Taking Some Time (SPN, Dean)

February 8, 2016

I probably shouldn't start another when I have so many in the pipeline... oh well. This one is another epic I am planning, I hope you guys don't mind I know some of you may know from other stories where I've mentioned that I have chronic pain, anyway it's not important, I just wanted to say that this fic is a very special one for me because (for some completely insane reason) I relate to Dean Winchester. So to help me deal with my problems, he's going to live and breath some of them for me. It's therapeutic, okay! So, some of, not all, the stuff that comes out in this fic is from my own experience. So, please be gentle with me and be gentle with Dean. We're fragile at times. Anyway, on with the story...

Title: Taking Some Time, Chapter One

Author: MissBayliss
Genre: Sick!fic, Hurt/Comfort, Epic, Slightly AU
Category: Gen
Tags: Chronic pain, cough/cold, dislocation, insomnia, PTSD, alcohol abuse
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby
Warning: Very mild language. Can be considered slightly AU as Dean is not healed from his old wounds when Castiel raised him from perdition.
Disclaimer: They're pretty, but they're not mine.

Summary: Dean is a little worse off coming off a hunt than he let on. He's fresh from hell and caring a lot of scars, physically and mentally. A bad back, bad shoulder, PTSD, insomnia, alcohol abuse, and a nasty virus to top it all off. Maybe the boys need to take a break and try to get Dean back on track. It might be harder than they thought.

Taking Some Time

Chapter One

Dean shifted in the drivers seat, wincing.

“Hey, are you all right?”

No, he wasn’t all right. His back was friggen killing him, involuntarily tensing and untensing and tensing again, sending aches down his legs and out to his ribs. The vamp had popped his left shoulder out again and it’d made a sickening crunch when he’d popped it back in himself before heading downstairs to Sam. Usually the pain let up just a little once it had been reset, but this time it was worse, and possibly something that wouldn’t just get better on it’s own. He hadn’t slept in 72 hours because of the nightmares and insomnia, and this level of exhaustion was anything but healthy. His left arm dangled at his side while he steered with one hand. His head pounded and his throat friggen burned, and he was desperate for another swig of whiskey to numb… anything. Yeah, he was not all right.

“’M fine…” he cleared his throat and rubbed his eye with his left hand, causing another jolt of pain and stars across his vision.

“No, dude. Pull over, let me drive.”

“How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine, Dean. Pull over.”

He obeyed, pulling off onto the shoulder. Dean tried to look annoyed as he swung his door open, but getting up was more painful than he thought and he wasn't up for long, desperately clinging to the side of the car as his legs buckled with pain and exhaustion.

"Dean!"

"Ah..." He groaned as Sam grabbed his left arm and crunched his shoulder up and down as he fought to keep him standing.

"Where are you hurt?"

"Get me in the friggen car," he groaned.

"Back seat?"

Dean nodded with tight lips. God, he wouldn't make it round to the passenger side.

Dean made a chorus of more grunts and groans as his brother tried to gently manhandle him into the car.

"What is it, Dean? How bad?"

"Shoulder... Back..." He gritted his teeth.

"Is it out?"

"Shoulder? Nah, I put it back in."

Sam huffed, "You put it... You put it back in," he shook his head in disbelief, "What about your back?"

"Just hurts."

"Did you get hit?"

"No, it just aches sometimes."

Sometimes like all the time.

"Aches? Dean, you can't even stand!"

"It aches bad," he said, defiantly.

"Jesus, Dean."

"There are pills in my jacket."

Sam narrowed his eyes but grabbed Dean's jacket from the front seat, hearing the pill bottle rattle.

"There's no label. What are they?"

"Awesome, is what they are," Dean reached for them with his right, cradling his left to his chest.

Sam stared at Dean as he struggled to swallow the tablets without moving from flat on his back.

"Isn't you shoulder usually better once it's set?"

Dean clenched his eyes shut, "Usually..."

“Maybe you didn’t do it properly…”

“I did it properly,” he snapped.

"You wanna go to a hospital?"

"No friggen way. Just drive to the motel."

"I can't when your legs are hanging out of the car."

"Okay," Dean said but didn't move, "Give me a minute."

Sam sighed out loud and slumped into the drivers seat. The car bounced under his sudden weight and Dean groaned.

"How long were you going to drive for? Until you passed out at the wheel?"

"Thought I'd make it," he croaked, coughing as gently as he could.

"Why didn't you tell me you had something wrong with your back?"

"It's been like this since I was 23, dude."

"Like this?" Sam looked over his shoulder.

"There's good days and bad days, Sam. The bad days are just more often now."

Sam shook his head, huffing his little angry laugh.

"We could have been doing something about it if you had of told me..."

Dean held his eyes closed. He was so exhausted he could feel a weight pressing down on him, so heavy, so sure.

…

"Dean? Come on, man."

"What?" Dean opened his eyes and tried to fix them on his brother.

"Gee, those pills are awesome. Wanna come inside or you gonna stay out here all night?"

Staying exactly where he was sounded like the best thing ever, but once the pills wore off he'd be worse than when he started.

"Okay," he rasped, realising how sore his throat was. God, this day sucked.

Sam tugged him across the leather seat and placed his feet on the ground. Dean still cradled his left arm protectively.

"Can you sit up or do you need help?"

Dean pressed his eyes closed for a second, thinking.

"Gonna need your help."

When Dean opened his eyes Sam looked a mix between shocked and worried.

Sam grabbed his right arm and slipped his other behind his shoulders.

"Ready? One, two, three..."

"Ah! Wait, stop. Stop."

Sam gently lowered Dean back down.

Dean could feel the sweat prickle on his face and he felt like he was going to throw up. The pain was so intense he couldn't tell where it was coming from. It was all over now. His skin, his hair, his bones.

"Oh god, Dean,” Sam sighed, “Deep breaths, breathe through it."

"Sam..." He sighed, hand finding his t-shirt and gripping tight.

"I'm here, Dean. Just take it easy."

Sam waited with Dean until the feeling returned to his feet and hands and he tried standing up again.

"One, two, three!"

Dean gritted his teeth as every part of his body protested the movement. His steps were stiff. His back didn’t like his legs to move and the burning sting travelled all the way down the back of his legs to his ankles.

“You alright?” Sam asked.

Dean could have laughed at how stupid the question was but he didn’t. He had to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

“Just don’t stop,” Dean said, through gritted teeth.

Dean managed to make it into the room before he collapsed again.

"Dean, whoa. Almost there, man. Come on."

Dean struggled to regain his footing and scrambled to the bed, flopping onto his back.

"God, Sam..."

"I know. I know it's bad, Dean. Just try to breathe."

"You might need to go back out... I'm gonna need somethin’ else."

"I already stopped off at a pharmacy on the way. You were out cold. Just stay where you are. I'll get the stuff from the car," Sam said, placing a pillow under his left shoulder and another under his knees.

"Yeah, not going anywhere," Dean grunted.

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed back the bile. The pain in his back and legs had eased now he was horizontal, but it was still up there on the Winchester pain scale. His shoulder pulsed with its own heartbeat. His eyes felt swollen he was so tired. He didn't know how much longer he could stay conscious.

Dean heard Sam re-enter the room, shopping bags rustling. He heard boxes being opened and Sam padding across the carpet to the right side of his bed.

"What you got?" Dean asked, peeking through one eye.

Sam was squatting down in between the beds plugging something in. It was a thick rectangular cloth mat.

"Electric heat pad. Lower back, right?"

Dean huffed, "Kinda the whole thing, but yeah, lower is worse."

Sam carefully slid the mat under Dean's back as he tried to shuffle around to help him. He was pretty useless right now.

"Dean, one more thing."

Sam was standing with a black strappy thing in his hands.

"Wassat?" Dean mumbled.

"It's a sling. Don't fight me on this."

Dean looked up at the ceiling. He had no energy for fighting.

Sam took that as his cue and began gently fitting the sling to his brothers left arm. It required some movement of his arm to get it on and that hurt like a bitch. Once it was in place and his arm was secured nicely to his chest, pillow back under his shoulder, Sam cracked some instant cold packs and placed them on his shoulder. Dean hummed as the heat pad started to warm up and the cold began to numb his shoulder. He brought his right hand up and coughed into his fist, his throat scratchy and sore.

"You okay?"

He could feel Sam hovering.

Dean nodded slightly, eyes still closed. He could use some water though. His throat was killing him.

"Here."

He peeled his eyes open and Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding out a glass. Kid was damn perceptive.

Sam must have seen he wasn't going to be much good on his own, because he brought the glass to his lips and lifted his head for him. A small amount trickled the wrong way causing Dean to jolt with coughs, but by now the pain had got too much and everything was pretty much numb.

"You've been coughing a lot," Sam said, placing the glass on the nightstand.

"I just choked," Dean cleared his throat.

Sam sighed, "No, before that. You've been doing it all day. Are you sick?"

Dean relaxed his face and closed his eyes, "Yeah, maybe," no point in hiding how shitty he felt now.

"When was the last time you slept?"

Aw, crap, Dean mentally cursed.

"Cause I went to bed at 1 and you were still up... I got up to pee at 3 and you were watching cartoon porn... Then I was up at 6 to go for a run and you were in the shower. Did you sleep at all?"

"Sam..."

"No, Dean. We're going to have this discussion."

"Guess I didn't sleep last night."

"And the night before?"

Dean opened his eyes to look at Sam. They were foggy. He knew he was looking through tear filled eyes. Tired tears, drugged up tears, pain tears... tears.

"I can't sleep, Sam."

"How long has it been?"

"I guess 3 days or something... S'not like I haven't tried," his voice quivered and he was friggen angry for being so weak.

"Okay... Okay, we'll worry about that later. I got you some pills, but I don't know what you can take with the ones you just had."

“They’re oxycodone.”

“Oh, uh, well, maybe we should wait to give you anything else.”

“Awesome.”

“Dean…”

“’M kinda spinning here,” Dean moaned, closing his eyes.

“Sorry, I just… you had those pills in your jacket pocket.”

Dean moaned a noncommittal noise.

“How often do you take them?”

“Mm… I started with codeine, then it wasn’t enough… morphine was too strong. Still needed to work.”

“Dammit, Dean… I can’t believe I didn’t know about this. I mean, I know about the nightmares, and the drinking, and I kind of assumed you weren’t getting much sleep but 3 days without any? And this back problem, Dean… I think it could be something really bad…” Sam looked down at Dean. His lips were slightly parted and the lines in his face smoothed. Sam softened, “Get some sleep, big brother.”

