Multum In Parvo (SPN fanfic) 4/7
Title: Multum In Parvo
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Rating: PG-13
There was the loud buzzing of activity around him that slowly slipped away into a soft hum of machinery and the steady beeping of a heart monitor. The fiery pain in Dean’s chest was still there, muted by drugs, but there. His head was pounding in time with the soft beep of the machine over his head and his nose was dry from the flow of oxygen. There was a solid, warm presence beside him. He knew without asking, without even opening his eyes, it was his brother and Sam was back on guard-duty. He could also tell from the tension in the hand on his arm that his brother was furious. There was a small tremor in the fingers that signaled Sam in the mood for action.
That was one of the things that worried him about that other man who had been with him. The one who looked and sounded like Sam. His Sammy had that streak in him, that need for action, but there had been something holding him back most of the time-his soul. Without that he became what some might consider a perfect hunter, but then again, wendigos were perfect hunters. Dean sighed.
“Hey,” Sam said softly. “How are you feeling?”
Dean opened his eyes. “What happened?” He took a deep breath, thinking back to what had occurred. He was already feeling vulnerable from the amount of drugs in his system, then the doctor had come in and suggested he change his protocol. Dean had started to panic-a combination of helplessness and his brother finding out everything before he'd had a chance to explain. He knew exactly what had happened. “Panic attack?”
“Yeah, a pretty classic, by-the-book, one.”
“Awesome.”
“It's not the first time,” his brother said, smiling.
“And that makes it so much less humiliating, thanks,” Dean wheezed. The more aware he became, the more his chest ached. “Where's the doctor?”
“Willard?” Sam growled.
“Was that his name?”
“Yeah, I asked him to leave. He's administering your tests, said he would see us then.”
“Us?” Dean smiled. “Do you think they're going to let you go with me?”
“Yes.” Sam's voice had a finality to it that startled Dean. There was still an edge in his brother that showed-or maybe it was that edge that had always been there was living closer to the surface now.
“What tests?”
“A cardiac stress test, then a nuclear medicine one.”
“Stress test? Like on a treadmill?” That was enough to bring back memories of hell, actual hell for a moment.
“No, it's a resting stress test.”
“I am not getting the 'resting' and stress?” Dean said, frowning. Sam picked up a piece of paper and handed it to him. Dean looked at it, the words were swimming across the page. “Maybe you can translate?”
“It says they give you a drug that does the same thing as running on the treadmill, and then monitor your heart.”
“That still sounds painful,” Dean said, then realized he'd said it out loud.
“I know, but they need to check, Dean.”
“I'm feeling better.”
“You are?” Sam said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, let's get out of here.”
“Sure.” Sam nodded. “Let's go.”
Dean shifted to sit up, pain shot through his upper body and he fell back onto the bed with a groan. “Or I could stay here and get the tests.”
“Only if you think that's best,” Sam said with that look. The annoying look that was Sam letting him have his way when he knew it would go exactly the way Sam wanted it to go.
“Bite me, Sammy.” Dean closed his eyes. God, it hurts. He wasn't sure what was going on, but it felt better knowing Sam was there. When the whole thing had started, he'd felt lost. Lisa was supportive, but it wasn't the same. He never was...
“Dean?” Sam said, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.
“What?”
“They're here to take you for the test.”
“So soon?” Dean opened his eyes and blinked at his brother.
“It's been three hours, you were sleeping.”
“Oh.” Dean watched as they unhooked the IV and the plug for the monitors, then a small woman, who was considerably stronger than she looked, helped him into a wheelchair. “Sam?”
“Right behind you.”
They went down a long corridor, then through a set of double doors. Dean was aware of his brother behind them the whole way. He had no idea what Sam was doing, but once a hospital staff member started to approach, obviously intending to tell Sam he wasn't allowed, they suddenly just backed away before turning and heading in the opposite direction. Dean turned his head, but all he could see was the mass of his brother walking behind them, the same Sam as always.
The doctor was waiting outside a set of double doors. He frowned at Sam. “You can't come in,” he snapped. Dean heard his brother draw a breath to protest. “Hospital policy. I'll have security remove you,” the doctor continued undaunted.
