I still don't own any of this, so please don't sue if you are in a position to do so. I love the comments – so thank you to all the readers for that.
If any of the medial info is wrong, feel free to blame me because it's my fault.
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Don't make me go against my word, Sam." Dean whispered as Sam fell back asleep.
Dean spent the rest of the day in the room making sure that Sam was all right. Sam woke a few times, but slept most of the time. Dean kept feeding him cough syrup and ibuprofen to try and ease Sam's discomfort. Dean winced every time Sam coughed. His fever didn't go any higher, but it didn't get any lower either.
Dean filled the time organizing all the information that he and Sam had gotten about the doctor's psychotic ghost. He figured the bones were probably in the basement somewhere. The basement seemed to be the least renovated, most likely because it was the least damaged by the fire. He found a blueprint of the hospital before the fire and studied it carefully.
Sam woke up and saw Dean working. His breath was shallow and painful. He coughed and tasted blood again.
Dean looked over. "How do you feel?"
"I've been better." Sam coughed again, a flash of pain on his face.
Sam pushed himself up to sitting and leaned back against the headboard. His breath was short and quick. Dean tried to hide his concern because he knew Sam would continue to hide what was wrong.
"What did you find out?" Sam asked with his eyes closed.
"Just some details. The newspaper archives were good, which makes our job easier."
Sam nodded. "What happened to that kid? Nick."
"Don't know."
Sam studied Dean for a few seconds. "You think me and him are related."
Dean shrugged. "It wouldn't surprise me."
"Would much surprise you anymore?" Sam asked with a weak smile.
Sam dissolved into another coughing spasm. Dean stood and filled a glass with water. He set it on the nightstand next to Sam. All Dean or Sam could do was wait it out. Sam's eyes watered from the force and the pain in his chest and back. He coughed and gagged and choked on the air he tried to breath. Finally he sunk back into the pillows and took fast breaths to compensate. His eyes were closed as he focused only on breathing.
"That kind of hurt." Sam gasped.
"Sounded like it." Dean tried to keep the tone light, unworried.
Dean wanted to ask Sam to go to the hospital, but knew that the only way Sam would get there was to either pass out or to want to go on his own. Sam held a clenched fist over the center of his chest. He could hear his own breath wheezing in his lungs. After a few minutes, Sam caught his breath and opened his eyes. He avoided Dean's gaze because Sam didn't want to see what he was thinking reflected in his brother's eyes.
"You all right?" Dean asked and hoped that he didn't sound as worried as he was.
Sam nodded. He felt like he couldn't really catch his breath, like any wrong move would send him into another coughing spasm. It crossed his mind a few times that passing out would be a good idea or at least a possibility. It also crossed his mind that he pulled a muscle in his back and chest from the coughing, or at least it felt like it. The thought that worried him most was that he was starting to think that it wasn't a chest cold at all.
He pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and snuggled down into the pillow. He only meant to lay there with his eyes closed, but he fell asleep within minutes. Dean watched him for a few minutes to make sure that his little brother kept breathing. After a while he turned back to the blueprint. Sam shifted and coughed in his sleep.
Dean worked until the early evening. He looked over at Sam.
Hating to wake him, Dean gently touched Sam's shoulder. "Sam?"
Sam opened his eyes.
"I'm going to quick grab something for dinner. Do you want me to get you anything?"
"No, I'm all right."
"I'll be back in a few minutes."
Dean pulled on his jacket and Sam was already back asleep. He set Sam's phone next to his hand and quietly closed the door. Dean was gone somewhere between five and ten minutes. He didn't like leaving Sam for long.
Dean pushed open the door. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows rested on his knees and his head hung low.
Dean sat across from Sam on his bed. "Sammy?"
Sam raised his head slowly. Dean saw the faint smear of blood on Sam's pillow. Sam's breath was a little fast.
Dean could see the pain in Sam's eyes. "I don't think this is just a cold, Dean."
"What do you want to do?"
Sam didn't answer right away. He tried to think of another option, any other option besides going to the hospital. He had been trying to think of anything since he heard the door close when Dean left and he started coughing so hard that he had to crawl into the bathroom so that when he vomited it wasn't all over the floor. Dean didn't need to know that.
Dean touched Sam's shoulder. "Sammy?"
Sam sighed a little and coughed again. "Maybe, maybe I should go to the clinic." His words were small, defeated.
"Sure thing, Sam."
Sam let his gaze fall to the floor. "Thanks, Dean."
Dean knew his brother well enough to know how hard it was for Sam to say that. Dean also knew that Sam would want to keep as much of his independence intact as possible.
Dean stood by the door. "I'll see you in the car in five minutes."
Sam nodded and slowly stood. Dean closed the door behind him and walked to the car. He was worried about Sam and would have rather stayed in the room with him, but knew that it only would have made it worse for Sam.
Sam traded his flannel pants for jeans and pulled on a clean tee shirt. The small effort made him dizzy and his breath quick and shallow. He slipped on his shoes and grabbed his jacket on the way out. Sam climbed into the car just as Dean was starting to worry. Dean glanced over at his younger brother before he pulled out of the parking lot.
Thankfully small town hospitals rarely had full waiting rooms. Sam filled out the forms as he waited for the doctor. Dean sat at his side and paged through a magazine.
A nurse came through a door. "Sam Wilson."
Sam stood, left his jacket with Dean and walked through the door.
Doctor Anderson was in his late fifties, graying hair and was everyone's favorite doctor. He walked into the room and sat down.
He smiled up at Sam. "What seems to be the trouble, Sam?"
"It's probably just a chest cold or something."
"Why don't you hop up on the table."
Sam sat on the paper-covered table. Doctor Anderson took Sam's temperature, blood pressure and pulse. He worked methodically, but his touch was gentle.
He pressed the stethoscope to Sam's chest. "Breathe in, please." Sam took a breath. "And out."
After a few more breaths, doctor Anderson sat back. He looked at Sam for a few moments. "I'm a little concerned, Sam. You have decreased breath sounds in both lungs, but it doesn't sound entirely like pneumonia or bronchitis."
Sam waited for the doctor to continue.
"Have you been feeling dizzy or light-headed?"
"A little, mostly when I stand." Sam coughed and tasted blood again.
"Have you ever coughed so hard that it caused you to vomit?"
Sam hesitated for a second and then nodded.
"Have you been in or around any large fires, a house fire or something similar?"
The question caught Sam off guard. "No."
The doctor marked something in Sam's paperwork and looked up. "I'd like to run a few tests. Get a blood sample and a chest x-ray. I'd also like to check you into a room, just for the night."
Sam paused. "Do I really have to stay?"
"Sam, it seems to me that your lungs were damaged from smoke inhalation and that you may have a slight case of pneumonia. I'd like to keep you tonight, get you started on some antibiotics and have you spend a few hours on oxygen." Doctor Anderson touched Sam's knee. "I don't need to test your oxygen levels to see that you're having difficulty oxygenating your blood, the blue tint in your lips and fingernails is enough."
"What if I don't stay?" Sam tested.
"If the pneumonia gets worse, and it will, you will have a harder time breathing that you already do. The lack of oxygen in your blood can damage your organs and your brain."
Sam knew he was right, but he still hated to consent. "All right."