Chapter Text
“Come on, man. Can’t you see? I’m...I’m poison. Sam, people get close to me, they get killed...or worse.”
They were standing under some sort of awning on the dock they’d ended up on, but the mist from the gentle rain was settling on them and it glistened on Sam’s face, a mockery of the tears that he was obviously fighting against.
“You know, I tell myself that I-I help more people than I hurt. And I tell myself that I-I’m doing it all for the right reasons, and I...I believe that.”
Dean found himself barely able to spit the words out, struggling through the mire of self-doubt and the misery that he knew was his own fault but there was just so much horror and grief and guilt piled on top of him that he couldn’t...he didn’t dare try to take on any of Sam’s crap too. It would have crushed him to death, and he never could have escaped. So he decided to run instead.
“I can’t...I won’t...drag anybody through the muck with me. Not anymore.”
Sam looked at him straight on, his eyes flashing with anger, but it was more than that. His eyes were dulled with pain, with hurt, with betrayal. And Sam told him to go.
He wasn’t sure if it hurt or helped that Sam wasn’t stopping him. Just as he was turning to leave, heart in his throat, Sam called after him, voice shaking, “But don’t go thinking that’s the problem, ‘cause it’s not.”
It stopped Dean in his tracks, mind foggy. He didn’t have the mental nor emotional energy to deal with this, with trying to guess what Sam was getting at. Without bothering to fully turn around, he called over his shoulder, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Dammit, Dean, I shouldn’t have to explain what you did wrong, what you...what...I….”
Sam trailed off mid-rant, and if there was ever a red flag, that was it. Dean whirled around, taking in Sam’s hunched posture and pained grunts as he clutched at his head. As Dean started back towards his brother, Sam’s right hand dropped limply down to his side, though his left stayed where it was gripping his hair tightly.
Dean briefly looked at Cas with concern, and Castiel started making his way over to Sam as well. Rushing the last few steps as Sam started to falter on his feet, Dean gripped Sam’s shoulders as he tilted dangerously to one side.
Sam’s right arm made a sort of twitching movement, but it didn’t rise high enough to accomplish whatever he was attempting to do with it. His left, meanwhile, dropped to Dean’s arm, gripping it tightly.
“Sam? Sam, what’s wrong?”
Sam looked up at Dean’s voice, but his eyes weren’t quite focusing on his face. He frowned, blinking in that way Dean recognized as his attempt to clear blurry vision.
“Dad? Whassit? Wha’s goin’on?”
An icy fear that had nothing to do with the drizzling rain slid down his back, causing Dean to shiver. He involuntarily squeezed Sam’s shoulders tightly.
“Sam? It’s Dean. Talk to me, Sam.”
Castiel was standing nearby, waiting at a distance to see if he was needed, and Dean tilted his head at him to get his feathered ass over to help.
Sam batted at Dean’s hands with his left hand, his right arm jerking pathetically from where it was hanging at his side.
“Ge-offfff Dad. Don’ wan’.” His struggles caused him to overbalance, and his right knee buckled, causing Dean to cry out as Sam tipped sideways.
Thankfully Castiel was close enough to catch him, and together they lowered Sam to sit on the dock, long legs twisted awkwardly in front of him. His head lolled on his chest, and his arms were both limp at his sides.
This time Castiel crouched in front of Sam, while Dean hovered anxiously next to them. Pulling up the sleeve of his trenchcoat, Cas ducked his head in an attempt to make some semblance of eye contact with the semi-conscious man. “Sam? I need to touch your forehead for a moment. It’s just to assess your condition.”
Not hearing an audible answer, Castiel gently tilted Sam’s chin up with one hand, searching Sam’s face for any recognition. Sam’s eyes were nearly shut, and though the pain and confusion he was feeling were still evident, there was no sign that he could see who was speaking to him. “Sam?”
Dean growled, anxiety getting the better of him. “Just do it, Cas!”
Castiel shot him a glare, but did as he was told, apologizing quietly to Sam as he firmly placed his free hand onto Sam’s forehead. His eyes shut in concentration, his fingers twitching as the soft glow of grace flowed into Sam. After a few seconds, Cas’ face visibly paled and his eyes flew open. He turned to give Dean a fearful look.
