Gathered Dust: The Medicine Wheel
Gathered Dust : The Medicine Wheel
Author:Azilver
Fandom: House M.D/ SPN
Pairing: House/Chase and Dean/Sam
Summary:It wasn't a coma. It wasn't anything that should cause him to be in
such a state.
Notes: I own nothing! This starts off just after SPN season 1 ends and somewhere in season 2 of House. For everyone who doubts crossovers, I am crossover mad. I even have plots for Fast and the Furious/ Land of the dead, Doom/Chronicles of Riddick crossovers.
Big thanks to my wonderful and hardworking beta
luatiki
*****
A man's spirit sustains him in sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear?
*****
beep
....responds to stimuli, however not...
beep
....sleep-wake cycles are unidentifiable insofar as...
beep
....brain activity is off the...
beep
....apparent laceration to the subderma of...
beep
....no cyanosis but evidence of hypoxia in...
beep
....no apparent damage to the neural pathways...
beep
....severe, with a GCS of five...
beep
The beeping of the heart monitor was something you grew to love. And hate.
It told you that you were alive and being cared for, but sometimes that was
the bad part. Waking to that sound told you that you were in a hospital and
that you were in trouble enough to warrant being in a hospital. It meant
that now you were awake and would be forced to face the reality of your
situation, no matter how awful.
The monitor...and voices...Sam couldn't quite make them out...he felt like
he was drifting...but wha-where...hospital definitely...dull feeling in his
head just there...car, no, truck hitting car...impala must be
wrecked...impala with him and…dad had been possessed...someone was
screaming...no, had been...blood from his lips...Dean's...Dean...DEAN
"He's awake! Get Michaelson." He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sam? Sam
Morgan? It's all right, now. You're fine, your dad's fine." A pretty nurse,
with curly chestnut hair, "Sam. Shhh, Sam. Its alright."
She held him against her, gently rocking him. He didn't realize he was
screaming Dean's name, screaming for Dean.
*****
Dad was okay, a few bruised ribs, a minor concussion, dislocated shoulder
and the obvious bullet wound to his leg. Sam was all but fine. Dean wasn't.
Sam had broken down when he'd finally been allowed out of bed and into his
brothers separate room. The nurse, Beckie, had left him, closing the door
behind her. He'd fallen to his knees sobbing and screaming and balled his
hands so tight his nails cut bloody half moons in his palms. After
everything, after mom and Jess and dad, it was all just too much.
Two weeks passed and though John was released neither of them could leave
Dean. The Demon was still out there and it had to know they were vulnerable.
More often than not, Sam found himself in the chair by Dean's bedside. It
was starting to scare him more and more with each passing day that he still
had to keep vigil like this, but seeing the rise and fall of Dean's chest,
the occasional words or sounds passing dry lips, even the fits of screaming
- it all meant that Dean was still alive. That there was still hope.
*****
"But why?" Sam was angry and confused. Why were they moving him? Where were
they taking him? Why wouldn't they just tell him?
"Your brothers' case isn't as simple as we originally thought." Somerset
looked over at the father and decided to adopt a more direct approach.
"Frankly, Mr. Morgan, your son is turning into quite the conundrum for us."
"And what does that mean, exactly?" snapped John, he hadn't slept well
recently; despite the medications he was taking. They'd stayed too long and
it was only making the guilt worse.
"In layman's terms, Dean isn't showing the usual signs of a coma patient.
It's as if he's decided to mix-and-match symptoms from a variety of non-related
conditions. His GCS is five, which means he's showing little response to
outside stimuli but is showing vocal and motile ability. His EEG shows his
brain activity to be high but not in the normal regions. Then there's his
heart. He's showing some symptoms of endocarditis, such as lesions, but not
all and we cannot confirm it without a proper differential diagnosis."
Somerset sighed.
He was tired from all the nights he'd spent going over tests and notes. This
case was more than he had ever had to deal with before. In fact, he was
relieved to pass it on finally. "The hospital board has decided to fly Dean
to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in New Jersey. Dr. Gregory House
runs the diagnostics department there and he is one of, if not the best in
his field. He has a reputation for doing whatever it takes to cure his
patients. Though," And here he paused.
This wasn't exactly easy, considering the two men in front of him. Somerset
wasn't stupid; he was a doctor for god's sake! But by god, after what they'd
been through, they were lucky! He had worked with Michaelson on the two when
they first came in, they'd survived a horrible crash with a ten-wheeler with
little more than bumps and bruises really. Although, there had been the
bullet wound to John Morgan's leg and the state of Dean Morgan in general
but Sam had managed to tell them what had happened pretty soon after he
regained consciousness and stopped screaming. Beckie had been heartbroken by
the young man's desperate and pained cries for his brother.
