Fic: Ears to Hear (SPN)
Part of The Coda Series.
Coda to 11x11 Into the Mystic. Dean gets his eardrums blasted by a Banshee.
Ears to Hear
Dean looked up at Sam. He was crouched in front of him, hand on his shoulder. His lips were moving but he couldn’t make out the words. He couldn’t make out much of anything, except the loud ringing in his ears.
“What?”
He didn’t know if he’d even said the word, and it was extremely unnerving when you couldn’t hear what was coming out of your mouth.
Whatever Sam said back it reassured him, because his brother’s face looked calm and compassionate, and his hand squeezing his shoulder offered relief. He slumped forward, allowing his chin to drop to his chest. His head was pounding. He felt sick to his stomach. And the piercing screech in his ears was deafening… literally.
He stayed like that for a while, aware of his brother moving around him. Eventually Sam’s arm linked under his and he pulled him to his feet. Dean’s feet wouldn’t cooperate. He could feel the vibration in Sam’s chest as he spoke but he couldn’t hear the words. He couldn’t hear anything.
“Sammy.”
Sam let him sit down on the couch and started inspecting his head wounds.
“Sammy, I can’t hear.”
Sam shone his torch in Dean’s eyes.
“Sammy, quit it. I can’t hear!”
Sam stopped, looking stunned.
His mouth started moving again and, dammit, Dean wished he knew how to read lips.
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
Eileen sat down next to him, her hand on his shoulder.
Dean was freaked. His head was pounding, the dim lights in the room were way too bright, he wanted to throw up, and he couldn’t hear.
But that didn’t mean there was an absence of sound. No, that would be a relief right now. He couldn’t hear because the sound in his head was so loud.
Sam shoved his phone in his face.
It’s from the Banshee. Don’t worry. It’s only temporary.
Dean felt like saying, No shit it’s from the Banshee.
“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled. He was having a hard time holding his head up, and he flopped it back against the seat, his eyes roving before he closed them.
Sam frantically hit him on the knee.
“What?”
Sam frowned, pointing to his own head, STAY AWAKE, he mouthed.
Dean pressed the heel of his palm to the side of his head. He doubted he could fall asleep with the noise in his ears anyway.
“How do you know?” Dean asked.
Sam looked confused, glancing at Eileen.
“How do you know it’s temporary?”
Sam pursed his lips slightly, breathed in a shuddering breath and huffed it out, giving his brother a tight smile that was so not reassuring.
“You’re bluffing on this, aren’t you?”
Sam typed something else on his phone and held it out to him.
It’ll get better. Don’t worry.
Sam took it back and added something.
And stop shouting.
The bastard had the nerve to look amused.
“Get me… ice… and p’nkillers.”
Dean could feel his words slurring.
Sam was gone from in front of him a split second later.
Dean hoped his hearing would come back soon, because he couldn’t focus on reading off the screen anymore either. The letters blurred and the screen was too bright.
“Sam… my head is killing me.”
After he’d sputtered out that attempted sentence he seemed to lose time. A giant chunk in fact, as next thing he knew he was waking up in the old ladies bed (not good), an ice pack secured to his head with a bulky bandage, there was a bowl beside the bed with blood tinged water and a rag hanging over the edge. As he came to consciousness he groaned with the screaming, screeching metal in his ears. God, it was agony.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and twisted his head, squinting his eyes against the too bright bedside lamp, Sam’s face hovering above him, all crinkled and concerned, and mouthing more words.
“S’m…”
He pressed his hand against his forehead, argh, bad idea.
Sam held up a notepad with some scribbles.
“I can’t read that,” he gave up, closing his eyes again.
Sam pried them open, then mouthed something that looked like ‘sorry’ before blinding him with a flash light. It almost made him vomit.
…
It was well into the next day before they started packing up to head home. Dean had pounded the Percocet but his head was still drumming away to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He could hear some loud sounds but not words, the screech was getting quieter but not by much.
They said goodbye to Mildred and Eileen and Dean handed the keys over. He was concussed, tired, sore, and deaf. Sam could drive home.
He slept some of the way but mostly the screaming kept him awake. It kind of reminded him of hell and wasn’t that delightful.
When they got back he pushed himself up out of the car and had to swivel round to grab the hood as his legs gave out on him, lowering his head he tried to breathe through the nausea. Strong hands wrapped around his arms and he felt his brother’s broad chest against his back, holding him up like a tree truck. He felt the vibrations in Sam’s chest again as he spoke. He didn’t know what he was saying but it was comforting nonetheless.
They somehow staggered back to his room, because he ended up in his bed, with an ice cold washcloth on his brow. He blinked and lifted his head slightly, watching Sam remove his boots. He put his fingers to his ear and his hand came away bloody.
“What if my hearing never comes back?” he mumbled out, bloody fingertips falling uselessly at his side.
Sam’s drawn, pale face was the last thing he saw before unconsciousness claimed him again.
…
The first words he heard after the Banshee attack was Sam apologizing before he shined a light in his eyes once again, checking his pupils. When he stopped hearing the screaming, the ringing in his ears kept up for two whole weeks… The nightmares, and the flashbacks kept up for two months.
