Multum In Parvo (SPN fanfic) 2/7
Title: Multum In Parvo
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Rating: PG-13
There was very little traffic as Sam sped through town, which was just as well. He completely ignored two red lights and a stop sign once he spotted the little blue “H” signs leading to the hospital. The fact that Dean wasn't protesting the trip, and had grown quieter as they went, encouraged Sam's reckless driving. Even more worrying, Sam ran over a curb taking a corner a little too tight and Dean didn't mention that. By the time Sam pulled into the parking lot at the ER, he was nearly hysterical. He ran around to the passenger side of the car and helped Dean out. His brother groaned as he stood, Sam put his arm around Dean's waist and lifted as much of Dean's weight onto himself as he could. He knew Dean wouldn't be carried into the ER, and there were wheelchairs just inside the door. They only had to get that far. He dropped Dean gently into the chair and pushed him towards the triage window.
“Reason for visit?” the girl behind the window asked in a slightly bored tone.
“Chest pain,” Sam answered before Dean could open his mouth.
“Have you been here before?”
“No,” Sam said, trying to keep his voice calm.
“Name?”
“Dean Iommi,” his brother said, pulling out his wallet and holding out an insurance card.
“Thank you,” she said. “Go over there and the nurse will take care of you.”
Sam rolled Dean over to a blood pressure machine and a large woman in bright, flowered scrubs came over with a clipboard in her hands. She put the blood pressure cuff on Dean's arm and pressed the start button on the machine, clipped the sensor to his forefinger and then frowned at him. “Chest pain?” she asked, Dean nodded. “Hmph. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?”
“High sevens,” Dean answered. Sam swallowed, and looked at his brother. Maybe he hadn't heard that right.
“Hmph,” the nurse said and wrote Dean's vitals down. “Can you take him back to twenty-eight?”
“Sure.” A young man wearing a name badge that said “Marc” came out from behind the desk and pushed Dean towards a set of double doors. Sam trailed behind them.
Dean was pushed back into a small room that had a curtain for the door. Sam marveled at the fact that for some reason all the hospitals they had been in seemed to use the same curtain supplier. Marc helped Dean onto the bed, smiled at them and left. Before Sam could say anything, someone showed up to put a bracelet on Dean with his information and sign the paperwork. The whole time Dean kept getting more and more gray.
“Dean Iommi?” a pretty blond asked from the doorway.
“Yeah?” Dean smiled.
“I'm Karyn, your nurse. What brings you in tonight?”
“Chest pain,” Dean said.
“Can you describe it? Dull? Stabbing?”
“Stabbing and throbbing,” Dean answered with a frown, thinking about it.
“On a scale of one to...”
“Eight,” Dean growled.
Sam stepped past the nurse and put his hand on Dean's shoulder. The muscles were tense. If his brother was admitting to an eight, it was bad. “I think it was bothering him since lunch, but it got bad about twenty minutes ago,” Sam offered.
“That's when the stabbing pain started?” she asked Dean.
“Yeah, and it's been getting worse.”
“Have you taken an aspirin?”
“Aspirin?” Sam felt stupid. After watching as much TV as he had, and seeing the continual commercials, he should have thought of that. “No.”
“Okay.” She made a note on his chart and took some supplies out of a drawer. Sam recognized the IV pack immediately. He'd stolen a few over the years and thanks to Dr. Dave, he knew how to start an IV when needed. She prepped Dean's arm and opened the back. “You'll feel a pinch.”
“You're shoving a needle in my arm,” Dean growled. Sam hid a smile. His brother was never big on the medical professions tendency to downplay what they were going to do, ever since one memorable doctor told Sam it would just pinch a little, then proceeded to pull a stick out of his foot without numbing it or anything. Sam had screamed and Dean had punched the doctor. Since then Dean tended to say “it's a little uncomfortable” or “it's a scratch” but did not allow the same parlance from the medical profession.
“Any nausea?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She drew several vials of blood, pulled a blue bag out of a dispenser, handed it to Dean and left.
