Hooligan's Holiday for Serawade 1/3
Aug. 25th, 2012 12:03 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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spn_summergenTitle: Hooligan's Holiday
Author: rince1wind
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
serawade
Rating: R for language
Warnings: (not optional - see note below) Strong language
Author's Notes: (optional) SPN/House crossover. Title taken from "Hooligan's Holiday" by Motley Crue. Quite Dean-centric.
Summary: Sam's deathly ill; Dean takes him to the nearest ER--Princeton Plainsboro in New Jersey. They unintentionally bring a case with them
1.
"Not interested."
"Fatigue but difficulty sleeping, rapid heartbeat, bulging eyes, -"
"Graves' disease, Dr. Cuddy. Graves' ophthalmopathy, aka bulging eyes." Dr. House turned his head as he walked to demonstrate. "You don't need me for that."
House kept moving, his long stride - despite the limp - forcing Cuddy to tap-tap-tap along behind him in her heels. She pulled out another chart and opened the folder. "This one's unusual. Inability to cry or salivate. Patient has had other symptoms, was diagnosed originally as lupus, and responded well to medication with the lupus-like symptoms -"
"It is lupus, and you're right, it is interesting, though hardly difficult to diagnose. It's Sjogren's syndrome, a disorder of the immune system. Often accompanies rheumatoid arthritis and - lupus." House stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the down button. He looked at Cuddy. "Relieve the symptoms. Not much else to do. It'll get better with time."
Cuddy tucked the stack of charts under her arm. "House, this is ridiculous. You have to do something here. You get paid to see patients, not wander around irritating your colleagues."
The elevator arrived, and the doors opened. The car was empty. House got in, but Cuddy held the door open. She said, "If one of these more unusual cases doesn't interest you, there's always the clinic. They could use another pair of hands. Which is it?"
House smiled at her, knowing it was the expression of his she found the most irritating. "I have to go see a man about a horse at the moment. A sick horse. I'm needed elsewhere, Dr. Cuddy. Healing the ill, et cetera." He pushed her arm gently away from the elevator door.
As the doors began to close, Dr. Cuddy let out a groan of exasperation. She shouted, "House! You have one hour to find a case or find the clinic!"
The doors closed.
2.
Dean ignored the "no parking" signs and skidded to a stop, jerked open the car door and leapt over the hood to the other side of the Impala. He grabbed the handle of the passenger door and pulled it open. Shit - Sammy was still seizing. Dean reached in to get his brother under the arms to get him out of the car without hurting him.
This was so bad he didn't even want to think about it. What had been a simple - okay, kinda deep - slashing from a busaw had gone way wrong. Despite Dean's care from day one, it had been infected by day three. In the middle of a low-level ghost hunt, Sam had gone white, swayed on his feet for a couple of minutes and fallen hard to the ground. The ghost missed Sam on account of it, and that gave Dean the space to burn its bones, so Dean thought for a minute Sam had dropped on purpose. But no, Sam was out cold and hot with fever. By the time Dean got him back to the hotel, Sam was seizing, seizing hard. Dean took him to the closest hospital - Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.
So here they were, Dean trying to drag Sam, who was still shaking like a sonofabitch and scaring his big brother near senseless, into the ER. Dean hated hospitals. He hated 'em for himself and he especially hated 'em for Sam. He wouldn't be allowed to stay with him, he'd have to play all sorts of games with names for insurance and such, and he never knew what the hell they were talking about. Sam was the one who knew that shit, and it didn't look like Sam was going to be explaining anything for a while.
Damn. He hoped Sam was going to be okay.
Halfway up the brightly lit ramp some guys in scrubs met Dean with a stretcher. It took some doing to get Sam, stiff and shaking, onto it, and his legs from the knees down weren't even supported, but it was better than dragging him, and, man, Sam was heavy, so even though Dean didn't want to give him up to a bunch of strangers, he really didn't have much choice. He caught his breath while the medical dudes carefully carried Sam up to the hospital doors, then loped to catch up with them. They took Sam right into a room, beckoning for Dean to go too, and told him someone would be in for triage in a minute.
"Please sit down, sir," one of 'em said to Dean, and Dean wanted to punch him for the stupidity of it. He caught his temper though, knowing it was fear. Tucking it into the deeper part of his brain (where he never went unless he had to), Dean said, "Thanks," instead.
He couldn't sit though, not with Sammy like this. Thank whatever that he'd stopped seizing and was now just unconscious. Maybe he was just asleep.
Dean walked over to Sam, strapped to the bed so if he had another seizure he wouldn't fall off. Really hating that, Dean said quietly, "Sam? Sammy? You just sleeping now?" Dean tried a little louder, hoping like hell, but knowing sure as anything that Sam wasn't any better and they were in the best place for him.
Sam lay there, his giant of a little brother, eyes finally closed, eyelashes dark above his cheeks. His long, dark hair flopped over his face and Dean gently moved it away from his eyes and mouth, pushing it behind his ear. Sam didn't move at his touch. He felt hot. Jesus, he was burning up.
The triage nurse, a lady of about fifty, came in and asked the usual bunch of hospital questions. Name, rank, insurance number. He'd give them the names they'd been using, in case Sammy woke up when Dean wasn't there to tell him stuff.
"Vince Neil," he said. "This here is my brother Sam Maloney. Half-brother," he said, before she could ask. They had fake insurance in both names, so that was cool. Maybe for once luck would be on their side and there wouldn't be any trouble. "When is a doc gonna come see him?"
"As soon as someone is available," she said. She thanked him and left.
Dean paced for about a thousand years, making sure by sheer power of thought that Sam didn't start seizing again. Much more of it and there'd be brain damage for sure.
A footstep behind him - Dean whirled around, one hand clenched into a fist, the other ready to go for his knife. Seeing the girl in the lab coat, he remembered where he was and forced himself to back down and relax. Yeah, Sam was where he oughta be, and Dean probably shouldn't be here till he'd had a couple of beers and chilled the hell out.
"Miss?" Dean said, politely as he could, given the amount of adrenaline still pumping through him.
"Doctor," the girl said firmly. "Dr. Alison Cameron. And you are?"
"You're a doc?" Holy shit, they were making 'em prettier these days.
"Yes, I'm Dr. Cameron."
Oops. She didn't like that. Gotta be more careful.
"Sorry, Dr. Cameron, I just didn't expect someone as uh young as you. My bad."
She smiled. "It's all right, Mr. Neil. That does happen from time to time. And the patient is your brother, Sam, age 23?"
"Yeah, that's right. He's really sick, and um I thought I'd better bring him in."
"So tell me about what happened."
A busaw we were hunting got too close and slashed the hell out of my brother's chest with its filthy, sharp claws. I cleaned out the cuts and sewed him up like I have a million times before but this time it's no good. This time, though, he gets really sick and has to pass out right in front of me before I can tell he needs a hospital.
Yeah. Right.
"My brother and me were out a few days ago hunting. We got separated and the next thing I heard was Sam shoutin' to me and his gun went off. By the time I found him the uh bear had run off and Sam was on the ground, hurt."