…

"SAM!"

"Shh, Dean, it's okay."

"SAM!"

"God, Dean..."

Dean was burning up. He was sweating and thrashing on his bed, which couldn't be good for his back or his shoulder. What was worse was that he was yelling pretty extremely loud and it wouldn't be long before...

Thumpthumpthump

Crap.

Sam opened the door but left the chain latched.

"Man, it's 4 in the morning," it was the motel manager.

"I know," Sam sighed, "My brother's sick..."

"I've had 5 complaints in half an hour. I'm sorry, son, but I can't let you stay."

"Please, I can't move him like this..."

"Kid, I'm trying to run a business. I'm sorry about your brother. You've got an hour and I want you out."

Sam nodded, rubbing a hand across his face.

"Alright," he sighed, shutting the door.

How the hell was he supposed to get Dean to the car like this? Where were they supposed to go?

He couldn’t talk his options through with Dean like he usually always did. Dean was stuck in a hellish nightmare, screaming for his brother. He couldn’t figure it out alone. And there was only one other person he could trust. He pulled out his phone and called Bobby.

"If you're callin' at this hour it can't be somethin' good. What's goin' on, Sam?"

"Bobby... I need somewhere to go in Raleigh, North Carolina. We got an hour to get out of the motel so it's gotta be something quick."

"Whoa, slow down, son. Why the heck you gotta leave the motel? Where's Dean?"

"Dean's sick, Bobby. He's sick and he's hurt pretty bad... He's having nightmares. Too many people have complained. We gotta go but I can't take him anywhere too far like this and no motel is gonna be taking people at this hour."

"Okay, alright. Take a breath. We're gonna find you a place and then you're gonna tell me about Dean."

Sam sighed and nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"You said you're in Raleigh?"

"Yeah."

"Listen, I worked a case out in Greenville a few years back. Poltergeist. She was awful grateful. Said I should let her know if there's anyway she could repay me..."

"This is a pretty big favour to cash in, Bobby."

"Well, it's all I got. So, start packin’ your stuff. I'll call you back."

"Thanks, Bobby."

Sam stared at his phone long after the call had ended. He didn’t even know if he could wake Dean like this. He hadn’t been able to so far. He ignored the worry that slithered up the back of his throat and set to packing up their stuff to get on the road as soon as Bobby called back.

"We goin’ somewhere?"

"Dean!" Sam startled, "Jesus..."

Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, sweaty and hunched, looking feeble.

"What's goin' on?"

"We gotta go, man. You were having a nightmare... Manager's kicking us out."

"Son of a bitch..." Dean groaned.

"How you doing?"

"Peachy."

"Well, you're sitting up on your own so it's an improvement from a few hours ago," Sam said, sitting next to his brother.

"A few hours, is that all I slept?" Dean asked, rubbing his face.

Sam nodded, "You've been tossing around and calling out the whole time too..."

"Look, Sam..." Dean rubbed a hand up and down his thigh, breath shortening as he prepared for what he was about to say, "I know I'm not good at this whole asking for help thing..." He cleared his throat and looked down.

"Hey," Sam said, "I know. We'll figure this out. We always do."

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean looked up at him with dewy eyes, before launching into a coughing fit, "Uh, God..."

Sam placed the back of his fingers on Dean's forehead, "You're still really warm, man."

"Yeah, figures."

"I'm waiting on a call from Bobby. He's gonna try and find us somewhere to stay for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"Dean... You can't keep going like this. You're gonna kill yourself."

"Well, I'm not quitting," he raised his voice, sat up straighter and winced as it hurt his knotted back.

"No one's saying that. We just need to take some time to figure this out... Get you right."

Dean nodded, closing his eyes against another jolt of pain that drained him of all colour.

"You should lie back down..."

"Nah, I'll never get back up," Dean laughed, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"You wanna let me look at your shoulder?"

"Not particularly," he grunted.

"You could have done some serious damage."

"Oh, I don't doubt that."

"Then let me see..."

"Sam, I'm about to hurl. You poking around at my shoulder is the last thing I need."

“Sorry. One thing at a time,” Sam said just as his phone began to ring.

“Bobby.”

“I got something for ya.”

“What is it?”

“I called up Karen, the woman from the poltergeist case, bad news is she moved…”

Sam bowed his head.

“Good news is, she hasn’t found anyone to rent the house yet. It’s vacant. And if you boys wanted something a little more long term, she’s offering it to you at half the rent.”

“What are you thinking, Bobby?”

“Well, you said Dean’s hurt, right? And sick. And you know he hasn’t been right since getting out of the pit… the things he’s been through. Maybe you boys need a break.”

Sam looked at Dean. Dean was looking at him. His eyes were so tired, so old, reflecting the 40 years he’d spent in damnation. He looked small, arm in the big, bulky sling, lines on his face showing the pain he was trying to hide, a drip of sweat sliding down his temple, and this look of… desperation.

“What’s the address?”

...

A/N: Unfortunately, no sneezes in this chapter but I will get there. This is over on Live Journal at the moment. I posted the first chapter to hoodie_time (my one stop shop for all my favourite Dean whumpage). Definitely check it out if that tickles your fancy. It's my first one to hoodie_time since being a secret reader for years. Very excited. Hope you enjoyed the first chapter.

February 8, 2016

Okay, first off before I lose my internally overjoyed mind. The second I saw it was you, plus SPN. I took ten very long seconds to squeal!

Ahem~ now then....

' “Hey, are you all right?”

No, he wasn’t all right. His back was friggen killing him, involuntarily tensing and untensing and tensing again, sending aches down his legs and out to his ribs. The vamp had popped his left shoulder out again and it’d made a sickening crunch when he’d popped it back in himself before heading downstairs to Sam. Usually the pain let up just a little once it had been reset, but this time it was worse, and possibly something that wouldn’t just get better on it’s own. He hadn’t slept in 72 hours because of the nightmares and insomnia, and this level of exhaustion was anything but healthy. His left arm dangled at his side while he steered with one hand. His head pounded and his throat friggen burned, and he was desperate for another swig of whiskey to numb… anything. Yeah, he was not all right.

“’M fine…” '

Typical Dean. I love the description of this

' "There are pills in my jacket."

Sam narrowed his eyes but grabbed Dean's jacket from the front seat, hearing the pill bottle rattle.

"There's no label. What are they?"

"Awesome, is what they are," '

For them to knock his ass out, I'd say pretty awesome pills to do that.

' "Gonna need your help."

When Dean opened his eyes Sam looked a mix between shocked and worried.'

Sammy! You can just hear the break in Dean's voice and Sam's heart.

' "When was the last time you slept?"

Aw, crap, Dean mentally cursed.'

Observant little thing, isn't he Dean?

' "SAM!"

"Shh, Dean, it's okay."

"SAM!"

"God, Dean..." '

Oh man, I was tearing up at the nightmare.

'"If you're callin' at this hour it can't be somethin' good. What's goin' on, Sam?" '

Gotta love, Bobby.

This is absolutely AMAZING!! I can not wait for more! :bounce:

February 9, 2016

Oh wow, I love you! There can never be too many of your stories out there.

February 9, 2016

This is really great -- vivid, in-character, with that balance of melancholy and warmth that I love so much about the show itself. I can just see and feel everything you describe, and you especially nailed the brothers' interactions.

I love this passage:

"No friggen way. Just drive to the motel."
"I can't when your legs are hanging out of the car."
"Okay," Dean said but didn't move, "Give me a minute."
Sam sighed out loud and slumped into the drivers seat. The car bounced under his sudden weight and Dean groaned.
"How long were you going to drive for? Until you passed out at the wheel?"
"Thought I'd make it," he croaked, coughing as gently as he could.

Perfect. The humor, the brotherly concern. Yum.

Likewise, this:

"I already stopped off at a pharmacy on the way. You were out cold. Just stay where you are. I'll get the stuff from the car," Sam said, placing a pillow under his left shoulder and another under his knees.
"Yeah, not going anywhere," Dean grunted.

...and THIS:

"You okay?"
He could feel Sam hovering.
Dean nodded slightly, eyes still closed. He could use some water though. His throat was killing him.
"Here."
He peeled his eyes open and Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding out a glass. Kid was damn perceptive.

:heart: Saaammm!

Really looking forward to Chapter 2!

February 13, 2016

I knew I would love this right away when I saw your name, and that it was going to be a long fic. I crave long fics! And the tags/summary appealed to me too as I really love angst in my Dean fics, sneezes or not. (I actually have a chronic condition that involves pain too, and I really empathise and find h/c therapeutic with Dean’s type of character as well, so maybe that’s part of it? I’ve heard similar things from a few people, interestingly enough.) Regardless, this was just up my alley, and I was right, I do love it. A lot.

I lovelovelove the way you're building up to things, and the fact that the fic is special for you really comes through in how vividly it’s written. The POV and dialogue are absolutely pitch-perfect right down to the inflections, and this is a great time period in the show to fit this kind of fic. Well, basically anytime in the show we have the potential for Dean angst, lol, but season 4 was extra-good for that, I think. I will just never get enough of post-hell Dean! Definitely looking forward to more.

February 15, 2016

On 8 February 2016 at 3:26 AM, Pyrus_Fangmon said:

Okay, first off before I lose my internally overjoyed mind. The second I saw it was you, plus SPN. I took ten very long seconds to squeal!

Ahem~ now then....

' “Hey, are you all right?”

No, he wasn’t all right. His back was friggen killing him, involuntarily tensing and untensing and tensing again, sending aches down his legs and out to his ribs. The vamp had popped his left shoulder out again and it’d made a sickening crunch when he’d popped it back in himself before heading downstairs to Sam. Usually the pain let up just a little once it had been reset, but this time it was worse, and possibly something that wouldn’t just get better on it’s own. He hadn’t slept in 72 hours because of the nightmares and insomnia, and this level of exhaustion was anything but healthy. His left arm dangled at his side while he steered with one hand. His head pounded and his throat friggen burned, and he was desperate for another swig of whiskey to numb… anything. Yeah, he was not all right.

“’M fine…” '

Typical Dean. I love the description of this

' "There are pills in my jacket."

Sam narrowed his eyes but grabbed Dean's jacket from the front seat, hearing the pill bottle rattle.

"There's no label. What are they?"

