Thank you so much to all of my dedicated readers! Your kind words and enjoyment of my fic has inspired me to continue writing, and posting! This chapter is kind of short, but the next couple are a bit longer.
Warnings: Mark still isn't nice, but he's not quite as awful in this chapter...
Wednesday morning came with waves of pain and nausea. Sam considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but the stinging welts on his back convinced him otherwise. No need to invoke Mark's wrath this early in the morning. He had slept in his clothes the night before so that he wouldn't have to get dressed that morning, and he was really quite thankful for that as it gave him time to get up slowly and let his head get used to the change of position. He made it to the breakfast table with thirty seconds to spare, ate his slice of bread, drank his glass of water and tried to fight a yawn.
The whole morning seemed to pass in fragments, as if parts of it were skipped over. He's running, there's a rush of dizziness, firing guns, more dizziness, knife throwing, dizziness. He drops the knife once, and is hit in the back of the head. More dizziness. He's in the middle of pulling back an arrow when his world goes completely dark.
He rouses to more dizziness and rough hands pulling him to his feet. No sooner are his arms released that he falls to his knees. His stomach clenches, then expels every bit of its meager contents violently. His head throbs and pain jerks its way down his back. He's shivering, and he feels cold, but he seems to be dripping with sweat. Which makes no sense, because cold people don't sweat. Unless the sweat is making him cold or something… Ah, fever, his hazy mind finally supplies. Mark carries him into the house, laying him on a couch in the living room, and his world returns to darkness.
Sam awoke blearily, a dull throbbing resounding through his head. His mouth felt as though it was filled with cotton, and he was laying on something… soft? A couch. He was uncovered and dressed only in his boxers. Someone had removed his shirt, jeans, shoes, and socks, and small bags of ice had been placed strategically around his figure.
"Wha' 'appened?" he wondered aloud.
"Heatstroke and/or dehydration would be my guess," Mark helped him maneuver into a sitting position, and handed him a glass of cool water. "Small sips," he warned.
"Thanks," Sam drank carefully, with just a hint of urgency.
"You'll complete the rest of today's training inside," Mark decided. "I want you to study lore. I've got at least one book on every evil creature that's out there. You'll read every book and take notes. I want to know the name of the monster, what makes it a monster, how to test for it, and how to take it down. Bedtime will be after you've finished. Make sure you're drinking water often while you study, understood?"
"Yes sir, thank you, sir," Sam silently thanked whatever angels were listening. The low-intensity afternoon would be good. He might even wake up tomorrow feeling well-rested.