Only Human, part 3
Part 3
Sam appeared to have passed out, which was a blessing in John’s opinion. The pain had to have been excruciating and at least now Sam was quiet and no longer feeling the effects of the cleansing John had inflicted on him. He reached out and let his hand land on Sam’s head, letting his finger run through his boy’s soft hair that was now damp with sweat.
Seeing the effect of the blessed water on the poison in his son’s skin had been bad enough, but Sam’s muffled sobs and moans as John had poured on the holy water had been far worse. Knowing that he was the one that was causing so much pain, even if it was for Sam’s own good, tore a chunk from his heart that hurt more than a shot to the gut.
All he could hope for was that the holy water had worked - that Sam would recover quickly and he could take his son away far away from here - from this town - away from the mistakes he had made.
But he knew no matter how far he drove, his mistakes would follow him.
“Dad?” Dean hissed from the door, “The doctor’s coming.”
John looked up and nodded, not realizing how badly his hands were shaking until he tried to quickly tape the bandage onto Sam’s back once again. He fumbled with it and accidentally pressed into one of the scratches. Sam flinched and groaned, but didn’t wake up, for which John was grateful - Sam needed his rest and with the doctor coming, it was best that he wasn’t up to talking with the man.
John knew that the doctor was harboring questions about how Sam was injured and it wouldn’t the first time some doctor or teacher was suspicious about how one of his boys had ended up with numerous bruises or a broken bone and last thing he needed was CPS getting involved.
John hated hospitals for that reason -- he couldn’t exactly tell the medical staff the truth, that he and his boys hunted supernatural creatures and it wouldn’t be the first time he had to cut short a hospital stay before the authorities got involved and decided that John wasn’t fit to know what was best for his kids.
It seemed like this time would be no different. He hated the thought of having sneak Sam out before his treatment was complete, but getting out of town would have to be his next priority. As soon as Sam showed signs of getting better, John would make sure they grabbed the right medications for him and then hit the road.
John finished reapplying the bandages to Sam’s back just as the doctor strode into the room. He eyes John with the same look of suspicious contempt that he held earlier and he knew for certain now that the doctor had formed his own conclusions about him - that he had to be some kind of child abuser - a man that couldn’t contain his anger and took it out on his kids.
Sure - John had a temper, he drank too much, and he took his boys out on dangerous missions, but there was one thing he was not and that was someone who would purposefully hurt his kids. He had enough of the switches, belts, and fists from his own father growing up to know that he never wanted to be that way.
The doctor didn’t say a word to John as he checked Sam’s vitals and it was with some relief that the man didn’t notice the wet sheets under his son. He finally raised his eyes towards John and deemed him worthy enough to be spoken to.
Dean walked over and joined John by his side, his son’s look summing up exactly what John thought of the doctor as well.
Damned self-righteous bastard.
“Hmmm … surprising. Sam’s fever has come down two degrees since it was checked last. Looks like the antibiotics are beginning to work.
Or the holy water is working, you fucking quack.
“I think we can safely take these ice packs away and if he continues to improve, I’m going to have him transferred to a regular room.”
Dean sighed, clearly relieved, “So, he’s going to be okay?”
“I believe so.” The doctor agreed, giving John the stink eye again.
Okay - he had enough.
“Something else you want to say?” John asked the physician.
The man hesitated a little at first the squared his shoulders, “I’m still at a loss as to how Sam was injured. Are you certain that you don’t know this happened?”
John ground his teeth, “I told you I don’t know.” he replied, his voice low. He tried to hide the hostility in his voice, but knew it came out sounding threatening.
“Sam also has several … older injuries … scars … some recent and some at least a few years old. Can you explain those?”
“Sam’s an active kid. He’s in sports and plays rough. Sometimes he gets hurt”
The doctor looked unconvinced.
Dean decided to join in, his voice just as tight as John’s and he made no effort to hide his growing anger, “Just what are you trying to say here? You think my dad’s been beating on Sammy?” He took a step forward, entering the doctor’s personal space, almost nose to nose with him, his eyes darkening. The doctor, to his credit, didn’t back down.
“I just have questions that I’d like to have answered. I’ve made no such accusation …. So far.”
Dean eyes narrowed even more, “Now you listen here -“
“Dean -“John grabbed Dean’s arms and hauled him back a couple of feet from the doctor, fearing for a moment that his oldest might start swinging. Not that he would blame Dean if he did, but the last thing they needed was for hospital security to get involved or for either one of them to get arrested for assault and battery.
Dean huffed and the doctor sneered, “I’ll be back to check on Sam soon. I have some phone calls to make. Excuse me.” The doctor spun on his heel and headed for the door, clearly on his way to inform the authorities.
John unclenched his jaw. They had to get out of there - now.
“Dean, get a wheelchair. Time to go.”
Dean, still fuming to the point where John was surprised he didn’t see steam coming from his son’s ears, just nodded and stalked off.
John then picked up the chart from the end of Sam’s bed and flipped it open. Reading through it quickly, he found the medications Sam was on, found a pen and wrote the names and amounts he would need onto his hand.
Dean returned as soon as John had replaced the chart and he pushed the wheelchair up to the bed, beating John to Sam’s side, “Hey …” Dean pushed back the hair covering Sam’s forehead, while John started removing the various medical devices Sam was hooked up to, “Time to wake up, Sammy.”
Sam made a noise in his throat then forced his eye open into thin slits, “Dea? Wha?”
“We gotta get outta here.” Dean explained quickly, “Think you can sit up?”