She looked him in the eye and asked, "A bear attacked your brother? In New Jersey?"
He flushed. "No! We weren't hunting in New Jersey. We were in Wisconsin, northern Wisconsin, at the time."
"And what hospital did you take him to after the bear attack?"
"Hospital? Um, well, we weren't near one, actually. So I cleaned him up. And I had a coupla Red Cross classes a while ago, so I sewed him up, too."
The look on her face he wasn't sure if it meant she didn't believe him or she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"I was real careful, Doc. We have a top-notch first aid kit."
She said slowly, "Because Mr. Neil you and your brother hunt a lot."
Was that a question? Dean really hated hospitals.
"Um. Yeah?"
She seemed to give up for the time being. Dean was sweating bad, he was so uncomfortable. Dr. Cameron carefully didn't look at him - he could tell - and moved over to Sam's bed. She put the chart down at the foot and turned to Dean.
"You'll have to leave now, Mr. Neil -"
"Vince, please."
"All right. Vince, I'm going to have to ask you to leave for a bit; we're going to get Sam into a hospital gown and examine him completely. The waiting room is right down the hall to the left."
"Whoa Shouldn't I be here in case he wakes up? I don't want him to freak out or anything. " Because the last thing he'll probably remember is digging up a grave and who knows what he'll say if he's still kinda out of it. And also, Dean didn't want Sammy to freak out. He'd most likely been keeping to himself how bad his chest hurt, hoping it'd get better by itself. Contrary to all indications. So finding himself in a hospital with some chick doctor poking him all over might be kinda freaky. Actually, it might be kinda hot.
Dean realized the doctor was speaking. He looked up at her.
"- come and let you know right away if he wakes up."
"Right. Okay. Waiting room where again?"
"Down the hall to the left." A light knock on the room's half-open door made her glance in that direction. A couple men in white jackets walked in.
Dr. Cameron said, "Vince, these are the other doctors on the diagnostics team: Dr. Foreman and Dr. Chase."
Dean saw two guys, both pretty young. Foreman was black, Chase was white, about the same height; both, like Dr. Cameron, looked pretty well put-together. Foreman's hair was cut close and a wariness in his eye told Dean he was no suburbanite. Chase's hair was verging on the Sam-ish. It was longer and kinda floppy. It made Dean kind of warm to the guy.
On the other hand, now Dean felt outnumbered.
Sam's hair had fallen over his eyes again. Honest to God, he just looked asleep. Maybe Dean shouldn't of brought him here. Maybe he'd just got overexcited and for that there was gonna be hell to pay. Looking down at his sick brother, Dean forgot himself again and pushed Sam's hair away from his face. Sam was boiling. Yeah, he was pretty sick.
He looked up to see all three docs watching him closely. Self-consciously he cleared his throat. "Um... He's been burnin' up for a while now. He might be gettin' dehydrated."
Dr. Chase nodded. "Good point, Mr. -?"
Cameron interjected, "Neil."
"Vince's fine," said Dean.
Chase continued, "We'll get him on some hydration right away."
Huh. English? Na, Australian? Yeah. Australian, like Crocodile Dundee. Dean had a sudden urge to try to make Dr. Chase say, "g'day, mate," but he left it alone. No need to look even weirder than he and Sam probably looked already.
"Well, then," he said, "I guess I'll be in the waiting room. Down the hall and to the right, right?"
He left the Three Docs (like a band name, a really bad band name) and Sammy in the sterile little room and made his way to the waiting room. It was late and there was no one else in there. Dean paced for a while, finally giving in to sit down in a puffy lounge chair, putting his head in his hands.
3.
"Mr. Neil. Vince."
A woman's voice. Its owner was shaking his arm. Dean had to work to dig his way up through several layers of sleep before he got to the surface. Before he remembered where the hell he was, he said, "Yeah, that's me, darlin' , I'm ready to rumble," and a smothered laugh drew him up the rest of the way to consciousness.
Shit. He was at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital waiting to see how Sam was doing and the voice belonged to the chick doctor.
He sat up straight and apologized. "I'm sorry, ma'am uh, Doctor. I guess I fell asleep. Musta been dreaming."
Dr. Cameron smiled at him, her pretty eyes crinkling. "It's all right, Vince."
He smiled back. "You're probably the prettiest doctor in this hospital," he said.
She sat down on a chair next to his but said nothing. He figured she was letting him wake up a little. A few more people sat and stood in the waiting room now. Dean wondered what time it was, whether it was still night or whether the sun was up. He could eat a horse if it stood still long enough, and he wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee.
"How's my brother?" he said.
"We were able to stop the seizing," Dr. Cameron said. "We used a cooling blanket and ice packs to bring down the fever. His temperature was 105 when you brought him in."
"105! Holy shit! Sorry, I mean. Was it my fault? Because I took care of him myself?"
But how could that even be? He and Sam and Dad, they'd been taking care of each other's injuries and illnesses since Dean was a little kid. They hardly ever went to the hospital. It was like a rule: you don't go to the hospital unless there's no other way. If it was Dean's fault that Sam was so sick, he was never going to forgive himself.
Dean felt sick himself now, like he might throw up. He was supposed to look after Sam, not drag him into hunt after hunt with an infected wound.
"No, no," she put her hand on his arm. "You did an incredible job. Better, actually, than I could have done. It's hard to believe you haven't had any medical training."
The sick feeling drained away, leaving Dean weak. Thank God, whatever this was, it wasn't his doing. "But the wound is infected anyway?" he asked.
"It doesn't seem to be an infection per se," Dr. Cameron said, frowning. "We can't find anything else on or in Sam's body that could be causing such a high fever, yet there's no drainage, not even any swelling. However, it isn't healing. The gashes are seeping blood continually, and, though we've cooled your brother down for the moment, he's still under the cooling blanket. We don't know what will happen when we remove it."
Dean rubbed his face with his hand. "Can I see him?" he asked.
"I'm afraid not, not right now. The cooling apparatus requires a temperature-controlled room and we can't go in and out. It's probably best - it can look pretty alarming to family."
"I'm more alarmed not to see him at all," Dean said, sitting back in his chair.
"So what do you think it is, if it's not an infection?"
"We're doing more blood tests right now. If Sam's temp stays down after we take him off the cooling apparatus, we might do an MRI."
"Basically, then, you got no idea. And that means you can't fix it."
"Yep, so far I'd say that's exactly what it means." The Aussie accent announced the arrival of Dr. Chase. He'd come through the doorway behind Dean, and Dean hadn't even heard him step up. He'd been thrown off his game.
Dean looked around and nodded at Dr. Chase. "Yo," he said. "Dr. Chase."
"Mr. Neil. Vince." Chase sat down, too.
It was like a frickin' tea party now. What about Foreman, the guy Dean hadn't heard talk yet? Surely he'd been invited too. Hope he got there before the cookies ran out.
