Chapter Ten
/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/
Days drifted in and out along with Sam, and apparently being here over a week earned us an upgrade. The new room was at least bigger and broccoli-green instead of boring white. Sam, he was still weak, and in pain, but doing much better. He'd even been taken off the IV and heart monitor, and was staying awake longer. My ass on the other hand wasn't very okay. It was more than numb. It was just gone.
Entertaining myself while Sam slept was getting harder and harder. Still not willing to leave his side for long, I'd rush to grab a cup of coffee or take a lake-of- a- leak. The food was mostly disgusting, so I didn't eat much. Mostly I sat in the chair or wandered around the putrid-green room.
There wasn't much to look at, and I could only read so many Good Housekeeping magazines. One day maybe Sam and I would have a home of our own and I could put all the recipes I'd memorized to good use.
There was one painting on the wall. I'd spent hours staring at it. It was a framed canvas of an outdoor Italian café. The tables all had real silk linens and red and green striped umbrellas jammed in the center of them. The waiter was a happy fat guy with a broom mustache, wearing a white baker's hat and red bandanna. He held a tray of pastries high over his head with one hand as he busily served all of his patrons. There was just something safe and comforting about it. I couldn't stop looking at the painting every time I passed by- which was often. I knew every red brick in that cobblestone road. I'd even pictured Sam and I living inside the painting. Sammy sipping on ginger tea from a flower china cup and me chowing-down a plateful of sausage, egg and cheese croissants.
When I wasn't being a dork looking at the painting, I'd wander over to the window and stare out. During the day I'd watch people come and go, go and come. At night, after a kind nurse would bring me a tray of disgusting food that I barely could choke down – I'd go back to staring out the window.
This was night eight and I was extremely antsy. Still couldn't get hold of dad, and only got in a handful of words to Bobby before his cell died as he was on a hunt with Rufus and out of service a lot of the time.
With nothing else to do – again –I sat on the window ledge. Pressing my forehead to the cold glass, I watched the twinkling lights of the far-off-big city. They looked more like fireflies than actual lights. It brought back memories of Sam and I, as kids, running around the back field of the Salvage yard with Bobby's canning jars catching millions of the little suckers.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to hang onto that. Was a much better thing to have in my brain than Sammy squashed under –
"Your ass numb yet?" Sam rasped.
My eyes shot open and my back stiffened at the sound of my brother's weak voice.
I turned around.
Sam looked at me groggily.
"Permanently," I tiredly admitted making my way over to gingerly sit back in the chair beside his bed.
Sam shivered as if he were layered in snow and not blankets.
I drew up the extra blanket that was at the foot of the bed and tucked the corners in all around him.
Sam quirked a half-smile, huddling down under and his shivering stopped.
It cut my heart in two to see the genuine look of thanks on his face for such a simple act. I instinctually went to stroke his hair, but stopped when Sam said, "Can't mother me forever, Dean."
"Who's mothering?" I dropped my hand.
Before Sam could answer a pleasantly plump elderly nurse walked in. "Good evening, boys. I'm Nurse Queeny. I'm Sam's new night nurse."
Her name suited her. She was a big woman but walked like she was floating on a cushion. Every movement made imperial and noble. "It's time for your pain medication, Samuel."
Sam cringed sliding down further under the blankets as if trying to hide as the nurse approached the bedside.
"You're not going to fight me on this are you, Samuel?" she said in a kindly grandmotherly tone.
Was my turn to cringe.
"Get me in trouble with Doctor Roberts you will."
"Samuel would never dream of doing that to you," I smirked. "Would you, Samuel?"
"No Ma'am," Sam sheepishly said.
"You'll take the pills then?" She handed Sam a white paper cup with two small blue pills rattling around inside, and some water.
Sam hesitated.
"Samuel, do what the nice nurse tells you to," I said trying to hold back a bout of laughter.
"Nice is not a label that's usually given to describe me," Queeny said sternly.
Sam took the offered water and swallowed.
"All gone, Samuel?" she asked.
"Yes, Ma'am," Sam handed her back the cup a fake smile decorating his face, because he fake swallowed the pills.
I was about to tell Nurse Queen, but she beat me to the punch
"I'm waiting, Samuel." Nurse Queeny stood tapping her soft shoe to the floor glaring down her nose at Sam suspiciously.
