Picking up the Pieces (SPN, Dean)

[MissBayliss]

Sequel to 'Taking Some Time'. (I know there's not much sneezing/sickness, but you know me... we'll get there )  See if you can pick up on the contagion foreshadowing  

 

Picking up the Pieces

Chapter One

 

"You gonna be okay?"

"To get out of the car? Yeah," Dean sighed.

"Want me to come in with you?"

"Dude, do I look seven?"

"I'll pick you up at 12, okay?" Sam said, ignoring him.

"Sure. You working tonight?"

"Yeah, but I got the steak out of the freezer for you for dinner."

"Awesome," Dean said sarcastically.

"And can you please call Riley? She keeps asking about you, man."

Dean sighed.

"She likes you, Dean."

"She doesn't like me, Sam. She likes sex. There's a difference."

"That's... probably not true."

"Whatever, dude," Dean looked at the building through the passenger side window, "What are they gonna keep me in there for two hours for?"

Sam smiled empathetically, "I'm sure you'd find out if you went in."

Dean opened his door and planted his boots on the bitumen parking lot, bracing his hands either side of the door frame to lever himself out of the car, favouring his left arm heavily. It had been months since his shoulder was fixed but he still had to be careful.

"Hey."

Dean looked down and Sam was trying to hand him his cane out the passenger side. Dean slammed the door hearing the cane clutter against it and drop down into the footwell. He smirked and limped towards the physical rehabilitation centre.

 

...

 

Aside from feeling like a complete idiot, rehab was slow, painful, and borderline ridiculous. Although it did have its perks.

Dean met a girl.

"Hi. You're Dean, right?" she said, light brown hair with a gingery hue in waves framing her freckled face.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, the word sticking in his mouth. It'd been so long since he'd spoken to a girl. Especially one that pretty. Since he'd had his second surgery, he and Riley hadn't hooked up again. There was too great a risk of damaging himself. Needless to say, his confidence was pretty much in pieces.

"I'm Katie," she smiled, stretching a hand out for him to shake. 

He gripped it. Her hands were warm and soft. His were cold and hard. 

"You're new, aren't you?"

Dean looked down at himself, "That obvious, huh?"

"No! I didn't mean -" 

"It's okay," he laughed. 

She smiled, and, God, it was like the sun had come out. 

"How long have you been here?" Dean asked. 

"A few months."

"Geez, what happened?"

"Lost my leg," she shrugged. 

"Oh my god... I’m sorry."

"It’s okay. It was a car accident. Drunk driver. My leg was crushed beneath the dash."

Dean shook his head, marveled at the ease this woman told her story with. 

"What about you, Dean?" She asked, her light brown eyes shining at him. 

He gulped, clenched the railing. 

"Spinal surgery... and shoulder surgery," he pointed to his arm, "Fell over a balcony."

"Ouch," she winced. 

Dean shrugged. If only she knew that what his physical body had been through was nothing compared to what his soul had been through. How shredded it was. Like an open, bleeding wound. Steadily gushing fresh crimson. 

"Are you alright? Do you want to sit down?"

God, his hands were shaking and slippery with sweat. His face tingled like he was about to pass out. Waves of pain crashing over him. 

He gripped the railing tighter, begging his body to remain standing. 

"I'm okay," he choked out. 

She had worry in her eyes, and dammit, if that didn't make her even cuter.

"Okay," she nodded, "I'll, um... I'll see you round, Dean."

And like that he'd lost her. God, he was such an idiot. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Sam would be there to pick him up in half an hour. 

It was too long to wait. 

 

...

 

"Hey, how'd you go today?" Sam asked, chipper voice, still ecstatic at Dean's decision to go to rehab. 

Dean groaned. 

"That good, huh?" 

"I feel like an idiot."

"Hey," Sam said, brow furrowed, "It'll take time. You're getting there."

Dean grumbled and stared out the window. 

"There any hot girls there?" Sam asked, changing the subject. 

"Mm," Dean moaned, "Katie."

“What’s she in for?”

“She's learning to use her prosthetic."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Lots of people out there worse off than me... Lots of people that didn't deserve it."

Sam stopped the car that was rolling through the parking lot, "What? And you did?"

Dean shook his head, small sad smile tugging at one side of his mouth. 

"Dean..."

"Can we not do this?" Dean said, looking out the window, anywhere but his brother, "I'm tired, Sam."

"No, Dean, we're gonna do this. I can't stand the way you feel like all this is your fault. That you deserved to be hurt, you deserve to be sick, you deserve to be in pain... How can you hate yourself so much?"

Dean widened his eyes at Sam, then swallowed, and blinked back tears. 

"You know why."

"No, Dean, I'm not buying that anymore. What happened to you was the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone, but you did what you had to..."

"Don't," Dean said firmly, eyes lighting up, heart pounding in his chest, "You don't know the first thing about that place, so don't pretend to understand."

Sam sighed, "Then let me try, Dean."

Dean looked from one eye to the other. He wasn't sure what he was trying to read in Sam's eyes. Hope? Whatever it was, it was too much. 

"No."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked as Dean opened his door. 

Dean slammed it behind him and ambled back towards the rehab centre. Heart pounding, sweat on his brow, so close to a full blown panic attack. His chest hurt. God, he was probably going to die like this. Yeah, a heart attack. That'd be a great way to go. He could only imagine the look on Alistair's face when he got spat back into the pit. 

He didn't know if Sam was coming after him. He didn't turn to look. He would have sat down on the curb but that was a long way down and he'd likely not be able to get up on his own. He went back into the building. The entry was empty except for the receptionist that gave him a concerned look. He mustered a smile for her sake and turned to look at a picture on the wall. His hands were shaking and he felt light headed, the room tilting on its axis. 

"Dean?" 

Turning his head to look at Katie made the room spin in lurching circles, and he stumbled to keep his balance. 

"Whoa, okay, sit down. Are you alright?"

Dean didn't answer. 

"Can I get some help in here?"

After his ass found a chair and he leaned forward with his head in his hands, he felt the strong grip and familiar firmness of his brother’s hands ghosting over his back. 

When he could focus on the sounds around him he could hear his voice. 

"Dean. Deep breaths, man. It's okay..."

Dean swallowed. 

"You gonna be sick? Someone get me a bucket."

Dean hadn't thought about it till he said it but, yeah, he was gonna be sick. 

A trashcan was shoved under his chin and not a moment too soon. He emptied his lunch into it, letting a strangled sob pass his lips as his stomach clenched over and over. 

When the pain in his chest finally let go he looked up to see Grant, his physiotherapist, and Karen, his occupational therapist, along side Sam and Katie. 

"Okay," Sam said, hand still steady on his back, "You're alright. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."

Sam's forehead pressed against Dean's and he sagged a little. 

I forgive you. 

After a moment Dean sat back and Sam pulled Grant and Karen aside, presumably to explain his episode. It wasn't medical. It wasn't from pain. It was just panic. Pure, blinding, panic. 

"Dean?"

Katie was sitting beside him with a hand on his knee. 

He rolled his head to the side to look at her, smiling weakly at her concerned expression. 

"I'm okay," he panted, "Happens sometimes."

She placed her warm hand on the back of his neck.

“You’ve seen some shit, haven’t you?” she said, with a gentle squeeze.

Dean closed his eyes, as a tear slipped from the corner to run down his cheek. He nodded.

“Dean?” Sam was leaning over him, “Let’s go home.”

 

…

 

“You’re not calling in sick to work. I can look after myself.”

Sam sighed. He figured his brother’s attitude would have changed a little, but he guessed it was engrained in his DNA. That was Dean. That was just how he was. He was always going to blame himself for things out of his control. He was always going to try and shoulder it all on his own. He was always going to put everyone else first and leave himself last. It had been a big enough struggle to get Dean to agree to spinal surgery in the first place. And if he hadn’t fallen trying to get out of the bath he probably would still be refusing it. It had been a long road, full of potholes and road kill, but Dean had eventually realized.

“They’ll understand if I –“

“Sam,” Dean growled.

“Alright, fine. I’m going.”

“Finally.”

“If you go for a walk can you at least take the cane?”

Dean smirked, “I’m not going for a walk. American Restorations is on,” he pointed to the TV with the remote.

Which really meant, I’m too sore and too tired for that, Sammy.

“Just call me if you need something. If you need help, Dave and Maxine…”

“Yes, alright. They pay you to be late? Would you go already?”

 

…

 

Sam had been at work for several hours when he looked over to see Dean staggering in, in that strained rigid way he walked these days, leaning heavily into the handle of his cane with every step. Looking at the red creased lines on Dean's face he could tell the series of events that had led Dean to stumble through the doors of the bar. When Sam had left Dean had promptly fallen asleep on the couch, face pressed into the cushions, until he woke up hours later to his stomach rumbling and the steak still defrosting in the fridge, deciding he couldn't be bothered to cook himself dinner at this late hour he'd caught a taxi to the bar. It really wasn't the first time it'd happened.

He caught Dean's eye and furrowed his brow at the exaggerated way he was walking, relying more on the cane than he ever had.

Dean's quick, well practiced wink confirmed his suspicions that Dean had come down for more than just to strap on a feed bag.

Sam poured a beer and sat it down in front of him as Dean eased himself onto the stool.

Dean took a long swig.

“Nachos or burger?” Sam asked.

Dean cocked his head in question, with a hint of admiration.

“Nachos,” he grunted, “How’s work?”

“Slow. How was American Restorations?”

Dean smirked.

“You didn’t even get five minutes in, did you?”

By now it was a running joke on how long Dean lasted before his painkillers knocked him out. Historically, it didn’t take long. And he’d always be hungry when he woke up.

