Harrison Kelso Tries to Help (Supernatural/Scrubs) 1/1
Title: Harrison Kelso Tries to Help
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Crossover (Supernatural/Scrubs, with a couple of Doctor Who references thrown in)
Characters: Sam & Dean Winchester, Harrison & Bob Kelso, Perry Cox, Carla Espinosa, JD, Molly Clock, Uriel
Summary: Dean and Sam save Harrison's glitter covered ass and he calls his Dad in when Dean won't wake up. Sam sits through some painful ministrations at Sacred Heart before getting Dean out when people start talking about psych drugs and paranoid delusions.
Set in the first two seasons of Supernatural, and around season four for Scrubs (Whenever Molly was working there).
Notes: Written for
lauehime's Winchester Festival of Hurt Comfort for this prompt:
Maybe it's just something about looking at one show from the perspective of another show. Anyway! Does anyone remember Scrubs? I mean, it's a hospital show... if someone wants to put one (or both) of the boys at Sacred Heart then that would just be, like, the coolest. Doesn't even matter what reason -- sickness, injury, whatever. Bonus points if the other brother argues with one of the doctors over his treatment.
This got a lot longer than I meant and it doesn't really feature JD because his voice is just way too freaking hard for me to write. Also, if you imagine Dr. Cox's voice when he speaks, it works a lot better. I just finished marathoning Scrubs and I had to do this.
-- Now on AO3
Sam placed the last spell bag inside the wall and the effects were immediate. The wind stopped, the howling voice was silenced and the forces pining Dean to the wall dissipated and he fell heavily to the floor.
"Good?" Sam asked, his voice sounded loud now that there was no noise to compete with, well, almost no noise.
The man who lived in the poltergeist ridden apartment still cowered in the corner, wearing no more than glitter and body paint. Sam was glad he had his knees pulled up to his chest, he was less glad to see the man still shaking and cowering now that the threat was gone.
"It's over." He said, lowering his voice and dropping to knees on the floor littered with dry wall dust and broken crockery. "All gone. You're safe now. The whole place is safe."
The man wiped his streaming face, smearing the makeup and glitter spattered across his cheeks. He pushed himself up, revealing that he wasn't quite naked after all, just very nearly so. "Thank you." He whispered, his voice ragged from the screaming and crying. "What can I do-"
His question was cut short when Dean cried out and Sam left him, heading immediately for his brother's side.
"Shit, why didn't you say something earlier?" Sam asked, rolling Dean onto his side and propping him up as he puked onto the floor. Sam felt his brother's back and neck carefully, he'd dropped hard, and Sam was praying for no head injuries.
When Dean stopped throwing up on the floor, Sam pushed him onto his back and peeled back one of his eyelids. He didn't saying anything, hopefully just passed out. Sam looked up to see the man with a cell phone in his hand.
"It's okay." Sam said, trying to reassure everyone, himself included and Dean if he could hear it. "I can take care of him. You should find somewhere to stay tonight, come back and clean up later."
"Are you a doctor?" The man asked, lifting the phone to his ear.
Sam shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Just find something to wear and go stay at a friend's. I can give you a ride."
"Please, let me repay you." Whoever he was calling must have picked up because he turned and spoke into the phone. "Dad? It's me, I need some help. No, not help like that. I don't need money. I need you to come pick me up. Yeah, at the apartment."
Sam hauled Dean's body into a sitting position. He was a little worried, but Dean was breathing and his pulse was okay. Once they got out of here, he'd give it a couple of hours and find an ER if Dean didn't improve. Dean was heavy, but he pulled him up over his shoulders and braced himself for the long walk back to the car.
The man was standing in front of the door. "Look, my dad's a doctor." He picked a pair of jeans off of the floor and pulled them up over his
floral body paint and asymmetrical thong. "He'll help you out. You saved me, just let him help."
Sam didn't want to, the last thing they needed was some doctor poking around in his son's house and asking them too many questions. Dean was going to be fine, probably, and he was too tired to deal with the whole lying his ass off part that would follow receiving help to keep the three of them out of a locked psych ward.
"He could be really hurt. He hasn't woken up yet." The man pointed out. "You saved me, how about today everybody lives?" He grinned and Sam didn't get it. "I'll get my first aid kit."
Dean was heavy and Sam was feeling the fight leech out of him. He was bloody and beat up too and maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea.
They could probably get some drugs out of it and their kit was running a little low. And if Dean really did need help, he wasn't going to dwell on that.
The first aid kit was useless. It was one of those plastic boxes anyone could buy at a gas station for five bucks. The gauze pads weren't even big enough to cover the smallest of Sam's cuts. As the adrenaline wore off, he kept finding more and more injures he'd taken from things the poltergeist had been tossing around and from places he'd smacked into walls and furniture.
When the clumsy shuffle of footsteps out in the hall finally disturbed the quiet, Sam's hand went first to his shotgun. He motioned for the man to get the door when it was pushed open timidly. The lock had been blasted off by Dean a few hours earlier.
"Harrison? Are you in there?" The man, Harrison, opened the door to reveal a very short old man with a larger first aid kit in his hands. "My god Harrison, is this the work of that new decorator boyfriend of yours?"
The old man stepped in and turned his head far enough to see Dean. He had quick enough work picking his way across the room and his attention wasn't on his son any longer.
"When did he lose consciousness?" He snapped, pulling out a cell phone of his own.
