Fic: Taking Some Time (SPN) Chapter Thirteen
Genre: Sick!fic, Epic, Slightly AU
Category: Gen
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby
Warning: Very mild language. Descriptions of Hell. Can be considered slightly AU as Dean is not healed from his old wounds when Castiel raised him from perdition. Angst.
Disclaimer: They're pretty, but they're not mine.
Summary: Dean is a little worse off coming off a hunt than he let on. He's fresh from hell and caring a lot of scars, physically and mentally. A bad back, bad shoulder, PTSD, insomnia, alcohol abuse, and a nasty virus to top it all off. Maybe the boys need to take a break and try to get Dean back on track. It might be harder than they thought.
Taking Some Time
Chapter Thirteen
Dean woke and the room was dark. TV still on, but muted, casting ominous shadows around, making it seem like things were moving when they weren’t. He felt dizzy, sick. Sam was asleep in the recliner. Bobby could be heard snoring in the guest room.
Dean could feel the heavy pressure in his chest and the desperate need to cough. He didn't want to. He knew it would hurt, but he couldn't help it. Once he started though, he couldn't stop. He needed to sit up straight but he was having a hard time moving that far. He started to panic when he realised the coughing wasn't slowing down. Tears in his eyes. Pain exploding everywhere.
"Dean?"
Sam's groggy voice sounded from the recliner and Dean was relieved he'd woken him up with his coughing, because he certainly couldn't call out to him in this state.
"Crap..."
Suddenly Sam was gone. And what the hell was he thinking leaving him like this? He was dying. He couldn't breathe. And Sam had abandoned him. He coughed and coughed. He could see stars across his vision. Knew he couldn't hold onto consciousness much longer.
"Here, it's okay," Sam said, the familiar hum of the nebuliser whirring beside them. "Slow it down, Dean. Breathe."
Dean finally got a breath and the coughing stopped. His face was stained with tears and he felt overly warm, hands and feet prickling.
Dean's half shut eyes peered over the mask at Sam as he rubbed a hand through his hair, eyes puffy from sleep.
"How did you get this sick?" he asked, seemingly to himself.
"Sorry," Dean panted, voice raw from the fit.
"Hey, no. Don't apologise-"
"'M sorry, Sammy... I'm sorry."
Dean knew Sam was right. He shouldn't have to apologise. It wasn't his fault. But it was hard for Dean to see how something wasn't his fault. Surely he'd done something to deserve it. Who was he kidding? Of course he deserved it.
"Stop it, Dean,” Sam said firmly, and apparently he's still been muttering it.
Dean only stopped talking when he coughed again. It didn't hurt so bad this time, the machine helping him catch his breath.
"You've got a fever again," Sam mumbled, brushing a hand across his forehead.
"What time is it?" Dean groaned.
Sam squinted at his watch, "Almost 4am."
"The movie finished," He breathed, closing his eyes.
"Yeah, dude," Sam laughed, "You were asleep within the first 20 minutes."
"You drugged me."
"Hey, those sleeping pills have you out so hard you don't have any nightmares. Everybody wins."
"Hooray for everybody," Dean grumbled, sarcastically.
"Hey," Sam said, like what's up with you?
Oh, Sammy if you only knew...
"Well, then talk to me, Dean."
Crap. He was doing that thing where he said his inside thoughts out loud. Friggen fevers.
"Okay, yeah, we gotta get you to bed. Get that fever down before your brains melt."
"Wouldn't be the first time..." Dean couldn't help but laugh, because it was either that or cry.
Sam's eyes were wide and worried, and Dean wanted to tell him don't worry, Sammy. But why shouldn't he worry?
"Can you make it to the bedroom?" Sam asked, sliding a hand behind his shoulders.
The neb had finished and the mask was no longer on his face, and when did that happen?
Sam tried to pull Dean forward, and if he wasn't in pain before, he was definitely in pain now.
"Ah! Stop-" Dean launched into another coughing fit.
"Crap, sorry," Sam said, hand spread across Dean's warm chest.
"Do you wanna just... stay here?"
Dean nodded, swallowing back a warm wave of nausea.
"You gonna be sick?"
Dean had to think for far too long. By the time he'd finished thinking Sam was shoving a bowl into his hand.
"M good," Dean swallowed again. His throat was on fire, "M not gonna."
"Okay, well just rest for a second. Catch your breath."
Dean didn't realise he was panting, chest heaving up and down like he was struggling for air.
"Slow it down. You're gonna make yourself cough again."
