Not the Demons You're Looking For (24/24)
Part 23
Part 24
Andy came to get them the next day, brought a bag with fresh clothes to their room. “Well, uh, it's stopped raining. So that's good news, right?”
Dean was still asleep, one arm fallen loosely over his chest. The pure oxygen had been stopped early that morning, after x-rays had confirmed that he hadn't suffered lasting harm from the smoke, and that in spite of the horrific cough he'd developed as a result of the cold, he didn't have pneumonia either. He'd spent a miserable night coughing, sneezing and shivering with fever, asking the same questions over and over, and between that and the concussion Sam hadn't gotten much sleep either. He'd spent most of the night in the chair next to Dean's bed, dozing fitfully and ignoring the doctors' admonitions to go to bed, figuring that if he was going to be awoken every hour on the hour anyway, he might as well make use of the time and keep an eye on his brother. Dean had been pumped full of saline and antipyretics, prescribed antibiotics for what seemed like the next month. Finally he'd managed to fall into a restful sleep in the early hours of the morning, and overall things were looking up. Sam couldn't remember a time he'd been happier to be in a hospital. He'd taken advantage of the hospital shower -the water pressure was bad, but if he spent another moment feeling as though he was covered in soot and blood, he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions- taking care not to get the bandage around his head wet.
“Yeah, that is good news.” Cured a long time ago of any sense of modesty by living in close proximity with Dean twenty-four hours a day, Sam stripped out of the hospital scrubs and gratefully pulled on clothing that wasn't two sizes too small. His hair was still sticking out at odd angles under the bandage, but there was nothing he could do about that just now. He reached out and smoothed the back of his fingers against his brother's cheek, knowing this was one of the few times he could get away with it. “Hey, Dean, wake up.”
After a moment Dean stirred, stared up at him groggily. “Hey, Sabby. Wha's happedig?” His voice was still mostly gone, but he wasn't sounding as hoarse and desperate as the night before. Sam made a mental note to pick up more lozenges for him as soon as he could.
“Andy's here. You feeling up to getting the hell out of this place?”
“Hell, yeah. Hade hosbidals.” He struggled to a sitting position, sneezed into the crook of his elbow. “HPTSCHH! Uh... sud of a bitch. HHUISHOO! Uh... cobe od! I already saved the day,” he groaned, rubbed at his face with both hands. “Id's dot f-fair thad I s-sdill feel this crappy. HEPTSCHUH!”
“Bless.” Andy gave him a commiserative grimace, and Sam just shook his head.
“Dude, you spent all of yesterday fighting off a fever, then went out in the rain and dragged four people out of a fire. How did you think you were going to feel today?”
Dean leaned his elbows on his knees, sitting cross-legged on the bed, and let his head fall into his hands. “Did't thigk about id too hard... hih... uh! HISHOO!” He scrubbed at his nose with the back of his wrist. “Sab... I had the Colt with be...”
“It's safe, don't worry.” Sam reassured him, a little worried that he didn't appear to remember the other three times he'd asked after it that night. Dean just nodded, as though confirming something to himself.
“Everyode god out safe?”
“Yeah, man. We're all fine.”
“Good.”
Andy put the bundle of fresh clothes in his lap. “Your chariot awaits, once you're dressed. Are you feeling even a little bit better?”
Dean shrugged, not looking up. “I guess. Dot feelig ligke I'b about to chogke to death or adythig. Thad's a plus. Ad by chest doesd't hurdt as buch. So, yeah. Feelig bedder. Tired, bostly.”
“If you want to spend another day, take advantage of the awesome I.V. drugs, hit on the hot nurses, that's not a problem.” Sam felt his face scrunch into a worried expression; it wasn't like Dean to admit to feeling tired, let alone anything else.
Dean shook his head slowly, extended a hand. “Doh way. I'b outta here.”
Sam took his outstretched hand and hauled him to his feet, steadying him when he wavered. “You sure? You're still running a hell of a fever.”
“Dothing I cad't sleep off id a bed thad's dot id a hosbidal.” He leaned against the bed, changed clumsily into the clothes, as immune to embarrassment as Sam by now, although Sam noted with amusement that Andy had looked away both times, staring intently at what was obviously a fascinating spot on the wall. Dean noticed, too, and grinned. “Dude, id's dothig you haved't seed before. Chill.” He wrenched aside, breath hitching. “Hih... ISHOO! HEPTSCHH!”
