Supernatural One Shots

Humidity and Head Injuries Don't Go Well Together

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.