus number 23 from downtown.
This is Castiel's first real interview. He is a registered nurse, but has got his first job with his older brother Balthazar, an University Hospital Chief Physician’s, kind contribution, and after that the jobs have just popped out. He has noticed that his forte isn't in the hospital ward, he's too slow to get to know new people and when he does, they get discharged from the hospital and Castiel stays behind to miss them. He can live with that, certainly, as he understands that it is a happy occasion for someone to get back home from the hospital, but to Castiel personally it is a nightmare.
Castiel assumes he has been quite one of a kind already from his childhood. His parents and closest friends couldn't have been more loving and supportive, but among the stranger people he has always noticed something off in their attitude towards him.
At school, other children found him odd as he wasn’t interested in running around and screaming but preferred the most silenced corners of the school yard and meticulous observing of little details.
When he was studying to become a nurse, there were only a handful of lecturers who could stand his detailed questions and were willing to answer them instead of finding them irritating. That sort of things.
Balthazar taking him under his wings was a real stroke of luck for Castiel. It gave him a chance to show what he was made of.
Juniper Creek Rehabilitation Center is luckily a familiar place for him. As a home nurse, a job he had one year, he rode the elderly people there to have their day activity, and he also remembers this young guy who hobbled into Cas' car with crutches and then out to the center to have his physical therapy.
Juniper Creek is a wide-ranging rehab center, with the knowledge and passion for all kinds of life situations one could think of needing a physical therapy in. There is also occupational therapy and groups that assemble in the bright, nicely painted second floor classrooms. Castiel has once assisted one of his clients there, to the room called "Rosehip".
The bus bell rings, and Castiel startles out of his thoughts. His stop is the next one. He gathers his things quickly, fumbling a little with his backpack and gloves and umbrella before he is out of the bus. The sky is all clear and blue, but it's the autumn approaching and Castiel hates to feel unprepared.
The rehab center's white walls shine bright in the early midday sunlight on the other side of the big lawn area. Castiel thinks for a fleeting moment if his interviewer will find his heavy clothing and umbrella weird. He starts to count if he has time to take them to his friend Anna's office to hide them there, but then he stops at the lobby and sees the man sitting in Cafe Violet.
He must be Mr. Winchester, Castiel deduces and purges his plan as ineffective and besides rude, considering his interviewer is already sitting there waiting for him. It's fifteen minutes until eleven o'clock, and Castiel changes from his feet to another as he thinks what he should do. Would it be over-enthusiastic to show up this much early in a job interview?
But what else could he do? His clothes, hair, all is impeccable, he has checked that the last time in the bus driver's mirror at 10.05 when he hopped in, and he hasn't moved at all sitting there, he has meticulously taken care of that. Even the weather has been perfect, not even the breeze has had a chance to tousle his hair. Still, he smooths his side parting once, just to do something, and then he stands there, changing his umbrella from his other hand to another.
Mr. Winchester is drinking his black coffee looking calm, his eyes on a newspaper in front of him. He actually doesn't look Mr. anything at all — his demeanor is casual, his leather boots slightly muddy like he just came from a farmhouse job. He has jeans and black t-shirt that are neat, but his flannel, tugged up until his elbows, is again a little rugged. There is a cowboy style leather jacket hanging on the backrest of his chair.
Castiel ponders if the Mr. and his younger brother live on a farm, if they live just the two of them or if they have other family. Castiel himself lived with Balthazar first when he moved away from home to get to the nursing school. It was quite nice, he recalls.
Suddenly The Mr. shifts on his chair, stretches his arms up and backwards and lifts his gaze. The shining green eyes stop right on Castiel’s, and his head is instantly void of any reasonable thoughts. He gulps, vehemently trying to find a reason he was gazing at his job interviewer on the other side of the lobby, making no attempt to approach and make himself known. Before he can make up anything like that, the Mr. — Castiel really must make up another way to call the man, for sure — flashes a lopsided smile and a wave. He’s already standing when Castiel gets to him.
"I assume you are Castiel Novak?" the green-eyed one says, extending his hand to a firm shake. "I’m Dean Winchester. I’m interviewing you on behalf of my brother, Sam Winchester."
