Riiiingg.
He blearily opened his eyes to a blurry, up-close view of some Native American tribal myths and legends. Trying to figure out how he fell asleep on his desk like a school ki-
Riiiiingg.
The shrill noise only caused more momentary confusion, as it wasn't the familiar ringtone of his phones.
Riiiingg.
Balls. Bobby swiped a hand in that direction in exasperation, the machine can just pick it up,
Riii-Click.
"This is Melinda with Stanford Campus Health and I am trying to get in contact with the family of one of our students, Samuel Winchester."
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Pain.
Gah
Dean chocked on a groan that despite his efforts, escaped.
"Easy son, got your ass handed to you."
Bobby
Dean tried to sit up, to open his eyes, anything to not appear as foolishly injured as he felt, only to be pushed with the gruff gentleness only Bobby could possess. He felt Bobby shift away after making sure his point was received, Dean was to stay down.
"Bobby," Dean tried to say it, but no sound escaped his lips. He frowned his annoyance and licked his lips, surprised to taste blood and by how dry and cracked they felt. He tried to inhale to call a little louder, try to figure out just what the hell was going on, but the attempt made him realize his chest felt tight, and like he didn't get enough air.
Like there was a weight on his chest.
He tried again to pull more air into his lungs, the air burnt and sliced down his nasal cavity, through his esophagus, and down to his lungs, felicitating a test cough to clear his throat. Which suddenly launched a full-on coughing, wheezing fit that had him curling up, trying to sit up to breathe better. How it would help him breathe, he didn't know, but it felt right, and his instincts typically worked in his favor in that manner.
Dean felt himself jerk at a surprising hand on his shoulder. His ears were ringing and vision clouding in. Bobby dragged him into a more upright position, and as his fit slowed down to just pained wheezing, he saw Bobby crouched in front of him, waiting for the silent 'I'm good' signal. Thank god it was Bobby and not Dad. Shit, did Dean feel like he had been put through a blender. Dean felt achy, and not in a fought-the-fugly-of-the-week type of way, but the something-got-the-drop-on-me sort of feel. Which was never a good thing.
Once he recovered his breath, Dean tried sort the memories into the right order to find exactly what made him feel like this and just how it resulted in Bobby showing up, but not his old man.
"Now that you have decided to grace me with you appearance, Sleeping Beauty, why don't you tell me just how you happened to get washed up on a riverbank like the Biblical Moses minus the blanket and plus a beat-to-hell look?"
"Ahhhhh well you see..."
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Meanwhile, in the Stanford Campus Health building, a stubborn Sam was trying to puppy-dog-eye his way out of going to the ER and failing. As a pretty student intern tried to convince him to accept an ambulance ride from the "nice paramedics just trying to do their job."
The argument was good but lacked the amount of determination that Sam had.
"Mr. Winchester, not only are you going to go to the hospital, you are going to allow the EMTs, who have spent years in school same as you, to do their job and take you, by Ambulance, yes, the afore-mentioned God-forsaken Wee-Yoo money-hogger to said hospital where you WILL remain a patron of their fantastic facilities UNTIL your release has been sanctioned by a proper professional such as a Doctor!"
Sam felt himself flush, yes that may have been what he called the ambulance when they initially broached the topic of a hospital, but to say so while now that a crowd had gathered to watch the shenanigans was another thing entirely.
"See that is where you misunderstand me. I am not refusing help, I am refusing the 5,000-dollar trip to hospital VIA ambulance. I am sure I can call up my roommate and he will be here to pick me up and take me. It is a broken ankle, not a broken spine," Sam fervently argued.
"As well that may be, we cannot get a hold of your roommate to drive you, but it is STILL a broken bone in THIS medical facility! Where we are not properly equipped to handle broken bones! Especially ones that need to be casted!"
"Thank you greatly for handling the situation thus far Ms. Moore, but I can take it from here," a deep voice momentarily distracted Sam from his argument as a greying man stepped between the gurney and the EMTs blocking the entrance; and consequently, Sam's escape route, to the room
As Sam took a breath to further argue his point, it wheezed in, not enough oxygen coming in.
His cold making itself known.
What little made it to his chest, forced its way out in a hackling, horrifically wet sounding cough. And again, not enough air came in, and Sam was abruptly reminded of how hard it was to normally breathe as of recent, without trying to make an argument. He vaguely registered the EMTs pushing in, and helping him sit up, he coughed harder, but air still wasn't coming in.
He couldn't breathe.
He felt like he was suffocating in a bubble separate from the room around him. He heard alarms going off as frantic, yet calculated moves by the blurry EMTs brought an Oxygen mask to his face.