Dean didn’t reply but kept that lazy smile on his face as he glanced up the bar to where Riley was serving another customer, bending over, scooping ice, in her tight black short shorts. She looked over and Dean nodded casually in her direction.

“What’do we got?” Dean asked, directing his attention back to Sam, sipping his beer.

“Couple of young guys, off duty suits, I think.”

“Money?”

“Been paying in fifties all night.”

Dean grinned and took another swig. He cleared his throat. “The injured vet story gonna get ‘em?”

Sam smiled in response.

“Keep my nachos warm,” Dean winked, pushing off the stool and limping towards the pool tables.

 

…

 

Dean played the usual. Lost the first two games then wiped the floor with them on the third. The guys didn’t even get a shot it, but they didn’t seem mad. They even shook Dean’s hand and thanked him for his service. Sam hadn’t seen how much he’d got out of them but he knew it’d be a decent amount, considering the way they’d been flashing it around. Not to mention they’d been buying Dean drinks all night.

Sam was wiping down the bar when Dean sat himself down in front of him, glowing from his recent victory.

“You want your nachos now?”

“God, yes. I’m starving.”

Riley came past and placed his plate of nachos down on the bar, clearly having been in earshot of the exchange. Sam took his queue, reading the look on his brothers face, and suddenly became busy somewhere else.

 

…

 

“If it isn’t Dean Winchester,” her voice was husky and raw sounding.

“How you been, Riley?” he smirked, “Sounds like you’ve been partying.”

“I wish,” her voice cut out as she laughed, “There’s a bug going around. I’m surprised Sam hasn’t got it yet.”

“Oh, Sam never gets sick. Immune system of steel. All that rabbit food he eats,” Dean said, shoving a cheesy chip in his mouth.

Riley laughed squeakily.

“So, how are you? I haven’t heard from you lately.”

Dean shook his head and picked through his nachos.

“I’m doing good. Doc said it’ll get worse before it gets better.”

“Damn,” she sighed, “So, I guess you can’t do anything too physical then?” she raised her eyebrow.

Dean cleared his throat, “Unfortunately.”

“Oh well,” she shrugged, “I wouldn’t have wanted to get you sick anyway.”

Dean chuckled even though it wasn’t really funny. The amount of alcohol he’d consumed, besides making him wobbly on his feet, which was a very bad thing, was making him a little depressed and cynical. As if he needed help with that.

The conversation more or less ending there, Dean sat and ate his nachos, ignoring the dull ache settling over his whole body. When his plate was pretty much clean he heard Riley call to his brother.

“Sam, head off early. Take your brother home.”

“You trying to get rid of me?” Dean flirted.

“Never,” she whispered, leaning over the counter, “but you look beat.”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. Geez, if he didn’t need another hit to his confidence.

Sam approached them and looked down at Dean.

You good?

Dean nodded and eased himself out of the chair, painfully slowly. Sam rounded the bar, knowing better than to try and help him. It was bad enough he needed a stupid cane to get around.

“Call me anytime,” Riley rasped.

Dean didn’t care that she was sick, her voice was friggen sexy.

“Sure thing, Riley. Be good.”

“Not if I can help it,” she winked.

 

…

 

“So, how much did you hustle?” Sam asked, pulling the impala out onto the road.

“$800,” Dean smirked, pulling his bills out to count them.

“Dude, that’s more than I earned last fortnight, with tips.”

Dean laughed, “Aw, Sammy. You have your job, I have mine.”

“Well, I work my ass off.”

“And I don’t?” Dean had the audacity to look offended.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam sighed.

“Uhh,” Dean shifted in his seat, leaned his head against the window.

“You okay, man?”

Dean’s eyes were closed, “It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll bet. We’ll be home soon and you can… Dean?”

Sam stopped and listened to the soft snores coming from the passenger seat. He turned the radio on low and let Bob Seger fill the car.

Roll me away.

 

…

[telltale]

Oh, yayayay!  I wasn't expecting this so soon and I'm so excited!  I think the time-gap between this and the last fic is perfect; it's connected but still its own fic.  Sam's unrelenting supportiveness is giving me life (/cries at Dean still thinking he deserves the worst) and yes, I do see the contagion foreshadowing.   

 

Maybe most of all for me, I just am so pleased to see panic attacks/a panic disorder written so well and consistently.  That part really speaks to me on a personal level, but it doesn't bring me down to read it; it's always affirming when you can recognize pieces of yourself in a piece of writing... so, that's a compliment if that was unclear.  I'm just kind of rambling.  Nice work!  And of course I will look forward to sneezing/sickness but I am just as happy right now basking in all the lovely angst!

[Wow Really?]

OH!! I can't believe I missed this.. You so rock my world! Going to read now. I already know I'm gonna love it.  

[Wow Really?]

5 minutes ago, Wow Really? said:

OH!! I can't believe I missed this.. You so rock my world! Going to read now. I already know I'm gonna love it.  

I was right. I love it.  Bring on the sickness! 

[ID2006]

Eeeeeeeek!!!!!!! Sequel. Oh yay yay yay yay yay yay. 

[MissBayliss]

Chapter Two

 

“Dean, wake up.”

Dean woke with a start, swinging a pretty good left hook considering he was post shoulder surgery. Sam dodged, knowing by now to stay well back when he woke his brother. Dean winced though, as if the action wasn’t as easy as it appeared.

“I fall asleep?” he mumbled, groggily, dragging his hand down his face.

“Yeah. You need help?”

Sam was bent over with the passenger door open, hand on Dean’s bicep, ready to help him swing his legs round.

“Back off. I got it,” Dean grumbled.

Grumpy, Sam thought and stepped back.

Dean took his time, making it look like he was just distracted and tired, and not stiff and sore and slow. Sam knew better. He also knew better than to say anything about it.

Dean managed to get up on one end, leaning on the roof of the impala for support. Sam knew Dean loved his baby, but sometimes he wished she had bucket seats. The bench was not comfortable, especially for someone with a spinal injury.

“Alright, dude,” Dean put his hand out and Sam handed him his cane, suppressing the urge to look shocked. Dean rarely asked for that thing. He despised it with a passion.

They were slow getting into the house. Dean headed straight for his bedroom.

Sam cleaned up in the kitchen a little, made sure he checked the calendar for any appointments Dean might have had, where they needed to be, when he had to get to work. And then he retired to his room, feeling overly exhausted from work and looking after Dean. There were things Dean didn’t want help with. Most of the time he wouldn’t let Sam help him up, help him walk, do anything physical at all, but Sam knew there were other ways to care for Dean. He cared for Dean mentally. He cared for Dean emotionally. Because while Dean wouldn’t allow him to physically help him, he let him make all the appointments, keep track of the meds, get him where he needed to be on time. He woke him up from his nightmares, he talked him down when he was about to tip over the edge, brought him back when he was caught up in his own head. He was there. And Dean thought it was his job to take care of Sam,

Watch out for Sammy. Look after your little brother.

but now it was Sam’s job to watch out for him. And Sam finally realized what Dean had been dealing with all those years, and his heart swelled in his chest whenever he thought about it. He’d do whatever it took. He’d do anything for Dean.

 

…

 

Dean pulled up his shirt and twisted gently to look at his scar in the mirror. It was nasty. At some time he would have thought it looked badass. But he didn’t think that anymore. Now it was just another scar on his body, weighing more than the one Castiel had left him with.

He could hear Sam snoring, telling him he’d already gone to bed, with the door open so he could hear in case Dean needed him. Sam didn’t usually snore, unless he had allergies or something. Dean let his shirt fall down and felt it graze across his tender skin.

He walked down the hall to peer in at his brother. Sam was sleeping on his back, head tilted to the side. Dead to the world. His sheet was tangled in his legs and only came up to his waist, where a hint of belly flesh was showing from his shirt that had ridden up. Dean leaned on the wall, then the dresser, lumbering in quietly. He pulled the sheet up over Sam’s chest and gave him pat. He didn’t wake.

Some hunter you are, Dean thought, pulling his door shut most of the way.

He went out to the kitchen, looking in the fridge for beer. He was less than buzzed now and he needed some help getting to sleep.

A fluttering of wings came from behind him and he spun around, coming face to face with Cas.

“Dude!” Dean whispered, angrily, “Way to scare a guy!”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas spoke in a low, hushed voice.

“Hello?” Dean sneered, “That’s it? Hello?”

“I believe it is customary.”

“I’ve been rotting here for months! And all you can say is hello?”

“Dean, heaven has been…”

“You know what, Cas? Whatever it is, I don’t care. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”

“I know, Dean.”

“You know?” Dean got angrier with every statement.

“I heard your prayers.”

Dean looked over his shoulder to check Sam hadn’t stumbled out and heard.

“Okay, so you heard my prayers and you, what? Said ‘not my problem’?”

“We had other matters to attend to.”

“Save it.”

“We were under orders.”

“Under orders to let this happen to me? You could have healed me, Cas. I can barely walk! How am I supposed to save the world for you when I can’t even stand for more than thirty minutes? You want me to stop the apocalypse? News flash, I’m damaged goods. Find someone else.”

“Dean, if you’ll just listen.”

“Can you heal me?”

Cas looked down, “… no.”

“Get out.”

“Dean, listen…”

“Get out of my house, Cas!”

Dean looked away, when he looked back the angel was gone.

“Dean?” Sam mumbled, plodding out into the hallway, hair everywhere.

“Go back to sleep, Sam.”

“What happened?” Sam’s eyes were barely open.

“I’ll tell you later. It’s fine. Go back to bed.”

