Hi! Well if it hadn't been for a holiday weekend and family visiting this chapter would have been up LONG ago. Sorry! And it would have been up earlier tonight if the power hadn't gone out for like 4 hours leaving me sweating in the heat with no way to microwave any snacks and no computer and no wifi! But hurrah power is back, i had my snack and now the chapter is ready! (i'm still sweating in the heat cuz I'm too cheap to use the AC lol but that's beside the point haha!)

A thousand apologies for the long wait on this chapter! Part of my goal for Camp Nanowrimo this month is to post five chapters before end of July. Here's the first. :) Happy reading!


Chapter 12: Let me be your shelter

Sam didn't even realize the car had stopped moving until someone opened the door and started talking to him. Dean was a motionless weight in his arms and he couldn't force himself to look away from his brother; the unreasonable thought running through his head that if he did, Dean would die. The voice grew louder, closer and he realized it was Arla.

"Sam, we're at the hospital. It's ok now. They're coming to help…" Her voice went in and out and he tilted his head until he was able to see her standing there next to the open door.

Everything was black with flashes of light behind her and he had to close his eyes. He could feel Dean breathing under his hand. Too fast! But at least he was still breathing. The blood...why is he bleeding? Did he get hurt and I didn't even notice it? Did I hurt him? Sam sucked in a terrified breath at the thought. What if I did hurt him and he didn't say anything?

"Sam!" Arla sounded panicked and he felt her hands on his shoulders, on his face, pushing on him until his head was resting on the seat back. "Sam, stay with me! No, go to the other side," Sam was confused by that until he heard the other door open and realized she'd been talking to someone else, "get him out that way."

"What happened to him?" A completely unfamiliar voice asked.

"I'm not sure," Arla replied, "He was vomiting blood."

"How long ago?"

"Not twenty minutes. And he just lost consciousness as we pulled into the parking lot."

The unfamiliar voice asked, "What's his name?"

"Dean. That's Dean and this is his brother, Sam."

"They your sons?"

"Nephews," Arla answered. Sam forced his eyes open as she patted his cheek. She smiled, although she looked scared, and said, "That's it. Stay with me."

"Dean?" Sam asked, feeling someone on the other side of him, gently pulling his arm away from his brother.

Arla nodded, her hands dropping from his face to grip his hands, keeping him from holding onto his brother like he wanted to. She said very slowly and clearly, "They're going to get Dean out of the car and take care of him."

Trying to make sense of any of that took more effort than he had to spare at the moment, and Sam found himself watching as Dean was pulled from the back seat and taken into the darkness. He was so tired that he almost gave in to the pull of the darkness himself, but then he remembered Dean had been bleeding and said urgently, "He needs help!"

"That's why we're at the hospital," Arla said, still holding onto him, her thumbs rubbing gently at his wrists.

He pulled away from her, blinking rapidly as the reality of the situation hit him. Dean. Bleeding. Hospital. Hospital! Sam gasped and felt his heart-rate skyrocket as he finally understood. They were at a hospital.

Bobby died in a hospital.

Dad died in a hospital.

"No, just give me a minute," a woman's voice filtered in and out. "He's ok…"

Dean died in a hospital….

"Sam!" Hands were shaking him.

"Ma'am, we can help…"

"Just a minute!" the woman's voice was loud, then became very soft as she said, "Sam, it's ok, calm down."

"Dean." He wished he could make her understand. Wished he understood. Everything was so confusing.

"Dean's being looked after."

Sam opened his eyes and focused on the woman holding on to him. He felt so sick and tried to push her away, but she wouldn't let go. Listening to her concerned voice for a moment, he finally recognized her and asked, "Arla?"

She smiled like he'd given her a million dollars and said, "It's me, Sam."

"What's...what's happening?" His voice was nothing but a broken whisper.

"You were having a panic attack, Sam," Arla said, rubbing his arms. Her smile faded and she was frowning like he'd done something wrong. "Honey, you're burning up."

Sam couldn't tell if he was burning up or freezing; he just felt sick.

