Just Breathe Chap 9/?
Title: Just Breathe Chapter 9/?
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R - Just to be safe..I know, I know what happened?!
Warnings: Wincest, underage
Word Count: 3,370
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Dad is away and Sam falls ill leaving Dean to deal with a sick brother. Sam's up, Dean's suspicious and they have a visitor.
Author Notes: Title from Faith Hill song. Also, as always completely unbeta-ed.
A/N 2: I've been referring to this chapter in my mind as "The Kreacher Chapter" and for anyone who has read Harry Potter you might understand what I mean later on.
Dean shifted on the bed and pointed his toes to stretch the calf of his right leg. Enjoying the satisfying pull of muscle, he relaxed back into the mattress reluctant to leave the tranquility behind his eyelids. A surprised laugh accompanied by a deeper chuckle, one he’d know anywhere but hadn’t heard in too long, melted any resistance Dean had to waking and he opened sleep heavy eyes.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Sam groaned in a breathy whisper.
Sam and Casey stood next to the bed and from the appearance of things, Sam had stumbled forward into the girl and she was now holding him up, his tall frame hunched over her smaller one. Carefully, she eased him into the waiting chair with another small laugh and a mocking “Timber”.
“God, thank you. I don’t think I could take lying down another minute.”
“You’re welcome. It’s good to see you up and around. Dean’s gonna be so tickled.” Dean stifled a snort. Tickled? You had to love Southern colloquialisms. She graced Sam with a warm smile before reaching over to the bed to pull the covers back over the older Winchester brother. “Speak of the angel. Good morning, Dean. Breakfast?”
“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The roll away had once again been pushed into the corner and another chair was sitting next to the one Sam was in, the one Dean usually occupied. “Wow, Sammy. Look at you. Vertical and everything.”
“I’m a walking, talking miracle,” he chuckled softly and the sound flowed in Dean’s ears and around his heart. “C’mon, man. Let’s eat.”
Dean stood and rolled his shoulders before extending his arms above his head. Hands clasped, he leaned to the left then the right stretching the muscles of his torso. Craning his neck side to side to hear the crack of the vertebrae, he dropped into the empty chair as Casey lowered the wheeled bed table to an acceptable height for the seated men. Lifting the lid on the tray to reveal a stack of blueberry pancakes, Sam’s favorite, and a heaping plate of eggs with bacon and sausage, his favorite, Dean couldn’t help the trickle of suspicion that moved down his spine. “Huh.”
“Something wrong, Dean. Your food not to your liking?” Casey’s brow furrowed as she examined his plate.
“No. It’s perfect. That’s what’s not to my liking. How do you know what to bring us? You’ve never asked. Yesterday it was apple fritters. I love apple fritters. Last night it was burgers and Sam’s favorite soup. Now you bring us our ideal breakfast. How are you doing it?” Dean wariness pushed a sharp tone to his voice he hadn’t really intended, but damnit his hunter senses were tingling. Casey had been nothing but good to him and Sam, but it was too much of a coincidence and Dean didn’t believe in coincidence.
“Dean!” Sam’s cry was the same one he used whenever Dean embarrassed him. Refusing to feel sorry about his questions and damn well expecting answers, Dean crossed his arms and waited.
“Dean,” Casey sighed. “It’s September in North Carolina. Apples are now in season so each morning the pastry is apple themed. Today’s is an apple danish, if you’d prefer that over what I brought you. The soup on Friday has been wild mushroom for the last two years. I can have someone one from Dietary come up and confirm it for you. The burger, well, you just seemed like a burger kind of guy.” By the end, Casey’s accent had slipped into the deep twang that Dean had learned to associate with her temper.
His arms loosened slightly. “What about breakfast? Did Sam just seem like a blueberry pancake ‘kind of guy’ ‘cuz I know that they aren’t in season?”
“Dean!” Sam’s voice was harsher this time almost bordering on angry. Dean tore his eyes away from the girl in front of him to meet the hard glare Sam leveled at him. “I filled out a meal request form last night and picked our breakfast from the selections. I even made a special order so you could have both bacon and sausage. What the hell has gotten into you, man?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just…I’m just tired, I guess.” He pushed a hand over his head then dragged it over his face. Crap. What was wrong with him? He’d basically accused one of the few people he’d ever met that was nice to him of spying on them. Dean couldn’t put his finger on it but something was off today. Like an arthritis sufferer sensing an upcoming storm in their joints, Dean could feel trouble coming in the tightness of his skin. Now he just needed to find the source and apparently he wasn’t above accusing everybody.
