Fic: Picking up the Pieces (SPN) Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
When Sam went to bed that night he was running over in his head the cost of Dean staying in hospital another week, when his next pay cheque was coming and how much he'd earn if he started working double shifts. Even then he'd need to work hard for tips too... Okay, that was fine. He'd work till late, hustle pool in his breaks. Shit. They still would never have enough money.
Maybe I should get another job, he thought. But working two jobs and looking after Dean? That would be near impossible.
He lay his head down on the pillow and thought about where Dean could be hiding bottles through the house. He'd have to have stashed the stuff everywhere for easy access. He wasn't the most mobile these days. He'd need to find it and tip it down the sink, all of it. He would not bring Dean back into a house that had alcohol. That was it. He was done.
The alcohol and the money situation aside, Sam started worrying that he’d made a mistake leaving Dean in the hospital. Sure, Bobby was there, but Sam liked to keep an eye on him himself, make sure things didn't get worse. And he knew when Dean was really vulnerable, distressed, and caught in a PTSD flashback, he needed his brother.
Sam swallowed, breathed out long and hard, forced his eyes to close. The sooner he got some sleep, the sooner he could get back to Dean.
...
Sam woke up to the loud trundle of the garbage truck coming down the street. It was after 9 o’clock. He cursed and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. No messages. He sighed. He knew Bobby wouldn’t call him anyway, even if things had gotten worse, because Bobby was trying to look after both of them. I’m not the one that needs looking after, Sam thought sullenly. He dialed Bobby’s number before he’d even got out of bed.
“Mornin’,” Bobby greeted.
“How is he?” Sam said, sleep still in his voice, forgoing the formalities.
“I’m fine, Sam. Thanks for asking,” Bobby replied.
“Sorry, Bobby.”
“It’s alright, son.”
Sam heard some talking in the background, knives and forks against plates, “Where are you?”
“I just went to grab some breakfast.”
All Sam could think was you left him alone. I trusted you to watch out for him and you left him alone. He could feel his jaw getting tighter as he gritted his teeth.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. He had a visitor.”
“A visitor?”
“Yeah, some girl from rehab or something. Pretty little thing.”
“Oh, that’ll be Katie…”
“That’s her.”
“Um… okay,” Sam tried to get his mind straight after that strange new development, “But how is he? How was last night?”
“Not the best.”
I knew it.
“He spent most of the damn night hurling. At one point his temperature was almost 104. He calmed down a bit after they put the cooling blanket on him.”
“What about the nightmares? Did he have any incidences?”
“A few. Kid seemed pretty distressed any time he closed his eyes. But what’s new? He did have a bit of a panic attack this morning. Something on the TV set him off but I didn’t see what. Took him a while to come round from that one.”
“Could have been anything,” Sam thought out loud, a lot of things set Dean off these days.
“Dr Reid is coming in today to see how he’s doing.”
“Great. Okay, well, I’ll be up there in about an hour. I just want get rid of the booze in the house, call Riley and maybe see if she can give me some more hours.”
“Sam,” Bobby said, an element of sternness in his voice, “Don’t you go working yourself into the ground.”
Sam sighed and lowered his head, “Do I have any other option?”
…
By the time Sam was in the car, heading to the hospital he received another call from Bobby. He kept the car steady, focused his eyes on the road as he pulled the phone from his pocket.
“What’s going on?” he answered.
“Boy almost passed out he was hurting so bad.”
Shit.
“His back?”
“Yeah. He’s had some morphine now and is out cold.”
“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”
Sam hung up and drove just a little faster.
…
Dean could hear Sam’s voice. He wanted to wake up. Mostly because from what he could hear of Sam’s tone, he was worried, stressed, frightened, and he needed to assure him that everything was okay. That he was okay. But he couldn’t wake up. The morphine had knocked him around. He was completely out of it. Couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t move his body. He didn’t hurt though. At least he didn’t hurt. But he was nauseous, and felt just generally unwell.
“The doc give you an update?”
“Yeah, they, uh, have to take more blood today to check his liver, possibly a chest xray too.”
“What about his back? Are they worried about that?”
“Dr Reid said he’s sending a physio down here to assess him. They’ll have to give him some exercises… Ideally he should have been walking but he’s been too weak to get much further than to the bathroom.”
“Well, when he’s up we can try and get him moving. See how he does.”