"Thought I was... supposed to be... coughing."
"Not till you're blue in the face."
"You're... blue."
Sam huffed a laugh, "Nice to see you can still think quickly on your feet."
"Shut up... bitch."
Sam laughed again, "Fine, jerk."
Dean grew warm and eventually he fell into a weird kind of sleep, where he could hear what was going on around him but couldn’t move his body. It was strange and frightening, but mostly he was too tired to care.
“What’s wrong, boy?”
“His fever’s back. I think it’s bad, he just conked out on me.”
“Where’s your thermometer?”
“Uh, it’s in Dean’s bathroom. Can you grab some wet washcloths too? We need to cool him down.”
“On it.”
He could hear Sam was worried, Bobby too, even though Bobby was better at hiding it. Dean always could see right through him.
Family don’t end with blood, boy.
Dean liked that Bobby was here. In all this, he’d never let him down, always cared for him. It was nice to be cared for.
“Dean, you with me? We gotta cool you down, okay? You’re spiking a pretty high fever.”
“Isn’t he supposed to be getting better? What’s he on the friggen antibiotics for?”
“Yeah, I dunno, Bobby. They don’t seem to be working… but then I haven’t been able to get the jerk to stop drinking.”
“Idjit.”
“Yeah… I don’t blame him though.”
“Yeah, must be tough. Can’t imagine what he’s going through.”
You don’t want to.
“Dean?”
…
Sam fisted a hand in his hair, tugging slightly. Dean had been completely out for a while. Still. Almost comfortable. As he knew it would, that gave way to the thrashing and the nightmares, even as they tried to lower his fever.
It had come down some. They’d been layering him with cool washers and he’d managed to choke down some Tylenol in one of his more lucid moments. The fever wasn’t the problem now though. He was clearly trapped in hell again, screaming.
“I’ve gotta call Maxine. Watch him,” Sam said, leaving Bobby beside Dean where he still lay on the couch.
Sam shut himself in his room, momentarily pressing his hands to his ears, because he could still hear Dean screaming.
He took a composing breath and dialed Maxine.
“Hello? Sam?”
“… Hey, Maxine.”
“Is everything okay?”
He could tell from her voice that she already knew why he was calling. He was kidding himself if he thought the walls of this house were going to hold Dean’s cries.
“Sorry about the noise,” he laughed, “Dean’s not having a good night.”
She paused, “That’s okay, Sam. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine… I was just calling to give you a head’s up and to apologise.”
“You don’t have to say sorry.”
Sam laughed again, feeling close to tears, “Did he wake the baby?”
“No,” he could hear the smile in her voice, “His crib’s on the other side of the house and he could sleep through an earthquake. Don’t worry about us.”
“Jesus, it’s 5am,” Sam sighed, looking at his watch.
“Hey, we’re used to getting up early. It’s no trouble. Just take care of yourselves. Let us know if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Sam breathed, feeling water pool in his eyes.
“No problem. Bye, Sam.”
“Bye.”
Sam sat on the end of his bed, lowered his face into his hands, listening to Dean continue to scream and Bobby trying to comfort him, and cried.
…
Dean didn’t so much wake up, as he did drift into consciousness. When he as dreaming he felt like he was at the bottom of the ocean, fighting with everything he had to get to the surface. When he did manage to break through and wake up, he still felt trapped under water, everything distorted around him. He wasn’t used to seeing this world. Not anymore.
“Dean?”
He groaned.
“You with us?”
Sam was sitting on the coffee table beside him, coffee cup in his hand.
“I think so,” Dean croaked, voice hoarse.
“Good,” Sam smiled.
“I take it, it was a rough night?” he asked, unsure really as to what happened.
“Rough morning. It’s almost 10.”
Dean closed his eyes, drew his eyebrows together.
“Geez… what did I do?”
“Nah, man, don’t worry about it.”
Dean glanced at Sam, “That bad, huh?”
“It’s fine…”
Dean closed his eyes again. His back was sore, he tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position but nothing was comfortable.
“Your back playing up?”
Dean thought about making some smartass comment but he didn’t have the energy.
“Yeah.”
“Your doctor’s appointment is in a few hours. Wanna have a shower?”
Dean groaned, then smiled, “Don’t know if I’m up for that yet, Sammy.”
“Okay, I’ll grab you some coffee,” Sam said, getting up on the table.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?” Sam stooped.
“Thanks.”
