Fic: Picking up the Pieces (SPN) Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Five
Dean took the pills and lay on the bench for a while, his head throbbing from what was probably a mild concussion. Riley carted her fingers through his hair and he almost let himself fall asleep at how tender the gesture was, but Sam had gripped his arm and kept him conscious. Eventually, once the relaxants and painkillers had made him suitably numb, they got him into the back seat of the impala. He coughed wet and long once he was upright, the fluid pooled in his lungs after his little stint at being horizontal. Sam took him home, Bobby waiting at the front door when he arrived to help him inside.
He was tired. His brain in a thick fog. He hated feeling like that. Drawing away from consciousness, being pulled down by a cocktail of prescription medication. By the time he was lying in bed, he couldn’t feel a thing.
“How you doing, man?” Sam’s voice was small, hushed in the quiet night.
Dean huffed, attempting a smile, “You know I could have kicked that guys ass?”
Sam looked down, laughing, but he didn’t raise his head again, and Dean knew he was crying. Because it was a lie… and they both knew it.
Eventually Sam just said, “Yeah, I know, man.”
…
Sam couldn’t help but choke up at Dean’s comment.
When he’d walked out the back to find Dean standing there, barely standing there, the guy advancing on him again, and Dean doing… nothing. It broke his heart. His brother didn’t even fight back. He didn’t lift and arm or clench a fist to throw a punch. He did nothing. He did nothing. Time ago Dean would have flattened that guy for even looking somewhat threatening. And in that moment Sam realized that that time had passed. Dean wasn’t a fighter anymore. Dean wasn’t strong anymore. Dean wasn’t a hunter anymore. And it broke his heart… But, what Dean was, was a brother. His brother. So, Sam decided that was all that mattered. And it was all that would ever matter.
“How’s he doin’?” Bobby whispered from the doorway.
Sam finally got up and left his brother’s side, pulling Dean’s door partway shut and entering the hall with Bobby.
“He’s asleep.”
“He hurtin’?”
Sam looked back towards the room and shook his head, “Nah, he was comfortable once we got him down. I think all the pills worked.”
“Well, that’s what they’re there for, I guess,” Bobby grunted as they both wandered out to the kitchen.
“I can’t believe that asshole,” Sam said through clenched teeth.
“Let’s not forget Dean did hustle the guy out of 500 big ones.”
Sam stared at the older hunter, “Are you seriously taking his side?”
Bobby snorted, “O’ course not. I’d sooner kill him myself… I’m just saying.”
Sam sighed, “Did you ever think there’d be a time where Dean would take a hit like that and not fight back?”
Bobby shook his head, “Not a chance.”
Sam leaned on the counter, head dipping.
“But, Sam, the boy is hurt. He’s sick. He’s not going to be how he used to be… not for a while anyway.”
“If Cas would just heal him,” Sam bit, feeling the anger creep up his neck.
“You know it goes deeper than that. Cas said so himself.”
“But it’d be a start, right? That’s all we need. Just… we need hope, Bobby.”
…
Sam was hurting. He was hurting bad. He’d carried Dean too much after working a full day. His chest was in agony, muscles tight around his broken ribs, tensing up to protect them but only making things worse. He whimpered as he rolled over in bed. He was sweating too, shaking slightly. It had been too long since he’d seen Ruby. Since he’d had a taste.
A kind of understanding dawned on him as he lay there, mouth watering. This was how Dean felt. The want, the desire, the need to get his hands on a bottle, to drink away all his problems. Dean’s drinking though, it didn’t really serve a purpose. His addiction did. He was doing good. He was saving people. He was getting revenge. He was going after Lilith. And he was going to fix this. He was going to help his brother. He was. He just needed some more demon blood… and a painkiller, shit.
He groaned again, pushing over onto his back. He couldn’t sleep like this. He was in too much pain. He tried to remember where he’d left Dean’s heavy duty painkillers… On the bedside table next to Dean, in case he woke up during the night.
Sam pushed himself up to sit on the edge of his bed and skimmed a hand across his chest, wincing.
Time ago Dean would have been in the next bed over, in a dingy motel room, waking up at the sound of him stirring and there to help him, get him whatever his little brother needed. But Sam had to remind himself once again the curse of passing time.
So he struggled forward himself, down the hall and into Dean’s room. He was bending over, snagging the pill bottle when Dean’s voice made him jump.
