Chapter Text
If you were a patient in Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and happened to enjoy people-watching, you probably would have pegged this as a dull day. There wasn’t anything too strange about two men in white coats walking through the door of the oncology ward and into the chemotherapy infusion area. None of the patients were paying too much attention to them. For some of the patients this was the final round of chemo before giving up. For some it was a tiresome stop on the way home from work, but something that needed to be done. But it wasn’t exciting for anyone, it was tedious and the two men in white coats were tedious too. It would have been much more fulfilling to look out of the window. To look at the lone magpie sitting in the tree. She was looking at the patients too, like they were just as interesting as she was.
But let’s say we were there, in that chemo infusion area, and together we watched those two men in white coats for just a little while. I know it’s all very dull, but please humor me.
“Is it picking up anything?” one of the men asked. A people-watcher might have noticed his silly haircut that probably needed a wash, but was charming in a strange way. The other man was holding a machine that wasn’t a pager or a phone. That could have been interesting, but there was something a lot more interesting about this man, something his companion hadn’t noticed yet. He was sweating and uncomfortable, but wouldn’t let it show.
“I’m still unsure if this is our kind of gig”, the man with the silly haircut continued. “Sometimes people with cancer just die.”
“People can’t just die. There’s always a reason. This is strange”, the other replied. He was focused on the little doo-hickey in his hand, but the air of discomfort around him wouldn’t ease.
“People going through chemo are immunocompromised. Couldn’t it just be some kind of a bug?”
“If that’s what’s going on, there are enough people here who can solve that mystery. But we’re the only ones who can solve it, if it… If it is…” The man stopped to catch his breath. But he didn’t catch it, it was like his breath was running away from him, as fast as it could. It was fascinating.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine”, he said through gritted teeth, his eyes searching for something to focus on. “We need to interview the patients, and… Man, are you feeling that?”
“Feeling what?”
“There’s… There is something bad here. Something bad is going to happen.”
“I thought I was the foreteller of the family.”
“Sam, I’m serious, I…” the man’s words crumbled into a mess of shallow breaths and wheezes. He shut his eyes tight and clawed at his chest. He was trying to undo his shirt to relieve a sudden pressure he was feeling but it didn’t go away. His companion reached out his hand to steady him just in time, as he lost his balance and collapsed. The other man caught him so he didn’t fall to the floor.
“Dean? Dean?” The two were enclosed in a bubble of shared panic, they couldn’t hear the patients asking whether the other doctor was alright. One patient, a young boy, hopped out of his chair and grabbed his IV so he could go get help.
The breathing grew shallower and shallower. The consciousness was slipping away.
“Help! Help, please!” the other man shouted and laid the other on the ground as gently as he could. “I need a doctor!”
-
“Two fake doctors walk into a hospital. One goes into cardiac arrest.”
House stopped midway the sick trick he was doing with his cane and a stack of some uninteresting paperwork and looked at Wilson, who had walked in right in the middle of him avoiding clinic duty. House let the papers flutter on the floor and laid his cane next to him. Wilson hadn’t even knocked, so he must have been sure House was not with a patient. How wounding. Sure, House wasn’t famous for enjoying diagnosing sniffles and heartburns in the clinic, but it was still rude to assume.
“Wow, haven’t heard that one before. What’s the punchline?”
Wilson let out a self-deprecating chuckle. “It happened in the oncology ward, only I and a roomful of patients as witnesses. So as soon as I was certain everything was fine and the heart was beating, I hid their white coats and made sure no one else would find out what they were doing.”
A file was placed next to House on the spreaded treatment chair as one would place a piece of gouda in a mouse trap.
“Now, a punchline shouldn’t be predictable. Kind of misses the whole point of punchlines”, House said, not touching the file. “They aren’t hot babes, right? Maybe they took the wrong turn on their way to my office. Sexy nurse strippers are so last season, I’ve upgraded to doctors.”
“They’re brothers.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not hot babes. I believe in equality, but you know, I would never trust a female doctor to give me a lap dance”, House quipped. “Did they tell you what they were doing?”
“I didn’t ask them”, Wilson replied, the word yet hanging in the air. The man never admitted his gift for manipulation, even when it was so obvious when he was doing it. Of course he planned on asking it later, after the brothers trusted him.
“And you want me to take this case”, House concluded. “Why?”
“You know I don’t really need a reason”, Wilson said. “The boy’s sick. He needs help.”
And they were brothers. In his mind House had put a pin in that little piece of information. Even Wilson, the universal donor who would gladly give a kidney to a stranger just because it was the right thing to do, needed a reason to do what he was doing. A heart didn’t bleed unless something scratched it.
“I’m sure there’s a catch”, House said. “You know what I think about heart attacks. And strokes. And coughs.”
“They are diagnostically boring”, Wilson admitted. “But you have to admit a heart attack is less boring when the patient is 27.”
It was less boring, but it only meant the boring diagnosis would be an unlikely boring diagnosis. Wilson continued: “His heart has been previously damaged. An electric shock, just a couple of months ago. They thought it was fatal.”
“So, it’s not exactly a mystery then. The heart is failing.”
“His brother dragged him to see a faith healer and he made a full recovery.”
“Oh, my bad, let me rethink this... The heart is failing.”
There was a slight twinkle in Wilson’s eye. “I thought you would be a little less suspicious about faith healers these days.”
House rolled his eyes. “Unless the quack infected the patient with a special new type of herpes that eats heart damage, I will retain my suspicions.”
“Yet, lo and behold, the doctor who took his last MRI told them his heart was clear. Additional evidence, he’s still alive, and healthy enough to break into a hospital.”
“It’s not like the doors are locked. And if there’s a clear MRI, why would you mention the faith healer at all?” House asked. Just to annoy him, probably. Given how much Wilson loved challenging House’s atheism, you wouldn’t believe him to be the most secular Jew in this hospital.
