Chapter Nineteen
Dean jumped and shot a look towards the front door, frowning at his father's large form silhouetted in the doorway.
He didn't have time for this shit.
Returning his attention back to his brother, Dean addressed Bobby, jolting the older man from his surprise at seeing the eldest Winchester arrive at such an inconvenient time.
"Bobby! What are you doing in there? I could really use your help!"
"Dean," John called from the front door and the young man heard the dull thud of boots on the hardwood, coming closer.
Ignoring his father, the older brother peered down at his sibling. Sam's eyes were half-closed in a face as pale as paper, his lips an unhealthy purple hue.
"Hold on Sammy," Dean murmured and tried to bundle the duvet tighter around his brother's trembling body, "You'll be warm in a minute."
Dean looked up when a bright red hot water bottle, wrapped in an old dishtowel, was pushed in front of his face. Taking the bottle, Dean shoved it unceremoniously underneath the blankets, parking it between his brother's side and the back of the couch.
"Dean, is he-" John had entered the living room, his eyes puffy and red-rimmed, his salt-and-pepper hair plastered to his head with rainwater.
"Siddown and shut up, Johnny," Bobby growled and the younger man dropped into one of the wingback chairs across from the couch.
"D-D-" Sam stuttered but Dean shushed him, "Don't worry about him, Sammy. You just pay attention to me."
To ensure that his sibling did just that, Dean put his hands on either side of Sam's face and turned it so that the younger boy was staring- albeit blindly- at him.
"Think warm thoughts, Sammy," Dean said quietly, "Like, uh, a tropical beach… yeah, with, uh, white sand and Pina Coladas and hot girls in bikinis."
Dean smiled when the corners of his brother's lips curled up; already his shaking was subsiding.
"How's 'e doing?" Bobby asked from beside John's seat.
Dean nodded, "You'll be okay, Sammy, right?"
"Mmmm," Sam muttered, his eyes slipping closed. Dean placed a hand on his brother's brow and feeling no unusual warmth beneath his fingers, let Sam rest.
Once his sibling's breath was slow and steady, Dean turned his gaze to his father.
The older man looked like a kicked puppy- his hangdog expression not helping in the least- and Dean would have chuckled, now knowing where Sam had inherited that exact look, but he was not in the mood to laugh.
"You really hurt Sam last night, Dad," Dean announced soberly, "I don't care what your reasons were for telling him that shit but that was really low."
John glanced down at his hands dangling between his knees.
"I want Sam to be happy, with whatever he chooses," Dean told him, "Even if that means he continues traveling with us."
John nodded, "It's just…"
"Yes," Dean prompted snarkily, arms crossed over his chest to try and prevent himself from throttling the man.
"Sam didn't listen to me when I told him not to leave, Dean. He deliberately disobeyed me even though he knew- he knew- the dangers out there!"
"Go ahead, John, tell us what you're really thinking," Bobby growled, peering down his blunt nose at the younger man.
"So you think Sam hasn't been punished enough for not listening to you? Is that it?" Dean snapped, "Jesus, Dad!"
"Yes! No, that's not what I mean!" John stammered, clearly not completely sober.
"Sure, this might not have happened if Sam had listened to you," Dean consented, "But a werewolf could have killed him, or a vamp or some other bastard if he'd stayed with us."
John nodded his head vigorously in agreement.
"Yeah, yeah," he said and wiped a hand over his face, "I just…"
The man sucked in a shaky breath and let it out slowly. He looked directly at his eldest son and his eyes were moist, "I just… I didn't want him to get hurt. If he left, well, I couldn't be there to protect him. If Sam had stayed, I might have been able to do something but now…"
John shook his head sadly, "I'm afraid that he'll get hurt, Dean. It's not safe on the road; even if he promises not to leave the motel room… things have a way of following us home and I… Jesus… I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if Sam got hurt."
Dean's eyebrows rose up his forehead in surprise. Bobby expression was less impressed. He knew John was drunk as a skunk and likely to forget this little heart to heart in the morning. He, wisely, was taking the other man's words with a grain of salt.
"I, uh, don't know what to say," Dean admitted.
"Don't push me away, Dean," John said, almost begging, "I almost lost Sam once… don't shut me out for good."
