Everything is dark. Dean looks around and sees nothing, just black everywhere he turns. The panic in his body starts to rise and he automatically wants to bolt, but where? He is literally in a black hole, a place so dark that he can't even see his hand when he waves it around in front of his face. Where is he?
In a nervous act Dean runs a hand over his head but stops. The smoothness he is used to has been replaced with the gelled locks from before he shaved his head, and when he pulls away nothing comes out. He then notices that he feels amazing. No nausea, no exhausted slumping from a long day. It feels like he could run a marathon which only means one thing. Oh dear God above, is he dead?
Light explodes throughout the space, images flying in front of his face. The first image hits him fast and hard, a film reel of him holding a newborn baby Sam in his arms. He can hear his mother's soothing voice in the background. Be careful, Dean. He's fragile.
The next one is a little bit later, back when Dean had a bowl cut and Sam was just learning how to walk. His father is standing at one end of the room and is gesturing for baby Sam to make his way over, but of course Sam just sits on the ground and stares blankly. When Dean walks into the room with a bowl of cereal in hand though, he watches as his brother's face lights up with a smile. Next thing he knows Sam is pushing himself off the ground and waddling his way over to Dean. John's voice is booming throughout the room. Mary! You've got to see this!
"What the hell…" Dean whispers to himself as another film reel pops up before his eyes, this one of his entire family fruitlessly trying to take a group photo on their ancient camera.
"Not hell. Quite far from it, actually."
A man walks in from behind the projections and crosses his arms over his chest, flicking his hand to make the film clips freeze. He's short and skinny, his hair a mess of brown curls that is starting to fall down into his eyes. He wears a bath robe and pajama pants, and is so familiar that Dean has to take a step back.
"…Chuck?" he asks incredulously. "Are…you God or somethin' man? Am I dead?'
Chuck Shurley, writer of bad science fiction novels and possibly a divine being, laughs lightly. "Oh don't I wish, but no. I'm not God and you're not dead, Dean. This is all in your subconscious. You're dreaming. A very deep dream brought on by the fact that you're in a coma right now, but a dream nonetheless."
He can't help himself; Dean sighs loudly with relief. Sure, being in a coma is horrible but at least he's not six feet under. He can at least come out of this state…he hopes.
"Then why all the nostalgia? Why the family friendly flashbacks? Why am I remembering this stuff?"
"It must be your brain's way of coping with the situation. Don't you remember? You've read articles on this stuff before, Dean. It is said that some coma patients can remember what they dreamt about while in their stupor, and oftentimes they recall bright lights or memories, almost as if their lives are flashing before their eyes. It's more common in patients that are close to death."
Dean leans back on his heels and tries to rack his brain. Yes, he does remember reading that now, but all it does is set a new panic alarm blaring throughout his body.
"Am I close to death then?" Dean asks, his voice breaking a bit. "Is this it? Am I dying?"
"Not if you fight back, Dean. Do you remember how you got here in the first place?" Chuck asks with a grim stare.
He rocks back and forth, trying his best to think of what happened before the darkness. All he can recall is picking up flowers at the local gardening store but nothing afterwards. What happened?
"Not really," he admits.
"Fine. Then let's take a look, shall we?" Chuck walks forward puts two fingers to Dean's forehead.
And then everything explodes. He remembers. Oh yes, he remembers everything. He was getting flowers at the boutique for his date when he felt a pain in his back, but pushed it off as nothing. Throughout the day it got worse and worse, Sam urging Dean to go to the doctor's and get it checked out. Of course he ignored his brother; he was fine after all. But then he remembers the blackness encroaching on his vision, that darkness seeping in. He barely had time to make it to the couch before he slid to the ground violently and passed out, hitting his head on the coffee table. The last thought he can recall is him thinking 'Holy crap, that's a lot of blood' and 'Of course I'll die from a major head injury instead of the cancer. Typical.'
Dean reels back when Chuck releases his touch, rubbing his head to knock out the pain left behind. "So I'm in the hospital, I'm in a coma, all because I hit my head on a coffee table? Really? Because that's a shitty way to die, Chuck."
