Fic: Taking Some Time (SPN) Chapter Fourteen
Genre: Sick!fic, Epic, Slightly AU
Category: Gen
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby
Warning: Very mild language. Descriptions of Hell. Can be considered slightly AU as Dean is not healed from his old wounds when Castiel raised him from perdition. Angst.
Disclaimer: They're pretty, but they're not mine.
Summary: Dean is a little worse off coming off a hunt than he let on. He's fresh from hell and caring a lot of scars, physically and mentally. A bad back, bad shoulder, PTSD, insomnia, alcohol abuse, and a nasty virus to top it all off. Maybe the boys need to take a break and try to get Dean back on track. It might be harder than they thought.
Taking Some Time
Chapter Fourteen
Sam woke up and the house was dark and quiet… too quiet. If he couldn’t hear Dean, that usually meant he wasn’t asleep. Or he wasn’t in the house.
Sam got up and padded gently towards Dean’s room.
He saw his brother standing in his room in the dark.
"Dean... You alright?"
Dean stared out the window into the blackness.
"The side gate rattles in the wind…"
He could see Dean was on edge, muscles tight across his shoulders.
"I'll fix it in the morning," Sam said, rubbing sleep from his eye and pushing his hair back off his face.
"Mm," Dean moaned, as though a rattling gate wasn't really the source of the problem. "I hate it when it's this windy..."
"I can't fix the weather, dude," Sam said, leaning on the doorframe.
"I know," Dean replied with not an ounce of humour.
"Dean, you sure you're alright?"
Dean finally turned from the window to look at his brother. He was pale.
"You have to quit asking me that, Sammy."
Sam frowned, eyebrows squeezing together.
“Do you want a sleeping pill?”
Dean coughed, “No, I don’t wanna sleep,” he quirked the corner of his mouth, trying to smile, but almost like he’d forgotten how.
A gust of wind shook past the house.
“You hear it?” Dean turned to look out the window again.
Sam listened, “Yeah.”
Dean turned his head slightly and Sam saw him chewing on his bottom lip.
“Dean… is there something you want to talk to me about?”
Dean’s eyes were wide, “I don’t wanna talk about it, Sammy.”
“You keep saying that,” Sam finally entered the room, sat down on the end of his brother’s bed, “but I think maybe you want to. I think maybe you need to.”
Dean laughed, then his bottom lip quivered and he swallowed, “I’m scared, Sam.”
Sam waited, scared any kind of movement or word would startle Dean back to hide in his hole.
“Truth is, uh…” Dean continued, “I’m not doing so well.”
I kinda noticed, Sam thought.
Dean sat on the bed with his back to Sam. He flinched and hissed.
“Ah,” he groaned, clenching his jaw.
“You alright?” Sam put a hand out to Dean’s shoulder, but hovered just above it, afraid to touch him.
Dean’s shoulders shook and Sam thought for a moment maybe he was crying, and then he realised he was laughing.
“You know how many cases I did with dad?”
Sam tilted his head curiously, “No.”
“Neither do I,” Dean looked down, “See, I was going on hunt’s with dad by the time I was old enough to handle the recoil on my sawed off.”
Sam caught a glimpse of happy nostalgia in his eyes as he leant forward.
“And I kept hunting with the old man long after you ditched us for Stanford...”
Sam clenched his jaw at the subtle dig.
“Until?” Sam prompted.
Dean smirked, “I, uh, may not have been completely honest with you when I told you how this happened,” he pointed to his back.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked, jaw still tight.
“You’d been gone for a year, we were still getting the hang of hunting just the two of us… Dad, uh… we screwed up. I ended up in the line of fire, as well as two other civilians…”
“What happened?”
Dean sighed, “It was a poltergeist in Mississippi. Big old, creepy house. Some kids had broken in to try and spend the night on a dare…”
Sam scoffed, “Cause when does that ever end well?”
“Yeah,” Dean breathed, “Things were already going sideways by the time we got there. We had to get the kids out of the house, but dad thought he knew where the bones were buried…”
…
“Dean! I want you to get in there and get those kids out!” John shouted above the noise coming from inside the house, as the wind picked up around them.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going round back to burn the bones!”