This was stupid. Were they gonna be able to help Sam or not?
Chase caught Cameron's eye, like he thought Dean wouldn't notice. Cameron wasn't smiling anymore, and she nodded back at Chase. Uh-oh, bad sign.. He waited for it.
And here it came.
"We think something Sam ingested might be working to prevent clotting and repair. Can you tell us about anything your brother might have eaten or drunk the day of the attack or the day or two following it?" Chase asked carefully.
Why was he being so cautious with that question? Dean was missing something. "Sure, I can tell you what I saw him eat. He mighta had some kinda snack I was unaware of. We're together a lot, for work, you know, but not every minute, right?"
"Of course."
There was something not quite right going on, but for the life of him, Dean couldn't suss it out. Later.
"Well, for breakfast, Sam had waffles and coffee. For lunch we stopped at a diner and he had a turkey sandwich and a really crappy-looking salad. We mighta had a bag of chips around 4:30. We didn't get dinner that night. We were hunting and didn't manage to bring anything for the road." He thought. "And right afterward he had a beer and some antibiotics and a painkiller, not a heavy-duty one."
Cameron said drily, "You weren't kidding about your well-stocked first-aid kit. Antibiotics and painkillers?"
Dean wasn't going to even talk about how they got their stuff. It wasn't any of their business. They were supposed to be figuring out how to fix Sam.
Chase said, "What antibiotics and what painkiller?"
"I don't really remember," Dean said. Then the penny dropped.
"Okay, so my care of the injury was fine, but you think maybe I gave him something that screwed him up? What kind of shitty idea is that? You better not be thinking I did something like that on purpose. I would never hurt Sammy. It's my job to keep him safe."
"Really? With all this 'hunting' you do?" said Chase. Dean didn't like the look of the ever-so-slight sneer he detected at the left side of the guy's upper lip. "We looked your brother over and he is covered in scars, many very fine, barely visible, but they're all over his body. What kind of 'hunting' do you two do?"
Dean stood up, forcing the two doctors to sit back to avoid being bumped. "I'm not going into that. It's none of your business what we hunt." Damn, he needed coffee and some food. Badly. He couldn't think straight.
They gawped at him for a second, then they stood up too. He shoved past them, ignoring the apology on Cameron's face. They followed him to the door of the waiting room. "When I get back I want to see Sam," he said. "I'm gonna see him even if he's still in the cooling thing blanket, all right? I see you guys asking me a lot of questions, acting like maybe I poisoned him or somethin'. What I don't see is you in there with Sam, makin' him better."
Crap. He was beginning to sound whiny. Fuck this, he was gonna get some coffee. And pie. Pie would help.
Dean turned and stormed out the door. He kept going till he got out of the hospital completely. It was broad daylight, a cloudless day with the sun beating down from about eleven o'clock. He musta slept for hours.
He looked around him to get his bearings. He didn't remember moving the Impala, but there it was in a parking spot. He felt his right pocket and then his left. No keys, dammit. Must've left 'em in the ignition in his rush to get Sammy into the sickhouse. Who had 'em?
Dean sighed. It was always something. He squinted up at the sun.
Coffee. Food. Now.
4.
Dean checked his cellphone for the time. 12:30 p.m. Time to get back in the hospital and go see Sam. If he was better maybe they could get the hell outta New Jersey this evening.
Third cup of coffee. He was flooded with coffee. The blueberry pie was freakin' worth every penny. A memory touched him of that scarecrow
god in - what was that town's name? Burkitsville. Yeah. Made him shiver just to think about that fugly. Well, that was apples and this was blueberries, so just forget about it.
He picked up the check, relieved as usual to do the math and find he had enough money. Enough for a decent tip for the waitress. Not much to look at, he judged, but a nice girl, and she brought him all the coffee he wanted. He was caught by surprise by a hefty belch that Sam would of got all prissy and Miss Manners about. Dean missed him.
Yup, time to go be Vince Neil.
He headed out.
The diner he'd found was pretty close to the hospital. It looked a lot like the one on that TV show he used to watch sometimes when he was a teenager and didn't have a date. Or a hunt. Or had to watch Sam. Or What was it called? "ER,†appropriately enough. It was pretty good. Except, of course, it was about hospitals. Even ones on TV made him want to throw up.
Annnnnd here he was, already. Yay.
Dean took a last breath of fresh parking-lot air and entered.
Screw the open elevator, he preferred the stairs. It was just the second floor anyway and Sam's room was just at the end of the hall. Room 2612. The "cooling blanket†thing sounded creepy and he hoped Sam was back in the bed. Best yet would be Sam sitting up requesting reading matter or some such. But that wasn't going to happen. How did that song go? "If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all?†Of course, it was really Sam's bad luck, and Dean was just the schmuck who'd let it get his brother.
Dean stopped at the door to the room and, closing his eyes, leaned his head on the cool wall. Gotta prepare himself now. Sam, be better. Please. We didn't know the monster was poisonous. It would go into the journal later, but, please, could it just be curable? "Mr. Neil?†A new voice and a tap on the shoulder. Deep voice, a little older than Dean. Must be Foreman, the last one left on the "diagnostic team.â€
Dean turned his head slightly toward the speaker and said, "Yes?†without opening his eyes.
"Are you all right?â€
Sigh. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired.†He gave up the support of the wall with regret. He opened his eyes. "Dr. Foreman, right?â€
"That's right. Your brother's on his way back from the cooling room. He should be back in a few minutes. Would you like to come in and sit down? You can wait in his room.â€
"I'd like that. Thanks.â€
Dr. Foreman opened the door for Dean and entered after him. They musta brought a second chair in here while Dean was eating lunch. Probably so they could ask him some more stupid questions in comfort.
Dean sat down and the doctor sat down, too. And now - da da dahhh - for the questions.
First thing Foreman did, though, was hand him the keys to the Impala. His baby!
"Somebody had to park it for you,†the doc said. "That's a nice ride.â€
"Yeah, she is that. You know classic cars?â€
"Not really. Just enough to appreciate the chance to drive one.†Foreman smiled."Mr. Neil, I'm not going to pretend we know what's happening with Sam. So, straight out: Something's poisoning him. It's preventing healing of those dangerous lesions and it's mimicking the effects of infection, including lethally high fever and seizures. If you've got any idea what it is, tell us now. We need to know.â€
Dean started to sweat. These people wouldn't believe a word of it. Maybe the chick doc? Nah, who was he kidding? Unless people saw the supernatural for themselves, they just thought you were nuts. He said lamely, "Maybe a snake bit him, too? Um. Coincidentally?†That was the closest he could get to telling Foreman it was a venom that had taken Sammy down.
It was frustrating. Really frustrating. And that made him mad. "Look, you guys are the doctors. Not me. If I knew what it was, don't you think I'd'a done something myself?â€
Foreman put a hand out, as if to stop the rant Dean knew was coming if he didn't get outta there. It didn't work.
