Multum In Parvo (SPN fanfic) 3/7
Title: Multum In Parvo
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Rating: PG-13
The hospital was filling up with the sounds of a an emergency room on an moderately busy night. Someone was moaning, there was a child crying in the next room and best of all, there was a guy screaming that he could see Death walking the hallways, looking for his next victim. Dean shifted his head to see if he could see anything. He had no doubt that Death or one of his minions was wandering through the hospital, the chances of the guy in the hallways actually seeing them... “Emergency Rooms, Sammy, they really pick up the crazies some nights, don't they?” he said to his brother. Sam was on guard, Dean could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way he was leaning against the bed, allowing medical staff access, but so he could defend Dean at a moments notice if he needed to.
“They always do,” Sam said, without turning to face him. Still on guard duty, but close enough so he was in contact.
“Remember that night I took you in and there was that woman under the chairs in the waiting room?” Dean asked idly, the pain in his chest was starting to get to the unbearable point. This was the fourth time in five months this had happened. Maybe this time was different, this was the first time he'd made it to the “getting admitted” point.
“The one who was screaming?” Sam turned to him with a smile. “She'd wound herself through the bars so security had to dismantle them?”
“Yeah, that's the one.” Dean took a slow breath, it didn't help. He edged the cheerful blue barf bag closer. The Phenergan was making him dopey, and he was worried that once they tossed morphine on top of that, he'd start talking. Sam would hit him with that look and he'd spill his guts. It hadn't mattered the last couple of times, good old Soulless Sam hadn't even noticed he'd gone missing for a few hours, in fact, Dean suspected if he'd dropped right in front of that bastard, he would just step over Dean and carry on whatever he was doing.
This Sam was a different matter all together. This Sam could get Dean to talk about anything eventually. Most of the time he really didn't even have to try all that hard. On something big, something serious, something-well something like this-that Dean had been hiding for awhile, Sam would work for it. But he'd get through every road block Dean tossed up. And, honestly, Sam had every right to know. Dean sighed. Why the hell didn't I tell him? The answer was easy enough. And really? A little pathetic, don't you think? He took a deep breath as a huge rush of nausea threatened to overcome the drugs. He just didn't want to... Come on, admit it, you don't want to seem weak. Of course, someone once told him that the person at your back deserved to know if you were capable of holding up your end of the bargain. It's not been a problem... Well, not yet. He hadn't had a really bad flare, except for those days waiting for Sam to wake after Death restored his soul, and not eating and nausea was easily explained.
The nurse reappeared with two syringes. “How's your pain?”
“It's fantastic,” Dean answered. Sam huffed at him, his “Sam annoyed with Dean, but equally annoyed at the medical staff” huff. As irritated as his brother was with Dean, he was more upset that the staff was letting Dean remain in pain, that there were no answers yet and that nothing seemed to be happening.
“Well, the doctor sent you something for pain.” She flushed the port, the odd, musky/metallic taste of the saline preceding the soft sting then pressure at the base of his neck of morphine.
“About time,” Sam growled.
“Sammy,” Dean said softly, the drug already hitting him. The pain was still there, but he was feeling heavy.
“We've been in here forever, Dean.”
“They always take a long time.”
“Always?” Sam's focus went from the ward to Dean.
“Um, you know, emergency rooms. We're always waiting forever.” Only that wasn't true, usually they weren't waiting at all because one of them was seriously injured, dying or in two cases mostly dead.
“Dean.” Sam gave him the full-on Sammy look.
“What?” He tried for a smirk, it didn't work. Between the meds and the look on his brother's face, he was starting to crack. To tell the truth it was mostly the look on his brother's face. Knowing he was doing the Sammy guard-dog thing, knowing he cared, knowing he was there. That made all the difference. It had been so damned long. Dean blinked and cleared his throat. Sam laid his hand on Dean's arm. “Sam, I...” He had no idea what he planned to say, but whatever it was, it never got a chance. The nausea caught up to him, he felt the first little heave and knew what was coming. “Stand back,” he managed to get out before he grabbed the bag.
Sometime an eternity later, the dry heaves stopped. He was aware of Sam's hand on his back, the fuzzy feeling of another dose of probably Phenergan. He had no idea how long they'd actually been there, or how big the first dose had been, so they probably gave him more. His chest was on fire, the pain unbearable, he could barely breathe it hurt so bad. He leaned back, Sam's hand moved to his shoulder and he opened his eyes. His face felt cool, he hoped it was sweat, but in all likelihood it was involuntary tears. “Sam...”
