Written for this prompt: All three Winchesters are brought into an E.R. and Sam and John are so busy arguing that they forget Dean's medical history and he's given a drug that he has a bad reaction to.
Dean's brain is fogged, his eyes won't open, his mouth won't work no matter how hard he tries and he hurts like a son of a bitch. His ears work just fine, though. Dad and Sam are...where? He can hear them, not too far away, and though he can't make out the words, the tone is so familiar that his gut heaves and he frantically tries to get up to find them. Stop them. Play his ever more difficult role as peacemaker and smooth things over. But it looks like only thing that's working on his body are his God damned ears. So he lies there and waits. Something's wrong with him, he can figure that much out, and from the smells and noises he guesses he's in a hospital. Since he can hear, experience tells him the rest of him should be coming back on line soon, unless he's so fucked up this time that it won't. He thinks back to the one time he didn't wake up in a reasonable time. They'd used an anesthetic on him that he'd had a bad reaction to and though he'd been able to hear and was aware of everything that was going on, he'd been unresponsive for almost a week. He doesn't let himself dwell on that. Dad and Sam need him so he'll be o.k. And Dad knows about the anesthetic. He won't let them use it again. Maybe they'll stop fighting long enough to come over and tell him what's wrong with him. He's lost count of the times one or the other of them has been having a one sided conversation with him as he regained consciousness, but the argument just keeps going and going and Dean really needs to wake up pretty fucking soon before they kill each other.
John's got twenty stitches in the back of his head and the never ending argument that's been raging with his youngest since that damned spirit had knocked the two of them over an embankment in the middle of fucking nowhere isn't helping his headache any. His head and Sam's cracked ribs had been taken care of hours ago and the only time they hadn't been fighting was when they were in separate cubicles. The argument's toned down now, quieter. When they had first arrived at the hospital Sam had been so in his face that John had needed all his remaining self restraint not to put Sammy in a bed next to his eighteen year old brother and security had threatened to remove them if they didn't stop screaming at each other. They're in the hallway outside Dean's room so they don't disturb the doctors that are still working on him and more importantly, so those doctors don't hear what they're arguing about.
Sam's livid. His ribs are killing him and his brother's hurt- again- and if his father had just listened for a change, they'd be back at the motel now, eating pizza, cleaning the shotguns and in Sam's case finishing the essay that's due tomorrow. He'd told his father that his research showed that there was more than one spirit out there, that the m.o.'s of the attacks didn't match up to only one. But of course his father wouldn't listen. So sure that he was right and Sam was wrong. And if Sam was in the mood to admit it, he had been wrong. There was only one spirit. But there were two things killing people in those woods. And Dean had taken care of both of them, lighting the bones on fire after the spirit had temporarily taken out John and Sam, then using the fire to hold off the attacking mountain lion until he could put a bullet in it. By the time he and his father had struggled back up the embankment, Dean had been unconscious, slumped against a tree with his arm bent unnaturally between the elbow and wrist and bleeding heavily from slashes across his abdomen. It had been a nightmare trip back to the Impala; the two of them trying to carry Dean while their own injuries threatened to leave all three of them stranded. Sam had needed all his energy to get Dean to safety, but as soon as they were in the car he had let his father have it and he hadn't stopped. Dad was going to get Dean killed one day. If he had to hunt, why couldn't he do it by himself? Dean could get a job and Sam could go to school so he could get the hell out of this life one day. That theme had continued up to this moment, when Dean's doctor came out of the room to interrupt.
"Excuse me, Mr. Walters?" the doctor seems impatient with them and John can't blame him. Every time John tries to end the conversation with Sam and go check on Dean, his youngest hits him with another volley of blame. "We seem to be having a problem bringing your son out of the anesthesia. He's just not waking up the way he should."
He's speaking loudly enough for Dean to hear and panic sends his heart racing. "NO" he screams, "not again!" but of course he really doesn't, and it's only in his head, and he thinks if he has to do this again he'll go insane.
John hears the monitors in the room go crazy as Dean's heart begins to race and he knows immediately what happened. "What anesthetic did you use?" His voice is hard as he grips the doctor's arm, remembering all too well the last time Dean didn't wake up after a procedure. He'd only found out after the fact that his fear had been nothing compared to Dean's. That his son hadn't been in a coma, unaware of what was going on around him. That Dean, talking, laughing, always in motion Dean, had been trapped in his body, totally aware of everything that was going on around him, but unable to move, speak or see. Dean didn't talk much about it after he woke up, but something in his voice on the few occasions when he did, made it clear how terrified he had been. Being fed through a tube, pissing through a catheter and wanting to scream at his family to just stay with him, that he was there.
