Out Of The Dark (The Barbara Rose Remix) 3/3
Title:Out Of The Dark (The Barbara Rose Remix)
Characters: Dean, Sam, OCs
Genre: Gen, preseries
Rating: PG
Word count: 8443 total: 3506 this part
Summary: People get misdiagnosed all the time. Especially Winchesters.
A/N: My horribly late remix for the hoodie_time Dean focused h/c remix challenge. I remixed adrenalineshots fic
Barba Rossa . I loved the outsider POV of the E.R. staff and wanted to work with the Dean POV on their assumption that Dean was drunk, not injured.
The unrelenting blackness is quiet, at least at first. Maybe it’s what death is like, Dean thinks. Maybe it is death. There’s a distant flare of panic at the thought, but it’s far away, drifting at the edges of the universe and getting worked up over it is too much effort. He’s not dead, he decides. He’s just dormant; waiting for the right conditions to come to life again.
No light can penetrate the void he’s floating in, but eventually sounds begin to worm their way in. Irritating sounds. Pings and beeps and fragments of music that sometimes sound familiar. Dean lets the noise flow through the dark and off into space, and the Grinch hates Christmas music, and where the fuck did that come from? The Grinch hates the Whos down in Whoville and all their noise, noise, noise, noise and right now Dean’s in total agreement with him. His brain would probably shatter into a million pieces if any of his music started playing, but he’s willing to take the chance if it means he never has to hear “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” ever again.
People talk to him, but their words are vague and hard to follow and he mostly doesn’t bother. One voice in particular becomes familiar. Eddy, is there and gone in a flash, and Dean thinks he should know this guy from somewhere, but he’ll be damned if he can place him.
Home and Christmas meander past in Eddy’s voice and Dean just lets them go. Home is nowhere in particular and only one Christmas that he can remember has ever meant anything to him. And why the fuck is the guy calling him Barbara Rose? Maybe he is dead. Maybe he’s been dead for a long time and he was reincarnated into some chick’s body. Maybe…Princess and Sammy and Stanford are drifting past, and Dean stops them dead, but the words that went with them are long gone. He anchors himself on those three words and waits for more, but Eddy’s disappeared and maybe he was never there at all.
Other voices send words Dean’s way, but most are meaningless or confusing. He can’t figure out how some of them think they’re going to give a disembodied consciousness a bath and it’s starting to freak him out how often the words Barbara Rose stream past.
If Eddy’s a figment of his imagination he’s a pretty consistent one. Dean tries to fling a net over Eddy’s words, but most evade his trap. Hope and try and maybe struggle to escape, and Dean lets them go because he’s known for a long time that those words only lead to disappointment. Sammy he latches onto with an iron grip and it’s the one word he’s going to hold forever.
Forever’s a long time though, and Dean thinks that if he let go of the Sammy that he’s holding onto for dear life he’d float off into the void and never find his way back. Sometimes he’s ready to do that- ready to let go and see if there’s anything out there beyond the dark. But mostly he just waits because anything else is giving up and that’s not something he’s ever been good at.
Time passes, or Dean thinks it does. Keeping track of how long he’s been floating is impossible when there’s no frame of reference for anything. Conversations ebb and flow around him, sometimes he catches the words and sometimes he doesn’t but no matter what he does, nothing ever becomes easier to understand.
One night, or day there’s no way for him to tell, the feeling around him changes. There’s a buzz in the air, fragments of excited conversations whiz by….here, downstairs, Sammy…and the blackness whirls around him as he tries to gather them in. His Sammy? Here? Where ever here was?
Dean strains to catch every word, every syllable that will tell him whether or not this is his brother. No one, however, seems to know anything but the man’s name and that he had arrived, in the nick of time on Christmas Eve. He waits, what else can he do really, and it’s like the entire void whooshes out a breath of relief when he catches a word, finally, that makes sense.
Dean.
It’s Sam, his Sam and it’s important that he doesn’t miss any words now, so he gets ready to leap on whatever his brother sends his way. More words are flowing through the air, because Sam and words are like Dean and cheeseburgers, but Dean doesn’t think any of them are for him.
Sam throws out condition and prognosis and duration and a new voice lobs back coma and complications and no way to know. Dean feels like he’s rolled five sixes because he’s not dead and in the body of a chick, he’s in a fucking coma. Okay, well maybe it’s five ones he’s rolled, but not being dead definitely qualifies as a yahtzee.