“Fine. I'll be right here.” Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Dean nodded. Message understood. If Dean needed him, Sam would be there.
Dean was pushed into a large room, there was something that looked like a bed in one corner, it had a large mechanical device attached to it. On the other side of the room-where he was being pushed, was a treadmill, several monitors and a reclining chair. A nurse wearing Winnie the Pooh scrubs helped him into the chair then hooked him up to a set of monitor leads. Dean swallowed. It was all feeling out of control again.
“Now, before we get started, I'd really like you to think about that research my friend did, he said they had good results...”
“I'm not changing what I'm doing. It's been working. My specialist went through all the options, and we settled on one.”
“But this is new research and...”
“No,” Dean said, starting to feel a flutter of panic.
“I'm ready for the test, doctor,” the nurse said.
“Okay, so here's what's going to happen. We're going to give you a drug that's going to do make your heart work for us, so we can see what's going on,” Dr. Willard said.
“What do you mean?” Dean asked.
“It's like being on the treadmill without the treadmill.” He nodded to the nurse.
“Wait, what do you...” Dean stopped as he tasted the saline flush then the sting of something else. Oh god.
“About that protocol my friend worked on...”
“No,” Dean said, trying to stay focused. His heart was going insane, the pain was ramping up as his heart worked harder, and on top of it all the panic of everything being completely out of control was starting to clamp down on him like a vise. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.
“That's it,” the nurse said an eternity later. Dean's heart was slamming in his chest, his head was pounding, he hurt, and right then he was pretty sure he was about to die. “Here, drink this, it helps.” She held a can of cola with a straw to his lips.
“Thanks,” Dean said, trying to focus on anything other than the pain in his chest and the feeling that his brain was going to explode.
“It's a sound protocol, he's had really good results,” Willard piped up suddenly.
“No!” Dean snapped, the sense of helplessness making his voice louder than it maybe should have been. He braced himself for what he knew would happen next-and it did.
“Dean?” The door opened and Sam's voice was carefully casual.
“You shouldn't be in here,” the nurse said.
“Are you okay?” His brother ignored her. He stayed by the door, but Dean could see the tension in his shoulders.
“Yeah,” Dean answered, his voice shaking.
“Uh huh. You look okay.”
“Just the test.”
“How is your pain,” the nurse asked, her eyes on Sam.
“Eight?” Dean said, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye. “My head is pounding too.”
“We'll get you back to your room, and give you something for that.”
Dean nodded, then realized it was a mistake. “I'm going to....” It was all he managed, for better or worse there was nothing but the few sips of cola in his stomach, so it was mostly dry heaving. When he finished, Sam was beside him, the doctor had beat a hasty retreat and the nurse was looking concerned. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“You should have seen Willard run.”
The nurse actually smiled at hum. “He is not very comfortable around ...”
“I'll remember that for next time,” Dean said, swallowing.
“Are you okay to move?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Dean stood, Sam slipped a hand under his arm and helped him into the wheelchair. The nurse pushed him back to his room. By the time he got back into bed he was exhausted.
“Dean?”
“That was some test.”
“I have something for the pain and nausea, Jill said it was an eight?” the day nurse, Phil, said coming into the room.
“Yeah, or a twelve, depending.”
“That's not helpful,” Phil chided, flushing the port.
“I don't taste that.”
“Taste what?” Phil asked.
“The flush, I don't taste the flush, and it stings.”
“Saline does.”
“No, it doesn't and I always taste it.”
“I doubt it.” Phil twisted on another syringe and depressed the plunger.
“That really stings and I'm not feeling or tasting it.”
“It takes a minute.” He unscrewed that syringe, and attached another. “This is the morphine.”
“It's not right,” Dean said. He looked at his brother. “Sammy, something's wrong.”
“He always tastes it,” Sam said.
“Some people tell me that.” Phil flushed it with saline again. “There you go.”
“Jerk,” Sam muttered.
“Something isn't right, Sam. I always taste it. And the Phenergan and morphine-I should be feeling them.”
Sam stepped closer and looked at his arm. They'd started the IV in the big vein in his forearm so they could do a CT scan. “Your arm looks weird.”