"Awesome, is what they are," '

For them to knock his ass out, I'd say pretty awesome pills to do that.

' "Gonna need your help."

When Dean opened his eyes Sam looked a mix between shocked and worried.'

Sammy! You can just hear the break in Dean's voice and Sam's heart.

' "When was the last time you slept?"

Aw, crap, Dean mentally cursed.'

Observant little thing, isn't he Dean?

' "SAM!"

"Shh, Dean, it's okay."

"SAM!"

"God, Dean..." '

Oh man, I was tearing up at the nightmare.

'"If you're callin' at this hour it can't be somethin' good. What's goin' on, Sam?" '

Gotta love, Bobby.

This is absolutely AMAZING!! I can not wait for more!

Aw, thank you, sweetness! Love that you did this. I really enjoy reading your comments

On 9 February 2016 at 1:01 PM, Wow Really? said:

Oh wow, I love you! There can never be too many of your stories out there.

Thank you so much You're gonna make me blush

On 9 February 2016 at 6:00 PM, sierraplaid said:

This is really great -- vivid, in-character, with that balance of melancholy and warmth that I love so much about the show itself. I can just see and feel everything you describe, and you especially nailed the brothers' interactions.

I love this passage:

Perfect. The humor, the brotherly concern. Yum.

Likewise, this:

...and THIS:

Saaammm!

Really looking forward to Chapter 2!

Yay, thank you. So glad you like it and gave me a really nice comment. I hope I can keep you impressed!

On 13 February 2016 at 0:47 PM, telltale said:

I knew I would love this right away when I saw your name, and that it was going to be a long fic. I crave long fics! And the tags/summary appealed to me too as I really love angst in my Dean fics, sneezes or not. (I actually have a chronic condition that involves pain too, and I really empathise and find h/c therapeutic with Dean’s type of character as well, so maybe that’s part of it? I’ve heard similar things from a few people, interestingly enough.) Regardless, this was just up my alley, and I was right, I do love it. A lot.

I lovelovelove the way you're building up to things, and the fact that the fic is special for you really comes through in how vividly it’s written. The POV and dialogue are absolutely pitch-perfect right down to the inflections, and this is a great time period in the show to fit this kind of fic. Well, basically anytime in the show we have the potential for Dean angst, lol, but season 4 was extra-good for that, I think. I will just never get enough of post-hell Dean! Definitely looking forward to more.

Oh my goodness, thank you so much. I can't believe that I'm getting a name for myself in the SPN fan fiction community. It's really beautiful and really humbling. I'm so glad you like my writing and enjoy my fics. Dean is just such an amazing character, and the show has put him through so much you can almost predict how he will react in any situation. He's a great tool for me as well. If you read this and find it therapeutic for you, then bonus. I love doing this and people like you make me love it even more. I hope I don't let you down

February 15, 2016

Chapter Two

"How much further?" Dean moaned, from the passenger seat.

"It's not far... you okay?"

"No," Dean blanched, "No, not okay."

"Just hang on. We’re almost there."

Dean's breath sawed in and out. The pain was so much he couldn't think beyond a phrase in his head so he'd just repeat it over and over.

It's bad, it's bad, it's bad, it's bad...

"Dean?"

His eyes were slammed shut, fighting tears.

Oh, shit. It’s bad, it’s bad, it’s really bad…

"Dean, breathe, man. You're panicking."

Yeah, damn right he was panicking. He was freaking dying.

"Dean, calm down."

"Easy for you to say..." He forced out through clenched teeth.

"You're having a panic attack. Deep breaths..."

"It's... It hurts, Sam..."

"I know but tensing up like that's making it worse, take some deep breaths, try to relax your muscles."

Dean leaned his head back, face pale, lips almost grey, and he took a breath.

"Not much further, okay? You're doing great."

Dean opened his eyes to slits to glare at his brother.

“Just trying to help,” Sam looked back at the road.

“I know,” Dean said, taking a slow deep breath.

“Is it working?” Sam asked, hesitantly.

Dean nodded, “Yeah, it’s working.”

…

Dean was somewhere between asleep and awake when they arrived at the house. He was drifting weightlessly.

When Sam woke him, it slammed into him like a freight train.

"Sorry, man. We're here."

"Where?" he rubbed his eyes with his available hand.

"The house, remember? We're staying here for a while. It's safe. Don't worry."

Sam seemed to be anticipating the questions before he asked them, like it wasn't the first time they'd gone through this. Sleep deprivation will do that to ya.

"What're we waiting for then?"

Sam laughed, "You to get your ass moving, grandpa."

"Smart ass," Dean groaned, coughing sharply into his fist.

At least his back had eased off, now it was mainly his shoulder to contend with, and the pulsing behind his eyes. Damn good time to catch a cold.

Dean got himself out of the car, using the impala as a crutch. Sam slid a hand around his waist.

"Dude, get off. I can walk."

"Sorry," Sam said, backing off, but staying vigilant at his side.

They obviously hadn't had time to pick up keys, especially at this hour, so Sam had to pick the lock. Bobby had made Karen aware of the situation, and she knew about their line of work, approving of their not-always-legal methods. Sam was so relieved for Bobby's connections. He honestly didn't know where they would have gone otherwise.

When they got into the house it was almost too good to be true. The place was a four bedroom, two bathroom low set, fully furnished, with a double lockup garage for Baby.

"Home sweet home," Dean grumbled in a vaguely impressed tone, all he could muster through the pain, sick, drug induced haze.

"Not bad," Sam smiled, looking around, "Scissors, paper, rock for the main bedroom?"

"No way, man. I'm the oldest. That bedroom is mine."

Sam laughed, "You can have it, man. I'll bring the stuff in from the car and then put the impala in the garage."

"Baby's never had it so good," Dean smirked, although he was fading fast and he so needed to lie down.

"You wanna lie down? Think you can find your room?" Sam asked, studying the changes in Dean's expression. Dean was starting to think he was a little too transparent.

"I'll find it."

Sam smiled politely and stepped back outside. Dean, carrying nothing but the clothes on his back, and that was almost too much, started walking down the hall. His left arm held close on his chest by the industrial sling, seriously, the thing had more straps and buckles than a damn parachute. His right arm leaned heavily on any surface on the way from the front door to the bed. He was tired. He was thirsty. When was his last drink anyway? His mouth salivated at the thought of alcohol, a quake running through his whole body. His flask was in his jacket, his whiskey was in his bag, and his beer was in the cooler. Sam had his jacket and his bags and he couldn’t go and get them, not like this. Sam was never going to let him drink on oxycodone, you know, now that he knew about it. But he just wanted something. He just wanted to forget.

Sam caught up with him halfway down the hall, carrying the duffles over his shoulders.

“You good?”

Of course he wasn’t good. It had taken the same amount of time for Sam to go back out the car, drive the car into the garage, grab all their gear, and come back inside, than it had taken him to stumble his ass halfway down the hallway.

“’M good. ‘S’at my bag?” He nodded at the bag Sam carried, as they both entered the main bedroom.

“Yeah, I’ll help you set up. Just sit down, I’ll get the heat pad hooked up.”

Dean gingerly lowered himself onto the massive double bed.

“You need anything?”

A drink. A drink. A drink. A drink.

“Nah, I’m okay.”

…

The pain in his back came and went and usually didn’t cripple him like it had last night. He’d been able to successfully hide it from his brother for four years. It wasn’t great that their job had them driving all across America. Sitting wasn’t good. Lying down, or standing and walking, that was when he had the least pain, when he was able to manage it best. He knew Sam wouldn’t let it go, unlike his dad. Sure John didn’t like to see him in pain and he encouraged Dean to seek help but Dean refused, and John didn’t push, as long as it didn’t interfere with the job.

As morning turned to midday Dean became evidently sicker than what he was the day before, and it didn’t help that his last drink was, god, 16 hours ago? Was that it?

“How’s your back?” Sam asked, standing at the doorway. The kid looked tired.

“Better now,” Dean rasped. His voice sounded raw.

“Shoulder?”

“Not great.”

Which Sam would know, meant terrible.

“Fever?”

“Hm,” he groaned, “Still hanging round… can’t stop shaking.”

Sam sighed and came into the room, placing a hand on the side of Dean’s head. Dean didn’t want to be touched, but at the same time it felt nice, grounding. This is real, this is real, this is real.

“Did you sleep?” he asked, peering in Dean’s eyes.

“Nah.”

“Shit, Dean… You need to sleep. You can’t keep going like this.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Dean snapped, “But I close my eyes and…” he choked, coughed, bought some time to get himself together, “I’m back there… I can’t make it stop.”

Sam dropped his face to his hands, rubbing his eyes, “We’ll figure it out.”

Dean turned away from Sam. He didn’t want his pity. He didn’t deserve it.

“I’ll grab you some of the sleeping pills I got, and some Tylenol. You’re still a freaking furnace.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“We’re gonna talk about this, Dean. But first you need to get some rest.”

“Rest,” he laughed, and did he say that out loud? Because that was supposed to be an inside thought. He must have, because Sam was staring at him, all furrowed brow and puppy dog eyes and he almost wanted to punch the look right off his face. But that was Sammy, his Sammy, and dammit, that was all he had right now.

…

After the pills Dean slept a solid 19 hours, during which Sam managed to get 4. It was fine. He could manage. He just needed to get Dean right, and he was sure that would start with a good nights sleep. Thankfully Dean didn't stir, his eyes didn't flutter, he didn't scream, he didn't gasp, he didn't toss and turn. It was a beautiful sight to see him still. The pills had worked. Sam may have given him slightly more than the recommended dosage, but he figured he needed it. Dean wasn't as big as Sam... but he was still a big boy. He didn't appear to have nightmares, but that didn't mean the sleep had done him any good. He yoyo-ed back and forth between white as a sheet, and flushed red. He kept up a steady flow of sweat through the pores on his face, tracing sticky lines down his temples. Sometimes his breathing got heavy, and sometimes is was shallow, too fast asleep to cough up the mucus pooling in his lungs. Sam turned off the heat pad as soon as he'd fallen asleep. He couldn't risk that fever getting too high, right now it was at prime temperature for killing off infection, but he didn't want it to get away from them.

So Sam watched, vigilant for trouble, while Dean slept, mulling over the extent of Dean's injuries and how in hell he'd managed to keep it from him all these years.

23. He said he'd had it since he was 23. What had happened while he was away at Stanford? Why had their dad not got the help Dean needed?

