Spn Fic: Take Care of You - Chapter 3
Title: Take Care of You
Rating: PG13 (Gen)
Characters: Sam, Dean, John, Bobby
Disclaimer: Still not mine, just playing.
Note: Some conversations taken directly from the episode - and I don't really know if that's okay. I know I'm having trouble with my 'tenses' ...and it's hurting my brain. **Thanks to Ziggy.uk for nudging me to continue posting this fic - this is for her!**
Words: 2900 this chapter
Summary: Following the car crash, Sam is air-lifted via helicopter to hospital. Confused, in pain and alone, Sam casts aside his own injuries to find and care for his family. (Sort of a tag to In My Time of Dying, but will go AU).
| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |
Chapter 3
He’d slipped inside without being noticed, joining the busy hive of hospital activity as if he belonged. The constant stream of hospital staff and visitors moving up and down the hospital corridor didn’t give Sam a second look as he moved seamlessly into the throng of people, matching pace.
Hospitals never changed. The overhead fluorescent lights were startling bright, their light bouncing off the stark white walls. He raised a hand to his eyes, trying to block out some of the glare that seemed to burrow straight into his skull. The pungent smell of hospital bleach and antiseptic hit him next. It wrapped around him, permeating his nostrils and turning his already unsteady stomach. Seeing a sign to the restrooms, he suddenly shifted direction, heading that way.
-o-
Confident that he couldn’t possibly have anything more to vomit up, Sam flushed the toilet and made his way slowly out of the toilet stall. He lowered his heavy duffel bag to the floor and leaned his hands against the cool porcelain of the restroom sink, giving thanks that the toilet facilities were currently deserted. He quickly washed his hands before splashing cold water over his face and threading his damp fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes.
He felt marginally better.
Marginally.
He’d moved past exhausted a couple of hours ago and was now running on will-power alone. However, even will-power it seemed had limits, as Sam was starting to discover.
Mind over matter, Sam tried to convince himself, hearing his father’s often voiced words in his head.
He struggled to rally, to push his weakness aside.
It didn’t change the facts though. He felt like crap. It didn’t matter what he tried to tell himself or how much he willed it, his body had the upper hand and was persistently betraying him.
He closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths, determined to win back control. He didn’t have a choice. Now was not a time for weakness.
He blocked out the noise seeping in from the hospital corridor and listened to his own breathing, consciously slowing it down. He ran cold water over his wrists, relishing in the coolness it provided.
With a calming breath and a little bit of focus back, he took stock of what his body was telling him.
His head was still pounding and his vision was a little off. No doubt the lingering effects of the head injury. Not much he could do about that but swallow a few pills and ride it out.
His ribs still hurt like a bitch. It felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to his side and pounded him mercilessly. He didn’t need a medical degree to know that a few of them were broken and only something that time could heal.
Vomiting blood however, was never good, even in small quantities. He could still taste the lingering tint of copper in his mouth that no amount of rinsing could dispel. He swallowed against the acid taste lingering on his tongue and fingered the piece of paper wedged deep in his pocket. He knew that having to see a doctor again was a given now.
He had to admit, the blood, it scared him. It was an indication of something unseen. Something unknown. Something that’d maybe take more than a first aid kit lying on the bathroom vanity to take care of. He couldn’t afford not be at the top of his game right now. Not when Dean needed him.
He rallied against the pit in his stomach, hating the feeling of self pity and despondency that was threatening to take over.
He pushed away from the sink and squared his shoulders.
Enough about his own issues. It was his time to be strong. He needed to show that he was capable of stepping up to the task.
Dean was relying on him to make things right. And his dad? Well, John could damn well start acting like a father.
Sam felt his anger start to simmer again as he reached down to retrieve the duffle bag, ignoring the persistent ache in his chest and side as he heaved it onto his shoulder. He might have followed his dad’s orders and collected the list of items as requested, but it didn’t mean that he had to be happy about it. Dean should be at the forefront of their minds, not hunting the damn demon. It was about time his father realized this.