"About ten minutes ago." Sam sagged back and leaned against the wall. Something about this was comforting, almost like Dad was there and taking charge of the situation in the way that he had.
"Harrison, help this boy get him to the car. And put a shirt on!" The man snapped, already talking into his phone as he left the room.
Sam wished the doctor had been the type to do surgery right there on the floor. He didn't want to get pulled into a hospital and he missed the days of country doctors that would do any procedure right there in the office on the first floor of their house. Those were doctors that hunters could use, they were never close enough to a psych ward to cause problems either.
Dean was still heavy but Harrison grabbed his feet and Sam kept his head from banging against the doorway. Since the poltergeist had been dispatched, the elevator was working again and the old man was holding it open for them.
"What in god's name happened to you?" The old man asked as soon as the elevator was travelling down.
Harrison shrugged, his shoulders rippling under the body paint. He hadn't grabbed a shirt before they left and Sam almost grinned, imaging what Dean would do to him if he was to wear something like that and get it smeared all over the seats in the Impala.
The old doctor had a convertible. The top was still down and Sam just lifted Dean into the backseat and climbed in, positioning Dean's head in his lap, fingers over the pulse point in his neck.
The doctor checked him out before driving off. He didn't say anything, but Sam took that as good news. Sure, Dean hadn't woken up yet, but his pulse was strong and he was breathing deep and regular, even if he was still sluggishly bleeding in a few places, Sam was too.
Dean would have liked the doctor's driving. He drove like a maniac, speeding through stop signs and squealing on his breaks whenever he did have to slow down. Sam tried to keep track of where they were going. He'd probably be the one going back for the Impala and they didn't exactly have the cash for long cab rides through the city.
The car jerked into the staff parking lot of Sacred Heart Hospital and Sam clutched Dean a little closer to his chest. He'd sort of hoped the doctor was taking them to his house, or his small family practice with a recovery room in the back. Not this gigantic hospital with all of its hugeness and probably a locked psych ward for them when Harrison finally choose to open his mouth.
"C'mon boys." The doctor opened the back doors and took one of Dean's feet, leaving the other for his son.
"Sir, we don't have the-" Sam wasn't sure what he was going to say, they didn't have insurance, they didn't have time, maybe he was even going to claim that they were all fine and didn't need a hospital. But the doctor interrupted him and he didn't have to follow through with a lie.
"Sport, it's not a problem. I'm the Chief of Medicine here. And he needs a few doctors." The old man motioned to Dean and all three of them carried him carefully into the hospital.
The doctor had called ahead, but Sam hadn't quite understood that being chief of medicine meant at lot of things, it meant being admitted immediately, all of three of them and being taken into separate treatment rooms just minutes after they'd stepped through the door.
"Well bigfoot what happened to you? Some hunter finally spot you and hit you with a good one?"
Sam flinched when the doctor poked at his face and winced when the man grabbed his head to hold it still. He'd noticed the blood dripping down his face, but he wiped it out of his eyes and hadn't given it a second thought. His brain was a little sluggish and it took him a minute to realise that the doctor wasn't referring to hunters hunters, but to normal hunters, ones that went after game like bigfoot. Although wasn't that his type of hunter?
"You're gonna need stitches." The doctor stepped out of the treatment room and Sam drummed his feet against the exam couch he was sitting on. He wasn't hurt too badly, probably be discharged once they put a few knots in his face.
"Hmm?" Sam was busy thinking about Dean, and if he was awake yet when he realised the doctor was back and talking to him.
"I said, princess, I need you to undress for me. Seems your companions have got a lot of injuries and Bob-o doesn't want anything getting misses. So c'mon, take 'em off, I've seen it all before, unless you've got something w-e-i-r-d going on in your pants?"
All of the words came at him very fast and Sam carefully pulled his shift off over his head, his shoulders protesting at the movement and something in his chest pulling as he raised his arms.
"On second thought, just sit there and look pretty. I'll take care of this." The doctor pushed his arms down and cut through his shirt before he had a chance to protest. The man made quick work of Sam's jeans too until he was sitting there in his boxers and boots.
"Well someone did a number on you." The doctor walked around him in a slow circle. "You think you can take the boots off without passing out?" He asked, actually waiting for Sam's response.
Sam leaned forward and when the world didn't spin and his stomach stayed when it was supposed to, he nodded. "I can do it."
"Good." The doctor crossed his arms and waited until Sam had started on the laces of the first boot before disappearing out of the room again. He came back with reinforcements and one of those tray tables on wheels before Sam had the second boot off.
"Some of these are old." The woman who'd returned with him said and she pressed on Sam's side and it kind of hurt, but mostly if just made it hard to breathe.
The doctor was in his face then, shining a light in his eyes and Sam realised he was drifting now, the adrenaline was gone and the exhaustion from three days of mostly hunt and not much sleep were kicking in. "You have any allergies?" He demanded, flicking the light across to Sam's other eye.
Sam shook his head and flinched when the woman prodded something sore on his back.
"You take drugs?" The doctor demanded, pressing his fingers to Sam's wrist. That hurt too and Sam looked down to see a bruise he didn't remember getting spreading across his forearm.
"No." Sam answered and he wondered if they would believe him. A life of hunting had forced him to develop a high tolerance for pain and the treatments for a life of hunting had slowly built up his threshold for pain meds.
