Summary: Set early in Season 2, following John Winchester's death, the brother's are at Bobby's and all is not well as Sam's heath starts to deteriorate.
Disclaimer: I'm just playing with the characters.
Beta: I must thank Supernaturaldh for her miracle work.
Notes: 1. Firstly, thank you everyone - the reviews and kind words have made me walk around with a smile on my face for days. 2. This story started out as a short ficlet with sequels, so I'm sticking with that format. Chapter One was parts 1-3. Here are parts 4-5.
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4. Deceptions
Bobby felt as though his cell phone was burning a hole in his pocket and he couldn't resist taking it out and checking the screen one more time. He'd promised Sam that he wouldn't call Dean, but twice already he'd barely stopped himself as his fingers had hovered over the familiar numbers.
He wished the damn phone would just ring, that Dean would question where they were, and that the promise he'd made would be taken out of his control. But the phone remained stubbornly silent, and once again Bobby returned it to his pocket.
He wanted to respect Sam's privacy, but the not knowing was causing his guts to clench in fear. He preferred to face things head-on, to have all the facts, not to be wandering aimlessly around a crowded room waiting for someone to feed him the answers.
The damn kid was going to be the death of him.
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Sam stared at the walls, the stark whiteness broken by medical tatty posters depicting various parts of the human body in vivid detail.
Bobby's presence had helped ease Sam's way through the crowd of waiting patients, his past associations with the doctor standing them in good stead and securing Sam a hasty appointment.
He'd told Bobby not to wait, not knowing how long he'd be here, but Bobby had stubbornly plonked himself down in the waiting room, settling in for the long haul. After all Bobby had done for him, Sam didn't have the heart to tell him not to stay, so he'd remained silent and let Bobby have his way.
Behind closed doors he'd acquiesced to all the examinations and tests, feeling slightly comforted that the elder hunter was not far away, and if he was honest with himself, it made him feel a little less vulnerable.
Sam clutched the edges of his open shirt tightly together, fingering the buttons and trying not to feel too exposed as he waited for the doctor to return.
He raised his other hand to his face, fingers itching over the oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose, instinctively wanting to pull it free and make a quick getaway. But taking a deep breath was easier now, the mask enabling him to take what felt like the first full lungful of air in days. He rested his head back against the paper covered pillow, fighting his instincts and giving in to the rest that his body craved. Just for a few minutes, he told himself, letting his body relax against the bed.
He dozed.
When the doctor returned sometime later, Sam was gently roused from his drifting place, caught somewhere between asleep and awake. His body fought to stay there, but his mind was already one step ahead, fighting towards alertness as he remembered his surroundings.
"Sam… Sam I've got your test results." The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder and spoke softly at his side.
Sam blinked rapidly to clear his vision and pushed himself up on one elbow. "And?" Sam muttered through the oxygen mask, belatedly reaching a hand up to move it out of the way.
"And you'll feel a lot better if you leave that on." Sam felt the plastic mask being pushed back down over his mouth. Doctor West, the kind faced middle-aged doctor, gave him a patented look that Sam felt sure was reserved for toddlers and little kids, but it seemed to work as he automatically gave in to the man's request.
"As I was saying, your test results are in."
Sam nodded slowly, resting back against the bed as he waited for the doctor to deliver his news.
Doctor West slotted an x-ray up on the light-board before turning back to Sam. "You mentioned that you sustained rib fractures and a lung contusion from the accident a few weeks ago, and here on the x-ray we can see where a couple of your ribs have been recently broken. I'd really like to follow up on that and get a copy of those medical records, if you can give me the details of the hospital you were admitted to – just so that I know exactly what we're dealing with."
Sam just nodded, keeping the oxygen mask firmly across his face. He had no intention of giving the doctor those details. He'd discarded that alias the moment they'd left the hospital, leaving behind an insurance scam and a mound of unpaid debt.
Doctor West pointed to the pale area on the chest x-ray. "The x-ray also shows shadowing on your right lung, which is confirmation of the bacterial pneumonia that showed up in your blood work. It's most likely a direct result of the injuries you sustained a few weeks ago."
Sam automatically placed a hand across his still aching ribs.
Doctor West flicked off the light behind the x-ray. "If I were to hazard a guess I'd say that you haven't really been heeding your last doctor's orders to rest and avoid strenuous activities. To allow your body the time it needed to heal." The doctor's brows furrowed with concern, "Am I right?"
Sam felt like a guilty kid in kindergarten. "I ah …yeah…yes."
"You need to slow down and rest. Listen to what your body's telling you. Until your previous injuries heal, your lungs are going to be much more susceptible to recurring infection, and they won't heal if you don't take the time to let them. And I'm surprised that you waited so long to come in to see me. This isn't something that's going to miraculously heal by itself. I know Bobby would have brought you in sooner…"
"I didn't want to worry him." Sam interrupted.
"You'd do a lot more than worry him if you let this go untreated."
Sam heard the reproach in the man's voice and couldn't deny that from his position it was justifiably warranted.
"Do you want me to call Bobby in here while we discuss your treatment?"
"Yeah." Sam nodded, knowing it would save him the effort of repeating the doctor's words.
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5. Full circle
Dust kicked up behind the truck as Bobby drove along the straight stretch of road. He spared a sideways glance at his passenger, unable to miss seeing the white lines of pain that spread across Sam's face as one of the tires careened into yet another pot-hole.
"You know you don't need to do this Sam. You've got nothing to prove."
