Again, thank you for the amazing reviews – you make me so happy!
a/n – Merry Christmas to everyone that celebrates – Happy Week to everyone else:-)
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He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
Chapter Five
"His appendix? How do you know?"
Sam felt the room swaying, and did the only thing that came naturally – he held on to Dean for dear life, effectively shielding them both from Ellen's diagnosis.
"I've had mine out, my husband had his out, my sister…" Ellen stopped mid sentence when she realized Sam wasn't listening. He was whispering in Dean's ear, a long litany that included instructions – calm down, take a deep breath; reassurance – you're going to be okay, I'm right here; and hope – we're going to get you to a hospital.
After a few minutes, when Dean had stopped shaking, when the desperate sucking for air had slowed to a mild wheeze, and Sam thought he was out again, he looked up, his eyes scanning Ellen's for answers.
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
Ellen nodded. "I'd bet my life on it."
Sam took a deep breath and kept his voice low. "What do we do?"
"We have to get him to a hospital."
Sam stared at her in disbelief. This from the woman who only minutes ago had said they had no way of getting to a hospital.
Ellen knew what he was thinking, and fought the urge to scream, to run from the room and into the pouring rain. To be struck by lightning right now seemed incredibly appealing. Instead, she held her ground and looked Sam in the eye.
"In the meantime, we need to try and get his fever down, keep him comfortable. But we have to figure out a way to get him to a hospital before his appendix ruptures. If," she paused, unable to say what she was thinking.
"If what?"
"If it hasn't already."
"That's not good, right?" Sam tried to remember everything he'd heard about appendicitis.
"A ruptured appendix can lead to peritonitis, which basically means bacteria spills into the intestines, and can be life threatening."
Sam rubbed his eyes, as if doing so would change their predicament. "How do we know if it's ruptured?" he asked.
"Usually not until you open him up. But…"
"But what?"
"The high fever." Ellen wasn't sure how much Sam could handle, and searched his face for a clue.
"What about it?" Sam didn't want to be coddled. His brother did enough of that to last him a lifetime.
Ellen knew he deserved the truth. "There's usually a fever associated with appendicitis, but Dean's is so high, and the pain is so great, I think there's a good chance it's already ruptured."
"Thank…you…Dr…Quinn." Dean's attempt to join the conversation caught Sam and Ellen by surprise, and they both felt guilty when they realized he had been listening.
"Dean, hey." Sam moved away from his brother, removing his hands from his shoulder, the back of his head, as he had unconsciously tried to protect him.
"And you thought…the demon…was going to…do me in."
"What are you talking about?" Sam tried to bring a levity to his voice that didn't exist. "Garden variety appendicitis. Is that the best you could do?"
"Under the circumstances…you should be…impressed." Dean's body shuddered involuntarily and he shut his eyes tightly, his head lowered to his chest as he fought a wave of pain and nausea.
Sam placed a hand on Dean's back, grateful when his brother didn't push him away, terrified that Dean didn't have the strength or the will to do so.
After a moment, Dean opened his eyes and looked up at Sam, glassy eyes pleading for relief.
"Sam."
"I know. I'm working on it."
Dean was thankful Sam could read his thoughts, because speaking had suddenly become too painful. He was trying to focus on the conversation, but could only process bits and pieces. But he didn't have to hear the words, didn't have to process anything other than the look on Sam's face to know it wasn't good.
If he could speak, if he could say more than two words without gasping, he would tell his brother to relax, that everything was going to be okay. But he couldn't. And the thought that he couldn't comfort Sam, that he was the cause of the panic in his brother's eyes, was more painful than anything.
Ash was back, his laid back demeanor being sorely tested, and Dean tried to concentrate.
"I've sent 11 emails to different people I found on the hospital's website," he was saying, his eyes scanning Dean for any sign of improvement. "How is he?"
"We think it's appendicitis," Ellen said matter of factly.
Ash let out a short whistle. "Damn!"
"Ash, we have to get him to a hospital. Any ideas?" Sam was rubbing his brother's back in an absent minded rhythm that was soothing to them both.
Ash shook his head. "We've got a couple of bikes, don't think Dean's gonna be wanting to ride one of those any time soon. And I just heard on the portable radio that the bridge into that town has washed out. The only way there would be via helicopter, which I asked for with every email I sent."