Castiel returns the gesture, introducing himself. Dean Winchester nods and signs for him to sit down. "I had a little extra time," he says almost apologingly as he folds the newspaper and puts it out of the way. "With Sam, I don’t usually have much spare time to read the news just by myself."
Castiel nods, understanding, but beware of not being too sympathetic. He doesn’t know Dean Winchester yet after all, so better be cautious.
Dean, on the other hand, seems anything but cautious. He smiles again as he looks at Castiel, taking a sip from his mineral water glass on the table. "So, I have had my coffee already," he says. "Would you like to order something before we get started?"
Castiel inhales, ready to decline, but Dean seems so natural in his offer that Castiel goes for the opposite. "A mint tea, please," he complies.
However, Castiel can’t go so far with his lack of manners that he would let Dean fetch him the beverage, so they go together to the counter and Castiel makes the tea for himself when Dean takes care of the payment.
"This is the most unconventional job interview I have ever been in," Castiel remarks as they sit down. He realizes right after what he has blurted out just how bad that sounds, but luckily Dean only smirks back.
"That’s what we are, Sam and me," he states. "Besides, I haven’t had many job interviews in the role of an interviewer. Well, I suppose I shouldn’t have said that out loud." Dean’s expression is a little sheepish.
Castiel smiles. "I think that means we are even."
Dean nods, looking content. "I guess it does."
From that on, it isn’t any less unconventional. They take a moment to enjoy their drinks, and then Dean clears his throat and reaches for his leather coat on the edge of his chair, rummaging in its pockets and pulling out a wrinkled piece of paper.
"Let’s start then," he states, reading straight from the paper. "Castiel, why do you want to be a carer?"
Castiel gulps. This is it. He has rehearsed this many times with Balthazar and Gabriel, although only the first one mentioned was really of some help as the latter one concentrated mainly on his beer and joking around. That was one detail Castiel hadn’t thought beforehand: don’t approve for the job interview at Saturday morning because your closest advisors might arrive tipsy at the last minute panic prepping the evening before. With Balthazar that wasn’t any issue, because Castiel’s all decent older brother is sharp as a nail whenever needed, but Gabe… Well, he is a completely different story.
Thanks to Balthazar though, this answer is thought through millions of times. "I… I just like it," Castiel fumbles. Oh shit, this isn’t a good start, not at all. "Uhm, you know that I’m a nurse…"
And then his thoughts just go all over the place, starting to buzz and mingle and bump around his mind uncontrollably.
Of course he knows, idiot, it’s all written in there in your papers!
"… and I love that, but somehow I found myself yearning for a little more intimate setting than in a hospital."
Intimate! Where did that come from? Like ‘Hello, I’m Castiel, I’m a lunatic who hunts disabled people as his prey to attack them when their loved ones are not at home’...
"Hmm, I mean, in a hospital you meet your patients for the short time that they are there and then they are gone. I miss for a longer time of knowing my patients, and to really be a part of their life. I’m told that I’m at my best when people get to know me and I can really interact…"
That wasn’t the thing you were supposed to start with! You should start by telling why you are a good deal for the employer, not why you would love the job!
"...A-and I have very good recommendations also because of my diligence and accuracy in everything I do, he ends, not at all sure where his blabbering has got him into."
Dean hums, looking contemplative. Then he glances at the paper in his hand, crinkles it and stuffs it into his empty coffee mug. Castiel swallows, trying to quell the horror splashing around his stomach and clawing its way up towards his throat. No nausea, not now, he pleads inaudibly. If he vomited in front of his potential employer he would never get the job.
"Actually, the thing I want to do here is to get to know you, as much as it's possible in this little time we have here," Dean says slowly, not seeming to notice his interwievees current distress. Maybe it’s a good thing, Castiel hopes. "I dare to say I know my brother better than anyone in this world… and I think I know when I see the one who's good for him. And of course, Sam will have his say in this choice as well."
Castiel relaxes just a little. Maybe this would go better if they just talked, if he doesn’t need to fear for cross-examination. "Where is Sam now?" He asks, saying the very first thing coming to his mind.