Sam looked confused but pursed his lips and nodded, before disappearing back into his room.

Dean was shaking with anger. He gripped the bench in front of him.

“Shit.”

 

…

 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Dean mused from the couch, watching Sam stumble into the kitchen, hair mussed, eyes bleary.

“Shut up,” he grunted. Dean cocked his head at the gravel in his voice. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

Dean shrugged, “Why would I?”

Sam ignored him and opened the fridge.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“Sam, stop,” Dean said, seeing Sam tilt a little.

He shut the fridge and turned to lean on the bench, eyes pressed shut. He cleared his throat, “I’m fine.”

“You’re sick.”

“Dean…”

“Don’t lie to me, Sam. I heard you snoring all night. Riley said there’s a bug going around.”

Sam sighed, ended up coughing, “Alright, maybe I’m sick.”

“Go back to bed.”

Sam shook his head, “No, Dean,” he gestured to the calendar, “You have a post-op appointment. I have to –“

“I’ll get a taxi. Dude, you’re all over the place.”

Sam slumped into the breakfast bar stool.

“I’m just tired. That’s all.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and worked his way up to standing. He suppressed a grunt of pain. One grunt and Sam would be all over him mother-hen style, sick or not.

When he made his way to Sam he plastered a hand across his forehead.

“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere today.”

“Dean!” Sam whined, “I have work.”

“No, you don’t,” Dean said, pulling his phone out.

“Oh, Dean, come on.”

Dean stepped away so Sam couldn’t reach for the phone.

“I don’t start until 5. Why don’t we just see how I am this afternoon?”

Dean grumbled, “Fine, but if that fever hangs around you’re not going.”

“Fine,” Sam mumbled, like a petulant child, “And you shouldn’t get too close, Dean. You can’t get sick right now.”

Dean couldn’t count how any things were wrong with that statement. The blaringly obvious one being, a sick Sam just told him to stay away, as if it wasn’t his only purpose in life to look after his little brother, especially when he was sick. Asking Dean not to look after him, was like asking him to stop breathing. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Ever.

“Whatever,” Dean moaned, anger and bitterness driving the word out of his mouth.

Dean was healing. Since both surgeries he’d had 3 colds and a nasty case of bronchitis. He seemed to be sick all the time. The doctors told him is immune system would be weakened while he healed, all his energy going into that, allowing small pathogens to set up camp whenever they got the chance. Yeah, he knew that. Yeah, he’d probably get whatever Sam had. But it didn’t mean he deserved to be treated like that. Wrapped in cotton wool. Babied.

Sam sighed, seeing Dean’s anger, “I just meant…”

Dean tossed the Tylenol bottle at him, “Go to bed.”

Sam pursed his lips. Oh, he wasn’t the only one that didn’t like being treated like a child.

Dean stared him down, until Sam rose and dragged himself back to his bedroom. He waited till he heard the door shut before he opened the cupboard and retrieved the whiskey bottle, unscrewing the top and taking a long sip. He closed his eyes, allowed himself to breathe deeply. The bottle was over half empty. He knew Sam would notice. It was almost full yesterday, but after Cas’s little visit… let’s just say Dean needed a little medicating. There were paintings on the walls when they moved in. Last night Dean had removed them all and carved angel warding symbols into the walls, before putting them back in place. He hadn’t slept at all.

He heard Sam cough in the other room and pulled his phone out again.

“Hey, Dean. What’s up?”

“Riley, hey. Uh, listen, Sam’s not gonna be able to work today.”

“So, he caught that bug after all?”

Dean smiled, “Yeah, guess I was wrong. Kid’s a mess.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Will he be okay?”

“Oh, yeah. He’ll be fine, he just needs to sleep it off.”

He heard her sigh, “Okay… That’s… okay.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m already down 2 servers tonight, and now Sam. Everyone’s sick. I shouldn’t be working half of the staff I got right now but I don’t really have a choice.”

Dean stared at the calendar.

“Are you still there?”

“I could… take a shift?”

There was a long pause, “Dean, I couldn’t ask you to –“

“Look, I’m sure I’ll be fine. You need the help, right?”

“Yeah, but, Dean… are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Dean closed his eyes, “I mean it’s not really an even trade but I’m better than nothing.”

 

…

 

“Sam, wake up.”

Sam moaned, his head feeling full and heavy.

“Come on, man. You need to have this medicine then you can go back to sleep.”

Sam’s eyes felt glued shut. He could feel Dean’s cold hands moving over him, turning him over. His throat was raw and his head throbbed with pressure. He felt awful.

“Crap!” he rasped, forcing his eyes open, trying to sit up while Dean’s hands held him down, “What’s the time? Your appointment, Dean.”

“Shh. Would you relax? Taxi’s booked. I’ll be fine. You need to take these pills and rest.”

Sam sagged back, giving up the fight.

“You need to take your scans.”

“Dude, I know,” Dean whispered angrily.

Sam sighed, coughed over his shoulder.

“Drink this,” Dean handed him a glass of water, “Take these,” he pressed the pills on him, “And get some sleep.”

Sam swallowed the pills and sniffed wetly.

“I’ll bring you the tissue box,” Dean pushed himself up from where he sat on Sam’s bed and groaned, a deep rumble in his chest that he made only when he was really hurting.

“Dean, no, sit down.”

“Dammit, Sam. I’m fine!” Dean was gripping onto the edge of Sam’s dresser, knuckles turning white.

Sam sneezed into his elbow, and when he looked up Dean had gone. He came back a few minutes later with tissues and a damp washcloth. He placed the box at Sam’s hip and handed him the cloth.

“Thanks,” Sam mumbled, feeling terrible at making Dean look after him like this, but useless to really stop him.

“Don’t thank me,” Dean grumbled, “After I get back from the hospital I’m going out.”

“Where you going?” Sam said, crawling back under his covers and rolling onto his side.

“Out, alright? Don’t worry, I’m not driving.”

Sam nodded, feeling the pull of sleep.

“Get some sleep, Sammy.”

“Take your cane with you.”

He heard Dean laugh, “Yeah, okay.”

 

…

 

“Well, the scans are looking good,” Dr Reid said, sitting down in front of him, “The herniation that they weren’t able to remove is still going to give you some neural pain down your legs but since those bones have been fused things should start to get better.”

Dean nodded.

“How are you finding using the cane?”

Dean shifted in his seat, “It’s alright.”

“You understand how important walking is while you’re healing. There’s not much other exercise you can do so we have to get you up and walking as soon as possible, hence the cane. If you’re feeling better and it’s not too painful, you can try not using it all the time.”

Dean almost smiled.

“As long as you keep attending rehabilitation and doing your stretches and exercises at home.”

“Sure thing.”

“And I’m happy for you to start driving again. Short distances.”

“Well, hell, doc. You just made my day.”

“Where’s your brother today?”

Dean smiled towards the ground, “He’s, uh, home sick.”

“Oh, dear. Well give him my best.”

“You got it.”

“Oh and Dean, I got your blood work back this morning.”

“Yeah?” Dean shifted again, back cramping.

“Your liver function test was slightly abnormal.”

“Oh? What does that mean?”

“Well, there’s increased liver enzymes in your blood. That usually happens if the liver is inflamed or under some sort of stress. It could be all the pain medication that you’ve been taking, could also be from a virus, but it can also be from alcohol consumption.”

Dean tilted his head, pretending not to understand.

“It could be a combination of things, but I’d like to check it again in a month to make sure whatever it was has settled down.”

“Fine,” Dean grumbled.

“Dean, I know what alcohol can be to some people… and I know the damage it can do. Promise me you’ll try and look after yourself a bit more.”

Dean swallowed and nodded, choosing not to meet the doctor’s eyes.

“If everything goes well, I won’t need to see you again for another few months, but make sure you let me know if anything comes up that makes you uneasy.”

“Absolutely. Thanks, doc.”

 

…

[ID2006]

Mmmm, sick Sam.... lovely.

[Wow Really?]

Just now, ickydog2006 said:

Mmmm, sick Sam.... lovely.

Please tell me Dean's next

Please tell me Dean's next

Please tell me Dean's next

[MissBayliss]

Chapter Three

 

Dean bent over his brother, pressing his hand to his sweaty forehead. He was still a little warm but not alarmingly so.

"Dean?"

Sam's bleary eyes opened and he curled on his side as he coughed.

"Hey, Sammy. How ya feeling?" Dean couldn't stay bent over forever so he dumped himself heavily onto the edge of Sam's bed.

"I'm okay," Sam rubbed his eyes with his hand, "What did the doctor say?"

"Said I'm good to drive," Dean winked.

"Oh... That's good."

Dean huffed, of course Sam would be upset about that.

"Yeah, and I don't have to use that stupid cane anymore."

"But..."

"No buts, Sammy. I'm heading out now. You gonna be alright?"

Sam's eyes were already closed.

"Mm," he moaned.

"Tissues right here, there's Tylenol on the nightstand and a glass of water. You hungry?"

Sam shook his head.

"Well, make sure you get yourself some dinner later."

"Where're you going?" Sam mumbled sleepily.

"Got a date," Dean lied.

"With who?"

"Katie.”

“The girl from rehab?” Sam asked, opening one eye.

 “That’s her. Now go to sleep."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam muttered before he drifted off to sleep.

Dean hated that he'd lied to his brother but he couldn't exactly tell Sam he was going to work his shift. Nothing would upset him more, or get him out of the bed quicker.

"G'night, Sammy,” Dean gave Sam’s back a pat and a rub.

Then got up, put on his jacket, walked out of the house without a cane, and drove himself to the bar. Things were looking up already.

