Fic: Taking Some Time (SPN) Chapter Four
Genre: Sick!fic, Epic, Slightly AU
Category: Gen
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby
Warning: Very mild language. Can be considered slightly AU as Dean is not healed from his old wounds when Castiel raised him from perdition.
Disclaimer: They're pretty, but they're not mine.
Summary: Dean is a little worse off coming off a hunt than he let on. He's fresh from hell and caring a lot of scars, physically and mentally. A bad back, bad shoulder, PTSD, insomnia, alcohol abuse, and a nasty virus to top it all off. Maybe the boys need to take a break and try to get Dean back on track. It might be harder than they thought.
A/N:
I made it on time!
*sigh of relief*
Battling a painful sinus infection myself, but as I sit here, waiting for the codeine to kick in and antibiotics to get to work, I'm quivering with anticipation to post this new chapter. Hope you like it as much as the last...
P.S. One day I'll figure out how to format on LJ...
Taking Some Time
Chapter Four
“Hey, Bobby.”
“Sam. How’s the house? Karen told me you’d been to see the real estate and sign some papers. Never thought I’d see you boys legit.”
Sam laughed, “Yeah, me neither.”
“How’s Dean?”
Sam sighed.
“That bad, huh?”
“I don’t know what we’re gonna do, Bobby. It’s bad this time…”
“Alright, Sam, alright. Tell me what we’re dealing with.”
“He popped his shoulder again.”
“Balls.”
“Yeah, but it’s worse this time. He can barely move his arm, can’t feel his fingers. I think he’ll need surgery.”
“Well, we saw that coming with the amount of times the damn thing’s come out. But I’m guessing that’s not the end of it.”
“Not even close. He’s got a bad cold, awful cough, but I don’t think that’s the worst of it. He’s got something wrong with his back. He’s in a lot of pain.”
“He told you about that?”
“What - You knew?”
“Sure, Sam. John told me all about it at the time. He even left Dean here for a few months after it happened.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me about this!?”
“You were out, Sam. Dean was handling it, and he made it pretty damn clear that he didn’t want you to know.”
“Why?”
“Well, you and John were already on thin ice. He probably thought you’d blame him for the accident.”
“Why would I blame dad?”
“… Guess he didn’t tell you everything.”
Sam shook his head, bit his bottom lip, “Why am I not surprised?”
“Listen, Sam, you know what Dean’s like. He doesn’t like to be taken care of, and he’s always been about family. Don’t go grillin’ him for information. Let him tell you when he’s ready.”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, clearing his throat loudly, “Anyway, there’s more too it. Since he got back from Hell he’s… he’s different, Bobby. He drinks a lot. He doesn’t sleep, and when he does he screams out… I don’t know what to do.”
“You just have to give him time, Sam. You’ll figure it out. You always were a smart kid.”
Sam smiled, “… Hey, uh, you know it would be good for Dean if you could come and stay here a while… good for both of us.”
“Sam, you know I’d do anything for you boys, but right now, with you out of the game, we’re down two heavyweights.”
Sam sighed, rubbing his aching head.
“I’m working a case in Columbus, Nebraska. It’ll take me a day and a half but I’ll make it there when I’m done.”
“Thanks, Bobby.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go and check on that idjit brother of yours, make sure he hasn’t busted something else.”
Sam laughed, “I appreciate this.”
“Sam… look after each other.”
“We always do.”
…
Sometimes Dean didn’t know what he was dreaming. He knew he was remembering, bits and pieces all jumbled. Sometimes not even pictures in his head, just sounds… the screams… his screams. Sometimes he didn’t see or hear anything. It was just the feeling, surrounded by blackness. And often that was worse.
He remembered every moment of his time in hell. Eery slice in his skin… every slice he made in someone else’s, every method of wicked torture. It was all in his head. He’d never be able to escape… because there was no way to escape himself.
“Hey, you awake?”
