Against the Clock 12/13 (Gen, PG-13, Dean, Sam, Casefic)
Against the Clock
by Swanseajill
Chapter 12
Following Rachel’s directions, Sam drove around to the back of Jackson’s sizeable two-story house-cum-clinic, which stood a little way back from its neighbors at the end of a block.
He’d listened carefully to Rachel’s side of the phone call with Jackson. She hadn’t given too much away, but it was clear from her responses that while the doctor was willing to help, he expected a full explanation when they arrived. Well, he wouldn’t be the first to find out the truth about the Winchesters’ occupation, and Sam just hoped that he was as open-minded as Rachel seemed to think.
Once Rachel had talked to Jackson and they were a good distance away from the lake, Sam had made an anonymous call to the police, reporting that he’d been walking his dog when he’d heard a gunshot from the direction of the cabins. That should be enough for the police to investigate and find Miller.
Sam pulled up beside a pickup truck in front of a small porch and killed the engine. He could see Jackson silhouetted against the light shining in the doorway, and as he and Rachel got out of the car, the doctor hurried out to meet them.
Jackson nodded at Sam. “Mr. … Wilde, wasn’t it? Brett, I believe.”
Rachel looked at Sam, and he shrugged and nodded. “Actually,” she said, “his name’s Sam.” As Jackson raised an eyebrow, she raised a hand and added quickly, “I’ll explain about that later. You need to help Dean, Grandpa. He’s injured, and he’s really sick, too.”
Jackson frowned. “And I assume Dean would be Mr. Sinclair?”
“Please, Grandpa. I’ll explain everything later, I promise,.”
Jackson looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. I trust your judgment, Rachel, you know that.”
The back door of the car opened and Sam ran to it quickly, just in time to catch his brother as Dean half-fell out of the Impala. “Easy, Dean, take it easy.” He propped Dean up against the side of the car and put a hand on his good shoulder to make sure he stayed there. Dean seemed to be barely half-conscious, responding to Sam in grunts and unable to bear his own weight.
Jackson immediately moved to Dean’s other side.
“Don’t touch his shoulder,” Sam warned quickly. “It’s dislocated. And I think he has some cracked ribs, too.”
Jackson raised an eyebrow again but held back on the questions.
Between them, they got Dean into the house and into a room Jackson indicated on the right side of a long corridor. “Guest bedroom,” he explained as they carefully laid Dean down on the nearest of the two queen-sized beds.
Jackson looked at Sam. “I could see your partner was sick yesterday, and if he has this virus that’s going round, I suspect his condition deteriorated very quickly, am I right?”
Sam nodded. “He seemed pretty sick when he went to bed last night. I gave him some extra-strength painkillers - that was all we had.”
Jackson sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Dean’s forehead. Dean grunted, his hand coming up reflexively to swat it away, then dropping away weakly. “Hmm,” Jackson went on, unperturbed by his patient’s lack of cooperation. “High fever. We need to get that down a little. I’m guessing that he hasn’t spent the past twenty-four hours resting?”
Sam bit his lip. That was one way of putting it. “No. It’s a long story.”
Jackson gave him a sharp look, then sighed. “Well, I suppose it can keep.” He turned to Dean. “All right, son, let’s take a look at you.”
Dean had seemed oblivious to the conversation going on around him, but as Jackson spoke to him, he tried to push himself up, resisting when the doctor put a hand on his good shoulder to hold him in place. “Let me go. Don’t have time to rest… Gotta find Sam… Time’s running out…”
Sam perched on the other side of the bed and put a hand on Dean’s arm. “I’m fine, Dean. You found me. You got there in time. I’m fine.”
Dean looked around, clearly confused. He continued to struggle against Jackson’s restraining hand. “Sam… Karen… gonna kill him…”
Ignoring Jackson’s questioning frown, Sam leaned forward and cupped Dean’s head with one hand, making his brother look at him. “Dean, I’m here. I’m fine. Karen’s gone - you destroyed her, remember? And Miller’s dead too. They can’t hurt me any more.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Jackson’s expression harden at the mention of Miller and was relieved when Rachel stepped forward, took her grandfather’s arm and began to whisper something. Sam didn’t have time for explanations. All his attention was on Dean, who was staring at him glassily.
“Karen’s gone,” Sam repeated firmly.
Dean frowned. “Burned the hair...”
“That’s right. You saved me, Dean, and I’m fine, but you’re not. You’re sick, and you need to let Dr. Jackson help you.”
Dean’s gaze turned slowly to Jackson. He frowned slightly. “Doctor?...”
“Yes, he’s a doctor,” Sam explained patiently. “You can trust him, like you trust Rachel. Now will you just relax and let us help you?”
Dean looked at him for a moment longer, then nodded slightly. All the energy seemed to seep out of him, and he slumped back against the bed. “Feel really bad, Sam,” he whispered.