“It’s relevant, isn’t it? The heart damage that just went away”, Wilson said.
“There’s this thing some doctors do”, House said, “it’s called misdiagnosis, and they do it a lot. The heart damage didn’t go away. If his heart was fine in the latter MRI, he never had heart damage.”
“Well, he may have some now.” Wilson tapped the file with his fingers.
House rolled his eyes and leaned back. “When you have a crime scene and a dead woman, you do not summon Hercule Poirot, you arrest the woman’s husband who is standing there holding a gun. If the metaphor is too confusing, the heart attack is the dead woman.”
“Yet there is no husband and no gun”, Wilson pointed out. “No usual suspects. The patient is an athletic, young man, he hasn’t electrocuted himself lately and there is no family history of heart disease. Isn’t this the time to put those little grey cells to good use?”
House groaned. Sure, sneaking into a hospital pretending to be a doctor was interesting, there was almost a mystery there, but it was still a heart attack.
“C’mon”, Wilson said, pushing the file closer to House. “The worst thing that can happen is that the kid is fine and you get out of clinic duty for nothing.”
There was no arguing with that. And he could use this simple diagnostic mission as a cover for having his team poking around, finding out what was the deal with those brothers. House grabbed the file, giving Wilson a sour look. “Only because I expect to get two free lap dances out of this. And you’re buying me lunch today.”
“Like I have a choice.”
-
“Why’re you looking so sullen?” Foreman asked Cameron and poured himself a cup of coffee. Cameron looked like she could snap a more unfriendly remark back at him, but she decided otherwise. Maybe it meant they were really okay after everything that had transpired between the two of them. Stealing her article had been a bad move, and telling her they were not friends had been an even worse one, Foreman could see it now. But after Foreman’s illness and Cameron’s decision that had led to the brain damage Foreman was still dealing with, and his own decision of trying to value the second chance of life he had been gifted with, it all felt a bit small.
“I had clinic duty and one of Wilson’s patients came in. I have spoken to her a couple of times”, Cameron replied. “Meningioma. Grade 3.”
There was no point asking how Cameron had ended up speaking to Wilson’s patients. It would be neat if their job didn’t regularly involve dragging their boss away from his hiding place in his only friend’s office, sometimes when the said friend was in the middle of telling his patients their cancer diagnosis.
“Was she okay?” Foreman asked.
“A common cold. She was feeling fine enough, but obviously she wanted to play it safe by visiting the clinic. I asked about a trip she had been planning with her family.” Cameron shrugged. “They were meant to go to Europe this Fall. Milan, then Monaco, and Marseille. She was so excited to go, you know, her prognosis is not great but she wants to make the most of her time here with her kids. But now she’s telling me her eldest daughter has suddenly lost her job and a bad investment has eaten up her other daughter’s savings. Just like that.”
Cameron snapped her fingers dejectedly. “So that’s it. They’ll maybe scrape enough money together to see Atlantic City.”
Foreman frowned. If he was a superstitious man, he’d say there was something strange going on with their oncology ward. He had a few patients with brain tumors to whom he had all but promised they would make a full recovery, only to find out the tumors had metastasized with an alarming speed. There had also been viruses spreading, no matter all the precautions they had started to take. The patients were dying, not only from cancer, but flu, gastroenteritis and even unrelated accidents. The mood in the chemo area was downhearted. Wilson clearly had a hard time dealing with it all, and no wonder.
“If there is a God, he has a sick sense of justice”, Foreman said, sipping his coffee. Cameron opened her mouth to agree, but their chat was interrupted by House barging in.
“A 27 year old male sneaks into an oncology ward and has a heart attack.”
“Our oncology ward?” Cameron asked and picked up the file House had slammed on the table. She started leafing through it. Chase scooted closer with his chair and Foreman leaned over Cameron’s shoulder, trying not to spill his coffee on the papers. Apparently there wasn’t enough going on in that ward, now there were fake doctors dropping in and almost dropping dead.
Except this case didn’t seem very serious. Foreman frowned and turned a page without asking if Cameron and Chase were done reading it. The patient had fallen unconscious, which was obviously bad, but the attack had been quick and his brother had given him immediate CPR.
House made his way to the white board. “Yep, our very own. Tragically, since our Head of Oncology loves collecting lost puppies.”
“And even more tragically for us, our Head of Diagnostics is one of those puppies, so now this is our case”, Foreman added, giving Cameron and Chase a look.
House let out an exaggerated laughter. “Good one. Man, I’m so glad you didn’t die, we would be missing out on so many giggles.”
“I do not think it’s a heart attack”, Foreman continued without paying much mind to House’s smartassery.
“Fine, cardiac arrest, then, if you have to get all PC about it”, House cracked and continued to stage-whisper to Cameron and Chase: “This is why people don’t like working with them, it’s like threading on eggshells…”
Foreman had been so inoculated against House’s hilarious ironic racism that he didn’t care enough to even roll his eyes.
“Dr Wilson wasn’t the one who restarted the heart, the brother did. So we have no confirmation it ever stopped for sure”, he clarified. “The attack had a rapid onset, not one typical to heart attacks. His EKG was inconclusive and he doesn’t seem to have any of the usual risk factors. It was probably just a panic attack. Scary as hell, but goes away just as quickly as this one.”
“The man lost consciousness, which isn’t typical for a panic attack. And the EKG did show ST elevation”, Cameron pointed out.
“Neither are unheard of during severe panic attacks.”
“It would have to have been a very severe panic attack. Even if it wasn’t a full on cardiac arrest, maybe it was another kind of heart event”, Cameron said. “And he has a risk factor, former cardiac trauma. It is possible we’re only seeing the effects of his earlier electric shock now. There could be an unnoticed myocardial contusion or scarring.”
“His previous doctor said the MRI of his heart was fine”, Chase butted in.