"We're gonna check anyways." The doctor had things on the try now. "Anywhere hurt the most? You having trouble breathing?"
Sam shook his head and gasped when the doctor pressed on that spot on his side.
"Really?" The doctor asked and then he was talking again, but to the woman standing behind Sam. He could feel her hair tickling his back, it was really long and then she came around to his front and the two of them made him lie back on the examination couch.
The woman took his arm while the man poked at his head, up near his hairline. She held his arm in a vice like grip and replaced her hands with a blood pressure cuff, but that didn't loosen the grip at all.
"What's your name honey?" She asked him, ripping the Velcro cuff off of his arm and tapping at his hand.
"Sam." He mumbled, trying very hard not to there with two people poking painfully at him.
"Little stick Sam." She told him and wiped his hand with a cold alcohol wipe before sticking him with something that for a moment hurt more
than the rest of his body before the ache disappeared into everything else that he was feeling.
"Ow." He said a minute later as she taped the catheter into his hand and set up the tubing running to an IV and hanging it on a pole he hadn't noticed before.
He didn't see the needle in the man's hand and he wasn't warned before that stick and the burn of the lidocaine.
"Ow." Sam said a little more forcefully, that hurt more and the doctor hadn't warned him.
"Just stitching you up, thought you might like a little of this before I started." The doctor said and Sam tried to scowl before it pulled on the cuts on his face and made everything hurt again. "Carla, go ahead and run the pain meds. And a bag of antibiotics too."
The woman, Carla did something to his IV, tugging at it and hanging another bag. She had a needle then and pushed it into the catheter.
There was a rush of cool liquid in his arm and it must not have been a lot because he still hurt and however much they gave him wasn't kicking in very quickly.
"Another stick." Carla warned him before poking him again, higher up his arm this time. He could just see out of the edge of his vision as she filled a syringe with his blood and taped a cottonball across the puncture in the crook of his arm.
"Do you want an assist Dr. Cox?" She asked before she left the room and Dr. Cox didn't answer verbally so Sam was stuck there on the couch just barely feeling the slide of the needle in and out of the skin on his forehead.
Sam was drifting again when a scuffle of feet and a tighter than the rest knot on his head disturbed him. Scissors flashed across his eye line and Dr. Cox stepped away. Sam reached up to touch the new lines of stitches, but his hand was interrupted before it could make contact.
"Uh-uh Samantha, no messing up my handiwork unless you want to redo it yourself."
Sam shrugged. "Done it before." He said before thinking and he shocked himself into awareness. Dr. Cox and an another man, this one with what looked like an entire bottle of hair gel in his hair were staring at him a little too seriously for comfort. Sam let his hand drop back to the couch and groaned a little when the sore side hit the plastic.
"Why'd you call him Samantha?" New guy asked and Sam wondered if he was imagining the jealousy in the man's voice.
"Just help me out here newbie. There's a lot of skin to sew." Dr. Cox said and Sam could really feel those drugs hitting him now. The next needles of lidocaine barely even registered and he watched as the two of them sewed up his chest and put stitches into the gashes on his arms. Most of these wouldn't have warranted Winchester homebrew stitches, maybe some butterfly bandages and duct tape but not stitches, not for all of them.
By the time they were wrapping one of his knees and there was an icepack underneath his back, Sam was almost completely out of it. He helped them move him to a gurney, rolling onto it before his eyes slammed shut and he didn't remember much after that.
--
It was semi-dark when he opened his eyes again. He was alone in a sort of room, there were curtains pulled around his bed, he was in a bed this time. Sam sat up slowly, his stitches pulling as he moved. There were IV lines in both of his wrists now and his body felt like it had been fed through a wood chipper and glued back together. His head was pounding in time with his heart monitor and his stomach was rolling now that he'd moved.
Carla, the woman from before, was there a few seconds later, pulling the curtains open and pushing him back to the bed. "Your brother's been asking for you Sam."
"Dean?" Sam let her lift his gown, that must have been put on him at some point, she pressed on his stitches and yeah, they were sore and his entire ribcage ached. So much for getting discharged after they'd stitched him up.
"He keeps asking about you."
"He's okay?" Sam asked, "He has a hard head."
"His head's just fine. How are you feeling?" She asked, checking the tape holding the catheters into his hands.
Sam shrugged. "Sore."
"It's only been a few hours since you were stitched up. It should all heal up just fine." She reassured him.
"Can I have some water?" Sam asked, his tongue flicking out of his dry mouth to lick his even drier lips.
"I'll bring you some." She said and disappeared, pulling the curtains shut behind her.
She didn't come back with the water. A blond woman in a white coat came in with a pitcher and a plastic tumbler. She sat down next to his bed and made sure the straw in the cup could reach his mouth.
"Hi Sam, how're you feeling?" She asked, looking carefully at him.
"Thirsty." He mumbled, sucking water through the straw as quickly as he could. "Who are you?"
"Dr. Clock, Molly. Dr. Molly." She smiled at him and there was something a little bit manic in her eyes, as if she always had an endless supply of energy at fuck o'clock in the morning. "What happened to you Sam?" She asked and her voice had that just general not too interested
quality to it.
Sam shrugged. "Water pipe ruptured. My brother and I were trying to fix it but it was throwing stuff everywhere. Sent a whole sink of dishes flying at us." He watched carefully, but she didn't seem to have a problem with the lie. Dean would have told her the same one, they had plans in place for events like this. Go to stories and explanations.
