Balthazar, Doctor of Strangelove: or, How the Kings Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Their Life 2
Sam didn’t have his medication. He suggested skipping the valium so he could stay up and watch Dean, but Cas called Alan, got the proper doses, filled him in on Sam’s whereabouts, and hit the hospital pharmacy with a prescription. Sam glared when he returned with dinner, more Gatorade, and the pill bottle, but Cas pretended to ignore him and turned the television to a Monster Truck rally. Sam took a reluctant bite of his sandwich before grumbling “let’s watch CNN, Cas: that’ll wake him up faster,” and the doctor was only too happy to oblige.
All in all, once Cas had managed to stop fretting about what best to do, he was surprised how fast the time went. Dean’s temperature dropped slowly but steadily, and his sleep seemed deeper and more at ease. He and Sam had settled into their comfortable familiarity: as much as they were bound together by Dean, it always surprised him just how much he had in common with Sam. They were both ‘geeks,’ as Dean loved to remind him: both loved history and kept up with current events; both liked old mythology; both spent a lot of time in their own heads, thinking and analyzing. He supposed it was what drew them both to Dean, and why Dean was such a good balance for them: he was the extrovert to their introvert. He was able to love and support them both while forcing them to enjoy what they had. He made them move forward, and he’d given them both the faith to realize that they could face what they had to as a team. As a family.
He’d always felt he was home with Dean. But through the mess and the grief and the addiction and the recovery, he’d forgotten the easy, warm friendship he’d found with Sam. Back when Jess would have museum assignments, the four of them would often go through the galleries together before heading out for lunch or back to the house to watch a game. And for all of Jessica’s passion for art, she and Dean often moved along through the exhibit while Cas and Sam got stuck on piece after piece, trying to figure out how it was done and what thought went into it and how they’d do it differently. More often than not, Jess and Dean would be parked in the museum café, drinking coffee and chatting, before Sam and Cas realized that they hadn’t seen them in some time.
It was wrong that he’d failed to nurture his own independent friendship with Sam, and wrong that he remembered it only when they feared for Dean. Sitting in there with his adopted brother, Cas vowed to do better by him. Dean would be in long therapy sessions, and Cas would schedule time for just the two of them, to ‘geek out,’ as Dean put it. It would do wonders for them both.
Around ten, Cas muted the television, ordered Sam to take his valium, dimmed the lights, and tossed a blanket over his friend’s shoulders. Sam grumbled something Cas was fairly certain involved himself and a very unpleasant use of the remote control, but it didn’t take long before the younger Winchester was listing, eyelids drooping, arms sagging limply against the plastic hospital chair.
Sam finally drifted off to sleep, but, before he did, he laid his head down, took Dean’s hand in his own, and rested his brother’s fingers directly beside his own head. It seemed strange, and Cas assumed it was so he could feel if Dean’s hands twitched, it would wake him.
He spent the rest of the night watching Dean’s temperature make a slow, valiant climb back to normal. He spoke with the duty nurses, with Anna-who’d forsaken her precious few hours at home in order to make sure Dean was looked after-and briefly with Ellen, who explained that Bobby had stumbled in around midnight smashed drunk and was trying to open a beer bottle with his teeth, but as soon as he was sober they’d be by to help out.
“You all have a right to your anger, Cas,” she said. “But try not to be too hard on him.”
“It was an accident, Ellen. Sam and I understand that. Dean, I imagine, does too. He was just in pain. I can tell you from experience that people say all kinds of things when they’re in pain.”
“I appreciate that, Cas. We-Bobby and I-we think of those boys as family. As...our own, in a way. Bobby’s first wife...she was sick so young...and I could never...and even in the best years of the business, adoption was never in our budget. And...Bobby-”
“Ellen, I’m sure everything’s fine,” he soothed. “Sam and Dean rely very much on you both, and I don’t believe for a moment that Bobby would ever intentionally run down Dean. I’ve seen countless accidents between family and friends since I started working in medicine. My brother still tells the story of the time our brother Lou tried to ‘teach him to fly’ and they both broke limbs.”
