Picking up the Pieces (SPN, Dean)

[MissBayliss]

Chapter Thirteen

 

Sam heard a knock on the back door, and that was alarming in itself, because Dean wouldn’t knock. Unless he couldn’t get back inside…

Sam hurried down the hall, stepping back in surprise when he opened the door. Cas was standing there, Dean’s body completely limp in his arms.

“The house is warded. I cannot enter.”

“Uh, Bobby,” Sam called, reached a hand out to touch his brother’s head.

“He’s just sleeping.”

“How did -?”

“He asked me to.”

Bobby’s loud footfalls came down the hallway behind him.

“What in sweet hell is this?”

Sam would have taken Dean from Cas’ arms but right now he looked peaceful there, and Dean was a heavy load to carry, in every sense of the phrase.

“Remove the warding so I can come inside,” Cas ordered, “Please.”

Sam and Bobby went around the house scratching marks in the angel warding symbols beneath the paintings, until they all had been disabled. Cas carried Dean into the house, and out of the rain.

Sam and Bobby stood and watched as Cas lay him gently on the bed.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He is sleeping.”

“That’s it? He’s sleeping?” Sam raised his voice, but Dean didn’t stir.

“He prayed to me. I came.”

Bobby snorted, “Gee, ain’t you a giver.”

“Dean is very disturbed.”

Sam laughed manically, “You think we don’t know that?”

“No… you don’t.”

Cas looked back down at Dean and closed his eyes, placing a hand on his head.

“I pulled him out of hell. Hell, Sam.”

“Cas, what’re you… what did you do?”

“He’s peaceful now,” he looked down at him again.

“How -? What?”

“He wouldn’t sleep because of the nightmares… I took them away.”

Sam and Bobby looked at each other.

“You took them away?” Sam asked.

“Permanently?” Bobby added.

Cas looked somber, “No, unfortunately. But for now, he will sleep peacefully.”

“Just for now?”

“Until he is ready to wake,” Cas sat down in the chair by Dean’s bed, “I will remain with him.”

“Cas… forgive me if I don’t completely understand what’s happening,” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Dean’s soul has been to hell. Living through the horror of that, and carrying that every day is an almost impossible task.”

“Yeah,” Bobby nodded, “Then where the hell were you?”

“I was right here,” Cas met Bobby’s eyes, “But I could not –“

“Cas,” Sam sighed, “I don't want to hear your excuses. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m sorry,” he bit, “But tonight Dean called to me, and I left my station. I defied orders, and I came. I’m doing this for Dean.”

“And we’re grateful,” Sam said softly, “But it’s too little, too late.”

“Sam… there are still tasks that heaven needs Dean to complete. The apocalypse is upon us,” he looked at Dean’s sleeping form, “He has to stop it.”

Sam felt tears well in his eyes, “Then save him.”

Cas looked pained, face screwed up in anguish, close to tears that Sam didn’t even think he was capable of, “In time.”

“Son, you’re lucky if I don’t slice my hand open and slam your ass back to the big top upstairs. You’re staying because Dean needs you right now. That’s it,” Bobby grunted, “When he wakes up, you’re gone, if I have to recarve those wardings myself.”

“We will protect him. We need him.”

“I don’t care! You’re using him like a friggen weapon!” Bobby boomed, “He’s a human being!”

“And you can save him,” Sam added, “but you won’t. So as far as I’m concerned you’re not welcome in my home.”

“Dean requested my assistance. I will stay with him until he is ready to wake.”

Sam looked at his brother’s face. Dead to the world. Peaceful.

“Fine,” he conceded.

Sam ushered Bobby out of the room. The older hunter stopped in the hall and turned to face him.

“Sam, are you sure about this?”

Sam looked over his shoulder into Dean’s room, Cas had a hand on Dean’s forehead.

“I’ll watch over you,” he heard the angel mutter.

Sam let out a breath, feeling overly emotional, “It’s okay, Bobby. It’ll be okay.”

 

…

 

The next morning Sam entered Dean’s room and found the scene much as he’d left it the night before. Dean was still out to it, Cas sitting on the edge of the chair, hands clasped in front of him, leaning over, staring intently at Dean. It felt like nothing had changed, except now the sun was up.

“Good morning, Sam,” Cas muttered, “Did you sleep well?”

Sam rubbed a hand through his hair, “I slept okay. How’s Dean doing?”

“He is not in any distress.”

Sam checked his watch and yawned.

“He needs medicine soon.”

Cas furrowed his brow, “He is not ready to wake yet.”

“Well, he has to have the medicine, Cas. These things are kind of time sensitive.”

Cas seemed to understand, “Very well. He will take the medicine then continue to sleep. He will have no knowledge of waking.”

“Is this really the best thing for Dean?” Sam asked.

“His body needs rest…”

“It’s more than that though, right? It’s worse than that,” Sam questioned, the anger from the previous night drained away. Now he just felt powerless.

“His soul needs rest also… His pain… it’s so loud it pierces the veil into heaven.”

Sam felt like the air was sucked out of his lungs, “What do you mean?”

“The angels can hear him scream.”

Sam welled up, chest hitching with stuttering breaths, “Can you help him?”

“Even if I were to heal his body… I don’t know how to heal this. I can’t fix your brother, Sam.”

Sam swallowed, blinked back the tears.

“I’m going to make breakfast.”

 

…

 

“Cas?”

Dean blinked several times. The room was bright. He felt dry, sluggish. An angel shaped figure sat to his right. Trench coat. Blue tie.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean coughed lightly, uncovered, unable to lift his arms.

“What happened?”

“You’ve been sleeping.”

“I figured,” Dean let his eyes slip closed, “Did you?”

“I did what you asked me to do. I let you rest.”

Dean cleared his throat, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“…Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Why did you leave? Why didn’t you help me?” he opened his eyes and tried to see Cas’ face, tried to force his eyes to focus.

“Because I want better for you, Dean.”

Dean strained to lift his head, “Huh?”

“I thought if you could… get out. You and Sam. You’d be spared from all this. This war… this… the apocalypse.”

“I thought –“

“I did not lie to you, Dean. I was under orders. We all were. But even though the others had different reasons, I saw it as a way out for you. This, here, what you and Sam have… it’s better. I see that now.”

“You don’t see anything,” Dean squeezed his eyes shut and relaxed back against the pillow.

“I do not understand.”

“Hunting helps me. Without it…” Dean trailed off.

“I’m sorry, Dean. Everything will happen in time.”

When Dean opened his eyes again Cas was gone.

 

…

 

Sam had got up early that morning. When the sun rose at 4am he was up, cleaning up the house, doing laundry. Bobby was still asleep, and probably had only gone to bed a few hours before that. So Sam tried to keep himself busy, ignore the fact that his brother had been unconscious for 34 hours, and although Cas had allowed him to wake for small moments at a time, Dean was in a zombie like state, like he was operating on autopilot, and then he would go back to sleep. Cas said he would never remember even being awake, that his body was in such a deep state of rest he would have no recollection. It was a mercy to be honest. Dean was in so much pain all the time, Sam often wished he could take it all away, even for just a moment… this was as close as he was going to get right now.

When he went in at 5am to check on Dean he found his brother alone. Cas had gone. And Dean was awake.

“Dean?” Sam asked, tongue dry with anxiety.

Dean smiled, puffy eyes wrinkling, “Hey, Sammy.”

“Dean, oh my god…” Sam sat on his brother’s bed and put a hand on his shin. “You’ve been asleep for a while.”

“Yeah.”

Dean’s voice was weak and croaky, but Sam hadn’t heard it in over a day so to him it was the most beautiful music.

“Did Cas -?”

“He left. Big surprise there,” Dean brought a hand up to rub his forehead with the back of his wrist.

“How are you feeling, man?” Sam asked, brow furrowing.

“I feel okay… rested, I guess.”

“Well, thank god for that,” Sam sighed, smiling.

“Yeah… my back’s a little sore,” Dean winced as he shifted.

“Okay, I’ll go and get you something…”

A weak hand gripped Sam’s wrist and he stopped getting up.

“What?”

“Just… it’s okay,” Dean’s mouth moved as he searched for an excuse. Sam could see what he was trying to say ‘don’t leave me’, ‘please stay’, but he was too man to say it out loud.

“Alright,” Sam sat back down, “So, you spoke to Cas?”

“Briefly. Like trying to hold a conversation with a cheese sandwich.”

Both Sam and Dean laughed. Dean ended up coughing.

“You need to drink some water, dude,” Sam said, after listening to his brother clear his throat for a good ten seconds.

“A beer would be good.”

Sam’s heart leapt into his throat.

Dean smirked, “I’m kidding, man… I mean… I still want it. I don’t think I’ll ever not want it… but I know I can’t. And I won’t, okay? I promise I won’t. I won’t do that to you.”

Sam smiled, decided to avoid telling his brother he should be doing it for himself, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean winced again, “Argh, I gotta get up.”

“Are you sure? Maybe we should take it slow.”

“Sam, I’ve been in this bed way too long. I need to get up.”

Dean took a moment before he started moving, like he was gathering his energy, but then when he started, it was as if he’d never been sick, or injured.

“Quit hovering, dude. I’m alright,” he said, with fondness in his voice. Usually he would be aggressive or annoyed, maybe the sleep had done him good.

“Okay, well, you hungry? I got bacon and eggs.”

“Oh god, yes,” Dean rubbed his stomach and smiled, “Thought I wasn’t allowed nice food?”

“Actually, man, this diet you’re on is protein rich, so you actually just have to eat more meat.”

“Oh, Sammy, could this day get any better?”

 

…

[Wow Really?]

Eeeeee! So happy to see you.

And so happy that Dean finally got some rest. 

Now maybe his body can heal. Slowly.... I mean, you can drag the sickness out a little bit longer if you want..   I shall not complain. 

 

[telltale]

Aw, it's so nice that Dean finally got some rest, for awhile at least.

[MissBayliss]

Sorry this update's taken a long time... busy time of year. Oh, and I was filling ALL the prompts over at Tarotgal's LJ.  

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

"Dude, you alright? We've only made it halfway down the hallway," Sam said, playfully.

Dean breathed heavily, leaning a hand on the wall, and smiled.

"Was the hallway always this long?"

Sam laughed, "Yeah, dude. Need me to bring you a chair? Maybe we should just move the couch in here and..."

"Shut up," Dean groaned and started forward again.

Sam laughed and followed his brother.

"Ah, son of a bitch," Dean moaned, reaching out for the wall again but still maintaining forward momentum.

"You good?" Sam said, softly.

"Yeah..." Dean broke off coughing and pressed his other hand to his chest.

"Alright, almost there."

Dean sunk down onto the lounge, letting out a long groan. Sam crossed the room and got the box of tissues from the bench, placing them on the arm of the couch next to Dean.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean muttered, ripping one from the box.

"You want a heat pack?"

“Sure, man.”

Sam got the heat pad and helped Dean get settled on the lounge before he headed into the kitchen to start making breakfast. He looked over at Dean while he grabbed the frypan out of the cupboard.

“What you doing over there?”

