Title: Cry in the Night
Chapter 9: One More Time, With Feeling
Disclaimer: Welcome to the world thru my eyes. Don't own 'em. Only get pleasure, no money.
A/N: Ya'll are too nice. I get a bigger kick out of the reviews you are kind enough to throw my way than I get outta writin' these things. You non reviewers out there, I love you to for just reading, whether you are inclined to review or not. And a special ta to the new reviewers and the lovely notes you sent me. They were so great and I'm so thrilled that you chose my story to break your silence!
I may have gotten just a tad carried away at the end of the last chapter. Swear to God, it was not supposed to get so icky for lack of a better term. Wasn't supposed to go where it went at all, but it may make this chapter roll along better. Got started and I just couldn't stop. Watched the uncut Texas Chainsaw Massacre last week and that may have had something to do with it. I haven't started writing this chapter yet as I type this so I make no promises about what may happen in this one. This might be the last chapter. We'll see where it goes.
I make this stuff up as I go with only the vaguest idea of a storyline. Like I told someone the other day, I wrote chapter one as a one shot and never posted it. It became the outline for this story and read like this: What the hell am I gonna do with this Utburd story? Thanks for joining me to see what I did. I've been just as surprised as you.
Merrisville 10 miles
Relief washed over Sam as the sign popped up in the ragged glow of the headlights.
Thank God.
The old, narrow, winding two lane road would have been less than a joy to traverse on a good weather day. Icy and becoming snow covered just added to the difficulty of maneuvering the huge car around at as fast a speed as Sam dared.
Grateful that there were no other cars on the road, straining to see through the sleet and snow falling, desperate to drive faster than the forty-five he was doing, feeling the rear end of the big car begin to slew if he tried to. God help them if he had to slam on the brakes, 'cause there was no way in hell he'd be able to stop, not really sure what he would even be willing to stop for under the circumstances.
Circumstances not withstanding, Sam had no doubts that if anything happened to the Impala, even if he was drawing his last breath, Dean would manage to find enough strength to kick Sam's ass.
He was so tense from the panic adrenaline pumping into him, he was sure his grip on the steering wheel would leave permanent indentations if he ever got his fingers uncurled from it.
He had increased the pressure on the pulse in Dean's throat, feeling it grow softer and slower under his frantic touch. Dean lay, head against Sam's leg, one hand curled against Sam's thigh, the other dangling limply over the edge of the seat. The bloody towel was tucked under his face, Dean's now infrequent cough's slowly adding more red to the blossoming stain.
Dean moved his head slightly. "Don't…." His hand thumped against Sam's leg, fingers opening and closing.
"Dean?" Sam moved his fingers to tap lightly on Dean's cold cheek. "Wake up Dean. Open your eyes." Hating himself when he got no response, he dug his thumbnail into the cartilage in the back of Dean's ear.
To his relief, Dean jerked his head away, "Ow…whayudoin?" he mumbled in tired annoyance.
"I'm lonely, man," Sam replied, with a laugh so fake he could taste it. "Talk to me. Keep me company."
"Tired…" Dean murmured, eyes fluttering closed again. He groaned softly, nuzzling into the pillows. "…hurts…too much…"
Sam tapped his face again. "You've slept enough. You gotta help me stay awake, Dean. Otherwise, I might fall asleep and wreck the car."
When this drew no response from Dean, Sam's heart raced even faster if that was possible.
"Dean, wake up!" Sam ordered shaking Dean roughly. The wordless noise Dean made in response was almost too soft to qualify as a sound. "Dean! I'm not kidding here! Wake the fuck up!"
Nothing.
Fishtail be damned, Sam thought, hitting the gas and fighting the car for control as it slipped sideways.
He was oblivious to the lights of town and the few other vehicles he passed, beginning to work the brakes the instant he spotted the dull glow of the sign for St. Agnes Hospital. He managed to slow the big car enough to make a dive for the entrance to the emergency room, sliding to a graceless stop halfway on the sidewalk, causing two orderlies sneaking a cigarette to stumble backwards out of the way.