"No Dean, you're not dying. Not if you push past this and wake up."
"But how do I get back? I can't just…y'know…pop back into consciousness! Help me, Chuck! Please?"
Chuck laughs to himself and flicks his hand, the film reel playing once again. "Dean, I am you. I'm a figment of your imagination, remember? You have two choices here. You can stay and watch this film reel, get your whole life wrapped up in a pretty package before you ultimately fade into whatever is after this life, or you can be a Winchester and fight it. All you have to do is wake up, Dean. Wake up…"
Dean awakens with a gasping breath, jumping up in his bed. Sirens and buzzes and beeping surrounds him on all sides and for a minute he has no clue where he is. The only thing that is concrete in his mind is how much his body aches, and he automatically wants to slump back into whatever dream world he came from. It isn't until three nurses come running in that he realizes he's in the hospital, remembers what "dream Chuck" told him. He fought; he survived, and he did it all by himself. It's enough to make him smile despite the pain. For the first time in a long time, Dean feels truly alive.
The first nurse, Tessa according to her name tag, is at his side in an instant. She flurries around as he checks vitals and the thousands of tubes attached to Dean's body, not saying a word as she concentrates. Another nurse, a man with dark skin and harsh eyes who doesn't wear a name tag, calls out numbers and phrases Dean has never heard of. But the one nurse who catches Dean's attention the most is the woman standing in front of him, a woman he remembers from long ago. A past life, one that was easier, more simple than the one he leads now. One that was filled with white picket fences and apple pies every night, one where he had a home instead of a dorm apartment, a lawn to mow instead of a rotting carpeted hallway.
"Dean?" she asks quietly, her gentle nature looking completely out of place next to the others. "Do you know where you are? Do you remember anything that happened?" she trails off, her eyes flying to the foot of the bed instead of his face. "Do…you remember me?"
He blinks and shakes his head, trying to gain his surroundings. "…Lisa?" he asks hoarsely, his throat dry and rough. "What are…what are you doing here?" he replies groggily, his words coming out slurred under the influence of the drugs. All the while the other nurses whirl around him like a tornado of activity, Dean only slightly aware of the pressure cup on his arm and the needle being stuck into his vein.
"I work here, remember? That's how we met after all. C'mon, you haven't forgotten about me completely, have you?"
Dean blushes. The thought of his relationship with Lisa still makes his stomach flutter with the memories, nostalgia ripping through his system when he looks into those familiar eyes.
"I know you're probably really disoriented right now so I won't grill you with the hard questions, Dean, but I do need to know…do you have any idea what happened to you?"
He sighs out a breath of relief. This question he can answer easily. "I fell, right? Hit my head on a table or somethin'. That's all I remember, really."
"It's more complicated than that," Lisa says, all of the brightness from her voice fading.
"Complicated?" Dean repeats back. The other nurses have left and now it is only him and Lisa in the room. He braces himself against the bed for the news.
"Yes, complicated. The reason you fainted and fell into that table in the first place was not just one of your usual blackouts. I don't know how to say this, but the cancer is getting more aggressive, Dean."
He can feel his heart sink in his chest and he automatically clutches the sheets for support. "What?" he whispers weakly.
Lisa walks over to Dean's side and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, grabbing one of his hands in hers. The gesture is so familiar it almost makes Dean want to pull her close, wrap her in his arms like he used to, but something stops him. It's almost as if his mind is throwing up red flags, a huge warning sign flashing in his head screeching DANGER ZONE. He automatically remembers why it didn't work out with Lisa and drops her hand, choosing to slide to the other side of the bed instead.
She automatically catches on and steps back from the bedside, ruffling her hair nervously. "I'm sorry I don't have better news, Dean. We've did tests that indicate that your leukemia is not retreating but is instead growing. That means more frequent chemotherapy visits and your doctor wants to try radiation. If that doesn't work we will be in a last ditch effort stage and will perform a bone marrow transplant, but finding someone who is compatible is oftentimes difficult. A sibling or parent is usually the best match, but I know your options in that department are...um...limited..." she explains in one breath, leaning back on her heels once all of the information is out in the open.