Somerset shuddered. He couldn't imagine how it must have been for them.
Attacked in their motel room, the elder brother beaten as he tried to defend
them, Sam finally breaking free, the gunfire that hit John, the desperate
flight to the hospital only to be hit by some truck. They were a tough family but now they
needed to let one of there own go and it was hard. Only his patient's dire
need to get the proper help spurred him on in front of the two men who were
looking at him as if he was asking them to slit Dean's throat themselves.
He took a deep breath and continued, "Dr House is a brilliant doctor. If
anyone can do anything for Dean, he can. I'll be the first to admit he's a
bit unconventional and he has a reputation for doing everything and anything
to get results, but frankly Mr. Morgan," He looked directly into the man's
eyes, willing all the force he could muster into his eyes as well as his
voice, "if Dean isn't moved, there is nothing we can do. He will die."
*****
When House walked into the diagnostics lounge that morning, he looked around
his veritable kingdom. Cameron was looking up at him with a smile, reading
something, by the look of it was the latest release of statistics from the
WHO that'd been lying on his desk since last month. She was also sitting the
closest to his office, like he wouldn't notice that. Foreman merely glanced
up at him from where he was standing making himself a cup of coffee. Chase
of course was in his usual spot, crossword in hand and pencil in mouth.
Pretty hair, pretty mouth, bad taste in clothing.
Usually he'd take the time to work on their nerves, keep them on their
toes, but today he was being tailgated by a little hospital director with a
big worried look on her face. Cuddy was threatening to have his cane sent to
the wood chipper if he didn't take this new case, whatever it was. House
knew he was good but if he couldn't see the patient or, preferably, his or
her chart, he couldn't diagnose the problem.
"Your new patient is being flown in as we speak." Cuddy informed them,
handing each a printed sheet. "This is what they could fax over, the
rest of his file is en route with him."
Curiously, they scanned the information. "Why are you giving this to us?"
Foreman looked at her incredulously. "It's basic endocarditis."
"No Roth Spots, evidence of micro-organisms in any cultures, septic emboli,
conjuctival petechiae or haemorraging." Chase looked up at House.
"It isn't endocarditis. And his EEG is abnormal."
"Woah! Hold up there, cowboy!" House exclaimed, making a reigning in motion
with his cane. "We haven't even seen the patient yet." He looked over at
Cuddy. "When's the chopper due?"
"Now." She said pointedly holding the door open. Quickly rising from their
seats they entered the hallway and made their way towards the elevator,
grabbing a gurney and other necessary equipment on the way. Once there,
Foreman hit the button for the top floor. Idly, House noticed that it was
Chase who was going over the fax most intently, specifically the EEG.
"What's the patient name? Age? Anyone?" House couldn't have cared less but
the other two flushed with embarrassment when they realized they hadn't
thought of such basic questions. Especially Cameron who took such actions
upon herself as part of her duty, she looked positively ill.
Cuddy thought briefly then looked back at the blond doctor, "Dean Morgan,
twenty-seven years of age, no prior history of admission as far as I know."
The elevator binged before the doors slid open, the five doctors practically
erupting from its maw into the fresh night air. They could now hear the
sounds of rotor blades and make out the silhouette of the helicopter behind
its landing lights. It was just touching down as they approached the landing
pad.
Before the blades even stopped spinning two paramedics were out of the body,
signaling for the gurney. Rushing forward they started the basic procedures
and hook-ups, as the two men carefully unloaded a body. Cuddy signed the
transfer script and started giving orders. "I want him on a saline drip,
now. Then move him to iso-ward two. Get on it people, stat."
*****
"No." And that was it; there just wasn't another option. Dean needed them,
needed him and he wasn't going to leave his brother undefended and unable to
do what he did best, kick fucking supernatural ass!, for some bloody spirit
or the Demon to take. They'd come so close to loosing each other, their
family, everything and Sam wasn't going to let that happen again. And if he
had to make a pact with the devil to save someone he loved, he would.
"Sam." Now dad was looking at him, that angry affronted look that said that
he was giving an order and Sam better fucking follow it or he was gonna tan
his hide. But Sam isn't eight anymore and can easily take the older man
down. "We can't go. It has to know Dean's...that he's..." Even dad can't
bring himself to say it. When it comes down to it, of them all, they always
thought Dean was the survivor. The one who'd live beyond the both of them.
Shakily, Sam sat on his bed. The motel room was near empty now, they'd been
packing since they got back from seeing the helicopter leave; the fighting
started before they even left the parking garage. "I have to, dad. I won't
fight you on this but I won't follow you either."
******
John's not even paying attention, really. He's been through this argument in
his head already. The problem isn't that he's not worried about his eldest
son but that he made that same son a promise a long time ago. And it's like he's
reliving that promise over again, but with Sam.
