Happy Tuesday! So glad everyone enjoyed chapter 1. I'm thankful for each and every one of you who take the time to read my stories. I'm also thankful for all the kind reviews! :) You guys are the best!
I got my 50,000 words for NaNo Sunday night and you may be happy to know that every single one of them was SPN fanfiction lol. ...really was supposed to be focusing on my novel but hey, it's only November 20th, I've got a few more days I can churn out some novel content. :)
Enjoy!
Thankful
Chapter Two
The second morning in the hospital, Dean woke up to the sound of a conversation.
For a moment, he kept his eyes closed and listened. They were standing just outside the door to his room. Sam and a nurse. They were having what sounded like a very friendly conversation. Dean almost smiled, but didn't want to break his cover yet while he was eavesdropping. He strained to hear what they were saying beyond the monitors beeping and whirring around him.
It was pointless though. They were being too thoughtful and too quiet. He forced one eye open, discovering it was more difficult than he'd expected. The room was too bright but he didn't have a clue what time it was.
Blinking a few times to clear the fog, he managed to visualize the too white ceiling. Why every hospital decided their ceilings should be blindingly white, he would never understand.
I'm barely alive and getting my retinas blasted out of my head is very therapeutic, thanks.
He closed his eyes for a few more minutes as the hushed conversation died off. Sensing movement to his left, he cleared his throat and asked, "Struck out, huh?"
"I did actually," a female voice said.
He hadn't expected that. He blinked a few dozen times until he brought the face next to him into focus. A nurse was grinning at him, her hair as dark as her eyes. Her smile was as beautiful as she was.
"Such a shame," she continued. "He wasn't half bad looking."
Dean wasn't sure if he should be amused or offended on his brother's behalf for her mediocre review.
He smiled back.
"I can get you his number," he said, short of breath already, "or I can give you mine. He snoozes, he loses."
She tilted her head, assessing, then said, "I don't date patients."
"But you'd date their brother?"
"I tried." She laughed.
"Where'd the heartthrob go, anyway?" Dean tried to get a glimpse out of the room, but didn't have the strength to sit up.
"He was going for what must be his fifth cup of coffee."
"Only five cups? That's nothing."
"Five cups since I started my shift," the nurse clarified, "Three hours ago."
Dean nodded. That sounded more like it.
"I'm Clarice, by the way, and trust me, I've heard all of the Silence of the Lambs references."
"Shame. I had a really great one." Dean pressed his hand to his ribs and coughed. Once he was finished coughing, he asked, "You're my nurse?"
"Have been for three hours." She smiled. "This is the first you've been alert enough to even know I'm here. Enough to give a girl a complex."
"Guess I'm the one snoozin' and losin'."
"That you are. So. How are you feeling this morning?"
"Not great. Not dead."
"That's good. I prefer to keep my patients that way. Management frowns on dead patients."
"I'll try to make your job easy." Dean clenched his jaw when pain spiked along his chest.
"What would you rate your pain at right now, Dean?" Clarice asked, logging into the computer.
"Six." Any number would do. Pain scales were so pointless. He cleared his throat and added, "Don't feel like I've got a sword running through my chest anymore. That's something, anyway."
Clarice nodded and said something about changing from IV painkillers to pills now that he was doing a little better. Dean didn't care very much about the type of painkiller, so long as he kept getting them. Things were going to go downhill, of course, he knew that already. If he was still in this much pain on the good stuff, there was no way the pills were going to do much. At least getting off the IV meds would mean he was one step closer to getting out of the hospital.
He suffered through a detailed, exhausting assessment that left him sweat-soaked and struggling to breathe. Clarice had adjusted some settings and switched out the mask for a nasal cannula. He had mixed feelings on that topic, but got no say in the matter; just a promise that the nurse would be monitoring his oxygen levels.
"Alright, Dean," Clarice said as she finished checking over the chest tube. "Everything looks good."
Dean gave her a thumbs up but didn't comment because nothing felt good.
"With any luck, you'll be out of here in time for Thanksgiving." She smiled and asked, "Do you and your brother have plans?"
"No. No plans." He shook his head, then politely asked about hers.
They chatted for a moment longer before she left to see her next patient.
Dean was left staring after her and wondering what it said about him that he'd almost rather be sitting in a hospital than facing Thanksgiving dinner with his mom. And then he couldn't help but think about how much Sam had actually wanted that dinner to happen. Now, because Dean had pushed them into a hunt, Sam not only wasn't going to get the family Thanksgiving he'd hoped for, but was also very likely going to end up spending the day sitting around in a hospital or a lousy motel room. At least if they'd been home, Dean could have made some turkey and potatoes.
