Riding Out the Storm Chapter Nine
Summary: The Winchesters travel to eliminate a deadly apocalypse-freed entity. But will they be able to stop it before it stops them?
Sam was still sleeping, curled up in the back seat, when Dean pulled the Impala into Bobby's lot. After closing the gate, Bobby hurried to the car to help Dean with his brother.
As he approached, and Dean exited the driver seat, Bobby was a bit shocked at the overall appearance of the eldest Winchester. He hadn't seen the kid look so distraught since Sam had been knifed and killed by Jake... His face was pale; eyes red with dark circles underneath. Even his stance was one of a man much older and worn.
"That bad, today?" he asked as Dean opened the back door.
"He seemed okay, for a while," he replied. "But then, outta nowhere...it was real bad." He ducked into the back seat and scooped up his younger brother's curled up body.
"Lemme help ya with 'im, Dean," Bobby insisted.
"I've got 'im, Bobby," he replied as he stood. "You got a bed ready?"
"Yeah," he replied, shutting the door as Dean headed toward the house. "And I've got everything else we'll need to help 'im through this," he told him as he hurried a bit ahead of them to hold open the door.
Dean nearly collapsed after getting Sam upstairs to the guest bedroom and into bed. If not for the chair beside the bed, he would've hit the floor.
"When's the last time you ate, Dean?" Bobby asked, quietly.
Dean shook his head, his eyes wandering about aimlessly in thought, "I dunno. Yesterday afternoon, I suppose. I haven't been hungry."
"Well, no wonder you're about to keel over," he replied. "Your body's used to consuming twice the amount of food the average man your age does."
"Thanks," he sighed, sarcastically.
"You're not gonna do Sam any good if you let yourself get sick," he retorted. "Ya need to take care of yourself."
"I don't see how eating is gonna help me to help Sam, Bobby," he said, gruffly. "Might've helped make it a little easier getting him upstairs, though," he raised his brows in the hindsight.
"When did you give 'im the last shot?" Bobby asked.
"What time is it?"
"A little after noon."
"Maybe an hour and a half ago," he estimated.
"Then he'll be out for a bit longer," Bobby guessed. "Come on downstairs with me. I've got some leftover, cold pizza and beer in the fridge. You can have lunch and listen to the regimen I've got set up for Sam." Dean's eyes went from Bobby, to Sam, then back to Bobby again, hesitantly. "He'll be okay, Dean. No way I'm bringin' food up here. He smells it, he's gonna feel even worse."
"What's that mean?" he furrowed his brow.
"Ever have food poisoning?"
"Yeah," he made a face at the memories.
"This is kinda like that, when it comes to smellin' any kinda food. It'll make him so nauseous, he'll throw up anything we're lucky enough to get him to drink."
"To drink? What, we're not gonna be feeding him?" he asked, incredulously.
"Ya think we can continue this conversation downstairs?" he raised his brows. Dean huffed and pushed to stand up, looking his brother over one more time before giving in and following Bobby out.
By the time they reached the kitchen, Dean was tired of waiting for the answer, "C'mon, Bobby. What do you know about this?"
"I got hold of a copy of the autopsy report for victim number one," he said as he opened the fridge to retrieve the pizza box and a bottle of beer. "You eat. I'll tell you why we can't feed Sam, once you're done."
"Bobby!"
"It ain't a request, Dean," he returned with as much force. "Sit down an' eat, and I'll explain the regimen. The rest waits till you're done, ya hear?"
Dean's frustration remained clear on his face for a moment before he grudgingly gave in and slumped into a chair at the table. He threw open the box lid, and popped the top off his beer before picking up a piece of the pizza and taking a bite.
"Thank you," Bobby sighed, then took a seat across from him. "Now, I've got plenty of cold compresses in the freezer. Chances are, he'll be runnin' a fever most of the time this is goin' through his system."
"Had a fever on the way here," Dean said, after swallowing a mouthful of pizza. "I left the windows down most of the way here. He seemed a bit cooler after while."
"Somethin' I'll check on, here in a minute. If it gets too high, we'll need to use the compresses." He waited for a moment, eying Dean's pizza slice until Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, taking another bite so that he'd continue. "I've got everything from pain-killers to muscle-relaxants; all injection ready. When the fever's not too high, we'll need to let it run its course. It'll help him sweat out whatever's in his system." Bobby's eyes shifted a bit to somewhere beside the table.
