Fic: Picking up the Pieces (SPN) Chapter One
Genre: Sick!fic, hurt/comfort, Epic, Slightly AU
Category: Gen
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby, Cas, a few OCs
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. Descriptions of panic attacks and mental health content.
Disclaimer: They're pretty, but they're not mine.
Summary: Sequel to the story 'Taking Some Time'. Sam and Dean have found a little piece of normality in their messed up world, but Dean's still healing, physically and mentally.
Picking up the Pieces
Chapter One
"You gonna be okay?"
"To get out of the car? Yeah," Dean sighed.
"Want me to come in with you?"
"Dude, do I look seven?"
"I'll pick you up at 12, okay?" Sam said, ignoring him.
"Sure. You working tonight?"
"Yeah, but I got the steak out of the freezer for you for dinner."
"Awesome," Dean said sarcastically.
"And can you please call Riley? She keeps asking about you, man."
Dean sighed.
"She likes you, Dean."
"She doesn't like me, Sam. She likes sex. There's a difference."
"That's... probably not true."
"Whatever, dude," Dean looked at the building through the passenger side window, "What are they gonna keep me in there for two hours for?"
Sam smiled empathetically, "I'm sure you'd find out if you went in."
Dean opened his door and planted his boots on the bitumen parking lot, bracing his hands either side of the door frame to lever himself out of the car, favouring his left arm heavily. It had been months since his shoulder was fixed but he still had to be careful.
"Hey."
Dean looked down and Sam was trying to hand him his cane out the passenger side. Dean slammed the door hearing the cane clutter against it and drop down into the footwell. He smirked and limped towards the physical rehabilitation centre.
...
Aside from feeling like a complete idiot, rehab was slow, painful, and borderline ridiculous. Although it did have its perks.
Dean met a girl.
"Hi. You're Dean, right?" she said, light brown hair with a gingery hue in waves framing her freckled face.
"Yeah," Dean nodded, the word sticking in his mouth. It'd been so long since he'd spoken to a girl. Especially one that pretty. Since he'd had his second surgery, he and Riley hadn't hooked up again. There was too great a risk of damaging himself. Needless to say, his confidence was pretty much in pieces.
"I'm Katie," she smiled, stretching a hand out for him to shake.
He gripped it. Her hands were warm and soft. His were cold and hard.
"You're new, aren't you?"
Dean looked down at himself, "That obvious, huh?"
"No! I didn't mean -"
"It's okay," he laughed.
She smiled, and, God, it was like the sun had come out.
"How long have you been here?" Dean asked.
"A few months."
"Geez, what happened?"
"Lost my leg," she shrugged.
"Oh my god... I’m sorry."
"It’s okay. It was a car accident. Drunk driver. My leg was crushed beneath the dash."
Dean shook his head, marveled at the ease this woman told her story with.
"What about you, Dean?" She asked, her light brown eyes shining at him.
He gulped, clenched the railing.
"Spinal surgery... and shoulder surgery," he pointed to his arm, "Fell over a balcony."
"Ouch," she winced.
Dean shrugged. If only she knew that what his physical body had been through was nothing compared to what his soul had been through. How shredded it was. Like an open, bleeding wound. Steadily gushing fresh crimson.
"Are you alright? Do you want to sit down?"
God, his hands were shaking and slippery with sweat. His face tingled like he was about to pass out. Waves of pain crashing over him.
He gripped the railing tighter, begging his body to remain standing.
"I'm okay," he choked out.
She had worry in her eyes, and dammit, if that didn't make her even cuter.
"Okay," she nodded, "I'll, um... I'll see you round, Dean."
And like that he'd lost her. God, he was such an idiot. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Sam would be there to pick him up in half an hour.
It was too long to wait.
...
"Hey, how'd you go today?" Sam asked, chipper voice, still ecstatic at Dean's decision to go to rehab.
Dean groaned.
"That good, huh?"
"I feel like an idiot."