“What are you doing?” Dean asked, humour in his tone.
Little shit, Sam thought.
Sam dragged a hand down his face, “Jesus, you scared the crap outta me.”
“Gee, fancy that. When you’re the one sneaking around in my room.”
Dean sounded tired and sick, but these days he usually did.
“Sorry.”
“Ribs bothering you?”
Sam relented and sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed.
“Yeah, a little.”
“Well, I guess that’s mostly my fault…”
“No, it’s okay… What are you doing awake anyway?” Sam asked, fiddling with the cap on the bottle.
“Ah, you know me.”
Sam tipped a pill onto his hand, watching it come to rest in between the lines on his palm.
“Yeah,” he sighed, then knocked it back and dry swallowed it.
Silence past and Sam listened to Dean breathe, not ready to walk away yet, sensing something else was coming.
“Sam…”
“Yeah, Dean?”
Dean paused and licked his lips, “… I miss dad.”
Sam looked in his brother’s eyes, surprised the words had come out of his mouth.
“I know it’s been a couple of years now… and I know you didn’t always get along.”
“I miss him too, Dean,” Sam clenched his teeth, breathed out heavily.
Dean sighed, “It doesn’t get better with time. It only gets worse.”
“I know.”
“And I know you didn’t always believe it, or feel it, but dad loved you.”
Sam welled up. Dean didn’t often get emotional. He didn’t talk about these things. He’d built a fortress for himself to hide in. Strong walls. But all walls had cracks. Dean’s showed at night, when he had been left alone with his thoughts, when he was in pain, sick, vulnerable, and drugged out of his mind. It felt like an invasion to listen to Dean now, to let him say these things. But he obviously needed to. So, Sam listened.
“He always wanted the best for you, always wanted you kept safe… it was different with me.”
“Dean… he loved you too.”
“Yeah he did, but… he treated me differently. I had to look out for you. I had to look out for him. He changed after mom… He’d come home drunk, beaten. He always had a bottle in his hand.”
Sam waited for Dean to finish, listening to him breathe through the emotion.
“I never thought I’d become him.”
Sam saw Dean’s eyes shining in the moon light through the window, “You’re not, Dean. You’re better than him.”
“I want to get drunk. I do. I know I can’t. I know I’m not supposed to, but I do. I want to drink until I forget everything… until I can’t feel anything at all… I feel like I’m drowning, man… and I can’t get past it… I can’t.”
Sam gulped, feeling a lump in his throat.
“I don’t want you to waste your life,” Dean mumbled, almost too softly to hear.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, Dean. What does that mean?”
Sam waited a long time, then Dean cleared his throat.
“You should lie down before those pills knock you on your ass.”
“Dean…”
Dean coughed, and Sam thought it might have just been so he didn’t have to listen to what was coming next. He made a little gasping noise and tilted his head back a little, opening his airway. Sam patted his chest gently.
“Ya’alright?”
“Just wish it didn’t hurt to breathe,” he said in a halting, breathless voice.
“It’ll get better, man,” Sam said, wanting to say so much more. Wanting to tell Dean he’d never leave him. That staying with him and giving up hunting, giving up all of it wouldn’t be wasting his life.
“It’ll get better… I promise.”
…
Dean’s eyes were stinging so he rubbed them hard with his index finger and thumb, pressing down until balls of darkness and light swam across his vision. Tears were prickling in the corners so he rubbed them away.
Sam was still sitting on the edge of his bed, looking out the window, jaw working.
“I almost forgot to ask you,” Sam said, and Dean felt the air get sucked from the room, because he knew what was coming next, “How did your date go?”
Dean coughed again, grabbing a tissue from the box at his hip to spit into.
“I’ve had better dates,” he groaned, and Sam’s eyes stayed on him for a while, gathering information. They could talk to each other by now without saying anything at all.
“Did the pancakes suck?” Sam said finally.
Dean smiled, “The pancakes were awesome…” he ran a hand across his stomach, “Not so good the second time round though.”
Sam grimaced, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Dean closed his eyes, “Not really.”
“Should you talk about it?”
Dean swallowed, “I just… she’s not who I thought she was, I guess,” he paused, “I’m probably just being an ass.”
“You generally are,” Sam said without skipping a beat.
Dean hit him in the arm, then sighed, “I think I might have ruined it.”