Dean looked at the bag. “It says single person use.” He smirked. “That's comforting.”
Sam leaned against the bed. “Dean...” He didn't get a chance to finish. Another person in scrubs appeared, pushing in a machine and, lifting Dean's t-shirt, started sticking pads down on his chest. Sam recognized the EKG leads from Dean's experience years before. They wheeled the EKG machine out and someone else came in with another set of pads and hooked Dean up to the standard monitor. Sam glanced up, wondering if it was good or bad that he knew how to read the various numbers on the screen.
They were gone and Karyn was back with a large bag of fluids, she hung it from of hook on the wall and pulled a syringe out of her pocket. “What's that?” Sam asked.
“Saline flush,” Dean answered for her. “Always tastes the same.”
“A lot of people say they taste it,” she said. “This is some Zofran for the nausea.” She screwed another syringe on the port and depressed the plunger, then attached the bag of fluids. “How's your pain?”
“It's not getting better, still a high seven or eight.” Dean swallowed, his hand closing on the barf bag. “Nausea is awesome too.”
“Give the Zofran a chance. Can you tell me what medications you're on?” She looked at him.
Dean opened his wallet and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “That's all of them, can you make a copy and bring that back?”
“Yes, perfect.”
Sam watched her leave with the sheet, wondering how he could manage to snag it when she got back. It would be a lot easier than trying to get at the pill bottles in Dean's bag again. He could see her at the photocopier, and made a move towards the door, pretending he was looking out watching the flow of people in the nurses' station.
“Don't even think about it,” Dean said, his voice tight with pain.
“What?” Sam turned back, giving Dean his best hurt puppy look.
“Just...” Dean stopped, sucking in a breath, his hand going up to press against his chest. Sam forgot about the list, forgot about everything, and hurried to the bed, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. “Damn, it hurts,” Dean said.
Karyn came back and handed the list to Dean who tucked it back in his wallet. “The doctor will be in shortly.”
“Can he get something for the pain?” Sam asked.
“I have to speak with the doctor,” she said firmly, then walked out of the small room.
“It's okay, Sammy,” Dean said. “You know the routine. Stick needles in, mutter, poke, mutter, make sure patient is not bleeding to death, leave.”
“I know.” Sam chuckled, leaning against the bed so his brother could be in contact. It was Winchester Hospital Rule One, stay in contact when at all possible, or line of sight at the very least. It had been their father's rule, created when Dean had to go in to get his tonsils out when he was eight, and Sam was scared. He knew what hospitals meant and he was worried for his brother, so John created the rule. Much to the dismay of the hospital staff.
“What's taking so long?” his brother asked, then sucked in a deep break, clamping down on Sam's wrist with a vise-like grip.
“There is something going on in the room by the door.” Sam moved just enough to get a better look. “A couple of nurses ran in there a minute ago.”
“That's not a lot of help.”
Sam turned to look at his brother. “Do you want me to go get someone?”
“No!” Dean's grip, if anything, tightened on his wrist, and thin or not, Dean could do considerable damage with that hand if he needed to. “Sorry.” Something must have showed on Sam's face, his brother's hold loosened minutely.
“Karyn is coming back,” Sam said, seeing the nurse approaching.
“How are we doing?” she asked, coming into the room.
“We're awesome,” Dean snapped.
“Nausea? Pain?”
“Both awesome.”
“Now,” she glanced down at the chart, “Dean. You need to let me know how you're feeling.”
“I can't breathe, my chest feels like it's being crushed and I want to puke. Is that better?”
She smiled and hung a glass bottle on the hook. “The nausea is still bad?”
“Yes, what's that?”
“Nitro. I'll see about getting something else for your nausea. The doctor will be right back.”
“Sure he will,” Dean said, frowning at Sam. “Stop squinching at me.”
“This will help,” Karyn was back before Sam could speak.
“What is that?” Sam demanded, beginning to get the scary “things are out of control” feeling he always got in the Emergency Room.
