Reaction, 1/2, PG-13
So a little over a year ago, I was purchased by summer_moon1626 who got herself two shiny fics for her efforts. (To my current auction-winning people, yours are still coming!) Now, she's had this fic for...about a year. But I kept forgetting to post it, and decided I really should. Thus, have some ficcage.
Title: Reaction
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1 of 2
Spoilers: Post Season 2's "Tall Tales"
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: For summer_moon1626: After a case of pneumonia brings Sam down hard, he's put on a drug that's supposed to help. Of course, it'd be easier for it to help if Sam weren't blacking out and suddenly getting angry over nothing. And then Dean has to think about the hunt...
Wordcount: This part, 3,633. Total, 8,755.
Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap-
The nurse at the desk sent him a withering glare. Dean scowled back but stopped tapping his foot against the floor. He waited until she was gone, folders in her hands as her stupid Crocs moved across the floor, and then he was back to tapping. No one else was in the waiting room this time of early morning, and the caffeine from about an hour ago was still keeping his adrenaline on high.
And he was going to tap until he knew Sam was okay.
Stupid asshole. Dean knew Sam hadn't been feeling well, but Sam had waved him off as usual. “I'm fine,” he'd said, or the other one, Dean's personal favorite, “Don't worry about me.”
Yeah. Like that was going to happen.
He didn't bother checking his watch: the sky wasn't lightening up yet, from what Dean could see out the window, which meant it was still before five in the morning. Still way too early for drama and angst.
Still way too early for fear. He pursed his lips and tried shutting his eyes for a little bit.
That only made it easier to remember the sounds his brother had made at the beginning of the night, with the wheezing and the coughing. Or the violent coughing that had degenerated into gasping for air, with tears streaming down Sam's face as he'd fought to breathe. The colored phlegm he'd managed to cough up at last, allowing him to breathe. The shaking hadn't been Dean's favorite either, because even as Sam had begged for a blanket, Dean had felt the heat burning through his brother's skin.
Tiny garden variety cold Dean's ass. When Sam fought to breathe, it was time for the professionals to step in.
“Mr. Fogerty?”
Dean snapped to attention and was hurrying towards the doctor in an instant. “How's Sam?” he asked.
The older man didn't look too stressed out; if anything, he looked less tired than Dean suddenly felt. Considering the guy had white hair and glasses, and considering the time of night, Dean was pretty impressed. “Your brother's going to be fine,” the doctor said. “We just finished up with the chest x-rays, and the diagnosis is pretty clear.”
X-rays? “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute-”
“It's pneumonia,” the doctor said without preamble. “Not too severe, but you did mention that your brother has had a chronic cold of sorts?”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Chronic meaning...?”
“Longer than three weeks,” the doctor explained without being condescending. At four or whatever in the morning, Dean really appreciated it. “Sam managed to tell us he'd been having symptoms for over three weeks; is this true?”
“Not this severe,” Dean insisted, catching the doctor's gaze. There was no censure, no condemnation. Just understanding and maybe a little bit of sympathy. Dean took a deep breath and continued, his voice softer than before. “He thought it was allergies, at first. I was the one that suggested he was sick when it didn't go away. We've been traveling, and some of the states we've been in haven't had enough flowers or trees for him to be allergic to.”
“And that was over three weeks ago?”
“Little over a month,” Dean admitted, shutting his eyes. God but he should've known. Who the hell has a cold for over a month? What kind of brother was he-
A hand rested on his shoulder for a moment. Dean glanced up and met eyes that held a little more sympathy. “Pneumonia tends to sneak up on people,” he assured Dean. “I've got him on an antibiotic now that should start helping. Pneumonia's always a cause for concern, but I think the severity of it was just starting. We've probably caught it at the best possible time. He'll be all right, Mr. Fogerty.”
Dean managed a short nod, then asked what he always asked in situations like these: “Can I see him?”
The smile he got eased some of the tension.
Sam was drowsy for the next day, which the doctor assured him was due in part to the antibiotics. “This is the stronger stuff,” he said. “We want this wiped out, and so long as he doesn't have an allergic reaction to it, we're okay.”
Dean was okay with that. Sam in pain wasn't ever anything he wanted. He would've liked Sam being a little more with it, true, but the kid apparently hadn't been sleeping, either. Sam drifted in and out, conscious long enough to answer a few questions, then back to sleep he'd go. Dean watched from the chair beside the bed. The kid wasn't tossing or turning, and he looked like he was actually sleeping for once. Heavy sleep, too, and Dean knew he needed it. Would need a lot more of it before it was all over.
