Author: Oldach's Dream
Summary: Dean has a bad reaction to an experimental concussion treatment given to him at a hospital. And by bad I mean…interesting. A humorous car ride ensues and a hunt is planned. One-shot.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Want 'em…but don't own 'em.
Rating: T for some naughty language.
A/N: Takes place anytime after Faith (as I reference It once) and before Papa Winchester is back in the picture.
Fixation
"Sammy," Dean protested loudly from the passenger's side of the Impala, "You're being unreasonable."
"I'm being unreasonable?" Sam questioned dubiously, "You're the one who wants to hunt down and kill-"
"A demon." The older brother cut off. "An evil, satanic…really, really bad demon."
"God," Sam snorted, "That sounded mature."
"Whatever, little brother," Dean brushed off. "We're still hunting it."
"No we're not."
"Yeah, you're right," Dean gave in. "We can skip the hunting – damn thing doesn't deserve our time - we can just find the little bitch and friggin' kill it."
"You know," Sam tried not to smirk, "Finding and hunting are kinda the same."
"No," Dean shook his head. "Hunting implies that it'll be challenging. Findin' this bastard ain't gonna be tough."
"In all technicality-"
"I hate technicalities," The eldest Winchester grumbled, and was promptly ignored.
"There's more than one."
Dean winced, "Yeah, hadn't thought of that," he paused for a few moments, then decided, "We'll just kill 'em all."
"There could be like…millions of them all over the world. In different forms…" Sam trailed off, actually thinking about it. "Billions even. No way we'll actually get to 'em all. Hell, getting to almost any of them would be illegal in every state."
Dean growled – literally growled. Sam took his eyes off the road for a moment and shot his brother an odd look – complete with raised eyebrows and a frown.
"Fine," the elder of the two went on, he still sounded like a wild animal ready to strike. Sam hadn't taken it seriously before, but he thought now – perhaps Dean really was serious. A serious Winchester was a dangerous thing. "Then we'll just kill the original."
Sam didn't want to treat this as a laughing matter anymore, yet he didn't understand this logic, "What original?"
"Well," Dean said patiently, seemingly sensing his brother's mood shift, "They all had to come from somewhere, right?"
"Yeah…" Sam agreed hesitantly, a thought accruing to him, "But isn't what created it…ya know, a human?"
"Great," Dean exclaimed, "That'll be easy."
Sam blanched, "Dude, we can't kill a human!"
"Sammy," Dean said slowly, as if talking to a small child, "Whatever created that monster is quite obviously evil. We'd be doing the whole damn world a favor."
"We can't just up and kill a human being," Sam declared, he had, after all, been the brother who thought killing Roy LaGrange would have be unjustified –before, of course, they'd figured out it was his wife behind the murders. He decided to point this out to his older brother, who was currently suffering from an intense case of tunnel vision.
Dean listened to his argument silently, then decided, "That's not the same."
"Yeah, I know," Sam agreed. "That was worse."
"No," Dean still insisted, "It wasn't, how far did LaGrange's circle of followers stretch? I don't think they made it past the city limits. This thing… man, this thing, it's everywhere. It cold take over the whole goddamned world and we'd just be…shit outta luck."
Sam sighed, "I think that's taking a bit far, don't ya think?"
"No," Dean shook his head violently, "You're not seein' the big picture. If we don't eliminate this thing now…it could end us."
Sam – who up until this point had at least been trying to humor his brother – finally took into perspective what Dean was saying. "Man…" he took a deep breath, "Are sure you're feeling alright? That doctor said odd behavior was a sign of a more serious head injury…you're not dizzy or anything, are you?"
"I got a concussion, Sammy," Dean blanched. "It's happened before, I'm fine."
"Really?" Sam asked doubtfully, "Are you hearing yourself?"
"Just because you can't see how evil the little shit head is doesn't mean I don't." Dean said confidently. "Trust me, once we kill it, you'll realize how right I am."
Sam considered his options - and really, he didn't have many - finally he settled on, "Dean…I think you should go back to sleep."
"Dude," his brother protested loudly, "I've been sleeping since we left Denver. I'm not fucking tired anymore-"
"Then pop another pain killer."
"-and I'm not going back to sleep. Seat gives me a neck-ache." He rolled his shoulders as if to sell the fact.
Sam snorted humorously, "Welcome to my world."
"Fine, next time you stop at a motel, I'll listen-"
"Good to know."
"-but I'm still not sleeping."
"Dean-"
But he was cut off almost at once as his brother caught sight of something, and bolted as far off the seat as he could mange, pointing wildly, he asked frantically, "Do you see that? Do you? Huh?"
Of course Sam saw it, he wasn't surprised either, that was just fate. "Yes Dean, I see it."
"Great, get off at the next exit and we can kill this bitch once and for all."