“Bobby…”
“… He’ll be alright, Sam. It looks bad, but, I promise, it’ll be alright. We just need to keep focusing on our next move.”
Dean struggled. He couldn’t listen to anymore. He couldn’t have his little brother this on edge about him. Dean was the caregiver. Dean was the provider. Dean looked out for Sammy. That was it. That was his job. His only job. And dammit, Bobby was right, he had to stow his crap, for everyone’s sake.
“Dean? You awake?”
Dean managed to moan, shift in the bed.
“Easy, boy.”
The morphine clouded his head, made him even more sluggish, but he got his eyes open and locked onto Sammy.
“Hey, little brother.”
Sam smiled, looking pained and exhausted, but it was a friggen beautiful sight nonetheless.
“Hey, Dean. How ya feeling?”
“Like roadkill,” he joked.
“Well, you look like it too,” Sam laughed back.
“Gee, thanks, Sammy. Kick a man while he’s down.”
Bobby stood up, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna grab a coffee, boys.”
Dean nodded at Bobby, being silently thankful for everything he’d ever put himself through for them.
“I talked to your doctor,” Sam said, face turning sour.
“Yeah? When ya springing me?” Dean sniffed, glanced around the room.
“Dean…”
“Seriously, Sam. Let’s get outta here.”
“Would you stop?” Sam said.
“What?” Dean looked at him with honest confusion. As if he wouldn’t have known Dean would want to get out as soon as possible.
“This is serious,” Sam raised his voice a little, “Do you realise how sick you are?”
“Oh, come on, Sam. So I went a bit hard on the booze, I think I’m entitled to that considering.”
“You know it’s worse than that.”
“I know! Alright? I know! What I don’t need is you reminding me 24/7!”
Dean knew the minute the words had left his mouth that he’d said the wrong thing. For a moment neither of them said anything. From the look on Sam’s face he was still in shock. Dean was suddenly on edge, angry, bordering on furious. And it was only because he was so terrified. God, I need a drink, he thought, licking his lips.
A nurse came in. A new one for today. She introduced herself but Dean just sort of grunted in the affirmative and didn’t pay any attention. She took his vital signs, and looked between him and his brother.
“Your blood pressure is a little bit higher than normal, are you stressed about anything this morning?”
Bless her, she didn’t understand. She hadn’t met Dean and understood that he was stressing about something 100% of the time.
He mustered a smarmy grin, “Not any more than usual.”
“Okay,” she nodded, rechecked her figures, and then took his pulse and blood pressure manually.
Dean rested himself back, tried to calm down. He could feel his heart pounding and knew that was probably what she was panicking about.
When she finished she said, “I’ll get Dr Reid to come down and see you shortly.”
“Thanks, Jenny,” Sam smiled as she left.
Ah, so Sam was paying attention.
“You alright?” Sam asked.
Dean rubbed his fingers across his forehead, “Headache,” he mumbled.
“Uh, Katie came and visited you?”
Dean looked up with the sudden change of conversation.
“Yeah, she did.”
“Huh,” Sam hummed, “So, what’s going on with that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You gonna…” Sam shrugged, “hit that?”
Dean chuckled, then cleared his throat, “When are you working next?”
He wasn’t quite ready to talk about Katie. Yeah, she was a babe. Yeah, she was young and single… but she was too good for him. Way too good for him. He had no idea why she was even hanging around. He couldn’t possibly understand why she would want to waste her time with him. It was hard enough to imagine why in hell Riley had wanted to, at least she was getting something out of it. Yeah, shitty sex, where you just lie there and then cry afterwards. Ace. Brilliant. Fannntastic.
“If you’re feeling okay later I’ll go in tonight.”
Dean was glad Sam didn’t press the issue.
“I’m fine here. You can go.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Sam muttered, chewing on his lip.
…
Sam and Dean didn’t say much to each other after that. Bobby went back to the house to get some sleep. Sam had almost read an entire book while he sat at Dean’s side. Nurses and doctors were in and out. They took him down for an xray, which showed his pneumonia was not responding to the antibiotics, so it was more meds pumped through his lines. Then he’d had more blood taken, a physio and OT review, followed by a long and painful walk up and down the hall, in which Dean admitted that he needed a cane… and more painkillers. After that Dean passed out from exhaustion.
Sam almost jumped out of his seat when his phone started ringing in his pocket. He tried to get to it quickly, casting a glance at his brother to make sure he was still asleep.
