The doctor's office is the exact same as last time, except John is making no effort to chat up the flirty receptionist. They sit side-by-side in chairs, silent and still. When they get taken back to the office, it's Dean who grabs Sam's hand this time.
The doctor hums and putters about, but other than the fact that Sam has dropped five pounds, not much is different. “Sometimes these things just take a while to resolve,” he says, amicably but Dean gets the sense that he says this to a lot of overprotective parents. “I'll write a prescription for a different cough syrup...”
“No,” Dean interrupts.
“Dean,” John warns, but his son isn't listening.
“No, you need to see Sam cough.”
“Son,” the man says slowly. “Sam hasn't coughed at all. I know that it seems...”
“No,” Dean repeats. “You need to hear it. You need to see it.”
John tries to reason, but Dean won't be budged, and Sam is as always taking his cues from his big brother. They sit for another five minutes and John has begun apologizing for wasting the doctor's times when Sam begins to cough.
The doctor looks stunned once Sam is done, lips tinged blue and listing on the table, but Dean doesn't have time for him because his little brother looks miserable. Sam's wearing the exact same expression that he does when he's done something wrong and that's just too much for Dean. He gets up and goes over to the exam table and puts an arm around Sam's shoulders.
The doctor is much more serious now, as he asks Sam to lie back. Dean nods his okay and Sam does so. The doctor takes a long, thin swab and places it gently in front of Sam's nostril. Dean lays a comforting hand on Sam's arm and the doctor's hand plunges down quickly, swab disappearing into Sam's nose and coming back out just as fast.
Sam's coughing, but they're small and once Dean convinces himself that it's not another fit he asks, “What was that?”
The doctor puts the swab away. “A nasopharyngeal swab. I'm going to run some tests and get back to you tomorrow, but I'm going to write you a prescription for some erithromycin. It's an antibiotic. I think it'll help.” He scribbles on his pad of paper and gives the sheet to John. “Make sure that Sam takes all of the pills, even if he stops coughing.”
“What do you think it is?” John asks.
“Pertussis,” the doctor replies. “Whooping cough. I won't know until I get the test back, but I want to make sure that we start treating it right away, if I'm right. It's highly contagious.”
“Highly contagious? Will Dean get it? I thought people didn't get that anymore.”
“It's rare, now that there's a vaccine. Were your children vaccinated?”
“Dean was,” John replies confidently. “I think Sam got some shots, but... his mother died when he was six months old and... you know.”
The room is quiet. Dean strokes his hand along Sam's arm. Their dad does the best he can and sometimes things fall by the wayside. Dean understands, he does. But he's looking at Sam sitting hunched in on himself in the tiny exam room and he isn't feeling very forgiving.
-*-
Sam doesn't like being sick, but he sure doesn't seem to mind the perks. John buys them real food, good food, like steak and potatoes and ice cream. It turns out that he could've been home a few days earlier, but even as Sam was coughing and throwing up he was touring the area bars and cheating the locals out of a few hundred dollars. With a new surplus of cash, they live well as Sam finishes up his week of antibiotics.
Two weeks and they leave the town and it gets categorized as yet another thing that Winchesters Don't Talk About, but Dean never forgets the sight of his brother's face turning slowly blue. He loves his dad and even more importantly he understands his dad, but from then on there's only one person he trusts with Sammy's health and safety, and that's himself.
Re: FILLED: Bordatella Blues (4/4)
The doctor hums and putters about, but other than the fact that Sam has dropped five pounds, not much is different. “Sometimes these things just take a while to resolve,” he says, amicably but Dean gets the sense that he says this to a lot of overprotective parents. “I'll write a prescription for a different cough syrup...”
“No,” Dean interrupts.
“Dean,” John warns, but his son isn't listening.
“No, you need to see Sam cough.”
“Son,” the man says slowly. “Sam hasn't coughed at all. I know that it seems...”
“No,” Dean repeats. “You need to hear it. You need to see it.”
John tries to reason, but Dean won't be budged, and Sam is as always taking his cues from his big brother. They sit for another five minutes and John has begun apologizing for wasting the doctor's times when Sam begins to cough.
The doctor looks stunned once Sam is done, lips tinged blue and listing on the table, but Dean doesn't have time for him because his little brother looks miserable. Sam's wearing the exact same expression that he does when he's done something wrong and that's just too much for Dean. He gets up and goes over to the exam table and puts an arm around Sam's shoulders.
The doctor is much more serious now, as he asks Sam to lie back. Dean nods his okay and Sam does so. The doctor takes a long, thin swab and places it gently in front of Sam's nostril. Dean lays a comforting hand on Sam's arm and the doctor's hand plunges down quickly, swab disappearing into Sam's nose and coming back out just as fast.
Sam's coughing, but they're small and once Dean convinces himself that it's not another fit he asks, “What was that?”
The doctor puts the swab away. “A nasopharyngeal swab. I'm going to run some tests and get back to you tomorrow, but I'm going to write you a prescription for some erithromycin. It's an antibiotic. I think it'll help.” He scribbles on his pad of paper and gives the sheet to John. “Make sure that Sam takes all of the pills, even if he stops coughing.”
“What do you think it is?” John asks.
“Pertussis,” the doctor replies. “Whooping cough. I won't know until I get the test back, but I want to make sure that we start treating it right away, if I'm right. It's highly contagious.”
“Highly contagious? Will Dean get it? I thought people didn't get that anymore.”
“It's rare, now that there's a vaccine. Were your children vaccinated?”
“Dean was,” John replies confidently. “I think Sam got some shots, but... his mother died when he was six months old and... you know.”
The room is quiet. Dean strokes his hand along Sam's arm. Their dad does the best he can and sometimes things fall by the wayside. Dean understands, he does. But he's looking at Sam sitting hunched in on himself in the tiny exam room and he isn't feeling very forgiving.
-*-
Sam doesn't like being sick, but he sure doesn't seem to mind the perks. John buys them real food, good food, like steak and potatoes and ice cream. It turns out that he could've been home a few days earlier, but even as Sam was coughing and throwing up he was touring the area bars and cheating the locals out of a few hundred dollars. With a new surplus of cash, they live well as Sam finishes up his week of antibiotics.
Two weeks and they leave the town and it gets categorized as yet another thing that Winchesters Don't Talk About, but Dean never forgets the sight of his brother's face turning slowly blue. He loves his dad and even more importantly he understands his dad, but from then on there's only one person he trusts with Sammy's health and safety, and that's himself.