"I need help!" Sam yelled as he leaped out of the car, running to the passenger side and jerking open the door. He glanced up to see the two young men gaping at him. "Now, Goddammit!"
That broke them from their stupor, one running back inside to get a gurney, the other going to help Sam pull Dean's limp, blood soaked form from the car.
Blinking as he stumbled into the bright lights, Sam tried to answer the questions being barked at him as it seemed like every person in the hospital suddenly appeared, galvanized into action. Apparently it was a slow night.
It was confusing and frightening. Dean was swept away to a curtained area, voices calling out instructions and orders. Sam tried to follow but found himself inexplicably staggering backwards into the wall as vertigo suddenly robbed him of his balance. Back against the wall, he slid unceremoniously to the floor, long legs akimbo, before he realized what had happened, the sounds around him suddenly muffled, lights dancing at the edge of his vision, hands crushed against his eyes, weak and shaking.
"Shit!" A voice yelped somewhere in the distance surrounding Sam. Strong hands gripped his arms, holding him steady as he slumped to the side, helping him lie down.
"Lie still. Someone get me another gurney! Are you hurt? There's blood on you." Hands plucked at his shirt.
Sam blinked at the face wavering over his. Why was he on the floor?
"No, my…my brother's. I'm okay. Please…I need to-" Sam tried to rise but the man over him kept him down with a surprisingly small amount of effort.
A hand held his head, opening his eye and flashing an unwelcome light in it. "Do you feel sick? Dizzy?"
"I'm just a little shaky. Please…"
"Just lay here for a minute. People faint for a—" There was a pause. "Sam? Sam Weston?" The voice suddenly said in startled recognition.
Who? Sam forced his eyes to focus on the youngish face leaning over him. Recognition hit him also. "Dr. Mercer?" He asked, stunned. "What are you doing here?" He was having trouble pulling his thoughts together.
"I could ask you the same thing, but now I know why I thought that guy that came in looked familiar. Here," Mercer offered Sam a hand, helping him lever himself up and into a chair. He pushed Sam's head down. "Stay like that for a minute. I don't think we need that after all, Gina, thanks." Mercer said to the nurse who had appeared with the requested gurney. She glanced at Sam and nodded, pushing it away.
Mercer sat down beside Sam. "This is where I'm working now. Remember? I was moving. You okay?"
Sam wiped at his eyes. "Yeah," he said faintly, clearing his throat. "Just kinda dizzy. I need to see, Dean-" He started to rise but Mercer, who was surprisingly strong, held him in place.
"He's in good hands, Sam. There's nothing you can do for him right now. What the hell happened?" Mercer sat back a little, still watching Sam closely.
"He uh…he kept getting worse. I was gonna make him go to a clinic-" Sam made a face. "Here, I guess. But he started throwing up blood all over the place, and the pain was getting worse. I couldn't wait any longer…" His voice rose as he thought about the last few hours, his breathing quickening.
Mercer's hand fell on Sam's arm again. "Take it easy, Sam. Calm down." He kept his voice soft and level.
Sam stared at him then dropped his head back in his hands. "You said it was gastritis." An accusation.
"No, Sam," Merccer replied. "I said I thought it was gastritis, but even then that it was being caused by something else. I guess whatever happened is it. I'm sorry I couldn't be more specific, but I didn't have anything to work with." Mercer managed to keep from sounding defensive.
Sam nodded. "I'm sorry. I know. I'm just…there was so much blood." His hands were shaking so badly he clasped then together to try to make them stop.
"You had anything to eat today?' Mercer asked softly.
Sam shook his head, looking past Mercer to the curtained area where Dean lay. "No. I'm not hungry anyway. What's going on in there?" he tried to rise again.