Sam and the other guy…doctor?.....yeah, probably….go on for a while, then Sammy’s are the only words left in the room and they are fucking pissed.
You dumb fuck….’unting alone, weren’t you…Dad should’ve…with you….what the hell, Dean…by yourself… tramping in the sewers…no backup…goddam hero every fucking ti-…and Dean wants to defend himself, but he really can’t. He’s got no idea what he was doing before he ended up here, and even if he did, the words are strictly a one way proposition. That shit’s gotta stop now though. Who knows how long Sam will stick around if all Dean’s going to do is lie here and listen. He’s a captive audience, though. Sammy can talk at him all he wants and Dean can’t snark back at him or walk away. Should be win/win for the kid. Dean wants to snark at his brother, though. He’s missed it like color and light and movement and he wants all those things back right the fuck now.
Dean tries to move out of the void, but the darkness sucks at him like mud. He doesn’t know which way is out, but he’s going to try them all until he finds it. He hasn’t seen his brother in two years, and he’s not missing the opportunity now, no matter how hard it is to accomplish. He starts with ever expanding circles, moving through the empty spaces, looking for the exit he’s determined to find. Hell, he’ll rip a hole through his skull if that’s what it takes, because he’ll be damned if he’s going to be trapped in here forever.
Sam mostly stays and talks, but sometimes he goes and Dean silently panics until the words start appearing again. Sometimes it’s Dean that goes away for a while, but his brother doesn’t know the difference and he’s usually still talking when Dean comes back. Occasionally Eddy’s there too, and he talks to Sam about what happened when Dean came to the hospital. Dean listens carefully to those words, and tries to remember, but his memories of that time are gone like a black hole sucked them in. Eddy still calls him Barbara Rose, and Sam laughs.
Yeah, gotta do something about that beard. And his hair. He’s gonna be so pissed when he wakes up.
Sam sounds sure. Sam is sure that he’s going to wake up, and Dean’s not going to let him down. He stops circling, he stops pushing, he stops thinking about escape at all. His nose twitches, his eyelids flutter and there’s light. There’s light. His hand feels like it’s being crushed and he never thought he’d be happy to feel pain but right now, just feeling anything is like heaven.
Dean, hey. Are you there? Come on man, just blink for me or something.
It’s probably Sam squashing his fingers, the kid always did hang on too tight. Dean blinks his eyes slowly. It’s really all he can manage right now, but it’s enough for Sam.
Oh, thank God. No, no, keep your eyes open Dean, that’s it. Don’t go back to sleep on me now. It’s New Year’s and you don’t want to sleep through that, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.
Dean keeps his eyes open because Sam asks, but everything’s a blur. Sam’s leaning over him, he’s sure it’s Sam. Even blurry, especially blurry, his brother’s hair is unmistakable. Dean tries to raise the hand that’s not trapped in Sammy’s death grip, but it barely twitches so he leaves it where it is. He figures he’s let Sam do all the talking long enough, so he decides to give that a try next. It works about as well as lifting his hand did. His mouth opens and closes but no sound is coming out, and he begins to breathe faster, trying to get enough air to force out a word.
The pings and beeps are getting faster and louder and then Dean’s surrounded by more ghostly shapes. The crippling pressure is suddenly gone from his hand as his brother is moved back out of the way of the medical personnel that all of a sudden need to see him. Hands are peeling back his eyelids and bright lights are shining in his sensitive eyes and he tries to jerk his head away, but it’s lodged like a boulder on his pillow.
“Okay, Bar…Mr. Wesley, just take it easy. Things are a little confusing right now, but they’ll get clearer as time goes on. We’re going to take you for a few tests, and then we’ll get you back to your brother, all right?”
It’s not all right, but there’s nothing Dean can do as they wheel him out of the room. Sam must see it on his face because he’s right there beside him, all the way to the elevator.
“It’s okay, Dean. I’ll be right here when you get back and I’ll explain as much as I can. When you feel a little better you can fill me in on a few things too. Just don’t give the doctors a hard time and I’ll see you soon.”
There’s a ding as the doors slide shut and Sam’s lost from sight. He’ll still be here though, when Dean’s done and that eases the tightness in his chest a little. Dean’s got no choice about cooperating and he suffers through being poked and prodded and scanned with as much griping as he can manage. Which is none basically, but he’s some first class griping going on in his head so, in his mind, that counts for something.