Ellen chuckled. “Listen...don’t worry about the bills. We’ll cover it.”
“Don’t worry-Dean’s on my policy, though don’t tell him I told you.”
“Alright.” Ellen sounded suddenly sad.
“Hey, um...before you go...” Cas smiled to himself, glancing at the sleeping Sam and unconscious Dean, “I do have an idea.”
***
It was early in the morning when Dean’s eyes fluttered open. Cas took Sam’s advice and hung back, letting Dean take in his surroundings. He untangled his fingers and immediately dropped his hand into Sam’s hair, smoothing over his brother’s scalp and resting lightly against his forehead. Seemingly satisfied Sam was well, he checked out his leg, hanging in traction, and then turned and saw Cas.
“Hey,” he mumbled, voice cracking.
“Would you like some ice-chips?” Cas asked. Dean nodded. Cas leaned over the bed, prepared to help him, but Dean snorted and took the cup himself, ignoring the spoon and sucking them in as If they were already melted.
“God,” he mumbled, chomping away. “Feel like...drank a...tank of whiskey...and...decided to...fight.”
“You’ve had a terrible fever. It’s under control now.”
“My leg still there?”
Cas couldn’t help but smile. “You remember what happened?”
“I...remember that...idiot...backing...up.”
“Your leg’s going to be fine, but it’ll take awhile.”
“Good,” he grumbled, hand scratching absently against his brother’s head. “You and Sammy...you okay?”
“Of course we are. We’re not the ones who just underwent surgery.”
“But you’re the one looking like someone just backed over your leg. And Sammy,” he gave his brother a pat on the head, “doesn’t go to sleep if I’m in a hospital unless he’s been here a damn long time.”
Cas swallowed, hard. “You were alright for awhile after. But then you suffered from a very high fever.”
“But you and Sam...you’re okay?”
“Stop being a martyr, Dean,” he snapped. Dean frowned. “You just had a serious injury. You have no business worrying about Sam and I.”
“Christ, Cas. I am...way too out of it to deal with whatever drama you’re serving up.”
Cas was about to argue when Sam stirred, sighed, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Mmm,” he grumbled, and then saw his brother and bolted upright. “Dean!”
“Sammy.” Dean smiled.
“Want some water? No, you can’t have water-ice? If you’re hungry, there’s Jello. No solids yet. Are you hurting? I can get a nurse. How long have you been awake? I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Are you cold? The hospital’s pumping in the air-conditioning. They saved your leg. Anna, who brought fruit at Superbowl, she pretty much did it herself. Are you okay?”
“Whoa, Sammy. One at a time, huh?” Dean looked at his younger brother warmly. “How about that ice?”
“Sure thing!” Sam darted out of the room. Dean looked pointedly at Cas.
“He’s been fine, Dean. Very attentive. I made him take his meds and made sure he ate.”
“Thanks.” Dean’s eyes softened. “Thank you, Cas. Just...hang tight. I’m not checking out on you yet.”
Sam came rushing back, spoon in hand, and scooped a single cube onto it. Dean rolled his eyes, grabbed the cup, and dumped a dose into his mouth, just as he’d done for Cas.
“So,” he crunched, “what the heck’s been going on?”
Cas opened his mouth, but Sam cut him off. “Don’t worry,” the younger Winchester assured. “They saved your leg. It’ll take some time and rehab, but it’ll be pretty much as good as new. Jay’s covered everything at the garage, Bobby’s feeling like hell, and me and Cas have been right here the whole time.”
“How long’s it been?” Dean asked, still chewing.
“Little over two days. Don’t worry, it’s normal. They gave you the super-drugs. All courtesy of Anna. She and Cas have been all over it.” Sam smiled.
“So it’s gonna work again?”
“With time and therapy, it’ll be back to normal,” Cas assured. “Bobby...feels terrible.”