Shifting uncomfortably, Dean braced his hand on his chest and tried to find a better position while he mentally berated himself.
Sam walked back in while he was still trying to catch his breath.
"Hey, hey, you ok?"
Here we go… Dean steeled himself for a whole lot of worrying. He waved his hand and managed to rasp out, "Yeah."
"What happened to the mask?" Sam motioned to his face. Taking a seat next to the bed, he set a cup of coffee on the bedside table and his gaze shifted to the numbers on the monitor. "You graduate?"
"Yes."
Sam narrowed his eyes and Dean glanced at the numbers too. His oxygen level was low, but not setting off any alarms, so that counted for something. Their eyes met again as they mutually assessed each other. Even without a mirror, Dean knew he had to look crappy because he felt crappy. Sam looked a little better than Dean had expected him to.
"How's the pain?" Sam asked, reaching for his coffee cup.
"Better. How come you turned Clarice down?"
"What?" Sam choked on a sip of coffee.
Dean grinned even though he was breathless. "Clarice. She said...you wouldn't...give her-"
"I didn't give her my number."
"Yeah. Why?"
"Seriously?" Sam shook his head. "Dean, you have a tube in your chest so you don't drown in your own blood. You can barely speak and you have three broken ribs and a severe concussion. Why on earth would I give a nurse my number?"
"Because she's hot and she wanted it." Dean shrugged, grimacing and wrapping his arm around his chest. Sam remained in stony silence, so once he'd recovered his breath, he said, "Just 'cuz I'm stuck here doesn't mean you have to sit there cowering over me like a freaking gargoyle. You could be out with Clarice tonight getting a little healing of your own."
Sam's eyebrows rose and he sputtered, "There's...there's just so much wrong with...everything you said."
"Whatever. I'm too tired to argue with you." Dean sank back into his pillow and closed his eyes, the pressure in his side from the chest tube bothering him more and more.
He heard his brother sigh, but didn't open his eyes. There were questions he wanted to ask his brother, but he was too tired and out of breath to bother. He could feel his brother's concerned gaze and fell asleep knowing he was as safe as he ever could be.
The alarm on Sam's phone went off at quarter to five.
It had been four days since they'd walked into the emergency room. After three nights sleeping in the recliner next to Dean's bed, he'd been forcibly booted out of the room last night. Dean had finally been feeling well enough to bully him into getting a motel room. Well, he'd been bullying him all along, but Sam had finally decided Dean seemed to be doing well enough to be left alone.
After the lousy night's sleep he'd just gotten, though, he would've been further ahead to have slept at the hospital.
Sam had been awake since three, so he immediately got up and silenced the alarm. Taking a quick shower, he had everything packed up and was out the door in less than twenty minutes. Leaving behind the smelly room, the uneven mattress, and the strong suspicion the room was inhabited by a family of mice, Sam drove to the nearest coffee shop to fuel up for the day ahead.
He'd been too cheap to bother to find a better motel last night, but Sam had already picked out a nice hotel for them to stay in tonight. There was no way he was going to take any chances with his brother's health right now. A trashy, mouse-infested room with an uncomfortable bed was not what Dean needed. He wasn't happy about being stuck in a hotel room rather than pushing forward and going home, but Sam didn't care. Dean had already lost that argument. He'd surrendered pretty easily, actually, which told Sam how much he wasn't ready to make the drive back to the Bunker yet.
Once he'd picked up his extra large, extra caffeinated coffee, he headed for the hospital. It had been a long week for both of them. Dean was definitely ready to get out of the hospital, but had still been too ill yesterday for the doctors to sign off on his release. Barring any last minute complications, though, he'd hopefully be released later this morning.
At a stop light, Sam took a sip of his coffee, thoughts wandering to his phone and the lack of messages on it. In all honesty, he wasn't surprised not to have heard from his mom, but was a bit surprised that Jody had never called him back. She was probably just busy. He tried not to allow the lack of response to bother him.
He made it to the hospital by five-thirty, which of course was several hours earlier than he needed to be there. It had been pointless to stay at the motel any longer, though. He'd been too worried to sleep much and the uncomfortable bed hadn't helped at all. Dean would be annoyed, but Sam didn't care. Dean had almost died so he didn't get to be annoyed with Sam's decisions.
Taking the elevator up to the fourth floor, he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, hands wrapped around the coffee cup. Why hospitals were always so cold, he would never understand. The doors slid open a few seconds later and he stepped out into the quiet, dimly lit hallway of the general medical-surgical unit. It had been a relief for both of them when Dean had been moved from the ICU.
