Fic: Damaged Goods - (Sam/Dean, NC-17) Part 1 of 3

[smalltrolven]

Prompt #: S2011

Title: Damaged Goods

Artist: Sillie82

Author: smalltrolven

Pairing: Sam/Dean

Rating: R

Wordcount: 9,397

Warnings: Permanent physical injury.

Author’s Note: Not my characters, only my words. Written for the 2019 spn-reversebang for prompt S2011. Thank you to sillie82 for the amazing and very inspiring art.

Summary: Dean might have lost his leg, but that doesn't stop him from wanting to keep on hunting. Much to Sam's annoyance and worry they give it a try and things go from bad to worse to unexpectedly awesome.

Read it over on AO3 right here.

Check out the art masterpost here.




He had to prove it. He had to prove it most of all to Sam, that he could do it, that he could still hunt. Really, honestly, he had to prove it to himself. He had to show that could still be worth something. He forced himself to tune back into Sam’s ongoing monologue.

“Goddamnit, Dean, that thing almost took your other leg,” Sam hissed with a trembling voice that balanced barely contained fury with the kind of worry that meant this was probably a whole lot worse than Dean thought.

“Sssorry,” Dean mumbled, words slurring past the blood in his mouth. That was the last thing he said or did for some undetermined amount of time, unknowing, uncaring, passed out oblivion was his best friend for now.



****

When he came to, the overwhelming pain forced Dean right out of the present and back into his memories of losing his leg. He could picture it all over again so clearly. He could feel every painful second as his leg was crushed by a poltergeist pressing him between a cement wall and the Impala on the very first hunt they’d done after their final battle with Chuck. He’d been lucky that he hadn’t lost the other leg that time too. As it was, he’d lost everything below his right knee, which was quite enough thanks very much for asking.

Because of that final battle with Chuck, Cas hadn’t been there to fix Dean after the poltergeist dust had settled. There were no angels left on Earth to ask for favors, and Jack had already left them to go fix Heaven. Sam had tried praying to him for help, but Jack had changed things so that angels (or nephilim for that matter) had to stay in Heaven. The way Jack had put it to them, if Heaven didn’t get its shit worked out, then it would all fall apart. As in everything would fall apart, all of reality or whatever.

Dean remembered with exquisite clarity just how hard to say goodbye permanently to Jack it had been. The nephilim had been…well he’d basically been their kid, and both of them missed him terribly. He and Sam had never really talked about the pain of his loss of course, and hell, Sam had been too busy taking care of Dean after the whole losing his leg thing anyway.

It had been months and months of recovery, long painful sessions of PT and more time than he’d imagined getting used to the prosthetic leg. It hadn’t been easy, enduring all the pain was one thing, but getting used to how things had changed had been a whole new thing. And he’d gotten pretty crappy through all that, he knew he had. But Sam had stuck with him through it all. Sam with all his little-brother stubbornness and practicality and so much fucking sympathy he’d wanted to scream (and oh yes he had screamed, many many times).

And that brought him back to the present, who was that he’d just heard screaming?

“Shit, Dean, you gotta hold on, I know it hurts, but c’mon, we’re almost back to the car,” Sam said, panting and wheezing with the strain of hauling him up the steep gravel hill towards the road. That had to be the road up there, right?

Thoughts about exactly where the road was and who was screaming so fucking loudly dimmed and faded away into the grey nothingness that was all too familiar. That passed-out oblivion felt so sweet and restful after all the pain. The only thing that kept him from moving on towards the beckoning light that began to get brighter and more welcoming was Sam’s panicked voice.

“Dean, goddamnit no! Dean, fuck you! You can’t…you can’t just check out now. Not after everything we went through to get you fucking walking again. C’mon, please-you gotta stay with me, we’re almost there.”

He hadn’t been able to respond, but maybe his breathing changed enough to be noticeable, Sam seemed to calm down, his non-driving hand not so tight on Dean’s shoulder. He could feel as his head flopped over into Sam’s lap and his lips landed on the inside of Sam’s wrist. He could feel Sam’s pulse quicken beneath his lips, and he whispered, Sam’s soft skin tasting salty and perfect on his tongue, “Sammy, ‘m here.”

