Again, I cannot thank you enough for all the reviews. I so appreciate them!
a/n – this is a longer chapter – hopefully answers some questions…or at least a question.
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He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
Chapter Four
Dean didn't know what hit him. The pain that pounded his insides sucked the wind out of him and dropped him to his knees. Unable to do anything but writhe in agony, he gave up the urge to stand, to make it right, and curled on the floor, waiting for the pulsating throbs to pass.
After a few minutes, when he was sure he was on the edge, about to topple down a dark abyss, on the verge of screaming out Sam's name, the beating stopped, almost as suddenly as it began. Slowly, using his hands for support, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, and waited. For his breathing to slow down. For the trembling to go away. For the grip of terror to pass.
I have to tell Sam, he thought. I can't do this alone. Something's wrong, terribly wrong. But what could Sam do? Nothing. They were trapped, no cars, no passable roads even if they had a car. No, telling Sam would be selfish, would only worry him. Would make things worse. Whatever this was, he could get through it on his own.
Maybe it was E. coli. He vaguely remembered reading there was an outbreak going around. God knows they ate in some questionable food holes. How long did it take for that bug to rear its ugly head? The thought of the virus wasn't terribly comforting, but it was better than having no idea, no clue as to what was making him so sick. At least it gave him something to focus on besides the dread of the unknown gnawing at him.
With new found resolve, with a plan and a mission to figure out what was wrong, Dean stood up, slowly, using the wall and the sink for support.
"Dean?" It was Ellen. "You okay in there?"
"Fine. I'll be right out." His voice was shaky at best, betraying his best intentions, but Dean didn't even notice, he was so intent on slowing down his heart rate. The pounding sounded like a jackhammer, and he caught himself with a hand on his chest, trying vainly for a semblance of normalcy. For the beating to slow down before his heart came out through his mouth.
As he leaned against the sink, time came to a standstill, his expression changing every time he dared glance in the mirror. He tried forcing a smile, practice for the curious looks he was bound to get from Sam and Ellen, but couldn't even fake one for his own sake, and after a while gave up staring at himself, convinced he looked worse every time he did so.
He took a deep breath and winced, breathing now topping the list of things he couldn't do without feeling pain, and began rubbing his mouth and chin compulsively, as if doing so enough times could alter his reality. It occurred to him that he'd like to stay right where he was, away from the world, but he knew it was a matter of time before Sam came looking for him. So he decided to head him off at the pass. Say hello, walk away, move on. If he was lucky, Sam would still be mad at him and leave him alone.
More than a little anxious, Dean finally left the protection of the bathroom and gingerly made his way to his brother. He was finding it difficult to stand up straight without hurting, so he hobbled his way to Sam, standing tall only when he had to, when Sam couldn't miss him.
"You okay?" Sam was eyeing him warily.
"I'm fine." It was so easy to lie to Sam.
"You look like hell." And so easy for Sam to see right through it.
"Nice to see you too." Dean looked away, not wanting to give Sam too much time to size him up, to look into his eyes and get nothing in return. "Where's the laptop?
"In my bag, in the bar." Sam was aware that Dean was hiding something, turning his back to him to avoid his gaze was so predictable. "You want me to get it?"
"No, I got it."
Dean left the room as quickly as he entered it, leaving Sam more anxious than he had been. He had replayed the scene on the roof, going over every detail, a hundred times. Dean had seemed a little sluggish, slower than usual, but he had chalked it up to the downpour, slowing them both down with its intensity.
It wasn't the first time he wondered if they had gotten back into the swing of things a little too quickly after the accident. Dean had almost died, and a week later they were back on the road, hunting evil, the only way they knew how to get back to normal.
"You hungry?"
"Huh?" Sam looked up to see Ellen, surprised to see her.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you." She looked around the room. "Was Dean in here? I thought I heard him."
"He was. I think he's in the other room. He was looking for the laptop." He was going to ask Ellen if she thought Dean was all right when the house shook with thunder, snapping him out of it. This woman may have been close to their father, but Dean would never forgive him if he dragged her into their personal lives.
Ellen wanted to ask Sam about Dean, see if he had noticed anything unusual in the last couple of days, but thought better of it. They had just lost their dad, in a game of cat and mouse they had been playing most of their lives. She knew getting one to confide against the other was out of the question. And she didn't want to be the cause of any more anxiety between them.
"So, you hungry?" she asked again.
"No, thanks."
"Well, let me know when you are."