“Hello?” he answered, quietly, not even having read the name on the screen.
“Hey, Sam. It’s Riley.”
“Oh, hey, Riley,” Sam kept his voice low.
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, no. Dean’s just sleeping.”
“Oh, that’s what I was calling about. I wanted to know how things were going.”
“Yeah,” Sam huffed a laugh, “Uh, he’s, uh…”
“So, not doing so hot then?” he could hear the humour in her voice as she cut off his stammering.
“I’m not quite sure when he’ll be getting out.”
“Is he accepting visitors?”
Dean’s loud breathing, which Sam had been listening to for the last few hours, began hitching and Sam fixed his eyes on his brother, immediately assessing for danger. Thinking the worst, that Dean was falling into a nightmare, Sam was surprised when Dean sneezed so hard it woke him, bringing an arm up to rub at his nose, looking so confused it was almost comical.
“What the hell are you laughing at?” Dean croaked.
Sam had to grip his stomach he was laughing so hard.
“Sorry. I’ll call you back,” Sam muttered into the phone, trying to contain himself.
“What?” Dean sounded angry.
Sam couldn’t stop laughing though, and when he managed a glance at his brother through tear filled eyes, he had a reluctant smile on his face.
“Ahh, God,” Sam sighed, wiping his eyes, “Sorry.”
Dean coughed lightly, then rubbed his forehead, “Glad someone’s enjoying themselves,” he said, but he didn’t sound annoyed.
“Sorry, man. How you feeling?”
“I feel like shit. My head’s killing me,” Dean sniffed and rubbed his nose again.
“You’re not getting another cold, are you?”
“God, probably. Why the hell not?” Dean rolled his eyes, then groaned at how it must have hurt.
“Well, the drinking probably didn’t help boost your immune system.”
“Yes, thank you, Sam. I didn’t actually need a response,” Dean jabbed, closing his eyes.
Sam laughed, “Just go back to sleep, dude.”
“Planning on it,” Dean grunted, clearing his throat, “Who were you talking to?”
“Huh?”
Dean cracked his eyes open, “On the phone.”
“Oh. Riley called, wanted to know if she could come and visit.”
Dean coughed, pressed his hand against his ribs, “What is this? A peep show?”
“I think she just wants to see you, man.”
Sam saw the look of confusion and self-loathing ghost over his brother’s face. So he continued, “I don’t know how you manage to pull the ladies when you look like ass though.”
Dean smiled, as tired as he looked, “You underestimate the charm, Sammy. They just can’t resist.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam moaned, “What do you want me to tell her?”
“Sure, I guess,” he croaked, “Beats looking at your ugly mug.”
…
So, Dean had felt this cold coming on for about a day, but just chose to ignore it. Because he didn’t even think it was possible to catch a cold when he was still dealing with the effects of the last one. How was that even fair? It’s not fair, he thought, but since when did you deserve what was fair?
He’d woken up hours later, after his brief chat with Sam, to find he was alone. A note on his side table told him that Sam had gone to work and Bobby would be in later that night.
He sniffed, sneezed twice, groaned, then coughed. He rubbed his face with both hands, hearing a gentle knock at the door.
“Hi, Dean. You’re awake.”
It was the nurse from before.
“Hey,” his voice cracked, “Jenny, was it?”
“That’s me,” she smiled, “How are you feeling?”
“Ah… I’ve been better.”
“I’m sure you have,” she began wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his arm. “So, the doctor wants you to have two hours of oxygen before bed.”
Dean sneezed.
“Bless you!” she chirped.
Dean didn’t want the oxygen. Just because they used those nasal prongs, and right now he was having a hard time breathing through his nose at all he was so congested.
“I’ll grab some tissues for you in a minute, Dean,” she said, checking his BP.
“Thanks,” he cleared his throat.
“Do you feel like you’re coming down with something?” her eyebrows were furrowed as she sent him an assessing gaze.
“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, the congestion muffling his words.
“Okay, well we might do the oxygen through the mask tonight then,” she said, finishing up taking his vital signs, “Is there anything else I can get you to make you a bit more comfortable?”
“Just tissues, thanks,” he rasped, rubbing his knuckles under his nose.
“Alright, I’ll be back with your medication and some tissues for you. Your brother said your uncle would be in at around 7.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean managed a smile as she left.
When the nurse came back in Dean was staring at the wall, she had a newspaper tucked under her arm. She gave him the meds and placed the tissue box and paper on his table, wheeling it close to him.
