Shock to the System 2/3
Nov. 3rd, 2009 12:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
faye_dartmouthA/N: We're thrilled that everyone liked the first part! Hopefully this second part doesn't let you all down. This fic is still for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
pinkphoenix1985 . While your birthday is over, we hope this still brightens your day :) First chapter is here.
CHAPTER TWO
Sam should have known.
Maybe not about fused switches or switched fuses. Maybe not even about the two phantasms instead of one. But he should have known that no matter what research he did, no matter what order he obeyed, it would never make a difference.
It never made a difference.
Trying to obey, striving to rebel. Spending time studying, giving up time for the hunt. Being the good son, being the bad son. It all ended up the same.
Failure.
The weight of it tingled in Sam’s extremities and he felt weightless and heavy all at once. There were things he should be doing, things he needed to make right. He needed to see if Dean was okay, how angry his father was. He needed to make sure the lights came on and that the phantasm was dead. Both of them.
But Sam couldn’t.
And that was the revelation that hurt more than anything else. Trying hard and giving up: they didn’t make any difference. Sam lived a life of extremes, of one end of the spectrum to the other, just like the cold essence of the phantasm and the white hot sizzle of electricity. Sam tried to keep them separate. He tried to deal with them both as best they could. But when they came together, when contact was made, then all bets were off and Sam was caught in the crossfire.
He could feel every inch of his body, alive with raging and painful sensation, but he couldn’t move a single muscle. He couldn’t even breathe. He could feel the stuttering beat of his heart as it thudded in his chest with an uneven beat.
As long as we all do what we’re supposed to do, no one will be in any danger.
Dean, tell your brother where he screwed up.
But Dean didn’t need to tell him. Sam knew they were as right as they were wrong and it was a balance that was going to kill him sooner or later, so Sam was beginning to think that sooner might just be the way to go.
Then, Sam’s heart gave out and he stopped thinking altogether.
-o-
Sam was dead.
John didn’t even have to check--he just knew. Just like he knew that night he heard M scream in Sam’s bedroom--he knew. The inevitability, the awful, stark, unavoidable truth. John was always running a race he could never win but he would never admit it until the loss jolted him hard back into reality.
John could only watch as Sam’s body fell limply to the floor. Dean was hovering over his brother, shaking him, checking for a pulse, screaming at Sam, screaming at John:
“Dad!”
Dean sounded hysterical. Sam looked dead.
It was not the time for semantics. Dean was hysteric. And Sam was dead.
“Dad, we need to call for help!” Dean yelled at him.
John looked at his sons again--Dean’s panicked face and Sam’s pale features--and didn’t know what help could be given to them now. John had had this figured out. Tough love. A shock to the system.
Literally.
Then Dean was in his face, hands fisted in his jacket. “Dad, we need to help Sam!” Dean screamed at him.
John blinked and reality flooded over him. Sam was dead and he was standing there doing nothing. He may have been the kind of father who dragged his sons across the country. He may have been the kind of father who treated fear with a gun under the pillow. He may have been the kind of father that punished his children by not letting them do their homework. But he was not the kind of father who admitted defeat.
He’d lost once.
He wouldn’t lose this.
He couldn’t.
He’d lost Mary. He’d lost happiness and normal and safety and joy. He wouldn’t lose Sam.
Swallowing hard, John pushed Dean out of his way, his eyes transfixed on his youngest. Sam still hadn’t moved and, on his knees next to his son’s still body, he felt for a pulse anyway. Finding none, he did a quick check of Sam’s body. The hair was singed and his hand was burned--which only denoted the electrical shock John had already figured out. That mattered, but not right now.
“He’s still warm,” John muttered, and he remembered how quickly a human body cooled. “He hasn’t been down long.”
Looking at Dean, John grimaced.
“We’re going to perform CPR, do you understand me, son?” John asked, and he kept his voice even and professional. Like it was just another job.
“Shouldn’t we call for help?” Dean asked.
John turned back to Sam, pulling his son gently away from the wall. He positioned him flat on his back, tilting Sam’s head backward. “No time,” John said. “We either do this ourselves or Sam is gone. Do you hear me, Dean? Sam will be gone.”
He didn’t wait for Dean’s response, but leaned over and pinched Sam’s nose, blowing hard into Sam’s mouth. Watching his son’s chest rise and fall, he positioned himself over Sam’s chest. “I need you to breathe for him,” John ordered. “Just like I did. Can you do that?”