Dean stared at the ceiling, trying to muster the energy to respond. Sometimes the despair was crippling.
“Yeah,” the breathed. His throat was sore, his voice high and strangled.
“You okay?”
Dean smiled, kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, “Yeah, Sammy, I’m good.”
Sam hovered at his side, “It’s time to go.”
…
“You’re very… quiet,” Sam said, sideways glancing at him from the drivers seat.
“Mm,” Dean looked out the window, and then glanced back at his brother, “What?”
“Nothing,” Sam laughed, “Just wanna know what’s going on in that head of yours.”
Yeah, you really don’t.
“Did you go soft while I was downstairs?” he smirked.
“Shut up, dude… I just… I worry about you.”
You and me both, brother.
“You worry about what you’re gonna have for breakfast. It’s like your default setting.”
Sam laughed, “Stop being a jerk. I’m trying to -“
“I know what you’re ‘trying to’, so stop, okay?”
Sam gripped the wheel harder, focused back on the road.
“I know you’re nervous… but whatever happens we’ll get through it.”
Dean stared at Sam, eyebrow raised, “Feel better?”
Sam smiled out the side of his mouth, “You’re such a jerk.”
Dean laughed, which made him cough, and it felt like knives in his side, and that was new and fun.
“Uh, god…” he groaned, pressing a hand to his ribs.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just friggen coughing up a lung here.”
“You want some water?”
“Nah, I’m okay,” he groaned, pulling a flask out of his back pocket.
“Seriously?” Sam had his eyebrows raised.
Dean took a sip, hissed as it hurt his throat, “It’s an antiseptic, Sam.”
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Dean’s free hand was shoving the flask back in his pocket when a couple of sneezes escaped. He pressed his eyes closed and stifled two, jerking forward a little with each one.
“Bless you.”
Dean sniffed and reached into the glove box for some tissues. He found crumpled diner napkins. He blew his nose on them anyway.
“God, I feel like crap,” he moaned, shuffling down in the seat to lean his head back.
Sam didn’t say anything.
“Now you’re being quiet.”
Sam looked over at him, puppy dog eyes firmly in place.
“Relax, Sam. Like you said, we always figure it out.”
…
Dean sat on the exam table, sling off, shirt off, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and goosebumps.
The doctor hummed as he placed the stethoscope in numerous locations down his back and front, asking him to breathe deeply. The problem was, breathing deeply started up a coughing fit that would not stop.
“Okay, that’s enough,” the doctor said, as Dean tried to breathe through the fit. He got up and went to his drawer, pulling out a portable nebulizer.
“Here, breathe through this,” he handed it to Dean.
Dean sat, looking feeble, sucking on the nebulizer.
The doctor sat back down, clasping his hands in front of him and looking at the ground.
“Do you get any pain in your chest?”
Dean nodded, weakly.
“I thought as much. Look, I’m going to prescribe antibiotics for the chest infection. I also think you might be looking at a sinus infection too, with all that drainage down the back of your throat.”
“What about his shoulder?” Sam asked.
“Given what you’ve told me about your history with that shoulder, I’d say you’ve torn a ligament. Chances are the ligaments and tendons were stretched to breaking from the amount of times it’s been dislocated. Not only that but the pain down your arm and lack of feeling in your fingers tells me you’ve got nerve damage.”
Sam looked at Dean. He knew this would mean surgery. He knew Dean wouldn’t want surgery.
The phone beeped on Dr. Reid’s desk, “I’ll give you a minute to get your shirt back on. Excuse me,” he said, getting up and quietly leaving the room.
Sam stared at Dean. He rolled his eyes. Sam didn’t ask if he needed help getting his shirt on. He knew that he did. He got up and wordlessly started helping him into his button down.
“Is that helping?” Sam nodded towards the neb.
“Yeah,” Dean grunted after he’d pulled it from his mouth, “I think it’s tapped.”