“Uh-huh. Look, I got your discharge and all that taken care of. Bless, by the way.”
Sam arched an eyebrow. “Taken care of?”
“Yeah. Let's just say that your paperwork got mysteriously misplaced, so there isn't a record you were ever here. Also, most of the people here don't remember you all that well.”
“I really hope you're psychic thigg doesd't cause braid cadcer id the logg rud,” Dean muttered. “That would sugck.” He made a show about protesting having to leave the hospital in a wheelchair, but in the end he folded like a bad poker hand. Sam could see he was exhausted, and there was the barest tremor to his hands, a weakness he never would never have allowed himself to show under ordinary circumstances. He fell asleep in the van on the way home, barely roused enough to let Sam help him into the house and settle him on the sofa, where he promptly fell asleep again, curled up under a blanket, head pillowed on his hand.
“You ever tell him I said this, I will disavow all knowledge of it, but he kind of looks cute like that,” Andy said quietly.
Sam felt his lips quirk into a smile, and couldn't help but agree. Even with the remnants of soot on his face and his hair sticking out at odd angles, his brother still managed to pull off the look. “I won't tell him. He'd probably kill me just for thinking it. Or at the very least he'd put me in a headlock and rub my nose in the carpet until I surrendered and agreed out loud that I'm a girl.” He followed Andy into the kitchen. “Oh, thank God, you made coffee. That stuff at the hospital is unspeakably gross.”
Andy chuckled. “So I hear. You know you guys are welcome to stay as long as you like, right?”
Unconsciously Sam glanced over his shoulder back toward the living room. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. I don't think it's a good idea for Dean to be going anywhere for a few days at least. Really, thank you. You've done more for us in the past couple of days than most people ever did for us in a lifetime.”
“No problem,” Andy actually blushed. “For one thing, I like you guys. Besides, you did me a solid favour, coming in on this.”
He shrugged. “We never did figure out anything about those deaths, though, other than that it's probably related to the demon.”
“Any theories? I'm just curious at this point.”
“My best guess?” Sam took a drink of his coffee. “It's creating havoc. With people, with the weather, with whatever it can get away with. It creates an atmosphere of terror, moves in for the kill after a while.”
Andy shuddered, changed the subject so abruptly that Sam let the matter drop. “So, anyway, Lesley called this morning.”
Sam felt a twinge of guilt at that: he hadn't given Lesley or her family much thought since the night before. “How's she doing?”
Andy shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess. She and the kids are staying with her sister, her husband's flying in on the first plane, but he won't be here until this afternoon. Something about a connecting flight being delayed. Anyway, she wanted to come by later on, to say thank you properly.”
Sam snorted. “Yeah.”
“Hey,” Andy said sharply. “I don't know what's going on in your head, but you know you saved her life, right? You and Dean?”
“Yeah, I know. I just... I feel like everywhere I go, people just keep dying, or... I don't know.” He slumped in a chair, stared morosely at the steaming cup in front of him.
“No one died, Sam. You did everything you could, and it worked out.”
“I know.”
“Doesn't sound like it to me. Look, this thing, this demon or whatever, it's had people like you and your dad going after it for a really long time. You said yourself it was really powerful, right? I mean, look what it did to us, to our families, our friends... You and Dean might be really good at what you do, but you're only two people. You've already saved a bunch of people from this thing.” Andy stopped, dropped into a chair in front of him. “I'm not getting through, am I? Of all the people who needs whammying, and you're immune to it. Figures.”
Sam laughed. “Well, you get an 'A' for effort. I get it, I do. I promise.”
“All right. Just so long as you try to remember it every so often, okay?” Andy grinned, and Sam found himself returning the grin.
“Sure.” He grabbed his cup of coffee. “I ought to go check on Dean. Make sure he's okay.”
“Okay, but I'm sure he's fine. I doubt he'll be waking up any time soon. He was out like a light.”
“I know. I just... I need to make sure he's okay. He's had a rough time of it lately. Even before he got sick.”
