Even When It Hurts (SPN, Dean)

[MissBayliss]

Hi! Okay, I was really feeling pre-series fic, which I don't think I've tackled before. There is no timeline! Don't try and follow a timeline, it'll just confuse you. This is flash forwards, flash backs... it's just all over the show. But it's one event. And what you can gather is Dean is sick for a while before this night, which is the primary focus. I just love angsty, young adult Dean. He's gorgeous. The language is consistent with what they use in the show so don't worry, no f bombs in this one. Hope you like it... even if it's a bit... experimental.

Even When It Hurts

Dean slammed the door behind him. Soon the rumble of the Impala’s engine could be heard loud and clear through the motel.

“What the hell was that about?”

“He’s sick,” Sam groaned, as if it had been obvious. It had been obvious to him.

John snorted, “Dean doesn’t get sick.”

“Dean gets sick, dad. He just doesn’t tell you about it.”

…

Dean took a drag as Ray lit the end of the cigarette he’d bummed. He wasn’t a smoker. He didn’t do it daily, but he was barely 21 and already had the hang of alcoholism. Besides, it was a social event. Bars, beer, pool, poker… and smokes. He did it because he could, because, hell, something was bound to kill him some day. He coughed.

“You never smoked before, have ya, kid?” Ray laughed.

Dean death stared him, “I’ve smoked plenty. I’m just getting’ over a flu thing.”

“You got a “flu thing” and you’re out in this dump at…” he consulted his watch, “one in the morning?”

“I’m fine. God,” he groaned, rubbing his knuckles against his aching chest.

“Alright, whatever you say,” Ray held his hands up, chuckling.

He was tired. God, he was tired. And all he wanted to do was drink till he passed out.

He waggled his empty glass at the bartender.

“You ain’t planning on slowing down, are ya?” Ray said, slapping him on the back.

“Nope,” Dean grunted, knocking back his recently topped up glass.

“Alright, kid.”

“Can you hand me some napkins?” Dean mumbled, pressing his wrist to his nose.

Ray leant over, groaning as he did, like it was the most strenuous thing he’d done all day.

“Here ya go.”

Dean muttered a thanks as he fitting them around his nose and sneezed 3 times, so hard he almost fell of his stool.

“Geez, bless you,” Ray startled, a hand pressing against Dean’s back. “’Nother round?”

Dean nodded as he tucked the napkins away and took another pull of the cigarette. It was sour and burnt deep into his lungs. He pressed his lips together and coughed ridiculously wet hacks inside his mouth.

“Dean, you don’t sound too good.”

“Shut up, Ray.”

Ray turned to face his drink, “Gee, your daddy did a number on you.”

Dean wiped his face with his sleeve, “You have no idea.”

…

“Dad, this is my future!”

“Your future is with your family, Sam! I won’t allow it!”

“You won’t allow it? I’m not a friggen kid anymore, dad. I don’t want this!”

Dean sat on his bed, staring at the ground, praying to whoever the hell was out there that they would stop, that they wouldn’t bring him into this again.

“You don’t want to stop this demon?” John yelled.

“This is your vendetta, dad, not mine!”

“So Mary wasn’t your mother? Her death means nothing to you?”

“Stop! It’s not about mum. Do you think she wanted this for me? For us?”

And there it was.

“What, so Dean’s leaving then too, is he? You better speak, boy.”

Dean snapped to his feet, powering through the head rush, “No one’s going anywhere!”

Sam turned sharply to face him, “So, you’re on his side now?”

“God. No!”

“Dean,” John growled.

“Could you just stop with the damn fighting, for one friggen night!” Dean couldn’t hold back the cough that erupted with zero warning.

He bent double, coughing into his arm. He managed to quell it quickly, but it still hurt his head, greyed his vision, and was enough for his dad to notice.

“What the hell is this?” John demanded, anger and panic in his eyes.

“Dean…”

“No, Sam. I’m sick of it... I’m going out.”

…

Dean didn’t know Ray. He was old, and a drunk, but he was there, and smiling through the hurt meant he’d gotten 2 free beers and a smoke… so far. It was tragic. It was friggen tragic, that Dean had been in this bar for all of two hours and this guy and shown more care for him than his dad ever had.

They’d talked the whole time, but mostly Dean had listened. His throat hurt and his voice was going, and maybe the smoking wasn’t helping but who really cared anyway. No one ever listened to him.