He sat in a chair in Dean's new bedroom, laptop on his knees, googling what could possibly be wrong. He shouldn't have.

Dean woke on his own at around 7 the next morning. Not screaming. Not crying. But congested as all hell.

“Hey, how you feeling?” Sam asked, getting out of his chair and sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed.

Dean’s answer was a cough. By the look on his face the sound of it surprised him as much as it did Sam. The last time Dean had coughed it was dry and grating, this one was wet and rattling.

“That doesn’t sound good…”

“Well, shit. I feel awesome...” Dean sniffed, sarcasm in full swing, “How long was I out?”

“Almost 19 hours. I think that’s a record for you.”

Dean rubbed his face, winced, “Don’t normally get that in a week.”

“Yeah, well, you sure needed it.”

“Did you get any? You look worse than me,” Dean wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“I grabbed a few hours.”

“Mmhm,” Dean hummed, as if he didn’t believe it.

“How bad’s the pain?” Sam asked, remembering Dean’s panic attack in the car on the way there.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Dean’s voice was thick.

“Alright, let me see your shoulder,” Sam began pulling back the covers.

Dean swatted his hands away with his right, “Get off. I’m gonna have a shower first.”

Sam stood up as Dean dragged himself out of bed.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Dude, seriously,” Dean looked at him with fiery eyes, “Would you stop? Just give me an hour, alright? Go read something nerdy. I don’t need your help.”

Dean lumbered into the ensuite and slammed the door behind him.

Sam took a deep breath, counted to ten. He tried to remember that Dean was Dean, and he couldn’t always accept help.

“I know I’m not good at this whole asking for help thing…”

He wasn’t always going to open up to him. He just had to be ready for when he did.

…

Dean eventually joined Sam out in the lounge room, wearing a pair of sweats and nothing else, not even the sling Sam had wrangled him into the night before. As he approached Sam, the smell of cheap whiskey and cologne smacked him in the face, and by the glazed look in his eye, he’d drunk quite a bit, probably dumping on a bucket of cologne to try and mask the smell. Sam sized him up, the anger seemed to have subsided under the affects of alcohol and a hot shower, something was clearly wrong with his left shoulder. It hung lower than his right, yellowed with bruises. He was pale, his nose red like he’d scrubbed it hard, and there was a distinct wheeze when he breathed.

“It doesn’t look right, does it?” his voice was nails and gravel and smelled like strong liquor.

“Huh?” Sam said, too caught up in analyzing his big brother.

“The shoulder,” he said, as though it should be obvious. It should have.

“Yeah… you sure you put it in right?”

Dean rolled his eyes and sat on the arm of the lounge next to Sam, “How many times have I had to put it in? I know what I’m doing.”

His words were slightly slurred.

“You’ve probably torn something, Dean. Can you move your arm at all?” Sam stood up and faced his brother.

“If you want to do range of motion tests, I can’t be responsible for punching you in the face.”

“Yeah, do your worst,” Sam laughed.

Dean smiled, but listed dangerously close to falling.

“Whoa, man. Here, sit down properly.”

Dean slid onto the lounge, snuffled, and sneezed into his wrist.

“Bless you,” Sam said, making a mental note to get tissues, “What’s the pain like?”

Dean closed his eyes for a second, “It’s throbbing, doesn’t let up.”

“What about in your hand? Pins and needles or anything?” Sam asked, sitting on the coffee table in front of Dean.

Dean made a face, then sort of laughed, “Well…”

“What?”

He pointed with his right to his last three fingers on his left hand, “Can’t feel these ones.”

Sam sighed, “Shit.”

“I can bend ‘em though,” he smiled as if it were a great accomplishment.

“Alright,” Sam shuffled closer to Dean, “Can I?”

Dean shrugged with one shoulder, “You’re going to anyway.”

Sam placed his hands around Dean’s arm and they went through routine range of motion tests, thankfully without anyone getting punched. Dean had bad shoulders, particularly the left. It was always popping out, since he was a teenager and had a nasty accident with a werewolf. Because of this fact, their dad had taught them enough first aid to know when something wasn’t right, when they needed to seek actual medical help. Dean didn’t have a great range of motion in that arm to begin with, but this was bad. He could move his arm slightly forward and back with a little pain, but lifting it away from his body, uh uh, not happening. He could make a loose fist, but as he said, he had no feeling in three fingers. The pain radiated down to his elbow, across his chest and across his back.

“Okay, time to see a doctor,” Sam sat back as Dean hugged him arm in with his right hand.

“Man, I hate doctors,” Dean groaned, coughed again wetly.

“And we can add that cough to the list of things to talk to them about.”

Dean looked confused, and drunk, “I’m seeing the doctor for my shoulder. That’s it.”

“No way, man. We’re telling them about your back as well.”

“What?” Dean straightened, “You don’t think I’ve been to doctors before? I know exactly what they’re gonna say.”

“How could I think that, Dean? You haven’t told me anything about it!” Sam raised his voice, standing up.

“Oh, come on,” Dean sighed, clearly not having enough energy to argue. Which was what Sam was counting on. “What do you want from me, Sam? It was on a job. I was unlucky.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, the usual. Thrown off a balcony onto the side of a pool table. It hurt like a bitch, but not straight away. Dad and I got out of there, finished the job, and went back to the motel. That’s when it got bad.”

“Did you go to a hospital?”

“Nah,” Dean shook his head, “We went to a doctor after I couldn’t get out of bed for 5 days.”

“What did they say?”

“They told me to take it easy, ice and heat, gave me painkillers, referred me to a physio, who referred me to a specialist.”

“What did the specialist do?”

“Never went,” Dean laughed, “The bills were too expensive, cops were on our tail… I was slowing dad down. So, I just took the pills and kept my mouth shut. Like I said, there’s good days and bad days.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, “How could you put up with it for so long?”

“There’s ways of coping… You do what you have to,” he looked up at Sam, eyes of shame and guilt.

“Look, Dean, we’re going to fix this, but that has to start with you. You have to want things to change.”

Dean coughed into his fist, pushed his spikey hair back.

“I’m here for you, Dean, but you’ve got to help me out.”

“Alright,” he groaned.

Sam smiled. Dean shivered and directed another sneeze against his wrist.

“You’re a mess, dude.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

…

February 15, 2016

9 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

"It's not far... you okay?"

"No," Dean blanched, "No, not okay."

Ugghhhhh. Dean, honey, sweetie. :cry:

9 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

The pain was so much he couldn't think beyond a phrase in his head so he'd just repeat it over and over.

It's bad, it's bad, it's bad, it's bad...

"Dean?"

His eyes were slammed shut, fighting tears.

Oh, shit. It’s bad, it’s bad, it’s really bad…

"Dean, breathe, man. You're panicking."

I love the metal log you place in. You really get the feel of what's going on in their heads.

9 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

"Not much further, okay? You're doing great."

Dean opened his eyes to slits to glare at his brother.

“Just trying to help,” Sam looked back at the road.

“I know,” Dean said, taking a slow deep breath.

“Is it working?” Sam asked, hesitantly.

Dean nodded, “Yeah, it’s working.”

Ten points to Sammy! You seriously have these nailed down. It's incredible.

9 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

They obviously hadn't had time to pick up keys, especially at this hour, so Sam had to pick the lock. Bobby had made Karen aware of the situation, and she knew about their line of work, approving of their not-always-legal methods. Sam was so relieved for Bobby's connections. He honestly didn't know where they would have gone otherwise.

You would be sitting under a bridge. Dean in the back seat swearing his heart out. Bobby to the rescue of his boys!

9 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

You good?”

Of course he wasn’t good. It had taken the same amount of time for Sam to go back out the car, drive the car into the garage, grab all their gear, and come back inside, than it had taken him to stumble his ass halfway down the hallway.

“’M good. ‘S’at my bag?”

Dammit Dean! It's those long legs that beat you! Sammy's legs.....mmmmm~ :heart:

9 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

“Almost 19 hours. I think that’s a record for you.”

Dean rubbed his face, winced, “Don’t normally get that in a week.”

19!? I don't even get 8 in a week! I'm sorry, what were those pills again?

9 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

He pointed with his right to his last three fingers on his left hand, “Can’t feel these ones.”

Sam sighed, “Shit.”

“I can bend ‘em though,” he smiled as if it were a great accomplishment.

Double shit. Dammit Dean! We love you, but dammit.

9 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

“You’re a mess, dude.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Idjits.

I can't even exert the proper emotions to this. There is so much brotherly love and fluff that it doesn't even feel like im reading. This is true art!

February 17, 2016

I hope this story helps you. It's hard to read knowing you share the yucky. (But I read it anyway because it's Dean's yucky and it makes me want to hug him.) I'd hug you too, but you're in kanga land. The closest 'roos are in a zoo.

But I digress.

You have a way with tapping into pain, and making it very accessible to the reader. It hurts, but I love to read it. Adding in the alcohol as a coping mechanism drove it home, made it hurt more, made it very, very real.

It's brilliantly done, every time.

On a personal level, I hope you have a Sammy there for you, and I'm looking forward to seeing Sam help Dean cope and learn to take care of himself.

Take your time with this, because it will be worth it on many, many levels.

February 17, 2016

1 hour ago, Anilkex said:

I hope this story helps you. It's hard to read knowing you share the yucky. (But I read it anyway because it's Dean's yucky and it makes me want to hug him.) I'd hug you too, but you're in kanga land. The closest 'roos are in a zoo.

But I digress.

You have a way with tapping into pain, and making it very accessible to the reader. It hurts, but I love to read it. Adding in the alcohol as a coping mechanism drove it home, made it hurt more, made it very, very real.

It's brilliantly done, every time.

On a personal level, I hope you have a Sammy there for you, and I'm looking forward to seeing Sam help Dean cope and learn to take care of himself.

Take your time with this, because it will be worth it on many, many levels.

You are very sweet. I only share some of the yucky! A very small part of the yucky! Lol It's therapeutic because I am kind of a Dean person, in that I don't want attention for the wrong reasons so I keep certain aspects hidden. It's easier that way, but not always. I'm happy there are people that I can share this knowledge of pain with. A lot of the time I write in moments of heightened pain, just so I can try and put into words what it is. Some of these passages are in this fic. Don't get me wrong, I'm not Dean, and I don't always live on a knife edge. I am a very happy and blessed individual... and there are lots and lots of good days

I'm hoping to post an update a week, my schedule allowing.