"Some of your injuries are older than tonight Sam. How did those happen?"
He shrugged and pulled away from the straw, putting a little more distance between them. "It's a physical job. And I'm clumsy. Fall down the stairs, stub my toe on the dresser. Stuff happens all the time."
Sam thought he already knew what she was going to say before she said it, but he wasn't expecting her to ask him about his brother. "Does your brother Dean have any pre-existing medical conditions?"
She wasn't supposed to ask that. She was supposed to ask him if he was being abused and then go on a whole spiel about getting help and telling the truth. The whole thing usually came with veiled ideas that Dean wasn't his brother but actually was his gay lover and Sam knew all the variations of the speech by heart. This though, medical conditions, that was a new one.
"No. We're both healthy." Sam answered and it was mostly true. There was Dean's heart condition, but that had been fixed. And sometimes Dean's knee acted up on him, but it wasn't a medical condition.
The look on her face, a look of distanced concern was not all at comforting. "Your brother took a very hard hit Sam. He lost consciousness for longer than anyone would have liked. I think the concussion and impact has brought on some mental issues. You're certain that he didn't have any problems before?"
Sam bit his lip and wished he'd waited for the explanation. It would have been easier to lie and say Dean had whatever she thought and explain it was being treated by some doctor somewhere else and high tail out of there. He was stuck now and he hoped she'd trust him enough and believe that Dean was the only crazy one until he could get them both out of there.
"Nothing." He repeated. "No family history, no previous episodes. He's always been fine."
"Okay." She had papers now. "The hospital is transferring control of his care to you until he's ruled mentally competent. I need you to sign some papers."
"What's wrong with him?" Sam asked, clutching the pen. His hand ached when the muscles tensed around the writing utensil.
"Paranoia, delusions. I haven't had enough time to make a diagnosis yet." She took the papers back. "Don't worry, we'll get him on the medication he needs and if this is related to his head injury, it may fade once he starts to heal."
"Can I see him?" Sam asked, reaching for her as she got up to leave.
"He's been sedated. Maybe when he wakes up."
"Wait!" Sam called as she stepped closer to the exit. "What's wrong with him? What does he think is happening."
She paused. "Some sort of religious fixation. He kept talking about demons and guarding against them. And he thinks he was healed by an angel. Someone called Uriel told him that it wasn't time to die yet."
Sam wondered at that after she left. Demons were always an issue, but angels? That was new, Dean wasn't one for believing in God, or angels or other forces of good that Sam found comfort in. But if Dean was going on about demons, this wasn't head injury induced delusions,
this was employment induced paranoia and there was nothing dangerous about it. He needed to get them both out of there, quickly.
--
When he woke up after his next nap, one of the lines was gone and the heart monitor had been removed. Sam sat up and he wasn't nearly as sore. The bags hanging from his remaining IV were nearly empty now and he could feel the effects pressing in his bladder.
It took a little bit of manoeuvring, but he managed to get out of the bed and he pulled the IV stand with him to the edge of his cubicle. It was sort of dark and quiet in the ward and he stumbled along towards the lighted bathroom sign at the end of the room. He still had his own boxers on and that was something, but the doctor had cut off his clothes and he was going to need something to wear before he sprang Dean from this place.
"Sam?" He looked blearily at the door when the soft knocks disturbed him.
"Almost done." He called and he washed his free hand before carrying his IV stand back across the room and opening the door to let Carla in.
"You should have called for some help." She scolded and shepherded him back across the room and into his bed.
Sam sighed as he sat. "Carla, right?" She nodded and he continued, "I've really got to get home. Could you get me the AMA papers please? And maybe help me find something to wear?"
She frowned at that. "I'll be back." She said and her voice promised a world of hurt when she returned.
Sam removed the IV line carefully from his hand and check over all of his stitches. None of them felt warm or tight, he could probably rule out infection. There really wasn't any reason for him to stay here. And if all Dean had was some brain issues, he could take care of those on his own. Lots of head trauma in the family history.
The doctor from the beginning of the night, Dr. Cox, blew into his room, all white coat and angry frown. "Now what's this about leaving AMA? You know you're basically held together with a few dozen stitches right? One ti-i-i-i-iny little sneeze and all your insides will be pouring out." He drew out the word tiny and it made Sam's head ache more.
"I've had worse." Sam replied. "So, any special instructions before I sign the paperwork?"
Dr. Cox exhaled nosily. "Now listen hear Sammy, people are supposed to do what doctors tell them. You know why? It's so that they don't leave the hospital early and die on the road somewhere. Did your mommy never teach you that?"
"Nope." Sam crossed his arms. "I'm leaving now, I know what AMA means. It means you think I should stay. But I'm gone now. Thanks for the stitches."
The doctor growled at him and stormed out. Sam plucked at the tie on the back of his gown until it came undone.
Dr. Cox didn't come back. It was the man who'd son they'd saved who returned. He didn't say much, just gave Sam a large paper bag of drugs and instructions and some clothes that didn't even come close to fitting him.
"My keys are in the dash, for god sakes try not to scratch it." He said and pressed the stitches on Sam's forehead. "Your brother's in room 307. The restraints are just Velcro and his sedative shouldn't last longer than another two hours. Call me if he doesn't wake up."
Sam pulled his books back on and sighed the papers the doctor handed him.
"Thank you." The doctor said as Sam headed out of the cubicle. "I don't know what happened, but I don't think I'd still have a son if it wasn't for you."