Flashback
"Promise me, dad." Dean was so serious. Really? Sam was the one thing that
Dean would never forget. When Sam wakes up tomorrow there'll be hell to pay
when Dean's not there.
"I promise, son." He knows the words are easy and it's the same promise he
makes every time Dean hunts by himself. The same promise he makes himself
everyday. "I'll always protect Sam, you know that." And I'll always protect
you.
End Flashback
He'd promised Dean that Sam would always be protected and he'd kept that
promise as best he could. He'd taught him to fight, checked on him at
Stanford even when Dean refused to go back with him. But then he had had to
stay away, and left Sam with Dean. He loved them so much but that was why he
fucked up so much. When the evil that wants you is near, you can't afford to
be there for the ones you loves, the ones you're trying to protect.
His hunger for revenge had caused him to miss the major events in his
boys' lives. He'd been hacking the head off a werewolf when Sam
had taken his first steps into his brothers' arms in some dingy motel. Dean
had won his first, and subsequently only, wrestling match when John had
burned the lost corpse of a man whose spirit killed women on their birthday.
John knows it's hard to believe in someone who's not there.
With a sigh he sat beside his youngest. Sam and Dean were grown men,
but they still were his boys! He knew that they cared about each other and
that they were closer than most siblings, but they'd had to be. You can't face
what they faced everyday without being able to trust the person at your
back, without being able to work as one unit. John remembered the idle jealousy at their
closeness. It was years ago when it was just him and the boys. They'd fought
better together, without him, two as one. He hasn't found that sort of bond
since Mary.
Sam's hurting now and he knows he can't stop it. Gently, John put a hand on
his son's shoulder. It was all he really could do. Dean wasn't there and he
hadn't been there to learn this. Dean had been right all along: they were
strongest together.
"Dad, we can't just give up."
*****
Dean Morgan was safely stowed in his room with all the beeping and blinking
electronics necessary to make sure he didn't snuff it without them
noticing.
*****
Sam was quiet the whole trip to Jersey, driving through the night at speeds
that would have had Dean turning white.
*****
There are so many confusing symptoms on House's whiteboard; it was like a
word puzzle without instructions.
*****
Princeton-Plainsboro comes into view just as John feels Sam about to break,
but he holds it together because Dean's in there somewhere.
*****
They're running bloods again, House doesn't particularly trust any other
hospital with testing patients for diseases, especially his.
*****
This case is confusing, the way most of the ones they take on are. The
patient is stable, for now, as Chase points out. It's his job as an
intensivist after all.
"It has to be endocarditis." Foreman won't give up on the subject. "He was
attacked, a kick to the head could have knocked him out. Remember that guy
who fell off Cuddy's roof? You didn't think it was endocarditis then
either."
Foreman's a good doctor but a little too stubborn and smug. That's House's
job. "Yes, feel free to ignore perfectly un-torture related symptoms if it
makes your job easier." House snarks as he whirl s to face the board.
"Something tells me Dan-"
"Dean." Cameron is quick these days.
"Dean, whatever, as I was saying, something tells me he wasn't playing with
chickens...unless he was wrestling them."
And there's that typical Housian train of thought that Chase just knows he's
going to have to be the one to question. "What do you mean?"
The older man scoffs, looking at him like he just asked if sarcoidosis
really could cause granulomas. "Well, all you have to do is look at the guy
to see he could probably kick the A-teams collective posteriors." This only
receives a raised brow from Foreman and that confused, pouting look from
Cameron. Chase is strangely...agreeing?
"His knuckles and hands are calloused and thick, signs that he has
experience with more than the average Joe's bar fights. Broad, strong lumbar
and shoulder muscles from throwing said punches. Various scars on the hands
and forearms that are suggestive of defensive wounds, numerous broken,
cracked and healed bones, specifically in the hands, ribs and forearms
etcetera, etcetera. Our boy's a fighter with some training under his belt."
"So," Cameron's looking confused now, which usually means she won't agree
with whatever House has planned. "Maybe he studied martial arts? What does
that have to do with him being in near coma?"
"Was I the only one who read more than the symptoms?"
Chase sighs and House knows it's because Chase understands that now is not
the time to argue with him. After so long you'd think the other two would
know that. "The Morgan's were attacked at their motel. The father was shot
in the leg and the-"
A hurried knock interrupts him just as two men burst into the room. The
youngest is the first to speak, "Are you Doctor House?" He asks predictably.
He's very tall, with brown hair, not unlike Chases '. It's the worry in his
voice and eyes that clues House in as to who they are.
But House can't resist a good baiting. Then again, if they are who he thinks
they are it might not be a great idea. He' d been punched once this week
already. "Yeah. And you would be?"