“I thought you might want to read something if you were bored. I know there’s not much to do when you’re feeling crummy.”
Dean grabbed the tissues in favour of the paper, heartily blowing his nose, feeling like half his brain just exploded through his face. God, it sucked.
…
“Please, stop.”
A man cried. Dean could only tell from the voice that it was a man, the face was too shredded and bloody to tell at this point.
“I didn’t do anything. Please. Please, stop. Ahhhh!”
Dean drove the blade into his side, squeezing it down between the ribs. Oh, it felt so good to deal out some pain.
“I don’t understand… Ahhh!”
Dean sliced and chopped, and smiled as he did it. He didn’t care who this guy was, what he’d done, now it was his turn. It was his turn to hold the knife, to tear apart the souls on the rack. Oh, and the more this guys screamed, the more he liked it.
Dean woke up sweaty, panting, sobbing. His hands were shaking. He tried to forget the dream, say to himself ‘it’s just a dream’ but it wasn’t. It was real. He’d done that. Over and over and over again. And he had liked it.
He put a hand on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart. He’d only been asleep for fifteen minutes. While he tried to reorient himself his eyes fell on the newspaper in front of him.
He wasn’t looking for it. And he probably wouldn’t have seen it if it wasn’t staring him in the face. The front page described the strange goings on of what could only be a vengeful spirit.
Is Hill House Haunted?, the front page screamed. Dean read the article, which painted a pretty clear history of the house, half the work was done for him. He could tell that whoever this Professor Elliot was, was causing havoc and was now the reason two people were dead.
Dean felt awful, but that dream had sparked something in him. He couldn’t lie around all day. He had too much to atone for now. He would never, he could never, make it right, but he could start somewhere. Killing evil. That was supposed to be what got him through. But he’d given that up, why? Because his body was failing? Bullshit. It wasn’t a good enough excuse.
Bobby was coming in at 7. It was currently 5:41. He had just over an hour to get his clothes on, escape past medical staff, hotwire a car, and be on his way to Hill House. Dean grabbed some tissues and sneezed messily into them.
Piece of cake.
…
When Sam went to bed that night he was running over in his head the cost of Dean staying in hospital another week, when his next pay cheque was coming and how much he'd earn if he started working double shifts. Even then he'd need to work hard for tips too... Okay, that was fine. He'd work till late, hustle pool in his breaks. Shit. They still would never have enough money.
Maybe I should get another job, he thought. But working two jobs and looking after Dean? That would be near impossible.
He lay his head down on the pillow and thought about where Dean could be hiding bottles through the house. He'd have to have stashed the stuff everywhere for easy access. He wasn't the most mobile these days. He'd need to find it and tip it down the sink, all of it. He would not bring Dean back into a house that had alcohol. That was it. He was done.
The alcohol and the money situation aside, Sam started worrying that he’d made a mistake leaving Dean in the hospital. Sure, Bobby was there, but Sam liked to keep an eye on him himself, make sure things didn't get worse. And he knew when Dean was really vulnerable, distressed, and caught in a PTSD flashback, he needed his brother.
Sam swallowed, breathed out long and hard, forced his eyes to close. The sooner he got some sleep, the sooner he could get back to Dean.
...
Sam woke up to the loud trundle of the garbage truck coming down the street. It was after 9 o’clock. He cursed and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. No messages. He sighed. He knew Bobby wouldn’t call him anyway, even if things had gotten worse, because Bobby was trying to look after both of them. I’m not the one that needs looking after, Sam thought sullenly. He dialed Bobby’s number before he’d even got out of bed.
“Mornin’,” Bobby greeted.
“How is he?” Sam said, sleep still in his voice, forgoing the formalities.
“I’m fine, Sam. Thanks for asking,” Bobby replied.
“Sorry, Bobby.”
“It’s alright, son.”
Sam heard some talking in the background, knives and forks against plates, “Where are you?”
“I just went to grab some breakfast.”
All Sam could think was you left him alone. I trusted you to watch out for him and you left him alone. He could feel his jaw getting tighter as he gritted his teeth.
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. He had a visitor.”
“A visitor?”
“Yeah, some girl from rehab or something. Pretty little thing.”
“Oh, that’ll be Katie…”
“That’s her.”
“Um… okay,” Sam tried to get his mind straight after that strange new development, “But how is he? How was last night?”