The second day Sam was actually awake and coherent enough to ask questions. Still a little loopy, but not nearly as bad as he had been. For the most part, it was like the Sam Dean was used to seeing when his little brother got drunk. Not smashed, just drunk. Either way it was a good thing. Not because Sam was out of it, but yeah, because Sam was out of it. A Sam that was out of it was out of pain.
He got Sam cleared out the third day after the antibiotics seemed to firmly be working. The prescription he was handed was folded with the most delicate of touches, then tucked very firmly into his jacket pocket. The one that buttoned down so nothing would be lost. Normally, they didn't deal with prescriptions, just generics. But normally, Sam didn't cough up half of his lung and wind up in the hospital for two plus days.
Sam fell asleep almost immediately on the way back to the motel, and Dean used the time to run into a drugstore for the prescription. While he waited he scrounged the shelves for other items. Vaporub, cough and throat lozenges, instant soups, some of the fruity bottled teas that Sam seemed to like, and tissues all found their way into his basket. It was full by the time his name was called for the prescription.
The girl waiting for him eyed him almost warily as he approached. Dean frowned a little and set the basket onto the counter. “Prescription was just called,” he said. “These things, too. Please,” he added after a minute.
She'd already unthawed before the polite request, however. “Bronchitis?” she asked, retrieving the prescription. Bactrim read across the top of the small bag containing the prescription, a name Dean wasn't familiar with.
“Pneumonia,” Dean replied, and watched her shoulders drop a little more. “That's a good thing?” he joked, still unsure why her moods were going the way they were.
“Bactrim's a hardcore drug,” she said without preamble. “And sometimes doctors prescribe it for baby things when they shouldn't. Not that I have a lot of control in the matter, but if it's for something serious, then yeah, it's fine.”
“It's dangerous?” Dean asked, completely serious now.
She gave him a small smile as she rang up the rest of the items. “Just side effects wise,” she said. “It hits some people hard, and then doesn't hit others at all. And the list of side effects given doesn't cover everything, I've found. Just...be careful with it.”
Great. “But it does help?” he said, almost pleading with her for a silver lining.
“It does,” she assured him. “Bactrim's definitely one of the best antibiotics out there.”
Side effects. He could handle side effects. Sam generally didn't react at all to medications, so Dean took a deep breath and smiled back. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said.
The bill wound up high, but the credit card handled it just fine. There was maybe twenty dollars left on the thing now, so he figured he'd fill up the gas tank, then ditch the card. No cops looking for them, no reactions to medications. They'd be fine. Sam would be fine.
And when he came back out and found Sam still sleeping the sleep of the heavily drugged, breathing just fine on his own, Dean allowed himself to believe it.
Sam coughed into his elbow - again, actually the fourth time in less than ten minutes, but Dean wasn't counting or saying anything - and then glared up at Dean, like it was Dean's fault. “You need a lozenge?” Dean finally asked, reaching for his pocket. He had a ton of the stupid things in his jacket's pockets because leaving Sam without any relief for his coughing wasn't something Dean was willing to do.
“No, I don't,” Sam enunciated like he was two. Kid hadn't been cranky ten minutes ago: maybe the coughing was pushing on his good nature.
Dean ignored Sam's tone and pulled his coat off, slinging it over the chair in their room. Two days after the hospital and they were in a new city, new state. Many many miles away from the hospital where they'd realize Sam Fogerty's insurance was crap. Dean kinda really felt bad about it, for once. The doctor had saved Sam's life.
Maybe he could send in an anonymous cash donation later to try and make up for it.
Sam began coughing in earnest again, and Dean winced at the sound of Sam's dry throat. Maybe a drink instead. “I'll get you some water,” Dean said, heading for the bathroom.
Something hit him in the back, causing him to whip around in surprise. There was a pillow at his feet and a very angry looking Sam standing at the end of the bed where he'd previously been sitting. “God, Dean, give it a goddamn rest, would you?” he snarled.
Dean stared in shock. “Excuse me?” he managed.
“You with your stupid mother-hen routine, god,” Sam ranted, pulling at his hair. His eyes still looked bloodshot from endless amounts of coughing, and his voice still had a definite rasp to it. “I don't want water, I don't want another lozenge, I want you to find us another hunt-”
“Not gonna happen,” Dean said firmly, starting to get annoyed. Sam had brought the idea up yesterday while he'd sneezed three times in a row. He'd barely been able to croak the words out, and Dean had turned him down flat. He'd joked, saying that Sam's Sneezy routine would scare off any baddie they hunted, and Sam had rolled his eyes but let it drop.
