Heat of the Moment
Chapter Two
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Sam kept up a fast and steady pace, T-shirt sticking to his back uncomfortably in the heat, and passed by the house again. Third time in an hour.
Who said he couldn't follow orders?
Having missed breakfast, Sam was feeling more than a little hungry, but chose to ignore his hunger pangs. Somehow he didn't think his Dad would appreciate any requests for food.
He scowled when he heard a small noise on the road behind him, but didn't turn or draw attention to it.
His father was checking up on him, making sure Sam was actually running. Not walking.
Fine, Sam thought, a little smugly, and sped up.
*
Just as Sam passed the house a fourth time in the hour, John broke off and headed quietly towards the kitchen, satisfied that his youngest son wasn't cheating in some way.
He didn't actually think he would, but these days? John just didn't know the boy all that well any more.
But at least he'd put his own mind at rest for a few laps. Sam would be perfectly safe in this semi-wilderness.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
What could happen in such a short space of time? Oooh, let's see…Dean thought, sarcastically.
For a start, he had to fill up with gas along the way, then getting to town was a two hour journey that should have only taken one, but the coffin dodger on the John Deer tractor stubbornly refused to pull over and let Dean pass.
Then there was the queue at the store, which typically crossed an international time zone.
Then came the return journey, whereby he got stuck behind the same old bastard on the John Deer, presumably heading home to sit at some meadow gate and chew on a blade of fucking grass the rest of the fucking day!!!!…
Dean came very close to pulling out his .45 and plugging the fucker, just on principle, when he was eventually gifted with the opportunity to overtake.
Six hours later, with the sun riding high, and the day's heat on the wrong side of bearable, Dean arrived back at the beach house.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Maybe Dad's trying to kill me, Sam thought, tiredly. Been out here for hours.
In fact, it was long past twelve, lunchtime, but Sam no longer felt hungry.
He felt sick.
His feet hurt, muscles ached, and his skull throbbed painfully in time with each step.
He wasn't even running now, just kind of slouching forward as best he could, fully aware that if his family caught him shirking like this, he'd be out here until midnight.
But worse than that, Sam would have to endure the endless sneering of his father and the disappointment of his brother.
Looking down at his arms in confusion, Sam squinted furiously, trying to figure out what all that white powder was doing there.
If he'd been in the right frame of mind, Sam might have been worried. He'd have realised that the white powder was, in fact, his own body salt left behind after the sweat evaporated.
And Sam was no longer sweating.
His mouth was dry, his tongue felt swollen to twice its normal size. The surroundings flashed alarmingly in front of his eyes, antagonizing the fast growing headache.
Too bright...
He could have stopped, headed back to the house and claimed dehydration.
In fact, he'd known he should have headed back to the house ages ago, but that stubborn Winchester streak, coupled with the threat of his family's shame if he gave up, kept Sam going long after he should have stopped.
The house was still a mile off. If he could just make it that far…
"M-may be D-dad will l-let me rest… n-need w-water…"
He blinked and squinted at the dark figure of his father, suddenly appearing against the backdrop of the midday sun.
"Dad?" Sam croaked out.
Crossing his arms, face already working up to the sneer, his father remarked dryly.
"So. Once you get back, you're planning on giving up, huh?"
Sam blinked again, at a complete loss.
John's face twisted into a look of disgust.
"No son of mine just gives up!" The sneer came back, just for a moment. "But then, I guess you just ain't my son. Not like Dean…
"Sam-my's a gir-ll, Sam-my's a gir-ll,"came a singsong voice from behind and Sam whirled round to face his brother, jogging on the spot, nasty, smug grin adorning his face. "Except, even girls wouldn't give up so soon, huh little brother? So what does that make you…?"
Sam's eyes filled with tears, which vaguely surprised him. He didn't think he had enough water left in his body to waste on such an indulgence.
"D-Dean… no…" he stammered, weakly stumbling forward, hands reaching out, silently begging for help.
"Guess that makes you a freak!" His brother grinned, triumphantly.
Sam dropped his hands in shock and backed away, panting and shaking, then staggered off in the general direction of what could loosely be called home.
His stomached churned violently, but he continued onwards, desperate to prove to his family that he was worth something.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
"Dad?"
Dean strode into the kitchen and dumped the grocery bags down on the table.
"Why here? Please. Tell me you got a good reason for dragging us back a hundred years in the past."
John was sat right by the window, scribbling in his journal, frown lines etched deeply into his forehead. He glanced up as if surprised to see Dean back so soon.
"Yep. It's called R&R for you and me, and training for Sammy. Kid's getting soft."
Dean sighed, held a silent argument with his inner self, and came to a decision.
"Maybe we should listen to what he has to say next time, Dad." then waited for the rant, which never came. John's shoulders tensed up but the guy didn't say a word. Dean took that as a good sign. "Maybe Sam had a good reason for being late… s'not like we asked him..."
"That's not the point," John's head shot up, fixing Dean with a determined stare. "His attitude is all wrong. He's stubborn, disrespectful, barely acknowledges my authority…" he shook his head. "How are we supposed to keep him safe if he won't take orders, Dean?"