"Hey, Ellen?" Sam paused. "I'm sorry we barged in here this morning."
"Don't mention it, Sam. Like I told your brother, you guys are always welcome here. I just wish you weren't stuck. The last time we had a storm like this the whole town was out of commission for three days."
"We'll try and stay out of your hair, then," Sam said, thinking a forced stay might be good for Dean.
"You do that," Ellen said, smiling slightly as she walked out of the room. "And let me know when you're hungry."
Sam tried to relax, to read, to watch tv, anything to get his mind off his brother, and away from Ash's revelation that the demon was in Palo Alto, but he couldn't. He felt guilty for attacking his brother earlier, because it was easier to do than face his fears, but he was damned if he was going to be bullied into doing something he wasn't ready to do. Especially if he could be putting Dean in danger.
But it was no use, the more he tried to concentrate on something other than Dean, the more he thought about him. He had been so worried about his brother. About the pent up rage he had managed to unleash only for an instant, on his car no less, his most prized possession. And only when he thought no one was watching.
Fearing his emotional barometer topping out, he did what he always did in those situations, he went looking for Dean. Looking for the heart to heart talk that would make him feel better and make his brother cringe.
Dean was sitting at the bar, the laptop screen the only thing illuminating his face. Deep in thought, absently rubbing the back of his head, he didn't see Sam until he was practically beside him.
"Jesus, Sam. You trying to give me a heart attack?" Dean turned the laptop away from his brother.
"Sorry. Can we talk?"
Sam pulled up a stool and sat.
"Gee, thanks for asking."
"We need to talk."
"No we don't."
"Look, I said some things earlier."
"Already forgotten, Sammy. Really. Now please go away."
Dean had been researching E. coli, and had just found what he was looking for.
"I can't forget it."
Symptoms start about seven days after you're infected with the germ. Okay, where was I seven days ago? The first sign is severe abdominal cramps that start suddenly.
"Really, Sam, you should. It's not that big a deal." Dean's eyes didn't leave the monitor.
After a few hours, watery diarrhea starts. Great. The diarrhea then turns into bloody diarrhea. Even better.
"Dean, can you look at me for a minute?" Sam was getting impatient. What was on that screen that was so important?
You may have a fever or no fever. Nausea or vomiting. The virus could lead to kidney failure. Joy.
"What are you reading?" Sam stood up to check out the screen when Dean closed the lid.
"Damn it, Sam, what part of leave me alone don't you understand?" The words echoed in the room for the longest time, Dean feeling worse with every passing second.
Sam's heart was in his throat, and he was feeling incredibly sorry for himself when he noticed a sickly sheen on Dean's face. On closer inspection he could see very little life in his brother's eyes, only a glassy, distant look that scared the hell out of him.
"Are you okay?" It was so lame, so predictable a question, he could've kicked himself. And almost did when he got the standard response.
"I'm fine."
"I don't think so. Is it your arm? Does it hurt?" Sam's eyes were scanning, looking for a sign, anything he could point his finger to that would explain the sight before him.
"No."
"Is it your head? 'Cause you've been popping pills like crazy for a couple of days."
"Sam, chill. Nothing's wrong with me." Dean almost laughed in spite of himself. How long could he keep this up? For all he knew he was dying, and he didn't think E. coli was the culprit. But the longer he denied everything, the harder it became to tell his brother the truth. The harder it became to admit he was broken, in dire need of someone to take care of him, for so many reasons he had lost count.
Sam couldn't take it anymore. "You're lying. I'm sick of you lying to me. Pretending everything's okay when it's not."
"Suit yourself. Believe me, don't believe me. I don't care." Dean stood up and reached for the laptop, turning his back to Sam.
Despite the fact that he knew better, Sam reached out and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"Dean."
"Damn it, Sam, leave me alone." Instinctively, and in spite of his own better judgment, Dean turned suddenly, releasing Sam's grip in the process.
The movement sent shock waves through his battered body, and another crippling pain shot through him.
Dean reached out to the bar to keep from falling, his other hand resting squarely on his midsection as he doubled over in agony. The guttural gasp that followed scaring the hell out of both of them.
"Dean!" Sam was frozen in place, the look of anguish on his brother's face not what he was expecting. Anger maybe, but not this.
"Sam." It was all Dean could manage, his body betraying his desire to keep hiding. To stay conscious.
Sam reached out and caught Dean before he hit the floor.
"Ellen, Ash!"
Sam's voice caught as he held on to his brother, his dead weight awkwardly on top of him.