Apparently it hadn't been dropped all together.
“You done having a temper tantrum?” Dean asked as patiently as he could manage.
Sam tightened his fists, his breathing turning into rough panting as he worked himself up. To Dean's surprise, he lifted his hand and very clearly gave his brother the finger. “Lay. Off. And find us a freakin' job, Dean,” he bit off, before yanking the chair out from the table and shoving himself down into it, laptop already at his fingers.
Annoyance flared straight into stunned anger. “Knock yourself out, germ-boy,” Dean snapped, watching Sam's nostrils flare as a result. It didn't bring a lot of satisfaction, but there was some. He all but slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, then grabbed a hold of the sink and breathed deeply. Jesus, what the hell?
He mother-henned because he cared. He hovered because he'd waken up in the middle of the night to Sam choking, nearly unable to breathe. He was with Sam all the time because the panic and fear and pain in Sam's eyes as he'd tried to breathe that night had made Dean stop breathing as well. He could still see the flashing lights against the night sky, could feel the cool air of the early morning as they loaded Sam into the ambulance, his brother already attached to several contraptions to help him keep breathing.
Dean shut his eyes and hung his head. His anger was already fading, the fear from the other night too close to be ignored and washed away with a single fight. The kid had always had control issues: Dean monitoring him like this, like he was a kid, probably wasn't helping. Sam only really ever got angry with Dean when he was frustrated at someone or something else, when he was scared, or when he was embarrassed. And right now, the kid was probably all three. Frustrated at being sick, scared of how sick he'd gotten, embarrassed that Dean was mothering him like a kid home sick from school.
From outside in the room, Dean could hear Sam start coughing again. This one sounded wet unlike the other smaller, dry ones, and he winced in sympathy. Better to get the gunk out, but god, it had to hurt. Water would help.
Peace offering, either way. He snagged one of the cups already set up on the counter and filled it with cool but not cold water. Too cold and it'd hurt. Taking a deep breath in, fully prepared for any further wrath that Sam had to literally throw his way, Dean opened the door and stepped back into the room.
Sam was still at the table, laptop opened in front of him. He had his elbows on the table and his hands on the sides of his face, keeping him obscured from view. Dean set the cup on the table, just in Sam's line of view, then stepped aside to let Sam have some space, glancing briefly at Sam's now visible face as he did so.
And stopped, sliding back next to Sam to see him again. Behind the hands, underneath the hair, Sam was definitely crying. “Sammy?” Dean asked, brow furrowing in concern. Was he in pain? God, when was the next dose able to-
Sam looked up, breath catching in a way that had nothing to do with pneumonia. “Dean, man, I'm sorry,” he whispered, voice torn up from emotions and sickness. “I didn't mean...god, I'm so sorry.”
That's all it was? Upset about the tiff? “It's all right,” Dean assured him, because the kid looked positively devastated. Like someone had killed his puppy right in front of him. God, Dean had thought it was something really serious, considering how Sam looked. “It's okay.”
The next thing Dean knew, Sam was launching himself at his brother, arms wrapped tightly around Dean's middle. He buried his face in Dean's lower chest, and through the t-shirt Dean could feel the warm wetness of tears. “Hey, hey,” Dean said, feeling helpless again. “It's okay, Sammy. I have been mother-henning lately. I was just...I just got so scared about you.” And dear god, the hell was this? Oprah?
But Sam was still crying in earnest, and now coughs were being added into the mix, and tears and sickness didn't go hand in hand at all. “Hey, take it easy,” Dean said, pulling back. Sam's eyes were not only bloodshot now but red-rimmed as well, and Dean swallowed at the misery he saw. “It's okay, all right? I promise. You're frustrated, I know. But it's gonna get better.”
Sam nodded, looking a fraction less miserable than he had a moment before. “You find anything?” Dean asked reluctantly. But seriously, anything to make Sam not look like that would be wonderful.
Sam coughed briefly before he nodded again. “Looks easy enough; I can just do the research,” he said hopefully, tears already drying. “Dean, we can't just slump on the job because of me; I don't want that.”
Christ, the kid's puppy eyes should've been designated as lethal. “Yeah, all right,” Dean agreed with a sigh. “Drink a little water; it'll help.”
Sam took the cup without any hesitation and downed at least half of it. When he set it down, he was smiling like he hadn't been crying raggedly a moment before. The only evidence were the tear trails on his face, and the remaining tears were quickly wiped away. “See what you think,” Sam said, turning the laptop towards him.
