Hello, hello guys hope you all are doing well. Due to request here's the sequel to Sick Day Off, which is set in my Vacant Year Verse. This is the third story in The Vacant Year Verse. As always Dean isn't mine and this is unbeated so all mistakes are mine. Enjoy :)
Learning to Let Go
Lisa eases the sedan to a halt inches from the garage door, she shifts the vehicle into park and slides the keys out of the ignition. Snagging her purse off the passenger's seat she exits the car into the chilly early winter night. Dean's truck is parked by the mailbox. It's strange hearing the old vehicle roar to life when Dean heads off to work in the morning.
Lisa smiles as she strolls up the snow-dusted walkway. Dean moved in over six months ago. Sure it hasn't been smooth sailing, but she doesn't care. The nightmares cling on to Dean's mind with iron clad claws and his drinking has picked up slightly, but after all the he's been through she's surprised he's as well adjusted as he is. Most people would be admitted to the nearest mental institution after all the crap Dean's seen, instead he's loving his apple pie life. And for that, she's grateful.
Lisa twists the doorknob and walks into the house. She hangs her purse and coat by the door before picking up t he mail from the foyer table. As she fingers through the various bills she heads towards the living room. The sight that greets her is precious.
Dean is stretched out on the couch with Ben curled up on his chest snoring into Dean's shoulder. She pulls her phone out to snap a picture but pauses finger hanging over the screen. She needs to use the flash to get a good shot and she knows from experience that flashes set off panic attacks.
Lisa slips her phone back into her pocket and approaches the couch. She makes her movements exaggerated and deliberate to calm Dean's hunter instincts. Even when asleep his senses are on full alert so sneaking up on him is illadvised. She stands in front of him and gently shakes his shoulder. Dean jerks awake, his grip automatically tightening and pulling Ben closer.
"Hey, it's just me," Lisa whispers.
The feral look melts from his green eyes as her words wash over him. "Lis?"
She smiles. "Yeah." She perches herself on the edge of the coffee table. "Hey Dean."
"Time is it?" He pinches the bridge of his nose and runs the back of his hand down his face.
"Little after ten-thirty." Lisa reaches out and runs her fingers through Ben's hair. "How is he?"
"Much better, fever broke last night, but I figured another day on the couch wouldn't hurt," Dean says. "How was lady's shopping spree?"
"Relaxing, lot of gossip." Lisa smirks and winks.
Dean yawns and digs his fingers into his eyes, attempting to drive the burning away.
"Come on." Lisa squeezes his shoulder. "Bed, we have work tomorrow."
Dean says nothing as he slowly pushes himself up. He keeps Ben cradled against his chest with a hand braced across Ben's back. Dean carefully rises, jostling his body as little as possible. Ben doesn't stir once on the trip upstairs.
Lisa leans against the doorframe of her son's room and watches as Dean pulls the covers back. He gently lays Ben down, guiding his head down to the pillow with his hand. Lisa's hear clenches when she realizes how many times Dean must have preformed the same action for Sam. She blinks the tears away and pulls the door closed before she heads to bed with Dean.
Lisa swims back to consciousness slowly, her fuzzy senses creeping back to awareness, She groggily blinks her eyes open and pushes herself upright against the headboard. She stretches, reaching her hands high above her head. Her muscles ripple under her skin as she twists to work out the kinks. The early morning sun bathes the room in a soft yellow glow.
She gazes over at Dean, shocked to discover he's sound asleep. Usually when she surfaces Dean's on his back staring at the ceiling. For t he first time since he moved in he's actually zonked out and not faking it for her sake. She sits and watching him, taking in the tranquil expression on his face, which is turned towards her. He's sprawled out on his stomach with his right hand dangling off the bed near the gun he has stashed under there.
Lisa glances at the clock, the digital number indicating that fifteen minutes have ticked by. She carefully extracts herself from the bed. She freezes when Dean shifts, but thankfully he doesn't stir. Lisa releases the breath she didn't realize she was holding and slips the rest of the way out of the bed. She pulls the covers up until they rest just bellow Dean's shoulders. She silently shuffles across the soft carpet. After pulling her clothes out of the closet, she heads into the bathroom. One quick shower later and she's ready to conquer the day.