This guy reminded him of Uncle Bobby, and who knew when they’d see him again. John wasn’t exactly good at keeping bridges in tact.

“Alright, Dean, I think you need to go home,” Ray put his hand over Dean’s glass so it couldn’t be filled.

“What home?” Dean laughed, spluttered, and coughed, wobbling on his chair.

“Damn, kid. I’m serious. Time to go.”

Ray tried to wrangle him off his seat, but Dean wasn’t exactly compliant.

“I’m fine, Ray. Get off me,” Dean grumbled, pulling his arm away.

“Son, you ain’t fine. You’re drunk off your ass and your burning up.”

“Well, excuse me,” Dean rasped, turning to face him, “But I plan on drinking till I can’t remember why I came in here and that hasn’t happened yet, so…”

“No can do, dude. You’re cut off,” the bartender, Ted, smirked.

Dean bent over, coughing again.

“You sound like you have pneumonia. I think it’s time to get you to a hospital,” Ray looked at Ted, drawing his eyebrows together.

“I don’t need a friggen hospital. I need a drink!”

“Here ya go,” Ted said, dumping a glass of water in front of him.

“I don’t have to put up with this,” Dean grumbled, staggering off the bar stool and fumbling for the keys in his pocket.

Ray sighed and looked to Ted, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t try and drive home.”

…

“Dean, are you listening to me?” John grumbled from across the table.

“Yes’sir,” Dean said, sitting up straighter and clearing his throat.

“What did I just say?”

“Uh,” Dean flicked his gaze to Sam, “We need to find the body, salt the bones.”

“Good,” John huffed, “That’s what I said about ten minutes ago. Get your head in the game, son.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry,” Dean looked back down at the mess of scrambled eggs on his plate, swallowing back the nausea.

He could feel Sam staring at him, begging, please, tell dad you’re sick.

Dean avoided eye contact, looking out the window and shoving his plate away.

“You finished with that already?” John grunted.

Dean cleared his throat as subtly as he could, “Yeah, not that hungry. Still a bit hungover.”

John laughed, “Learn to handle your alcohol, Deano.”

Dean chanced a glace at his brother. He was giving him the bitch face to rival all bitch faces.

Since Dean had turned 21, John had taken it upon himself to teach him how to drink. Dean liked alcohol, and he liked having something in common with his dad other than hunting monsters. So, it had been great until now. Because now the late nights were getting to him more, and the pounding in his head never went away.

He was sick. Nothing seriously wrong with him, just a head cold, but it was sapping his energy something chronic. The good thing about drinking with his dad until the wee hours meant he could get away to the men’s room and cough up a lung without him knowing. The walls of the motel were pretty thin and his dad was a light sleeper. So, while Sam was there studying, Dean and John drank themselves stupid and eventually stumbled home. It was better that way too, because it meant Sam could get some sleep before Dean entered the room they shared and spent the rest of the night muffling coughs into a towel.

“Dean, have some water,” Sam groaned from his bed, half asleep and slightly annoyed.

Dean sniffed and grumbled under his breath, set off coughing again.

Sam sighed, and dragged himself out of bed, fetching a glass for his brother.

“You can’t keep doing this. You have to tell dad.”

“I can handle it,” Dean croaked.

“No, clearly, you can’t,” Sam sighed, handing his brother the glass and plastering a hand to his head.

“Hey, get off, sasquatch,” Dean said, swatting him away.

“You’ve got a fever.”

“I know. Shut up. I just need to sleep and I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, and you’ve been saying that for the last 3 days…”

“Sammy, please…”

Sam heard the exhaustion in his voice and dropped it. It made him angry, but Dean was too tired right now, and he wasn’t going to get better if he continued to argue with him.

…

“Dean! Hey, what are you doing?” Ray grabbed his shoulder and shook him as he tried again to get the key in the lock of the Impala’s drivers side door.

“I’m trying to –“ Dean leant on the roof and coughed into his arm, his voice giving out.

“Son, you’re not driving. Come inside, we’ll call someone to pick you up.”

“No one’s gonna pick me up. They’re too wrapped up,” he turned to cough again, “bitin’ each other’s friggen heads off.”

“Dean, come inside.”

“Oh, God, Ray,” he leaned heavily on the Impala, trying to stop the world from spinning.

“Easy, son. Take it easy,” Ray said, patting him on the back as he threw up everything in his stomach.

Puking only made him cough more, and once the damn thick mucus plugs got halfway up his airway he had to get them all the way out otherwise he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m gonna call an ambulance, Dean. I think you need to see a doctor.”