“He should,” Dean huffed, without any real vitriol.
“Truly. Ellen said he was in very bad shape.”
“Oh for-it was an accident. I mean, I know I called him a few choice words, but it hurt like hell.”
“Don’t worry,” Sam assured, patting Dean’s arm. “They’ll be by now that you’re awake and your fever’s down.” His hand lingered a little too long before withdrawing: enough that Cas could see Sam’s fingers were shaking.
“Why don’t I get us some breakfast and alert Anna that you’re awake?” he asked.
“Can you get me some pie?”
“Not for breakfast, Dean.”
“Then get me something with bacon and sausage and a couple eggs on a biscuit or a muffin or something.”
“Anna will have to approve your tray.”
“I am not eating Jello. I want beef. And cheese. And coffee.”
“You know, Cas, it might be easier to just swing by the cardiology ward and bring back a heartattack,” Sam said with a sudden sparkle. Cas smiled as Dean whacked his brother lightly.
“Smartass bitch.”
“I’ll be back shortly,” he said, and made sure to shut the door so no one would overhear one of Dean’s closely guarded “chick-flick moments.”
When he got back with their food Sam was standing, calm and respectful, hands resting on Dean’s bedrail while Anna made some notes on a chart.
“You’re doing very well,” she said, “but because of the infection, I want to keep you two more days.”
“No offense, Doc, but two days of hospital food and I’ll be at death’s door. I’ll be fine at home.”
“You will. In two days.” She smiled. “And we have a cafeteria Cas can vouch for if you don’t like your tray. But I want you to try and take it easy. The catheter will come out later, assuming you respond well to fluids.” Dean turned beat red.
“Can I at least get some friggin’ pants?”
“Later.”
“This is medieval!” he bellowed.
“You don’t have anything I have seen several hundred thousand times. On the living and the dead.”
She gave Cas a wink as she strode out of the room. Dean crossed his arms and smacked Sam’s hand aside when his brother reached out to pat him.
“Food!” he barked, as Cas pulled out a breakfast sandwich.
“Dean...you do realize, if you need to use the bathroom-”
Dean let loose a stream of filth that seemed to surprise even Sam, who blushed and covered his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter. Cas handed his own coffee and sipped his own, also slipping Sam his morning medication, which got him a thankful look from Dean.
After breakfast, a couple nurse’s visits, and another brief check-in from Anna-who, Cas was beginning to realize, had to be operating on about two hours of sleep a night-Dean demanded control of the television, tuned it to ESPN, and fell dead asleep five minutes later.
Cas took the opportunity to check his charts and make sure his current patients were being seen by other physicians. Sam took the opportunity to make his Rosemount calls and speak with Ava, his manager at the book store. When Cas drifted back Sam was rubbing absently at his brother’s arm, eyelids heavy once more. Cas was used to operating on little to no sleep for long stretches: Sam wasn’t. Especially since recovery, where his sleep schedule was rigid and defined.
He was trying to think of some way of getting Sam to give himself a break-all while knowing full well Sam wouldn’t want to go anywhere-when Ash and Andy appeared like two reformed archangels.
“Intervention, bro!” Ash called, causing Sam to jump and Dean to wake up glaring. “Sure you’ve been saintly, but there comes a time when a man needs a sleep and a shower as much as he needs to hear the Lord call him on to sobriety’s sober ship.”
“Hi Dean, Cas,” Andy smiled. “Sorry to just drop in. We figured Sam should swing by the house, maybe get some sleep, and, if you wanted, we could stop by yours, pick up anything you needed.”
“How’s the leg, bro? Hanging tight?” Ash asked, glancing at the cast. “Dude, no one’s signed it! Get me a pen. Or a marker or something. Cas, you get on that? Dude...are you wearing pants?” He lifted the blanket slightly. “Whoa! Okay, check that. First thing on the list.”
“I better be dead and in hell,” Dean growled. “Because otherwise when I’m up and out of this bed and I’m going to beat you until you see Jesus.”