“It’s okay, Dean. Next time, you think I'm up to something…let’s just talk, okay? I told you before, I won’t lie to you.” The corners of her mouth twitched into a slight smile, not genuine but a valiant effort. Nodding, Dean stared at his plate to hide the guilt, wow was that a novel feeling, he felt creeping across his face in a blush.
“Anyway.” She exhaled, stretching the word out a few syllables to signal an obvious change in subject. “Sam, think you’re up for a shower today?”
“Is that you’re way of telling me I smell?” Laughing, Sam dropped his fork so one hand could hold his ribs while the other covered his mouth as his lungs clenched and forced out a small round of coughs.
“If the stench fits,” her usual smile returned.
“Yeah. I think I can handle it. I feel kinda scummy.”
“Great. You’re still a little unsteady on your feet so you’ll need someone close by in case you need help. I’m happy to stay, but you might be more comfortable with Dean. If that’s okay with y’all?”
Dean’s head snapped up from his plate and his contemplation of the suicidal possibility of drowning in eggs after his earlier outburst, to see Sam go tomato red and a look of panic cross his face at Casey’s offer to help him. He huffed a laugh of his own at Sam’s reaction. A hot nurse and a shower was like the key plot points to every guy’s naughty Florence Nightingale fantasy. Apparently, every guy except for Dean’s girl-shy little brother. Sam turned wide pleading eyes to Dean.
“No problem.” Yes, problem. “I’ll give you a hand.” I bet you will. “We’ll do it when we’re done eating.” Not even going to comment on that one. Sam nodded his head and gave Dean a grateful look from under his bangs, face lightening to a more natural shade.
“Okay. Sam, since you’re a ‘walking talking miracle’ as you put it, you’re allowed to wear something a little more modest around the hospital. I found some of the scrubs we keep on hand for Trotter,” she tilted her chin in the direction of a pile of forest green clothes on the small cabinet on the other side of Sam’s bed, “they should be long enough in the leg even if they’ll probably be a little big in the shoulders. Still, it’s gotta be better than a backless gown. Dean, I’m not sure what you have available to you for clothing so I pulled a set of scrubs for you as well, in case you wanted a shower this morning too. I guessed at you’re size so let me know if they don’t fit.” She eyed a stack of black clothes next to Sam’s green ones. “Both sets are brand new, never been worn. One of the orderlies had an unopened package of briefs in his locker, not sure why so don’t ask, and they look like they’ll work.” Casey’s eyes glassed over for a moment and her head tilted to the side like she was listening to something in another room. Her forehead creased as she turned her unblinking eyes out the window. Dean twisted in his seat and followed her gaze but nothing seemed unusual behind the paned glass, the manicured grounds and sheltering mountainside innocuous in the weak morning light filtering through the smoky fog cover. As quickly as it began, Casey‘s concentrated stare broke suddenly and she shuddered. Blinking a few times, she shook her head and smiled.
“I’ll, um, leave you guys to it.”
Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, who shrugged before taking another syrup heavy bite. That girl was weird. Takes one to know one. True.
The boys finished their food and came to the consensus that no matter where in the country they got hurt on the next hunt it would be worth the risk of exsanguination just to drive back here for the food alone. Dean turned on the television, flipping through the channels until settling on a Tom and Jerry cartoon to draw out the time until Sam decided to heed the call of hot water. The longer he thought about it, the more he agreed with his snarky inner voice that said there was a problem. Several times Dean had to forcefully detour his mind from thoughts of rivulets of water running down long spans of tan skin and lean muscle rippling under sudsy hands, to prevent an interesting conversation starter when he stood up.
“Dean?”
“Hmmm?” Dean kept his attention focused on the television, afraid of what Sam would see on his face.
“Do you think that dreams can come true?”
“You mean like that shit those Disney princesses sing about?
“No, Dean,” Sam blew out an exasperated sigh. “I mean like normal people dreams. Like the ones you have at night.”
“Why?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering.”