“He's in pain,” Sam snapped at someone out of Dean's immediate line of sight.
“How bad is it? Can you tell me, Dean?” Karyn moved up beside the bed.
“Bad,” his brother said, before Dean could open his mouth. “Worse than it was.”
Dean nodded, glad Sam could read him like that, as inconvenient as it had proven over the years.
“Is the nausea still bad? Are you having trouble breathing?”
“Yes,” Sam growled at her. “He's worried if he says anything he'll start vomiting again.”
Dean nodded again.
“Okay,” she smiled and pulled a canula over his face and turned on the oxygen.
“Why didn't you do that when we came in?” Sam loomed over her. Dean grabbed his wrist, his brother absently patted his hand. “Maybe it would have stopped what just happened.”
Dean was impressed, she ignored Sam, moving him aside with a little push of her hip while she flushed the ports on the IV and gave him another dose of something, pain meds he guessed, judging by the taste and the way it felt as it moved through his body. Between that and whatever anti-nausea drug they'd given him, he was starting to feel like things were getting out of control. “That should help, we'll be moving you to a room shortly.”
“You said that,” Sam said, moving back into guard position. “I can stay.” It wasn't a question.
“He will be sleeping most of the time and...”
“I'm staying.”
“There's really no reason...”
“Stay,” Dean said softly.
Sam smiled at her and shrugged. “Staying.” She frowned at him, Dean had to admit it was an impressive frown, hovering on the edge of a scowl and one that reminded him of Sister Sienna, the seventh grade teacher at a school they'd attended for a few months when he was fourteen. “I'm not leaving,” Sam said.
“One family member is allowed to stay,” she said with a sigh.
“Good.”
“I'll be back to check on you.”
Dean nodded, then looked up at his brother, wondering if he should just tell Sam everything now. He blinked. His tongue felt thick. Damn Phenergan and morphine and whatever else is in me. “Sammy...”
“Don't worry, Dean, I'm not going anywhere.” Sam leaned against the bed.
“Good,” Dean mumbled, letting his eyes close, knowing his brother had his back.
X X X
Sam watched the activity in the hallway, trying to keep track of what was going on without leaving Dean alone. He could see his brother's chart sitting unattended on the counter at the nurses' station and he was fighting the temptation to go out and look through it. It might have at least some of the answers he needed, he debated leaving just long enough to get it.
“Supplies,” Dean said, his voice slurring.
“What?” Sam turned to look at his brother.
“Supplies, stock up if you can.” Dean grinned. “She left the cabinet open.”
“You noticed that?” Sam asked, smiling.
“Just 'cause I'm drugged doesn't mean things slip by. I'll be lookout.”
“With your eyes closed?” Sam stepped over and silently slid the drawers open and grabbed a few items from each drawer. He managed to get them all into his pockets-or the pockets in Dean's coat-before there was a tap on the wall outside the curtain. “Come in,” he said, moving back to the bed.
“Hi! I'm Peter, I'm going to move you to your room for the night.”
“Oh good.” Dean looked over at Sam.
“I'm not leaving.”
Dean nodded, closing his eyes again as Peter unlocked the wheels on the bed and rolled it into the corridor. Sam trailed behind, trying not to look in the other rooms as they went past, but even so, he caught a glimpse of an old woman hooked to monitors, a young man crying beside her; there was a man with blood on his face, a teen looking confused. Sam sighed, he hated hospitals. Somewhere in the back of his head a memory brushed against that fiery place in his head, someone screaming-maybe his own voice-blood everywhere and over it all the scent of a hospital. He clamped down on it before it could become something more menacing.
He shook his head, focusing back on his brother as they went through a set of double doors and down a short corridor to an elevator. He was surprised when the doors opened up on the progressive care ward, Dean's bed was pushed into room A and Sam was shooed aside while the staff settled his brother into the room's bed and hooked him up to the various monitors. Sam watched as they came to life and he checked them quickly. Nothing looked that out of the ordinary.
Once everyone was gone, Sam dragged the chair over beside the bed and sat down. “Dean?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Awesome.”
“That good?” Sam sighed.
“Oh yeah.” Dean swallowed. “Actually, can you grab me...”
