Author's Note:
Fanfic comes from a prompt by Lisa Boon who wanted to see Sam with appendicitis. Set any season.
The idea for this fanfic came from the story of my father's first time trying Chinese food and getting appendicitis the same night when he was a young man.
"I don't know, Dean," Sam said uncertainly, peering out the window of the Impala at the tiny, dirty-looking Chinese restaurant that was almost hidden by the buildings on either side of it as it squatted between them.
"It's the only place open," Dean argued, his stomach growling loudly to emphasize his point, "And I'm starving."
Sam twisted in his seat to peer down the street; his brother was right, all the other restaurants were closed and dark, empty this time of the night.
"Fine," he muttered, "Whatever."
Dean looked at him as he found a parking spot across the street from the Chinese place.
"Don't tell me you're not hungry," he said.
Sam shrugged. He was hungry, that wasn't the problem, he was just too tired to care about eating anything. All he really wanted to do was check into a motel room and sleep away the rest of the night's hours.
Once the Impala was parked, Sam climbed out of the passenger's seat and followed Dean across the road to the 'Golden Panda' restaurant. The front windows were smeary with dirt from the outside and grease from the inside, a flashing red neon sign on the door announced that it was 'OPEN'.
Stepping into the Golden Panda, Sam glanced around. The floor was covered in an old carpet, black with a white lily design that had faded almost completely to grey in places that suffered the most foot-traffic. There was no hostess' podium so the Winchesters seated themselves.
Sam slid into the booth across from his brother, grimacing at the ripped red vinyl on the seat and scarred, faux-wooden table decorated with graffiti. The lights overhead had been covered with orange Chinese lanterns, coated with dust from not being cleaned in ages.
The air inside had a distinct smell of burnt grease and body odor. The Winchesters, surprisingly, were not the only patrons of the Golden Panda. Sam caught sight of two men sitting at the bar close to the entrance, sucking back beers, and a couple of teenagers of Chinese decent laughing and chatting over a bowl of steaming soup.
"See, this place isn't terrible," Dean spoke up, making Sam jump a little.
"I guess," Sam admitted; he knew he should be glad that even this place was open. If it had been closed, Sam was certain he'd have been forced to listen to Dean complain about how hungry he was for the rest of the night.
The younger Winchester looked up when a waitress appeared. She looked to be in her early twenties and although she was wearing blue jeans and a Hello Kitty t-shirt, she wore a nametag, announcing to anyone who may have been confused that she did, in fact, work at the Golden Panda. She handed out a couple of laminated menus to the brothers before she spoke.
"Can I start you off with drinks?" she asked, her voice accented.
"Two beers?" Dean asked and caught Sam's eye.
The younger man nodded, agreeing with the order, and sat back, picking up his menu.
Sam scowled at the feeling of dirty laminate beneath his fingers and resisted the urge to wipe his hands off on his jeans.
He skimmed over the items on the menu, not really paying much attention to the choices. Closing the menu, Sam saw that there was a section for 'specials' on the back cover, the same variety as those inside the menu but for much cheaper.
The young man glanced up and thanked the waitress as she returned with the beers.
"Are you ready?" she asked and Dean nodded, closing his menu.
"Can I get the sweet and sour pork, Kung Pao chicken and fried rice?" Dean asked and the waitress nodded, writing his order on a notepad.
"Uh…" Sam hesitated, "I'll just get the Chow Mein special."
The waitress nodded and took their menus, smiling at Dean before turning away.
"You think I could get her number?" Sam's brother asked and the younger sibling frowned at him.
"We're not going to be here long enough, Dean," Sam reminded him; they were only passing through.
"I know," Dean shrugged, taking a gulp of beer before continuing, "But I bet I can get her to give me her number."
Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother and took a drink of his own beer.
The brothers grew silent; Sam stared out the window beside the booth, peering at the darkened sidewalk outside while Dean sat across from him, probably fantasizing about their waitress.