"I mean, for Chrissakes, why the fuck would I bring him to a hospital if he had somethin' I could figure out? You know how many times I've sewed up Sam or our dad?â€
Shit, he was saying a lot more than he meant to. Gotta stop this now. He stood up.
"Man, I am outta here. I'll be back later. Maybe you and Doctor Chase and Doctor Cameron - there's three of you trained guys, right? - maybe you can use all that education and fix what might be killin' my brother!â€
Foreman had stood, too. Dean didn't know what was going to happen next. A call to security, most like. Dad used to get chucked outta hospitals sometimes when he blew up.
A clanking and a rolling of wheels and the sound of voices in the hall made Dean turn around to see Sam being brought into the room by a nurse and a couple of orderlies. And Cameron and Chase. And some tall older dude - taller than Dean, shorter than Sam - with a cane. He was wearing civvies, so who the hell was he?
But he forgot the guy when he looked down and saw Sam was awake. He was over by him in a split second, escorting the rolling bed into place.
"Sam! You okay? Dude, you scared the shit outta me!â€
Sam, pale, eyes half shut, smiled up at him. "I feel fine right now, Dean -"
Dean gave him the "not my name†look and was relieved to see Sam got it. He mouthed, "I'm still Vince Neil,†at him and relaxed a little at the quirk of Sam's lip.
"Vince,†said Sam. "Much better.†He closed his eyes.
A sharp, sudden prod in the side came out of nowhere and Dean, fast, had turned and found himself grasping the end of the older dude's cane. "What the hell, man? That hurt!â€
The guy pulled the stick out of Dean's grip. Huh. Strong. But Dean didn't have a reason to hold onto it, either. Not unless he tried to poke him again.
"You're this patient's brother?â€
"Yeah, what about it?â€
"I'm his doctor.â€
"Huh? These three are his doctors. You ain't even wearing a white coat.â€
"Nonetheless. I am his doctor. These three†- he gestured at them - "are my team.â€
Dr. Foreman seemed to decide it was his job to - finally - make the introduction. He stepped up and said, "Uh, Mr. Neil - Vince - this is Dr. Gregory House, head of Princeton-Plainsboro's Diagnostics Division. House, this is Mr. Maloney's half-brother, Vince Neil.â€
Dean saw Dr. House's eyes light up. Damn. He already didn't like this guy.
"Vince Neil? Really?â€
Better just steamroll it through.
"Yeah. You got a problem with it?"
House stood there, both hands on the cane, leaning onto it, a big, evil grin plastered across his face.
"Nope. No problem at all. However, if the patient is Sam Maloney, and you're Vince Neil, I must be Nikki Sixx."
Dean's heart sank. The other three were just standing, looking cluelessly back and forth between the top doc and him.
"I thought your name was House."
"Well," House drawled, taking his time, playing with Dean, "we're rather a motley crew here, so sometimes I decide to take on a different name. If you prefer Mick Mars or Tommy Lee, I could go with that."
Dr. Cameron spoke up, sounding irritated. "What are you talking about, House? This man's half-brother is seriously ill -"
"Half-brother? I don't think so. I think if we were to get a couple of DNA samples, we'd find that you" - he looked at Dean pointedly - "and the other member of our little band are full brothers."
"Whatever, House, that doesn't even matter. Can you just -"
"Dr. Cameron. Have you ever even listened to rock and roll?"
She exhaled noisily. "Why are you asking me this?"
Dr. Foreman stood quietly. This must happen a bunch, Dean realized. House must be pretty smart and he must make them guess a lot. It'd be hard to fool him, or come up with something the man didn't know something about.
Chase had been messing about with his cellphone. It was an iPhone or something like that. It was more expensive than Dean would ever be able to afford. It was probably worth more than Dean. When Chase looked up, Dean saw something new on his face.
"Motley Crue!" he said. "I've heard of them." He waved his phone around. "American heavy metal band." He looked up at his boss. "'Dr. Feelgood'?"
"'He's the one that makes ya feel all right!'" quoted House. "So maybe I should be Dr. Feelgood." He turned back to Dean. "What do you think, 'Vince'? Played any good gigs lately? And what about 'Sam' here? He's pretty big for a girl."
When Sam got better, he was never gonna let Dean forget this. "Dean," he'd said when he got his fake cred, "why is giving me a girl's name so damn funny to you? Doesn't it get old?" He'd said, "Sammy, that's a big brother's job, bein' annoying. And I'm just awesome at it."
Well, now it was old. If Sam would just get better, so they could get the fuck outta this fuckin' hospital, Dean would never play that joke again. Promise.
Sam was out cold again, though. He seemed more comfortable, but the bandage on his chest was beginning to soak through again. It wasn't over.
What the hell should Dean do? He looked back at the top doc, who was pretending to examine his fingernails. What an asshole. Had to do this in front of a whole boatload of people. Showoff. At least the orderlies and the nurse had left.
"All right," said Dean. "Those aren't our real names -"
"Yes, I know that, Mr. Dean Winchester. When I found out I was treating two members of Motley Crue, but this Sam wasn't Samantha, I had your brother's fingerprints checked. Got yours off a cup." House smiled. "So I also know you have a record and you're" - he stage-whispered - "wanted."
"Look, fine," said Dean. "You've had your fun and games. How about I just pack up my brother's stuff and you give him some antiobiotic or somethin' and he and I just disappear." He'd had enough of this place anyway. He shoulda called Bobby or somethin', not come here. Sam woulda made it.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Winchester. I needed a case, and your brother's is the most interesting one I've seen in weeks. Clawed by a bear, lesions cared for perfectly - if illicitly - and immediately, yet followed by high fever and seizure with no infection. Added to that, the wound refuses to heal, though there is no other reason to diagnose hemophilia. It'll be a real challenge." House smiled smugly. "And if your obvious anger-management issues get out of control, Vince, we can just call security - and the FBI." House looked so damn pleased with himself.
But Dean got that he didn't plan to call the authorities on them, at least not now. So, okay. Sam was gonna get treatment. Dean would have to find out more about House, as well as the other docs. Were they going to turn Dean and Sam in, or was it just a threat? Did the other three do whatever their boss told 'em to, or might one of 'em call the feds in on their own, once they found out what the Winchesters were wanted for?
"Code blue." A female voice exploded overhead. "Floor 4, room 4783. Code blue. Dr. House, please report to room 4783. Code blue."
House's team looked to their boss for his response. House shrugged. He said, "Time to go, kiddies." To Dean, he said, "Don't disappear. And be ready to tell some truth. We're going to need some of that to cure your brother."
In under a minute Dean and Sam were the only ones left in the room. Dean listened to the recurring Code Blue, knowing House and co. had reached room 4783 by when it stopped.
"Sam, I wish you'd wake up. These are your kinda people. They know too much more'n I do. Especially House. That sonofabitch would be a perfect demon host." Dean sighed and pulled one of the chairs over to the bed, up near Sam's head. "I guess I might as well get some sleep, too."
He made himself comfortable, or as comfortable as it was possible to get in a hospital chair, and settled down, falling asleep almost immediately.