“m’kay” Sam nodded weakly, making an attempt to come up on his own, but he quickly lost steam and Dean took over from there, one arm coming around the back of Sam’s neck and while the other went under his knees. With a little grunt, Dean pulled his little brother up to his chest, carrying him to the wheelchair, “Jeez, Sammy … put on a little weight?”
Sam mumbled something in return that John couldn’t hear, but made Dean snort as he lowered Sam into the wheelchair carefully, “M’not fat, bitch - this bulk is all muscle.”
John saw Sam shiver as he leaned forward in the chair, his head hanging and hair falling into his face while goosebumps spread across his pasty, colorless skin. Sam’s pallor against the dark mop of hair provided a sharp contrast that made John second guess his decision to cut and run from the hospital while Sam was still so ill and so weak. But staying wasn’t an option anymore and Sam would get better and probably faster with him and Dean taking care of him over the cold, impersonal atmosphere of the hospital.
Determined once again to get Sam out of there before that arrogant prick of a doctor returned, he grabbed a blanket from the empty bed next to the one Sam had been in and wrapped it around his shoulders. Sam pushed his head up, looking up gratefully at John with tired, dark shadowed eyes as he grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it closer around himself and huddled into its warmth before he let his head hang once again with his chin to his chest.
Dean was already checking the hall to see if the coast was clear as John rubbed Sam’s shoulder, wincing at how hot Sam was even through the blanket, “Hold on, kiddo. We’re gonna get you outta here and take care of ya, okay?”
Sam just nodded, his head still bowed.
John looked up at Dean who nodded as well and gave a thumbs-up, silently saying that the hall was clear enough for them to slip out unnoticed.
The escape from the hospital actually went rather smoothly and there were no questions asked of the trio until they made it to the parking lot and their Winchester luck struck yet again.
John was waiting at the curb with Sam while Dean ran to the car and pulled it around towards them when Sam’s doctor came rushing out of the building.
“Hey!” Doctor Nosy yelled just as Dean stopped the car beside the curb, “What do you think you’re doing?”
John ignored the man and yanked the back door open before carefully scooping Sam out of the wheelchair and gliding him onto the backseat bench, making sure to tuck the blanket around him again once he was settled.
At the Same time, Dean abandoned the driver’s seat and joined Sam in the rear, pulling his little brother against him and allowing Sam to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder.
Seeing Sam close his eyes as he lay against Dean, John backed up and closed the door, spinning as he heard huffing and puffing behind him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The red-faced doctor asked, “What is Sam doing out of his room?”
“What does it look like?” John responded, clipping his words as he strode for the driver’s side.
“You can’t take him - he still needs treatment.”
“I’ll treat him.”
“You can’t be serious.” The doctor protested incredulously.
John leveled a dark gaze at the doctor that explained just how serious John really was about this.
“I’m calling the cops - this is … “The flabbergasted doctor sputtered, “this is child endangerment and you won’t get away with this … I’ll have you know that --”
The rest of the doctor’s words were cut off as he climbed into the car and slammed the door shut behind him. John really didn’t have the patience to deal with the doctor any longer and other than giving the man a parting glance, he paid him no heed regarding his threat. The man could call the cops all he wanted, but they’d be far out of town and this jurisdiction before they could find them.
John glanced back in the rear-view mirror. Dean had his arm around Sam as he slept and for the first time since they found his youngest son in the hospital, he looked like he was actually getting some peaceful, healing sleep.
John gripped the gear shift and threw the car into drive, pressing his foot hard into the accelerator as he peeled the classic auto out of the parking lot, leaving the fuming and wildly gesticulating man in the white coat behind in a cloud of exhaust.
OoOoOoOoOo
Dad drove on for hours, only stopping once so he could ‘procure’ some antibiotics for Sam at a small pharmacy on the way to wherever the hell they would end up.
Night was falling and Sam had slept most of time in the car, nestled up against Dean. He was still hot and feverish for most of the ride until they crossed the state line and he started to sweat profusely, wetting through the shirts Dean had on.
Dean reached up and felt Sam’s forehead. It was clammy, but much cooler - his fever had finally broken. Sighing with relief, he rubbed the top of Sam’s head, letting his finger slide through his damp hair, “You’re gonna be okay, Sammy.”
Sam mumbled then shifted, nuzzling further into Dean’s shoulder before he started snoring softly into Dean’s ear. Allowing a small grin, Dean remarked to himself how his brother seemed to sleep so much better in the car than anywhere else and he had vague memories pop up of Sam as a baby, crying his little head off until Dad strapped him into his car seat and started driving, the vibrations and the motion of the car almost instantly putting him into a deep sleep. Even now, seventeen years later, Sam still seemed to need that comfort of the only home they had ever really known to really relax and feel safe enough for some true rest.
Sam was safe now and he was right where he belonged.
Dean squeezed him back tighter then leaned his head against the window, his body and sore wounds reminding him that he too needed rest after the last couple of days they had been through. He closed his eyes with a sigh and listened to the soothing sounds of the engine and Sam’s breathing.
It wasn’t long before he too joined his brother, their snores floating together in a harmonic duet that filled the interior of the car.
OoOoOoOoOo
Sam woke up in a bed he didn’t remember falling asleep in. At first glance, the white, bleach scented sheets made him think that he must still be in the hospital, but slowly, his sluggish brain recalled being in the backseat of the car - feeling safe as he snuggled against his brother.
Snuggled?
Oh man … so much for facing serious illness like a man, he thought.