Jackson shot Sam a look that said, “I want an explanation and I want it soon,” then turned back to his patient. “We know you feel bad, son,” he said briskly, “but you’ll feel a lot better shortly, I promise. It’ll help me to treat you if you can tell me exactly what’s wrong, all right?”
After a pause, Dean whispered hoarsely, “Head… hurts. And… throat.” Another pause. “Shoulder and… ribs…” His eyes drifted shut.
“He’s been really dizzy, too,” Rachel put in, her expression anxious.
Jackson nodded. “All classic symptoms of this particular virus.”
Sam said, “He hit his head hard … and I think he may have a few broken ribs. And some of his fingers are broken too.”
Jackson looked at Sam searchingly. “I take it he’s been in an accident, or a fight?”
Rachel answered, tone firm. “Dean saved Sam’s life, Grandpa. We’ll explain it all, I promise, but believe me, Dean and Sam are the good guys.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that,” Jackson said dryly. Then he sighed. “All right. I said I trust your judgment, and I meant it.” He turned to Dean. “Now, young man, let’s take a closer look at you.”
Sam watched anxiously as Jackson gave Dean a quick examination, tut-tutting when he shone a light down Dean’s throat, taking his time checking out the bruise on the back of Dean’s head and the injured shoulder and running his hands carefully across damaged ribs. Dean lay still, but Sam saw his jaw tighten and heard a small gasp of pain escape several times, despite Jackson’s gentle hands.
Finally, Jackson popped a thermometer in Dean’s mouth and shook his head when he saw the reading. “104.2. Far too high.”
He turned to Sam. “Your partner has a severe case of this viral infection, and the symptoms are worse than they could have been, had he been resting. However, I don’t see any signs of complications, though we need to get this fever down. I’ll set up a drip too, just to make sure he gets enough fluids.” He paused. “Now, as for his injuries… that bang on the head won’t have helped his headache any, but I don’t think he’s concussed. We’ll keep an eye on him, just in case. He has three broken fingers, but they’re clean breaks. He has several severely bruised ribs, but I’m fairly sure none of them are broken. An x-ray would confirm it, of course, but I understand that isn’t an option.”
As Jackson spoke, he poked around in his medical bag and took out a syringe. Without waiting for a response, he went on, “I’ll give him a shot of morphine, and when that’s had time to take effect, we’ll pop that shoulder back in place.” He looked at Sam sternly. After that he’ll need rest, and plenty of it.”
Sam watched as Jackson spoke reassuringly to Dean and slid the needle into his skin. Dean seemed unaware of what was happening, although he was clearly in a lot of pain and flinched when the needle went in.
Seeing Sam’s concern, Jackson said, “It’s natural that he’s confused and out of it - the fever and weakness will do that, and he must be exhausted with the effort of keeping going against his body’s needs. You shouldn’t worry.”
Easier said than done. The last time he’d seen Dean so weak had been back in Nebraska. Sam blew out a long breath and ran his hands through his hair.
It took only a few minutes for the pain lines on Dean’s brow to smooth out as the morphine took effect. It didn’t prevent a grunt of pain as Jackson expertly popped the shoulder back into place, but it seemed to take the edge off, and Sam was grateful that he hadn’t had to do this in the field.
Jackson immobilized the arm again and then set the broken fingers. By the time he was finished Dean had fallen into an exhausted slumber.
Jackson addressed his granddaughter. “Rachel, would you go to the infirmary and get me the drip stand, some saline bags and a couple of ice packs, please?”
While Jackson had been treating Dean Rachel had sat quietly on the other bed, watching intensely, worrying her lower lip. Her expression betrayed her concern and Sam wondered fleetingly what had happened between her and Dean to dispel the hostility of their previous meeting.
“Sure.” Rachel shot a quick glance at Dean and left the room.
“Let’s make Mr. … Dean a little more comfortable, shall we?” Jackson said to Sam when they were alone.
Between them, they stripped Dean down to his boxers, and Sam fought back a stab of worry as Dean barely stirred. Dean hated people touching him and had to be in a bad way to allow someone to undress him. It must be the morphine. Still, he couldn’t help asking, “Are you sure he’s going to be all right?”
Jackson nodded. “I believe he’ll be fine with a lot of rest and some care and attention.”
“And you’re sure there won’t be any complications?”
“One can never be one-hundred-percent sure of anything,” Jackson said, and patted Sam’s shoulder. “But he seems to be a strong, healthy young man. There’s no reason to assume he won’t make a full recovery.”
“It’s just… I read that viruses like this can sometimes affect the heart.”
Jackson looked surprised. “The heart? Well, that’s true, but only if there’s an existing weakness. Are you telling me Dean has a weak heart?”
Sam shook his head. “No. It’s just… a few months ago he was electrocuted, and it damaged his heart… but he was healed. I just… I just worry, that’s all.”
“Electrocuted… and healed? What do you mean by ‘healed,’ exactly?”
Sam hesitated. “It’s a long story.”