“Phenergan, for the nausea.” She flushed the port in Dean's hand, then administered the med. As the plunger went down, Sam noticed Dean's hold on his wrist relaxed and Dean's eyes drifted closed a little. “I'll be back in a minute to see if that's helping, the doctor will be right back.”
“Doubt it,” Dean mumbled.
“Dean?”
“Damn Phenergan always makes me dopey when I get it IV.”
“Always?” Sam asked casually, hoping to get more information.
“Yeah, the Zofran is okay, but the damn Phenergan makes me... Ah ha, no way, I know what you're doing, Sammy, good try.”
“What?”
“Think you're being stealthy.” Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam, his gaze hazy. “I'm the stealthy one, remember? You're agile.”
“I know.” Sam smiled.
“Although when pressed I can be agile too.” Dean grinned. “Pretty agile.”
“I'm sure I don't want to know.”
A middle-aged man with graying hair at his temples came into the room. “Hi, I'm Dr. Esterhazy.” He held out his hand and shook theirs as they introduced themselves. “So, tell me what's brought you in tonight.”
Dean growled.
Sam put his hand on his brother's arm and looked at the doctor. The fact the man had taken the time for introductions impressed him. They'd been in enough emergency rooms for Sam to get a feeling for the doctors pretty fast. He liked Esterhazy. “Chest pain. He was uncomfortable all day, but the pain got much worse about,” Sam paused to glance at the clock, “an hour ago.”
“Any history of heart trouble in your immediate family?”
“Not that we know of,” Sam answered truthfully.
“What does that mean?” the doctor asked with a frown.
“Our parent's died young-in accidents.”
“So, we don't know, hmm.” Esterhazy walked to the bed. “I'm going to listen to your heart, okay?”
Dean opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it closed and nodded. The doctor listened, a frown on his face, then had Dean sit up and listened from the back as well. When he was done, he had Dean lie back and pressed on his chest and abdomen. Sam watched the varying levels of pain cross his brother's face, at one point Dean actually cried out. Taking a slow breath, Sam clenched his fists, repeating to himself that the doctor was there to help, working to overcome the “someone is hurting Dean, must defend” reflex. It was surprising, sometimes, how deeply that impulse was ingrained and how violent it was willing to be to achieve what was needed. Sam sighed as the doctor stepped away.
“How is your pain right now?”
“Seven, maybe eight?” Dean said.
“Which? Honesty works best in situations like this, Dean,” Dr. Esterhazy said kindly.
“Closer to an eight then.”
“So bad?”
“Yes.”
“How does it relate to the other condition? Is this similar?”
“No, this is definitely different. It...” Dean stopped, taking sharp breath. “It's not the same, that's a dull, everyday, live with it kind of thing. Believe me, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't serious.”
“I don't doubt you, Dean,” the doctor said. “I am just trying to get an idea of where we stand. Does this feel like heartburn?”
“You're kidding me, right?”
The doctor smiled. “No, it's actually common, and one of the reason's people having a heart attack don't get medical help, they think it's just heartburn.”
“If he thought it was heartburn, he wouldn't be here,” Sam confirmed, then laughed bitterly. “If he knew it was a heart attack, he might not be here.”
“Hmm,” Dr. Esterhazy made a note on the chart. “Any problems with morphine?”
“No,” Sam and Dean answered together.
“Okay, we'll get you something to make you more comfortable, then we'll see about getting you settled in a room.”
“A room?” Sam asked surprised. “You're admitting him?”
“I think it's best.”
“Is it a heart attack then?”
“I don't know yet, we're waiting on labs, but we don't have a confirmed history, and with the other issues, there is certainly something going on. I'll get the paperwork going and send Karyn back with something to help make you more comfortable.”
“Okay, thanks,” Dean said.
Sam looked down at his brother. “Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“They're going to keep you overnight.”
“Yeah.”
“In the hospital.”
“Yeah.”
“And run tests.”
“I'm not deaf, Sammy.”
“Christo,” he said, watching Dean's face.
“Ha ha.”
Sam looked at his brother for a long moment, feeling the rush of panic from earlier coming back full force. What the hell is going on?