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Crossover (Supernatural/Scrubs, with a couple of Doctor Who references thrown in)
Characters: Sam & Dean Winchester, Harrison & Bob Kelso, Perry Cox, Carla Espinosa, JD, Molly Clock, Uriel
Summary: Dean and Sam save Harrison's glitter covered ass and he calls his Dad in when Dean won't wake up. Sam sits through some painful ministrations at Sacred Heart before getting Dean out when people start talking about psych drugs and paranoid delusions.
Set in the first two seasons of Supernatural, and around season four for Scrubs (Whenever Molly was working there).
Notes: Written for
lauehime's Winchester Festival of Hurt Comfort for this prompt:
Maybe it's just something about looking at one show from the perspective of another show. Anyway! Does anyone remember Scrubs? I mean, it's a hospital show... if someone wants to put one (or both) of the boys at Sacred Heart then that would just be, like, the coolest. Doesn't even matter what reason -- sickness, injury, whatever. Bonus points if the other brother argues with one of the doctors over his treatment.
This got a lot longer than I meant and it doesn't really feature JD because his voice is just way too freaking hard for me to write. Also, if you imagine Dr. Cox's voice when he speaks, it works a lot better. I just finished marathoning Scrubs and I had to do this.
-- Now on AO3
Sam placed the last spell bag inside the wall and the effects were immediate. The wind stopped, the howling voice was silenced and the forces pining Dean to the wall dissipated and he fell heavily to the floor.
"Good?" Sam asked, his voice sounded loud now that there was no noise to compete with, well, almost no noise.
The man who lived in the poltergeist ridden apartment still cowered in the corner, wearing no more than glitter and body paint. Sam was glad he had his knees pulled up to his chest, he was less glad to see the man still shaking and cowering now that the threat was gone.
"It's over." He said, lowering his voice and dropping to knees on the floor littered with dry wall dust and broken crockery. "All gone. You're safe now. The whole place is safe."
The man wiped his streaming face, smearing the makeup and glitter spattered across his cheeks. He pushed himself up, revealing that he wasn't quite naked after all, just very nearly so. "Thank you." He whispered, his voice ragged from the screaming and crying. "What can I do-"
His question was cut short when Dean cried out and Sam left him, heading immediately for his brother's side.
"Shit, why didn't you say something earlier?" Sam asked, rolling Dean onto his side and propping him up as he puked onto the floor. Sam felt his brother's back and neck carefully, he'd dropped hard, and Sam was praying for no head injuries.
When Dean stopped throwing up on the floor, Sam pushed him onto his back and peeled back one of his eyelids. He didn't saying anything, hopefully just passed out. Sam looked up to see the man with a cell phone in his hand.
"It's okay." Sam said, trying to reassure everyone, himself included and Dean if he could hear it. "I can take care of him. You should find somewhere to stay tonight, come back and clean up later."
"Are you a doctor?" The man asked, lifting the phone to his ear.
Sam shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Just find something to wear and go stay at a friend's. I can give you a ride."
"Please, let me repay you." Whoever he was calling must have picked up because he turned and spoke into the phone. "Dad? It's me, I need some help. No, not help like that. I don't need money. I need you to come pick me up. Yeah, at the apartment."
Sam hauled Dean's body into a sitting position. He was a little worried, but Dean was breathing and his pulse was okay. Once they got out of here, he'd give it a couple of hours and find an ER if Dean didn't improve. Dean was heavy, but he pulled him up over his shoulders and braced himself for the long walk back to the car.
The man was standing in front of the door. "Look, my dad's a doctor." He picked a pair of jeans off of the floor and pulled them up over his
floral body paint and asymmetrical thong. "He'll help you out. You saved me, just let him help."
Sam didn't want to, the last thing they needed was some doctor poking around in his son's house and asking them too many questions. Dean was going to be fine, probably, and he was too tired to deal with the whole lying his ass off part that would follow receiving help to keep the three of them out of a locked psych ward.
"He could be really hurt. He hasn't woken up yet." The man pointed out. "You saved me, how about today everybody lives?" He grinned and Sam didn't get it. "I'll get my first aid kit."
Dean was heavy and Sam was feeling the fight leech out of him. He was bloody and beat up too and maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea.
They could probably get some drugs out of it and their kit was running a little low. And if Dean really did need help, he wasn't going to dwell on that.
The first aid kit was useless. It was one of those plastic boxes anyone could buy at a gas station for five bucks. The gauze pads weren't even big enough to cover the smallest of Sam's cuts. As the adrenaline wore off, he kept finding more and more injures he'd taken from things the poltergeist had been tossing around and from places he'd smacked into walls and furniture.
When the clumsy shuffle of footsteps out in the hall finally disturbed the quiet, Sam's hand went first to his shotgun. He motioned for the man to get the door when it was pushed open timidly. The lock had been blasted off by Dean a few hours earlier.
"Harrison? Are you in there?" The man, Harrison, opened the door to reveal a very short old man with a larger first aid kit in his hands. "My god Harrison, is this the work of that new decorator boyfriend of yours?"
The old man stepped in and turned his head far enough to see Dean. He had quick enough work picking his way across the room and his attention wasn't on his son any longer.
"When did he lose consciousness?" He snapped, pulling out a cell phone of his own.