Ellen was the first to arrive.
"What happened?"
"I'm not sure." Sam was struggling to get Dean in a better position. "He doubled over, like he was in pain, and then passed out."
Ellen placed a hand on Dean's cheek. "He's burning up. Let's get him into my room. Ash!"
"What the hell?" Ash wasn't sure he could handle any more excitement. "What happened?"
"We don't know. Grab his feet," Ellen said, all business. "Help Sam get him to my room. Watch his arm. And be careful, he may have some other injury we don't know about."
Ellen hurried ahead of them, throwing the covers off her bed in time for Dean's arrival.
Dean let out a slight groan and Sam kneeled beside him, one hand on his brother's forehead, the other on his chest, almost willing a strong heartbeat. It was the closest he'd been to his brother in weeks, both physically and emotionally. Why did Dean have to be unconscious for him to feel connected? To feel needed?
"Hey," he whispered. "Dean, can you hear me?" Nothing. No sound. No movement. Not even a flicker underneath the eyelids.
Sam looked up to see Ellen rummaging through a drawer in her dresser, barking out orders.
"Ash, go get me a pot filled with water. Room temperature. And bring me every wash cloth you can find."
Ellen found what she was looking for, a digital thermometer, and proceeded to put it in Dean's ear, wincing when she cupped her hand against his cheek. "He is so hot," she said, almost to herself. "Sam, take his pants off."
"What?" Sam was still kneeling by his brother's side, frozen in place. "Why?"
"We need to cool him down. Lower the fever. And we need to look for an injury, a wound that's infected maybe."
A Wound? Sam's mind was on their last hunt, at the carnival. Was there an injury in the fun house that he'd missed? Did one of those knives not miss their target? He remembered Dean joking about the guy's aim.
"Could it be the cut on his arm? The one from the gutter?" Sam was fairly certain there were no injuries at the fun house.
"It's too soon for that one to be infected. And it wasn't that bad to begin with. Besides, I think he already had a fever this morning, when you got here."
The thermometer beeped and Ellen looked at it.
"Now, Sam. Take his pants off now!" There was no mistaking the urgency in her voice. "Ash, hurry up!"
Sam moved as quickly as he could, fear and uncertainty gripping him. Dean would kill him if he knew he was undressing him in front of Ellen. In front of anyone.
Ellen reset the thermometer and put it back in Dean's ear. Sam looked at her, afraid to ask, as he began to slide his brother's pants off. The thermometer beeped again, a low distant sound, and Sam practically jumped out of his skin. Ellen looked at it again and shook her head.
"Ash!"
"What is it?" Sam was certain he didn't want to know.
"104.3"
Sam blinked several times, the rest of his body unable to move. How did this happen? How could Dean be so sick so suddenly? And then, like a tidal wave, it came rushing. All the aspirin his brother had consumed in the last two days, letting him drive when he asked, the food he could barely eat, the coffee that was left untouched, the stifled movements on the roof, and his inability to get back on the ladder on his own. The fact that he kept trying to be alone, away from anyone that might notice something was not right. Sam was suddenly so mad he could barely see straight, and yanked the rest of Dean's pants off in one swift motion.
"Hey, easy there, cowboy." Ellen said, placing a hand on his arm. "No need to add insult to injury." She already had Dean's t-shirt off and was looking closely for any tell-tale injuries. There was nothing there, just a lot of scars, including one that looked like the remnants of a nasty burn, but nothing that hadn't healed. At least on the outside.
Sam felt his face flush. Even unconscious Dean could piss him off like no other.
And then, as quickly as the anger came, it disappeared, instantly replaced by suffocating guilt. How could he miss all the signs? How could he deny his intuition? The gut feeling he'd had all day that something was wrong. What good were psychic powers if they couldn't make a difference when it really mattered? When it mattered to him. Even if Dean was a master manipulator, was he so out of touch, so wrapped up in his own drama, that he could be so clueless?
Ellen wanted to put her arms around Sam, give him a hug and a pep talk that conveyed don't worry, your brother's going to be okay. But she couldn't. There was no time. And no certainty. She turned to yell for Ash again just as he came through the door, arms filled.
"I'll take these," she said, grabbing the pot and the wash cloths. "Now go into the garage and bring me the two fans that are in there."
Ash nodded and disappeared.
"Here," she said to Sam, handing him a wet wash cloth. "Rub this all over his chest, his arms, his face. As soon as it's not cold anymore soak it in the water again." Ellen took another wash cloth and soaked it, wringing it out quickly before doing the same thing to Dean's legs.