Part 2
Author: rince1wind
Recipient:
serawadeRating: R for language
Warnings: (not optional - see note below) Strong language
Author's Notes: (optional) SPN/House crossover. Title taken from "Hooligan's Holiday" by Motley Crue. Quite Dean-centric.
Summary: Sam's deathly ill; Dean takes him to the nearest ER--Princeton Plainsboro in New Jersey. They unintentionally bring a case with them
1.
"Not interested."
"Fatigue but difficulty sleeping, rapid heartbeat, bulging eyes, -"
"Graves' disease, Dr. Cuddy. Graves' ophthalmopathy, aka bulging eyes." Dr. House turned his head as he walked to demonstrate. "You don't need me for that."
House kept moving, his long stride - despite the limp - forcing Cuddy to tap-tap-tap along behind him in her heels. She pulled out another chart and opened the folder. "This one's unusual. Inability to cry or salivate. Patient has had other symptoms, was diagnosed originally as lupus, and responded well to medication with the lupus-like symptoms -"
"It is lupus, and you're right, it is interesting, though hardly difficult to diagnose. It's Sjogren's syndrome, a disorder of the immune system. Often accompanies rheumatoid arthritis and - lupus." House stopped in front of the elevator and pressed the down button. He looked at Cuddy. "Relieve the symptoms. Not much else to do. It'll get better with time."
Cuddy tucked the stack of charts under her arm. "House, this is ridiculous. You have to do something here. You get paid to see patients, not wander around irritating your colleagues."
The elevator arrived, and the doors opened. The car was empty. House got in, but Cuddy held the door open. She said, "If one of these more unusual cases doesn't interest you, there's always the clinic. They could use another pair of hands. Which is it?"
House smiled at her, knowing it was the expression of his she found the most irritating. "I have to go see a man about a horse at the moment. A sick horse. I'm needed elsewhere, Dr. Cuddy. Healing the ill, et cetera." He pushed her arm gently away from the elevator door.
As the doors began to close, Dr. Cuddy let out a groan of exasperation. She shouted, "House! You have one hour to find a case or find the clinic!"
The doors closed.
2.
Dean ignored the "no parking" signs and skidded to a stop, jerked open the car door and leapt over the hood to the other side of the Impala. He grabbed the handle of the passenger door and pulled it open. Shit - Sammy was still seizing. Dean reached in to get his brother under the arms to get him out of the car without hurting him.
This was so bad he didn't even want to think about it. What had been a simple - okay, kinda deep - slashing from a busaw had gone way wrong. Despite Dean's care from day one, it had been infected by day three. In the middle of a low-level ghost hunt, Sam had gone white, swayed on his feet for a couple of minutes and fallen hard to the ground. The ghost missed Sam on account of it, and that gave Dean the space to burn its bones, so Dean thought for a minute Sam had dropped on purpose. But no, Sam was out cold and hot with fever. By the time Dean got him back to the hotel, Sam was seizing, seizing hard. Dean took him to the closest hospital - Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.
So here they were, Dean trying to drag Sam, who was still shaking like a sonofabitch and scaring his big brother near senseless, into the ER. Dean hated hospitals. He hated 'em for himself and he especially hated 'em for Sam. He wouldn't be allowed to stay with him, he'd have to play all sorts of games with names for insurance and such, and he never knew what the hell they were talking about. Sam was the one who knew that shit, and it didn't look like Sam was going to be explaining anything for a while.
Damn. He hoped Sam was going to be okay.
Halfway up the brightly lit ramp some guys in scrubs met Dean with a stretcher. It took some doing to get Sam, stiff and shaking, onto it, and his legs from the knees down weren't even supported, but it was better than dragging him, and, man, Sam was heavy, so even though Dean didn't want to give him up to a bunch of strangers, he really didn't have much choice. He caught his breath while the medical dudes carefully carried Sam up to the hospital doors, then loped to catch up with them. They took Sam right into a room, beckoning for Dean to go too, and told him someone would be in for triage in a minute.
"Please sit down, sir," one of 'em said to Dean, and Dean wanted to punch him for the stupidity of it. He caught his temper though, knowing it was fear. Tucking it into the deeper part of his brain (where he never went unless he had to), Dean said, "Thanks," instead.
He couldn't sit though, not with Sammy like this. Thank whatever that he'd stopped seizing and was now just unconscious. Maybe he was just asleep.
Dean walked over to Sam, strapped to the bed so if he had another seizure he wouldn't fall off. Really hating that, Dean said quietly, "Sam? Sammy? You just sleeping now?" Dean tried a little louder, hoping like hell, but knowing sure as anything that Sam wasn't any better and they were in the best place for him.
Sam lay there, his giant of a little brother, eyes finally closed, eyelashes dark above his cheeks. His long, dark hair flopped over his face and Dean gently moved it away from his eyes and mouth, pushing it behind his ear. Sam didn't move at his touch. He felt hot. Jesus, he was burning up.
The triage nurse, a lady of about fifty, came in and asked the usual bunch of hospital questions. Name, rank, insurance number. He'd give them the names they'd been using, in case Sammy woke up when Dean wasn't there to tell him stuff.
"Vince Neil," he said. "This here is my brother Sam Maloney. Half-brother," he said, before she could ask. They had fake insurance in both names, so that was cool. Maybe for once luck would be on their side and there wouldn't be any trouble. "When is a doc gonna come see him?"
"As soon as someone is available," she said. She thanked him and left.
Dean paced for about a thousand years, making sure by sheer power of thought that Sam didn't start seizing again. Much more of it and there'd be brain damage for sure.
A footstep behind him - Dean whirled around, one hand clenched into a fist, the other ready to go for his knife. Seeing the girl in the lab coat, he remembered where he was and forced himself to back down and relax. Yeah, Sam was where he oughta be, and Dean probably shouldn't be here till he'd had a couple of beers and chilled the hell out.
"Miss?" Dean said, politely as he could, given the amount of adrenaline still pumping through him.
"Doctor," the girl said firmly. "Dr. Alison Cameron. And you are?"
"You're a doc?" Holy shit, they were making 'em prettier these days.
"Yes, I'm Dr. Cameron."
Oops. She didn't like that. Gotta be more careful.
"Sorry, Dr. Cameron, I just didn't expect someone as uh young as you. My bad."
She smiled. "It's all right, Mr. Neil. That does happen from time to time. And the patient is your brother, Sam, age 23?"
"Yeah, that's right. He's really sick, and um I thought I'd better bring him in."
"So tell me about what happened."
A busaw we were hunting got too close and slashed the hell out of my brother's chest with its filthy, sharp claws. I cleaned out the cuts and sewed him up like I have a million times before but this time it's no good. This time, though, he gets really sick and has to pass out right in front of me before I can tell he needs a hospital.
Yeah. Right.
"My brother and me were out a few days ago hunting. We got separated and the next thing I heard was Sam shoutin' to me and his gun went off. By the time I found him the uh bear had run off and Sam was on the ground, hurt."