Mercer kept Sam in his seat by clasping his shoulder and using it to push himself up. "Sit here for a minute and I'll go check on Dean, okay?' He squeezed Sam's shoulder slightly. "I'll be right back."
Mercer paused to speak to the nurse at the desk, nodding at Sam, then moved down to the curtained area, slipping inside.
Sam sat with his head down, still shaky and lightheaded. He wanted desperately to follow Mercer but wasn't sure he could even get to his feet, let alone walk the short distance. He started when the nurse from the desk suddenly appeared in front of him holding out a large cup of orange liquid with a straw in it.
He pulled back, stared at her. "No, thanks. I'm not-"
She smiled and shook her head. "Doctor's orders. It's orange juice. It'll make you feel better. You aren't gonna be helping your brother if you pass out cold. And I guarantee you, Dr. Mercer's response to that won't be nearly as pleasant as a cup of orange juice."
Sam frowned but reached for the cup, forced to hold it with both hands to keep from spilling it.
"Thanks."
She smiled again and patted his knee. "Everything'll be okay, sweetie."
He took a sip of the juice, watching her walk back to her desk. The cold sweetness felt good going down and before he knew it he had finished most of it, already feeling a little better.
He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, not sure how much more of this he could take. Still not understanding what had caused this. How it could have gotten so bad so fast. He sighed and rubbed a thumb across his forehead.
The sound of a flurry of activity at the end of the hall jerked him upright. He stood as the curtains were shoved aside and several people exited, pushing the gurney Dean was lying on past him without pausing. There was an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose and if anything he looked even more pale. Two IV's hung on the bed. The attendants moved with a studied speed down the hall.
Sam opened his mouth to call after them, stopped as fingers gripped his arm.
"Let 'em go, Sam. They're taking him to surgery." Mercer gave him a tight smile.
"Surgery? How bad is it?" Sam felt himself fall back into the chair. He had known deep down it would be this way, but hearing it out loud made it a no-coming-back-from-this situation.
Mercer sat next to him, still holding Sam's arm. "He is bleeding internally, he's already lost a lot of blood. We need to find out from where and get it stopped. He's very dehydrated, his physical state is very weak, Sam."
Sam swallowed, eyes going from Mercer to the floor. "So…what…what are…?"
"I'm not gonna lie to you. It's very serious, but they'll do their best, Sam. I promise." Mercer kneaded Sam's forearm. "You can wait in the surgery waiting room. It's more comfortable than here." He got to his feet, gently pulling Sam up. "You can get some sleep, it's liable to be a while."
Shaking his head, Sam allowed himself to be led. "No, I can't."
"Fine," Mercer nodded. "I'm gonna have one of the nurses bring you something to eat. Eat it. There's nothing you can do for Dean besides wait and you need to keep your strength for him when he gets out of surgery. Will you do that?" He guided Sam into the elevator, pushing the button for the surgical floor.
Sam nodded, lost in worry and exhausted by it. "Thanks," he said softly. "I appreciate it."
He faced forward, leaning back against the elevator walls, watching as another set of hospital doors closed on him yet again.
Okay, I know this was supposed to be the end, sorry sorry sorry. It's gonna take me another day or two to get the rest written and rather than make you sit and wait I'm gonna post this part and get the rest up this weekend. That's gotta be better than nothing right?
I'm havin' a hard time getting the next part right. Caleb's in it! And the actual hunt story, so please don't hate me!
Well…if you are so inclined, I guess you can hate me if you want to…I mean, really that's your decision…
(Carefully steps back into cell, closes door, buckles jacket back on and goes to sit quietly, facing corner, rocking until orderly comes with meds)
It may come across sometimes that I don't take myself very-seriously. That's total crap. I don't take myself seriously at all. I value my admittedly self deprecating, rather caustic sense of humor above almost everything else about me, personally. The ability to laugh at ones self and see humor where humor can sometimes be lacking indeed, is vital to surviving life. The only alternative to laughter is tears and I like laughing better, even at my own expense.