Dean had long since run out of patience. “What, Cas?! What’s wrong with him? Dammit!” He dove forward to stop Sam’s fall as he started to slump out of Castiel’s grip, his eyes fluttering. He kept an arm wrapped across his brother’s chest, and the other pressed on Sam’s back to steady him.
Castiel repositioned the hand under Sam’s chin, tilting his head upright again. The angel pressed his hand more firmly to Sam’s forehead, grimacing. When he replied, his voice was strained and laced with urgency. The glow under his hand stuttered and dimmed.
“He’s experiencing a brain bleed. I’m attempting to seal off the source, but he’s already lost enough blood for it to become dangerous. I….” He trailed off, eyes closed and face a look of intense focus. “There.” He breathed a sigh of relief.
Dean’s stress level was through the roof. “Talk to me, Cas!”
Cas was breathing heavily. “I don’t have enough grace to repair the damage or remove the blood, but I repaired the bleed. Dean, he needs a hospital. Now!”
The angel’s sudden shout caused Sam to startle, and he moaned at the sudden movement. “‘Kay, Dad. ‘M up.”
Dean jumped into action, gently pulling a groaning Sam to his feet.
Sam looked disgruntled, and did his best to pull away, but it was uncomfortably easy for Dean to restrain him and pull him towards the Impala. Sam’s attempts to walk were hardly noticeable, and under any other circumstances Dean would have jumped at the chance to give his little brother crap for not pulling his own weight, but in this instance it only made him feel sick to his stomach as he tried desperately not to remember the last time he’d dragged a nearly comatose brother to the Impala. The only bright side he could see was that Castiel was there to help this time. If he hadn’t been there to lend his angelic strength, Dean would have had to fireman carry his huge brother all the way to the car. He refused to think about what could have happened to Sam if he’d just left without turning around….
Halfway there, Sam went fully limp, nearly giving Dean a heart attack and causing him to slip on the wet surface of the dock. Castiel immediately compensated for the extra weight, slapping his hand back to Sam’s forehead in a rush.
Dean slipped Sam’s arm over his shoulders, hitching his brother further upright, watching Castiel’s face for any sign of news, good or bad. The angel grace faded once more, and Castiel started them forward again.
“He’s alive. It was all too much for him. His condition has not worsened much, Dean, but we have to hurry.”
As soon as they made it to the car, they all but threw Sam inside, only pausing long enough to tuck one of the spare blankets under Sam’s head before Dean was skidding out of the parking lot. Castiel was kneeled backwards on Sam’s side of the front seat, keeping his hand pressed to Sam’s forehead the entire way to the hospital. Dean’s eyes flickered back and forth between the road and his brother’s limp form, the faint glow of angel grace reflecting in the rearview mirror right as he cut in front of an ugly green sports car to screech to a halt at the emergency room doors.
“Cas!” He shouted, even as he wrenched his door open and yanked his brother down the bench seat by the ankles.
The angel appeared at his side, helping to drag Sam’s limp body through the hospital doors.
The next several hours were a whirlwind of pacing, angrily punching the wall in three separate waiting rooms, drinking too many cups of coffee-flavored sludge, and endlessly harassing the nurses for any bit of news about his brother.
By the time a tiny woman in blood-covered scrubs appeared, Dean was nearly beyond speech. The sight of his brother’s blood all over the doctor’s arms made him want to puke, but at Castiel’s concern he shoved a fist over his mouth and held up a hand to signal he’d push through it.
“He’s alive,” the doctor mercifully said first.
Dean slumped with relief.
“How is he?” Cas prompted.
The doctor led them over to take a seat on the row of empty chairs, standing next to them with her arms crossed. “The patient, Sam, was it?” At Dean’s nod, she continued, “He had signs of what I can only describe as a hemorrhagic stroke. However, there was no visible trauma in our initial CT scan, and no obvious source of where the blood came from in the first place.
“Because he did have excess blood in his brain from somewhere , we do need to keep him admitted for the next day or so to check him over and run the usual round of tests we’d normally give to a stroke patient. There’s possibilities of speech impairment, a loss of motor skills, memory loss, or changes in behavior, not to mention the possibility of something more severe, such as a brain tumor or blood clots travelling from his lungs or his heart.”