She looked him in the eye and asked, "A bear attacked your brother? In New Jersey?"
He flushed. "No! We weren't hunting in New Jersey. We were in Wisconsin, northern Wisconsin, at the time."
"And what hospital did you take him to after the bear attack?"
"Hospital? Um, well, we weren't near one, actually. So I cleaned him up. And I had a coupla Red Cross classes a while ago, so I sewed him up, too."
The look on her face he wasn't sure if it meant she didn't believe him or she couldn't believe what she was hearing.
"I was real careful, Doc. We have a top-notch first aid kit."
She said slowly, "Because Mr. Neil you and your brother hunt a lot."
Was that a question? Dean really hated hospitals.
"Um. Yeah?"
She seemed to give up for the time being. Dean was sweating bad, he was so uncomfortable. Dr. Cameron carefully didn't look at him - he could tell - and moved over to Sam's bed. She put the chart down at the foot and turned to Dean.
"You'll have to leave now, Mr. Neil -"
"Vince, please."
"All right. Vince, I'm going to have to ask you to leave for a bit; we're going to get Sam into a hospital gown and examine him completely. The waiting room is right down the hall to the left."
"Whoa Shouldn't I be here in case he wakes up? I don't want him to freak out or anything. " Because the last thing he'll probably remember is digging up a grave and who knows what he'll say if he's still kinda out of it. And also, Dean didn't want Sammy to freak out. He'd most likely been keeping to himself how bad his chest hurt, hoping it'd get better by itself. Contrary to all indications. So finding himself in a hospital with some chick doctor poking him all over might be kinda freaky. Actually, it might be kinda hot.
Dean realized the doctor was speaking. He looked up at her.
"- come and let you know right away if he wakes up."
"Right. Okay. Waiting room where again?"
"Down the hall to the left." A light knock on the room's half-open door made her glance in that direction. A couple men in white jackets walked in.
Dr. Cameron said, "Vince, these are the other doctors on the diagnostics team: Dr. Foreman and Dr. Chase."
Dean saw two guys, both pretty young. Foreman was black, Chase was white, about the same height; both, like Dr. Cameron, looked pretty well put-together. Foreman's hair was cut close and a wariness in his eye told Dean he was no suburbanite. Chase's hair was verging on the Sam-ish. It was longer and kinda floppy. It made Dean kind of warm to the guy.
On the other hand, now Dean felt outnumbered.
Sam's hair had fallen over his eyes again. Honest to God, he just looked asleep. Maybe Dean shouldn't of brought him here. Maybe he'd just got overexcited and for that there was gonna be hell to pay. Looking down at his sick brother, Dean forgot himself again and pushed Sam's hair away from his face. Sam was boiling. Yeah, he was pretty sick.
He looked up to see all three docs watching him closely. Self-consciously he cleared his throat. "Um... He's been burnin' up for a while now. He might be gettin' dehydrated."
Dr. Chase nodded. "Good point, Mr. -?"
Cameron interjected, "Neil."
"Vince's fine," said Dean.
Chase continued, "We'll get him on some hydration right away."
Huh. English? Na, Australian? Yeah. Australian, like Crocodile Dundee. Dean had a sudden urge to try to make Dr. Chase say, "g'day, mate," but he left it alone. No need to look even weirder than he and Sam probably looked already.
"Well, then," he said, "I guess I'll be in the waiting room. Down the hall and to the right, right?"
He left the Three Docs (like a band name, a really bad band name) and Sammy in the sterile little room and made his way to the waiting room. It was late and there was no one else in there. Dean paced for a while, finally giving in to sit down in a puffy lounge chair, putting his head in his hands.
3.
"Mr. Neil. Vince."
A woman's voice. Its owner was shaking his arm. Dean had to work to dig his way up through several layers of sleep before he got to the surface. Before he remembered where the hell he was, he said, "Yeah, that's me, darlin' , I'm ready to rumble," and a smothered laugh drew him up the rest of the way to consciousness.
Shit. He was at Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital waiting to see how Sam was doing and the voice belonged to the chick doctor.
He sat up straight and apologized. "I'm sorry, ma'am uh, Doctor. I guess I fell asleep. Musta been dreaming."
Dr. Cameron smiled at him, her pretty eyes crinkling. "It's all right, Vince."
He smiled back. "You're probably the prettiest doctor in this hospital," he said.
She sat down on a chair next to his but said nothing. He figured she was letting him wake up a little. A few more people sat and stood in the waiting room now. Dean wondered what time it was, whether it was still night or whether the sun was up. He could eat a horse if it stood still long enough, and he wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee.
"How's my brother?" he said.
"We were able to stop the seizing," Dr. Cameron said. "We used a cooling blanket and ice packs to bring down the fever. His temperature was 105 when you brought him in."
"105! Holy shit! Sorry, I mean. Was it my fault? Because I took care of him myself?"
But how could that even be? He and Sam and Dad, they'd been taking care of each other's injuries and illnesses since Dean was a little kid. They hardly ever went to the hospital. It was like a rule: you don't go to the hospital unless there's no other way. If it was Dean's fault that Sam was so sick, he was never going to forgive himself.
Dean felt sick himself now, like he might throw up. He was supposed to look after Sam, not drag him into hunt after hunt with an infected wound.
"No, no," she put her hand on his arm. "You did an incredible job. Better, actually, than I could have done. It's hard to believe you haven't had any medical training."
The sick feeling drained away, leaving Dean weak. Thank God, whatever this was, it wasn't his doing. "But the wound is infected anyway?" he asked.
"It doesn't seem to be an infection per se," Dr. Cameron said, frowning. "We can't find anything else on or in Sam's body that could be causing such a high fever, yet there's no drainage, not even any swelling. However, it isn't healing. The gashes are seeping blood continually, and, though we've cooled your brother down for the moment, he's still under the cooling blanket. We don't know what will happen when we remove it."
Dean rubbed his face with his hand. "Can I see him?" he asked.
"I'm afraid not, not right now. The cooling apparatus requires a temperature-controlled room and we can't go in and out. It's probably best - it can look pretty alarming to family."
"I'm more alarmed not to see him at all," Dean said, sitting back in his chair.
"So what do you think it is, if it's not an infection?"
"We're doing more blood tests right now. If Sam's temp stays down after we take him off the cooling apparatus, we might do an MRI."
"Basically, then, you got no idea. And that means you can't fix it."
"Yep, so far I'd say that's exactly what it means." The Aussie accent announced the arrival of Dr. Chase. He'd come through the doorway behind Dean, and Dean hadn't even heard him step up. He'd been thrown off his game.
Dean looked around and nodded at Dr. Chase. "Yo," he said. "Dr. Chase."
"Mr. Neil. Vince." Chase sat down, too.
It was like a frickin' tea party now. What about Foreman, the guy Dean hadn't heard talk yet? Surely he'd been invited too. Hope he got there before the cookies ran out.
This was stupid. Were they gonna be able to help Sam or not?