Thank you for your comments, always. :heart:

February 22, 2016

On 15/02/2016 at 3:20 AM, MissBayliss said:

Oh my goodness, thank you so much. I can't believe that I'm getting a name for myself in the SPN fan fiction community. It's really beautiful and really humbling. I'm so glad you like my writing and enjoy my fics. Dean is just such an amazing character, and the show has put him through so much you can almost predict how he will react in any situation. He's a great tool for me as well. If you read this and find it therapeutic for you, then bonus. I love doing this and people like you make me love it even more. I hope I don't let you down

I can guarantee there is no way this fic could let me down until it ends, because I will be sad it's over. :nosad:

I think a big part of why h/c fic for Dean can be so therapeutic, for me anyway, is that he's one of those characters that is always taking care of everyone else and never himself - I'm attracted to those kinds of characters in h/c ALWAYS, but with Dean, he hardly ever gets any comfort on the show, just a lot of hurt. So to read about him getting any comfort, even if he's in a lot of pain, makes me way too happy. And on that note, I love the way you have Dean starting to accept help here, the way that you have all these things, both physical and mental, kind of closing in on him at the same time and making it necessary for him to have to accept a bit of a changed dynamic between him and Sam. It rings very true. And just the way you've written Dean, as being unable to completely hide his emotions and how beaten down he is, is a perfect portrayal of season 4! Dean. But with added comforting!Sam, yay! This is really one of my very favourite things.

February 22, 2016

Chapter Three

Things always seemed a little easier in the light of day. Dean had more wits about him, could scope out the place. Well, scope it out from where he lay on the couch. He was flat on his back, the sling back in place. He had to admit it did feel better with it on, and as long as Sam kept up a steady supply of ice it was all good. His throat was sore and his chest was heavy. He felt tired and sluggish. The fumes he’d been running on had run out a while ago. His back chewed away occasionally, but he was feeling a bit numb from the half a bottle of whiskey he'd downed in the bathroom before his shower. He didn’t like to feel like he depended on the alcohol, and he didn’t really think he did in the first place. Although it was a little scary the way his hands were shaking when he finally got them on that bottle. It was a sweet relief the way it burned his raw throat, a burn he wanted to feel. It was familiar, tender, dampening the feelings that so desperately wanted to get out. He thought back to the time they lost their father, how he was spinning out of control, wound so tight he was liable to explode. That was bad… and that was nothing on now. He was jumpy and erratic, sure, but worse than that he was damaged, broken, could feel tears burn in his eyes at any hour of the day, for any reason. He had no control, and it was terrifying.

At the moment Sam wasn't there. He'd gone out to do some shopping. The house was furnished but it wasn't stocked up. There was no food, no alcohol, no tissues, which he seemed to be needing more and more urgently... Luckily the boys knew how to live out of a bag. But it was different this time, this wasn't a motel they were staying at before they headed out again to the next hunt, this was... Dean didn't want to say it. It wasn't home. He'd never had a home. And he didn't know how long they'd be staying there. What if something came after them? Dean shuffled, peering to the side. Had Sam even salted the windows?

…

Sam smiled looking down into the trunk of Baby, full up with grocery bags. It was safe to say he'd never seen that before. It looked good on her.

He'd just been to see the property manager to pick up the keys to the house, not mentioning the part about them already being inside.

The house looked better in daylight. It had a few steps leading up to the front porch, equipped with a few chairs and table. Nice garden out the front. The hedges would need maintaining.

He piled up all the bags on his arms, refusing to make more than one trip, and closed the garage, heading up the steps to the front door.

He unlocked it and pushed it forward with his shoulder. It made a crunching sound as the door ran over something. He looked down and rock salt was spread under the door in a great mound, and, what the hell?

"Dean!" Sam shouted, looking down at the red spray painted devil’s trap on the polished hard wood floors.

Dean didn't answer. Sam sighed and came inside, the salt crunching under his boots. He dumped the bags in the kitchen, looking around and seeing every windowsill lined with rock salt.

He supposed he couldn't blame Dean for that. They'd been taught to do salt lines since they were kids. He was just protecting them. But the damn devil’s trap? Yeah, that one would be fun to explain to the real estate.

"Dean?" He called again.

He wasn't where he'd left him, sprawled on the couch. He headed down to his bedroom. The door was ajar.

"Dean?" He tapped on it as he pushed it open.

Dean was lying on his back on the bed, on top of the covers, empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the pillow beside him. His head was jolting from side to side occasionally, breathing rapid, sweat on his face.

Sam sighed and approached him, "Hey, man, wake up," he put a hand on Dean's elbow, carefully avoiding his shoulder. The next thing he felt was pain.

Dean's eyes had snapped open and his right hand had bent Sam's arm right back, any further and it would be in two pieces.

"Shit, Dean! It's me!"

Dean looked confused, eyes wild. He let go.

"Sorry, Sammy."

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam shouted.

"Don't... sneak up on me," he panted, rolled to his right to cough.

"Sleep well?" Sam asked, sarcastically.

"Yeah, like a friggen baby," Dean huffed, "What took you so long?"

"I went shopping and picked up the keys. I've only been gone an hour."

"Oh," Dean struggled to sit up on the edge of his bed. Sam didn't help. Too scared he'd get attacked again. Dean had that jumpy look about him that he wore so often these days.

"Nice devil’s trap on the wood floors, Dean."

"Thanks,” Dean grunted, rubbing his chest, “I had some spray paint left over in my bag."

"No, Dean. That was sarcasm."

"Huh?"

"You can't do that in here. We're renting."

"What? You want to stay in a house that isn't safe?"

"That's not what I'm saying..."

"It seems to me like you've forgotten everything we taught you,” Dean leant heavily on his knee to stand up, “Do you know how exposed we are right now? How vulnerable? Anything could walk through that door and how are you gonna stop it!"

"Dean..."

"No. See, I don't want you to think that this is the solution, okay? This is temporary. I'm only doing this to get my life back,” Dean bent forward, coughing into his fist, face red after the outburst.

"Okay, easy, man."

Dean sat back down on the bed, reached for the bottle and realised it was empty. He cursed under his breath.

"I found a clinic in town. You've got an appointment at three. You might want to sober up," Sam said, before he turned and left.

He heard Dean coughing again as he walked down the hall. He knew he would react like this. He knew it. Dean was a ticking time bomb on a good day… and this was one of his absolute worst days.

Sam hated to be hard on his brother. He’d seen the upbringing he’d had with John as a father. How Dean was absolutely starved of love and affection, treated like a military grunt. He was never like that, couldn’t stand the idea of anyone treating him like that ever again. He would only use the tough love approach as a last resort. His brother had been through enough.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean was trudging out of his room towards the lounge.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t suppose you got any coffee in those bags of goodies?” He croaked, with a sideways smile.

A peace offering. This was Dean’s way of saying sorry without actually saying it.

Sam smiled back, “Of course I got coffee.”

You’re forgiven, dude.

“Hook me up, brother,” He said, lowering himself onto the lounge.

“Sure. Need some ice for that shoulder?”

“Yeah, thanks, Sammy,” he sniffed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“Don’t mention it.”

…

Dean’s fever came and went and he seemed to slip in and out of consciousness, waking with a start on the couch every time he did. They were watching some renovation show on TV, anything else seemed to put Dean on edge. He even looked at cooking shows with eyes full of terror.

Sam kept up the ice on his shoulder, the heat on his back, and the box of tissues within reach. Dean’s cold was getting progressively worse as the day went on and now he was pretty much a sneezing shivering mess. Luckily they were already going to the doctor anyway.

Dean blew his nose with one hand, then thumped his chest with a fist as he coughed like he was trying to shift something loose.

“Sam,” he croaked, his voice shot.

“Yeah, Dean?” Sam was sitting on the floor in front to the couch.

“’S it time for more painkillers?”

“You just had the cold and flu ones, I’m not sure if you can have anymore just yet,” he furrowed his brow.

Dean gave a tight smile, “Alright.”

“Is it your back?”

He noticed how Dean was shifting in his seat, like he couldn’t find a comfortable position.

He nodded weakly, expression pinched.

“Is the heat not helping?”

Dean bit his lip, “It’s not enough.”

“What do you need?” Sam was getting up.

Dean closed his eyes for a second, “I need you to help me move. I gotta lie down.”

Sam was up, hands behind Dean’s shoulders, gently on the left side, very gently. He helped him forward and moved the heat pad down, then twisted him to lie on his back. Dean wasn’t completely useless like he had been the other night, he was at least trying to assist.

He hissed, sucking air in through clenched teeth as his shoulder came down on Sam’s hand.

“Sorry,” Sam muttered, moving to help Dean get his legs up on the couch.

Dean breathed slowly out his mouth.

“Is that better?”

“Yeah… just give me a few minutes,” he clenched his eyes shut.

“Doctor’s appointment is in an hour. You gonna be okay?”

Dean snapped forward with a sneeze, moaning in pain afterwards. He sniffed, “I’ll be fine. Sooner we go, sooner we can get this crap straightened out.”

Hm. Somehow Sam didn’t think it would ever be that simple.

…

February 22, 2016

I loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ittttttttttttttttt

February 22, 2016

This is one of the best dean first I've read recently. You have the characters down so well and I love hurt comfort fics without a ton of monster hunting story plot. I know what you mean by therapeutic and I love reading fics or seeing scenes in shows that make me feel like someone understands, and with certain illnesses it can be hard to find.

February 22, 2016

5 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

“I’ll be fine. Sooner we go, sooner we can get this crap straightened out.”

Hm. Somehow Sam didn’t think it would ever be that simple.

It's never that easy! Dammit, Sammy, don't you ever learn!?

Can't wait to see what you write next

February 25, 2016

On 22/02/2016 at 7:22 AM, MissBayliss said:

“Doctor’s appointment is in an hour. You gonna be okay?”

Dean snapped forward with a sneeze, moaning in pain afterwards. He sniffed, “I’ll be fine. Sooner we go, sooner we can get this crap straightened out.”

Hm. Somehow Sam didn’t think it would ever be that simple.

Nothing is ever simple with the Winchesters. :cry: I love the promise of those last words, though. I'm so mean to my bb Dean.