Sam sat on the edge of the bed, on autopilot, the circular motions he was making on Dean's chest slow and deliberate, gentle even, and yet, his mind was racing.
What now, Dean? I can't do this again. Not now. Not ever. Please wake up and tell me what's wrong. Please. As if on cue, Dean shuddered, and a small spasm travelled from his chest down to his feet.
"Dean?"
Dean shook again, this time with more force. Sam looked at Ellen, who had stopped her own efforts to fight the fever. And then it happened again. And again. Until the shaking became a continuous, uncontrollable throttle that wracked Dean's entire body from limb to limb.
"He's having a fever seizure," Ellen said, fighting to keep the edge out of her voice.
"What? What do we do?" Sam was frantic, eyes going from his brother to Ellen and back again.
"Just hold him. Let it run its course."
Sam looked at his brother, his face flushed with fever, eyes closed, mouth half open, as if he had something to say.
"It's okay," he whispered, mostly to soothe himself. "It's okay." Sam held Dean's shoulders gently, afraid of hurting him, for what seemed like a lifetime. Long enough for him to think of his mom, and Jess, and his dad, everyone he had lost that had meant anything to him. Long enough for him to miss Dean, the only person left that mattered.
Then it was over. Dean stopped shaking and it spilled onto Sam, his hands trembling at the mere thought of what he had just witnessed.
"Hey," Ellen had a hand on Sam's back. "It's okay. It happens. These seizures don't usually cause any damage. They're just a warning. We have to bring his fever down."
Sam couldn't take his eyes off his brother, and spoke without redirecting his gaze. "We have to get him to a hospital."
"We can't."
It was then that Sam turned to look at Ellen, and she could see that he was struggling to keep it together. And still, she had nothing to say to him. At least not what he wanted to hear, that his brother was going to wake up good as new. She only had a sobering assessment of their situation.
"We have no car, no phones. No way of getting help. We're in the middle of nowhere. The nearest hospital is 20 miles away."
"Cell phones?"
"You can try yours, but they're the first to go during a storm. Mine hasn't worked since yesterday."
"The Internet. You have wireless, we can contact the hospital that way. They can send an ambulance, a helicopter."
"I'll have Ash get on it. You keep rubbing your brother's chest and face with that wash cloth. I'll be right back."
Sam was glad to be left alone with Dean, and fought the urge to pull the covers up around his brother's body. He felt as exposed as his brother, his heart barely hanging to his sleeve. He soaked the wash cloth in the water one more time and began rubbing Dean's chest and arms, almost by rote, his thoughts difficult to keep in one place, his mind finding it hard to concentrate. He was spiraling into pity territory when Ellen and Ash walked in with two large fans.
"Ash is going to try and contact someone at the local hospital online," Ellen was saying as she placed one of the fans near Dean.
"No problem, man." In spite of his words, Ash was looking skeptical. "I'll find as many contacts as I can on their website and start sending emails. Hopefully someone will write back."
"It's better than nothing," Sam said, barely above a whisper.
"Right. I'm on it." Ash set down the fan he was holding and headed out of the room, aware of Sam's eyes on his back.
Sam let his gaze fall back on his brother, and wondered how long it had been since he'd looked his brother in the eye. Since they'd had a real conversation that didn't include acrimony and condescension. What if he could never look him in the eye again? What if he never woke up? What if…" An involuntary shudder cursed through him and he soaked another wash cloth, this time bringing it to Dean's face and forehead.
If he could read the lines on a person's face, it would take him years to read the epic etched on his brother's features. So much raw emotion was always on the surface, deftly hidden by a sarcastic remark here, a joke there. And yet Sam knew it was the way his brother wanted it. He had always felt that it was to protect him, the little brother, from more pain, more anguish. But lately, especially after Dean had taken the crowbar to his beloved car, Sam had wondered if Dean wasn't protecting himself too.
Dean groaned ever so slightly, his lips moving slowly, his head trying to get away from the cold.
"Hey, Dean, can you hear me?"
Sam could see him fighting to open his eyes, and fought the urge to pull them open himself.
"Sam," Ellen was whispering behind him. "If you can get anything out of him, let it be where it hurts. We need to know what we're dealing with." Ellen knew the brothers needed each other right then and purposely stayed in the background.
Sam nodded as he watched his brother closely. He didn't want to miss whatever crumb Dean managed to send his way.