“Look, man,” Sam sighed, “If something happened I’m sure you’ll be able to fix it, but you gotta ask yourself… is it worth fixing.”
Dean licked his lips, “Man, you get insightful at 3 o’clock in the morning.”
Sam laughed and put his head down, “You getting much sleep these days?”
Dean winced at a pain in his chest, “Enough.”
Sam nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, “I should get to bed.”
Dean returned the nod.
“Can I get you anything else?”
Dean pointed towards the power cord running from his heat pad, “Flick that switch on, will ya?”
…
Sam bent and turned on the heat pad, leaving it on level 4, one below the highest, knowing if Dean had the control he’d leave it on 5 all night. Sam groaned as he straightened, needle like jabs of pain stabbing through his ribs.
“Get some ointment on that,” Dean ordered.
Sam stood up, “Yeah, I will.”
“Good boy,” Dean smirked, “Night, Sammy.”
“Goodnight, dude.”
…
Sam woke up groggy. Weighed down. He wasn’t conditioned to Dean’s pain pills like his brother was. Checking his watch on the nightstand he realised it was after 10 in the morning. He’d slept through, since his head hit the pillow.
He dragged his aching body up and sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. As he became more aware of his surrounding it was clear to him that he was the last up in the house. He could hear Dean and Bobby talking in the lounge room, in the throws of quite a heated discussion, it sounded like.
He took a deep breath, winced as it pulled against his ribs.
“You can do it, boy. You just did it before.”
“Yeah, I know, Bobby. Give me five freakin’ seconds.”
“Would you stop your bitching and get on with it?”
“… Drill sergeant.”
Sam followed their voices down the hall. He was surprised to find Dean in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, lying on the floor on his back doing his exercises, Bobby crouched closely by him. What was unusual about the scene was that Dean’s hips were raised, a good ten inches off the ground in a near perfect bridge pose.
The way Dean was positioned, he couldn’t see Sam enter, which was probably a good thing as it looked like a lot of concentration was involved. Bobby, however, glanced over, widening his eyes as if to tell him not to speak or announce his presence.
“That’s it, son. Keep your back straight, tuck your chin in.”
Sam could see Dean trembling, letting out his breaths steadily, sweat on his temple. Dean had been given a set of exercises to do each day, Bobby and Sam had studied them up and had watched Dean do them every day since he was cleared after surgery. Bridge was on the list, but Dean had never been able to do it before. Until today. Until now.
Bobby’s hands hovered under Dean’s back.
“Okay, good. Come down. Nice and slow. You got it.”
Once Dean’s back was flat on the ground, Sam walked into sight.
Dean looked up, face a little pale but red on his cheeks and around his hairline, sweat flecked across his forehead and upper lip. He was breathing through his mouth, a hand pressing down on his chest like he was sore. But he smiled, pride in his latest victory dripping off him.
“Heya, Sammy.”
“Man, what the heck? You just did that for like ten seconds. That’s awesome!”
Bobby looked down at Dean, sitting back on his heels, “He’s done it three times this morning.”
Dean grinned and closed his eyes, clearly exhausted.
“Dude, how is it you get beat up and are better than you were before?”
Dean sighed, and allowed the assistance from Sam and Bobby to stand.
“I’m not better,” Dean moaned, pulling up his shirt and exposing the bruise on his side, “Just more… motivated.”
Sam furrowed his brow, “Dean - ”
“Don’t, Sam,” he muttered, walking into the kitchen, “The shit almost hit the fan last night… I can’t just keep biding my time on this. I can’t put my hope and trust in angels. The only way out of this is through it.”
Dean lay his hands on the bench and coughed towards the ground. It rattled thickly at first but tapered off towards the end.
Sam sighed, “How’s your breathing? You shouldn’t be lying flat, even to do those exercises.”
Dean rolled his eyes, “Sam, please.”
“Alright, boys. That’s enough,” Bobby said calmly.
“I just don’t want -“
“I get it, Sam. I do. You don’t want me doing something stupid and going backwards, but I’m alright, okay? I promise. And I’ll tell you the minute I’m not.”
Sam stared at his brother for a moment, Bobby silent beside him.
“Deal?” Dean rasped, wiping sweat from his brow.
Sam nodded, “Yeah… yeah. Deal.”
“Good,” Dean breathed, letting a smile tug at his lips, “Now make me a sandwich.”
