I appreciate the fine beta skills of Fanpire101 - thanks for all of your help! Any timeline errors, mistakes, or deviations from canon are all on me.

My thanks to everyone who has taken the time to favorite or follow this story. I'm going to need a few more chapters to tie this one up.

I'm just borrowing the Winchester boys for fun and not profit. I own nothing, except maybe Lorna and I'm not sure I want her.

Cross-posted at Archive of Our Own.


Jess squared her shoulders and took a deep breath before walking through the hospital's main entrance doors. Her father had dropped her off this morning, on his way to yet another meeting with the board of directors, leaving Jess prey to the curious eyes of the Information Desk. Doctor Moore might instill respect and a healthy dose of fear amongst his staff, but his candy striper daughter did not. With Dean's dramatic arrival, rumors were sure to have spread throughout the tiny hospital.

Of course, it has to be Lorna, queen of gossip, on duty today.

The woman embodied the phrase "sees all, hears all, knows all, tells all," and Jess just knew she'd have the dirt on their latest patient. Dean was young and attractive, two things sure to pique the woman's interest.

Jess found her steps faltering the closer she drew to the bubbly brunette. How can I answer any questions about Dean? He's either crazy or a dangerous vigilante. Probably both.

As for being her future brother-in-law, Jess didn't quite know how to answer that question either. Discovering so much new information about her fiancé had left Jess reeling. And her mom wasn't helping matters any. She'd cornered Jess in the wee hours of the morning to give her daughter the "talk": "You know we love Sam, sweetie. He seems like a nice boy. But what do we really know about him?"

Not as much as I thought, Jess lamented, bracing herself for the onslaught of Lorna. The woman didn't disappoint. The glint in her eye matched the grin she was trying to suppress.

"Hey, Jess, darlin'. Your boys are on the third floor." The older woman leaned in, conspiratorially. "That Dean's quite the looker. Too bad he's more scarred up than an alley cat. Young man like that ain't nothin' but trouble. I should know!" She cackled heartily as Jess flinched. This was so not news she wanted getting back to her father. What if he asks about Sam and whether he has similar scars?

"I hear that boy done tried to steal salt packets and knives from the food cart," Lorna blabbed, clucking her tongue. "Lord knows what he wanted to do with them. It's no wonder your boy had a panic attack over it."

"What?" Jess blinked. Sam had a panic attack? Surely not. I mean, he did seem upset when he dropped me off last night, but he said he was fine. Jess swore internally.

Lorna shook her curls, mock sadness fighting with glee at serving gossip to its source. "Poor thing. I guess the stress of seeing his brother hurt caught up to him. He was having trouble breathing, ya know."

Jess didn't know. She swallowed hard and tried not to follow in Sam's footsteps and pass out herself. She gave a slight nod to the woman, which Lorna took as her cue to continue.

"His brother and Rune - you know, the string bean from the night shift - talked him down but then Sam started throwin' up. Couldn't keep nothin' down." Lorna looked up, doe-eyed. Jess fought the urge to punch the false sympathy off her face.

"I'm so sorry, doll," she cooed, laying a hand on Jess' tense shoulder. "They had to hook your boy up to an IV and sedate him." She shook her head and clucked her tongue. "Poor thing."

Jess closed her eyes, fighting a myriad of warring emotions as she thought of her calm, strong boyfriend. Amid the churning fear, confusion, anger, and worry, one thought boiled to the top. Her eyes popped open.

This isn't like Sam! He never panics about anything. Why didn't anyone call me? What the hell is going on?

Wrenching herself away, Jess gave Lorna a terse nod and stormed toward the bank of elevators.

The older woman called after her in a saccharine-sweet voice. "Room 343, darlin'!"


Jess wasn't certain what she expected to find when she pushed open the door to room 343, but it wasn't this. In the dim light seeping around the closed blinds, she could barely make out two hospital beds. The cot closest to the door was empty, crumpled covers pushed back and skimming the ground. Dean sat by the second bed, casted right arm bound tight to his chest in a sling. His left hand, despite being tethered to an IV pole by a snake of plastic tubing, carded through the overly-long hair of the room's other occupant. A low moan sounded from the prone man as he fussed in his sleep. Jess recognized that note of distress.

Sam.

Her breath caught, and Dean's head snapped up. His eyes locked on her where she stood frozen in the doorway. The white bandages on his forehead took on a eerie glow in the half-light. Jess took a step forward, but stopped when Dean bared his teeth, scowling. Cat-like, he was on his feet in an instant, pulling at his IV pole like a kitten might tug along a ball of yarn. He made a shooing motion with his uninjured hand. Jess wrinkled her forehead in perplexion. Dean rolled his eyes and nodded, indicating they both should go. He followed her out, making sure to close the door behind them with a soft snick.

They had barely entered the hallway when he rounded on her. "What do you want?"

"I came to check on you and found out Sam had been admitted," Jess replied, irritation coloring her tone. "I need to see him."

Dean shook his head. "Not now." He turned back toward the door. "Come back tomorrow."

It was a dismissal. Jess couldn't believe it. She grabbed the man's shoulder without thinking.

The effect was immediate. Dean whirled, malice in his eyes, his left fist raised with the IV trailing out of it. He lowered his hand. "What the hell?" he exclaimed.

Jess knew she should feel guilty about jostling his injured arm, but she hadn't grabbed him that hard. And he was keeping her from seeing Sam.

She raised her eyebrows and folded her arms. "I said, I'm going to see my fiancé." She stepped forward to pass Dean, but his hand shot out and clamped onto her arm.

