Chapter 10
the next day
He caught Sam watching him over the rim of the book he was reading, trying not to be too obvious but failing miserably. Dean couldn't actually see the furrowed brows but knew that they were there, worry written all over the half hidden face. Usually he would have shot some snipe remark at his little brother but right now he couldn't get himself to push past the one task he was currently trying to accomplish – namely, turning himself onto his side, his left one, to take the strain off his tortured back.
The nurses had helped him work out a position he would be slightly more comfortable with because laying flat on his back just didn't do the trick, even with this special mattress, for more than an hour or two at a time. Lying flat hurt his back like hell, turning onto his side almost made breathing impossible, ribs jarring against each other, the pain bringing hot tears to his eyes. Since his right side was considerably worse off that the left one they had found a way to turn him onto his left, really not more than a couple of inches, but still, it took the pressure off and that felt wonderful for long enough to be able to bear turning back onto his back again for a while.
But god, was it painful to do it by himself.
It was his own fault really because in an attack of frustration he had snapped at the nurses, the doctor, even Sammy, to get away from him, that he was fine, thank you very much, he didn't need to be manhandled like a child. Maybe he hadn't said it in so many words, but they had gotten the picture.
Which wasn't at all how he felt, considering that he had woken up, like what, a couple of days before? And he didn't feel much better, not since that little setback he'd had. And now his body seemed to have developed some kind of resistance against the pain medications or so he thought for he felt overall and thoroughly like one whole mass of hurt and pain. He barely got through three hours after another bag of whatever drugs they were pumping into him before his body slowly drowned in agony again, knowing that they would only give him something every 5 hours, tops. Now that really sucked – out loud. The thing was, he wasn't really sure how much of that pain was really just physical…
Not that he usually was into the whole drowning your pain in drugs kind of thing, but right now he really didn't care. He felt helpless and vulnerable, humiliated by the way he had to be cared for and washed and even fed. He hated this physical weakness and even though he knew better, inside, he still thought that he ought to be doing much better by now…the past days feeling like weeks, like a never ending tailspin he couldn't pull himself out of.
Then, of course, there was the matter of his dad leaving, abandoning him, them, again.
Another hunt…always another hunt, and another, and another…
His dad leaving when he needed him, when they needed him the most. And that was a totally different kind of pain, one that hurt deeper than the physical one, one that even the drugs couldn't help with.
He almost despised himself at times, his damn weakness.
He could open his eyes just fine now, his vision still a bit blurry and unfocused at times, especially when he got tired. Which was quite often, come to think of it. Breathing still hurt like a bitch, talking possible, but lately he liked to play his cards a little, to keep from being forced to talk. He rather kept quiet. His whole abdomen felt like it was on fire, even more so after his little fall off the bed and that he knew he had to be careful not to do again because he really didn't want to feel something even remotely similar ever again. That was just the worse aches, the smaller ones, like hands, wrists, shoulders and legs he didn't even register most of the time. He had just this morning found out, much to his astonishment, that his right ankle was in some kind of brace and while he couldn't really remember the actual fall he knew that it must have happened when stumbling through that damn forest.
A snapped tendon of all things.
The damn brace keeping him from getting up and, goddamnit, walking to the damn bathroom by himself.
OK, that was not entirely true, and he actually knew it, but it just felt so much better to be able to blame his insuficiencies to something, be it completely insane and out of reason. Better to have one thing to blame than his whole, damn body which was apparently dead set on failing him, time and time again lately.
Oh, yeah – almost forgot, his head apparently was split right down the middle by something sharp – he was sure of that, at least that's what it felt like most of the time, all of the time.
On the upside though, it couldn't really get any worse, right? So he chose to suck it up. That he knew how to do. That he was good at. Keep up the fucking pretense, for the nurses, the doctors, Sammy. Even his dad, had he been there to witness.
He had gotten this far, he wasn't going to back down now.
XxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx
Sam sat hidden by his book, not really reading but using it as a shield instead to watch his brother more or less undetected. And of course he knew that it didn't work, from the way Dean now hissed in pain, closed his eyes in indignity and fought to even out his breathing over this simple act of moving mere inches in his bed but trying to hide it for his little brother's benefit.
It scared Sam, more than anything, to see his brother in this condition. Dean hardly ever allowed himself to show weakness, especially not in front of his brother or father. Dean was his strong big brother, his hero. For him to show this kind of pain out in the open had to mean that he was doing real bad. And of course, he would not ask for help, even when he clearly needed it as, for example, right now.
