Lunatic Chapter 3
AUTHOR:Scullspeare 
SUMMARY: In the midst of snowstorm, a stranger runs into an injured and hypothermic Sam. His memory is spotty; he knows that a hunt went sideways and that Dean's in trouble-he just doesn't know where he is. Outsider POV.
RATING: PG-13 for swearing.
GENRE: Gen/Hurt-Comfort
Link back to Chapter 2 Here
LUNATIC - CHAPTER THREE
Three days later, when both brothers were on the mend, I stopped by the hospital.
When I walked into Dean’s room, the head of his bed was propped up to a 45-degree angle and he was watching TV-or, more specifically, flipping mindlessly through the channels, looking bored out of his skull. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse.” Dean glanced up at me, his scowl confirming the sentiment, then continued jamming his thumb against the remote, changing the channels. “Nothing but soaps and talk shows-and what they talk about makes my ears bleed.” He turned off the TV in disgust and dropped the remote on the bed. “If a man’s gonna heal, he needs more than basic cable.”
Can’t say I was surprised that Dean was champing at the bit; he’d been stuck in that tunnel for close to nine hours by the time EMTs got him out, and now he’d been bedridden for almost four days. He didn’t strike me as a man used to that kind of down time. “They’ve already sprung Sam, huh?”
“Yeah, lucky bastard.” Despite the snark, relief was evident in Dean’s voice. “They won’t let him drive for a week, but he’ll be fine.”
“That’s good to hear. Oh, and speaking of driving….” I reached into my pocket, pulled out a set of keys and dropped them on the table at Dean’s bedside. “Took a bit of digging but I got your car out. She’s all cleaned off and parked out front. She’s a beauty, by the way.”
“That she is.” Dean’s expression softened briefly as he stared at the keys, then his scowl returned. “And she hates the snow as much as I do. Once Sammy gets back, we’re outta here and heading south…not stopping ’til we see palm trees.”
“Can’t say I blame you.” I glanced at Dean’s side, picturing the bandages hidden beneath his hospital gown; doctors had kept the wound open while they got the infection under control, hence the need for Dean’s extended hospital stay. “So you’re finally stitched up?”
Dean nodded, then held up his left arm, an IV shunt still taped to the back of his hand. "The industrial strength meds kicked the infection's ass. Once this batch is done, they switch me to pills, and that means I'm free to go."
“That’s great news. And to celebrate….” I held up the brown paper bag I’d brought with me, then set it down on the nightstand. “A little medicine of a different sort-for when you get home. I seem to remember something about you appreciating a good scotch.”
“You remember right.” Dean’s expression brightened noticeably. “But screw the when you get home crap.” He reached for the empty water glass on the table pushed over his bed, his arm wrapped protectively around his abdomen as he leaned forward. “Let’s crack it open right now.”
“Um….” I gestured to the IV in his left arm. “Scotch and antibiotics-is that such a hot idea?”
“No, it isn’t.” Sam walked into the room carrying a tall paper cup, and with a knapsack slung over his shoulder. He had three butterfly bandages holding together the cut across his forehead and was still pale, but he looked a helluva lot healthier than when he’d been wheeled into the ER a few days earlier.
He nodded a greeting at me, then set down the cup in front of his brother. “As long as you’re medicated, coffee’s the strongest thing you get-and even then, only decaf.”
“Decaf.” Dean’s scowl returned. “Why even bother? It’s just colored water.”
“Sorry, dude.” Sam shrugged sympathetically. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Well screw doctor’s orders-that’s just one more reason to get the hell out of Dodge.” Dean reached over to yank the IV from his arm.
Sam grabbed his hand, stopping him. “No. You need-”
“I need to get out of here.” Dean batted away Sam’s arm, then scrubbed a hand down his face. “They patched me back together and the infection’s under control. Now I’m just lying in bed. That I can do at home-but with good TV, good coffee and a glass of that good scotch our architect friend here just brought me.”
“Scotch, huh?” Sam glanced up at me and smiled. “Great minds think alike.” He reached into his pack, pulled out a brown paper bag and passed it to me. “As thanks-for putting your ass on the line to save ours.”