Dean leant over, knees quivering as he tried to stay upright.

“Just get me home,” he whispered.

“What’s that?”

Dean took a shuddering breath in, “Take me home.”

…

“Dean! Shake a leg! What are you doing back there?”

“Leave him alone, dad.”

“Was I talking to you?”

Sam looked at his feet and walked ahead, swinging the shovel over his shoulder.

“Dean!”

“Sir?” Dean said, looking up at his father, trying not to pant too hard.

John stared at him for a moment, seemingly studying his eyes.

“Move out in front.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And pay attention, alright?”

Dean nodded, feeling the spikey ball bob in his throat, the heaviness in his chest.

“You alright?” Sam whispered, as Dean passed him.

“I’m fine, Sammy.”

Sam sighed, “It’s Sam.”

Dean shrugged and suppressed a cough, pressing a fist against his chest. This was getting ridiculous, but telling dad he was sick was not an option. He’d have to muddle through.

…

Dean and Ray sat in the gutter waiting for a cab. Dean had his face in his hands, breath rattling, sniffling every few seconds.

“You alright, kid? You crying?”

“I’m not a kid, and I’m not friggen crying,” he sniffed hard, then spent a minute coughing.

“Alright… alright. It’d be okay if you were, is all I’m saying.”

“I’m not crying. I can’t friggen breathe,” he grumbled, searching his pockets for napkins or tissues, or anything.

“I’ll grab some napkins, kid. Just… don’t go anywhere.”

Dean didn’t think he could get up on his own so that really wasn’t a problem.

While he was alone, he pressed his hand to his chest. He could feel the rattle, feel the wheeze, as well as his heart hammering double time. It was the fever, and the booze. Crap, maybe he did have pneumonia. Dad was going to kill him.

“Hey, you with me?”

Dean tried to focus on Ray. His hand was outstretched, offering him a pile of white single-ply napkins.

“Yeah,” he grunted, a shaking hand reaching for them.

“Good,” Ray said, patting him on the shoulder and slumping back down on the ground beside him.

Dean blew his nose and thought it would never end. His head was full, full of this awful sticky goo. He contemplated stopping, leaving it all in there, maybe then he wouldn’t be so… empty.

Clearing his sinuses a little made his nose tingle and he sneezed about 8 times. His chest friggen ached. He’d been coughing and sneezing for weeks and his ribs and muscles were so tender and sore. He almost couldn’t take it anymore.

“Boy, you need a bed and a crap load o’ drugs, not to be sittin’ out here on your ass in the bitin’ cold in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, well… it was better than staying.”

“Listen, Dean. You’re a good kid. And I know you can’t pick your family…”

“Watch it,” Dean growled.

Ray put a hand up, “No disrespect… I just think if you got out on your own, it might be the best thing for you.”

Dean coughed again, leaning forward and pressing a fist to his lips, trying so hard not to puke again. On his own? His heart sped up at the mention of it. His chest tightening. He’d done everything for this family. He’d worked tooth and nail, day in day out. Watch out for Sammy. Take care of the Impala. Do as I say. He’d cooked, cleaned, took care of Sammy, took care of Dad. He worked jobs, real jobs. He’d lied, cheated, stolen, done everything but sell his soul to keep his family together. His dad relied on him to do all that, needed him. They needed him… didn’t they?

“Whoa, breathe… in and out. Dean? Come on, son.”

Dean tilted his head back, looked up at the night sky and tried to calm down.

“Why?” he panted, after a while, “Why do you care about me? You don’t know me.”

Ray bit his lip and shook his head, looking down at the ground.

“’Cause I was you, kid. And on a night like the one you’re having right now, I sure could have used someone like me.”

…

“Hold that torch steady, Sam,” John growled, shoveling dirt out of the grave they were digging up.

Dean’s breathing was rattling and he was sniffling almost constantly, but no one could hear it anymore since it’d started to rain so heavily.

“Well, I’m trying to keep watch,” Sam bit back.

“That’s it. Dean, get out and stand watch. Sammy, get down here and finish digging this hole with me, and I don’t want to hear anymore attitude from you.”

Sam helped his brother climb out, “You’re welcome,” he whispered in his ear, before jumping down to help dig the grave.

