Broken legs and Sick brothers
Dean's a grumpy patient, and Sam's doing the best he can.
Featuring Broken Legged Dean, and an extremely Sick Sammy.
Set mid pretty much early Season 2.
For Sendintheclowns and Phx.
For all your help and encouragement, and
'cos you're both just beautiful.
Many thanks for the dual beta ladies!
Actually a little inspired by Phx 'Pink' fic,
so if it's Limp Sam you want, go read hers!
It's much better than mine!
Sam sighed, and stepped out of the shower.
I'm gonna be late for work.
But after a week of working double shifts at the local diner, he was struggling to care.
It was his own fault of course, as Dean was so fond of telling him. And really, would it hurt his brother to at least be civil for once?
"Sam? Don't forget to bring lunch!" Dean called out from right behind the bathroom door, and Sam nearly slipped over in shock. "You forgot yesterday! Guy could starve to death round here!"
"You could always eat your own tongue," Sam muttered under his breath with feeling, rubbing himself dry on a towel. "Might shut you up at last."
"Huh? What dya say?"
Sam closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before answering. He really wasn't in the mood for an argument, and Dean sounded like he was just spoiling for it.
"I said, I didn't forget, I just didn't get a chance for a lunch break 'cos we were too busy. I left a sandwich for you in the fridge." And grit his teeth in anticipation of the scorching reply.
He wasn't disappointed.
"Probably too busy clearing up broken plates, huh?" Sam could almost see the smug smirk on Dean's face, clear through the bathroom door. "Seeing as you enjoy breaking things! Ya know? Like legs?!"
Sam nearly bit through his own tongue.
I will not get into it with him again.
But really, Sam couldn't blame him.
The last hunt had been a disaster. Oh, they got rid of the poltergeist all right, that wasn't the problem.
The problem came when Sam tripped over his own shoe laces and fell heavily against Dean, who promptly plummeted down the long sweeping stairwell.
It was a long fall, and Sam knew for a fact there were exactly seventy four steps, and the reason he knew that, was because he'd counted every single fucking one of them as he fled downwards after his brother.
Heart in mouth, and whispering pleaselethimbeokpleaselethimbeok over and over, Sam watched as Dean finally came to rest at the bottom, unconscious, a thin dribble of blood winding down the side of his face, left leg bent at a decidedly awkward angle.
"Oh God, Dean!" Sam wasn't usually one to panic, but the sight of his brother so badly hurt, set his heart pounding even harder, and tears sprang to his eyes. "Talk to me man, are you ok?"
There was little point waiting for a response that wasn't coming, so Sam fumbled in a pocket for his cell phone and continued his frantic muttering.
"Of course he's not ok, ya big dumb klutz! He just fell down Scarlet O'Hara's staircase!"
Holding the phone against his ear with one hand, and checking for a pulse with the other, Sam tried not to panic when the emergency services didn't pick up right away, and he couldn't find Dean's pulse.
Then, finally, an answer.
"Yeah, my brother fell down the stairs at the local exhibition centre, I think his leg's broken…and he hit his head…" Relief flooded him when he slid his fingers further along Dean's neck, and finally found a strong, steady beat...
That was a few weeks back, and Dean hadn't let him forget it.
Here they were, stuck in this shithole for a town, a grumpy Dean laid up with a broken leg, and Sam was fast approaching nervous exhaustion, waiting tables at all hours, and putting up with his brother's digs.
Sam woke up at the crack of dawn, got breakfast, went to work, and literally ran food home for Dean at lunchtime, dinner, and last thing at night. He gave Dean his pain meds, antibiotics, water, checked on him whenever he could. Dean insisted on food from the diner, even though their room had a kitchenette and breakfast bar; Sam was convinced this was another one of Dean's punishments.
Barely finding the time to eat properly, Sam fed on chips and the odd sandwich going free at the diner. He paid for their motel room, cleaned up after his brother, including picking up wet towels and dirty socks… which Sam could swear Dean was doing on purpose since he only needed one sock, what with his leg wrapped in a cast… so what the fuck?
Sam leaned heavily against the sink, shaking his head. But the black spots, happily parading across his vision, sure were stubborn little bastards. Every joint, every muscle in his body complained bitterly, and Sam wondered how the hell he was going to get through another day.
Slow, deep breaths, now. C'mon get it together. What are you? Cinderella or something?
And he knew he was channeling Dean at that point.
A roll of nausea had him sliding to his knees, lifting the toilet lid, and vomiting profusely until there was nothing left. Not that there was much to start with.
Feeling only a little better, he got back up on his feet, flushed the throne and closed the lid.
Gradually the darkness receded, revealing Sam's tired and downtrodden form in the bathroom mirror. He no longer felt quite so sick, but the downside was the incredible pounding behind his eyes. Stretching, and trying to massage the soreness from his neck, Sam sank down on the toilet lid.
