Chapter Thirteen
John reached a hand forward, gently running it across Dean's forehead.
Is this what's become of my boy? John wondered. Is this what he had to put up with all those years?
John brushed the hair off of Dean's head. He looked up to see Sam watching Dean. He looked tired and half dead.
"You okay?" asked John.
Without taking his eyes off of Dean, Sam nodded.
"Sam," said John. Sam looked up at him. "Get some sleep."
Sam shook his head, looking back at Dean. "Not till he wakes up."
"Sam, you can't help Dean if you're not a hundred percent," said John. "I know you're worried, but Dean will understand you taking a nap."
"I know he will," Sam told him. "I don't think I could sleep if I tried."
John frowned. "Worried about something?"
"No," began Sam, frowning. "Maybe. Yeah—I just—I'm not sure whether I'd call it worry or not."
"What do you mean?" asked John.
Sam shook his head, so torn between his thoughts and emotions. "I don't know what I mean."
As though sensing Sam's distress, Dean let out a moan from the bed. Sam and John both looked at him. Dean turned his head from side to side, bringing his left hand towards his head. As he moved his dislocated left arm, he hissed in pain. His face screwed up in pain as he began to curl onto his right side. The increased pressure on his broken ribs stabbed through him, and he cried out a little, wincing as he turned back onto his back.
Dean's eyes flew open as he hissed. "What a wake-up call."
"Hey," said John. "How you doing?"
"Alright, I guess," said Dean. "Aside from the stitches and the bruises and the wrist and the ribs…"
"Well, I'll go get the doctor," said John. He put a hand on Dean's arm. "I'm glad you're okay."
John stood and exited the room.
"Do you want to sit up?" asked Sam.
"No, that'll hurt too much," Dean told him.
"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked.
Dean looked at him. "Yeah, I'm sure."
Dean was more okay than he'd been in years. He didn't care about the beating. It meant nothing to him…because this time was different. All his other beatings, he woke up with nothing but an empty room in an abandoned house, knowing he wouldn't be getting free. Now…he had woken to two smiling faces that reassured him he would be just fine.
Dean noticed Sam's constant frown. "Are you okay?"
"It's just…" began Sam. "Your attack…my dreams…"
"Come on, Sam," Dean told him. "It was a freak coincidence. I mean, it's not like you dreamed the attack exactly as it happened."
Sam gave him a look.
"No way," said Dean. "That's not possible."
"Dean, I watched Paul beat and kill you before it happened," Sam told him.
"But he didn't kill me," Dean pointed out.
"Because Dad and I got there in time," Sam explained. "I had this feeling at the grocery store. I can't explain it. But I got this feeling that I should get home. When we pulled up, we heard you yelling. I feared the worst." Sam dropped his head, not able to look Dean in the eye. "Dean, I'm sorry."
"Sam, if it wasn't for you, I'd be dead," Dean assured him. "Why should you be sorry for that?"
Sam looked into his face, frowning. "This…psychic vision…whatever…it doesn't freak you?"
Dean shrugged a little, but winced and stopped. "Sure, yeah, it's a little freaky, and we'll figure it out later, but…your vision stopped someone from killing me." He smiled reassuringly. "How can that be bad?"
Sam smiled, putting a hand on Dean's arm. "You're right."
"Of course I'm right," smirked Dean. "I'm the big brother."
Sam and Dean laughed as someone knocked on the door. They looked over to see John had returned with the doctor.
"Hello, Dean. I am Dr. Lowsen. How are you feleing?"
Dean shrugged as much as he could. "Okay, I guess."
"How's the pain?" asked Dr. Lowsen.
"Bearable," Dean muttered.
"Now, I don't want you to be brave here," said Dr. Lowsen. "If you're in pain, we should give you medicine to make your recovery as comfortable as possible."
Dean avoided their eyes. "Well…my ribs…kind of ache."
Sam rolled his eyes, chuckling. "Only you would turn down morphine."
Dean smiled sheepishly. "I just don't want to sleep anymore."
"It's okay," said Dr. Lowsen. "We can give you a smaller dose. It won't be as effective as the usual one, so you will still feel some discomfort, but it will take most of the pain away. Although, I urge you to reconsider. You will be more comfortable with the normal dose."
"Thanks, but I'll take the smaller one," Dean told him. "I can deal. I just…don't want to sleep right now."
"If you're sure…" said Dr. Lowsen.
"Yeah, I'm sure," Dean assured him. "Thanks."
"No problem," said Dr. Lowsen.
Dr. Lowsen exited the room, leaving the small family alone.
"You, uh…wanna watch some TV?" asked Sam.
"Yeah," said Dean. "That sounds good. And, uh, a little food would be nice."
John laughed. "First two things on your mind: entertainment and food."
Sam and Dean laughed, and then Sam stood.