"Hey," Sam said, brow furrowed, "It'll take time. You're getting there."
Dean grumbled and stared out the window.
"There any hot girls there?" Sam asked, changing the subject.
"Mm," Dean moaned, "Katie."
“What’s she in for?”
“She's learning to use her prosthetic."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Lots of people out there worse off than me... Lots of people that didn't deserve it."
Sam stopped the car that was rolling through the parking lot, "What? And you did?"
Dean shook his head, small sad smile tugging at one side of his mouth.
"Dean..."
"Can we not do this?" Dean said, looking out the window, anywhere but his brother, "I'm tired, Sam."
"No, Dean, we're gonna do this. I can't stand the way you feel like all this is your fault. That you deserved to be hurt, you deserve to be sick, you deserve to be in pain... How can you hate yourself so much?"
Dean widened his eyes at Sam, then swallowed, and blinked back tears.
"You know why."
"No, Dean, I'm not buying that anymore. What happened to you was the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone, but you did what you had to..."
"Don't," Dean said firmly, eyes lighting up, heart pounding in his chest, "You don't know the first thing about that place, so don't pretend to understand."
Sam sighed, "Then let me try, Dean."
Dean looked from one eye to the other. He wasn't sure what he was trying to read in Sam's eyes. Hope? Whatever it was, it was too much.
"No."
"Where are you going?" Sam asked as Dean opened his door.
Dean slammed it behind him and ambled back towards the rehab centre. Heart pounding, sweat on his brow, so close to a full blown panic attack. His chest hurt. God, he was probably going to die like this. Yeah, a heart attack. That'd be a great way to go. He could only imagine the look on Alistair's face when he got spat back into the pit.
He didn't know if Sam was coming after him. He didn't turn to look. He would have sat down on the curb but that was a long way down and he'd likely not be able to get up on his own. He went back into the building. The entry was empty except for the receptionist that gave him a concerned look. He mustered a smile for her sake and turned to look at a picture on the wall. His hands were shaking and he felt light headed, the room tilting on its axis.
"Dean?"
Turning his head to look at Katie made the room spin in lurching circles, and he stumbled to keep his balance.
"Whoa, okay, sit down. Are you alright?"
Dean didn't answer.
"Can I get some help in here?"
After his ass found a chair and he leaned forward with his head in his hands, he felt the strong grip and familiar firmness of his brother’s hands ghosting over his back.
When he could focus on the sounds around him he could hear his voice.
"Dean. Deep breaths, man. It's okay..."
Dean swallowed.
"You gonna be sick? Someone get me a bucket."
Dean hadn't thought about it till he said it but, yeah, he was gonna be sick.
A trashcan was shoved under his chin and not a moment too soon. He emptied his lunch into it, letting a strangled sob pass his lips as his stomach clenched over and over.
When the pain in his chest finally let go he looked up to see Grant, his physiotherapist, and Karen, his occupational therapist, along side Sam and Katie.
"Okay," Sam said, hand still steady on his back, "You're alright. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."
Sam's forehead pressed against Dean's and he sagged a little.
I forgive you.
After a moment Dean sat back and Sam pulled Grant and Karen aside, presumably to explain his episode. It wasn't medical. It wasn't from pain. It was just panic. Pure, blinding, panic.
"Dean?"
Katie was sitting beside him with a hand on his knee.
He rolled his head to the side to look at her, smiling weakly at her concerned expression.
"I'm okay," he panted, "Happens sometimes."
She placed her warm hand on the back of his neck.
“You’ve seen some shit, haven’t you?” she said, with a gentle squeeze.
Dean closed his eyes, as a tear slipped from the corner to run down his cheek. He nodded.
“Dean?” Sam was leaning over him, “Let’s go home.”
…
“You’re not calling in sick to work. I can look after myself.”