She emerges back into the bedroom feeling refreshed. With a pang of regret she walks up to Dean. As much as she would love to let him sleep the day away, she can't. He missed the last three days of work due to Ben's battle with the flu and he can't afford to miss anymore without a decent reason. Sadly, exhaustion won't be good enough for his boss.
Lisa leans down next to him and drags her fingers along the side of his head just above his ear. She frowns when her fingers come in contact with his skin. She lays the back of her hand against his cheek noting that his temperature feels slightly elevated.
"Dean," she whispers, squeezing his shoulder and gently shaking him. "Come on, up I let you sleep in."
Green eyes crack open and he groans as he rolls over and pushes himself up. "Morning."
Lisa winces at the scratchiness in his voice. "You okay?"
Dean slings his legs over the side of the bed he curls his toes into the carpet. "I'm fine." He runs a hand down his face. "I'll make Ben's lunch after I shower."
Lisa plants a kiss on his cheek before heading to rouse Ben and get him moving.
Dean rests his hands against the counter and gazes at his reflection. He's not a fan of who's staring back at him. Dark purple-black is smudged under his eyes from one too many sleepless nights. The shower perked his skin up slightly, but it's still paler than normal. Dean knows what's coming; he feels it with each swallow.
The pressure building up in his sinuses will become a nasty headache. Any attempt to relieve the soreness in his throat results in raspy coughs, which makes it feel as if someone shoved razor blades down his throat. Dean closes his eyes and allows his head to dip into his chest.
'It's gonna be a long day,' he thinks.
As promised Dean prepares Ben's lunch. He makes it like he always used to make Sammy's, following the exact same equations: sandwich, chips, fruit, and desert. He leaves the lunch box on the counter and after grabbing his jacket he heads out the door.
Construction sites are noisy. During his lunch break Dean gave in and took a couple Advil to at least try and dull the relentless pounding behind his left eye. Every rumble of an engine and squeal of a power tool sends the throbbing into overdrive. His muscles ache and he wants nothing more than to go home. But, there's a voice in his head that sounds strangely like his father telling him to suck it up.
Around mid-afternoon the wind picks up. The branches of the nearby trees clack together with each gust. Dean shivers as the sharp, icy breeze cuts through his layers of flannel and canvas. Thick, gray clouds gather along the horizon indicating incoming snow.
Dean coughs into the crook of his arm and squints up at the sky. He sniffles and turns his attention back to slicing through the two-by-fours with a power saw. The blade whirs as it bites down on the wood. He tosses the scraps aside and picks up another piece of wood. He's pushing down on the handle…
"DEAN!"
He pauses, head turning in the direction of the voice. Jeremy, his boss, marches towards him work boots striking the ground confidently. He's waving his hand in front of his neck, gesturing for Dean to turn the device off.
Dean powers the saw down. "What's up?"
"We're shutting down, impending snow and all," Jeremy says in his gruff voice.
Dean nods curtly, thanking whoever is up there for the abrupt end of his shift. Jeremy spins on his heel and walks off. Dean bends down, his muscles protesting as they stretch, he tugs the plug out of the socket, and wraps the chord around the saw handle. He unlocks the wheels on the cart and pushes the tool over to the shed, the movement tugging at his sore shoulders. Within the hour, the site is shut down and Dean is sliding behind the wheel of his truck.
With numb fingers Dean slips the keys into the ignition and the truck roars to life. He turns the heater on full blast and moves his hands directly over the heat. Dean moans as the feeling returns to his fingers. He flexes the appendages before shifting the vehicle into drive and heading home. He pulls up beside the mailbox just as the first flake flutters down.
Dean unlocks the door and checks his watch. Two hours before Ben gets home and three before Lisa, just enough time for a rejuvenating power nap. He collapses onto the couch his eyes closing on their own accord.
He's sitting on a dock, cold beer in his hand condensation dripping down his wrist. A light summer breeze blows across the lake rippling the water. Dean sighs and sinks lower in the plastic chair and tilts his head back. The fishing pole wiggles in his grip as the current tugs on the line. The rays of the setting sun make the water look like liquid gold. Suddenly, the dock is shaking. Violently rocking back and forth sending him sprawling onto the rough wooden surface…
Dean startles awake, his limbs flailing as he jolts upwards.
"Whoa, Dean just me…"
Dean pushes himself the rest of the way up; he runs a shaky hand though his sweat dampened hair. That nap did nothing for him; if anything it amplified what he was already feeling. Dean groans and blinks the blurriness out of his vision. Ben stands nervously in front of the couch, twisting his hands together.