Sam’s not in the room when Dean gets back, but he comes in a few minutes later with a sandwich and a cup of coffee and Dean’s heartbeat slows to something approaching normal. The doctor’s talking to both of them, telling them that the swelling in Dean’s head has been reduced to almost normal and the lesion in his brain is almost completely healed. He says it’s too soon to tell for sure, but there’s a good chance Dean will make a full recovery.
After the doctor leaves, Sam lets out a long breath and falls into the chair beside Dean’s bed. Dean’s hand is crushed again, and Sam’s speaking. This time the words are normal, not slow, not fast, maybe there’s a light echoing quality to them, but Dean catches them all and he feels like he’s finally getting somewhere.
“God, Dean. You’re going to be all right. Jesus, why do you have to keep doing this?”
Dean just looks at him and actually manages to breathe out some words. “How long?”
“You were in the coma about two weeks.”
It’s hard, but Dean has to know. “Wha’ happen’?”
“Before you got to the hospital? I don’t know. You were found, passed out on the street, about a week before Christmas. They thought you were drunk when they brought you in.”
“Wasn’.” Dean’s not sure of much, but he’s sure of that.
Sam grimaces. “No, you weren’t. Someone bashed you in the back of the head, but they didn’t find it…hell, they didn’t look for it, until it was too late. You started seizing and went into the coma.”
Dean shouldn’t be tired, he’s been asleep for two freakin’ weeks, but he feels his eyes start to slip closed as Sam is talking. He fights it, but it’s a losing proposition and he drifts off to the sound of Sam’s voice.
When he opens his eyes again, Eddy’s there too, talking to Sam, and the whole Barbara Rose thing comes up again.
“I don’t know,” Eddy is saying. “He was a pretty bad ass pirate, and your brother’s beard’s kind of red. Just sort of made the connection, you know?”
Pirate? Beard? What the fuck?
“Oh, Dean’s bad ass all right.” Sam sounds amused. “I just see him more as the dread pirate Wesley is all. You know, bad ass, but smooth and tough and gets the girl at the end. That’s the kind of pirate Dean would be.”
“That’s good, your last name being Wesley and all,” Eddy laughs.
“Um..yeah, I thought it made it even funnier. Dean didn’t like it much.”
Dean had though. When Sam had made him watch that stupid princess bride movie, he’d really liked the farm boy turned pirate who fought through everything to get to the person he loved. He could sort of identify. So when Sam had called him the dread pirate Dean he’d pretended to be pissed, but he knew that if he was ever in the situation of having to rescue his loved ones? He’d be there and the bad guys wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Hey,” Dean croaks, pulling the attention of both men to him. “Wha’s wit’ th’ pirate thing? And who th’ fu’ is Barbara Rose?”
Sam snorts and Eddy bursts out laughing.
“Barbarossa, Dean. Means Red Beard. He was a pirate off the coast of Africa back in the prime days of pirating. That beard you’re rocking reminded Eddy here of him and since no one knew your name, it sort of just stuck.”
Dean’s hand twitches, but it’s still not up to reaching up to feel his face. “Don’ got a beard.”
Sam pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolds it in front of Dean’s face. “This is the picture of you that Eddy here, took after you came in. He somehow got a person in the Dean of Student’s office to print up flyers with your ugly mug on them and post them around campus. It’s just blind luck that I saw one before I left. And just for the record, Dean? It would have been a lot easier for someone to find me if you would stop referring to me as “Princess,” got it? And the beard’s had another two weeks to get even more pirate like, man, you should see it now.”
Dean just stares at the picture in confusion. The man in that picture isn’t him, it can’t be. It looks like a bum off the street, like the fuckin’ Unibomber, not Dean Winchester. His eyes meet Sam’s and the humor fades from his brother’s face as he folds the paper up and puts it back in his pocket.
“Tha’…tha’s no’ me.”
Sam’s hand is back on Dean’s but it’s gentle this time as he slowly lifts his brother’s hand and runs it along his face. Dean feels the rough hair as Sam strokes Dean’s own hand around his chin. Dean’s lip quivers and he feels a tear slide down his cheek.
“Wha’?”
“The doctors say you were in pretty bad shape when you came in and it was from more than a whack on the head.” Sam runs his hands over the wraps on Dean’s wrists, lifts Dean’s other hand so he can see the bandages on his fingers. “Someone had you, Dean. Probably for a few weeks, maybe a month. Malnutrition, dehydration, cracked ribs, pulled out fingernails, and last but not least, the blunt trauma to the head that they probably thought would kill you.”
