A/N: *ridiculous grin* I love reviews. They're seriously things I don't think I'll get used to, ever :3 Which is why since I couldn't post last night, I worked my butt off on a Monday for this, guys xP
Disclaimer to add to the previous one – I don't pretend to be a total expert on all things hospital and injury-wise O.O I'm a highschooler, not a med student, people. I get all of my info from personal experience, random googling, or my dad who's a doctor. And yeah, asking your parent "So, where exactly would someone have to be stabbed in order to die?" does, in fact, bring some concerned looks... On that note, enjoy!
Flirting With Disaster
~ Come away little lad, come away to the darkness
In the shade of the night we'll come looking for you ~
Chapter Three: Come Looking
Dean had definitely inherited the Winchester stubbornness, as his nurses and doctor had discovered when they tried to argue with him at length about staying checked in to the hospital and in his bed. A nurse had forced him back into his room and hooked up to his IV the moment he had returned from his talk with his father, and a short while later his knee had been wrapped – he'd been correct about the cast, Dean had thought smugly – as had his ribs after being deemed bruised. His arm was still supposed to be in a sling, but the way Dean was eyeing it told them that he wasn't promising to keep to those rules.
After it all, Dean figured John would've been close by then, and argued that he didn't need to stay in his room any more. The point had finally been conceded that Dean was going to be in the building anyway because of his brother, and if anything happened – which it wouldn't – he'd be there, so what did it matter if he didn't want to stay in his damned hospital room?
So it was that Dean found himself facing off with a nurse, finally being able to escape and go see Sammy only to be stopped by a lady informing him of a new freakin' rule.
"What do you mean I can't fuckin' see him?!" Dean protested furiously.
She frowned at him sternly but sympathetically. "Please keep your voice down-"
"No," Dean snapped irritably, still louder than necessary. "That's my brother you're keeping me from. I'm not a minor, lady."
"I'm sorry," the nurse emphasized, and she did look it. "But we've decided to wait for your father before we do anything else-"
"What has that got to do with me seeing him?" Dean interrupted loudly once again, glaring at the young nurse in front of him, her name tag flashing 'Jen' at him.
"I was getting to that," she said calmly, and Dean was briefly surprised before his annoyance came back. "Sam is still a minor under legal authority of you boys' father, and considering his condition we don't want to do anything to hinder his recovery." She spoke fast, as though trying to get everything out before Dean flipped on her again.
"Seeing me won't 'hinder his recovery.'" This time the words came out as a low growl and Dean was slightly satisfied to see the nurse start to look more wary. But dammit, there was no way that Sam seeing his big brother would make anything worse.
He was Dean. He was who was always there for Sam, every single time. And these goddamn hospitals with all their rules and refusal to understand and just plain idiocy sometimes were making Dean itch to bundle his injured brother in the Impala and get the hell out of Dodge.
And maybe he would, Dean thought while assessing the nurse angrily, if these people kept trying to keep the brothers separated.
Jen sighed. "I'm sure it won't," she said, sounding understanding. "But there's nothing I can do about it."
Dean opened his mouth to lash out at the injustice of the situation some more, when he noticed her gaze move to over his shoulder and blink in surprise.
Dean turned, hearing the ding of the elevator before recognizing the determined man walking into the floor's waiting room.
John Winchester made a foreboding sight for passer-bys, in this case the nurse. An army man, with purposeful steps and a somewhat hidden suspicious look in his eyes for near everything and everyone. He spotted his son and the nurse and strode towards them, eyes narrowing and mouth set in that way that told anyone who knew him that this was a man with a purpose.
It gave Dean a newfound sense of comfort, having that familiarity – however gruff and however currently pissed – near him. He turned back to the nurse, still scowling but with a touch of smugness.
"He's here, can we see him now?" he said curtly.
Before she could respond John reached them, grazing over her with a glance to look at Dean, who looked briefly relieved but didn't quite meet his dad's gaze.
"You must be Sam's father," she addressed John, who nodded, unnervingly steady. She swallowed reflexively at the straightforward but hidden brown eyes he held her gaze with.
"When can I see my son?" Dean's eyes narrowed along with his father's at the question, still miffed at not being allowed access to Sam.
The nurse looked a little taken aback at having two Winchester glares aimed at her. Nervous under their stare, she felt immensely relieved to be able to offer them some good news.
"Soon," Jen said hurriedly. "We were just waiting for you to get here, sir." Before he could ask how he was she continued, "Sam has sustained a injury to his abdomen, which a surgery that occurred when he first arrived was able to lessen in severity. Still, we have to wait and see how his body holds up with the internal stitching. He also has a concussion. Doesn't seem too bad, but we have to see how he is once he wakes up." She gestured briefly to Dean next. "As for your other son..."
"I'm fine," Dean cut off her quickly. "Sam's more important."
The nurse hesitated, glancing between the two men, wanting to push the issue.
John changed her decision, saying firmly, "Let us see Sam," in a voice she didn't think she should argue with. Jen managed a nod, turning quickly to lead the two men to their third family member.
The sharp intake of breath from Dean mingling with the beeping from a heart monitor were the only sounds when the two Winchesters stepped into the hospital room that held Sam.
The teen was unconscious, breathing rasping through the oxygen mask fixed on his bruised face and with his head heavily bandaged. The IV dripped steadily, feeding him painkillers that helped keep him unconscious for the night.
Dean moved to one side of Sam's bed immediately, hovering in his concerned way that, if Sam were awake to see, would certainly earn him the mother-hen title. But that was Dean, and John had to admit as he studied both his sons that there was no better person for the job. Not even him.