“No, dad, I think we should stay together. This spirit is powerful. We don’t even know if - ”
“Dean, I gave you an order! Go!”
Dean’s gaze lingered on his father for a moment before he sprinted towards the house, wet grass squelching beneath his boots as he pounded towards the door.
He could hear the teenagers screaming for help inside…
…
“He was wrong,” Dean stood back up and stared out the window, “The bones were supposed to be buried under the floorboards of the gazebo, so dad torched the thing. Except he hadn’t done the research right. The gazebo was torn down years ago and rebuilt, so who knows where the bones ended up. What we needed to do was cleanse the house.”
“And he sent you in there without any backup?”
Dean was still before he spoke again.
“I told him. I said not to split up.”
“Dean…”
“The thing tossed me around like a ragdoll,” Dean bit his lip.
“The kids?” Sam asked.
“Didn’t make it.”
Sam closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“But you said you finished the case?”
“Dad did. Caleb and Pastor Jim came up to help him. I was laid up in a motel room. Every morning when I woke up I couldn’t feel my feet for a solid hour.”
“God,” Sam sighed.
“I tried to keep hunting with dad after I’d decided not to see the specialist, but, uh, I was slow, off my face on pain meds half the time just to be able to get out of bed. Dad dumped me at Bobby’s telling me to “get right”. Eventually things settled down and I could go back to hunting… but things never were the same.”
“Dean…”
Dean coughed into his hand, “Sam… I’m tired.”
Sam sighed again, knowing he’d missed his window of opportunity for asking questions.
“You want the sleeping pill now?”
Dean sat down on his bed and rubbed his face, “Yeah, and Tylenol or something.”
“Okay,” Sam stood up, “Be right back.”
Sam tried to ignore the shake in Dean’s hand and the wet trail from his eye to his jaw, as he handed him the pills and glass of water. He waited for Dean to hand the glass back to him before he spoke.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that’s what happened?” he whispered.
“At first it was about protecting dad, then it was about preserving his memory… but now… I just don’t give a crap.”
Sam sighed, giving Dean’s good shoulder a squeeze before leaving the room and heading back to bed. He lay back on his pillows, seething from the mistake their dad had made that had cost Dean so much, and pretended he couldn’t hear Dean cry himself to sleep.
…
Sam got up early, before Dean, and went out to fix the side gate. He’d made a trip to the hardware store and back, attached a new latch and was making a pot of coffee when Dean finally wandered in, eyes puffy, hair mussed, face drawn and pale.
“Hey,” Sam said, jovially, trying to set the day off on a good note.
“Hey,” Dean’s voice was croaky and he cleared his throat loudly.
“Coffee?” Sam asked, grabbing another mug.
Dean nodded, sliding onto the barstool.
“I fixed the gate.”
“Thanks,” Dean said, eyes vacant.
“If you’re feeling up to it later, maybe we can go out for lunch,” Sam offered, handing Dean his coffee.
“Sure,” Dean replied, mechanically.
Sam frowned, wondering what else around the house needed fixing.
…
It was mid morning and they’d already had breakfast. Dean had showered and gotten into his jeans and a button down, the sling now a permanent accessory to his outfit. Sam sat at the breakfast bar, clicking away on his phone and scrawling in a notebook. Dean crossed the kitchen to peer in the fridge.
"Dean... I was thinking maybe I should get a job.”
"What? Why?"
"We've spent all our cash and the credit card's tapped. We could pull some more fake ones but if we're not moving around we'll be too easy to trace."
"We've got more cards..."
"Yeah, but they won't last forever. The medications alone..."
Dean looked down.
"We can't afford this, Dean. The house, the medication, your surgery..."
"And what are you gonna do?" Dean bit.
Sam sighed, "I could get some work bartending. Hustle pool when I can."
"Yeah, cause there's so much money in that," Dean rolled his eyes.
"What choice do we have?"
Dean stiffened, "Well, if you're getting a job I'll get one too. I can work, and I'm not letting you leave me sit here all day like a house wife while you're out working."
"You can't get a job, Dean," Sam breathed.
"Why not?"
"You know why."
"What? Because I got a bum shoulder and a screwy back? I'm not paralysed, Sam. I can still fix cars."
