(no subject)
Title: Of Hospitals, Roommates, and Puke
Prompt/Summary: Written for the Sam Hurt/Comfort Comment Fic Meme!, from a prompt by mayhsgirl93 . Prompt: Somehow, with bogus insurance and no money our boys always end up alone in their hospital room. But what if that wasn't the case? I want Sam, any injury, stuck sharing a hospital room with the roommie (or family of roomie) from hell. You can make this angsty or comical, just make sure Sam is annoyed beyond belief by having to share a room with someone else. My only stipulation is that the injury is bad enough to keep him there for a couple days, but not so bad that he's unable to gripe and bitch.'
Characters: Sam, Dean, OC's
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1500
Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit from Supernatural.
Warnings: Language and grossness
Author's Note: I didn't follow the prompt as closely as I should of. Tsk, tsk I know. This can take place in any season. Extremely unbeta'd, apologies.
Sam's floating in a nice grey cloud of nothing, and he likes it. It's soothing, peaceful, and he never wants to leave.
Over a period of time, a murmuring filters in, first a low thrum then building volume and abrasiveness. The noise pulls him down from the grey cloud of nine to an uncomfortable hospital bed with a chilly air vent blowing onto his arms, prickling his skin. He keeps his eyes closed, but he can smell the antiseptic in the air, and hears the steady beep of machinery that reveals his location. A steady throb works through his head and the left side of his neck and shoulder.
The quiet voices aren't quiet anymore and there's two of them, twittering excitedly in high feminine tones. The content escapes Sam, but the noise pulls him to full consciousness as one voice lets out a shrill cry of laughter.
The sound reverberates through his ears and his head spikes with pain. He feels his face contort with pain.
A raspy masculine voice to his side says forcefully, “Excuse me, Ladies? My brother is trying to sleep and he's in a lot of pain. Do you mind keeping it down?”
It takes Sam a second to realize it's Dean's voice, and that itself tells him that he must be really out of it.
“Sorry,” chimes a voice from across the room. The room is quiet for a moment, and Sam relaxes muscles he hadn't realized he'd been tensing. The grey fog settles over his mind and lets himself drift away... until a voice speaks up and is quickly followed by a burst of girly giggles.
The noise causes Sam's almost gone headache to reappear, and adrenaline spikes through his veins. He opens his eyes and immediately closes them as hot spears of painful light flood his vision. He can't help but let out a throaty groan as he clenches his eyes shut, riding out the pain.
“Sammy?” Dean asks. Sam can feel Dean shift in his chair and lean over him. Sam takes a deep breath and smells Dean's familiar aroma of cigarettes and aftershave. A hand gently cards over his forehead and face and it feels quite nice despite the ache it flares through his neck and shoulder from the slight movement.
Sam peels his eyes open to see a blurry room and a beat up Dean hovering over him. Dean looks tired, a few days worth of growth on his face, but his eyes brighten when he looks at Sam.
“You with me this time?” Dean asks, quietly.
“What?” Sam asks, voice gruff and he swallows painfully.
“You've been in and out of it for the last few days,” Dean remarks. “You did a real good job at introducing your head to a grave stone.”
Sam blinks. He feels kind of like he's floating way above Dean and he's attached to his body only by a little string, keeping him tethered.
Don't let go.
Sam shuts his eyes. He's obviously high.
“Why does my neck and shoulder hurt?” He asks, keep his eyes shut. He can hear the women on the opposite side of the room arguing about... something. Their voices are obtrusive and a little overwhelming, and he just wishes he could have quiet for a minute. Just to figure out how to pull himself down the string and back into his body.
“That spirit pulled you so hard, you tore a muscle in your neck,” Dean says.
Sam opens his eyes. Dean's looking away from Sam, caught up in a memory. When he looks back to Sam he's got his typical carefree mask back in place. “You're wearing a foam neck brace and a sling on your shoulder to keep you from moving. Don't try or you'll make yourself even worse.” Dean pauses, rubs a hand over his lips. “You'll be fine. Just need some TLC.”