Something I ate, and I must've slept in a funny position, he thought tiredly. Everything aches.
He was pretty sure this would be his life for the next god knew how many weeks it took, until Dean's cast came off, and the brothers could move on from this place. But he wasn't sure just when his brother would let up about the whole staircase incident.
Probably never, Sam thought, gloomily.
When he finally emerged from the bathroom, he grabbed his uniform and began dressing, enduring Dean's smug grin and snide comments.
"Pink suits ya, Sam. You should wear it more often. And the fluffy bunny ears... cute, dude. Real cute." There was more than a hint of malice in his voice. "Seriously, it brings out the colour of your eyes."
Unfortunately for Dean, Sam wasn't in the mood for a verbal sparring match either.
Hadn't been for some time.
"Whatever, dude," he murmured, pocketed the bunny ears, slipped on his shoes – also pink! – and disappeared out the door as fast as a throbbing headache and sore neck could take him.
Dean watched him go, a small frown forming.
"The hell's up with that kid now?" he grumbled aloud, grabbed the TV remote, and launched into a session of channel hopping, "anyone would think he's the one laid up and bored outta his skull. Least he gets to mix it with the hot waitresses all day." He settled for Jerry Springer and carried on grumbling. "Like that's a hardship! Damn kid…"
Sam blinked and swayed. Those damn black spots were back. He wished they'd go away and leave him alone. It ain't like he asked for an encore or anything.
The Bunny Hop had been flooded with truckers for the last few days since the only other diner in town, which was closer to the main road, had been closed down by the health inspectors.
God! What would they have made of Dean!
And what a time to swoon like a girl!
Holding two cheese burgers and fries, a turkey sub, a BLT, and three diet cokes.
Scratchy, irritating, bunny ears aside, it wasn't like he could afford to pay for it either. Dean's barb that morning had sunk in, and unfortunately wasn't far from the truth.
In the last three days, Sam managed to break three serving dishes, five mugs, six glasses, and two plates. And paying for breakages out of a salary which wasn't all that great to start with…
His colleagues hadn't been all that sympathetic, and some of their subtle hints and outright digs were making his life hell.
"Whoops! There goes another plate…"
"I guess Clumsy Winchester strikes again…"
"What? Feet too big for ya, kid?"
Coupled with his older brother's snark, starting the moment he walked through the motel room door at the end of a hectic shift, it was all getting a little too much.
If only he could stop feeling so tired all the time. But sleeping just wasn't on the agenda, because he rarely got home before midnight. And that was a joke right there.
Home. A grungy motel room where the carpet had voting rights, and the mould crawling up the walls could comment on the state of the world's economy. At least, it was more conversation than he got out of his brother these days.
Bobby had offered the brothers a place to stay, but Dean, for some strange reason, had turned it down. Said he didn't want to impose.
Sam had his own ideas about that. He wouldn't have put it passed Dean to use this as an opportunity for vengeance. And whilst his leg was badly broken, and it most certainly was Sam's fault, surely no one deserved this!
It was an accident for Christ sake!
Sam could feel himself getting angry all over again, and did his best to get a grip.
It's not like he'd done it on purpose!
The world seemed to shrink down to the size of a pinhole, and Sam could feel himself letting go, unable to stop.
Ok, that's not good…
A firm hand on his shoulder brought him back from the brink. Someone was talking to him, removing the trays from his grasp, and gently guiding him across the room.
"…easy there kid, just relax."
When the world opened up to him again, Sam found himself sitting on a couch in the manager's office.
Mason Hudson, a kindly middle aged guy, was crouched down beside Sam, glass of water at the ready.
"Ya back with us?"
Sam just nodded, didn't trust himself to speak, and he could feel his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Ok, here ya go. Drink some water, and just sit nice and quiet for a little while."
The cool liquid felt good against Sam's parched throat, and he eagerly drank the entire glass right down.
"C-could I have some more, please?" Sam never felt so small and pathetic, apart from that time Dean sabotaged his shampoo, and the least said about his moody older brother right now, the better…
Mason studied his young employee for a long moment.
"Sure." He refilled the glass from a jug on the desk. "You drink that up, then I'm driving you home, kid. Ya look beat ta hell."
Sam's eyes widened with fear. If he lost this job, Dean would never let him live it down. And besides, who would pay the bills? It's not like Dean could hustle pool right now. In fact, the older brother refused to be seen out wearing a cast.
"No! It's ok! I feel ok, it just got a little hot back there, that's all, I swear." When the manager just eyed him worriedly, Sam, to his own horror, began to beg. "Please Mr Hudson, sir, I'm sorry about what almost happened out there, but I can work the rest of the shift…" his voice trailed off when Mason raised a hand to silence him.
"Ya see Sam, you're the new kid round here, so I know the others give you a hard time." Mason smiled, kindly. "They don't mean nothing by it, it's traditional. Fact is, you're a damned hard worker, but you're pushing yaself too hard, kid."
Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, but wisely decided to remain quiet. He was too tired to argue, anyhow.
"I know ya brother's injured and can't work, and you're doing your best to burn both ends of the candle. We're all grateful to ya for stepping in when Terri and Michelle went off sick with flu, but I'm tellin' ya, it's gonna be the death of you, Sam. So here's the deal." Mason grabbed a blanket from the top of a nearby filing cabinet, and passed it over. "I'm gonna inspect the kitchens, check everything's up to scratch. You, on the other hand, are gonna get some sleep." He raised his hand again when Sam looked ready to protest. "I'll still pay you the over time, but I don't expect to see you poke so much as a toe outside this office for the next two hours."
Mason lowered the blind over the office window, as if it were his final word on the matter, and took a white laboratory-style coat from a hook on the back of the office door. He gave a small wave and left, leaving Sam utterly dumbstruck on the couch.
"Huh." He huffed out, then looked at the blanket, touched it and lowered his nose for a good sniff. "Clean."
He bounced gently on the couch. "Comfortable."
And, suddenly, any fight he had left, just drained right away.
Sam sank down, pulling the blanket over him, and sleep took hold almost immediately.
Dean channel hopped.
He glanced at his wrist watch.
Still no Sam.
It was a cycle that repeated itself over and over, like he was stuck in a loop.
But damn he was getting hungry.
Sam should have been back with his lunch an hour ago. Mumbling expletives under his breath, in particular about little brothers not fulfilling their obligations, Dean grabbed his crutches, hoisted himself up, and shuffled over to the door.
Motel vending machine snacks, he thought, sourly, how delightful.
By the time he made it back, his hands were all blistered up, his back ached, and his leg throbbed under the cast.
And the expletives… well, they'd stepped up a notch or two, and it would have been safe to say that Sam's ears should have been burning.
And they were.
Sam resurfaced, sluggish and reluctant.
His wrist watch indicated he'd been asleep for four hours.
He should have been feeling better, fighting fit, but the ache in his neck had gotten worse, the headache intensified, and he was burning up like a sonofabitch.
"Dammit. Must be coming down with something." Sam shivered, and folded up the blanket, placing it back on top of the filing cabinet. His movements were slow, limbs achy and painful, but a forgotten memory came rushing back, nearly knocking him on his ass.
"Oh shit! Dean!"
I forgot Dean's lunch! Oh God! He's gonna be unbearable after this!
Pulling open the door and stumbling out of the office, Sam headed for the front counter, surprised to find Mason working the cash register.
The manager looked up at him, but the smile died away before it really got started.
"God kid, you look terrible!"
"I-I'm ok. I need a cheese burger with extra onions. To go." Sam panted out, eye lids drooping, sweat rolling down his face.
"No, seriously kid." Mason rounded the counter. "I think you should see a doctor…"
Sam was already shaking his head, and regretting it.
"No. Can't. Gotta get Dean's lunch."
Mason sighed. Well, he couldn't force the kid to do anything he didn't want.
"Ok. Just wait here." He took another look at the boy's pale face. "Second thoughts, sit over there. I'll be ten minutes. Then I'll drop you off home."
If possible, Sam grew paler.
"No, thanks. I can walk. It's not far." Sam didn't want to explain that he and his brother were living in a motel. It was just be too awkward and embarrassing.
Sam shambled over to a corner seat, and sat down, head dropping into his hands.
"Dean's gonna make my life hell, or he might kill me outright if I'm lucky, or maybe I should do the job myself, 'cos the way I'm feeling right now…"
He didn't even know he was mumbling to himself, until Mason appeared with a bag of food, frowning at him.
"What ya say kid?"
Sam glanced up, bleary eyed.
"Thought you said something…" Mason shook his head. "Here." He handed over the bag, along with Sam's jacket. "On the house. Now git home and rest. Sure you don't wanna ride?"
"Uh… no... thank you sir. I'll be ok." Sam indicated the food. "That's really kind of you, but…"
"No buts. Go. Now."
He stepped out on to the street and the bright daylight almost sent him to his knees.
One hand clutching his head, eyes narrowed to slits, Sam struggled onwards.
It took him thirty minutes to get back to the motel, a journey that should have taken half the time.
Dean, naturally, wasn't happy, and the snipes, sarcasm and insults began the moment Sam entered the room.
"Finally decided to show up, huh? You remembered your injured brother after all. Ya know... the one whose leg you broke?!"
Sam closed his ears off to it, and stood at the breakfast bar, unwrapping his brother's food. Hands shaking, legs barely able to hold him up, Sam lasted a whole two more minutes on his feet, before the world began the slow spin into darkness.
Wow. What a victory.
He collapsed in a heap on the floor of the kitchenette, head catching the breakfast bar on the way down.
The brief flare of pain wasn't enough to bring him back.
So here we go, another early Season 2 fic.
Let me know what you think!