Fic: Demon Blood, Sweat and Tears 2/2
(Back to Part 1)
It wasn’t until after eleven the next morning that Dean woke. Sam hadn’t really slept, alternating between watching his brother breathe and watching campy infomercials on mute. The one with that guy and his towel was on again.
Hearing movement, Sam looked to the other bed. Dean groaned a bit and shifted, stretching. And wincing. “Crap,” he murmured, peeling his eyes open and levering himself up.
“Seizure?” It wasn’t really a question, but Sam nodded. “Damn.”
Dean did a quick body check, finding the bandaged finger almost immediately. He rotated his left hand, flexing and bending the fingers around the splint. “What’d I hit?”
“The bed frame, I think.” Whatever had kept him up the night - adrenaline, guilt - seemed to be leaking out of his body. “I got back after you had it, right before you woke up.”
Dean squinted and scratched absently at his head, but a second later he relaxed. He was looking at the box, still unopened, on the table by the door. “Pizza. Right.” Sam couldn’t tell if Dean remembered it or if he just put two and two together.
“Look,” Dean said. He cleared his throat, fixed his gaze at something above and behind Sam’s head. “Sorry about - all that.”
Sam had the sudden urge to punch his brother in the mouth, seizure or no seizure.
“Why are you sorry?” Sam demanded. "I'm the one who should be apologizing.” Dean looked at him funny. Shit. He didn’t remember.
Sam groped for an explanation. “I - my phone - it died. The line at the pizza place was ridiculously long” - and by ridiculously long, he meant 3 people. Because he was a lying dick. - “and it took forever. You texted me, but I-I didn’t get it.
“I’m really sorry, man.” That part, at least, sounded sincere. Probably because it was actually true. “I should have been here.”
But Dean just sort of waved his hand, like the idea was absolutely ridiculous. “It’s fine, Sam.”
“It’s really not.” That sounded harsher than he meant it to. Dean just looked at him for a second, then shrugged and turned to the TV.
This wasn’t the way Sam wanted to start the day. Really, it wasn’t. He sighed and stood. “Where’re your meds?”
If the darting glance wasn’t enough to tell Sam that something was up, the overly-casual “don’t worry about it,” definitely did the trick. Sam just stared at his brother. Because that’s how you got shit out of Dean. You waited him out.
And it worked. Dean slumped a bit. He took a breath and rubbed his face. “I don’t take meds, Sam," he said resignedly. Which pissed Sam off. But the next part pissed him off more. "Don’t need ‘em.”
Right, because last night had totally proved that theory. “The fuck you don’t.” Dean ignored him and Sam snapped, “No one was with you.”
“Yeah, and I handled it.”
“You broke your hand.”
“Shit happens.” Dean threw off the covers and stood up slowly. “And it’s gonna happen with or without an audience.”
Sam fumed. He fucking hated it when Dean went with the fatalism bullshit. “You wouldn’t have had a seizure in the first place if you were taking meds."
“Oh? Know that for a fact, Sammy? That psychic crap of yours back again? ”
Christ! What did he have to say to get Dean to listen to him? “What if you have a status seizure? What if you need Diastat-“
“Before you start shoving things up my ass, we’re gonna need to pick a safe word.” Dean was pissed and walking towards him. “Like ‘Banana’ or ‘No fucking way.’”
“Dean.”
“Don’t act like you know what’s best for me Sam,” Dean looked like he wanted to shove him, “not about this. Not when you’re going off a handful of memories and three hours on Wikipedia.”
Sam didn’t have a response to that. Mostly because it was true. What kind of asshole had to Google “seizure first aid” when their brother had been an epileptic for two decades?
Sam figured his patheticness had started to show through because Dean’s expression softened, and his brother sighed.
“Look,” Dean said quietly, after a moment, “they only happen every couple years. Which is a better deal than a lot of people get, even with meds. And the meds suck. Okay? They suck and they cost a fucking fortune.”
Don’t worry about the fucking money. “When did you stop?”
Dean huffed a laugh and looked away. “A couple weeks after you went off to Stanford.”
Sam wanted to ask if Dad had been short on ammo that month. He wanted to ask it so freaking bad, but he looked at Dean’s hand and his arm and the way he was hobbling across the room, and Sam just couldn’t bring himself to light that fire. Instead he sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. “This is so fucked up.”
Dean snorted. “Dude, have you looked at our lives lately?” He flopped down into a nearby chair. “Me passing out and pissing myself is the least of our worries.”
It was true. Sam didn’t think it was something that he was ready to laugh at, but it was true.
“And I have the Diastat.” Sam’s poker face was for absolute shit that day, apparently. “Black case, under the driver’s seat in the Impala. If you use it on me when my brain’s not leaking out of my ears, I swear to God I will end you."
Sam nodded. Swiped at his eyes, and was incredibly grateful when Dean asked, “We done here? Because I reek.”
Sam let go a shaky breath. The sound was closer to laughter than his last attempt. “Yeah, you really do.”
“Bitch,” Dean said and stood to lightly cuff Sam on the head. He turned, grimacing with the effort.
Dean flipped on the bathroom light as he stepped onto the tile, but then he swiveled back to Sam. He leaned against the door jam and said, “It would have happened the same way if you were here. Nothing you could have done but watch, and I-” he looked away, rubbing at his shoulder with his right hand. "Just don't worry about it, okay?”
Coming off a grand mal seizure, Dean was still trying to make sure Sam was alright. When Sam had been…doing what he was doing, instead of what he should have been doing.
Fuck, but Sam was a dick.
“I’m gonna take a shower. Breakfast after?”
“Yeah.” Sam swallowed. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, okay. Where?”
“Someplace with coffee. And free refills. And bacon.”
Sam smiled weakly. “Sounds good.”
The bathroom door closed with a soft click. A few seconds later, Sam heard the clatter of water hitting the tub.
He turned to grab his duffle and change into some fresh clothes. He was pulling off his shirt when his phone vibrated.
Caller ID:
Ruby
He stared at the display for a moment, feeling the buzz ripple through his fingers. He listened to the sound of the shower. To how Dean wasn’t humming Asia.
And he turned off his phone.