Sam sighed. He figured his brother’s attitude would have changed a little, but he guessed it was engrained in his DNA. That was Dean. That was just how he was. He was always going to blame himself for things out of his control. He was always going to try and shoulder it all on his own. He was always going to put everyone else first and leave himself last. It had been a big enough struggle to get Dean to agree to spinal surgery in the first place. And if he hadn’t fallen trying to get out of the bath he probably would still be refusing it. It had been a long road, full of potholes and road kill, but Dean had eventually realized.
“They’ll understand if I -“
“Sam,” Dean growled.
“Alright, fine. I’m going.”
“Finally.”
“If you go for a walk can you at least take the cane?”
Dean smirked, “I’m not going for a walk. American Restorations is on,” he pointed to the TV with the remote.
Which really meant, I’m too sore and too tired for that, Sammy.
“Just call me if you need something. If you need help, Dave and Maxine…”
“Yes, alright. They pay you to be late? Would you go already?”
…
Sam had been at work for several hours when he looked over to see Dean staggering in, in that strained rigid way he walked these days, leaning heavily into the handle of his cane with every step. Looking at the red creased lines on Dean's face he could tell the series of events that had led Dean to stumble through the doors of the bar. When Sam had left Dean had promptly fallen asleep on the couch, face pressed into the cushions, until he woke up hours later to his stomach rumbling and the steak still defrosting in the fridge, deciding he couldn't be bothered to cook himself dinner at this late hour he'd caught a taxi to the bar. It really wasn't the first time it'd happened.
He caught Dean's eye and furrowed his brow at the exaggerated way he was walking, relying more on the cane than he ever had.
Dean's quick, well practiced wink confirmed his suspicions that Dean had come down for more than just to strap on a feed bag.
Sam poured a beer and sat it down in front of him as Dean eased himself onto the stool.
Dean took a long swig.
“Nachos or burger?” Sam asked.
Dean cocked his head in question, with a hint of admiration.
“Nachos,” he grunted, “How’s work?”
“Slow. How was American Restorations?”
Dean smirked.
“You didn’t even get five minutes in, did you?”
By now it was a running joke on how long Dean lasted before his painkillers knocked him out. Historically, it didn’t take long. And he’d always be hungry when he woke up.
Dean didn’t reply but kept that lazy smile on his face as he glanced up the bar to where Riley was serving another customer, bending over, scooping ice, in her tight black short shorts. She looked over and Dean nodded casually in her direction.
“What’do we got?” Dean asked, directing his attention back to Sam, sipping his beer.
“Couple of young guys, off duty suits, I think.”
“Money?”
“Been paying in fifties all night.”
Dean grinned and took another swig. He cleared his throat. “The injured vet story gonna get ‘em?”
Sam smiled in response.
“Keep my nachos warm,” Dean winked, pushing off the stool and limping towards the pool tables.
…
Dean played the usual. Lost the first two games then wiped the floor with them on the third. The guys didn’t even get a shot it, but they didn’t seem mad. They even shook Dean’s hand and thanked him for his service. Sam hadn’t seen how much he’d got out of them but he knew it’d be a decent amount, considering the way they’d been flashing it around. Not to mention they’d been buying Dean drinks all night.
Sam was wiping down the bar when Dean sat himself down in front of him, glowing from his recent victory.
“You want your nachos now?”
“God, yes. I’m starving.”
Riley came past and placed his plate of nachos down on the bar, clearly having been in earshot of the exchange. Sam took his queue, reading the look on his brothers face, and suddenly became busy somewhere else.
…
“If it isn’t Dean Winchester,” her voice was husky and raw sounding.
“How you been, Riley?” he smirked, “Sounds like you’ve been partying.”
“I wish,” her voice cut out as she laughed, “There’s a bug going around. I’m surprised Sam hasn’t got it yet.”
“Oh, Sam never gets sick. Immune system of steel. All that rabbit food he eats,” Dean said, shoving a cheesy chip in his mouth.
Riley laughed squeakily.
“So, how are you? I haven’t heard from you lately.”
Dean shook his head and picked through his nachos.