“We’re just here for a sec. Grab Sam and go,” Andy said, smiling and clearly trying to reel in his over-enthusiastic friend.
“I don’t need to go. I have my meds,” Sam ventured.
“I can see grease in that magnificent mane from here, big man,” Ash grinned. “Sleep and a shower, brush those pearly whites? Grab a nap in your own bed? C’mon, we’ve been out of your hair for a few days now, but it’s time.”
“I...I need to help Cas. Here. Dean just woke up.”
“Think the good doc has it covered.”
“Dean needs me. I need to be here.”
And, for the first time since Cas had first gotten that call, he saw it: Sam’s legendary anxiety. Of course he didn’t want to leave Dean’s side: he’d left Jess’ to go to the library, and Maddy’s so she could go to work, and their father’s so he could live a life free of pain and violence.
None of their ends had been Sam’s fault. But that’s not how his cruel and punishing psyche translated their losses.
“Sam,” he said gently, trying to will kindness and acceptance into his face and voice, “could I speak with you?”
Sam glanced to Dean, who tossed him an affectionate wink, before following him into the hall. The younger man’s hands were clenching and unclenching, and the lost, hurt little puppy look was back on his face.
“I have to stay, Cas-” he started, voice wavering. Cas touched his friend’s arm lightly.
“I would very much like to go home and shower and possibly sleep for a bit,” Cas said. “So how about, you head home and take as much time as you need with them now, and, when you return, I’ll do the same?”
Sam’s eyes were damp. “I-I have to stay. I have to-be here. Just-because.”
“I would never lie to you,” Cas soothed. “Never. Especially not about anything as important as this. Dean is fine. Temperature, vitals, everything. And I’ll be here, the whole time, to alert the staff, and you, of any potential change.”
“Please. I-in case-”
“Sam...when you were very ill, I promised you that, no matter what, I would care for you. I know with...McCloud...I should have been better. But I promise you now, if ever anything should truly happen to Dean, I would stay right here, and you would have me and your home and I would do all I could to provide for you in any way you need.”
“I can’t-can’t go through this-not again, not-not with him.”
“I trust you, Sam. Trust you to go home and rest and come back clean and sober. Do you think you can trust me to care for your brother in that time?”
Sam’s demeanor shifted. He straightened up slightly, set his jaw, and managed to nod. Cas smiled. “You’ve been a tremendous support to me. Let me help you now. Get some rest, and a shower, and then come back when you’re able and I’ll do the same. I’ll alert you if there’s any change, good or bad.”
“Thanks,” Sam managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Cas.”
“We’re going to be alright. We three,” he promised, squeezing his friend’s arm.
Back in Dean’s room, Ash was actively drawing a “map of glory” on Dean’s cast while Dean threatened all sorts of bodily harm and Andy attempted interference, looking relieved when Cas and Sam ventured back in.
“You get these two mooks out of here, Sammy,” Dean barked.
“I will. I’m...gonna head out. For a bit. Will you...you’re okay? Need anything before I go?”
“I need pants, a working leg, my own couch with my own TV, and a shitload of barbecue. Until then I’ll settle for not being molested by your evangelical-sober-hillbilly-house-leader.”
“We’re all just livin’ on a prayer, bro,” Ash chirped. “Just livin’ on a prayer.”
Sam hovered by Dean’s bed for a moment. “I’ll...I’ll be back. Today. Soon, really. And if you need me to come back sooner-”
“Hey-you can’t get rid of me that easy,” Dean smiled, eyes soft and accepting in that warm, brotherly way he always seemed ready to bestow on Sam. “Go home. Get some real sleep. I’ll have plenty for you to do when you get back.”
Sam nodded and let Andy usher him out, Ash heading behind them chatting a mile a minute.
“I’m still not convinced Ash is off drugs,” Dean growled.
“I believe he should star in a series of his own commercials discussing the side-effects of years of illegal substance abuse.”