W
"Here you go," the young woman's voice startled Sam and he turned to her, her arms heavy with plates of steaming food.
"Fried rice, sweet and sour pork…" She said as she sat the plates down in front of Dean, "And Kung Pao chicken."
"Looks delicious, Sweetheart," the older Winchester complimented, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
"Chow Mein special," the waitress announced and sat Sam's food in front of him.
Now that the meal was sitting in front of him, Sam's stomach did growl.
"Thanks," he said and the waitress nodded.
"Would you like more beer?" she asked and Dean nodded, already stuffing chunks of pork into his mouth, the orange-red sauce staining his lips.
The young woman smiled and left the brothers to eat in peace.
Sam grabbed his napkin-wrapped silverware, pausing to stare at the slightly water-stained utensils before digging his fork into the brown mound of noodles.
"This is so good!" Dean exclaimed heartily and Sam chuckled at his brother's enthusiasm.
Sam ate slowly, methodically, chewing the shrimp in the Chow Mein experimentally before deciding that they were alright, if a little bit like sawdust. The sticky brown sauce and chopped vegetables completed the Chow Mein, a staple in many Chinese restaurants.
W
"Can I get you anything else?" the waitress asked the Winchesters.
Dean shook his head, looking content and satisfied.
"Just the bill, Sweetheart," he told her with a charming smile and she nodded.
"See Sammy," Dean said once the young woman had gone to get the check, "I told you this place would have good food."
Sam scowled, "You didn't say that, Dean. It was the only restaurant open and you were starving."
Dean shrugged, "Still, it had good food, yeah?"
Sam nodded and finished the last of his beer.
The waitress returned one last time, setting the bill down, along with a small folded piece of paper. Before Sam could raise a hand, Dean had slapped his palm over the bill and the mysterious slip of paper and dug his wallet out with the other.
"Told you," Dean smirked as he paid for the food- adding a generous tip- and unfolded the piece of paper to reveal a telephone number written in pink ink.
Sam shook his head; of course Dean would be able to get a girl's number just by calling her some cute names and smiling at her.
"Let's go, Dean," he said and stood, frowning as a sudden pain flared in his abdomen, just above his bellybutton, "I'm beat."
Sam followed his brother as Dean went ahead of him. Now that his stomach was full, Dean was eager to find a motel room for the night. Sam walked gingerly for a few paces but the odd pain in his belly did not return and he shrugged it off; he usually had some ache or pain from an old hunt and didn't worry about it too much.
W
"Maybe all the motels are closed," Sam suggested as they drove slowly down the street, eyes keen for the familiar 'vacancy' sign that would tell them there was a place for them to stay.
Sam wondered if the town even had a motel- he hadn't seen one on the way in- and if he and Dean would have to sleep in the Impala. Not that they hadn't done so before, but it wouldn't be his first choice. The classic Chevy, despite being a great car that had seen them through many a trial and tribulation, just wasn't designed to be slept in, especially someone of Sam's stature. Whenever the brothers were forced to stay in the car for the night, Dean would insist Sam take the backseat, that way he could at least stretch out a little bit. Unfortunately, even the Impala's bench seat wasn't the same as a motel bed and Sam always ended up with a sore back and leg cramps the next day.
Sam startled when Dean braked suddenly and he peered around, catching sight of a motel hulking along the edge of the road. Its 'vacancy' sign was flickering weakly, apparently on the verge of going out completely, but the parking lot didn't look busy.
"Oh, I am just too good," Dean crowed and Sam snorted derisively.
Pulling into the parking lot, Dean stopped the Impala in front of a set of doors marked 'office' with a piece of lined notebook paper taped to the inside of one of the panes of glass.
"I'll be right back," Dean assured his brother and exited the vehicle.
Sam watched his sibling step into the office and approach a tall desk made of honey-colour wood. From what Sam could see of the office area, the motel was old and not well maintained, just like everything else in this town it seemed.