Sam took it from him and put it on the bed beside him. Dean let a shiver run through him, sneezed into his wrist and groaned in pain.
“Okay, man, come on,” Sam ushered, helping Dean over to the chair.
Dr. Reid entered the room as the brothers were getting situated.
“Sorry about that,” he apologized. He sat down in his chair and swiveled towards them, “Did that nebulizer help?”
Dean cleared his throat, “Yeah, it did,” he said like he was embarrassed. Because it was humiliating to be sick and to need medical help. Bullshit.
“I might send you home with one of these as well, just once a day, maybe before you go to bed, if it’s worse at night.”
Dean nodded, lips pursed.
“So, where do we go from here?” Sam said, pouncing on his opportunity.
"First things first, I think we need to get a picture to work with. I want you to get an MRI of the shoulder and the lumbar spine,” He said, addressing Dean, “That'll tell us exactly what's going on."
"MRI?" Dean asked, sweat beads forming on his upper lip, "'S that the one where you go in the big metal tube thing?"
"Yes, but it's much safer than a CT scan and we'll get a clearer picture of what's happening."
"Yeah, not gonna happen."
"Dean," Sam said in surprise.
"'M not doing it, Sam. Look, doc, can you just write me a script for some stronger painkillers?" Dean was looking wild again, glancing to his side, mapping out the exit.
"That's a bandaid solution, Dean. We really need to see the problem, and aside from cutting you open and actually looking inside, this is the best option we've got."
'Cutting you open' wasn't the best term he could have used.
Dean stood up, shaky and unsteady, but determined.
"Dean, where're you going?"
"To the car!" He said, storming off and leaving the exam room.
Sam hung his head.
"Sam, Dean needs to have this done. It doesn't hurt and leaves no radiation like a CT or X-ray..."
"Sorry, Dr. Reid, it's not that..."
"What is his concern with the procedure?"
"Dr Reid... Dean has been in some tough situations in his life. He just got back from active duty. He was held in a POW camp in Afghanistan for the past 4 months," Sam swallowed the guilt of lying to the doctor but he couldn't exactly tell him the truth, "He hasn't been right since. He hasn't told me everything that happened, I don't think he's really come to terms with most of it, but I know some... and believe me, it would shock you. There was… a lot of torture involved," Sam cleared his throat, fighting the emotion, "Enclosed spaces aren't good for him."
The doctor bowed his head.
"What's happened to your brother is awful. No one should have to suffer through that, but he has serious damage to that shoulder and nerve involvement in his lower back that we won't even know the extent of until we get a clear picture. These issues won't resolve themselves and from what I can tell, your brother has endured enough pain already. It's time to pick up the pieces."
"I hear ya," Sam laughed lightly, "I hear ya, doc. It's just convincing him of that."
"Sam, I can refer Dean to a psychologist. It's highly likely he's developed an emotional disorder like PTSD… It's not uncommon for vets to use alcohol as a coping mechanism either..."
The doctor eyed Sam and that was probably more embarrassing than anything that he'd been able to see immediately that Dean had a drinking problem. Alcohol had always been a big part of their lives. Dean had been drinking everyday for years, but since he got back from hell... now he was having beer for breakfast.
Sam sighed, "No, thank you. It was hard enough to get him to come here today. There's no way he'd go for something like that."
The doctor nodded, "I realise that. But this is a lot for you to take on with your brother. There are some things you're not going to be able to help with. He's going to need surgery for the shoulder. I haven't even seen the scans and I know that's what's going to happen. His back is a different story. If surgery is needed there, the healing process will take a long time. You both need to be able to deal with that, physically and mentally. Can you do that, Sam?"
Sam looked at Dr. Reid for a long time. This man was smart. He was a good doctor and definitely knew what he was talking about. Dean needed this, at the very least.
It’s time to pick up the pieces.
Sam shrugged, it was a no brainer, “… He’s my brother.”
…