Dean chuckled. “Sammy’s doing good, Cas. Thanks.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Nah. Whatever your girl hooked me up to, it’s awesome.” Dean grinned at him. “You okay? You look tired.”
“I haven’t slept yet, but don’t worry. Sam has been very supportive. I knew you’d be alright, although the infection had me worried.”
“You’re allowed to wax-poetic about how empty your life would be without me. I’m pretty bodacious.”
“It’s true. Men who can burp the U.S. capitols are difficult to find in the singles bars.”
“Dude, it takes years to build up the proper diaphragm and endurance to get ‘Jefferson City’ out in one breath.”
“You’re horrible.”
“Still love me?”
Cas felt a light blush in his face and pretended to be fascinated by the IV. “I’ll tolerate you for some time,” he said, ignoring Dean’s somewhat dirty laugh.
“Look what the mangy junk-yard dog came across, scooped up in its salivating jaws and deposited on our ward!” Balthazar chirped.
“Did anyone tell you you’re a limey-redcoat-pain-in-the-ass?” Bobby barked.
“Only my mother, when I was barely three. Don’t you recognize my exaggerated nature as a man desperate to find unconditional love?”
“Bite me, asshat.”
Ellen slipped around the two with a basket and a warm, maternal grin. “Alright boys, sword-fight’s over. Hi honey.” She plopped the basket down on Dean’s nightstand. “I hit the ‘net and whipped up anything I could think of that was hospital-friendly, only done right.”
“And like I always say. You want to dump Grumpy Grandpa, I will have you in Vegas by midnight.” Dean grabbed the basket in its began digging through, grinning ear to ear. Bobby stood in the doorway still, hands in his pockets, looking as tough and grizzly as ever, but Cas could see the bags under his eyes and the slight slump in his shoulders, and knew it was more than the hangover.
“Bobby, it’s good to see you,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, eyeing Dean wearily.
“You gonna stand on ceremony? Or you gonna come in and get on your knees and beg my forgiveness?” Dean teased. Bobby flinched slightly, and Ellen glanced at her husband before turning back to Dean.
“You in pain, sweetie?”
“Nah, hooked up to the great stuff. Doc Dread here says I’m good to go. Pays to have friends in high places.”
“Anything you need, you let us know. Don’t worry about co-pays, out-of-network-bills, physical therapy-you name it, we’re covering it.”
“Didn’t you hear I married rich?” he said, with a wink at Cas. “Ellen, it’s fine. It hurt like a bitch, but it doesn’t now.”
“Bobby got you something. Didn’t you?”
Bobby huffed and stomped his way to the edge of the bed, then pulled a stuffed lion from behind his back.
“His name’s Thromdor,” he muttered, tossing it at Dean.
“No shit. This thing would devour Sam’s damn monkey. I always knew I was your favorite,” Dean sat the lion on top of the basket and went back to rooting. “Ellen, you made me hot-pies!”
“Is that a Yankee food I’ve yet to sample?” Peter asked.
“It’s her own take on a hot-pocket, but with pie. And, other than the lives of Sammy and Cas and my baby, they’re the only things on Earth I’d go to war to save.”
“One minute on high-”
“Two on medium, Ellen-I know how to cook a hot-pie.”
“Figured the good doctor could get you a microwave.”
Bobby was carefully eyeing the traction. “So...leg gonna hold ya?”
“Take some time. But everyone swears I’ll be up and running this time next year.” Dean offered one of his smaller, warmer smiles. Bobby continued to shove his fists around and pretend to be interested in the framed, generic flower prints on the walls.
“Ellen,” Cas said, “I was thinking of getting coffee for myself and some juice for Dean. Would you like to come?”
“Sure thing. I know how Bobby takes his, and I don’t trust him to milk-up mine.”
Bobby mumbled something Cas assumed was dirty, only because Ellen punched him in the arm hard enough for him to grunt a “ow!” as they made for the hall. Peter remained standing. Cas grabbed him by the labcoat and hauled him out of the door, ensuring it slammed behind them.