Dean gazed at Sam for a long moment, then turned back to the laptop. Kid was probably tired and frustrated: Dean knew the ups and downs of varying emotions when you were at that state. “I'll look over this if you snag a few more zz's,” Dean offered. “You didn't really sleep well last night.”
“You better look over it, jerk,” Sam said, but he was rising and heading towards the bed, moving slow and stiff like an old man. He made it to the bed okay, and Dean let himself smile back.
“Bitch,” he said, and Sam smiled, coughed, and closed his eyes. He was asleep within minutes.
Definitely just needed rest. No wonder the kid's emotions were like a yo-yo. Satisfied with his own diagnosis, Dean turned back to the laptop. Easy hunt from the looks of it, only really one person needed to clean it up. Wasn't that far a drive from where they were. He bit his lip and tossed an uneasy glance towards the bed.
Sam was out like a light, breathing. Noisy and wet, still, but better than before. He'd do the research, Dean would do the hunt. That was fine.
Dean turned back to the laptop and started making mental notes of where it was and who to contact.
It wasn't long before Sam poked at him about the hunt. “No, Sam,” Dean said wearily, feeling like Sam was a kid all over again. Answering constant question after question, fielding the answers Sam wanted...
Sam pursed his lips from the other side of the car as they headed down the road. “We can't just not do anything because I'm sick.”
“Rather have you spend the time getting better,” Dean said in a tone he hoped would end the argument. A firm, final type of tone.
Except it hadn't worked on Sam since he was five years old, and it sure as hell wasn't working now. “It's a simple hunt,” Sam said, biting his lip. “I can help you, Dean. I won't let you down, I promise.”
And there was the switch from annoyed to watery-eyed. The kid's emotions were all over the place, had been since three days ago when he'd exploded, then cried, in the motel room. Dean was still sure it had to do with Sam's being tired. Sam was still exhausted, still sick. The kid was sleeping at night, but he had pneumonia. Besides, he probably wasn't sleeping all that well, given the restless nature of the sheets Dean heard shifting every night. Like Sam couldn't get comfortable.
And that right there finalized Dean's side of the argument. “You're still not sleeping well, Sam,” Dean said firmly. “I don't want you out on the hunt when you're not physically prepped for it.”
“Are you seriously calling me weak?” Sam said, back to angry. “I can't believe you! You're...wow. Nice, Dean. Really freakin' nice.”
Unbelievable. “Are you even listening to yourself, Sam?” Dean said shortly. “I didn't say anything like that. You're pulling words out of thin air that weren't there to start with; I don't want you getting sick again, not when you're starting to get better!” He spit the last words out, turning to glare at his brother.
Sam's own glare faded abruptly, and he swallowed hard. “Dean?” he said faintly, right before his eyes rolled back into his head.
“Sam!” Dean shouted, already swinging to pull off the road. His heart started pounding overtime, already having been going fast from the argument. Sam was leaning up against the door, head tucked down to his chin. “Sammy,” Dean said desperately, reaching across to pull his brother up.
Slowly Sam began to rouse. “Dean?” he mumbled, blinking blearily. “What...?”
“You passed out,” Dean said grimly. This was what happened when he didn't get enough sleep. God but he hadn't thought the kid was pushing himself this hard. “We'll hand the hunt off to someone else.”
Sam shook his head. “Dean, no,” he said, already sounding way more coherent than he had before. “We're really close, and there's been five people found dead already, Dean. I think it's a banshee, considering how they were found in the forest. Dean, we know what it is, we can handle it.”
“No, I will handle it,” Dean said firmly. “You're not fighting me on this, Sam. You just blacked out for god's sake, you obviously haven't been sleeping well-”
“If I get enough sleep, will you let me help?” Sam said. Not pissed off or upset anymore, just the plain, patient Sam Dean usually knew. “A banshee isn't a thing for one hunter to mess with, Dean. I won't let you down, I swear.”
“You never do,” Dean admitted, before sighing. “All right, fine. Next two nights, you get sleep. Decent sleep.”
“I will,” Sam promised, smiling. “I'm all right, I swear. I just got really dizzy for some reason. But I'm okay now.”
Dean pursed his lips, searching his brother's face for any deception. Nothing but the whole-hearted truth stared back at him. “Tell me if you're dizzy again,” Dean ordered. Sam nodded, and Dean reluctantly settled back into the driver's seat.
They were gonna take a little longer to get there. They could've powered through and made it in the next ten hours, but no way after that. They'd take their time, and Sam would get a lot of rest. In all honesty, Dean would rather have someone backing him up for the job. Even if they wound up separated, knowing Sam was there would help. He'd only be a phone-call away.