“Fine. What a specific and unwavering diagnosis”, House remarked. “Suppose his previous doctor was an idiot. Or suppose these two are religious nuts who lie about the clean MRI because they want us to believe their witch doctor did more than give them a mushy, comforted feeling and an adrenaline boost. Re-do the MRI and check for history with panic attacks. What else?”
“Drugs. This guy was impersonating a doctor to sneak into a room with patients receiving chemo. I’d think one would have to get pretty coked up to come up with something like that”, Chase said.
Foreman kept himself from saying that the thought of getting caught doing something like that could also very well make a person panic.
“Do a tox screen and check the family history”, House concluded.
Chase frowned. “I thought there was no family history of heart disease?”
“House doesn’t care about that, he just wants to be nosy”, Cameron said, making Foreman smirk.
“Sure. They poke around the hospital, yet I’m the nosy one”, House said.
“According to Wilson’s notes, they were wearing white coats, which is more than you’ve ever done to appear professional”, Foreman remarked with a slight grin and left the room with Cameron and Chase.
-
Sam was getting really tired of seeing Dean in a hospital bed like this, but he was getting even more tired of his brother being so infuriatingly fine with it. He really didn’t want to physically push his brother back into a lying position, but of course the bastard was trying to get up.
“Dean I swear to God, you try leaving this bed and I’ll knock your lights out”, he threatened. Dean huffed.
“Sam, c’mon. We need to go and hunt this thing.”
There had been a sudden surge of deaths in this hospital and Dean was sure they had a supernatural cause. Sam had not been all that convinced, but Dean was adamant. No, the reason why patients receiving chemotherapy in a hospital in New Jersey were dying couldn’t possibly be that cancer was a serious illness. And no, there wasn’t a hospital bacteria or medical malpractice involved either. Of course it needed to be something killable.
“We don’t even know if there is a thing here.”
“There is”, Dean countered. “The EMF meter was just picking something up before… Well, you know.”
Sam groaned and massaged his temples. He wanted to point out that he wasn’t denying the possibility of spirits in a hospital, a place where people were very likely to die before they were ready to go, he was just skeptical of those spirits attacking patients. But his first priority was keeping Dean in bed, so he abandoned that argument.
“Even so”, he started, “you being here as a patient is not a bad thing for the investigation, you know. What would be a better reason to snoop around? Nobody’s going to question me being here or asking questions.”
Dean halted and seemed to think about it. “I know you’re manipulating me. But that is a good point.”
Sam was about to continue, but he noticed three doctors entering the room, one woman and two men. Christ, was that bad? What did they need three doctors for? Three doctors and a private room, this hospital was so strange. Doctor Wilson had said something about talking about Dean’s case to a friend of his, but this all seemed a bit much.
“Hello, I’m Dr Cameron and these are Dr Chase and Dr Foreman”, the female doctor introduced the trio. Sam didn’t fail to notice how Dean immediately seemed more chipper as his gaze fell on Dr Cameron. No wonder, she was a beautiful woman, and surprisingly young-looking for a doctor. Sam wasn’t too insecure to admit the other two doctors weren’t bad-looking either, Dr Chase had blond hair that grazed his shoulders and Dr Foreman was lean and wore a smart vest and a tie underneath his white coat. Sam had worn a neat shirt as well, but he had unbuttoned it, revealing his grimy undershirt that had once been white but was now gray. It made him feel a bit embarrassed.
“Well, hello, Doc”, Dean said to Dr Cameron, with that familiar grin on his face. Sam thought it goofy, but women apparently often found it affable.
“I’m Graham Merryweather”, Sam hurried to introduce them, since Dean had no idea what their name was supposed to be for insurance. “This is my brother, Daniel.”
“People call me Danny”, Dean added smoothly, like he had never had another name.
“Danny”, Dr Cameron repeated with a slight smile. “We work for Dr House, our hospital’s Head of Diagnostics.”
“Diagnostics? Didn’t he have a heart attack?”
“Not necessarily”, Dr Foreman interjected, earning a look from Dr Cameron. Sam felt a wave of relief at the thought that it might not have been a heart attack after all.
“Cardiac arrest is often a symptom of something else”, Dr Cameron explained. “A healthy heart doesn’t just stop for no reason.”
That took away all Sam’s relief. He knew there could very well be something wrong with Dean’s heart. He had mentioned the faith healer to Dr Wilson, fully aware that it made him sound insane. Obviously he hadn’t told him the rest of the story, how it had turned out that the faith healer hadn’t healed anyone. The illnesses hadn’t disappeared, the healer’s wife had just gone behind his back to transfer all the illnesses to other people. A young man had died of the same heart failure that was meant to get Dean. Of course Sam felt guilty about that, but not as guilty as he should feel. He hadn’t meant to kill anyone, he hadn’t known. And it had saved Dean, and back then that had been enough. Sam couldn’t have handled losing Dean, not now, not so soon after losing Jessica, not after he had just got him back.
But if Dean’s heart was failing again, it had all been for nothing.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Dr Cameron prompted Dean kindly.
Dean shrugged.
“Me and my brother Gray-Gray here”, he started and Sam stifled the urge to elbow him, “we were just visiting a friend. She has cancer, it’s super sad.”
“Save it. We know all about you two pretending to be doctors”, Dr Chase interrupted them. He had an almost distracting Australian accent. Dean grinned sheepishly.
“It was a dare”, he lied. Smooth.
“It was a reckless dare”, Dr Cameron said. “The people on that ward are very sick. Some are going through the scariest days of their lives. When they see a doctor, they need to be able to reach out to them and ask questions. They need to be able to trust us.”
Dean looked perplexed at this sudden scolding from the kind-seeming, pretty doctor. There was a wrinkle between Dr Cameron’s eyebrows as she spoke, and that single wrinkle felt like an endless pool of moral outrage. Huh. Good to know, the kind doctor was also the preachy doctor. Not that Sam didn’t see very well where she was coming from.