Dean nodded and swallowed.
"Okay," he muttered, "Sure."
John gave a self-conscious smile.
"Why are you only wearing boxers?"
Dean glanced down, realizing that the towel he'd draped around his shoulders was open and closed it.
"Sam and I went for a walk and it started to rain," he explained, hoping Bobby wouldn't point out that they had done so against his advice.
John still looked confused so Dean continued, "And we didn't have the phone to call for a ride so we got a bit wet."
Bobby grunted, "Looked like a pair of drowned rats."
"Is Sam alright?" John asked, leaning forward, his expression now concerned.
"Yeah, he's fine," Dean affirmed, "Just tired."
"Okay," the eldest Winchester said, then scratched at the salt-and-pepper hair at the back of his head, "I'm gonna go and grab a shower."
Dean watched as his father left the living room, heading upstairs slowly.
The young man met Bobby's gaze and the grizzled hunter shrugged, "You know yer Daddy better than I do."
Dean nodded, "He'll be an asshole once he's sobered up."
Glancing down at his brother, Dean ran a hand over Sam's short hair and sighed.
"How are you feelin' son?" Bobby asked.
"Me? Okay," Dean answered, "Just frustrated with Dad."
"Why don't you drink some of that tea I made for you?" Bobby offered, "And get some shut-eye yourself."
SPN
"Nuh-no," Sam muttered in his sleep, turning onto his side, "No. Dean. Dean!"
"Sam! Son, its alright!"
The eighteen-year old startled at someone's hand on his shoulder.
"It's just me," Bobby's gruff voice said and Sam relaxed, shivered.
"Where's D'n? Don' feel good," Sam muttered and tried to burrow further into the couch.
He felt a cool hand on his brow and Bobby swore quietly. He listened to the hunter's footsteps fade as the man headed upstairs and shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position on the cushions that didn't hurt his back.
"Sammy? Sam," Dean's voice made the young man stop moving and he struggled to sit up.
"Hey, take it easy," Dean said and Sam felt his brother's hands on his shoulders, helping him.
A second hand touched Sam's forehead and this time it was Dean who cursed, his language somewhat more colourful than Bobby's had been.
"Shit, Sammy, you're burning up."
The young man nodded and leaned back, "S'cold, D'n."
"I know Sammy," Dean murmured and rubbed his shoulders, "Bobby's going to see if he has anything for your fever."
Sam closed his eyes and sighed, listing to one side until he leaned against Dean.
"S'Dad here?" Sam muttered quietly.
"Uh huh," Dean answered distractedly, "He's in Bobby's garage, working on a car I think."
Sam frowned. Dad never did that.
"What's wrong?" he asked, opening his eyes.
"Nothing. Just wanted some time to himself or something. I didn't ask," Dean replied.
Sam didn't think their father had even touched a car- other than the Impala- since his wife's death.
"Is it me?" Sam whispered.
"What? No, of course not! You gotta stop thinking like that, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed.
"It's Dad with the problem, not you."
Sam nodded slowly.
"Oh, here's Bobby," Dean announced, changing the subject.
"I figured these would help him sleep," Bobby said and Dean pushed Sam up so that he was sitting instead of resting against him.
Sam felt Dean put two capsules into his palm, "What are they?"
"NyQuil," his older brother answered, "And here's some water."
Sam took hold of the cup Dean set in his hand. He quickly took the gel caps and washed them down, finishing the water.
"Lie back down, Sammy and get some rest," Dean instructed.
Sam did as his brother asked, grimacing in pain until he found a better position and his back didn't hurt as much, before sighing and closing his eyes, waiting for the medicine to kick in.
W
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured Sam as he heaved into the toilet bowl.
Sam gripped the rim with white knuckles, his stomach feeling as though it was turning itself inside out.
Tears leaked down Sam's face and snot dribbled from his nose.
"Are you done?" Dean asked and Sam nodded tiredly.
With a steadying hand on his elbow, the young man stood and Dean led him to the bathroom sink.
Sam gratefully took the cup of water Dean offered him and rinsed out his mouth, the acrid taste of vomit making his sore stomach nauseous again.
