It's so stupid, that on a solo hunt taking down a really nasty pride of chupacabras, the thing that lands Sam in the hospital on his sixteenth birthday is a migraine.
Okay, so it's not just any migraine. It's a three-day, intractable migraine, complete with touch sensitivity that wouldn't let him lie in his bed, auras that left him barely able to see, and the kind of bone-splintering pain that had him curled up on the bathroom floor, wishing that his brother or his dad or hell, any-freaking-body would show up and drive him to the hospital so he wouldn't have to call an ambulance for a headache.
He ended up walking the three miles to the hospital. So, needless to say, he's feeling just fantastic.
He is feeling a lot better, actually. They're pumping him full of painkillers, and he has an IV dripping in saline to replace the fluids he's lost the past few days. It's not the first time he's been hospitalized for a migraine, but is the first time he's done it alone. John's never going to let him go out on another solo hunt after this. Yet again, the baby's more trouble than he's worth.
He calls Dean and leaves a message, telling him the hunt's over but he can't make it back yet, with enough mystery in his voice that he hopes Dean will be intrigued enough to span the three states and find him without Sam having to actually ask. Because he doesn't need Dean. Obviously. He was just calling to let him know not to expect him. He feels half pathetic and half like an evil genius.
It works, obviously. Dean comes barreling in and is immediately scanning Sam, looking for casts or bandages or limbs lopped off.
"It's just a headache," Sam says, even though the noise of Dean entering and the light the opening door brought in have reverted him to being pretty sure he's going to die.
"Headache my ass," Dean says easily, settling down in the chair by the bed and propping his feet up next to Sam's. Sam grimaces and readjusts himself.
"I'll be out by tomorrow," Sam says.
Dean hums a little and checks the IV bags. "What are they giving you, let's see..."
Sam's always loved this. Dean coming in, acting like he knows what the hell he's talking about with medical terminology and prescription dosages. He'll argue with doctors just for the sake of arguing.
Sam sniffles a little and folds his arms over his head.
He hears Dean leave and re-enter, and then there's the soft thwack of a cold cloth over his forehead. The painful shock of it turns heavenly, but if he lets Dean know how much he's helped, that might be all he gets.
So he whimpers, partly to keep up appearances, partly because goddamn, he's so tired.
"Shhh," Dean whispers. There's a soft squeeze on Sam's hand. "It's okay."
FILLED: Solo (1/1)
Okay, so it's not just any migraine. It's a three-day, intractable migraine, complete with touch sensitivity that wouldn't let him lie in his bed, auras that left him barely able to see, and the kind of bone-splintering pain that had him curled up on the bathroom floor, wishing that his brother or his dad or hell, any-freaking-body would show up and drive him to the hospital so he wouldn't have to call an ambulance for a headache.
He ended up walking the three miles to the hospital. So, needless to say, he's feeling just fantastic.
He is feeling a lot better, actually. They're pumping him full of painkillers, and he has an IV dripping in saline to replace the fluids he's lost the past few days. It's not the first time he's been hospitalized for a migraine, but is the first time he's done it alone. John's never going to let him go out on another solo hunt after this. Yet again, the baby's more trouble than he's worth.
He calls Dean and leaves a message, telling him the hunt's over but he can't make it back yet, with enough mystery in his voice that he hopes Dean will be intrigued enough to span the three states and find him without Sam having to actually ask. Because he doesn't need Dean. Obviously. He was just calling to let him know not to expect him. He feels half pathetic and half like an evil genius.
It works, obviously. Dean comes barreling in and is immediately scanning Sam, looking for casts or bandages or limbs lopped off.
"It's just a headache," Sam says, even though the noise of Dean entering and the light the opening door brought in have reverted him to being pretty sure he's going to die.
"Headache my ass," Dean says easily, settling down in the chair by the bed and propping his feet up next to Sam's. Sam grimaces and readjusts himself.
"I'll be out by tomorrow," Sam says.
Dean hums a little and checks the IV bags. "What are they giving you, let's see..."
Sam's always loved this. Dean coming in, acting like he knows what the hell he's talking about with medical terminology and prescription dosages. He'll argue with doctors just for the sake of arguing.
Sam sniffles a little and folds his arms over his head.
He hears Dean leave and re-enter, and then there's the soft thwack of a cold cloth over his forehead. The painful shock of it turns heavenly, but if he lets Dean know how much he's helped, that might be all he gets.
So he whimpers, partly to keep up appearances, partly because goddamn, he's so tired.
"Shhh," Dean whispers. There's a soft squeeze on Sam's hand. "It's okay."
Sam exhales and lets himself cry.