 

...

 

He thought working would be good. He thought it would at least be a distraction. He was high on drugs, the painkillers making him a little slow, a little forgetful. But even then the pain seeped through the thick fog, dull, muted somehow, but never gone. Riley fixed him with assessing glances every now and again, but it was busy, and she couldn’t watch him all the time. He lined up some shots for a group of loud, obnoxious kids. Did one with them when he knew Riley wasn’t watching. He needed to feel something. His chest felt empty, cold, hard ribs encasing nothing, because he had nothing inside.

He’d used his shoulder more than he ever had since this whole thing and his arm felt like it was going to fall off. His fingers started to tingle… on both hands.

He sucked in a breath. One of those girls looked familiar to him. It must have been someone who looked just like her, that he’d tortured in hell. He remembered how she screamed and how that made him slice even harder.

“Dean? Are you alright?” Riley’s hand was on his hip, fingers almost reaching around to his scar.

The world went kind of hazy.

“Okay, come sit down.”

She directed him out the back, sat him down on something hard.

“Do you need to take something?”

Dean put his head in his hands.

No. He’d taken his pills.

His eyes drifted shut.

“Dean.”

Riley’s hand rested on the back of his neck, “When was the last time you slept?”

Hey, that was a good question.

Dean had no trouble falling asleep in his car, or taking a nap on the couch after he’d taken his heavy dose of pain pills, but the last time he’d slept through the night? He couldn’t even remember. He was probably running on about 4 hours sleep in the last 72. The only time he slept at night now was when he got himself black out drunk.

“Dean?” she asked again, squatting down in front of him.

He took a few more slow breaths, slaved off another panic attack that took almost all of his energy, and tried to press up to his feet.

Riley helped him, but he was solid once he was up.

“Sorry,” he said, trying a smirk, “I’m good.”

“I think you should go home.”

Well, he thought as much.

“I can finish up…”

“Baby steps, Winchester,” she said, playfully.

Baby steps are for babies, he thought bitterly, his self-loathing kicking it up a notch, which had to be virtually impossible by now.

“Should I call Sam?”

“No.”

He turned angry eyes on Riley and he swore for a second she looked scared of him. He was used to that look. But it disappeared quickly, replaced with understanding… pity. That was worse.

“Honey, you look exhausted. Thanks for your help tonight, but you need to go to bed.”

Dean was hit with pain and panic randomly, the force of it changing his expression before he could think about it. Her hand was on his chest.

“You okay?”

Dean swallowed, forcing himself to focus on her hand, the pressure and warmth of it there. He slid his hand down, starting at her hip, ghosting over the curves of her backside. He left his hand there, gave her a tug so her chest was pressing against his. He breathed into her ear.

"Come with me."

Because Dean was on the edge. On the edge of what he had no idea. But he needed something. Sometimes alcohol filled it. Sometimes driving really fast, punching holes in the wall, ganking some fugly. Tonight it was women. A woman. This woman. He needed to feel something.

She licked her lips, could probably sense the primal urgency he was giving off, despite the fact he was frail. Broken.

"Are you -"

He knew what she was going to say. Are you okay to? Are you sure? Are you going to break? Are you going to cry? The answer to all of them was yes.

He pressed his mouth against hers, almost violently, to stop the words coming out. He couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear it right now.

She turned soft under his hands and he knew he'd won.

The night was winding down, the busy spell over. So she told Joe to lock up.

She slipped her hand into the back pocket of Dean's jeans, hugging to his side, her shoulder tucked in under his own, so to anyone looking it didn't look like she was helping him, didn't look like she was holding him up.

He insisted on driving. Because not everything could be taken from him at once. Not when he had so little left.

They went to her place. It wasn't even a discussion. He'd never brought her into that house. He couldn't bring anyone in there. That was the place he was most vulnerable. She'd never questioned it, never even suggested. Like she knew.

 

...

 

Sam woke up and it was dark outside his window. He felt groggy, off kilter from sleeping the entire day away. He snuffled, realizing he was still congested. Swallowing, his throat was a little scratchy, but nothing like it had been that morning. At least his headache was gone, the fog lifting.

“Dean?” he called, clearing his throat loudly.

Belatedly he looked at his nightstand.

Went out. Eat something. Be back late tonight. Don’t freak out, I can look after myself. Take Tylenol.

- D

Sam rubbed a hand over his face, then swept it back through his hair. He cleared his throat again and got out of bed.

After a shower and some left over pizza he felt almost human. He swiped a tissue under his running nose. Well, almost.

Shit, he thought. He hadn’t even called work to let them know he wasn’t going to be in. Maybe Dean had done it for him. He was sure he would have, but it was just polite to let your employer know yourself. He grabbed his phone and called the bar. Joe answered.

“Hey, Joe,” man, his voice was rough.

“Sam? That you?”

“Yeah, how ya been?”

“Better than you by the sounds of it. You calling for Dean?”

Sam furrowed his brow. “N-no… Why? Is Dean there?”

“You just missed him. He left with Riley about a half hour ago. He was a little ragged but it was a great help having him here. We appreciated him stepping up.”

“Wait… You – you lost me. What was Dean doing there?”

“Working the bar. Sam, are you sure you’re all right? You sound a little out of it?”

Sam could feel his face heating up, “I’m fine. You said he left with Riley? Was he doing okay?”

“Well, at one stage he looked ready to drop. Riley sent him home but ended up leaving with him,” he laughed, “But we all saw that coming.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later,” Sam hung up as Joe was saying goodbye.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

 

…

 

He picked up the rusty jagged blade and forced it into her side. Feeling the skin tear. He gave it a twist just to make her scream again. He liked it when they screamed, her face contorting in pain and fear. He felt almost high from it, his body warming up, blood boiling, turning black… like his eyes. Black. Black. Black.

“Dean?”

Dean started away, bringing his arms up over his face, ready to lash out.

Oh God, it wasn’t Sam. It wasn’t Sam.

Riley had moved away from him, getting out of reach. She looked shocked, frightened.

“Sorry,” he panted, breathing rapidly, sweat beading on his chest. His heart was pounding.

“Are you okay?”

Dean closed his eyes, he needed to calm down.

He’d never fallen asleep at her place before. He didn’t trust himself to. She’d never seen him like this.

“You were… shouting out.”

He cursed internally, “I’m sorry, Riley. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” she crawled back beside him, “It’s okay.”

“You don’t need this,” he said, pushing her away gently and trying to get up.

“Dean, stop. You don’t need to be embarrassed about it.”

“You have no idea,” he groaned levering himself up. God, his back.

“You don’t have to explain,” she put a hand on his neck.

It didn’t comfort him.

“I need to go. My brother’s sick.”

“He can look after himself,” she smiled, “You can stay.”

“No, I can’t,” he dropped his head.

“I don’t mind.”

He shook his head, swallowing hard.

“Is this why you’ve never stayed over?” she asked, gently, her breath soft on the back of his neck.

Dean couldn’t hold his emotions in anymore.

“Hey,” she cooed, running a hand through his hair. She sat beside him and and pulled him against her, his head against her chest, “Shhh. It’s okay… You’re okay.”

He didn’t know how long the tears flowed for. He didn’t allow himself to sob. It was just a steady leak.

He left.

She begged him to stay.

“Don’t go like this. Take some time.”

He was done with taking time.

 

…

 

Sam sat at the dining table, fuming, steam almost coming out his ears. Dean had gone to work at the bar, because he couldn’t. Dean, who was 3 weeks post spinal surgery, 2 months post shoulder recon, had taken a shift because he had a cold. He was angry at himself for being so weak, angry at Dean for doing what he always did and thinking that everyone else had to come before himself. He tensed up when he heard the keys in the front door, ready to scream his lungs out at his stubborn, idiot, jerk of a brother… until he saw him.

“Dean?” the word felt like it came out of a six year old’s mouth and not his own.

Dean cast bloodshot eyes at him. His face was pale, dark smudges under his red-rimmed eyes. He knew he’d been crying, knew he was done.

“Hey, Sammy,” he managed a weak, sad smile, “You look better.”

Sam was up and grabbing him as he stumbled, leaning against the wall.

“Come on, dude,” Sam whispered, “I got you.”

 

…

[Wow Really?]

Thank you for this. I have had the crappiest week ever.. This made it better.

Bring on the sick!

[telltale]

The scene at Riley's place was really poignant.  Love it.

[MissBayliss]

Uh oh. I just can't help myself... I'm a terrible person.

 

Thanks for waiting on this one, guys.  

Chapter Four

 

Dean was a friggen wreck. There were a lot of questions Sam wanted to ask, a lot of things he wanted to know about what had happened that evening, but just looking at his brother was enough to silence him. He didn’t need to know, not now. Dean didn’t need to tell him, didn’t need to justify himself, didn’t need to open up. Sam just had to be there for him. He just needed to look after him now. Pick up the pieces. At least that’s what Sam was good at.

“You’re sick…” Dean mumbled, as Sam helped him to bed.

“Yeah, well, you can look me over when we get you horizontal,” Sam joked, happy to see a smile tug at Dean’s mouth.

Dean cleared his throat, “Been a long day,” his voice was croaky. Pain and sorrow and guilt…

“I’ll bet,” Sam left it at that, seeing how Dean’s face hardened.

Sam helped lower Dean to sit on the bed, he winced and carefully rolled his shoulder.

“Shoulder hurting?” Sam nodded, sniffling, dragging the back of his hand under his nose.

“A little,” he shrugged.

