Well, here's another chapter. Hope you enjoy it. Thank you so much for the reviews you have been giving me.
Dean was going to kill that damn doctor. Sure, he claimed that he had given Sam drugs to lessen the side effects, but they weren't working. Sam didn't want him to call for the doctor, but he looked like he was hurting really bad. He kept taking gasping breaths, but pushed it aside, telling them that he was fine.
Sam hated feeling like this. He could tell that Dean was upset just having to be around him, and he wanted to take off. The back of his neck felt like there was so much pressure on it that it hurt. Nausea rolled over him and he fought it. The last time he had gotten sick, they put the cooling blanket on him, and he didn't want to repeat the experience of having to be cold. Right now, he might be able to deal with it. It had to be at least ninety degrees in this room. Why would they turn up the heat this much right after taking off the blanket that had been meant to keep him cool? He needed to get out of here. Something wasn't right. If he could get the IV out of his arm and Dean out of the room, he might be able to make a break for it. If he crawled, he could get away. At the very least, he could get to the elevator and then he could get to the Impala. His mind was racing. He needed to get out of here. Dean had put his head in his hands, and Sam took the opportunity. Ripping off the tape that covered the IV, he began to pull the needle out.
Dean put his head up when he heard the loud rip. Eyes widening, he jumped up grabbing his little brother's hands. "Stop it! Sammy, just stop it! You're hurting yourself. Just relax." he said, his voice taking a strong, commanding tone. He needed to get Sam to get what he was saying. Sam was fighting him as hard as he could, and it seemed he was given strength by hysterics.
"Sam, I need you to stop fighting me." He said, trying to hide how frustrated he was, but it came out in his tone. If Sam kept fighting him, it was a real possibility that Dean could hurt him on accident.
"No, Dean, I gotta get outta here. Please, let me get outta here. We can just leave. Come on, there are people that need us. Somewhere, there are people dying because we aren't there to help them. Can you live with that?" Sam was begging, pleading, his voice racing as much as his thoughts were. He thought he knew Dean's weakness. Dean loved the hunt. He could never turn down a chance to get out there and hunt.
Dean's real weakness laid there in front of him. He could never do anything that would put Sam in danger. "No, Sammy. You need to relax. We're gonna beat this thing, and then we can go. Right now, this is the demon we have to fight. Just lay back down. I can get you something to make it better, but please lay back down." He had a suspicion that Sam's fever had shot up again. This was really close if not at delirious. Trying to gage just how high it may have gotten, he brushed his hand across Sam's forehead. The effect was immediate. As Dean set his hand on his forehead, Sam balled his hands into fists and threw them at his big brother. He started hitting him, and then clawing at him, trying to get up, to get away.
Dean clenched his jaw and pressed the "call nurse" button on the bedside remote. He took several deep, calming breaths, trying to squelch the anger. Sammy didn't know what he was doing. He stepped back from his brother, allowing him the space that he would need to chill out. Sam started to get up from the bed and Dean pushed him back. There was no way he would be able to stand on his own, and he couldn't just stand there and let him fall. Sam threw one more punch before Dean slapped him hard out of frustration. It was loud, and the effect was instant. Sam stopped all motion and looked at Dean. His eyes spoke the volumes of hurt that he felt, and Dean wanted to cry. Damn their father and his wanting to get them all food. If he had been here, he could have helped with Sammy. Dean took one more look at his brother, the look on his face, and turned to flee from the room. He could feel the tears dwelling up in his eyes. The sheets on the bed crinkled and he knew his brother was getting up, but he fled. He heard his brother fall hard on the ground as he walked by the doorway, but the nurse was there. The nurse could help him back into bed, could get the IV back in his arm, and could do a lot better than he had. "Dean." Sam cried, but Dean was already out the door.
Finally sitting down in the empty lounge area by the elevators, Dean let all the grief and frustration out in the form of tears. He hadn't cried in a long time, not even when they were in Lawrence, but he couldn't help it now. His baby brother, the one who he had been responsible for since the moment their dad laid him in his arms and told him to take him out of the house, was laying there helpless. He had no idea what he was doing, and Dean had slapped him. He slapped him. There was no excuse for it. A million other ways that he could have handled him were now in his head, but he couldn't change the fact that when it was happening, he had failed. Sammy would never forgive him, and neither would their dad. Even if they did, he would never forgive himself.