Still, he watched his brother carefully as they pulled back out onto the road.
Part 2
~Nebula
Title: Reaction
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1 of 2
Spoilers: Post Season 2's "Tall Tales"
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: For summer_moon1626: After a case of pneumonia brings Sam down hard, he's put on a drug that's supposed to help. Of course, it'd be easier for it to help if Sam weren't blacking out and suddenly getting angry over nothing. And then Dean has to think about the hunt...
Wordcount: This part, 3,633. Total, 8,755.
Tap. Tap tap. Tap tap tap-
The nurse at the desk sent him a withering glare. Dean scowled back but stopped tapping his foot against the floor. He waited until she was gone, folders in her hands as her stupid Crocs moved across the floor, and then he was back to tapping. No one else was in the waiting room this time of early morning, and the caffeine from about an hour ago was still keeping his adrenaline on high.
And he was going to tap until he knew Sam was okay.
Stupid asshole. Dean knew Sam hadn't been feeling well, but Sam had waved him off as usual. “I'm fine,” he'd said, or the other one, Dean's personal favorite, “Don't worry about me.”
Yeah. Like that was going to happen.
He didn't bother checking his watch: the sky wasn't lightening up yet, from what Dean could see out the window, which meant it was still before five in the morning. Still way too early for drama and angst.
Still way too early for fear. He pursed his lips and tried shutting his eyes for a little bit.
That only made it easier to remember the sounds his brother had made at the beginning of the night, with the wheezing and the coughing. Or the violent coughing that had degenerated into gasping for air, with tears streaming down Sam's face as he'd fought to breathe. The colored phlegm he'd managed to cough up at last, allowing him to breathe. The shaking hadn't been Dean's favorite either, because even as Sam had begged for a blanket, Dean had felt the heat burning through his brother's skin.
Tiny garden variety cold Dean's ass. When Sam fought to breathe, it was time for the professionals to step in.
“Mr. Fogerty?”
Dean snapped to attention and was hurrying towards the doctor in an instant. “How's Sam?” he asked.
The older man didn't look too stressed out; if anything, he looked less tired than Dean suddenly felt. Considering the guy had white hair and glasses, and considering the time of night, Dean was pretty impressed. “Your brother's going to be fine,” the doctor said. “We just finished up with the chest x-rays, and the diagnosis is pretty clear.”
X-rays? “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute-”
“It's pneumonia,” the doctor said without preamble. “Not too severe, but you did mention that your brother has had a chronic cold of sorts?”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “Chronic meaning...?”
“Longer than three weeks,” the doctor explained without being condescending. At four or whatever in the morning, Dean really appreciated it. “Sam managed to tell us he'd been having symptoms for over three weeks; is this true?”
“Not this severe,” Dean insisted, catching the doctor's gaze. There was no censure, no condemnation. Just understanding and maybe a little bit of sympathy. Dean took a deep breath and continued, his voice softer than before. “He thought it was allergies, at first. I was the one that suggested he was sick when it didn't go away. We've been traveling, and some of the states we've been in haven't had enough flowers or trees for him to be allergic to.”
“And that was over three weeks ago?”
“Little over a month,” Dean admitted, shutting his eyes. God but he should've known. Who the hell has a cold for over a month? What kind of brother was he-
A hand rested on his shoulder for a moment. Dean glanced up and met eyes that held a little more sympathy. “Pneumonia tends to sneak up on people,” he assured Dean. “I've got him on an antibiotic now that should start helping. Pneumonia's always a cause for concern, but I think the severity of it was just starting. We've probably caught it at the best possible time. He'll be all right, Mr. Fogerty.”
Dean managed a short nod, then asked what he always asked in situations like these: “Can I see him?”
The smile he got eased some of the tension.
Sam was drowsy for the next day, which the doctor assured him was due in part to the antibiotics. “This is the stronger stuff,” he said. “We want this wiped out, and so long as he doesn't have an allergic reaction to it, we're okay.”
Dean was okay with that. Sam in pain wasn't ever anything he wanted. He would've liked Sam being a little more with it, true, but the kid apparently hadn't been sleeping, either. Sam drifted in and out, conscious long enough to answer a few questions, then back to sleep he'd go. Dean watched from the chair beside the bed. The kid wasn't tossing or turning, and he looked like he was actually sleeping for once. Heavy sleep, too, and Dean knew he needed it. Would need a lot more of it before it was all over.