Dean was staring at his phone with a smirk on his face.

“Nothing,” he grinned.

“Oh, really?” Sam raised an eyebrow at his mischievous brother.

Dean swiped the tissue under his nose, then balled it up in his hand, “Riley texted me.”

“I don’t want to know what it says.”

“Oh, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, “Don’t be so delicate.”

Sam laughed, trying to remember when he’d last had a morning this easy.

 

…

Sam and Dean bantered as normal that morning, and Sam had really missed being able to talk like that. He’d heard movement in Bobby’s room. Dean’s cough was pretty loud so he knew Bobby would know Dean was now awake. He wondered why he hadn’t come out to see Dean yet, and then he remembered.

“You’re not our father.”

Sam sucked a breath in, remembering the heat behind the words. He knew Dean didn’t mean to say it. He was just sleep deprived and pain rattled. There was no meaning behind them. But still, after all Bobby had done, all he’d sacrificed, all he’d paid… it was a really awful thing to say.

“Stop pretending to be.”

Bobby entered the room.

“Dean,” he said, looking to him on the couch.

Dean smiled, knowing he needed to offer some sort of olive branch, “Hey.”

“How ya feeling, kid?” Bobby gave him a sideways look as he crossed the room towards the dining table.

“I feel better actually.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

 

…

 

Dean saw Sam look between the two of them, then back down at the bench where he was cutting up bacon.

“Listen, Bobby… I know what I said to you. I was just cranky, you know? I’m sorry.”

Bobby didn’t smile, “I, uh… I gotta take off. Caught a hunt.”

Sam looked up, “Wha - now?”

Bobby nodded, pulling his boots on.

“Well, do you want to wait for breakfast at least?”

Bobby grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder, “Naw, Sam, don’t worry about it. I’ll eat on the road.”

“Bobby, come on,” Dean said, standing slowly and facing him.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, son.”

The boys watched Bobby leave and Dean slumped into the barstool, leaning forward onto the bench.

“I screwed up, Sam.”

Sam paused in front of him, “Don’t worry, Dean. This is Bobby we’re talking about. He’s put up with a lot of crap from us. I’m sure he just needs a little time on his own.”

Dean massaged his forehead. Sam’s hand was on his shoulder, “Hey.”

Dean looked up, “Yeah, I know.”

“You can’t beat yourself up over this,” he said, giving him a little squeeze.

Dean looked up at him through his fingers, “Have you met me?”

Sam huffed, “It’ll blow over, man. He’ll come around.”

Dean folded his arms across the bench and rested his head on them.

Sam gave him another pat on the back and went back to cooking.

 

…

 

Despite the fact Dean had slept for however many hours, he still wasn’t exactly sure, he was exhausted. Just getting up and getting to the lounge in the first place, and then Bobby… He already wanted to go back to bed. He actually almost fell asleep on the counter, then he felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, man. Go and lie down.”

Dean pushed himself upright, black dots dancing across his vision. He couldn’t believe he was still rocking this killer of a head cold. It was ridiculous at this point. He’d given up booze, so what the hell?

Stress.

Yeah, that had to be it. Although there wasn’t much to be stressed about at the moment, since they’d just taken a knee on the whole apocalypse thing all together. God, he couldn’t believe Cas. At least this time he’d come and actually done some good. Now that Dean had slept he could see things a little clearer, and at this point he knew they were kidding themselves. Hunters didn’t get out. Hunters didn’t walk away. Something would pull them back in. It always did.

“Dean, you okay?”

Sam had puppy eyes firmly in place and Dean smiled, snapped himself out of his internal monologue.

“I’m good.”

“Breakfast’s almost ready but I think you should lie down for a bit.”

Dean coughed into his fist, a jackhammer setting off in his head.

“God,” he winced, massaging his throat and swollen glands. He glanced to the couch, then back at Sam, “Don’t think I’ll make it that far.”

His voice was rough and he started coughing again.

“You want a cough drop?”

Dean nodded, saving his voice, and Sam disappeared quickly down the hall. Dean envied how fast he moved.

“Here, Dean.”

Dean must have had his eyes closed, because he had to open them to see Sam. He took the cough drop from him and stuck it in his mouth, letting the sugary sweet sooth his throat, and tamper down the almost constant need to cough.

“Alright, I’ll help you up. Come on.”

Dean slung his arm over Sam’s shoulders and leaned on his as he got off the chair. Sam grunted.

“Unngh, geez, you’re heavy.”

“Pussy,” Dean smirked and focused on getting his feet to work as he made his way over to the couch.

 Sam made more groaning sounds as he bent over to help Dean sit without face planting.

“Out of practice, are ya, Sammy?” Dean laughed.

“Says you, dude.”

Dean grinned and leaned back, letting his eyes close.

 

…

Dean drifted in between being asleep and being awake. Sam came over to him with breakfast and they both sat next to each other on the couch, eating bacon and eggs and watching some renovation show on TV. Dean didn’t know what the green stuff was smeared on his toast, but Sam gave him a hard stare until he ate it. It actually wasn’t too bad, but he pretended not to like it.

After that Dean had fallen off into a doze, and when he started awake an hour later Sam was no longer sitting next to him. Dean stretched and clambered stiffly to his feet. He walked gingerly down the hall and passed in front of Sam's open bedroom door. Sam was standing in front of the mirror, his back to Dean, his shirt pulled up.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, pushing Sam's door open all the way.

Sam startled and spun around, dropping his shirt, "What? Nothing," he said rapidly.

"You checking out your abs?" Dean joked dryly, "Dude, you can tell me."

"Dean, I wasn't..." Sam stopped mid sentence and huffed, hands flopping by his sides.

"What's going on, Sam?" Dean stepped closer, sensing something more serious was going on than vanity.

Sam chewed his lip.

"Show me."

Sam sighed and pulled his shirt up. Dean took a slight step back at the shock of seeing at least a third of Sam's chest mottled with bruises.

"Jesus, Sam," Dean went close in to inspect his brother's chest, touching his fingers to the bruised area. "When did this happen and when did you plan on telling me?"

"I broke a rib working that case, remember? Bobby fixed me up... but the next day it starting bruising."

"Sam, that was like 2 weeks ago!"

"I know," Sam frowned, "I thought the bruising would go down but it hasn't."

"Are these new bruises? Is it still bruising?"

"No, no. I mean it took a few days to appear but nothing more has happened."

"Are you sure?" Dean eyed him, "because if something is bleeding in there, I need to know about it."

"No, that's it. That's the truth."

Dean flicked his eyes from Sam's chest to his face.

"I bet it hurts, huh?"

Sam cleared his throat, "It's not so bad."

"You're a liar, Sammy. You're a good liar. But you are a liar."

Sam looked down at the ground.

Dean couldn't believe he hadn't noticed this. Sam broke a rib, probably several ribs if he was being honest, and Dean was too caught up in his own selfish head to stop and think about him. To start looking out for him again. He'd slacked off. He'd forgotten his one, most important job in the world. Watch out for Sammy. He'd failed. Again.

"You alright?" Sam asked, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Me? I'm fine," Dean said, snapping out of it, "Which I can't exactly say the same for you. You know, I'm not above throwing your ass in the car and driving up to the hospital?"

"Dean," Sam let out a breath, "It's fine, really. It hurts a little... but it looks worse than it is."

Dean narrowed his eyes, "Well, you can take some painkillers and take it easy for the next few weeks. I don't want you lifting anything, and that includes me, okay?"

Sam looked down and smiled with one side of his mouth.

“Does that mean you’ll use the crutches?”

Dean cocked his head, “This was part of your evil plan all along, wasn’t it?”

Sam pursed his lips.

“Fine. Yes, I’ll use the crutches.”

Dean took half a step back, trying to ease the pressure on his lower back.

"Speaking of taking it easy, let's get you horizontal," Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“Hang on,” Dean gripped Sam’s forearms, getting a handful of flannel, as he felt the blood drain from his face.

“Okay, sit down on the bed, quick.”

Dean let Sam push him until the backs of his legs connected with the mattress and he let himself sit back on Sam’s bed.

“Lie back. Breathe, Dean.”

Dean was taking shallow shaky breaths. He made a conscious effort to deepen them as he lay back sideways across the bed.

"You're alright," Sam said, patting Dean's chest.

Dean fixed his eyes on the ceiling concentrating on breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

Sam sat down heavily beside him and Dean felt the mattress shift. Dean slid his eyes over to his brother who was lying on his back beside him.

"Promise me you're okay," Dean said, looking at the hand Sam had resting protectively over his ribs.

Sam furrowed his brow, his face serious, knowing how important this statement was.

"I'm okay. Really."

Dean sighed, tried not to cough. Breathe in, breathe out.

"When did I stop being the big brother?"

Sam was looking at him in shock so Dean looked away.

"Dean... you never stopped. You never have and you never will. You're my big brother. I know what you would do for me... I know what you have done for me..."

"Yeah, but really. Now who's looking after who?"

Sam shook his head, "Dean, we look after each other. You don't seem to get it."

"What?"

"You think it's your job to look out for me. Well, my job is to look out for you."

"I don't need you to -"

"Yes, you do. It's okay to need help sometimes."

"Did we grow up with the same father?" Dean joked.

Sam sighed, "Yeah. But you listened and I didn't."

Dean laughed which made him cough, and it was painful while he was lying on his back.

"Don't hide anything from me again."

Sam looked hurt, "I'm sorry. I won't."

"Need someone in this world I can trust."

Sam had puppy eyes.

"Alright, don't give me that," Dean whinged, "Now, more importantly, how are we gonna get up?"

 

...

 

Later that day Sam woke up on the couch. He’d taken some of Dean’s painkillers, mainly because he insisted, but also because it really did hurt. He’d done a good job of hiding it so far but now he realized, hiding it was the worst thing he could have done, and he felt a sense of relief knowing that Dean knew now. The house was quiet. Dean must have turned the TV off, and he was no longer sitting beside him. Sam got up, stretching gingerly. He poked his head into Dean's room. Dean was asleep on top of the covers on a few pillows, arms folded across his chest, mouth slightly open, snoring softly through the congestion. He looked peaceful.

Sam startled as a banging came at the front door. Dean sighed and smacked his lips but stayed asleep. Sam rushed down the hallway hoping to get there before it started again.

He opened the door and almost slammed it back closed at the shock of seeing Ruby on the other side. She was leaning on the door frame, hand on her popped hip, mouth pursed.

"Can't hide forever, Sam.”

 

…

[Wow Really?]

Yay Dean's still sick!

Crap, did I say that? (I said that..)

I cant wait for more! 

[MissBayliss]

Chapter Fifteen

 

Sam shoved her away as he hurriedly came outside, shutting the door behind him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sam said quietly.

"What? Do you think I forgot about you?" She snapped.

"Shh! Would you keep it down!? If Dean sees you here... I don't what he'll do."

"What he'll do? Dean can't do anything. The guy can barely move. He's a cripple."

"Don't talk about my brother."

Ruby pouted, stepped closer to Sam, placing a hand on his chest and getting on tip toes to lean closer to his ear.