"Time to get you inside." Arla's hand brushed across his cheek and he felt a chill run through him.

Shaking his head, heart skipping a beat at the thought of being inside a hospital, Sam said, "No, I...I can't do this."

"Yes you can. I'm going to be right with you. Dean asked you to get checked out, remember?"

And yeah, he did remember that. Overwhelmed at the thought of setting foot in the hospital, Sam asked, "Can you...just make sure he's ok...and I'll stay right here and…"

Arla said, "No. I can't do that, Sam. You have to trust me on this. Dean's getting the help he needs but he's going to be extremely ticked off if I don't get you taken care of too. You don't want him mad at me, do you?"

Sam saw the twinkle in her eye and knew she was playing him. Too tired to fight it anymore, though, he whispered, "I don't know what to tell them."

"How about you let me worry about that?" Arla's gaze was steady, her tone confident. "I do have a bit experience in the medical field, you know."

"I want to see Dean first."

"Alright. Let's start there."

Sam nodded, struggling to get out of the car, but Arla planted her hand on his shoulder and said, "Don't you dare. Sit still."

Confused and trying to process her order, Sam heard her talking to someone he couldn't see. And then Arla was looking at him again with a smile. "You're not walking, mister."

"I can…"

"Fall flat on your face if you try? Glad we agree. This nice man here has brought us a wheelchair and…"

"I'm not…"

"Not going to argue?" Arla beamed, purposefully cutting him off again and pushing the wheelchair close.

He still hesitated although he knew she was right; if he tried to walk, he was going to fall over. Even now, he felt that awful sensation of being on the verge of unconsciousness.

"Sam," Arla said, leaning close and lowering her voice, "it's going to be ok."

He found himself starting to believe her.


Arla let the security guard hold the wheelchair steady as she assisted Sam out of the car. He was heavy and not at all steady, and the security guard was a nice muscular fellow, but she didn't dare take a chance on Sam's reaction to a stranger helping him. She hadn't stopped counting her blessings that he was, so far anyway, allowing her help. Uncertain how long the tenuous arrangement would last, she didn't dare tempt fate.

"If you leave your keys, ma'am," the security guard said, "I'll park your car for you."

"Thank you so much." Arla breathed a sigh of relief, not just at his words, but also at the fact that Sam was safely settled in the wheelchair. She grabbed the jacket from the front seat, then handed her keys to the guard. "I appreciate your help."

He smiled and accepted the keys. "It's my pleasure. Go on inside now. I'll find you once I've parked the car and give you back the keys. Just go look after your boys."

"Thank you." Arla headed toward the entrance and saw a young woman in pale blue scrubs heading her way.

"Are you Dean's aunt?" the blonde nurse asked, meeting her halfway.

"I am." Arla didn't even hesitated to continue the ruse. She hadn't planned it originally, but when she'd been asked if they were her sons, she'd immediately answered as their aunt instead. Knowing that their mother had died when they'd been children, Arla hadn't wanted to go anywhere that sensitive subject. She gave the nurse a brief smile and said, "Arla Pender. And this is Sam, Dean's brother."

"I'm Marcy. I'm not Dean's primary nurse, but they sent me to meet up with you," Marcy explained, her concerned gaze falling immediately on Sam. "Do you need…"

"Just need to get inside and see how Dean's doing," Arla said quickly. Not wanting to even begin to deal with the can of worms that was Sam's condition, she shook her head slightly, receiving an astute answering nod from the nurse.

Marcy said, "Ok. I can show you to the waiting room…"

"Actually, Marcy, we'd really like to be with Dean right now. I know you're all very busy so we won't get in the way, but it would be really helpful if we could see how he's doing." This time Arla nodded at Sam.

Again, understanding lit the nurse's face. It would take a very dense person indeed to not realize how bad off Sam was at the moment and consider rushing him off for treatment. But it was the obvious worry of one sick family member for another that won the nurse over. She said, "They're just getting him stabilized, so I'll have you wait right outside his room for a few minutes and then you can go in and be with him."