Rolling onto his back, Sam felt the sting of the scratches the bajang had given him, but the pain was not nearly as bad as he recalled and as he began to wake up further, he found that thinking wasn’t as much of a chore either. He still felt like crap, like he was getting over a bad case of the flu, but all things considered, he felt markedly improved since the last time he was awake.
Just then, Sam felt tiny puffs of air hit the side of his face and he turned, finding himself face to face with Dean, sleeping on his side next to him with his mouth wide open and drool puddling onto his pillow. He also got a face full of Dean’s morning breath, so with a slightly grossed-out grimace, he tried to prop himself up onto his elbows. He smacked his mouth and realized that his own breath probably wasn’t all that pretty either.
He could hardly remember the last time he brushed his teeth or had a shower and he felt scuzzy in his own unwashed skin. Taking in a little sniff, he concluded that he wasn’t just feeling dirty - he stank of sweat and illness and he just wanted to scrub it all away.
Sam looked across the room. It was like any motel room they had stayed in before: dingy carpet, yellowing blinds, cheap furnishings … ahhhh … home sweet home (for now). The other bed in the room was currently unoccupied, but judging from the rumpled, slept in look it had and the dull, early-morning light streaming in through the curtains, his father must have gotten up before them and gone off to pick up breakfast and coffee, both of which actually sounded pretty good to him as his stomach rumbled. Sam saw his returning appetite as a good sign that he really was getting better and attempt to take a shower might make him feel even better.
He sat up the rest of the way, shaking off the lingering dizziness in his head and shivering slightly as the last vestiges of his fever refused to completely let him go yet. Determined more than ever now to take a shower just to warm up his slightly chilled body and hopefully soothe some of his aching joints and muscles, Sam swung his legs over the bed and planted his bare feet on the floor. Standing up proved to be harder than he would have hoped and he had to stop after he was fully upright to grab the nearest nightstand for balance as his vision swam with floaters, but once he recovered, he made it to the bathroom without any incident on limbs that felt a bit like Jell-o.
Sam turned on the shower taps and stepped into the hot, steaming water, audibly sighing as it hit his skin and warm him from the outside in. He closed his eyes and savored the heat for several minutes before he finally got around to actually cleaning himself with the soap and shampoo.
Reluctantly, he eventually had to turn off the shower when the last of the hot water was spent. Dean was going to bitch about the lack of hot water when he got up, but it would be worth it in order to feel clean and human once more, he figured.
Sam stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, not really surprised when he saw his hand shaking as he grabbed it. He may have felt better, but he knew from the weak feeling in his muscles and chills starting up again that this excursion was most likely to be the most action he was going to see for the rest of the day.
A plume of steam followed Sam as he exited the bathroom. He looked towards the bed and noticed that Dean was still fast asleep and didn’t look like he had moved a muscle since he last saw him. He made his way towards the duffel bag he noticed sitting on the floor beside the bed and bent over to open it and find some clean clothes. Bending over however, turned out to be a bad idea as Sam’s knees suddenly decided to quit working and his vision tunneled to black.
The next thing he knew, his hands were trying to catch him from falling, grabbing onto the bedspread for something to slow down his descent. All he really accomplished however was to lose the towel wrapped around his hips and pull the bedspread off of the bed and onto him as he fell onto his face.
Sam may have blacked out for only a moment or two, but the clamor he had caused sent his brother rocketing out of bed and racing to his side. When his vision finally cleared of the black clouds, Dean’s face was all he could see.
“Shit, Sammy … You okay?”
For some illogical reason, Dean’s concerned and frantic face with his hair all askew and drool unchecked on his chin up close and personal in Sam’s line of sight looked hilarious to him and he was surprised to hear himself giggle.
Dean’s face seemed to war with itself between confusion, concern, and amusement which made Sam laugh even harder.
“What the hell? What’s so funny? You hit your head on the way down or something?”
Sam choked on a snort, “N -no … I’m … fine,” he said between laughs, unable to explain even to himself why Dean looked so funny to him - maybe his mind was still warped from the fever.
“Yeah … laugh it up. I’m not the one laying naked on the floor.” Dean grabbed Sam by the elbow, “C’mon, Let’s get you back to bed before you destroy the whole room.”
Sam allowed his brother to haul him off of the floor and help him to sit on the bed. Still feeling a little light-headed, he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second before Dean was thrusting a pair of tighty-whities and a t-shirt into his hands. Sam grabbed the underwear and shirt without a word and slipped them on before lying back on the bed and resting his head onto the soft, plushness of the pillow, feeling a little more drained than such a simple task should have caused.
“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asked.
Sam couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling, “Yeah …M’fine. I Just let the shower get too hot -- -made me a little dizzy - that’s all.”
Dean sat down on the bed next to Sam and touched his forehead with his palm as if Sam was five years old again and needed his big brother to take care of him. He tried to jerk away, but Dean held him still, “Quit squirming, I’m just checking you fever.”
“I’m fine, Dean … Quit it.”
“Well sooooory, bitch,” Dean came back sarcastically, “You had a fever over 105 yesterday, so forgive me for making sure you aren’t going to keel over again.”
Sam sighed until Dean seemed satisfied that he wasn’t going to spontaneously combust. Dean grunted as he stood up again and made his way to the table where the med kit sat open and he pulled out a couple of bottles of pills out before he went to the bathroom and filled a cup of water.
Dean made a slight grimace as he sat back down on the bed and handed Sam his pills and water. Sam eyed his brother over the top of the cup, noting how he seemed to still be in some pain from his own wounds as he grunted and sat down on the bed next to him, pale and tired looking. Sam recalled the blood and the gashes across Dean’s chest and his own aches and pains were forgotten.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
“Yeah … just a little sore.”