It wasn’t a question John had to ask. Dean always followed orders--without fail. And Dean always protected Sam. But that was the way John was. Asking questions that didn’t need to be asked and not asking the ones that mattered. Not asking Sam why he fought so hard against things. Not asking what was so important that he had to do more research at the library. Not asking if there was more to a case. Not asking if Sam could be right.
Not asking if it was possible that John was wrong about everything.
Sam’s chest moved under his hands, and John tried not to think about it. He watched Dean breathe for his brother and remembered earlier times. He remembered how fragile Sam had been as an infant. Dean had been large and robust, meaty and eager to meet the world. Sam had been small and weak, premature but tenacious all the same. He’d always been afraid to hold Sam, afraid of somehow hurting his baby boy.
To think, all these years later, he’d been right about that.
Dean breathed. John pushed. True to form, Sam didn’t respond.
But damn it, John wasn’t quitting. Dean wasn’t quitting. And Sam wasn’t either.
Dean breathed deeper. John pushed harder. And Sam sucked in a strangled breath.
A surge of hope pushed into the region of John’s heart. Maybe Sam would be okay after all.
Dean backed off, leaning back on his heels, as the sprawled body on the cement floor took one stuttering breath followed by another.
Hope turned to grim determination as Sam’s back arched off the ground, his muscles pulling taut.
Sam might be attempting to breathe on his own but he was also seizing.
John pulled Sam’s right arm, positioning it so that it was at a right angle to his body with the elbow bent and the burned palm facing out. Sam’s left arm was placed across his chest with the back of his hand against his cheek. Pulling up Sam’s left knee, John bent it and moved it forward until the foot was flat on the ground. He quickly rolled Sam over, tilting his head back to make sure his airway remained open.
Tremors rippled through his young son and John could only stare. How many times had John peaked in on the boys and seen Sam sleeping in exactly this same position? Snug in his bed, turned on his side, hand tucked under his cheek. Almost angelic looking with his dark waves, pale skin and pink lips. Innocence personified. Only now those lips were stained a purplish blue and the shivers wracking the slim body wouldn’t stop.
With an explosive exhalation of air that sprayed saliva, Sam’s seizure ceased.
“Dad,” his oldest grabbed on to his arm, clinging as though John was a lifeline, “is Sammy gonna be okay now?” Dean’s voice was young and uncertain and John wished to God he had the answer to his question.
Concentrating on Sam’s chest, John waited for the telltale rise and fall that signified his son was breathing on his own. It was there, the movements slight.
Infusing as much authority as he could muster in his voice, John answered, “Sure, son, Sam’ll be just fine.”
His words lacked conviction but Dean seemed to buy it, his grip on John’s arm relaxing infinitesimally.
If only Sam believed John without argument like his oldest did. Sam who always had questions and was never satisfied with John’s answers.
There would be time enough for recriminations later. Right now he had to get medical help for Sam.
“Stay with your brother while I go up top and get a signal, call for an ambulance. You get me if your brother stops breathing or he has a seizure again.” Dean’s attention remained fixed on his still brother and John had to shake his shoulder in order to get a response.
Panicked eyes in a white face turned toward John, freckles standing out starkly against the pale skin. “Got it…call you if Sammy stops breathing or has a seizure.”
Dean’s attention immediately swung back toward his brother, his hand tangling in the dark hair, softly petting the singed strands.
John pushed to his feet, resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder for a moment. He wanted to sweep him into a hug, sweep both of his sons into his arms.
Instead he jogged for the stairwell.
-0-
Dean could only kneel in front of Sam’s body and run his hand through his hair. He wanted to hold Sam’s hand but only the injured one was within reach.
Not injured. Burned.
While they’d been busy accusing Sam of falling down on the job, his brother had been busy going hand-to-hand with a phantasm on his own and putting himself at risk while he fried himself on their dad’s homemade electrical job.
Putting himself at risk to save Dean.
The kicker was that Sam had wanted to delay the hunt, do a little more research. Something had spooked Sam and neither he nor their dad had listened.
Sam was now paying the price.
Dean’s hand slid toward the back of Sam’s head in gentle stroking motion. He was almost afraid to speak. Afraid that if he spoiled the silence, he’d miss the unsteady intake of air that would signal Sammy was in trouble.
His hand stilled as it made contact with something wet. He yanked his hand back and stared at the crimson staining his fingers. Sam’s head was bleeding.