“Didn’t.”
“No.” Sam’s lip twitches, but not in a smile. “No, not this time. Do you remember anything at all, Dean? Do you know who might have done this?”
“No.” Dean thinks back, but it’s all dark where those memories should be. “Can’ remember, Sammy.”
“You might not ever remember.” Eddy chimes in with words neither brother wants to hear. “When you get a head injury like that it’s common for memories of that time to be lost. Occasionally coma patients will get their memories back, but it doesn’t happen often.”
A thought comes to Dean in a panic, and his fingers twitch under Sam’s. “Dad. Is Dad..?”
“Dad’s fine Dean. And so’s your car before you start freaking out about her too. Dad was on a job in New Mexico when you went missing, he’s been going crazy looking for you for weeks.”
“Called you?” Dean’s hopeful, but Sam squashes it right away.
“First I knew of it was when I saw the flyers. Called Pastor Jim after I got here, and he told me Dad had called him looking for you. Dad knows you’re here now, knows I’m with you and he knows you’re awake. He’s got some things to finish up,” Sam’s voice gets bitter here, “and then he’ll be by to spring you.”
“My baby?”
Sam laughs humorlessly. “Found the Impala in a parking lot across town. It’d been there for a while, no one seems to know how long. There’s five blocks of apartment buildings, a bunch of hotels and a few office buildings nearby. I didn’t have any luck getting any leads in any of them. Nothing’s missing though, at least as far as I could tell, so that‘s one good thing anyway.”
Dean just stares at Sam. “Been workin’?”
“It’s like riding a bike Dean. I wish I could forget how, but apparently it’s sticking with me.” Sam turns to Eddy. “Hey man, think he could get a shave? The pirate look’s not sitting well with him. Maybe a haircut too?”
“Sure, my pleasure,” Eddy grins. “The nurses have been dying to see what you look like under all that hair.”
“Gonna have t’ beat ‘em off with a stick,” Dean murmurs and the other two laugh.
“You can’t even lift a stick right now, Dean. The nurses are going to have their way with you.”
“I c’n live wi’ that.”
Eddy fetches a basin and a razor and gets to work. It takes a while, but the tufts of hair gradually disappear and when Eddy’s finished Sam once again runs Dean’s hand along his newly smooth chin.
Dean smiles. “Tha’s better, Eddy. Thanks.”
“No problem, Dean. Want me to do the hair too?”
“No!” Dean saw what his hair looked like in the picture and he doesn’t really trust Eddy to get that mess back to how it should be. “I mean, thanks bu’ no. My dad’ll do it when he gets here.”
“Dad’ll probably just shave it all off,” Sam mutters and Dean shoots him a look.
“No, he won’. He’ll make it right. When’s he comin’ anyway?”
“Couple of hours.” Sam looks away and Dean tenses.
“You’re leaving.” It’s not a question and Sam nods.
“I’ve got a lot to do before the new term starts, Dean. I’ve missed a lot of work, a lot of studying and you’re going to be okay. It’s time for me to head back, and I really don’t want to run into Dad on my way out the door.”
“He’ll want to see you.” Dean’s serious, but Sam snorts in disbelief.
“No he won’t. Look, you’ve got to do your thing and I’ve got to do mine. That’s just the way it is.” Sam runs a hand down Dean’s face, briefly clasps his hand. “Just take care of yourself better next time.”
“Sammy.” Dean’s voice is pleading, and his brother’s step hesitates for a moment, then he’s out the door.
“I’ve still got it, you know.”
Dean opens his eyes to find Eddy standing beside the bed, face worried and uncomfortable, but trying to help.
“Got what,” Dean asks dully.
“Got the paper I found on you with the phone number on it. It’s with your things. He’s right, though. If you put Sam on it instead of Princess, it would have made finding him a hell of a lot easier.”
“Why’d you go to all that trouble, anyway? You don’t know me.”
“It was Christmas time, man. You were alone and hurt and calling for your brother. I thought you were just a drunk off the street and I was wrong. I owed you.”
“Well, we’re even now,” Dean murmurs. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, Barbara Rose.” Eddy grins as he leaves the room and Dean manages to get his middle finger to work just long enough to flip the other man off.