Sam couldn’t believe the lines on Dean’s face. He looked like he’d aged years in the last few months. He’d lost muscle mass from not being able to mobilise. He was gaunt, lacking colour, except for around his eyes, which was a tender pink, fading into deep purple bruises to show the lack of sleep. Sam took a deep breath. Maybe Dean was worse off than he thought… much worse.

“You gonna stare at me all night?” Dean flicked his eyes up to Sam, annoyance evident in his gaze.

“Sorry, dude. You need anything?”

Dean sluggishly reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a bottle of pills. His hands were shaking as he popped one in his mouth.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Sam recognized the bottle as Dean’s heavy duty painkillers and knew he’d be asleep in a few minutes, which was good because he definitely needed it.

Sam turned to the side and sneezed into his hands. When he looked back Dean was studying him.

“I’m fine,” he sniffed.

Dean grunted, “Yeah, sure.”

Sam helped Dean out of his jacket and jeans and pulled back the covers for him.

“Ice? Heat? Food? Anything?” he listed off, as Dean crawled under the covers, letting out a deep, weary sigh.

“Just tired…” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

Sam knew that was the end of the conversation.

 

…

 

Dean slept for ten hours. When he woke up his throat was dry and his nose was itchy. He didn’t know who it was. If it was Riley that got him sick, or Sam. It didn’t really matter anyway. All that mattered was this time he keep it under wraps, because if Sam was good at anything, it was feeling guilty. And Dean couldn't put that on him. Plus, the kid had enough to worry about as it was.

His whole body was sore. It was different to the usual pain in his back. Now it was all over. An ache in his muscles, needles of pain stabbing into his bones, his joints. And his head felt like the size of Texas.

When his eyes focused he could see Sam standing at his bedroom door.

“Thought you were never gonna wake up,” he smirked. His voice was husky.

“Did I…” Dean waved a hand.

“Nah, man. You slept like a baby.”

Dean snorted, “Well, what do ya know.”

Sam walked towards him, “You feeling okay?”

Geez, Sam had a nose on him like a bloodhound.

“I’m fine. Need more drugs…”

“I’ll grab ‘em. Sit tight.”

Dean sat up on the edge of his bed and scrubbed his face with both hands. Like a tidal wave, the memories of the previous night came flooding back. First he was reminded of how friggen useless he’d been at the bar. How the people looked at him like he was broken, weak. How he’d flashed back, lost his grip on reality. How Riley had to be gentle. The way she held his head as his tears stained her arms and chest. How he cried till he was dry, till there was nothing left.

“Here, man.”

Sam was in front of him, holding out a pill and a glass of water.

Dean grabbed it with a grunt and tossed it back.

God, he needed a drink.

Sam ducked to the side, coughing hard into his shoulder. It was phlegmy, harsh.

Dean couldn’t help but stare at him.

You’re not doing your job, he thought to himself.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled, “I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay,” Dean cleared his throat, trying not to sound husky himself.

“I’m fine, it’s just a cough.”

Dean nodded, letting it go for now.

“Heard from Bobby?” Dean asked, because in his state he couldn’t look out for Sam, and he couldn’t expect Sammy to look out for him.

“He’s working a case in Florida, said he’ll swing by when he’s done, shouldn’t be more than a couple’a days.”

Dean sniffed discreetly, “Awesome.”

“I’ll, um,” Sam backed towards the door, “I’ll give you a minute.”

Dean nodded, “Hey, Sam.”

Sam stopped, “Yeah?”

“I missed rehab, didn’t I?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck “Yeah, I called up for you. They moved you to tomorrow instead.”

“’Kay.”

The second Sam left the room Dean wobbled over to his duffle bag and pulled out a bottle. Two mouthfuls of scotch down the hatch. He winced at it. It burned.

 

…

 

Dean was drunk by the time he was showered, dressed, and presentable enough to leave his room. It didn’t matter that it was only 2pm on a weekday. He stumbled on his way down the hall, bracing against the wall as his back spasmed.

“You okay?” Sam came around the corner, hearing the ruckus.

Dean grinned, giving Sam a thumbs up.

Sam laughed, “You’re in a good mood.”

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, limping towards him, “Don’t kill my buzz.”

“Alright,” Sam shrugged, “You sure you shouldn’t be using your cane still?”

“Shut up,” Dean whined, pushing past him.

Sam followed him and watched him as he carefully sat down on the couch.

“So, what else did the doctor say yesterday?”

Dean waved a hand, “Nothing. Everything’s fine. Fit as a fiddle.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, “Do you wanna go for a walk before I leave for work?”

Dean rubbed a hand up and down his thigh.

“You’re going to work?” he questioned, “You’re hacking up a lung.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “I’m fine.”

“Well then, get in the kitchen and make me some lunch. I’m starving.”

 

…

 

Sam could tell something wasn’t quite right with Dean. He was too… happy. Sam hated himself for thinking it, but it just wasn’t Dean these days. He barely smiled, never laughed, never joked, unless it was at his own expense, and even then it was more sad than anything. He didn’t realize until Dean completely bumped into him in the kitchen, spilling his juice on the bench.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, wiping the juice up with his sleeve.

“Dean, look at me.”

Dean gave him a quick, annoyed glance, “What’s your problem?”

“Are you drunk?”

Dean snorted, then coughed, “Leave me alone, man.”

“Dean,” Sam grabbed his shoulder, turning him to look at him, being gentle as ever, “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

Dean shook him off but didn’t answer.

“Dammit, Dean. You can’t do this.”

Dean turned fiery eyes on him and Sam thought he was about to get his head punched in.

“I said, leave me alone.”

“You’re going to kill yourself! You can’t drink like that and take those pills.”

Dean stumbled back towards the couch and sat down, turning the volume of the TV up.

“Dean, please.”

“I thought you were going to work,” he grumbled.

“Can I really leave you like this?” Sam sighed.

Dean glared at him and Sam sighed once more.

Well played, idiot.

“Fine.”

 

…

 

Dean sat on the back steps, the inky black sky closing around him. It was a bit cold out. The air hurt his lungs, and the whiskey burnt his throat. Outside he could hear the neighbours, clanging around getting dinner. Kids laughing and crying. Dogs barking. Crickets chirping. The sound of tyres rushing against the road. He tried to focus on that, on those sounds. Not the sounds of his own ragged breathing, of his heart pounding in his chest, his pulse loud in his ears. He felt like crap. His head was thumping and he was snotty and phlegmy. Fresh air was good for that, right?

He coughed loudly and openly towards his knees, took a sip of whiskey to numb the pain in his throat. It didn’t really help.

“Hhh’tscht!” he stifled, head jerking towards his chest.

He took a snotty snuffle and jerked with two more. He panted through his mouth.

“Well, this sucks,” he informed the universe.

He took a moment to clear his throat.

Sam wasn’t home. He could be sick. He could be weak. He could cough out loud. He could blow his nose, and no one would care. No one would care that he was sick.

No one would care.

He was coughing into his sleeve, feeling weak and sweaty, when he heard the front door open. He tensed up. The tension eased when he heard Sam’s barking cough. It was just Sam. He didn’t have to fight. But Sam was home early, and Dean was sitting outside, drinking a bottle of whiskey, next to a pile of snotty toilet paper. Crap.

“Dean?”

Shit, the kid sounded awful.

Dean cleared his throat, tried not to groan out loud as he grabbed the railing of the stairs to stand up, he failed.

“Sam?” he left the evidence on the back steps and got inside as quick as his body would allow, “You’re back early.”

“Ye –“ Sam was cut off when he started coughing again, doubling over.

“Alright, come on,” Dean got straight into big brother mode and pushed Sammy towards his bedroom.

Sam crawled into bed and Dean pulled the cover over him, “You take something?”

Sam nodded, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Sure, brother,” Dean patted his head, “Sleep it off.”

Dean began pulling Sam’s door shut behind him.

“Leave it open,” Sam groaned, concern in his voice.

“Alright, dude,” Dean grunted, leaving it open a crack.

He hurried out the back door and lent against the railing as he coughed. It was hard holding it in in front of Sam, and somehow it was already chesty. He glanced down at the things he’d left on the steps and rolled his eyes at how pathetic he was that he could hardly bend to pick them up. He used his foot to push the scrunched up toilet paper off the steps into the garden. He braced himself as he bent to grab the almost empty bottle. He couldn’t waste a drop.

As he screwed the lid back on and shuffled inside he hoped Bobby would be there soon. Because their little life they’d created here was on shaky ground, built on a cracking foundation, and Dean could only wait and watch as everything eventually came crashing down.

 

…

 

Bobby was supposed to be there in a few days, but the hunt went sideways, as it often did, and a few days turned into a week… two weeks. Sam was better now, but Dean couldn’t shake it. As he knew it would, his cold settled down deep in his lungs. It could have been the fact that he wasn’t allowing himself to cough when he needed to, or that at night he lay curled on his side choking into a towel he had clamped hard against his face so Sam didn’t hear him. He’d never felt so weak in his life. He’d started drinking more too, if that was possible. Because now that Sam was better he was back at work for longer, leaving Dean alone. Dean couldn’t stand being alone. Somehow Sam hadn’t noticed how sick Dean was. At first Dean thought it was a good thing, but then he started to wonder why, how he couldn’t notice.

Sam was at work when Dean started to sweat, and shake, and feel like he was going to vomit. He hadn’t eaten all day though so why was he feeling nauseous?

Maybe because you haven’t eaten all day, dickhead.

He got up off the couch and doubled over, clutching his midsection. He took a calming breath and straightened as the pain eased. He made it to the kitchen but coughed so hard he ended up with a mouthful of brown mucus.

“Crap.”