"That would be good," Arla said, following the nurse through the waiting room.

Marcy looked down at Sam and said kindly, "Sam, I know you're worried, but I want you to know that Dean's being taken care of by some of the best people in the state. He's

tired and groggy, but he's been awake since we brought him in. We'll get you in there to see him in a little bit, ok?"

Sam nodded, but didn't comment. Arla couldn't see his face as she pushed the wheelchair, but she could see him trembling. Pausing, she unfolded the coat that she'd been carrying and tucked it around his shoulders, taking a second to catch his eye. Again, he only nodded, but she could see the gratitude in his bloodshot eyes. Arla patted him on the shoulder then returned to her post, glancing up at Marcy who had been waiting patiently.

As they began walking again, Marcy asked, "Would you be able to provide some history for us while we wait?"

"I can give a little," Arla said, knowing that explaining what was going on with Dean would be a bit easier than trying to figure out what she was going to say about Sam.

She glanced back down at him. He had a hand pressed to his head, eyes closed, but he was holding on with everything he had. Breathing a little easier, she just hoped that this wasn't a terrible mistake. If she'd come to understand one thing about the situation, it was that it could change in a split second.

She knew that neither brother had wanted to come to the hospital and she'd seen enough to know that Sam's issues weren't limited to his physical symptoms. The anxiety and panic attacks were so uncharacteristic of the young man she remembered from six years ago that she had trouble even believing he was the same person. Whatever he'd gone through, it had left him broken in ways she wasn't sure she could even hope to fix.

"Right this way," Marcy directed, interrupting Arla's unhappy thoughts.

Arla followed her gaze to a room where she could see a flurry of practiced, yet unrushed, activity. It was a sight that she was completely used to and typically unconcerned by. She heard a doctor calling out all the orders she herself ordered on a regular basis. BUN, lytes, h&h, glucose, coags, liver enzymes, ABGs, urinalysis, chest xray, type and crossmatch; orders she would be calling for right now if Dean were her patient. But Dean wasn't her patient. In this case, he was her family member and she felt the same worry that all family members felt walking toward a scene like that.

"We've got two lines in, Phil." A nurse called out from across the room. "Lactated Ringer's wide open and we're just waiting on the type and crossmatch to call the blood bank if we need to."

"Great. Looks like that BP's coming up a little."

And then a nurse went past them, tugging the curtain closed around the cubicle and Arla stopped outside the room, carefully out of the way of the staff. Arla saw Sam straightening up and could practically feel the fear running through his tense frame; especially now that they couldn't see what was happening in the room.

Before she could say anything, Marcy opened a notebook and asked, "Ms. Pender, could you tell me what Dean's symptoms were and when they first began?"

"Please, just call me Arla. And I only met up with the boys earlier today so I don't know how long he's been feeling ill," time to start making up that story, Arla thought to herself. She stepped a hesitant pace away from Sam and lowered her voice, "They've been out of...the country working. Dean looked ill when I arrived earlier, but he didn't want to tell me what was going on. He was rubbing at his stomach and chest off and on and then he just started throwing up blood."

Marcy nodded and thoughtfully lowered her voice too, "He vomited again when they brought him in. He's been in and out, but not really conscious enough to tell us anything. Has he had any recent injury?"

"Not that I'm aware of." Arla glanced at Sam, considering asking him. But from the expression on his face, she had a feeling that wouldn't be a wise plan. He looked less than five minutes from passing out, and more shaken then she'd ever seen him. Looking back at the nurse, Arla said, "They've both been through a lot of stress recently."

"They're certainly having a stressful evening tonight!" Marcy smiled ruefully. She asked, "Is he taking any medications?"

"They had some OTC painkillers, Tylenol and ibuprofen, but I'm not sure if he's taken them or how frequently he may have been using them. I don't think he takes any medications on a daily basis."

"Tobacco or alcohol use?"

"Alcohol." Arla thought about the empty bottles sitting around the room, the way he'd almost finished off a beer in a handful of seconds before she'd taken it away from him. "I'm not sure how much, but I'd say he's been drinking quite a bit in the past 24 hours."