"Dean..."
"What? What, Sam? I want a job too. I can work. I've worked all my life. I can do this. I'm not letting you carry us on your own. That's not how this works. I can do it, Sammy."
Sam looked Dean in the eye.
"No... you can't."
Dean stared at Sam for the longest time. Adam's apple working, jaw clenching, blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears.
"Just sit down, Dean," Sam said eventually.
Dean shook his head slightly, "No, I don't wanna sit down," he said quietly as he limped towards the front door.
"Where are you going?" Sam sighed.
"For a walk!" Dean shouted on his way out, followed by a tremendous door slam.
…
Dean headed down the steps at the front of the house. He was slow. Ridged. The man across the street was putting his bins on the curb and glanced up at him. He gave a sympathetic smile and an encouraging nod. And who the hell gave him the right to look at him like that? He didn't even know this guy. How dare he give him a sympathy nod. He must have been talking to Dave. Christ, the whole friggen neighbourhood probably knew who he was by now.
That's the freak that screams every night.
Dean did his best to glare but he probably looked too pathetic for that. He stumbled on the last step and almost face planted into the cement path. Geez, that would have looked good for his case.
Let me get a job, Sammy. I can't even walk down the stairs without busting in my head.
The guy was still looking at him. As if contemplating coming over to help, and so help him if he did because Dean would have clocked him so hard he'd never get back up.
He didn't know why he was so angry. Maybe it was the constant gnawing pain. Maybe he wasn't even angry. Maybe he was more depressed than anything. Because Sam was right. He couldn't get a job. He couldn't even look after himself right now. And, not surprisingly, coming to that conclusion didn't make him feel better.
His limp grew slightly worse as he continued walking, reaching the park near the end of their street.
He took a funny step and felt something shift in his spine, pinching, almost dropping him to his knees it hurt so bad.
His eyes were closed, hand against his lower back. Breathe.
"Dean? Are you alright?" The panicked voice belonged to Maxine, walking back towards her house pushing a baby in a stroller.
He reached out his hand to her, the need to lean on something desperate.
She grabbed his arm and allowed him to put some weight on her.
"Gah," he groaned, "Sorry, Max. Lost my footing for a second there."
"You're awfully pale. Do you want to sit down?"
"No," Dean shook his head, teeth clenched, "No, it's okay. But if you're heading in that direction I might walk with you, if that's okay?"
"Yeah, absolutely. Here, lean on this."
Dean walked beside her, right hand bracing himself on the stroller. God, it hurt so bad.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"I will be," he tried to give a reassuring smile but his heart wasn't exactly in it, "It's just time for more painkillers."
She put her hand on his, and that was it. It was too much.
He turned his face away, pretending to look at something across the road. He gritted his teeth, steeled his jaw as a tear slipped from his eye.
"Dean?" Maxine said, so soft and gentle.
Dean cleared his throat, fixed his eyes straight ahead, allowing the tears to fall freely. His expression blank. He couldn't bring a hand up to wipe them away, because he only had one hand right now and that one was busy keeping him upright.
"Do you want me to call Sam?"
"No," Dean forced a small smile, looking down at his feet.
By some miracle he made it back to the house. Sam was sitting out on the porch and jumped up when he saw him, hurrying down the steps to help Dean back up them.
"I got it," Dean mumbled, annoyed, although he leant against Sam anyway because he had no choice.
"What happened?" Sam asked, looking back at Maxine.
"Nothing happened. Leave me alone," Dean said, shaking Sam off his arm and wandering into the house.
...
"You're right, Sam."
"About what?"
"About everything. About me... I can't do the same things you can do. And I'm not alright."
"Dean, it'll just take -"
"Take some time, I know. That's all I'm hearing is 'it'll just take time'. Well, we don't have time, Sammy. I can't be out of this game. Not after the things I've done. Not after all..." he choked on his words, sobs pushing their way up his throat, "Not after everything."
"Dean," Sam breathed, "You can't be blamed for the things you did down there. You did what you had to. You need to forgive yourself, man."
Dean dropped his head, chin to his chest, scrunching his face as the tears flowed in streams down his cheeks.
