Okay, so i should have been writing the next chapter of When Darkness calls, but got kinda stuck(unstuck now though) so i wrote this chapter that came to me while i was thinking...hope everyone enjoys!! reviews are golden!! bambers;)
Comfortably Numb
Chapter One
"I'm done," Sam said, kicking the motel room door shut.
"What the hell do you mean, you're done?" Dean quirked a brow.
"Just what I said. I'm finished hunting."
"Why? What happened to that whole save as many as you can crusade you've been on lately?"
"I'm tired, Dean. Every bone in my body aches from sunrise until God knows when I finally get to sleep." That's close enough to the truth. Can't let him know the real reason.
"So you're gonna just quit because of a few little bruises and broken bones? Damn . . . I thought you were tougher than that, Samantha."
Sam ripped off his torn, blood-soaked shirt, and pointed to his mid-section. "Do these scars look little to you? God, it looks like I have a freakin road map tattooed to my chest." He jabbed a finger at his lean muscular stomach. "And this one right here," he stabbed at it again for emphasis. "This one is the goddamn Grand Canyon. So don't tell about little bruises."
"Aw, Sammy, girls love scars."
"Yeah, ask them how they feel about Frankenstein."
"You don't look like Frankenstein . . . well maybe lengthwise you do, but at least you're not green." Dean cracked a smile, flashing perfect white teeth.
"So not funny, Dean."
Dean plunked down onto the small overstuffed couch, and lazily ran his fingers along the fraying edges. "Speakin of the Grand Canyon — "
"Dude, what is it with you and the Grand freakin Canyon?" Sam's brows pulled together in a frown, glaring at Dean. "I'm trying to be serious here."
Dean closed his eyes, leaning back against the soft, worn cushions, and let out a deep sigh. "Hmm . . . think I could so totally take Frankenstein in a fight," he tiredly mumbled, ignoring Sam. "Sure, he's got that whole height thing workin' for him, but he's probably slow to the punch like you, Sammy."
"I'm not slow to the punch."
"Aww . . . sure you are, dude, but don't worry, I got your back."
Sam threw up his hands in exasperation. "Why do I even bother?" He dropped onto the bed, yanked off his sneakers, and sprawled across the matress. "Not like you ever listen anyway."
"Get some sleep, Sam."
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Sam awoke with a jolt, stark searing pain running the length of his spine. Body trembling, Sam clenched his teeth, and took slow deep breaths though his nostrils, in an attempt to quell the ache.
His fingers curled around the blankets in a tight grip as the pain intensified. Sam squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh gaww . . .come on, damn it."
"What's the matter, Sammy?" came Dean's concerned voice from the bed opposite of Sam's.
"N-nightmare," Sam's voice hitched as he lied to his brother. Thank God the lights are out. Don't want him to see how much pain I'm in.
Dean sat, draping his legs over the edge of the mattress. He leaned forward, resting elbows on knees. "Wanna talk about it?"
"Nah, think I'm gonna take a hot shower." Knowing him, he'll think this is his fault. Wincing, Sam slowly eased himself into a standing position. Oh God, it freakin hurts.
"Been takin' a lot of late night showers lately."
"Only time I get more than five minutes of hot water thanks to you." Sam took a slow, unsteady step, stopping as shockwaves of electrified pain ran the course of his back and down into his legs, knees nearly buckling.
"You sure you're okay, Sammy?"
"Yeah."
Sam gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain standing. Taking determined strides toward the bathroom, he let out a low groan when he'd finally made it the short expanse without collapsing.
He shut the door, leaned against the wall and slid down onto the cold tile floor. Sweat dripped from Sam's forehead and prickled at his scalp as he reached into the pocket of his jeans and yanked out a half-empty bottle of Morphine. God, how can I almost be out, I just got this damn prescription about a week ago.
Yanking off the cap, he took two and dry-swallowed them. The bottle dropped from his shaky hand, small white pills scattering like snow on the equally white tiled floor. Yeah, that so sucks. He bent and gathered all the pills he could find and shoved them back in the bottle. So not even gonna consider what kind of stuff might have been on this floor.
Wincing, Sam braced himself against the wall and slowly stood, muscles straining and bunching in protest. Without giving it a second thought, he took another pill and swallowed it.
"Sonuvabitch," he growled through clenched teeth, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. Why the hell am I in so much freakin pain? Dr. Damon promised these would work.
Sam turned on the shower, yanked off his clothes and got in. Leaning forward, he rested his arms against the shower stall and lowered his head, waiting for the steaming hot water and the medicine to take effect.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
Dean sat quietly at the small table by the front door watching Sam from the moment he'd walked out of the bathroom. Sam could feel the weight of Dean's stare on his backside as he slowly bent to pick up the shirt he'd flung on the ground earlier that morning. Damn it, he knows.
