Chapter Two: Bad News
By the time Sam was coherent and conscious again, they had traveled more than 18 hours from Boise, to Bobby's house in South Dakota. Sam remembered waking up once or twice to take some medication, but other than that, he had basically slept the drive away.
After another humiliating experience of being carried, he found himself transported from the Impala to Bobby's living room. Dean laid him down on a couch and soon Bobby had him covered in a warm blanket.
"You look horrible kid," Bobby said, "and I bet you feel it too."
Sam sighed.
"Story of my life," he muttered.
"I have some chicken noodle soup on the stove."
"Thanks Bobby," Sam said.
He could only watch as his dad and Dean brought their stuff in from the impala. He felt much better than he did when he first woke, but his recovery was still a work in progress. The fact that he had slept practically the whole drive here made him feel weak.
Soon, just as Bobby promised, there was a bowl of chicken noodle soup in front of him. He hadn't eaten much more than jello at the hospital. But then again, he hadn't spent that much time awake there. Still, The soup was definitely an upgrade.
"I got some pizza in the oven," Bobby shouted from the kitchen.
Dean was there in an instant, claiming rather loudly he was starving. After a few minutes, he came and sat in the couch across from Sam.
From his view in the living room, Sam could see his dad and Bobby sitting at the table, talking in hushed tones. They obviously didn't want to be overheard.
"Hey Sammy," Dean said taking Sam's attention away from the kitchen. "You gonna eat that? Or are you just gonna stare?"
Sam smirked.
"You just wanna take my food when I'm not looking."
He took a bite and signed in happiness. This wasn't the canned stuff he had practically grown up with. This was homemade and hearty.
"As good as Bobby's soup may be, this pizza is to die for."
He emphasized his point by biting off more pizza than he could fit in his mouth.
"Aw gross Dean!" Sam exclaimed, pointedly looking away. He looked at the kitchen. Bobby had brought out the whiskey.
"Besides," Dean continued, now done chewing, "That soup will help you more than me. I'm not the scrawny one laid up on a couch right now."
Dean took another overly large bite of his pizza.
"You're disgusting Dean," Sam said.
The two enjoyed at least a half an hour of lighthearted banter before their dad came over and told them to call it a night.
"Spoilsport," Dean muttered.
But their dad was in no mood to play along.
"Dean, you can sleep upstairs," John said.
As Sam expected, Dean quickly protested.
"I can stay here and watch Sammy," Dean said. "We'll be fine."
Sam watched his father sigh. He looked tired and worn out.
"I got this Dean."
Not liking where this was going Sam spoke up.
"Really it's fine if Dean-"
"Upstairs. Now," John said with finality.
Sam watched as Dean glanced at him, then their father.
"Yes sir," he said. Then he grudgingly left the room.
Sam looked at his lap, then peeked up at his dad. He was doing the same.
"What happened back there in Boise Sam?" He asked.
Sam was confused and it showed on his face.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
John rubbed his hands together.
"All your injuries," he said shaking his head, "From what Dean told me, that rawhead didn't do it. I had a hell of a time trying to keep CPS off our backs."
Sam frowned.
"There was a second rawhead dad," Sam answered.
A panicked look came across his dad's face.
"Don't worry," Sam said, "I took care of it."
John shook his head.
"That's not it Sam," he said, sounding sad. "You shouldn't have had to do that."
Sam looked at his lap.
"You couldn't have known."
An awkward silence lapsed between them.
"Dean was out of his mind the whole time," John said. "He hardly slept."
Sam could feel his father's eyes boring into him.
"Your heart stopped in the E.R. Sam. They were doing CPR on you as they wheeled you away. There was nothing we could do."
Sam felt his eyes start to water. He knew his dad wasn't blaming him. It was just hard to hear the man speak so openly about how he felt. That almost never happened. It seemed only near death experiences brought out his father's softer side.
Sam looked up and watched as his dad tiredly rubbed his face. He'd never seen the man look so vulnerable and he didn't like it.
"How long will we stay here?" Sam asked.
His dad shrugged.
"We'll stay until you're mobile again."
"Then what?" Sam pressed.
"Just focus on getting better Sam," he said in a tone that said the conversation was over.
Sam sighed, but let the matter go.
"Get some sleep," John said leaning over to the side table, switching off the lamp.
Now it was completely dark. Sam realized Bobby must have gone to bed during their conversation.
Sam stretched out on the couch and pulled his blanket up to his chin. The melancholy atmosphere that had settled in the room had yet to dissipate.
"I'm sorry dad,' he said quietly.
He wasn't sure why he was apologizing, but for some reason, he felt like he had done something wrong, like he had failed his family.
All was quiet, so quiet Sam figured his dad must have fallen asleep, then…
"Don't be," he said, his voice a whisper. "We should have been there for you."
The words only made Sam feel worse. There was nothing he could come up with to reply to that. He laid in the darkness wishing he could have been stronger and faster at taking that rawhead down. Them maybe he wouldn't be the one bringing his family down right now.
Just as he was about to drift off to sleep he heard words he hadn't heard in years.
"I'm proud of you Sammy, never forget that."
