Fic: Taking Some Time (SPN) Chapter Five
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.
Taking Some Time
Chapter Five
When Sam had paid up and collected Dean's antibiotics and nebulizer he returned to the car. The passenger door was open and Dean was sitting half in, half out, bent forward, right elbow on right knee and his head in his hand. Sam could see his shoulders quivering with laboured breaths.
Sam chucked the bags on the back seat and went to lean over his brother, hand on his shoulder.
"You okay?"
And for once Dean didn't lie.
"What do you think?" He looked up at him. His eyes were red.
Well, it was progress.
"Come on, let's go home."
Sam gulped. When they were on the road everything was home, and nothing was home. The impala was home, more often than not. The motel room they were staying in, that was referred to as home as well. Just in passing, because what else did they call it? This was different though. This wasn't a home on wheels, or a temporary hideout while fighting a fugly of the week. This was... anyway…
Dean dragged his legs inside the car and shut the door. Sam went around to the driver’s side.
It was uncomfortably quiet in the car. Dean's breath crackled and hitched. He'd probably been crying. Sam jumped when he finally spoke.
"You can't expect me to do this, Sammy," Dean looked at him, red eyes, glazed with tears.
"I know you don't want to... but you need to."
Dean cast his eyes to the roof, blinking rapidly.
"I'll be there, Dean... We have to do this to see what we're up against. Nothing's gonna happen to you."
Dean bit his lip, blinked away some tears. He shook his head and huffed.
"You know why I don't wanna do this, right?"
Sam furrowed his brow. Dean hadn't told him at first, that when he'd been pulled out of hell he was shoved back in his body. His body that was rotting, 6 feet under, in a pine box. Sam wasn't stupid. He'd asked him.
"Wait, I buried your body, Dean. How did you -"
Dean hadn't told him with words. He'd told him with his eyes. And that was almost more heartbreaking. It was obvious it had been traumatic, now more than ever.
"This is safe, Dean. I promise. You can't live like this," he said gesturing to his back.
"I've been doing pretty fine so far."
"Yeah, well, now you're not."
Dean's bottom lip quivered. He turned and looked over his shoulder, away from Sam.
"Alright," he muttered.
"Alright?"
"Yeah, Sammy. I'll do it... I'll try."
...
Dean screamed that night, loud and relentlessly. Sam didn't want to know what he was dreaming about. Prayed he wouldn't have to hear the screaming anymore. At 12:26pm a knock came at the door and Sam cringed, wiped the tears from his eyes. He'd tried to wake Dean, tried to calm him, but he couldn't get through to him. He was spiking a fever by the feel of it. And now someone was at the door, if it was the cops they were screwed.
Sam opened the door and a big guy stood there in a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants. A neighbour, probably.
"There's a lot of noise coming from here. You guys okay?" He said tentatively.
Dean screamed again in the bedroom and the guy took on a defensive stance. It was just in panic though. He didn't know how to fight by the looks of it.
"Sorry," Sam sighed, trying to keep his emotions in check, "It's my brother. He gets nightmares. But we're okay..."
The guy looked sceptical for a moment.
"He ex-military?"
Sam smiled tiredly, "How'd you know?"
May as well continue the lie.
"My dad was a marine. I grew up listening to that," he nodded as Dean cried out, quieter this time.
"Our dad was a marine too."
The guy nodded, looking sympathetic.
"I'm Dave. I live next door."
He pointed and Sam stepped onto the porch to look at the house. A woman stood on the front steps in a robe. She waved.
"That's my wife, Maxine."
Sam waved back.
"I'm Sam," he said, shaking Dave's hand.
Dean's whimpers travelled down the hall.
"That's Dean," he added.
"Well, it sounds like you've got your hands full. You boys let us know if you need anything. I know that's not easy to deal with."
"Yeah," Sam nodded, "Thank you. Sorry for keeping you up."
"Don't worry about us, Sam. I'll see you round."
Sam shut the door and pressed his forehead against it, every fibre of his being screaming this is too much, this is too much, this is too much.
Then Dean screamed his name.
"... He's my brother."