This job kept getting better and better.
Sam shifted, the back of his burned hand slapping uselessly against the concrete floor. “De’n?”
Cupping the back of Sam’s neck to still him, Dean leaned forward. “Right here, Sammy. Don’t move. We’re getting you help.”
Eyelids parted to a slit, pupils fully dilated so that the blue-green color was completely obscured despite the blaring fluorescent light overhead.
Shock.
Both he and his dad knew the signs and symptoms of shock yet they hadn’t done anything to alleviate them for Sam.
Shucking out of his jean jacket, Dean smoothed it over Sam’s torso, tucking the collar down under Sam’s chin so it wouldn’t impede his breathing.
The hand on the ground spasmed, a tremor passing up the arm and shaking the frail shoulder. Dean prepared to bolt to the stairwell, fearing a seizure was on its way.
“De’n…okay…?” Sam gasped, voice weak and cracking.
Settling back next to Sam, Dean rubbed the exposed shoulder. “Sammy, I’m right here. You did good.”
His brother flailed his hand, grasping, toward Dean. “Save…De’n…”
The tension fled Sam’s body in a sigh, his head rolling forward. Dean was afraid to move his brother, afraid that Sam’s spine had been damaged at the same time he’d hit his head.
It was killing Dean that he couldn’t do anything constructive for Sam. His brother always came to him with his worries and his questions and even when he was hurt – physically or otherwise – and in the past Dean had known the right words to say and the right things to do to make Sam feel better.
This time Dean could only stare at Sam as he struggled to breath.
Curling a hand around Sam’s wrist, careful of the raw blisters that covered his palm, Dean concentrated on the pulse moving sluggishly beneath his fingertips.
Next time, he needed to listen when his brother had doubts about a hunt. He knew his brother’s instincts were good but he’d brushed them aside, content to let his dad take Sam to task.
Dean vowed he’d never fail Sam again.
His brother needed to make it through this. Dean needed to make things right between him.
-0-
Sam tried to open his eyes, struggled to pry them open.
Dean was in danger.
The phantasm…the switch…he’d failed Dean.
His right hand throbbed in time with his heartbeat. The same heartbeat that echoed in his ears.
The beat stuttered, flailing, and Sam clutched at his chest.
His hand refused to budge.
Something gentle touched him on the head. The back of his head ached with an intensity that made him want to cry but the tears wouldn’t come.
He had to shake off the pain and lethargy. Dean was counting on him. “De’n.”
His voice was pathetic. Weak. No wonder his dad couldn’t stand him.
It didn’t matter how hard Sam tried, he couldn’t please his father.
Concentrate. Dean needed him.
Someone was talking to him but no matter how he strained, he couldn’t make out the words.
His heartbeat galloped in his ears again – fast, then slow, then fast again.
It didn’t matter. He had to help his brother. At least Dean pretended to listen to him most of the time. He knew his brother didn’t really want to hang out with him anymore and he pushed that hurt down daily. He got it. Dean was older, an adult, and Sam was just a kid. A stupid, pathetic excuse for a brother.
He was supposed t o be doing something, something important.
The switch.
His hand twitched but wouldn’t move toward the switch.
Everything hurt.
“De’n…okay…?” He had to know.
He made one more grab for the switch and missed. “Save…De’n…”
Sam let himself slip back into the waiting darkness.
-0-
John paced back and forth, willing the doctor to come out and update them on Sam.
He didn’t care that it was protocol for ER staff to boot out the loved ones of someone seriously injured while they did an evaluation. He wanted to be in there with his son. He hadn’t protected him during the hunt, the least he could do is watch over him now.
Something had gone terribly wrong with this hunt and his little boy was hurt. Bad. Sure, things had happened before on hunts that had resulted in broken bones and stitches for his sons but never this.
He went over and over in his head what had happened and he couldn’t isolate where the breakdown had occurred. Of course his head was muddled – he recognized his rapid, shallow respirations and dry mouth as well as clammy skin for what they were – shock.
And Dean was just as bad, his face pale and his eyes wide. His son’s back was straight in the chair as he stared at the clock, then to the doorway that Sam had disappeared through and then to John. As if John could do something. He was every bit as out of his element here as he’d been in the basement at the power plant.
The scene when the EMT’s had shown up had been surreal. The two guys shoved Dean and John back and labored over the youngest Winchester. They used words like arrhythmia and ativan and thermal burn.