"About ten minutes ago." Sam sagged back and leaned against the wall. Something about this was comforting, almost like Dad was there and taking charge of the situation in the way that he had.
"Harrison, help this boy get him to the car. And put a shirt on!" The man snapped, already talking into his phone as he left the room.
Sam wished the doctor had been the type to do surgery right there on the floor. He didn't want to get pulled into a hospital and he missed the days of country doctors that would do any procedure right there in the office on the first floor of their house. Those were doctors that hunters could use, they were never close enough to a psych ward to cause problems either.
Dean was still heavy but Harrison grabbed his feet and Sam kept his head from banging against the doorway. Since the poltergeist had been dispatched, the elevator was working again and the old man was holding it open for them.
"What in god's name happened to you?" The old man asked as soon as the elevator was travelling down.
Harrison shrugged, his shoulders rippling under the body paint. He hadn't grabbed a shirt before they left and Sam almost grinned, imaging what Dean would do to him if he was to wear something like that and get it smeared all over the seats in the Impala.
The old doctor had a convertible. The top was still down and Sam just lifted Dean into the backseat and climbed in, positioning Dean's head in his lap, fingers over the pulse point in his neck.
The doctor checked him out before driving off. He didn't say anything, but Sam took that as good news. Sure, Dean hadn't woken up yet, but his pulse was strong and he was breathing deep and regular, even if he was still sluggishly bleeding in a few places, Sam was too.
Dean would have liked the doctor's driving. He drove like a maniac, speeding through stop signs and squealing on his breaks whenever he did have to slow down. Sam tried to keep track of where they were going. He'd probably be the one going back for the Impala and they didn't exactly have the cash for long cab rides through the city.
The car jerked into the staff parking lot of Sacred Heart Hospital and Sam clutched Dean a little closer to his chest. He'd sort of hoped the doctor was taking them to his house, or his small family practice with a recovery room in the back. Not this gigantic hospital with all of its hugeness and probably a locked psych ward for them when Harrison finally choose to open his mouth.
"C'mon boys." The doctor opened the back doors and took one of Dean's feet, leaving the other for his son.
"Sir, we don't have the-" Sam wasn't sure what he was going to say, they didn't have insurance, they didn't have time, maybe he was even going to claim that they were all fine and didn't need a hospital. But the doctor interrupted him and he didn't have to follow through with a lie.
"Sport, it's not a problem. I'm the Chief of Medicine here. And he needs a few doctors." The old man motioned to Dean and all three of them carried him carefully into the hospital.
The doctor had called ahead, but Sam hadn't quite understood that being chief of medicine meant at lot of things, it meant being admitted immediately, all of three of them and being taken into separate treatment rooms just minutes after they'd stepped through the door.
"Well bigfoot what happened to you? Some hunter finally spot you and hit you with a good one?"
Sam flinched when the doctor poked at his face and winced when the man grabbed his head to hold it still. He'd noticed the blood dripping down his face, but he wiped it out of his eyes and hadn't given it a second thought. His brain was a little sluggish and it took him a minute to realise that the doctor wasn't referring to hunters hunters, but to normal hunters, ones that went after game like bigfoot. Although wasn't that his type of hunter?
"You're gonna need stitches." The doctor stepped out of the treatment room and Sam drummed his feet against the exam couch he was sitting on. He wasn't hurt too badly, probably be discharged once they put a few knots in his face.
"Hmm?" Sam was busy thinking about Dean, and if he was awake yet when he realised the doctor was back and talking to him.
"I said, princess, I need you to undress for me. Seems your companions have got a lot of injuries and Bob-o doesn't want anything getting misses. So c'mon, take 'em off, I've seen it all before, unless you've got something w-e-i-r-d going on in your pants?"
All of the words came at him very fast and Sam carefully pulled his shift off over his head, his shoulders protesting at the movement and something in his chest pulling as he raised his arms.
"On second thought, just sit there and look pretty. I'll take care of this." The doctor pushed his arms down and cut through his shirt before he had a chance to protest. The man made quick work of Sam's jeans too until he was sitting there in his boxers and boots.
"Well someone did a number on you." The doctor walked around him in a slow circle. "You think you can take the boots off without passing out?" He asked, actually waiting for Sam's response.
Sam leaned forward and when the world didn't spin and his stomach stayed when it was supposed to, he nodded. "I can do it."
"Good." The doctor crossed his arms and waited until Sam had started on the laces of the first boot before disappearing out of the room again. He came back with reinforcements and one of those tray tables on wheels before Sam had the second boot off.
"Some of these are old." The woman who'd returned with him said and she pressed on Sam's side and it kind of hurt, but mostly if just made it hard to breathe.
The doctor was in his face then, shining a light in his eyes and Sam realised he was drifting now, the adrenaline was gone and the exhaustion from three days of mostly hunt and not much sleep were kicking in. "You have any allergies?" He demanded, flicking the light across to Sam's other eye.
Sam shook his head and flinched when the woman prodded something sore on his back.
"You take drugs?" The doctor demanded, pressing his fingers to Sam's wrist. That hurt too and Sam looked down to see a bruise he didn't remember getting spreading across his forearm.
"No." Sam answered and he wondered if they would believe him. A life of hunting had forced him to develop a high tolerance for pain and the treatments for a life of hunting had slowly built up his threshold for pain meds.
"We're gonna check anyways." The doctor had things on the try now. "Anywhere hurt the most? You having trouble breathing?"