…
Dean took the pills and lay on the bench for a while, his head throbbing from what was probably a mild concussion. Riley carted her fingers through his hair and he almost let himself fall asleep at how tender the gesture was, but Sam had gripped his arm and kept him conscious. Eventually, once the relaxants and painkillers had made him suitably numb, they got him into the back seat of the impala. He coughed wet and long once he was upright, the fluid pooled in his lungs after his little stint at being horizontal. Sam took him home, Bobby waiting at the front door when he arrived to help him inside.
He was tired. His brain in a thick fog. He hated feeling like that. Drawing away from consciousness, being pulled down by a cocktail of prescription medication. By the time he was lying in bed, he couldn’t feel a thing.
“How you doing, man?” Sam’s voice was small, hushed in the quiet night.
Dean huffed, attempting a smile, “You know I could have kicked that guys ass?”
Sam looked down, laughing, but he didn’t raise his head again, and Dean knew he was crying. Because it was a lie… and they both knew it.
Eventually Sam just said, “Yeah, I know, man.”
…
Sam couldn’t help but choke up at Dean’s comment.
When he’d walked out the back to find Dean standing there, barely standing there, the guy advancing on him again, and Dean doing… nothing. It broke his heart. His brother didn’t even fight back. He didn’t lift and arm or clench a fist to throw a punch. He did nothing. He did nothing. Time ago Dean would have flattened that guy for even looking somewhat threatening. And in that moment Sam realized that that time had passed. Dean wasn’t a fighter anymore. Dean wasn’t strong anymore. Dean wasn’t a hunter anymore. And it broke his heart… But, what Dean was, was a brother. His brother. So, Sam decided that was all that mattered. And it was all that would ever matter.
“How’s he doin’?” Bobby whispered from the doorway.
Sam finally got up and left his brother’s side, pulling Dean’s door partway shut and entering the hall with Bobby.
“He’s asleep.”
“He hurtin’?”
Sam looked back towards the room and shook his head, “Nah, he was comfortable once we got him down. I think all the pills worked.”
“Well, that’s what they’re there for, I guess,” Bobby grunted as they both wandered out to the kitchen.
“I can’t believe that asshole,” Sam said through clenched teeth.
“Let’s not forget Dean did hustle the guy out of 500 big ones.”
Sam stared at the older hunter, “Are you seriously taking his side?”
Bobby snorted, “O’ course not. I’d sooner kill him myself… I’m just saying.”
Sam sighed, “Did you ever think there’d be a time where Dean would take a hit like that and not fight back?”
Bobby shook his head, “Not a chance.”
Sam leaned on the counter, head dipping.
“But, Sam, the boy is hurt. He’s sick. He’s not going to be how he used to be… not for a while anyway.”
“If Cas would just heal him,” Sam bit, feeling the anger creep up his neck.
“You know it goes deeper than that. Cas said so himself.”
“But it’d be a start, right? That’s all we need. Just… we need hope, Bobby.”
…
Sam was hurting. He was hurting bad. He’d carried Dean too much after working a full day. His chest was in agony, muscles tight around his broken ribs, tensing up to protect them but only making things worse. He whimpered as he rolled over in bed. He was sweating too, shaking slightly. It had been too long since he’d seen Ruby. Since he’d had a taste.
A kind of understanding dawned on him as he lay there, mouth watering. This was how Dean felt. The want, the desire, the need to get his hands on a bottle, to drink away all his problems. Dean’s drinking though, it didn’t really serve a purpose. His addiction did. He was doing good. He was saving people. He was getting revenge. He was going after Lilith. And he was going to fix this. He was going to help his brother. He was. He just needed some more demon blood… and a painkiller, shit.
He groaned again, pushing over onto his back. He couldn’t sleep like this. He was in too much pain. He tried to remember where he’d left Dean’s heavy duty painkillers… On the bedside table next to Dean, in case he woke up during the night.
Sam pushed himself up to sit on the edge of his bed and skimmed a hand across his chest, wincing.
Time ago Dean would have been in the next bed over, in a dingy motel room, waking up at the sound of him stirring and there to help him, get him whatever his little brother needed. But Sam had to remind himself once again the curse of passing time.
So he struggled forward himself, down the hall and into Dean’s room. He was bending over, snagging the pill bottle when Dean’s voice made him jump.
“What are you doing?” Dean asked, humour in his tone.