John had wanted to give Dean some encouragement, remain strong for his son, but it was so hard when they were loading Sam on a backboard, hooking up an IV and fitting him with an oxygen mask that obscured his whole lower face.
Nothing had changed. They still had no idea what was going on or how Sam was doing.
After what felt like hours but was more like forty-five minutes, a petite woman in light blue scrubs came out and asked for the family of Sam Winchester. “I’m Dr. Katz. As you know, the electrical shock temporarily stopped Sam’s heart and respiration but since he’s been here, he’s been doing fine. The seizures, common in these cases, also appear to have stopped. He does, however, have a Grade three concussion. We’d like to keep Sam here for observation for a day or two to make sure there’s no hidden damage and keep an eye on his head. A nurse will be out to take you to Sam’s room as soon as we have him settled.”
John shook the dark haired woman’s hand, relief making him light headed. The concussion wasn’t good news but if Sam’s heart and lungs were okay, then they’d really dodged a bullet. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he turned to find Dean at his side. He enveloped his son in a one-armed hug before seeking out a hard plastic chair in the waiting room.
His relief was short lived as a tall man in a dark blue uniform entered the waiting room, spoke briefly with the woman at the admissions desk and then strode his way. “John Winchester? I’m Detective Jennings with the Oak Hill Police Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your son if that’s okay.”
It really wasn’t okay, but putting it off wasn’t going to make it any easier. They’d been in a deserted power plant and Sam had almost been electrocuted. Of course there had to be a police report.
Another dark haired woman, this time in dark blue scrubs, approached. “Excuse me, we’ve got Sam in room 212 on the pediatric wing. I’d be happy to show you the way if you’d like to follow me.”
The woman was young and shapely and had a flirtatious smile which she aimed at Dean but his oldest wasn’t returning her interest. Concern for his brother was etched in the fatigue around Dean’s eyes and the slump of his shoulders. Squeezing one of those shoulders, John tried to smile but failed. “You go on up and see Sam. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Turning his full attention on the officer, John rose to his feet and extended his hand. “Of course, officer, I’ll answer any questions you have.”
The man, a little taller than John’s own 6’2” inches, shifted his weight between his feet. It was a sign of discomfort and it didn’t bode well for the upcoming conversation. “First off, I hope Sam will be okay. He’s in my son Jamie’s class so I know a bit about him. That’s quite a boy you’ve got there. Smart as a whip. And serious. But I’m a little confused about why Sam would touch a power switch and what he was doing out at the plant.”
John ran a hand through the back of his hair. “Sam’s always been curious about how things work. He talked his older brother into taking him out to the plant. I’m not sure what he was trying to do, I’m just damned happy that he didn’t kill himself with this little stunt.”
Jennings squinted his eyes at John and scratched the side of his head. “That doesn’t really fit with what I’ve heard of Sam but you know your own son better. You must be so proud of him…netting the highest score on the PSAT in the high school’s history. I hear he’s a shoe-in for a Merit Scholarship. That’s quite a kid you’ve got there.”
Several emotions ran through John, leaving breathless. He’d told his boys time and time again that they shouldn’t do anything to bring attention to themselves and here Sam had been palling around with some cop’s son.
Oh, and apparently Sam was wowing everyone with his brain. John didn’t even know what the PSAT was but leave it to his youngest to score well on it. Mary would have been so proud.
John forced his lips into a facsimile of a smile. “Oh, Sam is something, that’s for sure.”
Dean, for all his spunk and attitude, had been easy to raise. He listened to John, obeying every order. Sam was different. More difficult. Sam asked ‘why’ incessantly. He questioned John. He was always on a quest for normal.
Now Sam had taken to hiding things from him. John wondered if Dean knew about Sam’s test score. If he had, he’d played things way close to the vest.
The officer cleared his throat. “Thanks for talking to me. I’ll have some follow up questions for Sam but that can wait. I’m sure you want to get upstairs now and see him. I’m glad it sounds like he’ll be okay. ”
Jennings left the waiting room and John let his body drop back down into the plastic chair. Letting his head fall forward, he dropped it into his hands.
What had the cop said? You know your own son better.
Not so much as it turned out. John needed to get his family back on track and focused on the things that mattered.
-0-
During the elevator ride up, Dean found himself rising up on the balls of his feet and then letting himself back down. It was a nervous habit, and he was beyond nervous.