Marcy nodded, jotting the information down. "Any allergies?"

Arla shook her head, again wishing she could ask Sam, but he looked so distant that she wasn't sure he was even paying attention to what was happening despite the fact that his eyes were glued to the closed curtain in front of him.

"Any medical conditions of note?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Ok, thank you, Arla," Marcy said, glancing over her shoulder at the cubicle. "Dr. Maguire is heading up your nephew's care. Right now they're working to stabilize him, give him fluids and do some assessments to help determine what is precipitating the bleeding."

Arla smiled at the nurse's explanation and said, "I'm actually an ER physician myself. I can tell your team is excellent at what they do."

"Oh! I apologize, Dr. Pender…"

"Please, Arla is just fine. I'm not here as a doctor, Marcy." She looked down at Sam and smiled sadly at the nurse. "Today I'm here as family."

Marcy gave her arm a gentle squeeze. She nodded and said, "I'm sure we'll have some other questions along the way. Dr. Maguire will come over to talk to you in a moment. Then you can slip in and see Dean."

"Thank you Marcy." Arla was about to check on Sam when she heard another voice addressing her.

"Ma'am?" It was the security guard from earlier. "I have your keys."

"Thank you." She accepted the keys with a smile.

The guard returned her smile with a quick glance at Sam, then he asked, "Are you expecting anyone else?"

"Actually I am. My husband. I'm not sure when he'll get here; he's flying in sometime tonight." Which reminded her that she should probably text him and let him know to come by the hospital.

"No problem. I'll be on duty all night so whenever he gets here, I'll let him know where you are."

"Thank you so much. At this point, I'm not sure where we'll be," Arla sighed, the concern weighing heavily again.

The guard nodded and said, "Wherever you are, I'll get your husband to you. What's his name?"

"Thomas Pender."

"Alrighty then." The guard jotted it down in a notebook then said, "You take care of your boys and I'll take care of getting Thomas to you whenever he gets here."

Arla thanked him again, then turned her attention to Sam. Stepping in front of him, she asked, "How are you doing, Sam?"

It seemed to take a lot of effort, but he finally met her gaze and said, "Think we probably should've come sooner."

"Told you so," Arla said, unable to keep from teasing him.

She was rewarded with a shaky smile that faded all too quickly as his attention was drawn yet again to the treatment room. Arla squeezed his hand and was relieved when he didn't flinch away from her. She wanted to tell him that everything was going to be ok; wanted to fill the silence with encouragement. But she didn't know for sure that everything was going to be ok.

In fact, she was pretty sure that if anything happened to either brother, the other one would never be ok again.


Dean stared up at the bright white ceiling and decided that if he were ever to find himself pursuing a career as the interior decorator of a hospital, he would paint the walls and ceiling something other than white. It hurt his brain to look at it, but he didn't dare close his eyes because that one nurse, not the hot one, but the one with the squinty eyes, she was making him nervous with the way she was looking him over like he was a bug on a wall.

Or a piece of meat on a slab.

He shot her what he hoped was a threatening glare, then went back to studying the ceiling even though it only intensified his headache. Maybe a nice blue. Or a relaxing shade of tan. Dean knew there were far more important things for him to be thinking of than the color of the ceiling, but he didn't have the strength to focus.

He'd come awake somewhere between the car and the room he was in now. Disoriented and blinded by the bright lights as he'd been rushed through the hallways, he'd thrown up all over himself somewhere along the way. His vision had been too clouded to see if it were blood again, but he sure had tasted it and he knew that throwing up blood ranked pretty damn high on the things that are very, very not good list.

When the buzzing in his head died down and he could (mostly) see again, he realized that he'd been robbed of his flannel and t-shirt and two IV's had magically appeared. One in each arm. If I had three arms, would they have put one in that arm too? he wondered, not sure why they thought he needed so many.

