Title: Chipping Away
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Summary: Sam and John's POV at the hospital waiting to hear about Dean.
A/N: The reviews have been so great I'm almost too jacked to write. Ta muchly. You make me feel my existence isn't a total waste of space. This thing has gotten out of control but I am reeling it in. Hope you like the rest of the ride. Alone dreaming, what can I say, it's better thanks to you.
Sam had been frightened and bewildered by the sudden flurry of activity that had ripped Dean out of his arms and into the hands of strangers. Only John pulling Sam aside had allowed them to take Dean.
Dean had been swiftly removed from the car and placed on a gurney. An oxygen mask was put over his ashen face as ER staff had rushed him inside the hospital, leaving John and Sam to trail in their wake. After a few swiftly asked questions from the nurse were answered, any allergies, medications he was taking, etc., they were left alone.
John had tried to go into the exam room but had been stopped by a small woman with brown hair tied back into a bun. Her head barely came to John's chest.
"I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to wait out here and let the doctor work. We'll let you know his condition as soon as there is anything to tell." John's eyes shot to the room they had taken Dean into.
"No!" Sam said, pushing forward. "We need to be with him—he hates hospitals!" His eyes were frantic. Dean did hate hospitals. The reasons were plainly shown on his young, scarred body, shown on all of their bodies, for that matter.
"Please, gentlemen," She continued in a softer voice. "I understand you want to be with him, but he's being well taken care of, I promise you." She gestured at the waiting room. "Sit down. We can get you both something to drink and there are some forms the office manager will need you to fill out."
John looked on the verge of arguing. Finally, he took Sam's arm and pulled him gently toward the waiting area. "Come on, Sam. All we can do is wait." Sam reluctantly accompanied him and they both sank into the uncomfortable chairs. Sam was watching his father's face. John's eyes were glued to the exam room door.
After a few minutes, Sam ventured, "He'll be okay." He tried to say it with confidence. But Dean had looked so bad. "This is Dean. He'll beat this." They had all been in the hospital numerous times for many injuries. It was their second most popular family activity. Then there were all the many times they had tended their own hurts, but he had never seen this look on John Winchester's face before. "There's nothing we can do for him right now." He stopped as a bulky piece of equipment was hurried past them and rolled into the room with Dean.
John swallowed and slowly shook his head. "I know Sam, but this time—" John dropped his face in his hands. "God, Sam, this is my fault. You were right. I never realized---" Then Sam suddenly recognized the look. Guilt. His dad felt guilty because Dean was sick. The knowledge shocked him.
Sam's eyes widened. "Dad, I never said this was your fault," he said. "At least, not all of it," he corrected. "I'm just as much to blame as you. We've both been making it harder on him than it had to be." Sam leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. His long brown hair hung over his eyes. "Hell, he never says anything, lets anyone in…" Sam cleared his throat. "How were we supposed to know?" He sniffed and swiped the heel of his hand across his eyes. You know Dean, his mind whispered, he would never tell, no matter how much he hurt.
John raised his head, taking a deep breath and rubbed at his temple. He patted Sam on the leg twice. "Dean's always kept his feelings to himself. Even when he was a little kid I never knew what he was thinking." He made a small sound that might have been soft laughter. "But he wasn't always such a smart mouth." Sam smiled at that. "He always did what I asked him to, though." Eyes back to the door.
Sam stared at the floor. Black and white swirls with tiny red flecks. His heart chilled. "Dad…I know I'm not making things easier for you…" he began.
John glanced at him and shook his head again. "Let's not start this now. Dean doesn't need us doing this." He eyes swept to the exam room
"Dad it's because of Dean I have to. We can't keep going on this way, what we're doing to each other, to him….." Sam's hands flopped between his knees.
"I understand what you're saying, Sam." John's voice was harder than he meant it to be. "But right now all I care about is making sure Dean will be all right. Everything else comes second to that. Anything you and I may have to say to each other we can say later." John's voice shook slightly and he met Sam's eyes. "Please."
Sam looked up in surprise. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard his dad say please. He bit his lip, but nodded, sighing. "Sure, Dad, we can talk later. You're right." He pushed his hair out of his eyes and joined his dad staring at the door.