“It's starting to hurt.” Dean grimaced. “I mean it hurts, Sam.” He knew his brother would understand just what that meant. “Where'd they put the call button.”
“Over here, out of reach,” Sam said, punching it.
“What's going on?” a young woman came in, her name badge said Natalie.
“My arm,” Dean said. “It hurts.” Actually it felt like it was being chewed on by hellhounds. And the fact I know how that feels is not comforting at all.
She looked down at it, and touched a growing lump under his skin. “I'll be right back!” she said, and raced out of the room.
“That's probably not good,” Dean said, trying to smirk. “When the hot nurse's assistant runs from me.”
“Yeah, it's not good,” Sam said, his voice tight. He was watching the door.
“Hi, I'm Sharon, I'm the Charge Nurse, what's going on?”
“Look at his arm!” Natalie squeaked.
“Oh, that doesn't look quite right.”
“Ya think?” Dean said.
“He said it hurt when Phil was giving him the meds,” Sam said, his voice down into the dangerously calm range.
“Let me take care of this, Natalie, will you go get a hot pack?” Sharon said, her voice quiet efficiency. She touched Dean's arm, gently prodding it. He ground his teeth together. “I'm going to pull the IV. It's going to hurt.”
“Not pinch?” Sam asked mildly.
“No.” She waited until Natalie brought a white plastic bag-looking thing-Dean recognized it, they had a few of the hot-packs in their first aid kit. Sam had found a supply of them in an old drugstore and they'd bought out the stock. Sharon put the still warming pack on Dean's arm and smiled. “Ready?” He nodded and she pulled the line.
“Shit!” It hurt, involuntary tears gathered in his eyes and trickled over his cheek. She was applying pressure-he knew she had to-but it was just misery. Sam's hand on his other arm gave him a focus away from the agony. Wow, add that to the list of tortures. Dean took slow breaths, just trying to stay ahead of the myriad pains all converging on him at once. To top it all off, he was starting to get nauseated again. He looked up at Sam.
“He's going to be sick,” Sam said, the calm starting to really scare Dean.
“Can you hold this?” Sharon asked Sam, when he nodded she stepped over to the supply cabinet. “Let me get another line in, and I'll get you something for that. Can you hang on? Or do you need to …?”
“I'll try,” Dean said, swallowing. There wasn't anything left to throw up, so even if he started heaving all it would be was dry. Of course, those are the worse. “Remember the first time you got really drunk, Sammy?” he asked, trying to distract himself from Sharon. For some reason the idea of another IV just seemed like too much right then.
“Not really.” Sam laughed. “I remember the next day, though.” He smiled. “You made sure I remembered to never mix my alcohol.”
“I might have cheated a little.”
“What?” Sam frowned.
“Well, bacon and pancakes really aren't the best thing to cure a hangover, they usually start the...”
“I know, I thought that's what you were trying to do.”
“Oh, okay.” Dean flinched when the needle ran in his left wrist. “I did good then.”
“You always did, Dean,” Sam said gently.
“There you go,” Sharon said. “I'm going to flush it and give you some Phenergan and morphine again okay?”
“Okay.”
“Here we go, it might sting.” She started the flush, Dean immediately tasted it and let out the breath he was holding.
“I taste it.”
“Yeah, I always do too,” she said with a smile. She gave him the drugs, flushed it again and hooked the nitro drip to the new line. “I'll be in to check on you in about twenty minutes. Keep that hot pack on, we need to make sure that's taken care of.”
“They blew my vein,” Dean said as soon as she left, already feeling a little sluggish from the drugs, but the nausea was backing off. He took an experimental breath, his chest still hurt, his head was pounding, but it was a little better.
“They did,” Sam growled.
“Sam,” Dean began, then stopped. He was starting to really feel the meds. “We need to talk, but I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“In my wallet.”
Sam got the walled and brought it over. Dean fished out the business card he was looking for and handed it to his brother. “Call them, tell them who you are, and tell them what's happening.”
His brother was a little pale, his lips pressed together in a tight line. “Okay.”
“Then I promise we'll talk, can't … Damned Phenergan …” Dean closed his eyes, he tried to get them to open again. The last thing he heard before he slipped away was his brother's voice on the phone.
