Fic: Picking up the Pieces (SPN) Chapters Ten
Chapter Ten
The impala trundled over a pothole and Dean winced, letting out a whimper as pain shot through his back.
“Hey, Dean?” Sam said.
He’d been muttering things throughout the whole ride, squeezing Dean’s sore shoulder any time he started to drift off. It was comforting but also a little annoying, because his body so badly wanted to sleep, or lose consciousness, whatever the difference even was. All he knew was that he didn’t want to experience this pain anymore. He just wanted it to stop.
“Mm,” he moaned, tensing his jaw as pain sparked again.
“Remember the time dad dropped us off at Bobby’s and he was supposed to teach us how to track and use the crossbow?”
“Got sick,” Dean mumbled.
“We both did,” Sam laughed, “Remember? And we spent the whole week on the couch, watching movies and playing cards.”
Dean smiled.
“And when we finally got better he took us out for burgers and to toss the pigskin around.”
“Best week ever,” Dean said with a lazy smile.
“Your daddy wasn’t happy,” Dean heard Bobby mutter from the front seat.
True. Dad wasn’t happy when he’d heard his boys hadn’t done what he’d asked them. Or that Bobby had high jacked their week of training and treated them to junk food, and sport, and card games. Maybe it was more the fact that he’d treated them like they were his sons, and like he knew better what boys needed. He did. And maybe that was why dad got so angry about it.
It took Dean another jab to his shoulder to realise that Sam and Bobby had been talking more, that time had passed and he’d drifted again.
“Dean? Wake up, man. Almost there.”
“’M awake,” he said, in a petulant tone.
…
Sam looked down at his brother’s face, pillowed on his leg as he lay on his back in the back seat. His feet were up on the seat, legs bent so he could fit his big frame across the small space without twisting his back. Sam could hear him breathing and it was quite worrying. Dean didn’t seem to notice the crackles and the hitching. It sounded like he needed to cough but Sam knew he couldn’t sit up. His back was so screwed from attempting to dig that grave. What the hell was he thinking? What if he’d done serious damage and needed another surgery? What if he’d done damage that surgery couldn’t fix?
“Sam, keep talking to him.”
Sam looked up, not realizing he’d stopped, deep in thought.
“Dean, man,” he put a hand on his shoulder.
Dean’s face had been screwed up in pain the entire trip so far, but now it was lax.
“Dean?”
Bobby glanced over his shoulder, “What’s going on, Sam?”
“Dean, open your eyes. Come on, Dean. Open your eyes, man… Bobby…”
Sam felt Bobby hit the pedal harder and the car lurched, travelling faster along the road to the hospital.
“Dean, come on. Wake up,” he was shaking him a little now, thinking that the pain of moving would wake him up.
“Sam, he breathing?” Bobby said.
Sam put a hand on Dean’s chest, leaned down to his face. There was a definite wheeze, but he was breathing.
“Yeah, not well… Dean, open your eyes,” Sam ordered, firmly. “He’s burning up, Bobby.”
“We’re almost there.”
“Dean, I need you to wake up,” Sam leant down and whispered, “I need you.”
Dean let out a little moan.
“Dean!” Sam called, shaking him again.
“Ahh! Sam,” Dean cried out, writhing up in pain.
“Sorry, man. I’m sorry. I know you’re hurting, but you just have to stay awake. Focus on my voice, okay?”
Dean reached a hand up and gripped Sam’s wrist.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sam, don't let me die…” Dean whispered, eyes glossy and tear filled.
“Dean, you’re not going to die,” Sam furrowed his brow, fear and panic in his voice.
“I don’t want to die, Sam.”
“I know, Dean,” Sam rubbed circles on his brother’s chest, “I know. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
Sam caught a flash of Bobby’s eyes in the rearview mirror, as they turned into the hospital, parking out the front in the emergency bay. Bobby got out of the car.
“I need some help out here!” he bellowed.
Sam gripped his brother’s hand as a tear slipped down the side of Dean’s face.
“Please, don’t let me die.”
…
Sam was glad to hear that Dean didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die, but living right now was so hard for him. That was the tragedy of it. He was in so much pain, so much physical pain that his body could barely endure any more, so much emotional pain that he was on the verge of a complete breakdown, staring down the barrel of catatonia, but he didn’t want to die, because he feared death more than anything. What he was going through right now, wasn’t even a fraction of the horrors of hell.