…
Dean sat soaking in the bath. He'd been in there for over an hour now. For some reason, it hadn't miraculously cured him. He didn't know what he was thinking. Yeah, years of torment and agony, solved by a warm bubble bath. Go screw yourself. It had felt good while the water was warm, airing on the side of hot even, scalding. But now he was just resting on his ass bone in luke warm water. Even the bubbles had deserted him. The pressure he felt on his sacrum, pressing in from all angels by angry, angry muscles, was making his thighs cramp up, his knees ache and his calves sting. One of his feet had pins and needles.
"Well, this is great," he said out loud. Gasping as a white hot poker stabbed into his hip.
How the hell was he supposed to get out of here? His back and legs were so stiff. Yeah, this had been a great idea at the start. Now, not so much.
He lifted his right elbow to rest on the edge of the tub and pushed up, trying to get his feet under him.
“God,” he groaned, as he found his feet, standing up.
He heard a thump on the door.
“Hey, you okay?”
Dean rolled his eyes, stepping out onto the bathmat, ever pressing a hand against the wall.
“I’m fine! Go away!”
Sam didn’t reply, so Dean knew he was just standing outside the door, hovering, waiting for him to slip up.
Dean looked in the mirror and tried not to see black eyes staring back at him.
You’re gonna die. And this, this is what you’re going to become.
He left the bathroom with his jeans on and nothing else. Sam was in the hallway as he expected.
“Need help with your shirt?”
Dean tried to avoid his gaze.
“Dean…”
“Yeah… alright.”
…
"So, do you want to start with the shoulder or the back?"
Dean sat hunched in the chair in the doctor’s surgery.
"I guess shoulder, doc," Sam spoke up, when Dean didn’t make any move to speak.
"Alright," Dr. Reid placed the films on the board and turned on the backlight. "Well, I read the report from the radiologist. I'd have thought you would have told me you'd been shot before..."
Dean faked a smile, "What difference does it make?"
"Well, it could make quite a bit of difference. So, you've taken a bullet to this shoulder… twice?"
Dean nodded, looking vague, "Yeah something like that."
"Okay... It appears that you haven't had any kind of medical treatment for this either time..."
"That's correct," Sam said, earning a glare from Dean.
"Well, you're quite lucky considering. It seems both times the bullet missed your collarbone, however, your scapula," he pointed, "this shoulder blade at the back here, has been shattered and healed over several times. It's not anything to worry about, the bones have formed nice calluses, and apart from the shape of the bone being slightly disfigured it shouldn't cause you any long term problems."
"Kay, get to the good stuff," Dean moaned.
The doctor gave a patient look and placed another film on the light box.
"The repeated dislocations have caused massive instability in the ligaments that hold your shoulder in place. You have a tear in your joint socket and also a complete ligament tear. That's a surgery job to fix. We'll do a minimally invasive procedure where we make a small incision and go in with some cameras and tools and fix the tears. The ligaments are all quite stretched as well so while we're in there we'll take a piece out of each one to make them shorter, and reattach them, to give you more stability in that shoulder joint."
Dean was pale, and swallowed like he was holding back vomit.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
Dean looked more annoyed now, "I'm fine. So, when does this all happen?"
"I think we should discuss your back first before we start booking things in."
Dean tapped his foot, and Sam knew he was close to exploding.
"The shoulder is the easy one... Your back is a little more complicated at this stage," Dr. Reid said, swapping out the pictures once again, "Now you said you first injured your back in a fall?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded, sweat beading on his brow.
"Okay, well, it must have been quite a traumatic event because several vertebrae were broken. A compression fracture is what we call it. Basically the bone is put under so much pressure it collapses on itself. Fortunately the bones haven’t shattered or fragmented, but I'm sure you can see something else very wrong with this image..."
Sam could. Anyone with two eyes could.
"Let me explain. These are your vertebrae here, in between each vertebrae are the discs. A healthy disc, like this one up here," he said pointing to a disc higher up in Dean's spine, "should be very light, almost white in the middle. That's the soft nucleus inside. When a disc is put under great pressure it can bulge, or even rupture, spilling out the nucleus into the back or the sides. This bright white line is your spinal cord. That carries all your nerves. About here," he pointed again, "is where the spinal cord ends and the nerve roots break off and run down into your legs. Right here," he pointed to the massive black blob in the middle of Dean's spinal cord, "is a large disc herniation. The entire disc has basically been crushed by the two fractured vertebrae. This is pushing on those nerves and that's why you're getting pain in your hips and legs, all the way down to your feet,” The doctor switched off the light and pulled up a seat in front of them, “Dean… this is an incredibly painful injury, I'm surprised you can still stand."
