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The pain and exhaustion from the head injury haven't left Sam in three days. That might be a bad sign, but hey, what are you gonna do? He's hidden it pretty well from Dean. Mostly by staying in his room though.
Dean knocks on Sam's door one morning. "Up and at 'em. Jody called. She found us a case in North Carolina."
Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "How long of a drive is that?"
"Eighteen hours and one minute. Pack light. It's, like, 80 degrees with 110% humidity." Sam groans. "Hurry up."
• • •
Sam wakes up at noon when Dean's pulling off the highway. Dean's sixth sense alerts him that Sam is awake although he hasn't moved or spoken. "Saw a sign for a fast food joint. Want anything?"
Sam clears his throat and sits up. The thought of food makes him nauseous so he says, "No."
"You sure? You didn't have anything for breakfast."
"I'm sure."
"You feelin' okay?"
Sam doesn't look at his brother as he answers, "Fine."
• • •
At about three, Sam wakes up again. He gives himself a minute, waiting for the fog to clear in his brain. "Tell me about this case," he says.
Dean reaches beside him, between the seat and the door, and pulls out some papers. Sam takes them and flips through them. Then flips through them again. "What do you think it is?"
"Shifter, Sam," Dean says, like it should be incredibly obvious. "Goo found at the crime scenes. That one woman who saw her neighbor even though he was across the country at the time."
"Right. Must've missed that..." Sam trails off.
• • •
The next day, when Sam gets out of the car at the police station, he decides that he Officially Hates North Carolina. Do the people here like humidity? Drowning in their own sweat? "It's like one of the nine circles of Hell," Sam mutters.
Dean laughs. He slams his door shut; the sound makes Sam wince.
When they enter the station, they're hit with another wave of heat. Fantastic. The A/C is broken.
"Can I help you gentlemen?"
Sam keeps his eyes trained on the floor as they walk to the front desk, concentrating on walking like a person without a head injury. He's praying for the dizziness to subside. It wasn't bad before, mostly just the headache. He leans heavily against the counter. "We're here to talk to the suspect," Dean says.
"You're the FBI agents," the cops says.
"Yes, sir."
"Come on back."
Sam starts to follow them, or rather the blurry shapes he assumes to be his brother and the police officer. He's unsteady on his feet. He stumbles. He feels Dean grab his arm, holding him up. Then it goes black.
• • •
He wakes on an extremely uncomfortable couch that is far too small for him. His eyes wander around. He sees Dean beside him. His mouth moves but Sam can't hear anything. His eyes start to drift closed again but someone shakes his shoulder. Sam keeps his eyes closed; maybe if Dean thinks he's asleep, he'll leave him alone. Then Dean pushes his knuckles against the center of Sam's chest, hard. Sam almost jolts up but Dean's hands push him back. Sam thinks he can make out the word sorry on his brother's lips. Sam's eyes wander again, meeting those of the cop from before. Dean's waving hand shoos the man away.
Sam feels something resting on his forehead and lifts a hand to see what it is. Dean grabs Sam's wrist. Leave it. Sam sees the words on his brother's mouth. Dean says more but Sam can't make it out. Dean shakes his shoulder again, gentler this time. He looks worried. Why does Dean look worried? Then Sam starts to freak out because why is he laying on a couch? Why can't he hear anything? Then he tries to say something but nothing comes out. He reaches for Dean, attempting to grab onto his suit sleeve. Dean puts a hand on his chest. It's okay. He keeps talking and then Sam can finally hear the words. "...passed out, but you're gonna be fine. You must have a concussion. I don't know how I didn't see it earlier. Can you hear me yet?" Sam nods. Dean visibly relaxes. "Can you talk?" Sam tries but nothing comes out. He must look scared because Dean says, "That's okay. Give it a minute. That happens sometimes." Sam nods even though he's still scared. "Want something to drink?" Sam nods again. Dean grabs a water bottle from a table beside him. He helps Sam lift his head and puts the bottle to his lips. "Better?" Dean asks as he puts the water back. Sam nods a little. "It's, like, a hundred degrees in here, so it's no wonder you passed out especially since you already felt like shit, right?"
"Yeah," Sam croaks out.
"Hey, he speaks!" Dean grins. "How do you feel?"
"Head hurts." Dean nods. "Nauseous."
"Like you're gonna throw up?"
"No." Dean nods again. "Tired."
"No sleeping," Dean orders. "Not for a little while." Sam nods reluctantly. "Alright, so the Sheriff says he's friends with a local doc and he's gonna come over a take a look at you." Sam sighs and nods.