Sam looked around the room and spotted the dispenser of blue bags and grabbed one-just in time. Dean started heaving, although after the episode in the ER, there wasn't much left. Sam hit the nurse call button as Dean moaned. He could see his brother trying to get control, and not being able to manage. The nurse came in, opened her mouth to ask what was going on and left.
She was back a minute later and gave him a dose of something without even acknowledging Sam's presence. Sam frowned at her, but she left again before he could demand what she'd given Dean. I hate hospitals. He hated them for just that reason, that loss of control, that sense that something bad might happen and he wouldn't even know why. At least when they were hunting, he knew what was coming. The small flutter of panic that lived behind his breastbone in situations like this was pinging around inside his chest with a growing insistence.
As Dean's heaving eased, Sam took a slow breath, trying to still that panic. He knew it wasn't going to go away, but he needed to get control of it. There was something different in the sense of it, maybe it had to do with the Sam without a soul. There was a need to act, to demand answers that was a little more...He tried to pin down the feeling... more violent? Immediate? Than it once had been. It was a little terrifying, looking in at himself and seeing it there. He knew-had always known-what he was capable of, but to see it so close to the surface was worrisome.
He helped Dean lean back in the bed. “Thanks,” his brother said, blinking slowly.
“Anytime.”
“Yeah.” Dean closed his eyes. “I guess we have some things to talk about, Sammy.”
“Dean?”
“Well, probably a lot of things.” Dean's voice was getting more and more slurred. “What did they give me?”
“I don't know,” Sam growled.
“Don't kill the nurse.”
“I won't,” Sam half-joked. He wanted to know, he hated that he didn't.
“This pain is new,” Dean said after a pause long enough that Sam thought his brother had drifted off.
“New?” he repeated, coaxing, but trying not to break Winchester Rule Number 28 “No Interrogation while Under the Influence”.
“Yeah. I usually hurt a bit.” Dean opened an eye and looked over. “You do too, so don't go looking shocked. I know that scar from that job in North Bend aches when it rains.”
“We had good pie, though.”
“Damn good pie,” Dean replied with a smile. “But this is new, it just started happening in the last few months.”
“The last few months, Dean?”
“Yeah.”
“I was with you?”
“No, you weren't, that other guy was.”
Sam sighed. He was right, his brother wasn't going to forgive the other Sam anytime soon. “Sorry.” He couldn't think what else to say.
“I'm not even sure it's my...” Dean stopped and ground his teeth together, his face going white. “My heart. It just...” He stopped and reached for Sam's hand, grabbing on, the grip tightening. “Sonofabitch that hurts.”
“Do you want me to call the nurse?”
“No, I already have too many damn drugs in me as is.” Dean took a deep breath, but didn't let go of Sam. “I...”
“I'm Dr. Willard,” a man said walking into the room.
“Knock next time,” Dean muttered under his breath, Sam patted his hand.
“I was just looking over your records and noticed your current outpatient protocol, and, you know, a friend of mind just did some research and he found that...”
“Not changing,” Dean said flatly.
“I could write it for you right now.”
“Not changing,” Dean repeated.
“You can think about it.”
“I think he already made himself clear,” Sam said, that little flutter of panic pushing up, wanting to commit violence.
“Ah, well, we'll see. I have you scheduled for a couple of tests to check your heart. We'll get those taken care of, then we'll see where we go from here.”
“How's it look?” Sam asked.
“Look?” the doctor frowned at him. “I won't know until after the tests. I've got you on the schedule. They'll be in to get you in about an hour.”
“Can you tell us anything?” Sam persisted, aware of a growing agitation in his brother.
“No, I need to wait until the tests,” Dr. Willard said, coming over and staring pointedly at Sam until he stepped away from the bed. The doctor then listened to Dean's heart and pushed on his chest-which made Dean cry out in pain. “That hurts?”
“Yes,” Dean said.
“Huh.” The doctor pressed again. Dean ground his teeth together but Sam saw the little color left in his brother's face wash away.
“I think it hurts.” Sam said, clenching his fist and took a slow breath. Must not kill doctor.
“Hmm.” The doctor made a note on the chart. “Interesting. I'll just get you started on those new...”
“NO!” Dean shouted, his hands shaking.
“Dean!” Sam saw it coming, he tried to get there in time, but he didn't make it. Dean's breathing went nuts, alarms started blaring and staff poured into the room.