Dean could feel himself becoming more and more pale as she continued talking, and he tightly clasped his hands together to prevent them from visibly shaking. He felt like he was trapped in fog, and the oppressive feeling of worry and disbelief compressed his chest until it felt like he could barely breathe.
“We’re going to need a rundown of his medical history, so we have some clues to look for, such as whether he’s had a history of sleep apnea, or if he’s had any illegal drug or alcohol overdoses or problems with high blood pressure.”
After a brief silence, Castiel nudged Dean gently, and Dean blinked, his mind speeding through the last few seconds before he caught up. “Uh, no. No, nothing like any of that.”
The doctor frowned, but not unkindly. “Well, we’ll stick to our usual procedures, but in the meantime, he should be settled in a room by now, and I can take you back if you’d like to see him.”
Dean shot up so fast he felt mildly dizzy, and the doctor smiled and turned without another word. Barely paying attention to his surroundings, Dean simultaneously felt like he’d been stumbling numbly behind her forever and that he’d blinked once and he was there already when she paused outside of a room.
“Like I said earlier, he’s already had a CT scan, but there’s a few more tests that we’ll need to perform on him throughout the night and probably through tomorrow. If you don’t mind the constant interruptions, you’re welcome to stay with him. He’s sleeping right now, but he seems to be quite the fighter.”
Dean nodded, not quite listening. He just wanted to see his brother.
Seeming to sense his impatience, the doctor pushed the door open, ushering both of them inside.
Dean let Cas talk in whispers to the doctor as the rest of the world faded out, barely managing to land in the chair as his legs gave way next to Sam’s hospital bed. With hardly a glance towards the various wires and machines around him, he smoothed Sam’s hair off his forehead, carefully avoiding the nasal cannula wrapped over Sam’s ears.
Gently picking up Sam’s limp hand, Dean clasped it tightly, lowering his forehead to Sam’s cool fingers. Hoping he’d feel a squeeze back or even a twitch, he waited for several minutes before carefully placing his brother’s hand back on the bed, keeping a loose grip on his brother’s wrist and the comforting pulse beneath as he settled in for a long wait.
Hours passed, and Sam remained unconscious, even through blood tests and machines being wheeled in and out of the room to test who knows what. Dean had long since stopped bothering to keep track of it all, trusting Castiel to help keep an eye out for anyone that seemed suspicious. So far Dean had only been dismissed from the room once, and he’d taken the opportunity to use the bathroom and find a new source of caffeine.
It was when Dean was sitting in the hallway outside of Sam’s MRI, his head resting on the wall behind him, that the intercom crackled to life in the ceiling.
“Would a Mr. Dean Sq—” The voice cut off abruptly, and a muffled cough that sounded suspiciously like a choked off laugh echoed in the hallway from the speaker, before the voice came back. “Excuse me. Mr. Dean Squirrel...please report to the first floor registration desk. Mr. Squirrel, please report to the first floor registration desk. Thank you.” The broadcast cut off abruptly, but not before a snort of laughter came through over the intercom.
Dean rolled his eyes. He knew immediately that he was the one being paged, and he knew who would be waiting for him downstairs. The only question was whether he wanted to bother going down to see him.
Turning to look at Castiel, he raised his eyebrows. “How much juice you got, Cas?”
Castiel opened one eye and peered at him, seemingly hesitating. “Not much.”
Dean paused, weighing his options. So far the angel had been resting up as much as he could. Every time they were left alone with Sam after a procedure, Castiel would funnel a tiny bit of grace into Sam’s body. It was slow going, but Cas seemed optimistic that things were looking better, slowly but surely.
Sam had remained stubbornly unconscious, but the doctors’ findings seemed to be agreeing with Castiel’s positive assessment, albeit...accidentally. Every single test so far that Sam had been subjected to had been ruled out as a cause for his symptoms. The doctors refused to give up, something which Dean gave them props for, especially since there was no way for them to find out that a demon poking pins into Sam’s brain had been the cause, but he was also getting nervous. There was only so much time he could wait for Sam to regain consciousness, and the fact that they kept poking and prodding without so much as a twitch was really freaking Dean out.
“Do you mind staying with Sam while I go take care of business downstairs?” Dean wasn’t nervous about leaving Sam with Castiel. It was more the principle of the thing. If Sam woke up and Dean wasn’t there, it would wound his Big Brother Pride.
