Heat of the Moment
Chapter Three
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"Just hold on Sammy," Dean whispered, relieved when the seizure died out, but still worried sick. Sam's chest was heaving, struggling to take in air, mouth gaping wide open. The kid was still unconscious and getting weaker by the minute. "I'm sorry, kiddo, so damn sorry. I shoulda stuck up for you, right from the start."
The loud roar of a powerful engine starting up was followed by a deep rumbling as it drew closer. John's truck appeared a few seconds later.
"Get your brother into the backseat," his father called from the driver's window. "Keep giving him the water if he's awake enough."
Dean nodded sharply and gathered the kid into his arms.
Sam had shot up over the last few months, but still had some growing to do. Given his height, and gangly body, he surely should have weighed a ton, but Dean found, to his surprise and worry, the kid was light as a feather. Sliding an arm under Sam's knees and hoisting him up against Dean's chest, the older brother rose to his feet with little effort, and strode over to the truck. Their father was already out and holding the rear passenger door open.
"Where we taking him, Dad?" Dean asked, as soon as he was settled in the back seat, Sam tucked into his arms.
"The beach."
John got back behind the wheel ignoring his oldest son's bewildered expression.
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The journey didn't take long in reality, though Dean could have sworn it took forever. Sam regained consciousness from time to time, but still didn't make much sense.
"...n-n-notf-freak…noooo" he insisted, over and over. Dean whispered to him, trying to calm the kid whenever he became distressed, and dabbed a water-soaked bandanna over his face and neck.
"That's right, little brother. You're not a freak, ok? You're my geeky kid brother, but you ain't a freak."
Sam bucked weakly a few times, whimpering breathlessly, but Dean held on tight, refusing to let go.
"Take it easy, Sammy. You're gonna be ok, I promise," then called out to his father. "How much further, Dad?"
"Nearly there."
John didn't stop, just drove straight on to the beach and right up to the waterline.
"Get him in the water," he ordered, grabbing the first aid kit from under the front passenger seat.
Dean didn't waste any more time, and leapt out of the back, wading into the water, uncaring that his clothes were getting soaked. Seaweed pulled at his feet and eventually at his calves and thighs, but he carried on moving until he found a clear patch of water.
By this time he was chest deep, holding Sammy's head above the surface. It was a definite relief from the heat of the sun, wallowing in the cool sea, and already his little brother had quietened down.
John began wading towards them, first aid kit in one hand, and another water bottle in the other. His pockets bulged with what looked like after-sun lotion, and wash cloths.
Sam stirred and moaned, twitching in Dean's grasp.
Twisting the cap off the water bottle, John cupped Sam's neck, raising his head.
"C'mon Sammy, drink some of this for me."
Sam grimaced, eyelids fluttering for a second or two, then gratefully swallowed some water.
"Ok, Dean? Can you take care of the water? I'll get some of this lotion on his face." John pulled out the after-sun and began squeezing a generous amount into the palm of his hand. Smearing it gently on Sam's burned face, rubbing into the red raw skin, John inwardly winced. Poor kid had to be in pain from the sunburn alone.
Long, gangly limbs floated in the water, brushing up against his brother and father. Sam lay completely limp and helpless in Dean's arms, no longer struggling, all the fight gone out of him.
John was fiddling with the first aid kit, looking through it, and muttering under his breath, when his fingers closed on what he was searching for.
"Sammy?" He called softly, and opened the boy's mouth. "Don't bite down now, ok? It's just a thermometer, kiddo. We need to take your temperature…"
A couple of minutes later, Dean waited anxiously for the verdict, eyes widening with fear when his father spoke out loud.
"104.9!"
"God! Dad what the hell are we gonna do?"
"Just give him some more time in the water, Dean," replied John, gentle cupping handfuls of water and pouring it over Sam's hair and forehead. "It'll bring his temperature down if we just give him more time."
Dean nodded, cradling his little brother closer, hoping and praying their Dad was right.
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Thirty minutes later, and they were carrying Sam out of the water. His breathing was still a little shaky, but at least he was no longer burning up.
"Let's get him into town," John stated, sliding back behind the wheel. "I'll check us into a motel, call in the doctor. You stay with him, and I'll go get our stuff from the house."
Dean's eyebrows slowly rose.
"Really? We're not going back there?" he asked, hopefully.
John shook his head and started the engine.
"Sam needs a clean room with air conditioning," he glanced at his oldest son in the rear view mirror, stern expression softening a little. "We all do, kid."
Dean just nodded in reply and glanced down at Sam's sunburned face.
Yeah.