This was how John Winchester found his older son, sitting in one of the chairs crying. His first thought was that something had gone wrong with Sammy, that his baby boy had gotten really sick or worse, had died while he was getting them food. Setting the McDonald's bags down, he sat down next to Dean. "Dean, what happened? What's wrong?" He demanded of the young man.
"Dad...I messed up. I hit Sammy. He was confused, had no idea what was going on, and trying to get away and hitting me...and I slapped him. I pushed him back on the bed and then I slapped him. I can't believe that I did that." His eyes were huge, sorrowful, pleading their father for forgiveness.
"Dean, it's okay. You've been at his side basically every minute for the last three days. You're under a lot of stress. Probably even more stress than he is, because you're right, he doesn't know what's going on. You do. He's going to be okay. Why don't you go find a hotel, take a shower because you're starting to smell worse than some of the things we hunt, sleep in a real bad for a few hours, and then come back? I'll be here." He instructed his son, pulling him up and turning him towards the elevator. Grabbing up the bag, he pulled out a Big Mac and fries. "Here's your meal, Dean."
"What did you get Sammy?" Dean asked, wiping his eyes.
"Chicken McNuggets." He said, his mouth forming a smile. Dean swallowed another lump that had formed in his throat, and returned the smile. When they were small, Sammy would ask their dad to get him a Chicken McNugget Happy Meal every time they passed a McDonald's. With their hectic life, the whole backseat would be littered with McNugget boxes. God, were these the kind of things that he would remember if...? Quilts and food choices he had as a child.
"Thanks, dad. He'll like it." He said quietly, before getting on the elevator, fighting the ominous feelings that if he left, something would happen and he wouldn't be here for him. His dad was right: He needed a break. When he got back, he could talk to Sam, get him to forgive him.
John Winchester made his way back into the room where his younger son lay. His arms were tied down on the bed with leather restraints, and he walked down to the nurse's station. He wasn't sure he could keep his voice down or if Sammy had been sedated as well. Standing directly in front of the nurse, he cleared his throat. Reading the nametag, he started talking. "Hi, Jenny. I would like to know why you feel the need to restrain a significantly weakened cancer patient. If you could explain that to me, it would be appreciated."
"Sir, he was trying to remove his IV's. He was in danger of hurting himself. We simply acted to protect your son." He raised his eyebrow in surprise. Appartently, it had gotten around who he was. It was nice to have made an impression.
"Well, I'm in there now. If he tries to get lose again, I'll take care of him." He turned and walked away, not waiting for the nurse to answer. His son looked so weak now that whatever had happened had passed. There was a bruise on the side of his face that John only had to guess was from Dean. It wasn't that big, but he tried to think of some way to cover it. If Dean saw that, no matter how small the bruise, he would use it to create guilt. While proud of the boy's relationship, he often envied it as well. When Sammy was hurt or sick, he never looked to him to make it better. The only person he wanted was Dean. The only reason why he stayed now, was because Dean needed a break every now and again. Someday, he would become unneeded. They would depend solely on each other, and he would be pushed out.
Sam's eyes fluttered open and looked at his father. He was still a little warm and his mind was still racing faster than he could keep up, but the franticness and the nausea had passed. "Dad?"
"Yes, Sam?" John said, taking the washcloth that he had been getting wet for Sammy's face away from the water and moving to stand closer to the bed than he had been.
"I messed up...I lost control of my emotions, got scared, and hit Dean. He's been here for me through everything, and I hit him over and over. He's probably so mad at me. He slapped me and then he left and hasn't been back. What am I going to do if he doesn't come back?" Sam looked so lost. John had to put on his game face.
"Well, a lot of things would be a lot easier for you if you were in better control of your emotions. However, Dean hasn't left you. He just went to go take care of himself. He's not mad at you. Next time, remember how this feels before you act so foolishly." It was said gruffly, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if his dad was just as mad at him as Dean was. He looked away so that he didn't have to face his father. The man had always been disappointed in him and this didn't help matters.
"I got you a Chicken McNugget meal. I figured you aren't feeling well and didn't deserve hospital food." He told Sam in the same voice, putting the washcloth on his face and handing him the food.
After eating, they sat there in silence, Sam watching TV until he passed out and John looking at what his boys had been up to on Sammy's laptop that Dean had been brought in. This was the picture that met Dean when he returned seven hours later at eight o'clock at night.
Hope you enjoyed it. I will post the next chapter either tomorrow or the next day. Please feel free to leave constructive criticism and praise.
Mystery: Wow, you're insightful. Thanks for the long review and for getting the points that I was trying to make.