"My…lucky…day." Even groggy with delirium it was hard for Dean to avoid being sarcastic, and he was trying so hard to stay in the conversation.
"It's the Winchester doctrine," Sam offered, trying to lighten the mood along with his brother. "Why do something the easy way when you can do it the hard way."
Dean didn't respond and Sam continued rubbing his back, until he could feel his shoulders relax, and could see that Dean had fallen into a light, fitful sleep.
Sam looked at Ash and Ellen, both of them staring at him, at a loss, waiting for him to say something.
"What does that mean, the bridge has washed out? Is it gone?" he asked.
"It means it's flooded, the whole area is."
"So as soon as the flooding goes down it's usable again?"
"Sometimes," Ellen began. "We have four major streams in the area, and a couple of other waterways. How quickly the bridge is back in action depends on how many streams have flooded, how long the rain continues."
"How long is it usually out for? Do we have a forecast?" Sam was trying to make sense of everything before him.
"According to the National Weather Service," Ash said, "it's not supposed to let up for another 36 – 48 hours."
The figure was startling, and Sam knew immediately that Dean didn't have 36 hours.
"Then we have to take care of him here." There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. Nothing that betrayed how he really felt. Not the frantic pace of his heart. Not the breath that was caught in his throat. Not even the hand he placed on his brother's shoulder to keep from shaking.
"He needs surgery, Sam. We can only take care of him to an extent." It upset Ellen to be so blunt, but she didn't want to diminish the seriousness of the situation just to make Sam feel better.
"I get that," Sam said, a little frustrated. "And I also understand that getting to the nearest hospital is impossible right now. But there is a small town, I've seen it on the way here, about five miles south. Is there a doctor's office there? A clinic?"
"There is a clinic that is staffed one day a week, by a doctor and a nurse that work for the county. They're not due back for another five days."
"Do either of them live in the area?"
"I have no idea where they live."
"What kinds of things, procedures, do they do in this clinic?" Sam's mind was on overdrive, and he was glad for the distraction.
"They don't do procedures," Ellen said, worried Sam was spinning his wheels. "They see people for none threatening things like ingrown toe nails, colds, aches and pains."
"Once a month they have another doctor come in that does abortions," Ash volunteered.
This revelation surprised Ellen. "I didn't know that."
A thought crossed Sam's mind, and he looked at his brother, who was thankfully still asleep. Even unconscious his expression was pained, his skin burning to the touch. Sam pulled the covers up around his body, certain he should be pouring ice cubes on him instead.
"Abortions are done under an anesthetic, right?"
"Most likely."
Ash nodded.
"So they probably have whatever you would need to perform a surgery." Sam was thinking out loud, his mind going from one implausible thought to another at a mile a minute.
"Sam." Ellen was beginning to see a pattern, certain it was only going to bring false hope.
"No, wait." Sam glanced at Dean again, gaining strength every time he looked at him. "Is there anyone in town that is a doctor? A nurse?"
Ellen shook her head.
"A veterinarian?"
Ellen shook her head again, eyes wide this time.
Ash could see where he was headed, even if Ellen was pretending she couldn't, and he had to admit he liked Sam's determination.
"What about that Bates guy?" Ash asked, turning to face Ellen. "Isn't he a doctor?"
"Fifty years ago."
"What? Where? Where does he live?" Sam's voice had a sudden urgency to it.
"Sam." What could she say to him? He was desperate. Desperate for a way to help his brother.
"He lives near Main Street, about four, five miles from here." Ash had followed Sam's ramblings to their logical conclusion and he was solidly on board.
"We have to go get him." There was no doubt in Sam's mind that he had found a solution.
And there was no doubt in Ellen's that he was insane.
"Sam, Bates is about 95 years old, walks with a cane, can barely see. The last time I saw him he thought I was Jo."
Sam's rebuttal stayed on the tip of his tongue as he watched Dean begin to shake uncontrollably, another fever convulsion seizing his body. Within seconds he was holding his brother's upper body, whispering words of calm he knew went unheard.
The shaking lasted longer than the last time, and by the time it was over, both brothers were flushed, Sam dripping with sweat tinged with fear, Dean with a dangerously high fever.
Ellen placed the thermometer in Dean's ear, avoiding Sam's glare until it beeped.