Sam swallows again, moves his tongue around. No moisture to be found here. “Can you get me some water?” he asks, and his voice comes out in a whisper.
Dean pats Sam's arm, which actually really sends sparks of pain up his body, but if Dean notices Sam's wince, he doesn't say anything as he leaves the room.
Sam waits for Dean to return, ignoring the hum of conversation from the girls and beep of machinery. He watches dust particles float through the air, illuminated by the sun shining through the window. Tries to remember a graveyard, but can't.
His eyes roam over to the other occupants of the room. He can't seem them too clearly and he dares not move his head. What he can see is a woman in a bed, leg in a full cast while another woman sits beside her. They're looking at pictures, occasionally laughing loudly.
He takes a deep breath and feels pain begin to build up in his temples. He tries not to think about how dry his mouth is, or how his stomach is now making rebellious clenching motions, or how the pain is steadily building with the level of noise in the room, or where the hell Dean is with his water.
Suddenly, Sam's mouth begins to salivate. Sam knows what this means. He's going to throw up. No, he can hold it down. Deep breath. No, he can't. It's coming up.
He looks around, doesn't know where to go. He can't really move his body and he's got to puke right the fuck now.
“Hey Sam. Sorry I took so long,” Dean says as he comes back in, water in hand. “I ran into your doctor. He's going to be in here in a few-”
Sam pukes on himself. It mostly dribbles down his chin, soaks into his neck brace, bedding, and chest. Dean swears and helps him roll on his side as his stomach continues to clench. Acid burns his throat and nose and he takes a shuddering breath as his stomach finally calms down.
“Shit. Sorry Sam. I didn't know you were feeling that badly,” Dean says softly. He grabs a towel from somewhere Sam can't see and dabs at Sam's skin, wiping away bile. Sam clenches his teeth and just breathes.
Suddenly, there's a shriek released from one the women. The noise peirces his skull and he can't help but let out a whimper and clench his eyes shut.
“Amanda, your roommate just threw up all over himself!” cries the woman.
He hears them shift, as if to get further away form him as they possibly can in this small room.
“Oh my God! It's all over the floor and bed!” the other voice, Amanda, says. Sam can feel his face redden with embarrassment.
“Shut up!” Dean snarls. “My brother's not feeling well and you're not making it any better.”
The room falls to silence. Sam concentrates on breathing and Dean continues to clean him up.
“I hit your call button. A nurse should be here soon. Help you get into some clean clothes,” Dean says quietly. Sam gives a small nod in acknowledgment.
After a minute, a feminine voice pipes up, “is he contagious? I don't want to get sick.”
Sam doesn't have to see to know his brother is tensing up and readying himself for an epic battle.
“Dean,” he whispers, pulling Dean's attention back to Sam. Sam opens his eyes and watches the anger flow out to be replaced with worry. “I'm okay now. Just felt pretty shitty back there.” He swallows again, throat sore with acid. “Can I have some of that water now?”
“Oh right,” Dean grabs the water he placed on the bedside table. He hits a button and Sam's bed repositions itself to upright. It hurt, but Sam does his best to not let it colour his face.
Dean holds a straw to Sam's lips and Sam gratefully takes a swallow. The water tastes weird as water always does after an intense puking session, but it's refreshing and exactly what he needs.
He takes a break from the water and Dean takes the moment to wipe his face again. Sam catches sight of the women watching them. They quickly look away.
He lets his eyes droop, zones out for a moment. When he pulls them back to focus, he see Amanda pulling one finger in and out through a hole made by the other hand in a gesture that can't be mistaken for anything other. The girls giggle and share a glance at Sam and Dean. Dean doesn't notice, fretting over Sam, but Sam knows exactly what's being insinuated.
“How long do I need to stay here?” He asks Dean.
“At least a few more days.”
Sam begins to protest, but Dean holds up a hand to silence him. “You need to be monitored and this kind of thing is not something that we're screwing around with.”
Sam knows he's making one of those faces that Dean thinks resembles a spoiled kid not getting dessert, but he doesn't care.
It's going to be a long few more days, thinks Sam.
