Shout out to RoseCentury for the suggestion of this chapter.
"Hi Dean." He sluggishly looks up, a dazed smile stretches the corners of his mouth as he sees the arrivals.
"I can't feel my face." He slurs around the cotton wadded into his numb mouth while pinching and poking his cheeks and lips.
"You had your wisdom teeth taken out, remember?" He contemplates this for a moment but gives no definitive answer. Instead, his gaze shifts to the camera trained on him.
"What's that?"
"You wanted us to record you after surgery." His eyes grow wide.
"I had surgery? Do I have cancer? Am I going to die?" His eyes begin to tear up.
"No, Dean, you don't have cancer. You had impacted wisdom teeth the doctor needed to remove," Sam speaks up from off-screen. Dean eyes his brother and motions the recorder closer.
The camera shifts as she leans forward to hear him whisper, "who's the hippy?" There's a snort of laughter, whereas Sam rolls his eyes and introduces himself. Dean's face brightens. "Hi, Sammy! I didn't recognize you. You have a lot of hair. Why is his hair so long? We need to cut it off." As he is settled into a wheelchair, Dean continues rambling about Sam's appearance. "Sammy, donate it to kids with cancer."
"No, Dean." Once again, his eyes begin to water.
"You're mean. You hate kids with cancer."
Sam looks indignant as he huffs, "Of course I don't hate them."
Dean crosses his arms, a few tears leaking from his eyes. He speaks particularly loudly, "Yes you do. You want them to die!" Sam tries to quiet Dean in an attempt to deflect the growing attention of people in the waiting room. But Dean will not be quieted. "Don't touch me. You're a child-killer." Sam starts pushing the wheelchair faster but Dean nearly screams. Sam gives the puppy-dog look to the camera. It changes hands, then the boys' sister is pushing Dean out the door. Dean points to the black Impala.
"That's an ugly car."
"I cannot believe you said that," she murmurs then turns to the camera. "He is going to hate himself when he watches this." All the while he continues insulting Baby, pointing out how "old-fashioned" it is, how black is so plain, how loud it is when he is settled in the backseat and Sam starts the engine.
"Idonwannalistentothis," he whines.
"What do you want to listen to?"
He throws his arms up and yells as loud as he can, "PUDDING!"
"That's not a song, Dean."
"But I want pudding. I'm hungry."
"We'll get you something to eat."
"Pudding?"
"Sure."
There is silence for a moment until, from the back, "I don't like this song."
"This is your favorite song."
"I don't like it. You never do what I want."
To avoid a tantrum, from behind the camera is asked, "what do you want to listen to?"
"'Shake it off shake it off.'" The station is changed and on the way to the bunker Dean is content to listen to and sing along to Taylor Swift, knowing a surprising number of words.
Upon arrival, the camera trains on Sam opening the door and helping his elder brother out. Dean hangs on his neck, Sam dragging him more than helping him walk. Dean pats Sam's head and smiles fondly. "You have nice hair."
"Urm, thanks," Sam makes a face. "So do you take back what you said about me hating cancer-kids?"
Dean's eyes widen innocently. "You hate them?" His bottom lip quivers.
"No! I love kids! I love all kids!" Sam hurries to mend it before Dean bawls. But the oldest sibling snickers.
"You love kids." He says it more like a question. Sam gives him a disgusted look before flopping him on the couch. Dean seems stunned at the sudden change and gazes about him, taking everything in, seemingly for the first time. He tilts his head excessively upward to see Sam.
"You're tall." Without warning, he begins crying. Large sniffles, tears mingling with snot and dripping off his chin. He makes no move to wipe his face. A wet spot progressively grows on his shirt. From behind the camera a hand reaches out with a tissue and dries him as well as possible.
"Dean, honey, what's the matter?"
"I wish I was tall!"
"You are tall. You're taller than me-"
"No I'm not! You're up there and I'm down here."
"-You're taller than Cas."
A sniffle. "Cas?"
"Yes. Castiel. You're best friend."
The wails begin again. "I miss Cas!" Sam is snorting and laughing so hard he is nearly as much a mess as Dean. The camera is shaking from poorly-suppressed fits of laughter. "Cas! Cas! CAS!"
A flutter of feathers and the favorite angel in Winchester history is present. "Yes, Dean?" He becomes slightly alarmed as he witnesses the scene. "Is everything alright?"
"Cas!" Dean rubs his hand under his nose sloppily and reaches his arms toward the angel, repeating the name like a mantra. Cas is uncertain whether to pick him up, give him a hug, or leave. He takes a step forward, gently pats the incapacitated man on the head. "They're mean," Dean throws a finger to his two siblings. "They're making me starve!"
Castiel frowns and Sam hurredly explains the context of Dean's behavior. The camera records a trip to the fridge to retrieve pudding cups. Dean grins goofily at seeing them. But he has a difficult time eating, considering the lack of feeling in the lower region of his face. If by some miracle the plastic spoon makes it into his mouth, a chocolate glob jumps out the corner of his lips and slides down his face, splatting on his jeans. But he doesn't seem to notice nor care. At least one of his wishes is coming true. Next on the agenda is to watch "Scooby Doo". But he demands Castiel sit and watch with him.
"What about us, Dean?" He casts a quick look at the remaining two and points a spoon dripping with saliva and pudding at the empty seats.
"It's okay. But you can't have any."
"Trust me, we don't want any," Sam holds a hand up in promise. Everything is calm until a ghost screeches on the screen. Dean whimpers and hides his face behind Cas.
"That's scary!" Despite only being able to record one of them, the other Winchesters roll their eyes.
"Imagine if he saw a cat jump out of a locker," Sam mutters.
"It would probably kill him." The grin is audible in her voice.
Dean refuses to emerge from his haven between the couch back and Castiel until the "scary ghost" is gone. But the Sesame Street muppets are too scary, too; the people in action movies are "too mean; why do they hurt each other-are they fighting kids with cancer?"; a commercial with puppies catches his attention-but it is an infomercial for animal shelters. Sam quickly turns the TV off. Dean looks at him with a face that almost mimics the dogs, excluding pudding and snot stains on his chin.
"Will those puppies die?"
"No. They just need to take a nap now. Like you."
"But I don't want to. I'm not even tired. See?" He widens his eyes as much as the lids can stretch and stares deeply into Sam's eyes. But he does not resist being laid down and covered with a blanket.
"Yeah...dude, that's creepy."
With a yawn, already half-asleep, he drawls, "I don't want the puppies to die. But the kitties can die."
Dean leans back in his seat, staring at the laptop. Sam is howling. I am weak in the limbs, barely staying in the chair. Castiel frowns, not understanding why this video is so funny. But it is. And it will go on permanent file, for laughs and for blackmail. Dean stands and makes his way to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"To apologize to Baby."
"Hey, shortie, be careful. The bunker's a big place." Dean offers the worst look possible, his middle finger following him out of the room.
"If you get lost, follow the sound of Tay-Tay."
Hope you enjoyed! If you have any suggestions or prompts, please let me know!