"We used a valium cocktail to pre anesthetize him, followed by propofol induction and isofluorane for maintenance. All very safe and usually problem free. The form you filled out for us earlier indicated no known adverse reactions so we went with our usual protocol."
"No known reactions?" Dean's mind screamed in panic. Had Dad forgotten? How could he have forgotten?
"No known reactions?" John's voice sounded devastated. He thought back to when the doctor had brought him the form to sign for Dean's surgery. One part had dealt with Dean's history and any known drug reactions. It had been shortly after they had been admitted and Sam was in full raging blame mode, unwilling to stop giving his father hell long enough for John to fill out the paperwork in peace. Sam's face filling his vision, Sam's voice filling his ears, Sam's words making his mind race with rage and guilt. Sam, Sam, Sam filling all his senses. Sam's drug reaction history on the form instead of Dean's.
The doctor looked at John carefully. "Was there some mistake on the form? Please tell me, we may be able to reverse this."
"Three years ago he was in a car accident." John's voice was low. Actually, his fifteen year old son had been almost crushed when a poltergeist threw a large chest of drawers at him, pinning him against a wall. "He needed surgery and they used propofol too. I know it's extremely uncommon to react badly to it, the doctors explained it to me then. It was like he was in a coma, but awake too. He knew what was going on around him, but he couldn't move or see. It lasted just over five days. We weren't sure he'd ever wake up. We didn't know, left him alone. He was so scared." John raised pleading eyes to the doctor. "He'll wake up again, right? It'll just take a little while? Oh, God, how could I have done this to him again?"
Sam starts to move forward, mouth opening to give his father another round of scathing blame, but the doctor cuts him off at the pass. He'd been witness to the argument that had distracted these boys' father at a critical time and he's damned if he's going to let it start up again.
"How are those ribs feeling, son?"
Sam stops and stares for a second before sullenly replying, "Better, I guess."
"Great. Why don't you have a seat and you and your Dad can put your attention where it belongs right now; on your brother. Mr. Walters you have a head injury and enough distractions to confuse anyone. It's not uncommon for people not to remember things under these conditions. You may want to have a bracelet or necklace made for your son with his medical issues on it. They save a lot of lives."
Sam flushes and nods, taking a seat beside Dean and gripping his brother's hand like he's afraid he'll be pulled away, while John stands by Dean's head and gently strokes his hair. He'll get Dean and Sam too, a medic-alert neck chain as soon as possible. If his boys can't depend on him to remember such vital information in an emergency, he'll make sure it get's known some other way.
The doctor watches as the beeping of the heart monitor slows and nods. It seems like the boy is aware in there and while it must seem to him like it's the worst thing ever, an actual coma would be much worse. Patients almost always came out of these sorts of twilight experiences with no permanent damage, and the fact that this one had come out of one before was a very good sign. He put his hand on the father's shoulder.
"Mr. Walters, your son should come out of this fine, just like he did the last time. But you know what's going on now, that he can hear you, knows when you're here and when he's alone. Talk to him, spend time here. Let him know you'll be back when you leave. More importantly, try to get along. I'll make the staff aware of his condition. They'll take good care of him." He walked out of the room, leaving them alone.
"Dad," Sam starts hesitantly, "I'm sorry. I still think you should listen to me sometimes, but I shouldn't have been fighting with you now. Dean needs us and I was keeping you from what you needed to do."
"Sam," John's voice is tired and tight. " What's the first rule in a dangerous situation?"
"Don't let yourself get distracted" Dean thinks and is echoed a moment later out loud by Sam.
"Yes and I didn't follow it. This was a dangerous situation for Dean and I let myself get sidetracked into an argument. Don't get me wrong, you didn't help the situation at all, but it was a group effort and I'm the parent here, even if you think I'm not a very good one."
"I think you're a great parent," Dean thinks, but can't get the sentiment out.
"I know you do the best you can," Sam admits quietly, "but I don't have to like it."
John's hand continues to stroke Dean's hair and quietly talks to him. "Don't worry, son. I know this time and I'm not leaving. I'm so sorry, Dean. So sorry."
Dean just lies there with Sam attached to his hand and John stroking his head and his bone jarring fear gradually turns into exhausted sleep. John notes the slowing of the heart monitor and knows that his boy is sleeping. He bows his head and lets a single tear fall as he wonders, even though he knows Dean will forgive him anything, if he will ever forgive himself.