“Oh thank God, no fuck that guy-thank you, Dean. You’re going to be okay, I can see the lights of the hospital right up ahead. Hang in there for me, okay?”

“‘k, Sammy, ‘k,” Dean whispered, lips sticky with blood against Sam’s wrist. He wondered if that saltiness was from blood or sweat, maybe tears, and whose they were. It didn’t matter they’d shared it all.

“We have shared it all, you’re right, Dean. Blood, sweat and tears the whole shebang. And I’ve got you, and you’re staying with me, you’ve got to stay, you promised me.”

“Promised you, yeah ‘m stayin’, promisssed you, Ssammy,” Dean slurred into Sam’s skin, and then he knew no more.



He came to all at once, in a rush, like a shade being pulled up. The pain assaulting him was too much, he couldn’t help groaning.

“Dean?”

It had to be Sam, of course it was, but Dean’s ears weren’t working quite right, and his eyes were messed up too. “Can’t see,” Dean croaked out, surprising himself with how rough his voice sounded. From all that screaming no doubt.

“It’s okay, they’ve just got you bandaged up to keep the skin from creasing. All the stitches were so close to your eye. But you didn’t lose your sight.”

“Just lost my good looks,” Dean mumbled.

“What is it you always say? Chicks dig scars,” Sam chuckled softly.

Dean could feel a soft caress on his cheek. He hummed with the pleasure of being touched so softly.

“You didn’t leave me, you kept your promise, Dean,” Sam said, voice choking up with emotion.

Dean reached out with one hand groping for where he guessed Sam’s would be and clutched his brother’s giant paw against his own cheek. “Course I did, c’mon, Sammy, you know you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Sam’s hand tightened around his, and he could hear what sounded like a stifled sob. He must have been closer to seeing Billie again than he’d thought. “Didn’t even get to see Billie this time, no sweat, man.”

Sam laughed, harsh and surprised, echoing in the hospital room. It had to be a hospital, Dean knew that soundtrack all too well, the squeaking of nurses crepe shoes (or those goddamn Crocs) on the linoleum, the pinging and dinging of the equipment, low murmuring voices, a phone ringing distantly. And mostly he could tell by the smell, the antiseptic, too-clean, but still not hiding the yuck quite well enough. He was going to be glad to get out of here. Again.

“When can I get out of here?” Dean asked.

“Last I heard, they were waiting on seeing how you were, when…if you woke up.”

“If I woke…Sam, what else happened besides the cuts by my eyes?”

“Your left leg-they had to put a pin in it to hold the femur together. Your right leg, the thing almost tore your prosthetic off, so they’ll have to readjust it, but only after your stump heals up again.”

“Oh that’s all, pfthfth, piece of cake,” Dean said, trying to put on a show of scoffing in the face of all these new injuries. He sobered up when he realized what this meant for Sam-again.

“I’m sorry you’re going to have to play nursemaid and go through all the PT shit again, Sammy. I just thought I had a good clear shot at the thing, and then it changed course towards you and I still had to try.”

“I had my gun too, you know. And I do know how to use it,” Sam said, sounding like he was gritting his teeth.

“Just come out and say it already,” Dean said, suddenly glad of the bandages on his eyes, he didn’t want to see the anger in Sam’s eyes, it was bad enough having to hear it.

“I don’t have anything to say. It’s pointless to rehash it, and you’ll just do the same thing again, next time.”

“Not gonna be a next time,” Dean said.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll believe that when a vampire turns down a mug of O neg.”

“I mean it, I’m out,” Dean said, surprised at himself for voicing it so clearly.

“It’s the drugs talking, it’s not you, you’ll be antsy to hunt within a week of getting back home. It’s your M.O., dude.”

“I do not have an M.O., fuck you, and it’s different his time.”

“Fuck you right back, how about we leave it at I’ll ask you in a few weeks,” Sam said.

“Okay, you do that, sleeping now…thanks, baby,” Dean mumbled.

“Baby? Are you asking about your car?” Sam asked sounding a little more than confused.

Had he been, no, he hadn’t even thought about his car since waking up. He’d been-shit the drugs were doing the talking. Too much fucking talking. “Yeah, you better have her parked in a covered garage, don’t want her out in all this rain.”