Sam knew he shouldn't be picky- Dean certainly wasn't- and at the moment decided he didn't care about where they stayed for the night as long as it was out of the elements.
Raising his hands above his head, palms flat against the roof of the car, Sam stretched, sucking in a sharp breath when pain flared in his stomach again. Lowering his arms, Sam frowned and grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it up to peer at his belly. In the dim light reaching into the car from the office, Sam couldn't see anything that would be causing him pain- no bruises or bumps- and settled his shirt back into place. Maybe he had pulled a muscle during the last hunt he and Dean had been on and hadn't noticed until now.
Yeah, that was it, Sam decided, that ghost had tossed him around a bit before Dean could take care of it.
The driver's side door opened and Dean climbed back into the vehicle.
"We're in?" Sam asked although he knew the answer.
"We're in," Dean confirmed and drove around to the side of the motel towards their room.
The Impala parked in its designated spot, the brothers exited and grabbed their duffels from the trunk.
Dean reached the door first, coated in flaking beige paint, it didn't look too welcoming but that barely mattered to the brothers. Unlocking the door, Dean peered inside as though he expected a vampire or werewolf to jump out at him, before motioning to Sam that it was safe to enter.
The younger brother stepped into the room gratefully as Dean moved forward to turn on the lights. Two single beds sat side by side, separated by a wooden nightstand.
Dean dropped his duffel on the bed closest to the door, unzipped it to grab some clothes to sleep in and disappeared into the bathroom. Sam sat down on the bed beside the wall and sighed, kicking off his shoes and pushing them off the end of the bed with his feet.
He was exhausted and only wanted to sleep. Deciding to lay down as he waited for his brother to finish up in the bathroom, Sam rested on his back on the bed and closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep.
SPN
Dean exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam, smiling at the sight of his brother snoring lightly on his bed.
Instead of waking Sam up, he stuffed his dirty clothes into his duffel bag and turned out the light, climbing into his own bed closing his eyes for a good night's rest.
W
Dean's eyes snapped open and he sat up.
Something was wrong.
Glancing instantly to his left to check on his brother, Dean saw that Sam's bed was empty and that the bathroom door was ajar, a sliver of white light shining out into the room.
For a moment Dean didn't move, thinking that maybe he'd been mistaken and that his brother was simply using the facilities.
A choked-off retching suddenly sounded from the bathroom and Dean knew Sam was in trouble. Jumping from the bed, he rushed to the door and pushed it open, seeing Sam on his knees, hair hanging in his face and hands wrapped around the toilet bowl.
"Sammy," Dean said and stepped into the small room, leaving the door open as he did so.
His brother lifted his head, his face sweat-streaked, two red spots standing out high up on his cheeks.
"M'okay," Sam muttered before quickly turning back to the toilet and dry heaving into it.
"No, you're not," Dean said and grabbed a wash cloth off the shelf across from the sink, "You're sick."
"Just… I think the shrimp from… from that restaurant were bad," Sam explained tiredly.
Dean turned to the sink and ran cold water over the cloth, squeezing it out before crouching down beside his brother.
"C'mere," he murmured and Sam turned to look at him again.
The older Winchester reached out with his free hand and brushed his sibling's sweaty bangs from his brow before wiping his face with the cool washcloth.
Sam closed his eyes as Dean cleaned the sweat from his face, missing the concerned expression his sibling was wearing.
Dean raised his hand and pressed his palm to his brother's forehead, his frown growing.
"You're burning up," he muttered, "C'mon, you should lie back down. I'll get you some Tylenol."
Sam opened his eyes and Dean saw that they were glassy from fever. Reaching out to grab the edge of the counter, Sam began to pull himself up but gave a sharp cry of pain, doubling over before he could get to his feet properly.
"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed and reached for his brother, holding him beneath the armpits.
"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.
"M-my stomach…" Sam ground out and slowly straightened to his full height.
Dean's lips pulled down in a deep frown; "Let me see."