"He's slowing you down."

Sam pushed her away, stealing his jaw.

Ruby scowled, "No, you know what, Sam? He hasn't slowed you down, you've completely stopped."

"We're out. Forget it."

"You can't do this, Sam! We need you. Lilith -"

"Stop. I don't care."

"You don't care?"

Sam huffed through his nose, "No. I'm out."

Ruby softened, staring into Sam's eyes.

"I know you want it..."

Sam steeled his jaw, "Don't come back here again. I mean it."

“My God, Sam. Do you think I’m an idiot? I’ve known where you were since the second you supposedly “dropped off the grid”. I was hoping you’d come to your senses sooner rather than later. But I guess I’m going to have to do all the work around here.”

Sam took a composing breath, “What part of we’re out are you not understanding?”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“I’ve had my time over,” Sam said, keeping his voice low but steady, “I choose Dean.”

Ruby cocked her head and said questioningly, “I thought we were doing this for Dean.”

 

…

 

Dean woke up, not thrashing or screaming. He’d dreamed of hell but it didn’t seem so vivid this time. He woke knowing where he was, knowing he was out, knowing he was safe. It still took him a minute to catch his breath but it wasn’t so bad. Maybe it was finally getting better. Maybe he was finally moving past it.

He sniffed and realized his nose was completely blocked. He groaned, scrubbing at it with the back of his hand. God, he wished he could wake up feeling good. Just once. Just for a moment. But this was an improvement. When he was in the hospital, everything was bad. He felt so weak, so tired, so pained. He had to be whacked out on morphine just so he could get through the day. There were honest moments when he thought he was going to die… again. And even though, his back still ached, he still felt weak, the heaviness in his chest still lingered, his throat still burned, and his head still pounded, it felt like he was passed the worst of it. Like he’d finally started to come out the other side. One toe at a time.

He eased himself up to sit, his back rigid. He absently bent his arm round to rub it and felt his shoulder pull.

Wrong arm, he was reminded as his shoulder began to ache.

His silver crutches were resting against the nightstand where he left them so he slid his forearms in and used them to lever himself up to stand. He let out a low groan as he straightened and began his trek out to the living room.

“Sam?” Dean called, clearing his throat.

The kitchen and lounge room were empty.

He crutched his way over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Sam had made Dean a sandwich, sitting on a plate in the middle of the shelf, a note stuck on it saying ‘eat me’.

Dean chuckled lowly, and grabbed the plate, sliding it onto the bench. He decided making it to the table or the couch was too much of an effort in his current state so he rounded the bench and eased onto the barstool.

The sandwich was chicken and lettuce and some other salady stuff, but it wasn’t bad, and he ate it because he had to, because he wanted to get better.

Dean looked across at the calendar on the fridge and Sam hadn’t marked that he was working. He would have looked around to see if his boots were at the door but he knew twisting wasn’t a good idea. He leaned on the bench, on both elbows, wincing and shifting onto the right one when his left shoulder told him how much it didn’t like it. He needed a massage, and physio, and sweet, sweet painkillers. He settled for eating his sandwich.

The sound of the impala filled the street as Sam returned from wherever he was. Dean had gotten halfway through his lunch and had to stop to catch his breath. It was hard to eat when you couldn’t breathe at all through your nose.

Sam came through the front door and Dean didn’t bother turning to face him, he swiveled halfway on the chair and waited for Sam to enter his sight.

“Hey, you’re up.”

Sam was carrying a few shopping bags in each hand and dumped them on the counter in front of Dean.

“What happened to no lifting? You couldn’t take one bag in at a time?” Dean raised his eyebrow, added a bit of bite to his voice.

Sam looked sheepish, “This was quicker.”

“Mmhm,” Dean groaned, trying not to be angry with his brother, “Where you been?”

“Where’s it look like?” Sam said with a chuckle, as he started unpacking groceries.

Dean nodded.

“And you were out of painkillers.”

Dean nodded again, trying consciously not to breathe so heavily. He could feel his chest heaving, knowing his face was flushed.

“How you feeling?” Sam asked with a frown, studying Dean’s expression.

“Not too bad, Sammy,” he tried for a genuine smile.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy, because all things considered, he kind of was, it was just the monotony of it all. Waking up scared, popping pills, hurting bad, popping more pills, Sam asking him how he felt, him lying about it, doctors appointments, rehab, exercises, more pills, no drinking, how you feeling?, crippling exhaustion, going to bed (still scared), nightmares of hell, and around and around we go.

“You sure? You look a little feverish.”

Dean had been playing the victim a lot these last 4 months. He was sick of it. Since Castiel had came and brought him sleep, real true rest, he’d felt energized in a way he previously hadn’t. Castiel didn't get it. He didn’t want Dean to hunt, didn't want Sam to hunt either for that matter, probably because before that he was on a dangerous road and a slippery slope. But Dean needed hunting, because he needed to make it right, needed to make up for hell. It was the only way. He knew that, and he was at peace with that, in a manner of speaking. He felt renewed, reenergized. He wasn’t going to mope around anymore and feel sorry for himself. He was going to get his life back.

“Dean?”

“Hm?” Dean looked up, the room lurching dizzily with the movement.

“Okay, can you make it to the couch? No where for you to fall if you’re already lying down.”

Dean’s brain couldn’t keep up with Sammy’s words, spoken too quickly and too mumbled.

Sam was at his side before he could blink, holding his crutches steady for him. Dean slid his arms in and pushed to his feet, wavering slightly. Sam put a hand around his bicep.

“Don’t help me,” Dean said, then he noticed the hurt expression in Sam’s eyes, “Your ribs, moron.”

Sam backed up a little and let Dean walk to the couch, by the time he got there new sweat was prickling on his face and he was panting like he’d just run a marathon.

He sunk down, unable to muffle a pained yelp at the movement of getting onto his back.

“Geez,” Sam winched at the sound, “You okay?”

“Mmhm,” Dean nodded, his lips tight.

“I’ll get you some drugs, huh?”

Sam didn’t wait for an answer before he disappeared. Dean breathed slowly, calculatedly. His back had seized up on his descent. He tried to will his muscles to relax, telling himself silently that it was getting better, and trying his best to believe it.

 

…

 

Sam could see Dean was trying his best. Over the past few months Dean’s attitude hadn’t been the easiest to live with. Sam felt like he was on a rollercoaster trying to manage Dean’s many moods. Mostly he was just angry, then he was upset, withdrawn, depressed, sometimes he’d shut everything out and pretend he was completely fine, but that one never lasted long. It couldn’t. He was rarely the man he used to be. The man that was scared of nothing, the man that made inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times, the man that could always make Sam laugh, even when he really didn’t feel like laughing, the man that was always fine. Always. And it wasn’t his fault, not at all. He’d been in pain a lot of years, adding to that the effects of 40 years in hell. If he came out of that the same man he was before, then it would be a miracle. And that’s exactly what Sam hoped for.

“Here. Open up,” Sam said, waggling the thermometer in front of Dean’s face.

Dean glared, “Really?” he said incredulously.

“Dude, you’ve got a fever. I just need to know.”

Dean sighed but took the thermometer from his brother and stuck it under his tongue.

“And don’t pout,” Sam said with a laugh.

“M’ nah pou’ing.”

“Don’t talk with that.”

Dean rolled his eyes.

A minute later the thermometer beeped and Dean didn’t even bother looking at it before handing it to Sam.

“So, am I gonna live?”

“Thankfully, yes. But you do need to cool off a bit. I’ll grab you some ice.”

Sam kept busy. That was how he got through it. He busied himself looking after Dean, he busied himself with work and trying to earn money for them, he busied himself checking in with Bobby. All so he wouldn’t think about Lilith, all so he wouldn’t think about what she’d done to his brother, what she’d taken from him. All so he wouldn’t think about Ruby and what she was offering.

Sam glanced out the window, suddenly worried he’d see Ruby again, standing outside, beckoning him. She wasn’t there.

Dean coughed, snapping Sam out of his deranged thoughts.

He brought a few ice packs wrapped in pillowcases and placed them around his brother.

“Gimme,” Dean motioned for one, and placed his on his shoulder, pushing down tight with a wince.

“Your shoulder hurt?”

“Yeah,” he groaned, “Moved the wrong way before.”

“Those pills working yet?”

Dean had his eyes closed and swallowed, “Not yet.”

“Shouldn’t be much longer,” Sam said, reassuringly.

Dean smirked, mouth open so he could breathe, “We do this dance a lot, don’t we, Sammy?”

Sam struggled to think of what to say back to his brother. He knew what he meant. Knew Dean was getting pretty tired. In the end he didn’t say anything.

 

…

 

“Wake up!”

Dean opened his eyes and felt the sting of sweat. He was shaking, panting, tears on his face. He reached out a hand and grabbed his brother’s shirt. Each breath was voiced in panic.

“Hey,” Sam said.

Dean brought both palms to his eyes and pressed down, trying to calm his staggering breaths.

“I’m okay,” his tongue was thick and dry.

Sam huffed out a breath beside him.

“How long was I out?” Dean rasped.

“About half an hour.”

“Is that it?” Dean took his hands away from his face.

“Yeah…”

“Felt longer.”

Dean began pushing himself up.

“Hey, slow down. You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, pain’s not so bad now.”

“But you’re freaking burning up, man. Stay down.”

Dean continued on his way to his feet and Sam reluctantly set his crutches within reach.

“Gonna have a shower.”

Dean got halfway down the hallway when Sam spoke again.

“Hey.”

Dean turned around and his brother was standing there with hands in his pockets and a coy look on his face.

“Do you wanna, maybe, go to the bar tonight? Get some dinner… shit, I mean… just dinner. We can go somewhere else that doesn’t serve – “

Dean started laughing, “Sam, stop. I’m not gonna… you know. I’m okay to go to a bar.”

“I have to go pick up my pay cheque anyway, so I thought if you were feeling up to getting out…”

Dean smiled, then shrugged minutely, “Sure.”

 

…

 

Dean turned the water on and waited till it was hot before he eased himself into the shower chair. The hot water was amazing on his muscles but his head was feeling fuzzy with fever so he turned the temperature down a little.

Dean was glad Sam had offered to take him out, as small a gesture and as pathetic as it sounded, he was surprisingly happy about it. Even though they’d been at the house for months it wasn’t in Dean’s nature to settle. He had itchy feet, even though he knew he couldn’t leave. Not now. Not yet. He had healing to do. Healing that couldn’t happen on the road, or in some motel. He could probably handle everything else on the road if it wasn’t for his back. He wanted to go back to hunting, but just the thought of a demon throwing him, or taking any kind of hit made his body tense up. The pain was too intense when he was just lying still to even imagine what it would be like in a fight. He’d be down and out for the count by the first punch. And he was no good to anyone like that.

He wasn’t in the shower very long. It was amazing, and also depressing, how much energy it took out of him. He pulled himself to his feet and shuffled towards the sink. Looking in the mirror he didn’t look well. He’d almost gotten used to it though. He didn’t look the same anymore, didn’t feel the same…

Screams filled his ears, an internal rabble of noise. Chains jangling, knives sharpening, blade against blade.