Sam knew a lie when he saw it and his brother was a lying liar that lies, he concluded.
“You should take some stuff too.” Sam pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah … told you I was fine.” Dean sighed, “I’m not the one that’s sick.”
“You’re gonna be if you don’t take care of yourself. I didn’t fix you up just so you could ruin all of my hard work.”
That must have been the wrong thing to say because as soon as it left his mouth, Dean’s eyes blazed with guilt and anger, “You should be one to talk. You … you could have died … and for what? To prove some stupid point that you could handle things without any help? That you could do everything on your own? Jesus … all you needed to do was ask for help washing out those damn scratches and you never would have gotten sick. And don’t tell me you didn’t tell dad because you were afraid of him, ‘cause that bullshit and you know it. You’ve never have a problem arguing with him before, so what was different this time?”
Sam blanched, feeling the blood withdraw from his face as his stomach knotted, “It’s just … “
“Just what?” Dean demanded to know impatiently.
“It was my fault, okay? I woke the bajang up - you guys wouldn’t have been hurt if it hadn’t been for me. I guess I thought I deserved --”
Dean cut Sam off quickly, angrily shaking his head, “Oh for crying out loud. You are such a dumbass, Sam!” Dean nearly shouted, “You think that you needed to be punished, is that it? Christ on a popsicle stick - that’s the most fucked up thing I think I ever heard!”
Sam lowered his eyes while Dean continued his tirade, getting up in Sam’s face and assaulting him with his hot breath, “This self-flagellation crap is gonna stop right here and now - got it? Just get over it already - So you made a mistake and had an accident - that shit happens all the time. So from now on - I don’t care if you start frickin’ World War III or shoot the goddamned pope himself - if you’re hurt, you tell me or dad. End of story. Understood?”
Sam let Dean’s clipped words sink in and he nodded, properly chastised.
“Good.”
“You done now?” Sam asked, quirking his lips, hoping to lighten the mood a little and push aside some of the shame he was feeling, “’Cause if you keep breathing on me with that skunk breath of yours I’m gonna pass out from the fumes.”
Dean snorted then got up in Sam’s face again, a glint of sadism in his eyes as he drew in a breath and opened his mouth wide, “SO SORRY FOR BREATHING ON YOU.” He blew out, making sure Sam got a lung full of his foul, morning breath.
Sam jerked away with a grin on his face, playfully shoving Dean’s face away from his, “Good God - if your shit had a mouth that’s what its breath would smell like.”
“Yeah well …” Dean struggled for a comeback. Sam smiled broadly, knowing he had zinged Dean pretty good and when Dean couldn’t think of anything, except, “Shut -up, geek.” He laughed out loud until Dean disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.
Sam’s grin didn’t last and quickly disappeared the moment he heard the lock to the front door being opened and his father walked in. Dad stopped and looked up at Sam as he stood in the open doorway, “Sam? How’re you feeling?”
“M’ fine.” Dropping his head, Sam looked down at his fingers as if they were now the most interesting things he had ever seen before - anything to avoid looking his father in the eyes and seeing ther disappointment he was sure to see there. Dean had already given him the lecture on keeping his injury from his father and brother and he knew that he should have spoken up about it before things had gotten so out of hand. He really didn’t want to hear it all over again, but Dad only nodded as he resumed entering the room. He simply set a drink carrier with two coffees and an orange juice along with a bag of donuts onto the little, round table by the window before he looked up and noticed the empty space beside Sam, “Where’s Dean?”
“Bathroom,” Sam replied quickly while still managing to avoid his father’s gaze.
Dad nodded again then took the cup filled with orange juice and walked over to Sam, holding it out to him, “Here … you need to keep hydrated. You hungry?”
Sam shook his head, but took the juice and began drinking it down.
His father and sat down at the table and grabbed a cup of coffee out of the drink carrier and started to sip at it before pulling a newspaper he had tucked under his arm out, unfolding it and beginning to read. He was probably already trying to find something interesting for them to hunt next and Sam wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
On some levels Sam wanted things to get back to normal right away and for his dad to find something to hunt quickly just so this whole bajang fiasco to be put away and forgotten, but he also wanted to prove to his father on the next hunt that he wasn’t always a screw-up - that even though he hated hunting, he could keep his head in the game and watch their backs. Then maybe … just maybe … Dad could look at him with the same respect as he did Dean.
Sam snorted a little to himself as he looked over at his father, yeah right, who am I kidding?
Dad suddenly dropped the paper onto the table with a sigh and braced his elbows on the surface of it, rubbing his forehead with his fingers like he did when he had a headache or a hangover, reminding Sam that his father had also been injured by the bajang as well and was probably still feeling the effects of the concussion. He felt another round of guilt eat at his stomach and he wanted to apologize all over again, but he held back, not wanting to re-hash everything all over again - because really - what good was it going to do? Dad had said it himself - what was done was done.
His father stopped and looked up and Sam wasn’t quick enough to turn his eyes away this time. Their eyes connected and to Sam, his father looked … relieved, but still concerned. Sam must still really look like shit for that to happen, but before Sam could look away again, his father gave him a small nod and something passed between them - something like forgiveness. Both of had made mistakes and both of them were sorry for them and had learned from them.
He knew then that they would never speak of this again and he nodded back, completely in agreement with his father for the first time in a long time.