Sam stared up at her, doing his innocent puppy-eyed thing. "For what?" he asked.
"Swallow them, please."
"I did." Sam shook his head and shrugged.
"Samuel," Queeny loomed over him, her expression growing darker by the second. "Are you still confused about who is in charge on this floor?"
"No, Ma'am." Sam seemed to shrink to the size of a small child.
Queeny frowned deeply. "I do have other ways of administering pills to stubborn patience." She raised one suggestive brow. "Oral of course is the recommended procedure, but there are other delivery systems. Other places." She cocked her head to one side and peered at Sam's lower extremities. "There's that," she glanced back at him threateningly.
"Yikes." I squirmed uncomfortably. "Uh, Sammy, you better do what the mean…" Queeny turned her daggerd on me full force. "I mean…what the nice nurse wants you to do."
Sam shot me a look, searching for help.
"Hey, man, you're on your own here." I held my hands up.
Sam waved at the cup of water Millie still held in her hand.
She handed it over and Sam took three huge gulps swallowing hard.
"Thank you, Samuel." Queenie turned on her heels stately leaving the room, closing the door softly behind her.
"Holy crap. What places?" I swiped beads of sweat off my forehead. "Think I'm emotionally scarred for life, and it wasn't even my backdoors she was talking about."
"Shut up," Sam sulked. "So what do we do from here?" he asked sleepily.
"You, my brother are still on bed rest for a few more days. Just hope our insurance doesn't lapse."
Sam sighed. "What about Bobby?" He flung an arm over his eyes.
"He tried to call us yesterday his really worried about you. We had a bad connection so I couldn't hear all he was saying… something about hunting a gargoyle with Rufus up in the Black Hills."
"Gargoyles are hard to kill," Sam muttered, his arm slipping off his eyes as he fell asleep.
"Don't worry about it, Sammy," I whispered. "Bobby and Rufus can handle it." My cell rang as if on cue. I pulled the phone from my pocket. "Huh, speaking of." I flipped the phone open.
Sam grumbled and shifted onto his side for the first time without grunting in pain.
"Hey, Bobby," I whispered, staring at Sam in aw. ""He just took some meds and is heading back into the Matrix."
Sam sighed and tossed his head a little.
I froze, not wanting to wake him.
He settled again, lightly snoring.
"Hold on, Bobby." I gingerly got up out of the chair and crept over to the window and sat, cupping my hand around the phone so I wouldn't wake Sam. "Okay, what was that?"
/~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~/
I ran my tongue over the tiny paper cut like cracks along my lips and blinked away the particles of sand that were stuck to my eyelashes. Staring up at the ceiling I watched several water spots as they flew in combat formation above me.
I frowned. Oh, yeah, hospital. Where you were force-fed the good stuff whether you wanted the good stuff or not. The warmth of the drugs surged through my veins like rough ocean tides hitting land.
There was a burbling voice off to my right and my head seemed to move on autopilot rolling on the pillow until I caught sight of Dean.
He was sitting on the windowsill, his back to me, talking quietly on his cell phone. Outside, the sky had turned to taffy. Swirls of flavorful goodness, sticky and stretching apart, twisting and folding in upon itself.
"That's not scientifically possible," I muttered softly.
I wasn't a huge sweet eater. But taffy was to me, like pie was to Dean. And the last time I remembered having any was years ago when dad was on a hunt in Atlantic City. Staring out the window right now I could practically taste the flavors. Soft blobs of bubblegum, butter scotch, chocolate, orange, peach, rum, sassafras and strawberry.
"Oh, man," I said, smacking my lips together.
"Sam?" Dean glanced my way. "What?"
I couldn't manage any words, but I did manage a big smile.
"Dude, why are you smiling?"
"Carmel swirl," I licked my lips.
"I'm talking to Bobby, Sam. Go to sleep. It's just the drugs kicking in." Dean went back to talking.
"'Bobby," I exhaled. Good. Maybe I'd be out of here soon.
Thumpety-thump-thump.
Something hit the side of the building. I knee jerked upward. "Crap! What was that?" I clutched at the intense pain in my stomach from to sudden a movement.
"Don't worry about it, Sammy," Dean said, no longer on the phone but now deeply engrossed in a magazine.