Dean smiled, but looked like he might pass out.
"So, what do we do?"
"Well, I wish that was the end of it... but sometimes when trauma happens after these discs have ruptured fragments of the herniation can break off and travel either higher or lower in your spinal column. You said the pain had got worse recently?"
"Yeah, well, it's hard to say when. It's hurt for a long time."
"I understand," the doctor nodded, "it seems some of the disc has broken off and has travelled lower down."
"How do we fix it, doctor? Surgery?" Sam asked, leg bouncing up and down.
The doctor sighed, "It's hard to say if we’ll be able to fix the herniation and the fragment with surgery."
"What do you mean?" Dean breathed.
"Well, the position the herniation is in, is right in the middle of the spinal cord. We could try and remove it but there's just too great a risk at further damaging those nerves."
"So, what are you saying to me?"
"We can do surgery to fuse the two fractured vertebrae. That’ll stop them from degrading or slipping and hopefully minimize some of your pain… the herniation, we won’t know until we get inside, but even then, it’s a long shot that we’ll be able to remove it all.”
"So, what does that mean exactly?” Sam asked, hesitantly.
“Right now it’s a matter of preserving what we have,” The doctor’s face turned dark, “and the pain may improve… but will most likely never go away.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Dean raised his voice slightly.
“I’m sorry.”
Sam sat back in his chair, flicking his eyes over Dean. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He could only imagine what Dean was going through.
Dean was white knuckling the arm of his chair.
“Dean,” Dr. Reid enquired, curiously, “what’s your pain like right now?”
Dean eyes lit, like there was fire behind them. He took a halting breath.
“It’s not great.”
“Scale of 1 to 10?”
100 billion…
“Probably a 7.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow.
“8.”
“Can I give you something for that? Would that be okay? Before we start discussing our options.”
Dean bit his lip and nodded.
Dr. Reid stood and walked over to his desk.
Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Sam, can you, uh, give us a minute?” Dean said, clearing his throat.
Sam was taken aback, but swallowed and nodded, “Of course, man. I’ll just be outside.”
…
Dean relaxed as the needle released sweet painkillers throughout his body.
“So, doc,” he said, “Give this to me straight. What am I looking at here?”
Dr. Reid clasped his hands in front of him.
“Shoulder surgery has a very high success rate. Your nerves have been damaged slightly by the dislocation but that should heal. Post surgery you’re looking at 6 weeks in a sling and up to 6 months recovery and rehabilitation. The back will take longer, and will require more rehab.”
“That’s if I get the surgery?” Dean clarified.
“That’s if you get the surgery.”
Dean’s head spun, “And what if I don’t?”
Dr. Reid sat back, “That’s your decision, Dean. I’m not going to say that your problems will be solved with this surgery. I wish I could, but I just don’t know. There’s too much to risk when we’re that close to nerves. However, without surgery it could get worse, much worse.”
“What are the other options? Are there any?”
“Just pain management. Epidural injections, painkillers, nerve blockers. But it’s trial and error.”
“Okay…”
“Should we get Sam back in here?”
Dean’s head was dipping. He was happily numb from the painkiller injection but he was still panicked, still storming inside.
“Book in the shoulder surgery. I’ll think about the rest.”
Dr. Reid put a hand under Dean’s right elbow to help him stand.
“Can I get you to sit up on the table first? I want to listen to your lungs again.”
…
Dr. Reid hadn’t been happy with the progression of Dean’s chest infection. The antibiotics weren’t working like he’d wanted them to. He prescribed him additional antibiotics with a stern talking to about alcohol use and antibiotic resistance. Blah, blah, blah. He gave him different painkillers that shouldn’t cause much dizziness and nausea. He checked his shoulder again to make sure he hadn’t damaged it further since the MRI.
"Now, how did you say you got this scar again?"
"I didn't."
Sam was practically jumping up and down in his seat in the waiting room by the time Dean emerged, pale and shaken, because what was worse than not knowing what was going on inside his body, was knowing exactly what was going on inside his body.
They got back home and Dean lay up on the couch, watching some crap on TV.
Bobby had to leave. He caught a case two states over. Said he’d be back before the surgery. Gave Dean a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder, and suddenly Dean felt like he was fifteen and his dad was leaving him behind to go hunt some monster without him, because someone needed to watch out for Sammy. Except this time it was Sam watching out for him.
And it couldn’t have killed him more.