Chapter Four
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Rating: PG-13
The hospital was filling up with the sounds of a an emergency room on an moderately busy night. Someone was moaning, there was a child crying in the next room and best of all, there was a guy screaming that he could see Death walking the hallways, looking for his next victim. Dean shifted his head to see if he could see anything. He had no doubt that Death or one of his minions was wandering through the hospital, the chances of the guy in the hallways actually seeing them... “Emergency Rooms, Sammy, they really pick up the crazies some nights, don't they?” he said to his brother. Sam was on guard, Dean could see it in the set of his shoulders, the way he was leaning against the bed, allowing medical staff access, but so he could defend Dean at a moments notice if he needed to.
“They always do,” Sam said, without turning to face him. Still on guard duty, but close enough so he was in contact.
“Remember that night I took you in and there was that woman under the chairs in the waiting room?” Dean asked idly, the pain in his chest was starting to get to the unbearable point. This was the fourth time in five months this had happened. Maybe this time was different, this was the first time he'd made it to the “getting admitted” point.
“The one who was screaming?” Sam turned to him with a smile. “She'd wound herself through the bars so security had to dismantle them?”
“Yeah, that's the one.” Dean took a slow breath, it didn't help. He edged the cheerful blue barf bag closer. The Phenergan was making him dopey, and he was worried that once they tossed morphine on top of that, he'd start talking. Sam would hit him with that look and he'd spill his guts. It hadn't mattered the last couple of times, good old Soulless Sam hadn't even noticed he'd gone missing for a few hours, in fact, Dean suspected if he'd dropped right in front of that bastard, he would just step over Dean and carry on whatever he was doing.
This Sam was a different matter all together. This Sam could get Dean to talk about anything eventually. Most of the time he really didn't even have to try all that hard. On something big, something serious, something-well something like this-that Dean had been hiding for awhile, Sam would work for it. But he'd get through every road block Dean tossed up. And, honestly, Sam had every right to know. Dean sighed. Why the hell didn't I tell him? The answer was easy enough. And really? A little pathetic, don't you think? He took a deep breath as a huge rush of nausea threatened to overcome the drugs. He just didn't want to... Come on, admit it, you don't want to seem weak. Of course, someone once told him that the person at your back deserved to know if you were capable of holding up your end of the bargain. It's not been a problem... Well, not yet. He hadn't had a really bad flare, except for those days waiting for Sam to wake after Death restored his soul, and not eating and nausea was easily explained.
The nurse reappeared with two syringes. “How's your pain?”
“It's fantastic,” Dean answered. Sam huffed at him, his “Sam annoyed with Dean, but equally annoyed at the medical staff” huff. As irritated as his brother was with Dean, he was more upset that the staff was letting Dean remain in pain, that there were no answers yet and that nothing seemed to be happening.
“Well, the doctor sent you something for pain.” She flushed the port, the odd, musky/metallic taste of the saline preceding the soft sting then pressure at the base of his neck of morphine.
“About time,” Sam growled.
“Sammy,” Dean said softly, the drug already hitting him. The pain was still there, but he was feeling heavy.
“We've been in here forever, Dean.”
“They always take a long time.”
“Always?” Sam's focus went from the ward to Dean.
“Um, you know, emergency rooms. We're always waiting forever.” Only that wasn't true, usually they weren't waiting at all because one of them was seriously injured, dying or in two cases mostly dead.
“Dean.” Sam gave him the full-on Sammy look.
“What?” He tried for a smirk, it didn't work. Between the meds and the look on his brother's face, he was starting to crack. To tell the truth it was mostly the look on his brother's face. Knowing he was doing the Sammy guard-dog thing, knowing he cared, knowing he was there. That made all the difference. It had been so damned long. Dean blinked and cleared his throat. Sam laid his hand on Dean's arm. “Sam, I...” He had no idea what he planned to say, but whatever it was, it never got a chance. The nausea caught up to him, he felt the first little heave and knew what was coming. “Stand back,” he managed to get out before he grabbed the bag.
Sometime an eternity later, the dry heaves stopped. He was aware of Sam's hand on his back, the fuzzy feeling of another dose of probably Phenergan. He had no idea how long they'd actually been there, or how big the first dose had been, so they probably gave him more. His chest was on fire, the pain unbearable, he could barely breathe it hurt so bad. He leaned back, Sam's hand moved to his shoulder and he opened his eyes. His face felt cool, he hoped it was sweat, but in all likelihood it was involuntary tears. “Sam...”