“Of course. Are you sure you don’t need assistance?” Castiel’s eyes blazed blue for an instant before fading back to his vessel’s normal color.
Dean smirked, pulling the hilt of an angel blade into view from underneath his flannel shirt, safely tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “Got it covered. I’ll be back soon. Call me if anything happens, okay?”
Cas nodded. “Come back safely.”
Clapping the angel on the shoulder as he headed towards the staircase, Dean took the stairs by threes all the way down the six floors, taking the extra time to calm his breathing and gather his scattered thoughts. He checked his watch, and was stunned to realize that Sam had been admitted nearly seven hours ago. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he grimaced. He’d really been out of it. He knew it was more than just the guilt of the last several months. It was also the way his brain was bending over backwards to compare this experience to the last time he’d been at a hospital with his dying brother.
At least this time he had a (semi-functional) trustworthy angel with him. Hopefully Cas would regain enough mojo to heal Sam enough that they could finally get the hell out of here. Hospitals were pretty much number one on his list of places he hated to be in.
As he rounded the corner of the last flight of stairs, he squared his shoulders, putting his game face on. No more whining.
He found the registration desk easily enough, but as he’d scanned the lobby on the way over, he hadn’t caught sight of anyone he knew. Clearing his throat at the guy sitting at the desk, he gave him a nod.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
Dean gave a thin smile. “I’m Dean. I think you paged me?”
The young man was instantly beaming. “You’re Dean!”
Leaning his elbow on the kiosk, Dean glanced around the room again. “Yeah, yeah. Where’s the guy?”
Instead of answering, the receptionist barreled on, clearly just barely holding back laughter. “So is that your real name? I am literally begging you to see your driver’s license.”
Dean took a quick step back. “No,” he snapped, “You may not.”
Grinning unrepentantly, the kid pointed down the hall to his left. “The guy who wanted to see you headed to the restroom before you showed up. You’re welcome to wait here or go find him.”
Scowling, Dean stalked down the hallway. He’d just barely resisted the impulse to pull out the angel blade, reminding himself that he was still in a public place and that open murder is generally frowned upon, no matter how goddamned annoying someone can be.
Kicking in the door to the men’s room, he stepped inside, seeing that all but one of the stalls were empty. The satisfaction of it all sent a deadly feeling of calm through him, and he turned slightly to lock the door behind him.
“Crowley…” he sing-songed. “Come on out, Crowley….” Pulling out the angel blade, he spun it on his open palm before holding it tightly in an I’m-gonna-stab-you-straight-through-the-face grip.
The toilet flushed, and Dean crouched slightly, bouncing a bit in preparation for a one-on-one with the King of Hell. As the door opened, Crowley didn’t even look at him as he stepped up to the row of sinks to wash his hands.
“Hello, Squirrel. Looking as calm and relaxed as ever, I see.”
Dean shifted his weight, angel blade held out in front of him in both a defensive and an offensive stance, unsure what the demon was planning.
“What are you doing here, Crowley?” Dean barked, voice echoing in the small room. “I said the next time I see you—”
“Dead. Yes, rings a bell, but let’s not dwell on the past, shall we?” Crowley smirked at Dean’s reflection before turning to face him, hands held up in a gesture of surrender.
Dean didn’t move.
Crowley seemed unbothered, his eyes darting from Dean to the door. “I trust Moose is on the mend?”
Flooded with rage, Dean surged forward, slamming Crowley into the wall between sinks, holding the angel blade tightly against his throat. Crowley choked out a feeble protest, but did nothing to stop him.
“Sam is up there dying because of you! You don’t get to even think his name!”
All at once Crowley’s eyes were blood red, and his voice was lacking all of its usual gravelly warmth. “Do not even be gin to start casting any stones at me. Might I remind you, oh hero, you begged me to help your brother, by any means necessary. Am I correct?”
At Dean’s silence, Crowley continued, “And it worked, didn’t it?” The red seeped from his eyes, reverting to his vessel’s natural brown. “Now do lay off the suit, darling, I love this color.”
Dean begrudgingly released the demon, giving him a shove backwards into the wall for good measure before he took a healthy few steps away. “What do you want, Crowley?” He sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him.
Smoothing imaginary dirt from his sleeves, Crowley took his sweet time before answering, eyes flickering with amusement as Dean ground his teeth in frustration.
