This was my entry for the Supernatural-Seriously-Awesome - Winter Festivities challenge. I was proud to be the winner of the challenge.
Go check out their FaceBook page.
pages/Supernatural-Seriously-Awesome/102762056432360?fref=ts
Winter Festivities
Dean hated hospitals. Hated everything about them with a passion bordering on scary. He hated the smell of them, antiseptic and blood with a vague nuance of, what was that? Ah, yes. Death!
He loathed the way the lights were always so bright it hurt your eyes. Like they didn't understand that sick people wanted to sleep not be blinded by pinpoint red and flashing blue. And don't even venture to seek an opinion on the food, if you could even call it food. I mean come on. Jello for crying out loud. Hell, didn't they know that pie had been proven to heal wounds and burgers to knit broken bones?
He hated hospital gowns too. Normally they were too short but this one...this one would have swept the floor even on Sam and Sammy was freaky-tall. So when Dean was in bed it tangled around his legs making it even harder to turn over without the pain leaving him gasping and when they got him out of bed for walkies, he was in constant danger of tripping over it. Not to mention that the ties in back were long since gone and he was sure too many people had got a free view of his fine, festive ass.
Tonight however, he hated most of all the noise of the hospital. It should have been silent, after all it was nearly midnight on Christmas Eve and wasn't there something about, 'Although the house, not a creature was stirring'? Well, shoot him for the Christmas Grinch, but if that kid didn't quit crying soon he was gonna find whatever cot it was in, on whatever ward and spoil it's holiday season, for life.
Add to that Sam's failed promise to come back to see him after he washed up and eaten, and all in all Dean felt he was well justified in thinking this was one of the crappiest Christmas's he had even had.
But for all that, he couldn't actually be mad at Sam. The kid needed to sleep on a real bed, even a hard motel bed, rather than the stiff plastic chair he'd perched on for the last few days since they'd blue-lighted Dean in after Frosty the Snow demon had 'happy, jolly souled' him half to death.
He knew Sam hadn't left his side for a minute even though he'd been so far out of it at first that all his baby brother had to keep him occupied was to watch the beep-beep-beep of the monitors.
He was much better now though. He was packing just enough of the real good pain meds so he could see cute little Christmas elves dancing at the periphery of his fuzzy vision but not so much anymore that the elves had fangs and claws.
When he'd finally got Sam to agree to take a break it was on the provision that all he was gonna do was walk back through the near white-out to their crummy motel, shower, change, maybe grab a bite to eat and come back. Dean had argued until his hoarse voice was all but gone that he'd be fine and that Sam should stay put and get some sleep but even though his words had said 'I'm fine', his knew his frightened eyes had said 'please come back'.
So Dean craned his neck trying again to see past the blinds and out of his window, just in case Sammy was, despite his unconvincing orders, trekking through the blizzard to be at his brother's side.
The window was just that bit too far away from the bed and the blind just a touch acutely angled for Dean to see anything other than the immediate window sill with it's six inch layer of pillowed white. He huffed in frustration and kicked in annoyance at his hospital gown where it caught on his bandaged leg under his crisp white sheet.
"Hate hospitals, hate gowns..." He muttered under his breath as the cries of the infant down the corridor rachetted up another notch.
Green eyes already dilated with pain meds widened further in anger. Dean's head swiveled from the window to the door of his room as if, somehow by magic, he could seek out and quiet the babe from his semi-prone position, but to no avail. The screaming only grew louder.
"Come on, Sammy..."
He whispered as his gaze reengaged the recalcitrant window and he stretched his head forward, turtle-like, seeking the wintery vista and potential signs of a snow-capped sibling.
Nope! Still seeing nada. Well, there was nothing else for it. If he was gonna watch for Sam, he'd have to get up and walk to the window. Now not such a big deal I hear you saying and Dean'd confirm that normally you'd be justified in your thinking. However, since being carried out of the ambulance and after the four hours in surgery, he'd only spent a total of about thirty minutes doing anything other than laying in his bed so just now, a trip to the window seemed like a big, big, yuletide adventure.
He looked up, above his head to the little trapezey-like handle thingy that hung from the pole that sprouted up outta the bed-frame. This was the magic handle that would help him up that the two muscular physical therapists had introduced him to when they had arrived, what seemed like a very short time after his surgery, to 'take him 'walkies'.
He vaguely remembered Sam querying if he should be walking on a leg that had taken a goodly proportion of that four hour surgery to sew back together so soon, but they had reassured him that it was preferable to a DVT, or the even more fun, pulmonary embolism and a drugged-up and flying Dean had chortled 'Bring it on, Boys!'.