He nodded to one of the night shift nurses and headed to his brother's room. The lights were off in the room and the room was quiet. It was a nice change from the constant beeping of monitors and bubbling of the chest tube they'd grown somewhat accustomed to in the ICU. Dean had been moved from the ICU yesterday after the chest tube had been removed and had been off oxygen for the last day and a half.
Sitting down in the chair he'd practically been living in the past few days, Sam studied his brother in the dim light. He was sleeping soundly, looked comfortable, and was breathing easily. Even though he hadn't really expected otherwise, it was a relief all the same. The past few days had been a strain on both of them in different ways and he was definitely feeling it. He was tired, of course, but also sore from so much time spent in the uncomfortable chair.
Dean had suggested more than once that he just leave. Go for a walk. Go for a run. Get some air. And he had. Occasionally. A few times. For short periods. He'd never been able to leave for very long, though, especially when Dean's condition had been so unstable.
Oh well. They could spend the next few days recuperating and taking lots of painkillers. The important thing was that Dean was alive.
Taking a slow, shaky breath, Sam set his coffee on the bedside table. He should have dragged his feet more about taking the case. Should have argued against it even if it took an all out verbal battle to dissuade Dean from deciding they needed to take the stupid case in the first place. Despite the fact they had taken plenty of time to research and plan for the hunt ahead of time, things had still gone downhill rapidly and Dean had been the one to pay the heavy price this time.
"How long you been here?"
Sam looked up. Dean was staring at him; his eyes barely open. Even so, it was clear he wasn't happy.
"Not long." Sam shrugged.
Dean rubbed his eyes. "Time's it?"
"Going on six."
"You do know the doctors take forever making rounds. I'm not getting out of here before noon probably," Dean grumbled. "You could've slept in."
"How're you feeling?"
"Like I wanna get out of here." He took a cautious breath, hand braced against his chest. "Sick of this place."
"I know."
They stared at each other for a moment, then Dean asked, "You didn't sleep, did you?"
"I did. A little." He sat back in the chair and blew out a slow breath. "Hasn't been a good week."
"Tell me about it." Dean smiled.
The next few hours passed in what had become their routine over the course of their stay. Nursing assessment, breakfast, medication rounds, physical therapy, coughing and deep breathing exercises. In between, they napped. At least Dean napped. Sam's mind was still racing.
By the time the doctor had made his rounds and signed off on the discharge, Dean was pacing like a caged animal and his disposition had soured. He was grumpy, snippy, over tired and in pain. A truly wonderful combination.
They got to the hotel barely on speaking terms and had a shouting match that left Dean breathless within the first ten minutes of settling into the room. Dean had slammed the bathroom door and coughed and cursed. Sam had done a lot of cursing, too. It wasn't the way he'd envisioned things going although he really should have known things weren't going to go smoothly.
Once Dean had calmed down and reined in his coughing and his cursing, he'd come out looking contrite and a little worse for wear. The argument - whatever it had been about in the first place - was forgotten and Dean had allowed his assistance getting to the bed. They'd settled on some old Humphrey Bogart movie and both fallen asleep not long after the credits.
They might have slept all afternoon, but Sam's phone rang and interrupted their nap.
Dean groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over his head. He muffled a few coughs, then went silent when Sam answered the call.
"Jody? Hey, how-" Sam asked, but was cut off before he could continue which was just as well because his brain wasn't really fully awake yet and he had no clue what he was planning to say.
"Sam, is everything alright?" Jody sounded concerned.
"Yeah. Fine...uh-"
"Because you sounded terrible when you left that message. Alex and I went up to the cabin for a little vacation the past few days and I didn't have signal."
"Oh...uh, yeah. No problem. It's not-"
"What happened?"
"Nothing," Sam said, knowing Dean was listening to every word.
"Don't even try that with me, Sam Winchester. I know something's up. Are you alright?"
"Yes."
Dean had unburied himself from under his blanket and was glaring. He mouthed did you call her?
Sam glared back and didn't answer, trying to listen to Jody.
"Is everything alright with your mom?" Jody asked, still trying to get to the bottom of things.
"Yes, she's fine."
Did you tell her what happened? Dean mouthed, pushing himself upright against the pillows.
Sam shook his head, but still received a dark, suspicious look from his brother.
"Are you listening to me?" Jody prompted.
"Sorry, sorry. Yes. I'm here, Jody."
"What. Happened?"