• • •
Ten minutes later, after Dean has left to talk to the suspect, there's a knock on the door and someone comes in, a doctor. Sam takes the wet washcloth off his forehead and slowly sits up. His head still hurts like hell and he still feels dizzy.
"Agents Waters," the doctor greats Sam. "I'm Dr. Barret." He pulls up a chair and sits in front of Sam. "So I talked to your partner. He said you sustained a head injury three days ago?" He says it like a question.
"Yeah. A, um, suspect pushed me hard. I hit a wall."
"Okay." Dr. Barret smiles. "I'm just going to ask you some questions and examine you to make sure everything is okay. Sound good?"
"Works for me."
Dr. Barret leans down and opens a black medical bag. "When you hit your head, did you lose consciousness?" He takes out a pen light and clicks it on.
"No."
Dr. Barret holds up a finger. "Look here." He shines the light in Sam's eyes, flicking the pen back and forth. He clicks the light off and sets it down. "So how've you been feeling?"
"Headache that won't quit for days. Nauseous. Uh, I've been sleeping a lot."
Dr. Barret then takes a blood pressure cuff out of the bag along with a thermometer. He sticks the thermometer under Sam's tongue and wraps the cuff around his arm.
Sam wishes he weren't there. That the monster would gank itself and he and his brother could get back in the Impala and drive away from this sauna of a police station. He just wants to sleep. Whether in the motel room or the Bunker. Hell, even in the Impala.
Also it would be nice if his head could stop pounding and his stomach stop turning.
Dr. Barret then unwraps the cuff and takes off his stethoscope, putting both back in his bag. The thermometer beeps so he takes that out and looks at it before putting it away. "Do you mind if I test your blood sugar levels?" he asks.
"That's fine." Sam cuts his hand open on a monthly basis so what's a little needle stick.
"All right." The doctor takes out the little machine. Sam holds out his hand. Dr. Barret swipes an alcohol pad across the tip of Sam's finger. He then puts the needle over Sam's finger. It clicks and the needle punctures the skin, drawing blood. Dr. Barret disposes of the needle and then takes the reader and puts it to Sam's finger, drawing up the blood. The machine beeps a few seconds later.
"Agent, what've been your eating and drinking habits over the past few days?"
Almost embarrassed for himself, Sam says, "Um. I haven't really had anything to eat or drink since I got hurt. Felt too nauseous."
"Mm." The doctor nods. "That explains it." Sam raises his eyebrows in confusion. "You're dehydrated and your blood sugar is low since you haven't eaten anything."
"Oh."
"Luckily for you," Dr. Barret reaches in his bag "I brought a bag of saline with me." He holds up an IV bag with clear fluid in it. "Okay, so I'll get you started on this. I'll tell your partner what's going on and then I'm gonna go get you some nauseous medication so you can eat some food. Did you take anything for the pain?"
"No."
"Okay then I'll get you some ibuprofen too."
"Thanks, Doc." Sam smiles slightly.
• • •
Sam wakes up what appears to be a few hours later. He notices Dean sitting in a chair by his feet, reading a magazine. "Dean?"
Dean turns to look at him and now Sam can see his black eye and a bandage on his head. "Sammy, hey."
"Are you okay?"
Dean reaches up and touches his eye lightly. "Yeah. It's a good thing the doc was here for you. He patched me up. It's good too because I hate having to do my own stitches and it was nice to have lidocaine for once."
"Stitches?" Reflexively, Sam sits up, wanting to check on his brother. Pain pulses through his head and he realizes he never got the pain meds, or the nausea meds, from Dr. Barret." He winces, barely, but enough for Dean to notice.
"Whoa, hey, lay back down," Dean instructs. "Relax. I'm fine." Sam exhales a shaky breath and leans back on the pillows. "Better than you, probably."
"Funny," Sam replies sarcastically. Dean smirks. "What happened?"
"The guy I interrogated gave me intel. I had to move fast. Got the shifter." Dean holds up his right hand to show Sam the bandage wrapped around it. "Wasn't easy, but I ganked it." He drops his hand.
"Where's the doc?"
"Outside with the officers. I told him not to wake you up, that you needed your sleep. That and I figured that if you woke up and saw I was gone, you'd climb out the window and go after me." Sam smiles. "He said once the bag's empty and you're awake, to go get him. He said he wants to check you over again and then we can leave."
"Then go tell him," Sam says. "I wanna get out of here."
"Where do you want to go?"
"Let's go home."