“Absolutely”, Dean said, raising his hands a little as a sign of surrender. “It was totally unforgivable. Graham always gets these stupid ideas, I need to start standing up for myself and not just go along with everything he comes up with.”
Sam glanced at Dr Cameron and shook his head slightly, but he saw it wasn’t really necessary, none of the doctors seemed like they were taking Dean by his word.
“How did you feel before reaching the oncology ward?” Dr Foreman asked.
“Bad. Very bad, and guilty.”
“I meant if you felt any symptoms”, Dr Foreman clarified. “Any pain or unusual numbness?”
“Oh. No, I felt fine”, Dean denied. “Came right out of the blue. I was kind of uncomfortable at first and then it felt like my whole chest was caught in a hydraulic press. I was sweating like a pig and couldn’t breathe.”
“Anything else?”
Sam saw Dean visibly hesitating. “You should tell them about the bad feeling.”
Dean gave him a look. “It wasn’t anything medical, Graham”
“Surprising things can be something medical”, Dr Foreman countered. “Tell us.”
“I’m sure it’s not anything”, Dean said, looking somewhat embarrassed. “But there was this freaky feeling, like something was about to go wrong. Like, ugh, I don’t know, very wrong. Like it wasn’t even really a feeling, it felt so… Bad.”
“Sense of impending doom”, Dr Cameron said, turning to Dr Foreman. “A symptom of a heart attack.”
“Yeah. Also a symptom of panicking”, Dr Foreman replied dryly.
Sam and Dean glanced at each other. The doctors were clearly not having a conversation the two of them were meant to understand.
“Mr Merryweather”, Foreman started.
“Danny, please”, Dean said. “My school buddies called me Merry for a while, but it didn’t really stick.”
“Danny”, Foreman started again, “do you have any history of panic disorders? You know, panic attacks, phobias?”
Sam frowned and looked at Dean. Dean seemed confused and somewhat offended.
“He is afraid of flying?” Sam suggested.
“Dude!” Dean snapped.
“What? You are.”
“Well we weren’t flying, were we?” Dean asked, annoyed. He turned back to face the doctors. “The answer is no. I don’t have a history of that sort.”
“Do you take any drugs?” Dr Chase asked.
“No?”
“We’re not cops”, Dr Foreman reminded.
“I mean, I have smoked pot, but who hasn’t?” Dean said. “It’s been years since I last did. I prefer good old-fashioned beer.”
“Alright”, Dr Foreman said. He looked relaxed, so apparently they really weren’t going to call the pot police on Dean. “Now we’re going to get an MRI of your heart, see that everything’s how it’s supposed to be.”
“Now? Like right now?”
“Unless there is somewhere you’re supposed to be”, Dr Foreman said.
Dean shrugged and climbed up from his bed. As he straightened himself, he stumbled a little and steadied himself by grabbing the bed rail.
“Woah, there”, Dr Foreman said, frowning. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Just a misstep, glad I didn’t trip”, Dean grunted and turned his head to see Sam. “I guess you have some time for yourself now.”
The message was clear. Sam smiled and nodded. He would go snoop around, of course he would.
But first he’d do something else. He watched as the doctors escorted Dean away. As they were out of sight, he dug out his phone and tapped the number in. Soon he was greeted by the familiar voicemail.
“Hi, Dad, it’s me again. Still in the hospital”, Sam said, his voice dripping with frustration. “Dean’s fine at the moment, but they think there might be something wrong with his heart. They’re checking it right now. It would be really great if you cared to answer the phone.”
Sam bit his lip. He wanted to scream.
It isn’t like you cared the last time. They told me my big brother was dying and you didn’t even care enough to answer the phone. We had to sort it out, just the two of us, once again. We last saw you only after I had to save us from a demon, but once it seemed like you could be the one in danger, we had to part again. You are so obsessed with avenging the imaginary version of our family that never had the chance to exist that you don’t care if Dean dies and I have to watch it happen, alone.
But he wouldn't say that. He ended the call and left the room.
-
“Danny, I know it gets loud and you may feel a bit claustrophobic, but we need you to stay still”, Cameron said to the microphone.
“Sorry, it’s just really hot in here. I mean, is this an MRI or a solarium?”
“If he starts panicking there, I guess we have our answer”, Chase mused and tapped the microphone open. “Do you mind answering some questions there? Would it distract you?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Cameron gave Chase a warning look. “You’re not trying to harass the poor guy into having a panic attack, are you?”
“Of course not”, Chase said. “Even though it would confirm Foreman’s hypothesis.”
“And compromise the MRI”, Foreman pointed out.
Chase spoke into the microphone again: “We need your medical history. Could you give us a quick rundown of your dead relatives?”
“Discrete”, Foreman commented.
“Well, my mom died in a house fire, so nothing medical about that.”
“I’m sorry”, Cameron said into the microphone.
“Don’t stress, Doc, I was four. Doesn’t really affect my life anymore.” Cameron could have sworn she heard a slight tone of irony in the man’s voice. “Her parents died in a car crash, so did my dad’s father. My other grandmother had breast cancer.”
“Two car accidents. That is a bit unlucky”, Foreman mumbled.
“It can’t be anything genetic if it’s on both sides of the family”, Cameron said.
“Unless he has a very unfortunate genetic cocktail”, Chase said and spoke into the microphone: “What caused the car accidents?”
“I don’t know. They were going too fast, I guess.”
“And how did the house fire start? The one that killed your mother?”
“A gas leak, maybe. I don’t know.”
“There was never an investigation?”
“Uh, yeah. There was. But I was four.”
“But you probably have heard the reason the fire started.”
“Sure. I did. It was a gas leak… Seriously, it is pretty hot in here. Are we done yet?”
“He’s stressed”, Cameron said.
“He’s just hot.”