Dean shuddered, both fans were blowing cold air directly on him, and Sam could see goose bumps on his arms.
"Ellen, do we need these fans? I think he's cold."
"I know, but that's a good sign. We have to bring the fever down."
Two seconds later it was a moot point, as the power lines directly in front of the bar were struck by lightning, severing all hope of maintaining electricity throughout the storm.
"Damn."
"Was that what I think it was?" Sam asked, watching the blades of the fans come to a slow stop.
Ellen soaked her wash cloth again and continued rubbing Dean's legs before she spoke. She was trying so hard to maintain her composure. For her sake as well as Sam's.
"We have a generator. I'll make sure it's running before it gets dark."
"Maybe we'll be out of here by then." Sam felt foolish before the words had left his mouth. How could he be so naïve? What had gone right for them in the last few weeks? Why should this predicament be any different? If anything, he was surprised Ellen had a generator, since being stranded without electricity would be more par for the course they seemed to be traveling on.
The random thoughts were thankfully cut short by Dean, groaning louder this time, his head moving from side to side as if desperate to get away from something.
Sam instinctively pulled the wash cloth from his face, hoping it was the cold his brother was trying to get away from, and not some demon haunting his dreams.
"Hey, it's okay." Sam brought a tentative hand up to his brother's forehead, afraid that even in this condition Dean would push him away. Rebuke his efforts to be close, to comfort. He was almost embarrassed by the surge of emotion cursing through him, and wasn't sure if it was Dean who needed him or the other way around.
Dean opened his eyes, closing them again almost instantly.
"Dean, can you hear me?"
His eyes opened once more, lingering on Sam's face for mere seconds. And then they closed again.
Dean's lips parted, and then he swallowed, a hard fought attempt to get something out, to be heard.
"S…a…m…" It was said in several syllables, in a breathy, almost asthmatic wheeze that only increased Sam's panic.
"I'm right here." Sam was grateful for the voice he was certain wouldn't be there.
"Hurts." A little more coherent, eyes fully opened. And Sam wished they were closed again, there was so much pain in them.
"Where Dean? Where does it hurt?"
"Sto…mach." He searched Sam's face for relief. For comfort. "Make it…go…away." No joke, no inappropriate humor to mask the seriousness, and Sam stiffened with fear.
"Okay, okay. We will. Ash is contacting the local hospital right now."
Sam turned to Ellen, eyes pleading for help. Ellen didn't skip a beat. She knew Sam wanted to do this on his own, for the sake of his stubborn brother, but she also knew he was treading on thin ice himself, about to break if he suffered any more loss.
"Dean," she said softly, moving closer, across the bed from Sam. "When did you start to feel sick? When did the pain start?"
"Today…yesterday…headache."
"You've had a headache since yesterday?"
"He's been popping aspirin for a few days," Sam volunteered.
"Anything else?" Ellen remembered the dizzy spell he'd had earlier, when she was cleaning the cut on his arm. "Any nausea?"
"Threw up." Dean swallowed hard, closing his eyes against the pain.
"When?"
"After breakfast."
Sam caught himself being angry again. Why was it so hard for Dean to admit he was sick or hurt?
Ellen placed a hand on Dean's neck, thankful for the strong pulse under her fingertips.
"Dean, I am going to feel your stomach, gently, and you tell me where it hurts, okay?"
Dean gave her a slight nod, which he found easier to do than speaking.
Ellen rubbed her hands vigorously, warming them before placing them on Dean's midsection. She pressed gently on his left side, top, bottom. Nothing. No response. Right side, top, bot…she had barely pressed on the bottom right hand side of his abdomen when Dean let out a gasp so loud and so frightening that she pulled away, hands shaking.
Dean's face went from flushed to stark white, his breath shallow as large beads of sweat dripped down his neck. He curled on his side in a tight ball, shielding himself as best he could from the onslaught of agony that was pounding through him.
"Dean!" Sam forgot his fear of rejection and leaned over his brother's body, protectively wrapping his large arms behind him in an awkward attempt to stop the shaking. To ease the torment as best he could. For a few seconds worth a lifetime he steadied his brother's frenzied movements, whispering in his ear, holding the back of his head, soothing as best he could. When he managed to look up, to glance at Ellen, the fear was undeniable.
"What is it? What's wrong with him?"
"It's his appendix. It has to come out."
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Yikes – there it is. Very nerve wracking this whole posting of chapters…PLEASE let me know what you think. All comments are very much appreciated.