Genre: Sick!fic, hurt/comfort, Epic, Slightly AU
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.
Chapter Five
“You stupid son of a bitch!”
Dean eased into awareness, smelling the sterile hospital around him, the sounds of machines beeping, people talking, his own chest as he breathed in and out. He cracked his eyes open and Bobby’s gruff face was fuming by his bedside.
“Well, it’s nice to see you too,” Dean grumbled, coughing wetly.
“Alcoholic hepatitis, and bacterial pneumonia. You almost killed yourself, Dean.”
Dean sighed, rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand, “Lay off, Bobby…”
“No, you lay off!” Bobby shouted, “Stop being so goddamn selfish, and think about your family for a change!”
Dean was flawed. His eyes widened. He could hear his machine beeping more rapidly as his heart rate sped up.
“I have always thought about this family,” Dean started, took a deep breath, “All I ever do is for my family!”
“Yeah?” Bobby raised his eyebrows, “And were you thinking about Sam and me when you took a fistful of painkillers and washed it down with a bottle of whiskey?”
“Jesus, Bobby…” Dean rubbed his eyes again, feeling sick to his stomach.
“No, you listen to me, son,” Bobby bent over him, put a hand on his head, “I know you’re going through somethin’. I know you’ve seen crap my worst nightmares couldn’t even dream up. But comin’ in and seeing you lie in this bed, lookin’ worse than most corpses we dig up, that is my worst nightmare. So, if you’re thinkin’ about checkin’ out, goin’ off the rails here, drinkin’ yourself into an early grave, you got another thing comin’. Because me and Sam won’t let you.”
“Bobby…”
“I ain’t finished!” Bobby raised his voice again and Dean gulped. “I’ve already lost you once! I’m not gonna stand here and let it happen again. So, stow your crap, son, and stop driving towards the cliff!”
Dean looked into Bobby’s eyes and slowly nodded. He felt tendrils climbing up his throat, his face heating up.
Bobby handed him a bucket just in time for him to be sick into, not that much came up but hot air.
Bobby’s hand was strong on the back of his neck, massaging, and if that wasn’t the biggest “I love you, and you scared me half to death” gesture, Dean didn’t know what was.
“Ya’alright, son?”
Dean nodded, pushing the bowl away.
“How’d you know I was here?” Dean rasped, clearing his throat.
“Your doctor called me when your vitals plummeted a few hours ago. Luckily, they got you sorted,” Bobby removed his cap and rubbed at his head. Stressed.
“Sam?” Dean turned guilty eyes towards Bobby.
“I didn’t tell him yet. He’s at the bar, I’m guessin’? Graveyard shift?”
Dean nodded.
“He’s gonna get home sooner or later and realize you’re not there…”
Dean sighed, then coughed, “I didn’t want to worry him…”
Bobby shook his head, “Son, I could wring your neck.”
“I know,” Dean tried to keep a handle on his emotions, “I’ll call him.”
Bobby picked up Dean’s phone from the side table and placed it on his chest. “I’ll go and grab a coffee.”
Dean watched him go and picked up his phone.
This was going to go down really well…
…
“Sam,” Riley approached him with a tray of drinks, “I need you to do these again. They ordered a gin and tonic, a vodka lemonade, and a jug of beer.”
Sam shook his head when he realized his mistake, “Sorry, Riley. I’ll fix it.”
She sighed and placed the tray down on the bar, “This is the third order you’ve screwed up. What’s going on?”
Sam cleared his throat, shaking his head, “I just…”
“Is it Dean?”
Sam looked up at her.
“Is something wrong?” She stepped closer, looking worried.
“No, no… I don’t think so. I just… have a bad feeling.”
“Well, what’s happened? Is he getting worse?”
Sam shrugged, “I don’t think he’s worse, he’s just,” he paused, “He’s shut off. He won’t talk to me. He looks terrible. He’s aged so much… I don’t know what to do.”
Riley put a hand on Sam’s, “Does he need help?”
“I’m trying to help him as much as I can…”
“No, Sam,” she stopped him, “Does he need help?”
Sam huffed. He opened his mouth to respond when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He almost smashed a glass in his haste to grab it. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew this wasn’t good.
Riley was looking at the screen, which displayed Dean’s name. She nodded, “Go.”
Sam answered the phone as he slipped out the back.
“Dean? What’s going on?”
There was a long pause, beeping in the background.
“Hey, Sammy.”
Dean sounded tired, sick, defeated.
“Where are you? What’s happening?”
“I, uh,” he broke off coughing.
Shit, shit, shit.
“I screwed up, Sammy.”
“Where are you?” Sam said again, drawing each word out to emphasise the seriousness, even though he already knew the answer to the question.
“Alexandria Hospital.”
“I’m on my way.”
…
Sam sat by Dean’s bed, bouncing his leg up and down, hands clasped in front of him, staring intently at his unmoving brother.
Bobby entered the room and Sam turned quickly to face him, “What did the doctor say?”
