A/N: Soo...Kinda forgot about this one. Is it bad when you forget your own story? That's bad, right?
Anyway, thought it could use some love. *pets it*
Dean dropped the duffels next to the Impala and rushed towards the motel room, where Sam was busy fumbling with the door.
"Dude. What's your hurry?" Dean unhooked his brother's deathgrip on the handle and gently nudged him over.
Sam just blinked at him.
Shaking his head, Dean pulled the plastic card key out of his pocket and waved it at Sam, who squinted at it.
Jesus. Kid really is doped to the gills.
When he'd had arrived at the hospital that morning, Dean had found his brother feeling no pain...though, apparently he hadn't been feeling so wonderful the night before. As Dr. Lewis explained, Sam had experienced some sort of 'episode,' something about nightmares and screaming and post-traumatic stress, followed by a litany of other medical terms that made Dean's blood run cold. In order to calm him, they'd given Sam a sedative cocktail that left the kid conscious, but a little too zombie-like for Dean's taste.
Placing a hand on his brother's good arm, Dean swung the door open and steered Sam inside. His shaggy head bobbed lightly as Dean maneuvered him into the room.
"Take a load off, Sammy," Dean said, depositing his brother on the bed furthest from the door. "I'll be right back, okay? Gotta grab the bags."
Sam eyes drooped, then snapped open. "K..."
Dean started to turn away but paused, thinking better of it. He gripped Sam's chin and tilted it upwards so that the bleary, hazel eyes met his own. "Don't move."
When he was reasonably sure Sam was okay to leave unsupervised, Dean jogged out to the car to collect their stuff. Or rather, his stuff considering Sam didn't have much in the way of belongings at the moment. Dean had stopped by a Walmart last night to pick up some essentials - some sweats for Sam to change into, some toiletries - but they'd have to do a more thorough shopping once his brother felt up to it. Dean didn't know if anything had survived the fire, but he really wasn't in a hurry to have Sam back in that apartment, digging through the charred remains of his normal life.
His arms laden with gear, Dean shouldered open the door and shot a glance at his little brother.
True to his word, Sam hadn't moved an inch.
"You doin' okay there, dude?"
"Mmm...hmmm...," came the slow reply.
Despite himself, the corner of Dean's mouth quirked upwards. His brother was well over six feet tall by now, but sitting on the bed, head drooping forward, he still somehow managed to look like a sleepy four year old.
Dean dumped the bags on the bed.
Sam didn't look like he was going to faceplant into the carpet in the next two minutes, so Dean decided to take care of the room first. He was still reeling from Sam's revelation about the thing that killed Jessica, and truth be told... wasn't 100% convinced that some of it hadn't been due to that post-traumatic crap the doc had told him about. Sam was only a baby when the fire in Lawrence broke out, and Dean's own memories of that night were hazy at best, but Dean knew stress did some crazy things to people. It was entirely possible that this whole thing was simply a result of Sam digging up some less-than happy childhood memories.
Still...Dean unzipped one of the duffels and pulled out a large container of salt.
Better safe than sorry.
When he'd finished drawing thick circles around each of the doors, windows and, hell even the beds, Dean put the canister away and pulled out the plastic bag he'd gotten from the pharmacy.
"Alright little brother," Dean said, reaching into the bag and pulling out a small, orange pill bottle. "Let's get you fixed up, huh?"
He set the cluster of bottles in a row on the nightstand and checked each of the labels in turn, counting out the appropriate number of pills before dropping the capsules into his brother's bandaged palm.
"Hang on...," Dean said, "I'll get you some water." He grabbed a glass from beside the sink and turned on the tap, letting the stream flow for a minute.
Sam stared down at his hand, blinking heavily.
"Yeah, I know. Fascinating stuff," Dean said, returning with the glass. "Here." He nudged his brother with the cup.
Sam eyed it warily, like it was some sort of strange creature. With a sigh, Dean helped him raise the glass to his lips, making sure he didn't spill water all over himself. Once Sam had successfully managed a few swallows, Dean pulled the glass away.
"Think that's all the excitement you can handle for today," Dean said, patting his brother's knee. He leaned over to pull back the covers. "Naptime, dude."
Sam's eyes tracked Dean's progress, but he made no effort to move from his current position at the end of the bed. Instead, he blinked and started groping at the straps securing the sling, frowning as his bandaged hands refused to cooperate.
"You want some help with that?" Dean asked, already reaching over to unfasten the velcro. He freed Sam of the sling and and slowly lowered his brother's injured arm down so that it was supported against his chest. By now, Sam's eyes were half closed.
Dean placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "Hey. Don't fall asleep on me just yet..."
He helped Sam scoot closer to the pillows.
"Lay back," he said, maneuvering the blankets around so that his brother was under the heavy bedding.
Sam complied, though despite the medicated haze, he grimaced as he lowered himself down. Dean could see him pull his right arm closer to his chest, puffing out a small breath as he did so.
"It's gonna be alright, Sammy," Dean said quietly, He ran a hand over his brother's head, fingers brushing long locks. Unable to resist the small connection to his brother. "Whatever happened. Whatever this is...we're gonna figure it out. I promise you that."
Sam leaned into the touch and Dean swallowed, surprised at the lump in his throat. He quickly pulled his hand away.
He looked around the room for the key, spotting it on the nightstand. With a glance at Sam, he pulled open the door. He slipped through it quietly, though he didn't think a Zeppelin concert could wake his brother right now.
Once outside, Dean let out a shuddered exhale, his breath frosting in the cold, winter air.
Whatever had killed his brother's girlfriend...it couldn't have been the thing from Lawrence. Dean was sure of it.
He whipped out his cell phone, shivering slightly as he hit the speed dial.
He was both disappointed and relieved when the call went straight through to voicemail.
This is John Winchester. Leave a message...
"Hey Dad. It's me." Dean cleared his throat, unsure of what exactly to say next.
"Look, I'm with Sam and...something's happened..."
Um... just kind of writing this as it goes so hopefully we'll hit some plot sometime soon.
No promises :P