End.
Prompt/Summary: Written for the Sam Hurt/Comfort Comment Fic Meme!, from a prompt by mayhsgirl93 . Prompt: Somehow, with bogus insurance and no money our boys always end up alone in their hospital room. But what if that wasn't the case? I want Sam, any injury, stuck sharing a hospital room with the roommie (or family of roomie) from hell. You can make this angsty or comical, just make sure Sam is annoyed beyond belief by having to share a room with someone else. My only stipulation is that the injury is bad enough to keep him there for a couple days, but not so bad that he's unable to gripe and bitch.'
Characters: Sam, Dean, OC's
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1500
Disclaimer: I do not own nor profit from Supernatural.
Warnings: Language and grossness
Author's Note: I didn't follow the prompt as closely as I should of. Tsk, tsk I know. This can take place in any season. Extremely unbeta'd, apologies.
Sam's floating in a nice grey cloud of nothing, and he likes it. It's soothing, peaceful, and he never wants to leave.
Over a period of time, a murmuring filters in, first a low thrum then building volume and abrasiveness. The noise pulls him down from the grey cloud of nine to an uncomfortable hospital bed with a chilly air vent blowing onto his arms, prickling his skin. He keeps his eyes closed, but he can smell the antiseptic in the air, and hears the steady beep of machinery that reveals his location. A steady throb works through his head and the left side of his neck and shoulder.
The quiet voices aren't quiet anymore and there's two of them, twittering excitedly in high feminine tones. The content escapes Sam, but the noise pulls him to full consciousness as one voice lets out a shrill cry of laughter.
The sound reverberates through his ears and his head spikes with pain. He feels his face contort with pain.
A raspy masculine voice to his side says forcefully, “Excuse me, Ladies? My brother is trying to sleep and he's in a lot of pain. Do you mind keeping it down?”
It takes Sam a second to realize it's Dean's voice, and that itself tells him that he must be really out of it.
“Sorry,” chimes a voice from across the room. The room is quiet for a moment, and Sam relaxes muscles he hadn't realized he'd been tensing. The grey fog settles over his mind and lets himself drift away... until a voice speaks up and is quickly followed by a burst of girly giggles.
The noise causes Sam's almost gone headache to reappear, and adrenaline spikes through his veins. He opens his eyes and immediately closes them as hot spears of painful light flood his vision. He can't help but let out a throaty groan as he clenches his eyes shut, riding out the pain.
“Sammy?” Dean asks. Sam can feel Dean shift in his chair and lean over him. Sam takes a deep breath and smells Dean's familiar aroma of cigarettes and aftershave. A hand gently cards over his forehead and face and it feels quite nice despite the ache it flares through his neck and shoulder from the slight movement.
Sam peels his eyes open to see a blurry room and a beat up Dean hovering over him. Dean looks tired, a few days worth of growth on his face, but his eyes brighten when he looks at Sam.
“You with me this time?” Dean asks, quietly.
“What?” Sam asks, voice gruff and he swallows painfully.
“You've been in and out of it for the last few days,” Dean remarks. “You did a real good job at introducing your head to a grave stone.”
Sam blinks. He feels kind of like he's floating way above Dean and he's attached to his body only by a little string, keeping him tethered.
Don't let go.
Sam shuts his eyes. He's obviously high.
“Why does my neck and shoulder hurt?” He asks, keep his eyes shut. He can hear the women on the opposite side of the room arguing about... something. Their voices are obtrusive and a little overwhelming, and he just wishes he could have quiet for a minute. Just to figure out how to pull himself down the string and back into his body.
“That spirit pulled you so hard, you tore a muscle in your neck,” Dean says.
Sam opens his eyes. Dean's looking away from Sam, caught up in a memory. When he looks back to Sam he's got his typical carefree mask back in place. “You're wearing a foam neck brace and a sling on your shoulder to keep you from moving. Don't try or you'll make yourself even worse.” Dean pauses, rubs a hand over his lips. “You'll be fine. Just need some TLC.”
