The Real Doctor Sexy, 3 of 3
Three
Now
Dean tries to be patient as he waits for Cas to come back. His ass is starting to get wet and Cas had said he’d like a few minutes alone with Sam, which is why Dean’s not at Sam’s side in the first place. He scratches at his nose, wondering what Sam and Cas are talking about. Sam’s just knocked out most of the time because Dean fucked up pretty badly with all his field surgery.
Sam has a high threshold for pain and Dean has rarely heard him even utter a peep over experiences most people would describe as excruciating. Yet, after Dean’s homemade surgery, he’d heard Sam scream, actually scream in agony, reminding him of Sam’s hours in the panic room while detoxing. Then Sam had begun to puke his guts up and he hadn’t been able to stop, and Dean was distraught while Jody was worried. Apparently, this was a reaction to the pain, the doctors had said, later on. Morphine had only intensified Sam’s pain instead of decreasing it.
What universe this made sense in, Dean didn’t know, but he went with it.
They’d reopened Sam at the hospital, like Dean had thought they would. And Sam hadn’t woken up for hours. He’d also burned with fever and the doctors couldn’t figure out what was causing it because his blood reports didn’t point towards anything and the antibiotics didn’t work. There was no post-op infection - they checked, and finally, after a week, they gave up and called it ‘pyrexia of unknown origin’ and sent Sam for a psychiatry consult.
The psychiatrist diagnosed Sam with stress and suggested a change of atmosphere. And though Sam weakly protested, Dean called in a few favours and rented this little cabin that they’re currently staying in. It’s got two rooms and is near the hills, with fresh breeze coming in everyday, even though the snow is heavy at night.
They’ve been here three days, though, and Sam’s still not getting better. He isn’t eating much - just complying when Dean hooks him up on IVs and all he does is take his pills and sleep, wake up, read, and then sleep again. The fevers come and go. Sam doesn’t speak more than a few words a day. Sometimes, Dean finds him staring at the wall and offers to take him out when it’s warmer, but Sam doesn’t respond. Dean wonders if it would be any different in the bunker.
Sometimes, Dean gets angry - really fucking angry. Sam has no right to mope about, after saying all kinds of shit to Dean. If he’s sorry, and that is what is making him like this, he should fucking apologise. Dean will accept it any day. And if there’s something else that Sam’s going all emo about - well, tough. He has no idea; no idea what Dean went through while he was dying. So yeah, Dean tried to save him. Desperate measures. And if it’s the splenectomy that is bothering Sam… what’s done is done and if Sam is going to be a bitch about everything, then screw him. He can talk the day he performs emergency surgery on someone, using his hands as scissors.
So Dean remains where he is and waits for Cas. He wasn’t about to call Cas, knowing he’s on his search for Metatron, and can’t be disturbed, but Dean just couldn’t take it anymore. Two nights ago, Sam’s fever had spiked so much, Dean had again thought he’d die, and had spent the whole night praying to some unknown entity to keep his brother alive, because Sam didn’t have another spleen that he could remove.
Presently, the door opens and Castiel strides out, his trenchcoat billowing behind him. Dean should say - he liked the last one better, and he wonders why Cas has a fixation for tan trenchcoats, but… whatever.
Castiel’s blue eyes look earnest as he speaks. “I’ve healed him.”
“Of-?”
“The fever. I can’t give him a new spleen, Dean. I can only heal what is there.”
Dean swallows. He knew it wouldn’t be a hundred per cent. But he’s still grateful. He clears his throat. “Thanks, Cas.”
Castiel nods. “Dean,” he says, and then looks into his eyes. “I understand why you did everything that you did, you know. To save Sam.”
Dean knows, somehow, that he isn’t talking about the splenectomy. He presses his lips together, while Castiel continues, “But, as Sam’s friend, I think there’s one thing you should do.”
“What?”
Castiel’s glance is firm. “Stop behaving the way you are, Dean. Apologise to him.”
Dean’s jaw drops. “I should be the one apologising now?”
“I am aware that he said hurtful things to you, and I’m not saying he’s right. But maybe you should take the first step this time, Dean.”
“Cas, Sam’s being a-”
“He’s upset,” Castiel says, interrupting him. “He’s extremely upset about you taking such liberties with him.”
“Oh, so saving his life now is taking liberty?”
“No, but getting him possessed by manipulating him was, Dean. And I understand, I really do-”
“Screw you, Cas,” snarls Dean, interrupting him. “You don’t understand shit. So just fuck off.”
Guilt immediately pops up for what he’s just said to Cas but he swallows it down and pushes past his friend, into the cabin, to talk to Sam himself.
~o~
Hey, Sam.
Sam can still hear Kevin’s voice in his head. He can still remember Kevin walking beside him, their feet bare, their footsteps light, as they strolled through the bunker hallways. He can remember every breath he took and every word he said. And he wonders if any of it was real, or if it was just a ketamine-induced hallucination.
“Kevin,” Sam had said, “I’m so-”
He had held up his hand. “Don’t apologise, okay? It’s not your fault.”
