WAY OUT WEST
Chapter 7
Dean is desperately sick, Sam and Bobby are desperately worried.
Castiel is just desperate to help.
xxxxx
Bobby and Castiel staggered backwards, staring open mouthed at the two dishevelled figures that materialised on the kitchen floor in front of them; Sam crouched, clutching his shivering brother; his hand, fingers taut with concern, splayed across Dean's rigid, distended abdomen.
Bobby shook his head in an attempt to regain his power of speech; "what the hell?" was all that he managed to blurt out.
Castiel knelt down beside the brothers and studied the two men intently. He took in Sam's frantic, wide-eyed panic and Dean's sickly grey pallor, the sheen of sweat glistening across his pain-tightened face. Placing a hand on Dean's heaving chest he could feel his racing heartbeat, and the harsh gasping breaths which he sucked in between each new burning wave of agony.
Letting out a hoarse moan, Dean squirmed against Sam's tight grip, trying once again to pull his knees up towards his chest in a vain effort to find some relief. Castiel nodded confidently, and stood, turning to Bobby with a grim expression.
"I believe he is unwell," he stated in complete earnestness.
Bobby's horror-stricken face reddened in anger; "I can see that, yer friggin halfwit," he barked.
xxxxx
Dropping to his knees beside the brothers, Bobby winced as aging joints crackled in protest and shucked his overshirt, laying it gently across Dean's body. He tenderly patted the suffering hunter's shoulder, pulling in a deep breath as he felt the heat radiating through the sweat-dampened T shirt.
Finding his tongue, Sam pleaded with Bobby; "please Bobby - we need to get him to hospital now, I think he's got appendicitis."
Castiel leaned over Bobby's shoulder, "should I call for assistance?"
Bobby shook his head as he threaded calloused fingers through Dean's damp hair, fingertips grazing his burning scalp; "no, don't bother with an ambulance; it'll be quicker for us to take him there ourselves."
"Shall I make him a coffee?"
The angel withered under Bobby's exasperated glare.
"Make yourself useful and unlock the friggin' truck." Bobby pointed to the keys hanging on the wall. He turned back to the brothers as Dean let out a breathless cry, still trying to curl in on himself.
"Oh, God Sammy … hur's …" he croaked miserably.
Bobby stood, scowling again as his knees once again voiced their disapproval, and spoke urgently; "Sam, get him up and out to the truck."
Nodding, Sam slipped his hand under Dean's back and legs, hoisting him as gently as possible against his chest, cringing as Dean let out another choking cry at the shift in position. Burying his face into Sam's neck, Dean panted nauseously as the taller man strode across the kitchen toward the waiting truck with it's impatient driver, already in situ.
"C'mon dude, it's gonna be alright - gonna get you help right now," Sam mumbled frantically as he climbed into the back seat of the truck with his precious burden.
xxxxx
Three hours later …
Bobby looked up as Sam wandered back along the billious green hospital hall, hands in his pockets.
"Doctor couldn't tell me much except that they've taken him straight into surgery," Sam sighed; "they started asking awkward questions about why we were both so dirty, so I told them he was taken ill on a wilderness hunting trip;" he shrugged; "I think they bought it."
They both hesitated, distracted by Castiel who, in the absence of anything contructive to do, was sitting in the corner intently examining a potted aspidistra.
Bobby rolled his eyes, shaking his head; "you were saying?"
"Uh yeah; they can't say how bad it is, but they're working on the assumption that the appendix has ruptured given the level of pain and the severity of his fever," Sam muttered with a heavy sigh, scraping a hand through his hair.
Bobby's eyes widened; "ruptured? B-but that's bad ain't it?"
"Yeah;" Sam muttered, slumping down into the uncomfortable plastic chair next to Bobby, his head dropping onto his hand; "it's real bad."
Castiel looked up from the plant as the two men settled into a despondent silence.
"Shall I fetch coffee?" He asked hopefully.
Xxxxx
Sam, Bobby and Castiel sipped their vending-machine regulation gnats-pee masquerading as coffee which was improved greatly by a generous measure of whisky from Bobby's hip flask.
Bobby took a deep breath as he relished the soothing burn. "So what happened, boy; how'd you get yourself home?"
Sam turned to Bobby; "no idea," he replied, "I was kinda thinking you'd managed to work something."