"But Dad, he is taking orders," Dean insisted, well aware that he was walking the fine line of insubordination. "He's just a little confused. Kid doesn't understand how to prioritize between obeying an order from you, and obeying an order from a teacher."
John stared at him for a long moment, and Dean was almost convinced his father was listening.
But then the senior Winchester suddenly jumped to his feet, blood draining from his face, and eyes fixed on the kitchen clock.
"Oh my God! I can't believe I didn't check the time!"
"Huh?" Dean gaped stupidly, wondering what the hell was going on. "Dad…"
"Sammy's still out there!" John dashed towards the fridge and began grabbing bottles of water in a panic, unaware of the steadily growing anger in his oldest son. "I haven't seen him pass the house in a while…"
Dean's shock faded completely, anger fully rising up to take its rightful place.
"You mean… Sam's still running? In this heat?" Dean glared at his father, white hot fury blazing a trail through his heart. "Please, God! Tell me you made him take a break for water…" he trailed off at guilty expression on John's face, then let his temper off the leash…
"Dad! How could you!"
But John was already bagging the water and grabbing the first aid kit.
"No time for that now, ok? Let's just find him first, make sure the kid's all right."
He headed out with a mutinous but worried Dean in his wake.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Sam was barely holding himself upright. The ground pitched and rolled before his eyes, and the flashing lights grew painfully harsh. The finish line seemed so far away, and Sam was losing heart.
His skin hurt, stretched tight over his bones, red and blistered from the sun. His lips were chapped and crusted over with salt. Not even a quick sweep with his tongue would loosen up that rough, dry surface. Breathing offered no relief; his lungs desperately pulled in the over-heated air making his head swim violently.
Every now and then, his family showed up, taunting and tormenting him, telling Sam he wasn't going to make it, that he was too weak and useless.
The hatred in his brother's eyes, the accusations…
"Girl…"
"Nah, that's too good for a weakling like you…"
"Freak… yeah! That works…"
…were beginning to cripple him.
His father… that sneer, that cold voice, so full of conviction that Sam was going to fail, proving once again Sam couldn't obey a simple order.
"You're going to lose the fight, Sam. Just like I knew all along..."
Turning and trying to back away, he nearly panicked when Dean appeared again, running towards him this time, Dad just behind.
"Nonononooooooooo!!!" Sam whimpered softly, eyes closed to slits, head hung down… and stumbled into someone's arms.
"Sammy?"
Sam's breathing sped up in panic, and he began to struggle weakly.
"Nnnn… n-noooooo," he moaned out, knees buckling, body sliding down helplessly, and the remainder of his strength drained away. "Mmmmnot w-weak… g-g-g-gotta k-keep g-g-g-goiiiinnnnnn…"
"Sammy, its ok, just relax…"
Someone was tenderly stroking his sore face. Voices muttered quietly but he couldn't make out the words. They could have been coming from underwater for all he knew.
Still, he heard that same horrible word, over and over.
Freak… freak…
"Mmmmnotafreak….nota FREAK!!!"
"Sammy, calm down little dude…"
Sam was losing control. He needed to tell them he could carry on, as long as they wanted.
"Dnnnnnn… g-g-g-gonna dddddoit…"
Sam felt hands cradling the back of his head, his jaws gently forced apart, and then wonderful, cool liquid was filling his mouth. Spluttering a little at first whilst he tried to remember what to do, Sam eventually swallowed huge great gulps of… of… water!
He'd forgotten what it tasted like…
"Take it easy now Sammy, small sips…" someone was saying, but Sam was just so thirsty.
A few more sips and the water was taken away. Sam whimpered at its loss.
"S'ok, buddy. You can have some more in a minute. Just let this go down, huh?"
Sam wasn't sure if whoever this was required an answer, so he decided to remain quiet. He didn't have the energy to think properly, let alone speak.
"Jesus, he's in a bad way…" a deeper voice, just as worried as the first, came from nearby. Sam frowned. Both these people sounded familiar, but they couldn't be who he thought they were, 'cause his family thought he was a freak, didn't think he was good enough, told him he was a failure, knew he was a useless waste of space.
His stomach suddenly performed a barrel roll, and all that wonderfully cool water rushed up his gullet, erupting from his mouth like a geyser.
Faint tremors started up, his fingers tingling uncomfortably, limbs shaking like leaves. Fortunately, Sam lost consciousness before the tremors turned into an outright seizure.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Dean and John ran fast as they could until they saw a staggering drunken form in the distance.
The closer they got, the more obvious it became that Sam was extremely sick. The kid squinted at them, then tried to back away, panting unevenly, body shaking with exhaustion.
"Nonononooooooooo!!!" He spun around and swayed dangerously on his feet.
Speeding up, Dean raced forward at just the right moment catching Sam in his arms, before the kid could smash his face open on the tarmac. After a brief, half-hearted struggle, Sam's knees buckled and Dean lowered him safely to the ground.