Dean waves vaguely over his shoulder. "Sam is having his therapies," he tells. "This is the place we come to regularly. Every Saturday at 10 a.m. he has hydrotherapy, and speech therapy right after that."
He glances at his coffee mug, now filled with a paper he crumbled there earlier, and huffs. Castiel relaxes a bit more.
"So tell me about you," Dean says, taking a sip of his mineral water instead. "Who is Castiel Novak?"
That question is so much easier to answer, and Dean seems to be a good listener. Not long after Castiel finds himself telling Dean Winchester not only about his nurse years, but also his school time and hopes for the future. They really seem to connect, and Castiel needs to struggle to keep his speech on a point.
Maybe he talks too much about some things, for example Mrs. Rosie, who he stills misses dearly. Dean doesn’t seem to mind though to hear about Castiel and an elder and paraplegic, full-of-life lady’s adventures around the town. After some fifteen minutes, Dean’s cell phone beeps, and after he has checked it, he seems to blink himself back to reality.
"Hmm, I assume you would like to hear some more about Sam," he says a little distractedly, and Castiel wants to punch himself. He should have asked that himself. He nods, hoping that Dean hasn’t noticed.
"Certainly."
"As it's said in the job description, Sam needs around-a-clock care, but you would be with him during the daytime, when I'm at work," Dean starts to tell. Castiel listens with interest, ready to make some on-point and intelligent questions the importance of which Balthazar emphasized yesterday. Maybe he can still prove that he would be a competent carer for Sam.
"As I have planned, I would make him ready for the day, but you would be taking care of him when I'm away — his eating, daily home rehabilitation, meds, any transfers and personal hygiene," Dean keeps on, and Castiel nods, just to show that he’s on board. That was Gabriel’s advice — he had his moments yesterday as well.
"Of course you and Sam would keep each other company too, and you would be keeping an eye on Sam for any sudden ordeal with his health and be ready to help him yourself or call for help. As a RN and when you get to know Sam, I'm sure you'll be able to see the difference."
Dean stops, like wanting to stress this detail, and Castiel nods again. That he can do, for sure.
"Usually I take care of taking him here for his therapies, but occasionally it could be your task as well. I take him with my car, but Sam has a communal taxi service card for his trips here and back home you would be able to use for free as his appointed carer. Sam has a wheelchair, but we also have a recliner in our living room he spends quite much of his time on when we are together at home. On errands, he prefers a stroller we have as well. He likes swimming and libraries."
Castiel notices his chance quickly. "I like libraries as well," he says.
Dean’s eyes light up at that. "Yeah? What else do you like?"
Castiel keeps on a little sheepishly, now that he really is the center of Dean’s attention. "Bees and… observing."
Dean raises his eyebrow. "Observing?"
Castiel swallows nervously. He is used to being laughed at or at least having some eye-rolling at this point at the latest. "Yes. I like all nature and humankind particularly interesting," he tries to explain, all enthusiasm lost from his voice and filled by incertainty, his eyes slightly downcast. "The more you stop to observe, the more peculiar it will seem."
Dean smirks and chuckles, but not at all unkindly. "I'm sure you would have fun with Sam. He's a regular nerd."
Castiel nods with a little smile. Sam sounds like a nice guy. But he has some questions to ask as well. He hesitates, not wanting to kill the good mood they have managed to create between them. "Hmmm… How do you put Sam's… situation… into your own words?"
Dean's eyes flash instantly at that, with a fire that comes and goes away as quickly, but Castiel sees it and ponders with concern if his question was wrongly phrased, if this was it for him and this job. It's a shame if that's so, he thinks with melancholy, he has already started to think that this would be a suitable job for him.
Dean takes a long sigh and runs his hand over his face. "My brother has many issues, I can't deny that," he says softly. "He had a stroke as a baby that messed badly with his brain and mobility, and a car crash we got in just a couple of years ago —" , Dean stops and turns abruptly to look away, "gave the final touch. He has always communicated without words, so the doctors say it’s not possible to gauge accurately where he really stands. But some say his IQ would be somewhere between 20-25. Like a three-year-old guy. But sometimes he seems to me like someone who has lived a thousand years."