“It’s not that hot”, Cameron rebutted and tapped the microphone open again. “Danny, we want you relaxed for this next part. Is there something you like to talk about?”
“Next part?” Foreman snorted. Cameron rolled her eyes. She had a suspicion Danny was a man who wanted to act tough. Guys like that didn’t want to know someone wanted to comfort them. It was better to act like making Danny relax was diagnostically relevant.
“Uh. My car.”
“Great. What kind of car do you have?” Cameron asked.
“Chevrolet Impala. 1967.”
“Sweet. That’s like the Swan 43 of cars, Chase”, Foreman said helpfully.
“Okay, champ”, Chase snorted. Cameron waved them to stop so she could open the microphone again.
“What color is it?”
“What color?” Danny sounded amused. “Black. She’s such a beauty, Doc. Once you’ve cleared me, we could maybe go for a spin. She’s right outside waiting.”
Well. At least he was relaxed. So they talked about Danny’s car, until Foreman spoke.
“I don’t want to gloat, but this scan seems pretty clear.”
Cameron frowned and looked at the computer screen in front of her.
“You were right”, she said. There was no damaged heart muscle, no inflammation, no scarring, there was nothing. “It wasn’t a heart attack.”
-
Sam was sitting on a bench in the hallway leading up to the chemo infusion area. He had tried to sip his coffee slowly while waiting for someone to show up. Finally he saw three women walking across the hallway. One of them was a nurse, one was clearly a patient, and one stayed behind as the nurse and the patient entered the infusion room.
“I’ll be right here”, the woman said and squeezed the other woman’s hand. As the door closed in front of her, she turned around and walked to the bench opposite of Sam. Their eyes met and they smiled at each other.
“So”, Sam said, nodding towards the door, “that’s where the magic happens?”
The woman laughed.
“Yep. They pump my sister full of that magic until she pukes her guts out.”
Shit. Sam was just about to start apologizing when the woman laughed again. She had a loud, reckless laugh that echoed from the bottom of her belly.
“I’m just messing with you. I mean, chemo sucks, it’s poison and it makes Jenny so sick, but I still want to kiss whoever came up with it. It has saved her life once already”, the woman said. “I’m Joanna, by the way.”
“Sam.”
“Well, Sam, what are you in for?” Joanna asked. There was a genuine, charming smile on her round face and a spark in her olive eyes.
“It’s my brother”, Sam said. “He may have a heart thing. They’re scanning it as we speak.”
“I’m sorry. I hope you’ll get some answers soon”, Joanna said.
“Yeah. Me too.” Sam would have actually preferred to talk about Dean, but he knew that wasn’t the reason he was sitting here like he was on call. “How long has your sister been sick?”
“She had a tumor in her ovary a couple of years ago. They got rid of it, but now it’s back.” Joanna sighed.
“That’s rough. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah.” Joanna nodded. “It’s harder this time. She’s an artist. When she got sick the last time, her art helped her through it. But now it’s like the colors are gone. She can’t pick up the pen even to doodle.”
If Dean was here, he would have seized on that, but Sam felt himself unable to do the same. “I’m sure it’s hard for you too.”
“It is. Once the cancer has been diagnosed once, the fear of it never really goes away.”
“I can imagine.”
“You know, I…” Joanna started and let out a sad little laugh. “I went to this self-help seminar once, after Jenny’s diagnosis. It was all bullshit, but they did make me realize something. They asked us if we knew what the longest relationship of a person’s life is. The correct answer was ‘the relationship with yourself’, which was too self-helpy for me.”
She chuckled.
“I think the actual answer is siblings. We only meet our partners as adults. Our parents leave us before we grow old.” A shrug. “Siblings are supposed to be there your whole life. And I’m so scared I will keep aging, keep living, and Jenny won’t be there.”
Sam felt his chest tighten.
“I think I understand how you feel”, he said and breathed out slowly. “This… This isn’t my brother’s first heart thing. He pulled it through the last time, but I’m scared that the lightning won’t strike twice.”
“It isn’t a lightning strike”, Joanna reminded. “It's the doctors. They care and they are doing their best for him.”
“Yeah… Yeah. It’s just that he has always been there, you know? He’s my big brother. All my childhood he was there, taking care of me, being a pain in my ass. Often simultaneously. Even when I moved away for school, I knew he’d be there if I needed him. I don’t have a great relationship with my dad, but I have never really felt like I don’t have a home to go back to. Because even if I can’t go to my dad, I can always go to him. But if he…” Sam’s voice faded away. He felt embarrassed for rambling. “Sorry. I don’t usually pour things out to strangers like this.”
Joanna smirked.
“I do it a lot. That’s what waiting rooms are for.”
That made Sam laugh.
“I hope you won’t have to get used to it, though”, Joanna continued. Sam smiled.
“Thanks.”
They smiled at each other silently. Finally the Dean within Sam made him ask a question he was supposed to ask: “How long has Jenny been treated here this time around?”
“Some weeks”, Joanna answered.
“And she hasn’t made art since the treatment started?”
“I know I sound like I’m over-reacting, but trust me, it’s such a long time for her”, Joanna said. “Jenny has this crazy creative energy. She draws and paints all the time. Especially when she’s sick. But now she can’t do that and it’s affecting her mood.”
“Are you sure her mood isn’t the reason she doesn’t make art?” Sam checked. “She’s going through chemo, it’d be normal to be a bit depressed.”
“Trust me, it’s the other way around.” Joanna shook her head. “I don’t get it either, Sam. I don’t know if it’s the tumor or the treatment or something else, but something has… I don’t know, stolen the creativity out of her.”
That could be the bitterness of a worried sister. It could also be something else. It could very well be somehow relevant.
“I believe you.”
Sam checked the clock and threw his take away cup in the trash. “I think I should go check if Dean is ready.”
“Good luck”, Joanna said. “You can always talk to me if you want to have a jam session to the classic tune of Waiting Room Blues.”