 

…

 

Dean called a taxi and went to the hospital. The cabby kept shooting strange looks into the rear view mirror at him, like he was scared he was going to up and die in his back seat. Dean would have thought it was funny if he wasn’t worrying about the same thing. He supposed he could have asked Dave and Maxine to drive him but they’d tell Sam, and Dean wanted to keep it a secret for now. They’d probably just give him antibiotics and send him home with a pat on the back. He knew it was bad though, hospital bad. That he had bronchitis or the beginnings of pneumonia.

When he entered the hospital and approached the triage nurse she gave him the same look as the cabby and he was seen straight away.

It’s just a cough, lady, was all he could think. But they had him in a bed, hooked up to machines, and taking blood within minutes.

They’d called Dr Reid in and when he walked in with a folder in his hand and a stern look on his face Dean knew something wasn’t right.

“Geez, doc, I’m not dying. It’s just a damn cough.”

“Dean… have you looked in the mirror?”

“What?” he croaked.

“You’re jaundice.”

“In english, please,” Dean huffed.

“You’re yellow.”

“Huh?” Dean raised his arms to look at his skin. His muscles were weak, sluggish, and Dr Reid was right. He was yellow.

“You’re blood test shows high quantities of liver enzymes in your blood.”

“That’s not a good thing, right?”

“You’re liver is severely inflamed, Dean. Does Sam know you’re here?”

“No, and he’s not going to know.”

“Dean…”

“Do not call my brother. Just fix me up and get me out of here by the morning.”

“That’s highly unlikely. You are an incredibly unwell man. You may have done permanent, irreversible damage to your liver.”

“Well, then do what you gotta do, but don’t call Sam.”

Dr Reid sighed, “Dean, is there anyone else I can call for you? Your uncle, perhaps? I think someone should be here with you.”

Dean closed his eyes, “No.”

“Okay,” Dr Reid sounded somber, “Before you sleep though, I need you to cough some mucus into this cup.”

 

…

[Wow Really?]

Well, crap.. This isn't good. :-(

(But it's really good) ;-)

 

[telltale]

Oh my, this is heartbreaking, and so, so well-done.  I'm always happy when I see an update from you.

[MissBayliss]

Chapter Five

 

“You stupid son of a bitch!”

Dean eased into awareness, smelling the sterile hospital around him, the sounds of machines beeping, people talking, his own chest as he breathed in and out. He cracked his eyes open and Bobby’s gruff face was fuming by his bedside.

“Well, it’s nice to see you too,” Dean grumbled, coughing wetly.

“Alcoholic hepatitis, and bacterial pneumonia. You almost killed yourself, Dean.”

Dean sighed, rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand, “Lay off, Bobby…”

“No, you lay off!” Bobby shouted, “Stop being so goddamn selfish, and think about your family for a change!”

Dean was flawed. His eyes widened. He could hear his machine beeping more rapidly as his heart rate sped up.

“I have always thought about this family,” Dean started, took a deep breath, “All I ever do is for my family!”

“Yeah?” Bobby raised his eyebrows, “And were you thinking about Sam and me when you took a fistful of painkillers and washed it down with a bottle of whiskey?”

“Jesus, Bobby…” Dean rubbed his eyes again, feeling sick to his stomach.

“No, you listen to me, son,” Bobby bent over him, put a hand on his head, “I know you’re going through somethin’. I know you’ve seen crap my worst nightmares couldn’t even dream up. But comin’ in and seeing you lie in this bed, lookin’ worse than most corpses we dig up, that is my worst nightmare. So, if you’re thinkin’ about checkin’ out, goin’ off the rails here, drinkin’ yourself into an early grave, you got another thing comin’. Because me and Sam won’t let you.”

“Bobby…”

“I ain’t finished!” Bobby raised his voice again and Dean gulped. “I’ve already lost you once! I’m not gonna stand here and let it happen again. So, stow your crap, son, and stop driving towards the cliff!”

Dean looked into Bobby’s eyes and slowly nodded. He felt tendrils climbing up his throat, his face heating up.

Bobby handed him a bucket just in time for him to be sick into, not that much came up but hot air.

Bobby’s hand was strong on the back of his neck, massaging, and if that wasn’t the biggest “I love you, and you scared me half to death” gesture, Dean didn’t know what was.

“Ya’alright, son?”

Dean nodded, pushing the bowl away.

“How’d you know I was here?” Dean rasped, clearing his throat.

“Your doctor called me when your vitals plummeted a few hours ago. Luckily, they got you sorted,” Bobby removed his cap and rubbed at his head. Stressed.

“Sam?” Dean turned guilty eyes towards Bobby.
“I didn’t tell him yet. He’s at the bar, I’m guessin’? Graveyard shift?”

Dean nodded.

“He’s gonna get home sooner or later and realize you’re not there…”

Dean sighed, then coughed, “I didn’t want to worry him…”

Bobby shook his head, “Son, I could wring your neck.”

“I know,” Dean tried to keep a handle on his emotions, “I’ll call him.”

Bobby picked up Dean’s phone from the side table and placed it on his chest. “I’ll go and grab a coffee.”

Dean watched him go and picked up his phone.

This was going to go down really well…

 

…

 

“Sam,” Riley approached him with a tray of drinks, “I need you to do these again. They ordered a gin and tonic, a vodka lemonade, and a jug of beer.”

Sam shook his head when he realized his mistake, “Sorry, Riley. I’ll fix it.”

She sighed and placed the tray down on the bar, “This is the third order you’ve screwed up. What’s going on?”

Sam cleared his throat, shaking his head, “I just…”

“Is it Dean?”

Sam looked up at her.

“Is something wrong?” She stepped closer, looking worried.

“No, no… I don’t think so. I just… have a bad feeling.”

“Well, what’s happened? Is he getting worse?”

Sam shrugged, “I don’t think he’s worse, he’s just,” he paused, “He’s shut off. He won’t talk to me. He looks terrible. He’s aged so much… I don’t know what to do.”

Riley put a hand on Sam’s, “Does he need help?”

“I’m trying to help him as much as I can…”

“No, Sam,” she stopped him, “Does he need help?”

Sam huffed. He opened his mouth to respond when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He almost smashed a glass in his haste to grab it. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew this wasn’t good.

Riley was looking at the screen, which displayed Dean’s name. She nodded, “Go.”

Sam answered the phone as he slipped out the back.

“Dean? What’s going on?”

There was a long pause, beeping in the background.

“Hey, Sammy.”

Dean sounded tired, sick, defeated.

“Where are you? What’s happening?”

“I, uh,” he broke off coughing.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I screwed up, Sammy.”

“Where are you?” Sam said again, drawing each word out to emphasise the seriousness, even though he already knew the answer to the question.

“Alexandria Hospital.”

“I’m on my way.”

 

…

 

Sam sat by Dean’s bed, bouncing his leg up and down, hands clasped in front of him, staring intently at his unmoving brother.

Bobby entered the room and Sam turned quickly to face him, “What did the doctor say?”

Bobby looked grim and Sam didn’t think his heart could take anymore.

“He said Dean needs to rest right now.”

“He’s been sleeping for 17 hours!” Sam shouted, pointing to Dean in the bed, unstirred by the noise.

“Shh, Sam, calm down. Your brother’s a very sick man. We have to give this time.”

Sam grimaced, huffed out an angry breath.

“The doctor said he hasn’t done permanent damage. There’s no saying that he can’t get back to normal.”

“Then why won’t he wake up?”

“Well, he had a theory on that too.”

Sam raised his eyebrow.

“Post traumatic stress.”

Sam felt himself well up, and turned back to look at his brother.

“What do we do, Bobby?”

Sam felt Bobby’s hand on his shoulder, “We do what we always do… We stay right here.”

 

…

 

Dean woke up coughing, and felt the bed being sat up higher for him.

“Dean! Dean, Dean, hey… Breathe. You’re okay.”

The coughing died down and he opened his eyes to see Sam standing over him, looking disheveled, unshaven, and sleep deprived.

“You look worried,” Dean rasped.

Sam sighed and slumped into the chair, holding firmly onto Dean’s forearm.

“Don’t say anything… Just… don’t.”

“Alright,” Dean shrugged, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.

“It’s been two days.”

Dean choked again, coughing into the crook of his arm.

Sam hit the call button and slumped back, rubbing Dean’s arm.

 

…

 

“Ouch,” Dean flinched as the nurse gave him a shot in the arm.

He was getting vitamin injections on a regular basis to counter the nutrient deprivation caused by the alcohol.

“Baby,” Sam muttered, smirk on his face.

“Sorry, Dean,” the nurse pulled his sleeve back down, “I’ll leave you with your brother now.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” as she left Dean turned to Sam, “I feel like a freaking pin cushion.”

 “Well, that’s what you get,” Sam whined like a little kid.

“Yeah, so you keep telling me…”

“Dean, I talked to Dr Reid,” Sam sat up straighter.

Dean looked the other way.

“He wants you to talk to someone… about your drinking.”

Dean stiffened, closed his eyes as he took a breath.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, but this has got to stop...”

“You don’t get it,” Dean choked, emotion bubbling up.

“What?” Sam looked surprised that he’d responded at all.

“This isn’t going to go away, Sam. It’s not going to get better. This will always have happened to me. I can’t change it. I can’t forget the last 40 years… Hell, Sam, I was down there longer than I ever lived up here, and now I have to… go on like nothing happened? How can I?”

“What are you saying? You better not be suggesting that you don’t… wanna be here anymore…”

Dean looked at his brother.

Here.

Dean knew what Sam meant. Not “here” in the hospital. Not “here” in this town. Not “here” in North Carolina. But here. Alive. On Earth.