I accepted the bottle gratefully, but shrugged. “I just did what anyone would have done.”
The brothers snorted in unison.
Sam shook his head. “Trust me, there are plenty of people who would have seen me in the snow, written me off as a nutcase and just kept right on trucking.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Dean popped the lid off his cup of coffee and sniffed the contents suspiciously. “Tell me something-knowing what you know now, after everything you’ve seen….” He took a sip, grimaced at the taste, then glanced up at me. “Bet you wish you’d done the same-kept right on trucking, I mean?”
“No…. No way.” I shook my head. “I don’t ever want to be that guy. Sure, I’m still trying to process everything I saw down in the tunnels, everything you told me…. I’m not sure I ever will fully, but….” I glanced from Dean to Sam. “Look, you see someone who needs help, you help them. End of story. I’d say that’s a concept you two have a pretty good handle on.”
Dean shrugged. “We do what we do….” He glanced over at the bottle of scotch on the nightstand. “We just don’t get thanked very often.”
I smiled. “Well, consider this an official thank you. The condos planned for the asylum property will house hundreds of people. If you two hadn’t…cleaned things up, well…a lot more people would’ve got hurt.”
Both brothers looked uncomfortable with the praise.
“OK, things are getting way too chick-flicky for me.” Dean set down his coffee on the bed table and turned to Sam. “You got my papers, right? We’re good to go-without that WWE-reject of an orderly chasing after me again?”
Sam bit back a smile. “His name is Carl and that served you right for trying a middle-of-night escape-on crutches.”
“Shut up.” Now Dean just looked grumpy. “And if they hadn’t just polished the floor, I would’ve made it.”
Sam’s smile widened. “Look, your doc’s filling out the paperwork…said she’ll swing by in less than an hour. Then we’re good to go-officially. I’ll even drive the getaway car.”
“The hell you will.” Dean jabbed a finger at his brother. “Your license is suspended for a week-even longer if you keep being a bitch.”
Now I was smiling; listening to the two of them verbally joust made me miss my own brothers. I made a mental note to call my youngest brother and hassle him for old time’s sake.
“OK, peace offering.” Sam reached into his backpack. “I got this from a bakery around the corner.” He pulled out a clear plastic container. “An hour should be just enough time for you to polish it off.”
Dean frowned at the container Sam placed on the table; it held what appeared to be a gigantic slice of cake covered in white frosting. “Cake? Sammy, we’ve had this conversation-cake is not the same thing as pie.”
“This cake is.” Sam turned the container so Dean could see each of the layers. “Look closer-there’s a slice of pie baked into each layer. They call it….” He peered at the label on the side of the container. “Cherpumple.”
Dean snorted as he pulled the container towards him. “What kind of dumb-ass name is that?”
Sam grinned. “It’s the three kinds of pie it’s made with-cherry, pumpkin and apple.”
“Seriously?” Dean popped open the lid.
“As a heart attack.” Sam set down a plastic fork beside the container. “Which is probably what that thing will give you, but at least you’ll die a happy man.”
“Son of a bitch….” Dean picked up the fork and scooped up a big piece of the whatever Sam had called it. As he ate, well, let’s just say it was the happiest I’d seen Dean since I’d met him.
Dean pointed his fork at Sam. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten-I still owe you an ass-kicking for scaring the crap out of me when you went AWOL. But for the next five minutes, or however long it takes me to eat this, you’re off the hook. Damn, Sammy…this is like the best dessert ever.”
These Winchester brothers; they were definitely one of a kind.
Finis
A/N: The Danvers Asylum is a real place and the history used in this fic all based in fact. The asylum was demolished, condos were built on the site-and they mysteriously burned down, before being rebuilt. Vandals were blamed; whether or not they were the supernatural kind, you can decide. :-) Oh, and the tunnels really exist, too. As for Cherpumple-yeah, that’s real, too. I couldn't make that up. If you need proof, check out the photo below. How someone came up with pie inside cake, I'll never know but I figured it's something Dean might like. *g* Hope you enjoyed the fic. If you have a moment, I'd love to hear from you. Until next time, cheers.