-o-
Sam walked silently into the hospital room, seeing his dad awake and resting back against the pillows on the narrow hospital bed. He looked better than he had earlier. More alert.
“You’re quiet.” John stated; looking up as Sam entered the room.
Sam met his dad’s look of expectation as he moved closer to the bed. He felt his anger bubble to the surface, knowing his dad had only one thing on his mind.
Dumping the duffle bag onto the bed without care or consequence, Sam clenched his fists, striving to keep his emotions under control as he faced his father. “You think I wouldn’t find out?”
John glanced between the duffle bag and his son. “What are you talkin’ about?”
Sam didn’t try to hide his fury as the accusations poured from his mouth. “That stuff from Bobby. You don’t use it to ward off a demon; you use it to summon one. You’re planning on bringing the demon here, aren’t you, and having some stupid macho showdown!”
John raised his head slightly from the pillow, and looked intently at his son. “I have a plan, Sam,” he stated without emotion.
“That’s exactly my point! Dean is dying and you have a plan! You know what? You care more about killing this demon than you do saving your own son.”
John narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger in denial at Sam. “Do not tell me how I feel. I am doing this for Dean,” he stated, voice gruff with emotion.
Sam clenched and unclenched his fists, pacing to the end before striking back at his father. “How? How is revenge gonna help him? You’re not thinkin’ about anybody but yourself! It’s the same selfish obsession!”
John’s anger seethed. “It’s funny, you know what, I thought this was your obsession, too. This demon killed your mother, killed your girlfriend. You begged me to be part of this hunt. If you'd killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would have happened.”
Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Couldn’t believe, even now, that his father had wanted Sam to pull the trigger. Wanted Sam to kill him. How could he have lived with killing his own father?
“It was possessing you Dad. I would’ve killed you, too.”
John pointed a finger again at Sam, squaring laying the blame for their current predicament. “Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now.”
“Go to hell,” Sam spat out.
Sam was sure, if his father hadn’t had a broken arm and been confined to a hospital bed, then John would have punched him. He could feel the anger vibrating from his father. Could feel the blame. The accusation. There was no remorse. No apology.
Unbridled anger wrapped up in hurtful words continued to spill from his dad’s mouth. “I should have never taken you along in the first place. I knew it was a mistake.”
The words cut through Sam like ice, shattering into tiny pieces and ripping through to his very core. His heart thumped loudly in his chest and for a moment he was completely lost for words. Blinded by pain.
Shattered.
The glass of water on the table beside him smashing spectacularly to the floor jolted him from his inner torment. He felt a shiver run down the back of his neck as he looked at the broken glass.
“Something’s goin’ on out there.” John broke the silence, drawing Sam’s attention to the growing commotion in the corridor outside.
Sam felt his heart clench with apprehension when he saw the hospital staff running.
Running in the direction of Dean’s room.
Sam couldn’t move quickly enough as he left his father with a fearful glance, joining the commotion as he hurried down the corridor.
-o-
Sam leant against the doorway, needing the support as he looked into Dean’s room. He watched helplessly as the doctor pressed a defibrillator against Dean’s chest. Watched as Dean’s back arched off the bed before slumping back down. Then again. And again.
When they began CPR Sam still couldn’t tear his eyes away.
He didn’t want to watch his brother die. Didn’t want to believe it could happen. Never. Not like this.
It seemed to go on forever. The activity was frantic around Dean and Sam couldn’t help but feel that they were running out of time.
Lip caught between his teeth and hands clenched at his sides, Sam watched, silently. Afraid that if he glanced away for even a moment then his invisible hold on Dean would be lost.
“We have a pulse. We’re back into sinus rhythm,” the nurse’s composed words echoed through the room.
Sam glanced across at the monitor for confirmation, relieved beyond words to see the steady heart beat on the screen. He closed his eyes on a silent prayer, giving thanks to whoever cared to listen.