The rain beat harder against the windows and he lost track of what Sam said, he could just feel the warmth of Sam’s hand in his, and that was enough for him.

“It’s enough for me too, Dean,” Sam murmured, his breath tickling the hairs above Dean’s ear. He felt Sam’s lips brush his temple, and then he was tumbling back into the blackness of the morphine curtain.



The curtains parted again, and Dean struggled out of the haze. Sam was asleep in the chair next to his hospital bed, his head at an alarming angle. He tried to reach for the water pitcher, his mouth was like cottony sandpaper, tasted like ass. But his hands weren’t quite under his control, moving faster than he’d thought, jerking through the air and knocking the pitcher off. Sam’s head jerked up at the sound and he saw his brother wince at the feeling in his neck.

“Sorry,” Dean said.

“Hey, welcome back,” Sam said, eyes warm with that look that made Dean’s insides squirm and wriggle like a happy puppy.

Sam jumped up and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, mopped up the spilled water and came back with a refilled pitcher. He poured some for Dean to drink and held the cup up to his lips.

Dean drained almost the whole cup and smacked his lips. “You’re gonna end up in this bed if you keep sleeping in that chair. When I woke up, I swear it looked like your neck was broken, dude. Kinda freaked me out.”

Sam rubbed at his neck, massaging the muscles. “Yeah, I’m not going to lie, it’s not the best, but I couldn’t just-“

“I get it, Sammy. I mean, I’d do the same damn thing, have done it, but you gotta take care of you. There’ll be plenty of time to fuss over me once I get outta here, right?”

“Yeah, true. They said end of the week if you keep on improving.”

End of the week? Wait, what the hell day was it? They’d been hunting the thing on Sunday night, because they’d gotten the tip at the Sunday afternoon fish fry in Follets, Iowa, the tiny little town on the edge of the Mississippi River. Just north of Davenport and Moline, so that must mean they were where exactly?

“Where are we?” Dean asked, trying not to sound as confused as he felt.

“We’re at second hospital that they transferred you to, in Davenport. And it’s Wednesday.”

“So I’ve only been out a couple days, that’s not so bad,” Dean said.

Sam’s face fell, that was the only way Dean could think of to describe it. His brother was trying to put on the ‘it’s okay’ face, but he couldn’t keep it up. “What’s wrong?”

“It hasn’t been a couple days, it’s been two and half weeks, Dean. After you woke up and talked to me that first time, you went into a coma. They almost had to do another surgery.”

“Wait, what?” Dean asked, the confusion and terror at all the lost time coming out in a sputtering rush.

“There was too much swelling, in your brain, so they put you on a ventilator, and did this thing where they measured the pressure inside your skull. Luckily the catheter insertion worked and it drained enough pressure.”

“Shiiiiit,” Dean said, trying to take on the newest information.

“That’s the word for it all right. And miracle has been used a lot too,” Sam said, his hand finding its way into Dean’s.

Dean squeezed his brother’s hand and searched his face for more clues on his current condition.

“Your leg is healing up though, and the stitches by your eye came out last week,” Sam said, obviously scrambling to find some good news. “I think they said your brain drains are coming out sometime today.”

“So it’s been a while then. I should’ve figured since your beard’s all the way back,” Dean said, taking in the sight of Sam’s unshaven face.

“I know, I know, I’ll shave,” Sam said.

Dean reached up and ran his hand along the edge of Sam’s beard. “It’s okay if you want to keep it this time, I don’t mind.”

“You were pretty insistent last time if I recall,” Sam said, pressing his head slightly into Dean’s touch.

Dean scratched his fingers lightly through Sam’s beard, it felt deliciously soft against his fingertips. “Last time, it made me sad seeing it, just reminded me that you’d been searching for Michael for so long.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad now?” Sam asked.

“What, knowing you sat here by my bedside waiting for me to wake the hell up and were too consumed by grief and worry to bother to shave?”

“Uh…yeah,” Sam said with a sad smile.

“No, because it was for me this time. Not about Michael, hey call me selfish or whatever. Besides it looks good on you.”

Sam flushed a deep red and smiled in that shy way that made something deep inside Dean’s belly applaud with glee. “Thanks, I guess. It’s past the itchy stage, so maybe I will keep it for the winter.”