Chase caught Cameron's eye, like he thought Dean wouldn't notice. Cameron wasn't smiling anymore, and she nodded back at Chase. Uh-oh, bad sign.. He waited for it.
And here it came.
"We think something Sam ingested might be working to prevent clotting and repair. Can you tell us about anything your brother might have eaten or drunk the day of the attack or the day or two following it?" Chase asked carefully.
Why was he being so cautious with that question? Dean was missing something. "Sure, I can tell you what I saw him eat. He mighta had some kinda snack I was unaware of. We're together a lot, for work, you know, but not every minute, right?"
"Of course."
There was something not quite right going on, but for the life of him, Dean couldn't suss it out. Later.
"Well, for breakfast, Sam had waffles and coffee. For lunch we stopped at a diner and he had a turkey sandwich and a really crappy-looking salad. We mighta had a bag of chips around 4:30. We didn't get dinner that night. We were hunting and didn't manage to bring anything for the road." He thought. "And right afterward he had a beer and some antibiotics and a painkiller, not a heavy-duty one."
Cameron said drily, "You weren't kidding about your well-stocked first-aid kit. Antibiotics and painkillers?"
Dean wasn't going to even talk about how they got their stuff. It wasn't any of their business. They were supposed to be figuring out how to fix Sam.
Chase said, "What antibiotics and what painkiller?"
"I don't really remember," Dean said. Then the penny dropped.
"Okay, so my care of the injury was fine, but you think maybe I gave him something that screwed him up? What kind of shitty idea is that? You better not be thinking I did something like that on purpose. I would never hurt Sammy. It's my job to keep him safe."
"Really? With all this 'hunting' you do?" said Chase. Dean didn't like the look of the ever-so-slight sneer he detected at the left side of the guy's upper lip. "We looked your brother over and he is covered in scars, many very fine, barely visible, but they're all over his body. What kind of 'hunting' do you two do?"
Dean stood up, forcing the two doctors to sit back to avoid being bumped. "I'm not going into that. It's none of your business what we hunt." Damn, he needed coffee and some food. Badly. He couldn't think straight.
They gawped at him for a second, then they stood up too. He shoved past them, ignoring the apology on Cameron's face. They followed him to the door of the waiting room. "When I get back I want to see Sam," he said. "I'm gonna see him even if he's still in the cooling thing blanket, all right? I see you guys asking me a lot of questions, acting like maybe I poisoned him or somethin'. What I don't see is you in there with Sam, makin' him better."
Crap. He was beginning to sound whiny. Fuck this, he was gonna get some coffee. And pie. Pie would help.
Dean turned and stormed out the door. He kept going till he got out of the hospital completely. It was broad daylight, a cloudless day with the sun beating down from about eleven o'clock. He musta slept for hours.
He looked around him to get his bearings. He didn't remember moving the Impala, but there it was in a parking spot. He felt his right pocket and then his left. No keys, dammit. Must've left 'em in the ignition in his rush to get Sammy into the sickhouse. Who had 'em?
Dean sighed. It was always something. He squinted up at the sun.
Coffee. Food. Now.
4.
Dean checked his cellphone for the time. 12:30 p.m. Time to get back in the hospital and go see Sam. If he was better maybe they could get the hell outta New Jersey this evening.
Third cup of coffee. He was flooded with coffee. The blueberry pie was freakin' worth every penny. A memory touched him of that scarecrow
god in - what was that town's name? Burkitsville. Yeah. Made him shiver just to think about that fugly. Well, that was apples and this was blueberries, so just forget about it.
He picked up the check, relieved as usual to do the math and find he had enough money. Enough for a decent tip for the waitress. Not much to look at, he judged, but a nice girl, and she brought him all the coffee he wanted. He was caught by surprise by a hefty belch that Sam would of got all prissy and Miss Manners about. Dean missed him.
Yup, time to go be Vince Neil.
He headed out.
The diner he'd found was pretty close to the hospital. It looked a lot like the one on that TV show he used to watch sometimes when he was a teenager and didn't have a date. Or a hunt. Or had to watch Sam. Or What was it called? "ER,†appropriately enough. It was pretty good. Except, of course, it was about hospitals. Even ones on TV made him want to throw up.
Annnnnd here he was, already. Yay.
Dean took a last breath of fresh parking-lot air and entered.
Screw the open elevator, he preferred the stairs. It was just the second floor anyway and Sam's room was just at the end of the hall. Room 2612. The "cooling blanket†thing sounded creepy and he hoped Sam was back in the bed. Best yet would be Sam sitting up requesting reading matter or some such. But that wasn't going to happen. How did that song go? "If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all?†Of course, it was really Sam's bad luck, and Dean was just the schmuck who'd let it get his brother.
Dean stopped at the door to the room and, closing his eyes, leaned his head on the cool wall. Gotta prepare himself now. Sam, be better. Please. We didn't know the monster was poisonous. It would go into the journal later, but, please, could it just be curable? "Mr. Neil?†A new voice and a tap on the shoulder. Deep voice, a little older than Dean. Must be Foreman, the last one left on the "diagnostic team.â€
Dean turned his head slightly toward the speaker and said, "Yes?†without opening his eyes.
"Are you all right?â€
Sigh. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired.†He gave up the support of the wall with regret. He opened his eyes. "Dr. Foreman, right?â€
"That's right. Your brother's on his way back from the cooling room. He should be back in a few minutes. Would you like to come in and sit down? You can wait in his room.â€
"I'd like that. Thanks.â€
Dr. Foreman opened the door for Dean and entered after him. They musta brought a second chair in here while Dean was eating lunch. Probably so they could ask him some more stupid questions in comfort.
Dean sat down and the doctor sat down, too. And now - da da dahhh - for the questions.
First thing Foreman did, though, was hand him the keys to the Impala. His baby!
"Somebody had to park it for you,†the doc said. "That's a nice ride.â€
"Yeah, she is that. You know classic cars?â€
"Not really. Just enough to appreciate the chance to drive one.†Foreman smiled."Mr. Neil, I'm not going to pretend we know what's happening with Sam. So, straight out: Something's poisoning him. It's preventing healing of those dangerous lesions and it's mimicking the effects of infection, including lethally high fever and seizures. If you've got any idea what it is, tell us now. We need to know.â€
Dean started to sweat. These people wouldn't believe a word of it. Maybe the chick doc? Nah, who was he kidding? Unless people saw the supernatural for themselves, they just thought you were nuts. He said lamely, "Maybe a snake bit him, too? Um. Coincidentally?†That was the closest he could get to telling Foreman it was a venom that had taken Sammy down.
It was frustrating. Really frustrating. And that made him mad. "Look, you guys are the doctors. Not me. If I knew what it was, don't you think I'd'a done something myself?â€
Foreman put a hand out, as if to stop the rant Dean knew was coming if he didn't get outta there. It didn't work.
"I mean, for Chrissakes, why the fuck would I bring him to a hospital if he had somethin' I could figure out? You know how many times I've sewed up Sam or our dad?â€
Shit, he was saying a lot more than he meant to. Gotta stop this now. He stood up.