“Did you have the clown dream again? Did mean ole’ Ronald McDonald try to get you? You know he’s not real, right?” Grinning, Dean turned away from the animated antics on the screen finally feeling on solid ground, nothing like teasing Sam to set the world right again. Dean’s smile fell when he caught sight of his little brother. Sam stared blankly out the window, teeth pressed into the soft flesh of his bottom lip and fingers dancing along the hem of his gown. A neon sign blinking ‘ANGST’ would have been more subtle. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing, really,” eyes still diverted, voice distant, mind somewhere else. Yeah, nothing. Sure.
“Sam?” Dean waited until hazel eyes found his. “What did you dream about? Talk to me.”
“Dean, I swear it’s…”
“Sam,” he growled, interrupting, “so help me if you say ‘nothing’ again.”
“Fine. I had a weird dream last night. You were in it and I’m pretty sure Casey was there too. All I remember clearly is hearing a gun shot and blood. Lots and lots of blood.”
Dean examined Sam carefully. “You took that psycho-ology course last year. The mind takes things from everyday life, throws them in a blender and pours the mess out in the form of dreams. And with what we deal with, yours would be gorier than most people’s. Don’t worry about it. It was probably a meshing of yesterday with a little bit of our real life added in for flavor.” He patted Sam’s knee and gave him the most reassuring smile he could muster.
The corners of Sam’s mouth jerked in a brief smile, there and gone in the blink of an eye. He turned back to his older brother, nodding slightly, before lifting his eyes to watch Tom whack Jerry over the head with a spatula. Reassured, but not convinced. Dean directed his own eyes back to the screen, but kept careful watch with sidelong glances on the troubled man next to him.
Half an hour of silence later, Sam pushed the rolling table away and heaved a sigh. Shoving at Dean’s feet propped up on the side of the bed and blocking his path, Sam scooted through to get the clothes off the cabinet. Dean’s eyes snapped to the ceiling when Sam passed as memories of Dream Sam going commando came back full force. Dean could still feel the weight and shape of Sam’s ass in his hands just like he’d actually had them there, the softness of the skin and tightness of the muscles. His mind wandered further and his dick jerked in his jeans.
“Dean?”
Pulled from his daydream, Dean’s head jerked awkwardly in the direction of his brother who was giving him a look that clearly said he was waiting on an answer.
“Sorry, I zoned for a second. Guess, I’m still waking up. What did you say, Sam?”
“I said I was getting tired and wondered if you’d mind helping me with that shower now so I can lie down. Are you okay? You’re acting weird this morning.” Sam’s eyes were full of concern.
“’M fine, Sam. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Sam’s shower hadn’t turned into the monumental disaster that Dean feared it would. When he untied his brother’s gown it only required a small amount of effort to quell the sense of deja vu’ and ignore the fantasied memory of how Sam’s collarbone tasted. He was relieved to find that, unlike Dream Sam, Real-life Sam was a prude and definitely wore underwear. Sam insisted that he could handle the actual act of bathing on his own and they ended up in a compromise that Dean would stand outside the slightly ajar door, within calling distance, in case Sam needed him. It was an arrangement they believed would also appease Casey should she come in to check.
The sound of the water shutting off and Sam shuffling around drifted out of the partially opened door and Dean breathed a little easier with the knowledge he would not be required to come to the aid of his very naked, very wet little brother. Sam opened the door, already dressed in the soft cotton scrubs, towel draped over his head. Stretching his arms up to dry his hair, he winced as the movement pulled the tightened muscles guarding his broken ribs. Dean’s limbs, recognizing the need, moved automatically trained from years of practice. He reached over and swiped the towel a few times over his brother’s mop of brown hair that was in desperate need of a cut. He pulled the terry cloth softness down and wrapped it around the back of Sam’s neck, hands still clutching the ends. It was then that he discovered how close they’d gotten during the drying process.
Drinking in the sight of Sam, hair mussed and face flushed, Dean chucked his naughty Nightingale fantasy in lieu of a dirty Dr. Winchester one. When their gazes met, Dean noticed that the color of the scrubs accentuated a similar shade in Sam’s multi-toned eyes, bringing the green to the forefront. The weight of his brother’s stare seemed to pin Dean in place, not only locking his eyes but all the parts of his body as well. Hypnotized by the green-amber depths, he felt his body sway toward Sam, a magnet drawn to its polar opposite. They were so close now that Dean felt Sam’s breath on his lips and he ran his tongue over the skin to try to taste it, taste Sam. Sam’s eyes tracked the motion and something new and hungry flickered in them. A spark charged the air between them, Dean’s breath hitched as the current touched him and he leaned in a fraction of an inch more.