“Yeah, he sort of hinted at that yesterday.”
“He did?” Sam couldn't hide quite how astonished he was. Dean wasn't exactly the caring-and-sharing type, as he put it.
“Sort of,” Andy shrugged. “He wasn't exactly coherent, so I kind of feel bad even telling you about this. Kind of feels like I'm violating the confessional, you know? Like I'm taking advantage of the delirious guy while he can't defend himself. Okay, that came out sounding way creepier and more perverted than I wanted, but you know what I mean.” Andy squirmed.
Sam nodded, took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, I understand. Uh... was any of it something that sounded like it was going to put us in immediate danger?” He felt a twist of guilt as he asked: Dean guarded his thoughts jealously, and he'd be humiliated and furious to be exposed like this.
“No, nothing like that. I'd tell you if it was. He just... talked a lot. About you, about your dad, and when the fever got really bad he raved about you and your dad and the demon and fire and...” Andy hesitated, drummed his fingers on the table, visibly came to a decision, nodding to himself. “And your mother.”
It hit Sam like a physical blow. “What?”
“I probably shouldn't even tell you that much. But...he's hurting, you know. It's not hard to see. And... I figure you're the only guy who can help him with it. If it were anyone else I'd just get him baked and that would be the end of it. But it's not like he's the type to open up, right?”
“Yeah, no,” Sam let out a huff of air that was half a laugh, half a sob. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out just what to do with this whole new weight Andy had just dropped in his lap. “Thanks. For telling me.”
“No problem. Hey, I like you guys. Kind of want the two of you to make it, you know? Score one for the good guys.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He stood, made his way to the living room, careful not to make any noise. He had the impression, though, that he could have brought in a marching band and Dean wouldn't have budged, knocked out by fever, exhaustion and industrial-strength painkillers. He was breathing evenly, though, and apart from the flush of fever it looked as though he was truly resting for the first time in recent memory. Sam pulled up a chair, let himself reach out and run his fingers through Dean's short-cropped hair, felt ridiculously relieved when the gesture didn't awaken him.
He settled in the chair to wait, content for now to watch his brother sleep.
~END~
Part 24
Andy came to get them the next day, brought a bag with fresh clothes to their room. “Well, uh, it's stopped raining. So that's good news, right?”
Dean was still asleep, one arm fallen loosely over his chest. The pure oxygen had been stopped early that morning, after x-rays had confirmed that he hadn't suffered lasting harm from the smoke, and that in spite of the horrific cough he'd developed as a result of the cold, he didn't have pneumonia either. He'd spent a miserable night coughing, sneezing and shivering with fever, asking the same questions over and over, and between that and the concussion Sam hadn't gotten much sleep either. He'd spent most of the night in the chair next to Dean's bed, dozing fitfully and ignoring the doctors' admonitions to go to bed, figuring that if he was going to be awoken every hour on the hour anyway, he might as well make use of the time and keep an eye on his brother. Dean had been pumped full of saline and antipyretics, prescribed antibiotics for what seemed like the next month. Finally he'd managed to fall into a restful sleep in the early hours of the morning, and overall things were looking up. Sam couldn't remember a time he'd been happier to be in a hospital. He'd taken advantage of the hospital shower -the water pressure was bad, but if he spent another moment feeling as though he was covered in soot and blood, he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions- taking care not to get the bandage around his head wet.
“Yeah, that is good news.” Cured a long time ago of any sense of modesty by living in close proximity with Dean twenty-four hours a day, Sam stripped out of the hospital scrubs and gratefully pulled on clothing that wasn't two sizes too small. His hair was still sticking out at odd angles under the bandage, but there was nothing he could do about that just now. He reached out and smoothed the back of his fingers against his brother's cheek, knowing this was one of the few times he could get away with it. “Hey, Dean, wake up.”
After a moment Dean stirred, stared up at him groggily. “Hey, Sabby. Wha's happedig?” His voice was still mostly gone, but he wasn't sounding as hoarse and desperate as the night before. Sam made a mental note to pick up more lozenges for him as soon as he could.
“Andy's here. You feeling up to getting the hell out of this place?”