Chapter Three
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Rating: PG-13
There was very little traffic as Sam sped through town, which was just as well. He completely ignored two red lights and a stop sign once he spotted the little blue “H” signs leading to the hospital. The fact that Dean wasn't protesting the trip, and had grown quieter as they went, encouraged Sam's reckless driving. Even more worrying, Sam ran over a curb taking a corner a little too tight and Dean didn't mention that. By the time Sam pulled into the parking lot at the ER, he was nearly hysterical. He ran around to the passenger side of the car and helped Dean out. His brother groaned as he stood, Sam put his arm around Dean's waist and lifted as much of Dean's weight onto himself as he could. He knew Dean wouldn't be carried into the ER, and there were wheelchairs just inside the door. They only had to get that far. He dropped Dean gently into the chair and pushed him towards the triage window.
“Reason for visit?” the girl behind the window asked in a slightly bored tone.
“Chest pain,” Sam answered before Dean could open his mouth.
“Have you been here before?”
“No,” Sam said, trying to keep his voice calm.
“Name?”
“Dean Iommi,” his brother said, pulling out his wallet and holding out an insurance card.
“Thank you,” she said. “Go over there and the nurse will take care of you.”
Sam rolled Dean over to a blood pressure machine and a large woman in bright, flowered scrubs came over with a clipboard in her hands. She put the blood pressure cuff on Dean's arm and pressed the start button on the machine, clipped the sensor to his forefinger and then frowned at him. “Chest pain?” she asked, Dean nodded. “Hmph. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is the pain?”
“High sevens,” Dean answered. Sam swallowed, and looked at his brother. Maybe he hadn't heard that right.
“Hmph,” the nurse said and wrote Dean's vitals down. “Can you take him back to twenty-eight?”
“Sure.” A young man wearing a name badge that said “Marc” came out from behind the desk and pushed Dean towards a set of double doors. Sam trailed behind them.
Dean was pushed back into a small room that had a curtain for the door. Sam marveled at the fact that for some reason all the hospitals they had been in seemed to use the same curtain supplier. Marc helped Dean onto the bed, smiled at them and left. Before Sam could say anything, someone showed up to put a bracelet on Dean with his information and sign the paperwork. The whole time Dean kept getting more and more gray.
“Dean Iommi?” a pretty blond asked from the doorway.
“Yeah?” Dean smiled.
“I'm Karyn, your nurse. What brings you in tonight?”
“Chest pain,” Dean said.
“Can you describe it? Dull? Stabbing?”
“Stabbing and throbbing,” Dean answered with a frown, thinking about it.
“On a scale of one to...”
“Eight,” Dean growled.
Sam stepped past the nurse and put his hand on Dean's shoulder. The muscles were tense. If his brother was admitting to an eight, it was bad. “I think it was bothering him since lunch, but it got bad about twenty minutes ago,” Sam offered.
“That's when the stabbing pain started?” she asked Dean.
“Yeah, and it's been getting worse.”
“Have you taken an aspirin?”
“Aspirin?” Sam felt stupid. After watching as much TV as he had, and seeing the continual commercials, he should have thought of that. “No.”
“Okay.” She made a note on his chart and took some supplies out of a drawer. Sam recognized the IV pack immediately. He'd stolen a few over the years and thanks to Dr. Dave, he knew how to start an IV when needed. She prepped Dean's arm and opened the back. “You'll feel a pinch.”
“You're shoving a needle in my arm,” Dean growled. Sam hid a smile. His brother was never big on the medical professions tendency to downplay what they were going to do, ever since one memorable doctor told Sam it would just pinch a little, then proceeded to pull a stick out of his foot without numbing it or anything. Sam had screamed and Dean had punched the doctor. Since then Dean tended to say “it's a little uncomfortable” or “it's a scratch” but did not allow the same parlance from the medical profession.
“Any nausea?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She drew several vials of blood, pulled a blue bag out of a dispenser, handed it to Dean and left.
Dean looked at the bag. “It says single person use.” He smirked. “That's comforting.”