Before Sam could protest, Dean pulled his sibling's shirt up and although there was no mark- no bruise or wound- on his brother's abdomen, he did notice that it appeared swollen.
Lifting his hand, Dean gently touched his brother's belly, causing Sam to flinch away from him, whimpering in pain.
Shit, Dean thought, this isn't right. This isn't right at all.
"I'm taking you to the hospital," Dean informed his sibling and Sam looked up at him with wide eyes.
"No," Sam argued weakly, shaking, but Dean shook his head.
"You're really sick, Sam," Dean explained, "And I'd feel a hell of a lot better if we had a doctor check you out."
It might be nothing, Dean reasoned, it may just be food poisoning, but he wasn't willing to take that chance when it came to his brother's health. Besides, a part of him felt certain that this was more than just salmonella.
Latching onto Sam's shirtsleeve, Dean dragged him from the bathroom.
"Get your shoes," Dean instructed as he put his own on.
Sam braced himself with one hand on the edge of his bed while he bent down slowly at the waist, grimacing in pain as he did so.
"Can't…" Sam panted and Dean picked up his brother's shoes for him.
"We'll put them on later," he assured his younger sibling and grabbed the car keys from the pocket of his leather jacket.
W
"We're here, Sammy," Dean said and turned to peer at his brother who was lying in the Impala's backseat, the white lights of the hospital casting shadows across his face.
"Hm," Sam muttered and Dean opened his door and stepped out.
Walking around and pulling open the passenger door, Dean held onto both of Sam's wrists and carefully helped him into a seating position, cringing every time his brother whimpered or drew in a sharp breath in pain.
Wrapping a protective- and comforting- arm around Sam's shoulders, Dean led his brother into the hospital.
Like everything else in the town, the hospital was old and decrepit; Dean certain it had been built in the nineteen-fifties and received no renovations at all, not even a fresh coat of paint to brighten it up.
The nurse at the reception desk, an elderly woman with bifocals and steel-grey hair, looked up sharply, startled at the sight of the Winchesters slowly making their way towards her.
"My brother," Dean grunted as Sam leaned heavily against him, "He's really sick. He needs help."
The nurse looked past the hunters, towards the scuffed and scratched blue double doors that led deeper into the hospital.
"Dr. Timmons," she called and Dean peered behind himself, spying a doctor who looked as old as the nurse, step out from the double doors, "This young man is in trouble."
The older Winchester peered down at Sam's face; his cheeks and chin and brow were beaded with sweat, his bangs plastered to his forehead, his skin pale but for two red spots high on his cheekbones. Twin green eyes, shiny as glass, stared out from sunken sockets. Sam shivered beneath Dean's arm as though he was chilled.
"What's the matter?" Dr. Timmons asked, approaching the brothers.
"My brother's been puking," Dean explained, "I don't know how long… and his stomach's hurting."
The doctor nodded and motioned for the brothers to sit down in the ancient waiting room chairs.
"It might be food poisoning," Dean continued lamely as he guided Sam to the chairs, helping him sit- not missing the grunt of pain his sibling made as he collapsed onto the chair- and stared askance at the elderly doctor.
Dr. Timmons nodded to himself, speaking quietly as he did so, "Stomach… Fever…Vomiting…"
Raising a hand, the doctor looked to Dean, "May I?"
Carefully, Dr. Timmons lifted Sam's shirt and frowned; Dean could see Sam's stomach was distended although there was still no mark to be seen.
With one finger gnarled with arthritis, the doctor prodded Sam's belly, causing the hunter to writhe in pain and yowl like a scalded cat. Dean grabbed his brother to keep him from falling out of his seat and stared up at the doctor, his heart hammering fearfully; something was clearly very wrong.
Turning to the nurse, Dr. Timmons spoke urgently, "This boy's appendix is about to burst! I need to get him into surgery right now!"
The woman didn't even bother acknowledging the doctor before she rushed back to her desk and spoke into the phone, calling any available nurses to the Emergency Room.