"I just… I don't want to stay in the hospital Bobby, not after," Sam felt the lump lodge in his throat, "not after Dad." The final words came out little more than a whisper. "I can rest just as well back at the house."
"You heard what the doc said Sam. This isn't some common cold that's going to run its course. You should be monitored, hell; you should be on oxygen in the damn hospital."
"I heard what the doctor said Bobby."
"Sounds to me like you only heard the parts you wanted to hear. If you had any sense you'd've stayed at the hospital, at least for a day or two. You know, I can turn 'round right now, just say the word."
"I can't Bobby." Sam whispered in reply. How could he explain the memories that were still too fresh, the brother too broken, and the fear too great? How could he tell the older man that the few dollars in his pocket were the sum total of all the funds he had? How could he explain that he hadn't had the time to organize another set of fake insurance details after they'd skipped out on their last hospital bill?
"Damn it boy, this isn't the time for all that self-sacrificing independent crap."
"Please Bobby, you can't tell Dean."
"What? You're kidding me, right? You don't think Dean's goin' to wonder where we've been all afternoon? You don't think he's goin' to notice that you're wheezing like an asthmatic, barely able to put one foot in front of the other without falling over?"
"You promised Bobby."
"Christ Sam. You know Dean's goin' to take my head off when he finds out."
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Dean sat on the top step leading to the porch, a beer in one hand as he surveyed the dusty yard. A quick scan of the house and workshop had confirmed that Sam and Bobby were noticeably absent, and although their constant presence had been a nuisance of late, the place now felt uncomfortably quiet.
He took another swig of his beer, letting the cold liquid run smoothly down his throat. The absence of Bobby's truck hadn't escaped his notice, and he could only surmise that his brother and Bobby had taken an impromptu trip into town.
He wasn't watching, wasn't waiting, he assured himself, even as he kept a keen vigil on the road leading towards the house.
When he saw the rising dust in the distance and heard the familiar rumble of an engine, he rose slowly to his feet, making his way back indoors.
He watched from the window as Bobby's truck pulled into the yard, gravel spraying from beneath worn tires as it slowed to a stop in front of the house. Pulling away from the window, he wandered over to the fridge, pulling out another beer before taking a seat at the kitchen table.
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Even after the engine idled to a stop, Sam sat quietly in the passenger seat, needing a minute to rile up his last reserves of energy. He let his eyes scan the yard, looking for any sign of his brother. When Dean remained conspicuously absent, he felt the first twinge of worry invade his consciousness. It wasn't like Dean to just go missing, and he feared that maybe Dean had finally had enough – enough of Sam, enough of them being together, enough of everything.
He felt the breath catch in the back of his throat and wished the thoughts gone from his head. Dean was strong. He just needed to give his brother time. The time he needed to deal with his grief, to mourn their father, to move forward.
"You need a hand Sam?" Bobby intruded on his thoughts; yanking open the passenger side door and bringing Sam back to the present.
Sam took a breath, as deep as his lungs would allow. "I'm okay."
"Okay my ass." Bobby grunted, ignoring Sam's reply and reaching up a hand to help him out of the truck.
Bobby stayed close by his side, and Sam leant on the older man until they reached the front door. He hated being so dependant, but the short walk had taken more out of him than he cared to admit.
As they stepped inside and the door clicked closed behind them, Sam felt a rush of relief as his brother's voice echoed through from the kitchen. "Sam? Bobby?"
Sam pulled free of the steadying presence at his shoulder, choosing to follow slowly behind Bobby as they shuffled towards the kitchen.
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"Have fun?" Dean asked, a tinge of piqué creeping into his voice.
"Just needed to pick up a few groceries - in town." Sam's eyes gave Dean a subtle appraisal, drinking in the reassuring sight of his brother seeming relaxed and at ease for the first time in weeks. Satisfied, he lowered his eyes back towards the floor and leant nonchalantly against the door frame.
Dean looked between Bobby and Sam, taking in the noticeable lack of bags that neither of them carried. "What? Nothing at the store take your fancy?"
"Something like that." Bobby muttered; grabbing a beer from the fridge, kicking the door closed before turning back to Dean. "Where've you been anyway? I tried hollering for you before we left."
"Around. Took a walk," he replied, eyes narrowing in on Bobby. "You?"
"You know, just ran a few errands in town, caught up with an old friend." Bobby settled in to the chair opposite Dean and took a long swig of his beer.
Dean shrugged his shoulders. "Okay then," he let the matter drop.
"I'm uh goin' to grab a quick shower before dinner," Sam muttered, pushing himself free of his timber support.
"Dinner?" Dean voiced, and Sam felt a smile spread across his face as he turned away, the sound of his brother and Bobby bickering about cooking duties following him from the room.
-o-
Sam let his hand trail along the wall, fingers running over aged plaster and peeling wallpaper.
He realized now that the oxygen he'd been on in the clinic had given him a false sense of well-being. Without the rich air, each breath seemed less satisfying than the last, his lungs protesting at the extra effort required to simply breathe.
He wanted to lie down.
He needed to lie down.
As he approached the stairs he felt as if he'd come full circle, the upward climb seeming no less daunting now than it had a few hours earlier.
Frustration warred with downright misery as he hovered, willing his body to obey his commands.
He spread the palm of his hand across his chest, urging it to expand, to give him strength.
Black spots danced across his vision.
He hated to admit it, but maybe the doctor had been right.
To be continued...
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