The ICU medical emergency team arrived in black, pushing trolleys full of medical equipment.
“… Oxygen sats… unstable… respiratory failure… get ready to intubate.”
Sam knew his brother was strong. He was stronger than him. Stronger than their dad. Stronger than anyone he’d ever known. And that’s why it was so hard to watch him break.
“BP’s dropping… central line, normal saline… Dean, can you open your eyes?”
Sam watched them cut off Dean’s shirt. He would hate that. That was his favourite black shirt. Now, he’d have to go shopping again for a new one. God, Dean hating shopping, especially for clothes. He bitched about everything, even when there was nothing to bitch about, Dean would find something that pissed him off.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move outside.”
Sam felt Bobby’s hand on his bicep. A nurse appeared at his other side.
“Excuse me, they just need some space to work. Follow me and we can have a seat out here. Do you want a cup of tea?” She said, guiding them both out into the hall.
Was this girl seriously asking him if he wanted a cup of tea? Seriously? A cup of tea would definitely solve all his problems. A cup of tea would stop him from worrying about his brother as they shoved a tube down his throat in the other room. A cup of tea would erase the fact that Dean had sold his soul and gone to hell. A cup of tea would change the fact that Dean had irreparably injured his back years ago. A cup of tea would heal Dean’s liver and cure him from his drinking problem and PTSD…. A cup of tea…
“We’re fine, thanks. Sam, come on outside,” Bobby was pulling on him again.
“I’m not leaving my brother,” Sam ripped his arm away, finally giving voice to the anger he’d had brewing inside.
“Dean’s going to be fine. I need you to get your head back in the game, and get your emotions under control. I can’t have both of you going off the deep end.”
“Bobby, Dean is lying in that room getting a tube shoved down his throat,” Sam’s voice was raised, bordering on shouting. He pointed back towards the room as he spoke.
“Right now I’m more worried about you, Sam!”
Bobby’s words shocked Sam into silence. He stood there gaping, unable to even think of a response.
“Dean is getting the help he needs. I know that boy’s going to be fine. All I can see right now is you shutting down. You’re both going crazy worrying so much about each other.”
Sam finally breathed, “How can I not?” he said in a small voice.
Bobby sighed, “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”
…
Bobby managed to get Sam to go outside for a breath of fresh air. He hadn’t even noticed that he had started to feel dizzy. Being outside in the breeze was good. They didn’t have any information on Dean at this stage. They needed to get him stable, test his blood, xray his back, ultrasound his liver, give him fluids, oxygen, antibiotics…
“Sam, talk to me,” Bobby said, sitting down on a bench.
Sam paced back and forth for a moment, chewing his lip before he relented.
“What are we going to do?”
“About what?” Bobby said, calmly.
“About Dean!”
Sam huffed a little in and out, chest heaving with his sighs.
“We take this one step at a time… that’s all we can do.”
Sam turned away, looked up into the inky black sky. There were no stars.
He heard a flutter.
“Hello.”
Sam jumped, turning to see Castiel sitting on the bench beside Bobby. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
“What in hell?” Bobby gasped.
“Heaven, actually,” Cas corrected.
“Cas?” Sam gaped, “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been… watching.”
“This is… this is great,” Sam said, “You can heal my brother.”
Castiel looked at the ground, brow furrowed.
“I can’t.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Bobby grunted.
“You’re an angel, aren’t you?” Sam said incredulously, “So heal him!”
“I can’t,” Cas emphasized each word carefully.
“Why not?” Sam yelled, jaw tight.
“I have specific orders not to intervene.”
“Cas!” Sam shouted, “My brother is sick! He might die!”
“Sam,” Bobby grumbled.
“He won’t,” Cas said, sounding sure of himself.
“Then why?... Why put him through this?”
Cas looked down again. “I came by your house. Dean wouldn’t let me explain… he was displeased.”
“You spoke to Dean?” Sam stared at the angel.
“Since our meeting he has warded your house against me.”
Sam looked up at the sky again, light rain began to fall on his face. He closed his eyes.