A cop was grilling his dad downstairs and Sam was in the hospital. The doctor had sounded like Sam would be okay but Dean would never forget his little brother on the concrete floor, their dad doing chest compressions while Dean blew air into Sam’s lungs.
Sam must have ganked the phantasm and despite being coated in that cold residual goo, the kid had touched what amounted to a live wire. His brother wasn’t stupid, he had to know what would happen.
He’d done it to save Dean.
The nurse with the nice ass showed him into Sam’s room. The kid was curled on his side, various wires and feeds hooked up to monitors, a canula tucked into his nostrils feeding him oxygen. “He’s still groggy from the medication they gave him for his seizures and will probably sleep for quite a while. We’ll be in and out to check on him but please use the call light if you need someone.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see the brunette was staring at him. Willing him to turn and flirt with her. But Sam was still and pale and he’d almost died saving Dean’s life. There was no contest.
Sam came first.
Hooking a chair with his foot, he pulled it close to the bed. Sinking on the edge, he touched Sam’s head lightly. He wanted his brother to wake up, flash his trademark dimples, and tell him he was fine. The white bandage wrapped around Sam’s right hand and the beeping monitors told another story.
The door opened and Dean turned his head impatiently, ready to tell the nurse to take a hike. His dad filled the doorway, his feet dragging across the threshold. His idol finally moved into the room but his steps were halting, filled with hesitancy. Panic surged through Dean. “Is it Sam? Is he okay?”
His dad absently rubbed at the dark stubble coating his chin. “What? Oh, no. Sam’s okay. Doing better than expected.”
Instead of pulling up another chair, his dad hovered over Dean’s shoulder. Apart from his brother. “Then what is it? What’s wrong? Is it the cop?”
The Winchesters lived in fear of Social Services. Dean was an adult and they couldn’t touch him but Sam was still fifteen and in the eyes of the law he was a minor and he needed protecting. The Winchesters took care of their own and didn’t need outsiders poking their noses in where they didn’t belong. Not that they’d done such a bang up job protecting Sam this time.
Dean found his hand sliding through the hair hanging in Sam’s face. It was a girly thing to do but right now he had to have some contact with the kid and he was afraid to touch anything else. Sam had been through enough for one night.
His dad stood there so tall and silent that for a moment Dean forgot he was there. He’d been lost in his own thoughts of wanting to take care of his brother that he actually jumped when his dad said his name. “Dean, son, has your brother said anything about wanting to go to college?”
Head swiveling on his neck so fast he almost gave himself whiplash, Dean gaped at his dad. Maybe the phantasm had done something to his dad when he wasn’t looking. Or it was the stress of seeing Sam like this. He couldn’t believe his dad had asked him that question. There was no way Sammy could go to college – Dean wouldn’t be able to watch out for the little geek there and the three of them needed to hunt as a team. “What are you talking about? Of course Sam’s not going to college. Are you feeling okay, Dad? You didn’t hit your head or anything, did you?”
Staring deeply into his eyes, his dad held eye contact way longer than was normal. It was starting to freak Dean out. Eyes sliding from Dean’s, they settled over Dean’s shoulder. On Sam. “Did you have to take a test when you were in high school? PSAT?”
Random. This was doing nothing to alleviate Dean’s concern. But it was best to play along for now. Until he could figure out what was going on. “Yeah, sure. Stupid dot test that lasted for most of a week I think. Sophomore year.”
Dean’s breath left him in a whoosh. Kind of like when Sam got lucky during sparring and connected with his bread basket.
Sam was a sophomore. His dad was talking about the PSAT and college for Sam.
It all made sense. Horrible sense.
Except his brother would have told him about the test. And college. Sammy told him everything. Kid hardly shut up. At least that’s the way Sam had been before. Before Dean started spending all his free time with his dad, helping on hunts. Come to think of it, Sam had been pretty quiet lately. Dean had put it off to teenage hormones. But this…maybe going away, leaving Dean – this was something else.
Ice settled deep in the pit of Dean’s stomach in a block, replacing the air.
His hand continued to pet through Sam’s hair, slowly, methodically.
His brain chased around, stuck on an awful loop.
How could he protect Sam if he left him behind?
-0-
A dull throb at the back of Sam’s head was the first thing he noticed. That and the way his back ached. The pinching sensation on his right palm. The patch of itchy skin on his right cheek.
He scrunched his face up in an effort to alleviate the itch but something hard poked the inside of both nostrils. His left hand finally obeyed his command to lift and rubbed at his nose.