A woman approached them with a clipboard full of papers. "Mr. Winchester?" Sam and John's heads both jerked up. She found their matching stares slightly unsettling. "I have some forms that we need filled out." She held out the clipboard and a pen. "We need it for admission."
John just kept gazing at her. Sam finally took the clipboard and pen. "I'll do it," he told his father. She gave Sam a tight smile, as though it tasted bad, and walked back to her cubicle.
Sam read the questions and started filling in the blanks. Her knew all the information, when to lie, when to tell the truth, what mattered and what didn't. When he was done he handed it to John to sign and carried it back to the woman behind the counter.
Time passed and it seemed like the staff had forgotten them. A few people came and went in the ER, a broken arm, a minor car wreck. Nothing special. Medical personnel moved in and out of Dean's room but no one stopped to talk to them. John and Sam drank countless cups of coffee and were so wired after a while they jumped at every sound. John had been getting up, pacing, sitting down and getting up to pace again with such regularity that Sam decided wearily, if his dad tried to go back into the exam room again he wasn't going to stop him this time.
They both jumped when the exam room door burst open and the gurney Dean was lying on was pushed out, surrounded by several nurses. Bags and bottles hung from racks on the bed, tubes leading from them to his arms. A ventilator covered the lower half of his face. One of the nurses pushed the breathing apparatus alongside the bed. John and Sam leapt to their feet and rushed over to Dean. His chest rose and fell in time to the machine. Sweat shone on his face but his color seemed a little better. The nurses paused only briefly then moved toward the elevators at the end of the hall. John turned to stop them. He just wanted to see his son. Sam watched them go by, face stricken. Dean looked awful. God, he wasn't even breathing on his own.
A hand fell on John's arm and the doctor, a young man with five o'clock shadow, smiled at him. His scrubs had blood splattered on them and John knew it was from Dean
"I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, I know you want to see your son but we finally got him stabilized and we need to get him to ICU as quickly as we can. I swear, you can see him shortly but we need to talk first." Sam and John looked at each other and some of the color left John's face. Reluctantly, he and Sam accompanied the young doctor, his tag said his name was Dennison, back to the waiting room. They sat back down, both more edgy than before and John showing it as his fingers dug into his knees.
"Will he be all right?" John said point blank.
Dr. Dennison blinked. "Your son has severe bacterial pneumonia in both lungs. His lungs are filled with fluid. We had to intubate him and put him on a ventilator because he couldn't breathe on his own. He was fighting us the whole time to the point that we had to sedate him." Dennison smiled. "He's a fighter, Mr. Winchester, I'll say that for him."
Sam's mouth quirked in a small smile and he glanced at his father. Dean was a fighter all right.
Even if he was fighting against what was best for him.
"Will he be all right?" John repeated.
"I won't lie to you, Mr. Winchester, your son is very ill. Pneumonia can strike very quickly. In someone as young as—," Dennison consulted his notes, "as Dean, it usually occurs because the patient was already in a weakened state. Dean doesn't have any immuno-deficiency problems does he? Aids –."
"No!" John barked in outrage. Sam and the doctor jerked back.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, we have to ask." Dennison swallowed. "Has he been ill recently? The flu?"
"He wasn't feeling well today." Sam put in glancing at John., "He said he thought he had the flu. But he had to be outside a lot today, in the rain…."
"Will he be all right!" John demanded, face darkening
Dennison nodded, becoming unnerved at the man's intensity. "He's running a very high fever and he's severely dehydrated. We're pumping him with fluids and antibiotics which should bring it under control. He'll be in ICU at least twenty four hours. By then we can better assess his condition and possibly move him to a regular room. Barring unforeseen complications, he should recover fully. There may some lung scarring but we have no way of judging that at this point. His breathing concerns me most and as long as he's on the ventilator he'll have to stay in ICU. If he continues to fight the ventilator he'll have to remain under sedation. We'll try to get it off of him as soon as possible but that'll just depend on him." Dennison referred to his notes one last time. "Do either of you have any questions?"
Sam shook his head. John rose from the chair. "I want to see him," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.
review please, …….I know nothing juicy happened but it can't all be blood and screaming.