Little shit, Sam thought.
Sam dragged a hand down his face, “Jesus, you scared the crap outta me.”
“Gee, fancy that. When you’re the one sneaking around in my room.”
Dean sounded tired and sick, but these days he usually did.
“Sorry.”
“Ribs bothering you?”
Sam relented and sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed.
“Yeah, a little.”
“Well, I guess that’s mostly my fault…”
“No, it’s okay… What are you doing awake anyway?” Sam asked, fiddling with the cap on the bottle.
“Ah, you know me.”
Sam tipped a pill onto his hand, watching it come to rest in between the lines on his palm.
“Yeah,” he sighed, then knocked it back and dry swallowed it.
Silence past and Sam listened to Dean breathe, not ready to walk away yet, sensing something else was coming.
“Sam…”
“Yeah, Dean?”
Dean paused and licked his lips, “… I miss dad.”
Sam looked in his brother’s eyes, surprised the words had come out of his mouth.
“I know it’s been a couple of years now… and I know you didn’t always get along.”
“I miss him too, Dean,” Sam clenched his teeth, breathed out heavily.
Dean sighed, “It doesn’t get better with time. It only gets worse.”
“I know.”
“And I know you didn’t always believe it, or feel it, but dad loved you.”
Sam welled up. Dean didn’t often get emotional. He didn’t talk about these things. He’d built a fortress for himself to hide in. Strong walls. But all walls had cracks. Dean’s showed at night, when he had been left alone with his thoughts, when he was in pain, sick, vulnerable, and drugged out of his mind. It felt like an invasion to listen to Dean now, to let him say these things. But he obviously needed to. So, Sam listened.
“He always wanted the best for you, always wanted you kept safe… it was different with me.”
“Dean… he loved you too.”
“Yeah he did, but… he treated me differently. I had to look out for you. I had to look out for him. He changed after mom… He’d come home drunk, beaten. He always had a bottle in his hand.”
Sam waited for Dean to finish, listening to him breathe through the emotion.
“I never thought I’d become him.”
Sam saw Dean’s eyes shining in the moon light through the window, “You’re not, Dean. You’re better than him.”
“I want to get drunk. I do. I know I can’t. I know I’m not supposed to, but I do. I want to drink until I forget everything… until I can’t feel anything at all… I feel like I’m drowning, man… and I can’t get past it… I can’t.”
Sam gulped, feeling a lump in his throat.
“I don’t want you to waste your life,” Dean mumbled, almost too softly to hear.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, Dean. What does that mean?”
Sam waited a long time, then Dean cleared his throat.
“You should lie down before those pills knock you on your ass.”
“Dean…”
Dean coughed, and Sam thought it might have just been so he didn’t have to listen to what was coming next. He made a little gasping noise and tilted his head back a little, opening his airway. Sam patted his chest gently.
“Ya’alright?”
“Just wish it didn’t hurt to breathe,” he said in a halting, breathless voice.
“It’ll get better, man,” Sam said, wanting to say so much more. Wanting to tell Dean he’d never leave him. That staying with him and giving up hunting, giving up all of it wouldn’t be wasting his life.
“It’ll get better… I promise.”
…
Dean’s eyes were stinging so he rubbed them hard with his index finger and thumb, pressing down until balls of darkness and light swam across his vision. Tears were prickling in the corners so he rubbed them away.
Sam was still sitting on the edge of his bed, looking out the window, jaw working.
“I almost forgot to ask you,” Sam said, and Dean felt the air get sucked from the room, because he knew what was coming next, “How did your date go?”
Dean coughed again, grabbing a tissue from the box at his hip to spit into.
“I’ve had better dates,” he groaned, and Sam’s eyes stayed on him for a while, gathering information. They could talk to each other by now without saying anything at all.
“Did the pancakes suck?” Sam said finally.
Dean smiled, “The pancakes were awesome…” he ran a hand across his stomach, “Not so good the second time round though.”
Sam grimaced, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Dean closed his eyes, “Not really.”
“Should you talk about it?”
Dean swallowed, “I just… she’s not who I thought she was, I guess,” he paused, “I’m probably just being an ass.”
“You generally are,” Sam said without skipping a beat.
Dean hit him in the arm, then sighed, “I think I might have ruined it.”