The End
Sam appeared to have passed out, which was a blessing in John’s opinion. The pain had to have been excruciating and at least now Sam was quiet and no longer feeling the effects of the cleansing John had inflicted on him. He reached out and let his hand land on Sam’s head, letting his finger run through his boy’s soft hair that was now damp with sweat.
Seeing the effect of the blessed water on the poison in his son’s skin had been bad enough, but Sam’s muffled sobs and moans as John had poured on the holy water had been far worse. Knowing that he was the one that was causing so much pain, even if it was for Sam’s own good, tore a chunk from his heart that hurt more than a shot to the gut.
All he could hope for was that the holy water had worked - that Sam would recover quickly and he could take his son away far away from here - from this town - away from the mistakes he had made.
But he knew no matter how far he drove, his mistakes would follow him.
“Dad?” Dean hissed from the door, “The doctor’s coming.”
John looked up and nodded, not realizing how badly his hands were shaking until he tried to quickly tape the bandage onto Sam’s back once again. He fumbled with it and accidentally pressed into one of the scratches. Sam flinched and groaned, but didn’t wake up, for which John was grateful - Sam needed his rest and with the doctor coming, it was best that he wasn’t up to talking with the man.
John knew that the doctor was harboring questions about how Sam was injured and it wouldn’t the first time some doctor or teacher was suspicious about how one of his boys had ended up with numerous bruises or a broken bone and last thing he needed was CPS getting involved.
John hated hospitals for that reason -- he couldn’t exactly tell the medical staff the truth, that he and his boys hunted supernatural creatures and it wouldn’t be the first time he had to cut short a hospital stay before the authorities got involved and decided that John wasn’t fit to know what was best for his kids.
It seemed like this time would be no different. He hated the thought of having sneak Sam out before his treatment was complete, but getting out of town would have to be his next priority. As soon as Sam showed signs of getting better, John would make sure they grabbed the right medications for him and then hit the road.
John finished reapplying the bandages to Sam’s back just as the doctor strode into the room. He eyes John with the same look of suspicious contempt that he held earlier and he knew for certain now that the doctor had formed his own conclusions about him - that he had to be some kind of child abuser - a man that couldn’t contain his anger and took it out on his kids.
Sure - John had a temper, he drank too much, and he took his boys out on dangerous missions, but there was one thing he was not and that was someone who would purposefully hurt his kids. He had enough of the switches, belts, and fists from his own father growing up to know that he never wanted to be that way.
The doctor didn’t say a word to John as he checked Sam’s vitals and it was with some relief that the man didn’t notice the wet sheets under his son. He finally raised his eyes towards John and deemed him worthy enough to be spoken to.
Dean walked over and joined John by his side, his son’s look summing up exactly what John thought of the doctor as well.
Damned self-righteous bastard.
“Hmmm … surprising. Sam’s fever has come down two degrees since it was checked last. Looks like the antibiotics are beginning to work.
Or the holy water is working, you fucking quack.
“I think we can safely take these ice packs away and if he continues to improve, I’m going to have him transferred to a regular room.”
Dean sighed, clearly relieved, “So, he’s going to be okay?”
“I believe so.” The doctor agreed, giving John the stink eye again.
Okay - he had enough.
“Something else you want to say?” John asked the physician.
The man hesitated a little at first the squared his shoulders, “I’m still at a loss as to how Sam was injured. Are you certain that you don’t know this happened?”
John ground his teeth, “I told you I don’t know.” he replied, his voice low. He tried to hide the hostility in his voice, but knew it came out sounding threatening.
“Sam also has several … older injuries … scars … some recent and some at least a few years old. Can you explain those?”
“Sam’s an active kid. He’s in sports and plays rough. Sometimes he gets hurt”
The doctor looked unconvinced.
Dean decided to join in, his voice just as tight as John’s and he made no effort to hide his growing anger, “Just what are you trying to say here? You think my dad’s been beating on Sammy?” He took a step forward, entering the doctor’s personal space, almost nose to nose with him, his eyes darkening. The doctor, to his credit, didn’t back down.
“I just have questions that I’d like to have answered. I’ve made no such accusation …. So far.”
Dean eyes narrowed even more, “Now you listen here -“
“Dean -“John grabbed Dean’s arms and hauled him back a couple of feet from the doctor, fearing for a moment that his oldest might start swinging. Not that he would blame Dean if he did, but the last thing they needed was for hospital security to get involved or for either one of them to get arrested for assault and battery.
Dean huffed and the doctor sneered, “I’ll be back to check on Sam soon. I have some phone calls to make. Excuse me.” The doctor spun on his heel and headed for the door, clearly on his way to inform the authorities.
John unclenched his jaw. They had to get out of there - now.
“Dean, get a wheelchair. Time to go.”
Dean, still fuming to the point where John was surprised he didn’t see steam coming from his son’s ears, just nodded and stalked off.
John then picked up the chart from the end of Sam’s bed and flipped it open. Reading through it quickly, he found the medications Sam was on, found a pen and wrote the names and amounts he would need onto his hand.
Dean returned as soon as John had replaced the chart and he pushed the wheelchair up to the bed, beating John to Sam’s side, “Hey …” Dean pushed back the hair covering Sam’s forehead, while John started removing the various medical devices Sam was hooked up to, “Time to wake up, Sammy.”
Sam made a noise in his throat then forced his eye open into thin slits, “Dea? Wha?”
“We gotta get outta here.” Dean explained quickly, “Think you can sit up?”