SUMMARY: In the midst of snowstorm, a stranger runs into an injured and hypothermic Sam. His memory is spotty; he knows that a hunt went sideways and that Dean's in trouble-he just doesn't know where he is. Outsider POV.
RATING: PG-13 for swearing.
GENRE: Gen/Hurt-Comfort
Link back to Chapter 2 Here
LUNATIC - CHAPTER THREE
Three days later, when both brothers were on the mend, I stopped by the hospital.
When I walked into Dean’s room, the head of his bed was propped up to a 45-degree angle and he was watching TV-or, more specifically, flipping mindlessly through the channels, looking bored out of his skull. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse.” Dean glanced up at me, his scowl confirming the sentiment, then continued jamming his thumb against the remote, changing the channels. “Nothing but soaps and talk shows-and what they talk about makes my ears bleed.” He turned off the TV in disgust and dropped the remote on the bed. “If a man’s gonna heal, he needs more than basic cable.”
Can’t say I was surprised that Dean was champing at the bit; he’d been stuck in that tunnel for close to nine hours by the time EMTs got him out, and now he’d been bedridden for almost four days. He didn’t strike me as a man used to that kind of down time. “They’ve already sprung Sam, huh?”
“Yeah, lucky bastard.” Despite the snark, relief was evident in Dean’s voice. “They won’t let him drive for a week, but he’ll be fine.”
“That’s good to hear. Oh, and speaking of driving….” I reached into my pocket, pulled out a set of keys and dropped them on the table at Dean’s bedside. “Took a bit of digging but I got your car out. She’s all cleaned off and parked out front. She’s a beauty, by the way.”
“That she is.” Dean’s expression softened briefly as he stared at the keys, then his scowl returned. “And she hates the snow as much as I do. Once Sammy gets back, we’re outta here and heading south…not stopping ’til we see palm trees.”
“Can’t say I blame you.” I glanced at Dean’s side, picturing the bandages hidden beneath his hospital gown; doctors had kept the wound open while they got the infection under control, hence the need for Dean’s extended hospital stay. “So you’re finally stitched up?”
Dean nodded, then held up his left arm, an IV shunt still taped to the back of his hand. "The industrial strength meds kicked the infection's ass. Once this batch is done, they switch me to pills, and that means I'm free to go."
“That’s great news. And to celebrate….” I held up the brown paper bag I’d brought with me, then set it down on the nightstand. “A little medicine of a different sort-for when you get home. I seem to remember something about you appreciating a good scotch.”
“You remember right.” Dean’s expression brightened noticeably. “But screw the when you get home crap.” He reached for the empty water glass on the table pushed over his bed, his arm wrapped protectively around his abdomen as he leaned forward. “Let’s crack it open right now.”
“Um….” I gestured to the IV in his left arm. “Scotch and antibiotics-is that such a hot idea?”
“No, it isn’t.” Sam walked into the room carrying a tall paper cup, and with a knapsack slung over his shoulder. He had three butterfly bandages holding together the cut across his forehead and was still pale, but he looked a helluva lot healthier than when he’d been wheeled into the ER a few days earlier.
He nodded a greeting at me, then set down the cup in front of his brother. “As long as you’re medicated, coffee’s the strongest thing you get-and even then, only decaf.”
“Decaf.” Dean’s scowl returned. “Why even bother? It’s just colored water.”
“Sorry, dude.” Sam shrugged sympathetically. “Doctor’s orders.”
“Well screw doctor’s orders-that’s just one more reason to get the hell out of Dodge.” Dean reached over to yank the IV from his arm.
Sam grabbed his hand, stopping him. “No. You need-”
“I need to get out of here.” Dean batted away Sam’s arm, then scrubbed a hand down his face. “They patched me back together and the infection’s under control. Now I’m just lying in bed. That I can do at home-but with good TV, good coffee and a glass of that good scotch our architect friend here just brought me.”
“Scotch, huh?” Sam glanced up at me and smiled. “Great minds think alike.” He reached into his pack, pulled out a brown paper bag and passed it to me. “As thanks-for putting your ass on the line to save ours.”