"Tell Bobby I'm sorry," Sam muttered to his brother and Dean squeezed his arm, "Don't worry about it, Sammy. He doesn't care about the carpet."
Sam lowered his head. He hadn't gotten up fast enough and had puked all over the carpet in the living room and the coffee table before Dean grabbed him and rushed him into the bathroom.
SPN
The T-Bird's windshield shattered with a satisfying crunch when John smashed the sledgehammer into it.
Lifting the hammer up again, the eldest Winchester let it slam onto the hood with a squeal of tearing metal.
The car had been a lost cause- Bobby couldn't find the necessary parts to fix it and so it had sat, for what looked like months in the garage- until John caught sight of it.
He needed something to vent all his anger and frustration- rather than his sons- and the old T-Bird surely wouldn't mind a little remodeling.
The man swung the sledgehammer again and again until his arms trembled and his back ached. Exhausted, John leaned against the heap of crushed metal and wiped his brow with his forearm.
The hunter closed his eyes and sighed. He really didn't know what to do, didn't know what the right course of action to take.
He was ready to move on. Never one to stay in one place for any length of time, John was beginning to get antsy. While he and Dean were here people were dying. But he had promised to wait a month and damn it he would. No matter how much he hated the idea.
He was already on thin ice with Dean. His eldest son certainly would not be pleased to find his father had left to continue hunting in the midst of Sam's current crisis.
Setting the sledgehammer down on the workbench, John decided he should go inside so Dean and Bobby wouldn't think he'd disappeared again.
SPN
Sam struggled to shove the orderly away but he was too weak. He couldn't see the man but he could feel the presence hovering above him, feel the body heat coming off his attacker in waves as they struggled.
The man grabbed his arms and pinned them to his sides, hissing his name, "Sam, Sam, stop fighting me."
"Let me go! Please! No more!" Sam cried and kicked out, trying to wriggle free.
"Sam, you need to calm down, son," Bates' voice came from somewhere off to Sam's right and the young man fought even more, "Don't take anymore! Please! I can't! Let me go! Let me go!"
Tears of fear streamed down Sam's face and he tried to twist away, off the operating table and away from the evil doctor.
The orderly lost his grip on Sam and the eighteen-year old fell onto his hands and knees on the floor- the drop not nearly as long as he expected it to be- and was promptly tackled.
Sam splayed out on the floor, his cheek pressed against the carpet- why was there carpet- and his lower back loudly protested the weight on top of it.
The young man cried out in pain and the orderly quickly released him.
"Sam? Sammy? Snap out of it, man," the orderly demanded, reaching out to touch his face instead.
Sam was so confused; he had no clue what was happening. How did they know his name? He didn't like Bates' and his cronies calling him by his name.
The young man shrunk away from his tormentors, whimpering. Panting for air, Sam thought he heard the orderly say something about his Dad but that didn't make sense, what was happening? Why couldn't they just leave him alone?
Sam didn't even feel it when he collapsed- hitting the floor with a dull thud- and lost consciousness.
SPN
Dean was terrified. He had no idea what was wrong with his brother. It had only been a few hours since Sam had started feeling feverish and now he was out cold on Bobby's living room floor.
Dean quickly checked for a pulse and found it instantly… but something was wrong…
"Bobby, come feel this," Dean called to the other hunter from where he sat crouched over his brother.
The older man bent over and put two fingers to Sam's neck, feeling for the carotid artery.
"That ain't right," Bobby commented and looked up worriedly at Dean.
Both men glanced up when the front door opened and John stepped inside.
The eldest Winchester stopped, stared for a moment at the scene before him before coming forward, "The hell happened here?"
"Something's really wrong with Sammy," Dean said and grabbed his sibling under the armpits, lifting his upper body up, "I think he needs a hospital."
John frowned, "I thought he just had a cold."
"Well, he just spent the last three minutes freaking out at me," Dean continued, "before passing out, so I'd say it's a little bit more than a cold."
John didn't react to the news.
"Aren't you overreacting a little?"
Both Bobby and Dean stared at the man as though he had suddenly grown an extra head.
The younger man looked down though, distracted when he felt his sibling stir in his arms.
"D'n?"