Outside, the sky had changed from taffy-candy-colored to winter-gray. Thick and ominous clouds gathered and swirled about threatening a storm. The wind howled and the room tilted at an abnormal angle. Strangely, no furniture went sliding about and Dean remained at his post with his magazine.
My heart started to pound, gut instincts kicking in. "Dean, something's wrong."
My brother just kept right on flipping pager after page, a smirky-smile spreading across his face.
Thumpety-thump-thump- thump.
"There it is again." I tilted my head and squinted, but saw nothing. A wave of panic rushed through me. "Dean. Something's out there."
Dean sighed wearily. "Maybe you need more meds."
"Maybe you need to get your nose out of the porn mag, Dean," I snapped.
Something screamed like a banshee, and I looked to Dean.
"Little Red," Dean clicked his tongue, holding the magazine up to the light. "Want to dance with the Big Bad Wolf?"
"Dude! Stow the porn," I yelled out in anger. "Tell me you didn't hear that?"
"Told you, Sammy it's just the drugs kicking in. Go to sleep, man," he muttered again, totally disinterestedly and not even bothering to take his eyes from the mag.
I shivered with spine-chilling cold, recognizing the sound of claws scrabbling to get a good hold.
"Damn it, Dean, I think it's come…"
A wet slap hit the window and my eyes went wide.
"…ing."
A giant, black bat perched on the windowsill, staring through the glass right at me. It was solid muscle; leathery wings flapping, hot breath fogging the windowpane.
Dean didn't as much as flinch, still eyeballing Little Red, only a thin pane of glass separating him from the large gaping mouth full of jagged teeth.
I couldn't catch my breath, panting and blurry-eyed and fumbling to unplug from the IV and heart monitor wires.
"What you say, Sammy?" Dean casually flipped another page of the magazine.
"Gargoyle," I grit out clenched teeth.
"Gargoyles are hard to kill," Dean muttered.
The gargoyle's eyes lit up red and it let out a terrible screech. One clawed hand struck the glass sending spider web cracks branching out.
"Behind you," I hissed doubling over at the stab of pain in my gut.
Dean finally glanced over at the beast. "Uh-huh," he muttered, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders his upstairs brain obviously and totally turned off.
The gargoyle bit at the window with its double-set of razor-sharp teeth and it's head burst through the glass sending walnut-sized shards to the tiled floor. A cold wind blew through the room, knocking my IV stand over. It smiled at me, eyes sparkling with delight as a hooked claw traced along Dean's neck.
Dean didn't seem to notice a thing. Just sat there still ogling the damn magazine.
"No." I finally managed to rip out my IV, blood splattering the sheets as I swung my legs out from under the covers. The pain when my bare feet hit the cold tile dragged me straight down to my knees. "Ah! Dean!" I cried out.
I crawled along the floor on hands and knees in dire need to protect my brother.
I couldn't move fast enough, my body weak and trembling and gagging for air.
"Get away from him. Get away now," I choked out. "Don't touch him," I growled as fiercely as I could from my prone position on the floor.
The gargoyle gave a loud screech and aggressively bit deep into Dean's neck
"Dean." I yelled in horror as blood dripped to the floor like rainwater, Dean's legs twitching as he scrunched the magazine in his hand.
The gargoyle released Dean's neck for a brief second, only to take his whole head into its mouth.
"Sam! Sammy," Dean's muffled voice called out to me.
Then in a strong wind of flapping, leathery wings the gargoyle took flight, takingmy brother with it.
"Stop! Stop!" I pulled myself across the floor through thick puddles of my brother's blood. "Come back! Bring him back!"
They were long gone. My brother-rescuing efforts were as piss-poor as any of my other rescue efforts as of late.
The sky turned pitch black and I swore I could still hear Dean calling out to me, but all I could do was squeeze my eyes shut and sit in my brother's blood and cry.
I couldn't save Dean from a horribly painful death. I couldn't save him.
"Dean, Dean, Dean," I sobbed over and over.
"Sammy! Damn you! Wake up!" A slap came to the side of my face and I sat straight up, Dean's name a dying scream on my lips as my eyes flew open.
"Whao! Sam! Hey!" Dean had a hold of both my flailing arms. "Dream, man, it's just a dream."