Stale air flowed in, but he still couldn't breathe.
Now there was even more air, the oxygen he desperately needed flowing about 15 litres a minute, but not enough of it coming in-..panic was taking hold.
Sam could feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest and his vision tunneled, the whistling sound of his inhale turning into the crackling sound of cough for an exhale. One of the EMTs started hitting the middle of his back on his exhale to try to help clear his airways, which to Sam really just felt like revenge for calling the ambulance a money-hogging wee-yoo machine but what did he know.
He was clearly going to die, not by a hunt, but by a stupid cold. Yep, weren't Dad and Dean going to be so impressed if they caught wind of this which would never happen because-
Oh. Shit.
Sam felt air actually enter his lungs just as the realization that his throwing a fit in the Health building and ending up in the ER would probably result in a call to his ICE number. Uncle Bobby.
Who would probably in turn show up, but not without telling Dad and Dean all about it. Fuck. Sam is dead. If they catch wind of this and show up to try to drag Sam back to the hunting lifestyle there would be a fight, and not the verbal kind. The bloody faces and fists kind. With words thrown like weapons just for more fun.
"Mr. Winchester, now that you have demonstrated with such grace exactly why it would be wise to transport you to the hospital, why don't you ride with these kindly gentlemen to the hospital?" the older man spoke authoritatively, the pin on his shirt declaring him the Head Manager of the Stanford Health Clinic. Sam cautiously pulled the face mask off, to the grunt of annoyance and warning of the surprisingly buff EMT on his left,
"I will go to the hospital, I agree it is necessary. However, I refuse to ride in the ambulance." Sam continued quickly, hearing the men about to rebuff him, "I can ask someone to take me, I'll call up my roommate again, he is going to pick up. I promise. Just hand me my phone and I'll call him again."
One of the EMTs reluctantly handed him his phone and Sam shakily typed in Brady's number and listened to it ring.
And ring.
And ring and smiled awkwardly at the occupants in the room while he waited for Brady to get his drunk ass up. Surely after all that Sam had done Brady could at least answer his fucking phone for one fucking moment.
But no.
The phone rang out and went to voicemail, Brady's tinny voice promising to call back whenever he got a chance. Sam pressed end call and slowly lowered the phone to his lap.
"Is there someone else who could possibly take you? We have already called your Emergency contact and left a message...?" The student intern, a Ms. Moore if Sam recalled correctly, asked hopefully. Sam stared at his lap for a minute, trying to think of any contacts he had who had cars in Palo Alto. He couldn't think of any and slowly shook his head. More stuck on the fact that someone had already called Bobby.
"I can call a cab," Sam quietly spoke up. The Head Manager nodded his head in acceptance and politely took his leave, thanking the EMTs and wishing Sam luck. The EMTs followed him, probably to try to get Sam's billing info. Sam leaned back against the pillows. They helped more than he thought they would considering they were the type of cheap pillows used by the cheap motels he used to stay at as a kid. The thought struck him like an ice pick, through and through, cold and harsh, of what it would have been like if this had happened to him when he was in middle, or hell, even high school. Dean always called his bluff when he needed to and reminded him he was human and allowed to need time to heal or get better. The sound of a distinctly feminine throat being cleared disrupted any further thoughts, he moved his arm from his eyes and squinted in the light, at the pretty intern.
"If you can be bothered to stay there for about twenty minutes, I know someone who could give you a lift to the hospital."
Not wanting to risk further embarrassment by inducing another coughing fit, Sam nodded. Sam no longer cared the minor details of how he made it to the hospital, just so long as he made it and was hopefully released before Bobby showed up. Hopefully it was only Bobby, or even better, maybe Bobby is busy and asked Pastor Jim to check on him rather than driving all the way out to California and leaving his home base. Pastor Jim would be easy to convince enough to leave him be and NOT mention any of this to John or Dean which could only result in them trying to drag him back.
And Sam won't have that.
He has made it this far, there is no way he is going back to the hunting life.
No way no how. Sam is not going back. Not to watch Dad and Dean get flayed alive time after time. John less so than Dean. Dad got himself into this. Dean just wants to keep him alive. But at the rate John jumps from one monster to another, it's only a matter of time before he comes across something bigger than he is and none of his buddies or Dean will be able to do anything about it. Sam only hopes he doesn't take Dean with him, because as much as he wants to think that he doesn't need anybody, the knowledge that he could call Dean up and no matter what, if he needed help, Dean would come. It's where Dad comes in that there's problems.
God, he hopes Bobby sent Pastor Jim and didn't pass the message along.