Fic: Statistically Speaking 1/1
A hunt in the godforsaken woods of Jersey was not what Sam wanted to be doing. What he wanted - what he needed - to be doing was dragging his brother's stubborn ass to the doctor. But, no, instead he is tracking down the Jersey Devil - a huge American monster legend, who - from the looks of the video they had confiscated from some very scared college kids doing a documentary - is actually a skinwalker screwing with people.
It wasn't so bad at first - until a cold front whipped across the landscape, fall leaves ripped from the trees. Dean began to struggle, tripping on tree roots when he couldn't lift his knees high enough. This wasn't the first time this had happened, his older brother stiffening up. There was really only so often they could laugh it off as old age before push came to shove.
Dean nearly fell ass over teakettle and when Sam went to grab him, the skin he managed to touch flamingly hot.
"We're going back, now, Dean. This is the fourth fever this month, man."
"We don't have time for this!" Dean said, pulling away. "Have you noticed we're on a case?"
"A case with a skinwalker scaring documentary enthusiasts - no one has been hurt. If you keep pushing yourself like this, you're going to change those statistics."
Dean growled and kept moving haltingly forward.
"C'mon, man, help me out here!" Sam flailed his arms in exasperation, his voice very nearly pleading. "Just...come with me, we'll go to the motel, go into the city and hit a clinic tomorrow, figure out what's going on with you...then we can come back."
Dean held his hand over his chest, kneaded his sternum as he considered the proposition. It wasn't until they get back to the car that Sam heard the light wheeze that is eking in and out with each breath.
::: ::: :::
House was dawdling by the nurses desk in front of the clinic waiting for Wilson to come join him. He had to get a load of these two guys.
$100 bucks says these guys are gay, he had texted. Not because he particularly cared, but because he was bored and looking for anything else to do besides actually go into a clinic room. He didn't get a response, and he didn't know if that meant Wilson was ignoring him. It was alright - he could wait.
Soon enough, though, his friend strolled up to him with a slightly disapproving look on his face.
"Why would I bet on this, exactly?"
House shrugged. "I'm bored. Give your winnings to PFLAG if you feel that bad about it. I just want something to do."
"Which guys?" Wilson said with a sigh.
"Like you don't know!" House scoffed. "Those guys - the miserable guy in the army jacket and the lumbering giant with the Neanderthal forehead."
"Don't point!" Wilson hissed, slapping House's hand down like a girl.
House smiled sublimely at his colleague and winked coquettishly. "Good idea. Now they'll think we're together. We have an in!"
::: ::: :::
Sam nudged Dean when he sees the guy with the game leg pointing at them. His brother winced in pain and grumbled, but that's all his brother had been doing lately. Besides the off and on fevers, and the obvious pain he was trying to hide, he had some sort of chest - thing - going on, the tight wheeze not improving since last night. Sam's just glad he was able to finally put his foot down and get him looked at.
The tall man continued to limp up to them.
"Jack and his Beanstalk - this way please." He said loudly, all of the other patients of the clinic turning to stare.
Both men raise their eyebrows, but stand up - Dean rising painfully as his knees creak slowly upward, his brother helping him up.
House narrowed his eyes, grabbing the chart and taking in the two before him, paying special attention to the shambling guy who was clearly his patient. Taking a seat on the rolling stool, he began massaging the ache in his own thigh, stopping when he realized Army Jacket was mirroring him, trying to work out whatever kinks were in his own knees. He took vitals deftly, asked the normal boring questions that always had to ask - when what he really needed was to smoothly insert a question so he could win a hundred bucks.
"More than just this fever?"
"Yeah. Three others." Sam answered swiftly.
House paused in taking Dean's vitals and gave a look at the tall man worrying his lip and then continued in his examination. The fact that this guy didn't even let his friend speak for himself certainly supported his idea that they were more than just pals.
"Pulse slightly elevated," he mentioned, as if he is just talking to himself.
Dean startled backward when the doctor begins groping his neck, swallowing painfully, causing the jerkass to lean backward with an amused smirk.
"Aww, is he shy? That's adorable."
Both brothers were getting increasingly irritated.
"Just - give a guy some warning next time." Dean growled out, shifting on the exam table.
"You came to the doctors," House said with mock apology in his voice, "I'm sorry - was that not enough warning?"
Dean laughed a low dangerous laugh, getting that look on his face where he's going over the pros and cons of fighting with civilians. And Sam really didn't want to have to break up another fight - at least not when they're in a place with so many security cameras, but he willed himself to keep silent for the time being. He's just thankful Dean stays still when the physician starts touching him again.
"Your lymph nodes are swollen - you notice bumps anywhere else, under your arms, near your Happy Fun Zone maybe?"
"Yeah," Dean said, going to add more to that, but cut off by cough that burst forth - peppering the room with dry puffs of air, a binding hurt wrapping tightly around his chest.
House listened to Dean's lungs, but didn't say a word, just focused on the wheezing and noted the way his GQ model of a patient keeps touching his chest as if he wants to push air through his pectorals right into his lungs. The chart had said this had been going on since last night - and he was sure asthma is on board, but he's not going to say anything until he does a full exam. Extracting a penlight from his pocket, he peered into his patient's mouth, open sores decorating the inside of his cheek and the inside of his lip. Sam jumps back as the doctor spins around to face him. Big blue eyes are staring at his crotch and he finds himself crossing his legs as if to hide something.