"Sorry." Dean coughs. "How was school?"
Ben sits down and leans back against the leather cushions. "History test that I totally aced!"
Dean half-heartedly high-fives, "Way to go Dude."
"I know right! But, I got a ton of make-up work." Ben huffs and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Sorry, that's what happens when the flu knocks you down." Dean rubs his temples against the headache hammering in his skull.
Ben flips the TV on to watch his afternoon cartoons before Lisa comes home. Dean knows he should at least tell him to start his homework, but he sees no harm in letting him relax for an hour. Also he's not up to battling with the eleven-year-old. After dinner he'll sit Ben down and help him with his math.
Dean's attempt to clear the imaginary lump in his throat ends in a coughing fit leaving him breathless. He feels a pressure on his back tapping until he's breathing easier.
"You okay?" Ben asks, eyes full of concern.
"Yeah," Dean rasps. "'M good, jus' a tickle."
Ben eyes him skeptically. "You sure…"
"Yes I'm sure." Dean pushes himself up straighter.
Ben shrugs and tunes his attention back to the television. Dean shuts his eyes against the light, he doesn't realize he's slumping down until a small hand wraps around his arm and pulls him down. Dean allows his body to relax slightly as he drifts into unconsciousness.
Feathers are brushing through his hair, tugging him back to the world of the living. He doesn't remember lying down, but some how he's horizontal with his head resting against something small and soft.
"I think he's sick." A quiet voice whispers from above.
Delicate fingers palpitate the sides of his neck. He hisses when they skim over a particularly tender area. The hands continue to explore his skin, finally stopping and cupping the back of his neck. Dean leans into the touch; the coolness soothes his burning skin and sends a shiver through his body.
"I think you might be right." A gentle voice drifts through his ear. "Hey Dean." The fingers are back running though his hair, gently rousing him.
Dean slits his eyes open, the world around him is fuzzy and his head is pillowed in Ben's lap. "Lis? What's goin' on?" Dean struggles to push himself up, but a hand settles on his chest keeping him still.
"Nothing's wrong Dean," Lisa says firmly. "How're you feeling?"
"'M fine. Jus' tired," Dean mumbles, eyes slipping closed.
Lisa smiles. "Sure you are Dean." She squeezes his shoulder. "I'm gonna start dinner okay? Just rest up."
Dean hears her stride towards the kitchen. She pauses at the end of the couch and Dean hears the whip of his laces as Lisa unties his boots and tugs them off. Then, a blanket is draped over him before Lisa's footsteps retreat into the kitchen.
Dean floats in a half-awake state. Although his sinuses are completely clogged up he knows what Lisa is making. He hears the metal clang together as she dumps soup in a pot. The thought of consuming anything sends bile creeping up his throat; he swallows thickly as his stomach flip-flops. Dean breathes through it and eventually the feeling subsides. He focuses his attention on the high-pitched bickering coming from the TV.
Dean's slipping further into sleep when he's shaken awake. He grumbles and attempts to roll away from whoever is disturbing him. But, there's something holding him in place. Dean tries to bat the person away only to find his hands tangles in the blankets.
"Dean, it's okay, just me," Lisa's voice cuts through the fog surrounding his brain. "Can you sit up for me?"
An arm wraps around his shoulders and pulls him up. Dean shuts his eyes as the change in position makes him dizzy. The hand remains pressed against his shoulder until he's able to crack his eyes open without the room spinning.
"You good?" Lisa asks.
Dean drops his head into his hands and nods, but instantly regrets the action as the throbbing behind his eyes increases. A steaming bowl of something is placed on the table, along with a couple pill packets. Lisa pops the pills out and holds them out to him. Dean blanks dazedly up at her.
"Ben can you go set the table please?" Lisa asks, sending her son a look that leaves no rom for protest. Ben rolls his eyes but does what he's told without any verbal complaint.
"Take them," she says quietly. "I know you feel awful." She turns his hand over and places the two white pills in his sweaty palm.
Dean does his best to project the picture of health. He believes it works up until he's overtaken by a coughing spell, deep, chest rattling hacks that have him clinging onto Lisa's wrist for dear life. Once they taper off to the occasional rasp Dean tosses the drugs back with a swig of water. He leans back against the cushions, utterly exhausted.