It wasn’t like Dean could relax though. He had to stand guard, watching for any sign of the spirit. It was hard enough with the rain, now his hands were shaking and his eyes were fuzzy and he could barely stop shivering. He held the torch steady as he twisted and sneezed into his shoulder twice.

“You wanna keep it down, Deano?”

“Sorry,” he sniffled, “Snuck up on me.”

…

The cab got there and it took both Ray and the driver to get him off the ground.

“Are you sure he’s alright?”

Ray paused, “Nope…”

Dean stumbled, latching on to both of them, “I’m fine and dandy, gentlemen. Nothing to worry about.”

His knees gave way and they braced him on either side, placing him in the back and buckling a seatbelt around him.

He kept a hand pressing into his forehead, moaned when they shut the door, as the jolt when straight through his brain.

“Dean?”

“Huh?”

Ray was staring at him and he became aware that he’d been spoken to for a while now.

“Which motel?”

Dean turned away and coughed. He couldn’t remember the name of the motel. He could barely remember the name of this guy sitting next to him. Roger or Red, or something. God, he just wanted to sleep…

…

“Well, how long is this “job” going to take?”

“I don’t know, Samuel. What does it matter?” John grunted.

“Well, I have a test next Friday. I can’t miss it or I’ll fail.”

“Well, lives are at stake, Sam, so, it’ll take as long as it takes.”

“Unbelievable,” he whispered.

“Wanna say that a bit louder?”

Sam stayed silent in the back seat, pursing his lips and looking out the window.

Dean coughed dryly into his fist.

“Pull in up here.”

“What?” Dean croaked, clearing his throat.

“The motel,” John pointed.

“We haven’t reached the town yet,” Dean said, as he pulled off the highway.

“We’re not going into town. This is isolated, close to the main road, allowing us easy access out of town… and it’s close to the cemetery.”

“Yeah, and there’s probably no internet either,” Sam grumbled.

“I’m getting pretty sick of this attitude, Sam.”

And, like that, they were fighting again. Dean sighed, coughing quietly and looked up at the sign as he parked the Impala.

Motel 66.

…

“Motel 66,” Dean mumbled.

Ray stopped going through his jacket, “What?”

“Motel 66, room number 11…”

“That old shack up joint off the freeway?” the cabbie asked, turning back to look at them.

Ray shrugged as Dean fell into another coughing fit.

“Can you take us that far?”

“Sure, Ray. Just make sure the kid doesn’t throw up in here.”

…

John was putting on his coat.

“How long has Dean been sick for?”

“I dunno,” Sam shrugged, “Weeks.”

“Son of a bitch,” John groaned, pulling on his boots, “That cough sounded bad. Probably bronchitis or pneumonia.”

Sam ran his hands through his hair. This was his fault. He should have made him stop and rest.

John peered out the window, “It’s been 3 hours. He should be back by now.”

“Where are you gonna go? Dean has the Impala.” For once Sam wasn’t being a little brat. It actually felt like he was having a normal conversation with his dad.

“I’ll have to borrow a car…”

Sam smiled, then frowned, “Do you want me to come too?”

John looked at him for a moment, “No, Sam. You stay in case he comes back.”

Sam nodded, fists clenched, jaw tight with worry.

“Dammit, where’s my lockpick?” John patted his pockets, crossed the room and started rifling through the drawers.

Headlights came through the thin curtains and Sam approached the window.

“Dad! It’s Dean.”

…

Dean wanted to puke again. Aside from being drunk as hell, and sick as a dog, he was nauseous from anxiety. His dad was going to go ballistic.

He coughed, head slumped over, chin to chest as Ray flung his arm over his shoulders.

“Come on, Dean. Room 11, was it?”

“Maybe this was… bad idea,” he groaned.

“Kid, you need a bed, you’re even warmer than you were before.”

Dean walked as best his could, leaning heavily into his new friend for support. Before they even got a few steps the door flung open and Dean froze.

“Dean!”

“How you doing, sir?” Ray called out to John as he raced out, Sam right behind him.

“Dean? You okay, son? Come here,” John muttered, grabbing Dean’s other arm and pressing in against his side.

“I’m sorry, dad…” he mumbled, almost collapsed as he coughed again.

“It’s okay, son. It’s okay.”

“He’s got an awful cough and he’s burnin’ up. Tried to drive home but I stopped him doing somethin’ he’d regret. Here’s the keys,” Ray pulled the keys out of his own pocket and handed them to Sam, who was hovering. Dean’s arms were still draped around Ray and his father, struggling to stay upright.