He stood tall and silent, emotions barely under control, as he listened to the doctor’s quietly spoken words, updating him on Dean’s condition. The words were meaningless. Deep down, Sam refused to believe that Dean wouldn’t recover from this.
After all the frantic activity the room seemed peaceful now. Sam relished the moment of quiet with his brother. Moving quietly, he pulled a chair closer to the bed, needing to sit with Dean for a while.
He looked at his brother, the measured mechanical breaths that inflate Dean's lungs spearing stabs of pain through his own chest. He’s not really sure how to help Dean, but he knows he has to do something. The image of Dean’s body arching off the bed as electricity raced through him is something that will stay with Sam forever. He refuses to wait around for it to happen again.
Despite the quiet, he almost expects Dean to open his eyes and tell him what to do. He can’t shake the feeling that Dean is somehow trying to tell him something. That Dean is hanging on, expecting him to make everything better.
Waiting for him to help in some way.
He pushed himself out of the chair with newfound resolve. Wallowing won’t do any good. Won’t solve anything. The answers he needs aren’t going to magically appear. Dean needed help and god damn it, he’s going to make damn sure his brother gets it.
-o-
Sam walked slowly back to his father’s room, this short journey much less frantic than the way he left. The argument with his dad is still fresh in his mind, but Sam has more important issues to worry about now. Dean’s close brush with death trumps everything else.
“Dean’s okay,” Sam announced softly as he stepped into the room.
“Yeah, Doc came and spoke with me.” John confirmed.
The silence is heavy for a moment. Oppressive. “It was close, too close,” John whispered.
Sam nodded. He couldn’t help but agree.
“Dad is it possible, I mean, do you think it’s possible that Dean, he’s here somehow? I mean, not physically here, but you know, here with us, listening? I felt something, before, back in Dean’s room,” Sam swallowed hard before continuing, “after they brought him back.”
“What do you mean you felt something?”
“I mean, it felt like Dean. Like he was there, just out of eyeshot or something. I don’t know if it’s my psychic thing or what. But do you think it’s even possible? Do you think his spirit could be around?”
John’s gaze flickered over Sam. “Anything’s possible.”
“Well, there’s one way to find out,” Sam announced, an idea darting into his head. He needed to talk to Dean and Dean needed to be able to answer. If Dean’s spirit, or whatever you’d call it, was trying to tell him something, then there was one simple idea he was willing to try. He just needed to find himself a Ouija board. Without giving himself time to second guess the idea, he moved towards the door.
“Where you goin’?” John asked softly, following his son’s movements.
Sam turned and looked back at his dad. “I gotta pick something up. I’ll be back.”
“Wait, Sam. I promise I won’t hunt this demon. Not until we know Dean’s okay.”
Seeing the earnest look on his dad’s face, Sam hoped that this time he could trust him.
With a simple nod, Sam turned and hurried away.
Of one thing Sam felt sure - time was not on his side.
-o-
The thing about Ouija boards is that they don’t stock them in the average corner store. Sam ended up having to bus it clear across town to the only store that had one in stock. With his package finally tucked under his arm though, Sam felt a sense of renewed hope. If he could find a way to reach Dean, then maybe he could find a way to help him.
It was nearing dark when Sam found his way back to the hospital, this time heading straight in through the main door. As he thought of the Colt he’d smuggled in through the rear entrance earlier, he could only hope that his dad had stuck to his promise and that the revolver was still securely stashed within the duffel bag. The last thing they needed right now was to go courting even more trouble.
He paused just inside the entrance, his eyes scanning the large information board, looking for the quickest way to reach the ward Dean was on. Finally seeing the arrow pointing the way he needed to go, he spun around quickly.
The room spun with him - and kept going.
Sam stumbled.
He reached out, seeking something to hold onto as his vision tipped and turned.
He felt a firm hand grip his arm. “Sir, you okay?”
“Uh huh,” Sam mumbled, blinking rapidly as he tried to find his balance.
He felt himself being guided.
“Sit,” the voice commanded.
Sam didn’t put up any protest.
His head was pushed down towards his knees.