The older man, whom he notices has really thick eyebrows and is leaning
on crutches due to a bad leg, moves forward, sticking his hand out. "John
Morgan. This is Sam. We're Dean's family." Well, as if that wasn't obvious.
Only Cuddy and patients families ever feel the need to actually seek his
office out. "What can you tell me about my son?"
The other one, Sam, looks edgy, hands fisting and un-fisting at his side.
It's Cameron, naturally, who takes the lead with them. There's just something
about angsting family members that brings out her soft, gooey center.
"Here," She rises from her seat. "Take my seat. You've probably had a long
journey. It can't be good for that leg." And there's that smile. The one
that puts most life forms at unease as they smile back sickly, trying not to
make any sudden moves. John nods at her but its Sam's irritated look that
makes him actually sit.
Well, as long as they're here, thought House, we may as well get to the
interrogating. Surprisingly, it's really hard to get information from
patients in a coma. "So, mind telling me what happened?" He leans against
his desk. "It's just not everyday that one gets beaten and then has a car
crash that results in a coma."
The father doesn't even miss a beat. "No shit." It's not much but House can
see the guilt in the man's eyes. Silence meant love. Tears meant pain. Fear
meant guilt. "But my son is in hospital, in a coma and no one seems to be
able to do something about it. So tell me: are we wasting our time?"
"Dad." Sam's voice is quiet. "Don't say that. They're good doctors, that's
why Dr Somerset sent Dean here." The boy looks over at them and they can see
the sparkle in his eyes. They know he's a strong man, physically and
emotionally; he'd have to be. There's no mother here but her absence tells
him a lot, no matter the circumstances. They're a close family and they're
tired, scared
and hurting.
House would stake Jimmy's new Italian shoes that he hears his team almost
swear as their beepers go off, alerting them to a crisis in the
iso-ward. Dean's room.
*****
The monitors were shrieking, flat lining, yet Dean's body jerked and
shuddered as if in a seizure. It didn't make sense but they didn't have the time to
think about it.
Foreman was the first to reach the bedside. He was just reaching to feel
for the man's pulse when he heard the sounds of struggled breathing.
"Chase!"
The blond doctor reached them just as he was called for, "Damn it! Someone
hold him down. I need to intubate!". He was surprised as white hands moved to
stop the patients' struggles. No time. Reaching for the tubing, he forced
the man's mouth open, carefully inserting the breathing tube. "Hold him
still...almost there...done!" Sighing with relief he looked up. It was Sam who'd
followed them to his brother's room and held him down. "Thanks."
The other man just looked at him with sadness and fear. Chase couldn't
blame him. Sam obviously loved his brother very much and was terrified of
loosing him. There was something in his eyes that told him that if they lost
Dean, something more than a life would be lost.
Meanwhile, Cameron had joined Foreman in examining the equipment in the
room. They were all still screeching, telling them that their patient was
flat lining, dead. But Chase's relieved "He's breathing." refuted this. Dean
was very much alive. So what was going on?
"Maybe an electrical surge of some kind?" Cameron reasoned, though her own
skepticism showed in her voice. "EMP?"
Foreman looked around and inspected the connectors on Dean. "Only located in
this room? I don't know what could do that, aside from a concentrated
nuclear blast which obviously did not happen." He looked at Chase. "What
exactly happened? He's supposed to be in a coma, not seizing and choking."
"I don't know." And either he's loosing his knack at spotting liars or Chase
just won't tell them anything because he's watching the brother carefully.
*****
The halls are nearly empty at this time of night, or rather, morning as
House makes his way to the patients room. Even their patient's brother and
father had finally been forced to leave.
There's just something bothering him about the man, but there's something
about his littlest doctor that's niggling at him as well. If he were a
religious man, and that's like saying that Wilson hasn't thought of diddling
over half the female staff, he'd put his life in the line of holy fire to
say that there was a connection between the patient and Chase.
He rounded the corner, stopping himself just in time from actually entering
iso-two. Leaning on his cane, House did his best to be as inconspicuous as
possible. Chase was in the room, hooking up the next IV.
Suddenly, as if aware of being watched, Dean started muttering, low and
fast. The words were blurred but House could make out a few: et Dominus
adjuvat me. Was that Latin? He filed that little incident to the back of his
mind until he could examine it further.
Chase didn't respond, he only moved to take the patients forearm and turn
it over. Even from his position House could make out the thick line of scar
tissue running almost horizontally along the wrist. But it was Chase's near
wince that caught his attention.
Chase was just standing there, holding the other man's wrist. When House
finally looked up there was a strange look in his eyes: determination,
grief, fear, acceptance. "Dean." Chases voice was haunted and sad. "Dean
Winchester."