"104.5. It's gone up." She turned to Sam, unreadable. She had nothing to say that would make him feel better.
It didn't matter. Sam was beyond needing comfort and compassion. He needed to take action, and he wasn't about to let Ellen stand in his way.
"If we don't do something," he began, "he is going to die."
Ellen had no response. Denying his assessment was impossible. He was right.
"I know you think I'm crazy," Sam continued. "Believing that a clinic that performs abortions and a 95 year-old doctor can help him, but unless you have a better idea, you're going to have to go with me here."
"And what do you suppose you're going to get from this clinic? And this doctor? Provided we can even get to them."
"The clinic should have anesthesia, instruments, whatever it is you need to perform a surgery."
"An abortion is different than an appendectomy, Sam. I'm sure the instruments used are not the same."
"I'm talking anesthetic, antibiotics, whatever you use to control bleeding. You can cut into someone with just about anything." Sam shuddered involuntarily at his last statement, but managed to ignore the incredulous look on Ellen's face and continued. "The doctor can perform the surgery."
"Did I mention he's 95? And that he shakes?"
"Then he can tell us what to do."
"You're going to do it?" Ellen couldn't keep the disbelief from her voice.
"If I have to." Sam didn't waver. Nothing was going to get in the way of him helping his brother.
"Here?"
Sam nodded, his attention diverted to Dean, who was groaning softly beside him. His face was flushed beyond a healthy pink, and Sam soaked another wash cloth, gently rubbing his brother's face and neck with it.
Dean was struggling to speak, his mouth and his eyes both fighting to take action. "Sam." It was spoken through a gasp, barely audible to anyone but his brother.
"Shh. I'm right here, Dean."
"This…sucks."
Sam would have laughed if he hadn't seen his brother's expression – pain masked by more pain. He was grateful Dean couldn't keep his eyes open.
Sam soaked the wash cloth again and began rubbing it on Dean's chest, holding steady when Dean shook from the cold.
"Sorry," he whispered. "Have to bring your fever down."
"Don't…move…bed."
"Oh, sorry." Sam stood up slowly, careful not to jar his brother, while Ellen grabbed her desk chair and slid it to him.
"Is that better?"
But Dean didn't hear him. He was out again, and Sam was thankful.
"Unless you have a better idea," he said to Ellen, his voice low, "you need to tell me where to find that doctor, because I'm not wasting another minute."
"Sam." What could she say? He was right. Dean was running out of time, if he hadn't already. "This is so farfetched. Even if you get Bates to agree to come here, how do you know the clinic is going to have what you need? And even if they have the anesthetic, the instruments, surgeries require monitoring of vital signs, equipment I guarantee you that clinic doesn't have."
Sam didn't budge. Refused to believe he couldn't help his brother. Was fairly certain that if it was the other way around Dean would have picked up the doctor by now.
"I need to know where he lives. How to get there."
"I'll go."
Sam and Ellen turned to Ash.
"What?" Ellen knew she was outnumbered.
Ash faced Sam. "I know my way. I'll be a lot quicker. And I know old Bates, he'll talk to me before he talks to a stranger."
"Are you sure?"
Ash nodded. "You need to stay here." Ash paused, knowing he didn't need to continue with the train of thought. In spite of the argument he'd witnessed earlier, he'd seen enough in this room to understand the bond the brothers shared.
"Ash, what are you going to do? How are you going to get there?"
"My bike."
"Your 20 year-old 10 speed bike." It was a statement. She wasn't expecting an answer.
"What are you going to say to Bates?" Ellen couldn't believe it had come to this.
Ash shrugged. "The truth," he said. "He's got a car. I'm hoping he'll come with me to the clinic for supplies, and then back here."
"Essentially you're hoping he agrees to rob the clinic with you?"
Ash offered a trademark smirk and Sam couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, that's about right."
Ellen sighed, and found herself questioning her resistance. What was she so afraid of? She was certain Dean didn't have a lot of time, that drastic measures were called for, and she didn't have a better idea. Was it the hope that scared her? When her husband was alive, she existed on hope. Every time he went on a hunt it was hope that kept her sane until he returned. When he died, so did the hope she had clung to so fiercely. The thought of believing again terrified her.
She looked at Dean, his body flushed, his brother trying desperately to make him feel better, and her heart jumped to her throat. How could she deny them hope?