I love the buildup you have leading towards rock bottom; it makes everything even more awesome and believable. I definitely think it would take a combo of all these bad things happening at once to bring Dean to this point, and so I feel bad for him but I am also eating it up. I like how you're got into Sam's thought processes about it, about how he knows that Dean finds it hard to accept help, and he's not beyond being frustrated by it sometimes because anyone would be, but he's still being such a great brother. I just love it when you can really feel their connection like in this fic.

Also, as an aside, I just adore it when someone accompanies someone else to the doctor in these kinds of fics. It gives me fuzzy feelings, idek.

February 29, 2016

On 22 February 2016 at 0:31 AM, supernaturalfragalistic said:

I loveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ittttttttttttttttt

Blessssss youuuuuuu

On 22 February 2016 at 1:10 AM, ickydog2006 said:

This is one of the best dean first I've read recently. You have the characters down so well and I love hurt comfort fics without a ton of monster hunting story plot. I know what you mean by therapeutic and I love reading fics or seeing scenes in shows that make me feel like someone understands, and with certain illnesses it can be hard to find.

Absolutely 100% agree. Sometimes it's nice to get into the nitty gritty of it all. The more we talk about these things the better it is. Don't ever be ashamed. Thank you for your feedback. I hope you enjoy the rest

On 22 February 2016 at 2:35 AM, Pyrus_Fangmon said:

It's never that easy! Dammit, Sammy, don't you ever learn!?

Can't wait to see what you write next

I'll try not to disappoint!

On 25 February 2016 at 11:39 AM, telltale said:

Nothing is ever simple with the Winchesters. I love the promise of those last words, though. I'm so mean to my bb Dean.

I love the buildup you have leading towards rock bottom; it makes everything even more awesome and believable. I definitely think it would take a combo of all these bad things happening at once to bring Dean to this point, and so I feel bad for him but I am also eating it up. I like how you're got into Sam's thought processes about it, about how he knows that Dean finds it hard to accept help, and he's not beyond being frustrated by it sometimes because anyone would be, but he's still being such a great brother. I just love it when you can really feel their connection like in this fic.

Also, as an aside, I just adore it when someone accompanies someone else to the doctor in these kinds of fics. It gives me fuzzy feelings, idek.

Thank you for your kind words I'm happy you're enjoying it! Dean's been teetering on the knife edge for years now, season 4 (and possibly 7) were the absolute worst times for him and definitely could have been explored more... this fic is a lot of wish fulfilment on my part

Sam needs to go because he needs to make sure Dean tells the truth and gets all the information!

Haha hope you enjoy the next chapter

February 29, 2016

I made it on time!

*sigh of relief*

Battling a painful sinus infection myself, but as I sit here, waiting for the codeine to kick in and antibiotics to get to work, I'm quivering with anticipation to post this new chapter. Hope you like it as much as the last...

Chapter Four

“Hey, Bobby.”

“Sam. How’s the house? Karen told me you’d been to see the real estate and sign some papers. Never thought I’d see you boys legit.”

Sam laughed, “Yeah, me neither.”

“How’s Dean?”

Sam sighed.

“That bad, huh?”

“I don’t know what we’re gonna do, Bobby. It’s bad this time…”

“Alright, Sam, alright. Tell me what we’re dealing with.”

“He popped his shoulder again.”

“Balls.”

“Yeah, but it’s worse this time. He can barely move his arm, can’t feel his fingers. I think he’ll need surgery.”

“Well, we saw that coming with the amount of times the damn thing’s come out. But I’m guessing that’s not the end of it.”

“Not even close. He’s got a bad cold, awful cough, but I don’t think that’s the worst of it. He’s got something wrong with his back. He’s in a lot of pain.”

“He told you about that?”

“What – You knew?”

“Sure, Sam. John told me all about it at the time. He even left Dean here for a few months after it happened.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me about this!?”

“You were out, Sam. Dean was handling it, and he made it pretty damn clear that he didn’t want you to know.”

“Why?”

“Well, you and John were already on thin ice. He probably thought you’d blame him for the accident.”

“Why would I blame dad?”

“… Guess he didn’t tell you everything.”

Sam shook his head, bit his bottom lip, “Why am I not surprised?”

“Listen, Sam, you know what Dean’s like. He doesn’t like to be taken care of, and he’s always been about family. Don’t go grillin’ him for information. Let him tell you when he’s ready.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, clearing his throat loudly, “Anyway, there’s more too it. Since he got back from Hell he’s… he’s different, Bobby. He drinks a lot. He doesn’t sleep, and when he does he screams out… I don’t know what to do.”

“You just have to give him time, Sam. You’ll figure it out. You always were a smart kid.”

Sam smiled, “… Hey, uh, you know it would be good for Dean if you could come and stay here a while… good for both of us.”

“Sam, you know I’d do anything for you boys, but right now, with you out of the game, we’re down two heavyweights.”

Sam sighed, rubbing his aching head.

“I’m working a case in Columbus, Nebraska. It’ll take me a day and a half but I’ll make it there when I’m done.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go and check on that idjit brother of yours, make sure he hasn’t busted something else.”

Sam laughed, “I appreciate this.”

“Sam… look after each other.”

“We always do.”

…

Sometimes Dean didn’t know what he was dreaming. He knew he was remembering, bits and pieces all jumbled. Sometimes not even pictures in his head, just sounds… the screams… his screams. Sometimes he didn’t see or hear anything. It was just the feeling, surrounded by blackness. And often that was worse.

He remembered every moment of his time in hell. Every slice in his skin… every slice he made in someone else’s, every method of wicked torture. It was all in his head. He’d never be able to escape… because there was no way to escape himself.

“Hey, you awake?”

Dean stared at the ceiling, trying to muster the energy to respond. Sometimes the despair was crippling.

“Yeah,” the breathed. His throat was sore, his voice high and strangled.

“You okay?”

Dean smiled, kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, “Yeah, Sammy, I’m good.”

Sam hovered at his side, “It’s time to go.”

…

“You’re very… quiet,” Sam said, sideways glancing at him from the drivers seat.

“Mm,” Dean looked out the window, and then glanced back at his brother, “What?”

“Nothing,” Sam laughed, “Just wanna know what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Yeah, you really don’t.

“Did you go soft while I was downstairs?” he smirked.

“Shut up, dude… I just… I worry about you.”

You and me both, brother.

“You worry about what you’re gonna have for breakfast. It’s like your default setting.”

Sam laughed, “Stop being a jerk. I’m trying to –“

“I know what you’re ‘trying to’, so stop, okay?”

Sam gripped the wheel harder, focused back on the road.

“I know you’re nervous… but whatever happens we’ll get through it.”

Dean stared at Sam, eyebrow raised, “Feel better?”

Sam smiled out the side of his mouth, “You’re such a jerk.”

Dean laughed, which made him cough, and it felt like knives in his side, and that was new and fun.

“Uh, god…” he groaned, pressing a hand to his ribs.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just friggen coughing up a lung here.”

“You want some water?”

“Nah, I’m okay,” he groaned, pulling a flask out of his back pocket.

“Seriously?” Sam had his eyebrows raised.

Dean took a sip, hissed as it hurt his throat, “It’s an antiseptic, Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Dean’s free hand was shoving the flask back in his pocket when a couple of sneezes escaped. He pressed his eyes closed and stifled two, jerking forward a little with each one.

“Bless you.”

Dean sniffed and reached into the glove box for some tissues. He found crumpled diner napkins. He blew his nose on them anyway.

“God, I feel like crap,” he moaned, shuffling down in the seat to lean his head back.

Sam didn’t say anything.

“Now you’re being quiet.”

Sam looked over at him, puppy dog eyes firmly in place.

“Relax, Sam. Like you said, we always figure it out.”

…

Dean sat on the exam table, sling off, shirt off, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and goosebumps.

The doctor hummed as he placed the stethoscope in numerous locations down his back and front, asking him to breathe deeply. The problem was, breathing deeply started up a coughing fit that would not stop.

“Okay, that’s enough,” the doctor said, as Dean tried to breathe through the fit. He got up and went to his drawer, pulling out a portable nebulizer.

“Here, breathe through this,” he handed it to Dean.

Dean sat, looking feeble, sucking on the nebulizer.

The doctor sat back down, clasping his hands in front of him and looking at the ground.

“Do you get any pain in your chest?”

Dean nodded, weakly.

“I thought as much. Look, I’m going to prescribe antibiotics for the chest infection. I also think you might be looking at a sinus infection too, with all that drainage down the back of your throat.”

“What about his shoulder?” Sam asked.

“Given what you’ve told me about your history with that shoulder, I’d say you’ve torn a ligament. Chances are the ligaments and tendons were stretched to breaking from the amount of times it’s been dislocated. Not only that but the pain down your arm and lack of feeling in your fingers tells me you’ve got nerve damage.”

Sam looked at Dean. He knew this would mean surgery. He knew Dean wouldn’t want surgery.

The phone beeped on Dr. Reid’s desk, “I’ll give you a minute to get your shirt back on. Excuse me,” he said, getting up and quietly leaving the room.

Sam stared at Dean. He rolled his eyes. Sam didn’t ask if he needed help getting his shirt on. He knew that he did. He got up and wordlessly started helping him into his button down.

“Is that helping?” Sam nodded towards the neb.

“Yeah,” Dean grunted after he’d pulled it from his mouth, “I think it’s tapped.”

Sam took it from him and put it on the bed beside him. Dean let a shiver run through him, sneezed into his wrist and groaned in pain.

“Okay, man, come on,” Sam ushered, helping Dean over to the chair.

Dr. Reid entered the room as the brothers were getting situated.

“Sorry about that,” he apologized. He sat down in his chair and swiveled towards them, “Did that nebulizer help?”

Dean cleared his throat, “Yeah, it did,” he said like he was embarrassed. Because it was humiliating to be sick and to need medical help. Bullshit.

“I might send you home with one of these as well, just once a day, maybe before you go to bed, if it’s worse at night.”

Dean nodded, lips pursed.

“So, where do we go from here?” Sam said, pouncing on his opportunity.

"First things first, I think we need to get a picture to work with. I want you to get an MRI of the shoulder and the lumbar spine,” He said, addressing Dean, “That'll tell us exactly what's going on."

"MRI?" Dean asked, sweat beads forming on his upper lip, "'S that the one where you go in the big metal tube thing?"

"Yes, but it's much safer than a CT scan and we'll get a clearer picture of what's happening."

"Yeah, not gonna happen."

"Dean," Sam said in surprise.