Author:Azilver
Fandom: House M.D/ SPN
Pairing: House/Chase and Dean/Sam
Summary:It wasn't a coma. It wasn't anything that should cause him to be in
such a state.
Notes: I own nothing! This starts off just after SPN season 1 ends and somewhere in season 2 of House. For everyone who doubts crossovers, I am crossover mad. I even have plots for Fast and the Furious/ Land of the dead, Doom/Chronicles of Riddick crossovers.
Big thanks to my wonderful and hardworking beta
luatiki
*****
A man's spirit sustains him in sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear?
*****
beep
....responds to stimuli, however not...
beep
....sleep-wake cycles are unidentifiable insofar as...
beep
....brain activity is off the...
beep
....apparent laceration to the subderma of...
beep
....no cyanosis but evidence of hypoxia in...
beep
....no apparent damage to the neural pathways...
beep
....severe, with a GCS of five...
beep
The beeping of the heart monitor was something you grew to love. And hate.
It told you that you were alive and being cared for, but sometimes that was
the bad part. Waking to that sound told you that you were in a hospital and
that you were in trouble enough to warrant being in a hospital. It meant
that now you were awake and would be forced to face the reality of your
situation, no matter how awful.
The monitor...and voices...Sam couldn't quite make them out...he felt like
he was drifting...but wha-where...hospital definitely...dull feeling in his
head just there...car, no, truck hitting car...impala must be
wrecked...impala with him and…dad had been possessed...someone was
screaming...no, had been...blood from his lips...Dean's...Dean...DEAN
"He's awake! Get Michaelson." He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Sam? Sam
Morgan? It's all right, now. You're fine, your dad's fine." A pretty nurse,
with curly chestnut hair, "Sam. Shhh, Sam. Its alright."
She held him against her, gently rocking him. He didn't realize he was
screaming Dean's name, screaming for Dean.
*****
Dad was okay, a few bruised ribs, a minor concussion, dislocated shoulder
and the obvious bullet wound to his leg. Sam was all but fine. Dean wasn't.
Sam had broken down when he'd finally been allowed out of bed and into his
brothers separate room. The nurse, Beckie, had left him, closing the door
behind her. He'd fallen to his knees sobbing and screaming and balled his
hands so tight his nails cut bloody half moons in his palms. After
everything, after mom and Jess and dad, it was all just too much.
Two weeks passed and though John was released neither of them could leave
Dean. The Demon was still out there and it had to know they were vulnerable.
More often than not, Sam found himself in the chair by Dean's bedside. It
was starting to scare him more and more with each passing day that he still
had to keep vigil like this, but seeing the rise and fall of Dean's chest,
the occasional words or sounds passing dry lips, even the fits of screaming
- it all meant that Dean was still alive. That there was still hope.
*****
"But why?" Sam was angry and confused. Why were they moving him? Where were
they taking him? Why wouldn't they just tell him?
"Your brothers' case isn't as simple as we originally thought." Somerset
looked over at the father and decided to adopt a more direct approach.
"Frankly, Mr. Morgan, your son is turning into quite the conundrum for us."
"And what does that mean, exactly?" snapped John, he hadn't slept well
recently; despite the medications he was taking. They'd stayed too long and
it was only making the guilt worse.
"In layman's terms, Dean isn't showing the usual signs of a coma patient.
It's as if he's decided to mix-and-match symptoms from a variety of non-related
conditions. His GCS is five, which means he's showing little response to
outside stimuli but is showing vocal and motile ability. His EEG shows his
brain activity to be high but not in the normal regions. Then there's his
heart. He's showing some symptoms of endocarditis, such as lesions, but not
all and we cannot confirm it without a proper differential diagnosis."
Somerset sighed.
He was tired from all the nights he'd spent going over tests and notes. This
case was more than he had ever had to deal with before. In fact, he was
relieved to pass it on finally. "The hospital board has decided to fly Dean
to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital in New Jersey. Dr. Gregory House
runs the diagnostics department there and he is one of, if not the best in
his field. He has a reputation for doing whatever it takes to cure his
patients. Though," And here he paused.
This wasn't exactly easy, considering the two men in front of him. Somerset
wasn't stupid; he was a doctor for god's sake! But by god, after what they'd
been through, they were lucky! He had worked with Michaelson on the two when
they first came in, they'd survived a horrible crash with a ten-wheeler with
little more than bumps and bruises really. Although, there had been the
bullet wound to John Morgan's leg and the state of Dean Morgan in general
but Sam had managed to tell them what had happened pretty soon after he
regained consciousness and stopped screaming. Beckie had been heartbroken by
the young man's desperate and pained cries for his brother.