Dean shot him a threatening glance which Sam ignored. "Rough hunt."
Whatever Dean mouthed next was clearly rude and Sam turned his back on him as Jody asked, "How rough?"
"Dean just got out of the hospital." Sam didn't have to look to know Dean was not happy with him. Oh well.
"What? Sam, what happened? What can I do?"
"Jody, it's ok. Really. He's alright now." He gave a quick version of what had happened, sharing more detail than Dean probably would have wanted. "We're just going to take it easy the next few days."
"I'm glad to hear that. Where are you boys? Do you need me to come and-"
"No, no, we're fine. Really."
"You two would say that even if you were missing limbs."
Sam smiled. "Maybe so, but seriously, we're ok."
"Alright, but I need a promise that you'll call me if you need something or if you change your mind."
"I promise."
"Ok. Now let me talk to your brother."
"He's a little grumpy," Sam said, turning around in time to catch the latest glare Dean leveled at him. Grinning, he held out the phone. "Jody wants to talk to you."
"I hate you so much," Dean muttered, holding out a hand for the phone. "Jody, hey."
Sam sat down across from his brother watching with no small sense of amusement as Jody dominated the conversation.
"Better... Yeah... Don't listen to the drama queen, I wasn't dying." Dean shook his head, still glaring at Sam. "I just got out of the hospital, of course I sound tired."
Sam yawned, thinking about how tired he was. They both needed sleep. He zoned out a little as Dean and Jody talked. It was the sound of his brother coughing that drew him back to the present. Straightening, he held his hand out for the phone. Dean managed to say a quick goodbye to Jody before he went back to coughing.
Handing him a bottle of water, Sam put the phone to his ear and said, "Hey, Jody."
"Is he alright? He sounds terrible, Sam."
"He's...getting there," Sam said, holding his breath as Dean fought to catch his.
"How bad was he, really?"
"Bad enough." He didn't want to think about exactly how bad it had been.
Dean finally stopped coughing and wilted back against the pillows. Grabbing the bottle before it tipped over and spilled all over the bed, Sam set it on the bedside table and watched his brother for a moment. He settled, looking utterly wiped out, his breathing strained, but better than it had been.
"You'd tell me if you needed some help, right?" Jody asked, interrupting his assessment.
"Yeah. I would," he said softly, crossing the room and taking a seat at the table. "He's feeling crummy and has a ways to go before he's back on his feet, but he's going to be ok."
Jody sighed, but said, "Ok, Sam. But if you need me, I'm only a phone call away, alright? I won't be out of cell range this time. Promise."
"Thanks, Jody." Sam smiled, glancing at his brother. "We appreciate it."
"Take care of yourself, too, ok? You're not going to be able to take care of your brother if you're too tired to function."
"I know."
"Ok. Both of you get some sleep."
"You're not going to get any arguments out of us," Sam said softly. "Dean's already asleep."
"Good. Call me at least once a day. Now get off the phone and get some sleep."
He smiled at her loving, if bossy, order and said goodbye. Setting the phone down, he rubbed his eyes and debated what he should do next. Despite his promise to Jody, it seemed like there was something more important he should be doing rather than just taking a nap. After twenty seconds, he decided if there was something more important, it would have to wait.
Crawling onto the second bed, he glanced at his brother and satisfied himself that Dean was sleeping comfortably. Wrapping his arms around a pillow, he was almost asleep before his eyes were even closed. Just before he fell asleep, he remembered that tomorrow was Thanksgiving.
Should probably do something about that, his fatigued mind suggested.
Maybe later, he answered, falling into the best sleep he'd had since Dean had been injured.
"I will leave you here. Right here," Dean stabbed a finger against the ugly comforter. "I will get in the car and I will leave you here."
"Dean-"
"I am not kidding," Dean said, his voice raspy and weak despite the boiling-over annoyance he had lost the battle to contain. "Get out of my face."
Sam held up his hands and didn't say whatever he'd been about to which was probably best for both of them. He looked suitably chastised and seemed to fade into the background of the room. Dean probably should feel bad about being such a jerk, but he didn't. He'd taken more well-intentioned brothering than he could deal with in one sitting.
Not that Sam hadn't already been an overbearing worrywort, but since they'd awakened from their nap, he had gone into extreme mode. Sure, it had been Dean's pained, desperate gasping following a surprise coughing spell that had yanked both of them from their sleep. Yeah, maybe Sam had a decent reason to be worried, but it didn't stop Dean from feeling ready to wring his neck.