"I can't, Sammy... I can't."
Category: Gen
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby
Warning: Very mild language. Descriptions of Hell. Can be considered slightly AU as Dean is not healed from his old wounds when Castiel raised him from perdition. Angst.
Disclaimer: They're pretty, but they're not mine.
Summary: Dean is a little worse off coming off a hunt than he let on. He's fresh from hell and caring a lot of scars, physically and mentally. A bad back, bad shoulder, PTSD, insomnia, alcohol abuse, and a nasty virus to top it all off. Maybe the boys need to take a break and try to get Dean back on track. It might be harder than they thought.
Taking Some Time
Chapter Fourteen
Sam woke up and the house was dark and quiet… too quiet. If he couldn’t hear Dean, that usually meant he wasn’t asleep. Or he wasn’t in the house.
Sam got up and padded gently towards Dean’s room.
He saw his brother standing in his room in the dark.
"Dean... You alright?"
Dean stared out the window into the blackness.
"The side gate rattles in the wind…"
He could see Dean was on edge, muscles tight across his shoulders.
"I'll fix it in the morning," Sam said, rubbing sleep from his eye and pushing his hair back off his face.
"Mm," Dean moaned, as though a rattling gate wasn't really the source of the problem. "I hate it when it's this windy..."
"I can't fix the weather, dude," Sam said, leaning on the doorframe.
"I know," Dean replied with not an ounce of humour.
"Dean, you sure you're alright?"
Dean finally turned from the window to look at his brother. He was pale.
"You have to quit asking me that, Sammy."
Sam frowned, eyebrows squeezing together.
“Do you want a sleeping pill?”
Dean coughed, “No, I don’t wanna sleep,” he quirked the corner of his mouth, trying to smile, but almost like he’d forgotten how.
A gust of wind shook past the house.
“You hear it?” Dean turned to look out the window again.
Sam listened, “Yeah.”
Dean turned his head slightly and Sam saw him chewing on his bottom lip.
“Dean… is there something you want to talk to me about?”
Dean’s eyes were wide, “I don’t wanna talk about it, Sammy.”
“You keep saying that,” Sam finally entered the room, sat down on the end of his brother’s bed, “but I think maybe you want to. I think maybe you need to.”
Dean laughed, then his bottom lip quivered and he swallowed, “I’m scared, Sam.”
Sam waited, scared any kind of movement or word would startle Dean back to hide in his hole.
“Truth is, uh…” Dean continued, “I’m not doing so well.”
I kinda noticed, Sam thought.
Dean sat on the bed with his back to Sam. He flinched and hissed.
“Ah,” he groaned, clenching his jaw.
“You alright?” Sam put a hand out to Dean’s shoulder, but hovered just above it, afraid to touch him.
Dean’s shoulders shook and Sam thought for a moment maybe he was crying, and then he realised he was laughing.
“You know how many cases I did with dad?”
Sam tilted his head curiously, “No.”
“Neither do I,” Dean looked down, “See, I was going on hunt’s with dad by the time I was old enough to handle the recoil on my sawed off.”
Sam caught a glimpse of happy nostalgia in his eyes as he leant forward.
“And I kept hunting with the old man long after you ditched us for Stanford...”
Sam clenched his jaw at the subtle dig.
“Until?” Sam prompted.
Dean smirked, “I, uh, may not have been completely honest with you when I told you how this happened,” he pointed to his back.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked, jaw still tight.
“You’d been gone for a year, we were still getting the hang of hunting just the two of us… Dad, uh… we screwed up. I ended up in the line of fire, as well as two other civilians…”
“What happened?”
Dean sighed, “It was a poltergeist in Mississippi. Big old, creepy house. Some kids had broken in to try and spend the night on a dare…”
Sam scoffed, “Cause when does that ever end well?”
“Yeah,” Dean breathed, “Things were already going sideways by the time we got there. We had to get the kids out of the house, but dad thought he knew where the bones were buried…”
…
“Dean! I want you to get in there and get those kids out!” John shouted above the noise coming from inside the house, as the wind picked up around them.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going round back to burn the bones!”
“No, dad, I think we should stay together. This spirit is powerful. We don’t even know if - ”
“Dean, I gave you an order! Go!”
