Reflections

Chapter 6-Dean

I felt sick seeing Sam in that damn hospital bed again. I wanted nothing more then to rip that IV out of his arm and tell him that he's coming home with me. But I couldn't. And it made me feel something. Not anger or denial, but depression.

Depression because my baby brother was currently in a hospital bed instead of at a cold desk in a boring school room listening to boring teachers lecture about boring things.

Depression because my baby brother was sick. He looked pale, bags under his eyes visible through anything else. He looked pale, skinny, and sickly, and not at all like Sammy. Not like the Sammy I know. The Sammy I knew. The Sammy he was supposed to grow up to be.

He was supposed to grow up, get a job, get a girl. And I couldn't stop thinking about that. He was supposed to grow up more ridiculously taller then he is now, bigger. But no. Instead, he's bed ridden.

I sat down in my designated uncomfortable hospital chair. The same chair I spent two, almost three days in when Sam first got emitted into the hospital. The chair almost felt like second nature to sit in it.

Nothing much happened while I visited Sam. He did have a rather interesting, albeit annoying, roommate. He seemed... almost comfortable with his diagnosis. Though I had no clue what it was, but he seemed to come into terms with it rather quickly.

He, too, looked sickly, not at all healthy. But I didn't feel much when I looked at the blonde haired boy. I didn't know him, I didn't raise him, he wasn't my baby brother.

Me and him never shared the hardships we do at home, never laughed together, cried together, fought together, fell asleep together. I didn't know the other man like I knew Sam.

Such a stark contrast to Sam's demeanor. I didn't know Sam's thoughts on his diagnosis, nor did I think I wanted to know. I knew Sam wouldn't be comfortable talking about it, much less me asking for it. Not now, not ever.

So I sat back in my chair, the uncomfortableness of it all making me want to just turn and run. I didn't particularly enjoy the hospital, but then again, who did?

It was filled with dying people, sick people. Patients begging this God to survive, visitors begging their God to help their loved ones get better. But God was an asshole. He turned the other ear and walked away, not caring about his followers prayers, their pleads. They cried, sobbed, screamed to God, yet he didn't give two shits.

"Have you gotten a second job?" Sam asked, but I was to preoccupied to hear him clearly.

"What?" I asked dumbly.

"I asked if you had gotten a second job." He repeated himself.

Oh.

Right.

"Uh, I haven't looked." I murmured. I knew I needed one, but it was nagging in the back of my mind like a ten ton weight. Two jobs, high school, dad, treatment. It all listed off like a checklist and it made the weight on my shoulders heavier.

I could already feel the exhaustion lay on me like a whale. Such a heavy weight, drowning me quickly. I couldn't breathe, couldn't swim up for that breathe of air I so desperately needed, so desperately wanted. But I couldn't do anything about it, but I'd be damn if I didn't try to do anything.

And those were the only things running on my mind as I sat in my Impala, parked in an empty parking lot of a children's park. Everything was empty. And it felt empty. Everything felt empty.

Tears raced down my cheeks, but I didn't sob, nor did I gasp for air. They just fell. They fell like the happiness I felt in me, fell like the thoughts that seemed to pelt my body like hail.