His brother had never let him down, not once. Sam wasn't about to let him down. Not now, not ever.
…
Dean woke swinging. His shoulder was on fire, because, in sleep, he hadn’t known to be careful with it. Sam was standing over him, a bit of distance between them, like he was scared he’d lash out at him. It was a valid concern. Dean could feel the sweat dripping from his face. He was cold. He rolled onto his side to cough.
“Sorry…” he muttered. Why he was apologising he didn’t know. It just felt like he should be sorry for something.
“It’s okay… How do you feel?”
“Awesome,” he groaned, wiping his hand over his face.
“It’s time for more pills, I think,” Sam attempted a smile. Geez, the kid looked worn out.
“Okay.”
Dean took everything he was given without question, even the knock out sleeping pills he recognised from last time.
“You gonna get some sleep?” he asked, husky voice and all.
Sam nodded, “Yeah, I will. As long as there’s no more visits…”
“Huh?”
“Oh, nothing… a neighbour, that’s all.”
Dean hummed. He could pick up on what Sam wasn’t saying. It was just a matter of time before someone heard him. He screamed in his dreams, why wouldn’t he be screaming in reality too? But now they weren’t at a crappy little motel at the edge of town, where the only people that could hear him were the ones making just as much noise with someone other than their significant other. Now they were in the suburbs, where people were sensitive about the quiet and their sleep. They were pretty much screwed.
Dean stared at the ceiling. His breathing was still erratic from the nightmare. The faces were still in his head. The voices. The laughing…
“You wanna talk about it?”
Dean managed a smirk.
There aren’t words… There’s no forgetting.
“No thanks, Sammy.”
Because it’s right here… forever.
“Just call me if you need something… I’m only down the hall.”
Dean nodded. His throat hurt too much to reply. Sam smiled, patted Dean’s head, while also gauging his temperature. He must have been satisfied because he left without further comment. He did look really tired. Dean hadn’t been able to track his sleeping, while he himself had been in and out of consciousness for days. He didn’t like the change in dynamic. Sam was the little brother. Sam was the one that needed looking after. And Dean was going to take care of him, no matter what was happening to himself.
Dean lay there with his eyes fixed on the ceiling until the pain pills kicked in and he could relax. After that he couldn’t remember anything, because those knock out sleeping pills had kicked in as well.
…
Dean woke up early the next morning. He hadn’t remembered dreaming. The sun was coming in his window, painting the room golden. The sheets around him were damp, tangled in his legs and sticking to his chest. He felt rung out, muscles quivering with exertion as he forced himself up. He lumbered down the hallway, keeping his footsteps semi-quiet as he poked his head into his brother’s room. Sam was asleep sprawled out on his stomach, clutching the pillow under his head. Dean smiled, happy he was getting some sleep at last and headed back to his room to take a shower.
Getting the sling off sucked. Almost as much as getting the t-shirt off over his head sucked. But he managed to ditch the clingy clothes and step into the steaming shower. He coughed so hard his eyes watered, the steam shifting things loose. He hoped that all his noise hadn’t woken Sam, but he stayed in the shower a long time and Sam hadn’t come into his room so he considered that a win. As an afterthought he realised he probably shouldn’t use all the hot water and turned off the taps. Drying himself with one arm was harder than it seemed. He was exhausted by the time he finished, and he still had to get dressed.
Once he’d struggled into his navy blue button down and a pair of jeans, fitting the sling back on over his shirt, he headed down the hall to the kitchen. Sam was still asleep, on his back this time, when he walked passed the door. When he got to the kitchen he almost laughed out loud at the list on the kitchen bench. Sammy had made a record of what pills he had to take at what time of the day, divided into Morning, Noon and Night. Dean smiled fondly, found what pills he had to take this morning and downed them with a sip of water from the tap. It was after 10 but he figured that still classified as morning.
What a good kid, he thought, placing a hand over the piece of paper.
Next was the task of breakfast, he noted, as his stomach roared. Sam had bought groceries but he didn’t really know how to cook, and Dean had been too out of it to help the last few days. So all their food had been the pizza and Indian Sam ordered… and fruit loops for breakfast.