Ellen turned to Ash. "Fine, but be careful. And tell Bates he's got a lifetime supply of my chili waiting for him."
"Right on!" Ash disappeared without another word.
Ellen turned to face the brothers, placing the thermometer in Dean's ear again. Sam wanted to stop her. He didn't want to know.
"104.7," she said, worry seeping into her voice.
Without thinking Sam began rubbing Dean's upper body with a wet wash cloth, afraid that if he stopped, if he allowed the number to fully register, he might fall apart. He caught himself once again wondering how Dean could have hidden something so serious, and how shut down he must be to have missed it. And the guilt consumed him, made it impossible for him to see straight.
Ellen was aware of the tenuous hold Sam had on his emotions and treaded lightly.
"Sam, if you need a break," she began. "If you want some fresh air, I'll be happy to stay with him, call you if he wakes up."
Sam looked at her, his mind far away, beating him up. "Huh?"
"If you need a break."
"No, thanks. I'm fine. But if you need, want to go, I'll call you if I need anything."
Just then the fans came on, blowing cold air into the stifling room.
The generator, Ellen thought, Ash must have turned it on before he left.
The sudden cold felt like ice on Dean's body, and he tried to move away from the fans, groaning loudly with the effort.
Sam waited him out, hoping he would stay asleep. The pain he saw every time they made eye contact was unbearable, and it was easier for him to think straight when his brother was asleep.
No such luck. Dean's eyes fluttered open.
"Hey." Sam soaked the wash cloth again and brought it to Dean's chest."
"Cold."
"I know, but we have to bring the fever down."
"Sammy?"
"I'm right here."
"Sammy's sick? Dad…what's the…matter with Sammy?"
Sam began biting his nails, and exchanged a worried glance with Ellen.
"It's the fever," she volunteered. "He's disoriented. Just go along with him. Try not to aggravate him."
"Nothing's the matter with me, Dean. I'm fine. You're the one that needs to rest."
"No…I can't…Dad said…take care of…Sammy."
Sam's chest tightened. How often had he heard his father give Dean those instructions? Even in his own personal hell, Dean couldn't let go of the responsibility, of the burden, of his little brother.
"I'm fine, Dean. You have to take care of yourself right now."
"Dad?"
"Shh."
"Dad, why'd…you…do…it?"
"Do what?"
"Die…why…Dad?"
Sam stiffened, could see Ellen stop what she was doing beside him, and held his breath.
He had been trying for several weeks to get Dean to talk about their dad, but at this moment he didn't think he could handle it. Didn't think it was fair to listen.
Feeling like she was eavesdropping, Ellen excused herself from the room, claiming to need a cup of coffee. "Call me if you need me," she said before leaving Sam to deal with the family drama in private.
"Dean?"
Dean turned his head to look at Sam, and saw his father instead.
"Dad?"
"I'm right here." Sam wasn't sure if pretending to be his father would help or hinder. And he wanted so desperately to do right by his brother.
"Not…fair."
"I know." Sam stroked Dean's hair, not because it was something his father would have done, the man had never been affectionate towards either of his sons, but it felt like something a father would do under the circumstances.
"Can't do it…alone."
"Can't do what?"
"Watch…out…for…Sammy." The conversation was leaving Dean breathless, and in more pain, but Sam was sucked into it, in spite of himself, and he needed to hear what Dean had to say.
"You don't have to take care of him, Dean. He can take care of himself."
"That's not what…you…said."
"What? When did I say that?"
"Scared…Dad."
"Don't be scared, Dean."
"You…said that…too…but…I am."
"When, Dean, when did I say that?"
Sam was fighting to keep the guilt at bay. It was obvious Dean was in distress. His breathing was shallow, his eyes darting all over the place, vacant, as he searched through his memories. And yet Sam couldn't help but listen. Couldn't help but continue the conversation. When had Dean told their father he was scared? What was he scared of?
"Dad?"
"I'm right here."
"Mornings."
"What about mornings?"
"Hard…to get…up…face…Sammy."
Sam was speechless, fraught with guilt. And still he sat. And listened.
"Can't take…care…of…me."
"Let Sam help, Dean." Sam's lungs were on fire.
"But you said…watch out for…Sammy."
"When Dean, when did I say that?"
"Right…before…'member…10:41 AM."