Somerset shuddered. He couldn't imagine how it must have been for them.
Attacked in their motel room, the elder brother beaten as he tried to defend
them, Sam finally breaking free, the gunfire that hit John, the desperate
flight to the hospital only to be hit by some truck. They were a tough family but now they
needed to let one of there own go and it was hard. Only his patient's dire
need to get the proper help spurred him on in front of the two men who were
looking at him as if he was asking them to slit Dean's throat themselves.
He took a deep breath and continued, "Dr House is a brilliant doctor. If
anyone can do anything for Dean, he can. I'll be the first to admit he's a
bit unconventional and he has a reputation for doing everything and anything
to get results, but frankly Mr. Morgan," He looked directly into the man's
eyes, willing all the force he could muster into his eyes as well as his
voice, "if Dean isn't moved, there is nothing we can do. He will die."
*****
When House walked into the diagnostics lounge that morning, he looked around
his veritable kingdom. Cameron was looking up at him with a smile, reading
something, by the look of it was the latest release of statistics from the
WHO that'd been lying on his desk since last month. She was also sitting the
closest to his office, like he wouldn't notice that. Foreman merely glanced
up at him from where he was standing making himself a cup of coffee. Chase
of course was in his usual spot, crossword in hand and pencil in mouth.
Pretty hair, pretty mouth, bad taste in clothing.
Usually he'd take the time to work on their nerves, keep them on their
toes, but today he was being tailgated by a little hospital director with a
big worried look on her face. Cuddy was threatening to have his cane sent to
the wood chipper if he didn't take this new case, whatever it was. House
knew he was good but if he couldn't see the patient or, preferably, his or
her chart, he couldn't diagnose the problem.
"Your new patient is being flown in as we speak." Cuddy informed them,
handing each a printed sheet. "This is what they could fax over, the
rest of his file is en route with him."
Curiously, they scanned the information. "Why are you giving this to us?"
Foreman looked at her incredulously. "It's basic endocarditis."
"No Roth Spots, evidence of micro-organisms in any cultures, septic emboli,
conjuctival petechiae or haemorraging." Chase looked up at House.
"It isn't endocarditis. And his EEG is abnormal."
"Woah! Hold up there, cowboy!" House exclaimed, making a reigning in motion
with his cane. "We haven't even seen the patient yet." He looked over at
Cuddy. "When's the chopper due?"
"Now." She said pointedly holding the door open. Quickly rising from their
seats they entered the hallway and made their way towards the elevator,
grabbing a gurney and other necessary equipment on the way. Once there,
Foreman hit the button for the top floor. Idly, House noticed that it was
Chase who was going over the fax most intently, specifically the EEG.
"What's the patient name? Age? Anyone?" House couldn't have cared less but
the other two flushed with embarrassment when they realized they hadn't
thought of such basic questions. Especially Cameron who took such actions
upon herself as part of her duty, she looked positively ill.
Cuddy thought briefly then looked back at the blond doctor, "Dean Morgan,
twenty-seven years of age, no prior history of admission as far as I know."
The elevator binged before the doors slid open, the five doctors practically
erupting from its maw into the fresh night air. They could now hear the
sounds of rotor blades and make out the silhouette of the helicopter behind
its landing lights. It was just touching down as they approached the landing
pad.
Before the blades even stopped spinning two paramedics were out of the body,
signaling for the gurney. Rushing forward they started the basic procedures
and hook-ups, as the two men carefully unloaded a body. Cuddy signed the
transfer script and started giving orders. "I want him on a saline drip,
now. Then move him to iso-ward two. Get on it people, stat."
*****
"No." And that was it; there just wasn't another option. Dean needed them,
needed him and he wasn't going to leave his brother undefended and unable to
do what he did best, kick fucking supernatural ass!, for some bloody spirit
or the Demon to take. They'd come so close to loosing each other, their
family, everything and Sam wasn't going to let that happen again. And if he
had to make a pact with the devil to save someone he loved, he would.
"Sam." Now dad was looking at him, that angry affronted look that said that
he was giving an order and Sam better fucking follow it or he was gonna tan
his hide. But Sam isn't eight anymore and can easily take the older man
down. "We can't go. It has to know Dean's...that he's..." Even dad can't
bring himself to say it. When it comes down to it, of them all, they always
thought Dean was the survivor. The one who'd live beyond the both of them.
Shakily, Sam sat on his bed. The motel room was near empty now, they'd been
packing since they got back from seeing the helicopter leave; the fighting
started before they even left the parking garage. "I have to, dad. I won't
fight you on this but I won't follow you either."
******
John's not even paying attention, really. He's been through this argument in
his head already. The problem isn't that he's not worried about his eldest
son but that he made that same son a promise a long time ago. And it's like he's
reliving that promise over again, but with Sam.