“Leave it be, Sammy. Your body needs the oxygen.”
Why was Dean watching him sleep? That was sort of stalkerish.
What did he mean about oxygen?
Not wanting to leave the insulated state of numbness that sleep offered, Sam forced his eyelids to lift anyway. He wanted to know what was digging into his nose and why Dean thought he needed oxygen.
It took a minute and lots of blinking but the shimmery outline of his brother finally came into focus. His brother looked pale and tired.
Maybe Dean was hurt.
The hunt.
The phantasms.
Sam couldn’t get the lights on fast enough.
It was all his fault.
He’d failed his brother and Dean was hurt.
“Dean!” Bolting upright, panic spreading his body rapidly, Sam’s world tilted and blackness slid over his vision.
Something was pressed into his left cheek. Something soft. The scent of leather and gun powder filled his nose. He could hear the fast lub-dub of a heartbeat under his ear. “Come on, come, on…what’s taking so long.”
Dean sounded okay, maybe he wasn’t hurt. Well maybe not okay. He sounded pretty stressed out.
Sam realized he was sitting up, propped against Dean’s chest.
A high pitched voice made him flinch. “What seems to be the prob…oh, dear. Let’s get the patient settled back in the bed and we’ll see what’s what.”
He wanted to protest the rough handling only it wasn’t all that rough. It took a little bit of coaxing before Dean pried his hands away and lowered Sam back to the bed and that made Sam feel a little better. He wanted the woman with the irritating voice to go away. Dean’s voice was deep and usually mellow. He wanted to hear Dean’s voice.
Sam’s eyelids finally unglued themselves and opened. “Dean?”
Pathetic. Needy. Whiny. No wonder his dad and brother didn’t like being around him all that much these days. He tried to keep away from the kids at school because it upset his dad when he “formed attachments” with people. Leaving friends behind when they moved, as they always did, was depressing. Sam tried to steer clear of relationships but sometimes it was lonely. Instead he tried to immerse himself in his studies but his dad had figured out how much it meant to him and suddenly homework and even being allowed to go to school seemed to be under fire.
A small sigh escaped his lips as the tugging and fussing hands of the nurse were withdrawn. Blinking his eyes clear, he found Dean staring down at him with trepidation. “You with me, Sammy?”
Licking his dry lips, Sam nodded and wished he hadn’t as the back of his head pinged and twinged with pain. He rolled on to his left side again and concentrated on breathing in and out. When he refocused on his brother, Dean was sitting next to him, his right eye twitching with either anxiety or annoyance. Sam was willing to put money on annoyance. Everything he did these days was met by disapproval.
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Sam decided it was time he find out what exactly he had done wrong this time, especially since it had landed him in the hospital. Better him than Dean although with the way his brother’s arms were crossed, it looked like his brother might not agree. “How bad did I screw up this time?”
Dean frowned, the skin between his eyebrows pulling taut. “Sam, you…what the hell were you thinking? You shouldn’t have…”
Even though he’d asked the question, Sam found himself tuning out. He knew he was in the hospital and he seemed to be okay – he was definitely sore but that’s what happened when a phantasm got the drop on a person – and as expected, it was his own fault. Too slow, too stupid, too weak…it was obvious to everyone that Sam wasn’t cut out to be a hunter but for some reason his family insisted on fitting that square peg in the round hole that was his disastrous life.
Dean’s voice blended with the soft beeps of the monitor and Sam’s eyes drifted closed again. His own failures had become so commonplace, he even bored himself to tears. Or in this case, to sleep.
He might as well rest up now. He’d need every bit of energy he could muster to deal with his dad’s reaction to his latest screw up.
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no subject
Date: 2009-11-03 08:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-19 01:31 am (UTC)The rest is up :)
Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2009-11-03 10:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-19 01:32 am (UTC)Thanks!
:D
Date: 2009-11-04 07:05 pm (UTC)I absolute love how all three Winchesters just don't get the big picture and that's exactly what I love about them!
Dean and John thinking that Sam wants to leave them and not what he really wants to leave- the lifestyle.
and poor Sammy thinking that they don't love him *cuddles*
Re: :D
Date: 2009-11-19 01:32 am (UTC)Re: :D
Date: 2009-11-24 02:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-19 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-19 08:56 pm (UTC)http://faye-dartmouth.livejournal.com/tag/shock%20to%20the%20system
no subject
Date: 2011-10-19 09:30 pm (UTC)