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean murmured, "I'm here."
"Why s'cold?"
"You have a fever," the older brother informed him, "Hold on, we're going to the hospital."
Sam startled and twisted in his brother's grip, "No! No! I don't wanna go! I feel fine! Don't make me go!"
Dean struggled to keep a hold of the younger man, "Sam! Stop it! Let me help you up!"
Breathing heavily, Sam nodded and Dean helped him sit at the edge of the couch.
"You were scaring me, Sam," Dean told him, sitting beside his brother.
The younger man lowered his head, "I'm sorry. I'm okay. Just a fever. Right? I'll be alright in a couple of days."
"Son," Bobby began but Sam lifted his head, his white eyes welling with tears, "Please don't make me go to the hospital, Bobby. Please."
Bobby and Dean exchanged looks.
"He said he doesn't want to go," John spoke up, "So don't make him go. You two have had bad fevers before and have made it out alive. Just wait. It's only been, what? Five hours since you came back in from walking in the rain. This'll probably be a twenty-four hour thing."
Dean glared at his father before turning to his sibling, "Okay, Sam, no hospital. But if you don't feel right, you tell me that moment, deal?"
Sam nodded, "I promise. Can I go back to sleep now? I'm kind of tired."
Dean nodded and squeezed his brother's shoulder, not completely relaxed just yet. But it was clear that his brother was scared to go into the hospital and Dean didn't want to put any unnecessary stress on his already nervous sibling.
So, he'd keep his mouth shut but his eyes open and if he saw anything he didn't like, he'd be shoving Sam into the Impala and driving down to Sioux Falls General whether the younger man liked it or not.
Dean stood and Sam curled up on the couch, closing his eyes. Within minutes the younger brother was sleeping and Dean sighed, looking to Bobby to say something.
"You want a drink?" the grizzled hunter asked and Dean shrugged.
Dean and John followed Bobby into the kitchen and sat quietly, drinking beer.
Dean silently went through his brother's symptoms and he had to admit, it did sound a bit like a bad fever. Maybe John was right. They just had to wait and see, maybe it would clear up on its own. Dean hoped so.
Remembering Sam's weakened immune system, Dean guessed it made sense that something like a common cold had knocked his brother on his ass. Maybe he was just being the overprotective big brother.
SPN
Randall Gorman tore the yellow police tape away from the front door to North Hall and stepped inside. Just to get a feel for things, he'd visited the main building and even he was surprised at the stark contrast between the two buildings.
While Cathcart Hall was cheery, with bright paint, framed pictures on the walls and friendly staff; North Hall looked like the set for a horror movie.
Peeling grey walls and scuffed, dusty tile floors were anything but inviting.
Gorman though, wasn't interested in the décor. He followed the gold string-like strand as it trailed down the hallway and towards a set of elevators. The emotional residue wasn't new but it wasn't old either; it was clear, even to Randall that the boy had not been brought in through the front doors.
He knew he could just turn around and follow the trail out of Marshalltown but Randall was nothing if not thorough. He wanted to know as much about the boy as possible and that meant investigating where Findlay's doctor friend had kept him.
SPN
Dean knew it. He stomped down the stairs, the house silent but for his brother's cries.
"D'n!" Sam's voice was hoarse and thin, clearly scared.
"Sam!" Dean called back and turned on the living room light as soon as he reached the bottom step.
It was early in the morning- the sun hadn't even begun to rise yet- but Dean hadn't hesitated to leap out of bed and race to his brother's side.
The younger man was sitting up on the couch, arms wrapped around himself, shivering. Although he had taken a NyQuil before going to sleep, it was clearly ineffective as Dean caught sight of his brother's wide, pale eyes surrounded by dark circles.
"I don't feel good," Sam moaned, sounding just like a little kid again and Dean immediately sat beside his brother.
"M-My back hurts," Sam complained and hunched forwards as though putting pressure on his back hurt.
Dean lifted up Sam's shirt but say nothing out of the ordinary except for the large, ugly scar from having one kidney forcibly removed.
Carefully, Dean poked his brother's back, moving downwards, trying to find the source of the pain.
"I can't find anything, Sammy," Dean said and settled his brother's shirt back down.