Castiel nods silently, and the fire in Dean's eyes comes back after a short moment of softness. Castiel suddenly understands it's protectiveness.
"But, you see," Dean hisses and lays his arms on the table, coming imposingly closer, "the thing is: he's my Sammy. He might be as fucking profoundly anything, but in my eyes he's my brilliant, dumb, lovable and pain-in-the-ass little brother. He's not treated like any diagnosis, like any age level the tests show or the letters scramble the doctors have decided to scribble on his papers. Not under my watch. He's to be treated as himself, a person, the way any situation calls for, individually. You got me?"
Dean's eyes still shoot the flashes of thunder, but he sits back, taking his mineral water and sipping from it, short, angry gulps. Castiel sits on the edge of his chair, all still and thinking. He takes his spoon from his tea cup, puts it back, takes a gulp of air and speaks, slowly and thoughtfully.
"I'm not particularly fond of any diagnoses," he finally says, thinking as he speaks. "Of course I know they are needed for health professionals to know something about their patients, but. Outside of that. I think they are… Like labels. Tags. Price tags. You put them in ham, in cheese, in a box of cherries… But not to humans. Humans just are. You need to know the person to know how they are. It isn't enough to know that they are human."
As he speaks, Dean's stormy eyes calm down, turning from a dark and fierce whirlwind into a dizzyingly deep lagune on a bright summer day. "I think I get what you mean," he says softly.
First time in his life Castiel dares to feel quite confident that this job would be his.
—
Dean strides purposefully along the long corridor from the lobby towards the medical part of the rehabilitation center. His thoughts go a mile a minute, rewinding the encounter he just had with a dizzyingly blue-eyed registered nurse, Castiel Novak. The guy was really something. Eccentric, to put in a one word. One of a kind. Dean’s not hundred percent sure if that would be a good thing with Sam.
Earlier, when he was writing a job application for Sam’s caregiver, he had in mind something else entirely. A motherly woman in her 50’s, long experience with people like Sam, a soothing attitude, a confident air waffling around her. It became clear quite soon that they didn’t have so many alternatives to choose from and do an interview with, and no-one was that type Dean had in mind.
From the people that have shown up, Castiel is one of the most noteworthy. And Castiel does have some advantages that really make Dean want to have him.
Although a little — yeah, weird, sue him — this Castiel guy seems a level headed one. He has an education of RN, which is an undeniable pro side. He would not be shocked if, no, when, Sam went south and collapsed suddenly. He would not be shocked to take care of all that diaper and napkin and messy eating show that is everyday with Sam.
Besides, Castiel loves libraries, and if Dean stops to think that, Sam would very well be an observing type too.
But still, the lose of a picture Dean has in his mind really stings. He feels it odd to think of another young man in their home. Aren’t young men generally ambitious by nature? What if Castiel decides after a couple of months that this caregiving thing has been seen now? What if he’s misleading Dean in his beautiful speeches and really just wants a job like this in his resume to show the future employers his charitable nature? He wouldn’t be the first one.
Dean stops at dr. Lafitte’s door, taking a long gulp of air and letting it out slowly. It’s not like he has to make the decision now, or even tomorrow. And it’s not like he has to make it all by himself. Sam will have his say too. Dean just has to trust Castiel enough to let him come to their home, to really meet Sam and interact with him. The claw that Dean knows is fear squeezes Dean’s belly at the idea of a foreigner in their home, their cocoon of safety. He couldn’t stand it if something happened to Sam.
A cell phone in Dean’s jacket pocket beeps, and Dean winces and fishes it out. Shit, time to go. He stuffs the phone back and knocks at the door.
"Come in," says an even voice inside, and Dean feels himself relax already. Dr. Lafitte has been attending to Sam for four years now, and all that time he has had a calming effect on Dean, like his all being radiated the air of “It will all be okay.” He exhales and turns the knob to open the door.