Sam couldn’t help but laugh.
As he made his way away from the oncology ward and into another hallway, he stopped to lean against a windowsill. He tried to think of any monsters or spirits that took away people’s creativity. They had just encountered shtrigas, witches who feasted on life force. Maybe that could include creative energy? Or maybe…
Sam’s train of thought was interrupted as he noticed a strange engraving in the windowsill. It was crass, scratched with a harp or a sharp pen, but it was unmistakenly some kind of a cross. Cross with three horizontal bars instead of one. The lowest horizontal bar was slanted. It looked instantly familiar. Sam took out a notebook and a pen and copied it on an empty page.
-
The cool air felt heavenly. Dean had felt so hot he would have wanted to rip his skin off. It had been torturous to just lie down, trying not to move. Dr Cameron’s smile was the first thing he saw as they rolled him out of the machine.
“Your MRI scan looked good”, Dr Cameron said. “We can rule out a heart attack.”
“Really?” Dean asked. “So is that it, can I just leave now?”
It was surprising, he had to admit. He did feel more validated in his earlier wish to get right back to work, but he didn’t like the implication that came with the earlier not being a heart attack. Dr Foreman had mentioned panic attacks before, and that was just bullshit. Dean would know if he had a panic attack, and he would not have one in the first place.
“We would like to do some more tests”, Dr Cameron said and she did continue talking, but Dean had trouble hearing her. He had just stood up and now there was strange humming in his ears, it was drowning out everything, just like tiny, white dots were drowning out his vision. He blinked and all he saw was white, all he heard was white, and then a rush went through his head, wiping it all out.
And then he was on the floor.
“I think he’s waking up already. So it was just a dizzy spell.”
Waking up? Who?
“Danny? Can you hear me?”
“Who…” Dean started before realizing Danny was him and correcting himself: “Whoooo. That felt weird.”
“Are you hurt?” Dr Cameron asked. Dean did feel rather sore, apparently he had fainted so suddenly no one had had the opportunity to catch him. However, his ego was far more bruised than his body.
“Nah. I’m fine.”
Dr Cameron gave him a quick, unconvinced smile. “Let’s get you back to your brother.”
-
“Me again. Yeah, for some reason I imagined you’d pick up this time. We’re still…”
“Dude.”
Sam spun around to see Dean and the doctors returning to the room. Shit. He ended the call and buried the phone in his pocket. Dean looked pissed.
“You called Dad?” he barked at Sam. The doctors looked confused. Sam took a deep breath.
“Yes, I called him”, he said. “I’ve been calling him since you had the heart attack. He’s not picking up, though.”
“Well good, because it wasn’t even a heart attack”, Dean spit out. “I’m fine.”
“He’s right, it wasn’t. But he did just faint in the MRI room”, Dr Foreman said.
“You fainted?” The relief Sam had felt for a second was washed away like a child’s sand castle.
Dean looked at Dr Foreman like he was Judas himself. “Isn’t that confidential, man?”
“You lose consciousness two times during the same day and wouldn’t let me bother Dad with it”, Sam said. “That is not normal.”
“You want to guilt him into coming here and that’s the last thing he needs”, Dean argued and it was so typical Sam could have punched him. “You know why he can’t come. He’s too busy and even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t be smart.”
Of course. Because tracking down the demon was too important and visiting his sick son wasn’t enough of a reason to possibly let the demon know where he was. Because one couldn’t possibly expect John Winchester to do the thing every parent on Earth was expected to do and make some sacrifices for his children.
“Even so, he could at least answer the phone”, Sam said. “He hasn’t even texted back.”
“He’s busy. Stop pestering him with something like this”, Dean mumbled and let Dr Foreman lead him back to his bed.
Something like this. Something like you, right. That’s what you mean. An urge to scream tried to consume Sam once again but he chose another option and left the room.
He was on his way to get another cup of coffee when he heard an Australian accent behind him. “Mr Merryweather, please wait.”
He stopped and faced Dr Chase.
“I’m sorry about that”, he said to the doctor.
“It’s fine. Families are complicated”, Dr Chase assured. “Can I ask you something, though?”
“Um, sure.”
“Why are you trying to reach your dad? Sounds like you don’t even want the guy here.”
Sam snorted.
“Yeah. I don’t”, he admitted. “But my brother wants him here, even if he doesn’t admit it. They… Well, as you said, families are complicated.”
“He seemed very concerned about your father’s time and feelings”, Chase noted.
“Yeah. He always is”, Sam said bitterly, rubbing his neck. “It’s kind of messed up, really. He’s this cleaner fish eating up all of Dad’s shit so Dad can go on doing whatever it is he tries to do with his life. I’ve just started to realize how hard he’s always tried to keep me and Dad from falling on our faces.”
There was a flicker of something in Dr Chase’s eye when he heard Sam speak. Maybe something resonated within him. It didn’t feel polite to ask.
“I’m sorry, was there something I could help you with?” Sam asked.
“Oh, yeah”, Dr Chase said and smiled warmly. “I just wanted to ask where you are staying. Since you’re not from around here. We want to phone the hotel and check for possible environmental factors for your brother’s symptoms.”
“Uh, sure”, Sam said. “It’s a motel quite near the city center. Comfort Inn.”
Dr Chase thanked him and walked away.
-
Wilson heard a knock on his office door.
“Come in.”
The door opened and he saw Chase standing there, leaning against the doorframe. There was a knowing smirk on Chase’s face.
“Did he tell you to break into their motel room?” Wilson asked him. His voice was casual, like he had asked if Chase had come to ask for a consult.
“No, but he will”, Chase said. The smirk wouldn’t dissolve. “And you know that, that’s why you’ve already nicked their room key.”
Wilson felt like laughing. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “Tell me, is working with House making us just a bit cynical?”