Sam leaned against the bed. “Dean...” He didn't get a chance to finish. Another person in scrubs appeared, pushing in a machine and, lifting Dean's t-shirt, started sticking pads down on his chest. Sam recognized the EKG leads from Dean's experience years before. They wheeled the EKG machine out and someone else came in with another set of pads and hooked Dean up to the standard monitor. Sam glanced up, wondering if it was good or bad that he knew how to read the various numbers on the screen.
They were gone and Karyn was back with a large bag of fluids, she hung it from of hook on the wall and pulled a syringe out of her pocket. “What's that?” Sam asked.
“Saline flush,” Dean answered for her. “Always tastes the same.”
“A lot of people say they taste it,” she said. “This is some Zofran for the nausea.” She screwed another syringe on the port and depressed the plunger, then attached the bag of fluids. “How's your pain?”
“It's not getting better, still a high seven or eight.” Dean swallowed, his hand closing on the barf bag. “Nausea is awesome too.”
“Give the Zofran a chance. Can you tell me what medications you're on?” She looked at him.
Dean opened his wallet and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “That's all of them, can you make a copy and bring that back?”
“Yes, perfect.”
Sam watched her leave with the sheet, wondering how he could manage to snag it when she got back. It would be a lot easier than trying to get at the pill bottles in Dean's bag again. He could see her at the photocopier, and made a move towards the door, pretending he was looking out watching the flow of people in the nurses' station.
“Don't even think about it,” Dean said, his voice tight with pain.
“What?” Sam turned back, giving Dean his best hurt puppy look.
“Just...” Dean stopped, sucking in a breath, his hand going up to press against his chest. Sam forgot about the list, forgot about everything, and hurried to the bed, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. “Damn, it hurts,” Dean said.
Karyn came back and handed the list to Dean who tucked it back in his wallet. “The doctor will be in shortly.”
“Can he get something for the pain?” Sam asked.
“I have to speak with the doctor,” she said firmly, then walked out of the small room.
“It's okay, Sammy,” Dean said. “You know the routine. Stick needles in, mutter, poke, mutter, make sure patient is not bleeding to death, leave.”
“I know.” Sam chuckled, leaning against the bed so his brother could be in contact. It was Winchester Hospital Rule One, stay in contact when at all possible, or line of sight at the very least. It had been their father's rule, created when Dean had to go in to get his tonsils out when he was eight, and Sam was scared. He knew what hospitals meant and he was worried for his brother, so John created the rule. Much to the dismay of the hospital staff.
“What's taking so long?” his brother asked, then sucked in a deep break, clamping down on Sam's wrist with a vise-like grip.
“There is something going on in the room by the door.” Sam moved just enough to get a better look. “A couple of nurses ran in there a minute ago.”
“That's not a lot of help.”
Sam turned to look at his brother. “Do you want me to go get someone?”
“No!” Dean's grip, if anything, tightened on his wrist, and thin or not, Dean could do considerable damage with that hand if he needed to. “Sorry.” Something must have showed on Sam's face, his brother's hold loosened minutely.
“Karyn is coming back,” Sam said, seeing the nurse approaching.
“How are we doing?” she asked, coming into the room.
“We're awesome,” Dean snapped.
“Nausea? Pain?”
“Both awesome.”
“Now,” she glanced down at the chart, “Dean. You need to let me know how you're feeling.”
“I can't breathe, my chest feels like it's being crushed and I want to puke. Is that better?”
She smiled and hung a glass bottle on the hook. “The nausea is still bad?”
“Yes, what's that?”
“Nitro. I'll see about getting something else for your nausea. The doctor will be right back.”
“Sure he will,” Dean said, frowning at Sam. “Stop squinching at me.”
“This will help,” Karyn was back before Sam could speak.
“What is that?” Sam demanded, beginning to get the scary “things are out of control” feeling he always got in the Emergency Room.