"Hey, no sleeping yet." Lisa taps his cheek lightly. "Need you to eat something."
"Not hungry," Dean mumbles.
The couch dips as Lisa sits down next to him. She places her hand on the side of his face and turns it towards her. "Dean, it's okay to not be okay. You took care of Ben, now it's time to let go. Let us take care of you."
All the fight drains out of Dean's body. Some of the tension seeps out of his muscles causing the full force of his symptoms to slam into him. He's achy, the shivers tearing through his frame intensifying the bone deep soreness. His head is stuffy and his nose is clogged, he yearns to curl up and sleep for a week.
"I jus' wanna sleep," Dean murmurs.
"I know." Lisa rubs her fist along Dean's shoulder. "Eat at least half of this." She passes the bowl into his hands.
Dean takes a tentative spoonful of the soup. He can barely taste the salty chicken broth due to his clogged nose. But, the warm liquid slightly soothes his raw and scratchy throat. As requested Dean is able to choke down half the bowl before his stomach begins to feel queasy. He pushes the bowl back onto the table and dozes.
"Ben," Lisa says after they've eaten their dinner, pleased that his appetite has returned. "Why don't you get some homework out of the way. That way you can enjoy your Saturday."
Ben scowls, Lisa can see the wheels turning as he mulls over the request. She formulates a dozen arguments for why he needs to get some of his make-up work done. Her first counter point rests on the tip of her tongue when Ben leaves and returns with his book bag slung over his shoulder. He digs through it, pulls his red math folder out, and starts working.
Lisa sits at the kitchen table facing the living room. Ben's inching his way through pages of math problems while she sips her after dinner coffee. Occasionally she assists Ben when he pokes her arm and points to the question he's having trouble with. But, mostly she watches Dean fitfully doze on the couch. As much as she wishes to be over with him, she decides to give him space…for now.
"Done!" Ben explains triumphantly. "Can I Go?"
"Hang on," Lisa says as the sides his worksheets over. She flips through the pages ensuring he did the work correctly. "Looks good. Answer one more question and you're free. What other work is due Monday?"
Ben scratches the back of his head as mentally goes through his classes. "Umm…a couple science worksheets…and I have to pick a topic for a history paper."
Lisa nods. "You're free to go."
They both rise and she fully expects Ben to bolt up the stairs and hide in his room for the rest of the night to play his video games. Instead she watches, brows furrowed in confusion as he retreats to the kitchen. She pauses and turns to watch as Ben digs through the freezer. He removes the ice cream and sets it on the counter before standing on his tiptoes to reach the bowls. Ben graciously scoops ice cream out and drowns it in syrup.
"Easy on the chocolate syrup Dude," Lisa says.
Ben glances up and stops squeezing the bottle. "Whoops." He shrugs and puts the items away.
Ben walks past her with the bowl and she follows him into the living room. He sets it on the coffee table and crouches down in front of Dean. Lisa stands behind him as Ben gently shakes Dean's shoulder. She's close enough that she'll be able to pull Ben back if Dean reacts violently.
But, Dean's fever addled mind dulls his sharp hunter's instincts and he sluggishly crawls back to consciousness. Once Lisa is certain Dean isn't going to lash out, she seats herself in the leather arm chair with this weeks People magazine, her attention split between the article and her son.
"Made you something," Ben says excitedly. Dean winces at Ben's high-pitched voice. "Sorry."
Dean props himself part way up, coughing harshly into his fist. Ben scurries to the end of the couch and snags the pillows off the other chair. He shoves them behind Dean's back so he's sitting up. Ben picks up the ice cream and holds it out to Dean with a huge grin plastered on his face. Dean just blinks at it.
"It'll help," Ben states, pushing the bowl closer. "I know your throat hurts, mine did."
Dean shakily holds the bowl and cautiously takes a small bite. The effect is instantaneous; the lines of discomfort etched in Dean's features ease some as the cold substance numbs the rawness. Dean moans in relief and Ben's smile widens. Dean finishes the ice cream and passes the bowl back to Ben who sets it on the table before crawling up onto the couch. Dean moves his legs over, creating the perfect Ben sized hole for his pseudo-son. Ben drags the blanket down off the back of the couch and spreads it over both of them.
"Sorry I got you sick," Ben says as he turns the TV on.
"'S okay."