“If Dean doesn’t want to talk to you, neither do I.”
“Sam, I -“
“Cas,” Sam interrupted, “You have to go.”
Bobby remained quiet.
“I want to help…”
“But you can’t heal him?” Sam asked again.
“No.”
Sam sighed, “Goodbye, Cas.”
Cas looked from Bobby to Sam, and then he was gone.
Sam wanted to punch something. He was so angry. He began pacing back and forth on the pavement, jaw working.
“Sam, let’s go back inside. Dean probably needs us now,” Bobby said in a calm voice.
Sam didn’t say anything, but he walked back inside, Bobby following behind him.
…
Oh, God, it’s happening again.
Dean thought he was in hell.
He felt the hard plastic in his throat. It was usually cold metal. Sharp. Tearing.
He was used to all the ways a person could be tortured, all the ways it hurt. He couldn’t grasp a thought in his head. They were rushing through, tapering off, disappearing.
“One, two, three.”
Pain! God, the pain.
He felt like his spine was melting. Liquid. Burned.
Burn, burn, burn.
His head burned. His brain burned. Everything burned. He was churning up inside.
He couldn’t see, couldn’t open his eyes. He could barely hear. It was like he was underwater. Oh. That was a new one. They’d never drowned him before.
He was cold. He was so cold.
He wanted to give up. He was so tired. He was in so much pain, and all for nothing. All to be in hell again. He wouldn’t get out this time. He couldn’t claw his way out again. Not again. Not again.
“Dean?”
Sammy?
“Hang in there, Dean. Please. We’re here, okay? They’re going to help you. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”
Dean felt a hand grasp his, and he felt his chest flutter. And somehow he knew… it would be okay.
…
Dean was in ICU for 3 days before he got moved to a ward. He had to share a room with an old guy who just had his hip replaced. He liked to bitch and moan about every other thing. Dean didn’t hold anything against him though, because nothing would be more annoying than sharing a room with him. He was still sick. Still had a cold. Still had pneumonia. He coughed all the time. Hardly ever slept. The nurses would come in and check him over, poke and prod him. He’d groan in pain. He was loud, annoying, dependent. God, he was pathetic.
Sam and Bobby took shifts sitting next to him reading the paper, reading a book, watching TV.
Eventually he got a room by himself. He didn’t ask why, because he already knew.
“Hey,” Sam said, walking in and pulling up a chair next to Dean.
“Hey,” he groaned, voice hoarse.
“How was your night? Bobby said you didn’t get much sleep.”
“When do I ever?” Dean asked, flicking quickly through his TV channels. He wasn’t really watching he just wanted something to do to keep his hands busy.
“Good point,” Sam laughed, but Dean heard the worry in it too.
“I’m fine, Sam. Relax.”
“I’m relaxed,” Sam said, then paused, “Dr Reid been in to see you yet?”
“No,” Dean coughed into his fist.
“Do you want the bed up?” Sam asked, fiddling with the bed controls.
“It’s fine. Leave it alone.”
“Geez, alright,” Sam put it back and sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples.
“Did you work last night?” Dean finally put the remote down and looked at his brother.
“Yeah.”
“Working tonight?”
“Yeah.”
Dean nodded.
“So, you got your… thing today.”
Dean closed his eyes, took a deep breath.
“Do you have to?”
“What?” Sam looked surprised.
“Do you have to bring it up, Sam? I know.”
“Sorry, man… I saw they want you to have another MRI.”
Dean felt his face heat up.
“Would you friggen stop!? I know. Alright? I know I have to have another MRI. I know I have to go into that friggen small little tube where you can’t even breathe. I know I’ll probably freak out and make a scene. I know I have to have a psych review. And I know they all think I’m crazy, because I can’t sleep, and I do stupid shit like break out of hospital and steal cars, and drink booze when my liver’s already failing, and I scream at night. And I’m losing my mind staying here, Sam. I’m losing my mind, and everyone knows it. I’m climbing the walls, man. I can’t… I can’t do it.”
When Dean finally looked at Sam his expression was pained, bordering on tears. And he wanted to take it all back if it meant Sam wouldn’t cry.
“It’s just a speed bump, Dean. It’s going to get better.”