“Good, maybe I’ll grow one too. We can shave ‘em off in the spring, have ourselves a party.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam said, blush receded just to highlight his sharp cheekbones above his beard line.

“I meant it, what I said about retiring, that hunt was it for me, I’m out for good this time,” Dean said.

“It’s been a while since we were talking about that for me, hold on,” Sam said, shaking his head a little in confusion. “I know I said I’d believe it when I saw it. But yeah, after the last couple weeks, okay, we’re out. Like you said, for good.”

“I said I was quitting, you don’t have to quit too, Sammy.”

“Well, I’m not an idiot, so I’m not hunting alone. And I don’t want to do it with anyone else. Besides I have to stick around and take care of your sorry ass.”

“Unless there’s some injury you haven’t told me about, my ass is anything but sorry, in fact it has been called fine and perfect rather recently.”

“Oh really, by who?” Sam asked, tilting his head slightly in that way that Dean had always thought of his curious puppy look. The one where he was pretending not to be ravenously curious.

“Pretty sure that should be whom. The last PT I was working with at the hospital near home,” Dean said.

“You should have told me she was coming on to you like that, that’s so not cool to do to a patient.” Sam’s eyes flashed with something like anger (or jealousy)?

“No, not Sherry, I meant Brad,” Dean said. “He was one of the subs.”

“Still, so not cool for any of them to do that. They should know better than to put a patient in a situation like that.”

Dean could swear he heard a possessive growl underneath Sam’s words. “I don’t know, I liked hearing it from the guy, it was kinda motivating to keep working,” Dean said.

“Your ass in particular may not be injured at the moment, but I’m still sticking around whether you like it or not. I’m out of hunting too.”

“We’re both retired hunters, just like that?” Dean asked.

“So say we all,” Sam said with a grin.

“Well, isn’t that something,” Dean said, grinning back at his fool of a brother. He knew Sam would go crazy not hunting, not doing anything but taking care of him. He was betting that Sam wouldn’t last long. Dean tried to keep his smile up as the thought hit him, that meant Sam would finally be leaving him, moving on like he probably should have years and years ago. His smile felt like the biggest lie he’d ever told.



It was a long three days in the hospital now that he was awake for it…mostly. All the nurses and doctors were fine, and Sam finally went and got some rest which was good since he was the one that was going to be doing the eight hours of driving back home from Davenport. Friday morning couldn’t come soon enough as far as Dean was concerned. He wanted to recuperate in private. Well, private as in just with Sam around.

“Just so you know, I can hear you,” Sam said.

Dean startled to see his brother sitting by his bedside in the usual chair with a strange smile plastered on his face. “Oh, didn’t know you were already here.”

“I figured. So how about it, are you ready to get out of here today?” Sam asked.

“I was born ready,” Dean said.

“So I’ve heard-way too many times to have kept track of,” Sam said with a laugh. “They want you to be non-weight bearing on the injured leg for at least two weeks. Now that the prosthetic is fitting right again, I think it’ll go okay with crutches and no wheel chair.”

“What about the brain drains?” Dean asked.

“They got taken out yesterday, remember?” Sam asked, looking momentarily concerned.

Dean shook his head at himself, loving the feeling of not having the drains in the back of his skull. He should have noticed. “They took a lot of stuff out of me yesterday, I’m feeling kinda naked with only an IV in my arm.”

“I brought you some stuff to change into as soon as the nurses give us the go-ahead,” Sam said, choosing to not pursue the whole forgetting thing.

It was going to be that way for a while, random forgetting, that’s what the TBI specialist had warned them about, Dean at least remembered that. That meant it was going to be even harder for Sam this time around.

“Remember back when we’d ditch out of hospitals when the nurses weren’t looking?” Dean asked to fill the silence.

“Ah the good ol’ days of dine and dash, skipping out on hospital bills all over the country,” Sam snarked. “I’m glad we have legit insurance now.”

“Legit as in Charlie hacked it for us,” Dean corrected.

Sam frowned, no doubt remembering Charlie dying soon after she’d solved the insurance issue permanently for them. One of the nurses interrupted with the discharge instructions then, thankfully, because neither of them needed to head down that dark road.



To Part 2