Sam held back a gasp of pain as his ribs sent a clear message of complaint.
“Take slow deep breaths.”
Sam complied as best he could.
“You need me to call someone?”
Sam opened his eyes and risked raising his head. He looked at his rescuer - a portly middle-aged woman with a kind face. How he hadn’t toppled over and taken her with him, he wasn’t sure.
Sam found his voice. “I’m okay. Thanks.”
The woman looked at him closely and Sam felt as if he was being assessed and somehow falling short. “No, I don’t think so,” the woman pronounced.
Sam sat up straighter, pleased when his vision didn’t completely fade out again. He gave the woman a closer look, belatedly noticing her attire and name badge. Rescued by a nurse. Just his luck when he was trying to be inconspicuous.
“Really, I’m okay now.” Sam smiled and hoped that this time he was more convincing.
“You really don’t look okay, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Traffic accident.” Sam stated, touching the bruises on his face. “Doctor discharged me and gave me the all clear - just overdid things a bit,” Sam confessed.
“Mmm. Well, take my advice then and slow down, give your body a chance to heal.”
“Yes ma’am.” Sam smiled politely, hoping the kindly woman would be on her way.
“Yes well, see that you do.” Still looking a little uncertain, the nurse stood up to leave.
“Thank you,” Sam said with as much warmth as he could muster. He was sincerely grateful for the woman’s help.
“Okay then. You take care,” she said, before quickly walking away.
Sam sat for a moment longer, taking stock as he watched the nurse leave. The dizzy spell seemed to have passed, but he wasn’t going to push his luck. He’d wait a little longer before attempting to stand.
He knew the nurse was right and that he needed to rest. And he would, soon as Dean was awake and on the mend.
Sam glanced from the darkening sky outside the window to the large clock mounted on the wall. Time had completely escaped him. He’d been so focused on getting the Ouija board that he’d clear missed his follow up appointment.
Looking around, he was relieved to find the bag containing his recent purchase secure on the seat beside him. He’d hate to have had a wasted journey.
He just prayed that this worked.
TBC
Rating: PG13 (Gen)
Characters: Sam, Dean, John, Bobby
Disclaimer: Still not mine, just playing.
Note: Some conversations taken directly from the episode - and I don't really know if that's okay. I know I'm having trouble with my 'tenses' ...and it's hurting my brain. **Thanks to Ziggy.uk for nudging me to continue posting this fic - this is for her!**
Words: 2900 this chapter
Summary: Following the car crash, Sam is air-lifted via helicopter to hospital. Confused, in pain and alone, Sam casts aside his own injuries to find and care for his family. (Sort of a tag to In My Time of Dying, but will go AU).
| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |
Chapter 3
He’d slipped inside without being noticed, joining the busy hive of hospital activity as if he belonged. The constant stream of hospital staff and visitors moving up and down the hospital corridor didn’t give Sam a second look as he moved seamlessly into the throng of people, matching pace.
Hospitals never changed. The overhead fluorescent lights were startling bright, their light bouncing off the stark white walls. He raised a hand to his eyes, trying to block out some of the glare that seemed to burrow straight into his skull. The pungent smell of hospital bleach and antiseptic hit him next. It wrapped around him, permeating his nostrils and turning his already unsteady stomach. Seeing a sign to the restrooms, he suddenly shifted direction, heading that way.
-o-
Confident that he couldn’t possibly have anything more to vomit up, Sam flushed the toilet and made his way slowly out of the toilet stall. He lowered his heavy duffel bag to the floor and leaned his hands against the cool porcelain of the restroom sink, giving thanks that the toilet facilities were currently deserted. He quickly washed his hands before splashing cold water over his face and threading his damp fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes.
He felt marginally better.
Marginally.
He’d moved past exhausted a couple of hours ago and was now running on will-power alone. However, even will-power it seemed had limits, as Sam was starting to discover.
Mind over matter, Sam tried to convince himself, hearing his father’s often voiced words in his head.
He struggled to rally, to push his weakness aside.