“Thank you so much, for bringing him home,” John said.

“Don’t mention it. He’s a good kid.”

“I know,” John said, hoisting Dean up further.

Sam came in on the other side and took Dean from Ray, muttering his own thanks.

“Thank you,” Dean mustered all his strength to smile at this old drunk who helped in on one of the hardest nights of his life.

“Take care of yourself, kid,” Ray said, leaving Sam and John to look after him.

“Let’s get you inside, son,” John said, in his ear, gripping him comfortingly.

…

Dean tripped coming through the threshold into the house and almost fell on his face. John and Sam braced him and managed to drag him to the bed, where he curled into a ball coughing again, hands clutching at his chest.

“Sammy, go fill a bath. Luke warm, okay? And grab me a towel.”

Sam nodded and raced into the bathroom. Dean heard the water start and Sam emerged with a towel. Dean’s eyes were barely open. He wished he didn’t drink so much.

“Dad,” he mumbled reaching up to grip John’s shirt, “Gon’a be sick…”

John reached round and grabbed a trashcan, pulling Dean across his lap to vomit over the side of the bed.

John’s hand ran up and down his spine, “That’s it, son. Get it all out.”

Dean, for some reason, felt good at hearing that. At least he was doing something his dad wanted. When he coughed again, wet and congested, John pulled him up to sitting and thumped him on the back.

“Dad…”

“Yeah, Deano?” John said, putting a hand on his flushed, sweaty face.

“I’m sick.”

John smiled, “I know, kid. Don’t worry about it. You’re gonna be alright.”

Dean let his eyes close and he fell against his dad, relief washing over him.

“Sam, how’s that bath coming?”

“Almost done,” Sam said, coming back out.

John was using the towel to wipe the sweat off Dean’s pale face.

“Help me with him,” John ordered.

Sam was at Dean’s side in a second, “Come on, big brother.”

They peeled his leather jacket and over shirt off, unbuckled his belt and jeans. They got him to stand and pulled down his pants, leaving him in a t-shirt and pair of boxer briefs.

Dean shivered hard and clutched at his chest.

“Friggen… hurts.”

“Come on, son.”

John and Sam practically carried Dean into the bathroom and placed him into the lukewarm bathtub. Dean gasped and coughed and grabbed at John’s shoulders to try and stay out of the water.

“Put some more hot water in,” John said, and Sam turned on the hot water tap, “Shhh, relax, Dean. It’s alright.”

Once Dean settled in the tub, every few minute they added some cold water, slowly lowering his fever.

John put a rough palm across Dean’s forehead, “How you doing, son?”

Dean’s eyes were becoming clearer, now that he wasn’t being burned alive.

He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry…”

“Dean,” John glanced at Sam, who was perched beside him, puppy dog eyes firmly in place, “It’s my fault… I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”

Dean’s head listed to the side and it looked like he was out.

Satisfied that his fever had come down significantly, John stood up and bent over.

“Sammy, grab some warm clothes for Dean.”

Sam disappeared and John placed a hand on Dean’s chest. It was like snap, crackle and pop in there, and he wasn’t a doctor, but he could tell how badly Dean’s breathing was compromised right now.

Dean stirred as John lifted him out of the tub. Sam placed the clothes on the lid of the toilet.

“Do you need some help?” Sam asked, timidly.

“No, I got him.”

Dean was standing, leaning against his dad as John peeled his wet shirt off and toweled him down.

“First aid kit, Sammy. Fold the covers down.”

Sam left them alone while John stripped Dean and redressed him in the warm sweats and jumper Sam had provided. He was sure the hoodie wasn’t Dean’s. Dean didn’t really wear stuff like that, and it was a little long in the sleeves for him. But it was warm and Dean seemed to burrow into it happily enough.

Dean started coughing and John directed him over the sink, patting his back again.

As soon as they stepped out into the main room, Sam swooped in at Dean’s other side, carrying him to the bed.

“What are you gonna do?” Sam asked, as they tucked Dean into bed.

John rubbed his brow, stared down at his son, who was now passed out drunk in bed.

“He’s gonna get some sleep, sober up, and we’re taking him to the hospital in the morning,” John said, dragging a chair over to Dean’s bedside.

Sam stopped, “The hospital? Dad, are you sure?”

John slumped into the chair, pulling the first aid kit onto his lap.

“He’s real sick, Sammy. Pneumonia, I think.”

Sam shifted from foot to foot.