He looked in the mirror and into his eyes. The world disappeared around him and the blackness enclosed.

“Stop.”

“Oh, Deano, you know this can ALL stop. You just gotta say the word, kiddo.”

“Never. I’ll never – AAARRRGHH!”

“That’s a beautiful song, Dean! Sing it louder!”

“AHHH! No, please…”

He felt every slice… every bit. Slice, upon slice, upon slice, upon jab, upon twist. Agony. Every second.

 

…

 

“Dean?”

Sam tapped the side of his fist against Dean’s bathroom door. It had been 20 minutes since Sam heard the water shut off and still there was no sign of Dean.

When there was no answer Sam’s heart started pounding a mile a minute, practically leaping into his throat.

“Dean? Open up.”

Sam jiggled the doorknob and found it locked. Dean was an idiot sometimes. He wasn’t supposed to lock that door incase of an emergency, like they could be having right now, and Dean had locked the friggen door.

Sam pressed his ear to the door and could hear rapid, heavy breathing. It wasn’t a good sound to hear but, hey, at least he was breathing.

“Dean!” Sam banged against the door again, louder, firmer.

Dean sounded scared in there, and if Sam had to guess, he was having a flashback, or a ‘waking nightmare’, whatever they wanted to call it. Sam jiggled the handle again. He should have come to investigate sooner. Dean could have been standing there, or sitting there, for 20 minutes, not even knowing where he was, but thinking he was still in the depths of hell getting torn apart.

“Dean, you’re okay. Listen to me, Dean. I’m here. Just listen to my voice. Dean?”

Sam pressed his ear to the door again, listening for the breaths.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice was husky, and strained, higher pitched than usual.

“Dean! Open the door, please. It’s okay. It’s over. You’re here with me now, remember?”

Dean launched into a long coughing fit and eventually Sam heard him retching.

“Open the door. It’s okay, man.”

Sam only heard Dean throw up once, and he was pretty sure it was just because he couldn’t get his fit under control.

Sam was practically bouncing at the door until Dean clicked it open. He stood there, a towel wrapped around his waist, pale and drawn, shaking from exertion and fever too probably.

“I… forgot where I was,” he said, sluggishly licking his lips.

Sam sighed and, failing to resist his manly upbringing, wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him in close. He felt Dean’s breath on his neck, and soon enough one arm came across his shoulders and Dean hugged back, gripping him a little too tightly. Sam bit his lip to stop from gasping at the pain in his ribs. He was sure Dean was hurting more than he was anyway.

“You’re okay now.”

Dean sighed near his ear and Sam felt him relax a little too much. Afraid he might collapse, Sam steered him towards his bed. Dean sat heavily and coughed a little.

“I’m alright, Sam.”

Sam nodded, furrowing his brow.

“Really. I just… you know, had a thing,” Dean waved his hand around his head.

“You can’t lock that door,” Sam said calmly, trying not to make it sound like an order.

“Sorry,” was all Dean said. Then he took a deep breath and straightened. “How long was I in there?”

“All up about 45 minutes. I heard the water shut off like 25 minutes ago.”

“Geez,” Dean groaned, shaking his head.

“Do you think you should,” Sam took a breath, tiptoeing around the subject, “make another appointment with the psychiatrist?”

“No, Sammy. I’m good,” Dean answered way too quickly.

Sam nodded, “Okay.”

Dean rubbed his hand over his face, “Now, grab me my pants and let’s hit the town,” he winked.

 

…

[Wow Really?]

I'm always so happy to see an update on this story.. thanks so much for continuing it ❤

[telltale]

So good.  You really capture the the ups and downs (mostly downs at this point, but yeah) of PTSD, depression, etc., and I appreciate that so much.  And feverish Dean always makes me melt.

[MissBayliss]

I'm back! Sorry, I was running around overseas. There actually is a sneeze in this chapter! *fist pump* Thank you for putting up with my non-sneezy, angsty AF fic that doesn't really belong on this forum.  I hope the general sickness is enough to satisfy. Poor Dean. I put him through a lot. I promise it will get better... but things have to get worse first... 

Chapter Sixteen

 

 

 

Sam was sure Dean didn’t need to be going out right now. He should have been at home in bed, drugged up, and comfortable. But just seeing how Dean changed when he stepped into the bar was enough to put any and all of his doubts to rest. Dean needed stimulus. Dean needed other people. Dean needed environments like this.

“Heya, Riley,” Dean grinned as he eased himself into the booth.

She grabbed his arm and he allowed her to help him. Sam wanted to raise an eyebrow but he didn’t dare alter his expression. It was weird Dean would let someone do that for him. Which spoke volumes about Dean and Riley’s relationship.

“Hey, stud. How you been?” she popped her hip and leaned against the chair back.

“I’ve had better days, I’ll tell you that.”

“Want me to bring you some steak?” she offered, face in a comically adorable frown.

“God, yes,” Dean smiled up at her.

For a moment they laughed, and then Dean must have seen past her to the bottles on the wall behind the bar because his face changed. He swallowed thickly and looked shaken. Riley flicked a glance to Sam and moved directly into Dean’s line of vision.

“Don’t thank me just yet, it’s lean with steamed vegetables and mashed potato. Little brother’s orders.”

A statement like that usually would have made Dean pissed. But she said it in a way that was provoking, playful, and flirtatious. Dean was a goner.

He feigned annoyance, “Yeah, well, I’m only going along with it ‘cause I like my liver where it is.”

Riley leaned over and rubbed a hand across the back of his shoulders, “I’ll go and get chef to put it on for you. Do you want some water?”

“Yes, please,” Sam answered.

Riley nodded, “What’ll you have, Sam?”

“Chicken Caesar, thanks,” he smiled.

Dean rolled his eyes.   

Riley laughed and Sam saw Dean relax even further.

“Kay, be right back,” she smirked.

Dean drummed his fingers against the table.

“So, Sammy… spoken to Bobby lately?”

Sam studied his brother for a moment. His eyes showed guilt, along with a bit of sorrow, contradicting the flippant way in which he asked the question.

“Yeah, I called him this morning. He’s doing good.”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded.

“See, he didn’t answer when I called…” Dean left the statement hanging in the air, tangible in its grief.

“He’s been on the road a lot. I’m sure he was just driving at the time.”

Dean nodded, but his teeth were clenched and he looked out the window to his right.

Riley came back at that time with a bottle of water and two glasses.

“Do you need anything else, honey?” she asked, assessing Dean.

Dean smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, and Sam realized just how tired his brother looked.

“I’m good, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” she chirped and left again. Sam watched how Dean leaned forward to check out her ass.

“Don’t even think about it, dude.”

Dean smirked, “I can look.”

“How’s things going with her?” Sam quirked an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” Sam grinned, trying not to make his brother feel cornered.

“We’re not shopping for curtains if that’s what you mean.”

“Right…”

“What?” Dean shrugged, “We have fun, Sam. That’s it. You know what our life’s like. You know we can’t get too tied down.”

Sam played with the napkin in front of him, “Why not?”

Dean narrowed his gaze, “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.”

“What?”

“You got something you need to tell me?”

“What? No. I was just saying, why can’t we? I mean, now’s as good a time as any.”

Dean’s face went a little red and Sam wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

There was an awkward silence as Sam tried to figure out what to say to fix the damage he’d done, but Dean coughed and gave them both a welcome distraction. Sam poured him a drink as the fit failed to control itself.

“Shit,” Dean cursed, in between coughs.

His hand was shaking as he lifted the glass to his lips. He leaned back in the seat and tilted his head back, taking controlled breaths.

“I’m so sick of being sick,” he said with a thick sniff.

Sam refrained from lecturing him on why he was still sick and just tried for an empathetic approach.

“I know, dude.”

Dean sniffed again, “God, I gotta sneeze.”

Sam handed him a napkin, “Brace on the table, man. Be careful.”

Dean put a hand against the table and the other wrapped the napkin around his nose.

He jerked forward with a sneeze, paused, then sneezed a second time.

“Your back all right?”

Dean sniffled and relaxed, “Relatively.”

“Just let me know when you’ve had enough and we’ll head home.”

Dean just nodded, rubbing his fingers over his forehead.

“How’re your ribs?” Dean asked, trying to deflect.

“They’re okay,” Sam shrugged, thinking better of lying to his brother, “Hurts a little when I bend.”

“I’ll bet. You should have some painkillers tonight.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Dean sipped his water again and looked in the direction of the bar. Sam didn’t know whether he was looking for Riley or looking longingly at the alcohol on the back wall. It probably wasn’t a good idea to bring his brother here.

“So, you think you’ll be okay for rehab tomorrow?” Sam changed the subject, trying to keep his brother engaged in conversation.

Dean cleared his throat, “Sure.”

Riley came back over with their meals and set them down in front of them.

“Here you go, boys.”

Dean crinkled his nose.

“What?” Sam said, smiling.

“It’s green.”

Riley laughed, “It’s a vegetable. It’s supposed to be green.”

Dean’s face crinkled up even more and he poked his food with a fork.

“Dean, just eat it please. It’s good for you.”

“Fine. God.”

Riley laughed again and left them to it.

Sam tried to keep things light, to keep talking to distract his brother, and for a time it seemed to work. Dean seemed relaxed and settled, but Dean tired easily these days, and Sam could see the telltale flush of pink of his cheeks, broadcasting his high temperature. He was coughing on and off too, sometimes trying to muffle it in the middle of a conversation, sometimes having to take full minutes out to control himself. He ate all of his meal though, and that was a good sign. But he was glancing towards the bar more and more, fidgeting with anything he could get his hands on to occupy himself, and Sam knew that this was hard for Dean, very hard.

Dean licked his lips and brought a shaky hand to his mouth.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Dean’s eyes flitted around, “I, uh, I think we should go.”

“Okay,” Sam said calmly, starting to stand up, “You feeling alright?”

“No, I… no.”

Sam rounded the table and helped his brother stand, handing him his crutches.

“I gotta see Riley. Meet you outside?”

Dean looked shaken, but he nodded and headed towards the door.

Sam went up to the bar and nodded at Riley. She glanced around him like she was looking for Dean and then came over.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“Nah, I think… I think it was too much bringing him here. I’ll just grab my cheque and get him home.”

“Sure, Sam. Be right back.”

Riley turned, her long ponytail swishing behind her.

 

…

 

Dean stepped outside into the cool air and took a breath in, looking up towards the sky. He had never realized what alcohol was to him. He’d never realized just how much he depended on it, just how much he needed it, just how much he wanted it. Until right now. In that moment when he’d sat with his brother in the bar, with a glass of water in his hand, he’d realized something.

He was an alcoholic.

His hands shook as he tried to hold the crutches steady, and his chest moved up and down rapidly, his heart pounding, and a lump in his throat. He’d wanted a drink so badly. Even then, waiting for Sam to come outside, he was trying to think of a way to get back in there and down some whiskey without him knowing. But he was sure the whole staff knew not to serve him.