“Yo, ho, ho,” he mutters to himself as he settles back to wait for his father.
Characters: Dean, Sam, OCs
Genre: Gen, preseries
Rating: PG
Word count: 8443 total: 3506 this part
Summary: People get misdiagnosed all the time. Especially Winchesters.
A/N: My horribly late remix for the hoodie_time Dean focused h/c remix challenge. I remixed adrenalineshots fic
Barba Rossa . I loved the outsider POV of the E.R. staff and wanted to work with the Dean POV on their assumption that Dean was drunk, not injured.
The unrelenting blackness is quiet, at least at first. Maybe it’s what death is like, Dean thinks. Maybe it is death. There’s a distant flare of panic at the thought, but it’s far away, drifting at the edges of the universe and getting worked up over it is too much effort. He’s not dead, he decides. He’s just dormant; waiting for the right conditions to come to life again.
No light can penetrate the void he’s floating in, but eventually sounds begin to worm their way in. Irritating sounds. Pings and beeps and fragments of music that sometimes sound familiar. Dean lets the noise flow through the dark and off into space, and the Grinch hates Christmas music, and where the fuck did that come from? The Grinch hates the Whos down in Whoville and all their noise, noise, noise, noise and right now Dean’s in total agreement with him. His brain would probably shatter into a million pieces if any of his music started playing, but he’s willing to take the chance if it means he never has to hear “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” ever again.
People talk to him, but their words are vague and hard to follow and he mostly doesn’t bother. One voice in particular becomes familiar. Eddy, is there and gone in a flash, and Dean thinks he should know this guy from somewhere, but he’ll be damned if he can place him.
Home and Christmas meander past in Eddy’s voice and Dean just lets them go. Home is nowhere in particular and only one Christmas that he can remember has ever meant anything to him. And why the fuck is the guy calling him Barbara Rose? Maybe he is dead. Maybe he’s been dead for a long time and he was reincarnated into some chick’s body. Maybe…Princess and Sammy and Stanford are drifting past, and Dean stops them dead, but the words that went with them are long gone. He anchors himself on those three words and waits for more, but Eddy’s disappeared and maybe he was never there at all.
Other voices send words Dean’s way, but most are meaningless or confusing. He can’t figure out how some of them think they’re going to give a disembodied consciousness a bath and it’s starting to freak him out how often the words Barbara Rose stream past.
If Eddy’s a figment of his imagination he’s a pretty consistent one. Dean tries to fling a net over Eddy’s words, but most evade his trap. Hope and try and maybe struggle to escape, and Dean lets them go because he’s known for a long time that those words only lead to disappointment. Sammy he latches onto with an iron grip and it’s the one word he’s going to hold forever.
Forever’s a long time though, and Dean thinks that if he let go of the Sammy that he’s holding onto for dear life he’d float off into the void and never find his way back. Sometimes he’s ready to do that- ready to let go and see if there’s anything out there beyond the dark. But mostly he just waits because anything else is giving up and that’s not something he’s ever been good at.
Time passes, or Dean thinks it does. Keeping track of how long he’s been floating is impossible when there’s no frame of reference for anything. Conversations ebb and flow around him, sometimes he catches the words and sometimes he doesn’t but no matter what he does, nothing ever becomes easier to understand.
One night, or day there’s no way for him to tell, the feeling around him changes. There’s a buzz in the air, fragments of excited conversations whiz by….here, downstairs, Sammy…and the blackness whirls around him as he tries to gather them in. His Sammy? Here? Where ever here was?
Dean strains to catch every word, every syllable that will tell him whether or not this is his brother. No one, however, seems to know anything but the man’s name and that he had arrived, in the nick of time on Christmas Eve. He waits, what else can he do really, and it’s like the entire void whooshes out a breath of relief when he catches a word, finally, that makes sense.
Dean.
It’s Sam, his Sam and it’s important that he doesn’t miss any words now, so he gets ready to leap on whatever his brother sends his way. More words are flowing through the air, because Sam and words are like Dean and cheeseburgers, but Dean doesn’t think any of them are for him.
Sam throws out condition and prognosis and duration and a new voice lobs back coma and complications and no way to know. Dean feels like he’s rolled five sixes because he’s not dead and in the body of a chick, he’s in a fucking coma. Okay, well maybe it’s five ones he’s rolled, but not being dead definitely qualifies as a yahtzee.