Sam had heard enough, could kick himself for letting it go as long as he did. He had wanted Dean to talk, to open up, to say anything about their father's death besides the mantra of self-protection he wore on his sleeve. But this outpouring of guilt and grief and fear was, while honest to the core, tainted and unfairly gathered.
"Shh, Dean. Close your eyes. Go to sleep."
"Then…you said…"
"Not now, Dean. You have to go to sleep now." Sam put a finger to Dean's lips, effectively getting him to stop talking. It was obvious there was more Dean wanted to say, and as much as Sam wanted to hear it, as tempted as he was to let his brother talk, he couldn't, in good conscience, let him.
"Miss…you."
Sam wiped his eyes with a quick brush of his hand, refusing to let himself cry, surprised at the rush of emotion he couldn't control.
"I know," he said, his voice catching. "I miss you too. Now go to sleep. It's an order."
Dean closed his eyes, trying to follow his father's command, until his insides caught fire and his eyes flew open again.
"It's okay, Dean, I'm right here."
"Sam?"
Sam was relieved to hear his name. He didn't want to pretend to be his father again. Even dead the man could elicit rage like no other.
"Hmm." There was so much Dean wanted to say, and yet this was all he could manage.
Sam resisted the urge to ask how he felt, and instead focused on the positive. "Ash went into town to get a doctor." He left out the fact that he was 95 and nearly blind.
"Hos…pi…tal?" Dean struggled to get the word out and Sam could tell the pain was getting worse.
"Bridge is still out," Ellen said as she entered the room.
"But this doctor will be able to take care of you right here," Sam added, praying he was telling the truth as the words left his mouth.
But the fever and the pain were making a coherent thought elusive at best, and it was impossible for Dean to make sense of the information.
Sam watched helplessly as another spasm wracked his brother's body, and took his hand in his own in an attempt to offer relief, however small. He was grateful when Dean didn't pull away, and instead squeezed it tightly in his own until he could breathe again.
Sam felt his breath release in time with his brother's. He felt the pain subside from his hand at the same time, and was thankful for the chance to share some of the burden.
"Sam." Dean's eyes were closed and he was speaking through clenched teeth.
"I'm right here."
"Shoot…me."
What could he say to that?
"I'm…serious."
And Sam had no doubt his brother meant it.
Sam had no idea what to say, so he reverted to logic. "Why don't you try and get some sleep?"
But the logic, and the semblance of a conversation altogether, was lost on Dean, who was in his own personal hell, clinging to a temporary sanity through his connection to Sam. Through the grip he had on his brother's hand, a conduit of sorts to a place that promised to make him feel better. After all, wasn't that what Sam did for him on a daily basis? Whether it was physical or psychological, whether he dared admit it or not, it was Sam, it was always Sam, who could bring him back from hell.
But as he struggled with the blinding pain, he began to doubt that even Sam could save him this time, so intense was the misery ripping through his body.
Sam sensed the shift, the doubt, through the grip his brother had on his hand. Dean's body was cursing with electricity, the intense pain shooting flares of panic and fear that Sam's body was picking up. But the more Sam tried to take it, to make it his own, the more resistance he got, and he was suddenly acutely aware of Dean's struggle to keep him safe, always, no matter the cost.
Sam fought to control the instant rage. How could his father let Dean take his place? What did he drill into his oldest son that even in a state of agony he managed to put Sam first?
Placing his free hand on his brother's forehead, Sam forced Dean to look at him, wincing when he saw the look of abject misery that danced in his eyes.
"Dean," he whispered. "Let me help."
Dean closed his eyes and Sam felt the electricity again as the grip tightened around his hand. The relief that came from the submission was short lived as Dean loosened his grip and forced his eyes open.
"Can't do it." His suffering was palpable, and Sam fought the urge to shake him. To make him see that it was okay to let some of it go.
"Yes, you can."
The argument was lost, a moot point in the annals of their relationship, when Dean tried to back away and felt a blow so jarring, so uncontrollably painful, that he screamed in anguish. A long, primal cry that left both brothers gasping for air. Dean couldn't get enough in his lungs to satisfy his battered body. Sam couldn't get enough to feed the panic that had settled in every fiber of his.
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Okay, hope you're still with me. You didn't really think I'd get him to a hospital did you? Would love to hear what you think so far. – all reviews are gratefully appreciated!