“Will it? Because I’m still having trouble getting out of bed on my own, and what if I screwed up my back so bad it’ll never get better?”
“Dean…”
“Can you give me a minute?”
Dean wanted to get up and walk away. Because that’s what he did. He walked away, slammed doors, got in his car and drove to a liquor store or bar so he could drown his sorrows, go hunting, punch something, kill something, stumble back home bloody and sore and magically he wasn’t angry… but he couldn’t do that anymore.
Sam was getting up as there was a knock on the door and Dr Reid walked in.
“Good morning… is this a bad time?”
Dean tried to slow his breathing, rubbed a hand down his face.
“It’s as good as any, doc. Pull up a chair.”
Even though Sam was on his way out when the doc walked in, he didn’t leave. He probably knew Dean wouldn’t relay the correct information to him. He’d just pick out the most positive bits, the things he wanted to focus on and tell him that, make it seem like everything was fine. When everything would never be fine again.
“How are you feeling today?” Dr Reid said, sitting down.
“Well I won’t be running any marathons,” Dean joked, voice dry, face expressionless.
“Okay,” The doc got straight down to business, “Liver results aren’t bad. We’re going to keep up the vitamin injections. Nutrition is a big thing for you, Dean. Alcohol depletes you of nutrients, so you need to be eating the right things. Which isn’t a problem here, but it’s something you’ll need to watch when you go home.”
“Sounds delightful,” Dean offered, with a smile.
“How’s your chest feeling?”
“Still hurts when I cough,” He shuffled awkwardly on the bed.
“And you’re coughing pretty solidly through the night, aren’t you?” Dr Reid asked.
Dean nodded.
“How’s the pain in your back?”
The pain in his back was something he didn’t want to talk about. He didn’t want to give voice to it. Didn’t want to give it a name. Because it was so intense, so unrelenting.
“Pretty bad.”
He could feel Sam looking at him so he looked away.
“Mm,” Dr Reid hummed, “The xray was good, it didn’t show any additional damage but we need to do the MRI to make sure we know where that herniated disc is positioned. We’ll do that after lunch today.”
Dean nodded. He didn’t really want to talk anymore.
“Now, someone from mental health with be over to talk to you this morning. We just think with what you’ve been through, the severity of the nightmares, and your little Houdini act, it’s better for us to try and help and protect you in any way we can. This is about providing you additional support, okay? So, I know it’ll be hard to talk about, but just give them a chance.”
It almost sounded like he was pleading with Dean.
Dr Reid must have seen that Dean was never going to respond to that so he continued on.
“Tomorrow we’ll get the physio in to review you, and a dietician review. Is there anything you need at the moment? You can have some more pain relief if you need it.”
Dean cleared his throat, “Sure.”
“Alright, I’ll get the nurse to get you a painkiller. Do you have any questions for me?”
Dean had to stop himself joking about giving him a bullet instead. Normally, that wouldn’t have fazed him, but with his mental health in question, he kept his mouth shut.
“No,” he breathed, voice doughy.
“Thanks, doctor,” Sam said, like the good little boy he was.
“Rest up, alright?” Dr Reid gave Dean’s ankle a little squeeze and left the room.
Dean sighed, felt Sam’s eyes on him.
“I’m just tired, Sam,” he said eventually, turning his TV off.
“I know,” Sam replied, pursing his lips, eyes wide and glassy with emotion.
“You know I can’t stay here much longer, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” Sam nodded, “But you have to let them help you first.”
“One day,” Dean begged.
“No, Dean, please. At least till the end of the week. I can’t do all this at home for you.”
Dean felt that like a punch in the gut.
“I don’t need you to do anything.”
“Dean, you know what I meant.”
“Yeah,” Dean didn’t have the energy to argue, “Can you, uh, grab me a coffee?”
Sam furrowed his brow, “Sure, man.”
Dean sneezed and Sam moved the tissue box over to his hip.
“Bless you. You hungry?”
Dean pulled a tissue out with clumsy, warm fingers and fitted it around his nose, panting through his mouth.
“Nah, I’m okay,” his voice was full of congestion and he blew heartily into the tissue.
Sam nodded at him, and left.
Dean crumpled his tissue up and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. The day had barely begun… and he was already praying for it to be over.