This time the journey wasn't delayed by old guys driving tractors, and John put his foot down. They arrived in town in record time and parked up by the one and only motel.
Fortunately, the town wasn't exactly a tourist attraction and there were plenty of rooms to rent. Each one with a bathtub, and the all important air con. The doctor came immediately, was brisk, professional and diagnosed severe heat exhaustion, which came as no surprise to anyone. Leaving strict instructions to call should Sam suffer another fit, he smiled and headed out.
Backwater town like that, Dean reckoned, people only sought help when their damn limbs were falling off.
It seemed John was going to have to wait a while longer before eating humble pie and apologizing. Sam was in a deep sleep, drugged with pain killers and sedatives just in case, and Dean watched over him whilst their father went back to the beach house.
His phone started vibrating violently across the night stand, and Dean was immediately on the alert when he saw the caller ID.
Someone was calling him from his little brother's phone.
"Who is this? How did you get Sam's phone?" he barked out the second he answered.
"Are you Sam's brother, Dean?"
"Who wants to know? Who is this?"
"I'm Jimmy, Sam's science partner. I was just calling to let him know, I can't get a courier to deliver his phone all the way out there to the house. Any idea when you guys are coming back? Sam didn't want your father to know Mr Breton confiscated his cell phone…"
And so the whole story came flooding out.
The cop's long presentation, Sam's thwarted attempt to contact his family, why he was so late… the works.
At the end of it all, Dean hung his head in shame, gave Jimmy the address of the motel, thanked him and ended the call. He studied his sleeping brother's face.
"Aw Sammy," he whispered, sadly. "What the hell have we done to you, kid?"
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Sam groaned and flopped over on to his back. He didn't want to open his eyes yet, didn't want to see what was on the other side of his closed lids, but he sure could feel.
"Sammy? You awake now, little brother?" Dean's voice came from a distance away, soft and tender.
His head was hurting, throbbing in time to his heart beat. His face felt as though someone had taken a blow torch to it, his mouth and throat had dried up and withered away.
Panting in discomfort, rolling his head from side to side, Sam groaned again a little louder than before and wished he hadn't when the noise bore straight through his skull.
"Sam?" Dean's voice again, closer this time, less soft and more worried.
"S-sick!" Sam suddenly croaked out just as his stomach churned. Shaking hands grabbed him, pulling him upright and tipping him forward. Bile burned its way up and out, leaving Sam spitting saliva and gasping for breath.
"S'ok, Sammy. Just let it out." Gentle fingers carded through Sam's hair, the whispering in his ear relaxing and comforting.
Still spitting and grimacing, eyes still closed, another bout of sickness had Sam bucking and pawing at Dean, silently begging for help.
"I'm here, Sam. Just let it all out, kiddo."
Whimpering softly, Sam listened, drawing strength from his brother's voice.
"I'm so sorry, little bro. So damned sorry..."
Sam didn't have time to ponder that, because he was losing consciousness again and in no mood to fight it.
Dean felt his little brother fall limp in his arms, and sighed deeply. As apologies went, his pretty much sucked. He did take comfort from the fact his father was a leading expert in the field of crap apologies, and it was the one thing Dean refused to excel at, especially when Sam was involved.
Guess I'll have to wait until Sammy's on the mend.
John was exhausted and stressed out. He'd driven back to the beach house and packed everything up, only to realise he still had to find a way of getting the Impala to town. So he'd driven to the local garage, arranged for the mechanic to drive him back out in the truck, then John drove the Impala back in...
He wasn't looking forward to explaining to Dean why he'd been gone for so long. Sounded like one of those damn Zen conundrums, or whatever the hell they were called. John felt exhausted just thinking about it!
All the while, he couldn't stop seeing Sam unconscious in the water, held up by Dean, his body so weak and limp. It scared him beyond words what he'd almost done to his youngest boy.
God Sammy! I nearly killed you!
The kid had followed his father's orders to the letter and kept going, never giving up. Sam had been so dehydrated and sunburned John was surprised there was anything left of him.
He stopped halfway to the motel and picked up some glucose drinks and salt as well as a large bag of ice. For once John wouldn't be using the salt to line the doors and windows. Sam needed it to replace all the salt he'd lost, and to help protect against cramps.
When John opened the motel room door, his face fell. Greeted with the sight of Dean holding Sam over the trash can, the younger brother clearly out of it, John immediately grabbed one of the glucose drinks and unscrewed the cap. He poured a small amount of salt into the bottle, resealed the lid and gave it a gentle shake.
"Here," John held out the bottle. "Get him to drink some of this. He needs it."
