Work Text:
The problem with rugarus was, they put you in the hospital.
It was Dean himself again—thank God—and it wasn’t nearly as bad as last time, no fried-crispy heart and ticking clock now. Just a few broken ribs, but they’d messed up his lung and Sam, white-faced, had rushed a breathless Dean to the hospital. One emergency surgery later, he was aces.
Except for the part about being in the hospital again. Only, like, a year after the last rugaru; Dad would’ve been so disappointed in him.
“Looks like the Jayhawks are having a good season,” Sam said from the chair beside his bed, where he’d been parked since Dean had woken from the anesthesia. The newspaper rustled as he turned pages.
“’at’s good,” Dean murmured, still feeling a little hazy.
“Yeah. You wanna catch a game next time we’re in the area?”
Dean turned a weak thumb upward.
Then, like a moron, he tried to take a deep breath, and, wow, that was a bad idea.
Sam’s hands went to his shoulders and his brother was talking to him calmly, but Dean couldn’t understand a word, straining against the hot bloom of agony in his chest. He grabbed on to that voice, however, using it to drag himself out of the pain.
It eased suddenly, a spreading coolness, and Dean slumped back, trying not to gasp. What came out was more like a whimper, and it and the tears he could feel on his face would’ve embarrassed him if he hadn’t been too busy breathing slow like Sam was coaching him.
“C’mon, man, one more time. Breathe in…now out.” Sam’s hand, ridiculously broad now, was spread across his chest. “Slow in again…”
“Know…how…t’brea…” Dean complained, because he didn’t like it when Sam looked like that.
Sam shook his head, snorting a laugh. “Yeah, I can see that.”
The nurse on the other side of the bed, the one who’d apparently administered the medication that was flooding Dean with sweet relief, spoke up now. “Okay, visiting hours are almost over. Say goodnight to your brother, and I’ll be back with something to help you sleep.”
The problem with hospitals was, they had all the control.
Nascent panic pressed against Dean’s chest, a tightness that hadn’t been there even when he couldn’t suck air.
Hospitals freaked him out. They were always bad news, threatened to take away the few people he loved, kept him prisoner when he was feeling his worst and couldn’t defend himself. Sam being here made it tolerable, but Dean had already planned to sign himself out as soon as the freakin’ catheter came out. He could recover in a motel room; Sam made a decent nurse, had the hair and emo eyes for it already.
Dean fisted his blankets, not about to beg. It was just for the night. He wouldn’t even know if someone else was there: he’d be sleeping. Drugged. Helpless.
His eyes darted to Sam, who was watching him.
Then looking up at the nurse, shoulders going back, his people smile firmly in place.
“I’d like to stay with him. Please.” Polite but firm.
“We’ll be monitoring him…”
“He’s the only family I have left,” Sam said with just the right amount of pathos. Dean was torn between wincing at the words and rolling his eyes at the drama.
The nurse waffled a moment, but, really, hospitals allowed loved ones to stay all the time. She was just power-tripping them.
Dean hated hospitals.
“Fine,” the nurse finally said, reluctantly. “Just stay out of the way.”
“Of course,” Sam said, his own smile tight. Dean almost wished the nurse would push so lawyer-Sam would take her down.
Right now, though, he was too busy feeling relieved.
“I’ll be back soon with a sedative for tonight.”
“I don’t—” Dean began.
Sam’s hand closed around his, just as unyielding as he’d been with the nurse.
The nurse gave them both a skeptical look and left.
“Nice bedside manner,” Dean muttered.
Sam gently pried Dean’s fingers open and eased the blanket from their grip. He laid Dean’s hand down, patting it. “You need to rest. I’ll be here if you need anything, all right?” To watch your back, he didn’t need to stay.
The squeeze of Dean’s throat eased. He even managed to give the sour nurse a smile when she came back and injected something into his IV, and got a reluctant smile back.
The problem with drugs, however, was that they removed your filters.
Dean took a little deeper breath than he should’ve, and rubbed absently at his chest. “I hate hospitals.”
Sam carefully relocated Dean’s hand again. “I know.”
“Dad was in one…coupla times.”
“I know.”
“And you. That damned—”
“Dean,” Sam said gently. “I know.”
“It just…it freaks me out, man. One day, everythin’s normal, you’re sal’ing and burning a body, everything’s peachy, right? Next day, you’re inna hospital an’ there’s reapers and your dad…your dad’s dead an’…i’s just messed up, Sammy. I’s not right.”
Sam was massaging his hand open again—oh, uh, somehow he’d grabbed Sam’s sleeve. His bad. Dean made himself let go but it felt like tearing his skin off.
Sam grabbed his hand out of the air, laid it down on the bed, then wrapped his fingers around Dean’s wrist. Good, that was good, it would keep him from floating away. And not so good, because Sammy clearly knew how freaking scared Dean was.
The problem with brothers was, they saw right through you.
“Dean, can you hear me? Listen to me, all right?”
Like he didn’t always hear Sam.
“I’ve got you.” The grip on his forearm tightened, made Dean’s breathing easier. “I’m gonna stay right here, okay? And tomorrow, we’re gonna get out of here and no more hospitals. I promise, all right?”
It was getting hard to think; he couldn’t even open his eyes anymore. “Sam, I…’m just…I can’t…”
“You’re not, okay? Just get some sleep, and when you wake up, we’ll get in the car and hit the road. Go back to salting and burning, you and me, okay?”
“Yeah,” Dean breathed, relief sweeping away the last of his fight. “’Kay.”
Sam’s response was an echo through a shrinking tunnel.
“No problem.”