"You were in there a helluva long time, Sammy."
Sam swung to look at him, wobbling slightly, equilibrium off kilter. "What are you the bathroom monitor now?"
"If I have to be." Dean leaned forward in his seat, rested his elbows on the table and eyed Sam suspiciously. "I know something is wrong with you. One minute you're hobbling around here like a ninety-year-old man and then the next you're — God, I don't even know what you are."
"Said I was okay so back off, Dean." Sam swayed precariously, grabbing hold of a chair, he steadied himself. Why can't he ever just let it go?
"Afraid I can't do that, dude." Dean lifted a brow, stubbornly glaring at Sam.."Where you're concerned, I have my own set of spidey-senses, and I gotta tell ya, Sammy, right now they're workin' on overdrive."
Dean kicked back the chair, stood and strode to Sam. Placing a hand on Sam's shoulder, Dean gently pushed him and Sam nearly toppled over. The chair Sam had been holding onto fell to the ground with a thud, before he finally regained his balance.
Looking from the fallen chair to Sam, Dean shook his head. "Think I've proven my point, now let's try this again. What's wrong with you?"
Sam stubbornly jutted out his jaw and glared at Dean. "At this moment, I'd have to say you're what's the matter with me."
Sam stormed away from him, grabbed his hoodie off the couch, and headed for the door.
"Where the hell do you think you're goin'."
Sam turned, pursed his lips, and gave a single shake of his head. "Right now, I plan on going anywhere you're not." He strode out of the motel room, slamming the door behind him
XxXxXxXxXxX
Sam trudged to the reception desk of the medical clinic, and waited for the blonde thirty-something woman to hang up the phone. After a few seconds, he anxiously tapped his fingers on the ledge of the counter. Come on, get off the damn phone, lady.
She glanced at Sam, smiled politely and raised a finger for him to wait. A moment later, she placed the phone on the receiver. "Can I help you?"
"I need to see Dr. Damon," Sam said in a breathless rush.
"Do you have an appointment."
"No, but he told me to come back here if my pain got any worse."
The nurse looked at the appointment book on her desk, studied it for a moment then smiled. "Luckily, our 10:45 had to cancel so I can squeeze you in. I'll need your name sir?" she said, picking up a pen to mark it down.
"Sam Markenson."
She quickly jotted it on the page. "If you'll take a seat, Mr. Markenson. I'll tell the doctor you're here."
Sam glanced around the waiting room, noticed no one was there and was about to sit, but then thought better of it. If I sit down, there ain't no way in hell I'm gonna be able to get up without help.
Ten minutes later, the nurse opened the door separating the examining rooms from the waiting room, and gestured for Sam to follow her. "You'll be in exam room six." She walked in, went to a cabinet, pulled out hospital gown and handed it to him. "Strip down to your underwear and put this on. Dr. Damon will be in to see you shortly," she said then left, shutting the door behind her.
Sam unbuttoned his flannel shirt, and holding his breath he eased it off his shoulders. He'd just barely gotten the gown on when a light rap came at the door and Dr. Damon walked into the room.
"Mr. Markenson, I hadn't expected to see you. I thought you mentioned leaving town," the man said in a pleasant tone. "Is your back still bothering you?" he asked, concern clearly evident in his dark brown eyes.
"Actually, it's getting worse."
Doctor Damon glanced at Sam's file and frowned, deep wrinkles furrowing his forehead. Scrubbing his hand across his bearded face, the doctor sighed. "This is what I warned you about the last time you were here. Remember?" He flipped through his notes, shaking his head. "Have you given any consideration to giving up stunt motorcycle driving? It's an extremely dangerous sport."
Sam nearly laughed, having forgotten he'd told the doctor he drove motorcycles for the Extreme X Games when Dr. Damon asked how he'd gotten all the bruises and scars. "You don't know the half of it, Doc."
"This is serious, Sam," Dr. Damon went on to say, without glancing up at him. "You could be crippled before your thirty if you don't take it a little easy."
Yeah, if I live that long. "I swear, I'm trying."
The doctor gave him a doubtful look. "Let me examine you and then we'll discuss your options."
Dr. Damon set the file on the counter, washed and dried his hands, and walked behind Sam.
"Tell me when you feel any pain. Okay?"
"Don't think that's gonna be a problem." Sam braced himself for what he knew was coming next.
The moment Dr. Damon touched the middle of Sam's back, Sam arched forward, letting out a yelp of pain, feeling as if the doctor had stabbed him with a white-hot poker.
"Sorry about that, Sam."
"M'okay."
Sam gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyelids closed tightly in an effort not to scream again as the Dr. Damon poked and prodded Sam's back and neck. By the time the doctor was finished examining him, Sam was shaking so bad he could hardly stand. So much for a good bedside manner Doc.