People were talking over him and around him and doing things to him and he couldn't keep up with any of it. But every time he tried to retreat from the brightness and noise, someone was bossing him around to try to stay awake and can you tell me how bad your pain is and do you have any allergies and a hundred other questions that he didn't have the strength to even attempt to answer so he just ignored them all.

His gut still hurt like someone'd stabbed him and punched him. A few thousand times. His mouth was dry, his head pounding, and he didn't appreciate how handsy the nurses were getting with him. Snapping at them to mind the goods, ladies, took too much effort, though, so he squeezed his eyes closed and resigned himself to his fate; hoping that at some point good drugs would be in his future and he could give up the hassle of consciousness in favor of peaceful oblivion.

But between the noise, the lights, and feeling like hell, Dean couldn't slip away into sleep. There was one question that he needed an answer to before he could do that.

Sam.


"Arla?"

Sam heard the nurse's voice coming back toward them and he hoped the next words out of her mouth were going to be that they could go see Dean because he wasn't sure he could hang on much longer. He couldn't even attempt to describe the pain in his head at this point if someone had asked. And he could feel himself slipping rapidly toward the darkness that was welling up on all sides of him. Blinking at the nurse, Sam realized that he could only see vague shapes; splotches of bright against the fuzzy circle of blackness around the edges of his vision.

The words seemed distorted and slow, like a recording played back at half-speed, but he caught the key elements.

"This is Dr. Maguire."

Arla was standing right next to him, but he barely heard her say, "I'm Arla and this is Dean's brother Sam."

Sam felt at least three sets of eyes on him, but he didn't bother wasting his breath to join the conversation. The doctor, though, said, "I think it looks like we may need to take care of Sam too…"

"Yes," Arla interrupted quickly, "but we'd really like to be able to see how Dean's doing first."

"He's stable right now, although his blood pressure is still quite low," Dr. Maguire explained, "He's receiving IV fluids to rehydrate him along with ondansetron to alleviate the nausea. We've given him something for the pain and some oxygen to help make him more comfortable. We'll be sending him for an endoscopy to determine the extent of the upper gastrointestinal bleeding. It's most likely an ulcer, but we won't know for sure until we have the results from the scope."

Ulcer. Huh. Sam frowned, staring down at the floor and thinking about that. Ulcers weren't so bad, right? But all that blood… he shivered at the thought and felt Arla's hand on his shoulder.

"Can we go in and see him?" Arla asked, sounding urgent. She didn't let go of his shoulder.

Maybe I look as bad as I feel.

"We'll be transferring him upstairs soon to prepare him for the endoscopy, but you're welcome to stay with him until then," the doctor's voice was going in and out, but Sam only needed to hear that they could see Dean.

The rest was just details.

"Thank you," Arla said, and then they were moving.

Sam shivered despite the jacket around his shoulders. The room was too cold and too bright. Hospital. The word made his skin crawl and the smell of the place, the smell of blood was enough to make him gag. Focusing on the bed in front of him, Sam clenched his fists; determined not to let anyone potentially stop him from making sure Dean was going to be ok.

No matter how bad I look.

"Sam?"

He lifted his heavy head an inch at the sound of his brother's voice. Dean was laying there on the stretcher, pale as the sheets, but his eyes were open. Sam almost couldn't breathe. The equipment, the computers, the IV tubing, everything felt like it was closing in on him. This was bad, so bad. But Dean was awake now, so maybe it wasn't that bad. Maybe they could get through this. In another moment, Arla had pushed the wheelchair right next to the stretcher and he wanted to say something, but it was hard enough to keep his eyes open let alone try to speak.

Dean didn't move, obviously weakened and hurting, but his eyes were worried as he said again, "Sam."

Wanting to answer, knowing he should answer, Sam found that the words just wouldn't come. Head spinning, Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on the edge of the stretcher. Voices, including Dean's, were buzzing all around him in a cacophonous muddle so harsh he thought his ears might bleed from the pressure of it all. Sam tried to concentrate on Dean's face, but it was a lost cause because he couldn't really see anything anymore.