Sam turned his head so that his white eyes stared into Dean's hazel ones, "Please, Dean, can you sing the song? The one Mom sang to you?"
Dean blinked in confusion, "What? Sam, say that again?"
"H-Hey Jude," Sam said softly, his words slurring, "M-Mom sang it to you wh-when you felt sick."
Dean stared at his sibling. Sam hadn't asked for him to sing that song since he was nine.
"Okay, Sammy," Dean said, "Let me just go get Dad and Bobby and then I'll sing, alright?"
Sam nodded, his eyes starting to slip closed.
Dean ran up the stairs and knocked frantically on Bobby's bedroom door. The grizzled hunter flung the door open and stood for a moment, looking confused, clad in a pair of old grey long johns.
"I am taking Sam to see the doctor," Dean announced and Bobby nodded silently before closing the door again so that he could pull on some decent clothes.
Next, Dean went back to the bedroom he usually shared with Sam- now with his father- and shook John awake.
"Huh? Dean, what is it?" John asked, alert for a supernatural threat.
"Sam asked me to sing him 'Hey Jude'," Dean told his father.
John sat up, his dark eyebrows knitted together, "But he hasn't asked that in… years."
"Exactly," his eldest son agreed, "I am going to the hospital."
Without having to be asked, John got up and yanked on a clean pair of jeans as Dean headed back downstairs.
Sam was still sitting up, leaning against the back of the couch.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean gently shook his brother's shoulder, "Wake up."
Sam blinked sleepily, "The song?"
"In a minute," Dean said, distracted, "Bobby! Can you help me?"
"Okay, Sammy, can you stand?" Dean asked and Sam nodded lazily, trying to push himself up from the couch. Dean reached out and wrapped one of Sam's arms around his neck.
"M'okay, Dean," Sam protested weakly but the older brother ignored him.
"Can you take his other arm, Bobby?" Dean asked the grizzled hunter and the older man did so.
John stared, somewhat annoyed at the scene before him.
"What can I do?" he asked, as though he hadn't been a bastard to Sam since they'd arrived at the Salvage Yard.
"Drive the car," Dean jerked his head in the direction of the Impala's keys sitting on the coffee table as he, Bobby and Sam slowly started moving forward.
"Wanna go to sleep, Dean," Sam grumbled and closed his eyes.
"Not yet," Dean argued, "Stay awake."
He could feel his sibling's pulse thrumming fast and irregular against his neck and he kicked himself for not taking Sam to the hospital when he'd first felt something was wrong.
"Uh… you want to hear the song? Don't ya?" Dean asked as they reached the front hallway.
Dean grabbed the door handle with his free hand, not even bothering to take the time to put shoes on.
"Yeah," Sam replied quietly.
"Okay," Dean said and cleared his throat, "Here it goes: Hey Jude, don't make it bad, sing a sad song and make it better…"
Dean silently thanked his father for turning on the porch light behind them, feeling as though a tumble down the steps would do nothing for Sam's current state.
The young man continued speaking, his singing becoming more and more like muttering as he carefully picked his way across Bobby's driveway.
John had the foresight to go ahead of the trio once they had left the porch and turned the Impala on and opened her back door.
Carefully, Dean settled Sam on the seat and leaned him back, his brother's eyes slipping closed again.
Bobby peered anxiously at the eighteen-year-old's pale, sweaty face and gripped Dean's shoulder comfortingly.
Dean went around the back of the car and slipped into the seat beside his brother, shifting over so that he sat right beside Sam, resting his sibling's head on his shoulder.
Bobby took shotgun and John pulled out of the driveway, looking genuinely concerned for his youngest son since first hearing that he had gone missing on his way to college.
Author's Note:
Thanks to Mandancie, BranchSuper, SPN Mum, Jkf340, KatyMVT, scootersmom, MysteryMadchen, CommChatter, SherlockedForever15, 3DBABE1999, reannablue, L.A.H.H, Elishab68, SamDeanLover28, Stoney Angel, Nicolene B, and angel1718 for reviewing.
Thanks to everyone who alerted, followed and favourited.
Uh oh, Sam's in trouble again. Can he ever get a break? Nope! Reviews are love!