“I’m doing good. Doc said it’ll get worse before it gets better.”
“Damn,” she sighed, “So, I guess you can’t do anything too physical then?” she raised her eyebrow.
Dean cleared his throat, “Unfortunately.”
“Oh well,” she shrugged, “I wouldn’t have wanted to get you sick anyway.”
Dean chuckled even though it wasn’t really funny. The amount of alcohol he’d consumed, besides making him wobbly on his feet, which was a very bad thing, was making him a little depressed and cynical. As if he needed help with that.
The conversation more or less ending there, Dean sat and ate his nachos, ignoring the dull ache settling over his whole body. When his plate was pretty much clean he heard Riley call to his brother.
“Sam, head off early. Take your brother home.”
“You trying to get rid of me?” Dean flirted.
“Never,” she whispered, leaning over the counter, “but you look beat.”
Dean pursed his lips and nodded. Geez, if he didn’t need another hit to his confidence.
Sam approached them and looked down at Dean.
You good?
Dean nodded and eased himself out of the chair, painfully slowly. Sam rounded the bar, knowing better than to try and help him. It was bad enough he needed a stupid cane to get around.
“Call me anytime,” Riley rasped.
Dean didn’t care that she was sick, her voice was friggen sexy.
“Sure thing, Riley. Be good.”
“Not if I can help it,” she winked.
…
“So, how much did you hustle?” Sam asked, pulling the impala out onto the road.
“$800,” Dean smirked, pulling his bills out to count them.
“Dude, that’s more than I earned last fortnight, with tips.”
Dean laughed, “Aw, Sammy. You have your job, I have mine.”
“Well, I work my ass off.”
“And I don’t?” Dean had the audacity to look offended.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam sighed.
“Uhh,” Dean shifted in his seat, leaned his head against the window.
“You okay, man?”
Dean’s eyes were closed, “It’s been a long day.”
“I’ll bet. We’ll be home soon and you can… Dean?”
Sam stopped and listened to the soft snores coming from the passenger seat. He turned the radio on low and let Bob Seger fill the car.
Roll me away.
Category: Gen
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby, Cas, a few OCs
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. Descriptions of panic attacks and mental health content.
Disclaimer: They're pretty, but they're not mine.
Summary: Sequel to the story 'Taking Some Time'. Sam and Dean have found a little piece of normality in their messed up world, but Dean's still healing, physically and mentally.
Picking up the Pieces
Chapter One
"You gonna be okay?"
"To get out of the car? Yeah," Dean sighed.
"Want me to come in with you?"
"Dude, do I look seven?"
"I'll pick you up at 12, okay?" Sam said, ignoring him.
"Sure. You working tonight?"
"Yeah, but I got the steak out of the freezer for you for dinner."
"Awesome," Dean said sarcastically.
"And can you please call Riley? She keeps asking about you, man."
Dean sighed.
"She likes you, Dean."
"She doesn't like me, Sam. She likes sex. There's a difference."
"That's... probably not true."
"Whatever, dude," Dean looked at the building through the passenger side window, "What are they gonna keep me in there for two hours for?"
Sam smiled empathetically, "I'm sure you'd find out if you went in."
Dean opened his door and planted his boots on the bitumen parking lot, bracing his hands either side of the door frame to lever himself out of the car, favouring his left arm heavily. It had been months since his shoulder was fixed but he still had to be careful.
"Hey."
Dean looked down and Sam was trying to hand him his cane out the passenger side. Dean slammed the door hearing the cane clutter against it and drop down into the footwell. He smirked and limped towards the physical rehabilitation centre.
...
Aside from feeling like a complete idiot, rehab was slow, painful, and borderline ridiculous. Although it did have its perks.
Dean met a girl.
"Hi. You're Dean, right?" she said, light brown hair with a gingery hue in waves framing her freckled face.
"Yeah," Dean nodded, the word sticking in his mouth. It'd been so long since he'd spoken to a girl. Especially one that pretty. Since he'd had his second surgery, he and Riley hadn't hooked up again. There was too great a risk of damaging himself. Needless to say, his confidence was pretty much in pieces.