“Crowley! I am this close to leaving!”
“There is a way to destroy Abaddon.”
This was not remotely what Dean was expecting, and he blinked, feeling as though he’d just run face first into a wall.
“...What?”
With a seemingly infinite amount of condescension, Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning forward and enunciating his words carefully as he repeated himself. “There. Is. A. Way. To. Destroy. Abbadon.”
“Destroy Abbadon,” Dean spoke in unison with him, already losing patience. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you. I’m just not sure why that pertains to me, especially since the Knights of Hell aren’t exactly the dying kind.”
Crowley shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Dean’s eyes flicked from Crowley’s face to his feet and back again, recognizing an anxious movement when he saw one.
“There is something that can kill a Knight. It’s the weapon that the archangels used to execute them—The First Blade.”
Dean hesitated. That sounded...really badass.
Seeming to sense Dean’s interest, Crowley elaborated. “I’ve been chasing that blade for decades. The closest I got to it was when one of my minions caught wind of a protege demon of Abaddon’s who claimed knowledge of the blade. Sadly, that demon is no longer with us….”
Dean’s eyes all but glazed over, but something caught his attention. “Wait...demons spying on other demons about an angel weapon that can kill big mama demons? This sounds like it’s 100% your problem, not mine. Why else would you show up barely a day after I warn you I’ll kill you if I see you again?” At the sudden silence in the room, Dean leaned forward, a dangerous smile curling his lips up as he answered his own question. “You’re desperate.”
At Crowley’s sputtered “How dare you?!” Dean started talking over him. “The question is why. Why would a demon need a human to find an angel weapon to kill a demon?”
Suddenly on edge, Dean swung up his angel blade, not willing to take any more chances. “Whatever you’re trying to pull over on me, it’s not gonna work. You can do your own dirty work, Crowley. Now get the hell out of here.”
Crowley’s face had reddened with fury. “Damn you, Winchester. Mark my words, you’ll regret this.”
“Yeah, yeah, get in line.” Dean waved him off, already turning his back on him to get back to his brother. He’d been gone too long already. He left Crowley spitting bile and hatred in the bathroom, his voice echoing before the room grew silent without anyone else exiting.
Dean made sure to tuck his angel blade safely away before he was within sight of any civilians. Definitely no longer feeling charitable towards anyone, he decided the elevator would be a more prudent choice than passing by the idiot kid at the front desk again on his way to the stairs.
As soon as the doors shut and the car started moving, he sagged against the wall, exhausted. His pocket vibrated, and he snatched his phone out to see who the message was from.
Dean
Dean it’s me
Castiel
Dean rolled his eyes.
Sam is done with his mr. i
We are in the room
Dean didn’t bother texting back. The elevator dinged that he’d arrived on Sam’s floor, and he rushed back to the room just in time to meet the doctor.
“Ah, Dean. I was hoping I’d be able to go over your brother’s results with you. Let’s step inside.”
Dean entered the room, immediately honing in on the motionless body of his brother. “Any change? He wake up yet?”
Cas shook his head, and the doctor spoke up, “Dean, I’m sorry. We’ve been keeping him sedated. I wasn’t aware you didn’t know that. We wanted to give him a fighting chance to recoup some energy and to keep him calm during the procedures and we have found it best this way in the long run.”
Dean deflated. He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved that Sam was merely drugged rather than slipping away from him again, or to feel royally pissed that he’d been led to worry this whole time for no reason. He even thought about getting pissed at Cas for not telling him, but as soon as he'd thought it he dismissed it; Castiel had been using his depleted grace to focus on healing Sam, not scanning him. Quickly deciding he just didn’t have the energy to be angry right now, he settled for simply nodding in response.
“Your brother’s blood tests and other exams have all had normal results. There have been no visible signs of what could have caused his symptoms, and the damaged brain tissue that we could see in his CT scan when Sam was first admitted has already started to heal itself, as evidenced during his MRI.”
Dean said nothing, not daring to even think about glancing at Castiel.
The doctor continued, “My best guess is that he had an aneurysm burst, and it promptly sealed itself off.” She shrugged apologetically, clearly frustrated with the lack of results, but still trying to reassure her patient’s family as best she could. “There’s no sign of it now, and it’s an extremely rare phenomenon. But, despite the odds, he is still alive, and I suggest we be grateful and leave it at that.”