“Look, man,” Sam sighed, “If something happened I’m sure you’ll be able to fix it, but you gotta ask yourself… is it worth fixing.”
Dean licked his lips, “Man, you get insightful at 3 o’clock in the morning.”
Sam laughed and put his head down, “You getting much sleep these days?”
Dean winced at a pain in his chest, “Enough.”
Sam nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer, “I should get to bed.”
Dean returned the nod.
“Can I get you anything else?”
Dean pointed towards the power cord running from his heat pad, “Flick that switch on, will ya?”
…
Sam bent and turned on the heat pad, leaving it on level 4, one below the highest, knowing if Dean had the control he’d leave it on 5 all night. Sam groaned as he straightened, needle like jabs of pain stabbing through his ribs.
“Get some ointment on that,” Dean ordered.
Sam stood up, “Yeah, I will.”
“Good boy,” Dean smirked, “Night, Sammy.”
“Goodnight, dude.”
…
Sam woke up groggy. Weighed down. He wasn’t conditioned to Dean’s pain pills like his brother was. Checking his watch on the nightstand he realised it was after 10 in the morning. He’d slept through, since his head hit the pillow.
He dragged his aching body up and sat on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his hair. As he became more aware of his surrounding it was clear to him that he was the last up in the house. He could hear Dean and Bobby talking in the lounge room, in the throws of quite a heated discussion, it sounded like.
He took a deep breath, winced as it pulled against his ribs.
“You can do it, boy. You just did it before.”
“Yeah, I know, Bobby. Give me five freakin’ seconds.”
“Would you stop your bitching and get on with it?”
“… Drill sergeant.”
Sam followed their voices down the hall. He was surprised to find Dean in loose sweatpants and a t-shirt, lying on the floor on his back doing his exercises, Bobby crouched closely by him. What was unusual about the scene was that Dean’s hips were raised, a good ten inches off the ground in a near perfect bridge pose.
The way Dean was positioned, he couldn’t see Sam enter, which was probably a good thing as it looked like a lot of concentration was involved. Bobby, however, glanced over, widening his eyes as if to tell him not to speak or announce his presence.
“That’s it, son. Keep your back straight, tuck your chin in.”
Sam could see Dean trembling, letting out his breaths steadily, sweat on his temple. Dean had been given a set of exercises to do each day, Bobby and Sam had studied them up and had watched Dean do them every day since he was cleared after surgery. Bridge was on the list, but Dean had never been able to do it before. Until today. Until now.
Bobby’s hands hovered under Dean’s back.
“Okay, good. Come down. Nice and slow. You got it.”
Once Dean’s back was flat on the ground, Sam walked into sight.
Dean looked up, face a little pale but red on his cheeks and around his hairline, sweat flecked across his forehead and upper lip. He was breathing through his mouth, a hand pressing down on his chest like he was sore. But he smiled, pride in his latest victory dripping off him.
“Heya, Sammy.”
“Man, what the heck? You just did that for like ten seconds. That’s awesome!”
Bobby looked down at Dean, sitting back on his heels, “He’s done it three times this morning.”
Dean grinned and closed his eyes, clearly exhausted.
“Dude, how is it you get beat up and are better than you were before?”
Dean sighed, and allowed the assistance from Sam and Bobby to stand.
“I’m not better,” Dean moaned, pulling up his shirt and exposing the bruise on his side, “Just more… motivated.”
Sam furrowed his brow, “Dean - ”
“Don’t, Sam,” he muttered, walking into the kitchen, “The shit almost hit the fan last night… I can’t just keep biding my time on this. I can’t put my hope and trust in angels. The only way out of this is through it.”
Dean lay his hands on the bench and coughed towards the ground. It rattled thickly at first but tapered off towards the end.
Sam sighed, “How’s your breathing? You shouldn’t be lying flat, even to do those exercises.”
Dean rolled his eyes, “Sam, please.”
“Alright, boys. That’s enough,” Bobby said calmly.
“I just don’t want -“
“I get it, Sam. I do. You don’t want me doing something stupid and going backwards, but I’m alright, okay? I promise. And I’ll tell you the minute I’m not.”
Sam stared at his brother for a moment, Bobby silent beside him.
“Deal?” Dean rasped, wiping sweat from his brow.
Sam nodded, “Yeah… yeah. Deal.”
“Good,” Dean breathed, letting a smile tug at his lips, “Now make me a sandwich.”
…