“Phenergan, for the nausea.” She flushed the port in Dean's hand, then administered the med. As the plunger went down, Sam noticed Dean's hold on his wrist relaxed and Dean's eyes drifted closed a little. “I'll be back in a minute to see if that's helping, the doctor will be right back.”
“Doubt it,” Dean mumbled.
“Dean?”
“Damn Phenergan always makes me dopey when I get it IV.”
“Always?” Sam asked casually, hoping to get more information.
“Yeah, the Zofran is okay, but the damn Phenergan makes me... Ah ha, no way, I know what you're doing, Sammy, good try.”
“What?”
“Think you're being stealthy.” Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam, his gaze hazy. “I'm the stealthy one, remember? You're agile.”
“I know.” Sam smiled.
“Although when pressed I can be agile too.” Dean grinned. “Pretty agile.”
“I'm sure I don't want to know.”
A middle-aged man with graying hair at his temples came into the room. “Hi, I'm Dr. Esterhazy.” He held out his hand and shook theirs as they introduced themselves. “So, tell me what's brought you in tonight.”
Dean growled.
Sam put his hand on his brother's arm and looked at the doctor. The fact the man had taken the time for introductions impressed him. They'd been in enough emergency rooms for Sam to get a feeling for the doctors pretty fast. He liked Esterhazy. “Chest pain. He was uncomfortable all day, but the pain got much worse about,” Sam paused to glance at the clock, “an hour ago.”
“Any history of heart trouble in your immediate family?”
“Not that we know of,” Sam answered truthfully.
“What does that mean?” the doctor asked with a frown.
“Our parent's died young-in accidents.”
“So, we don't know, hmm.” Esterhazy walked to the bed. “I'm going to listen to your heart, okay?”
Dean opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it closed and nodded. The doctor listened, a frown on his face, then had Dean sit up and listened from the back as well. When he was done, he had Dean lie back and pressed on his chest and abdomen. Sam watched the varying levels of pain cross his brother's face, at one point Dean actually cried out. Taking a slow breath, Sam clenched his fists, repeating to himself that the doctor was there to help, working to overcome the “someone is hurting Dean, must defend” reflex. It was surprising, sometimes, how deeply that impulse was ingrained and how violent it was willing to be to achieve what was needed. Sam sighed as the doctor stepped away.
“How is your pain right now?”
“Seven, maybe eight?” Dean said.
“Which? Honesty works best in situations like this, Dean,” Dr. Esterhazy said kindly.
“Closer to an eight then.”
“So bad?”
“Yes.”
“How does it relate to the other condition? Is this similar?”
“No, this is definitely different. It...” Dean stopped, taking sharp breath. “It's not the same, that's a dull, everyday, live with it kind of thing. Believe me, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't serious.”
“I don't doubt you, Dean,” the doctor said. “I am just trying to get an idea of where we stand. Does this feel like heartburn?”
“You're kidding me, right?”
The doctor smiled. “No, it's actually common, and one of the reason's people having a heart attack don't get medical help, they think it's just heartburn.”
“If he thought it was heartburn, he wouldn't be here,” Sam confirmed, then laughed bitterly. “If he knew it was a heart attack, he might not be here.”
“Hmm,” Dr. Esterhazy made a note on the chart. “Any problems with morphine?”
“No,” Sam and Dean answered together.
“Okay, we'll get you something to make you more comfortable, then we'll see about getting you settled in a room.”
“A room?” Sam asked surprised. “You're admitting him?”
“I think it's best.”
“Is it a heart attack then?”
“I don't know yet, we're waiting on labs, but we don't have a confirmed history, and with the other issues, there is certainly something going on. I'll get the paperwork going and send Karyn back with something to help make you more comfortable.”
“Okay, thanks,” Dean said.
Sam looked down at his brother. “Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“They're going to keep you overnight.”
“Yeah.”
“In the hospital.”
“Yeah.”
“And run tests.”
“I'm not deaf, Sammy.”
“Christo,” he said, watching Dean's face.
“Ha ha.”
Sam looked at his brother for a long moment, feeling the rush of panic from earlier coming back full force. What the hell is going on?
Chapter Three