Refusing to look at his brother because he wasn't in the mood to try to be nice to the obnoxious puppy he'd just kicked, Dean glared at the tv and pressed his fist against his side. Thanks to Sam's overly anxious attention to detail, he was being given all of his pills on a meticulous schedule. Despite the painkillers, he hurt. Despite the nap, he was exhausted.
Dean tried to keep his breathing even in the hopes of avoiding yet another coughing jag. He was bleary eyed and groggy and had no clue what was on the tv, but stared at it like he was absolutely engrossed. The bed wasn't his, but it was relatively comfortable and the room was nice. Didn't mean he liked being here. He wanted to be home but Sam hadn't even had to argue with him about staying. The trip from the hospital had proven how debilitated he still was. All he could hope was that tomorrow he'd be up for the trip home.
Despite his best effort, his gaze wandered to his brother.
Sam had the laptop open and was pretending he was completely engrossed in whatever he was looking at just like Dean was pretending he cared about whatever was on tv.
And, just like expected, a wave of guilt swept over him. He should have kept his mouth shut. Sam meant well and wasn't doing anything Dean himself wouldn't be doing if Sam was the one who'd just had his chest caved in. He blew out a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment.
The right thing to do would be to apologize. Maybe even ask his brother how he was feeling. From what Dean could see, Sam was a wreck. Instead of an apology, though, he chose a different option. One that would give both of them an out while hopefully conveying the apology he couldn't quite say aloud.
"Go get something to eat."
Sam looked up with a frown and asked, "Are you hungry?"
"It's like two in the afternoon. Last thing I ate was a crappy hospital breakfast. Of course I'm hungry."
The sarcastic comment earned him a brief smile. Pushing himself up from the chair, Sam said, "What do you want?"
"I dunno." He really didn't because he really wasn't hungry. Sam needed to eat, though, and they both needed a break from each other. "Just bring back whatever looks good."
He waited for Sam to argue against leaving, but he didn't.
Sam nodded, and asked, "You got your phone?"
"Yes. Right in my hand. Where it's been all. Day. Long." Waving the phone, he tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but couldn't quite manage it.
Sam just nodded, though, and headed for the door without another word.
Dean opened his mouth to say...something, but Sam was gone before he could.
He heard the click of the lock and, a couple minutes later, the Impala's throaty roar. Sighing, Dean let the tension out of his muscles and sank gratefully into the stack of pillows Sam had fastidiously positioned for him. He closed his eyes, breathing through the ever present ache in his chest. His head was pounding, too, and he wished he could slip back into sleep and escape...everything.
Wasn't like they'd gone in unprepared. Things just...happened. Wasn't anyone's fault and wasn't anything they could have done to prevent what had happened. It sucked, of course, but they were just going to have to get past it. He was going to have to deal with the pain and his brother's worrying and Sam was going to have to deal with...everything else.
Sam stood in the middle of the aisle staring at a display of canned pumpkin.
Why he was staring at canned pumpkin, he didn't know. He couldn't remember why he'd come down this aisle in the first place. Rubbing his eyes with his knuckles sent a little jolt of pain through his skull that didn't clear his vision or his mind. Blinking hard, he stared at the orange cans.
Why are there so many kinds? What's the difference?
He frowned, confused as to why he couldn't move on from the canned pumpkin. Wasn't like he was going to be making a pie. Wasn't like Dean was going to be making a pie, either.
His heart flip flopped and he closed his eyes again, fisting his hands at his sides this time.
Eyes closed, all he could see was his brother's body crumpled on the cement. He'd looked almost peaceful. Like he was sleeping. There hadn't been any blood. He hadn't even had any bruising to his face; all the injuries had been hidden by his clothes and his hair.
Sam almost wished there'd been some blood.
Blood he knew how to deal with, but hidden injuries that went deep and caused internal damage, he couldn't fix.
Shaking his head, he stared at the canned pumpkin again. Why he'd even come into a grocery store was beyond him, but here he was. He'd planned to get some sandwiches from the deli across the street, but something had drawn him into the grocery store.
Wandering down the aisle, he left the pumpkin behind and found himself staring at a display of boxed stuffing and boxed mashed potatoes.
Oh. Yeah.
Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving.
He pulled out his phone, automatically checking for messages first, before pulling up the calendar. Thanksgiving was tomorrow. The store started to close in on him, darkening and shifting, squeezing his chest and constricting his breathing.
Thanksgiving was tomorrow and he'd wanted to do something. He didn't know if special was the right word because so few things in their lives were special. Dean hadn't wanted to even discuss the topic. Had shut down the discussion every time Sam had tried to initiate one.
