A/N: Thanks for reviewing the last chapter. Here's another one to keep you going until the weekend. I think that will be the first time I'll be able to update. Just a couple more chapters after this one. We'll have to see how it goes for Sammy until the end. WARNINGS for a little gore and a lotta pissed off hunter language. There's a little more of what Sam went through down there in this chapter.
Chapter 6: Slipped From the Tip of Your Tongue
Sam bucked as Joshua edged the forceps into the wound, Dean instantly leaning over him, locking one arm over his shoulders and using the other one to tousle Sam's hair, finally laying his palm on Sam's forehead.
"Easy Sam, easy. You're alright. It's okay." Dean muttered as Sam's breath hitched and then sped up, chest heaving. His head tipped back, grinding into the pillow. Cords of muscle and veins stood out on his neck and arms, muscles bulging with his clenching fists.
Joshua gripped the object embedded in Sam's stomach with the curved tips of the forceps, testing the hold.
"Alright Dean, don't let 'im move." Dean leaned his head down beside Sam's in response, continuing the soothing litany of it's alright, Sammy. You're okay, I'm here in a choked whisper. His arms rippled as he fought to hold Sam down when Josh began to extract the object. Sam's eyes flew open then clenched tightly shut, his body going rigid as he screamed. His scream died off just as Joshua's "Got it! Got it." sounded out, the clink of the object going into the shot glass loud in the sudden silence. Joshua laid gauze over the wound, applying pressure to staunch the fresh bleeding. Dean laid his arms gently over Sam's rising and falling chest, pulling his little brother's head closer with a hand in a makeshift hug while fingers found a slightly fast but steady pulse beneath the warm flesh.
Joshua applied another layer of gauze and continued to work at controlling the bleeding, finally noticing it stop by the forth layer as Sam remained unconscious and Dean stayed silent, reluctant to even pull back.
Joshua eased the gauze away from the wound, once again gently disinfecting the wound. He threaded a needle expertly and eleven tiny stitches later, sat back and wiped bloody hands on a towel. His eyes fell on the once amber, now burgundy liquid in the glass and he sensed more than saw Dean lift his head.
"What was it Josh?" Dean watched the hunter as tears built in his dark eyes, before he paled and bolted for the bathroom. Dean smoothed Sam's hair back, finally hearing the toilet flush. The older hunter stepped out of the bathroom and reached for the flask, downing a hearty swig of whiskey. A telling shimmer on his cheeks reflected the light as he walked back into the room, leaned over Sam and brushed a hand gently over his forehead.
"What the fuck have y'been through, boy?" Joshua asked softly.
"Too damn much." Dean answered.
"It was the tip of a finger bone, Dean. Kid musta fallen on it in the dark."
"Fuck!" Dean cried, tears filling his eyes to course down his face, getting lost in his stubble. He leaned over, putting his head on the pillow next to Sam's, his shoulders shaking silently.
***
"Mnuh…" Sam murmured, restless, his head rocking on the pillow. Sweat beaded on his forehead to be mopped away by the damp cloth in Dean's hand. Dean grabbed two Tylenol from the bedside table and a glass of cool water. Lifting Sam's head he placed the pills against Sam's lips. "C'mon kid, need ya to swallow these. Make ya feel better." Sam's lips parted just enough to get the pills past. Dean tipped the glass to his brother's lips and watched the water seep through. Sam swallowed, coughing weakly, water dripping from the corner of his lips to trail back his cheek to his ear.
"Shhshh." Dean soothed, his thumb working back and forth over the ridge of Sam's brow, just beneath the folded cloth. Dean's eyes, laden down with dark circles beneath them, flicked to the hunter who sat slouched at the table, his wide shoulders slightly hunched, the flask held between his large hands. "He's gettin' worse."
"It's not the wound. Checked it already. Stitches are holdin', it's clean. It's somethin' else."
"He needs a hospital."
"What are you gonna tell 'em, huh?"
"I'll think of somethin'!"
"What?! That he was kidnapped by demons, held for ten days in the pitch black chamber above a flooded catacomb, no food, no water. Oh, yeah, by the way, he fell on a skeletal human hand, my buddy dug it out of his gut with a pen knife!" Joshua stood, the chair clattering to it's back on the floor and slammed his meaty fist into the mini fridge door, buckling the metal. All fell silent and the refrigerator kicked on, the previously silent appliance rattling loudly. Sam moved on the bed, fidgeting, his hand fisting in the blanket pulled to his bare chest. His voice broke the tense silence.
"Nnn…dark…D'n."
"Easy kiddo, 'M here."
"Sorry Dean." Josh said softly.
"Don't be." Dean replied, sounding tired. He continued to wipe down Sam's fever flushed face. Suddenly he straightened. "Water!"
"What?"
"The water in that hell hole. Ten days, Sammy had to do somethin'. That or the freakin' demons…" Dean's mind flashed back to the darkened room. "The hole in the floor. If Sam had fallen through, wound up in the catacomb…god, he had to have swallowed some of that shit, or breathed it in. It's gotta be what's makin' him so sick."
