Cabin Fever Part One
Cabin Fever
By Carol M.
Summary: Fill in for The Girl Next Door…spoilers…just what happened in those three weeks after Dean, Sam and Bobby left the hospital…Bobby does his best to nurse the Winchester’s minds and bodies back to health…
Spoilers: all of season 7
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, only love them
Enjoy!
The pain was bad again. He could tell by the glassy look in Dean’s eyes and the way the kid’s body trembled even though he was wrapped tight in a woolen blanket Bobby had found in the closet. Sam was out cold in the back bedroom, having graduated from the vomiting phase of his concussion to the sleeping like the dead phase. Thank god or whatever higher power was operating out there these days. Having one Winchester laid up was bad enough, but having two running on empty was Bobby Singer’s own personal version of hell.
It was times like the last twenty fours that Bobby was grateful he didn’t have kids of his own. He couldn’t stomach seeing the usually solid and strong brothers down for the count. Or the puke. Or the way they he couldn’t seem to leave either of their sides, even for a moment. Sam and Dean never managed to do anything half-assed and being taken out by the Leviathans hadn’t been any different.
Unfortunately.
Dean groaned, shifting his position. “Bobby, where’s Sam?” he mumbled, his voice breathless and broken, his face screwed tight in agony.
“Sleeping it off,” said Bobby as he approached the elder Winchester, who was horizontal on the living room couch. He ran a hand over Dean’s forehead, not liking the flush of color he saw spread across the boy’s cheeks. “How you feelin’, son?” he asked, grimacing with worry as his hand felt the burn of heat radiating from Dean’s body.
“Awesome,” answered Dean, trying to shrink away from Bobby’s touch. “You should go check on Sam. M’fine.”
“Sure you are,” said Bobby with doubt as he glanced down at the huge cast on Dean’s leg. “How’s the pain? One to ten scale.”
“Two,” muttered Dean, audibly swallowing as his eyes fluttered shut, his breath sawing in and out of his body in tiny puffs.
“Twelve then,” said Bobby, reaching over to the coffee table for a bottle of pain pills and an half empty bottle of water.
Dean’s eyes opened again, flashing him a look of worry. “Bobby, Sam… he’s…”
“Sam’s fine, Dean,” Bobby assured, tapping out the last two Percocet from the bottle. “You’re the one who’s gone through all the meds from my first aid kit. And Rufus’s. Gonna have to go out and turn some tricks to score you some more.” He eased Dean into a sitting position, doing his best to ignore the pain that crossed Dean’s features at the movement. “Here,” he said, handing over the pills and the water.
Dean popped the pills in his mouth and gulped down the rest of the water in the bottle, his face turning a little green. He grimaced and let his head fall back against the couch, his arm wrapping around his stomach.
Bobby eyed him cautiously. “Those staying down or do I need to take two steps back?”
Dean only moaned in response, his eyes clenching shut again, his face once again reflecting the suffering his body was going through.
“Think you might be working on an infection there, boy,” said Bobby, squeezing Dean’s shoulder in care.
Dean jerked and abruptly shot up, gagging, his hand flying up to his mouth, his eyes wide with panic.
“Aw hell,” was all Bobby managed to get out before Dean puked up the water, the pills and the mac’ n’ cheese they’d had for dinner all over the front of Bobby’s shirt.
“Alright, alright, it’s okay,” Bobby repeated over and over as he did his best to ignore the foul mess dripping down his shirt and instead focused on Dean, placing a steadying hand at the young hunter’s back, trying to ground him and comfort him at the same time. Dean continued to gag and sputter for another minute before collapsing back against the couch, weak and shaky, the heat rolling off him hotter than what it had been only ten minutes earlier.
“M’sorry, Bobby.”
“I’ll say, son,” said Bobby as he grabbed a paper towel and wiped off Dean’s mouth. “At least your brother had the decency to aim for my shoes.”
A small smile crept across Dean’s face at the comment and Bobby enjoyed a brief moment of respite from the tension of the situation.
“Hold tight, Vesuvius. Gonna go hose myself off.”
“Sam… check on Sam. Please,” Dean pleaded, his eyes huge and vulnerable.