"'M not doing it, Sam. Look, doc, can you just write me a script for some stronger painkillers?" Dean was looking wild again, glancing to his side, mapping out the exit.

"That's a bandaid solution, Dean. We really need to see the problem, and aside from cutting you open and actually looking inside, this is the best option we've got."

'Cutting you open' wasn't the best term he could have used.

Dean stood up, shaky and unsteady, but determined.

"Dean, where're you going?"

"To the car!" He said, storming off and leaving the exam room.

Sam hung his head.

"Sam, Dean needs to have this done. It doesn't hurt and leaves no radiation like a CT or X-ray..."

"Sorry, Dr. Reid, it's not that..."

"What is his concern with the procedure?"

"Dr Reid... Dean has been in some tough situations in his life. He just got back from active duty. He was held in a POW camp in Afghanistan for the past 4 months," Sam swallowed the guilt of lying to the doctor but he couldn't exactly tell him the truth, "He hasn't been right since. He hasn't told me everything that happened, I don't think he's really come to terms with most of it, but I know some... and believe me, it would shock you. There was… a lot of torture involved," Sam cleared his throat, fighting the emotion, "Enclosed spaces aren't good for him."

The doctor bowed his head.

"What's happened to your brother is awful. No one should have to suffer through that, but he has serious damage to that shoulder and nerve involvement in his lower back that we won't even know the extent of until we get a clear picture. These issues won't resolve themselves and from what I can tell, your brother has endured enough pain already. It's time to pick up the pieces."

"I hear ya," Sam laughed lightly, "I hear ya, doc. It's just convincing him of that."

"Sam, I can refer Dean to a psychologist. It's highly likely he's developed an emotional disorder like PTSD… It's not uncommon for vets to use alcohol as a coping mechanism either..."

The doctor eyed Sam and that was probably more embarrassing than anything that he'd been able to see immediately that Dean had a drinking problem. Alcohol had always been a big part of their lives. Dean had been drinking everyday for years, but since he got back from hell... now he was having beer for breakfast.

Sam sighed, "No, thank you. It was hard enough to get him to come here today. There's no way he'd go for something like that."

The doctor nodded, "I realise that. But this is a lot for you to take on with your brother. There are some things you're not going to be able to help with. He's going to need surgery for the shoulder. I haven't even seen the scans and I know that's what's going to happen. His back is a different story. If surgery is needed there, the healing process will take a long time. You both need to be able to deal with that, physically and mentally. Can you do that, Sam?"

Sam looked at Dr. Reid for a long time. This man was smart. He was a good doctor and definitely knew what he was talking about. Dean needed this, at the very least.

It’s time to pick up the pieces.

Sam shrugged, it was a no brainer, “… He’s my brother.”

…

February 29, 2016

Those last three lines....out of the entirety. Those three words just hit like a wall of bricks. :cryhappy:

You just know every point to push! I love it!

March 1, 2016

They went to the doctor together! :yay:

I love that ending of course, and the conversation with Bobby. I basically just love it when we get people discussing Dean's wellbeing because sometimes I just need for Dean to have all the love and hugs. And Sam is just killing me here; he's trying so hard.

You are writing something AMAZING, and EPIC here, and it is hitting all my buttons too.

18 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

Thank you for your kind words I'm happy you're enjoying it! Dean's been teetering on the knife edge for years now, season 4 (and possibly 7) were the absolute worst times for him and definitely could have been explored more... this fic is a lot of wish fulfilment on my part

Well, hooray for wish fulfillment!

I agree. Even in the relative peace of season one, he always had all that lovely childhood trauma surrounding him. :cry: Season two was the one where I was like... yes, he is definitely the best thing to happen to my h/c obsession in a long time lol. I like seasons four and five prrrrrroooobably the best for Dean h/c, though; he was just super depressed in season five and that was recently post-hell too, so these seasons have gotten mushed up in my head a bit. I'm kind of intrigued by season seven now! (I stopped watching after season five ended for reasons, but obviously my love for the characters remains very strong.)

Edited March 1, 2016 by telltale

March 6, 2016

Waah, I can't keep up with all the super fast updates! Sorry for lagging on the comments.

This is heavy, and very real for post-Hell Dean in a way that I wish the actual show had explored a bit more.

So many favorite parts, but here are a few:

On 2/15/2016 at 11:22 PM, MissBayliss said:

“If you want to do range of motion tests, I can’t be responsible for punching you in the face.”

On 2/15/2016 at 11:22 PM, MissBayliss said:

Alright,” Sam shuffled closer to Dean, “Can I?”

Dean shrugged with one shoulder, “You’re going to anyway.”

Loved this. I could definitely hear their voices here.

On 2/15/2016 at 11:22 PM, MissBayliss said:

Sam smiled. Dean shivered and directed another sneeze against his wrist.

“You’re a mess, dude.”

:wub: Sam's so fond. This was just so sweet and perfect.

On 2/22/2016 at 3:22 AM, MissBayliss said:

A peace offering. This was Dean’s way of saying sorry without actually saying it.

/nods vigorously. Dean has indirect ways of apologizing.

March 7, 2016

On 29 February 2016 at 1:58 AM, Pyrus_Fangmon said:

Those last three lines....out of the entirety. Those three words just hit like a wall of bricks.

You just know every point to push! I love it!

It's the Winchesters! They tug on the heart strings :heart:

On 1 March 2016 at 3:22 PM, telltale said:

They went to the doctor together!

I love that ending of course, and the conversation with Bobby. I basically just love it when we get people discussing Dean's wellbeing because sometimes I just need for Dean to have all the love and hugs. And Sam is just killing me here; he's trying so hard.

You are writing something AMAZING, and EPIC here, and it is hitting all my buttons too.

Well, hooray for wish fulfillment!

I agree. Even in the relative peace of season one, he always had all that lovely childhood trauma surrounding him. Season two was the one where I was like... yes, he is definitely the best thing to happen to my h/c obsession in a long time lol. I like seasons four and five prrrrrroooobably the best for Dean h/c, though; he was just super depressed in season five and that was recently post-hell too, so these seasons have gotten mushed up in my head a bit. I'm kind of intrigued by season seven now! (I stopped watching after season five ended for reasons, but obviously my love for the characters remains very strong.)

Aw thank you for all your comments Definitely consider season 7. Events happen that weigh very heavily on Dean, he starts getting nightmares and emotional issues. If you look at the stats of how many alcoholic drinks are consumed on the show, season 7 is out in front by a LONG shot! Even to the point where Sam starts getting worried and talking about it... but as with a lot of Dean storylines, it never really gets dealt with as much as it should. Hence wish fulfilment! lol Glad you're enjoying this and eventually get back into the later seasons, Dean starts to get more and more storylines. Hope you like the new update.

On 6 March 2016 at 2:57 PM, sierraplaid said:

Waah, I can't keep up with all the super fast updates! Sorry for lagging on the comments.

This is heavy, and very real for post-Hell Dean in a way that I wish the actual show had explored a bit more.

So many favorite parts, but here are a few:

Loved this. I could definitely hear their voices here.

Sam's so fond. This was just so sweet and perfect.

/nods vigorously. Dean has indirect ways of apologizing.

Haha thats okay! If it helps I'm trying to update every Monday AEST. I don't mind if your comments are late, but I love them so please keep leaving them!

March 7, 2016

Chapter Five

When Sam had paid up and collected Dean's antibiotics and nebulizer he returned to the car. The passenger door was open and Dean was sitting half in, half out, bent forward, right elbow on right knee and his head in his hand. Sam could see his shoulders quivering with laboured breaths.

Sam chucked the bags on the back seat and went to lean over his brother, hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?"

And for once Dean didn't lie.

"What do you think?" He looked up at him. His eyes were red.

Well, it was progress.

"Come on, let's go home."

Sam gulped. When they were on the road everything was home, and nothing was home. The impala was home, more often than not. The motel room they were staying in, that was referred to as home as well. Just in passing, because what else did they call it? This was different though. This wasn't a home on wheels, or a temporary hideout while fighting a fugly of the week. This was... anyway…

Dean dragged his legs inside the car and shut the door. Sam went around to the driver’s side.

It was uncomfortably quiet in the car. Dean's breath crackled and hitched. He'd probably been crying. Sam jumped when he finally spoke.

"You can't expect me to do this, Sammy," Dean looked at him, red eyes, glazed with tears.

"I know you don't want to... but you need to."

Dean cast his eyes to the roof, blinking rapidly.

"I'll be there, Dean... We have to do this to see what we're up against. Nothing's gonna happen to you."

Dean bit his lip, blinked away some tears. He shook his head and huffed.

"You know why I don't wanna do this, right?"

Sam furrowed his brow. Dean hadn't told him at first, that when he'd been pulled out of hell he was shoved back in his body. His body that was rotting, 6 feet under, in a pine box. Sam wasn't stupid. He'd asked him.

"Wait, I buried your body, Dean. How did you -"

Dean hadn't told him with words. He'd told him with his eyes. And that was almost more heartbreaking. It was obvious it had been traumatic, now more than ever.

"This is safe, Dean. I promise. You can't live like this," he said gesturing to his back.

"I've been doing pretty fine so far."

"Yeah, well, now you're not."

Dean's bottom lip quivered. He turned and looked over his shoulder, away from Sam.

"Alright," he muttered.

"Alright?"

"Yeah, Sammy. I'll do it... I'll try."

...

Dean screamed that night, loud and relentlessly. Sam didn't want to know what he was dreaming about. Prayed he wouldn't have to hear the screaming anymore. At 12:26pm a knock came at the door and Sam cringed, wiped the tears from his eyes. He'd tried to wake Dean, tried to calm him, but he couldn't get through to him. He was spiking a fever by the feel of it. And now someone was at the door, if it was the cops they were screwed.

Sam opened the door and a big guy stood there in a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants. A neighbour, probably.

"There's a lot of noise coming from here. You guys okay?" He said tentatively.

Dean screamed again in the bedroom and the guy took on a defensive stance. It was just in panic though. He didn't know how to fight by the looks of it.

"Sorry," Sam sighed, trying to keep his emotions in check, "It's my brother. He gets nightmares. But we're okay..."

The guy looked sceptical for a moment.

"He ex-military?"

Sam smiled tiredly, "How'd you know?"

May as well continue the lie.

"My dad was a marine. I grew up listening to that," he nodded as Dean cried out, quieter this time.

"Our dad was a marine too."