"Sammy…" Dean whispered fearfully, and turned the kid over. His little brother gazed up, glassy tear eyes not really seeing him.
"Mmmmnotafreak….nota FREAK!!! nota FREAK!!!" he croaked, over and over.
"Sammy, calm down little dude…" but Dean could guess what was going on, and it scared the hell out of him. "Dad, I think he's hallucinating."
"Wouldn't surprise me," came his father's sad reply. "Poor kid's dehydrated to hell…"
Dean brushed a gentle hand over Sam's flushed cheeks, sweeping away salt encrusted strands of hair, whilst John fumbled with the cap on a water bottle.
Dean shifted a little, adjusting his position by placing a knee behind the kid's back, so he could hold Sam up enough to safely give him the water. The kid panted, mumbled and moaned incoherently, while Dean held onto him, whispering reassurances.
"Dean, hold his head up," John commanded, softly, trying not to frighten his youngest son.
Dean cupped Sam's head, and gently prised open his mouth, allowing John to slowly feed Sam the water. The kid damn near choked on it at first, but soon seemed to recognise it for what it was, and gulped eagerly.
Worried he'd get sick John took the water away, heart breaking a little when his boy cried softly.
That's when they noticed the quivering in Sam's body, steadily growing. Sam's panting turned into outright hyperventilation, his eyes slid closed, and the boy passed out.
And convulsed violently in his big brother's arms.
"Sammy!" Dean, scared shitless in an instant, clung on, stilling Sam's head, keeping him safe and trying to bring him round. His anxious gaze sought John's. "Dad… he needs help, badly…"
John began pouring the water over Sam's neck and face, careful to keep his nose and mouth clear.
"I know son, but all the way out here?" he sent Dean a meaningful look.
His oldest son stared back at him in horror.
"Surely there's at least a damn clinic somewhere nearby!"
John shook his head. "There's one doc in town, but he won't get here fast enough."
He sure didn't like Dean's tone, but now wasn't the time. And in any case, the boy was right.
He'd made it his business to rant on about keeping his sons safe, spent a good deal of time, in particular, rubbing Sam's nose in it whenever he made a mistake, and yet the one thing these boys really needed protection from, was their own father!
I did this to Sam. I forgot he was out here in the heat, running under the midday sun… and now look at him.
Sam lay against his brother, face, neck and arms burned almost to a crisp, unconscious and convulsing helplessly. His teeth were fiercely clenched, whilst his was head held in Dean's tight grip.
John had forced this on the kid, even threatened him if he dared to stop.
Oh God! What I have done?
"DAD!"
John jumped a little. Dean was watching him, anxiously waiting for an answer.
"Keep on bathing him with water," John got to his feet. "But don't let him drink any until the seizure passes. I'll be right back."
Dean watched over Sam fearfully, whilst their father ran all the way back to the house.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
John pounded through the beach house and ran upstairs to the bathroom. Grasping the rusty old faucet, he twisted and twisted again…
Shit!
Apart from a deep groaning, and what sounded like a bull elephant bellowing in pain from deep within the bowels of the house, absolutely nothing happened.
No water gushed forth from the tap, gurgling its way to freedom.
The bath didn't fill up, not even halfway, just remained resolutely empty.
John stared at the bath tub, breathing hard through his nose, and just lost it.
"Sonofabitch!"
The shaving mirror went flying into the wall, shards of glass splintering outwards and stinging John's exposed flesh. In fact, he raged though the entire house, before he managed to get a hold of himself.
This isn't helping Sammy. The child needs help, not his father having a tantrum.
It was what John referred to as his inner Mary. She'd been talking to him a lot of late, and maybe now it was time to actually listen to her.
"Ok. Ok." He ran a trembling, blood streaked hand through his hair, thinking quickly. "Got it!"
Running back down the stairwell and heading out into the scorching sun, John pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and leapt behind the wheel of his truck.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Author's notes:
Whatever John has up his sleeve to save his youngest son's life, let's hope it works and that he's quick about it.
As always, artistic licence (such as it is) has taken priority over medical facts, so no smart arsed comments please.
(Based on a personal experience with dehydration.
Finding salt on my arms was a little disconcerting. I was in the middle of the Jersey Itex round-the-island walk when it happened. It's a sponsored event that takes place around midsummer's day each year, starting at around 2am from Elizabeth Harbour, and involves 48.1 miles of sandy beaches and rugged cliff paths.
Someone once told me that every mile of the cliff paths is like completing two miles on an ordinary flat surface. It certainly felt that way! I was losing more water through sweat than I could physically drink. It was fortunate that I just fell short of the hallucinatory stage... at least, I think I did. Looking back on it now, I'm not altogether certain... LOL!
It's exhausting and exhilarating all at the same time, very hard on the knees and feet, and I have personally completed it twice. My personal record stands at 14 hours and 55minutes. Someday I hope to complete the walk in less than twelve hours.)
Cheers for all your wonderful reviews so far.
Kind regards,
ST xxx