Bobby nodded. “You got it.” He swiftly stepped through the cabin to the laundry area in the back, where he tore off his soiled shirt and threw it in the sink, running some water over it to rinse the puke out, anxious to get back to Dean and make sure he was alright.
Being covered in puke and worrying himself to an early grave had been par for the course ever since they’d left the hospital. They had quickly ditched the ambulance in favor of a large SUV where Sam could lie down and Dean could stretch out his leg. Bobby had remembered that Rufus kept a cabin a few hours away and decided to head in that direction. Things had gone downhill from there.
While Dean fretted over his brother, who had yet to regain consciousness, the older Winchester’s body had fizzled out the supply of morphine the hospital had pumped him full of and his leg had begun to pain him something fierce. It had been so bad in fact that Bobby had had to stop off at a local hospital and “borrow” whatever pain pills he could get his hands on. Unfortunately, he’d only managed to snag a few samples before the head nurse got wind and called security. Still, it had been enough to at least quell the boy’s pain for the rest of the trip and also calm him down over his brother. By the time they’d arrived at the cabin, Sam was starting to come around and Dean was starting to go under. Bobby had somehow gotten them all into the cabin in once piece, settling Dean on the front couch and Sam in the back bedroom and hunkered down for a long night of playing nurse maid. He’d given Dean some more pain pills along with a shot of Scotch he’d found in the kitchen that had rendered Dean out almost immediately. But not before he’d made Bobby promise to wake him if anything bad was happening with Sam.
He had given Dean his word and then went to the back bedroom, sitting in with Sam, who immediately started puking steadily every twenty minutes for the next five hours. While Sam was in pure sickly agony, he seemed to be tracking reality, at least for the time being, and seemed to be simply working off the effects of a fairly run of the mill concussion. He had sat with Sam, watering him down and keeping him as comfortable as possible, intermediately going out to check on Dean, until the last of the upchuck had vanished and Sam had finally drifted off peacefully.
Bobby stepped once again into the back bedroom, glancing over at Sam, who seemingly hadn’t moved a muscle since Bobby had last left him. He stepped to the bed and knelt over him, checking the head wound before absently smoothed down Sam’s unruly hair. Sam didn’t stir.
He moved to the bedroom’s closet and pulled out one of Rufus’s flannel shirts, grumbling at the material’s bright color before pulling it on and heading back into the living room to check on Dean. The kid was melted into the couch, his breathing fast and heavy, his brow now glistening with sweat. Bobby high-tailed back into the laundry room, where he picked up a clean cloth and dampened it with water from the sink. He returned to the living room and placed the cool cloth against Dean’s baking forehead, running his hand through Dean’s spiky hair.
Dean grunted, his eyes opening into tiny pain-filled slits. “Bobby…”
“Think it’s time we called for some reinforcements,” said Bobby. “I know a horse doctor who dabbles in hunting about three hours out. He’s been known to patch up a wound or two. He might be able to get his hands on some antibiotics and more feel good pills. Hold tight a sec.” Bobby grabbed his phone and headed towards the cabin’s exit.
“Whoa… where you… where you going?” Dean asked, his voice high-pitched and edging on panic, his eyes wide with fear.
Bobby was taken aback at how freaked out the kid looked, taking a moment to step back and pat him reassuringly on the arm. “Easy, son. I’m just going outside to make a call. Reception’s better out there.”
Dean gulped and nodded, the tension easing slightly from his body.
“That okay with you, princess?” Bobby asked, trying to tease away the worry that was once again clinging to his gut.
“Giddy up,” said Dean, his face again twisted in discomfort.
“Just be a few minutes. Try not to spew anymore. We’re almost out of clean blankets.”
“Roger… that,” Dean managed before his eyes shut once again, a full on shiver working its way through the kid’s body before he collapsed bonelessly into the couch.
He hesitated, not wanting to leave Dean, concern hammering him over the hunter’s strange reaction to Bobby’s departure. But getting a doctor out there was ultimately more important than Dean’s fragile state. He tucked his chagrin away as he reached for a coat and headed out the door into the chilly evening air, hoping to find a little salvation at the end of the phone line.