"I'm Katie," she smiled, stretching a hand out for him to shake.
He gripped it. Her hands were warm and soft. His were cold and hard.
"You're new, aren't you?"
Dean looked down at himself, "That obvious, huh?"
"No! I didn't mean -"
"It's okay," he laughed.
She smiled, and, God, it was like the sun had come out.
"How long have you been here?" Dean asked.
"A few months."
"Geez, what happened?"
"Lost my leg," she shrugged.
"Oh my god... I’m sorry."
"It’s okay. It was a car accident. Drunk driver. My leg was crushed beneath the dash."
Dean shook his head, marveled at the ease this woman told her story with.
"What about you, Dean?" She asked, her light brown eyes shining at him.
He gulped, clenched the railing.
"Spinal surgery... and shoulder surgery," he pointed to his arm, "Fell over a balcony."
"Ouch," she winced.
Dean shrugged. If only she knew that what his physical body had been through was nothing compared to what his soul had been through. How shredded it was. Like an open, bleeding wound. Steadily gushing fresh crimson.
"Are you alright? Do you want to sit down?"
God, his hands were shaking and slippery with sweat. His face tingled like he was about to pass out. Waves of pain crashing over him.
He gripped the railing tighter, begging his body to remain standing.
"I'm okay," he choked out.
She had worry in her eyes, and dammit, if that didn't make her even cuter.
"Okay," she nodded, "I'll, um... I'll see you round, Dean."
And like that he'd lost her. God, he was such an idiot. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Sam would be there to pick him up in half an hour.
It was too long to wait.
...
"Hey, how'd you go today?" Sam asked, chipper voice, still ecstatic at Dean's decision to go to rehab.
Dean groaned.
"That good, huh?"
"I feel like an idiot."
"Hey," Sam said, brow furrowed, "It'll take time. You're getting there."
Dean grumbled and stared out the window.
"There any hot girls there?" Sam asked, changing the subject.
"Mm," Dean moaned, "Katie."
“What’s she in for?”
“She's learning to use her prosthetic."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Lots of people out there worse off than me... Lots of people that didn't deserve it."
Sam stopped the car that was rolling through the parking lot, "What? And you did?"
Dean shook his head, small sad smile tugging at one side of his mouth.
"Dean..."
"Can we not do this?" Dean said, looking out the window, anywhere but his brother, "I'm tired, Sam."
"No, Dean, we're gonna do this. I can't stand the way you feel like all this is your fault. That you deserved to be hurt, you deserve to be sick, you deserve to be in pain... How can you hate yourself so much?"
Dean widened his eyes at Sam, then swallowed, and blinked back tears.
"You know why."
"No, Dean, I'm not buying that anymore. What happened to you was the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone, but you did what you had to..."
"Don't," Dean said firmly, eyes lighting up, heart pounding in his chest, "You don't know the first thing about that place, so don't pretend to understand."
Sam sighed, "Then let me try, Dean."
Dean looked from one eye to the other. He wasn't sure what he was trying to read in Sam's eyes. Hope? Whatever it was, it was too much.
"No."
"Where are you going?" Sam asked as Dean opened his door.
Dean slammed it behind him and ambled back towards the rehab centre. Heart pounding, sweat on his brow, so close to a full blown panic attack. His chest hurt. God, he was probably going to die like this. Yeah, a heart attack. That'd be a great way to go. He could only imagine the look on Alistair's face when he got spat back into the pit.
He didn't know if Sam was coming after him. He didn't turn to look. He would have sat down on the curb but that was a long way down and he'd likely not be able to get up on his own. He went back into the building. The entry was empty except for the receptionist that gave him a concerned look. He mustered a smile for her sake and turned to look at a picture on the wall. His hands were shaking and he felt light headed, the room tilting on its axis.
"Dean?"