Dean checked the cupboards for a toaster but there wasn’t any. The cupboards only had a few plates and bowls that Sam had bought. The rest of the place was empty. He sighed and got out a bowl, resigning himself to fruit loops again. Hey, he’d lived on worse.
Just as he was grabbing the box he heard a faint knock at the door. He glanced around and swallowed a cough, before heading to the front door.
He opened it and a young woman stood there. Short, brown hair in a bob. She was holding a few trays covered with aluminium foil and smiling.
“Hi!” she said, jovially, “I’m Maxine, I live next door. You must be Dean.”
Dean leaned against the doorframe, “Have we met?”
“Oh, no, sorry. My husband came over last night and spoke to Sam.”
“Mmhm…” Dean groaned.
She shook her head, crinkled up her nose, “And suddenly I’m realising this was a very bad idea…”
Dean stayed sizing her up.
“I, um, I made you this!” she lifted the trays in her hand, “Just a few dinners and an apple crumble.”
Dean’s eyebrow went up, “Apple crumble?”
“Yeah,” she smiled, “Yes, it’s my mum’s recipe… I just thought I’d welcome you two to the neighbourhood.”
Dean smiled, stretched out his arm to take them.
“Oh, don’t be silly. I’ll bring them in for you.”
Dean pulled the door shut slightly behind him, remembering the huge devil’s trap on the floor.
“No, I got it. It’s fine.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, helping him tuck them into his arm, “Let me know if you need anything else… at all, okay?”
He smiled, despite the look of pity on her face. He needed to know what it was Sam was telling these people, what lie he was peddling to get past the whole ‘spent 40 years in hell’ thing. He figured he knew his brother well enough to know he was working the PTSD military angle. It made the most sense… but he still didn’t like it. No one pitied Dean Winchester. He didn’t want it. He didn’t deserve it.
“Thanks, Max.”
“Oh,” she giggled at the nickname, “You, um, you and Sam should come over for dinner with me and Dave some time. I can make a fresh apple crumble.”
Dean winked, “Make it apple pie and you’ve got a deal.”
Maxine blushed as she backed down the stairs, “It was nice to meet you.”
Dean smiled and shuffled back inside, shutting the door with his foot.
The containers were warm against his arm and he couldn’t wait to tear into this apple crumble. It smelt delicious, and after eating a lifetime of crappy diner, and truck stop food, a home cooked meal was long overdue. Dean put the trays on the bench and grabbed his bowl, filling it up with the crumble. He paused to cough into his shoulder, fighting through a shiver that gave him goosebumps. His throat was wrecked, but dammit, he needed this. So, he settled on the couch with the bowl in his lap and the spoon in his hand and Maxine’s apple crumble.
…
Sam woke up to a pair of thunderous sneezes coming from the lounge room. He groaned and rubbed his face. Man, he needed that sleep. He glanced at the clock and noticed it was after 11. His heart pounded and he leapt out of bed. How could he have left Dean alone so long? He heard coughing followed by a thick sniff. God, he was such an idiot.
He padded quickly down the hall and found his brother sitting on the couch, smiling.
“Morning, sleepy head.”
Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair, “You sound terrible.”
Dean sniffed again, “Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.”
Sam crossed the room and grabbed the tissue box, dropping it on his brother’s lap.
“Blow your nose.”
Dean grumbled, “Bossy…”
“Did you take your pills?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Shut up. Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Dean scrunched up his face, “I can look after myself.”
Sam took a deep breath. As he came to his senses after a rather rude awakening, he noticed some trays on the kitchen bench and a bowl in front of Dean that was almost licked clean. Dean must have seen his confusion because he supplied an answer shortly after.
“Uh, chick from next door brought over some stuff. Dude, you gotta try the apple crumble,” he put a hand on his stomach, “So good.”
“Huh,” Sam sighed, impressed. He’d have to go and thank them.
Sam sat down next to Dean, glancing at him, “How you feeling?”
Dean shrugged with one arm, frowning.
“I’ve been worse.”
…
Dean cleared his throat.
You couldn’t understand… and I could never make you understand.
“Now go and make me some coffee. Then have a shower. You stink.”