“Boys?”
John’s gruff word acted on them like the wakening kiss in so many fairy tales, breaking the spell. Both Winchester brothers jumped back at the sound and regarded their father with guilty looks that their welcoming smiles couldn’t completely hide. Sam’s ‘Dad’ mixed with Dean’s ‘Sir’ to create a garbled greeting.
“Sam, you seem to be doing better. Your brother led me to believe yesterday that you were on death’s door,” John leveled an appraising look at Sam before he turned cold eyes on his oldest.
“Yesterday I was on death’s door. I had a tube shoved down my throat so I could breathe and about five bags of stuff pumping into my veins. According to the doctors, I’m doing better than expected. A combination of medication and a strong immune system or so I’m told.” Dean flinched at the steely tone in Sam’s voice and found it hard to believe this was the same person who’d laughed with Casey this morning over body odor.
Dean felt as Sam’s eyes slid to him. He wasn’t entirely sure if Sam was seeking comfort or confirmation, but Dean was too preoccupied by the sight visible over his Dad’s shoulder to give it any real consideration. The sense of unease from earlier crept over him again causing his skin to prickle and his protective nature kicked into overdrive. Reaching over, he curled his fingers around Sam’s wrist and pulled his brother behind him.
“Sam, you’ve been up and around for a while. I know you’re getting tired. Why don’t you lie down and rest?” Dean tugged gently on Sam’s arm to prod him into action. He waited until Sam was settled in the bed before he spoke again.
“Bobby. Caleb.” Dean nodded his head in the direction of his father’s friends filling the doorway. Both men resolutely avoided Dean’s gaze, instead their anger tinged eyes were trained on the back of the senior Winchester’s head. Dean could feel the tension between the trio, it was evident they’d been arguing. He couldn’t look at his father, just continued to stare at the men entering the room behind him, as puzzle pieces snapped into place. “You guys just get into town?”
“Not exactly. We got in a few days ago to help your Dad.” Bobby flat reply echoed in the quiet of the room. Dean’s eyes narrowed as both men’s faces hardened and the final piece clicked into place. Bobby and Caleb had been with their Dad the whole time Sam had been sick and, by their expressions, thought Dean knew it.
“Oh. Wow. Must have been a helluva hunt. What was it again,” he asked innocently, finally looking at his father. It was a question that Dean knew his father would answer without hesitation. John had been asked some variation of it a thousand times by both his sons and his mind would supply an answer without conscious thought. Before it could be censored, spun into a believable lie.
“Salt and burn.”
“It took three hunters to do a salt and burn. That was one badass spirit.” Dean pursed his lips into a frown and raised his eyebrows, sarcasm dripping off his words into big pools on
the ground.
Suddenly the floor was the most interesting thing in the room. Both Bobby and Caleb’s eyes dropped to study the flecked pattern of the tiles, unable to witness the family war they were an unwitting participant in by association.
Years from now, when Dean thinks back on this moment, he’ll always wonder what would have happened, how far the argument would have gone. Would he and John have come to blows? But he’ll never know because just as John opened his mouth, Casey walked in, pen moving furiously across the chart balanced on her forearm.
“Hey, Sam. Did you need -“ The rest of her words were lost as wide eyes took in the five men in Sam’s room.
Over her head, Dean could see the light mounted in the ceiling outside the door, the one that signaled the nurse call button had been pressed and he looked over to his brother. Sam’s breaths were labored, his anxious face volleyed back and forth between his father and Dean, his thumb still held down the orange button on the bedrail. Dean’s brows drew together, but before any questions could be asked, his attention was snatched back to the others in the room.
“Casey!” The word was harmonized by Bobby’s fond tone and Caleb’s lusty one, the end result a happy acknowledgment for an old friend. Dean’s mind had barely processed the familiarity of their greeting and what that meant when a metallic click forced him to focus in another direction. John stood, lips curled into a snarl, his 9 millimeter cocked and aimed at the girl’s heart.