 “What?” Dean screwed up his face, “God, Sam, of course not. You think after everything that happened I wanna… risk…” he trailed off, fighting back the tears. He’d cried enough. “I can’t.”

“Dean,” Sam sighed, “I’m sorry…”

“I’m trying, Sam. I’m happy I’m back. I’m happy I have you, and Bobby, and… I just… I’m trying.”

Sam sighed, nodded, “I know, Dean. I know you are.”

Dean cleared his throat and, despite his efforts, felt a tear slip down his cheek, “Well, good, ‘cause… this is all I’ve got.”

Sam looked his brother in the eye, “You’re all I’ve got too.”

 

…

 

Sam’s head shot up from Dean’s bed, a cold wet patch on his chin from where he’d been lying in his own drool. God, he was tired.

When his eyes adjusted he saw Dean looking at him, propped up in the bed, nasal prongs in, TV remote in his hand, eyebrow raised.

“What I miss?” Sam mumbled, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, stretching out his back from where he’d been hunched over in the chair, head resting on the edge of the bed.

“Go home, Sam.”

“Huh?” Sam said around a yawn.

“Go home. You look worse than me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Sam sighed, sizing his brother up.

Dean took a few slow breaths before speaking again, like he was out of breath just from talking, “I can stay here on my own.”

Sam shook his head, “Nah, I’m good. I just need another coffee.”

“They’ll look after me here, dude. Get some sleep.”

Dean coughed into his arm, rattling lungs. He sunk back into the pillows, looking like he was barely hanging onto consciousness as it was.

“What if you… have a nightmare?”

Dean glared at him, “Don’t jinx it.”

He hadn’t had one since he’d arrived, but he’d just been too weak. There was no telling whether he’d shout out, lash out, hurt someone, hurt himself. Sam didn’t trust him there on his own.

“Who’s going to… keep an eye out?” Sam argued.

“I am,” Bobby stood at the door, fixing Sam with a hard stare.

Dean coughed again, struggled more to recover this time.

Sam stood up, “You good?”

Dean nodded, even as he continued to cough. When it finally settled he had tears in his eyes.

“Get outta here. I’ll be alright. I’m just gonna sleep anyway.”

That’s what I’m worried about, Sam thought.

 

…

[Wow Really?]

Yay!! Awesome AWESOME update. Can't wait to see where this story is gonna go!  Your characters are so spot on, it's frightening. These updates help tide me over during hellatus, so thank you for that too.

Okay, where's the bouncing emoticon?! 

There it is! 

Hope you're doing well <3 

[ayslin]

I just powered through 'Taking Some Time' and this fic all in one sitting.  I'm absolutely loving your writing.  

You've nailed these guys to a T.  Scenes that would have had me furiously pressing the 'back' button in any other fic, you've handled perfectly.  Seriously well done.

Poor Deano.   Poor Sam.  Poor Bobby.  Ack.  

[Wow Really?]

4 hours ago, ayslin said:

I just powered through 'Taking Some Time' and this fic all in one sitting.  I'm absolutely loving your writing.  

You've nailed these guys to a T.  Scenes that would have had me furiously pressing the 'back' button in any other fic, you've handled perfectly.  Seriously well done.

Poor Deano.   Poor Sam.  Poor Bobby.  Ack.  

Ditto! And you should read Convention Madness too. My absolute favorite. (I think I've read it about 10 times lol.)

 

[telltale]

This is EXCELLENT.

[ayslin]

On September 10, 2016 at 0:26 AM, Wow Really? said:

Ditto! And you should read Convention Madness too. My absolute favorite. (I think I've read it about 10 times lol.)

 

Ooo, thanks for the rec!  I'm definitely going to check that out.  It's been a while since I've been in the mood for RPF, but now I've got some motivation.  

[Wow Really?]

9 hours ago, ayslin said:

Ooo, thanks for the rec!  I'm definitely going to check that out.  It's been a while since I've been in the mood for RPF, but now I've got some motivation.  

You got it! Hope you enjoy as much as I did 

[RipleyToo]

I can't wait until the next part! This story is just too good! Keep up the great work! I'm looking forward to more!

[MissBayliss]

On 9 September 2016 at 5:59 AM, Wow Really? said:

Yay!! Awesome AWESOME update. Can't wait to see where this story is gonna go!  Your characters are so spot on, it's frightening. These updates help tide me over during hellatus, so thank you for that too.

Okay, where's the bouncing emoticon?! 

There it is! 

Hope you're doing well <3 

THANK YOU! THANK YOU! All the love. Always. You know that.  

On 10 September 2016 at 10:19 AM, ayslin said:

I just powered through 'Taking Some Time' and this fic all in one sitting.  I'm absolutely loving your writing.  

You've nailed these guys to a T.  Scenes that would have had me furiously pressing the 'back' button in any other fic, you've handled perfectly.  Seriously well done.

Poor Deano.   Poor Sam.  Poor Bobby.  Ack.  

Wow! That's a lot to power through! (not that I haven't done that before with fics  ) Thank you so much. I love reading fan fiction, but there are some that are way too heavy for me to get into that it distracts from the reality of it. I really try with this one to keep the balance so I'm glad you've noticed and appreciate it   Thanks so much for reading! 

On 10 September 2016 at 2:26 PM, Wow Really? said:

Ditto! And you should read Convention Madness too. My absolute favorite. (I think I've read it about 10 times lol.)

Haha! Amazing! I really loved that one and I have a craving for some more RPF when I get the time to write it. Thanks for reccing, sweet thing  

On 10 September 2016 at 2:57 PM, telltale said:

This is EXCELLENT.

Yay! Thank you endlessly  

On 12 September 2016 at 1:03 PM, Toon Vlux said:

I can't wait until the next part! This story is just too good! Keep up the great work! I'm looking forward to more!

Hooray! I'm glad you're into it  Makes me doubley excited to write more!  

[MissBayliss]

Chapter Six

 

Bobby sat, reading a book at Dean’s side. He didn’t offer much in the way of conversation. There wasn’t much to say at this point.

Dean was bored out of his mind. All he had was a tiny TV for entertainment. The only reading he ever did was lore books, and he only did that when it served a purpose, a means to an end. He huffed. Bobby glanced up at him. “You should try and get some sleep, kid. You look wrecked.”

Dean coughed, “Can’t,” he said, trying not to sound like a five year old.

“Put the TV on. Daytime TV’s bound to put ya to sleep,” Bobby said, tossing him the remote.

Dean’s hand felt weak picking it up, weighed down. He turned the TV on and flicked through the channels. He flashed on a cooking show, just as a chef slid their knife under a raw fillet of fish and swiftly removed the skin. Hand immediately shaking, Dean turned the TV off. Bobby looked up.

Dean tilted his head back on his pillows, eyes wide open, trying not to hyperventilate.

“What’s wrong, boy? Ya’alright?” Bobby leaned over.

Dean couldn’t answer. He tried. He tried so hard not to think about the knife, the blades, the rack…

Bobby put a hand on his chest, “Feel this, Dean. Slow it down.”

Dean put his own hand on top of Bobby’s, gripping. The knife went under the skin, between the meaty flesh.

“Slower, Dean.”

“He just – he ripped the skin off, Bobby. He sliced the…”

"Dean!" He said firmly, "Listen to me. Listen to my voice. Stay with me. You're alright."

Dean listened to every word that came from Bobby’s mouth. Because every word was important, every word grounded him. He managed to slow his breathing down a bit and eventually he realised he wasn't about to be flayed alive.

"You're safe. You're safe, son."

Dean closed his eyes, spoke softly, "What's wrong with me, Bobby? When is this gonna stop?"

"It's alright, Dean... Just breathe."

 

...

 

Dean's fever spiked in the night and he started throwing up again. They had to dump another bag of fluids into him because he couldn't even keep water down.

A guy came round to see him, from alcohol, tobacco and other drugs services. He put him on a withdrawal scale and tried to talk to him. Psychoeducation bullshit. Dean was too busy hurling his guts up to listen.

Another vitamin B injection.

Vital signs.

More fluid.

Dean was exhausted, shivering and shaking, beads of sweat running down his face. He knew he looked like shit. He could see the sallow colour of his hands and arms, so yellow in contrast to the white hospital shirt. The thing was, he wasn't embarrassed about looking like shit, about anyone seeing him so unattractive, yellow, pale, skinny, exhausted, puking everywhere, coughing up all kinds of shit. Because he was literally too sick to even care.

 

…

 

“Knock, knock.”

Dean let his eyes refocus on the window, snapping out of the dark void he’d been hovering in, listening to people scream. Now he could just hear the beeping of the machines, the hiss of the oxygen. Bobby had stuck with him through the night and he’d managed without major incident. He did have to be woken up several times though. Other than that, the puking and general feeling like he was going to die kept him awake.

He registered that someone had said something. Not a nurse or a doctor. They wouldn’t have waited, they would have just walked straight in. He looked over and saw Katie standing at the door.

“Hey,” he rasped, his voice not really coming out, unable to form words.

“I hadn’t seen you in rehab for a while… I heard you were in here. Is everything okay?” She asked, tentatively, sitting down in the chair by his bed.

“I’m fine,” he waved a hand.

She smiled, “Alright, I trust you.”

You shouldn’t.

Dean leaned to the side, away from her, coughing wetly into a fist. He sucked in breaths, trying to swallow it, choke it down, but it wouldn’t stop.

“Here, Dean,” she stood, “You need to sit forward.”

He felt her hand in between his shoulder blades, guiding him to sit up further.

He continued to cough. She tried to sit him forward further again.