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.
Taking Some Time
Chapter Five
When Sam had paid up and collected Dean's antibiotics and nebulizer he returned to the car. The passenger door was open and Dean was sitting half in, half out, bent forward, right elbow on right knee and his head in his hand. Sam could see his shoulders quivering with laboured breaths.
Sam chucked the bags on the back seat and went to lean over his brother, hand on his shoulder.
"You okay?"
And for once Dean didn't lie.
"What do you think?" He looked up at him. His eyes were red.
Well, it was progress.
"Come on, let's go home."
Sam gulped. When they were on the road everything was home, and nothing was home. The impala was home, more often than not. The motel room they were staying in, that was referred to as home as well. Just in passing, because what else did they call it? This was different though. This wasn't a home on wheels, or a temporary hideout while fighting a fugly of the week. This was... anyway…
Dean dragged his legs inside the car and shut the door. Sam went around to the driver’s side.
It was uncomfortably quiet in the car. Dean's breath crackled and hitched. He'd probably been crying. Sam jumped when he finally spoke.
"You can't expect me to do this, Sammy," Dean looked at him, red eyes, glazed with tears.
"I know you don't want to... but you need to."
Dean cast his eyes to the roof, blinking rapidly.
"I'll be there, Dean... We have to do this to see what we're up against. Nothing's gonna happen to you."
Dean bit his lip, blinked away some tears. He shook his head and huffed.
"You know why I don't wanna do this, right?"
Sam furrowed his brow. Dean hadn't told him at first, that when he'd been pulled out of hell he was shoved back in his body. His body that was rotting, 6 feet under, in a pine box. Sam wasn't stupid. He'd asked him.
"Wait, I buried your body, Dean. How did you -"
Dean hadn't told him with words. He'd told him with his eyes. And that was almost more heartbreaking. It was obvious it had been traumatic, now more than ever.
"This is safe, Dean. I promise. You can't live like this," he said gesturing to his back.
"I've been doing pretty fine so far."
"Yeah, well, now you're not."
Dean's bottom lip quivered. He turned and looked over his shoulder, away from Sam.
"Alright," he muttered.
"Alright?"
"Yeah, Sammy. I'll do it... I'll try."
...
Dean screamed that night, loud and relentlessly. Sam didn't want to know what he was dreaming about. Prayed he wouldn't have to hear the screaming anymore. At 12:26pm a knock came at the door and Sam cringed, wiped the tears from his eyes. He'd tried to wake Dean, tried to calm him, but he couldn't get through to him. He was spiking a fever by the feel of it. And now someone was at the door, if it was the cops they were screwed.
Sam opened the door and a big guy stood there in a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants. A neighbour, probably.
"There's a lot of noise coming from here. You guys okay?" He said tentatively.
Dean screamed again in the bedroom and the guy took on a defensive stance. It was just in panic though. He didn't know how to fight by the looks of it.
"Sorry," Sam sighed, trying to keep his emotions in check, "It's my brother. He gets nightmares. But we're okay..."
The guy looked sceptical for a moment.
"He ex-military?"
Sam smiled tiredly, "How'd you know?"
May as well continue the lie.
"My dad was a marine. I grew up listening to that," he nodded as Dean cried out, quieter this time.
"Our dad was a marine too."
The guy nodded, looking sympathetic.
"I'm Dave. I live next door."
He pointed and Sam stepped onto the porch to look at the house. A woman stood on the front steps in a robe. She waved.
"That's my wife, Maxine."
Sam waved back.
"I'm Sam," he said, shaking Dave's hand.
Dean's whimpers travelled down the hall.
"That's Dean," he added.
"Well, it sounds like you've got your hands full. You boys let us know if you need anything. I know that's not easy to deal with."
"Yeah," Sam nodded, "Thank you. Sorry for keeping you up."
"Don't worry about us, Sam. I'll see you round."
Sam shut the door and pressed his forehead against it, every fibre of his being screaming this is too much, this is too much, this is too much.
Then Dean screamed his name.
"... He's my brother."
His brother had never let him down, not once. Sam wasn't about to let him down. Not now, not ever.