"I thought we already went over this," Sam tried patiently, purposely slowing the car down, biding his time, "We can't just get it over with, it's a worldwide thing."
"Sam," Dean said just as patiently, in an almost father-like tone. "That's like saying, why bother killing any ghosts? More'll always show up."
"That's not exactly the same-"
"It's like thinking, well, why bother taking a shower? We'll just end up digging up a grave again."
"Ew."
"It's like saying, hey, what's the point in eating? I'm just gonna get hungry again."
"Melodramatic freak," he mumbled loudly. Dean was either too lost in his own thoughts to react, or he was simply ignoring his baby brother. For the sake of his general well being, Sam was hoping for the latter.
"I say," the elder of the two finished convincingly. "If we can take down even one of these nasty little hell-bitches – we should. What's wrong with that?"
"You don't really want me to answer that, do you?"
"We have to kill it, Sam." He said solemnly. "It's our job. Who knows how much terror it's rained over unsuspecting people already. Do you really wanna risk more people being put in danger? I say, we kill however many of 'em we can find now – then tomorrow, we'll start a hunt against the…the whatever created them. It may take a while, but we will ban these bitches from ever walking the earth ever again!"
Sam considered Dean's passionate little speech – he was moved, really. He was moved into thinking that the hospital they'd been in days prior had somehow slipped his brother some sort of crazy pill. He wondered briefly if the prescription bottles would have the hospital's number on them.
He couldn't believe he had actually considered humoring his brother on this idiotic notion. Although, in his defense, Dean had sounded much more sane just a few minutes before.
"Is this all because you had that nightmare about 'em?" Sam had to know, before they went any farther with this. "Because seriously, I don't think that's grounds for an exorcism."
"We exorcize your nightmares." Dean pouted. And if Sam didn't have a solid opinion on how mentally well his brother was before, he did now. Dean Winchester did not pout at anyone who didn't have long legs and boobs.
"My nightmares are real," Sam said slowly, placatingly.
"And you're talking to me like I'm crazy," Dean huffed.
"You're not exactly acting sane…"
"They're evil! They're wicked and evil! They're wicked evil and they have to be stopped!" He all but shouted. "They have to die!"
"Okay then." And Sam just smirked; because he had successfully passed the exit his brother had been so fixated on. As soon as he could see it in the rear-view mirror, he sped up slightly.
It didn't take Dean long to catch on. His head whipped around, he paused, then looked back at Sam, his mouth open slightly in shock and disappointment. "What the hell are you doing?"
"There's a motel a couple miles up, we're gonna stop, you're gonna take a sleeping pill, and I'm gonna call that doctor to see if your weird behavior is anything to be worried about." He answered factually.
"Goddamn it, Sammy!" Pissed Dean was not a force to be reckoned with – unless of course you were his little brother – in which case, you were too used too it, too immune to it, to actually be overly affected by it. "We're gonna miss our chance!"
"Dean," the younger man said slowly. "I'll make you a deal. If you still wanna kill the-"
"Most evil son of a bitch to ever walk the face of the planet."
"-tomorrow," he went on, agreeing silently with his brother's assessment. "Then we'll come back and shoot down every single one we can find, okay?"
Dean paused, considering it, then verified, "Every one?"
"Yes," he was happy to see his brother finally calming down. "Every one."
"Even the one on TV?"
"Especially the one on TV," Sam shivered slightly, because no matter how much he was placating his brother right now, he didn't like the thing anymore than the delusional older hunter did.
Dean huffed dramatically, but relaxed back into the leather seat. "Fine," he sighed. "We'll wait. But I'm telling you," he started again warningly, "If that fucking…asshole takes over the world while I'm asleep…I'm gonna be seriously pissed."
Sam bit his lip. It would be another twelve hours, two sleeping pills and half a dozen phone calls to a hospital a thousand miles away before Sam allowed himself to laugh hysterically at Dean's rant.
Because, in due time, it would be damn funny. One of the funniest things he had ever witnessed, actually – and on a serious note, he'd learn that his brother – for whatever reason – had bad reactions to a certain brand of new medicine the doctor's in Denver had been testing out on concussion victims.
Perfectly safe. The man had assured.
Sam snorted out loud. The doctor he had finally talked to, the one who had treated Dean, had been incredibly interested in his brother's symptoms. Sam had talked to him as Dean snored quietly in the background of their motel room.
What exactly, he pried, Do you mean by 'acting abnormally'?
"Well," Sam had explained to the good doctor. "We're hunters, you see."
Yes, I deer hunt myself on occasion with my own brother.
"Yeah," Sam agreed half –heartedly, he really didn't like this guy too much. Experimental treatments, his ass. "He woke up really groggy the first morning after we left, and I just figured it was from the side-affects – the expected side affects - of the meds you gave him."
Sam paused meaningfully and let the words soak in, he could picture the middle-aged man wincing, and becoming fearful of some sort of lawsuit. He hoped to God it was an accurate image of his current mental state.