Stepping to the side of the bed opposite of Dean's, John briefly brushed Sammy's bangs back from his bandaged forehead before lifting his gaze to his other son.
The kid looked beat, the sleeplessness and stress of the night before catching up to him along with the certainly-painful injuries he carried. But Dean wouldn't say anything, they both knew, would suffer quietly because he adamantly believed Sam needed the attention more. John's anger still hadn't ebbed completely, but it was clear that Dean was already beating himself over this. The elder son was subtly avoiding his father's gaze, glumly wondering when the explosion was going to come.
John finally cleared his throat, and Dean's gaze flickered upward briefly from the opposite side of the bed where he was standing. John fixed him with a narrow gaze.
"You both could have died last night, Dean," he said bluntly.
Dean winced a little. "I know, Dad," he admitted. "It was dumb-"
"Then why did you do it?" John interrupted.
Dean couldn't help but protest, "It was just driving! We were tryna have fun, Dad, I didn't think...I didn't know..." He glanced helplessly over to the prone form of his brother, swallowing reflexively.
"I tried to look out for him," he finished finally.
"But you didn't," John snapped automatically, even as he felt the nagging thought at the back of his mind for the hypocritical comment.
"No, sir," Dean agreed, finally meeting his father's gaze head on, apology on his features.
John studied his son for a moment. "Where's the car, Dean?"
Dean swore his heart stuttered for several seconds. He abruptly slid his gaze from his father's, glancing around the room nervously. "The car?" he repeated.
"Dean," John just growled, fists clenching.
Dean swallowed hard. "She...um," he faltered. "I don't know, sir," he finally forced out. His father's eyebrows came down in a suspicious glare aimed directly at Dean. "After the crash...we got in the ambulance, Dad, and the Impala..." He tried a different route. "She was pretty bad off."
"We can fix her," John said slowly, still eyeing Dean, knowing there was something else.
Dean shifted. "That's the thing...I don't know...she might still be there, Dad, but the place was pretty shady and...and I sort of lost track of her."
I couldn't take care of the damn car either.
"'Lost track,'" John repeated coldly.
"Yes, sir."
"I gave you the Impala 'cause I thought you deserved her, Dean."
That stung. Dean just nodded, not sure what to say when his father was so obviously disappointed and he had screwed up a million times over in less than twelve hours.
John's eyes narrowed. "Can't hear your head rattle, son."
"Yes, sir," Dean said, eyes on the space next to Sam's head.
He wasn't sure if John would say anything else, but either his father was pissed and didn't want to make a scene in the hospital room or he just couldn't deal with Dean any more. The thoughts made the nineteen-year-old sigh inaudibly, trying to focus on Sammy instead.
There was a long silence, and Dean had dropped into the chair on his side of the bed with Sammy's hand in his while John lightly ran his fingers over his youngest hair every now and then in the tense silence.
Finally, John seemed to have ordered his thoughts and stepped back from the bed, letting out a sigh.
"You need some sleep, Dean," John spoke gruffly, staring at his son with an unreadable expression while Dean continued to monitor Sammy.
Dean glanced up at his father with an almost vulnerable look, one that he would never show anyone else. He wasn't sure where the two of them stood right then.
"I will, Dad," he responded hesitantly. "Just...just later. I need to stay with Sammy."
John sighed at his son in exasperation before grunting, apparently realizing that the energy it would take to force Dean to sleep wasn't worth it. With a final lingering look at Sam, John walked out of the room.
Dean didn't ask where he was going; John wouldn't tell him anyway.
Settling back into the hard chair as comfortably as he could, which really wasn't saying anything, Dean gave his brother's hand a brief squeeze, sighing into the otherwise empty room.
He found himself repeating the words he'd begged back at the track, biting his lip to hold back an overwhelming guilt.
"Wake up, Sammy..."
Smoke rings floated steadily through the night sky for a few beats before turning to simple wisps of polluted air, and the man with the cigarette took another drag of nicotine. He leaned against a black monster truck that blended into the night, one hand shoved in his pocket next to a bandana.
His mind was on two teens that he'd raced the other night. The thought of the events made the mouth on the cigarette upturn into a smirk, relishing the feeling of wiping the smug look on the two kids' faces.
The older kid's furious look had been a little surprising, he had to admit. He could've sworn the younger man was going to pull out a gun or something.
That is, if the other one hadn't gotten himself entangled in a goddamn fence, he thought with a soft snort.
He deserved it anyway, cocky little prick.
The man figured he was safe, anyhow.
They were just two kids, probably with a screwed up family, bargaining for more than the intended adrenaline rush by coming to the drag racing track.
They couldn't do anything to him.
With a final smirk, he flicked his cigarette butt onto the gravel, not bothering to extinguish the still glowing dregs as he climbed into his truck. The engine revved loudly in the silent night, carrying the man away.
A/N: O.O That was long. *nods* And really hard to write. *pokes Johnny with narrowed eyes* He's so freakin' bipolar on me! What the hell!
*clears throat importantly* I'd also like to dedicate this chapter to a certain Mrs. GaleHawthorne as an epic present since yesterday (cuz when I tried to post this last night at 1 am it was a piece of shit chapter) was her birthday! And it was also Misha's son's birthday which is fracking awesome! And...I'm sorry we screwed up your bowling Rills :3 *borrows Sammy puppy dog eyes* Fowgive me?
Review! I love reviews! They are serious motivation for updating and possibly the reason I get through the school week *serious look* *turns puppy dog look on you people*
See ya next week!~
Dodo out.