Bobby looked grim and Sam didn’t think his heart could take anymore.
“He said Dean needs to rest right now.”
“He’s been sleeping for 17 hours!” Sam shouted, pointing to Dean in the bed, unstirred by the noise.
“Shh, Sam, calm down. Your brother’s a very sick man. We have to give this time.”
Sam grimaced, huffed out an angry breath.
“The doctor said he hasn’t done permanent damage. There’s no saying that he can’t get back to normal.”
“Then why won’t he wake up?”
“Well, he had a theory on that too.”
Sam raised his eyebrow.
“Post traumatic stress.”
Sam felt himself well up, and turned back to look at his brother.
“What do we do, Bobby?”
Sam felt Bobby’s hand on his shoulder, “We do what we always do… We stay right here.”
…
Dean woke up coughing, and felt the bed being sat up higher for him.
“Dean! Dean, Dean, hey… Breathe. You’re okay.”
The coughing died down and he opened his eyes to see Sam standing over him, looking disheveled, unshaven, and sleep deprived.
“You look worried,” Dean rasped.
Sam sighed and slumped into the chair, holding firmly onto Dean’s forearm.
“Don’t say anything… Just… don’t.”
“Alright,” Dean shrugged, lifting a hand to rub his eyes.
“It’s been two days.”
Dean choked again, coughing into the crook of his arm.
Sam hit the call button and slumped back, rubbing Dean’s arm.
…
“Ouch,” Dean flinched as the nurse gave him a shot in the arm.
He was getting vitamin injections on a regular basis to counter the nutrient deprivation caused by the alcohol.
“Baby,” Sam muttered, smirk on his face.
“Sorry, Dean,” the nurse pulled his sleeve back down, “I’ll leave you with your brother now.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” as she left Dean turned to Sam, “I feel like a freaking pin cushion.”
“Well, that’s what you get,” Sam whined like a little kid.
“Yeah, so you keep telling me…”
“Dean, I talked to Dr Reid,” Sam sat up straighter.
Dean looked the other way.
“He wants you to talk to someone… about your drinking.”
Dean stiffened, closed his eyes as he took a breath.
“I know you’ve been through a lot, but this has got to stop...”
“You don’t get it,” Dean choked, emotion bubbling up.
“What?” Sam looked surprised that he’d responded at all.
“This isn’t going to go away, Sam. It’s not going to get better. This will always have happened to me. I can’t change it. I can’t forget the last 40 years… Hell, Sam, I was down there longer than I ever lived up here, and now I have to… go on like nothing happened? How can I?”
“What are you saying? You better not be suggesting that you don’t… wanna be here anymore…”
Dean looked at his brother.
Here.
Dean knew what Sam meant. Not “here” in the hospital. Not “here” in this town. Not “here” in North Carolina. But here. Alive. On Earth.
“What?” Dean screwed up his face, “God, Sam, of course not. You think after everything that happened I wanna… risk…” he trailed off, fighting back the tears. He’d cried enough. “I can’t.”
“Dean,” Sam sighed, “I’m sorry…”
“I’m trying, Sam. I’m happy I’m back. I’m happy I have you, and Bobby, and… I just… I’m trying.”
Sam sighed, nodded, “I know, Dean. I know you are.”
Dean cleared his throat and, despite his efforts, felt a tear slip down his cheek, “Well, good, ‘cause… this is all I’ve got.”
Sam looked his brother in the eye, “You’re all I’ve got too.”
…
Sam’s head shot up from Dean’s bed, a cold wet patch on his chin from where he’d been lying in his own drool. God, he was tired.
When his eyes adjusted he saw Dean looking at him, propped up in the bed, nasal prongs in, TV remote in his hand, eyebrow raised.
“What I miss?” Sam mumbled, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand, stretching out his back from where he’d been hunched over in the chair, head resting on the edge of the bed.
“Go home, Sam.”
“Huh?” Sam said around a yawn.
“Go home. You look worse than me.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Sam sighed, sizing his brother up.
Dean took a few slow breaths before speaking again, like he was out of breath just from talking, “I can stay here on my own.”
Sam shook his head, “Nah, I’m good. I just need another coffee.”
“They’ll look after me here, dude. Get some sleep.”
Dean coughed into his arm, rattling lungs. He sunk back into the pillows, looking like he was barely hanging onto consciousness as it was.
“What if you… have a nightmare?”
Dean glared at him, “Don’t jinx it.”
He hadn’t had one since he’d arrived, but he’d just been too weak. There was no telling whether he’d shout out, lash out, hurt someone, hurt himself. Sam didn’t trust him there on his own.
“Who’s going to… keep an eye out?” Sam argued.
“I am,” Bobby stood at the door, fixing Sam with a hard stare.
Dean coughed again, struggled more to recover this time.
Sam stood up, “You good?”
Dean nodded, even as he continued to cough. When it finally settled he had tears in his eyes.
“Get outta here. I’ll be alright. I’m just gonna sleep anyway.”
That’s what I’m worried about, Sam thought.
…