"There's some pretty powerful antibiotics the kit." Joshua walked to the bed where the box resided and pulled the vial and a syringe. He jabbed the needle into the plug on the vial and pulled back the plunger to dispense the proper dosage. Dean swabbed Sam's arm with the disinfectant he'd snagged from it's resting place on the table. Sam moaned at the cool sensation on his arm. Joshua plunged the needle into his flesh. "There."
He felt the water close over his head, seeping into his nose, filling his lungs, turning his stomach sour. The cloying sent of death invaded him and pulled him under. His eyes opened beneath the surface, hands reaching for him; bloated gray faces called to him, lips blue, swollen, pulled back in cries, snarls. The fingers floating near his face beckoned to him, curled in death, but still calling to him. Muffled, crying voices filled his head, lips calling his name. He felt hands clawing at his shoulders, his wrists, his legs, holding him down. His lungs burned, the stench of death-of rot- replacing the oxygen his body began screaming for. Bubbles drifted from his lips up past his face in a curtain, blurring as they rose through the gray encroaching on the edges of his vision. The voices got louder, going from watery whispers to persistent calls.
"Sam."
"Sam. Sam. Sam."
"Samsamsamsamsamsam." He felt weightless, the water suspending him, jostled by limbs and torsos, jumping when the faces floated by, screaming at him. "Sam, Sammy, Sammy!"
"Sammy!!" Dean rolled his struggling brother over onto his left side, holding his head as he vomited into the waist basket. Bile, water and half dissolved pills flowed into the small can, a sickening smell flooding the room. Dean rubbed Sam's back until his heaves subsided, a tear falling into the mess in the wastebasket, before Dean helped Sam lay back. "Easy. Sam."
"D'n?"
"I'm here."
"Don'feel s'good."
"I know."
"Thought…thought…" more tears fell from Sam's eyes.
"It's alright." Dean said softly.
"Was dark…h-heard your voice. They-they hurt you."
"Hey, hey. Listen to me. I don't know what they did to you…I don't know what you saw, but it wasn't me. Okay?" Dean put a hand to his chest. "I'm here, I'm fine. Been with Josh since a couple hours after y'disappeared."
"How long?" Sam asked, eyes drifting closed, voice turning to a rough whisper. He swallowed hard.
"Don't worry about it. We'll talk when ya feel better." Dean pushed Sam's hair back from his face, relieved to see the pain lines smooth out just a bit as his brother succumbed to the need for sleep. Dean stood from the bed and motioned to Joshua.
"He threw up the Tylenol. It's half dissolved. I don't know how much actually got into his system. I don't think it was enough to do him any good."
"It's at least two hours before he can have anymore antibiotics."
"I know that." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "He needs a doctor."
Joshua didn't say anything, instead he left the room, door banging shut behind him and Sam flinching. Dean could see him pacing back and forth between the motel door and his truck. He finally heard the hard bed cover open and close. The hunter came back into the room, stepping over the salt line, duffel bag in hand.
"I called a buddy of mine, Ace. He was a medic in a squadron I fought alongside in Storm. Good man. Seen a lot of crap. He lives two hours away, has a private practice. He's on his way here."
Dean watched as Joshua opened his bag, pulling a sawed off shotgun which he methodically began to clean. Dean recognized it as a habit of Joshua's whenever he was agitated. "Thanks." Dean said.
"D-d'n." Sam whispered from the bed. Dean rushed across the room and sat down on the bed.
"Heya Sammy. How ya feelin'?"
"Lousy." Sam swallowed hard. Dean reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and lifted Sam's head, letting him sip at it.
"Ah-ah. Easy. Not too much. Don't want ya sick again." Sam coughed and settled, Dean lowered his head back to the pillow.
"Keep…I keep having these dreams. They sc-scare me."
"It's alright. We'll deal with it when ya feel better, okay?" He felt Sam's forehead with the back of his hand, "You're still too warm. Think you can keep some Tylenol down this time?"
"Dunno. Tired."
"I know. Just take these and rest." Dean palmed two of the pills and eased Sam's head up. He dry swallowed and Dean gave him another sip of water. Sam turned onto his left side, grimacing slightly before he eyes closed, a shiver moving through him.
***
Bobby Singer pressed the gas a little harder, glancing at the crumpled map on the passenger seat of the box van he drove. The breaking news droned on in the background from the AM/FM radio he hardly ever turned on, his eyes shifting beneath his cap scanning the road, as the weather came on, the meteorologist talking about storms along the gulf coast. Bobby turned up the volume and glanced at the map.
"And here we have a super cell forming off the coast of Louisiana that promises to dump at least three inches of rain along low lying areas, some receiving it as quickly as the next hour. The storms are located…" Bobby slammed on the brakes, listening as he grabbed the map, drew dots over the city and town locations that the woman spoke of, quickly drawing lines connecting them.
"Damn it!" Bobby cursed, as he punched the gas, the van fishtailing as it pulled from the gravel shoulder onto pavement, tires squalling. He grabbed for his phone and slammed a grease stained finger down on speed dial number one.
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