“Not the best.”
I knew it.
“He spent most of the damn night hurling. At one point his temperature was almost 104. He calmed down a bit after they put the cooling blanket on him.”
“What about the nightmares? Did he have any incidences?”
“A few. Kid seemed pretty distressed any time he closed his eyes. But what’s new? He did have a bit of a panic attack this morning. Something on the TV set him off but I didn’t see what. Took him a while to come round from that one.”
“Could have been anything,” Sam thought out loud, a lot of things set Dean off these days.
“Dr Reid is coming in today to see how he’s doing.”
“Great. Okay, well, I’ll be up there in about an hour. I just want get rid of the booze in the house, call Riley and maybe see if she can give me some more hours.”
“Sam,” Bobby said, an element of sternness in his voice, “Don’t you go working yourself into the ground.”
Sam sighed and lowered his head, “Do I have any other option?”
…
By the time Sam was in the car, heading to the hospital he received another call from Bobby. He kept the car steady, focused his eyes on the road as he pulled the phone from his pocket.
“What’s going on?” he answered.
“Boy almost passed out he was hurting so bad.”
Shit.
“His back?”
“Yeah. He’s had some morphine now and is out cold.”
“Okay. I’ll be there soon.”
Sam hung up and drove just a little faster.
…
Dean could hear Sam’s voice. He wanted to wake up. Mostly because from what he could hear of Sam’s tone, he was worried, stressed, frightened, and he needed to assure him that everything was okay. That he was okay. But he couldn’t wake up. The morphine had knocked him around. He was completely out of it. Couldn’t open his eyes, couldn’t move his body. He didn’t hurt though. At least he didn’t hurt. But he was nauseous, and felt just generally unwell.
“The doc give you an update?”
“Yeah, they, uh, have to take more blood today to check his liver, possibly a chest xray too.”
“What about his back? Are they worried about that?”
“Dr Reid said he’s sending a physio down here to assess him. They’ll have to give him some exercises… Ideally he should have been walking but he’s been too weak to get much further than to the bathroom.”
“Well, when he’s up we can try and get him moving. See how he does.”
“Bobby…”
“… He’ll be alright, Sam. It looks bad, but, I promise, it’ll be alright. We just need to keep focusing on our next move.”
Dean struggled. He couldn’t listen to anymore. He couldn’t have his little brother this on edge about him. Dean was the caregiver. Dean was the provider. Dean looked out for Sammy. That was it. That was his job. His only job. And dammit, Bobby was right, he had to stow his crap, for everyone’s sake.
“Dean? You awake?”
Dean managed to moan, shift in the bed.
“Easy, boy.”
The morphine clouded his head, made him even more sluggish, but he got his eyes open and locked onto Sammy.
“Hey, little brother.”
Sam smiled, looking pained and exhausted, but it was a friggen beautiful sight nonetheless.
“Hey, Dean. How ya feeling?”
“Like roadkill,” he joked.
“Well, you look like it too,” Sam laughed back.
“Gee, thanks, Sammy. Kick a man while he’s down.”
Bobby stood up, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna grab a coffee, boys.”
Dean nodded at Bobby, being silently thankful for everything he’d ever put himself through for them.
“I talked to your doctor,” Sam said, face turning sour.
“Yeah? When ya springing me?” Dean sniffed, glanced around the room.
“Dean…”
“Seriously, Sam. Let’s get outta here.”
“Would you stop?” Sam said.
“What?” Dean looked at him with honest confusion. As if he wouldn’t have known Dean would want to get out as soon as possible.
“This is serious,” Sam raised his voice a little, “Do you realise how sick you are?”
“Oh, come on, Sam. So I went a bit hard on the booze, I think I’m entitled to that considering.”
“You know it’s worse than that.”
“I know! Alright? I know! What I don’t need is you reminding me 24/7!”
Dean knew the minute the words had left his mouth that he’d said the wrong thing. For a moment neither of them said anything. From the look on Sam’s face he was still in shock. Dean was suddenly on edge, angry, bordering on furious. And it was only because he was so terrified. God, I need a drink, he thought, licking his lips.
A nurse came in. A new one for today. She introduced herself but Dean just sort of grunted in the affirmative and didn’t pay any attention. She took his vital signs, and looked between him and his brother.
“Your blood pressure is a little bit higher than normal, are you stressed about anything this morning?”