“Hell, yeah. Hade hosbidals.” He struggled to a sitting position, sneezed into the crook of his elbow. “HPTSCHH! Uh... sud of a bitch. HHUISHOO! Uh... cobe od! I already saved the day,” he groaned, rubbed at his face with both hands. “Id's dot f-fair thad I s-sdill feel this crappy. HEPTSCHUH!”
“Bless.” Andy gave him a commiserative grimace, and Sam just shook his head.
“Dude, you spent all of yesterday fighting off a fever, then went out in the rain and dragged four people out of a fire. How did you think you were going to feel today?”
Dean leaned his elbows on his knees, sitting cross-legged on the bed, and let his head fall into his hands. “Did't thigk about id too hard... hih... uh! HISHOO!” He scrubbed at his nose with the back of his wrist. “Sab... I had the Colt with be...”
“It's safe, don't worry.” Sam reassured him, a little worried that he didn't appear to remember the other three times he'd asked after it that night. Dean just nodded, as though confirming something to himself.
“Everyode god out safe?”
“Yeah, man. We're all fine.”
“Good.”
Andy put the bundle of fresh clothes in his lap. “Your chariot awaits, once you're dressed. Are you feeling even a little bit better?”
Dean shrugged, not looking up. “I guess. Dot feelig ligke I'b about to chogke to death or adythig. Thad's a plus. Ad by chest doesd't hurdt as buch. So, yeah. Feelig bedder. Tired, bostly.”
“If you want to spend another day, take advantage of the awesome I.V. drugs, hit on the hot nurses, that's not a problem.” Sam felt his face scrunch into a worried expression; it wasn't like Dean to admit to feeling tired, let alone anything else.
Dean shook his head slowly, extended a hand. “Doh way. I'b outta here.”
Sam took his outstretched hand and hauled him to his feet, steadying him when he wavered. “You sure? You're still running a hell of a fever.”
“Dothing I cad't sleep off id a bed thad's dot id a hosbidal.” He leaned against the bed, changed clumsily into the clothes, as immune to embarrassment as Sam by now, although Sam noted with amusement that Andy had looked away both times, staring intently at what was obviously a fascinating spot on the wall. Dean noticed, too, and grinned. “Dude, id's dothig you haved't seed before. Chill.” He wrenched aside, breath hitching. “Hih... ISHOO! HEPTSCHH!”
“Uh-huh. Look, I got your discharge and all that taken care of. Bless, by the way.”
Sam arched an eyebrow. “Taken care of?”
“Yeah. Let's just say that your paperwork got mysteriously misplaced, so there isn't a record you were ever here. Also, most of the people here don't remember you all that well.”
“I really hope you're psychic thigg doesd't cause braid cadcer id the logg rud,” Dean muttered. “That would sugck.” He made a show about protesting having to leave the hospital in a wheelchair, but in the end he folded like a bad poker hand. Sam could see he was exhausted, and there was the barest tremor to his hands, a weakness he never would never have allowed himself to show under ordinary circumstances. He fell asleep in the van on the way home, barely roused enough to let Sam help him into the house and settle him on the sofa, where he promptly fell asleep again, curled up under a blanket, head pillowed on his hand.
“You ever tell him I said this, I will disavow all knowledge of it, but he kind of looks cute like that,” Andy said quietly.
Sam felt his lips quirk into a smile, and couldn't help but agree. Even with the remnants of soot on his face and his hair sticking out at odd angles, his brother still managed to pull off the look. “I won't tell him. He'd probably kill me just for thinking it. Or at the very least he'd put me in a headlock and rub my nose in the carpet until I surrendered and agreed out loud that I'm a girl.” He followed Andy into the kitchen. “Oh, thank God, you made coffee. That stuff at the hospital is unspeakably gross.”
Andy chuckled. “So I hear. You know you guys are welcome to stay as long as you like, right?”
Unconsciously Sam glanced over his shoulder back toward the living room. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. I don't think it's a good idea for Dean to be going anywhere for a few days at least. Really, thank you. You've done more for us in the past couple of days than most people ever did for us in a lifetime.”
“No problem,” Andy actually blushed. “For one thing, I like you guys. Besides, you did me a solid favour, coming in on this.”
