Chapter Text
Appendicitis, as you had recently discovered, was a torture that you wouldn’t wish upon your worst enemy.
“You go in, they cut you open, they take the damn thing out, then you come home and pig out on ice cream while Sam and I wait on you hand and foot,” Dean promised before you went in for the surgery.
That earned him a punch and a bitchface from Sam, who gave you a warm smile and said “It’s a simple procedure, Y/N. People get it done all the time. The doctors are pros at appendectomies.”
If you weren’t in so much pain, you would laugh hysterically at how different the brothers’ words of encouragement had been. And at how wrong they had been. The surgery went smoothly and you were back home at the bunker within a day. Then the infection developed, igniting a raging fever along with the pain. As a hunter, you were pretty used to pain, and had quite a high tolerance for it; but the fever was almost unbearable. You had a violent cough, a stuffy nose, an ever present migraine, and you couldn’t keep any food down. The lack of nourishment weakened you, so that every movement you tried to make was a struggle.
Of course, as soon as you showed the first sign of being sick after the surgery, Dean rushed you back to the hospital. After looking you over, and being threatened multiple times by your worrisome boyfriend, the doctor prescribed a whole bunch of medications; as well as instructions for Dean to keep you bedridden and well rested. All of that happened only yesterday, but you felt like you’ve been sick for weeks. Obviously, you had to take a break from hunting for a while, and Dean insisted on doing the same in order to nurse you back to health.
Sam, on the other hand, had taken on a relatively close-by case that morning. He had told you what was happening in the small town a few hours away as well as what he assumed he was hunting, but you were too delirious to remember what he said. After he left, you spent the day in bed, sleeping and watching movies on your laptop. Dean had tried to coax you into eating, but the soup he fed you only made you queasy. That night, around 11pm, Dean got a call.
“Hello? Yes this is Clark Wayne.”
You chuckled to yourself at that fake name. No matter how much he denied it, your boyfriend was a total dork. Your smile faded instantly when you saw Dean’s expression; his face was stern but his eyes were wide.
“Yes, I am Bruce Kent’s emergency contact,” he confirmed to the person on the phone.
Clark Wayne and Bruce Kent? You knew what that meant. Something was wrong. With Sam.