The next morning, John was nowhere to be seen. Instead Sam woke to see Dean staring at him from across the couch. He had a contemplative look on his face. But as soon as he realized Sam was awake, it was gone.
"About time sleeping beauty," Dean said, leaning back on the couch and putting his feet on the coffee table between them.
Sam pushed himself up so that he was sitting.
"It's already lunchtime" Dean said crossing his arms across his chest.
Sam frowned. Had he really slept that long?
"You better eat up," Dean said, nodding his head toward a sandwich that was set on the coffee table in front of Sam. Next to it were two pills and a glass of water.
Seeing where Sam eyes had gone, Dean explained.
"Those are antibiotics genius, so those scratches of yours don't get infected. Speaking of which, we'll have to change those bandages after you're done eating, so get going."
Sam's mood was deteriorating fast.
"Why the rush," he asked sarcastically. "Got a hot date or something?"
Dean only shrugged.
"I wish," he said with a smirk.
Sam rolled his eyes and reached for the sandwich, only to hiss in pain as the tight skin on his back pulled at the newly formed scabs. He gave up on reaching the plate and leaned back into the couch.
With an angry sigh, Sam glared at Dean. He wasn't exactly angry at his brother. But he was feeling frustrated and annoyed, and Dean was right there in front of him. His glare quickly fizzled out when he saw how worried Dean looked. He was sitting up taller, and his feet were back on the floor. Sam could tell Dean was trying to look cool, now that he could see Sam wasn't in pain anymore, but Sam knew. He always knew. He remembered his dad's words the previous night.
"Dean was out of his mind the whole time."
"He hardly slept."
"Here," Dean said standing up.
He grabbed the plate and set it in Sam's lap. Normally he would have thrown a fit and told Dean to mind his own business. But not this time.
"Thanks Dean," he acknowledged quietly.
His brother nodded in his direction, but didn't say anything. He picked up a car magazine off the coffee table and started to flip through the pages, glancing at Sam occasionally.
Sam pretended like he did notice as he quietly ate his sandwich, all the while think about just how much he hated his current situation.
Sam groggily opened his eyes as he was woken from his nap by an annoying ringing sound.
As he sat up, he realized it was Dean's phone. His brother was no longer in the room. Sam figured he'd gone outside to work on one of Bobby's many cars. It was a bit odd for his brother to forget to grab his phone though. It wasn't exactly a cheap piece of technology. If not for what they did as a family, Dean would never have had one.
Remembering what happened when he reached for the plate just hours before, Sam carefully grabbed the phone off the edge of the coffee table and looked at who was calling. But Before he could even think about answering, the phone stopped ringing.
Sam waited for a moment, and soon enough the phone vibrated to show there was a message. He went to put the phone down. But his curiosity got the best of him. The phone usually only rang when they were on a hunt. So the call must be important.
Sam dialed the voicemail and waited for the message to play out.
"Mr. Winchester, this is Doctor Richards from St. Luke's Regional Medical Center."
Sam frowned, since when did Dean leave behind a trail like this? They usually used false names and put down Bobby's number if they absolutely needed to.
"I won't pretend to understand why you left so suddenly, but we need to talk. I just got your brother's blood tests back and I would like to run some more tests. It could be nothing, a false positive if you will. But I just want to be sure. Please call me at your earliest convenience."
Sam didn't know what to think. He slowly brought the phone away from his ear and down to his lap. He stared down at it unsure of what he should do next. In the movies these sorts of calls always led to some dire diagnosis, lots of tears, and way too much drama.
But what if this was nothing?
The more he thought about it, the more he started to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. In a perfect world, he and Dean and dad would go right back to that hospital and talk it out with the doctor, take those extra tests and find out the diagnosis like any rational person would.
But they had left in the night. And as his dad told him the night before, CPS had been asking too many questions. They'd raised to many red flags to be able to come back without facing some tough questions.
Sam stared at the phone even harder, as if it had the answers to the questions in his mind.
The sound of the front door opening jolted Sam from his thoughts. He put the phone under his leg and turned to see who it was.
"The narcoleptic wonder has woken," Dean said, sounding much more upbeat than before.
He walked down the hall. Sam figured he needed a bathroom break.
Sam grabbed the magazine Dean had been reading earlier from the coffee table and a pen from the lamp stand. He played the massage again and copied down the doctor's number. Then he deleted all traces of the message and the number that had called. He laid the phone back on the coffee table just as Dean walked back into the room.
His brother was carrying a backpack.
"Here," he said dropping it on the couch next to Sam. "Something to keep you from going sir crazy... that Is... when you're awake enough to drive yourself nuts."
Sam smiled, and opened the backpack, happy to see all his school books just as he had left them.
"Only you Sam, would be happy as a clam to see homework," Dean said rolling his eyes. He turned back toward the door.
Sam was happy to note Dean's smile had been sincere, and the worry from earlier was nowhere to be seen.
As soon as he was alone again, his thoughts turned back to the phone and the doctor who had left the message. He still wasn't sure what he was going to do, but at least now he had some time to think it through. He thought of his brother's smile and how it would be gone in a flash if he knew about the message.
He didn't want that to happen.
He could handle this on his own.
Right?
