The Fight For Her Life
Chapter Four
Dean and Sam got into the Impala, as Dean turned on the ignition and the Impala's engine roared into life and they pulled out of the parking lot of the motel, and sped down the road in search of the nearest bar. Dean stared at Sam. "Sammy? You okay?" asked Dean, as he got out of the car. Sam was quiet for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "I'm just worried about Lizzie, that's all."
Dean put a sympathetic hand on Sam's shoulder. "It's gonna be okay," he said soothingly.
Sam sighed and nodded.
They found an all-night bar about fifteen minutes away from the motel, as Dean turned on the turning signal and turned into the parking lot, and took the nearest parking spot he saw.
Once he was parked, he shut off the ignition and Sam and Dean got out of the car and walked inside.
The bar smelled strongly of cigarette smoke and liquor, as Sam and Dean took two empty seats at the bar, and ordered their drinks.
Sam immediately started to talk about Lizzie, and what the hell could be making her so sick, but Dean, on the other hand, was more interested in the pretty blonde girl who was bartending.
Sam sighed, and snapped his fingers in front of his older brother's face. "Hey! Dean! You hearing me?" he asked somewhat impatiently.
"Uh, yeah,'' said Dean, unconvincingly. "What?"
Sam sighed impatiently. "We were talking about Lizzie?" Sam reminded him, with his eyebrows raised. "Oh,'' said Dean. "Right.''
Sam sighed as he took out his laptop, set it on the tabletop and turned it on. "Why couldn't you have picked someone less stubborn to be your girlfriend, Sammy?" Dean groaned. "Shut up!" Sam growled, looking slightly hurt. Dean smiled apologetically. "Sorry,'' he said. "I didn't mean that. I love her as much as you do, but seriously, Sam! She can really piss me off, sometimes,"
Sam smiled. He knew what Dean meant. Lizzie, like everyone else in the world had her flaws and little things about her that were annoying, but Sam loved her enough to look past all those things.
"What are we looking for?" asked Dean. "Anything that can give us clues as to what is making Lizzie sick. She takes really good care of herself, so she rarely becomes sick at all!" said Sam. "What are her symptoms? Let's start there!" Dean suggested. "Good thinking,'' said Sam. He typed Lizzie's symptoms into the search engine, and several sites popped up at once. Sam chose the first one he saw (Web MD), and searched the site, for any illnesses or conditions that might match Lizzie's symptoms. "What about an ovarian cyst?" asked Dean pointing at the screen. "I doubt it,'' said Sam, shaking his head. "It says that they go away on their own,"
"Within a few weeks it says,'' Dean corrected him. "It hasn't been that long – only three days!"
Sam waved away Dean's correction. "Whatever,'' he said as he continued to search.
SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN
Back in the hotel room, Lizzie was bent over the toilet in the bathroom throwing up for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening. Castiel cringed at the retching sounds of Lizzie's vomiting, and after nearly fifteen minutes, Lizzie emerged, one hand on the door frame, and another over her midsection. "Sorry,'' Lizzie moaned. "What for?'' asked Castiel kindly. "Sorry you had to hear that,'' said Lizzie as Castiel wrapped an arm around Lizzie's shoulder and helped her back to her nest. "It's alright,'' said Castiel as Lizzie laid down in her nest, and Cas covered her up.
SPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPNSPN
Sam and Dean were still researching when it reached midnight. "Ugh!" Dean groaned. "Sammy, we've been researching for hours, and we've found nothing!" Sam sighed, he was getting tired, and his hopes of finding out whatever could be making Lizzie so ill were low.
"I know,'' he sighed. "Maybe we should go back to the hotel,'' Dean suggested. Sam rubbed his eyes; and longed for his motel bed so he could get some rest. Maybe they could continue their research in the morning. But then…..Sam's tiredness was replaced by a horrible feeling in his gut – a feeling that there was something really wrong with Lizzie. His motivation to find out what was wrong with her increased again, and he suddenly felt wide awake.
"No,'' he said. "What?" Dean asked, while failing to surpress a huge yawn. "No,'' Sam repeated. "I'm gonna keep looking,'' said Sam. "You can go back to the motel if you want to, I'm staying here,''
Dean's impulse was to say 'okay' and leave, but he knew that Sam wouldn't have any way to coming back to the motel, and Dean wouldn't be too happy with being woken up by Sam calling asked to be picked up.
"Okay,'' said Dean as he ordered himself another drink.
Sam continued to search for the next half hour, then found something promising. "Huh!" he said. "What?" asked Dean, while taking a sip of whiskey. "Take a look at this,'' said Sam turning his laptop toward Dean so he could get a good view of the screen. "Appendicitis,'' he recited, frowning at the computer screen. "What the hell is that?"
"According to the website,'' said Sam, turning the computer back towards himself. "it's when you're appendix becomes infected," "What is an appendix?" asked Dean. "It's this organ that basically does nothing but sit there – there's no known function for it as far as we know,''
"Then why the hell do we have one to begin with?" asked Dean. Sam shrugged. "Beats me,'' he said as he continued to search the website. He clicked on an icon that read symptoms, and a page linked to the same site popped up. Sam's eyes scanned the page. The symptoms for appendicitis included, abdominal pain (that usually becomes worse over the course of several hours), loss of appetite, vomiting, nausea…..