“He's in pain,” Sam snapped at someone out of Dean's immediate line of sight.
“How bad is it? Can you tell me, Dean?” Karyn moved up beside the bed.
“Bad,” his brother said, before Dean could open his mouth. “Worse than it was.”
Dean nodded, glad Sam could read him like that, as inconvenient as it had proven over the years.
“Is the nausea still bad? Are you having trouble breathing?”
“Yes,” Sam growled at her. “He's worried if he says anything he'll start vomiting again.”
Dean nodded again.
“Okay,” she smiled and pulled a canula over his face and turned on the oxygen.
“Why didn't you do that when we came in?” Sam loomed over her. Dean grabbed his wrist, his brother absently patted his hand. “Maybe it would have stopped what just happened.”
Dean was impressed, she ignored Sam, moving him aside with a little push of her hip while she flushed the ports on the IV and gave him another dose of something, pain meds he guessed, judging by the taste and the way it felt as it moved through his body. Between that and whatever anti-nausea drug they'd given him, he was starting to feel like things were getting out of control. “That should help, we'll be moving you to a room shortly.”
“You said that,” Sam said, moving back into guard position. “I can stay.” It wasn't a question.
“He will be sleeping most of the time and...”
“I'm staying.”
“There's really no reason...”
“Stay,” Dean said softly.
Sam smiled at her and shrugged. “Staying.” She frowned at him, Dean had to admit it was an impressive frown, hovering on the edge of a scowl and one that reminded him of Sister Sienna, the seventh grade teacher at a school they'd attended for a few months when he was fourteen. “I'm not leaving,” Sam said.
“One family member is allowed to stay,” she said with a sigh.
“Good.”
“I'll be back to check on you.”
Dean nodded, then looked up at his brother, wondering if he should just tell Sam everything now. He blinked. His tongue felt thick. Damn Phenergan and morphine and whatever else is in me. “Sammy...”
“Don't worry, Dean, I'm not going anywhere.” Sam leaned against the bed.
“Good,” Dean mumbled, letting his eyes close, knowing his brother had his back.
X X X
Sam watched the activity in the hallway, trying to keep track of what was going on without leaving Dean alone. He could see his brother's chart sitting unattended on the counter at the nurses' station and he was fighting the temptation to go out and look through it. It might have at least some of the answers he needed, he debated leaving just long enough to get it.
“Supplies,” Dean said, his voice slurring.
“What?” Sam turned to look at his brother.
“Supplies, stock up if you can.” Dean grinned. “She left the cabinet open.”
“You noticed that?” Sam asked, smiling.
“Just 'cause I'm drugged doesn't mean things slip by. I'll be lookout.”
“With your eyes closed?” Sam stepped over and silently slid the drawers open and grabbed a few items from each drawer. He managed to get them all into his pockets-or the pockets in Dean's coat-before there was a tap on the wall outside the curtain. “Come in,” he said, moving back to the bed.
“Hi! I'm Peter, I'm going to move you to your room for the night.”
“Oh good.” Dean looked over at Sam.
“I'm not leaving.”
Dean nodded, closing his eyes again as Peter unlocked the wheels on the bed and rolled it into the corridor. Sam trailed behind, trying not to look in the other rooms as they went past, but even so, he caught a glimpse of an old woman hooked to monitors, a young man crying beside her; there was a man with blood on his face, a teen looking confused. Sam sighed, he hated hospitals. Somewhere in the back of his head a memory brushed against that fiery place in his head, someone screaming-maybe his own voice-blood everywhere and over it all the scent of a hospital. He clamped down on it before it could become something more menacing.
He shook his head, focusing back on his brother as they went through a set of double doors and down a short corridor to an elevator. He was surprised when the doors opened up on the progressive care ward, Dean's bed was pushed into room A and Sam was shooed aside while the staff settled his brother into the room's bed and hooked him up to the various monitors. Sam watched as they came to life and he checked them quickly. Nothing looked that out of the ordinary.
Once everyone was gone, Sam dragged the chair over beside the bed and sat down. “Dean?”
“Yeah.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Awesome.”
“That good?” Sam sighed.
“Oh yeah.” Dean swallowed. “Actually, can you grab me...”