"Dean." I had to blink a couple of times to be sure it was him. Every one of my muscles was twitching and straining as I desperately fought to catch my breath. "How'd you get away?" My eyes darted over to the window.
"Sam?" Dean called my name softly. "Come on, pal, you in there?"
I looked all around the room in confusion. The sun was streaming in, warm and bright. The window was intack. No shards of glass. No puddles of blood. No taffy colored sky.
"Wha' happen?" I glanced down at my hand. No blood. No ripped out IV. In fact there was no IV at all. No heart monitors either. "Where?" I frowned.
"You got downgraded, yesterday, remember?"
"Yes and no." I looked to the window, then back at Dean.
"You fell out of your nest, big bird." Dean clutched at my right arm, looking at me with great concentration.
"Nest?" I was having a hard time keeping up.
"Gravity, Sammy, it's the law." He pointed to the hospital bed I was supposed to be lying in.
"Wha'?"
"You had a nightmare." He put an arm across my back and pulled me up.
I let out a strangled moan as he got me back into bed.
Dean perched on the edge of the mattress, hands roaming all over my body. "You okay? You hurt anywhere?"
"I'm okay," I winced.
"Uh-huh." Dean bent down low over me an angry look on his face, or maybe that was worry. Or maybe both. "What the hell were you dreaming about that brought you bolting out of a hospital bed crying?" he demanded.
"It's hazy." I shook my head. "You were reading a magazine and –"
"Dirty?" Dean raised an eyebrow.
"Of course." My gaze shifted to the window.
"Something came through the window?"
"It got you…killed you…I couldn't stop it."
"Sammy, I'm here. Nothing got me, okay? Nothing killed me. And besides, you know what doesn't kill me makes me more awesome," Dean laughed, swiping my bangs out of my eyes.
"Except for gargoyles, gargoyles will kill you, Dean," I turned serious eyes on him. "Was so real."
"Dude, that's what had you bolting to the floor," Dean laughed. "Probably the pills you swallowed coupled with the fact the last thing we were talking about before you conked out was Bobby and Rufus hunting Gargoyles," Dean explained. "Kiddo, It's over now."
"How's Booby?"
"He and Rufus got the bitch."
"Good." I closed my eyes feeling dizzy and giddy at the same time. Damn pills
"You going back to sleep?"
"Hopefully," I muttered, readjusting my casted arm and wincing as I tried to get more comfortable.
"How's the arm?"
I lifted one eye open. "I don't know…how is it?"
"Broken, remember?" Dean chuckled.
"Again?"
"Yes, again."
"Dude," I popped open my other eye. "Thaaaat sucks ass,"I grouched.
"Bro," Dean chuckled again. "I think you need to make sure we take plenty of happy juice with us for the trip to Bobby's place."
"Want to go now."
"Soon as you're up to it, Sam."
"Up to it now!" I struggled upward, but pitched sideways, Dean catching me in his arms.
"Sammy, you can't even walk."
"We crawl before we can walk," I debated.
"Sam, do not argue with me."
"Not arguing, Dean. I'm just explaining why I'm right." I sat away from him. "Just help me get dressed."
"You're still drugged up and groggy, fragile princess. You are not going anywhere."
"Yes I am. Not staying here anymore." I flicked a glance over at the window and shivered.
"Show some common sense, buddy."
"I am."
"Trust me. You're not."
I raised a fist. "Two out of three."
"Bro, you cannot paper-scissor-rock your way out of this."
"You don't understand, Dean." I groaned at the pain radiating through my body, dropping my fist to the bed in defeat.
"Sammy, I understand. I don't expect you to be putting out one hundred percent when we blow this jail, but you're not even putting out fifty percent right now. You need to stay in this bed and let the nurses treat you like a king for at least a few more days. Got me?"
"I'll be the sofa king once we get to Bobby's," I promised.
Nurse Queeny took that moment to poke her head in. "Everything all right in here?"
"Oh, crap," I whispered under my breath, slinking down and drawing the covers up to my chin.
"My idiot brother needs another shot of the good stuff to help him relax," Dean told her gruffly.
Queeny glanced at her wristwatch. "In one hour… I'll be back." Then she was gone.
Dean laughed. "Guess she's channeling Schwarzenegger."
I didn't' smile.
Didn't laugh.
Didn't say a word.