Chapter Five
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Rating: PG-13
There was the loud buzzing of activity around him that slowly slipped away into a soft hum of machinery and the steady beeping of a heart monitor. The fiery pain in Dean’s chest was still there, muted by drugs, but there. His head was pounding in time with the soft beep of the machine over his head and his nose was dry from the flow of oxygen. There was a solid, warm presence beside him. He knew without asking, without even opening his eyes, it was his brother and Sam was back on guard-duty. He could also tell from the tension in the hand on his arm that his brother was furious. There was a small tremor in the fingers that signaled Sam in the mood for action.
That was one of the things that worried him about that other man who had been with him. The one who looked and sounded like Sam. His Sammy had that streak in him, that need for action, but there had been something holding him back most of the time-his soul. Without that he became what some might consider a perfect hunter, but then again, wendigos were perfect hunters. Dean sighed.
“Hey,” Sam said softly. “How are you feeling?”
Dean opened his eyes. “What happened?” He took a deep breath, thinking back to what had occurred. He was already feeling vulnerable from the amount of drugs in his system, then the doctor had come in and suggested he change his protocol. Dean had started to panic-a combination of helplessness and his brother finding out everything before he'd had a chance to explain. He knew exactly what had happened. “Panic attack?”
“Yeah, a pretty classic, by-the-book, one.”
“Awesome.”
“It's not the first time,” his brother said, smiling.
“And that makes it so much less humiliating, thanks,” Dean wheezed. The more aware he became, the more his chest ached. “Where's the doctor?”
“Willard?” Sam growled.
“Was that his name?”
“Yeah, I asked him to leave. He's administering your tests, said he would see us then.”
“Us?” Dean smiled. “Do you think they're going to let you go with me?”
“Yes.” Sam's voice had a finality to it that startled Dean. There was still an edge in his brother that showed-or maybe it was that edge that had always been there was living closer to the surface now.
“What tests?”
“A cardiac stress test, then a nuclear medicine one.”
“Stress test? Like on a treadmill?” That was enough to bring back memories of hell, actual hell for a moment.
“No, it's a resting stress test.”
“I am not getting the 'resting' and stress?” Dean said, frowning. Sam picked up a piece of paper and handed it to him. Dean looked at it, the words were swimming across the page. “Maybe you can translate?”
“It says they give you a drug that does the same thing as running on the treadmill, and then monitor your heart.”
“That still sounds painful,” Dean said, then realized he'd said it out loud.
“I know, but they need to check, Dean.”
“I'm feeling better.”
“You are?” Sam said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, let's get out of here.”
“Sure.” Sam nodded. “Let's go.”
Dean shifted to sit up, pain shot through his upper body and he fell back onto the bed with a groan. “Or I could stay here and get the tests.”
“Only if you think that's best,” Sam said with that look. The annoying look that was Sam letting him have his way when he knew it would go exactly the way Sam wanted it to go.
“Bite me, Sammy.” Dean closed his eyes. God, it hurts. He wasn't sure what was going on, but it felt better knowing Sam was there. When the whole thing had started, he'd felt lost. Lisa was supportive, but it wasn't the same. He never was...
“Dean?” Sam said, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.
“What?”
“They're here to take you for the test.”
“So soon?” Dean opened his eyes and blinked at his brother.
“It's been three hours, you were sleeping.”
“Oh.” Dean watched as they unhooked the IV and the plug for the monitors, then a small woman, who was considerably stronger than she looked, helped him into a wheelchair. “Sam?”
“Right behind you.”
They went down a long corridor, then through a set of double doors. Dean was aware of his brother behind them the whole way. He had no idea what Sam was doing, but once a hospital staff member started to approach, obviously intending to tell Sam he wasn't allowed, they suddenly just backed away before turning and heading in the opposite direction. Dean turned his head, but all he could see was the mass of his brother walking behind them, the same Sam as always.
The doctor was waiting outside a set of double doors. He frowned at Sam. “You can't come in,” he snapped. Dean heard his brother draw a breath to protest. “Hospital policy. I'll have security remove you,” the doctor continued undaunted.