Sam bit his lip, forced himself to give it another couple of seconds before finally he nonchalantly put his book aside and got up to walk the two steps over to his brother's bed. Always careful to make enough noise when approaching because he knew Dean would basically jump out of his skin when surprised by a touch or an unexpected noise and he really didn't want to cause him any more pain right now.
"You need any help?" he asked softly.
Dean kept his eyes closed but Sam caught the almost invisible nod so he proceeded to circle the bed to get up behind him and retrieve the two extra pillows that lay in the bottom of the nightstand.
Before he could reach out to assist him his stubborn as hell older brother again strained to shift over and again this terrible groan passed between his lips, making Sam shudder. Quickly he reached out to steady Dean's shoulder, aware of the slight shivers that ran through him in steady intervals, from exhaustion, Sam guessed, and pain and the slight fever he was still running from time to time. He gently pushed the first pillow underneath his brother's lower back and rump, the other he wedged behind his shoulders, to support his slightly raised position.
"That feel alright?"
Dean grunted in response and Sam held on to his shoulder maybe a second longer than necessary before pulling away and moving around the bed to face his brother again. He waited patiently until Dean had regained his composure because he knew how important that was to him. When finally he opened his eyes again their usually vibrant green colour was slightly glazed over, but aware. Plus something else, something Sam could place all to well but was forced to ignore most of the time…guilt and hurt.
Sam still couldn't get over the sight of his brother's face, the bruises and discoloration, now at their worst before hopefully paling down in the next couple of days, pain visibly etched into the fine lines around his eyes.
He probably stared at him a moment too long and while Dean took it a lot longer than he usually would have, finally he cracked.
xxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxx
"What, Sam…have I grown a second head…? Something disgusting…coming out of my nose?"
Sam didn't avert his eyes this time. Usually it was enough if he snapped at him like that, he'd turn away with those teary eyes, filled with pain and hurt and Dean would of course back down, apologize, try to make up with him again. Not this time. If anything, the kid's gaze became more determined.
"What, Sammy…?"
"You OK?"
OK, here we go again.
"Yeah, Sammy…I'm…"
"Fine, I know Dean. You are always fine. But you don't need to give me your usual crap, OK? I'm your brother…you can tell me."
Dean blew out the breath he had held, closed his eyes to not be forced to look into his little brothers pleading eyes.
"Sammy…"
God, how he wished that he was able to just walk away from him just then. Or turn around, for starters – anything to spare him those eyes.
Eyes that used to get everything he ever asked for – from Dean, at least. Be it the last M&M from a pack or that superman comic he so desperately wanted but had no money to buy. There had been more than a few occasions when John had scolded Dean for giving in to something Sam had asked of his older brother, something that his dad had clearly forbidden when being asked earlier.
"You spoil him too much." was what his dad used to say to him then.
But hey, someone ought to do it once in a while, right? It wasn't as if he didn't get anything in return.
"What is it Dean? I know you hurt, OK? I mean Jesus, how could you not. You should look at yourself. You look like shit warmed over, sorry dude, but it's true. What sense does it make to keep pretending that you are OK when it's so obvious you're not? Why do you keep doing this?"
"Doing what exactly?"
"This whole, I'm Dean the invincible kind of thing? Would it really be that bad to admit that you do hurt, for once?"
"And what the hell…kind of difference would it make? What would you have me do? Say that I hurt…that it? Alright, Sam…I do hurt, OK? Now, does that make you feel any better? Good…then I say it again…I do hurt. All over…worse than ever before…now…you wanna hug…and cry or can I finally get some peace…?"
He had to stop his outburst then, hacking coughs shaking him for a while and when he opened his eyes he could see the old puppy-dog-eyes on him again, watered up and oh god did Sammy look small and young right there.
Hell yeah – he's only 12 for god's sake, my baby brother, my whole life.
Great, so now he was going to have to make up with him…again…he was just so tired of this. How much more did he need to take before he finally found some peace?
And he certainly was not going to get into another discussion about their dad again. They'd been over it already, more than once.
--.--
Their dad had left. Had stayed by his side long enough to make sure he was going to be alright, was going to get better. Then he had left. Had left to attend to another hunt, take care of the family business. He had told them in his marine-voice, broking no argument. An order to them to accept his decision, not asking for understanding.
Dean thought he had seen through the barrier, though. Thought he'd seen how sorry his dad really was for leaving, thought he might have heard the unspoken words between the words that actually made it past his dad's lips. He wanted to believe, more than anything, that his dad had really wanted to stay, that it hurt him as much as it hurt him and Sammy. But dear god, Dean didn't just want to believe it like all those countless times before, he needed to hear it, just this once, hear him say it out loud. It couldn't be that hard to say that to his own sons, for crying out loud.