Sam looked around the room and spotted the dispenser of blue bags and grabbed one-just in time. Dean started heaving, although after the episode in the ER, there wasn't much left. Sam hit the nurse call button as Dean moaned. He could see his brother trying to get control, and not being able to manage. The nurse came in, opened her mouth to ask what was going on and left.
She was back a minute later and gave him a dose of something without even acknowledging Sam's presence. Sam frowned at her, but she left again before he could demand what she'd given Dean. I hate hospitals. He hated them for just that reason, that loss of control, that sense that something bad might happen and he wouldn't even know why. At least when they were hunting, he knew what was coming. The small flutter of panic that lived behind his breastbone in situations like this was pinging around inside his chest with a growing insistence.
As Dean's heaving eased, Sam took a slow breath, trying to still that panic. He knew it wasn't going to go away, but he needed to get control of it. There was something different in the sense of it, maybe it had to do with the Sam without a soul. There was a need to act, to demand answers that was a little more...He tried to pin down the feeling... more violent? Immediate? Than it once had been. It was a little terrifying, looking in at himself and seeing it there. He knew-had always known-what he was capable of, but to see it so close to the surface was worrisome.
He helped Dean lean back in the bed. “Thanks,” his brother said, blinking slowly.
“Anytime.”
“Yeah.” Dean closed his eyes. “I guess we have some things to talk about, Sammy.”
“Dean?”
“Well, probably a lot of things.” Dean's voice was getting more and more slurred. “What did they give me?”
“I don't know,” Sam growled.
“Don't kill the nurse.”
“I won't,” Sam half-joked. He wanted to know, he hated that he didn't.
“This pain is new,” Dean said after a pause long enough that Sam thought his brother had drifted off.
“New?” he repeated, coaxing, but trying not to break Winchester Rule Number 28 “No Interrogation while Under the Influence”.
“Yeah. I usually hurt a bit.” Dean opened an eye and looked over. “You do too, so don't go looking shocked. I know that scar from that job in North Bend aches when it rains.”
“We had good pie, though.”
“Damn good pie,” Dean replied with a smile. “But this is new, it just started happening in the last few months.”
“The last few months, Dean?”
“Yeah.”
“I was with you?”
“No, you weren't, that other guy was.”
Sam sighed. He was right, his brother wasn't going to forgive the other Sam anytime soon. “Sorry.” He couldn't think what else to say.
“I'm not even sure it's my...” Dean stopped and ground his teeth together, his face going white. “My heart. It just...” He stopped and reached for Sam's hand, grabbing on, the grip tightening. “Sonofabitch that hurts.”
“Do you want me to call the nurse?”
“No, I already have too many damn drugs in me as is.” Dean took a deep breath, but didn't let go of Sam. “I...”
“I'm Dr. Willard,” a man said walking into the room.
“Knock next time,” Dean muttered under his breath, Sam patted his hand.
“I was just looking over your records and noticed your current outpatient protocol, and, you know, a friend of mind just did some research and he found that...”
“Not changing,” Dean said flatly.
“I could write it for you right now.”
“Not changing,” Dean repeated.
“You can think about it.”
“I think he already made himself clear,” Sam said, that little flutter of panic pushing up, wanting to commit violence.
“Ah, well, we'll see. I have you scheduled for a couple of tests to check your heart. We'll get those taken care of, then we'll see where we go from here.”
“How's it look?” Sam asked.
“Look?” the doctor frowned at him. “I won't know until after the tests. I've got you on the schedule. They'll be in to get you in about an hour.”
“Can you tell us anything?” Sam persisted, aware of a growing agitation in his brother.
“No, I need to wait until the tests,” Dr. Willard said, coming over and staring pointedly at Sam until he stepped away from the bed. The doctor then listened to Dean's heart and pushed on his chest-which made Dean cry out in pain. “That hurts?”
“Yes,” Dean said.
“Huh.” The doctor pressed again. Dean ground his teeth together but Sam saw the little color left in his brother's face wash away.
“I think it hurts.” Sam said, clenching his fist and took a slow breath. Must not kill doctor.
“Hmm.” The doctor made a note on the chart. “Interesting. I'll just get you started on those new...”
“NO!” Dean shouted, his hands shaking.
“Dean!” Sam saw it coming, he tried to get there in time, but he didn't make it. Dean's breathing went nuts, alarms started blaring and staff poured into the room.
Chapter Four