Inside, there is dr. Lafitte sitting on a stool beside the exam bed, greeting Dean with a soft smile. Dean returns it and turns his head instantly on Sam, who’s lying on an examination bed, covered with a sheet. Before Dean has any time to have a heart attack, Sam turns his head towards his older brother and coos, his fist snaking out from under the sheet, and Dean smiles, steps closer and takes it.
"Hello, buddy," he greets his brother, just a little distracted, and rubs the loosely curled fist. "Why are you over there? Don’t you want to come home with me?"
Dr. Lafitte stands on his feet and rolls the stool away, coming closer to the brothers. "Everything is okay, Dean," he says soothingly, having guessed Dean's perplexed reaction. "Sam’s back was hurting, and I didn’t have any patients coming over so I let him stay laying down. He seems quite cozy there."
"Good." Dean ruffles Sam’s hair, and Sam chuckles softly, telling Dean indefinitely that nothing’s wrong. "Did you do a check-up? Were you nice to dr. Benjamin, Sammy?"
"Yes, I did. And yes, he was." Dr. Lafitte pats Sam’s shoulder shortly, emanating a soft hum from Sam, and walks behind his desk. He takes a file with a pile of papers in his hands, leafing them quickly through. "There are some samples sent to the lab that aren’t analyzed yet —"
Dean’s mouth opens before his mind has completed handling the information. "Please, tell me," he says beggingly. Sam’s form under his hand tenses instantly, and Dean closes his eyes to concentrate on his breathing for a second before he turns towards his brother. "It’s alright, Sammy," he explains softly. "Just rest there, okay? Me and dr. Benjamin talk a little and then we go home, yeah?"
Dr. Lafitte watches the interaction. "Would you like me to call a nurse to be with Sam?" he asks. "We could speak at —, his eyes roam over the place, - at my storeroom in peace." He chuckles embarrassedly. "Sorry about that."
"Thanks, no needed." Dean sits down by Sam’s bed, stroking his brother's mop of hair, and Sam closes his eyes, humming softly. "I will try to stay put."
Dr. Lafitte nods and clears his throat. "As I said, I don’t know anything for sure yet, but let’s say I have a very good guess. The final reason for Sam’s symptoms, naturally, depends on the test results and possible further symptoms Sam might sport, but based on what I’ve seen by now, Sam might have developed a depression on his adrenal gland."
Dean nods hearing that. The fucking gland. It has wreaked havoc on Sam once or twice earlier as well. He struggles to remain calm as the doctor proceeds, drawing strength from Sam’s restful form under his hand.
"It’s probably caused by the cortisone Sam's having to control the inflammation on his vertebrae," Dr. Lafitte continues, his voice even and soothing. "We knew right from the start that at some point he could develop some problems with the doses that big, but as you might remember, Sam’s back pains demanded strong intervention at the time. It seems, not hundred percent yet, but quite sure that we are getting close to the point we need to take another route dealing with it."
The doctor stops, giving Dean some time to process the information he has just received. Dean stays silent for a long time, concentrating on his brother, running his hands through Sam’s chocolate brown locks, smiling melancholically as Sam turns to lean to his older brother’s touch.
"Some of the typical symptoms of this kind of condition," dr. Lafitte says eventually, "are muscular problems like sudden lack of strength and weakened muscle tone, but not only that. Dean, has Sam had any lack of appetite lately? It says here in his file that he has lost some pounds after his latest weight check. Has he been nauseous?"
Dean shakes his head, frowns, gulps. "Yeah, but I thought it’s because of his discomfort in swallowing…"
Dr. Lafitte looks at the older brother, empathetic. "Don’t blame yourself, Dean. With Sam, it’s all about this brittle balance, always. You could have done nothing more for him that you already do. Remember, this is nothing but an educated guess, not until the test results are back. But should my guess prove right, we need to titrate Sam’s medication, maybe add some new ones, and that should take care of it all. I will consult my colleague in endocrinology at the Memorial and get back to you as quickly as I can. Keep Sam on his current regimen until that. Maybe his overall health should be monitored more closely until then."
Dean nods, his head buzzing at the information he has just received. "I can do that."
Suddenly, there is another, more urgent, reason to have a RN in the house.