Turning his head to look at Katie made the room spin in lurching circles, and he stumbled to keep his balance.
"Whoa, okay, sit down. Are you alright?"
Dean didn't answer.
"Can I get some help in here?"
After his ass found a chair and he leaned forward with his head in his hands, he felt the strong grip and familiar firmness of his brother’s hands ghosting over his back.
When he could focus on the sounds around him he could hear his voice.
"Dean. Deep breaths, man. It's okay..."
Dean swallowed.
"You gonna be sick? Someone get me a bucket."
Dean hadn't thought about it till he said it but, yeah, he was gonna be sick.
A trashcan was shoved under his chin and not a moment too soon. He emptied his lunch into it, letting a strangled sob pass his lips as his stomach clenched over and over.
When the pain in his chest finally let go he looked up to see Grant, his physiotherapist, and Karen, his occupational therapist, along side Sam and Katie.
"Okay," Sam said, hand still steady on his back, "You're alright. I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."
Sam's forehead pressed against Dean's and he sagged a little.
I forgive you.
After a moment Dean sat back and Sam pulled Grant and Karen aside, presumably to explain his episode. It wasn't medical. It wasn't from pain. It was just panic. Pure, blinding, panic.
"Dean?"
Katie was sitting beside him with a hand on his knee.
He rolled his head to the side to look at her, smiling weakly at her concerned expression.
"I'm okay," he panted, "Happens sometimes."
She placed her warm hand on the back of his neck.
“You’ve seen some shit, haven’t you?” she said, with a gentle squeeze.
Dean closed his eyes, as a tear slipped from the corner to run down his cheek. He nodded.
“Dean?” Sam was leaning over him, “Let’s go home.”
…
“You’re not calling in sick to work. I can look after myself.”
Sam sighed. He figured his brother’s attitude would have changed a little, but he guessed it was engrained in his DNA. That was Dean. That was just how he was. He was always going to blame himself for things out of his control. He was always going to try and shoulder it all on his own. He was always going to put everyone else first and leave himself last. It had been a big enough struggle to get Dean to agree to spinal surgery in the first place. And if he hadn’t fallen trying to get out of the bath he probably would still be refusing it. It had been a long road, full of potholes and road kill, but Dean had eventually realized.
“They’ll understand if I -“
“Sam,” Dean growled.
“Alright, fine. I’m going.”
“Finally.”
“If you go for a walk can you at least take the cane?”
Dean smirked, “I’m not going for a walk. American Restorations is on,” he pointed to the TV with the remote.
Which really meant, I’m too sore and too tired for that, Sammy.
“Just call me if you need something. If you need help, Dave and Maxine…”
“Yes, alright. They pay you to be late? Would you go already?”
…
Sam had been at work for several hours when he looked over to see Dean staggering in, in that strained rigid way he walked these days, leaning heavily into the handle of his cane with every step. Looking at the red creased lines on Dean's face he could tell the series of events that had led Dean to stumble through the doors of the bar. When Sam had left Dean had promptly fallen asleep on the couch, face pressed into the cushions, until he woke up hours later to his stomach rumbling and the steak still defrosting in the fridge, deciding he couldn't be bothered to cook himself dinner at this late hour he'd caught a taxi to the bar. It really wasn't the first time it'd happened.
He caught Dean's eye and furrowed his brow at the exaggerated way he was walking, relying more on the cane than he ever had.
Dean's quick, well practiced wink confirmed his suspicions that Dean had come down for more than just to strap on a feed bag.
Sam poured a beer and sat it down in front of him as Dean eased himself onto the stool.
Dean took a long swig.
“Nachos or burger?” Sam asked.
Dean cocked his head in question, with a hint of admiration.
“Nachos,” he grunted, “How’s work?”
“Slow. How was American Restorations?”
Dean smirked.
“You didn’t even get five minutes in, did you?”
By now it was a running joke on how long Dean lasted before his painkillers knocked him out. Historically, it didn’t take long. And he’d always be hungry when he woke up.