“I’ve been waiting for the two-alpha-males-to-make-up-scene for days now!” Peter whined.
“You have rounds,” Cas scolded.
“Round and round and round and round the bloody ward goes round,” Balthazar grumbled and stalked away.
“Thank you, Cas,” Ellen said.
“He’ll be home in two days.”
“I mean...thank you for being so understanding about this. Bobby’s been real torn up.”
“Accidents happen, unfortunately. The important thing is he’s going to be fine, and I know he bears Bobby no ill-will.” Cas walked her down to the elevators and hit the call button. “You two have been like parents to Sam and Dean. I know they love you both very, very much.”
Ellen grinned. “You’re too good for him.”
“So I’ve been told,” he chuckled, and ushered her inside the waiting car.
***
Dean was released two days later without incident. Anna armed them with pain pills and antibiotics and told him to call her if his temperature spiked. Cas arranged for a very, very large flower arrangement to be delivered to her at home, and walked dutifully alongside him while Bobby wheeled Dean, his basket, and his stuffed lion out the door and loaded him into the back of his van.
“Ridin’ in style,” he joked, sprawling out and digging into Ellen’s basket.
“Idjit,” Bobby mumbled, and Dean winked at him in the mirror. Whatever had passed between them, Bobby certainly looked far less grim, and Dean seemed to enjoy the new-found attention. “Where’s your Sasquatch-size kid brother at?”
“Therapy. Missouri said, and I quote, that if she didn’t see his ass in her office today she was going to kick him back a good twelve steps.”
“Therapists allowed to talk like that?”
“She’s not a therapist. She’s a drill Sergeant.”
“Sam likes her a great deal,” Cas interjected.
“Yeah, because she yells at me. Every time.”
“Gotta say...kid’s been ace. Least since I’ve seen him,” Bobby glanced at Cas.
“He’s been fine. Very composed,” Cas agreed. Dean huffed, annoyed.
“Don’t act so surprised. He was sick. Now he’s better.”
“Just saying,” Bobby grumbled. “When I went and picked him up, I was braced for an F-5 meltdown, and he got himself together like I’d told him we were going to a matinee.”
“Sammy’s always come through for me,” Dean said in that slow, no-nonsense tone that they knew meant the conversation was over.
***
Sam temporarily moved back home with them their guestroom: a move which Cas was eternally grateful for. No sooner was Dean propped up on the couch that it became his throne, and he ruled over the downstairs with a series of endlessly unnecessary demands.
“Why don’t we have Showtime? Did anyone get the mail? How am I gonna shower? Cas, when do I get a pill? Did Jay bring my car back? Someone get me a hot-pie! Cas, can we order HBO? Someone check my e-mail! Sam, where did you put my phone? Why haven’t we gotten barbecue this week!”
Cas had narrowed his answers down to “yes Dean” or “no Dean” and ignored whatever the long (and loud) response was.
Sam was different: he waited on his brother hand and foot. He made anything Dean wanted for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. He watched whatever was on Cable. He laughed at every one of Dean’s jokes. He brought him water, pills, helped him to the bathroom, wrapped his cast in plastic so he could shower, pulled the covers up and over his chest before curling into his sleeping bag on the floor beside him. He was so very calm, together, and Dean-like, that Cas couldn’t even remember the former behaviors of addicted, weak, anxious, depressed, Sammy.
But Dean made no notice that anything had changed. When Sam bustled about, he merely thanked him, took what he offered, and let Sam rest wherever he chose, often reaching out to scratch his head like he was a puppy or kitten. And when Dean did go on a tear, he rolled his eyes at Cas and good-naturedly told his brother to shutup. Cas had long liked to think that years of working with people in pain or severe distress had turned him into someone with almost God-like patience, but if Sam weren’t there, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have gone Old Testament on his partner.