End.
Coda to 11x11 Into the Mystic. Dean gets his eardrums blasted by a Banshee.
Ears to Hear
Dean looked up at Sam. He was crouched in front of him, hand on his shoulder. His lips were moving but he couldn’t make out the words. He couldn’t make out much of anything, except the loud ringing in his ears.
“What?”
He didn’t know if he’d even said the word, and it was extremely unnerving when you couldn’t hear what was coming out of your mouth.
Whatever Sam said back it reassured him, because his brother’s face looked calm and compassionate, and his hand squeezing his shoulder offered relief. He slumped forward, allowing his chin to drop to his chest. His head was pounding. He felt sick to his stomach. And the piercing screech in his ears was deafening… literally.
He stayed like that for a while, aware of his brother moving around him. Eventually Sam’s arm linked under his and he pulled him to his feet. Dean’s feet wouldn’t cooperate. He could feel the vibration in Sam’s chest as he spoke but he couldn’t hear the words. He couldn’t hear anything.
“Sammy.”
Sam let him sit down on the couch and started inspecting his head wounds.
“Sammy, I can’t hear.”
Sam shone his torch in Dean’s eyes.
“Sammy, quit it. I can’t hear!”
Sam stopped, looking stunned.
His mouth started moving again and, dammit, Dean wished he knew how to read lips.
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
Eileen sat down next to him, her hand on his shoulder.
Dean was freaked. His head was pounding, the dim lights in the room were way too bright, he wanted to throw up, and he couldn’t hear.
But that didn’t mean there was an absence of sound. No, that would be a relief right now. He couldn’t hear because the sound in his head was so loud.
Sam shoved his phone in his face.
It’s from the Banshee. Don’t worry. It’s only temporary.
Dean felt like saying, No shit it’s from the Banshee.
“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled. He was having a hard time holding his head up, and he flopped it back against the seat, his eyes roving before he closed them.
Sam frantically hit him on the knee.
“What?”
Sam frowned, pointing to his own head, STAY AWAKE, he mouthed.
Dean pressed the heel of his palm to the side of his head. He doubted he could fall asleep with the noise in his ears anyway.
“How do you know?” Dean asked.
Sam looked confused, glancing at Eileen.
“How do you know it’s temporary?”
Sam pursed his lips slightly, breathed in a shuddering breath and huffed it out, giving his brother a tight smile that was so not reassuring.
“You’re bluffing on this, aren’t you?”
Sam typed something else on his phone and held it out to him.
It’ll get better. Don’t worry.
Sam took it back and added something.
And stop shouting.
The bastard had the nerve to look amused.
“Get me… ice… and p’nkillers.”
Dean could feel his words slurring.
Sam was gone from in front of him a split second later.
Dean hoped his hearing would come back soon, because he couldn’t focus on reading off the screen anymore either. The letters blurred and the screen was too bright.
“Sam… my head is killing me.”
After he’d sputtered out that attempted sentence he seemed to lose time. A giant chunk in fact, as next thing he knew he was waking up in the old ladies bed (not good), an ice pack secured to his head with a bulky bandage, there was a bowl beside the bed with blood tinged water and a rag hanging over the edge. As he came to consciousness he groaned with the screaming, screeching metal in his ears. God, it was agony.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and twisted his head, squinting his eyes against the too bright bedside lamp, Sam’s face hovering above him, all crinkled and concerned, and mouthing more words.
“S’m…”
He pressed his hand against his forehead, argh, bad idea.
Sam held up a notepad with some scribbles.
“I can’t read that,” he gave up, closing his eyes again.
Sam pried them open, then mouthed something that looked like ‘sorry’ before blinding him with a flash light. It almost made him vomit.
…
It was well into the next day before they started packing up to head home. Dean had pounded the Percocet but his head was still drumming away to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He could hear some loud sounds but not words, the screech was getting quieter but not by much.
They said goodbye to Mildred and Eileen and Dean handed the keys over. He was concussed, tired, sore, and deaf. Sam could drive home.
He slept some of the way but mostly the screaming kept him awake. It kind of reminded him of hell and wasn’t that delightful.
When they got back he pushed himself up out of the car and had to swivel round to grab the hood as his legs gave out on him, lowering his head he tried to breathe through the nausea. Strong hands wrapped around his arms and he felt his brother’s broad chest against his back, holding him up like a tree truck. He felt the vibrations in Sam’s chest again as he spoke. He didn’t know what he was saying but it was comforting nonetheless.
They somehow staggered back to his room, because he ended up in his bed, with an ice cold washcloth on his brow. He blinked and lifted his head slightly, watching Sam remove his boots. He put his fingers to his ear and his hand came away bloody.
“What if my hearing never comes back?” he mumbled out, bloody fingertips falling uselessly at his side.
Sam’s drawn, pale face was the last thing he saw before unconsciousness claimed him again.
…
The first words he heard after the Banshee attack was Sam apologizing before he shined a light in his eyes once again, checking his pupils. When he stopped hearing the screaming, the ringing in his ears kept up for two whole weeks… The nightmares, and the flashbacks kept up for two months.
End.