That was the last thing he remembered being fun about his little stroll with Alex and Ted though. Getting to the edge of the bed had left him nauseous and shaky but that was a choc chip cookie compared to standing and hobbling a few paces on his cotton-wool feet. Oh, Ted and Alex had supported him real well. Hell, in all honesty, they'd virtually carried him, but all the same mostly what Dean remembered was wanting to puke from the pain, despite the meds, and when they had lifted him back into his bed he was pretty sure he had cried in relief.
Mind you that was, let's see, as much as a whole day ago now, well, nearly and Dean was sure he'd done tons of healing since then.
Right then. Stage one of the trek. Dean grabbed the little electronic pad that controlled his Nasa-complex bed and stabbing randomly at the buttons creaked and hummed to a more upright position. The trapezy-thingy was next and he gingerly raised his right arm, grasping the bar and, before the courage left him, shuffled inelegantly to the edge of his bed.
Of course his gown got tangled and his heavily bandaged right thigh awoke with a start that made him gasp but stage one was completed in a record three or maybe four minutes. Dean had a short rest then, sitting on the side of the bed, holding on for dear life with his good right hand as he worked out his strategy for phase two of the Winchester wander.
This phase he concluded was complicated by a number of things. First/ the absence of his physical therapy buddies. Two/ the fact that his bandaged left arm and hand meant he could only use one of the two crutches so thoughtfully left propped by the head of his bed and C/ the endless, incessant wailing of that god-damned child!
He closed his eyes and hummed something that sounded possibly like Jingle Bell Rock for a second or two till the infant's voice became a distant backbeat and then, positioning the crutch so he could quickly grab it, levered himself laboriously to his good leg.
The attempt was a frenzy of slipping feet and desperately grabbing hands and resulted in Dean swaying breathlessly, horribly dizzy but vaguely triumphant as he weaved, most of his weight born on his good left leg and his new best friend, Mr Crutchy. Another pause ensued as he decided whether fainting or phase three was his preferred option. Phase three won out by a painfully slim margin and Dean took the next five minutes, shuffling and grumping his way to the window.
The driveway to the hospital was white with a good many inches of snow. People and traffic had fled to their beds and the world had become soft and silent as it does when the heaven's bestow their wintery grace. The moon was bright between the puffy clouds and the spindly boughs of the trees surrounding the place of healing twinkled with glints of sliver. It was a Hallmark card scene of tranquility and beauty and at the window, Dean cursed it with a passion born of loneliness and pain.
He had been sure after his colossal struggle from his bed he'd see his gangly, snow-bedecked brother tobogganing through the drifts to save him from a solitary and miserable Christmas eve but the roadway was empty as far as his slightly blurry eyes could see and he snatched the cord for the blinds, turning them to blot out the bitter scene as the drone of childish sobs rattled his sore bones.
"What is it with that kid?"
Dean mumbled, re-engaging the Winchester shuffle and slowly guiding Mr Crutchy to the door of his room where after a unhappy tussle with the handle, he emerged into the corridor beyond.
The noise was coming from a room just a few yards along the sterile walkway, the door slightly ajar, a soft light emanating from inside and Dean drew on his severely diminished reserves of strength to hobble the few paces to the source of his woes. He was intent on letting whoever was in charge of the kid know what a right royal Christmas pain in the butt it was becoming.
He pushed at the base of the door with the crutch and, steadying himself on the door-frame took in the scene within. The room was much like his but instead of the bed there was a hospital cot filled with an assortment of rumpled comforters and stuffed animals, but no occupant. The source of the screaming was a little red-faced girl, her fists balled against the back of the nurse who shushed and petted and soothed in a desperate but futile attempt to quiet her. She was no more than three maybe four and her tear stained face and softly hiccuping breathes born testimony to her misery.
Dean's heart softened on first glance and he sighed, his anger replaced by compassion and sadness as the startled nurse turned to see who had entered.
"Mr Winchester!"
She carefully placed the child down in the cot and moved swiftly towards Dean, wincing as the little girl's screams intensified.
"What are you doing out of bed?"
Once at his side her surprisingly strong arm snaked around his waist and Dean found himself grateful for her support.
"She was crying so loud..."
Dean's eyes were on the child as he took his cue and shuffled forward. His thigh burned under the tight bandages and the muscles of his supposedly good leg were knotted with cramps from holding him up.
"Here..."
Seeing his discomfort she gestured to a large rocking chair that was positioned near the child's crib and nodding his understanding, Dean wobbled around to flop painfully onto the seat. The impact, though it was as soft as the nurse could make it, jarred Dean's arm as it banged onto the armrest and he sucked in his breath, seeing stars before his squeezed-shut eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mr Winchester. Are you okay? You're pale. You gonna be sick?"
She knelt in front of him, her hands raised to either side of him as he swayed. In her cot, the little girl bawled and sobbed inconsolably.
Dean opened his eyes slowly, knowing without a doubt that the room was likely to be swirling. Which it was. However, settled in the thickly upholstered chair, it was tolerable and he shook his head carefully, mumbling.