“Fine. I'll be right here.” Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Dean nodded. Message understood. If Dean needed him, Sam would be there.
Dean was pushed into a large room, there was something that looked like a bed in one corner, it had a large mechanical device attached to it. On the other side of the room-where he was being pushed, was a treadmill, several monitors and a reclining chair. A nurse wearing Winnie the Pooh scrubs helped him into the chair then hooked him up to a set of monitor leads. Dean swallowed. It was all feeling out of control again.
“Now, before we get started, I'd really like you to think about that research my friend did, he said they had good results...”
“I'm not changing what I'm doing. It's been working. My specialist went through all the options, and we settled on one.”
“But this is new research and...”
“No,” Dean said, starting to feel a flutter of panic.
“I'm ready for the test, doctor,” the nurse said.
“Okay, so here's what's going to happen. We're going to give you a drug that's going to do make your heart work for us, so we can see what's going on,” Dr. Willard said.
“What do you mean?” Dean asked.
“It's like being on the treadmill without the treadmill.” He nodded to the nurse.
“Wait, what do you...” Dean stopped as he tasted the saline flush then the sting of something else. Oh god.
“About that protocol my friend worked on...”
“No,” Dean said, trying to stay focused. His heart was going insane, the pain was ramping up as his heart worked harder, and on top of it all the panic of everything being completely out of control was starting to clamp down on him like a vise. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.
“That's it,” the nurse said an eternity later. Dean's heart was slamming in his chest, his head was pounding, he hurt, and right then he was pretty sure he was about to die. “Here, drink this, it helps.” She held a can of cola with a straw to his lips.
“Thanks,” Dean said, trying to focus on anything other than the pain in his chest and the feeling that his brain was going to explode.
“It's a sound protocol, he's had really good results,” Willard piped up suddenly.
“No!” Dean snapped, the sense of helplessness making his voice louder than it maybe should have been. He braced himself for what he knew would happen next-and it did.
“Dean?” The door opened and Sam's voice was carefully casual.
“You shouldn't be in here,” the nurse said.
“Are you okay?” His brother ignored her. He stayed by the door, but Dean could see the tension in his shoulders.
“Yeah,” Dean answered, his voice shaking.
“Uh huh. You look okay.”
“Just the test.”
“How is your pain,” the nurse asked, her eyes on Sam.
“Eight?” Dean said, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye. “My head is pounding too.”
“We'll get you back to your room, and give you something for that.”
Dean nodded, then realized it was a mistake. “I'm going to....” It was all he managed, for better or worse there was nothing but the few sips of cola in his stomach, so it was mostly dry heaving. When he finished, Sam was beside him, the doctor had beat a hasty retreat and the nurse was looking concerned. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“You should have seen Willard run.”
The nurse actually smiled at hum. “He is not very comfortable around ...”
“I'll remember that for next time,” Dean said, swallowing.
“Are you okay to move?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Dean stood, Sam slipped a hand under his arm and helped him into the wheelchair. The nurse pushed him back to his room. By the time he got back into bed he was exhausted.
“Dean?”
“That was some test.”
“I have something for the pain and nausea, Jill said it was an eight?” the day nurse, Phil, said coming into the room.
“Yeah, or a twelve, depending.”
“That's not helpful,” Phil chided, flushing the port.
“I don't taste that.”
“Taste what?” Phil asked.
“The flush, I don't taste the flush, and it stings.”
“Saline does.”
“No, it doesn't and I always taste it.”
“I doubt it.” Phil twisted on another syringe and depressed the plunger.
“That really stings and I'm not feeling or tasting it.”
“It takes a minute.” He unscrewed that syringe, and attached another. “This is the morphine.”
“It's not right,” Dean said. He looked at his brother. “Sammy, something's wrong.”
“He always tastes it,” Sam said.
“Some people tell me that.” Phil flushed it with saline again. “There you go.”
“Jerk,” Sam muttered.
“Something isn't right, Sam. I always taste it. And the Phenergan and morphine-I should be feeling them.”
Sam stepped closer and looked at his arm. They'd started the IV in the big vein in his forearm so they could do a CT scan. “Your arm looks weird.”