"Man, I am outta here. I'll be back later. Maybe you and Doctor Chase and Doctor Cameron - there's three of you trained guys, right? - maybe you can use all that education and fix what might be killin' my brother!â€
Foreman had stood, too. Dean didn't know what was going to happen next. A call to security, most like. Dad used to get chucked outta hospitals sometimes when he blew up.
A clanking and a rolling of wheels and the sound of voices in the hall made Dean turn around to see Sam being brought into the room by a nurse and a couple of orderlies. And Cameron and Chase. And some tall older dude - taller than Dean, shorter than Sam - with a cane. He was wearing civvies, so who the hell was he?
But he forgot the guy when he looked down and saw Sam was awake. He was over by him in a split second, escorting the rolling bed into place.
"Sam! You okay? Dude, you scared the shit outta me!â€
Sam, pale, eyes half shut, smiled up at him. "I feel fine right now, Dean -"
Dean gave him the "not my name†look and was relieved to see Sam got it. He mouthed, "I'm still Vince Neil,†at him and relaxed a little at the quirk of Sam's lip.
"Vince,†said Sam. "Much better.†He closed his eyes.
A sharp, sudden prod in the side came out of nowhere and Dean, fast, had turned and found himself grasping the end of the older dude's cane. "What the hell, man? That hurt!â€
The guy pulled the stick out of Dean's grip. Huh. Strong. But Dean didn't have a reason to hold onto it, either. Not unless he tried to poke him again.
"You're this patient's brother?â€
"Yeah, what about it?â€
"I'm his doctor.â€
"Huh? These three are his doctors. You ain't even wearing a white coat.â€
"Nonetheless. I am his doctor. These three†- he gestured at them - "are my team.â€
Dr. Foreman seemed to decide it was his job to - finally - make the introduction. He stepped up and said, "Uh, Mr. Neil - Vince - this is Dr. Gregory House, head of Princeton-Plainsboro's Diagnostics Division. House, this is Mr. Maloney's half-brother, Vince Neil.â€
Dean saw Dr. House's eyes light up. Damn. He already didn't like this guy.
"Vince Neil? Really?â€
Better just steamroll it through.
"Yeah. You got a problem with it?"
House stood there, both hands on the cane, leaning onto it, a big, evil grin plastered across his face.
"Nope. No problem at all. However, if the patient is Sam Maloney, and you're Vince Neil, I must be Nikki Sixx."
Dean's heart sank. The other three were just standing, looking cluelessly back and forth between the top doc and him.
"I thought your name was House."
"Well," House drawled, taking his time, playing with Dean, "we're rather a motley crew here, so sometimes I decide to take on a different name. If you prefer Mick Mars or Tommy Lee, I could go with that."
Dr. Cameron spoke up, sounding irritated. "What are you talking about, House? This man's half-brother is seriously ill -"
"Half-brother? I don't think so. I think if we were to get a couple of DNA samples, we'd find that you" - he looked at Dean pointedly - "and the other member of our little band are full brothers."
"Whatever, House, that doesn't even matter. Can you just -"
"Dr. Cameron. Have you ever even listened to rock and roll?"
She exhaled noisily. "Why are you asking me this?"
Dr. Foreman stood quietly. This must happen a bunch, Dean realized. House must be pretty smart and he must make them guess a lot. It'd be hard to fool him, or come up with something the man didn't know something about.
Chase had been messing about with his cellphone. It was an iPhone or something like that. It was more expensive than Dean would ever be able to afford. It was probably worth more than Dean. When Chase looked up, Dean saw something new on his face.
"Motley Crue!" he said. "I've heard of them." He waved his phone around. "American heavy metal band." He looked up at his boss. "'Dr. Feelgood'?"
"'He's the one that makes ya feel all right!'" quoted House. "So maybe I should be Dr. Feelgood." He turned back to Dean. "What do you think, 'Vince'? Played any good gigs lately? And what about 'Sam' here? He's pretty big for a girl."
When Sam got better, he was never gonna let Dean forget this. "Dean," he'd said when he got his fake cred, "why is giving me a girl's name so damn funny to you? Doesn't it get old?" He'd said, "Sammy, that's a big brother's job, bein' annoying. And I'm just awesome at it."
Well, now it was old. If Sam would just get better, so they could get the fuck outta this fuckin' hospital, Dean would never play that joke again. Promise.
Sam was out cold again, though. He seemed more comfortable, but the bandage on his chest was beginning to soak through again. It wasn't over.
What the hell should Dean do? He looked back at the top doc, who was pretending to examine his fingernails. What an asshole. Had to do this in front of a whole boatload of people. Showoff. At least the orderlies and the nurse had left.
"All right," said Dean. "Those aren't our real names -"
"Yes, I know that, Mr. Dean Winchester. When I found out I was treating two members of Motley Crue, but this Sam wasn't Samantha, I had your brother's fingerprints checked. Got yours off a cup." House smiled. "So I also know you have a record and you're" - he stage-whispered - "wanted."
"Look, fine," said Dean. "You've had your fun and games. How about I just pack up my brother's stuff and you give him some antiobiotic or somethin' and he and I just disappear." He'd had enough of this place anyway. He shoulda called Bobby or somethin', not come here. Sam woulda made it.
"That won't be necessary, Mr. Winchester. I needed a case, and your brother's is the most interesting one I've seen in weeks. Clawed by a bear, lesions cared for perfectly - if illicitly - and immediately, yet followed by high fever and seizure with no infection. Added to that, the wound refuses to heal, though there is no other reason to diagnose hemophilia. It'll be a real challenge." House smiled smugly. "And if your obvious anger-management issues get out of control, Vince, we can just call security - and the FBI." House looked so damn pleased with himself.
But Dean got that he didn't plan to call the authorities on them, at least not now. So, okay. Sam was gonna get treatment. Dean would have to find out more about House, as well as the other docs. Were they going to turn Dean and Sam in, or was it just a threat? Did the other three do whatever their boss told 'em to, or might one of 'em call the feds in on their own, once they found out what the Winchesters were wanted for?
"Code blue." A female voice exploded overhead. "Floor 4, room 4783. Code blue. Dr. House, please report to room 4783. Code blue."
House's team looked to their boss for his response. House shrugged. He said, "Time to go, kiddies." To Dean, he said, "Don't disappear. And be ready to tell some truth. We're going to need some of that to cure your brother."
In under a minute Dean and Sam were the only ones left in the room. Dean listened to the recurring Code Blue, knowing House and co. had reached room 4783 by when it stopped.
"Sam, I wish you'd wake up. These are your kinda people. They know too much more'n I do. Especially House. That sonofabitch would be a perfect demon host." Dean sighed and pulled one of the chairs over to the bed, up near Sam's head. "I guess I might as well get some sleep, too."
He made himself comfortable, or as comfortable as it was possible to get in a hospital chair, and settled down, falling asleep almost immediately.
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