“m’kay” Sam nodded weakly, making an attempt to come up on his own, but he quickly lost steam and Dean took over from there, one arm coming around the back of Sam’s neck and while the other went under his knees. With a little grunt, Dean pulled his little brother up to his chest, carrying him to the wheelchair, “Jeez, Sammy … put on a little weight?”
Sam mumbled something in return that John couldn’t hear, but made Dean snort as he lowered Sam into the wheelchair carefully, “M’not fat, bitch - this bulk is all muscle.”
John saw Sam shiver as he leaned forward in the chair, his head hanging and hair falling into his face while goosebumps spread across his pasty, colorless skin. Sam’s pallor against the dark mop of hair provided a sharp contrast that made John second guess his decision to cut and run from the hospital while Sam was still so ill and so weak. But staying wasn’t an option anymore and Sam would get better and probably faster with him and Dean taking care of him over the cold, impersonal atmosphere of the hospital.
Determined once again to get Sam out of there before that arrogant prick of a doctor returned, he grabbed a blanket from the empty bed next to the one Sam had been in and wrapped it around his shoulders. Sam pushed his head up, looking up gratefully at John with tired, dark shadowed eyes as he grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it closer around himself and huddled into its warmth before he let his head hang once again with his chin to his chest.
Dean was already checking the hall to see if the coast was clear as John rubbed Sam’s shoulder, wincing at how hot Sam was even through the blanket, “Hold on, kiddo. We’re gonna get you outta here and take care of ya, okay?”
Sam just nodded, his head still bowed.
John looked up at Dean who nodded as well and gave a thumbs-up, silently saying that the hall was clear enough for them to slip out unnoticed.
The escape from the hospital actually went rather smoothly and there were no questions asked of the trio until they made it to the parking lot and their Winchester luck struck yet again.
John was waiting at the curb with Sam while Dean ran to the car and pulled it around towards them when Sam’s doctor came rushing out of the building.
“Hey!” Doctor Nosy yelled just as Dean stopped the car beside the curb, “What do you think you’re doing?”
John ignored the man and yanked the back door open before carefully scooping Sam out of the wheelchair and gliding him onto the backseat bench, making sure to tuck the blanket around him again once he was settled.
At the Same time, Dean abandoned the driver’s seat and joined Sam in the rear, pulling his little brother against him and allowing Sam to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder.
Seeing Sam close his eyes as he lay against Dean, John backed up and closed the door, spinning as he heard huffing and puffing behind him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” The red-faced doctor asked, “What is Sam doing out of his room?”
“What does it look like?” John responded, clipping his words as he strode for the driver’s side.
“You can’t take him - he still needs treatment.”
“I’ll treat him.”
“You can’t be serious.” The doctor protested incredulously.
John leveled a dark gaze at the doctor that explained just how serious John really was about this.
“I’m calling the cops - this is … “The flabbergasted doctor sputtered, “this is child endangerment and you won’t get away with this … I’ll have you know that --”
The rest of the doctor’s words were cut off as he climbed into the car and slammed the door shut behind him. John really didn’t have the patience to deal with the doctor any longer and other than giving the man a parting glance, he paid him no heed regarding his threat. The man could call the cops all he wanted, but they’d be far out of town and this jurisdiction before they could find them.
John glanced back in the rear-view mirror. Dean had his arm around Sam as he slept and for the first time since they found his youngest son in the hospital, he looked like he was actually getting some peaceful, healing sleep.
John gripped the gear shift and threw the car into drive, pressing his foot hard into the accelerator as he peeled the classic auto out of the parking lot, leaving the fuming and wildly gesticulating man in the white coat behind in a cloud of exhaust.
OoOoOoOoOo
Dad drove on for hours, only stopping once so he could ‘procure’ some antibiotics for Sam at a small pharmacy on the way to wherever the hell they would end up.
Night was falling and Sam had slept most of time in the car, nestled up against Dean. He was still hot and feverish for most of the ride until they crossed the state line and he started to sweat profusely, wetting through the shirts Dean had on.
Dean reached up and felt Sam’s forehead. It was clammy, but much cooler - his fever had finally broken. Sighing with relief, he rubbed the top of Sam’s head, letting his finger slide through his damp hair, “You’re gonna be okay, Sammy.”
Sam mumbled then shifted, nuzzling further into Dean’s shoulder before he started snoring softly into Dean’s ear. Allowing a small grin, Dean remarked to himself how his brother seemed to sleep so much better in the car than anywhere else and he had vague memories pop up of Sam as a baby, crying his little head off until Dad strapped him into his car seat and started driving, the vibrations and the motion of the car almost instantly putting him into a deep sleep. Even now, seventeen years later, Sam still seemed to need that comfort of the only home they had ever really known to really relax and feel safe enough for some true rest.
Sam was safe now and he was right where he belonged.
Dean squeezed him back tighter then leaned his head against the window, his body and sore wounds reminding him that he too needed rest after the last couple of days they had been through. He closed his eyes with a sigh and listened to the soothing sounds of the engine and Sam’s breathing.
It wasn’t long before he too joined his brother, their snores floating together in a harmonic duet that filled the interior of the car.
OoOoOoOoOo
Sam woke up in a bed he didn’t remember falling asleep in. At first glance, the white, bleach scented sheets made him think that he must still be in the hospital, but slowly, his sluggish brain recalled being in the backseat of the car - feeling safe as he snuggled against his brother.
Snuggled?
Oh man … so much for facing serious illness like a man, he thought.