Sam and the other guy…doctor?.....yeah, probably….go on for a while, then Sammy’s are the only words left in the room and they are fucking pissed.
You dumb fuck….’unting alone, weren’t you…Dad should’ve…with you….what the hell, Dean…by yourself… tramping in the sewers…no backup…goddam hero every fucking ti-…and Dean wants to defend himself, but he really can’t. He’s got no idea what he was doing before he ended up here, and even if he did, the words are strictly a one way proposition. That shit’s gotta stop now though. Who knows how long Sam will stick around if all Dean’s going to do is lie here and listen. He’s a captive audience, though. Sammy can talk at him all he wants and Dean can’t snark back at him or walk away. Should be win/win for the kid. Dean wants to snark at his brother, though. He’s missed it like color and light and movement and he wants all those things back right the fuck now.
Dean tries to move out of the void, but the darkness sucks at him like mud. He doesn’t know which way is out, but he’s going to try them all until he finds it. He hasn’t seen his brother in two years, and he’s not missing the opportunity now, no matter how hard it is to accomplish. He starts with ever expanding circles, moving through the empty spaces, looking for the exit he’s determined to find. Hell, he’ll rip a hole through his skull if that’s what it takes, because he’ll be damned if he’s going to be trapped in here forever.
Sam mostly stays and talks, but sometimes he goes and Dean silently panics until the words start appearing again. Sometimes it’s Dean that goes away for a while, but his brother doesn’t know the difference and he’s usually still talking when Dean comes back. Occasionally Eddy’s there too, and he talks to Sam about what happened when Dean came to the hospital. Dean listens carefully to those words, and tries to remember, but his memories of that time are gone like a black hole sucked them in. Eddy still calls him Barbara Rose, and Sam laughs.
Yeah, gotta do something about that beard. And his hair. He’s gonna be so pissed when he wakes up.
Sam sounds sure. Sam is sure that he’s going to wake up, and Dean’s not going to let him down. He stops circling, he stops pushing, he stops thinking about escape at all. His nose twitches, his eyelids flutter and there’s light. There’s light. His hand feels like it’s being crushed and he never thought he’d be happy to feel pain but right now, just feeling anything is like heaven.
Dean, hey. Are you there? Come on man, just blink for me or something.
It’s probably Sam squashing his fingers, the kid always did hang on too tight. Dean blinks his eyes slowly. It’s really all he can manage right now, but it’s enough for Sam.
Oh, thank God. No, no, keep your eyes open Dean, that’s it. Don’t go back to sleep on me now. It’s New Year’s and you don’t want to sleep through that, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.
Dean keeps his eyes open because Sam asks, but everything’s a blur. Sam’s leaning over him, he’s sure it’s Sam. Even blurry, especially blurry, his brother’s hair is unmistakable. Dean tries to raise the hand that’s not trapped in Sammy’s death grip, but it barely twitches so he leaves it where it is. He figures he’s let Sam do all the talking long enough, so he decides to give that a try next. It works about as well as lifting his hand did. His mouth opens and closes but no sound is coming out, and he begins to breathe faster, trying to get enough air to force out a word.
The pings and beeps are getting faster and louder and then Dean’s surrounded by more ghostly shapes. The crippling pressure is suddenly gone from his hand as his brother is moved back out of the way of the medical personnel that all of a sudden need to see him. Hands are peeling back his eyelids and bright lights are shining in his sensitive eyes and he tries to jerk his head away, but it’s lodged like a boulder on his pillow.
“Okay, Bar…Mr. Wesley, just take it easy. Things are a little confusing right now, but they’ll get clearer as time goes on. We’re going to take you for a few tests, and then we’ll get you back to your brother, all right?”
It’s not all right, but there’s nothing Dean can do as they wheel him out of the room. Sam must see it on his face because he’s right there beside him, all the way to the elevator.
“It’s okay, Dean. I’ll be right here when you get back and I’ll explain as much as I can. When you feel a little better you can fill me in on a few things too. Just don’t give the doctors a hard time and I’ll see you soon.”
There’s a ding as the doors slide shut and Sam’s lost from sight. He’ll still be here though, when Dean’s done and that eases the tightness in his chest a little. Dean’s got no choice about cooperating and he suffers through being poked and prodded and scanned with as much griping as he can manage. Which is none basically, but he’s some first class griping going on in his head so, in his mind, that counts for something.
