Fic: Repercussions - Chapter 4
Title: Repercussions
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or the characters, but I dream about it sometimes …
Rating: PG - few mild swear words
Category: Supernatural. Hurt/Comfort/General
Spoilers: Up to end of season 2
Word Count: 6100 so far
Summary: Set after the end of Season 2 All Hell Breaks Loose Pt2. The knife wound in Sam’s back is healed, but was there was lasting damage.
Chapter 4
Dean’s keen gaze never strayed far from his brother, even as he was stepping away, moving in the other direction and further away. Leaving him alone, even for a moment went against all his instincts, but he needed to get help, and leaving Sam alone was unavoidable.
Dodging stray kids and stretched out legs, he made his way towards the nurse he’d spoken to earlier. Her demeanor didn’t look promising as she battled the impatient crowd and he wondered why someone who hated their job so much kept doing it day after day. Steeling his shoulders, he approached her head on, a smile plastered on his face, determined to win her over. He just couldn’t see his brother spending too much more time waiting to be seen by a doctor, and if he could use his charm to speed up the process then he would. He didn’t see the shame in that; he was just using the skills god gave him.
He’d do whatever was necessary to ensure Sam’s well being.
As he stole a quick glance back at his brother, he saw Sam rub a hand across his chest, grimacing as if in pain. He was torn, wanting to rush back to Sam’s side but needing to gain the nurse’s attention. He stood in front of the nurse, but his attention was focused on his brother, so much so that he didn’t hear her questioning voice when she queried his presence at the counter.
“Sir ….Sir …is there something I can help you with?”
Dean watched as Sam leant forward in his chair and coughed harshly, rocking forwards with the momentum of each racking spasm.
A few other patients sitting near Sam turned and looked and Dean wanted to rush over and tell them to mind their own god damn business, to give Sam a little space, a little privacy. But it seemed that when you were in the emergency room, everyone’s business became your own, as you sought out any action to while away the monotony of waiting. Numerous eyes were staring at his brother but nobody moved to help, to offer even the tiniest bit of assistance, smidgen of compassion. They just stared, a young mother and child even moving away fractionally, as if Sam was contagious, as if he might cough a little too closely and infect them all.
He watched what little color that was left bleach from Sam’s face as he rocked forwards. Dean knew instinctively that this time he would not be rocking back again, that this was a one way street, heading down.
Heading down fast.
Years of training spurred him into action and he was off the mark in a fraction of a second, racing to his brother’s side. The nurse, still questioning, was a distant buzz in his ears as he moved away from her, completely focused on the events unfolding before his eyes. He was unmindful of the other occupants of the room and he pushed forwards, not caring of who he jostled or shoved; intent only of taking the shortest route to Sam’s side.
He wasn’t quick enough to prevent Sam’s downwards motion, so instead he focused on cushioning his fall, stretching out his arms to receive his brother’s weight as he toppled lifelessly towards the grimy floor. His muscles clenched as they gripped his brother’s shoulders, lowering him down gently to lie awkwardly on his back with his legs bunched up against the row of chairs. Sam didn’t seem to mind the contortionist position; his body remaining limp and unmoving on the cold linoleum floor.
“Help …I need some help here!” Dean yelled, his voice booming in the now quieter room as people hushed, all eyes turned towards the fallen man.
“Sam …Sam ….can you hear me?” Dean ran an expert hand across his brother’s face as he moved automatically to Sam’s neck to check his pulse, relieved when he felt its familiar beat under his fingertips - the rhythmic beat he’d sold his soul for.
Sam’s breathing was shallow and rapid, but it was the only visual testament that he was still alive. He looked so fragile on the floor and Dean wanted to pull him in closer to his own body, shield him from the curious onlookers who had nothing better to do than rejoice in someone else’s misery.
“Come on Sam …don’t do this…”
“Dean?” Sam opened glazed eyes and immediately sought out the form of his brother, relaxing slightly when their eyes locked.
Dean felt the jostle from behind and fought down the urge to turn around and punch someone’s eyes out. A second later when it happened again he clenched his fist and turned his head.
“Sir, you need to give us some room…” The guy in the white coat nudged him again, trying to move him further away from his brother. He looked back and held his ground. He wasn’t leaving his brother’s side, not again, not now.
“Sir, can you tell me your name?” Sam squinted against the bright pin prick of light being shone into his eyes and answered automatically, giving his first name.
Dean listened as Sam responded to the questions. He couldn’t help wondering what the point was in filling out all those God damn hospital forms if nobody bothered reading the details. His brother’s name, well this week’s name anyway, was scribbled in black ink right on the top of the first page for God’s sake, he’d put it there himself.
The contrast to the hospital staff’s earlier complacency and inactivity were staggering. Dean felt helpless, almost inconsequential, as the hospital staff loaded his brother onto a gurney and rushed Sam from the room. They didn’t try to stop him following and he stayed glued by his brother’s side, following the rapid pace of the gurney until it came to rest in a curtained examination room.
“Shit Sam …you sure know how to get attention.” He muttered, lightly laying his palm over the top of his brother’s hand.
“Learnt it from you.” Sam smiled weakly at Dean.
Sam felt marginally better now that he was lying down flat, his vision, although still blurry, was starting to return and his breathing felt a little easier.
He followed the doctor’s instructions as he was examined, trying to answer the questions as accurately and honestly as he could. Dean helped, injecting an answer every time he hesitated in responding, inventing stories that approximated the truth to describe every scar, every notable past injury that littered his lanky frame. Sam was surprised to hear that he rode a motorcycle, played football, and enjoyed rock climbing as a past-time. He’d never had a past-time and hadn’t ridden a motorcycle since he was in his teens. Dean was good; he had to give him that. The half-truths just slid off his tongue, so convincing in their normality.
He was helped to sit up and his shirt eased off his shoulders. He waited to hear what Dean would say when the freshly healed scar on his lower back was exposed, knowing that he would let his brother answer the anticipated question.
Sitting up really wasn’t agreeing with him, and he hoped the doctor would hurry up and finish his examination. He was starting to feel dizzy again as the room swum in and out of focus. He swayed, leaning back as the effort to hold himself upright became too much, and he felt the hands behind him support his weight as he was lowered back down onto the bed. He closed his eyes against the bright overhead light and tried to block out the buzzing in his ears.
He could feel the confused activity around him, but he couldn’t respond. Each breath took to much effort to waste on words.
Dean watched in horror as Sam seemed to wilt again before his eyes, collapsing backwards on the bed as his body folded in on itself. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed and each gasping breath sounded labored as his lungs struggled to draw in enough oxygen to satisfy his body.
The doctor yelled out instructions, and more staff entered the confined space. This time he took a few steps backwards, but no further than a couple of feet away, needing to be within arms reach if Sam needed him.
Medical staff surrounded his brother and he watched as Sam was hooked up to various machines and an oxygen mask placed over his mouth. Everything started to buzz around him and he leant back against the wall for support as he felt his world dissolve around him.
“Blood pressure’s bottoming out …he’s tachycardic.”
To be continued…
Author’s note: I’m not a doctor and don’t pretend to be, so poetic license taken on all medical jargon - it’s as accurate as a little web surfing allows me to be.
Chapter 5