Cas did what he always did: went to work, came home, paid bills, did his best to be there for the two of them. It was only when he was alone and settled upstairs in the bed he and Dean shared that he took the moment to introspect how the long-habitual jealousy of Sam had left him completely. His checkbook might have eased the Winchesters’ burdens, but he finally understood that his presence meant more than that: and, though his relationship was Dean was still the most precious in his life, and always would be, he couldn’t help but feel a special pride that he’d done so well by Sam.
Dean would have called him every name in the book if he’d known, but Cas finally felt a previously unrealized sense of security. He hadn’t dared imagined a life without Dean, other than to sooth Sam’s panicked delusions, but, not that he had, he felt a larger purpose: whether it was soothing Sam’s terror or allowing the younger Winchester to support him, together, they could somehow survive the horror of the loss of Dean. And, while that loss was still a horrific scenario Cas couldn’t bear to envision, the surety of Sam at his side soothed him.
A week after that phone call, Cas had showered and was on his way downstairs to say goodnight to the brothers when he heard Dean say "Go to bed, bro. When's the last time you crashed?"
"I'm okay," Sam said, his voice tired and shaky. Cas hesitated, heard the sound of shuffling, meaning Dean was hoisting his leg around.
"Hey," he heard him murmur. "You want Cas to give you something?"
"No."
"Nerves bad?" No answer. "Wanna use?" Sam made a small, futile noise that nearly broke Cas' heart. "Hey," Dean's voice dropped to butter-soft, "c'mon, c'mere. It's okay."
"When he said-" Sam's voice hitched. "I thought-"
"I know. But I'm fine, see? These things happen sometimes."
"It's too much-like before. Like-Dad and-" a soft sob drifts up out of the dark. "I just...when I thought...I just...stopped. I couldn't-if it had, I wouldn't-I'd have made sure I didn't-"
"You know what you'd do? You'd go to Cas, and you'd look after him and let him look after you. And you'd go to therapy and go to group and take your valium and keep at your job. Because I wouldn't accept anything less."
"I can't," Sam sobbed. "I-I can't, Dean, I can't do it. I only ever feel okay when I'm here with you two, and even then I-get-"
"Relax," Dean's voice is firmer. "C'mon. You're exhausted. Your body will sleep if you let it."
"Dean-"
"I get it, bro, I do. I hear you. But I'm telling you, you quit sleeping, you get depressed. We've seen it before." Cas chanced a few tentative steps forward and is able to see Sam curled at the foot of the sofabed, hovering close to his brother's leg. Dean reached down and gently stroked his hair. "I'm alright, Sammy. Everything's alright. Just close your eyes."
"You-you could have bled out. And I wouldn't have been there." Sam's voice cracked. He pressed his forehead into Dean's good leg. "I want to be there, just once, Dean. To-help. To say goodbye."
"Sammy. What could you say that I don't know? Huh?" he smiled. "You think Jess and Madison didn't know? Even Dad?"
Sam's breath hitched. "Dean-"
"I know, bro." He prodded him up until Sam's forehead lay against his ribs, cupped the back of his neck. "They did too."
"I want to help-"
"You do, dumbass," Dean scrubbed his brother's head. "Not all kid brothers would wait on me hand and foot. Or drop everything and rush to the ER because their idiot big brother had to get a few stitches."
"More than a few."
"Sammy," Dean soothed, "this is what you do. You take care of people. You took care of me after Dad, over and over. You're taking care of me now. Whatever you're feeling, let it go. Just let in what you're good at. Alright?" He raised his voice. “Same goes for you, Cas, you creepy stalker.”
Cas felt heat fill his cheeks and ventured down the stairs. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“No, just hover and eavesdrop.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Well...goodnight. Unless I can get you or Sam something.”
“Dude...shutup and get in here. One big screwed up family.”
Dean’s eyes glittered, as warm and bright as ever. Sam’s, still damp, seemed to do exactly the same. And when Cas slid onto the mattress beside them and completed their little “litter of awesome,” as Dean put it, he liked to think when they looked at him, they saw just as much love shining back.
Part I