It didn’t change the facts though. He felt like crap. It didn’t matter what he tried to tell himself or how much he willed it, his body had the upper hand and was persistently betraying him.
He closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths, determined to win back control. He didn’t have a choice. Now was not a time for weakness.
He blocked out the noise seeping in from the hospital corridor and listened to his own breathing, consciously slowing it down. He ran cold water over his wrists, relishing in the coolness it provided.
With a calming breath and a little bit of focus back, he took stock of what his body was telling him.
His head was still pounding and his vision was a little off. No doubt the lingering effects of the head injury. Not much he could do about that but swallow a few pills and ride it out.
His ribs still hurt like a bitch. It felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to his side and pounded him mercilessly. He didn’t need a medical degree to know that a few of them were broken and only something that time could heal.
Vomiting blood however, was never good, even in small quantities. He could still taste the lingering tint of copper in his mouth that no amount of rinsing could dispel. He swallowed against the acid taste lingering on his tongue and fingered the piece of paper wedged deep in his pocket. He knew that having to see a doctor again was a given now.
He had to admit, the blood, it scared him. It was an indication of something unseen. Something unknown. Something that’d maybe take more than a first aid kit lying on the bathroom vanity to take care of. He couldn’t afford not be at the top of his game right now. Not when Dean needed him.
He rallied against the pit in his stomach, hating the feeling of self pity and despondency that was threatening to take over.
He pushed away from the sink and squared his shoulders.
Enough about his own issues. It was his time to be strong. He needed to show that he was capable of stepping up to the task.
Dean was relying on him to make things right. And his dad? Well, John could damn well start acting like a father.
Sam felt his anger start to simmer again as he reached down to retrieve the duffle bag, ignoring the persistent ache in his chest and side as he heaved it onto his shoulder. He might have followed his dad’s orders and collected the list of items as requested, but it didn’t mean that he had to be happy about it. Dean should be at the forefront of their minds, not hunting the damn demon. It was about time his father realized this.
-o-
Sam walked silently into the hospital room, seeing his dad awake and resting back against the pillows on the narrow hospital bed. He looked better than he had earlier. More alert.
“You’re quiet.” John stated; looking up as Sam entered the room.
Sam met his dad’s look of expectation as he moved closer to the bed. He felt his anger bubble to the surface, knowing his dad had only one thing on his mind.
Dumping the duffle bag onto the bed without care or consequence, Sam clenched his fists, striving to keep his emotions under control as he faced his father. “You think I wouldn’t find out?”
John glanced between the duffle bag and his son. “What are you talkin’ about?”
Sam didn’t try to hide his fury as the accusations poured from his mouth. “That stuff from Bobby. You don’t use it to ward off a demon; you use it to summon one. You’re planning on bringing the demon here, aren’t you, and having some stupid macho showdown!”
John raised his head slightly from the pillow, and looked intently at his son. “I have a plan, Sam,” he stated without emotion.
“That’s exactly my point! Dean is dying and you have a plan! You know what? You care more about killing this demon than you do saving your own son.”
John narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger in denial at Sam. “Do not tell me how I feel. I am doing this for Dean,” he stated, voice gruff with emotion.
Sam clenched and unclenched his fists, pacing to the end before striking back at his father. “How? How is revenge gonna help him? You’re not thinkin’ about anybody but yourself! It’s the same selfish obsession!”
John’s anger seethed. “It’s funny, you know what, I thought this was your obsession, too. This demon killed your mother, killed your girlfriend. You begged me to be part of this hunt. If you'd killed that damn thing when you had the chance, none of this would have happened.”
Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Couldn’t believe, even now, that his father had wanted Sam to pull the trigger. Wanted Sam to kill him. How could he have lived with killing his own father?
“It was possessing you Dad. I would’ve killed you, too.”
John pointed a finger again at Sam, squaring laying the blame for their current predicament. “Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now.”
“Go to hell,” Sam spat out.