…
Category: Gen
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby
Warning: Very mild language. Descriptions of Hell. Can be considered slightly AU as Dean is not healed from his old wounds when Castiel raised him from perdition. Angst.
Disclaimer: They're pretty, but they're not mine.
Summary: Dean is a little worse off coming off a hunt than he let on. He's fresh from hell and caring a lot of scars, physically and mentally. A bad back, bad shoulder, PTSD, insomnia, alcohol abuse, and a nasty virus to top it all off. Maybe the boys need to take a break and try to get Dean back on track. It might be harder than they thought.
Taking Some Time
Chapter Thirteen
Dean woke and the room was dark. TV still on, but muted, casting ominous shadows around, making it seem like things were moving when they weren’t. He felt dizzy, sick. Sam was asleep in the recliner. Bobby could be heard snoring in the guest room.
Dean could feel the heavy pressure in his chest and the desperate need to cough. He didn't want to. He knew it would hurt, but he couldn't help it. Once he started though, he couldn't stop. He needed to sit up straight but he was having a hard time moving that far. He started to panic when he realised the coughing wasn't slowing down. Tears in his eyes. Pain exploding everywhere.
"Dean?"
Sam's groggy voice sounded from the recliner and Dean was relieved he'd woken him up with his coughing, because he certainly couldn't call out to him in this state.
"Crap..."
Suddenly Sam was gone. And what the hell was he thinking leaving him like this? He was dying. He couldn't breathe. And Sam had abandoned him. He coughed and coughed. He could see stars across his vision. Knew he couldn't hold onto consciousness much longer.
"Here, it's okay," Sam said, the familiar hum of the nebuliser whirring beside them. "Slow it down, Dean. Breathe."
Dean finally got a breath and the coughing stopped. His face was stained with tears and he felt overly warm, hands and feet prickling.
Dean's half shut eyes peered over the mask at Sam as he rubbed a hand through his hair, eyes puffy from sleep.
"How did you get this sick?" he asked, seemingly to himself.
"Sorry," Dean panted, voice raw from the fit.
"Hey, no. Don't apologise-"
"'M sorry, Sammy... I'm sorry."
Dean knew Sam was right. He shouldn't have to apologise. It wasn't his fault. But it was hard for Dean to see how something wasn't his fault. Surely he'd done something to deserve it. Who was he kidding? Of course he deserved it.
"Stop it, Dean,” Sam said firmly, and apparently he's still been muttering it.
Dean only stopped talking when he coughed again. It didn't hurt so bad this time, the machine helping him catch his breath.
"You've got a fever again," Sam mumbled, brushing a hand across his forehead.
"What time is it?" Dean groaned.
Sam squinted at his watch, "Almost 4am."
"The movie finished," He breathed, closing his eyes.
"Yeah, dude," Sam laughed, "You were asleep within the first 20 minutes."
"You drugged me."
"Hey, those sleeping pills have you out so hard you don't have any nightmares. Everybody wins."
"Hooray for everybody," Dean grumbled, sarcastically.
"Hey," Sam said, like what's up with you?
Oh, Sammy if you only knew...
"Well, then talk to me, Dean."
Crap. He was doing that thing where he said his inside thoughts out loud. Friggen fevers.
"Okay, yeah, we gotta get you to bed. Get that fever down before your brains melt."
"Wouldn't be the first time..." Dean couldn't help but laugh, because it was either that or cry.
Sam's eyes were wide and worried, and Dean wanted to tell him don't worry, Sammy. But why shouldn't he worry?
"Can you make it to the bedroom?" Sam asked, sliding a hand behind his shoulders.
The neb had finished and the mask was no longer on his face, and when did that happen?
Sam tried to pull Dean forward, and if he wasn't in pain before, he was definitely in pain now.
"Ah! Stop-" Dean launched into another coughing fit.
"Crap, sorry," Sam said, hand spread across Dean's warm chest.
"Do you wanna just... stay here?"
Dean nodded, swallowing back a warm wave of nausea.
"You gonna be sick?"
Dean had to think for far too long. By the time he'd finished thinking Sam was shoving a bowl into his hand.
"M good," Dean swallowed again. His throat was on fire, "M not gonna."
"Okay, well just rest for a second. Catch your breath."
Dean didn't realise he was panting, chest heaving up and down like he was struggling for air.
"Slow it down. You're gonna make yourself cough again."
"Thought I was... supposed to be... coughing."
"Not till you're blue in the face."
"You're... blue."
