Disclaimer: Not mine. The only ones I'll reluctantly claim are the ones without names. Also, title borrowed from Free, and all the subsequent cover artists.
Warnings: Betaed by my anal personality. Weird ass artist spirit. Minor language. Freaked out Sam.
For the LJ sickdean Hurt/Comfort Meme, as requested by dayaftertexas: Dean has a seizure after hitting his head on a hunt.
Neither Dean nor Sam expected the poltergeist to be that much trouble. They'd pretty much narrowed down the list of things tying the angry spirit of an unappreciated artist to this world and were ready to toss a Zippo on all of them and be done with it.
Then, Dean got hurled through a wall. Granted, it was a very old, very decrepit wall. But still, Dean had expected to bounce off, roll to his feet and keep fighting. It took him longer than he cared to admit to gather his wits enough to get to his feet, and even then, he had to stagger toward the door as the floor pitched and bucked under his feet. Well, one of the doors – he was seeing two or three of them.
Sam managed to find the poltergeist's last meaningful worldly possession – his favorite paint brush made from his own hair – and burnt it to ashes. Damn artists.
"You okay?" Sam asked, catching up to his brother by the front door.
"I'm fine," Dean replied, squinting up at his little brother.
Sam had the nerve to laugh. "Yeah, sure. You need an ER?"
"Nah," Dean responded, though he was careful not to shake his head. "Didn't pass out."
"Look at me," Sam said, reaching out to tilt Dean's head one way and then the other, trying to gauge his pupil response.
"Dude, get off me." Dean pushed his annoying excuse of a brother away and pulled out his keys. "I just need some Advil and an ice pack."
Sam shook his head and grabbed the keys. "Too slow old man?"
"Sammy, I'm warning you," Dean threatened, poking his finger in the general direction of Sam's chest and missing by miles.
"You are so not driving with double vision," Sam replied knowingly.
"Two of you is two too many," Dean muttered as he sank into the passenger seat.
The drive back to the motel was quiet. Dean had smacked Sam's hand away from the radio three times before little brother got the message and stopped trying to play his emo-whiny-not-even-music crap.
Once they got back to their room, Dean settled himself on one of the beds while Sam had to make a run out to the twenty-four hour minimart to get some more Advil and water.
He wasn't gone more than ten minutes, but when he returned, Dean was in the throes of a major seizure. His body jerked and spasmed uncontrollably, causing the bed to vibrate against the wall in a steady thumpthumpthump.
Sam took one leap from the doorway to Dean's bed, shouting for help the whole time. He grabbed a pillow and put it between Dean's head and the wall to minimize any further head trauma. Then, he jerked the sheets off of Dean's body so that he couldn't get tangled in them. He moved everything off the nightstands and stood watch over Dean's body, trying to get in between his brother and any other dangers.
After the seizure tapered off and Sam moved Dean into the recovery position on his side, he noticed an older woman standing in the open doorway of the room. He vaguely recognized her from her overdone make-up and 60s pompadour as the clerk at the front desk who'd checked them in.
"I called for an ambulance, honey," she said. "Is there anything else I can do?"
"No," Sam shook his head, absurdly noticing that she had ruby red lipstick on her teeth when she forced a concerned smile for him. "No. Thank you."
"Are you sure? Can I bring some water or something? Maybe some saltines. Saltines fix everything right up. Why my daughter, when she was only about seven-"
"Water," Sam blurted out just to get her to stop talking. He needed a moment alone to breathe, to make sure that Dean was breathing. "Water would be great. Thanks."
Sam's hands were still shaking when the ambulance swung into the Midnite Motel and screeched to a halt outside their room. He was squeezing Dean's hand, trying to get him to respond to anything.
"Dean? Hey, Dean, the ambulance is here. They're going to take you away to the smelly old hospital if you don't wake up. Dean? Dammit Dean, wake the hell up and tell me that you're fine!"
"Sir," one of the paramedics knelt beside Sam, "can you tell me what happened?"
Sam didn't look away from Dean's slack expression as he explained. "We were doing some construction on our Uncle's house earlier and he fell off the roof. He got right back up, said he was okay, but I brought him back here to get some rest. I just stepped out for a minute and when I got back, he was convulsing."
The paramedic managed to refrain from lecturing him about the dangers of untreated injuries, especially in light of the consequences they were now facing. "Do you know how long the seizure lasted?"
Sam hadn't been able to think clearly enough to time the episode, and the rest of the questions the paramedic asked went right over his head. He was deep in his own head, wallowing good in some guilt and denial, when the paramedics finished strapping Dean to the stretcher and started loading him up. Sam fought to be allowed in the bus with Dean and was finally allowed to sit up front for the quick ride to Mercy General.
Then he waited and paced and waited and got a few steaming cups of black coffee from a vending machine that looked like it was last serviced in the 70s, and he waited some more.
Hours later, a man wearing a ridiculous plaid tie, wire rim glasses, and a white lab coat called for Dean's family.
"How is he?" Sam asked, jumping to his feet and approaching the doctor with barely restrained panic and a caffeine high to rival any junkie. "I'm his brother. Just tell me how he is."
"You must be Sam," the doctor replied, smiling. "He told me that you'd be here."
"So he's awake." Sam sighed in relief.
"Yes, he's doing quite well actually despite the setback."
"What... what setback?"
"I told him he wouldn't be able to drive for the next few weeks. I thought he was going to code right there on the table."
Sam chuckled despite himself. "Can I see him?"
"Sure," the doctor replied. "The nurse will take you up in just a minute. For now, we have no reason to believe that he'll have any more seizures. This appears to be the result of the head trauma he suffered earlier today during the... construction accident?"
"That's right," Sam replied. Winchester rule number 3 – stick to your story.
"We're going to keep him overnight for observation, and he'll probably be released in the morning. I don't expect there to be any complications."
"Good. That's good," Sam nodded, happy with the news.
A few minutes later, Sam stepped into Dean's hospital room to find his brother dozing. He couldn't help himself as he strode to Dean's side and shook his foot.
"Sammy?" Dean blinked his eyes open and craned his neck to make sure his guess was correct.
"It's Sam," came the indignant, if relieved, retort.
"Whatever," Dean muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. "You okay?"
"You're kidding me right?"
Dean's blank look spoke for itself.
"You were thrown through a freaking wall, you had a damn seizure, and you have the nerve to ask if I'm okay?!"
Dean waited a moment for Sam's anger to die down before asking, "Looks like. You okay?"
"You're a moron," Sam replied, flopping down in the chair beside the bed and slapping on an epic bitchface. "Go back to sleep."
"With pleasure," Dean smirked. "And don't get any bright ideas about hiding my car keys. I'll hotwire her and leave you here." He closed his eyes and burrowed into his pillows. "I'm not even kidding here, Sammy."
~The End