“It's starting to hurt.” Dean grimaced. “I mean it hurts, Sam.” He knew his brother would understand just what that meant. “Where'd they put the call button.”
“Over here, out of reach,” Sam said, punching it.
“What's going on?” a young woman came in, her name badge said Natalie.
“My arm,” Dean said. “It hurts.” Actually it felt like it was being chewed on by hellhounds. And the fact I know how that feels is not comforting at all.
She looked down at it, and touched a growing lump under his skin. “I'll be right back!” she said, and raced out of the room.
“That's probably not good,” Dean said, trying to smirk. “When the hot nurse's assistant runs from me.”
“Yeah, it's not good,” Sam said, his voice tight. He was watching the door.
“Hi, I'm Sharon, I'm the Charge Nurse, what's going on?”
“Look at his arm!” Natalie squeaked.
“Oh, that doesn't look quite right.”
“Ya think?” Dean said.
“He said it hurt when Phil was giving him the meds,” Sam said, his voice down into the dangerously calm range.
“Let me take care of this, Natalie, will you go get a hot pack?” Sharon said, her voice quiet efficiency. She touched Dean's arm, gently prodding it. He ground his teeth together. “I'm going to pull the IV. It's going to hurt.”
“Not pinch?” Sam asked mildly.
“No.” She waited until Natalie brought a white plastic bag-looking thing-Dean recognized it, they had a few of the hot-packs in their first aid kit. Sam had found a supply of them in an old drugstore and they'd bought out the stock. Sharon put the still warming pack on Dean's arm and smiled. “Ready?” He nodded and she pulled the line.
“Shit!” It hurt, involuntary tears gathered in his eyes and trickled over his cheek. She was applying pressure-he knew she had to-but it was just misery. Sam's hand on his other arm gave him a focus away from the agony. Wow, add that to the list of tortures. Dean took slow breaths, just trying to stay ahead of the myriad pains all converging on him at once. To top it all off, he was starting to get nauseated again. He looked up at Sam.
“He's going to be sick,” Sam said, the calm starting to really scare Dean.
“Can you hold this?” Sharon asked Sam, when he nodded she stepped over to the supply cabinet. “Let me get another line in, and I'll get you something for that. Can you hang on? Or do you need to …?”
“I'll try,” Dean said, swallowing. There wasn't anything left to throw up, so even if he started heaving all it would be was dry. Of course, those are the worse. “Remember the first time you got really drunk, Sammy?” he asked, trying to distract himself from Sharon. For some reason the idea of another IV just seemed like too much right then.
“Not really.” Sam laughed. “I remember the next day, though.” He smiled. “You made sure I remembered to never mix my alcohol.”
“I might have cheated a little.”
“What?” Sam frowned.
“Well, bacon and pancakes really aren't the best thing to cure a hangover, they usually start the...”
“I know, I thought that's what you were trying to do.”
“Oh, okay.” Dean flinched when the needle ran in his left wrist. “I did good then.”
“You always did, Dean,” Sam said gently.
“There you go,” Sharon said. “I'm going to flush it and give you some Phenergan and morphine again okay?”
“Okay.”
“Here we go, it might sting.” She started the flush, Dean immediately tasted it and let out the breath he was holding.
“I taste it.”
“Yeah, I always do too,” she said with a smile. She gave him the drugs, flushed it again and hooked the nitro drip to the new line. “I'll be in to check on you in about twenty minutes. Keep that hot pack on, we need to make sure that's taken care of.”
“They blew my vein,” Dean said as soon as she left, already feeling a little sluggish from the drugs, but the nausea was backing off. He took an experimental breath, his chest still hurt, his head was pounding, but it was a little better.
“They did,” Sam growled.
“Sam,” Dean began, then stopped. He was starting to really feel the meds. “We need to talk, but I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“In my wallet.”
Sam got the walled and brought it over. Dean fished out the business card he was looking for and handed it to his brother. “Call them, tell them who you are, and tell them what's happening.”
His brother was a little pale, his lips pressed together in a tight line. “Okay.”
“Then I promise we'll talk, can't … Damned Phenergan …” Dean closed his eyes, he tried to get them to open again. The last thing he heard before he slipped away was his brother's voice on the phone.
Chapter Five