Dean couldn’t help but scoff at her words, but she seemed to take it in stride, and tactfully ignored his outburst.
“The only thing we can do now is let him rest, and give him a physical and neurological exam when he is awake, to see if there have been any noticeable changes that we are unable to see just yet.”
The reminder that they weren’t necessarily out of the woods yet—as per usual Winchester luck—gave Dean an extra special swoop of anxiety in his stomach all over again. What if Sam wasn’t Sam anymore...again? Only this time irreparably? Or he had some sort of memory loss? Or physical repercussions? What if they were never able to hunt agai—
Dean’s rambling panicky thoughts trailed off with the realization that the idea of having to quit hunting for his brother didn’t seem so bad, and he sank into his seat at Sam’s bedside, unintentionally dismissing the doctor, who gave a soft goodbye and a promise to check back later to an apologetic Cas.
Taking in Sam’s appearance, if he overlooked how pale he was, and ignored the oxygen and all of the other leads attached to his brother’s body, Sam could merely be sleeping right now. Or...he could be irreversibly damaged, and it would all be his fault. All of it.
Sucking in a shaky breath, Dean covered his face with his hands.
He’d done this to his brother. God, Sammy…
Castiel, wisely, left Dean alone, and instead placed a gentle hand on Sam’s forehead, reaching out with his grace to determine where he could focus his dwindling powers.
His hand flickered no brighter than a firefly for a few seconds before the light faded away. Castiel was breathing heavily and had to slap his hand against the wall to steady himself, and the sound caused Dean to look up at him.
“Dude, sit down for a minute.”
Castiel sank into the other chair at Sam’s bedside with a heavy sigh. He took a few moments to catch his breath, and Dean’s attention shifted back to his brother. Had Sam just…?
“I am sorry, Dean. I am unable to do more right now. My grace is no longer what it used to be.” Cas sat hunched in his chair, staring at his hands morosely.
Dean wasn’t sure what to say. Everything sucked. “It’s okay, Cas. Just...rest for now, I guess. Recharge your batteries. Maybe then you can give Sammy one big healing blast and that’ll fix everything,” Dean offered, hoping that this was both comforting and a compromise. Man he was bad at this kind of crap.
“Mmmf.”
Dean’s head snapped over towards Sam so fast his neck popped.
“Sammy? Hey. You with me?”
Sam’s forehead scrunched, and he started to fidget, all signs that he was slowly regaining consciousness.
Dean smiled, feeling better than he had for hours. “That’s it, Sam, time to wake up.” He rubbed his hand up and down Sam’s left arm, and Sam frowned at the sensation.
“Ssssss.”
Dean froze.
“What was that, Sam?”
“Sssssst. Puh.”
The dread was back.
“Sam? Come on, buddy, open your eyes, huh?”
Sam shifted, his head rolling from side to side on the pillow, nose twitching at the feel of oxygen and the tube attached to his face. Dean placed a hand on Sam’s head to hold him still, thumb absently tracing patterns across his forehead while he watched his brother anxiously.
Eyelids fluttering, Sam finally managed to force glassy, unfocused eyes to blink open.
Dean placed himself in Sam’s direct line of sight, smiling at him. “There we go. Can you see me, Sammy?”
At Dean’s words, Sam’s eyes lazily tracked in his direction, but he couldn’t seem to keep them still long enough to make eye contact. His eyes crossed several times as they slid around in his head, seeming to look at everything around him but not taking in anything.
Dean, meanwhile, kept speaking quietly to him, waiting patiently for his brother to respond. “Come on, man. I wanna get out of here already. If you’re just gonna ignore me, then how am I supposed to prove to your doctor that you’re cured, it’s a miracle, we can skip on out of here without a care in the world?”
Eventually, Sam’s gaze steadied, and he frowned up at Dean, opening his mouth but not quite making any sound.
Dean, however, was ecstatic. Sam could see him. He could hear. He was awake . Now that his brother had regained consciousness, Dean felt confident that they could get through anything and everything else.
“Hey, Sammy. You gonna talk to me?”
Sam opened and closed his mouth, his expression growing more and more annoyed.