Blood shot eyes turned his way, and John nearly stumbled back on seeing the sheer misery and despair on Dean's face.
"He passed out 'bout thirty seconds before you arrived," Dean answered, voice a little flat, and sniffed; one hand moved to support the back of Sam's head and stroke the kid's soft curls. The other hand wrapped around Sam's waist and tugged him closer.
"He'll be ok, Dean," John spoke softly.
The misery and despair changed lightning fast to rage.
"No thanks to us!" Dean hissed back, eyes bright with anger. "We should have listened to him, Dad. Did you know Sam had his phone taken away by his teacher? And did you know why?"
John blinked. "Huh? What do you mean?"
Dean nodded furiously, a sarcastic sneer working its way onto his face.
"No. Didn't think so. And neither did I!"
He handed over his own cell phone.
"I got a call from one of Sammy's friends..."
John listened with growing guilt and dread as Dean explained. By the time the story was finished, the older guy was holding his head in his hands and groaning softly.
It was far worse than he'd imagine. His conduct had been irresponsible and inexcusable. He hadn't listened to the kid when he tried to explain, virtually called him a bad son, punished him for trying to defend himself, and all along the kid tried so hard to understand what he'd done wrong.
Not a thing, Sammy. You didn't do anything wrong.
To add to his crime, John had also dragged his oldest son down with him. Dean was no doubt feeling more than his fair share of guilt, and that just wasn't right.
This was down to me and me alone.
How were they supposed to move on from here? Would Sam ever forgive him?
A soft moan from the bed made him look up. Sam's face was pinched, eyebrows drawn into a deep frown, skin flushed alarmingly and his head rolled weakly against his brother's shoulder.
"Sam, calm down," Dean was telling him, brushing damp hair from Sam's eyes, and glanced up at his father. "Dad, I think his temperature's going up again."
John nodded and grabbed the thermometer, wishing not for the first time he had a tympanic device. He hated putting the old fashioned mercury-filled glass in his son's mouth, especially if there was a good chance of another seizure. The local pharmacy consisted of a bar that occasionally sold packets of Tylenol to its hung over patrons, and distributed bandages for the more serious wounds, such as being glassed in a drunken fight.
Tympanic thermometers were for "city slickers", and anything considered life threatening meant "catching a ride in Charlie Parson's crop sprayer from the cereal farm just across town," or so the bar maid/pharmacist/general town loud mouth and gossip informed John with a flirtatious wink and yellow-toothed smile…
John shook his head and reflected on just how much he'd fucked up. He'd been meaning to replace the thermometer, but never got around to it. Instead of providing his sons with a safe environment, he'd given them a rat infested hovel with non-existence plumbing, sent his youngest child out into the hot midday son as a punishment for something he hadn't even done, almost killing him in the process, and now there was a very real risk of poisoning the poor kid with mercury.
Though, if that woman from the bar tried to hit on him again, John felt more than happy to crunch on the thermometer with childlike glee.
A few minutes later, John was taking the reading with a worried frown.
"Dad?" Dean watched him warily.
"Hmph. Not as high as it was at the beach, but still," John stopped when glassy blue-green eyes blinked open a fraction and stared at him. "Hey there, Sammy," he whispered, tenderly. "You're still a little too hot, so we're gonna try and cool you down, ok?"
"D'd?" Sam muttered, sounding tired and confused. "Wha... h't..."
His father blinked back tears and smiled down at the kid.
"Yeah, I know. You don't feel too good right now huh, buddy?" John ran his fingers gently through Sam's hair, "We're soon gonna make you feel better, but we need you to drink some of this, ok?" he indicated the glucose drink.
Sam's eyes slid down to the bottle and blinked, then slid back up to Dean, as if silently asking his brother for permission.
Dean smiled. "Go ahead, kiddo. You're gonna need it."
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Sam grimaced at the taste but didn't put up a fight, just sipped away at the bottle like a baby sparrow until it was three quarters empty. Dean's soft encouragement and gentle words helped him get that far, while John was in the bathroom filling the tub with cool water.
"Let's get him ready," John reappeared suddenly by the bed.
Sam didn't struggle, just allowed his family to strip him down and gently manhandle him into the bath tub. Dean placed a hand under the boy's head, keeping him from drowning. Poor kid was too weak to hold himself up, and big brother was only too happy to help. Cupped hands poured water over his face and neck, and his body gradually readjusted to the change in temperature.
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Author's notes:
So is Sam finally on the mend?
And how will his family make it up to him?
Cheers for the great reviews everyone.
See usual disclaimer end of chapter 2 re: medical facts.
Kind regards,
ST xxx