“Maybe”, Chase said, reaching out his open palm. Wilson chuckled and dug up something from his desk drawer. He dangled the keys in the air, the little number plaque twinkling in light. Wilson threw the keys at Chase who caught them.
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem.”
-
Cardiac arrest ? had been crossed over on the white board. Underneath it House had written Wilson is a moron. Even if it turned out to be a cardiac event, it was still a stupid conclusion to reach with nothing but an EKG and little brother’s little faith healer story to back it up.
He wrote up Syncope and turned to face his team. “So, any ideas?”
“I’m pretty sure he felt dizzy before”, Foreman mused. “When he stood up so we could make our way to get an MRI.”
“If you’re right, it happened twice right after standing up.” Cameron tapped a pen against her lips, pondering. “Orthostatic hypotension?”
“It would be strange, his blood pressure has been rather high when we’ve measured it. Maybe positional vertigo?”
“Or something’s causing him to be dizzy all the time and we just see it when he changes positions”, Cameron suggested. “Wolff-Parkinson-White could cause tachycardia and fainting.”
“POTS would tie the potential tachycardia into position changes. Could also be arrhythmia”, Foreman suggested. “We should do a stress test.”
It could be a good idea. However, more than Cameron’s and Foreman’s words, House was listening to Chase’s silence. The man was rubbing his chin, obviously in deep thought.
“Chase. You’re quiet for someone specializing in cardiology”, House said. “What’s your guess?”
Chase raised his gaze. “Faking.”
Cameron and Foreman looked bemused.
“Diagnostically boring, but go on.”
“A chronic case of big brother. Has always looked out for his brother and their father”, Chase spoke, rubbing his chin with his thumb in a nervous, pensive manner. “He goes to the oncology ward and sees how patients are taken care of. It nicks the chip on his shoulder. On a whim he fakes a very extreme symptom and the attention’s on him for a hot second. But he doesn’t know how to follow through, he has no plan, so the symptom just goes away. Then, after we tell him his MRI is clean he does his little fainting trick so we won’t discharge him. Maybe now little brother gets worried, maybe finally dad will come despite his protests. Maybe now he’ll be taken care of, for once. And he will not have to ask for it, he can go on acting like the tough guy who doesn’t want help.”
It was an interesting theory. Not for the reasons Chase thought it interesting, but it was. House grinned. “Thank you, for this brief glimpse into your screwed up little psyche.”
“My pleasure”, Chase said flatly.
“Doesn’t explain the ST elevation", Foreman pointed out.
“Maybe the EKG was botched.”
“Great, if we throw all the test results out, we can go right back to thinking it was a heart attack.”
“My theory is basically the same as yours”, Chase pointed out while glancing at Foreman.
“No, it’s not. Panic attack is a symptom.”
“But we both think the patient is a bit bonkers.”
“About that. Did you find out why they snuck into the oncology ward?” House interrupted the bickering before it had a chance to start.
“No reason, really. It was a dare”, Cameron answered.
House stared at her.
“No”, he said slowly. “They told you it was a dare.”
“And everybody lies?” Chase filled in.
“Yep”, House said, popping the P. “If you sneak into a hospital for a dare, you may wear a prank shop white coat. You may even have a plastic stethoscope, if you’re really committed. You do not wear a proper white coat, a dress shirt and a fake hospital ID. I mean I could do that, but not these two clowns.”
“So what do you think they were doing?”
“Don’t I have a team to find me that information?” House asked. “Go search their motel room.”
“To diagnose him or to find out if he has a suitcase full of nothing but latex gloves, proving this whole doctor thing is actually his fetish?” Foreman checked.
“What do you think of me? The latter.”
“We could also search his car. It’s parked in hospital grounds”, Cameron suggested. Chase snorted and shook his head.
“Oh, yeah. The 1967 Chevrolet Impala. She’s such a beauty, Doc”, Chase said, apparently mocking the patient because otherwise the words did not make sense. It seemed like he was way more offended by the guy possibly hitting on Cameron than by him possibly faking a heart attack.
“1967 Chevrolet Impala?” House repeated so he could make sure Chase wasn’t just making up words.
“Yup.” Foreman nodded. Well damn. House rose up.
“Chase and Cameron, you search the hotel room”, House said and made his way to the door. “Foreman and I are going to check out that car.”
-
“Wow. How neat is that?”
“It is a sweet ride, I have to admit.”
“If you can break into that car in less than half a minute, I’ll admit your brain hasn’t been completely scrambled”, House challenged him. Foreman huffed.
“Half a minute? Please.”
Foreman almost told House about the thing his brother used to say about him. “Eric can break into a car quicker than most people can get into it by using their keys.” However, such an anecdote would have amused House way too much.
When House had first revealed he had hired Foreman because of his history in stealing cars, he had been offended. He still was, to some extent, but he had proven himself enough times to be a damn good doctor, so it didn’t really matter anymore. And it did beat being hired for nepotism or for being pretty.
He shuffled through his pockets for paper clips and started working on the lock. He didn’t even need to kneel down. The lock clicked open and Foreman opened the door, self-satisfied.
“You’re so cool”, House complimented and slipped in. Foreman smiled shortly and started picking the lock to the car’s trunk. House started rummaging through the glovebox.
“I’m starting to like this guy. Sweet car, has a great taste in music...” he heard House commenting. Foreman opened the trunk and stopped on his tracks.
“House, you better come see this.”
-
“So, have you calmed down?”
“I could ask you the same thing”, Sam said and sat down next to Dean’s bed. “You know I’m not calling him just to be an ass, right?”
“Yeah yeah. Let’s not talk about that”, Dean said. He looked antsy, but he was probably just anxious to skip the sentimental chitchat. “What did you find out?”
Sam dug up his notebook and started leafing through it.
“Spoke to a patient’s sister. Ever since the sister started receiving treatment here, she’s been unable to draw. She’s an artist.”
“What did the patient say?”