Sam had already resigned himself to not having a "traditional" Thanksgiving with their mother. Until Dean had been injured, he'd still held out the hope that he could at least manage some kind of celebration even if it was just the two of them. Dean was so angry, though, that it probably would have gone over like a lead balloon.
Sighing, he pulled himself together and turned away from the display.
He was thankful that Dean was alive, so maybe that was going to have to count for his Thanksgiving. Wasn't that what it was about anyway? Thankfulness?
Pausing, he watched a woman with an overflowing cart add a couple boxes of stuffing and about ten packets of instant gravy to her load. She looked stressed and harried, but was talking on her phone to someone she obviously loved.
"I know, we can't wait to see you either!" she said, smiling even as she consulted her grocery list. "It's been too long. It's going to be wonderful…"
She walked away and he lost the rest of the conversation in the muddle of the crowd.
Sam turned around and headed for the exit. He'd get them a couple sandwiches for a late lunch. Another display caught his attention and he paused. Maybe they wouldn't get a real Thanksgiving, but maybe he could do one thing at least to make it nice.
After making his purchase at the grocery store and picking up sandwiches at the deli, he drove back to the hotel. He hadn't received any messages from his brother, but he hated how long he'd been gone. Dean had a habit of over exerting himself and being stupidly stubborn. All he could do was hope Dean would be hampered enough by his injuries that he'd have to take it easy whether he wanted to or not. Sam had already gotten his head bit off more times then he wanted to count. He was going to have to back off or Dean was going to throttle him.
Or make good on his promise to get in the car and drive away.
He had to fight through a throng of people in the hallway of the hotel. Apparently a big family gathering had been arranged at the hotel and he had the misfortune of having to walk straight through a million happy people.
By the time he reached their room, his nerves were shot and all he wanted to do was fall into bed and not get out for a week. That wasn't an option, of course, so he steeled himself and unlocked the door. Dean was where he'd left him, settled in bed, phone in his hand. He shifted his gaze from the tv when Sam walked in.
"Long line?" Dean asked, then immediately started coughing.
Sam locked the door behind him and nodded.
Dean's coughing fit ended with him fumbling for the bottle of water and managing a few sips. Once he was done, he set the bottle aside, then melted into the pillows again. His skin was pasty and sweat-slicked.
"You ok?" Sam asked even though he really should have known better than to ask his brother that question.
"You bring food?" Dean deflected.
Sam held up the bag. He crossed the room and offered a sandwich to his brother, waiting for the complaining to start up. It's too plain. I'm not an invalid. You could've gotten me a burger. Fries aren't contraindicated just because I almost died.
He'd heard it all before, but this time he only received silence. If Dean was feeling too ill to even gripe and complain about the food, he was definitely not feeling well. Sam sat down at the table and unwrapped his own sandwich. He wasn't remotely interested in eating. The thought alone was turning his stomach inside out.
Dean watched his brother staring at his sandwich and almost asked what was so fascinating about it. Irritation flared, but he forced himself to shove it down. It was the pain and the exhaustion and the nightmare of all of it. He really wasn't angry with his brother. And heaven knew Sam didn't deserve any anger directed his way.
Truth be told, the pain from their mother walking out of their lives hurt more than any of the physical pain he was experiencing. Of course, Sam wanted to try to fix that, too. It set Dean's teeth on edge and, if it hadn't been for his injuries, they probably would have had an all out shouting match by now on the topic of their mother.
The mere thought of her tightened his throat.
And Sam wanted to host a Thanksgiving dinner and invite her over like we're some kind of normal family. We hardly count as a screwed up family. She can't even stand to be around us longer than to have a quick diner breakfast before she's off again. Quest for answers, huh? Well, she could've started by asking us for some answers! We just need to face the facts. Mom isn't the same person she was when we were kids and she'd rather be anywhere but with us.
"Happy Thanksgiving," he muttered under his breath.
"Huh?" Sam glanced his way.
"Nothing. What's wrong with your sandwich?"
Sam stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head and picked up the sandwich. "It's fine. Yours?"
"It's a sandwich. Nothing special." Dean took a bite.
"If you want something else-"
Dean shook his head.
The pain was definitely making him crabby and he was beginning to get on his own nerves. Sam had to be ready to punch him. But he didn't show any irritation as he collected the trash and got the correct pills and assisted Dean to and from the bathroom.
Dean managed to hold his temper in check and the tension in the room decreased considerably. He spent the next few hours blearily watching tv while coughing and trying not to cry out from the agony in his chest. Sam forced him to use the albuterol inhaler he hadn't wanted in the first place. It helped a little, but not as much as either of them would have hoped.