Dean doesn't know what to do, so he stares blankly back at the woman in front of him. He opens his mouth, tries to think of something to retort with, but finds nothing to say. How do you respond to news like that?
Finally, after a few minutes of tense silence, Dean gets out words. "So…how are my odds looking now?"
Lisa's expression says it all, her eyes downcast and her face grim. "It's too early to say now. Once we start the intensified treatment we will know more. I still have high hopes for you, Dean. You've pulled through this before and you will do it again."
Dean just stays quiet, leaning back against the pillows. "Whatever you say, Lisa. Can I go now?" he asks irritably.
She glances back at him with surprise on her face. "Go? Dean, you hit your head ridiculously hard. You don't have a concussion but we still want to monitor you for a few days. You're not going anywhere, Winchester. Not for a week at least."
He jumps up in his bed in alarm. "A week? What do they want with me for a week? That's ridiculous! I've got plans, important plans!"
Lisa laughs lightly and walks over to the door. "You need rest, Dean, and we also need to run extensive tests to figure out how to proceed with your treatment. I'm sorry, but your plans will have to wait. What are you missing that is so important anyway?"
Dean fidgets with his hands and glances outside the window, imagining the abandoned flowers in his apartment. "Nothing," he replies weakly. "I…just had a date."
When you're in the hospital and no visitors are allowed, time goes by at a snail's pace. For those first two days when Dean is still under extreme moderation and is not allowed to see anyone from the outside world, he thinks the boredom will end him. All he can do is flip through the five stations the hospital covered, all the shows overly dramatic soap operas half of the time. The only one that he can bear is a little show called Dr. Sexy M.D., and that is only because the doctor is quite the looker.
However, after 72 hours had passed with no complications, Lisa finally brands him ready for visitors. She helps him get up from his bed and assists in washing the filth that must be accumulating on his body from days without a shower, and even allows him to meet Sam and Charlie down at the cafeteria for lunch. When his brother sees him from across the room, he's sure Sam is going to jump tables in an attempt to reach Dean; the look on his face is one Dean's experienced many times before when he's been in the hospital. He calls it Sam's 'looking at a walking miracle' expression.
When Sam approaches Dean he does not hesitate to throw his arms around him, his brother's hug tight and familiar around his body. In that moment, Dean doesn't care who sees. The embrace is too much and he automatically collapses into his brother, holding on to his tall frame for dear life. All of the news that has hit him in the past three days crashes down and Dean suddenly realizes his cheeks are wet with months of built up tears, heaving sobs leaving his body.
"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," Dean blubbers incoherently into his brother's shoulder, Sam automatically hauling Dean up to his feet.
"Shh, it's going to be okay," his brother whispers back, leading Dean out of the cafeteria and away from the prying eyes of the crowd.
They find an empty sitting room a few paces away from the cafeteria and Sam lays Dean down into one of the floral recliners. He takes a seat next to his brother and automatically falls into their usual routine when one of them breaks down; he grabs Dean's shoulder and pulls him into an awkward side hug. It's like they're children again. Dean always used to comfort Sam when he got into a fight with their father and they always fell into the same embrace, one brother's head rested on the other's shoulder.
"It's spreading, Sam! I'm going to die!"
"Dean, you're not going to die," Sam says calmly. "We can fix this, I'm sure of it. You'll pull through like always. You are going to survive this. We'll get you on more chemo, we'll start radiation, and you can have as much of my bone marrow as needed until you're better."
"It's not the easy, Sam!" Dean cries out. "You didn't see Lisa's face when she told me the news-"
"Lisa? Lisa works here?" Sam interrupts, leaning back so he can look Dean in the eye.
Dean huffs out a laugh through the tears. "Out of everything that's going on right now you're asking about Lisa?"
Sam grins back. "Sorry," he apologizes quickly. "I just know you two didn't end on the best of terms. Continue."
"Well, you didn't see her face, Sammy. It was like looking into an abyss. She has to know I ain't got that long left if she looked like that. I'm a goner, Sammy. Better start writing my obituary now."