W
A flurry of activity tore Dean's brother away from him, ushering Sam through those old double doors and into a waiting operating room.
Within moments of the nurse's call for reinforcements, Dean was left standing alone. Sighing, he raised a hand and raked his fingers through his short-cropped hair.
Appendix… It was Sam's appendix. Near ready to burst.
Dean closed his eyes, thankful that he had decided to take his brother to the hospital and not put him back to bed, thinking it was just a stomach bug. If he had…
"Young man?"
The hunter turned to see the senior nurse standing behind her desk, holding a clipboard and a stack of forms out to him.
"Oh, yeah, yeah," Dean muttered and took the clipboard from the nurse, accepting a pen from her as well.
Moving to the row of plastic chairs, Dean dropped into one of the seats and began the familiar, mundane task of filling out Sam's medical information.
W
"Family of Samuel Windsor?"
Dean looked up towards the double doors at the sound of the pseudonym he had picked out for himself and his brother three hours after bringing his sibling into the hospital.
Dr. Timmons stood in the doorway, a pleased expression on his face.
Standing, Dean went right to the doctor, questioning him before he even stopped moving.
"Is Sammy okay? Was it really his appendix?"
The elderly doctor nodded, "Your brother is fine. Right now he's recovering from the anesthesia and should be awake very soon. Yes, it was his appendix and it's a damn good thing you got him to me when you did; I'd say it was minutes away from rupturing."
Dean sagged with relief.
"Can I see him now?"
Dr. Timmons nodded, "Follow me."
This time Dean was allowed to follow the man through the double doors, past patients' rooms and towards the post-op area of the hospital.
"Once your brother's awake I'll have him moved to a different room," Dr. Timmons explained to Dean as they headed down the corridor. The floors were made up of lime green tile, faded in the center from shoes and gurney and wheelchair wheels. The walls were a drab cream colour; typical hospital décor.
"Sam will have to wait about twelve hours before he can get up and move around," the doctor continued, "He'll have to use the bathroom to make sure that both the anesthesia has worn off and that there are no complications from the surgery."
Dean nodded as the man spoke, kind of tuning him out because he was more concerned with getting to his brother.
"Your brother will have to take it easy for the next two to three weeks," Dr. Timmons said, "To prevent him from damaging the healing incision. But you'll need to go to a hospital immediately if he starts to experience any vomiting, abdominal pain, dizziness, or fever."
Dean cringed at the idea of Sam being laid off for a few weeks but he nodded and told the doctor he would make sure his brother did as the man advised.
They finally paused in front of a beige door the same colour as the walls surrounding it and Dean peered through the small, square window reinforced with wire at the half dozen beds inside the room.
Only one bed was occupied, Sam's, and Dean rushed right to his brother's side as Dr. Timmons opened the door.
"Sammy," the older brother murmured, "Hey, Sammy."
The younger sibling remained asleep, his face pale and his eyes a little sunken but Dean knew it was because of the fever and surgery he'd just received.
"Your brother is getting antibiotics to prevent infection and an antipyretic to help bring his fever down," Dr. Timmons explained, indicating the IV pole standing beside Sam's bed that held two separate bags of fluids.
"Thanks, Doc," Dean murmured without taking his eyes off his brother.
"A nurse will come in shortly to check on you," the old doctor told Dean and left the room, closing the door after himself.
Dean pulled up a wheeled stool that had been set aside for nurses and reached out to take his brother's hand.
"Sam," he murmured and ran his thumb across his sibling's knuckles, "I'm right here."
Although his brother was still unconscious; it made Dean feel better to talk to him, assuring Sam he wasn't alone.
The hunter couldn't believe how quickly the evening had gone from being boring and uneventful to frightening so quickly… and there hadn't even been anything supernatural involved!
Dean shook his head; could they ever have a nice, normal, dull day?
He guessed not.
Even so, he wouldn't change it for anything, as long as Sam was by his side.
Author's Note:
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