He’d started to freak out, feeling like he was suffocating in there. He could smell it. He could see people sloshing glasses and bottles about, spilling liquid on the floor, on the bar. And, my god, he’d lick it off the floor if that was the only way he was going to get it.

“You okay?” Sam appeared beside him, probably knowing better than to touch him.

“Let’s go,” he said, sniffing thickly.

He just wanted to get away.

 

…

 

Dean screamed and screamed. He’d already screamed himself hoarse. Sam had spoken to both neighbours already. And for the first few hours the noise had been pretty disturbing, but now Dean’s voice was pretty well gone, still he tried anyway.

Sam sat next to him on the bed, holding Dean’s arms down by his side as he struggled against him.

“Dean! Wake up! Dean, come on.”

It was the same thing he’d been saying the whole time, trying to hold his brother still, trying to get him to wake up.

“Dean!”

“Noooooo!” Dean’s voice was raw and breathy, painful sounding.

His throat was hurting before he went to bed. It would be agony when he woke up.

“Dean, please. Settle down. It’s okay…”

It was no use. Sam was talking to himself.

Sam himself was sweating. It’d been close to three hours he’d been trying to get any sense out of Dean. Short of throwing a bucket of water on him, he had no ideas left.

A banging came on the door.

“Sam!”

Sam turned from his brother, it was Bobby.

“I’ll be right back, Dean.”

Sam hurried down the hall in bare feet and flung the front door open.

“Need some help?” Bobby said with a weary smile.

Sam could have collapsed right there, but Dean screamed again.

Bobby came in and shut the door behind himself. He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezed, looking him in the eye.
“Come on, son.”

Dean was panting, his breathing out of control. His lungs crackled with the remnants of pneumonia. And he kept screaming.

Bobby wet a towel and came back, wiping over Dean’s face.

“Dean, please, wake up,” Sam was still holding him down against the bed, because the way Dean was thrashing he was going to injure himself even more.

“Dean, son. Listen to me. You’re dreaming. You need to calm down, boy,” Bobby said firmly.

For a second Dean still struggled, and then he started to slow.

“Dean! You’re okay… you’re safe. Open your eyes, Dean,” Sam kept talking.

Both of them did, and eventually, Dean stopped.

He didn’t open his eyes though, he just stilled, stopped screaming. His head lolled to the side and he tried to catch his breath. Bobby wiped the sweat away from where it was pooling in the curves of his neck.

“Bobby…” Dean’s voice was weak and rough, and his eyes still weren’t open.

Bobby stopped, “It’s me, son.”

Dean kept his eyes closed but reached a hand out until he found Bobby’s arm and wrapped his fingers around the flannel of Bobby’s shirt.

Bobby smiled.

Eventually Dean started to go lax.

“Dean, open your mouth. I gotta give you pills.”

Sam and Bobby rolled Dean to one side and tilted his head up. Sam slipped a small pill in his mouth and then the rim on the water glass. Dean choked a little and Bobby rubbed his back.

“Swallow, boy. It’s alright…”

Sam did the same thing again with two more pills and then let Dean roll back onto his back.

“What you give him?”

Sam rubbed his face with both hands, “Valium… and some Tylenol for the fever.”

“Okay, good job, son. Now go and get some sleep.”

“No, it’s okay,” Sam propped himself up, elbows on knees, “I’m good. I’ll stay.”

“Bull,” Bobby announced, “You’re dead on your feet. Get some sleep. I’m watching him.”

Sam dragged himself to his feet, sucking in a breath as he felt his ribs shift.

“Ribs still bothering you?” Bobby asked, noticing straight away.

“A little…”

“It takes a long time for ribs to heal, Sam. You gotta take it easy.”

Sam closed his eyes and sighed, “Take it easy,” he repeated.

“Sam… I’m sorry I took that hunt.”

Sam turned to face him, “Don’t apologise for that. Someone’s gotta pick up our slack.”

“Sam…”

“I’m going to bed.”

Bobby nodded, “Get some rest.”

“Wake me up if he… If anything happens.”

“Sure, Sam.”

Sam took another look at his brother, who seemed to finally have his breathing under control and looked peaceful at last. He nodded towards Bobby and then went down the hall to his room. He shut the door and started taking his shirt off. His body ached and protested the movement. He moaned a little as he got free from the fabric and stared at his chest in the mirror. The bruises were turning a harsh yellow. He ran a hand across his chest before climbing into bed with no shirt on, sprawling out on his back because it was the only way he could get comfortable. As an afterthought he realized he probably should have taken some painkillers but he was too tired to get up, and the sound of silence, finally, was beautiful. He closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

 

…

Edited January 28, 2017 by MissBayliss

[Wow Really?]

Yay, an update!! Don't worry, I still come here everyday looking fir your name.

And i'll wait as long as it takes. 

This continues to be amazing. I adore sick Dean, sneezes or no.

Can't wait for more!

 

[MissBayliss]

Chapter Seventeen

 

When Dean woke up he felt like he’d been on a bender. It felt like one of those mornings where he’d woken up in some chick’s bed, halfway across town, with no memory of how he got there or what this girl’s name was, half naked, pounding headache, dry mouth and the urge to vomit up whatever alcohol remained in his system. But he wasn’t drunk. And there was no girl. And he was in his bed, at home. And he was just really, really ill.

It took him a moment to get his head around what had happened, to try and piece together things from the previous night. He glanced around the room and saw a bucket of water with a few towels in it. The covers were pulled down and his shirt was off. He must have spiked a fever. His muscles ached, especially in his arms and chest. He was sore all over. He rolled to the side and coughed weakly, not wanting to hurt his abs or chest from the force of it.

He managed to get to a sitting position and the way it left him out of breath told him he maybe needed a nebulizer treatment. He could feel the crackles in his lungs. The machine was on his bedside table so he set it up, pouring the medicine into the mask with shaking hands. The humming whir of the machine almost put him back to sleep. He drifted, eyes slipping open and closed as he sat hunched on the edge of his bed.

For some reason he had this pain in his chest… and it wasn’t from the pneumonia. He felt on edge, worried, and just… crushing sadness. He knew he’d had nightmares. There were bruises on his arms, he noted, feeling sweat prickle out of every pore. But there was nothing particular about this day that would make him notably sadder than usual, and still he was. For a moment he didn’t feel any reason to get up out of his bed. He could just stay there. Forever.

He opened his eyes and realized more time had passed than he thought. The machine was pushing out air but the medicine was long dried up. He pulled the mask off his face and turned it off. Taking a moment to feel the ease of breathing now that he had some relief. When he mustered the strength to stand he crumpled forward, catching himself on the wall. His back was tight and stiff, and the muscles in his chest didn’t seem to like stretching out over his ribcage as he straightened. He decided to forgo looking in the mirror. He didn’t want to see his own face today. He found his crutches and tucked them to his sides, and began his shuffle down the hallway.

 

…

 

Sam was still tired the next morning. He forced himself up, early, because he knew there was work to be done. He did a few loads of washing and was sticking one in the dryer when Bobby came up behind him.

“You want some breakfast, son?”

Sam jumped a little, and turned, “I was just about to make it. Just finishing up the laundry.”

“I’ll put it on, Sam. You’re busy enough.”

“But… No. I can, I can do it, Bobby. You just got back from a hunt, you’re probably exhausted. And you stayed up with Dean all night.”

“Naw, Sam. He settled down. I got enough sleep. Just let me look after you both, would ya?”

Sam huffed a smile and relaxed, “Okay. Thanks, Bobby.”

Bobby smiled, sighed an ‘idjit’ under his breath as he left to go make breakfast.

 

…

 

Dean could hear people talking in the kitchen and when he got there he was surprised to see Bobby had come back, after avoiding speaking to him since he’d messed up a few days ago and said something pretty awful. They both glanced in his direction as he walked in. He still hadn’t put a shirt on, and was walking pretty stiffly, even with the crutches as an aid. Bobby seemed to tense up when he saw him, and he knew, even if his apology was accepted, Bobby would never be the same with him again.

“Morning, Dean,” Sam came over to him, assessing eyes checking him over as his hand hovered near him, as though he didn’t trust him not to fall, “How are you?”

Dean went to answer but a cough stole his breath and Sam ended up catching him under the arm.

“Easy, dude,” he soothed.

Dean cleared his throat, “M okay.”

God, his voice was wrecked. Practically all air and no sound, scratchy and painful.

“Geez, Dean,” was all Sam said, visibly wincing at the sound of his voice.

Dean coughed again lightly and continued walking to the couch. He nodded at Bobby, saving his abused throat the pain of speaking.

“Guessing your throat’s sore today?” Bobby added, wryly.

Dean nodded, massaging his adam’s apple as he let Sam help him to sit down.

“What the hell was I doing last night?”

Sam looked sheepish.

“Sam.”

He swallowed, “You were having a pretty bad nightmare… screaming and thrashing around.”

“Guessing you did that,” Dean said, gesturing to his arms.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry. You were just… you were gonna hurt yourself if I didn’t –“

“It’s okay, Sam,” Dean said, feeling more tired than he’d ever been.

Sam stared at him for a moment, steeling his jaw. Before Dean could growl at him to quit it he relaxed.

“You up for some breakfast? Scrambled eggs should feel good on your throat.”

Dean flicked his eyes over to Bobby who was spooning eggs onto a plate in the kitchen, pretending like he wasn’t listening.

“Sure,” Dean smiled.

 

…

 

At some point during the day Dean found enough energy to shower and put on clothes. There was weird vibe in the house with Bobby there. Because Sam had been with them the whole time and it kind of seemed like Bobby only spoke to Dean out of formality, of duty, or some crap. And if Dean wasn’t on edge to begin with… he didn’t want to feel uncomfortable in his own house, dammit.

He was sitting at the breakfast bar, pushing around his mug of luke warm coffee. He glanced at Bobby, sitting in the armchair, and realized that now Sam had gone to work, it was just the two of them. Dean swiveled on the chair and grabbed his crutches. He got to his feet and crutched over to the couch, standing there awkwardly in front of Bobby.

“Bobby,” he said, his voice husky.

Bobby finally raised his head to look at him.

“Something you need, Dean?”

“Look…”

“Dean,” Bobby folded his paper, began trying to stop him.

“Would you just… let me say something? I’ve been trying to talk to you for days. You won’t answer my calls. You’ll talk to Sam though.”

Bobby frowned, looking down.

“Now, would you listen to me?”

Bobby lifted his gaze.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you. I hadn’t slept in 3 days and I was… I was out of line. And, I mean, it’s not an excuse. You’ve always been there for me, for us and…

“Dean, you don’t have to –“

“Just listen! God, I’m trying to talk to you.”

Bobby stayed quiet.

“Now, I’m a stupid son of a bitch, and I’m losing my mind, and I say things I don’t mean, and I just… I need you, Bobby. We need you. And you don’t have to be here all the time. I know you gotta be out there huntin’, but just… come back.”

Bobby finally smiled, “I always do. And I always will.”

Dean felt himself welling up, “Well, good.”

“Now, do we have to talk about our feeling all damn day?”