Sam shook his head and gasped when the doctor pressed on that spot on his side.
"Really?" The doctor asked and then he was talking again, but to the woman standing behind Sam. He could feel her hair tickling his back, it was really long and then she came around to his front and the two of them made him lie back on the examination couch.
The woman took his arm while the man poked at his head, up near his hairline. She held his arm in a vice like grip and replaced her hands with a blood pressure cuff, but that didn't loosen the grip at all.
"What's your name honey?" She asked him, ripping the Velcro cuff off of his arm and tapping at his hand.
"Sam." He mumbled, trying very hard not to there with two people poking painfully at him.
"Little stick Sam." She told him and wiped his hand with a cold alcohol wipe before sticking him with something that for a moment hurt more
than the rest of his body before the ache disappeared into everything else that he was feeling.
"Ow." He said a minute later as she taped the catheter into his hand and set up the tubing running to an IV and hanging it on a pole he hadn't noticed before.
He didn't see the needle in the man's hand and he wasn't warned before that stick and the burn of the lidocaine.
"Ow." Sam said a little more forcefully, that hurt more and the doctor hadn't warned him.
"Just stitching you up, thought you might like a little of this before I started." The doctor said and Sam tried to scowl before it pulled on the cuts on his face and made everything hurt again. "Carla, go ahead and run the pain meds. And a bag of antibiotics too."
The woman, Carla did something to his IV, tugging at it and hanging another bag. She had a needle then and pushed it into the catheter.
There was a rush of cool liquid in his arm and it must not have been a lot because he still hurt and however much they gave him wasn't kicking in very quickly.
"Another stick." Carla warned him before poking him again, higher up his arm this time. He could just see out of the edge of his vision as she filled a syringe with his blood and taped a cottonball across the puncture in the crook of his arm.
"Do you want an assist Dr. Cox?" She asked before she left the room and Dr. Cox didn't answer verbally so Sam was stuck there on the couch just barely feeling the slide of the needle in and out of the skin on his forehead.
Sam was drifting again when a scuffle of feet and a tighter than the rest knot on his head disturbed him. Scissors flashed across his eye line and Dr. Cox stepped away. Sam reached up to touch the new lines of stitches, but his hand was interrupted before it could make contact.
"Uh-uh Samantha, no messing up my handiwork unless you want to redo it yourself."
Sam shrugged. "Done it before." He said before thinking and he shocked himself into awareness. Dr. Cox and an another man, this one with what looked like an entire bottle of hair gel in his hair were staring at him a little too seriously for comfort. Sam let his hand drop back to the couch and groaned a little when the sore side hit the plastic.
"Why'd you call him Samantha?" New guy asked and Sam wondered if he was imagining the jealousy in the man's voice.
"Just help me out here newbie. There's a lot of skin to sew." Dr. Cox said and Sam could really feel those drugs hitting him now. The next needles of lidocaine barely even registered and he watched as the two of them sewed up his chest and put stitches into the gashes on his arms. Most of these wouldn't have warranted Winchester homebrew stitches, maybe some butterfly bandages and duct tape but not stitches, not for all of them.
By the time they were wrapping one of his knees and there was an icepack underneath his back, Sam was almost completely out of it. He helped them move him to a gurney, rolling onto it before his eyes slammed shut and he didn't remember much after that.
--
It was semi-dark when he opened his eyes again. He was alone in a sort of room, there were curtains pulled around his bed, he was in a bed this time. Sam sat up slowly, his stitches pulling as he moved. There were IV lines in both of his wrists now and his body felt like it had been fed through a wood chipper and glued back together. His head was pounding in time with his heart monitor and his stomach was rolling now that he'd moved.
Carla, the woman from before, was there a few seconds later, pulling the curtains open and pushing him back to the bed. "Your brother's been asking for you Sam."
"Dean?" Sam let her lift his gown, that must have been put on him at some point, she pressed on his stitches and yeah, they were sore and his entire ribcage ached. So much for getting discharged after they'd stitched him up.
"He keeps asking about you."
"He's okay?" Sam asked, "He has a hard head."
"His head's just fine. How are you feeling?" She asked, checking the tape holding the catheters into his hands.
Sam shrugged. "Sore."
"It's only been a few hours since you were stitched up. It should all heal up just fine." She reassured him.
"Can I have some water?" Sam asked, his tongue flicking out of his dry mouth to lick his even drier lips.
"I'll bring you some." She said and disappeared, pulling the curtains shut behind her.
She didn't come back with the water. A blond woman in a white coat came in with a pitcher and a plastic tumbler. She sat down next to his bed and made sure the straw in the cup could reach his mouth.
"Hi Sam, how're you feeling?" She asked, looking carefully at him.
"Thirsty." He mumbled, sucking water through the straw as quickly as he could. "Who are you?"
"Dr. Clock, Molly. Dr. Molly." She smiled at him and there was something a little bit manic in her eyes, as if she always had an endless supply of energy at fuck o'clock in the morning. "What happened to you Sam?" She asked and her voice had that just general not too interested
quality to it.
Sam shrugged. "Water pipe ruptured. My brother and I were trying to fix it but it was throwing stuff everywhere. Sent a whole sink of dishes flying at us." He watched carefully, but she didn't seem to have a problem with the lie. Dean would have told her the same one, they had plans in place for events like this. Go to stories and explanations.
"Some of your injuries are older than tonight Sam. How did those happen?"