“Don’t push it, Sam. You’re okay.”
Ignoring him spectacularly, Sam started to push himself upright, bucking against his brother’s presence over him.
“Whoa! Slow down, Sam, you just woke up!”
“Geh...geh...tuh….” Sam huffed in obvious frustration. “Offfffff.”
Dean burst out laughing. “Okay, okay, sheesh.” He stood up from where he’d been perched on the side of Sam’s bed, taking a small step out of his brother’s personal space. “You’re such a bitch sometimes, Sammy.”
Sam threw him a bitch face, and Dean felt another piece of normal click back into place.
“Ssss...uch…...juh...jerk.”
Dean grinned unrepentantly.
“It is good to see you awake, Sam.”
Both brothers jumped. They’d been isolated in their own little world, and Castiel’s presence had been overlooked while Sam was coming back to himself.
Sam groaned, pulling his hands up to grip at his head. Dean’s good mood deflated at the realization that Sam’s right hand was only lifted to shoulder height, while his left hand was successfully kneading at the headache he surely felt.
Dean pressed the call button, then sat his brother’s bed upright a little so that he could interact with the room a bit easier.
“Dee?”
Dean’s attention immediately snapped back to his brother, not having heard this nickname in literal years. “Yeah, Sammy?”
“Wuh...wanna...go.”
Dean smiled softly, brushing Sam’s hair off of his forehead. “Sorry, buddy, not yet. Now that you’ve graced us with your presence, it’s time to let the doctors take over. We’re not leaving until they give the say-so, and I’m not fighting them on it this time.” His eyes shuttered, and Sam stilled, staring at his brother.
“Cl...oooose?”
Dean’s smile didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Yeah, Sammy, this time it was close.”
Before Sam could respond, a nurse bustled into the room. “Hey, you called—oh! He’s awake! Hi there, Sam, my name is Greg. I’ll page your doctor shortly, she’d like to take a look at you now that you’re up and at ‘em.”
Sam simply stared at him, uncomprehending, and looked to his brother for assistance. Dean squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.
“We’re gonna talk to the doctor, Sam. He’s going to go get her.”
Sam nodded, grimaced, and gripped at his head again.
The nurse winced in sympathy. “Headache, huh? I’ll see what we can do about that too. Be right back, okay?”
Dean nodded vaguely, full attention on his brother.
Sam was pushing at Dean’s arm, attempting to sit up again.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Gottaaaaaa. Gottaaaa get. Ouuuuuu. Tuh.” Sam’s left arm slammed down onto the bed in frustration. “Outuh.” He paused, breathing heavily, and slowly and deliberately enunciated, “Out.”
Dean sat down on the edge of Sam’s bed again. “Sam, we’ve been through this already. We’re staying to talk to the doctor. Then as soon as they give the all clear, we’re out of here, okay?”
Sam stilled, making eye contact with his brother uncertainly. “Puh...promisssse?”
Turning to Castiel, Dean answered, “Sam, with Cas as my witness, I promise that as soon as the doctor gives us permission, we will blow this taco stand.”
Castiel nodded solemnly. “Yes, Sam, after we have eaten our tacos, we will be leaving.”
Sam snorted a laugh, immediately regretting it as the nasal cannula slipped out of his nose and tears filled his eyes at the sudden surge of pain in his head.
Dean slipped the oxygen back onto his brother’s face where it belonged, chuckling. “Yeah, maybe don't do that again.”
Sam glared at him, roughly swiping the tears away before they could fall.
“Sam, I, uh, have something else I need to tell you.”
“Yuh...yeah?” Sam forced out.
Rubbing a hand through his hair, Dean tried to organize his thoughts. He really hated crap like this, but dammit, this was Sam , and he’d almost lost him because of his stupid inability to just talk to his own brother. Not this time.
Steeling himself, he took a breath, jumping right into it.
“Sam, we’re gonna take a break. From hunting.”
At Sam’s (and Castiel’s) shocked look, he quirked a half-hearted smile before continuing. “Yeah, I really mean it. You...well, we need a break, Sam. You almost died, again, and...I don’t even know how much you remember. But we’re gonna figure this all out, okay? Together.”
Silence stretched, before Sam placed his hand on top of Dean’s. Smiling softly, he replied haltingly, “Oh...okay, Dean.”