The second day Sam was actually awake and coherent enough to ask questions. Still a little loopy, but not nearly as bad as he had been. For the most part, it was like the Sam Dean was used to seeing when his little brother got drunk. Not smashed, just drunk. Either way it was a good thing. Not because Sam was out of it, but yeah, because Sam was out of it. A Sam that was out of it was out of pain.
He got Sam cleared out the third day after the antibiotics seemed to firmly be working. The prescription he was handed was folded with the most delicate of touches, then tucked very firmly into his jacket pocket. The one that buttoned down so nothing would be lost. Normally, they didn't deal with prescriptions, just generics. But normally, Sam didn't cough up half of his lung and wind up in the hospital for two plus days.
Sam fell asleep almost immediately on the way back to the motel, and Dean used the time to run into a drugstore for the prescription. While he waited he scrounged the shelves for other items. Vaporub, cough and throat lozenges, instant soups, some of the fruity bottled teas that Sam seemed to like, and tissues all found their way into his basket. It was full by the time his name was called for the prescription.
The girl waiting for him eyed him almost warily as he approached. Dean frowned a little and set the basket onto the counter. “Prescription was just called,” he said. “These things, too. Please,” he added after a minute.
She'd already unthawed before the polite request, however. “Bronchitis?” she asked, retrieving the prescription. Bactrim read across the top of the small bag containing the prescription, a name Dean wasn't familiar with.
“Pneumonia,” Dean replied, and watched her shoulders drop a little more. “That's a good thing?” he joked, still unsure why her moods were going the way they were.
“Bactrim's a hardcore drug,” she said without preamble. “And sometimes doctors prescribe it for baby things when they shouldn't. Not that I have a lot of control in the matter, but if it's for something serious, then yeah, it's fine.”
“It's dangerous?” Dean asked, completely serious now.
She gave him a small smile as she rang up the rest of the items. “Just side effects wise,” she said. “It hits some people hard, and then doesn't hit others at all. And the list of side effects given doesn't cover everything, I've found. Just...be careful with it.”
Great. “But it does help?” he said, almost pleading with her for a silver lining.
“It does,” she assured him. “Bactrim's definitely one of the best antibiotics out there.”
Side effects. He could handle side effects. Sam generally didn't react at all to medications, so Dean took a deep breath and smiled back. “Thanks for the heads up,” he said.
The bill wound up high, but the credit card handled it just fine. There was maybe twenty dollars left on the thing now, so he figured he'd fill up the gas tank, then ditch the card. No cops looking for them, no reactions to medications. They'd be fine. Sam would be fine.
And when he came back out and found Sam still sleeping the sleep of the heavily drugged, breathing just fine on his own, Dean allowed himself to believe it.
Sam coughed into his elbow - again, actually the fourth time in less than ten minutes, but Dean wasn't counting or saying anything - and then glared up at Dean, like it was Dean's fault. “You need a lozenge?” Dean finally asked, reaching for his pocket. He had a ton of the stupid things in his jacket's pockets because leaving Sam without any relief for his coughing wasn't something Dean was willing to do.
“No, I don't,” Sam enunciated like he was two. Kid hadn't been cranky ten minutes ago: maybe the coughing was pushing on his good nature.
Dean ignored Sam's tone and pulled his coat off, slinging it over the chair in their room. Two days after the hospital and they were in a new city, new state. Many many miles away from the hospital where they'd realize Sam Fogerty's insurance was crap. Dean kinda really felt bad about it, for once. The doctor had saved Sam's life.
Maybe he could send in an anonymous cash donation later to try and make up for it.
Sam began coughing in earnest again, and Dean winced at the sound of Sam's dry throat. Maybe a drink instead. “I'll get you some water,” Dean said, heading for the bathroom.
Something hit him in the back, causing him to whip around in surprise. There was a pillow at his feet and a very angry looking Sam standing at the end of the bed where he'd previously been sitting. “God, Dean, give it a goddamn rest, would you?” he snarled.
Dean stared in shock. “Excuse me?” he managed.
“You with your stupid mother-hen routine, god,” Sam ranted, pulling at his hair. His eyes still looked bloodshot from endless amounts of coughing, and his voice still had a definite rasp to it. “I don't want water, I don't want another lozenge, I want you to find us another hunt-”
“Not gonna happen,” Dean said firmly, starting to get annoyed. Sam had brought the idea up yesterday while he'd sneezed three times in a row. He'd barely been able to croak the words out, and Dean had turned him down flat. He'd joked, saying that Sam's Sneezy routine would scare off any baddie they hunted, and Sam had rolled his eyes but let it drop.
Apparently it hadn't been dropped all together.
“You done having a temper tantrum?” Dean asked as patiently as he could manage.
