A/N: Here's a little bit of angst and hurt Winchester's for you tonight. Again, any medical...oh, you've heard this a million times...blah, blah, woof woof. Enjoy the chapter and don't forget to drop me a line.
Chapter 8
At the hospital, two hours later.
A pair of hazel eyes opened to half mast. Sensations returned to Sam and he felt an itching beneath his nose. He raised a shaking hand up to his face and felt the plastic tube resting just above his upper lip. He turned his head and winced when the room continued to turn while his head stopped. He finally focused on his old friend sitting on a hard chair, leafing through a magazine. The silence of the room only broken by Bobby's breathing and the steady beep of the heart monitor that Sam realized he was hooked to.
"Bobby?" Sam rasped out. The older hunter jumped and shot to his feet, coming over to the bed to reach over the rail and grasp Sam's shoulder.
"Sammy. How the hell you feelin' kid? Damn, good to see those eyes of yours."
"My head… Bobby, where's dad and Dean?" Fear streaked through Sam and the heart monitor responded with a shrill series of beeps and flashing lights. "Dean? How's Dean?" Sam struggled to draw a breath and calm himself. He began to wheeze, thinking of what his brother could be going through.
"Sam, you gotta calm down kid. Ya hear me?" Bobby hoisted Sam into a sitting position and leaned in behind him, rubbing his back. Sam continued to wheeze even with the oxygen freely flowing into his lungs from the tube up his nose. "Breathe, kid. I'm gonna call the nurse." Bobby hit the button even as the nurse who was on duty bounded through the door.
"His alarm is going off at the station. What's going on?" Bobby laid Sam back on the bed. The petite dark haired nurse came forward to check Sam's vitals. She hit the call button again and soon a doctor came bounding into the room. "His oxygen levels are dropping again." The nurse said as the doctor listened to Sam's breathing, a scowl darkening his features.
"I want a chest x-ray and measure his blood gas levels. Get him on one hundred percent oxygen and see if that brings his sat levels up."
"Yes doctor." The nurse said as she waited for Sam's doctor to scrawl the orders on his chart. She left the room and returned seconds later with an orderly. She carefully removed the tube from Sam's nose and fitted a mask to his face. They lowered the bed to lay flat and Sam coughed raggedly, the wheezing getting worse immediately. The doctor stepped back up and listened quickly to Sam's chest before raising the head of the bed again. Sam settled down, his face regaining color to return from blue tinged to just paper white.
"Take him for the tests immediately and get the lab to put this on a priority." The nurse and orderly rolled Sam's bed out of the room.
"That's it." Bobby growled, "Tell me jus' what the hell is wrong with my nephew!"
"I won't know until I get the results back. It seems like pneumonia is taking hold. I think the dust that's coating his lungs is damaging the tissues. The alveoli in his lungs are coated, making it impossible for him to get enough oxygen in his blood. It could get bad if we can't treat it immediately. He could, in a sense, suffocate."
John sat waiting outside the ER for word on Dean. Bobby had gone to get Sam settled in some two hours ago and still no word on Dean. They had taken him for all sorts of tests and emergency care. My boy's back is broken. Is he paralyzed? Will he ever walk again? Oh god, let him be okay. John kept snapping out of morbid thoughtsto have his thoughts go to that thing that was in the cave, the reason the wall had come down. Did they kill that thing? What the hell was it? Sammy said it was his fault the wall came down. Did he miss the thing? Did his bullet bring down the wall or just the noise of the guns? He snapped out of the glower he'd fallen into when the door banged open and a doctor John vaguely recognized came through. He stood, now realizing that this was the doctor that had taken care of his son. One of his two sons who were, again, in a hospital because he'd gone off on a hunt unprepared, pulling them along for the ride that had come to an abrupt end with both of his boys paying the price yet again.
"Doc, my boy? Did you take care of my boy?"
"Dean Waits?"
"Yeah."
"I'm doctor Tolliver. I saw your son."
"And?"
"He's lucky. He suffered a minor injury to his ninth thoracic vertebra, also known as a T9 injury. There is a hairline fracture causing his spinal cord and surrounding tissues to become inflamed, swollen. He's conscious, but we have him on pain reducers and anti-inflammatory drugs to allow the swelling to go down. He needs to stay extremely calm and it's very important that he doesn't move his back or legs. He'll have twinges of feeling and should have very little discomfort moving his arms and head but he does need to take it easy. If he should be agitated by the lack of sensation in his legs I'll have to sedate him until it goes down. Explain to him how important it is that he must not jar that fracture until it heals. At this point traction isn't necessary."
"Can I see my son?" John asked the doctor.
"Follow me."