He drifted in and out of sleep while Sam waited on him hand and foot. As much pain as he was in and as weak as he was, the assistance was greatly appreciated even if it bothered him to no end to need the help.
After handing Dean his latest dose of painkiller, Sam settled on the other bed, an arm thrown over his eyes. Dean took the pills, then frowned.
"Hey."
"What?" Sam didn't move.
"You ok?"
"Yeah."
Dean watched him for a moment, waiting for any elaboration. None was given though, and he had to assume Sam was just tired. They'd been up most of the night; any sleep either of them had gotten had been irregular and interrupted. Even their nap had been disturbed by his coughing.
He muffled a cough in his sleeve, then returned his attention to the television.
It was pointless, though. He was sick of watching tv and sick of being stuck without anything else to do. Bored, he glanced at the table and hated that the stupid laptop was that far away. If he had the laptop he could play solitaire at least.
Glancing at Sam, he wondered if he stood any chance at all of being able to get the laptop without getting in trouble with the warden. Not that it wasn't great to have Sam helping — because he needed the help — but he was ready to begin regaining his independence.
Of course, Sam wasn't completely on board with that plan.
"What do you need?" Sam asked the very instant Dean started quietly pushing the blankets aside.
Dean froze. Sam was staring at him, but hadn't made a move to sit up. Yet. His voice was weary, but Dean knew he'd be up in a heartbeat if needed.
"Nothing," Dean said, holding back a cough and rearranging the covers like that was what he'd been intending to do all along. He smiled. "I'm good."
Sam studied him and Dean tried to look healthy and like he hadn't just lied. Wasn't like it was a big deal. Sure, Sam could grab the laptop in under five seconds, but the chances of him returning to bed would be slim to none.
Dean must have looked convincing because Sam closed his eyes and put his arm back over his eyes.
Thinking longingly of the diversion the laptop would have afforded him, Dean decided he could put up with the tv for awhile longer if it would allow his brother some time to sleep. He turned the volume down a little.
"You don't have to do that."
"If you're gonna try to get some sleep, I can watch with subtitles."
"I'm not going to sleep," Sam mumbled, sounding half-asleep despite his insistence to the contrary. "And you hate subtitles."
"Yeah, well I'll make do."
For a few minutes, the room fell silent, then Dean ruined it with another coughing spell. He fumbled for the bottle of water Sam always had sitting on the nightstand for him and took a sip. It helped soothe the cough but didn't do much for the pain in his chest.
"Should use the pillow."
Putting the bottle back on the nightstand, Dean pressed his arms around the pillow he was supposed to use to brace his chest while he coughed. It did help when he used it, he just tended to be too wrapped up in ow, this hurts, someone please kill me now to worry about reaching for a pillow. He coughed a couple more times, then his breathing evened out again. Glancing at his brother, he wasn't surprised to see Sam studying him again; clearly trying to make the decision if he needed to get up or not.
"I'm fine," he said, even if his voice made it sound like he'd been smoking a carton a day for a thousand years. "You gotta stop worrying—"
"Would you?"
"What?"
"Would you stop worrying?" Sam rubbed his eyes, then stared up at the ceiling, his hands resting on his chest.
"Well, no. But—"
"So don't ask me to stop worrying."
Dean sighed, shaking his head; frustration and appreciation flowing through him in equal measures. "Sam, look. I get it. And I do appreciate all your help, ok? I'm sorry I've been a jerk. But I'm doing better and I actually can manage to do a few things on my own without you hovering constantly."
Sam's features tightened and Dean knew all he was hearing was you're driving me insane with your never-ending attempts to take care of me.
Shaking his head again, Dean said, "Just…will you try to get some sleep? I'm not going to do anything but sit here and watch tv."
He didn't get a reply, but didn't get an argument, either. After a moment, Sam closed his eyes. Dean watched him a little longer, then tried to focus his attention on the tv. It was a commercial break and his mouth started watering at an advertisement for turkey. The next commercial was for the Thanksgiving parade and it hit him that Thanksgiving was tomorrow.
Huh.
Carefully, so as to not arouse the brother-hen lying on the other bed, he looked at his phone. Sure enough, the calendar said tomorrow was Thanksgiving. The calendar said tomorrow was Thanksgiving and he had no voicemails or missed calls or text messages from their mother which meant she obviously cared as much about the holiday as he did. The ugly resentment deep in his gut twisted and he let the phone drop to the bed next to him. It had been a week and she hadn't contacted either of them. Not once.