Bobby shook his head, "son, I wish I had;" he sighed, "I tried, God knows, we both did." He gestured with his head towards the angel who had turned his attentions back to the aspidistra; "he tried to get you back – poor bastard nearly gutted himself doing it."
Sam took a deep breath; "we were screwed Bobby – totally screwed;" he shuddered as if the memory was too painful to recollect.
"Whad'ya mean?" Bobby asked, concern etched across his haggard face.
"We ended up in jail," Sam began, "long story, but this psycho of a sheriff couldn't wait to get us strung up." He paused, "Dean was already getting sick by then. At first we thought it was something we ate but it got worse really quickly."
He swallowed, closing his eyes as he silently composed himself
"Sonofabitch wouldn't even let me sit with Dean, to give him a bit of reassurance."
Bobby remained silent, knowing that Sam had more to say.
"Dean was going to die Bobby," Sam looked up at Bobby tearfully; "he wasn't even going to make it to the gallows; he was going to die alone and in agony and there was nothing I could do to help."
Bobby visibly paled at the thought.
"So what happened, son?" he asked quietly.
Sam smiled, shaking his head; "I honestly don't know, Bobby," he replied, "but I think it was something to do with spiders."
There was a lengthy silence.
"Spiders?"
"Yeah, Bobby; spiders."
"Spiders?" Bobby repeated as if he was trying to convince himself that he was hearing correctly.
Castiel leaned round towards Bobby; "spiders are arachnids; there are many different species found all over the world. They hunt by means of a web spun out of adhesive gossamer which they produce within their bodies. They have an exoskeleton, bodies segmented into two sections, a head and abdomen, and eight le …"
The angel's words trickled away into silence as he shrunk under Bobby's glare.
"I will fetch more coffee," he murmured meekly.
xxxxx
As Castiel disappeared toward the vending machine, Sam continued his story.
"We saw spiders everywhere," he explained, "then while we were in the jail, and Dean was getting real bad, an old Indian lady just appeared in front of me; she was wearing a spider necklace."
Sam paused, studying Bobby's face to see if this was ringing any bells; the blank look on Bobby's face said that it didn't.
"She said some stuff about being her people and then her people being her," Sam said with a shrug; "and then she said she was their grandmother."
Sam looked at the older man; "mean anything to you?" he asked.
"Exactly squat" replied Bobby blankly, rubbing tired eyes, "then what?"
"Then she told me to touch Dean, and she touched me and here we are," answered Sam.
Bobby shrugged; "that's it?"
Sam nodded, "that's it - except I asked her why she was helping us."
"and?" Bobby prompted.
" and she said something about looking to our past as well as our future to find out who we really are." Sam responded with a shrug. "What'dya reckon?" he asked.
Bobby huffed dramatically; "beats me, kid; I got nothin'!"
Both men fell into a distracted silence again. Stomach churning with queasy concern, Sam looked at his watch and back along the hall with a sigh.
They stayed like that until Castiel appeared beside them, covered in coffee.
"I have had a mishap," he announced solemnly.
Xxxxxx
Sam sat beside the ICU bed containing his brother. Night had fallen and only a dim night light illuminated his sleeping brother's pallid face.
Having imparted the wonderful news to Sam, Bobby and the coffee stained Angel that Dean's fractious appendix hadn't ruptured; the doctor went on to add that he was sure it had been on the verge of doing so, and spent so long enthusiastically explaining how nasty and gruesome and inflamed it was that even Castiel started to look a little green.
But it was gone and Dean would recover. He would be unspeakably sore, infuriatingly grouchy and as pissed as hell when he discovered the shaved patch, but he would recover.
Rejoicing in the good news, Bobby had whisked Sam home to freshen up and then driven him back to the hospital, discreetly withdrawing to give the brothers some privacy.
Sam sat beside the bed and dozed, jolting awake as Dean shifted in his sleep with a grunt.
Sam leaned over, 'y'ok bro'?'
Dean took a deep breath; his brow furrowing briefly as he shifted, then he settled, murmuring quietly. Sam smiled when he heard the words.
"Head'm up, S'mmy Move'm ou' …"
Sam's fingertips brushed some stray strands of damp hair from his brother's forehead; "Ride 'em cowboy" he whispered.
xxxxx
tbc