John stopped short when he entered the room. He saw Dean, laying flat on his back on the bed, with a fluffy pillow tucked under his head. A rhythmic beeping was sounding out form the hear monitor and Dean appeared asleep. John knew better though. He could feel fear radiating off Dean. He took a deep breath and walked up to his son, coming into his line of sight as two green eyes opened.
"Hey Dean."
"Where's Sammy?" Dean asked his father, swallowing around a dry throat. John quickly reached for the glass with the straw in it and filled it from the nearby pitcher. He held the straw to Dean's dry lips and allowed him to sip until he pulled away. "Where's Sammy?" He asked again.
"The docs put him in another room. Bobby's with him now. Listen Dean…"
"No, you listen. He thinks he hurt me. He thinks he's responsible for my legs being… I need to see him. I need m' brother here to make sure he's okay. To make sure he doesn't blame himself for this."
"Okay Dean. I'll have the doctors move him in here. But you gotta listen to me. They told me some stuff that you need to know. You need to stay as still as you can. They don't wanna put you in traction but you gotta keep your back still. It's cracked and swollen. There's pressure on your spinal cord and it's what's makin' your legs feel like they do. The doc thinks once it goes down you'll be fine but you need to make sure you don't hamper that. If you hurt you let someone know. Understood?"
"Fine. Get Sammy."
Bobby burst into the room before John could say any more to Dean. "Bobby?" Dean questioned. The older hunter looked at Dean and then dropped his gaze quickly. "What? Bobby, what's wrong with Sammy?"
"They took him for tests. There's somethin' wrong with him. Doc thinks its pneumonia."
"No." John whispered. He ran to find out what was going on with his youngest.
"Sammy's got pneumonia?" Dean croaked, shock about the news numbing him more effectively than any pain pill.
Bobby nodded. "Thinks inhaling the dust triggered it along with the cold. Said something vague like suffocation." Before Bobby could explain what the doctor said John dragged the disheveled looking man through the door.
"This is Sam's doctor." John announced, before turning to the man. "Just what the hell is wrong with my boy?"
The doc nervously cleared his throat. "As I told his uncle there the dust he inhaled has coated the lining of his lungs and is restricting oxygen flow into his bloodstream. I sent him for tests and…
"Whoa, whoa, wait a freakin' minute. You're tellin' me my little brother can't breathe and you're waitin' on tests?!"
"He stabilized some after being put on oxygen. We're treating the early stages of pneumonia with an aggressive round of antibiotics. I'm going to have him settled in here. It's not necessary at this time for him to have special care. Now, if you'll excuse me, I did have his tests bumped up to priority status so I should have some results to look at so we can treat him properly." The doctor left, leaving Bobby and Dean staring after him. John sat on the chair beside Dean's bed and ran a hand over his haggard features.
The nurse Bobby remembered from earlier walked through the door and turned, facing the hallway; she latched on to something and pulled. A gurney came through the door, the orderly pushing from the other end.
"Sammy!" Dean cried, stretching up to see his brother's lax face. Dean cried out and stilled immediately, pain radiating through the middle of his back and fire flared through his legs.
"Dean, damn it lay still!" Bobby chided.
The nurse settled Sam's gurney, locking the brake once it was in place against the wall. She took the tube off the portable oxygen tank that rested on the bed with him and connected it to a port against the wall. She adjusted digital controls and checked Sam's vitals. She nodded and turned to face the other men in the room. "He's stable now. The antibiotics are working and the oxygen is helping. If you need anything page the desk." She and the orderly left the Winchesters and Bobby is stunned silence as they took in their Sammy's appearance. He was waxen looking and entirely too still. Even at seventeen, his tall, lanky frame appeared small and lost in the swath of white sheets that covered him from his chest to his feet. His head was slightly elevated on a white shrouded pillow, his chestnut, unruly hair marring the surface as it surrounded his head. John swallowed hard and went to his youngest son's side. Running a hand through those unkempt waves, he felt the heat radiating off his son's skin.
"Aw, Sammy." John said softly. "Hey, kiddo. We're here. Dean's here, Bobby. We need you to wake up Sammy." John watched on as eyelids fluttered and two glassy hazel orbs blinked at him before sliding to half mast.
"Dad?" Sam whispered, his hoarse voice further muffled by the mask over his nose and mouth.
"Hey kiddo." John cooed, running a gentle calloused thumb over Sam's forehead.
"Dean?" Sam whispered again. John quickly shifted aside, allowing Dean to see his brother.
"I'm here Sammy."
"Okay?" Another muffled whisper as Sam's head lolled on the pillow to look at his brother.
"Yeah, 'm okay." Dean said, shifting his eyes to his leaden legs before faking a smile for his little brother's benefit. Sam's eyes blinked and slid closed again.
A/N: Awwww, poor Sammy. Should I make him better? Or should I... Ahhhhh! The mad muse is taking over again!