"Then," the youngest Winchester continued his tale; "He fell asleep in the car, and woke up about half a day later, and started talking kinda crazy."
"So…" he heard the man gulp, and Sam felt pride in the fear he'd caused. Served the bastard right. "You'd say it was delayed reaction?"
"Yeah," he agreed, "delayed. Now, don't get me wrong, me and my brother…we have some weird ass conversations, but this…this was just over the top. And he wouldn't let it go."
"And you say it was about hunting?" Well, no, he actually hadn't.
Whaddya know? The scarecrow doctor had a brain after all.
Sam wanted to be angry with this man – he really did – hell, he really was. Who gave patients untested treatment? But honestly, he couldn't complain too much.
Other than the odd behavior, it actually had helped Dean get over his head injury rather quickly. And even then, if he still had grounds to be upset – even press legal charges -he couldn't go through with it. McNamara, he believed, was the name on the fake insurance card he had presented the ER doctors with.
The McNamara brothers, who lived down South in Mississippi. So no, he couldn't attack this doctor legally. Sam grinned then, thinking oddly like his older- currently incapacitated- brother; the doctor didn't know Sam wasn't a legal threat.
"Yeah," Sam continued with the explanation. "It was about hunting. He kept saying he wanted to hunt…something." Sam took a deep breath. Good God, if Dean ever found out he'd shared this information with this shit-head doctor; he was pretty sure both him and Dr. No-Brain would be dead meat. "He kept going on about killing that…the Burger King guy."
Sam took a moment to put into perspective what he'd just said.
"The Burger King guy?" Dr. Shit-face questioned.
"Yeah," Sam laughed nervously, "You know, that creepy statue guy with the mask. The one in the commercials. The mascot thing."
"And has your brother…" The doctor took a few breaths before plowing on, "Was this…what I mean to say is, was there any predisposition for this sort of…um…fixation."
"Well," Sam scratched the back of his neck. "You know, De…he'd never liked the dude." He was almost positive 'Dean' was not the name of one of the registered McNamara brothers. "Actually had a nightmare about it once, when he first saw one of the commercials. Rolled over in bed and thought the thing, dude, creepy guy…whatever you wanna call it, was right next to him. Refused to sleep the rest of the night."
"And is your brother prone to nightmares?" Dr. Scarecrow asked factually.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Sam wondered, not liking sharing Dean's personal information with this man. Even if, to this man, Dean wasn't technically Dean.
"For my research. Please." He insisted, and Sam really wanted to hang up on him. But thought maybe there was something he could say that might be useful.
Sighing notably, he went answered, "No, my brother's never really had nightmares."
"Not even as a child?" He pressed. "Night terrors?"
"That was more my thing," Sam finally grumbled. "No, Dean doesn't have nightmares often at all. He just really, really doesn't like that scary ass dude. Hell, we passed a Burger King sign on the highway and he almost jumped out of the car trying to get to it. He hates that godforsaken thing."
"It doesn't sound like you're too fond of it, either."
"Okay, I know that's not relevant."
"You're quite right," he pressed on, professional once more, "And the way I figure it, your brother's preexisting…distaste for the advertising character, just got somewhat magnified by the medication. I really couldn't tell you why exactly…my research isn't that conclusive."
"You're an idiot, you know that, right?" Sam didn't much like talking disrespectfully to anyone -especially someone who had actually tried to help his family – but he really didn't like this man.
The youngest Winchester 'ah-huh' and 'yeah, okay,'d his way through the doctor's extensive apology only to hang up after the words, "No serious damage has been done and your brother'll be back to normal after a day or two of rest."
Great. Sam thought, sitting heavily on his own bed, watching over his slumbering brother, Fucking peachy.
Dean woke up with a clear mind and a foggy memory nearly a day and a half later. He pulled himself into a sitting position slowly and eyed his little brother, who was sitting comfortably on the same bed he'd been perched on, more or less unmovingly,since the doctor's phone call.
Dean looked as if he had just gotten over an incredibly disorienting hangover. His eyes were unclouded, yet shone brightly with confusion and visibly muddled thoughts. Sam waited, and finally the older sibling ventured, "What the fuck did I do last night?"
Sam smirked, happy to see his brother back to his old self, and after a few moments of relieved chuckling, responded the only way he could think of.
"We're never going to Burger King, ever again."
The End.
A/N:
I just like to say right here and now, that I, in no way, own or make prophet off of Burger King or its freaky ass mascot. I hate that thing with such a fiery passion. I think, if anyone ever dressed up as that dude for Halloween, they'd win scariest prize at whatever party they went to. Even if there was no contest for scariest prize going on. Writing this fic was incredibly cathartic – I actually wrote it about a month ago and just rediscovered and edited it today. And I'd love to know what you think: )