…
Dean woke swinging. His shoulder was on fire, because, in sleep, he hadn’t known to be careful with it. Sam was standing over him, a bit of distance between them, like he was scared he’d lash out at him. It was a valid concern. Dean could feel the sweat dripping from his face. He was cold. He rolled onto his side to cough.
“Sorry…” he muttered. Why he was apologising he didn’t know. It just felt like he should be sorry for something.
“It’s okay… How do you feel?”
“Awesome,” he groaned, wiping his hand over his face.
“It’s time for more pills, I think,” Sam attempted a smile. Geez, the kid looked worn out.
“Okay.”
Dean took everything he was given without question, even the knock out sleeping pills he recognised from last time.
“You gonna get some sleep?” he asked, husky voice and all.
Sam nodded, “Yeah, I will. As long as there’s no more visits…”
“Huh?”
“Oh, nothing… a neighbour, that’s all.”
Dean hummed. He could pick up on what Sam wasn’t saying. It was just a matter of time before someone heard him. He screamed in his dreams, why wouldn’t he be screaming in reality too? But now they weren’t at a crappy little motel at the edge of town, where the only people that could hear him were the ones making just as much noise with someone other than their significant other. Now they were in the suburbs, where people were sensitive about the quiet and their sleep. They were pretty much screwed.
Dean stared at the ceiling. His breathing was still erratic from the nightmare. The faces were still in his head. The voices. The laughing…
“You wanna talk about it?”
Dean managed a smirk.
There aren’t words… There’s no forgetting.
“No thanks, Sammy.”
Because it’s right here… forever.
“Just call me if you need something… I’m only down the hall.”
Dean nodded. His throat hurt too much to reply. Sam smiled, patted Dean’s head, while also gauging his temperature. He must have been satisfied because he left without further comment. He did look really tired. Dean hadn’t been able to track his sleeping, while he himself had been in and out of consciousness for days. He didn’t like the change in dynamic. Sam was the little brother. Sam was the one that needed looking after. And Dean was going to take care of him, no matter what was happening to himself.
Dean lay there with his eyes fixed on the ceiling until the pain pills kicked in and he could relax. After that he couldn’t remember anything, because those knock out sleeping pills had kicked in as well.
…
Dean woke up early the next morning. He hadn’t remembered dreaming. The sun was coming in his window, painting the room golden. The sheets around him were damp, tangled in his legs and sticking to his chest. He felt rung out, muscles quivering with exertion as he forced himself up. He lumbered down the hallway, keeping his footsteps semi-quiet as he poked his head into his brother’s room. Sam was asleep sprawled out on his stomach, clutching the pillow under his head. Dean smiled, happy he was getting some sleep at last and headed back to his room to take a shower.
Getting the sling off sucked. Almost as much as getting the t-shirt off over his head sucked. But he managed to ditch the clingy clothes and step into the steaming shower. He coughed so hard his eyes watered, the steam shifting things loose. He hoped that all his noise hadn’t woken Sam, but he stayed in the shower a long time and Sam hadn’t come into his room so he considered that a win. As an afterthought he realised he probably shouldn’t use all the hot water and turned off the taps. Drying himself with one arm was harder than it seemed. He was exhausted by the time he finished, and he still had to get dressed.
Once he’d struggled into his navy blue button down and a pair of jeans, fitting the sling back on over his shirt, he headed down the hall to the kitchen. Sam was still asleep, on his back this time, when he walked passed the door. When he got to the kitchen he almost laughed out loud at the list on the kitchen bench. Sammy had made a record of what pills he had to take at what time of the day, divided into Morning, Noon and Night. Dean smiled fondly, found what pills he had to take this morning and downed them with a sip of water from the tap. It was after 10 but he figured that still classified as morning.
What a good kid, he thought, placing a hand over the piece of paper.
Next was the task of breakfast, he noted, as his stomach roared. Sam had bought groceries but he didn’t really know how to cook, and Dean had been too out of it to help the last few days. So all their food had been the pizza and Indian Sam ordered… and fruit loops for breakfast.