Rolling onto his back, Sam felt the sting of the scratches the bajang had given him, but the pain was not nearly as bad as he recalled and as he began to wake up further, he found that thinking wasn’t as much of a chore either. He still felt like crap, like he was getting over a bad case of the flu, but all things considered, he felt markedly improved since the last time he was awake.
Just then, Sam felt tiny puffs of air hit the side of his face and he turned, finding himself face to face with Dean, sleeping on his side next to him with his mouth wide open and drool puddling onto his pillow. He also got a face full of Dean’s morning breath, so with a slightly grossed-out grimace, he tried to prop himself up onto his elbows. He smacked his mouth and realized that his own breath probably wasn’t all that pretty either.
He could hardly remember the last time he brushed his teeth or had a shower and he felt scuzzy in his own unwashed skin. Taking in a little sniff, he concluded that he wasn’t just feeling dirty - he stank of sweat and illness and he just wanted to scrub it all away.
Sam looked across the room. It was like any motel room they had stayed in before: dingy carpet, yellowing blinds, cheap furnishings … ahhhh … home sweet home (for now). The other bed in the room was currently unoccupied, but judging from the rumpled, slept in look it had and the dull, early-morning light streaming in through the curtains, his father must have gotten up before them and gone off to pick up breakfast and coffee, both of which actually sounded pretty good to him as his stomach rumbled. Sam saw his returning appetite as a good sign that he really was getting better and attempt to take a shower might make him feel even better.
He sat up the rest of the way, shaking off the lingering dizziness in his head and shivering slightly as the last vestiges of his fever refused to completely let him go yet. Determined more than ever now to take a shower just to warm up his slightly chilled body and hopefully soothe some of his aching joints and muscles, Sam swung his legs over the bed and planted his bare feet on the floor. Standing up proved to be harder than he would have hoped and he had to stop after he was fully upright to grab the nearest nightstand for balance as his vision swam with floaters, but once he recovered, he made it to the bathroom without any incident on limbs that felt a bit like Jell-o.
Sam turned on the shower taps and stepped into the hot, steaming water, audibly sighing as it hit his skin and warm him from the outside in. He closed his eyes and savored the heat for several minutes before he finally got around to actually cleaning himself with the soap and shampoo.
Reluctantly, he eventually had to turn off the shower when the last of the hot water was spent. Dean was going to bitch about the lack of hot water when he got up, but it would be worth it in order to feel clean and human once more, he figured.
Sam stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, not really surprised when he saw his hand shaking as he grabbed it. He may have felt better, but he knew from the weak feeling in his muscles and chills starting up again that this excursion was most likely to be the most action he was going to see for the rest of the day.
A plume of steam followed Sam as he exited the bathroom. He looked towards the bed and noticed that Dean was still fast asleep and didn’t look like he had moved a muscle since he last saw him. He made his way towards the duffel bag he noticed sitting on the floor beside the bed and bent over to open it and find some clean clothes. Bending over however, turned out to be a bad idea as Sam’s knees suddenly decided to quit working and his vision tunneled to black.
The next thing he knew, his hands were trying to catch him from falling, grabbing onto the bedspread for something to slow down his descent. All he really accomplished however was to lose the towel wrapped around his hips and pull the bedspread off of the bed and onto him as he fell onto his face.
Sam may have blacked out for only a moment or two, but the clamor he had caused sent his brother rocketing out of bed and racing to his side. When his vision finally cleared of the black clouds, Dean’s face was all he could see.
“Shit, Sammy … You okay?”
For some illogical reason, Dean’s concerned and frantic face with his hair all askew and drool unchecked on his chin up close and personal in Sam’s line of sight looked hilarious to him and he was surprised to hear himself giggle.
Dean’s face seemed to war with itself between confusion, concern, and amusement which made Sam laugh even harder.
“What the hell? What’s so funny? You hit your head on the way down or something?”
Sam choked on a snort, “N -no … I’m … fine,” he said between laughs, unable to explain even to himself why Dean looked so funny to him - maybe his mind was still warped from the fever.
“Yeah … laugh it up. I’m not the one laying naked on the floor.” Dean grabbed Sam by the elbow, “C’mon, Let’s get you back to bed before you destroy the whole room.”
Sam allowed his brother to haul him off of the floor and help him to sit on the bed. Still feeling a little light-headed, he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second before Dean was thrusting a pair of tighty-whities and a t-shirt into his hands. Sam grabbed the underwear and shirt without a word and slipped them on before lying back on the bed and resting his head onto the soft, plushness of the pillow, feeling a little more drained than such a simple task should have caused.
“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asked.
Sam couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling, “Yeah …M’fine. I Just let the shower get too hot -- -made me a little dizzy - that’s all.”
Dean sat down on the bed next to Sam and touched his forehead with his palm as if Sam was five years old again and needed his big brother to take care of him. He tried to jerk away, but Dean held him still, “Quit squirming, I’m just checking you fever.”
“I’m fine, Dean … Quit it.”
“Well sooooory, bitch,” Dean came back sarcastically, “You had a fever over 105 yesterday, so forgive me for making sure you aren’t going to keel over again.”
Sam sighed until Dean seemed satisfied that he wasn’t going to spontaneously combust. Dean grunted as he stood up again and made his way to the table where the med kit sat open and he pulled out a couple of bottles of pills out before he went to the bathroom and filled a cup of water.
Dean made a slight grimace as he sat back down on the bed and handed Sam his pills and water. Sam eyed his brother over the top of the cup, noting how he seemed to still be in some pain from his own wounds as he grunted and sat down on the bed next to him, pale and tired looking. Sam recalled the blood and the gashes across Dean’s chest and his own aches and pains were forgotten.