Just a minute, just need a minute, he tried to explain. But the words still refused to come. He just needed to close his eyes for a minute and he'd be fine. Dean called his name again, but he sounded very far away as Sam fell forward, his head landing on his arms as a comfortable, peaceful darkness swept over him.


"Sam!" Dean's heart, beating way too fast if the beeping of the monitor in the background was anything to go by, almost stopped entirely as he watched Sam go down.

For one split second, he'd been almost, almost, comfortable. The handsy nurses, hot and squinty, had both finally stopped putting things into him and taking things off of him and left him with a heady drug-induced apathy and a warm blanket. He'd been about to close his eyes and stop fighting the lethargy, but then he'd heard Arla's voice and knew that where she was, Sam better be. And he was. In a wheelchair and Dean really wanted to know what magic spell Arla had used to make that miracle happen.

Before he could really say anything, he was watching his brother collapse and the drugs weren't doing much for him anymore. He fought to sit up, to reach for Sam, to do anything to help. But all he managed to do was touch Sam's arm before people were coming from every direction and hauling Sam away from him.

Arla was suddenly in front of him, pushing him back against the pillows and saying, "Dean, they've got him. They've got him. He's going to be ok."

She doesn't understand! She doesn't get it… "You need to stay with him!"

"I will. I'm going to stay with him, I promise."

"Don't leave him alone, ok?" Dean asked, hating that he sounded like he was begging. And then he just didn't care anymore, "Please. Stay with him."

Arla squeezed his hand and held on as she said, "Dean, I'm going to stay with him. I just need to know if there's anything more you can tell me. Anything else I need to know to help him."

"I told you what I know. He's been pretty messed up...and he got hit by that car...told you about that, didn't I?" Dean rubbed his head.

"Yes. You said that. Broken rib. Bruises. He'd been hallucinating before."

"Yeah."

"Then he was admitted to the hospital. Do you know…"

"I don't know what they gave him at the hospital. He said they gave him..." Dean paused, remembering what Sam had mentioned before.

"Dean? What is it?"

"He...he said he thought...he was withdrawing from the meds."

Arla studied him for a moment before saying, "Dean. That's something I need to tell the doctor about. If he's really going through withdrawal, he needs treatment."

Hating that he'd mentioned it, but knowing he'd really had no other choice, Dean swallowed hard, feeling dizzy and nauseated again. The realization that he had no idea what had happened to Sam in that hospital, because you left him there! made him feel cold to his very soul. Feeling completely helpless, he admitted, "I don't know what they did to him."

Arla squeezed his hand again and said, "It's going to be ok…"

"He just kept saying that everything hurt." Dean continued, not even hearing what she was saying. "I don't know if he didn't want to be more specific or if he just couldn't be."

"When was he released from the hospital?"

Dean frowned, trying to focus. The days, the nights, everything ran together. He said, "Two...yeah, it was two days ago we walked out."

"So he wasn't released? You just…"

"We left. Cas...he said he took the crazy...and then Sam was ok. I mean he…" Dean could feel the darkness creeping toward him. He felt short of breath and his heart was beating too fast again. "He wasn't ok. Hasn't been. But he wasn't…."

"Hallucinating?" Arla supplied. Mind reading obviously was one of her secret powers. "Your friend, Cas? He had a way to take the hallucinations away?"

Dean nodded, fisting his hands in the blanket and trying not to pass out. Voice barely a whisper, he said, "I thought...at first...that Cas took it all, fixed him...all the way."

"But even though the hallucinations are gone," Arla said, again filling in the blanks, "Sam's still dealing with all of it."

Dean nodded tiredly; some of the tension easing out of his body despite the tension still thrumming through his overtaxed brain. He knew part of it was his body was simply that close to shutting down. Understanding that Sam might be free from the hallucinations yet still dealing with the physical and mental damage the experience had inflicted on him was sobering.

"Dean?" Arla drew his attention with a gentle touch on his arm. Her smile had him almost completely convinced that she was an angel. She tucked the blanket around him and shook a finger, "Stay still. Do what the nurses tell you to. I need to trust you to take care of yourself so I can help your brother."

