When Dean wakes, it's to the feeling of warm sheets around him and his head swimming with nausea. He thinks he'd rather go back to sleep.
"Good to see you haven't iced yourself, then."
The voice off to his right doesn't let him.
He blinks, his head feeling thick as he tries to focus on the figure beside the bed. Sam's face swims in and out of focus, and there's a vague confusion as he wonders why Sam isn't the one in bed and Dean's watching over him.
Sam's eyes drop to where he's gripping an empty pill bottle in his hands. "What were you thinking, Dean?"
Everything crashes into focus, and Dean's stomach lurches. "I didn't mean to."
"Mean to what? Overdose?"
"I just needed to be in control. You were hurt. My heart was too fast…"
"And what was this supposed to achieve?"
Dean blinks, for a moment taken aback. Sam's angry.
"I know whatever happened in that park did a number on you, but you won't talk to me. What do you think would have happened if Cas hadn't found you, Dean? How is that supposed to help me?"
Ashamed, Dean says nothing.
There's a moment as Sam glares at him, expectant, and then his shoulders droop in defeat. "And you're still not talking."
Dean's throat feels thick. This isn't what he meant to happen, and he doesn't know how he's meant to say it, how to explain. How the fuck is he supposed to admit that a ghost they iced three months ago still has control over him so completely? "I needed to slow my heart down so you could be okay," is what he means. "I'm sorry," is all he manages, voice tight, tears threatening to spill.
Looks like he isn't the only one. "You know, you can talk to me, man," Sam says, eyes shining. "Tell me what happened. I'm here to help you, Dean. I just want you to be okay."
Dean turns his face away and cries.