“Hello, Bitch.”
Chapter 10
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: R - Just to be safe..I know, I know what happened?!
Warnings: Wincest, underage
Word Count: 3,370
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Dad is away and Sam falls ill leaving Dean to deal with a sick brother. Sam's up, Dean's suspicious and they have a visitor.
Author Notes: Title from Faith Hill song. Also, as always completely unbeta-ed.
A/N 2: I've been referring to this chapter in my mind as "The Kreacher Chapter" and for anyone who has read Harry Potter you might understand what I mean later on.
Dean shifted on the bed and pointed his toes to stretch the calf of his right leg. Enjoying the satisfying pull of muscle, he relaxed back into the mattress reluctant to leave the tranquility behind his eyelids. A surprised laugh accompanied by a deeper chuckle, one he’d know anywhere but hadn’t heard in too long, melted any resistance Dean had to waking and he opened sleep heavy eyes.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Sam groaned in a breathy whisper.
Sam and Casey stood next to the bed and from the appearance of things, Sam had stumbled forward into the girl and she was now holding him up, his tall frame hunched over her smaller one. Carefully, she eased him into the waiting chair with another small laugh and a mocking “Timber”.
“God, thank you. I don’t think I could take lying down another minute.”
“You’re welcome. It’s good to see you up and around. Dean’s gonna be so tickled.” Dean stifled a snort. Tickled? You had to love Southern colloquialisms. She graced Sam with a warm smile before reaching over to the bed to pull the covers back over the older Winchester brother. “Speak of the angel. Good morning, Dean. Breakfast?”
“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The roll away had once again been pushed into the corner and another chair was sitting next to the one Sam was in, the one Dean usually occupied. “Wow, Sammy. Look at you. Vertical and everything.”
“I’m a walking, talking miracle,” he chuckled softly and the sound flowed in Dean’s ears and around his heart. “C’mon, man. Let’s eat.”
Dean stood and rolled his shoulders before extending his arms above his head. Hands clasped, he leaned to the left then the right stretching the muscles of his torso. Craning his neck side to side to hear the crack of the vertebrae, he dropped into the empty chair as Casey lowered the wheeled bed table to an acceptable height for the seated men. Lifting the lid on the tray to reveal a stack of blueberry pancakes, Sam’s favorite, and a heaping plate of eggs with bacon and sausage, his favorite, Dean couldn’t help the trickle of suspicion that moved down his spine. “Huh.”
“Something wrong, Dean. Your food not to your liking?” Casey’s brow furrowed as she examined his plate.
“No. It’s perfect. That’s what’s not to my liking. How do you know what to bring us? You’ve never asked. Yesterday it was apple fritters. I love apple fritters. Last night it was burgers and Sam’s favorite soup. Now you bring us our ideal breakfast. How are you doing it?” Dean wariness pushed a sharp tone to his voice he hadn’t really intended, but damnit his hunter senses were tingling. Casey had been nothing but good to him and Sam, but it was too much of a coincidence and Dean didn’t believe in coincidence.
“Dean!” Sam’s cry was the same one he used whenever Dean embarrassed him. Refusing to feel sorry about his questions and damn well expecting answers, Dean crossed his arms and waited.
“Dean,” Casey sighed. “It’s September in North Carolina. Apples are now in season so each morning the pastry is apple themed. Today’s is an apple danish, if you’d prefer that over what I brought you. The soup on Friday has been wild mushroom for the last two years. I can have someone one from Dietary come up and confirm it for you. The burger, well, you just seemed like a burger kind of guy.” By the end, Casey’s accent had slipped into the deep twang that Dean had learned to associate with her temper.
His arms loosened slightly. “What about breakfast? Did Sam just seem like a blueberry pancake ‘kind of guy’ ‘cuz I know that they aren’t in season?”
“Dean!” Sam’s voice was harsher this time almost bordering on angry. Dean tore his eyes away from the girl in front of him to meet the hard glare Sam leveled at him. “I filled out a meal request form last night and picked our breakfast from the selections. I even made a special order so you could have both bacon and sausage. What the hell has gotten into you, man?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just…I’m just tired, I guess.” He pushed a hand over his head then dragged it over his face. Crap. What was wrong with him? He’d basically accused one of the few people he’d ever met that was nice to him of spying on them. Dean couldn’t put his finger on it but something was off today. Like an arthritis sufferer sensing an upcoming storm in their joints, Dean could feel trouble coming in the tightness of his skin. Now he just needed to find the source and apparently he wasn’t above accusing everybody.