"No...'m'okay."
The nurse smiled her relief and got quickly to her feet, her eyes moving back to the distressed child in the cot.
"I'm sorry she woke you. I just can't get her to settle."
She reached down as she spoke, sweeping the toddler back into her arms, shushing and rocking as she looked down at Dean.
"Is she in pain?
His pale face was creased with worry and the nurse noted how he unconsciously rubbed at his bandage as he spoke.
"No."
She answered softly, her hand stroking the child's back.
"But you are!"
"No...I'm..."
Dean started to deny her observations but her face pinched knowingly and he was silenced.
"I need to get you some pain meds."
She turned to place the little girl back in her bed and the child's cries increased, her hands clutching at the back of the nurses tunic.
"Could I..."
She glanced back as Dean spoke. He looked at her shyly.
"Could I...take her?"
The nurse looked quizzically at him. An expression of 'you don't look like someone who knows much about children" etched on her face.
"I'm quite good with kids..."
His voice was quiet, a sort of soft, sad look on his face and the nurse smiled.
"Okay."
She lifted the fretful little one into her arms again, moving toward the chair.
"But just so I can get your pills."
Dean nodded.
"I shouldn't really let you but we're real short staffed tonight. The snow you know."
Dean nodded again as she lowered the child toward him, pausing just above his lap.
"How're you gonna do this, Mr Winchester?"
She mused.
"You're sort of limited to one arm and the opposite leg."
Dean frowned. She was right, it was awkward.
"I know. If I sit her on your left leg and then I can wrap that afgan on the chair back around you both and tuck it in and she'll maybe lean against your chest."
Dean's eyes glanced to the warm throw draped over the chair back and he nodded.
"Okay, here goes. Tell me if it hurts too much,"
She nestled the wriggling child onto Dean's lap, carefully avoiding his bandaged thigh and he curled his good arm around her as the nurse wrapped the throw warmly about the pair of them. The child steadied a little almost immediately as the softness enveloped her. She raised her eyebrows and smiled approvingly.
"Umm, you are good with kids."
Dean smiled back.
"What's her name?"
"Mary."
Dean's heart flip-flopped a little at that.
"We're waiting for her aunt to get here to take her home, but she can't get in 'cause of the storm."
Dean glanced at the nurse as she stood over him. Without realizing he had started gently rocking and the motion of the chair and Dean's body pressed close to her was soothing the little girl.
"She's better then?"
Dean questioned, his eyes on the child's as she hiccuped away her tears.
"She was never ill."
Dean shook his head a little, regretting the slight dizziness it caused.
"She was in an RTA with her parents as the snow started yesterday. Both of them died, but Mary didn't have a scratch."
She glanced down as Dean's breath hitched audibly.
"You alright, Mr Winchester?
"Poor kid."
Empathy flowed through his words and she nodded agreement.
"Her aunt's a good woman and she'll be here tomorrow. Maybe someone was watching over Mary?"
She stroked the child's hair, watching the sleepy blue eyes close as the man in the chair hugged her close.
Dean smiled.
"Maybe."
She turned for the door.
"I'll get your pills."
Dean didn't hear. He was lost in the child in his arms.
snSNsn
She was heading back toward the drug trolley at the nurses station, a feeling of tranquillity suffusing her despite the storm outside when the door from the lobby opened quietly, making her start.
Sam poked his head round the door, swiping off a snow-covered beenie as he smiled at the nurse.
"Oh, it's you! You made me jump."
"I'm sorry."
Sam apologized as he entered.
"I know it's really late but is it okay if I stay with my brother?"
She started to speak but Sam crashed on.
"He hates hospitals and I said I'd come back, but I laid down just for a moment and I fell asleep and now he's gonna think I left him and..."
She paused his breathless surge with a raised hand.
"Follow me."
Was all she said.
SnSNsn
She indicated the other chair in Mary's room and left Sam at the door as he nodded his thanks.
Dean looked up sleepily as his brother crept as softly as his enormous, sodden boots would allow into the room.
Sam smiled at the contentedly sleeping child nestled safely in his brother's arms.
"She looks..."
He struggled a little for an adequate word as Dean drew Mary even closer to him, feeling any pain he had ebb as her heartbeat melded with his.
"...Safe."
Sam finally whispered and Dean's lips quirked into a smile.
"I'm glad you came back, Sammy."
Sam drew up the chair and shucking his wet coat, moved to sit beside his brother.
"So am I."
He ever so gently brushed at a wisp of the child's hair but she barely stirred against Dean's chest.
"I always felt safe with you."
It was a whisper but the twinkle of tears in Dean's green eyes told Sam his brother had heard it.
"Happy Holidays, Sam."
Dean smiled.
"And to you, Dean."
Ends.
I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if you have a moment. Thanks for reading.