“I didn’t talk to her. I hit it off with her sister.” Sam shrugged. “We had things in common.”
“Her sister has cancer. Your brother feels a bit gross.”
“Whatever, man”, Sam sighed and showed Dean the cross he had scribbled in his notebook. “I also found this. Someone had carved this into a windowsill. It wasn’t the only one either, I saw them in many windowsills and doorframes.”
Dean frowned. “Is that, like, a satanic thing?”
“No.” Sam laughed and shook his head. He traced the lines with his finger as he explained: “It’s a Russian Orthodox cross, used in many Orthodox churches in Eastern Europe. See, the top bar represents the plaque Pilate put up for Jesus, INRI. The bottom bar is slanted because of the two thieves who were crucified along with Jesus. You know, one goes down, one goes to be with Jesus in Paradise.”
Dean snorted.
“You’re such a nerd.”
“We’re demon hunters”, Sam deadpanned, “and one of the defenses we like to use are crosses. I don't think it’s that nerdy to know them.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Dean closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. Then he continued again: “But what do these crosses tell us?”
“Not sure yet, but I think it’s probable they’re for protection, right? They’re on doorframes and windows. Someone wants something to stay out”, Sam said. “And I think it’s more likely to be an Eastern European creature than just an Eastern European person trying to keep it away. Otherwise they’d just draw regular crosses, but whoever is trying to keep this thing away must think it would respond to this cross.”
“Okay, detective”, Dean hummed. “So what now?”
“Well.” Sam smiled and folded his notebook. “This is a Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. There must be a university somewhere nearby. Maybe I’ll find someone who’s a true nerd for this stuff.”
“Good thinking. Remember to also talk to Dr Wilson, and…” Dean started and shut his eyes again. He swallowed. It looked painful, like he was swallowing nails. Sam leaned closer.
“Are you okay? Feeling light-headed again?”
“Piss off.”
“Does your chest hurt? I can call a nurse.”
“Stop being such a baby”, Dean murmured. “It’s fine. I just feel a bit nauseous. Must be the food, the guys in Rikers Island eat better than this.”
Sam chuckled, glad it wasn’t something more serious. “I’ll bring you a burger when I get back.”
“I don’t believe in angels but you’re testing me.”
-
Cameron was eyeing Chase as they walked past the motel reception and started locating the room. Room seven wasn’t hard to find and the receptionist obviously hadn’t paid the two of them any attention. Chase opened the door with ease and they stepped in. Cameron frowned and crouched down.
“Is that cocaine?” Chase asked and closed the door behind them.
“Obviously not”, Cameron said and took out her rubber gloves. “It’s salt. Why wouldn’t they sweep it up after spilling it?”
“Maybe it’s all a part of Danny’s burn out”, Chase considered. Cameron huffed and stood up, putting a sample of salt in her pocket in a small plastic zip bag.
“Danny isn't burnt out. You and House always do that”, Cameron accused. Chase lifted his eyebrows.
“Do what?”
“You always blame the parents”, Cameron said and started investigating the nightstands. “Someone could come in with a broken ankle and you’d say it happened because their mother was drunk once when they were five.”
“I’m not blaming anyone”, Chase said. “The little brother said Danny is always the one cleaning up after the family. Father included.”
“Yeah, that’s what youngest siblings do. They always see the worst in their family”, Cameron said, going through the drawers. She found a book, it looked like a scrap book. “Didn’t God tell his people to honor thy parents? You did go to seminary school.”
“Considering I went to seminary school and you didn’t, I think I may have a somewhat deeper understanding of the commandments”, Chase pointed out. Fair enough. Cameron didn’t even believe in God, she had just wanted to make Chase uncomfortable. Chase was going through the brothers’ clothes. He pulled out different clothes and showed them to Cameron. Some of them did look like disguises.
“We do not know these people or their family”, Cameron said. “We shouldn’t judge them. Their father lost his wife when the brothers were small, that’s got to be hard.”
“Yeah, poor bastard. Makes you really understand why he won’t visit his son”, Chase mumbled. He had found something that looked like a wallet and he was going through different cards.
“Danny himself said…”
“I don’t think that’s his name”, Chase interrupted.
What on Earth could the man be talking about? Cameron closed a drawer and walked over to Chase as he was laying different credit cards on the table. Each one had a different name.
“Well, damn”, Cameron said, picking up a card. “I guess everybody lies.”
-
“You broke into my car?”
“Aw, come on. It’s a very nice car”, House said. “It made me want to visit you. You should be thrilled. Foreman here knows how rare it is for me to do this.”
Danny was sweating more than before. He looked significantly sicker than the last time Foreman had laid eyes on him. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ll tell you when you tell me why you broke into my car.”
“Don’t be like that”, House said and walked closer. “Not when I’ve just found out you have a sick collection of cassettes. Oh, and weapons.”
Danny seemed suspicious and mumbled something under his breath. “Christo.”
“What?”
“Chr-... Christ on a cracker, you can’t just break into a guy’s car”, Danny said. House frowned and sat on a chair next to Danny's bed.
“You’re not very sharp. And your breathing’s very thick”, he noted. He touched the man’s forehead and checked his eyes. Foreman heard a loud sniffing sound.
“Hm.” House stood up and took a few steps back. “Fruit.”
“What?” Danny breathed out, too confused to know if he was supposed to be offended.
“Oh, you may be wondering why I stepped away”, House said. “It’s because you’re going to start puking any moment now.”
Right on cue Danny grabbed his stomach and started heaving. Vomit started to pour out of the man violently and Foreman rushed to give him a kidney dish to throw up in.
“His breath smelled fruity. A sign of ketoacidosis”, House summed up.
“Something’s attacking his kidneys?” Foreman asked.
“Maybe”, House said, walking away from the treatment room. “ But unless we want the little brother to inherit a box full of Van Halen, we better get him some insulin very soon."
-