"And I said no," Dean snarled back.

Dean and Jess stared each other down in the brightly lit hallway until an older man in a white coat walked by. He paused at the unexpected tableau. "Good morning, Jess," he said, his tone deliberately light. "Everything okay here?"

Dean dropped Jess' arm.

"Fine," she bit out, never breaking eye contact with Dean.

The older man nodded. "Good." Facing Dean, he added, "You shouldn't be out of bed. You need to rest." It sounded like an order.

Dean scowled as the man left to continue his rounds. Jess watched as a flush spread across Dean's cheeks and he broke eye contact with her. Embarrassment in the face of weakness reminded her of Sam, and Jess felt her heart soften.

Now that the doctor had pointed it out, Dean didn't look so good. He appeared drawn, face unnaturally pale with deep purple bags under his eyes. She thought to inquire if he was all right, but suspected that it wouldn't go over well. "What's wrong with Sam?" she asked instead.

Dean's gravelly voice replied, "Had a rough night." He paused to look back at the closed door. "Just got him back to sleep right before you barged in."

Jess thought of the giddy report she had received from Lorna - Your boy had a panic attack! - and wondered exactly what had transpired the night before. How bad did things get?

The question died on her lips when a tremble shuddered through Dean. The doctor was right. Dean shouldn't be on his feet, unsteady in a thin cotton gown. Yet, she still needed answers.

"There's an alcove over there," Jess said, pointing. "We can sit down and talk."

His gaze flicked rapidly between her and the door to room 343, as if gauging how long it would take him to bolt back to Sam's side. The gesture struck her as odd. Dean acted like an overprotective parent, which did fit with the little Sam had told her about his childhood. But where has he been all this time? Fighting "monsters"?

"All right," he conceded. "But only for a minute."

They made their way down the hallway and into the recessed seating area. Dean eased himself slowly into a sitting position. Jess found a seat in the bank of chairs opposite him.

The silence stretched thin between them.

"So," Jess ventured, wracking her brain in an attempt to restart the conversation. "I heard Sam had a panic attack."

Dean snorted and shook his head. "Migraine." How he managed to convey condescension wearing a pale yellow gown with green polka dot hearts, she had no idea.

"Triggered by stress," Jess added softly, and Dean's face sobered. He nodded but didn't add anything.

"Usually," she said, then faltered. Sam wouldn't like her talking about this, even to his brother. "Usually, if he takes aspirin or Tylenol right away, it stops his headaches and they don't get this bad." When Dean didn't reply, she added, "He was okay when he drove me home. He had a headache then but I didn't know it was that bad." She chanced an earnest look at Dean and admitted, "I wouldn't have left him if I'd known." Dropping her gaze, Jess picked at a worn spot on the seat. "He got like this once at Stanford, during finals. He kept throwing up from the pain." Her voice wavered when she added, "They said it was a migraine and gave him a prescription for it, but he never filled it. He told me the doctors were wrong; he doesn't get migraines."

"Just bad headaches," Dean replied, and Jess looked up at him in surprise.

"Yes, that's exactly what he said."

Dean sighed and Jess wondered what he was leaving unspoken. She was surprised to hear him elaborate.

"When he gets a headache this bad, even the good meds don't do much. He's gotta sleep it off. But the nurses kept going in and out all night, fussin' at me, waking him up. Then he got worse and started throwing up and then they started fussing at him too." Dean looked at his free hand, swollen from the IV line. "Whole damn night was a disaster."

Jess reached out before she could think better of it. The skin of Dean's forearm above the IV port felt cold, and she could feel a slight tremor running through him. "You okay?" The words tumbled from her mouth involuntarily.

He swallowed and nodded as he pulled back, looking faintly green. "Peachy," he replied, locking eyes with her before his gaze returned to the door. "I gotta get back."

A surge of intuition hit and Jess realized that Dean was fighting hard not to throw up in front of her. She wondered if he'd been taking his pain medication and suspected not. Just like his brother.

She could see definite parallels between Sam and Dean Winchester, a heavy imprint left by their primary caregiver: Never show weakness. Don't trust anyone. Never ask for help.

Jess felt a surge of cold fury toward the distant man she had met in the waiting room the night before. What kind of father does that to his children?

She stood up and nodded at Dean. "You're right. We do need to get back."

Clearly, Dean was not expecting this response. "We?" he parroted.

He stood slowly, uneasily, to face her, his posture reminding Jess that he had broken ribs in addition to his more visible injuries. She could see him struggling to school his features into a blank mask, fighting hard to hide the pain, nausea, and fatigue.

"There's no "we" here. I'm staying with Sam. You can come back tomorrow, after he's gotten some sleep." Dean fought a yawn.

Jess returned a raised eyebrow and chanced another touch to his quivering arm. "You need to rest too," she reminded him, firmly but not unkindly. "Doctor Miller said so." At his skeptical look, she added, "You can't help Sam if you don't take care of yourself." When Dean didn't immediately object, she added, "I'm going to sit with both of you for awhile so you can get some sleep too." She gave his good arm a gentle squeeze. "I know you hate this, but you're gonna have to trust me. I volunteer here, so I know who to talk to. I can keep the nurses out of your room."

Jess could feel it then, a slight dip under her fingers as he relaxed fractionally, and she knew she'd finally reached him. She wasn't surprised when he nodded.

"Yeah, okay." The resignation in his voice was audible.

She walked down the hall alongside Dean, careful not to hover as he pushed his IV pole. Slowly, carefully, Jess and Dean crept their way back to Sam.