“It’s okay, Dean. Next time, you think I'm up to something…let’s just talk, okay? I told you before, I won’t lie to you.” The corners of her mouth twitched into a slight smile, not genuine but a valiant effort. Nodding, Dean stared at his plate to hide the guilt, wow was that a novel feeling, he felt creeping across his face in a blush.
“Anyway.” She exhaled, stretching the word out a few syllables to signal an obvious change in subject. “Sam, think you’re up for a shower today?”
“Is that you’re way of telling me I smell?” Laughing, Sam dropped his fork so one hand could hold his ribs while the other covered his mouth as his lungs clenched and forced out a small round of coughs.
“If the stench fits,” her usual smile returned.
“Yeah. I think I can handle it. I feel kinda scummy.”
“Great. You’re still a little unsteady on your feet so you’ll need someone close by in case you need help. I’m happy to stay, but you might be more comfortable with Dean. If that’s okay with y’all?”
Dean’s head snapped up from his plate and his contemplation of the suicidal possibility of drowning in eggs after his earlier outburst, to see Sam go tomato red and a look of panic cross his face at Casey’s offer to help him. He huffed a laugh of his own at Sam’s reaction. A hot nurse and a shower was like the key plot points to every guy’s naughty Florence Nightingale fantasy. Apparently, every guy except for Dean’s girl-shy little brother. Sam turned wide pleading eyes to Dean.
“No problem.” Yes, problem. “I’ll give you a hand.” I bet you will. “We’ll do it when we’re done eating.” Not even going to comment on that one. Sam nodded his head and gave Dean a grateful look from under his bangs, face lightening to a more natural shade.
“Okay. Sam, since you’re a ‘walking talking miracle’ as you put it, you’re allowed to wear something a little more modest around the hospital. I found some of the scrubs we keep on hand for Trotter,” she tilted her chin in the direction of a pile of forest green clothes on the small cabinet on the other side of Sam’s bed, “they should be long enough in the leg even if they’ll probably be a little big in the shoulders. Still, it’s gotta be better than a backless gown. Dean, I’m not sure what you have available to you for clothing so I pulled a set of scrubs for you as well, in case you wanted a shower this morning too. I guessed at you’re size so let me know if they don’t fit.” She eyed a stack of black clothes next to Sam’s green ones. “Both sets are brand new, never been worn. One of the orderlies had an unopened package of briefs in his locker, not sure why so don’t ask, and they look like they’ll work.” Casey’s eyes glassed over for a moment and her head tilted to the side like she was listening to something in another room. Her forehead creased as she turned her unblinking eyes out the window. Dean twisted in his seat and followed her gaze but nothing seemed unusual behind the paned glass, the manicured grounds and sheltering mountainside innocuous in the weak morning light filtering through the smoky fog cover. As quickly as it began, Casey‘s concentrated stare broke suddenly and she shuddered. Blinking a few times, she shook her head and smiled.
“I’ll, um, leave you guys to it.”
Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam, who shrugged before taking another syrup heavy bite. That girl was weird. Takes one to know one. True.
The boys finished their food and came to the consensus that no matter where in the country they got hurt on the next hunt it would be worth the risk of exsanguination just to drive back here for the food alone. Dean turned on the television, flipping through the channels until settling on a Tom and Jerry cartoon to draw out the time until Sam decided to heed the call of hot water. The longer he thought about it, the more he agreed with his snarky inner voice that said there was a problem. Several times Dean had to forcefully detour his mind from thoughts of rivulets of water running down long spans of tan skin and lean muscle rippling under sudsy hands, to prevent an interesting conversation starter when he stood up.
“Dean?”
“Hmmm?” Dean kept his attention focused on the television, afraid of what Sam would see on his face.
“Do you think that dreams can come true?”
“You mean like that shit those Disney princesses sing about?
“No, Dean,” Sam blew out an exasperated sigh. “I mean like normal people dreams. Like the ones you have at night.”
“Why?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering.”