"We could run a test for the sexy sores going on inside your special someone's mouth, but it'd be easier if I could just look at the luscious lollipop between your legs and see if you have the same thing." House was so winning this bet.
"What the-? We're not together!" Sam said incredulously.
"We're brothers!" Dean confirms.
"Absolutely!" the doctor says happily,"Can't have bromance without the bros, fellas."
Dean moved to get off of the exam table. "This is bullshit. I'm out of here."
"Look," Sam said, in his best peacekeeping voice, because he's not sure he can convince Dean to wait for another doctor to see him. "Just let him finish up - and we'll be done. Please."
Dean rolled his eyes and scooted himself back up onto the table. "Whatever."
House spied Dean's hands, holding them up to aim his gaze at the swollen knuckles, remembered the way he was trudging forward on the way in. "No chance you have a history of rheumatoid arthritis is there?"
Dean shook his head, but he's rubbing his knees in pain. The doctor suddenly sighs heavily. He knows what this is, in his guts he knows it and in his brain too. He just doesn't want it to be this diagnosis. Anything, but this. Still, one last ditch effort couldn't hurt.
"So, you two spend a lot of time on Jersey's fine shores lately - y'know, long walks on the beach? You've got a nice burn there on your face."
"I don't know what your damage is, buddy, but we are not together. Not gay." Dean swiveled his head toward his brother, trying to point at him, having trouble uncurling his single finger all the way - an ache that is burning and throbbing and bone deep nearly taking his attention away from proving his point.
Nearly.
"I told you it was a sunburn."
"Listen to what he asked! No, Doctor, he hasn't. Outside, but rarely during the day."
House sighed. He tried. He really tried.
"Okay, well - the bad news is you have a chronic condition, the good news is, I'll never have to see you again."
"Hey douchebag-" Dean started until his younger brother put a hand on his shoulder, attempting to keep him seated. Before Sam can even demand answers, House has already scribbled on a prescription pad and is waving the three papers at Sam, not bothering to get up for the supposed closet cases in front of him.
House zeroed in on Sam's hand - still on Dean's shoulder, gripping firmly.
Brothers, my ass.
"What are these?" Sam asked snappishly, flipping through the small slips. His calm was nearly entirely unseated, an unnamed chronic illness just dropped in their laps like junkmail.
"Inhaler for the asthma, prednisone for the asthma AND the Lupus."
Sam paused, trying to come to terms with what he was hearing, staring at the third script in disbelief. "This one just says not to tell anyone he has lupus. And to go to a different clinic. You drew a map."
At the words "chronic" and "Lupus," Dean was suddenly jolted out of whatever feverish stupor has been keeping him somewhat docile this whole time, his eyes widening as he gazed up at the stubbled face of the gimp in front of him. "Lupus, what the fuck is that? Why can't I tell anyone? Is it like an STD?"
House rolled his eyes. "Yes, exactly."
Sam shook his head and leveled a heavy glare at House. He didn't care if the dude was using a cane anymore, he'd totally punch him. "No, it isn't an STD."
House sighed heavily, stood up and began limping out the door. These two were boring him already... "Yes, your studly life partner is correct. It isn't."
"Dude! Is that what you need for you to do your job?!" Sam threw his hands into the air and lets out a sharp laugh of disbelief, nearing the end of his rope. "Then fine - we're gay. We're super fabulously gay - and there is nothing wrong with it!"
"Sam!" Dean shouted. "What the hell?!" His voice squeaked up high at the end of his shocked question.
"Man," Sam protests, "like it makes any difference what he thinks!" And Sam has a point, because even if Dean was self-conscious about something as trivial as sexual preference - especially when you fought monsters and could die any day, it wasn't like they were under their real names here.
House was holding out a fourth prescription slip. "Can you write it down for me?"
Sam shook his head angrily and grabbed the pen, scrawling furiously. "Now - answer my fucking questions. What the hell is lupus?"
"An auto-immune disorder - inflammation causes the body to attack itself, causing the swollen joints, the fevers, the asthma. I wouldn't recommend getting it if you can help it."
Sam held the prescription paper back like it was a prize to be won."Then why can't he say he has it? And where are you sending us to?"
"The map is to a specialist at another hospital - she'll test to make sure, but she'll treat you. And you can't tell anyone, because a lupus case will screw up my statistics. You're not supposed to have it."
House snatched the prescription out of Sam's hand. "Have a beautiful wedding, gentlemen." He leaned on his cane heavily for a moment and contemplated Sam. "You'll look stunning in white."
House limped out of the exam room, back to where Wilson was waiting and claimed two crisp fifties.
Dean smacked Sam upside the head, tried not to brood too much about the fact that some asshole of a doctor told him that feeling like shit was apparently for life. But - he hasn't even been actually tested, so he's not going to worry about it - much, not yet. He still needed to find a way to make himself feel better, though - and get back at Sam, so he stole some violently purple eyeshadow from the cosmetics counter while Sam went to fill his prescriptions.
He thumbed the square cardboard of the package in his pocket, flicked the edge with his thumbnail. Let an evil grin play across his lips as he formed a plan of action for as soon as Sam was conked out.
Waking up tomorrow would be fabulous.
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the end