Which was fine — or at least he tried to tell himself it was fine. Tried to convince himself he didn't care about how little she seemed to care about them. Tried to convince himself there wasn't even the tiniest bit of him that had secretly held out the hope of them getting to be a family again despite her walking out on them. But she'd worked the case with them like she was any other hunter. She'd eaten breakfast with them and tried not to let it show how much she wanted to get back on the road. To get away from them.
And then she'd driven away and not told them exactly where she was going or when they'd hear from her next.
"I just thought it could be nice, you know?"
Dean frowned, glancing at his brother. Sam was staring at the tv. So much for sleeping. "What are you talking about?"
Sam motioned to the tv.
Yet another Thanksgiving-themed commercial was playing now. One showing a happy family gathered around an overflowing table. Dean's heart dropped. He'd had no interest in the holiday, much less entertained any notions of celebrating traditionally with their mom, but Sam had. The heartwarming scene playing out before their eyes was everything they'd never gotten and never would.
It stoked the fire within Dean as he wondered why exactly their mom couldn't have tried just a little harder. Why she didn't want to get to know them, even a little. Why she'd rather be hunting across the country rather than joining them for a Thanksgiving meal.
Maybe she hadn't looked at a calendar.
Probably she just didn't care.
Not like he'd cared, either, but someone did care.
"I'm sorry," Dean said softly. He really was.
"Not your fault."
Technically, it was his fault they were holed up in this hotel room. He'd been the one who pushed for the hunt. He'd known Sam had wanted to do something for Thanksgiving and he'd pushed against it and here they were. Him in pieces, Sam flat out exhausted, and no turkey anywhere in sight. Even if their mom hadn't wanted to be involved, he could have at least gotten a turkey and made some stuffing.
He could've done that much.
"I just wanted to know what it felt like," Sam said, his eyes closed again. "What it would have felt like to have her there. To have a Thanksgiving dinner with her. It's stupid, I know."
Dean gritted his teeth. It wasn't stupid, not really. But, on the other hand, it was kind of stupid to think they'd ever get even that much normal in their lives. It just shouldn't have been stupid to hope that their mom might want to spend time with them.
Sam rolled over and buried his face in a pillow before Dean could think of anything to say.
Conversation over.
Dean glared at the tv even though some police procedural was on now instead of Thanksgiving commercials. He looked at the clock. Late. Later than he'd realized. Late enough they wouldn't be driving home today. The thought of driving home on Thanksgiving kind of sucked. The thought of getting back to the Bunker with its empty kitchen shelves on Thanksgiving sucked even more.
There wasn't anything at home he could even throw together into a sorry excuse for a Thanksgiving dinner. Even if he felt up to something like that. Which he was pretty sure he didn't. All in all, he'd screwed things up big time.
He looked at his phone again and debated calling their mother.
What would he say though?
Hey Mom, you think you could spare the time to pretend you care enough about us to come to Thanksgiving dinner?
That would work well, he was sure. Probably make things worse. They hadn't invited her so she hadn't (technically) turned them down. Hadn't (technically) rejected them.
Technically.
Dean felt rejected though and he was pretty sure that was exactly what Sam was feeling, too. Angry words floated through his mind. Words he wanted to shout at their mother. Things he'd never dreamed he'd want to shout at her.
Never dreamed he'd have reason to shout at her.
But she wasn't the mom he'd known as a kid. The mom he thought he remembered. He wasn't sure she'd ever existed. Not now, not knowing she'd been hunting even after he'd been born. She wasn't anything like what he'd remembered. Nothing like what Sam had imagined.
It hurt.
Her rejection hurt him, but seeing what it was doing to his brother was killing him.
Dean grabbed his phone. He brought up a text message and spent the next ten minutes typing out furious, angry, near-hateful words that he deleted again and again. Each time he finished a message, he deleted everything and started again. It wasn't accomplishing anything, but it made him feel better somehow.
When he'd worn out some of his fury, he lowered the phone and checked his brother. From all appearances, Sam had finally fallen asleep. His breathing was easy and the tension had eased out of his posture.
Looking longingly at the laptop again, Dean knew he'd never be able to get it without disturbing his brother. So he lifted his phone again and started searching for ideas. There wasn't a whole lot he could do considering he was laid up, but maybe he could figure something out.
If Sam needed their mom and needed a Thanksgiving dinner, Dean was going to do whatever he could to make something happen.
to be continued...
Thank you for reading! Only one more chapter...we'll see if Dean can pull something off or not. ;)