Smile, The Worst is Yet to Come

Part 7

The bags were heavy on Dean's shoulders but he dragged them out of the Impala as Bobby marched off to the front office to book them a room in this relatively quiet side of town. There shouldn't be any problems with finding a room here, it was dead.

"Room 15," Bobby led the way towards the room with their key dangling from his fingers. The brown door took a bit of a push but it eventually did grant them access to the damp accommodation. Dean dragged their bags in after the old man.

"Impeccable, as always." The young man huffs while throwing the duffle bags onto the beds.

"It's only a couple of nights,"Bobby reminded him, "Not long and I know, for a fact, that you've stayed in worse. Remember that one with the yellow wallpaper?"

Dean chuckled and collapsed onto the bed, "That sucked..." The topic reminded him of his baby brother. Sam had been furious when they'd been holed up in that room for a few days, "Maybe I'll ring him."

It was nearly ten in the night and both men knew that Sam, in his current condition, was probably already sleep. The boy needed his rest to build up his strength anyway. Maybe these few days would benefit him too.

Dean rang anyway but didn't get a response. They put that down due to Sam's strange sleeping hours these days.

---

"Bobby? Dean?" Sam called, his voice straining against the pain. An arm wrapped over his stomach he staggered into the kitchen before calling again, "Dean?! Bobby?!"

He had to stop, he couldn't fight the pain for much longer. His right arm, not curled around his stomach, leant out to take his weight against the countertop. A scowl pulled at his features as his weary eyes fell on the antibiotics lying on the side by a few pots. They'd been useless.

"Bobby?! Dean?! Dean?!" He doubled over as a stabbing like sensation ripped through his stomach.

He fell to the floor, the hard tiles bruising his knees and arms. He heaved and faded in and out of consciousness as stomach bile splattered into the floor.

"Dean. Please." He whimpered. He shook and fell, arms no longer strong enough to support himself. He didn't notice when the sick began soaking into his hair or began sticking to his face. The pain pulled him towards the darkness which Sam was more than willing to embrace.

"Dean." He breathed.

The pain engulfed him.

----

"There's a serious problem." Dean, face like stone, spoke immediately when Bobby returned from the coffee run.

The young hunter had been asleep when Bobby left but apparently, a lot had happened in the last 20 minutes. He placed the coffees into the small table near the door.

"What's happened?" Thoughts immediately turned to Sam.

"He's not answering his phone again." He gripped the cell so tight that his knuckles faded white, "I haven't heard from him since 5pm yesterday."

Assessing the situation, Bobby pulled out his own phone and rapidly dialled a familiar number. Dean watched.

"Sheriff Mills? Yeah, it's Bobby. Could you do me a favor?" There was a second as the police woman replied, "I need you to call an ambulance to the salvage yard but they'll have to break into the house. You can go too." The questions started and Bobby listened with more patience than Dean would have, "Sam's seriously ill and he's not been answering calls or texts from yesterday. We're worried he's collapsed or unconscious...Thank you for this. I really owe you."

----

"Sam?" Underwater. In a bubble. Distant. The voice echoed.

The voice was panicked but gentle. Sam tried to follow it but struggled to break the darkness that he was entangled with. He felt like a fly in a web; the more he fought, the lower he sank. Sam tried to speak but even shallow breathing was laborious.

He felt very warm hands on his skin or perhaps he was just freezing. They fell to his neck before racking his sticky hair from his forehead. The owner didn't seem phased by the sick that was stuck to the strands. Maybe it was a reaper, come to take him and move his soul along. That might be nice.

"Sam."

----

Sheriff Mills kept her warm hands entwined with Sam's freezing bear-paws. Her fingers rubbed against the rough skin in, at least she hoped to be, a comforting manner. Sam was a good guy. He sacrificed his life to ensure the safety of everyone else. He could never deserve this. She chewed the inside of her cheek as her eyes were glued to the minor rises and falls in the man's chest. At least he was breathing.

He looked oversized in the hospital bed. His great frame along the whole length of the bed.

It'd already been several hours but even if Dean broke the speed limit it'd still take them at least five hours to get back to Sioux Falls. That's without counting having to find the room in the maze of a hospital. She sighed, if anything were to happen, she didn't want Sam to die alone.

He was seriously sick, that much was clear, but either the doctors were choosing not to communicate with her or they didn't have a clue what was wrong with the man. She hoped it wasn't the latter; at least he'd have hope.

"Sam?" She asked gently again.

Every now and again Jody had been encouraging Sam to come back to consciousness. She'd speak to him or gently shake his shoulder. The doctors wanted to know what had happened and why he was left collapsed to the floor for an unknown number of hours. She was also determined to discover why Bobby and Dean had left him to fend for himself when he was in such a condition. Sheriff Mills might not know everything about the hunting community but surely there would be someone to take over and allow the boys to act as nurse for poor Sam.

There was no sign of response from the hunter and he seemed more than happy to sleep for now. Jody sighed and leant back into the plastic chair, hand still holding Sam's.

"Come on, Sam. Don't make me kick your ass." She teased lightly but there was still no response.