He shrugged and pulled away from the straw, putting a little more distance between them. "It's a physical job. And I'm clumsy. Fall down the stairs, stub my toe on the dresser. Stuff happens all the time."
Sam thought he already knew what she was going to say before she said it, but he wasn't expecting her to ask him about his brother. "Does your brother Dean have any pre-existing medical conditions?"
She wasn't supposed to ask that. She was supposed to ask him if he was being abused and then go on a whole spiel about getting help and telling the truth. The whole thing usually came with veiled ideas that Dean wasn't his brother but actually was his gay lover and Sam knew all the variations of the speech by heart. This though, medical conditions, that was a new one.
"No. We're both healthy." Sam answered and it was mostly true. There was Dean's heart condition, but that had been fixed. And sometimes Dean's knee acted up on him, but it wasn't a medical condition.
The look on her face, a look of distanced concern was not all at comforting. "Your brother took a very hard hit Sam. He lost consciousness for longer than anyone would have liked. I think the concussion and impact has brought on some mental issues. You're certain that he didn't have any problems before?"
Sam bit his lip and wished he'd waited for the explanation. It would have been easier to lie and say Dean had whatever she thought and explain it was being treated by some doctor somewhere else and high tail out of there. He was stuck now and he hoped she'd trust him enough and believe that Dean was the only crazy one until he could get them both out of there.
"Nothing." He repeated. "No family history, no previous episodes. He's always been fine."
"Okay." She had papers now. "The hospital is transferring control of his care to you until he's ruled mentally competent. I need you to sign some papers."
"What's wrong with him?" Sam asked, clutching the pen. His hand ached when the muscles tensed around the writing utensil.
"Paranoia, delusions. I haven't had enough time to make a diagnosis yet." She took the papers back. "Don't worry, we'll get him on the medication he needs and if this is related to his head injury, it may fade once he starts to heal."
"Can I see him?" Sam asked, reaching for her as she got up to leave.
"He's been sedated. Maybe when he wakes up."
"Wait!" Sam called as she stepped closer to the exit. "What's wrong with him? What does he think is happening."
She paused. "Some sort of religious fixation. He kept talking about demons and guarding against them. And he thinks he was healed by an angel. Someone called Uriel told him that it wasn't time to die yet."
Sam wondered at that after she left. Demons were always an issue, but angels? That was new, Dean wasn't one for believing in God, or angels or other forces of good that Sam found comfort in. But if Dean was going on about demons, this wasn't head injury induced delusions,
this was employment induced paranoia and there was nothing dangerous about it. He needed to get them both out of there, quickly.
--
When he woke up after his next nap, one of the lines was gone and the heart monitor had been removed. Sam sat up and he wasn't nearly as sore. The bags hanging from his remaining IV were nearly empty now and he could feel the effects pressing in his bladder.
It took a little bit of manoeuvring, but he managed to get out of the bed and he pulled the IV stand with him to the edge of his cubicle. It was sort of dark and quiet in the ward and he stumbled along towards the lighted bathroom sign at the end of the room. He still had his own boxers on and that was something, but the doctor had cut off his clothes and he was going to need something to wear before he sprang Dean from this place.
"Sam?" He looked blearily at the door when the soft knocks disturbed him.
"Almost done." He called and he washed his free hand before carrying his IV stand back across the room and opening the door to let Carla in.
"You should have called for some help." She scolded and shepherded him back across the room and into his bed.
Sam sighed as he sat. "Carla, right?" She nodded and he continued, "I've really got to get home. Could you get me the AMA papers please? And maybe help me find something to wear?"
She frowned at that. "I'll be back." She said and her voice promised a world of hurt when she returned.
Sam removed the IV line carefully from his hand and check over all of his stitches. None of them felt warm or tight, he could probably rule out infection. There really wasn't any reason for him to stay here. And if all Dean had was some brain issues, he could take care of those on his own. Lots of head trauma in the family history.
The doctor from the beginning of the night, Dr. Cox, blew into his room, all white coat and angry frown. "Now what's this about leaving AMA? You know you're basically held together with a few dozen stitches right? One ti-i-i-i-iny little sneeze and all your insides will be pouring out." He drew out the word tiny and it made Sam's head ache more.
"I've had worse." Sam replied. "So, any special instructions before I sign the paperwork?"
Dr. Cox exhaled nosily. "Now listen hear Sammy, people are supposed to do what doctors tell them. You know why? It's so that they don't leave the hospital early and die on the road somewhere. Did your mommy never teach you that?"
"Nope." Sam crossed his arms. "I'm leaving now, I know what AMA means. It means you think I should stay. But I'm gone now. Thanks for the stitches."
The doctor growled at him and stormed out. Sam plucked at the tie on the back of his gown until it came undone.
Dr. Cox didn't come back. It was the man who'd son they'd saved who returned. He didn't say much, just gave Sam a large paper bag of drugs and instructions and some clothes that didn't even come close to fitting him.
"My keys are in the dash, for god sakes try not to scratch it." He said and pressed the stitches on Sam's forehead. "Your brother's in room 307. The restraints are just Velcro and his sedative shouldn't last longer than another two hours. Call me if he doesn't wake up."
Sam pulled his books back on and sighed the papers the doctor handed him.
"Thank you." The doctor said as Sam headed out of the cubicle. "I don't know what happened, but I don't think I'd still have a son if it wasn't for you."