PIRATE SONG
The sounds were hypnotic, like white noise that dissolves into melody. This melody was... peaceful.
Unchangeable.
A hiss, three bips, a ping... a hiss, three bips, a ping... a hiss, three bips, a ping... a hiss, three bips, a sneeze—
The harmony was broken by the foreign sound. It was too individual, too distinct... too human to belong there. It clashed with everything else, made the rest of the noises sound harsh, annoying, unfitting.
"Sorry about that... I know how you hate having my cooties all over you... guess you'll have to wake up and properly complain... whadda ya say?"
Cooties... why did that word made him think about diapers and crying little kids, he had no idea. Cooties were a disgusting thing, right? Something that people jerked away from, made them gag, sent little boys running for their mothers' laps?
Then why did that word made him feel warm and safe? It made no sense. Unless he was a cootie... cooties would like other cooties...
Maybe he should wake up and find out, like sneeze guy had suggested.
He liked that voice. He liked it more than the melodic white noise of before. That voice had a melody of its own, a sad tune made out of sorrow and loss.
How could he like sorrow and loss? No one likes that... not even cooties, he was sure.
"You know, that whole pirate look doesn't suit you... want me to shave that beard off for you? I could ask one of the nurses..."
The voice seemed amused, achingly sweet and painfully entertained amusement.
He liked pirates... he liked looking like one. Pirates were free and depended on no one but the sea and the wind. Pirates were loyal to their captain; they stood together through hail and storm. Like a family.
That was nice... he remembered that that was nice. Feeling like a family. Why was that a distant memory to him?
The touch on his cheek was shy and tenuous, like a feather dancing on the water surface. It itched.
"Dean? Dean! Come on man, I saw you twitch your nose... do that again!"
The command in the voice was almost impossible not to obey. But the pain in his hand distracted him. Fingers that he hadn't noticed before were squeezing, holding with a vice like strength that would be uncomfortable if it weren't for the anchor that they provided.
"That's it Dean... you can do it man... open those eyes."
He knew he was missing something important before. Colors. This black world he'd been living in was no fun, no fun at all. Nothing happened there but different variations of black and blacker. He wanted color back in his life. Eyes seemed to be a good way to do that.
He tried moving them from side to side, up and down. Nothing changed but the grip on his hand. Pressing harder now. Bruising.
"Come on, Dean... don't be a tease... I know of at least one nurse that's curious to see your eyes," the voice said out loud. "And she's really pretty too," came the whispered words after.
The voice was nearer, more than sound now. A scent. Such a familiar scent that made his mouth water like the vision of cheeseburgers.
It was vanilla soap, and sweat and coffee and... Sam.
Dean opened his eyes briskly, a jerk of eyelids that send stabbing pains into his skull. It hurt like hell and it wasn't even worth it. Once the intense white dissolved into something more or less resembling an image, all he could see was ceiling panels. Grey ceiling panels.
But his hand was still being crushed, and the familiar smell still lingered, even though the touch and the scent both belonged to someone who wasn't there. Someone that couldn't possibly be there.
A face, too close to focus on, but achingly familiar even when blurred, filled Dean's field of vision.
"Hey there, sleepy pirate... You woke up just in time... Happy New Year!"
The end