Sam swallows again, moves his tongue around. No moisture to be found here. “Can you get me some water?” he asks, and his voice comes out in a whisper.
Dean pats Sam's arm, which actually really sends sparks of pain up his body, but if Dean notices Sam's wince, he doesn't say anything as he leaves the room.
Sam waits for Dean to return, ignoring the hum of conversation from the girls and beep of machinery. He watches dust particles float through the air, illuminated by the sun shining through the window. Tries to remember a graveyard, but can't.
His eyes roam over to the other occupants of the room. He can't seem them too clearly and he dares not move his head. What he can see is a woman in a bed, leg in a full cast while another woman sits beside her. They're looking at pictures, occasionally laughing loudly.
He takes a deep breath and feels pain begin to build up in his temples. He tries not to think about how dry his mouth is, or how his stomach is now making rebellious clenching motions, or how the pain is steadily building with the level of noise in the room, or where the hell Dean is with his water.
Suddenly, Sam's mouth begins to salivate. Sam knows what this means. He's going to throw up. No, he can hold it down. Deep breath. No, he can't. It's coming up.
He looks around, doesn't know where to go. He can't really move his body and he's got to puke right the fuck now.
“Hey Sam. Sorry I took so long,” Dean says as he comes back in, water in hand. “I ran into your doctor. He's going to be in here in a few-”
Sam pukes on himself. It mostly dribbles down his chin, soaks into his neck brace, bedding, and chest. Dean swears and helps him roll on his side as his stomach continues to clench. Acid burns his throat and nose and he takes a shuddering breath as his stomach finally calms down.
“Shit. Sorry Sam. I didn't know you were feeling that badly,” Dean says softly. He grabs a towel from somewhere Sam can't see and dabs at Sam's skin, wiping away bile. Sam clenches his teeth and just breathes.
Suddenly, there's a shriek released from one the women. The noise peirces his skull and he can't help but let out a whimper and clench his eyes shut.
“Amanda, your roommate just threw up all over himself!” cries the woman.
He hears them shift, as if to get further away form him as they possibly can in this small room.
“Oh my God! It's all over the floor and bed!” the other voice, Amanda, says. Sam can feel his face redden with embarrassment.
“Shut up!” Dean snarls. “My brother's not feeling well and you're not making it any better.”
The room falls to silence. Sam concentrates on breathing and Dean continues to clean him up.
“I hit your call button. A nurse should be here soon. Help you get into some clean clothes,” Dean says quietly. Sam gives a small nod in acknowledgment.
After a minute, a feminine voice pipes up, “is he contagious? I don't want to get sick.”
Sam doesn't have to see to know his brother is tensing up and readying himself for an epic battle.
“Dean,” he whispers, pulling Dean's attention back to Sam. Sam opens his eyes and watches the anger flow out to be replaced with worry. “I'm okay now. Just felt pretty shitty back there.” He swallows again, throat sore with acid. “Can I have some of that water now?”
“Oh right,” Dean grabs the water he placed on the bedside table. He hits a button and Sam's bed repositions itself to upright. It hurt, but Sam does his best to not let it colour his face.
Dean holds a straw to Sam's lips and Sam gratefully takes a swallow. The water tastes weird as water always does after an intense puking session, but it's refreshing and exactly what he needs.
He takes a break from the water and Dean takes the moment to wipe his face again. Sam catches sight of the women watching them. They quickly look away.
He lets his eyes droop, zones out for a moment. When he pulls them back to focus, he see Amanda pulling one finger in and out through a hole made by the other hand in a gesture that can't be mistaken for anything other. The girls giggle and share a glance at Sam and Dean. Dean doesn't notice, fretting over Sam, but Sam knows exactly what's being insinuated.
“How long do I need to stay here?” He asks Dean.
“At least a few more days.”
Sam begins to protest, but Dean holds up a hand to silence him. “You need to be monitored and this kind of thing is not something that we're screwing around with.”
Sam knows he's making one of those faces that Dean thinks resembles a spoiled kid not getting dessert, but he doesn't care.
It's going to be a long few more days, thinks Sam.
End.