Sam huffed a laugh, "Nice to see you can still think quickly on your feet."
"Shut up... bitch."
Sam laughed again, "Fine, jerk."
Dean grew warm and eventually he fell into a weird kind of sleep, where he could hear what was going on around him but couldn’t move his body. It was strange and frightening, but mostly he was too tired to care.
“What’s wrong, boy?”
“His fever’s back. I think it’s bad, he just conked out on me.”
“Where’s your thermometer?”
“Uh, it’s in Dean’s bathroom. Can you grab some wet washcloths too? We need to cool him down.”
“On it.”
He could hear Sam was worried, Bobby too, even though Bobby was better at hiding it. Dean always could see right through him.
Family don’t end with blood, boy.
Dean liked that Bobby was here. In all this, he’d never let him down, always cared for him. It was nice to be cared for.
“Dean, you with me? We gotta cool you down, okay? You’re spiking a pretty high fever.”
“Isn’t he supposed to be getting better? What’s he on the friggen antibiotics for?”
“Yeah, I dunno, Bobby. They don’t seem to be working… but then I haven’t been able to get the jerk to stop drinking.”
“Idjit.”
“Yeah… I don’t blame him though.”
“Yeah, must be tough. Can’t imagine what he’s going through.”
You don’t want to.
“Dean?”
…
Sam fisted a hand in his hair, tugging slightly. Dean had been completely out for a while. Still. Almost comfortable. As he knew it would, that gave way to the thrashing and the nightmares, even as they tried to lower his fever.
It had come down some. They’d been layering him with cool washers and he’d managed to choke down some Tylenol in one of his more lucid moments. The fever wasn’t the problem now though. He was clearly trapped in hell again, screaming.
“I’ve gotta call Maxine. Watch him,” Sam said, leaving Bobby beside Dean where he still lay on the couch.
Sam shut himself in his room, momentarily pressing his hands to his ears, because he could still hear Dean screaming.
He took a composing breath and dialed Maxine.
“Hello? Sam?”
“… Hey, Maxine.”
“Is everything okay?”
He could tell from her voice that she already knew why he was calling. He was kidding himself if he thought the walls of this house were going to hold Dean’s cries.
“Sorry about the noise,” he laughed, “Dean’s not having a good night.”
She paused, “That’s okay, Sam. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine… I was just calling to give you a head’s up and to apologise.”
“You don’t have to say sorry.”
Sam laughed again, feeling close to tears, “Did he wake the baby?”
“No,” he could hear the smile in her voice, “His crib’s on the other side of the house and he could sleep through an earthquake. Don’t worry about us.”
“Jesus, it’s 5am,” Sam sighed, looking at his watch.
“Hey, we’re used to getting up early. It’s no trouble. Just take care of yourselves. Let us know if you need anything.”
“Thank you,” Sam breathed, feeling water pool in his eyes.
“No problem. Bye, Sam.”
“Bye.”
Sam sat on the end of his bed, lowered his face into his hands, listening to Dean continue to scream and Bobby trying to comfort him, and cried.
…
Dean didn’t so much wake up, as he did drift into consciousness. When he as dreaming he felt like he was at the bottom of the ocean, fighting with everything he had to get to the surface. When he did manage to break through and wake up, he still felt trapped under water, everything distorted around him. He wasn’t used to seeing this world. Not anymore.
“Dean?”
He groaned.
“You with us?”
Sam was sitting on the coffee table beside him, coffee cup in his hand.
“I think so,” Dean croaked, voice hoarse.
“Good,” Sam smiled.
“I take it, it was a rough night?” he asked, unsure really as to what happened.
“Rough morning. It’s almost 10.”
Dean closed his eyes, drew his eyebrows together.
“Geez… what did I do?”
“Nah, man, don’t worry about it.”
Dean glanced at Sam, “That bad, huh?”
“It’s fine…”
Dean closed his eyes again. His back was sore, he tried to wiggle into a more comfortable position but nothing was comfortable.
“Your back playing up?”
Dean thought about making some smartass comment but he didn’t have the energy.
“Yeah.”
“Your doctor’s appointment is in a few hours. Wanna have a shower?”
Dean groaned, then smiled, “Don’t know if I’m up for that yet, Sammy.”
“Okay, I’ll grab you some coffee,” Sam said, getting up on the table.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?” Sam stooped.
“Thanks.”