Sam’s not in the room when Dean gets back, but he comes in a few minutes later with a sandwich and a cup of coffee and Dean’s heartbeat slows to something approaching normal. The doctor’s talking to both of them, telling them that the swelling in Dean’s head has been reduced to almost normal and the lesion in his brain is almost completely healed. He says it’s too soon to tell for sure, but there’s a good chance Dean will make a full recovery.
After the doctor leaves, Sam lets out a long breath and falls into the chair beside Dean’s bed. Dean’s hand is crushed again, and Sam’s speaking. This time the words are normal, not slow, not fast, maybe there’s a light echoing quality to them, but Dean catches them all and he feels like he’s finally getting somewhere.
“God, Dean. You’re going to be all right. Jesus, why do you have to keep doing this?”
Dean just looks at him and actually manages to breathe out some words. “How long?”
“You were in the coma about two weeks.”
It’s hard, but Dean has to know. “Wha’ happen’?”
“Before you got to the hospital? I don’t know. You were found, passed out on the street, about a week before Christmas. They thought you were drunk when they brought you in.”
“Wasn’.” Dean’s not sure of much, but he’s sure of that.
Sam grimaces. “No, you weren’t. Someone bashed you in the back of the head, but they didn’t find it…hell, they didn’t look for it, until it was too late. You started seizing and went into the coma.”
Dean shouldn’t be tired, he’s been asleep for two freakin’ weeks, but he feels his eyes start to slip closed as Sam is talking. He fights it, but it’s a losing proposition and he drifts off to the sound of Sam’s voice.
When he opens his eyes again, Eddy’s there too, talking to Sam, and the whole Barbara Rose thing comes up again.
“I don’t know,” Eddy is saying. “He was a pretty bad ass pirate, and your brother’s beard’s kind of red. Just sort of made the connection, you know?”
Pirate? Beard? What the fuck?
“Oh, Dean’s bad ass all right.” Sam sounds amused. “I just see him more as the dread pirate Wesley is all. You know, bad ass, but smooth and tough and gets the girl at the end. That’s the kind of pirate Dean would be.”
“That’s good, your last name being Wesley and all,” Eddy laughs.
“Um..yeah, I thought it made it even funnier. Dean didn’t like it much.”
Dean had though. When Sam had made him watch that stupid princess bride movie, he’d really liked the farm boy turned pirate who fought through everything to get to the person he loved. He could sort of identify. So when Sam had called him the dread pirate Dean he’d pretended to be pissed, but he knew that if he was ever in the situation of having to rescue his loved ones? He’d be there and the bad guys wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Hey,” Dean croaks, pulling the attention of both men to him. “Wha’s wit’ th’ pirate thing? And who th’ fu’ is Barbara Rose?”
Sam snorts and Eddy bursts out laughing.
“Barbarossa, Dean. Means Red Beard. He was a pirate off the coast of Africa back in the prime days of pirating. That beard you’re rocking reminded Eddy here of him and since no one knew your name, it sort of just stuck.”
Dean’s hand twitches, but it’s still not up to reaching up to feel his face. “Don’ got a beard.”
Sam pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolds it in front of Dean’s face. “This is the picture of you that Eddy here, took after you came in. He somehow got a person in the Dean of Student’s office to print up flyers with your ugly mug on them and post them around campus. It’s just blind luck that I saw one before I left. And just for the record, Dean? It would have been a lot easier for someone to find me if you would stop referring to me as “Princess,” got it? And the beard’s had another two weeks to get even more pirate like, man, you should see it now.”
Dean just stares at the picture in confusion. The man in that picture isn’t him, it can’t be. It looks like a bum off the street, like the fuckin’ Unibomber, not Dean Winchester. His eyes meet Sam’s and the humor fades from his brother’s face as he folds the paper up and puts it back in his pocket.
“Tha’…tha’s no’ me.”
Sam’s hand is back on Dean’s but it’s gentle this time as he slowly lifts his brother’s hand and runs it along his face. Dean feels the rough hair as Sam strokes Dean’s own hand around his chin. Dean’s lip quivers and he feels a tear slide down his cheek.
“Wha’?”
“The doctors say you were in pretty bad shape when you came in and it was from more than a whack on the head.” Sam runs his hands over the wraps on Dean’s wrists, lifts Dean’s other hand so he can see the bandages on his fingers. “Someone had you, Dean. Probably for a few weeks, maybe a month. Malnutrition, dehydration, cracked ribs, pulled out fingernails, and last but not least, the blunt trauma to the head that they probably thought would kill you.”