Sam was sure, if his father hadn’t had a broken arm and been confined to a hospital bed, then John would have punched him. He could feel the anger vibrating from his father. Could feel the blame. The accusation. There was no remorse. No apology.
Unbridled anger wrapped up in hurtful words continued to spill from his dad’s mouth. “I should have never taken you along in the first place. I knew it was a mistake.”
The words cut through Sam like ice, shattering into tiny pieces and ripping through to his very core. His heart thumped loudly in his chest and for a moment he was completely lost for words. Blinded by pain.
Shattered.
The glass of water on the table beside him smashing spectacularly to the floor jolted him from his inner torment. He felt a shiver run down the back of his neck as he looked at the broken glass.
“Something’s goin’ on out there.” John broke the silence, drawing Sam’s attention to the growing commotion in the corridor outside.
Sam felt his heart clench with apprehension when he saw the hospital staff running.
Running in the direction of Dean’s room.
Sam couldn’t move quickly enough as he left his father with a fearful glance, joining the commotion as he hurried down the corridor.
-o-
Sam leant against the doorway, needing the support as he looked into Dean’s room. He watched helplessly as the doctor pressed a defibrillator against Dean’s chest. Watched as Dean’s back arched off the bed before slumping back down. Then again. And again.
When they began CPR Sam still couldn’t tear his eyes away.
He didn’t want to watch his brother die. Didn’t want to believe it could happen. Never. Not like this.
It seemed to go on forever. The activity was frantic around Dean and Sam couldn’t help but feel that they were running out of time.
Lip caught between his teeth and hands clenched at his sides, Sam watched, silently. Afraid that if he glanced away for even a moment then his invisible hold on Dean would be lost.
“We have a pulse. We’re back into sinus rhythm,” the nurse’s composed words echoed through the room.
Sam glanced across at the monitor for confirmation, relieved beyond words to see the steady heart beat on the screen. He closed his eyes on a silent prayer, giving thanks to whoever cared to listen.
He stood tall and silent, emotions barely under control, as he listened to the doctor’s quietly spoken words, updating him on Dean’s condition. The words were meaningless. Deep down, Sam refused to believe that Dean wouldn’t recover from this.
After all the frantic activity the room seemed peaceful now. Sam relished the moment of quiet with his brother. Moving quietly, he pulled a chair closer to the bed, needing to sit with Dean for a while.
He looked at his brother, the measured mechanical breaths that inflate Dean's lungs spearing stabs of pain through his own chest. He’s not really sure how to help Dean, but he knows he has to do something. The image of Dean’s body arching off the bed as electricity raced through him is something that will stay with Sam forever. He refuses to wait around for it to happen again.
Despite the quiet, he almost expects Dean to open his eyes and tell him what to do. He can’t shake the feeling that Dean is somehow trying to tell him something. That Dean is hanging on, expecting him to make everything better.
Waiting for him to help in some way.
He pushed himself out of the chair with newfound resolve. Wallowing won’t do any good. Won’t solve anything. The answers he needs aren’t going to magically appear. Dean needed help and god damn it, he’s going to make damn sure his brother gets it.
-o-
Sam walked slowly back to his father’s room, this short journey much less frantic than the way he left. The argument with his dad is still fresh in his mind, but Sam has more important issues to worry about now. Dean’s close brush with death trumps everything else.
“Dean’s okay,” Sam announced softly as he stepped into the room.
“Yeah, Doc came and spoke with me.” John confirmed.
The silence is heavy for a moment. Oppressive. “It was close, too close,” John whispered.
Sam nodded. He couldn’t help but agree.
“Dad is it possible, I mean, do you think it’s possible that Dean, he’s here somehow? I mean, not physically here, but you know, here with us, listening? I felt something, before, back in Dean’s room,” Sam swallowed hard before continuing, “after they brought him back.”
“What do you mean you felt something?”
“I mean, it felt like Dean. Like he was there, just out of eyeshot or something. I don’t know if it’s my psychic thing or what. But do you think it’s even possible? Do you think his spirit could be around?”
John’s gaze flickered over Sam. “Anything’s possible.”