The guy nodded, looking sympathetic.

"I'm Dave. I live next door."

He pointed and Sam stepped onto the porch to look at the house. A woman stood on the front steps in a robe. She waved.

"That's my wife, Maxine."

Sam waved back.

"I'm Sam," he said, shaking Dave's hand.

Dean's whimpers travelled down the hall.

"That's Dean," he added.

"Well, it sounds like you've got your hands full. You boys let us know if you need anything. I know that's not easy to deal with."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "Thank you. Sorry for keeping you up."

"Don't worry about us, Sam. I'll see you round."

Sam shut the door and pressed his forehead against it, every fibre of his being screaming this is too much, this is too much, this is too much.

Then Dean screamed his name.

"... He's my brother."

His brother had never let him down, not once. Sam wasn't about to let him down. Not now, not ever.

…

Dean woke swinging. His shoulder was on fire, because, in sleep, he hadn’t known to be careful with it. Sam was standing over him, a bit of distance between them, like he was scared he’d lash out at him. It was a valid concern. Dean could feel the sweat dripping from his face. He was cold. He rolled onto his side to cough.

“Sorry…” he muttered. Why he was apologising he didn’t know. It just felt like he should be sorry for something.

“It’s okay… How do you feel?”

“Awesome,” he groaned, wiping his hand over his face.

“It’s time for more pills, I think,” Sam attempted a smile. Geez, the kid looked worn out.

“Okay.”

Dean took everything he was given without question, even the knock out sleeping pills he recognised from last time.

“You gonna get some sleep?” he asked, husky voice and all.

Sam nodded, “Yeah, I will. As long as there’s no more visits…”

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing… a neighbour, that’s all.”

Dean hummed. He could pick up on what Sam wasn’t saying. It was just a matter of time before someone heard him. He screamed in his dreams, why wouldn’t he be screaming in reality too? But now they weren’t at a crappy little motel at the edge of town, where the only people that could hear him were the ones making just as much noise with someone other than their significant other. Now they were in the suburbs, where people were sensitive about the quiet and their sleep. They were pretty much screwed.

Dean stared at the ceiling. His breathing was still erratic from the nightmare. The faces were still in his head. The voices. The laughing…

“You wanna talk about it?”

Dean managed a smirk.

There aren’t words… There’s no forgetting.

“No thanks, Sammy.”

Because it’s right here… forever.

“Just call me if you need something… I’m only down the hall.”

Dean nodded. His throat hurt too much to reply. Sam smiled, patted Dean’s head, while also gauging his temperature. He must have been satisfied because he left without further comment. He did look really tired. Dean hadn’t been able to track his sleeping, while he himself had been in and out of consciousness for days. He didn’t like the change in dynamic. Sam was the little brother. Sam was the one that needed looking after. And Dean was going to take care of him, no matter what was happening to himself.

Dean lay there with his eyes fixed on the ceiling until the pain pills kicked in and he could relax. After that he couldn’t remember anything, because those knock out sleeping pills had kicked in as well.

…

Dean woke up early the next morning. He hadn’t remembered dreaming. The sun was coming in his window, painting the room golden. The sheets around him were damp, tangled in his legs and sticking to his chest. He felt rung out, muscles quivering with exertion as he forced himself up. He lumbered down the hallway, keeping his footsteps semi-quiet as he poked his head into his brother’s room. Sam was asleep sprawled out on his stomach, clutching the pillow under his head. Dean smiled, happy he was getting some sleep at last and headed back to his room to take a shower.

Getting the sling off sucked. Almost as much as getting the t-shirt off over his head sucked. But he managed to ditch the clingy clothes and step into the steaming shower. He coughed so hard his eyes watered, the steam shifting things loose. He hoped that all his noise hadn’t woken Sam, but he stayed in the shower a long time and Sam hadn’t come into his room so he considered that a win. As an afterthought he realised he probably shouldn’t use all the hot water and turned off the taps. Drying himself with one arm was harder than it seemed. He was exhausted by the time he finished, and he still had to get dressed.

Once he’d struggled into his navy blue button down and a pair of jeans, fitting the sling back on over his shirt, he headed down the hall to the kitchen. Sam was still asleep, on his back this time, when he walked passed the door. When he got to the kitchen he almost laughed out loud at the list on the kitchen bench. Sammy had made a record of what pills he had to take at what time of the day, divided into Morning, Noon and Night. Dean smiled fondly, found what pills he had to take this morning and downed them with a sip of water from the tap. It was after 10 but he figured that still classified as morning.

What a good kid, he thought, placing a hand over the piece of paper.

Next was the task of breakfast, he noted, as his stomach roared. Sam had bought groceries but he didn’t really know how to cook, and Dean had been too out of it to help the last few days. So all their food had been the pizza and Indian Sam ordered… and fruit loops for breakfast.

Dean checked the cupboards for a toaster but there wasn’t any. The cupboards only had a few plates and bowls that Sam had bought. The rest of the place was empty. He sighed and got out a bowl, resigning himself to fruit loops again. Hey, he’d lived on worse.

Just as he was grabbing the box he heard a faint knock at the door. He glanced around and swallowed a cough, before heading to the front door.

He opened it and a young woman stood there. Short, brown hair in a bob. She was holding a few trays covered with aluminium foil and smiling.

“Hi!” she said, jovially, “I’m Maxine, I live next door. You must be Dean.”

Dean leaned against the doorframe, “Have we met?”

“Oh, no, sorry. My husband came over last night and spoke to Sam.”

“Mmhm…” Dean groaned.

She shook her head, crinkled up her nose, “And suddenly I’m realising this was a very bad idea…”

Dean stayed sizing her up.

“I, um, I made you this!” she lifted the trays in her hand, “Just a few dinners and an apple crumble.”

Dean’s eyebrow went up, “Apple crumble?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, “Yes, it’s my mum’s recipe… I just thought I’d welcome you two to the neighbourhood.”

Dean smiled, stretched out his arm to take them.

“Oh, don’t be silly. I’ll bring them in for you.”

Dean pulled the door shut slightly behind him, remembering the huge devil’s trap on the floor.

“No, I got it. It’s fine.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, helping him tuck them into his arm, “Let me know if you need anything else… at all, okay?”

He smiled, despite the look of pity on her face. He needed to know what it was Sam was telling these people, what lie he was peddling to get past the whole ‘spent 40 years in hell’ thing. He figured he knew his brother well enough to know he was working the PTSD military angle. It made the most sense… but he still didn’t like it. No one pitied Dean Winchester. He didn’t want it. He didn’t deserve it.

“Thanks, Max.”

“Oh,” she giggled at the nickname, “You, um, you and Sam should come over for dinner with me and Dave some time. I can make a fresh apple crumble.”

Dean winked, “Make it apple pie and you’ve got a deal.”

Maxine blushed as she backed down the stairs, “It was nice to meet you.”

Dean smiled and shuffled back inside, shutting the door with his foot.

The containers were warm against his arm and he couldn’t wait to tear into this apple crumble. It smelt delicious, and after eating a lifetime of crappy diner, and truck stop food, a home cooked meal was long overdue. Dean put the trays on the bench and grabbed his bowl, filling it up with the crumble. He paused to cough into his shoulder, fighting through a shiver that gave him goosebumps. His throat was wrecked, but dammit, he needed this. So, he settled on the couch with the bowl in his lap and the spoon in his hand and Maxine’s apple crumble.

…

Sam woke up to a pair of thunderous sneezes coming from the lounge room. He groaned and rubbed his face. Man, he needed that sleep. He glanced at the clock and noticed it was after 11. His heart pounded and he leapt out of bed. How could he have left Dean alone so long? He heard coughing followed by a thick sniff. God, he was such an idiot.

He padded quickly down the hall and found his brother sitting on the couch, smiling.

“Morning, sleepy head.”

Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair, “You sound terrible.”

Dean sniffed again, “Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Sam crossed the room and grabbed the tissue box, dropping it on his brother’s lap.

“Blow your nose.”

Dean grumbled, “Bossy…”

“Did you take your pills?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Shut up. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Dean scrunched up his face, “I can look after myself.”

Sam took a deep breath. As he came to his senses after a rather rude awakening, he noticed some trays on the kitchen bench and a bowl in front of Dean that was almost licked clean. Dean must have seen his confusion because he supplied an answer shortly after.

“Uh, chick from next door brought over some stuff. Dude, you gotta try the apple crumble,” he put a hand on his stomach, “So good.”

“Huh,” Sam sighed, impressed. He’d have to go and thank them.

Sam sat down next to Dean, glancing at him, “How you feeling?”

Dean shrugged with one arm, frowning.

“I’ve been worse.”

…

Dean cleared his throat.

You couldn’t understand… and I could never make you understand.

“Now go and make me some coffee. Then have a shower. You stink.”

Edited March 7, 2016 by MissBayliss

March 7, 2016

Omg omg omg omg oh holy god!

I can't quote on my phone, but holy mother of crap! This was insane! The bond between them. The small bits of monologue you put in. Ughhhh!!!! :boom:

These boys are just a melting pot of feels. Swoon~

March 8, 2016

I love this! I can just picture Dean sort of collapsed in the car like that, aw. And his anxiety over his treatment makes so much sense it’s heartbreaking, as are Sam’s thoughts about “home” and his feeling of being overwhelmed by taking on the role of caretaker. The neighbours seem like a good fit too.

21 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

“Sorry…” he muttered. Why he was apologising he didn’t know. It just felt like he should be sorry for something.

Omg. :cry:

Also, Sam telling Dean to blow his nose was really cute.

Just the way you write their relationship, their closeness but also the emotions they’re trying to hide from each other, is lovely.

21 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

If you look at the stats of how many alcoholic drinks are consumed on the show, season 7 is out in front by a LONG shot! Even to the point where Sam starts getting worried and talking about it... but as with a lot of Dean storylines, it never really gets dealt with as much as it should. Hence wish fulfilment!

Yay! That sounds very intriguing. I always wondered about that. I also agree with your latter point, though, and I won’t veer too much into negative territory because I know that can be a downer but... yeah. I think the show just wasn’t for me anymore when they changed showrunners - leaving post-hell Dean behind for the most part killed a big part of my watching enjoyment, unfortunately for me, and from the little I know, season 7 probably wouldn't help me there. I do greatly enjoy some later-season fic for sure, though, so maybe there's hope for me yet!

Taking Some Time (SPN, Dean)

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