Dean checked the cupboards for a toaster but there wasn’t any. The cupboards only had a few plates and bowls that Sam had bought. The rest of the place was empty. He sighed and got out a bowl, resigning himself to fruit loops again. Hey, he’d lived on worse.
Just as he was grabbing the box he heard a faint knock at the door. He glanced around and swallowed a cough, before heading to the front door.
He opened it and a young woman stood there. Short, brown hair in a bob. She was holding a few trays covered with aluminium foil and smiling.
“Hi!” she said, jovially, “I’m Maxine, I live next door. You must be Dean.”
Dean leaned against the doorframe, “Have we met?”
“Oh, no, sorry. My husband came over last night and spoke to Sam.”
“Mmhm…” Dean groaned.
She shook her head, crinkled up her nose, “And suddenly I’m realising this was a very bad idea…”
Dean stayed sizing her up.
“I, um, I made you this!” she lifted the trays in her hand, “Just a few dinners and an apple crumble.”
Dean’s eyebrow went up, “Apple crumble?”
“Yeah,” she smiled, “Yes, it’s my mum’s recipe… I just thought I’d welcome you two to the neighbourhood.”
Dean smiled, stretched out his arm to take them.
“Oh, don’t be silly. I’ll bring them in for you.”
Dean pulled the door shut slightly behind him, remembering the huge devil’s trap on the floor.
“No, I got it. It’s fine.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, helping him tuck them into his arm, “Let me know if you need anything else… at all, okay?”
He smiled, despite the look of pity on her face. He needed to know what it was Sam was telling these people, what lie he was peddling to get past the whole ‘spent 40 years in hell’ thing. He figured he knew his brother well enough to know he was working the PTSD military angle. It made the most sense… but he still didn’t like it. No one pitied Dean Winchester. He didn’t want it. He didn’t deserve it.
“Thanks, Max.”
“Oh,” she giggled at the nickname, “You, um, you and Sam should come over for dinner with me and Dave some time. I can make a fresh apple crumble.”
Dean winked, “Make it apple pie and you’ve got a deal.”
Maxine blushed as she backed down the stairs, “It was nice to meet you.”
Dean smiled and shuffled back inside, shutting the door with his foot.
The containers were warm against his arm and he couldn’t wait to tear into this apple crumble. It smelt delicious, and after eating a lifetime of crappy diner, and truck stop food, a home cooked meal was long overdue. Dean put the trays on the bench and grabbed his bowl, filling it up with the crumble. He paused to cough into his shoulder, fighting through a shiver that gave him goosebumps. His throat was wrecked, but dammit, he needed this. So, he settled on the couch with the bowl in his lap and the spoon in his hand and Maxine’s apple crumble.
…
Sam woke up to a pair of thunderous sneezes coming from the lounge room. He groaned and rubbed his face. Man, he needed that sleep. He glanced at the clock and noticed it was after 11. His heart pounded and he leapt out of bed. How could he have left Dean alone so long? He heard coughing followed by a thick sniff. God, he was such an idiot.
He padded quickly down the hall and found his brother sitting on the couch, smiling.
“Morning, sleepy head.”
Sam scrubbed a hand through his hair, “You sound terrible.”
Dean sniffed again, “Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.”
Sam crossed the room and grabbed the tissue box, dropping it on his brother’s lap.
“Blow your nose.”
Dean grumbled, “Bossy…”
“Did you take your pills?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Shut up. Why didn’t you wake me up?”
Dean scrunched up his face, “I can look after myself.”
Sam took a deep breath. As he came to his senses after a rather rude awakening, he noticed some trays on the kitchen bench and a bowl in front of Dean that was almost licked clean. Dean must have seen his confusion because he supplied an answer shortly after.
“Uh, chick from next door brought over some stuff. Dude, you gotta try the apple crumble,” he put a hand on his stomach, “So good.”
“Huh,” Sam sighed, impressed. He’d have to go and thank them.
Sam sat down next to Dean, glancing at him, “How you feeling?”
Dean shrugged with one arm, frowning.
“I’ve been worse.”
…
Dean cleared his throat.
You couldn’t understand… and I could never make you understand.
“Now go and make me some coffee. Then have a shower. You stink.”