They sure could use it.
TBC
By Carol M.
Summary: Fill in for The Girl Next Door…spoilers…just what happened in those three weeks after Dean, Sam and Bobby left the hospital…Bobby does his best to nurse the Winchester’s minds and bodies back to health…
Spoilers: all of season 7
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, only love them
Enjoy!
The pain was bad again. He could tell by the glassy look in Dean’s eyes and the way the kid’s body trembled even though he was wrapped tight in a woolen blanket Bobby had found in the closet. Sam was out cold in the back bedroom, having graduated from the vomiting phase of his concussion to the sleeping like the dead phase. Thank god or whatever higher power was operating out there these days. Having one Winchester laid up was bad enough, but having two running on empty was Bobby Singer’s own personal version of hell.
It was times like the last twenty fours that Bobby was grateful he didn’t have kids of his own. He couldn’t stomach seeing the usually solid and strong brothers down for the count. Or the puke. Or the way they he couldn’t seem to leave either of their sides, even for a moment. Sam and Dean never managed to do anything half-assed and being taken out by the Leviathans hadn’t been any different.
Unfortunately.
Dean groaned, shifting his position. “Bobby, where’s Sam?” he mumbled, his voice breathless and broken, his face screwed tight in agony.
“Sleeping it off,” said Bobby as he approached the elder Winchester, who was horizontal on the living room couch. He ran a hand over Dean’s forehead, not liking the flush of color he saw spread across the boy’s cheeks. “How you feelin’, son?” he asked, grimacing with worry as his hand felt the burn of heat radiating from Dean’s body.
“Awesome,” answered Dean, trying to shrink away from Bobby’s touch. “You should go check on Sam. M’fine.”
“Sure you are,” said Bobby with doubt as he glanced down at the huge cast on Dean’s leg. “How’s the pain? One to ten scale.”
“Two,” muttered Dean, audibly swallowing as his eyes fluttered shut, his breath sawing in and out of his body in tiny puffs.
“Twelve then,” said Bobby, reaching over to the coffee table for a bottle of pain pills and an half empty bottle of water.
Dean’s eyes opened again, flashing him a look of worry. “Bobby, Sam… he’s…”
“Sam’s fine, Dean,” Bobby assured, tapping out the last two Percocet from the bottle. “You’re the one who’s gone through all the meds from my first aid kit. And Rufus’s. Gonna have to go out and turn some tricks to score you some more.” He eased Dean into a sitting position, doing his best to ignore the pain that crossed Dean’s features at the movement. “Here,” he said, handing over the pills and the water.
Dean popped the pills in his mouth and gulped down the rest of the water in the bottle, his face turning a little green. He grimaced and let his head fall back against the couch, his arm wrapping around his stomach.
Bobby eyed him cautiously. “Those staying down or do I need to take two steps back?”
Dean only moaned in response, his eyes clenching shut again, his face once again reflecting the suffering his body was going through.
“Think you might be working on an infection there, boy,” said Bobby, squeezing Dean’s shoulder in care.
Dean jerked and abruptly shot up, gagging, his hand flying up to his mouth, his eyes wide with panic.
“Aw hell,” was all Bobby managed to get out before Dean puked up the water, the pills and the mac’ n’ cheese they’d had for dinner all over the front of Bobby’s shirt.
“Alright, alright, it’s okay,” Bobby repeated over and over as he did his best to ignore the foul mess dripping down his shirt and instead focused on Dean, placing a steadying hand at the young hunter’s back, trying to ground him and comfort him at the same time. Dean continued to gag and sputter for another minute before collapsing back against the couch, weak and shaky, the heat rolling off him hotter than what it had been only ten minutes earlier.
“M’sorry, Bobby.”
“I’ll say, son,” said Bobby as he grabbed a paper towel and wiped off Dean’s mouth. “At least your brother had the decency to aim for my shoes.”
A small smile crept across Dean’s face at the comment and Bobby enjoyed a brief moment of respite from the tension of the situation.
“Hold tight, Vesuvius. Gonna go hose myself off.”
“Sam… check on Sam. Please,” Dean pleaded, his eyes huge and vulnerable.