“Can’t… my back,” he got out between choking jerks.

“Okay, then stay here. Slow breaths.”

The coughs got wetter, chunkier, and she handed him a few tissues.

He could feel his eyes leaking, face turning red. He had to struggle not to throw up. His abdomen and chest hurt so much already.

Finally it stopped, and the tissues were full of brown mucus, flecks of new pink blood throughout.

“I’ll get rid of that,” she used a clean tissue to wrap around the tissues in his hand and threw them away. Then she passed him a glass of water.

“Thanks,” he struggled to get the word out, throat raw.

He took a few sips, wondering how he could get himself out of this situation. She was pretty, and he was… yeah, he was not pretty. At least not right now.

“How’s your back feeling?” she asked, crinkling her nose, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you before – “

“No, it’s okay,” he cleared his throat, swallowed, “It’s, uh… it’s okay.”

“It’s a lot of sitting up in bed you’re doing,” she looked concerned.

“You calling me lazy?” he smirked.

“Yeah, a little bit,” she laughed, then paused, “Do you want to go for a walk?”

Dean furrowed his brow at her, wanted to ask why she’d asked him that. Why she cared.

“I don’t think,” he took a breath, feeling exhausted just thinking about it, “Maybe later…”

“Okay,” she smiled.

“Could this hospital get a decent vending machine?” Bobby was muttering gruffly as he entered the room. He stopped dead when he saw a girl in his seat. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”

Dean cleared his throat again, “Bobby, this is Katie.”

Katie got up immediately and extended a hand to him, “I’m Dean’s friend from physical rehabilitation,” she said, warmly.

Bobby looked at Dean and raised an eyebrow.

“Friend, huh?” Bobby shook her hand.

She turned to Dean, “If you’re with your family, I’ll just –“

“No, no,” Bobby said, adjusting his hat, “I was just heading out to grab some breakfast. You can keep an eye on him for a few minutes for me?”

“Bobby,” Dean groaned.

“Absolutely,” she smiled.

“Dean, I’ll be back in a few,” Bobby winked at him behind Katie’s back. Dean rolled his eyes.

Katie sat back down next to him. There was a few moments of silence.

“Do you want your TV on?” she asked, leaning forward to grab the remote.

“No,” he said, way too quickly, way too urgently, “No… leave it off.”

“Okay,” she said and shrugged, not even acknowledging the panic in his voice.

Dean cleared his throat, “I meant to ask, what are you doing here?”

“I, uh, volunteer down at the children’s ward.”

“Oh,” Dean’s eyebrows went up.

“So, I’ll be here all day if you wanted to stretch your legs a bit later.”

“Thanks, but you don’t…”

“Dean,” she leaned in close, spoke quietly, “I can tell you’re in a lot of pain, and I know you’re probably in here for other reasons, but you need to think about your back as well.”

Dean didn’t want to admit it, but his back was really sore. Like, really sore. It was needles, it was hot pokers, it was hammers, and drills and jackhammers being jabbed repeatedly into his spine. It ached, it burned, it stung, it stabbed… and it was relentless. It didn't matter what position he was in, he wasn’t comfortable. The pain didn't lessen, it only got worse, and he was starting to think that, after all this time, and all this progress he’d made with walking, that he was going backwards, and that terrified him.

“Okay…” he breathed.

“And stop being stubborn and tell the nurses that you’re hurting,” she smirked and leaned back in her chair.

“You’re bossy, you know that?” Dean teased, eyes at half mast, fighting sleep with all he had.

She smiled even wider and folded her arms in front of her, “Go to sleep, Dean.”

 

…

 

Dean cracked his eyes open and the lights were off throughout the hospital, a strange glow coming in through the window. Katie was gone, Bobby was gone, the constant sounds from the nurses and doctors and other patients was gone. He was alone. Except…

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turned his head and Castiel appeared in the chair beside him.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Castiel responded, looking straight ahead into space.

“What are you doing here? I told you to leave me alone.”

“I was… concerned.”

“You were concerned?” Dean raised an eyebrow, “Gee, thanks, gonna heal me then?”

“I told you that I can’t,” Cas uttered, sullenly.

“Then why? Why even come here?”

“Because I care, Dean. Things in heaven are… complicated. But I must follow my orders, and my orders are not to intervene.”

“How? How is this part of some great plan? How does this make me useful?”

“They don’t tell me everything. All I know is, you must go through this to become the man you are supposed to be.”

“By the end of this, Cas, there’ll be nothing left. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m barely hanging on here, man. I’m fighting with everything I have, but I ain’t got much left in me…”

Cas looked at him in the eye, “You are strong, Dean.”

Dean scoffed.

“There is a purpose for everything.”

“Alright, save it,” Dean groaned, “You really come here to give me a pep talk?”

Cas sighed, “I came to… redirect your dreams. You often go to a dark place… while I’m here I can control it.”

Dean swallowed, “Well, thanks but no thanks… I don't need you to do that. I need you to make me better. I need you to get me back in the game.”

“Is that what you really want?” Cas’s eyes bore into him, questioning.

Dean furrowed his brow, “Yes.”

“Hmm,” Cas hummed, “I’m not convinced.”

“You don’t think I’ve been through enough?” Dean spat through gritted teeth.

“That’s it though, isn’t it? You don’t want to be in this fight, not anymore. Not that you’ve found something, however fragile, you have a home here, a life.”

“Don’t pretend to know. Don’t pretend you get it… You weren’t there.”

“Dean…”

“Leave.”

“If I leave –“

“Leave!”

Cas looked somber, “Very well.”

As Cas flashed away Dean felt himself falling into blackness. He snagged himself on wire hooks, driving into his sides, his shoulder. There was blood in his ears, knives in his throat. The pain, and fear, all consuming, never ending.

“Dean, wake up.”

Dean shielded his face, cowered down in his bed.

Stop, God, please stop.

“Dean, it’s okay,” it was a soft female voice.

It’s not real. It’s a trick. It’s not real.

“Hey, look at me.”

Don’t look at her. It’s a trick.

“It’s not a trick, Dean. I’m right here. Just look at me. Come back.”

Dean cracked an eye open, arms still protectively covering his face.

“Do you remember where you are?”

Dean swallowed past the lump in his throat. Everything hurt. But this pain was different. It didn’t feel like hell. He could hear Sammy’s voice in his head. “You got out, remember? You’re not there…”

“Dean?”

“Huh?” he muttered.

“Do you remember where you are?”

He slowly lowered his arms, muscles quivering from exertion.

“Yeah, I… sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she smiled, “I happens to you a lot, doesn’t it?”

“What?” he asked, immediately on the defense.

She ignored his tone, “When I lost my leg… the car accident was a wreck. It was nighttime. I was driving on an deserted road, not another car in sight. I saw his lights coming and by the time I turned my head to look he’d slammed into me, sent the car rolling down a ditch into the trees. I was in that car 2 hours and 47 minutes before they finally cut me out… I still have nightmares. I can remember every detail. I remember exactly how much it hurt.”

Dean didn’t respond.

“And I know it probably doesn’t compare to what you’ve been through, but I know what it’s like to feel like no one will listen, that no one cares… but I do, and I will listen… So, if you ever need to talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Dean’s mouth was dry, words barely making it out whole.

There’s no way I could make you understand.

“Okay,” she said, “No problem.”

 

…

 

Dean sat in awkward silence for a while as his breathing returned to normal. Eventually Bobby came back and Katie said goodbye, promising to come back and see him later. Bobby was quiet, observing. He knew something had gone down but he wasn’t willing to ask about it, it seemed. Which was good because Dean couldn’t talk about it.

A doctor came to see him that morning, a different doctor, and he talked for what seemed like a century. Dean didn’t listen. He picked up on random words. The bottom line was though, that he wasn’t leaving today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon.

 

…

 

“When’s Sam coming in?” Dean asked, playing with the IV line in his arm.

Bobby looked at his watch, “Should be here soon, and stop playing with that thing,” he said, smacking Dean’s hand away.

“Ow, geez, Bobby,” Dean whined.

“Ah, come on, I didn’t hit you that hard,” Bobby smirked.

Dean forced a smile, then glanced at the call button.

He was in so much pain. His back was on fire, and his legs had started cramping up, toes tingling. If he let this go on any longer he was bound to have another friggen panic attack, and that was getting pretty old pretty quick.

He cleared his throat, “Hey, Bobby…”

“Hm?” he looked up.

“Could you, ah, hit that button for me?” he asked.

Bobby pressed the button first then asked questions, “What’s wrong, kid?”

“My, uh, my back…” it was hard to focus his gaze.

Nope, not a panic attack, he was just going to pass out this time… not quite an improvement.

He whited out on the world for a few minutes, could feel himself being touched, being asked questions, questions he was answering back, although he had no idea what he was saying. He came back to it when someone was squeezing something into his line, and the pain ebbed, moved into the background.

“Dean, how are you feeling?” the nurse was leaning over him, sticking a thermometer in his ear.

“I feel… awesome now,” he slurred, as the drugs hit the sweet spot.

“What’s your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?”

“3 or 4.”

Better than the 10 he’d been sitting on for the past hour.

“I can bring you a hot pack for your back. Would you like me to do that?”

Dean nodded.

“Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“You should speak up before you’re close to passing out next time,” Bobby said, gruffly.

“What she just give me?” Dean said, blinking slowly.

“Morphine.”

“Awesome,” Dean smiled. Then he let sweet unconsciousness take him.

…

[Wow Really?]

Just got back from the doctor and lookie what I found! A new chapter!! Someone's looking out for me  ❤️❤️

Gonna read it now! I already know it's gonna rock ?