“In half an hour give him a full glass of water, encourage him to cough…”

“Why? Where are you going?”

John put a hand on Dean’s forehead and stood up, “I’m going to get the car.”

…

Ray watched the two large men help Dean into the room, muttering things in his ears.

He scratched his head and turned to get back in the cab, sitting in the front seat this time.

“He gonna be alright?” The cabbie muttered, reversing out.

“He’s gonna be just fine.”

“I tell ya what.”

“What?”

The cabbie nodded towards the motel, “He’s got one heck of a family.”

Ray smiled, “That he does… that he does.”

…

“How long will you be?” Sam asked, watching his dad approach the door.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” John said, opening the door, taking a deep breath in.

Sam looked down at Dean. His breath was hitching a little as his lungs crackled.

“And Sammy?”

“Yeah, dad?”

“Watch out for Dean.”

END

"Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family's there; for the good, bad... all of it. They got your back, even when it hurts.

That's family."

Edited November 4, 2015 by MissBayliss

[LeadaAlexys52]

That was a thing of beauty.

[SterlingSilver]

OHHHHH MY GOSH~! This was absolutely adorable, and so wonderfully angsty <3. I'm a huge sucker for sick!Dean fics, and there really is a tragic dynamic between Dean, Sam, and John back when they used to hunt together. Dean always in the middle, and for all his tough posturing, he really cares for his family and hates to see them fight. This was really well done, seriously. I loved your duel-style storytelling, with Dean in the bar and the three of them leading up to it. Just awesome It all met up together at the end. I'll definitely be looking forward to more fics written by you!

[CharliesGirl]

"I'm sick."

My heart melted at those two words spoken by a man, oddly enough!

[Always-a-Ginger]

This was amazing. The last line was a heart wrencher. I loved it.

[Masked.Maiden]

Love 21 y/o Dean! And the quote at the end? Amazing! I just watched that episode and couldn't help reading it in Dean's voice. <3

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

“Listen, Dean. You’re a good kid. And I know you can’t pick your family…”

“Watch it,” Dean growled.

You can just hear the defensive tone. Friend or not, don't mess with his family.

My god! This has to be one of the most greatest Sick!Dean reads I've read in a looong time. and the perspectives and separate lives transition had to have been the best thing ever. You really know how to just pull in the atmosphere and capture the characters. I know I say it a lot, but I'll be damned if this doesn't become some sort of episode. Marvelously done!

[Sophie<3]

Oh gosh, this was heart-breaking! Totally drowning in feels over here! ~

[telltale]

I loved the style of this, with the timeline jumps. I thought it was excellent. And I loved everything else too.

On his own? His heart sped up at the mention of it. His chest tightening. He’d done everything for this family. He’d worked tooth and nail, day in day out. Watch out for Sammy. Take care of the Impala. Do as I say. He’d cooked, cleaned, took care of Sammy, took care of Dad. He worked jobs, real jobs. He’d lied, cheated, stolen, done everything but sell his soul to keep his family together. His dad relied on him to do all that, needed him. They needed him… didn’t they?

This is like the core reason why I have never craved h/c from another character on any show the way I do for Dean. So much of his core identity is and always had been about taking care of everyone and everything, when he actually needs taking care of because ahhh, Dean. And he rarely accepts help, but when he does it hits every button I have. This fic really tapped into all that for me, and like I said, I loved the writing style as well. Thanks for the great read!

[ID2006]

I live time line jumps and this was a thing of beauty.

[sierraplaid]

Oh man, I really love this. You wove the whole story together with the flashbacks so beautifully and effectively. I love how you revealed little important snippets of the story one by one, all building up to the conclusion in the present time. Really masterfully and convincingly done, and fun to read!

And Dean is just heartbreaking in this. How he's worried John will be angry with him for being sick, and then when he says, "Just get me home." I can easily imagine this whole scenario happening preseries, and I think you've really nailed Dean's headspace and dialogue. There were so many great lines and exchanges. For starters, the opening segment is a great hook. The interactions between Sam and John were intriguing. And I love the scene with Sam and Dean at night in their room, especially: "You've got a fever." "I know. Shut up." Can definitely hear young Dean saying that! Thanks so much for sharing--I really enjoyed it!

[MissBayliss]

Thank you all so much for your comments I really appreciate it when you put time and effort into telling me what you thought. Makes writing it worthwhile.

You are amazing. Thank you again, and thanks for looking out for my fics as they come up