…
The impala trundled over a pothole and Dean winced, letting out a whimper as pain shot through his back.
“Hey, Dean?” Sam said.
He’d been muttering things throughout the whole ride, squeezing Dean’s sore shoulder any time he started to drift off. It was comforting but also a little annoying, because his body so badly wanted to sleep, or lose consciousness, whatever the difference even was. All he knew was that he didn’t want to experience this pain anymore. He just wanted it to stop.
“Mm,” he moaned, tensing his jaw as pain sparked again.
“Remember the time dad dropped us off at Bobby’s and he was supposed to teach us how to track and use the crossbow?”
“Got sick,” Dean mumbled.
“We both did,” Sam laughed, “Remember? And we spent the whole week on the couch, watching movies and playing cards.”
Dean smiled.
“And when we finally got better he took us out for burgers and to toss the pigskin around.”
“Best week ever,” Dean said with a lazy smile.
“Your daddy wasn’t happy,” Dean heard Bobby mutter from the front seat.
True. Dad wasn’t happy when he’d heard his boys hadn’t done what he’d asked them. Or that Bobby had high jacked their week of training and treated them to junk food, and sport, and card games. Maybe it was more the fact that he’d treated them like they were his sons, and like he knew better what boys needed. He did. And maybe that was why dad got so angry about it.
It took Dean another jab to his shoulder to realise that Sam and Bobby had been talking more, that time had passed and he’d drifted again.
“Dean? Wake up, man. Almost there.”
“’M awake,” he said, in a petulant tone.
…
Sam looked down at his brother’s face, pillowed on his leg as he lay on his back in the back seat. His feet were up on the seat, legs bent so he could fit his big frame across the small space without twisting his back. Sam could hear him breathing and it was quite worrying. Dean didn’t seem to notice the crackles and the hitching. It sounded like he needed to cough but Sam knew he couldn’t sit up. His back was so screwed from attempting to dig that grave. What the hell was he thinking? What if he’d done serious damage and needed another surgery? What if he’d done damage that surgery couldn’t fix?
“Sam, keep talking to him.”
Sam looked up, not realizing he’d stopped, deep in thought.
“Dean, man,” he put a hand on his shoulder.
Dean’s face had been screwed up in pain the entire trip so far, but now it was lax.
“Dean?”
Bobby glanced over his shoulder, “What’s going on, Sam?”
“Dean, open your eyes. Come on, Dean. Open your eyes, man… Bobby…”
Sam felt Bobby hit the pedal harder and the car lurched, travelling faster along the road to the hospital.
“Dean, come on. Wake up,” he was shaking him a little now, thinking that the pain of moving would wake him up.
“Sam, he breathing?” Bobby said.
Sam put a hand on Dean’s chest, leaned down to his face. There was a definite wheeze, but he was breathing.
“Yeah, not well… Dean, open your eyes,” Sam ordered, firmly. “He’s burning up, Bobby.”
“We’re almost there.”
“Dean, I need you to wake up,” Sam leant down and whispered, “I need you.”
Dean let out a little moan.
“Dean!” Sam called, shaking him again.
“Ahh! Sam,” Dean cried out, writhing up in pain.
“Sorry, man. I’m sorry. I know you’re hurting, but you just have to stay awake. Focus on my voice, okay?”
Dean reached a hand up and gripped Sam’s wrist.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sam, don't let me die…” Dean whispered, eyes glossy and tear filled.
“Dean, you’re not going to die,” Sam furrowed his brow, fear and panic in his voice.
“I don’t want to die, Sam.”
“I know, Dean,” Sam rubbed circles on his brother’s chest, “I know. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
Sam caught a flash of Bobby’s eyes in the rearview mirror, as they turned into the hospital, parking out the front in the emergency bay. Bobby got out of the car.
“I need some help out here!” he bellowed.
Sam gripped his brother’s hand as a tear slipped down the side of Dean’s face.
“Please, don’t let me die.”
…
Sam was glad to hear that Dean didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die, but living right now was so hard for him. That was the tragedy of it. He was in so much pain, so much physical pain that his body could barely endure any more, so much emotional pain that he was on the verge of a complete breakdown, staring down the barrel of catatonia, but he didn’t want to die, because he feared death more than anything. What he was going through right now, wasn’t even a fraction of the horrors of hell.