"I'll see what the nurse can dig up," said Sam.
He walked out of the room to find a nurse. John sat down next to Dean's bed. He was quiet for a moment, and the two of them silently stared at each other.
"Dean, I'm so sorry," John finally told him.
Dean turned his head more towards him, frowning. "For what?"
"I left you alone," said John. "I promised I wouldn't let you get hurt anymore, and I left you alone."
"Come on, Dad," said Dean. "What were the odds that the first time you left me alone, some psychopath would jump me?"
"I promised that things had changed," John continued. "I promised that you wouldn't have to go through anything like that again, and then…"
"Dad, I didn't," Dean told him.
John frowned. "Didn't what?"
"Didn't go through it," said Dean.
John frowned again, looking at the numerous evidence of Dean's beating. "You didn't?"
"No," Dean insisted. "Before, I had nothing to look forward to, nothing to take my mind off the beating. This time, you guys are here. I don't have to worry about it anymore. You didn't let me down. You're doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing."
John smiled as Sam walked back in with a nurse. Sam was carrying a tray of food, and the nurse carried a syringe, a couple of alcohol wipes and a glass ampule of medication.
"Hello, Mr. Winchester," greeted the nurse as she set her materials on the bedside table. "My name is Camry."
Dean smiled at her. "You can call me Dean."
Sam and John rolled their eyes at each other as Sam set the food tray down on the table in the room until the bedside table was free. Camry walked to the door and pumped some foam hand sanitizer out of the pump on the wall. She walked back over to the bedside table as she rubbed the sanitizer on her hands.
"Okay, Dean," Camry smiled, opening an alcohol wipe. "I have your morphine. Are you ready?"
"Born ready," Dean flirted.
Camry smiled and shook her head as she grabbed the little glass bottle and an alcohol wipe. She placed the wipe on the top of the bottle and broke it at the neck. Grabbing the syringe, she stuck the needle in the bottle and turned them both upside down. She pulled the medicine into the syringe and put the bottle in a sharps container on the wall. Opening another alcohol wipe, she popped open a cap on a port in Dean's IV line. Wiping the tip of the port off with the wipe, she stuck the needle in and pressed down on the plunger of the syringe.
"There we go," said Camry. "Should kick in, in no time."
She threw the needle in the sharps container and the rest of the stuff in the trash can.
"You need anything else?" asked Camry.
Dean smirked suggestively.
Camry smiled and put a hand on her hip. "Within reason."
Dean laughed. "I'm fine."
Camry left the room, once again using the hand sanitizer, and Dean glanced hopefully at the tray of food on the table.
"What'd you bring me?" asked Dean.
"Uh, whatever they had for patient meals," said Sam.
"Need some help getting up?" asked Sam.
"No, Mother, I don't need help," Dean grumbled.
Sam backed off and waited for the inevitable ask for assistance. Dean placed his right arm on the mattress next to him. He winced as he held his wrapped left arm to his chest and tried to sit up. He groaned as he collapsed back onto the bed.
Dean sighed in resignation. "Guys…need a little help…"
Sam and John stepped forward. John pressed a button that tilted the head of the bed up. Sam grabbed hold of Dean's arms and helped him scoot up the bed a little so he could sit. Dean hissed and groaned, wincing as he moved. He finally settled into the bed, closing his eyes to wait for the pain to fade again.
"Okay?" asked John.
Dean nodded as the pain faded. "Yeah, better now." He opened his eyes. "Where's my food?"
Sam chuckled and brought the tray to the bedside table. He rolled the table over to the bed so it hovered over Dean's lap.
Dean took the plastic cover off of the plate and glared at it. "Uh…hospital food…"
"Oh, come on," said John. "There's roast beef, and…green beans, and…some…orange-looking stuff…"
"Exactly," muttered Dean, putting the cover on the side of the table.
"But, hey, look," said Sam. "They put some jello and…apple juice on there."
"Whatever happened to burgers and soda?" complained Dean.
"Hospital rules," said Sam. "When you're a patient, you eat healthy. That way, they don't have to worry about nutrition while you're here."
"It still sucks," Dean grumbled as he picked up his fork and began poking at his roast beef.
"Well, eat up," said John. "We'll see if there's a game on or something."
He picked up the remote and turned the TV on, searching through the channels until he found a football game. They enjoyed the game, and Dean tried to enjoy his meal for about an hour—Dean was done with his food in twenty minutes.
As the game was wrapping up, there came a knock on the door. The Winchesters looked over at the doorway to see two men in suits standing in it.
"Afternoon, gentlemen," said the blonde-haired man, taking something out of his inside jacket pocket. "I'm Agent Smetzer. This is Agent Palkins."
The two men flashed their badges real quick before putting them back in their pockets. Dean glanced at John and Sam before settling his gaze back on the agents.
"We have some questions for you," said Agent Palkins.