Ben settles on a channel playing an action movie. Dean watches through half open eyes too tired to do anything but too restless to sleep. Lisa returns her full attention back to the article knowing that Dean is in her son's capable hands. Later she plans on taking care of Dean properly, but for now her Ben's methods will suffice.
Although Dean's eyes are closed, Lisa can tell he's not sleeping, he squirms under the blanket the aches pulsing through his body making him uncomfortable. Lisa marks her place before setting the magazine down and rising. She heads into the kitchen, returning a minute later with a bottle of red Gatorade and Tylenol.
"Ben," Lisa whispers to get his attention. Ben turns his head towards her. "Get him to take these." She holds the items out and Ben takes them.
Ben scoots further up towards Dean's head. He splays his fingers across Dean's chest and rubs his hand vigorously side-to-side. Dean gasps awake which sends him into another coughing fit. He hunches forward as the coughs rip though him.
"You okay?" Ben asks after the coughs taper off.
Dean presses his fingers into his eyes. "What's up?"
"Got some meds for you." Ben smiles and holds them out.
Dean sniffles and rubs his temples before taking the pills and the drink without complaint. He chases the drugs down with a small sip of Gatorade and passes it back to Ben who sets it on the floor. Lisa picks up her magazine and continues to read.
She lets Ben play doctor until around nine-thirty. For the last half-hour she's watched as Dean's fidgeting increased.
"Well," Lisa says standing up. "Bedtime Mister."
"Aww," Ben whines. "I wanna saty with Dean."
Lisa places her hands on her hips. "Oh he's going to bed too. Now, go. I know you're gonna stay up late playing those games of yours."
Ben smiles sheepishly and clambers down from the couch. "Night Dean." He sprints up the stairs.
The dull thunk of Ben's door closing signals to Lisa that she won't be seeing him until tomorrow morning. Lisa runs her fingers through Dean's sweat soaked hair, brushing the strands off his forehead. He looks at her through half-lidded fever bright eyes. The raw emotion shinning in them has Lisa stifling a gasp, the agony from losing his brother radiates from his green orbs.
"Come on," Lisa says tugging him upwards. "Shower, bed."
Dean's eyes slip closed and he leans back down. "'M good here, don't wanna get you sick."
"Dean. I'm not letting you sleep on the couch. Your germs don't scare me." Lisa wiggles her arm under his shoulders and starts pushing him up pleased when he helps her out. "I know you feel sticky and achy, a shower will help."
Dean leavers himself up and sways slightly once he's on his feet, Lisa wraps a hand around his bicep to steady him. The head rush passes quickly, but she keeps a hand on him as they walk up the stairs. She leads him into the bathroom and turns on the shower, making sure it's hot enough to build up steam but not scalding.
"Okay, call if you need anything," Lisa says as she closes the door.
Lisa sits on the end of the bed listening to the water pound against the tile. She knows how hard this is for Dean; she sees the struggle in his eyes. The part of him that keeps fighting her because of what his father drilled into his skull. But, then there's the subtle part that wants to let go and fully succumb to his well-earned apple pie life.
The water comes to an abrupt stop and Dean emerges a few minutes later with a towel slung over his shoulders, dressed in gray sweat pants. The steam seemed to ease the congestion, but it also highlighted the dark smudges under his eyes and the fever splotches on his cheeks.
"Thanks," Dean breathes out as he scrubs the towel through his hair spiking it up.
Lisa smirks. "Told you so."
Dean hangs the towel up on the back of the bathroom door and shuffles over to the bed. He plops down next to her and buries his head in her hands.
Lisa kneads the back of his neck. "Feel any better?"
"Little bit."
She scoots back against the headboard pulling Dean along with her. She tugs the blankets up over both of them and flicks the bedside lamp off. Dean lies rigidly beside her stifling coughs. Lisa smiles sadly knowing he's fighting sleep to avoid going to Hell.
She pulls him closer until his head is resting on her shoulder. "It's okay Dean." She runs her hand along his spine. "I won't let the demons get you."
Dean curls closer to her, throwing an arm over her chest. Lisa instinctively wraps her arms around him and whispers in his ear. Her heart shatters when she feels tears slide down her arm as Dean silently cries himself to sleep.
Well…what did you think? I'd love to hear from you, reviews always make my day :) Also, have any prompts for Dean/Lisa fics? Fell free to PM them to me and I'll see what I can do! Have an awesome day guys thanks for reading :)