The ICU medical emergency team arrived in black, pushing trolleys full of medical equipment.
“… Oxygen sats… unstable… respiratory failure… get ready to intubate.”
Sam knew his brother was strong. He was stronger than him. Stronger than their dad. Stronger than anyone he’d ever known. And that’s why it was so hard to watch him break.
“BP’s dropping… central line, normal saline… Dean, can you open your eyes?”
Sam watched them cut off Dean’s shirt. He would hate that. That was his favourite black shirt. Now, he’d have to go shopping again for a new one. God, Dean hating shopping, especially for clothes. He bitched about everything, even when there was nothing to bitch about, Dean would find something that pissed him off.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move outside.”
Sam felt Bobby’s hand on his bicep. A nurse appeared at his other side.
“Excuse me, they just need some space to work. Follow me and we can have a seat out here. Do you want a cup of tea?” She said, guiding them both out into the hall.
Was this girl seriously asking him if he wanted a cup of tea? Seriously? A cup of tea would definitely solve all his problems. A cup of tea would stop him from worrying about his brother as they shoved a tube down his throat in the other room. A cup of tea would erase the fact that Dean had sold his soul and gone to hell. A cup of tea would change the fact that Dean had irreparably injured his back years ago. A cup of tea would heal Dean’s liver and cure him from his drinking problem and PTSD…. A cup of tea…
“We’re fine, thanks. Sam, come on outside,” Bobby was pulling on him again.
“I’m not leaving my brother,” Sam ripped his arm away, finally giving voice to the anger he’d had brewing inside.
“Dean’s going to be fine. I need you to get your head back in the game, and get your emotions under control. I can’t have both of you going off the deep end.”
“Bobby, Dean is lying in that room getting a tube shoved down his throat,” Sam’s voice was raised, bordering on shouting. He pointed back towards the room as he spoke.
“Right now I’m more worried about you, Sam!”
Bobby’s words shocked Sam into silence. He stood there gaping, unable to even think of a response.
“Dean is getting the help he needs. I know that boy’s going to be fine. All I can see right now is you shutting down. You’re both going crazy worrying so much about each other.”
Sam finally breathed, “How can I not?” he said in a small voice.
Bobby sighed, “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”
…
Bobby managed to get Sam to go outside for a breath of fresh air. He hadn’t even noticed that he had started to feel dizzy. Being outside in the breeze was good. They didn’t have any information on Dean at this stage. They needed to get him stable, test his blood, xray his back, ultrasound his liver, give him fluids, oxygen, antibiotics…
“Sam, talk to me,” Bobby said, sitting down on a bench.
Sam paced back and forth for a moment, chewing his lip before he relented.
“What are we going to do?”
“About what?” Bobby said, calmly.
“About Dean!”
Sam huffed a little in and out, chest heaving with his sighs.
“We take this one step at a time… that’s all we can do.”
Sam turned away, looked up into the inky black sky. There were no stars.
He heard a flutter.
“Hello.”
Sam jumped, turning to see Castiel sitting on the bench beside Bobby. Elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
“What in hell?” Bobby gasped.
“Heaven, actually,” Cas corrected.
“Cas?” Sam gaped, “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been… watching.”
“This is… this is great,” Sam said, “You can heal my brother.”
Castiel looked at the ground, brow furrowed.
“I can’t.”
“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Bobby grunted.
“You’re an angel, aren’t you?” Sam said incredulously, “So heal him!”
“I can’t,” Cas emphasized each word carefully.
“Why not?” Sam yelled, jaw tight.
“I have specific orders not to intervene.”
“Cas!” Sam shouted, “My brother is sick! He might die!”
“Sam,” Bobby grumbled.
“He won’t,” Cas said, sounding sure of himself.
“Then why?... Why put him through this?”
Cas looked down again. “I came by your house. Dean wouldn’t let me explain… he was displeased.”
“You spoke to Dean?” Sam stared at the angel.
“Since our meeting he has warded your house against me.”
Sam looked up at the sky again, light rain began to fall on his face. He closed his eyes.
“If Dean doesn’t want to talk to you, neither do I.”