He shrugged. “We never did figure out anything about those deaths, though, other than that it's probably related to the demon.”
“Any theories? I'm just curious at this point.”
“My best guess?” Sam took a drink of his coffee. “It's creating havoc. With people, with the weather, with whatever it can get away with. It creates an atmosphere of terror, moves in for the kill after a while.”
Andy shuddered, changed the subject so abruptly that Sam let the matter drop. “So, anyway, Lesley called this morning.”
Sam felt a twinge of guilt at that: he hadn't given Lesley or her family much thought since the night before. “How's she doing?”
Andy shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I guess. She and the kids are staying with her sister, her husband's flying in on the first plane, but he won't be here until this afternoon. Something about a connecting flight being delayed. Anyway, she wanted to come by later on, to say thank you properly.”
Sam snorted. “Yeah.”
“Hey,” Andy said sharply. “I don't know what's going on in your head, but you know you saved her life, right? You and Dean?”
“Yeah, I know. I just... I feel like everywhere I go, people just keep dying, or... I don't know.” He slumped in a chair, stared morosely at the steaming cup in front of him.
“No one died, Sam. You did everything you could, and it worked out.”
“I know.”
“Doesn't sound like it to me. Look, this thing, this demon or whatever, it's had people like you and your dad going after it for a really long time. You said yourself it was really powerful, right? I mean, look what it did to us, to our families, our friends... You and Dean might be really good at what you do, but you're only two people. You've already saved a bunch of people from this thing.” Andy stopped, dropped into a chair in front of him. “I'm not getting through, am I? Of all the people who needs whammying, and you're immune to it. Figures.”
Sam laughed. “Well, you get an 'A' for effort. I get it, I do. I promise.”
“All right. Just so long as you try to remember it every so often, okay?” Andy grinned, and Sam found himself returning the grin.
“Sure.” He grabbed his cup of coffee. “I ought to go check on Dean. Make sure he's okay.”
“Okay, but I'm sure he's fine. I doubt he'll be waking up any time soon. He was out like a light.”
“I know. I just... I need to make sure he's okay. He's had a rough time of it lately. Even before he got sick.”
“Yeah, he sort of hinted at that yesterday.”
“He did?” Sam couldn't hide quite how astonished he was. Dean wasn't exactly the caring-and-sharing type, as he put it.
“Sort of,” Andy shrugged. “He wasn't exactly coherent, so I kind of feel bad even telling you about this. Kind of feels like I'm violating the confessional, you know? Like I'm taking advantage of the delirious guy while he can't defend himself. Okay, that came out sounding way creepier and more perverted than I wanted, but you know what I mean.” Andy squirmed.
Sam nodded, took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, I understand. Uh... was any of it something that sounded like it was going to put us in immediate danger?” He felt a twist of guilt as he asked: Dean guarded his thoughts jealously, and he'd be humiliated and furious to be exposed like this.
“No, nothing like that. I'd tell you if it was. He just... talked a lot. About you, about your dad, and when the fever got really bad he raved about you and your dad and the demon and fire and...” Andy hesitated, drummed his fingers on the table, visibly came to a decision, nodding to himself. “And your mother.”
It hit Sam like a physical blow. “What?”
“I probably shouldn't even tell you that much. But...he's hurting, you know. It's not hard to see. And... I figure you're the only guy who can help him with it. If it were anyone else I'd just get him baked and that would be the end of it. But it's not like he's the type to open up, right?”
“Yeah, no,” Sam let out a huff of air that was half a laugh, half a sob. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out just what to do with this whole new weight Andy had just dropped in his lap. “Thanks. For telling me.”
“No problem. Hey, I like you guys. Kind of want the two of you to make it, you know? Score one for the good guys.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He stood, made his way to the living room, careful not to make any noise. He had the impression, though, that he could have brought in a marching band and Dean wouldn't have budged, knocked out by fever, exhaustion and industrial-strength painkillers. He was breathing evenly, though, and apart from the flush of fever it looked as though he was truly resting for the first time in recent memory. Sam pulled up a chair, let himself reach out and run his fingers through Dean's short-cropped hair, felt ridiculously relieved when the gesture didn't awaken him.
He settled in the chair to wait, content for now to watch his brother sleep.
~END~