Flashback
"Promise me, dad." Dean was so serious. Really? Sam was the one thing that
Dean would never forget. When Sam wakes up tomorrow there'll be hell to pay
when Dean's not there.
"I promise, son." He knows the words are easy and it's the same promise he
makes every time Dean hunts by himself. The same promise he makes himself
everyday. "I'll always protect Sam, you know that." And I'll always protect
you.
End Flashback
He'd promised Dean that Sam would always be protected and he'd kept that
promise as best he could. He'd taught him to fight, checked on him at
Stanford even when Dean refused to go back with him. But then he had had to
stay away, and left Sam with Dean. He loved them so much but that was why he
fucked up so much. When the evil that wants you is near, you can't afford to
be there for the ones you loves, the ones you're trying to protect.
His hunger for revenge had caused him to miss the major events in his
boys' lives. He'd been hacking the head off a werewolf when Sam
had taken his first steps into his brothers' arms in some dingy motel. Dean
had won his first, and subsequently only, wrestling match when John had
burned the lost corpse of a man whose spirit killed women on their birthday.
John knows it's hard to believe in someone who's not there.
With a sigh he sat beside his youngest. Sam and Dean were grown men,
but they still were his boys! He knew that they cared about each other and
that they were closer than most siblings, but they'd had to be. You can't face
what they faced everyday without being able to trust the person at your
back, without being able to work as one unit. John remembered the idle jealousy at their
closeness. It was years ago when it was just him and the boys. They'd fought
better together, without him, two as one. He hasn't found that sort of bond
since Mary.
Sam's hurting now and he knows he can't stop it. Gently, John put a hand on
his son's shoulder. It was all he really could do. Dean wasn't there and he
hadn't been there to learn this. Dean had been right all along: they were
strongest together.
"Dad, we can't just give up."
*****
Dean Morgan was safely stowed in his room with all the beeping and blinking
electronics necessary to make sure he didn't snuff it without them
noticing.
*****
Sam was quiet the whole trip to Jersey, driving through the night at speeds
that would have had Dean turning white.
*****
There are so many confusing symptoms on House's whiteboard; it was like a
word puzzle without instructions.
*****
Princeton-Plainsboro comes into view just as John feels Sam about to break,
but he holds it together because Dean's in there somewhere.
*****
They're running bloods again, House doesn't particularly trust any other
hospital with testing patients for diseases, especially his.
*****
This case is confusing, the way most of the ones they take on are. The
patient is stable, for now, as Chase points out. It's his job as an
intensivist after all.
"It has to be endocarditis." Foreman won't give up on the subject. "He was
attacked, a kick to the head could have knocked him out. Remember that guy
who fell off Cuddy's roof? You didn't think it was endocarditis then
either."
Foreman's a good doctor but a little too stubborn and smug. That's House's
job. "Yes, feel free to ignore perfectly un-torture related symptoms if it
makes your job easier." House snarks as he whirl s to face the board.
"Something tells me Dan-"
"Dean." Cameron is quick these days.
"Dean, whatever, as I was saying, something tells me he wasn't playing with
chickens...unless he was wrestling them."
And there's that typical Housian train of thought that Chase just knows he's
going to have to be the one to question. "What do you mean?"
The older man scoffs, looking at him like he just asked if sarcoidosis
really could cause granulomas. "Well, all you have to do is look at the guy
to see he could probably kick the A-teams collective posteriors." This only
receives a raised brow from Foreman and that confused, pouting look from
Cameron. Chase is strangely...agreeing?
"His knuckles and hands are calloused and thick, signs that he has
experience with more than the average Joe's bar fights. Broad, strong lumbar
and shoulder muscles from throwing said punches. Various scars on the hands
and forearms that are suggestive of defensive wounds, numerous broken,
cracked and healed bones, specifically in the hands, ribs and forearms
etcetera, etcetera. Our boy's a fighter with some training under his belt."
"So," Cameron's looking confused now, which usually means she won't agree
with whatever House has planned. "Maybe he studied martial arts? What does
that have to do with him being in near coma?"
"Was I the only one who read more than the symptoms?"
Chase sighs and House knows it's because Chase understands that now is not
the time to argue with him. After so long you'd think the other two would
know that. "The Morgan's were attacked at their motel. The father was shot
in the leg and the-"
A hurried knock interrupts him just as two men burst into the room. The
youngest is the first to speak, "Are you Doctor House?" He asks predictably.
He's very tall, with brown hair, not unlike Chases '. It's the worry in his
voice and eyes that clues House in as to who they are.
But House can't resist a good baiting. Then again, if they are who he thinks
they are it might not be a great idea. He' d been punched once this week
already. "Yeah. And you would be?"