“Sam, I -“
“Cas,” Sam interrupted, “You have to go.”
Bobby remained quiet.
“I want to help…”
“But you can’t heal him?” Sam asked again.
“No.”
Sam sighed, “Goodbye, Cas.”
Cas looked from Bobby to Sam, and then he was gone.
Sam wanted to punch something. He was so angry. He began pacing back and forth on the pavement, jaw working.
“Sam, let’s go back inside. Dean probably needs us now,” Bobby said in a calm voice.
Sam didn’t say anything, but he walked back inside, Bobby following behind him.
…
Oh, God, it’s happening again.
Dean thought he was in hell.
He felt the hard plastic in his throat. It was usually cold metal. Sharp. Tearing.
He was used to all the ways a person could be tortured, all the ways it hurt. He couldn’t grasp a thought in his head. They were rushing through, tapering off, disappearing.
“One, two, three.”
Pain! God, the pain.
He felt like his spine was melting. Liquid. Burned.
Burn, burn, burn.
His head burned. His brain burned. Everything burned. He was churning up inside.
He couldn’t see, couldn’t open his eyes. He could barely hear. It was like he was underwater. Oh. That was a new one. They’d never drowned him before.
He was cold. He was so cold.
He wanted to give up. He was so tired. He was in so much pain, and all for nothing. All to be in hell again. He wouldn’t get out this time. He couldn’t claw his way out again. Not again. Not again.
“Dean?”
Sammy?
“Hang in there, Dean. Please. We’re here, okay? They’re going to help you. You’re going to be fine. I promise.”
Dean felt a hand grasp his, and he felt his chest flutter. And somehow he knew… it would be okay.
…
Dean was in ICU for 3 days before he got moved to a ward. He had to share a room with an old guy who just had his hip replaced. He liked to bitch and moan about every other thing. Dean didn’t hold anything against him though, because nothing would be more annoying than sharing a room with him. He was still sick. Still had a cold. Still had pneumonia. He coughed all the time. Hardly ever slept. The nurses would come in and check him over, poke and prod him. He’d groan in pain. He was loud, annoying, dependent. God, he was pathetic.
Sam and Bobby took shifts sitting next to him reading the paper, reading a book, watching TV.
Eventually he got a room by himself. He didn’t ask why, because he already knew.
“Hey,” Sam said, walking in and pulling up a chair next to Dean.
“Hey,” he groaned, voice hoarse.
“How was your night? Bobby said you didn’t get much sleep.”
“When do I ever?” Dean asked, flicking quickly through his TV channels. He wasn’t really watching he just wanted something to do to keep his hands busy.
“Good point,” Sam laughed, but Dean heard the worry in it too.
“I’m fine, Sam. Relax.”
“I’m relaxed,” Sam said, then paused, “Dr Reid been in to see you yet?”
“No,” Dean coughed into his fist.
“Do you want the bed up?” Sam asked, fiddling with the bed controls.
“It’s fine. Leave it alone.”
“Geez, alright,” Sam put it back and sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples.
“Did you work last night?” Dean finally put the remote down and looked at his brother.
“Yeah.”
“Working tonight?”
“Yeah.”
Dean nodded.
“So, you got your… thing today.”
Dean closed his eyes, took a deep breath.
“Do you have to?”
“What?” Sam looked surprised.
“Do you have to bring it up, Sam? I know.”
“Sorry, man… I saw they want you to have another MRI.”
Dean felt his face heat up.
“Would you friggen stop!? I know. Alright? I know I have to have another MRI. I know I have to go into that friggen small little tube where you can’t even breathe. I know I’ll probably freak out and make a scene. I know I have to have a psych review. And I know they all think I’m crazy, because I can’t sleep, and I do stupid shit like break out of hospital and steal cars, and drink booze when my liver’s already failing, and I scream at night. And I’m losing my mind staying here, Sam. I’m losing my mind, and everyone knows it. I’m climbing the walls, man. I can’t… I can’t do it.”
When Dean finally looked at Sam his expression was pained, bordering on tears. And he wanted to take it all back if it meant Sam wouldn’t cry.
“It’s just a speed bump, Dean. It’s going to get better.”