…
Dean sat soaking in the bath. He'd been in there for over an hour now. For some reason, it hadn't miraculously cured him. He didn't know what he was thinking. Yeah, years of torment and agony, solved by a warm bubble bath. Go screw yourself. It had felt good while the water was warm, airing on the side of hot even, scalding. But now he was just resting on his ass bone in luke warm water. Even the bubbles had deserted him. The pressure he felt on his sacrum, pressing in from all angels by angry, angry muscles, was making his thighs cramp up, his knees ache and his calves sting. One of his feet had pins and needles.
"Well, this is great," he said out loud. Gasping as a white hot poker stabbed into his hip.
How the hell was he supposed to get out of here? His back and legs were so stiff. Yeah, this had been a great idea at the start. Now, not so much.
He lifted his right elbow to rest on the edge of the tub and pushed up, trying to get his feet under him.
“God,” he groaned, as he found his feet, standing up.
He heard a thump on the door.
“Hey, you okay?”
Dean rolled his eyes, stepping out onto the bathmat, ever pressing a hand against the wall.
“I’m fine! Go away!”
Sam didn’t reply, so Dean knew he was just standing outside the door, hovering, waiting for him to slip up.
Dean looked in the mirror and tried not to see black eyes staring back at him.
You’re gonna die. And this, this is what you’re going to become.
He left the bathroom with his jeans on and nothing else. Sam was in the hallway as he expected.
“Need help with your shirt?”
Dean tried to avoid his gaze.
“Dean…”
“Yeah… alright.”
…
"So, do you want to start with the shoulder or the back?"
Dean sat hunched in the chair in the doctor’s surgery.
"I guess shoulder, doc," Sam spoke up, when Dean didn’t make any move to speak.
"Alright," Dr. Reid placed the films on the board and turned on the backlight. "Well, I read the report from the radiologist. I'd have thought you would have told me you'd been shot before..."
Dean faked a smile, "What difference does it make?"
"Well, it could make quite a bit of difference. So, you've taken a bullet to this shoulder… twice?"
Dean nodded, looking vague, "Yeah something like that."
"Okay... It appears that you haven't had any kind of medical treatment for this either time..."
"That's correct," Sam said, earning a glare from Dean.
"Well, you're quite lucky considering. It seems both times the bullet missed your collarbone, however, your scapula," he pointed, "this shoulder blade at the back here, has been shattered and healed over several times. It's not anything to worry about, the bones have formed nice calluses, and apart from the shape of the bone being slightly disfigured it shouldn't cause you any long term problems."
"Kay, get to the good stuff," Dean moaned.
The doctor gave a patient look and placed another film on the light box.
"The repeated dislocations have caused massive instability in the ligaments that hold your shoulder in place. You have a tear in your joint socket and also a complete ligament tear. That's a surgery job to fix. We'll do a minimally invasive procedure where we make a small incision and go in with some cameras and tools and fix the tears. The ligaments are all quite stretched as well so while we're in there we'll take a piece out of each one to make them shorter, and reattach them, to give you more stability in that shoulder joint."
Dean was pale, and swallowed like he was holding back vomit.
"You okay?" Sam asked.
Dean looked more annoyed now, "I'm fine. So, when does this all happen?"
"I think we should discuss your back first before we start booking things in."
Dean tapped his foot, and Sam knew he was close to exploding.
"The shoulder is the easy one... Your back is a little more complicated at this stage," Dr. Reid said, swapping out the pictures once again, "Now you said you first injured your back in a fall?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded, sweat beading on his brow.
"Okay, well, it must have been quite a traumatic event because several vertebrae were broken. A compression fracture is what we call it. Basically the bone is put under so much pressure it collapses on itself. Fortunately the bones haven’t shattered or fragmented, but I'm sure you can see something else very wrong with this image..."
Sam could. Anyone with two eyes could.
"Let me explain. These are your vertebrae here, in between each vertebrae are the discs. A healthy disc, like this one up here," he said pointing to a disc higher up in Dean's spine, "should be very light, almost white in the middle. That's the soft nucleus inside. When a disc is put under great pressure it can bulge, or even rupture, spilling out the nucleus into the back or the sides. This bright white line is your spinal cord. That carries all your nerves. About here," he pointed again, "is where the spinal cord ends and the nerve roots break off and run down into your legs. Right here," he pointed to the massive black blob in the middle of Dean's spinal cord, "is a large disc herniation. The entire disc has basically been crushed by the two fractured vertebrae. This is pushing on those nerves and that's why you're getting pain in your hips and legs, all the way down to your feet,” The doctor switched off the light and pulled up a seat in front of them, “Dean… this is an incredibly painful injury, I'm surprised you can still stand."