Sam shook his head. He shook his head frantically. “No, no, it is my fault. I should have put my foot down about this. I should never have told Dean that crap about the light at the end of the tunnel.” He snorted. “There was never any light. There’s never light for us… for me.”
“Oh, shut up,” Kevin said suddenly, stopping in his tracks. “I lost my mom and my girlfriend in a span of six months, lost any prospects of becoming the first Asian-American president, and you’re telling me you’ve got nothing to live for?”
Sam smiled. “My life seem any better than yours to you?”
Kevin nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Because you know what? No matter what you do, you’ve had, and will always have Dean by your side. So let me do the brooding this time, okay? Stop blaming yourself.”
“Kevin-”
He sighed. “If it means that much to you, Sam, I forgive you. Will you two stop fighting now? This was about me dying, wasn’t it?”
Sam shook his head. “No it’s not just that. It’s not…” he sighed, fell silent, as Kevin suddenly vanished with a flicker. And then he was claimed by the welcoming blackness.
Sam breaks out of his reverie when he hears footsteps. He feels much better, now that Cas has healed him. The pain from the sutures and the peritonitis is gone and the fever has stopped burning through him. His head isn’t pounding anymore. Physically, he feels good.
Dean walks into the room just then, halting at the door for a moment before making his way in, boots thumping against wood. He nods at Sam. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“How’re you feeling?”
“Okay,” Sam responds.
Dean lets out a weak breath of laughter. “I guess I’m the real Dr Sexy then, huh?”
Sam smiles wanly at him. “Real, yeah. Sexy, not so much.” He doesn’t thank Dean for the splenectomy, but he imagines Dean standing over him with a scalpel, hands shaking, and wonders what he’d have done if he’d had to perform field surgery like that.
“Good,” Dean says. He pauses, looking uncomfortable. “Cas reckons I should apologise.”
Sam raises an eyebrow at the perceptive angel. “He does?”
“Yeah,” Dean replies. “And okay, I will. But tell me - for which time do you want an apology?” He pauses. “Or is it for all the times?”
“Huh?” Sam asks him lamely, wondering if he’s missed something.
“Which time shouldn’t I have saved your skin?” Dean asks him. “Since you want to be all… dead-” his voice breaks. When Sam looks into his eyes, he sees hurt there.
“Just tell me, okay?” Dean continues. “Maybe next time you should just put a bullet in your head. And then-” he laughs shakily, “maybe I’ll put one in mine and we’ll finish the story there.”
Sam doesn’t respond and Dean sits down on a worn, wooden chair next to Sam’s bed, burying his face in his hands. He sniffs once or twice and Sam’s heart starts to race, as he wonders if Dean’s crying, but Dean looks up and his eyes are dry.
“Truth is,” he says, and he sounds tired, “I am just a fucking coward. I should have offed myself at Cold Oak, man. I just fucked it up by bringing you back and-” he swallows, but he doesn’t continue. Instead, there’s silence. Sam looks away.
“Sammy, tell me,” Dean says slowly, as Sam fidgets with his hands. “Is it - am I so bad? That when I just wanted you to live-”
“Dean,” Sam says abruptly, looking at his brother, not allowing him to continue. Because, honestly, he’s had enough. Trust Dean to make this all about himself and not listen.
Dean’s eyes are on Sam now, and Sam licks his lip. “I’m not apologising for, or taking back what I said.”
Dean nods, the pain in his eyes intensifying, but Sam forces himself not to sympathise. “I need you to think - to really think about what I said the other day.”
His elder brother smiles. “Yeah, I got that one, Sam. You don’t need to make sure I remember. And you know what?” he looks up, and now there’s anger in his eyes. “You have no right-”
“No right to be upset about this?” Sam asks him. He takes a deep breath and speaks, but this time his voice shudders. “I trusted you, Dean.”
“I did it to save your life, man!”
“No!” Sam replies. “That’s what you think you did. But… Dean, you betrayed me.” And the memories are back - his hands smiting Kevin, brandishing an angel blade at Abner…
Sam’s throat gets clogged and he tries to swallow around it and he sounds hoarse when he speaks again. “I thought you were the one person who wouldn’t let this happen. Possession…” He can’t go on. Tears are filling his eyes, bringing back the hurt and betrayal that he’s been feeling over the last few days. The pain is back - the same pain that made him hope that the fever ravaging his body would kill him once and for all.
“Sammy…” Dean’s anger is gone, and a hand is on the back of Sam’s neck. “Hey, man…” He swallows. “I’m sorry, okay? For real. I didn’t-” he sighs. “Please talk to me.”
Sam swipes a hand over his wet eyes and shakes his head. “Dean, just go.”
“Sam-”
“Go.”
The warm hand from the back of Sam’s neck is gone and he watches Dean walk away with wet eyes. As Dean reaches the door he stops, puts a hand on the frame, and says, “Fine.” Sam hears a hint of tears in his brother’s voice and he lies back down on his bed, turning his back to Dean, and not looking until the door has shut behind his brother.
The End