“Did you have the clown dream again? Did mean ole’ Ronald McDonald try to get you? You know he’s not real, right?” Grinning, Dean turned away from the animated antics on the screen finally feeling on solid ground, nothing like teasing Sam to set the world right again. Dean’s smile fell when he caught sight of his little brother. Sam stared blankly out the window, teeth pressed into the soft flesh of his bottom lip and fingers dancing along the hem of his gown. A neon sign blinking ‘ANGST’ would have been more subtle. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing, really,” eyes still diverted, voice distant, mind somewhere else. Yeah, nothing. Sure.
“Sam?” Dean waited until hazel eyes found his. “What did you dream about? Talk to me.”
“Dean, I swear it’s…”
“Sam,” he growled, interrupting, “so help me if you say ‘nothing’ again.”
“Fine. I had a weird dream last night. You were in it and I’m pretty sure Casey was there too. All I remember clearly is hearing a gun shot and blood. Lots and lots of blood.”
Dean examined Sam carefully. “You took that psycho-ology course last year. The mind takes things from everyday life, throws them in a blender and pours the mess out in the form of dreams. And with what we deal with, yours would be gorier than most people’s. Don’t worry about it. It was probably a meshing of yesterday with a little bit of our real life added in for flavor.” He patted Sam’s knee and gave him the most reassuring smile he could muster.
The corners of Sam’s mouth jerked in a brief smile, there and gone in the blink of an eye. He turned back to his older brother, nodding slightly, before lifting his eyes to watch Tom whack Jerry over the head with a spatula. Reassured, but not convinced. Dean directed his own eyes back to the screen, but kept careful watch with sidelong glances on the troubled man next to him.
Half an hour of silence later, Sam pushed the rolling table away and heaved a sigh. Shoving at Dean’s feet propped up on the side of the bed and blocking his path, Sam scooted through to get the clothes off the cabinet. Dean’s eyes snapped to the ceiling when Sam passed as memories of Dream Sam going commando came back full force. Dean could still feel the weight and shape of Sam’s ass in his hands just like he’d actually had them there, the softness of the skin and tightness of the muscles. His mind wandered further and his dick jerked in his jeans.
“Dean?”
Pulled from his daydream, Dean’s head jerked awkwardly in the direction of his brother who was giving him a look that clearly said he was waiting on an answer.
“Sorry, I zoned for a second. Guess, I’m still waking up. What did you say, Sam?”
“I said I was getting tired and wondered if you’d mind helping me with that shower now so I can lie down. Are you okay? You’re acting weird this morning.” Sam’s eyes were full of concern.
“’M fine, Sam. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Sam’s shower hadn’t turned into the monumental disaster that Dean feared it would. When he untied his brother’s gown it only required a small amount of effort to quell the sense of deja vu’ and ignore the fantasied memory of how Sam’s collarbone tasted. He was relieved to find that, unlike Dream Sam, Real-life Sam was a prude and definitely wore underwear. Sam insisted that he could handle the actual act of bathing on his own and they ended up in a compromise that Dean would stand outside the slightly ajar door, within calling distance, in case Sam needed him. It was an arrangement they believed would also appease Casey should she come in to check.
The sound of the water shutting off and Sam shuffling around drifted out of the partially opened door and Dean breathed a little easier with the knowledge he would not be required to come to the aid of his very naked, very wet little brother. Sam opened the door, already dressed in the soft cotton scrubs, towel draped over his head. Stretching his arms up to dry his hair, he winced as the movement pulled the tightened muscles guarding his broken ribs. Dean’s limbs, recognizing the need, moved automatically trained from years of practice. He reached over and swiped the towel a few times over his brother’s mop of brown hair that was in desperate need of a cut. He pulled the terry cloth softness down and wrapped it around the back of Sam’s neck, hands still clutching the ends. It was then that he discovered how close they’d gotten during the drying process.
Drinking in the sight of Sam, hair mussed and face flushed, Dean chucked his naughty Nightingale fantasy in lieu of a dirty Dr. Winchester one. When their gazes met, Dean noticed that the color of the scrubs accentuated a similar shade in Sam’s multi-toned eyes, bringing the green to the forefront. The weight of his brother’s stare seemed to pin Dean in place, not only locking his eyes but all the parts of his body as well. Hypnotized by the green-amber depths, he felt his body sway toward Sam, a magnet drawn to its polar opposite. They were so close now that Dean felt Sam’s breath on his lips and he ran his tongue over the skin to try to taste it, taste Sam. Sam’s eyes tracked the motion and something new and hungry flickered in them. A spark charged the air between them, Dean’s breath hitched as the current touched him and he leaned in a fraction of an inch more.