“Well, there’s one way to find out,” Sam announced, an idea darting into his head. He needed to talk to Dean and Dean needed to be able to answer. If Dean’s spirit, or whatever you’d call it, was trying to tell him something, then there was one simple idea he was willing to try. He just needed to find himself a Ouija board. Without giving himself time to second guess the idea, he moved towards the door.
“Where you goin’?” John asked softly, following his son’s movements.
Sam turned and looked back at his dad. “I gotta pick something up. I’ll be back.”
“Wait, Sam. I promise I won’t hunt this demon. Not until we know Dean’s okay.”
Seeing the earnest look on his dad’s face, Sam hoped that this time he could trust him.
With a simple nod, Sam turned and hurried away.
Of one thing Sam felt sure - time was not on his side.
-o-
The thing about Ouija boards is that they don’t stock them in the average corner store. Sam ended up having to bus it clear across town to the only store that had one in stock. With his package finally tucked under his arm though, Sam felt a sense of renewed hope. If he could find a way to reach Dean, then maybe he could find a way to help him.
It was nearing dark when Sam found his way back to the hospital, this time heading straight in through the main door. As he thought of the Colt he’d smuggled in through the rear entrance earlier, he could only hope that his dad had stuck to his promise and that the revolver was still securely stashed within the duffel bag. The last thing they needed right now was to go courting even more trouble.
He paused just inside the entrance, his eyes scanning the large information board, looking for the quickest way to reach the ward Dean was on. Finally seeing the arrow pointing the way he needed to go, he spun around quickly.
The room spun with him - and kept going.
Sam stumbled.
He reached out, seeking something to hold onto as his vision tipped and turned.
He felt a firm hand grip his arm. “Sir, you okay?”
“Uh huh,” Sam mumbled, blinking rapidly as he tried to find his balance.
He felt himself being guided.
“Sit,” the voice commanded.
Sam didn’t put up any protest.
His head was pushed down towards his knees.
Sam held back a gasp of pain as his ribs sent a clear message of complaint.
“Take slow deep breaths.”
Sam complied as best he could.
“You need me to call someone?”
Sam opened his eyes and risked raising his head. He looked at his rescuer - a portly middle-aged woman with a kind face. How he hadn’t toppled over and taken her with him, he wasn’t sure.
Sam found his voice. “I’m okay. Thanks.”
The woman looked at him closely and Sam felt as if he was being assessed and somehow falling short. “No, I don’t think so,” the woman pronounced.
Sam sat up straighter, pleased when his vision didn’t completely fade out again. He gave the woman a closer look, belatedly noticing her attire and name badge. Rescued by a nurse. Just his luck when he was trying to be inconspicuous.
“Really, I’m okay now.” Sam smiled and hoped that this time he was more convincing.
“You really don’t look okay, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Traffic accident.” Sam stated, touching the bruises on his face. “Doctor discharged me and gave me the all clear - just overdid things a bit,” Sam confessed.
“Mmm. Well, take my advice then and slow down, give your body a chance to heal.”
“Yes ma’am.” Sam smiled politely, hoping the kindly woman would be on her way.
“Yes well, see that you do.” Still looking a little uncertain, the nurse stood up to leave.
“Thank you,” Sam said with as much warmth as he could muster. He was sincerely grateful for the woman’s help.
“Okay then. You take care,” she said, before quickly walking away.
Sam sat for a moment longer, taking stock as he watched the nurse leave. The dizzy spell seemed to have passed, but he wasn’t going to push his luck. He’d wait a little longer before attempting to stand.
He knew the nurse was right and that he needed to rest. And he would, soon as Dean was awake and on the mend.
Sam glanced from the darkening sky outside the window to the large clock mounted on the wall. Time had completely escaped him. He’d been so focused on getting the Ouija board that he’d clear missed his follow up appointment.
Looking around, he was relieved to find the bag containing his recent purchase secure on the seat beside him. He’d hate to have had a wasted journey.
He just prayed that this worked.
TBC