FILLED: to hold the bones together 2/?
anonymous
October 12 2011, 22:33:34 UTC
Powers jots down a few notes from the monitor over Dean's bed and pats Sam on the shoulder. "I'll come by again in 30 minutes or so. He should be awake by then. Just remember what I said about keeping a cool head. You'll need to be his rock for a while."
Sam laughs a little inside at that one. Dean would sooner count on an actual rock to be his rock before he dreamt of depending on Sam like that.
But Sam nods and pulls another cramp-inducing chair up to Dean's bed as the Doctor leaves. He tries to keep focused on the top half of Dean's body at first, the pale freckles on his eyelids that Sam probably knows better than Dean himself, the thin hospital gown with tiny blue polka-dots, the nasal cannula, the IV, the blood pressure cuff. He even counts along with Dean's heart-rate for a while. But he can't help himself. It's like not slowing down for a car wreck. Which is impossible. In fact, he and Dean usually stop completely, see if there's anyone to pull from the wreckage.
So he looks; There's a thick bandage down the entire length of Dean's shin. A black ring about three inches below his knee holds-Sam counts them-seven thick pins in place, each one piercing the skin at a slightly different angle. Another three rings are bolted to the same scaffold, each another few inches towards his ankle, each with a couple more pins holding bits of Dean's bones in place like bicycle spokes. Sam can imagine what it's going to feel like. He can pretty much imagine what any kind of pain feels like if he lets himself. But he can't imagine how long it's going to take to disinfect those every day.
For twelve weeks. Jesus. How are they going to do this? Where are they going to stay? What are they going to do for insurance when the first bill comes due and it bounces back from their phoney address to accounting? How is Dean going to-
When Sam hears a small groan, he quickly turns back to Dean's face and grabs the bed's railing.
Dean peels his eyes open slowly, squinting beneath the harsh neon lights. His eyes take a minute to focus on Sam's face as he grunts, "Sam."
"Yeah, I'm right here," Sam says, and hold his breath as Dean's eyes wander down the length of the bed. "Don't... Don't freak out, man."
But Dean's eyes are already widening in shock. "Sammy? Why... Oh. Oh fuck."
"It's okay, man. Relax."
"Nuh-uh. S'not. Wh-why's my leg... Oh my God. Sammy?"
"Dean?"
"M' gonna be sick."
"Shit," Sam swears, and slams his thumb on the red call button on the side of Dean's bed.
FILLED: to hold the bones together 3/3
anonymous
October 12 2011, 23:28:52 UTC
After the initial shock wears off and Dean's been checked on and poked at by the nurse, Powers does her best to explain to Dean what to expect. Dean responds only enough to convince her that she doesn't need to repeat herself and keeps his eyes trained squarely on the tiles of the floor, clearly freaking out inside.
When she's done, Dean looks abut ready to throw up again, and probably would if he had the energy and/or anything left in his stomach. Sam isn't really sure what to do. Mostly because what Dean wants and what he actually needs always seem to be at odds with each other. Like right now, what he wants is probably for Sam to make some stupid Inspector Gadget reference. While what he needs is for Sam to squeeze his arm and tell him that it's okay to cry. And Sam doesn't really want to do either of those things. So he finds the TV remote instead.
"You wanna watch somethin'?" Sam asks.
Dean nods, the muscles in his face twitching in that odd way that move his ears a little. After years of close observation, Sam's learned this means he's holding back some pretty intense emotions.
He hits the power button and the screen flickers to life.
=-=
Dean's not awake much thanks to the massive doses of morphine they have him on, so Sam slips out the next day for a few hours to hit the shower and pick up a few key supplies. When he gets back Dean is transfixed on his leg, staring at it like Uri Geller up against one heavy duty spoon.
"That's not healthy, dude," Sam says, flipping the small table attached to the bed over Dean's lap.
"No fuckin' kidding," Dean says, his speech a little slurred from the drugs. He's alert though, and from the looks of it, in a decent amount of pain, so he's probably on the tail end of his dose.
"Should I get someone?" Sam asks, setting down the paper bag he's brought with him on the table in front of his brother. Dean shakes his head and squints down at the offering.
"S'that?"
"Take a look."
Dean unfolds the top of the bag and slips his hand inside.
"There's a really awesome diner down the street," Sam says, letting a little smile sneak up one cheek.
Dean holds the box in both hands and gazes through the cellophane window on top like he's seeing into another dimension.
"I couldn't remember which one you liked more, so I got you a slice of each kind they had," Sam explains. He waits for Dean to thank him, demand a fork, a glass of milk, something. But he just stares at it and pulls in his lips, his eyes clouding up just a little. And Sam knows why, though he thought the gesture might only have meaning to himself. But clearly he underestimated his brother's depth.
"Dean. I'm sorry," Sam says.
Dean can't keep it all in anymore. He clings to the edges of the box, crumpling it enough that he's probably crushed a coupe of pieces of pie, and a few tears slip down his cheeks. "Son of a a bitch, Sammy," he whispers.