Dean threw his crust into the box and took several gulps of his beer, then set it down. "What aren't you tellin' me? There's somethin' else, isn't there?"
Bobby met his eyes again, taking a breath before he continued. "I've got a portable defibrillator."
"What?"
"It's a-"
"I know what it is, Bobby!" he retorted. "Why the hell do we need that?"
"We might not," he replied. "But there are cases where poisoning and food-poisoning have caused cardiac arrest. We need to be prepared."
Dean slammed the pizza box closed and forced himself up and away from the table. A mixture of pure anger and unbridled fear painted his face, turning back to face Bobby from across the room. "Tell me the truth, Bobby," he demanded, "Could Sam die from this?"
Bobby's eyes avoiding his, was all the answer he needed. Dean let out an exasperated sound, and his hands went over his face before sliding back into his hair as he turned away from the older hunter.
"I ain't sayin' he will, Dean," Bobby finally spoke. "But I ain't sayin' he won't, either. There's no handbook on this specific toxin that's runnin' through his body right now, and that's because no one else has ever experienced it before."
"Other than the two corpses back there," Dean retorted.
"They didn't expel the thing that ate through 'em, though," Bobby shot back. "Which brings me to why we can't feed 'im." Dean returned his attention to the older man. "The autopsy report on Sanders showed that the creature ate its way out of his stomach. 'Course, I say 'ate', because I know that's what happened. Report says there were signs of severe and unexplained erosion."
"But it came outta his back..."
"Well, that's most likely because if it went out the other way, it would've had to eat its way through the liver. My guess is that that wouldn't have been too pleasant. And that's just a guess, mind you."
"So, Sam's stomach could be messed up pretty bad?"
"I think if it had gotten very far, we'd have seen blood by now. I know you said there was some in his vomit, but that was most likely whatever damage happened to the inner layer of stomach lining. There'd be some sign of internal bleeding if there was an actual hole. Aside from that, the expelling of that thing probably caused some damage to his esophagus, as well. I don't wanna chance causing even more damage by feeding him that way."
"How's he gonna get better if we're starvin' him?" Dean argued.
"I've got IV fluids containing the necessary nutrients," he replied. "Everything but the pole to hang it on, but we can make due with somethin' for that. I know it's not the same, but fasting could help rid this from his system, too. I've got cleansing herbs we can give him in some tea. There's antioxidants and a whole list of holistic remedies that should help. As far as the pain-killers go, I'm not so sure they'll be as effective as they'd normally be. And by that, I mean they may take longer to start workin'."
"I noticed that, last night and today in the car," Dean said. "But they do work, eventually. And they seem to help long enough that we can time it and give him something before the previous dose wears off."
"As long as we're careful about it. We don't wanna cause 'im to OD," Bobby added. Dean nodded in agreement and ran a hand through his hair before leaning back against the door frame. "There is one other thing we should watch for," Bobby said.
But before he could continue, they nearly jumped out of their skin when they heard Sam scream, followed by a loud thump. A split-second glance between the two hunters was all that passed before Dean was racing up the stairs; Bobby close on his tail.
"Sammy?" Dean yelled out as he entered the bedroom. The bed was empty. But then Dean saw Sam's feet sticking out from the edge of the bed, on the floor. He hurried to his brother and found him thrashing about on the floor. His eyes were closed. "Sam? Sammy, can you hear me?" he grabbed hold of his arms.
"N-no! No, you...you leave 'm 'lone..." he slurred.
"Sammy? C'mon, man, ya gotta wake up," he told him, grabbing the sides of his face in an attempt to still him. "Open your eyes, Sammy. C'mon..."
Sam's face scrunched up, "No...n-no...please...d- don't...don't...please..." and then he let out a sob; tears began falling from his clenched eyelids.
"Sammy, it's okay," Dean decidedly pulled his brother from the floor and into his lap, allowing himself to sit on the floor. "It's okay, Sam. Come on...you gotta wake up. It's just dream. Whatever you're seein', it's not real," he held him, cradling his head to his chest and stroking his hair as he tried to comfort his clearly distraught state. Sam quietly continued to cry; the only evidence of it, being his breathing pattern.
Dean looked up and Bobby. "Lemme guess," he said, "This other thing you were gonna tell me; it's nightmares, isn't it..."