Bless her, she didn’t understand. She hadn’t met Dean and understood that he was stressing about something 100% of the time.
He mustered a smarmy grin, “Not any more than usual.”
“Okay,” she nodded, rechecked her figures, and then took his pulse and blood pressure manually.
Dean rested himself back, tried to calm down. He could feel his heart pounding and knew that was probably what she was panicking about.
When she finished she said, “I’ll get Dr Reid to come down and see you shortly.”
“Thanks, Jenny,” Sam smiled as she left.
Ah, so Sam was paying attention.
“You alright?” Sam asked.
Dean rubbed his fingers across his forehead, “Headache,” he mumbled.
“Uh, Katie came and visited you?”
Dean looked up with the sudden change of conversation.
“Yeah, she did.”
“Huh,” Sam hummed, “So, what’s going on with that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You gonna…” Sam shrugged, “hit that?”
Dean chuckled, then cleared his throat, “When are you working next?”
He wasn’t quite ready to talk about Katie. Yeah, she was a babe. Yeah, she was young and single… but she was too good for him. Way too good for him. He had no idea why she was even hanging around. He couldn’t possibly understand why she would want to waste her time with him. It was hard enough to imagine why in hell Riley had wanted to, at least she was getting something out of it. Yeah, shitty sex, where you just lie there and then cry afterwards. Ace. Brilliant. Fannntastic.
“If you’re feeling okay later I’ll go in tonight.”
Dean was glad Sam didn’t press the issue.
“I’m fine here. You can go.”
“Yeah, we’ll see,” Sam muttered, chewing on his lip.
…
Sam and Dean didn’t say much to each other after that. Bobby went back to the house to get some sleep. Sam had almost read an entire book while he sat at Dean’s side. Nurses and doctors were in and out. They took him down for an xray, which showed his pneumonia was not responding to the antibiotics, so it was more meds pumped through his lines. Then he’d had more blood taken, a physio and OT review, followed by a long and painful walk up and down the hall, in which Dean admitted that he needed a cane… and more painkillers. After that Dean passed out from exhaustion.
Sam almost jumped out of his seat when his phone started ringing in his pocket. He tried to get to it quickly, casting a glance at his brother to make sure he was still asleep.
“Hello?” he answered, quietly, not even having read the name on the screen.
“Hey, Sam. It’s Riley.”
“Oh, hey, Riley,” Sam kept his voice low.
“Is this a bad time?”
“No, no. Dean’s just sleeping.”
“Oh, that’s what I was calling about. I wanted to know how things were going.”
“Yeah,” Sam huffed a laugh, “Uh, he’s, uh…”
“So, not doing so hot then?” he could hear the humour in her voice as she cut off his stammering.
“I’m not quite sure when he’ll be getting out.”
“Is he accepting visitors?”
Dean’s loud breathing, which Sam had been listening to for the last few hours, began hitching and Sam fixed his eyes on his brother, immediately assessing for danger. Thinking the worst, that Dean was falling into a nightmare, Sam was surprised when Dean sneezed so hard it woke him, bringing an arm up to rub at his nose, looking so confused it was almost comical.
“What the hell are you laughing at?” Dean croaked.
Sam had to grip his stomach he was laughing so hard.
“Sorry. I’ll call you back,” Sam muttered into the phone, trying to contain himself.
“What?” Dean sounded angry.
Sam couldn’t stop laughing though, and when he managed a glance at his brother through tear filled eyes, he had a reluctant smile on his face.
“Ahh, God,” Sam sighed, wiping his eyes, “Sorry.”
Dean coughed lightly, then rubbed his forehead, “Glad someone’s enjoying themselves,” he said, but he didn’t sound annoyed.
“Sorry, man. How you feeling?”
“I feel like shit. My head’s killing me,” Dean sniffed and rubbed his nose again.
“You’re not getting another cold, are you?”
“God, probably. Why the hell not?” Dean rolled his eyes, then groaned at how it must have hurt.
“Well, the drinking probably didn’t help boost your immune system.”
“Yes, thank you, Sam. I didn’t actually need a response,” Dean jabbed, closing his eyes.
Sam laughed, “Just go back to sleep, dude.”
“Planning on it,” Dean grunted, clearing his throat, “Who were you talking to?”
“Huh?”
Dean cracked his eyes open, “On the phone.”
“Oh. Riley called, wanted to know if she could come and visit.”
Dean coughed, pressed his hand against his ribs, “What is this? A peep show?”