"Scout's honor," Dean whispered, not quite able to return her smile.

Rolling her eyes, Arla said, "Why is it I can't really see you as a boy scout, Dean Winchester?"

"Wasn't much for the shorts." This time he managed a grin.

"But you were into the Brownies, I'll bet." Arla laughed and Dean couldn't believe how much better he felt despite the dismal situation. She said, "Behave and I'll come back when I can to let you know how…"

"No. Listen, just...just stay with him. I'm fine. Send a nurse with an update or something," Dean said, desperate to make her understand. If he couldn't be there, Dean had a feeling that Arla was the only person who might be able to get through to Sam. "Don't leave him. He…" he's scared, "he's going to need you."

She nodded again and said, "I'm going to take care of him. Of both of you."

"I trust you," Dean said as she headed out the door.

He closed his eyes, realizing that Arla might be the last person on the planet that he actually could trust.


Arla was torn.

If only there were two of me, she thought, not for the first time. Raising twin girls had provided her with a multitude of reasons that having a twin of her own would have been handy. And right now it would be good to be able to be in two places at once. Because the fear in Dean's eyes left her wanting to stay with him and make sure he was going to be ok. But she knew that the fear in his eyes wasn't for himself; it was all for his little brother. And she knew the only way to even hope to alleviate some of that fear was to do exactly what he was begging her to do.

Take care of Sam.

So Arla walked out of his room even though it killed her. She didn't have any trouble finding where they'd taken Sam. Just as Dean's room had recently been, the treatment room three doors down was now the center of professional hurry. Arla stepped just inside the door where she could be immediately available should her assistance be needed, yet still out of the way of the staff. Marcy was across the room about to start an IV, but she looked up with a quick acknowledgement of Arla's presence.

Staying where she was, Arla pulled out her phone and saw she'd missed a text from Tommy. Arriving around ten. You still with the boys?

She quickly replied Come to the hospital. And then her attention was drawn back to the scene before her and she chewed her lip nervously as she watched the ER staff at work.

Sam wasn't moving.

Hadn't so much as twitched since he'd passed out. Watching him go down had been one of the most horrible moments in her life. One of those moments she would kick herself for in years to come. She never should have let him convince her not to put him straight into a hospital bed. As bad as it had been, the worst part had been seeing the fear in Dean's eyes as Sam had gone down.

Returning her thoughts to the present, Arla studied the vital signs on the monitor; they weren't exactly anything to get excited about. Watching his heartbeat was especially concerning. Arla frowned as she picked up on the irregularities on the monitor. Dr. Maguire had picked up on it too, she realized, hearing him call for a STAT EKG along with other labs.

Looking back at her phone, she saw Tommy had texted again. Are they ok?

Arla snorted and texted back, Not hardly. They're both in bad shape.

Watching the nurses as they worked, she knew that it wasn't really a surprise that Sam had dropped. Considering he'd been in shock when she'd first arrived at the cabin, it had been only a matter of time before he went down again. Not having a complete medical history or the records from that hospital worried her to no end. At least Dean had opened up a bit more about that situation. Better late than never, Arla decided, catching Marcy's eye, knowing she needed to let them know what Dean had said about the potential for withdrawal.

This is so not good.


Thirty minutes later, sitting just outside the room as Dr. Maguire updated her on exactly how not good it all was, Arla again cursed what she was coming to understand was genetic Winchester stubbornness.

If he'd let me help when I ran into him in the parking lot…

Once the doctor had left, Arla sat there for a moment, absorbing everything he'd just told her. Taking a deep breath, she knew she needed to go talk to Dean. Texting Tommy one more time, she pushed herself to her feet.

She wasn't looking forward to this conversation at all.


Huge shout out to everyone who helped me get this chapter just right: the ever awesome L.H. the 2nd, Laura's-eyes, cartersdaughter, and Chronic Potterphile! I couldn't have done it without all of you helping me!

Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Ch 13 already has 4 pages to it... :) Stay tuned!