Bobby nodded, shortly, with a look of sympathy for both brothers...
Chapter Ten
Sam was still sleeping, curled up in the back seat, when Dean pulled the Impala into Bobby's lot. After closing the gate, Bobby hurried to the car to help Dean with his brother.
As he approached, and Dean exited the driver seat, Bobby was a bit shocked at the overall appearance of the eldest Winchester. He hadn't seen the kid look so distraught since Sam had been knifed and killed by Jake... His face was pale; eyes red with dark circles underneath. Even his stance was one of a man much older and worn.
"That bad, today?" he asked as Dean opened the back door.
"He seemed okay, for a while," he replied. "But then, outta nowhere...it was real bad." He ducked into the back seat and scooped up his younger brother's curled up body.
"Lemme help ya with 'im, Dean," Bobby insisted.
"I've got 'im, Bobby," he replied as he stood. "You got a bed ready?"
"Yeah," he replied, shutting the door as Dean headed toward the house. "And I've got everything else we'll need to help 'im through this," he told him as he hurried a bit ahead of them to hold open the door.
Dean nearly collapsed after getting Sam upstairs to the guest bedroom and into bed. If not for the chair beside the bed, he would've hit the floor.
"When's the last time you ate, Dean?" Bobby asked, quietly.
Dean shook his head, his eyes wandering about aimlessly in thought, "I dunno. Yesterday afternoon, I suppose. I haven't been hungry."
"Well, no wonder you're about to keel over," he replied. "Your body's used to consuming twice the amount of food the average man your age does."
"Thanks," he sighed, sarcastically.
"You're not gonna do Sam any good if you let yourself get sick," he retorted. "Ya need to take care of yourself."
"I don't see how eating is gonna help me to help Sam, Bobby," he said, gruffly. "Might've helped make it a little easier getting him upstairs, though," he raised his brows in the hindsight.
"When did you give 'im the last shot?" Bobby asked.
"What time is it?"
"A little after noon."
"Maybe an hour and a half ago," he estimated.
"Then he'll be out for a bit longer," Bobby guessed. "Come on downstairs with me. I've got some leftover, cold pizza and beer in the fridge. You can have lunch and listen to the regimen I've got set up for Sam." Dean's eyes went from Bobby, to Sam, then back to Bobby again, hesitantly. "He'll be okay, Dean. No way I'm bringin' food up here. He smells it, he's gonna feel even worse."
"What's that mean?" he furrowed his brow.
"Ever have food poisoning?"
"Yeah," he made a face at the memories.
"This is kinda like that, when it comes to smellin' any kinda food. It'll make him so nauseous, he'll throw up anything we're lucky enough to get him to drink."
"To drink? What, we're not gonna be feeding him?" he asked, incredulously.
"Ya think we can continue this conversation downstairs?" he raised his brows. Dean huffed and pushed to stand up, looking his brother over one more time before giving in and following Bobby out.
By the time they reached the kitchen, Dean was tired of waiting for the answer, "C'mon, Bobby. What do you know about this?"
"I got hold of a copy of the autopsy report for victim number one," he said as he opened the fridge to retrieve the pizza box and a bottle of beer. "You eat. I'll tell you why we can't feed Sam, once you're done."
"Bobby!"
"It ain't a request, Dean," he returned with as much force. "Sit down an' eat, and I'll explain the regimen. The rest waits till you're done, ya hear?"
Dean's frustration remained clear on his face for a moment before he grudgingly gave in and slumped into a chair at the table. He threw open the box lid, and popped the top off his beer before picking up a piece of the pizza and taking a bite.
"Thank you," Bobby sighed, then took a seat across from him. "Now, I've got plenty of cold compresses in the freezer. Chances are, he'll be runnin' a fever most of the time this is goin' through his system."
"Had a fever on the way here," Dean said, after swallowing a mouthful of pizza. "I left the windows down most of the way here. He seemed a bit cooler after while."
"Somethin' I'll check on, here in a minute. If it gets too high, we'll need to use the compresses." He waited for a moment, eying Dean's pizza slice until Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, taking another bite so that he'd continue. "I've got everything from pain-killers to muscle-relaxants; all injection ready. When the fever's not too high, we'll need to let it run its course. It'll help him sweat out whatever's in his system." Bobby's eyes shifted a bit to somewhere beside the table.