"Will you calm down?" Sam huffs out a breath, pushing Dean out of his embrace. "You don't know anything yet. We will start the new treatments and who knows? Maybe things will get better. You're such a pessimist, you know that? Would it kill ya to be a little positive for once in your life?"
Dean blanches back at his brother, the tears from earlier now just dry streaks on his cheeks. "Did you really just say 'would it kill ya' to me? Word choice, Sam. Word choice!"
"Sorry, sorry!" Sam apologizes again. "It's just…you do have quite a dark outlook on life. You could at least try to be positive…?" he asks like a question.
He huffs out a harsh breath. "You're not going to let me die in peace, are ya?"
Sam leans forward and looks into Dean's eyes, his expression serious. "I'm not going to let you die, period."
He catches his brother's gaze and doesn't let go, trying to see what Sam sees. His brother is so full of never-ending hope, always the positive one. Where does he find the strength to be the pillar Dean needs?
Dean doesn't get to respond though before the brothers are interrupted by a cough from the doorway. He looks up and finds a pair of familiar blue eyes staring back at him, the Novak's posture timid and awkward as he stands in the arch.
"He thought you stood him up," Sam whispers in Dean's ear, "but when he found out about what happened to you he came straight to the hospital. He's practically been holding vigil for three days straight."
Sam pats Dean quickly on the shoulder before leaving him alone with Cas and the silence reverberating between them. He watches his brother exit and then turns his attention to Cas; the man is awkwardly lounging in the doorway and is avoiding Dean's gaze.
"Um, do you want to come in?" Dean asks quietly.
Cas finally looks up into Dean's eyes and steps into the room, taking Sam's place in the chair next to Dean. He curls into himself, almost as if he's trying to disappear.
"I'm sorry," Cas breathes out, his body collapsing against the chair.
Dean stares at the Novak with confused eyes. "What? Why?"
"For…doubting you. I thought you stood me up for our date and I was furious; I shouldn't have automatically jumped to that conclusion. I should have known you'd never do that, ever."
"Cas…" Dean trails off, not knowing what to say. The fact that Cas entertained the idea of being stood up for a second makes Dean slightly irked. He would never do that, especially not to a guy like Cas. How could he think that?
"I think it's clear that I don't think that highly of myself," Cas continues. "When you didn't show I automatically thought it was something I did. I probably said something wrong, pissed you off. I should have considered that you were hurt, or were too sick, or simply got lost, but no. I was selfish, Dean, and for that I'm terribly sorry. Can I make it up to you?"
Dean stares back at the Novak and takes in his figure. Cas looks so small in that chair, like a chastised puppy. The Novak, a man who usually looks like a superhero, now looks like a little boy who needs saving. It makes Dean's heart ache.
"You did nothing wrong," Dean replies. "I would have probably done the same thing. But if you really want to make it up to me, you can still take me on that date when I'm out of here. Capishe?
Cas's whole being brightens. He sits up in his chair and looks at Dean with a new excitement in his eyes. "Really? You still want to go out with me?"
"Dude, nothin' has changed between us other than the fact that I'm dyin' faster than I thought. If anything that's a sign from the universe that I should be livin' life to the fullest, and I think that includes going out with you. They're gonna discharge me in a few days and that car show is still in town. You up for it?"
Cas smiles brightly. "I'll set everything up. You've got yourself a date, Winchester."
A nurse walks into the room at that moment and pointedly throws Dean a glare. He recognizes her as the one who took his vitals a few days ago, and she clearly isn't happy.
"Who gave you permission to leave your room?" she asks a bit harshly.
Dean crosses his arms and stares at the woman back. "Lisa said I could leave for a little bit, get some fresh air. What's it to ya, Tessa?"
"Don't sass me, Dean Winchester," she replies with her nose turned to the ceiling. "It's time for you to get back in your room. You're not out of the woods yet and the doctor wants to check up on you. And by the way, he isn't allowed." She nods her head in Cas's direction before she turns on her heel and gestures for Dean to follow.
With one last look at Cas, Dean hauls himself out of the chair and exits the room. "Don't forget that you owe me a date, Novak!" he calls.
"I won't, Winchester!"