Dean’s gaze lingered on his father for a moment before he sprinted towards the house, wet grass squelching beneath his boots as he pounded towards the door.
He could hear the teenagers screaming for help inside…
…
“He was wrong,” Dean stood back up and stared out the window, “The bones were supposed to be buried under the floorboards of the gazebo, so dad torched the thing. Except he hadn’t done the research right. The gazebo was torn down years ago and rebuilt, so who knows where the bones ended up. What we needed to do was cleanse the house.”
“And he sent you in there without any backup?”
Dean was still before he spoke again.
“I told him. I said not to split up.”
“Dean…”
“The thing tossed me around like a ragdoll,” Dean bit his lip.
“The kids?” Sam asked.
“Didn’t make it.”
Sam closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“But you said you finished the case?”
“Dad did. Caleb and Pastor Jim came up to help him. I was laid up in a motel room. Every morning when I woke up I couldn’t feel my feet for a solid hour.”
“God,” Sam sighed.
“I tried to keep hunting with dad after I’d decided not to see the specialist, but, uh, I was slow, off my face on pain meds half the time just to be able to get out of bed. Dad dumped me at Bobby’s telling me to “get right”. Eventually things settled down and I could go back to hunting… but things never were the same.”
“Dean…”
Dean coughed into his hand, “Sam… I’m tired.”
Sam sighed again, knowing he’d missed his window of opportunity for asking questions.
“You want the sleeping pill now?”
Dean sat down on his bed and rubbed his face, “Yeah, and Tylenol or something.”
“Okay,” Sam stood up, “Be right back.”
Sam tried to ignore the shake in Dean’s hand and the wet trail from his eye to his jaw, as he handed him the pills and glass of water. He waited for Dean to hand the glass back to him before he spoke.
“Why didn’t you just tell me that’s what happened?” he whispered.
“At first it was about protecting dad, then it was about preserving his memory… but now… I just don’t give a crap.”
Sam sighed, giving Dean’s good shoulder a squeeze before leaving the room and heading back to bed. He lay back on his pillows, seething from the mistake their dad had made that had cost Dean so much, and pretended he couldn’t hear Dean cry himself to sleep.
…
Sam got up early, before Dean, and went out to fix the side gate. He’d made a trip to the hardware store and back, attached a new latch and was making a pot of coffee when Dean finally wandered in, eyes puffy, hair mussed, face drawn and pale.
“Hey,” Sam said, jovially, trying to set the day off on a good note.
“Hey,” Dean’s voice was croaky and he cleared his throat loudly.
“Coffee?” Sam asked, grabbing another mug.
Dean nodded, sliding onto the barstool.
“I fixed the gate.”
“Thanks,” Dean said, eyes vacant.
“If you’re feeling up to it later, maybe we can go out for lunch,” Sam offered, handing Dean his coffee.
“Sure,” Dean replied, mechanically.
Sam frowned, wondering what else around the house needed fixing.
…
It was mid morning and they’d already had breakfast. Dean had showered and gotten into his jeans and a button down, the sling now a permanent accessory to his outfit. Sam sat at the breakfast bar, clicking away on his phone and scrawling in a notebook. Dean crossed the kitchen to peer in the fridge.
"Dean... I was thinking maybe I should get a job.”
"What? Why?"
"We've spent all our cash and the credit card's tapped. We could pull some more fake ones but if we're not moving around we'll be too easy to trace."
"We've got more cards..."
"Yeah, but they won't last forever. The medications alone..."
Dean looked down.
"We can't afford this, Dean. The house, the medication, your surgery..."
"And what are you gonna do?" Dean bit.
Sam sighed, "I could get some work bartending. Hustle pool when I can."
"Yeah, cause there's so much money in that," Dean rolled his eyes.
"What choice do we have?"
Dean stiffened, "Well, if you're getting a job I'll get one too. I can work, and I'm not letting you leave me sit here all day like a house wife while you're out working."
"You can't get a job, Dean," Sam breathed.
"Why not?"
"You know why."
"What? Because I got a bum shoulder and a screwy back? I'm not paralysed, Sam. I can still fix cars."