Sam tightened his fists, his breathing turning into rough panting as he worked himself up. To Dean's surprise, he lifted his hand and very clearly gave his brother the finger. “Lay. Off. And find us a freakin' job, Dean,” he bit off, before yanking the chair out from the table and shoving himself down into it, laptop already at his fingers.
Annoyance flared straight into stunned anger. “Knock yourself out, germ-boy,” Dean snapped, watching Sam's nostrils flare as a result. It didn't bring a lot of satisfaction, but there was some. He all but slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, then grabbed a hold of the sink and breathed deeply. Jesus, what the hell?
He mother-henned because he cared. He hovered because he'd waken up in the middle of the night to Sam choking, nearly unable to breathe. He was with Sam all the time because the panic and fear and pain in Sam's eyes as he'd tried to breathe that night had made Dean stop breathing as well. He could still see the flashing lights against the night sky, could feel the cool air of the early morning as they loaded Sam into the ambulance, his brother already attached to several contraptions to help him keep breathing.
Dean shut his eyes and hung his head. His anger was already fading, the fear from the other night too close to be ignored and washed away with a single fight. The kid had always had control issues: Dean monitoring him like this, like he was a kid, probably wasn't helping. Sam only really ever got angry with Dean when he was frustrated at someone or something else, when he was scared, or when he was embarrassed. And right now, the kid was probably all three. Frustrated at being sick, scared of how sick he'd gotten, embarrassed that Dean was mothering him like a kid home sick from school.
From outside in the room, Dean could hear Sam start coughing again. This one sounded wet unlike the other smaller, dry ones, and he winced in sympathy. Better to get the gunk out, but god, it had to hurt. Water would help.
Peace offering, either way. He snagged one of the cups already set up on the counter and filled it with cool but not cold water. Too cold and it'd hurt. Taking a deep breath in, fully prepared for any further wrath that Sam had to literally throw his way, Dean opened the door and stepped back into the room.
Sam was still at the table, laptop opened in front of him. He had his elbows on the table and his hands on the sides of his face, keeping him obscured from view. Dean set the cup on the table, just in Sam's line of view, then stepped aside to let Sam have some space, glancing briefly at Sam's now visible face as he did so.
And stopped, sliding back next to Sam to see him again. Behind the hands, underneath the hair, Sam was definitely crying. “Sammy?” Dean asked, brow furrowing in concern. Was he in pain? God, when was the next dose able to-
Sam looked up, breath catching in a way that had nothing to do with pneumonia. “Dean, man, I'm sorry,” he whispered, voice torn up from emotions and sickness. “I didn't mean...god, I'm so sorry.”
That's all it was? Upset about the tiff? “It's all right,” Dean assured him, because the kid looked positively devastated. Like someone had killed his puppy right in front of him. God, Dean had thought it was something really serious, considering how Sam looked. “It's okay.”
The next thing Dean knew, Sam was launching himself at his brother, arms wrapped tightly around Dean's middle. He buried his face in Dean's lower chest, and through the t-shirt Dean could feel the warm wetness of tears. “Hey, hey,” Dean said, feeling helpless again. “It's okay, Sammy. I have been mother-henning lately. I was just...I just got so scared about you.” And dear god, the hell was this? Oprah?
But Sam was still crying in earnest, and now coughs were being added into the mix, and tears and sickness didn't go hand in hand at all. “Hey, take it easy,” Dean said, pulling back. Sam's eyes were not only bloodshot now but red-rimmed as well, and Dean swallowed at the misery he saw. “It's okay, all right? I promise. You're frustrated, I know. But it's gonna get better.”
Sam nodded, looking a fraction less miserable than he had a moment before. “You find anything?” Dean asked reluctantly. But seriously, anything to make Sam not look like that would be wonderful.
Sam coughed briefly before he nodded again. “Looks easy enough; I can just do the research,” he said hopefully, tears already drying. “Dean, we can't just slump on the job because of me; I don't want that.”
Christ, the kid's puppy eyes should've been designated as lethal. “Yeah, all right,” Dean agreed with a sigh. “Drink a little water; it'll help.”
Sam took the cup without any hesitation and downed at least half of it. When he set it down, he was smiling like he hadn't been crying raggedly a moment before. The only evidence were the tear trails on his face, and the remaining tears were quickly wiped away. “See what you think,” Sam said, turning the laptop towards him.
Dean gazed at Sam for a long moment, then turned back to the laptop. Kid was probably tired and frustrated: Dean knew the ups and downs of varying emotions when you were at that state. “I'll look over this if you snag a few more zz's,” Dean offered. “You didn't really sleep well last night.”