Dean smirked, “Not when there’s cookin’ to be doing. Get in the kitchen and make my favourite chili.”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

“Sorry,” Dean ducked his head, trying for cute.

“Aw, hell. Fine. Sit your ass down,” Bobby said, getting out of the chair.

“Yes,” Dean celebrated.

“Don’t get used to it.”

“’Course not,” Dean smiled wryly.

…

 

Bobby took Dean to rehab after lunch and walked him inside. He tried to make it seem like it was because he wanted to be there in case he fell, but Dean knew at least a little part of him was doubting whether he’d actually go or not.

“Hey, Dean,” Katie said, wandering past him while he was doing leg exercises with his physio, Grant.

“Hey, Katie. How you been?” Dean grunted, pushing his leg into Grant’s hand with gentle resistance.

“Good. Healing,” she smiled.

Dean looked at her a moment. Her hair was curled softly around her face. It was shorter now, cutting off just above her shoulders.

“Okay, that’s good. You can stop there, Dean,” Grant said, straightening.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Katie said, leaving them to it.

As she walked away Dean realized she was wearing short yoga pants, and for the first time he saw her prosthetic. But he wasn’t really paying attention to that… because her ass was incredible.

“Hey. Earth to Winchester.”

Dean looked back and Grant was staring at him expectantly.

“I’m listening.”

“Sure you were,” he smirked, “I may not be the best at picking up on these things… but I think she likes you,” he added sarcastically.

Dean laughed airily, his voice still struggling after the night before, “Nah.”

“Dude, she was always going up to the hospital to see you.”

“Yeah, but she volunteers there.”

“Only one day a week,” Grant said, helping Dean up onto the bed.

Dean sat down and stared ahead for a second.

“You didn’t know she was coming up to see you,” Grant said, more of a statement than a question.

Dean cleared his throat, looked down, “No, I… I didn’t.”

 

…

 

Dean finished a little earlier than Katie, but he hung around so he could talk to her. She looked a little tired walking out of the physio room, but perked up when she saw him sitting at reception.

“Hey, what are you still doing here?” she asked, happily.

Dean had asked himself the same question a hundred times. He’d had several arguments with himself and lost them all. He’d missed seeing Katie nearly everyday. He’d missed her unshakable positivity, her understanding. The way she would just listen to Dean and stay silent when there was no way to respond. He liked how she talked when he needed to hear something other than his own thoughts. And he liked how they could sit in silence together. She cared so much about other people. She had so much emotion. And maybe that’s why Dean liked her, because he saw in her exactly what he lacked.

“I wanted to see you,” he rasped, his voice almost failing him.

She blushed, and sat down next to him when he made no move to get up.

“You sound a bit rough, sweetie,” she looked at him with a furrowed brow, like she wanted to mother the crap out of him.

“I’ve had better nights,” he winced, coughing.

“How are you?” she asked, and he knew she was asking more than the usual casual introduction. She wanted to know exactly how he was, physically and mentally.

“I’m okay.”

She nodded, and Dean knew she could see right through him.

“Did you want to maybe,” Dean cleared his throat, “have a dr –“

He stopped. Have a drink. That was what he was going to say.

“Coffee?” she finished for him

Dean felt his face heating up and he cleared his throat yet again, “I, uh, yeah… did you want to get coffee or something, sometime… with me?”

Katie smirked, “Dean Winchester, are you asking me out on a date?”

Dean felt his chest tighten. He was so close to calling the whole thing off, bolting for the parking lot, except he couldn’t exactly bolt.

“I guess I am,” he said, voice thoroughly wrecked.

Katie leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Dean’s cheek.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.”

Dean could feel his heart beating a mile a minute. He felt like a stupid high school kid. The whole thing seemed ridiculous. Why was he even doing this?

“Take a breath, honey.”

Dean took a breath in, looking back at Katie’s face, realizing he’d been starting to panic again.

“Sam picking you up?”

“No, uh, Bobby’s picking me up. I should call him,” he said, taking his phone out of his pocket.

“My mum’s out the front. Do you want her to drop you off? It’s no trouble.”

Katie had moved back in with her folks since her accident. Something they’d talked about on one of their breakfast dates at the hospital.

Dean rubbed a hand up and down his thigh nervously. He wanted to talk to her more. He wanted to set a date and time for their little catch up. He wanted to look at her face a little longer. But he didn’t want to meet her mum. And he didn’t want them going to his house, knowing where he lived. It should have been an easy question to answer but…

“It’s okay,” she said, shaking her head softly.

“No,” Dean cut her off, “That’d be great if you could, uh, give me a ride.”

She smiled, and stood up, “Come on then.”

She bent to help him, watching how he got up like Grant watches him, making sure he’s doing it right and isn’t going to hurt himself.

Katie had her hand under his upper arm as they walked together out to the parking lot.

“That’s my mums car,” she pointed, directing him towards a blue Toyota corolla.

Dean veered towards the back door but Katie opened the front passenger door for him, leaning in to say something to her mum. Katie adjusted the seat so it was all the way back, accommodating for Dean’s 6’1” frame. Dean felt awkward having Katie help him into the car. He’d had to get used to several people doing that for him lately. He was a little uncomfortable adding pretty girls to the list.

“Hi, Dean. How are you?” Katie’s mum smiled warmly at him. She was pretty hot for her age. Dean could see where Katie got it from.

“Hey, how are ya?” Dean replied casually, as Katie got in the back seat.

“Dean, this is my mum, Carol.”

“Nice to meet ya,” he rasped.

“Oh, darling, you need some honey tea.”

Dean coughed, feeling weak and sick.

“Mum makes amazing tea. She makes me honey tea anytime I’m sick, I swear, it’s a cure all,” Katie chirped happily from the back.

Dean chuckled, deciding it was for the best to save his voice.

Dean directed Carol to the house using as little words as possible, smiling as they made casual chit chat between each other, mostly leaving him out of it, probably out of respect. Picking up on the vibe that he was one hundred thousand percent done. If he didn’t have to be giving directions he’d already have fallen asleep.

“I’ll help you inside,” Katie said, as they pulled up in the driveway.

Dean didn’t have enough time to protest. His brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders lately.

“It was nice to meet you, Dean,” Carol said, smiling at him.

Dean nodded to her, “Thanks for the ride.”

“Not a problem at all.”

When they got up to the front door Dean could feel himself sweating.

“Uh, thanks,” Dean said, looking down at her. He always forgot how short she was until she was standing right next to him. “So, uh, when do you want to… hang out?”

Katie smiled and looked down shyly, “I’m free tomorrow. How about 11?”

Dean cleared his throat, “Sounds good.”

“Get some rest, Dean,” she said, rubbing his arm.

“I’ll text you later,” Dean’s voice cut out and he coughed into his shoulder, hands still on his crutches.

Katie smiled at him, “I look forward to it.”

 

…

[lilysneeze]

Awww Dean got a date!  and cutie Katie too! Great update!

[Wow Really?]

Sigh... I've missed this story. 

Mathis totally hit the spot, thank you. 

Its been allll about Jensen for me this past week. (Regarding Dean, VegasCon, SNS...) I'm on overload. In the best possible way

Hopefully there's a lot more to come of this story.   

[Wow Really?]

3 minutes ago, Wow Really? said:

Sigh... I've missed this story. 

Mathis totally hit the spot, thank you. 

Its been allll about Jensen for me this past week. (Regarding Dean, VegasCon, SNS...) I'm on overload. In the best possible way

Hopefully there's a lot more to come of this story.   

*This, not Mathis :-/

[starpollen]

I'm sure it meant "man this totally hit the spot" ??

Edited February 13, 2017 by starpollen

[Wow Really?]

On 2/12/2017 at 7:30 PM, starpollen said:

I'm sure it meant "man this totally hit the spot" ??

Lol it did. Autocorrect strikes again. :-/

[telltale]

Yayy, Bobby came back!  Another wonderful, touching couple of chapters.

[MissBayliss]

Thanks, guys  

Chapter Eighteen

 

When Sam got home from work at after one in the morning Dean was still sitting up watching TV. He looked like his eyes were hanging out of his head and his voice was even softer, rougher, more jagged than it had been that morning.

"Hey, Sam."

He coughed after speaking.

"Hey, man. What're you doing up?"

Dean shrugged, half avoiding the question, half saving his voice.

"It's late, dude. You should get some sleep," Sam put his keys down on the bench and studied his brother.

"Nah-" Dean's voice literally cut out, all breath, no sound. Dean cleared his throat and pretended like nothing happened.

Sam sighed inwardly, and started filling the kettle. He heard a squeak from Dean's direction and looked over. Dean was rubbing his throat.

"I'm making you a cup of tea and then you're going to bed."

Dean glared.

"Don't fight me, dude."

With that he huffed and turned the volume up on the TV. A silent screw you.

"Is Bobby sleeping?"

Dean cleared his throat and nodded.

Well, maybe you shouldn't turn the TV up, Sam thought.

Dean must have read his mind because the volume returned to a normal level.

Sam quietly made the tea, and swallowed down one of Dean's painkillers. When he was done he handed the cup to Dean and sat next to him in silence, watching a home renovation show without saying a word.

The warm tea must have loosened up Dean’s sinuses because he was sniffling every few seconds. When Dean stifled a sneeze into his elbow Sam, without looking at him, leant forward and grabbed the tissue box off the coffee table and set it between them on the couch. For a moment Dean didn’t move, and then Sam heard the swishing noise of several tissues being yanked from the box, and tried not to smile.

By the time the mug was empty Dean's eyes were looking heavy and his nose and cheeks were rosy from the constant rubbing. Sam took the mug from his hand and placed it on the coffee table.

"You ready to get some shut eye?"

Dean visibly stiffened, his eyes briefly flashing with fear.

“I know you don’t want to sleep… but you’ve tried going without it and it doesn’t work either.”

Dean cleared his throat, “I’ll stay here,” he whispered roughly.

“Dean, you can’t sleep out here. It’s not comfortable.”

Dean smirked, but like he was sad, not amused. “I need,” he pointed with the remote towards the TV, “the noise… ‘t’s a distraction.”

Sam huffed out a resigned breath and nodded.

“Besides, I don’t think I can get down that hallway… and you’re in no position to drag me down it either.”

At least the tea had given Dean some of his voice back, but he still sounded awful. He had a point though. Sam was hurting after working a full shift, even with that painkiller finally starting to kick in. Riley wasn’t making him lift any heavy crates but even just reaching for the top shelf pulled on his ribs, and after hours of work he was sore. Dean looked like he was too tired to get out of the chair, and Sam couldn’t lift him.

“You’re too long for the couch, dude,” Sam said, rubbing his eyes, fighting the pull of sleep.

“I’ll sleep in the recliner.”

Sam glanced over to the armchair recliner, it was only a few feet away and it was still probably too far.

“Did you take your pills?”

“Yes, mum.”

“Do you want a valium?”

“No,” Dean grunted angrily.

“I’ll get you a blanket.”

Sam got up and grabbed Dean a blanket. He watched Dean shakily make it to the recliner, clinging to the TV remote the whole time.