“Boys?”
John’s gruff word acted on them like the wakening kiss in so many fairy tales, breaking the spell. Both Winchester brothers jumped back at the sound and regarded their father with guilty looks that their welcoming smiles couldn’t completely hide. Sam’s ‘Dad’ mixed with Dean’s ‘Sir’ to create a garbled greeting.
“Sam, you seem to be doing better. Your brother led me to believe yesterday that you were on death’s door,” John leveled an appraising look at Sam before he turned cold eyes on his oldest.
“Yesterday I was on death’s door. I had a tube shoved down my throat so I could breathe and about five bags of stuff pumping into my veins. According to the doctors, I’m doing better than expected. A combination of medication and a strong immune system or so I’m told.” Dean flinched at the steely tone in Sam’s voice and found it hard to believe this was the same person who’d laughed with Casey this morning over body odor.
Dean felt as Sam’s eyes slid to him. He wasn’t entirely sure if Sam was seeking comfort or confirmation, but Dean was too preoccupied by the sight visible over his Dad’s shoulder to give it any real consideration. The sense of unease from earlier crept over him again causing his skin to prickle and his protective nature kicked into overdrive. Reaching over, he curled his fingers around Sam’s wrist and pulled his brother behind him.
“Sam, you’ve been up and around for a while. I know you’re getting tired. Why don’t you lie down and rest?” Dean tugged gently on Sam’s arm to prod him into action. He waited until Sam was settled in the bed before he spoke again.
“Bobby. Caleb.” Dean nodded his head in the direction of his father’s friends filling the doorway. Both men resolutely avoided Dean’s gaze, instead their anger tinged eyes were trained on the back of the senior Winchester’s head. Dean could feel the tension between the trio, it was evident they’d been arguing. He couldn’t look at his father, just continued to stare at the men entering the room behind him, as puzzle pieces snapped into place. “You guys just get into town?”
“Not exactly. We got in a few days ago to help your Dad.” Bobby flat reply echoed in the quiet of the room. Dean’s eyes narrowed as both men’s faces hardened and the final piece clicked into place. Bobby and Caleb had been with their Dad the whole time Sam had been sick and, by their expressions, thought Dean knew it.
“Oh. Wow. Must have been a helluva hunt. What was it again,” he asked innocently, finally looking at his father. It was a question that Dean knew his father would answer without hesitation. John had been asked some variation of it a thousand times by both his sons and his mind would supply an answer without conscious thought. Before it could be censored, spun into a believable lie.
“Salt and burn.”
“It took three hunters to do a salt and burn. That was one badass spirit.” Dean pursed his lips into a frown and raised his eyebrows, sarcasm dripping off his words into big pools on
the ground.
Suddenly the floor was the most interesting thing in the room. Both Bobby and Caleb’s eyes dropped to study the flecked pattern of the tiles, unable to witness the family war they were an unwitting participant in by association.
Years from now, when Dean thinks back on this moment, he’ll always wonder what would have happened, how far the argument would have gone. Would he and John have come to blows? But he’ll never know because just as John opened his mouth, Casey walked in, pen moving furiously across the chart balanced on her forearm.
“Hey, Sam. Did you need -“ The rest of her words were lost as wide eyes took in the five men in Sam’s room.
Over her head, Dean could see the light mounted in the ceiling outside the door, the one that signaled the nurse call button had been pressed and he looked over to his brother. Sam’s breaths were labored, his anxious face volleyed back and forth between his father and Dean, his thumb still held down the orange button on the bedrail. Dean’s brows drew together, but before any questions could be asked, his attention was snatched back to the others in the room.
“Casey!” The word was harmonized by Bobby’s fond tone and Caleb’s lusty one, the end result a happy acknowledgment for an old friend. Dean’s mind had barely processed the familiarity of their greeting and what that meant when a metallic click forced him to focus in another direction. John stood, lips curled into a snarl, his 9 millimeter cocked and aimed at the girl’s heart.
“Hello, Bitch.”
Chapter 10