“I think she just wants to see you, man.”
Sam saw the look of confusion and self-loathing ghost over his brother’s face. So he continued, “I don’t know how you manage to pull the ladies when you look like ass though.”
Dean smiled, as tired as he looked, “You underestimate the charm, Sammy. They just can’t resist.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam moaned, “What do you want me to tell her?”
“Sure, I guess,” he croaked, “Beats looking at your ugly mug.”
…
So, Dean had felt this cold coming on for about a day, but just chose to ignore it. Because he didn’t even think it was possible to catch a cold when he was still dealing with the effects of the last one. How was that even fair? It’s not fair, he thought, but since when did you deserve what was fair?
He’d woken up hours later, after his brief chat with Sam, to find he was alone. A note on his side table told him that Sam had gone to work and Bobby would be in later that night.
He sniffed, sneezed twice, groaned, then coughed. He rubbed his face with both hands, hearing a gentle knock at the door.
“Hi, Dean. You’re awake.”
It was the nurse from before.
“Hey,” his voice cracked, “Jenny, was it?”
“That’s me,” she smiled, “How are you feeling?”
“Ah… I’ve been better.”
“I’m sure you have,” she began wrapping the blood pressure cuff around his arm. “So, the doctor wants you to have two hours of oxygen before bed.”
Dean sneezed.
“Bless you!” she chirped.
Dean didn’t want the oxygen. Just because they used those nasal prongs, and right now he was having a hard time breathing through his nose at all he was so congested.
“I’ll grab some tissues for you in a minute, Dean,” she said, checking his BP.
“Thanks,” he cleared his throat.
“Do you feel like you’re coming down with something?” her eyebrows were furrowed as she sent him an assessing gaze.
“Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, the congestion muffling his words.
“Okay, well we might do the oxygen through the mask tonight then,” she said, finishing up taking his vital signs, “Is there anything else I can get you to make you a bit more comfortable?”
“Just tissues, thanks,” he rasped, rubbing his knuckles under his nose.
“Alright, I’ll be back with your medication and some tissues for you. Your brother said your uncle would be in at around 7.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean managed a smile as she left.
When the nurse came back in Dean was staring at the wall, she had a newspaper tucked under her arm. She gave him the meds and placed the tissue box and paper on his table, wheeling it close to him.
“I thought you might want to read something if you were bored. I know there’s not much to do when you’re feeling crummy.”
Dean grabbed the tissues in favour of the paper, heartily blowing his nose, feeling like half his brain just exploded through his face. God, it sucked.
…
“Please, stop.”
A man cried. Dean could only tell from the voice that it was a man, the face was too shredded and bloody to tell at this point.
“I didn’t do anything. Please. Please, stop. Ahhhh!”
Dean drove the blade into his side, squeezing it down between the ribs. Oh, it felt so good to deal out some pain.
“I don’t understand… Ahhh!”
Dean sliced and chopped, and smiled as he did it. He didn’t care who this guy was, what he’d done, now it was his turn. It was his turn to hold the knife, to tear apart the souls on the rack. Oh, and the more this guys screamed, the more he liked it.
Dean woke up sweaty, panting, sobbing. His hands were shaking. He tried to forget the dream, say to himself ‘it’s just a dream’ but it wasn’t. It was real. He’d done that. Over and over and over again. And he had liked it.
He put a hand on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart. He’d only been asleep for fifteen minutes. While he tried to reorient himself his eyes fell on the newspaper in front of him.
He wasn’t looking for it. And he probably wouldn’t have seen it if it wasn’t staring him in the face. The front page described the strange goings on of what could only be a vengeful spirit.
Is Hill House Haunted?, the front page screamed. Dean read the article, which painted a pretty clear history of the house, half the work was done for him. He could tell that whoever this Professor Elliot was, was causing havoc and was now the reason two people were dead.
Dean felt awful, but that dream had sparked something in him. He couldn’t lie around all day. He had too much to atone for now. He would never, he could never, make it right, but he could start somewhere. Killing evil. That was supposed to be what got him through. But he’d given that up, why? Because his body was failing? Bullshit. It wasn’t a good enough excuse.
Bobby was coming in at 7. It was currently 5:41. He had just over an hour to get his clothes on, escape past medical staff, hotwire a car, and be on his way to Hill House. Dean grabbed some tissues and sneezed messily into them.
Piece of cake.
…