The older man, whom he notices has really thick eyebrows and is leaning
on crutches due to a bad leg, moves forward, sticking his hand out. "John
Morgan. This is Sam. We're Dean's family." Well, as if that wasn't obvious.
Only Cuddy and patients families ever feel the need to actually seek his
office out. "What can you tell me about my son?"
The other one, Sam, looks edgy, hands fisting and un-fisting at his side.
It's Cameron, naturally, who takes the lead with them. There's just something
about angsting family members that brings out her soft, gooey center.
"Here," She rises from her seat. "Take my seat. You've probably had a long
journey. It can't be good for that leg." And there's that smile. The one
that puts most life forms at unease as they smile back sickly, trying not to
make any sudden moves. John nods at her but its Sam's irritated look that
makes him actually sit.
Well, as long as they're here, thought House, we may as well get to the
interrogating. Surprisingly, it's really hard to get information from
patients in a coma. "So, mind telling me what happened?" He leans against
his desk. "It's just not everyday that one gets beaten and then has a car
crash that results in a coma."
The father doesn't even miss a beat. "No shit." It's not much but House can
see the guilt in the man's eyes. Silence meant love. Tears meant pain. Fear
meant guilt. "But my son is in hospital, in a coma and no one seems to be
able to do something about it. So tell me: are we wasting our time?"
"Dad." Sam's voice is quiet. "Don't say that. They're good doctors, that's
why Dr Somerset sent Dean here." The boy looks over at them and they can see
the sparkle in his eyes. They know he's a strong man, physically and
emotionally; he'd have to be. There's no mother here but her absence tells
him a lot, no matter the circumstances. They're a close family and they're
tired, scared
and hurting.
House would stake Jimmy's new Italian shoes that he hears his team almost
swear as their beepers go off, alerting them to a crisis in the
iso-ward. Dean's room.
*****
The monitors were shrieking, flat lining, yet Dean's body jerked and
shuddered as if in a seizure. It didn't make sense but they didn't have the time to
think about it.
Foreman was the first to reach the bedside. He was just reaching to feel
for the man's pulse when he heard the sounds of struggled breathing.
"Chase!"
The blond doctor reached them just as he was called for, "Damn it! Someone
hold him down. I need to intubate!". He was surprised as white hands moved to
stop the patients' struggles. No time. Reaching for the tubing, he forced
the man's mouth open, carefully inserting the breathing tube. "Hold him
still...almost there...done!" Sighing with relief he looked up. It was Sam who'd
followed them to his brother's room and held him down. "Thanks."
The other man just looked at him with sadness and fear. Chase couldn't
blame him. Sam obviously loved his brother very much and was terrified of
loosing him. There was something in his eyes that told him that if they lost
Dean, something more than a life would be lost.
Meanwhile, Cameron had joined Foreman in examining the equipment in the
room. They were all still screeching, telling them that their patient was
flat lining, dead. But Chase's relieved "He's breathing." refuted this. Dean
was very much alive. So what was going on?
"Maybe an electrical surge of some kind?" Cameron reasoned, though her own
skepticism showed in her voice. "EMP?"
Foreman looked around and inspected the connectors on Dean. "Only located in
this room? I don't know what could do that, aside from a concentrated
nuclear blast which obviously did not happen." He looked at Chase. "What
exactly happened? He's supposed to be in a coma, not seizing and choking."
"I don't know." And either he's loosing his knack at spotting liars or Chase
just won't tell them anything because he's watching the brother carefully.
*****
The halls are nearly empty at this time of night, or rather, morning as
House makes his way to the patients room. Even their patient's brother and
father had finally been forced to leave.
There's just something bothering him about the man, but there's something
about his littlest doctor that's niggling at him as well. If he were a
religious man, and that's like saying that Wilson hasn't thought of diddling
over half the female staff, he'd put his life in the line of holy fire to
say that there was a connection between the patient and Chase.
He rounded the corner, stopping himself just in time from actually entering
iso-two. Leaning on his cane, House did his best to be as inconspicuous as
possible. Chase was in the room, hooking up the next IV.
Suddenly, as if aware of being watched, Dean started muttering, low and
fast. The words were blurred but House could make out a few: et Dominus
adjuvat me. Was that Latin? He filed that little incident to the back of his
mind until he could examine it further.
Chase didn't respond, he only moved to take the patients forearm and turn
it over. Even from his position House could make out the thick line of scar
tissue running almost horizontally along the wrist. But it was Chase's near
wince that caught his attention.
Chase was just standing there, holding the other man's wrist. When House
finally looked up there was a strange look in his eyes: determination,
grief, fear, acceptance. "Dean." Chases voice was haunted and sad. "Dean
Winchester."