“Didn’t.”
“No.” Sam’s lip twitches, but not in a smile. “No, not this time. Do you remember anything at all, Dean? Do you know who might have done this?”
“No.” Dean thinks back, but it’s all dark where those memories should be. “Can’ remember, Sammy.”
“You might not ever remember.” Eddy chimes in with words neither brother wants to hear. “When you get a head injury like that it’s common for memories of that time to be lost. Occasionally coma patients will get their memories back, but it doesn’t happen often.”
A thought comes to Dean in a panic, and his fingers twitch under Sam’s. “Dad. Is Dad..?”
“Dad’s fine Dean. And so’s your car before you start freaking out about her too. Dad was on a job in New Mexico when you went missing, he’s been going crazy looking for you for weeks.”
“Called you?” Dean’s hopeful, but Sam squashes it right away.
“First I knew of it was when I saw the flyers. Called Pastor Jim after I got here, and he told me Dad had called him looking for you. Dad knows you’re here now, knows I’m with you and he knows you’re awake. He’s got some things to finish up,” Sam’s voice gets bitter here, “and then he’ll be by to spring you.”
“My baby?”
Sam laughs humorlessly. “Found the Impala in a parking lot across town. It’d been there for a while, no one seems to know how long. There’s five blocks of apartment buildings, a bunch of hotels and a few office buildings nearby. I didn’t have any luck getting any leads in any of them. Nothing’s missing though, at least as far as I could tell, so that‘s one good thing anyway.”
Dean just stares at Sam. “Been workin’?”
“It’s like riding a bike Dean. I wish I could forget how, but apparently it’s sticking with me.” Sam turns to Eddy. “Hey man, think he could get a shave? The pirate look’s not sitting well with him. Maybe a haircut too?”
“Sure, my pleasure,” Eddy grins. “The nurses have been dying to see what you look like under all that hair.”
“Gonna have t’ beat ‘em off with a stick,” Dean murmurs and the other two laugh.
“You can’t even lift a stick right now, Dean. The nurses are going to have their way with you.”
“I c’n live wi’ that.”
Eddy fetches a basin and a razor and gets to work. It takes a while, but the tufts of hair gradually disappear and when Eddy’s finished Sam once again runs Dean’s hand along his newly smooth chin.
Dean smiles. “Tha’s better, Eddy. Thanks.”
“No problem, Dean. Want me to do the hair too?”
“No!” Dean saw what his hair looked like in the picture and he doesn’t really trust Eddy to get that mess back to how it should be. “I mean, thanks bu’ no. My dad’ll do it when he gets here.”
“Dad’ll probably just shave it all off,” Sam mutters and Dean shoots him a look.
“No, he won’. He’ll make it right. When’s he comin’ anyway?”
“Couple of hours.” Sam looks away and Dean tenses.
“You’re leaving.” It’s not a question and Sam nods.
“I’ve got a lot to do before the new term starts, Dean. I’ve missed a lot of work, a lot of studying and you’re going to be okay. It’s time for me to head back, and I really don’t want to run into Dad on my way out the door.”
“He’ll want to see you.” Dean’s serious, but Sam snorts in disbelief.
“No he won’t. Look, you’ve got to do your thing and I’ve got to do mine. That’s just the way it is.” Sam runs a hand down Dean’s face, briefly clasps his hand. “Just take care of yourself better next time.”
“Sammy.” Dean’s voice is pleading, and his brother’s step hesitates for a moment, then he’s out the door.
“I’ve still got it, you know.”
Dean opens his eyes to find Eddy standing beside the bed, face worried and uncomfortable, but trying to help.
“Got what,” Dean asks dully.
“Got the paper I found on you with the phone number on it. It’s with your things. He’s right, though. If you put Sam on it instead of Princess, it would have made finding him a hell of a lot easier.”
“Why’d you go to all that trouble, anyway? You don’t know me.”
“It was Christmas time, man. You were alone and hurt and calling for your brother. I thought you were just a drunk off the street and I was wrong. I owed you.”
“Well, we’re even now,” Dean murmurs. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, Barbara Rose.” Eddy grins as he leaves the room and Dean manages to get his middle finger to work just long enough to flip the other man off.
“Yo, ho, ho,” he mutters to himself as he settles back to wait for his father.