Guess what day it is? Comment-fic day!
Once again, it's everyone's favourite day in Supernatural: May 2nd! You know what that means, right? Time to hurt Sam! ;)
You know the drill, right? Allow me to post a refresher:
( Read more... )
You know the drill, right? Allow me to post a refresher:
( Read more... )
“Because I… He can’t know about this,” Sam says quietly.
“On three,” Bobby says, putting his hands on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam nods. “One,” and he just snaps it back into place. Sam cries out and nearly falls to his knees; Bobby thinks if he hadn’t had his hands on him Sam would have. Sam gasps for breath, furiously wiping his face to keep Bobby from seeing that he’s crying. Bobby thinks this may end up being more than he can handle; Sam isn’t someone who breaks down easy, and it looks to Bobby like he’s falling apart at the seams. He scrubs a hand over his face while Sam stands at the desk, bent over at the waist, shaking. “Sam...”
“My ribs,” Sam says, gasping. He’s having trouble taking a deep breath. “I think my ribs are broken,” he gasps.
“Okay, kid, I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re going to the hospital. You can give’em whatever story you want, but you’re going.”
In the emergency room they look at Bobby like he’s the one who beat the hell out of Sam; they make him wait outside the room, a million excuses why he can’t see Sam. He stops listening to their orders when he can hear Sam yelling don’t touch me! He barges in, regardless of who says he can’t be there. Before he can stop himself he’s saying “If you’re not going to help my boy then we’ll find someone else who can.” Sam is on his knees with a pink basin in his hands, doubled over and retching.
“Sir-“
“Look, I don’t have time for your crap; do what he’s asking you to or leave him the hell alone. Don’t you get that he’s scared?” Bobby yells. He pushes past the gawping doctor and gets down next to Sam. “It’s ok, Sam. Let’s get you off the floor, yeah?”
He pulls Sam -- wearing the flimsy hospital gown that was given to him -- to his feet. Bobby walks him over to the bed and pulls back the blankets; he helps Sam up and covers him. “Just sit tight for a minute, ok? I’m gonna try and get you outta here faster.”
They spend nearly four hours at the hospital, and while Sam is getting dressed they hand Bobby his prescriptions. He’s not surprised to see the prescription for painkillers, but the second prescription he’s not sure about. He signs his name on the papers the nurse in front of him asks him to, then looks at her. “Is this an antibiotic?” He asks, holding the prescription slip.
She looks at it and nods. “We give prophylactics to all sexual assault victims; it’s just a preventative measure to avoid sexually transmitted diseases and other infections.” He tries not to look surprised; she must have assumed he knew everything that happened to Sam and he wasn’t going to correct her. He can’t figure out how the hell any of this had happened.
Sam comes out of the room looking worse for wear, his right arm in a sling. “Hey kid, you ready to get out of here?” Bobby asks. Sam nods and they head out together, Sam carefully avoiding standing too close to Bobby.
Instead of turning the car towards Sam’s dorm, he heads for the hotel he’s staying at. Sam sits up straighter, watching their turn off disappear in alarm. “What are you doing?”
“I think it’s best if you stay with me for a couple days,” Bobby says calmly. “I think you need someone to look after you until you’re feeling better.”
Sam closes his eyes, and Bobby watches him try to control his breathing. “I have classes.”
“And? You’ve got a doctor’s excuse, Sam. You need a couple days,” Bobby says and Sam sits back against the seat; if Bobby sees or thinks that he’s crying, he doesn’t say a word.
The hotel room is bigger than what Sam’s grown up in; there is a table and two chairs in the far corner, two queens, and a decent sized bathroom. The first thing Sam does is announce he’s taking a shower; Bobby just watches him run to the bathroom, hears the lock click into place.
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