Dean smiled, but looked like he might pass out.
"So, what do we do?"
"Well, I wish that was the end of it... but sometimes when trauma happens after these discs have ruptured fragments of the herniation can break off and travel either higher or lower in your spinal column. You said the pain had got worse recently?"
"Yeah, well, it's hard to say when. It's hurt for a long time."
"I understand," the doctor nodded, "it seems some of the disc has broken off and has travelled lower down."
"How do we fix it, doctor? Surgery?" Sam asked, leg bouncing up and down.
The doctor sighed, "It's hard to say if we’ll be able to fix the herniation and the fragment with surgery."
"What do you mean?" Dean breathed.
"Well, the position the herniation is in, is right in the middle of the spinal cord. We could try and remove it but there's just too great a risk at further damaging those nerves."
"So, what are you saying to me?"
"We can do surgery to fuse the two fractured vertebrae. That’ll stop them from degrading or slipping and hopefully minimize some of your pain… the herniation, we won’t know until we get inside, but even then, it’s a long shot that we’ll be able to remove it all.”
"So, what does that mean exactly?” Sam asked, hesitantly.
“Right now it’s a matter of preserving what we have,” The doctor’s face turned dark, “and the pain may improve… but will most likely never go away.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Dean raised his voice slightly.
“I’m sorry.”
Sam sat back in his chair, flicking his eyes over Dean. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He could only imagine what Dean was going through.
Dean was white knuckling the arm of his chair.
“Dean,” Dr. Reid enquired, curiously, “what’s your pain like right now?”
Dean eyes lit, like there was fire behind them. He took a halting breath.
“It’s not great.”
“Scale of 1 to 10?”
100 billion…
“Probably a 7.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow.
“8.”
“Can I give you something for that? Would that be okay? Before we start discussing our options.”
Dean bit his lip and nodded.
Dr. Reid stood and walked over to his desk.
Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.
“Sam, can you, uh, give us a minute?” Dean said, clearing his throat.
Sam was taken aback, but swallowed and nodded, “Of course, man. I’ll just be outside.”
…
Dean relaxed as the needle released sweet painkillers throughout his body.
“So, doc,” he said, “Give this to me straight. What am I looking at here?”
Dr. Reid clasped his hands in front of him.
“Shoulder surgery has a very high success rate. Your nerves have been damaged slightly by the dislocation but that should heal. Post surgery you’re looking at 6 weeks in a sling and up to 6 months recovery and rehabilitation. The back will take longer, and will require more rehab.”
“That’s if I get the surgery?” Dean clarified.
“That’s if you get the surgery.”
Dean’s head spun, “And what if I don’t?”
Dr. Reid sat back, “That’s your decision, Dean. I’m not going to say that your problems will be solved with this surgery. I wish I could, but I just don’t know. There’s too much to risk when we’re that close to nerves. However, without surgery it could get worse, much worse.”
“What are the other options? Are there any?”
“Just pain management. Epidural injections, painkillers, nerve blockers. But it’s trial and error.”
“Okay…”
“Should we get Sam back in here?”
Dean’s head was dipping. He was happily numb from the painkiller injection but he was still panicked, still storming inside.
“Book in the shoulder surgery. I’ll think about the rest.”
Dr. Reid put a hand under Dean’s right elbow to help him stand.
“Can I get you to sit up on the table first? I want to listen to your lungs again.”
…
Dr. Reid hadn’t been happy with the progression of Dean’s chest infection. The antibiotics weren’t working like he’d wanted them to. He prescribed him additional antibiotics with a stern talking to about alcohol use and antibiotic resistance. Blah, blah, blah. He gave him different painkillers that shouldn’t cause much dizziness and nausea. He checked his shoulder again to make sure he hadn’t damaged it further since the MRI.
"Now, how did you say you got this scar again?"
"I didn't."
Sam was practically jumping up and down in his seat in the waiting room by the time Dean emerged, pale and shaken, because what was worse than not knowing what was going on inside his body, was knowing exactly what was going on inside his body.
They got back home and Dean lay up on the couch, watching some crap on TV.
Bobby had to leave. He caught a case two states over. Said he’d be back before the surgery. Gave Dean a warm smile and a pat on the shoulder, and suddenly Dean felt like he was fifteen and his dad was leaving him behind to go hunt some monster without him, because someone needed to watch out for Sammy. Except this time it was Sam watching out for him.
And it couldn’t have killed him more.
…