“Will it? Because I’m still having trouble getting out of bed on my own, and what if I screwed up my back so bad it’ll never get better?”
“Dean…”
“Can you give me a minute?”
Dean wanted to get up and walk away. Because that’s what he did. He walked away, slammed doors, got in his car and drove to a liquor store or bar so he could drown his sorrows, go hunting, punch something, kill something, stumble back home bloody and sore and magically he wasn’t angry… but he couldn’t do that anymore.
Sam was getting up as there was a knock on the door and Dr Reid walked in.
“Good morning… is this a bad time?”
Dean tried to slow his breathing, rubbed a hand down his face.
“It’s as good as any, doc. Pull up a chair.”
Even though Sam was on his way out when the doc walked in, he didn’t leave. He probably knew Dean wouldn’t relay the correct information to him. He’d just pick out the most positive bits, the things he wanted to focus on and tell him that, make it seem like everything was fine. When everything would never be fine again.
“How are you feeling today?” Dr Reid said, sitting down.
“Well I won’t be running any marathons,” Dean joked, voice dry, face expressionless.
“Okay,” The doc got straight down to business, “Liver results aren’t bad. We’re going to keep up the vitamin injections. Nutrition is a big thing for you, Dean. Alcohol depletes you of nutrients, so you need to be eating the right things. Which isn’t a problem here, but it’s something you’ll need to watch when you go home.”
“Sounds delightful,” Dean offered, with a smile.
“How’s your chest feeling?”
“Still hurts when I cough,” He shuffled awkwardly on the bed.
“And you’re coughing pretty solidly through the night, aren’t you?” Dr Reid asked.
Dean nodded.
“How’s the pain in your back?”
The pain in his back was something he didn’t want to talk about. He didn’t want to give voice to it. Didn’t want to give it a name. Because it was so intense, so unrelenting.
“Pretty bad.”
He could feel Sam looking at him so he looked away.
“Mm,” Dr Reid hummed, “The xray was good, it didn’t show any additional damage but we need to do the MRI to make sure we know where that herniated disc is positioned. We’ll do that after lunch today.”
Dean nodded. He didn’t really want to talk anymore.
“Now, someone from mental health with be over to talk to you this morning. We just think with what you’ve been through, the severity of the nightmares, and your little Houdini act, it’s better for us to try and help and protect you in any way we can. This is about providing you additional support, okay? So, I know it’ll be hard to talk about, but just give them a chance.”
It almost sounded like he was pleading with Dean.
Dr Reid must have seen that Dean was never going to respond to that so he continued on.
“Tomorrow we’ll get the physio in to review you, and a dietician review. Is there anything you need at the moment? You can have some more pain relief if you need it.”
Dean cleared his throat, “Sure.”
“Alright, I’ll get the nurse to get you a painkiller. Do you have any questions for me?”
Dean had to stop himself joking about giving him a bullet instead. Normally, that wouldn’t have fazed him, but with his mental health in question, he kept his mouth shut.
“No,” he breathed, voice doughy.
“Thanks, doctor,” Sam said, like the good little boy he was.
“Rest up, alright?” Dr Reid gave Dean’s ankle a little squeeze and left the room.
Dean sighed, felt Sam’s eyes on him.
“I’m just tired, Sam,” he said eventually, turning his TV off.
“I know,” Sam replied, pursing his lips, eyes wide and glassy with emotion.
“You know I can’t stay here much longer, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” Sam nodded, “But you have to let them help you first.”
“One day,” Dean begged.
“No, Dean, please. At least till the end of the week. I can’t do all this at home for you.”
Dean felt that like a punch in the gut.
“I don’t need you to do anything.”
“Dean, you know what I meant.”
“Yeah,” Dean didn’t have the energy to argue, “Can you, uh, grab me a coffee?”
Sam furrowed his brow, “Sure, man.”
Dean sneezed and Sam moved the tissue box over to his hip.
“Bless you. You hungry?”
Dean pulled a tissue out with clumsy, warm fingers and fitted it around his nose, panting through his mouth.
“Nah, I’m okay,” his voice was full of congestion and he blew heartily into the tissue.
Sam nodded at him, and left.
Dean crumpled his tissue up and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. The day had barely begun… and he was already praying for it to be over.
…