All at once everything seemed to fall into place, and a metaphorical light bulb when on in Sam's brain. "That's it!" he whispered.
"What's it?'' asked Dean. Sam turned his laptop towards Dean so he could see. "Look,'' he said. Dean gazed at the computer screen for a moment, then a look of astonished realization crossed his ruggedly handsome face. "You think this is it?" he asked. "What else could it be?" asked Sam as he began to sound excited.
"I mean, think about it Dean! Her stomach pains, her throwing up constantly, her loss of appetite – it all fits!" "Maybe," he said.
Sam was looking bemused. "What do you mean 'maybe' Dean?" he asked, sounding slightly hysterical.
"Well," said Dean. "We haven't looked at the other illnesses and diseases that are listed on this site…"
"Screw the other stuff!" shouted Sam, standing up, which made a few people nearby stare. "Dean, this is the answer! I know it! This is what's been making Lizzie so sick for the past three days!" Sam said, lowing his voice to a whisper.
"Even if this is the reason why Lizzie's been so sick for the past three days, why hasn't she – hang on! Move the cursor over the history tab again!"
Sam obeyed as he moved the little tab on the menu bar at the top of the computer screen and was shocked by what he saw; Lizzie had searched for information on appendicitis the previous day and looked at the contents from the same website that Sam and Dean were looking at.
"What's that?" asked Dean, inching closer to get a better look. He only had to take one look at the dropdown bar that listed Lizzie's internet history that showed the site that they were on, before sitting back on his barstool, a look of pure shock on both his and Sam's faces.
"Oh, my God!" he gasped. "She knew!" Sam breathed as he gazed at Dean, and Dean stared back.
"She knew that she might have appendicitis, and she didn't say anything?" Dean asked, a tone of outrage in his voice. "Why the hell would she do that?"
"She was afraid, I guess," said Sam, shrugging. "Afraid of what?" Dean snapped. "I suspect that she was afraid that we would worry about it…"
"Damn right we would worry about it!" Dean shouted as more people began to stare. But Dean ignored them.
"Come on, Dean!" said Sam. "You know her! She doesn't like to show weakness!"
"How long does it take for the appendix to rupture?" asked Dean.
Sam looked back at the webpage that they had been looking at, and went to a tab that was listed as complications.
"On average, it takes about twenty-four to seventy-two hours," he said.
"Three days," said Dean, looking more worried than ever now. "Lizzie has gone past that time limit without going for help! Sammy, we've got to help her!" Sam nodded. "Mm, I suppose we should. I don't know about you Dean, But I personally can't bear to see her suffer anymore! I mean, she is my girlfriend, and…" "Yeah, I know, Sammy, I know," said Dean.
"Only one problem though,'' he said. "Oh?" asked Sam. "Lizzie is very adamant that it's only the flu. We're gonna have a hell of a time trying to convince her otherwise. She won't agree to go to a hospital unless we can convince her that what she has is serious."
"Cas hasn't called or anything has he?" asked Sam after an awkward silence. "What? Oh, no! I don't think so," said Dean, pulling his phone out of his pocket and looking at it as he spoke. "No, there are no missed calls, no texts, nothing!"
Sam looked perplexed. "Don't you think that's a bit – I don't know, odd, that he hasn't checked up since we left the motel room?"
Dean laughed. "Relax Sammy, Cas is looking after Lizzie, and I'm sure that the only reason he hasn't checked up is because everything is fine! Just take a chill pill and relax okay?"
Sam swallowed hard, and nodded,
But then the same feeling of dread and worry he experienced earlier consumed him once more. Something's really wrong with Lizzie he thought.
Was he just imagining things?
"Listen, Sammy, let's just forget about Lizzie for a while and let's talk about something else okay?"
"Like what?" asked Sam. Dean was gazing flirtatiously at a pretty brunette girl who was sitting at a table across the room with who appeared to be her twin sister. "Wish me luck, Sammy!" he said as he straightened the wrinkles in his shirt, and smoothed his hair before walking over to the table where the girls were sitting.
Sam sighed as he gazed into his half-full glass of whiskey. "You seem down," said the bartender; a pretty slender blonde girl, with emerald green eyes and a heart shaped face with fair skin. Sam sighed again. "I've just got a lot on my mind," he said.
The bartender refilled his glass and leaned forward on the countertop. "Do you wanna get out of here, with me?" she purred, as she stared seductively into Sam's hazel eyes.
"Ah, actually, I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm already taken," said Sam as he swallowed and pulled a picture of Lizzie out of his wallet and showing it to the bartender.
The moment she set eyes on the picture, she looked extremely jealous. "On the house," she said coolly nodding at Sam's refilled glass of whiskey and walked on the opposite side of the bar to take some new customers' drink orders.
Sam sat there, not touching his drink and thinking about Lizzie, and how she was doing.
After a while, Sam gazed at his watch. It was nearly midnight, and his eyes itched with tiredness.
But then the same feeling of dread and worry he experienced earlier consumed him again. Something's really wrong with Lizzie he thought. As he walked out of the bar with Dean at around two in the morning, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that Lizzie was in trouble.
Was he just imagining things?