So for once he couldn't, try as he might, bring himself to accept, not without questioning. Not anymore. He had lain there on his bed, too stunned to say anything. Too hurt, inside and out, to get himself to accept his dad's decision. He didn't understand, how could he do it? Didn't he see how much they needed him, how much he needed him to be there for him?
As usual he had just sat by silently as John and Sam had gotten into an argument, listening to his brother first begging, then cursing their dad with tears of hurt and rage in his eyes. Sammy at least fought for him, stood by his side.
And just this once Dean hadn't found the strength to intervene, to be the stand-between, the shock-absorber of their anger. Again.
He had waited, silently, eyes closed, working through his pain until finally they'd stopped arguing. Through the heavy silence that had hung in the air after he had been acutely aware of the sound of his own breathing, their eyes on him, waiting for him to say something, anything. They had known he was awake but he'd be damned if he gave in. Finally, after an eternity, when he had thought he actually might break under the strain, a chair had been pushed back, his dad getting up.
A hand had grabbed his shoulder, softly, but still Dean had jumped and winced back. The hand had been removed again quickly, but Dean had still refused to look up, knowing that they'd see everything, that he wasn't going to be able to hide it, not this time. And after a while a soft voice had whispered: "Watch out for your brother…"
Dean hadn't been sure who it had been directed to, but hell, probably him, come to think of it. Not that he had ever needed to tell him, not after that night…
Then there were the steps of his father, not quite as determined as usual, leaving the room. Then silence.
--.--
So far Dean had been successful in dismissing the subject as quickly as it had started, had brushed Sammy off every time he had tried to bring it up. Playing the "being hurt and feel too weak to talk about it" card well. It was a little unfair, he knew that much but right now he didn't think he could bring himself to care, that he could face it. He couldn't face having to comfort his brother. He knew he should have, that Sam was scared as much as he himself, probably more so. Sammy just wasn't as good at hiding it. But even Dean Winchester had his limits, and he thought that he might have reached them right now. How could he take his brother's fears and pains away if he was basically swept away by his own?
But he had a responsibility, one that weighed more heavily than his own needs, that had become to be a part of his needs, to be exact. He couldn't loose Sammy on top of everything else. So he did what he knew best. He made sure that Sam was alright.
"Sorry, Sammy…didn't mean to snap at you…just don't leave…please." he croaked.
He couldn't see Sam's face at his request, but didn't take much to imagine the distraught look that he must have been wearing.
"Of course I'm staying, Dean…I'm not going anywhere." his voice so soft and caring, it almost broke Dean's heart all over again.
"Where would I go without you, anyway? Got no one to drive me…"
Dean actually smiled at that, squeezing his brother's hand he hadn't, up until now, been aware he was holding onto.
Of course Sam stayed. His little brother would never leave him…
Sammy was right, it was too obvious to everybody, too obvious to try to hide it. Yeah, he was hurt. So bad it made him want to scream, actually. But then again, what would change if he did? He'd just succeed in disappointing his family, again, by admitting to weakness, he was certain of that. Just like he'd disappointed his dad with this thing right here. His father had left, right? He'd been by his side until he had found out…had found out how weak his son truly was, how pitiable. And he couldn't bear to witness that – so he had left. Like all these times before and probably countless more times in the future to come.
Where did that leave him?
Well, it did leave him with Sammy. That was all he thought he ever needed. There were definitely worse things in the world, right? So why feel sorry for yourself when you got everything you really need?
There were worse things than a father that felt ashamed of you, that left you when you needed him the most, right?
…right?
Tbc
AN:
OK, so before the stone-throwing starts, this chapter was hard on me, and I'm really nervous.
This was the way I had it playing out in my head from the start but I knew that it was going to be hard to write, to get my point across…I do like the character of John, very much so. I do believe he loved his sons more than anything but it just felt like…how can I explain that…it just felt like with him being unable to help Dean in a situation like this, he wouldn't be able to just sit by and do nothing…
I still believe that John wouldn't hurt human beings, so he'd find relief in hunting… He has made mistakes in his past, even he himself admitted that to Dean in "In my time of dying", right? This is just my take on this and I hope you're not too disappointed.
This chapter here is actually how the whole idea to this story started for me.
But just so you know, the boys won't be left alone in this…so if you're willing to bear with me I promise there will be some help on the way…
I go and take cover now…and hope you're still interested in the next chapter which will be up soon!
Again and as always, thanks for all the wonderful reviews so far and just don't hesitate to keep giving them. It really means an awful lot to me!