Just bit into my lip, my mind reeling.
"Good," Dean sighed and stood up from the bed. "Love the sound you make when you shut up."
Then it dawned on me. "She certainly isn't on a Lindsay-Lohan-bender."
"What?" Dean squawked.
"You said yourself once, Dean, and I quote, "I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot."
"You're not dying, Sam." Dean flinched. "Not anymore. You're healing. And pretty damn well, if you can keep from falling out of the nest again. And besides, Nurse Millie was sort of hot"
"Yeah, well, sort of don't count." I picked at a piece of lint on the blanket.
"It don't?" Dean chuckled.
"I'm not going to heal in a hospital where the nurses aren't busty enough."
Dean burst out laughing. "Is that the drugs talking?"
"No, Dean, it's me talking. And if you don't get me out of here right now I am going to walk out of here on my toe," I shook my head. "I mean on my own when you're not looking and climb a bus."
"First off I am always looking, Sam. And second off…you, dear brother, couldn't climb out of this bed without help."
"Watch me." I flashed Dean the smuggest look I could manage.
"Watch me tackle your ass back into bed." Dean bent in real close to my face
"You can't catch me. Meep-meep." I stared him down daringly.
Dean stared at me blankly. Roadrunner? Really?"
"Meep-meep," I dared again.
"This coyote will kick your Roadrunner ass all over the map," he said with cool calm.
"You're a jerk." My lower lip stuck out and started to tremble and my eyes went hard, my face fireplace-hot.
"Twenty years ago that look would have gotten you all the candy I could steal," Dean said, his tense shoulders sagging. "You want out that badly?"
"Yes." I bitchfaced him.
Dean thought about that a minute. "Mmmm," he said.
"What's mmmm?" I asked.
"Tell you what, Sammy. You make the trip to the bathroom without any help from me and I'll get us out of here by midnight tomorrow."
I looked across the great divide estimating it to be only a few feet.
"I can do that."
"Show me." Dean's eyes went hard.
I took in a deep breath and tossed back the covers, swung my legs over and slapped my bare feet to the cold tiled floor. I'd show him all right.
Instantly my legs went buttery, my ears buzzed, and beads of sweat popped out on my upper lip. The stitches in my gut started to burn and pull and I wobbled, plopping back down on the edge of the bed.
"Mmmm." Dean hummed.
"Stop with the 'mmmm's' already." I took a few quick gulps of air and stood again.
Dean stood in front of me blocking my path.
"You mind?" I straightened my bent body…at least I tried to.
With wariness in his eyes, Dean backed up until he was leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. I ignored the fact he was too close to the window.
It was like walking a tightrope, that few feet. I wasn't sure I could do it. Each step was incredibly hard and sending waves of pain through every part of me.
"You're leaning too far to the left," Dean coached.
I rolled my eyes adjusting my stride.
"Now you're taking too small of steps and leaning to the right."
I tried for bigger steps and pulled my body inward.
"Now you're –"
"Damn it, Dean." I stopped and shot him a look, nearly loosing my balance altogether. Righting myself I huffed, "Just give me a minute to get there, will you?"
"Give you all the time you want."
"Great. Thanks for that."
"Welcome."
I started up again and finally got there, went inside, and locked the door.
I figured when I came back out Dean would be right there waiting to catch me 'cause I sure felt like I was going to fall. But he wasn't. He was still standing over by the window, leaning against the wall. Arms crossed, eyes dancing with delight.
"Everything come out okay?" he grinned.
"Gross." I passed a hand over my sweaty face. "Want my pants." I pushed away from the door. "And…and…and my socks….and need my-" the room suddenly flipped upside down and dumped me on my head.
"Whoa, Sam!"
Next thing I knew, Dean had me in his arms, the room back to being upright. "We're still leaving," I wheezed against his neck. "I showed you, Dean."
"Yeah, bro, you showed me, but before we leave you have to do me a favor."
My head plopped down onto Dean's shoulder, my arms dangling at my sides. "You want pie." I tried to push away.
"No Sam." Dean squeezed me tighter, I squeezed back. "I want you to stop drooling on my shirt." He inched me around and hooked an arm around my waist, moving be back over to the bed.
"Are you going to put my pants on for me, Dean?"
"I'll talk you through it."
TBC…