Bobby nodded. “You got it.” He swiftly stepped through the cabin to the laundry area in the back, where he tore off his soiled shirt and threw it in the sink, running some water over it to rinse the puke out, anxious to get back to Dean and make sure he was alright.
Being covered in puke and worrying himself to an early grave had been par for the course ever since they’d left the hospital. They had quickly ditched the ambulance in favor of a large SUV where Sam could lie down and Dean could stretch out his leg. Bobby had remembered that Rufus kept a cabin a few hours away and decided to head in that direction. Things had gone downhill from there.
While Dean fretted over his brother, who had yet to regain consciousness, the older Winchester’s body had fizzled out the supply of morphine the hospital had pumped him full of and his leg had begun to pain him something fierce. It had been so bad in fact that Bobby had had to stop off at a local hospital and “borrow” whatever pain pills he could get his hands on. Unfortunately, he’d only managed to snag a few samples before the head nurse got wind and called security. Still, it had been enough to at least quell the boy’s pain for the rest of the trip and also calm him down over his brother. By the time they’d arrived at the cabin, Sam was starting to come around and Dean was starting to go under. Bobby had somehow gotten them all into the cabin in once piece, settling Dean on the front couch and Sam in the back bedroom and hunkered down for a long night of playing nurse maid. He’d given Dean some more pain pills along with a shot of Scotch he’d found in the kitchen that had rendered Dean out almost immediately. But not before he’d made Bobby promise to wake him if anything bad was happening with Sam.
He had given Dean his word and then went to the back bedroom, sitting in with Sam, who immediately started puking steadily every twenty minutes for the next five hours. While Sam was in pure sickly agony, he seemed to be tracking reality, at least for the time being, and seemed to be simply working off the effects of a fairly run of the mill concussion. He had sat with Sam, watering him down and keeping him as comfortable as possible, intermediately going out to check on Dean, until the last of the upchuck had vanished and Sam had finally drifted off peacefully.
Bobby stepped once again into the back bedroom, glancing over at Sam, who seemingly hadn’t moved a muscle since Bobby had last left him. He stepped to the bed and knelt over him, checking the head wound before absently smoothed down Sam’s unruly hair. Sam didn’t stir.
He moved to the bedroom’s closet and pulled out one of Rufus’s flannel shirts, grumbling at the material’s bright color before pulling it on and heading back into the living room to check on Dean. The kid was melted into the couch, his breathing fast and heavy, his brow now glistening with sweat. Bobby high-tailed back into the laundry room, where he picked up a clean cloth and dampened it with water from the sink. He returned to the living room and placed the cool cloth against Dean’s baking forehead, running his hand through Dean’s spiky hair.
Dean grunted, his eyes opening into tiny pain-filled slits. “Bobby…”
“Think it’s time we called for some reinforcements,” said Bobby. “I know a horse doctor who dabbles in hunting about three hours out. He’s been known to patch up a wound or two. He might be able to get his hands on some antibiotics and more feel good pills. Hold tight a sec.” Bobby grabbed his phone and headed towards the cabin’s exit.
“Whoa… where you… where you going?” Dean asked, his voice high-pitched and edging on panic, his eyes wide with fear.
Bobby was taken aback at how freaked out the kid looked, taking a moment to step back and pat him reassuringly on the arm. “Easy, son. I’m just going outside to make a call. Reception’s better out there.”
Dean gulped and nodded, the tension easing slightly from his body.
“That okay with you, princess?” Bobby asked, trying to tease away the worry that was once again clinging to his gut.
“Giddy up,” said Dean, his face again twisted in discomfort.
“Just be a few minutes. Try not to spew anymore. We’re almost out of clean blankets.”
“Roger… that,” Dean managed before his eyes shut once again, a full on shiver working its way through the kid’s body before he collapsed bonelessly into the couch.
He hesitated, not wanting to leave Dean, concern hammering him over the hunter’s strange reaction to Bobby’s departure. But getting a doctor out there was ultimately more important than Dean’s fragile state. He tucked his chagrin away as he reached for a coat and headed out the door into the chilly evening air, hoping to find a little salvation at the end of the phone line.
They sure could use it.
TBC