By the time he was set he was almost asleep in the chair and Sam considered that a win, so he said goodnight, before he had to get up and do it all again the next day.

 

…

 

Dean may have slept for a few minutes at most. He’d dreamed of hell and had woken up panting, shaking, scared. He rubbed a hand down his face. The show on TV had changed and now it was some emergency room crap, like Doctor Sexy MD but without the drama. Dean saw blood and changed the channel quickly, finding a kids channel playing cartoons and leaving it there.

As he sat there his mind started to wander, and he thought about Katie. What the hell was he thinking anyway? They’d organized to meet at a coffee shop nearby. He normally would pick a girl up but he wasn’t exactly allowed to drive just yet. He decided he wasn’t going to tell Sam or Bobby. They’d make a big deal out of it, insist on driving him. No. He was going to get a cab. How he was going to do any of it without a little liquid courage though he had no idea.

Dean looked down and his hands were shaking, his mouth filled with saliva and he felt a dizzying high at just the thought of alcohol. Somewhere in his deranged mind he convinced himself that he needed alcohol, that it was the best thing for him. It made him sleep better, made him relax, made him forget… for a time. It made everything easier, and all he wanted was a little ease in his life. Everything had changed. He wasn’t a hunter anymore. He was hardly a brother anymore. He wasn’t anything anymore.

 

…

 

Sam woke at 4am wondering what had woken him. He listened again and heard the TV, but more than that. There were noises in the kitchen. He got up and crept down the hall. He almost thought about taking his gun in case someone or something had made it in.

He slowly peered around the corner and saw the back of Dean as he reached into the top shelf of the panty, pushing stuff around with angry force.

Sam switched the light on and Dean jumped.

“What are you doing?”

Dean squinted towards the light and looked at Sam, licking his lips nervously, “I was hungry.”

“Why were you looking on the top shelf?”

“Nothing, I thought –“

“You thought I didn’t know you hid your booze up there?”

Dean sighed and leant on the counter.

“Sam…”

“You were looking for alcohol, weren’t you?”

Dean opened his mouth.

“Don’t lie to me, Dean.”

“Look… you’re angry –“

“Damn right, I’m angry!” Sam clenched his fist, “You’ve been in the hospital for how long? And you wanna do this all over again?”

“Sam, please.”

“You think I don’t get it?”

A fire lit behind Dean’s eyes, “No, Sam, I don’t think you do. And I don't want you to. I hope you don’t ever “get it”.”

Sam sighed, “Dean, I just meant –“

“You know what, Sam? I don’t give a rat’s ass what you meant. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“I know… but, dammit, Dean, you’re gonna end up killing yourself. And I already had to bury you once...” Sam looked down, “I won’t do it again…”

“I can’t,” Dean voice cut out and when Sam looked at him again he was struggling to form words, “I can’t sleep.”

Sam’s chest literally ached at Dean’s confession.

“And I… I’m struggling, man. Not just with this but with… everything.”

 Sam sighed, “I know you think alcohol will help… but it won’t.”

Dean pushed himself up straighter and started walking, hanging onto the counter.

“I’m going to bed.”

“Do you need a hand -?”

“No.”

Dean’s curt response made Sam purse his lips. He watched his brother until he made it to his bedroom door and the sounds of shuffling footsteps disappeared.

 

…

 

Sam was working a full day so he was gone before 11. Dean realized he was going to have to let Bobby in on it if he was going to get away with leaving unescorted, especially after his little display that night. So, he told him he was going on a date with Katie. Bobby just looked up from his paper and raised his eyebrows.

“Well, it’s about time you did something about that.”

Bobby had smirked and seemed pretty pleased with the current situation. Dean was feeling pretty on edge after only a few hours of broken sleep, where he’d woken often, sweat soaked sheets clinging to him, body shaking, restless for a drink, anything. He tried to make himself look nice, even slapped his cheeks a few times, trying to get some colour back in his face. Not much had worked, but then, Katie had seen him a hell of a lot worse.

Bobby agreed to letting Dean get a cab. Probably because he knew he would be embarrassed having his “uncle” drive him there. Dean took his crutches with him because the lack of sleep, compounding everything else, was making him a bit more unsteady than usual.

 

…

 

“You’re quiet,” Katie said from across the table, playing with the straw in her peach iced tea, “Did you not sleep very well?”

Dean curled his hand around his coffee mug and smirked, “Do I really look that bad?”

“That’s not what I was –“

Dean chuckled, breathlessly and waved a hand, “I know. I know. Actually I didn’t really sleep last night. I’m not very good company right now, I guess.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Katie smiled, “You’re always good company.”

Dean felt his cheeks heat up and couldn’t help smiling, “Back at’cha.”

She took another sip of her tea and twisted a finger in her hair, “So, Dean, even after all our morning talks you never once told me what you do for a living. I mean, before all this happened.”

Dean looked down, suddenly feeling very ill.

“Oh, come on,” she prodded, gently, “You know everything about me and I know very little about you… It was military, right?”

“How’d you guess?” Dean smirked.

“People talk,” she shrugged, “but I don’t like that. You can’t believe everything you hear. I want to hear it from you. I think… I mean, I know something happened to you.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking me,” Dean said, shakily.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. I don't want to pressure you. I just want you to know you can talk to me… about anything.”

Dean scoffed, unlikely, he thought.

“You… served overseas?” she asked.

Dean lowered his head, “You know I can’t tell you details.”

She nodded, “Tell me whatever you feel like you need to.”

Dean sighed, “I, uh… I spent some time… confined, for lack of a better word.”

“Like a POW camp?”

“I guess you could call it that… just… the things they did to me, the things they made me do… you can’t even imagine.”

“What they made you do?” she questioned.

Dean flexed his fist, “I… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I pried.”

Dean took a few breaths in, “You know,” he cleared his throat, “part of the reason I like you is because, I dunno, you make me forget about all that. I don’t want to think about it when I’m with you.”

“Okay,” she smiled warmly and grabbed his hand.

Dean looked down, feeling a constricting in his chest.

“Hey,” she said softly. Dean lifted his head to meet her eyes, “Stay here. Stay with me.”

He could feel his mind wandering, getting caught up in hellish things. The air turning hot and stifling. His clothes feeling too tight against his body, too tight around his neck.

“You’re okay.”

Dean looked in Katie’s eyes and took a breath in. His fear melted away. Katie smiled and when he looked down he quickly let go of her hand, realizing he’d been gripping it with intense force.

“Sorry,” he grunted, wiping his forehead with his napkin.

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

…

 

Dean was drunk. Well and truly. And surprisingly, he didn’t feel any better. Truth be told he was screwed. Because he couldn’t go home like this. He had no car and couldn’t drive. And he was so drunk he could barely see his phone screen.

“You alright, man? You should sit down.”

He was standing out the front of the pub, trying to balance on his crutches. He could see why someone would think it was a bad idea. He didn’t think it was a great idea but he wasn’t really thinking at that point.

“I’m good,” he mumbled and tried to operate his phone one more time.

He scrolled down passed all the ‘Rebecca’s in his phone until he found Riley and hit call.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Riley, how you doing, sweetheart?”

The line was quiet for a while.

“Dean, have you been drinking?”

“You’re not with my brother, are you?” Dean panicked.

“No, it’s my night off. What’s happened?”

“I, um,” he coughed away from the phone, “I need you to come get me.”

“Where are you?”

“I don't, uh… I don’t exactly know.”

“Honey…”

“It’s… I dunno, there’s a leprechaun on the, the thing. Cheeky bastard.”

“You’re at Lucky Larry’s. I’ll be there soon, okay? Just hang tight.”

“Riley, don’t tell Sam, please.”

“I’m not going to. I’m leaving now. Just go inside and wait for me.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t go back inside, because he’d been cut off and asked to leave, so he shuffled over to a nearby park bench and sat down with a thud.

“God, that friggen…” he winced, rubbing his back.

One of his crutches fell to the ground and he left it there, afraid he’d face-plant if he tried to pick it up.

 

…

 

“Hey, Riley!”

Riley grabbed Dean’s crutch off the ground and held both of them in her hands, sitting down next to Dean.

“Hey, hotshot. What the hell were you thinking?”

Dean actually laughed, “I don’t think there was a lot of… thinking going on.”

“No,” she frowned, “Neither do I.”

Dean shrugged.

“Come on. You can stay the night at my place.”

Dean rubbed his forehead, pressing his eyes shut. He couldn’t quite comprehend the seriousness of what he’d just done.

“You got your medications and stuff with you?”

“Umm…” Dean clumsily opened his jacket, patting his pockets.

Riley’s hands knocked his out of the way, “Show me what you’ve got.”

Dean flopped his hands down in his lap and let her rummage in his jacket.

“You’ve got antibiotics and pain pills. Is that all you need?”

“Mostly, I guess,” Dean shrugged, rubbing his eye.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, well, I put ‘em in there cause they’re important.”

“Okay. Let’s get you home. Come on.”

Dean watched Riley bend over the back seat and lay the crutches in the car. She had super tight jeans on and a dark red shirt, also very tight. She was wearing a black leather jacket, for God’s sake.

She came back and grabbed his arm, ready to assist him to stand.

“What are you smirking at?”

“I was just admiring the view.”

Riley rolled her eyes at him, “Alright, Romeo, you can hit on me more when we’re in the car.”

Dean and Riley made it to the car by some miracle. Dean leaned on the roof for a moment, head down, feeling queezy.

“Do not puke in my car, sweetheart. If you gotta puke get it out now.”

Dean straightened, feeling the world lurch. He turned and grabbed Riley around the waist, pulling her close.

“You’re cute when you’re angry.”

“And you’re a friggen jackass,” she said with a playful smile on her lips, “Get in the car and behave yourself. I’m holding all the cards right now, Winchester. Make a choice.”

Dean clumsily rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, frowning, “Yes ma’am.”

 

…

[lilysneeze]

Oh no... drinking again... Sam is going to be so pissed when he finds out... and he will... there's no way he won't.

[Wow Really?]

No.. :-(

i have a parent on end stage alcoholism, so this hits home.. 

Great stuff as always... looking forward to the next part..  even though he's gonna get his man parts handed to him ?

 

[Wow Really?]

*in, not *on... geez, I can't type ?

Am I crazy, or didnt there used to be away to edit posts? 

[MissBayliss]

On 22 February 2017 at 4:09 AM, Wow Really? said:

No.. :-(

i have a parent on end stage alcoholism, so this hits home.. 

Great stuff as always... looking forward to the next part..  even though he's gonna get his man parts handed to him ?

 

 

[MissBayliss]

Chapter Nineteen

 

“At what point do I have to call your brother?”

Dean was hunched on the floor, head over the toilet, where he’d been for the last 20 minutes. His stomach was clenching, and he felt disgusting, head spinning.

Riley was sitting up on her bed, watching him through the doorway. She was wearing only a pair of tiny black lace underpants and a white singlet. Her legs that went on for days stretched out in front of her.

“Ah, let me think about that…” Dean mumbled sarcastically, and then threw up again.

“If you pass out you know I have to take you to the hospital? I’m not even sure I shouldn’t be doing that right now.”