There's a lot more Sam can do for his brother. A lot more he will do. But this, this is the thing Dean wants and needs all the same.
Sam laughs a little inside at that one. Dean would sooner count on an actual rock to be his rock before he dreamt of depending on Sam like that.
But Sam nods and pulls another cramp-inducing chair up to Dean's bed as the Doctor leaves. He tries to keep focused on the top half of Dean's body at first, the pale freckles on his eyelids that Sam probably knows better than Dean himself, the thin hospital gown with tiny blue polka-dots, the nasal cannula, the IV, the blood pressure cuff. He even counts along with Dean's heart-rate for a while. But he can't help himself. It's like not slowing down for a car wreck. Which is impossible. In fact, he and Dean usually stop completely, see if there's anyone to pull from the wreckage.
So he looks; There's a thick bandage down the entire length of Dean's shin. A black ring about three inches below his knee holds-Sam counts them-seven thick pins in place, each one piercing the skin at a slightly different angle. Another three rings are bolted to the same scaffold, each another few inches towards his ankle, each with a couple more pins holding bits of Dean's bones in place like bicycle spokes. Sam can imagine what it's going to feel like. He can pretty much imagine what any kind of pain feels like if he lets himself. But he can't imagine how long it's going to take to disinfect those every day.
For twelve weeks. Jesus. How are they going to do this? Where are they going to stay? What are they going to do for insurance when the first bill comes due and it bounces back from their phoney address to accounting? How is Dean going to-
When Sam hears a small groan, he quickly turns back to Dean's face and grabs the bed's railing.
Dean peels his eyes open slowly, squinting beneath the harsh neon lights. His eyes take a minute to focus on Sam's face as he grunts, "Sam."
"Yeah, I'm right here," Sam says, and hold his breath as Dean's eyes wander down the length of the bed. "Don't... Don't freak out, man."
But Dean's eyes are already widening in shock. "Sammy? Why... Oh. Oh fuck."
"It's okay, man. Relax."
"Nuh-uh. S'not. Wh-why's my leg... Oh my God. Sammy?"
"Dean?"
"M' gonna be sick."
"Shit," Sam swears, and slams his thumb on the red call button on the side of Dean's bed.
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After the initial shock wears off and Dean's been checked on and poked at by the nurse, Powers does her best to explain to Dean what to expect. Dean responds only enough to convince her that she doesn't need to repeat herself and keeps his eyes trained squarely on the tiles of the floor, clearly freaking out inside.
When she's done, Dean looks abut ready to throw up again, and probably would if he had the energy and/or anything left in his stomach. Sam isn't really sure what to do. Mostly because what Dean wants and what he actually needs always seem to be at odds with each other. Like right now, what he wants is probably for Sam to make some stupid Inspector Gadget reference. While what he needs is for Sam to squeeze his arm and tell him that it's okay to cry. And Sam doesn't really want to do either of those things. So he finds the TV remote instead.
"You wanna watch somethin'?" Sam asks.
Dean nods, the muscles in his face twitching in that odd way that move his ears a little. After years of close observation, Sam's learned this means he's holding back some pretty intense emotions.
He hits the power button and the screen flickers to life.
=-=
Dean's not awake much thanks to the massive doses of morphine they have him on, so Sam slips out the next day for a few hours to hit the shower and pick up a few key supplies. When he gets back Dean is transfixed on his leg, staring at it like Uri Geller up against one heavy duty spoon.
"That's not healthy, dude," Sam says, flipping the small table attached to the bed over Dean's lap.
"No fuckin' kidding," Dean says, his speech a little slurred from the drugs. He's alert though, and from the looks of it, in a decent amount of pain, so he's probably on the tail end of his dose.
"Should I get someone?" Sam asks, setting down the paper bag he's brought with him on the table in front of his brother. Dean shakes his head and squints down at the offering.
"S'that?"
"Take a look."
Dean unfolds the top of the bag and slips his hand inside.
"There's a really awesome diner down the street," Sam says, letting a little smile sneak up one cheek.
Dean holds the box in both hands and gazes through the cellophane window on top like he's seeing into another dimension.
"I couldn't remember which one you liked more, so I got you a slice of each kind they had," Sam explains. He waits for Dean to thank him, demand a fork, a glass of milk, something. But he just stares at it and pulls in his lips, his eyes clouding up just a little. And Sam knows why, though he thought the gesture might only have meaning to himself. But clearly he underestimated his brother's depth.
"Dean. I'm sorry," Sam says.
Dean can't keep it all in anymore. He clings to the edges of the box, crumpling it enough that he's probably crushed a coupe of pieces of pie, and a few tears slip down his cheeks. "Son of a a bitch, Sammy," he whispers.
There's a lot more Sam can do for his brother. A lot more he will do. But this, this is the thing Dean wants and needs all the same.
end
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*smishes them*
*smishes you*
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If we ask really nicely, can we get more? :D
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