"Dean..."
"What? What, Sam? I want a job too. I can work. I've worked all my life. I can do this. I'm not letting you carry us on your own. That's not how this works. I can do it, Sammy."
Sam looked Dean in the eye.
"No... you can't."
Dean stared at Sam for the longest time. Adam's apple working, jaw clenching, blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears.
"Just sit down, Dean," Sam said eventually.
Dean shook his head slightly, "No, I don't wanna sit down," he said quietly as he limped towards the front door.
"Where are you going?" Sam sighed.
"For a walk!" Dean shouted on his way out, followed by a tremendous door slam.
…
Dean headed down the steps at the front of the house. He was slow. Ridged. The man across the street was putting his bins on the curb and glanced up at him. He gave a sympathetic smile and an encouraging nod. And who the hell gave him the right to look at him like that? He didn't even know this guy. How dare he give him a sympathy nod. He must have been talking to Dave. Christ, the whole friggen neighbourhood probably knew who he was by now.
That's the freak that screams every night.
Dean did his best to glare but he probably looked too pathetic for that. He stumbled on the last step and almost face planted into the cement path. Geez, that would have looked good for his case.
Let me get a job, Sammy. I can't even walk down the stairs without busting in my head.
The guy was still looking at him. As if contemplating coming over to help, and so help him if he did because Dean would have clocked him so hard he'd never get back up.
He didn't know why he was so angry. Maybe it was the constant gnawing pain. Maybe he wasn't even angry. Maybe he was more depressed than anything. Because Sam was right. He couldn't get a job. He couldn't even look after himself right now. And, not surprisingly, coming to that conclusion didn't make him feel better.
His limp grew slightly worse as he continued walking, reaching the park near the end of their street.
He took a funny step and felt something shift in his spine, pinching, almost dropping him to his knees it hurt so bad.
His eyes were closed, hand against his lower back. Breathe.
"Dean? Are you alright?" The panicked voice belonged to Maxine, walking back towards her house pushing a baby in a stroller.
He reached out his hand to her, the need to lean on something desperate.
She grabbed his arm and allowed him to put some weight on her.
"Gah," he groaned, "Sorry, Max. Lost my footing for a second there."
"You're awfully pale. Do you want to sit down?"
"No," Dean shook his head, teeth clenched, "No, it's okay. But if you're heading in that direction I might walk with you, if that's okay?"
"Yeah, absolutely. Here, lean on this."
Dean walked beside her, right hand bracing himself on the stroller. God, it hurt so bad.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"I will be," he tried to give a reassuring smile but his heart wasn't exactly in it, "It's just time for more painkillers."
She put her hand on his, and that was it. It was too much.
He turned his face away, pretending to look at something across the road. He gritted his teeth, steeled his jaw as a tear slipped from his eye.
"Dean?" Maxine said, so soft and gentle.
Dean cleared his throat, fixed his eyes straight ahead, allowing the tears to fall freely. His expression blank. He couldn't bring a hand up to wipe them away, because he only had one hand right now and that one was busy keeping him upright.
"Do you want me to call Sam?"
"No," Dean forced a small smile, looking down at his feet.
By some miracle he made it back to the house. Sam was sitting out on the porch and jumped up when he saw him, hurrying down the steps to help Dean back up them.
"I got it," Dean mumbled, annoyed, although he leant against Sam anyway because he had no choice.
"What happened?" Sam asked, looking back at Maxine.
"Nothing happened. Leave me alone," Dean said, shaking Sam off his arm and wandering into the house.
...
"You're right, Sam."
"About what?"
"About everything. About me... I can't do the same things you can do. And I'm not alright."
"Dean, it'll just take -"
"Take some time, I know. That's all I'm hearing is 'it'll just take time'. Well, we don't have time, Sammy. I can't be out of this game. Not after the things I've done. Not after all..." he choked on his words, sobs pushing their way up his throat, "Not after everything."
"Dean," Sam breathed, "You can't be blamed for the things you did down there. You did what you had to. You need to forgive yourself, man."
Dean dropped his head, chin to his chest, scrunching his face as the tears flowed in streams down his cheeks.
"I can't, Sammy... I can't."