I accepted the bottle gratefully, but shrugged. “I just did what anyone would have done.”
The brothers snorted in unison.
Sam shook his head. “Trust me, there are plenty of people who would have seen me in the snow, written me off as a nutcase and just kept right on trucking.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Dean popped the lid off his cup of coffee and sniffed the contents suspiciously. “Tell me something-knowing what you know now, after everything you’ve seen….” He took a sip, grimaced at the taste, then glanced up at me. “Bet you wish you’d done the same-kept right on trucking, I mean?”
“No…. No way.” I shook my head. “I don’t ever want to be that guy. Sure, I’m still trying to process everything I saw down in the tunnels, everything you told me…. I’m not sure I ever will fully, but….” I glanced from Dean to Sam. “Look, you see someone who needs help, you help them. End of story. I’d say that’s a concept you two have a pretty good handle on.”
Dean shrugged. “We do what we do….” He glanced over at the bottle of scotch on the nightstand. “We just don’t get thanked very often.”
I smiled. “Well, consider this an official thank you. The condos planned for the asylum property will house hundreds of people. If you two hadn’t…cleaned things up, well…a lot more people would’ve got hurt.”
Both brothers looked uncomfortable with the praise.
“OK, things are getting way too chick-flicky for me.” Dean set down his coffee on the bed table and turned to Sam. “You got my papers, right? We’re good to go-without that WWE-reject of an orderly chasing after me again?”
Sam bit back a smile. “His name is Carl and that served you right for trying a middle-of-night escape-on crutches.”
“Shut up.” Now Dean just looked grumpy. “And if they hadn’t just polished the floor, I would’ve made it.”
Sam’s smile widened. “Look, your doc’s filling out the paperwork…said she’ll swing by in less than an hour. Then we’re good to go-officially. I’ll even drive the getaway car.”
“The hell you will.” Dean jabbed a finger at his brother. “Your license is suspended for a week-even longer if you keep being a bitch.”
Now I was smiling; listening to the two of them verbally joust made me miss my own brothers. I made a mental note to call my youngest brother and hassle him for old time’s sake.
“OK, peace offering.” Sam reached into his backpack. “I got this from a bakery around the corner.” He pulled out a clear plastic container. “An hour should be just enough time for you to polish it off.”
Dean frowned at the container Sam placed on the table; it held what appeared to be a gigantic slice of cake covered in white frosting. “Cake? Sammy, we’ve had this conversation-cake is not the same thing as pie.”
“This cake is.” Sam turned the container so Dean could see each of the layers. “Look closer-there’s a slice of pie baked into each layer. They call it….” He peered at the label on the side of the container. “Cherpumple.”
Dean snorted as he pulled the container towards him. “What kind of dumb-ass name is that?”
Sam grinned. “It’s the three kinds of pie it’s made with-cherry, pumpkin and apple.”
“Seriously?” Dean popped open the lid.
“As a heart attack.” Sam set down a plastic fork beside the container. “Which is probably what that thing will give you, but at least you’ll die a happy man.”
“Son of a bitch….” Dean picked up the fork and scooped up a big piece of the whatever Sam had called it. As he ate, well, let’s just say it was the happiest I’d seen Dean since I’d met him.
Dean pointed his fork at Sam. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten-I still owe you an ass-kicking for scaring the crap out of me when you went AWOL. But for the next five minutes, or however long it takes me to eat this, you’re off the hook. Damn, Sammy…this is like the best dessert ever.”
These Winchester brothers; they were definitely one of a kind.
Finis
A/N: The Danvers Asylum is a real place and the history used in this fic all based in fact. The asylum was demolished, condos were built on the site-and they mysteriously burned down, before being rebuilt. Vandals were blamed; whether or not they were the supernatural kind, you can decide. :-) Oh, and the tunnels really exist, too. As for Cherpumple-yeah, that’s real, too. I couldn't make that up. If you need proof, check out the photo below. How someone came up with pie inside cake, I'll never know but I figured it's something Dean might like. *g* Hope you enjoyed the fic. If you have a moment, I'd love to hear from you. Until next time, cheers.