“Another long story?” Jackson pursed his lips. “Well, I tell you what. Dean needs to rest now, so why don’t you fill me in on the story while I’m cleaning up your wrists, eh?”
Sheepishly, Sam looked down at the rings of raw flesh encircling both wrists. He’d been so worried about Dean that he’d forgotten his own injury, but now that Jackson had drawn attention to it, the cuts began to sting.
“Come along to the clinical room. I’ll fix you up there.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t want to leave Dean. If he wakes up, he’ll want to know I’m here.”
Jackson looked at him consideringly. “It’s none of my business, but it seems to me that you two are more than working partners. Don’t worry, I’m not prejudiced-”
“No,” Sam said quickly. “It’s not like that. We’re brothers. We’re… very close.”
“Ah.” Jackson smiled. “That explains it.”
Rachel chose that moment to return with the items Jackson had requested.
“Thank you, Rachel,” he said, smiling fondly at his granddaughter. “Now, as I can’t seem to get Sam to leave the room, would you mind going back one more time and getting me what I need to dress Sam’s wrists?”
Rachel glanced at the bloody welts and grimaced. “That does look nasty.” She nodded at Jackson. “I’ll be right back.”
Jackson set up the drip and ice packs, and when Rachel returned, he sat Sam down on a chair and set about cleaning Sam’s wrists. While he worked, Sam filled him in on the salient facts, and Rachel added the missing pieces of what she knew of Dean’s movements during the day. Apart from shaking his head a few times, Jackson didn’t comment until the story ended.
“Well,” he said gravely, “I can’t say I’m not shocked to hear that Roger Miller was involved in killing all those young men. He was always such a gentle man.”
“He was grieving,” Sam said, “and he left himself open to Karen’s influence. I don’t think he was in his right mind.”
Jackson nodded, but his features hardened. “Maybe not, but I find it difficult to feel sympathy for a man who I know had a hand in my own grandson’s murder.”
Sam was silent. There was nothing he could say.
Jackson cleared his throat. “Well, Sam, I think you need to get some rest too, but first of all we should get some food inside you.”
Sam’s stomach rumbled, as if it had suddenly noticed that he hadn't fed it for over twenty-four hours.
Rachel placed a hand on her grandfather’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take Sam to the kitchen, fix him a sandwich?” Rachel suggested. “I’ll stay and keep an eye on Dean.”
Sam was reluctant to leave, but Rachel assured him she would fetch him if Dean so much as moved a muscle, so finally he agreed.
Ten minutes later, he was sitting at a large, wooden table with a plate of roast beef sandwiches before him. He thought he was too tired to eat, but after the first bite realized how famished he was.
Jackson sat down opposite him. “So, Sam, you and your brother - this is what you do? This is your job, finding spirits and monsters to kill?”
Sam nodded and said, around a mouthful of sandwich, “Pretty much.”
Jackson looked thoughtful. “Then it’s a very lonely and difficult life you lead.”
“It can be,” Sam agreed. “But… someone has to do it.”
“But why you? How did you get into this way of life?”
“Our dad… it’s kind of the family business,” Sam said shortly. The last thing he wanted was a conversation about their father, so he added, “You don’t seem shocked about what we do. Some people - they find it hard to believe that monsters really exist.”
Jackson half-smiled. “I’ve seen a lot of strange, inexplicable things in my time. I’ve always suspected that there’s more out there than we’re aware of. Once, I had to patch up a couple of hunters who said Bigfoot had attacked them. Of course, no one believed them, but I couldn’t explain their injuries either.” He paused. “Does Bigfoot exist?”
Sam shrugged. “I’ve never seen one, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. The thing that attacked your hunters could have been a wendigo - it could easily be mistaken for Bigfoot. But if it was, they were lucky to get away alive.”
“A wendigo,” Jackson said thoughtfully. “That sounds interesting. You must tell me more - but not now. You look exhausted, young man, and you’ve been through quite an ordeal.”
It was getting difficult to stay awake, and now that his stomach was full, Sam could feel sleep pulling on him.
Jackson helped him bring in their two duffels from the car and refrained from comment when Sam also brought in the bag of guns from the trunk. The car should be safe in the clinic’s backyard, but it didn’t pay to take unnecessary risks. Risks could get you killed.
Rachel looked up from her seat beside Dean’s bed as Sam entered the room. “Hey. He’s still asleep - didn’t stir a muscle.”
Jackson nodded as he put Dean’s duffel down beside his bed. “Sleep is what he needs, and you too, Sam. Don’t worry about your brother. I’ll check on him in a couple of hours.”
Sam thanked them, and they left.
Alone, he sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed and stifled a yawn. He wasn’t quite ready to crash. There’d be plenty of time for that. For now, he needed to sit in the dark, simply watching the rise and fall of his brother’s chest, proof that Dean was still alive, still with him.
That was all that mattered.
Chapter 13
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11