Dean didn’t reply but kept that lazy smile on his face as he glanced up the bar to where Riley was serving another customer, bending over, scooping ice, in her tight black short shorts. She looked over and Dean nodded casually in her direction.
“What’do we got?” Dean asked, directing his attention back to Sam, sipping his beer.
“Couple of young guys, off duty suits, I think.”
“Money?”
“Been paying in fifties all night.”
Dean grinned and took another swig. He cleared his throat. “The injured vet story gonna get ‘em?”
Sam smiled in response.
“Keep my nachos warm,” Dean winked, pushing off the stool and limping towards the pool tables.
…
Dean played the usual. Lost the first two games then wiped the floor with them on the third. The guys didn’t even get a shot it, but they didn’t seem mad. They even shook Dean’s hand and thanked him for his service. Sam hadn’t seen how much he’d got out of them but he knew it’d be a decent amount, considering the way they’d been flashing it around. Not to mention they’d been buying Dean drinks all night.
Sam was wiping down the bar when Dean sat himself down in front of him, glowing from his recent victory.
“You want your nachos now?”
“God, yes. I’m starving.”
Riley came past and placed his plate of nachos down on the bar, clearly having been in earshot of the exchange. Sam took his queue, reading the look on his brothers face, and suddenly became busy somewhere else.
…
“If it isn’t Dean Winchester,” her voice was husky and raw sounding.
“How you been, Riley?” he smirked, “Sounds like you’ve been partying.”
“I wish,” her voice cut out as she laughed, “There’s a bug going around. I’m surprised Sam hasn’t got it yet.”
“Oh, Sam never gets sick. Immune system of steel. All that rabbit food he eats,” Dean said, shoving a cheesy chip in his mouth.
Riley laughed squeakily.
“So, how are you? I haven’t heard from you lately.”
Dean shook his head and picked through his nachos.
“I’m doing good. Doc said it’ll get worse before it gets better.”
“Damn,” she sighed, “So, I guess you can’t do anything too physical then?” she raised her eyebrow.
Dean cleared his throat, “Unfortunately.”
“Oh well,” she shrugged, “I wouldn’t have wanted to get you sick anyway.”
Dean chuckled even though it wasn’t really funny. The amount of alcohol he’d consumed, besides making him wobbly on his feet, which was a very bad thing, was making him a little depressed and cynical. As if he needed help with that.
The conversation more or less ending there, Dean sat and ate his nachos, ignoring the dull ache settling over his whole body. When his plate was pretty much clean he heard Riley call to his brother.
“Sam, head off early. Take your brother home.”
“You trying to get rid of me?” Dean flirted.
“Never,” she whispered, leaning over the counter, “but you look beat.”
Dean pursed his lips and nodded. Geez, if he didn’t need another hit to his confidence.
Sam approached them and looked down at Dean.
You good?
Dean nodded and eased himself out of the chair, painfully slowly. Sam rounded the bar, knowing better than to try and help him. It was bad enough he needed a stupid cane to get around.
“Call me anytime,” Riley rasped.
Dean didn’t care that she was sick, her voice was friggen sexy.
“Sure thing, Riley. Be good.”
“Not if I can help it,” she winked.
…
“So, how much did you hustle?” Sam asked, pulling the impala out onto the road.
“$800,” Dean smirked, pulling his bills out to count them.
“Dude, that’s more than I earned last fortnight, with tips.”
Dean laughed, “Aw, Sammy. You have your job, I have mine.”
“Well, I work my ass off.”
“And I don’t?” Dean had the audacity to look offended.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam sighed.
“Uhh,” Dean shifted in his seat, leaned his head against the window.
“You okay, man?”
Dean’s eyes were closed, “It’s been a long day.”
“I’ll bet. We’ll be home soon and you can… Dean?”
Sam stopped and listened to the soft snores coming from the passenger seat. He turned the radio on low and let Bob Seger fill the car.
Roll me away.