Dean threw his crust into the box and took several gulps of his beer, then set it down. "What aren't you tellin' me? There's somethin' else, isn't there?"
Bobby met his eyes again, taking a breath before he continued. "I've got a portable defibrillator."
"What?"
"It's a-"
"I know what it is, Bobby!" he retorted. "Why the hell do we need that?"
"We might not," he replied. "But there are cases where poisoning and food-poisoning have caused cardiac arrest. We need to be prepared."
Dean slammed the pizza box closed and forced himself up and away from the table. A mixture of pure anger and unbridled fear painted his face, turning back to face Bobby from across the room. "Tell me the truth, Bobby," he demanded, "Could Sam die from this?"
Bobby's eyes avoiding his, was all the answer he needed. Dean let out an exasperated sound, and his hands went over his face before sliding back into his hair as he turned away from the older hunter.
"I ain't sayin' he will, Dean," Bobby finally spoke. "But I ain't sayin' he won't, either. There's no handbook on this specific toxin that's runnin' through his body right now, and that's because no one else has ever experienced it before."
"Other than the two corpses back there," Dean retorted.
"They didn't expel the thing that ate through 'em, though," Bobby shot back. "Which brings me to why we can't feed 'im." Dean returned his attention to the older man. "The autopsy report on Sanders showed that the creature ate its way out of his stomach. 'Course, I say 'ate', because I know that's what happened. Report says there were signs of severe and unexplained erosion."
"But it came outta his back..."
"Well, that's most likely because if it went out the other way, it would've had to eat its way through the liver. My guess is that that wouldn't have been too pleasant. And that's just a guess, mind you."
"So, Sam's stomach could be messed up pretty bad?"
"I think if it had gotten very far, we'd have seen blood by now. I know you said there was some in his vomit, but that was most likely whatever damage happened to the inner layer of stomach lining. There'd be some sign of internal bleeding if there was an actual hole. Aside from that, the expelling of that thing probably caused some damage to his esophagus, as well. I don't wanna chance causing even more damage by feeding him that way."
"How's he gonna get better if we're starvin' him?" Dean argued.
"I've got IV fluids containing the necessary nutrients," he replied. "Everything but the pole to hang it on, but we can make due with somethin' for that. I know it's not the same, but fasting could help rid this from his system, too. I've got cleansing herbs we can give him in some tea. There's antioxidants and a whole list of holistic remedies that should help. As far as the pain-killers go, I'm not so sure they'll be as effective as they'd normally be. And by that, I mean they may take longer to start workin'."
"I noticed that, last night and today in the car," Dean said. "But they do work, eventually. And they seem to help long enough that we can time it and give him something before the previous dose wears off."
"As long as we're careful about it. We don't wanna cause 'im to OD," Bobby added. Dean nodded in agreement and ran a hand through his hair before leaning back against the door frame. "There is one other thing we should watch for," Bobby said.
But before he could continue, they nearly jumped out of their skin when they heard Sam scream, followed by a loud thump. A split-second glance between the two hunters was all that passed before Dean was racing up the stairs; Bobby close on his tail.
"Sammy?" Dean yelled out as he entered the bedroom. The bed was empty. But then Dean saw Sam's feet sticking out from the edge of the bed, on the floor. He hurried to his brother and found him thrashing about on the floor. His eyes were closed. "Sam? Sammy, can you hear me?" he grabbed hold of his arms.
"N-no! No, you...you leave 'm 'lone..." he slurred.
"Sammy? C'mon, man, ya gotta wake up," he told him, grabbing the sides of his face in an attempt to still him. "Open your eyes, Sammy. C'mon..."
Sam's face scrunched up, "No...n-no...please...d- don't...don't...please..." and then he let out a sob; tears began falling from his clenched eyelids.
"Sammy, it's okay," Dean decidedly pulled his brother from the floor and into his lap, allowing himself to sit on the floor. "It's okay, Sam. Come on...you gotta wake up. It's just dream. Whatever you're seein', it's not real," he held him, cradling his head to his chest and stroking his hair as he tried to comfort his clearly distraught state. Sam quietly continued to cry; the only evidence of it, being his breathing pattern.
Dean looked up and Bobby. "Lemme guess," he said, "This other thing you were gonna tell me; it's nightmares, isn't it..."
Bobby nodded, shortly, with a look of sympathy for both brothers...
Chapter Ten