“You better look over it, jerk,” Sam said, but he was rising and heading towards the bed, moving slow and stiff like an old man. He made it to the bed okay, and Dean let himself smile back.
“Bitch,” he said, and Sam smiled, coughed, and closed his eyes. He was asleep within minutes.
Definitely just needed rest. No wonder the kid's emotions were like a yo-yo. Satisfied with his own diagnosis, Dean turned back to the laptop. Easy hunt from the looks of it, only really one person needed to clean it up. Wasn't that far a drive from where they were. He bit his lip and tossed an uneasy glance towards the bed.
Sam was out like a light, breathing. Noisy and wet, still, but better than before. He'd do the research, Dean would do the hunt. That was fine.
Dean turned back to the laptop and started making mental notes of where it was and who to contact.
It wasn't long before Sam poked at him about the hunt. “No, Sam,” Dean said wearily, feeling like Sam was a kid all over again. Answering constant question after question, fielding the answers Sam wanted...
Sam pursed his lips from the other side of the car as they headed down the road. “We can't just not do anything because I'm sick.”
“Rather have you spend the time getting better,” Dean said in a tone he hoped would end the argument. A firm, final type of tone.
Except it hadn't worked on Sam since he was five years old, and it sure as hell wasn't working now. “It's a simple hunt,” Sam said, biting his lip. “I can help you, Dean. I won't let you down, I promise.”
And there was the switch from annoyed to watery-eyed. The kid's emotions were all over the place, had been since three days ago when he'd exploded, then cried, in the motel room. Dean was still sure it had to do with Sam's being tired. Sam was still exhausted, still sick. The kid was sleeping at night, but he had pneumonia. Besides, he probably wasn't sleeping all that well, given the restless nature of the sheets Dean heard shifting every night. Like Sam couldn't get comfortable.
And that right there finalized Dean's side of the argument. “You're still not sleeping well, Sam,” Dean said firmly. “I don't want you out on the hunt when you're not physically prepped for it.”
“Are you seriously calling me weak?” Sam said, back to angry. “I can't believe you! You're...wow. Nice, Dean. Really freakin' nice.”
Unbelievable. “Are you even listening to yourself, Sam?” Dean said shortly. “I didn't say anything like that. You're pulling words out of thin air that weren't there to start with; I don't want you getting sick again, not when you're starting to get better!” He spit the last words out, turning to glare at his brother.
Sam's own glare faded abruptly, and he swallowed hard. “Dean?” he said faintly, right before his eyes rolled back into his head.
“Sam!” Dean shouted, already swinging to pull off the road. His heart started pounding overtime, already having been going fast from the argument. Sam was leaning up against the door, head tucked down to his chin. “Sammy,” Dean said desperately, reaching across to pull his brother up.
Slowly Sam began to rouse. “Dean?” he mumbled, blinking blearily. “What...?”
“You passed out,” Dean said grimly. This was what happened when he didn't get enough sleep. God but he hadn't thought the kid was pushing himself this hard. “We'll hand the hunt off to someone else.”
Sam shook his head. “Dean, no,” he said, already sounding way more coherent than he had before. “We're really close, and there's been five people found dead already, Dean. I think it's a banshee, considering how they were found in the forest. Dean, we know what it is, we can handle it.”
“No, I will handle it,” Dean said firmly. “You're not fighting me on this, Sam. You just blacked out for god's sake, you obviously haven't been sleeping well-”
“If I get enough sleep, will you let me help?” Sam said. Not pissed off or upset anymore, just the plain, patient Sam Dean usually knew. “A banshee isn't a thing for one hunter to mess with, Dean. I won't let you down, I swear.”
“You never do,” Dean admitted, before sighing. “All right, fine. Next two nights, you get sleep. Decent sleep.”
“I will,” Sam promised, smiling. “I'm all right, I swear. I just got really dizzy for some reason. But I'm okay now.”
Dean pursed his lips, searching his brother's face for any deception. Nothing but the whole-hearted truth stared back at him. “Tell me if you're dizzy again,” Dean ordered. Sam nodded, and Dean reluctantly settled back into the driver's seat.
They were gonna take a little longer to get there. They could've powered through and made it in the next ten hours, but no way after that. They'd take their time, and Sam would get a lot of rest. In all honesty, Dean would rather have someone backing him up for the job. Even if they wound up separated, knowing Sam was there would help. He'd only be a phone-call away.
Still, he watched his brother carefully as they pulled back out onto the road.
Part 2
~Nebula