“I’m fine,” Dean grunted.

“You’re drunk.”

“It would –“ he coughed, “seem that way.”

Riley got up and leaned against the doorframe, staring down at Dean.

“You about done in here?”

Dean sagged against the arm he had resting on the toilet bowl, “I think so.”

“Ready to come to bed?”

Dean nodded.

Riley managed to get him up off the floor and steer him towards the bed. He flopped down on his back and slammed his eyes shut.

“Room spinning?” she enquired with a little too much amusement.

“Urrrrgh,” Dean groaned.

“Come on, let’s sit you up a bit more.”

Riley got Dean set up on a few more pillows and took up position beside him, her hand on his chest.

The lamp beside her was on and she grabbed a book from the nightstand, sitting up against the headboard, her other hand still rubbing soft circles on Dean’s chest.

“What have you got?” Dean asked, one eye open.

“A book,” she smiled, “Go to sleep.”

“I haven’t had my… stuff yet.”

“I know, but I’m not giving it to you if you’re going to puke it up.”

Dean moaned.

Riley chuckled, “I’ll wake you up in a bit.”

“You’re not going to sleep?” Dean asked, words running together.

“I usually stay up a bit later than 8pm,” she laughed.

“Is’at the time?”

“Sure is,” she changed her soothing circles to light scratches.

Dean was silent for a moment, “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Don’t think about it, honey. Just go to sleep.”

“I might… have a nightmare,” he opened both eyes and fixed them on her.

“That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Dean…” she bent down and kissed his forehead, letting her lips linger there for a moment, “You’re warm.”

“Mm…”

Both of them were quiet for a moment.

“I went on a date today.”

Riley’s hand stilled on his chest, “Really?”

“With Katie.”

Riley raised her eyebrows, “That cute little thing from the hospital?”

Dean grinned, sleepily, “She is cute, isn’t she?”

“Do you like her?”

Dean frowned, “So, what if I do?”

Riley smiled, “Nothing,” she shrugged, “And I know we’re not anything… but let me ask you this,” she leaned right down near Dean’s face, her hand running through his short hair, “When you needed help tonight, why did you call me and not her?”

Dean stared at her with his big green eyes, face looking almost forlorn, “What?”

She grinned and kissed him, “Never mind.”

Dean grabbed her hand and put it back on his chest and she took the hint and started rubbing again.

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up to have your pills later.”

Dean’s eyes were closed, “Promise?”

Riley’s smile disappeared and she took a breath in, “I promise, Dean.”

 

…

 

When Dean woke up later he was still drunk, although the fog was beginning to lift. Riley was sitting cross-legged beside him, with a little plate with a few pieces of plain toast on it and a bottle of water, his pill bottles on the quilt in front of her.

“Hey,” he grunted, his voice husky.

“Hey, yourself.”

“Time for pills?”

“Mmhm, and you can eat something too.”

Dean took the plate from her and looked down, unmoving for a while, “Did you tell Sam I was here?”

Riley unscrewed the cap off the water bottle, “Yeah,” she said, taking a sip, and then handing the bottle to Dean.

“What did he say?” Dean said, taking a sip himself and handing it back to her.

“He said to be careful with you,” she grinned.

Dean laughed, “God.”

“Eat your toast,” Riley nodded, sipping from the water bottle again.

“You shouldn’t share with me,” Dean pointed to the bottle with a triangle of toast.

“I’ve kissed you, Dean. Damage is done.”

“When did you kiss me?” Dean furrowed his brow.

Riley grinned and stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth, “Don’t tell me I’m that forgettable,” she teased.

Dean coughed, smiling, “You are many things, Riley. I’m not sure forgettable is one of them.”

“Yeah, damn right,” she said, sitting back and grabbing her book again, “Eat your toast.”

Dean quietly munched on his toast. He only made it through one and a half triangles before his stomach started turning and he thought it best to call it quits. Riley got his pills out for him, probably not trusting him to get out the right thing in his current state. He swallowed his pills with the same water bottle they were sharing and handed it back to her. She brushed her hand across his forehead and hummed.

“I might need Tylenol,” Dean said, picking up on her concern.

“You can’t have Tylenol with alcohol, honey. It’s bad for your liver.”

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion, “How do you know that?”

“I’ve run a bar for 6 years… and my sister’s a nurse.”

“You have a sister?” Dean grinned.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned.

Dean chuckled, and sipped the water again.

Riley moved closer to him, so her hip was touching his side, her body warmth blending with his. She set her hand down on his chest again. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut. The room was still spinning in circles under closed eyelids, but the hand on his chest kept letting him know which way was up. And it might have been the alcohol numbing his pain, or the pills kicking in, or Riley… but he didn’t feel so scared for the first time in a long time. And he went to sleep.

 

…

 

When Dean woke up he felt like his head was going to explode. The pain was agonizing. His mouth was dry and his body was shaking, cold sweat coating his skin. His stomach was cramping, as well as his back. He was alone in a bed that wasn’t his but he quickly recognized it to be Riley’s bedroom. Glancing around he could see she had a candle burning on the bedside table, filling the room with the subtle scent of vanilla. A book was open and upside down on the bed, holding her place, and a cup of coffee, still with steam curling off it sat next to the candle. Her dark curtains didn’t allow much light into the room but he could tell it was morning.

Just as he was about to think about getting up Riley came back through the open door that went out into the kitchen/dining area.

“It lives,” she smiled, “Good morning, darlin’. How you feeling?”

She sat down at his hip and held out a cup of coffee to him.

Dean avoided her question, “What happened?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Riley raised her eyebrows, “You called me at 7pm, blind drunk. What were you doing drinking?”

She didn’t sound angry with him and Dean was grateful for that. What he didn’t need right now was judgment. He would surely get that from Sam when he found out.

“I don’t know,” Dean shook his head.

“Okay,” she nodded, watching him take a sip of coffee.

Dean finished his coffee and took a shower. It took a lot of energy out of him without the shower chair. Just having to stand long enough to wash himself was exhausting.

When he came out, Riley was sitting at the table, eating a croissant and reading a magazine.

“I have to go to work soon,” she told him, “Sam says to check your phone.”

Dean sat down across from her and grabbed the croissant off her plate and took a bite. She didn’t react.

“My phone’s dead.”

Riley dusted off her fingers and picked up her phone, sending a text.

“What does he want?”

“He wants to know how you are.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

“I’m telling him you’re okay… avoiding the part where you’re completely hungover,” she smirked.

Dean rubbed his face and smiled, “Thanks, Riley… you know, for everything.”

She shrugged, “I’m asking Sam to start work early to give you more time to pull yourself together.”

Dean coughed, “Sorry.”

“I’m lying to your brother, Dean,” She raised an eyebrow, “I don’t like lying.”

Dean stilled his hand, about to steal her croissant again. He looked at her dark eyes, “Then why are you?”

She huffed, and pushed her plate towards him, “Because you’re an idiot.”

Dean ate the last bit, licking his fingers, “Correct.”

She smiled and got up, taking the now empty plate back to the kitchen. She was still wearing what she was last night and Dean had to stop himself from making a sexist, slightly inappropriate comment, even though he was sure she probably wouldn’t mind.

She came back over to him with a big glass of water and a few pills.

“Nurse Riley,” he said with delight.

“Eat your heart out,” she grinned.

As Dean sat, trying to get his twisting stomach under control, he started to remember a few things from the day before.

Dean cleared his throat, “I didn’t, uh, say anything embarrassing last night, did I?”

“Do you mean did you tell me you went on a date with another girl?” Riley said, sounding amused.

Dean almost choked on his water.

Riley laughed, “Relax, Dean. Like you said, we just have a bit of fun.”

Dean swallowed, reading something more in Riley’s face.

“Where are my clothes?” he asked, nonchalantly trying to change the subject.

“They’re in the dryer. Your coat’s hanging up in the other room. They smelled a bit of booze and vomit,” she smirked.

Dean felt his cheeks heat up, “Thanks.”

“I’m going to shower,” She said, wrapping her hair up into a bun and tucking it under so it stayed there, “I assumed you wanted to get home but if you want to hang out here while I’m at work I don’t mind.”

Dean knew Bobby would probably be home. He was still a wreck, his body wracking with tremors, the alcohol leaving his system. His stomach was uneasy and he wasn’t sure if the croissant wouldn’t make a sudden reappearance some time soon. His head was pounding and the pain in his chest was worse with every breath.

“When are you leaving?” he rasped, having to clear his throat.

“In about an hour.”

Dean looked down at the ground, chewing on the inside of his lip. Bobby would see him. Bobby would know what he did.

“You can stay,” Riley came over and kissed him on the top of his head.

“Thanks,” Dean sighed, relief washing over him.

“Go back to bed, sweetheart. You look like you need it.”

 

…

 

Dean only woke as Riley put a soft hand on his head and kissed him goodbye on her way to work. The next time he woke it was nearly lunchtime. He was covered in sweat, muttering to himself in his sleep as he dreamed of hooks, and blades, and strings, and metal, and teeth, and wire, and cold, sharp, fingernails. His breathing was out of control but it usually was when he first woke up. Riley had left a water bottle on the nightstand next to him and he pushed himself up to sit, rubbing a palm across his aching chest. His hand was shaking as he took a sip and somehow he didn’t think they’d ever be steady again, not after what he’d seen. Not after everything he’d gone through.

He was distracted, thinking deeply, and didn’t swallow properly, causing a trickle of water to go the wrong way. He coughed and spluttered.

“What the hell?” he croaked out, gripping the mattress and sinking to his knees at the raw pain in his chest.

He coughed again and felt like a knife was in his ribs, a white hot poker.

“Son of a bitch,” he winced, clutching a hand at his chest, the other pushing him up as he tried to get his feet under him.

The pain in his chest was so bad he lost vision for a moment, the sound of the blood, hot in his ears, the only thing he could hear. Dean pressed forward somehow, trying to find his damn phone in the haze around him, because something wasn’t right, not at all. He couldn’t get a breath, and he was starting to panic.

“Shit,” he cursed. He’d made his way out to the kitchen, hanging onto the bench to keep standing.

He tried breathing again, more deeply, and the pain was agonizing. He was in danger of passing out soon so he tried to take shallow sips of air, not enough to expand his lungs and cause that awful pain.

Just as he felt his knees buckling he heard a key in the door and someone coming home.

“Dean?” Riley called from the front of the house.

Dean tried to straighten, clutching at anything on the bench. He ended up knocking a glass off, hearing it hit the floor and shatter.

“Dean!” Riley was coming through the door now, “Oh my god, Dean.”

Dean grabbed onto Riley, unable to stop himself sinking to the floor. She tried to help him but he was too heavy.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean took a few more shallow, wheezy breaths and glanced in her panicked eyes, “Might be… time to… call my brother.”

 

…

[lilysneeze]

Ah Dean.... you really need to take better care of yourself LOL... Stubborn stupid handsome fucker... I struggle with his pigheadedness too XD

[Wow Really?]

12 hours ago, MissBayliss said:

 

Right back at ya ❤️