Dr. Damon leaned against the counter, eying Sam and stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Well, in my professional opinion, I'd say you're definitely in worse shape then the last time you were here."
"Yeah, kinda already figured that one out by myself," Sam said, gripping a hold of the exam table so as not to fall over. "What are my options?"
"Since you told me last time, surgery to repair the damage was out of the question, and seeing that the Morphine isn't helping, I only have one other option for treatment."
"What is it?"
"Our clinic was chosen to participate in a study for a new experimental drug called Deptrapavalone. The drug's chemical composition mimics that of the pain-blocking neurotransmitter endorphin, and effectively alleviates the physical pain caused by a back injury." Dr. Damon, paused and cleared his throat, then continued, "You meet the criterial to be a part of the study. If you're interested, you'll need to fill out the paperwork and then we can start you on it right away."
Sam wasn't sure he understood what the doctor was talking about, but the sound of relief from the pain was too great to resist. "How does it work?"
"Well, the first round of medication is given in a shot, and after that we give you a sixty-day supply in pill form. All you have to do is take two pills every eight hours, and write down in the medical journal we provide the effects of the drug on your pain."
"Sounds simple enough."
"So you want to try it then?" the doctor asked, his stern gaze locking with Sam's.
"At this point, I'm willing to try anything."
"All right. I'll have Nurse Farnsworth prepare the shot, and get the necessary paperwork for you to complete." He picked up the phone and called the nurse.
"Betty, could you prepare a shot of Deptrapavalone for me?" He waited for her to reply and then continued. "Yes . . . make sure you note the day and time on the forms. Thanks."
He hung up and then looked at Sam. "I think you will be quite happy with the results, Mr. Markenson. But make sure you read the contraindications on the information packet provided. And if you begin to suffer from any of the side effects, I want you to stop taking the medicine immediately and contact me. Understand?"
"Yeah."
A knock came at the door and Nurse Farnsworth entered carrying a thick gold envelope in one hand and a needle in the other. "Here you go, Doctor," she said as she handed him the shot and placed the packet on the counter.
"Thanks, Betty."
"You're welcome, Dr. Damon."
Betty smiled sweetly at Sam then turned and left.
"This may burn a little at first and later you may notice a little swelling at the injection site which is normal," Dr. Damon said as he lifted the sleeve of Sam's hospital gown and injected the medicine into Sam's biceps.
Sam hissed through clenched teeth. "Yeah, definitely stings."
"All finished." He grinned. "Not too bad, right."
"Not at all," Sam replied, already starting to feel relief from the constant pain he'd been suffering from for the past several weeks.
"Well, if there isn't anything else I can do for you, I have another patient waiting."
"Naw, I'm good." Sam gave him a lopsided grin.
"The Deptrapavalone is in the packet on the counter. Make sure you read all the information provided, okay?"
"Packet to read, pills to take. Gotcha," Sam said, laughing at how weird his own voice sounded. Do I really sound that geeky? No wonder Dean is always making fun of me.
Dr. Damon gave him a strange look, quirked a brow, and said, "Have a good day, Sam."
"You too, dude." Sam waved to him, then stared at his own hand, flipping it over so he could look at his palm. Aw, cool, never noticed how freakin awesome my hand looked before . . . all the cool little lines . . . just like a map. "Huh, wonder why I never noticed that before."
After the doctor left, Sam quickly changed into his own clothes, and went to the waiting room. He sat and filled out the forms, chuckling at how the words seem to drift and float across the page. Man, this stuff works great, I don't feel anything.
Finishing the paperwork, Sam stood, staggered to the counter and handed them to Nurse Betty. "Here ya go, Bitty . . . Booty . . . I mean Betty." He leaned over the counter, and smiled at her. "Anyone ever tell ya, you have the most incredible blue eyes?"
Betty appeared slightly taken aback at the comment. "Um . . . thanks, but they're brown."
"Whatever." Sam licked his lips as he stared wantonly at her. "Man, if I were my brother, Dean, I'd be all over you by now." Without waiting for her to respond, Sam turned to leave. "Gotta go . . . Dean can't be alone . . . hates to be left alone." He chortled loudly as he stumbled out the door.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
"Do you think he suspected anything?" Betty asked Damon, who'd strolled out of the exam area the moment Sam walked out the door.
Damon crossed his arms, a wide triumphant grin on his face. "Nope. Sam really believed he was in pain. Think he would've done pretty much anything I suggested to get rid of it."
"How long will it take?"
"Oh, darlin', he's already hooked. Pretty soon he'll do whatever we want him to do just to get another fix."
"You're a genius, Damon."
Damon's eyes glazed over then turned as dark as pitch as did Betty's.
"I know. Father will be pleased."