“You okay?” Sam asked.
“Yeah … just a little sore.”
Sam knew a lie when he saw it and his brother was a lying liar that lies, he concluded.
“You should take some stuff too.” Sam pointed out.
“Yeah, yeah … told you I was fine.” Dean sighed, “I’m not the one that’s sick.”
“You’re gonna be if you don’t take care of yourself. I didn’t fix you up just so you could ruin all of my hard work.”
That must have been the wrong thing to say because as soon as it left his mouth, Dean’s eyes blazed with guilt and anger, “You should be one to talk. You … you could have died … and for what? To prove some stupid point that you could handle things without any help? That you could do everything on your own? Jesus … all you needed to do was ask for help washing out those damn scratches and you never would have gotten sick. And don’t tell me you didn’t tell dad because you were afraid of him, ‘cause that bullshit and you know it. You’ve never have a problem arguing with him before, so what was different this time?”
Sam blanched, feeling the blood withdraw from his face as his stomach knotted, “It’s just … “
“Just what?” Dean demanded to know impatiently.
“It was my fault, okay? I woke the bajang up - you guys wouldn’t have been hurt if it hadn’t been for me. I guess I thought I deserved --”
Dean cut Sam off quickly, angrily shaking his head, “Oh for crying out loud. You are such a dumbass, Sam!” Dean nearly shouted, “You think that you needed to be punished, is that it? Christ on a popsicle stick - that’s the most fucked up thing I think I ever heard!”
Sam lowered his eyes while Dean continued his tirade, getting up in Sam’s face and assaulting him with his hot breath, “This self-flagellation crap is gonna stop right here and now - got it? Just get over it already - So you made a mistake and had an accident - that shit happens all the time. So from now on - I don’t care if you start frickin’ World War III or shoot the goddamned pope himself - if you’re hurt, you tell me or dad. End of story. Understood?”
Sam let Dean’s clipped words sink in and he nodded, properly chastised.
“Good.”
“You done now?” Sam asked, quirking his lips, hoping to lighten the mood a little and push aside some of the shame he was feeling, “’Cause if you keep breathing on me with that skunk breath of yours I’m gonna pass out from the fumes.”
Dean snorted then got up in Sam’s face again, a glint of sadism in his eyes as he drew in a breath and opened his mouth wide, “SO SORRY FOR BREATHING ON YOU.” He blew out, making sure Sam got a lung full of his foul, morning breath.
Sam jerked away with a grin on his face, playfully shoving Dean’s face away from his, “Good God - if your shit had a mouth that’s what its breath would smell like.”
“Yeah well …” Dean struggled for a comeback. Sam smiled broadly, knowing he had zinged Dean pretty good and when Dean couldn’t think of anything, except, “Shut -up, geek.” He laughed out loud until Dean disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.
Sam’s grin didn’t last and quickly disappeared the moment he heard the lock to the front door being opened and his father walked in. Dad stopped and looked up at Sam as he stood in the open doorway, “Sam? How’re you feeling?”
“M’ fine.” Dropping his head, Sam looked down at his fingers as if they were now the most interesting things he had ever seen before - anything to avoid looking his father in the eyes and seeing ther disappointment he was sure to see there. Dean had already given him the lecture on keeping his injury from his father and brother and he knew that he should have spoken up about it before things had gotten so out of hand. He really didn’t want to hear it all over again, but Dad only nodded as he resumed entering the room. He simply set a drink carrier with two coffees and an orange juice along with a bag of donuts onto the little, round table by the window before he looked up and noticed the empty space beside Sam, “Where’s Dean?”
“Bathroom,” Sam replied quickly while still managing to avoid his father’s gaze.
Dad nodded again then took the cup filled with orange juice and walked over to Sam, holding it out to him, “Here … you need to keep hydrated. You hungry?”
Sam shook his head, but took the juice and began drinking it down.
His father and sat down at the table and grabbed a cup of coffee out of the drink carrier and started to sip at it before pulling a newspaper he had tucked under his arm out, unfolding it and beginning to read. He was probably already trying to find something interesting for them to hunt next and Sam wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
On some levels Sam wanted things to get back to normal right away and for his dad to find something to hunt quickly just so this whole bajang fiasco to be put away and forgotten, but he also wanted to prove to his father on the next hunt that he wasn’t always a screw-up - that even though he hated hunting, he could keep his head in the game and watch their backs. Then maybe … just maybe … Dad could look at him with the same respect as he did Dean.
Sam snorted a little to himself as he looked over at his father, yeah right, who am I kidding?
Dad suddenly dropped the paper onto the table with a sigh and braced his elbows on the surface of it, rubbing his forehead with his fingers like he did when he had a headache or a hangover, reminding Sam that his father had also been injured by the bajang as well and was probably still feeling the effects of the concussion. He felt another round of guilt eat at his stomach and he wanted to apologize all over again, but he held back, not wanting to re-hash everything all over again - because really - what good was it going to do? Dad had said it himself - what was done was done.
His father stopped and looked up and Sam wasn’t quick enough to turn his eyes away this time. Their eyes connected and to Sam, his father looked … relieved, but still concerned. Sam must still really look like shit for that to happen, but before Sam could look away again, his father gave him a small nod and something passed between them - something like forgiveness. Both of had made mistakes and both of them were sorry for them and had learned from them.
He knew then that they would never speak of this again and he nodded back, completely in agreement with his father for the first time in a long time.
The End