Chapter 21
The bitter cold fell across the Midwest from the Canadian North. Invisible on the barren, dead prairie, it reminded me winter wasn't always a snowy wonderland with white fields and frosted evergreens. Unseen single degree temperatures froze gloveless fingers. Leafless trees clawed at the overcast sky, begging for a glimpse of warming sunlight. Even in heated homes, the arctic air crept in causing chills which couldn't be shaken.
Though I wore Dean's navy blue coat, I still shivered. The smell of his cologne lingered on the collar, intoxicating me like it always did. Unlike the night before, I sat up on my own in the back of the Impala across from Dean, the distance between us wider than the length of the bench seat. I hadn't said more than a handful of words to him since he picked me up from my hospital room. Each time I spoke to him it was a promise, a threat that I wouldn't, that I couldn't let him go.
Sam presented my case without me. I needed a doctor; they couldn't care for me on their own. Dean argued that I was fine. Sam declared that I could die. He detailed how sick I was the night before, how I retched yellow bile. Dean maintained that a hospital would kill me; it was my crack house where I would O.D.
The fence posts tethered by barbed wire sped past the car window. Through the arid eastern plains of Colorado, into the dormant winter wheat of Kansas, I rode alone. I listened to them as we crossed from one state to the next. I silently sang the lyrics to Sam's late nineties songs as Dean protested his brother's choice in music.
In the late evening, Sam pulled Dean's car into the bunker garage. Despite the audience of bright vintage autos that greeted us, the big black car still felt like a hearse returning home to the morgue. It seemed as if a sliding drawer waited for me, the home for my lifeless body until I was stretched out on a steel table. Dean would keep poking and prodding until he learned exactly what caused my demise.
Maybe death is the answer instead of the problem. I wondered, but I couldn't be sure if I meant my death or his job offer to carry others across the River Styx.
At least Dean gave me the dignity of allowing me to shuffle inside the bunker on my own. The dark purple Colorado Rockies t-shirt and oversized pajama pants he found at a convenience store felt ridiculous, but at least I wasn't in an itchy hospital gown anymore. Dean descended the stairs ahead of me in case I fell, then escorted me through the hallways, his palm on my lower back as I lumbered toward the sleeping quarters.
"Is my room okay? We really don't have any other rooms ready." Dean asked me.
"It's fine, thanks." I murmured. When I eased myself down on his bed, Dean tried to steady me, stretching his arm across the top of my shoulders as I sat. I gave him a weak smile. "Thanks."
He noticed that I grimaced as I laid back on the pillow. "Why don't you let me look at your bandages."
"They're fine."
"Dammit, Jane. Will you just let me help you?" He barked at me.
"Yeah. Okay." I surrendered, lifting the t-shirt up and revealing the dressings on my abdomen.
"Ew." Dean cringed at the yellowish red stain which had oozed into the cotton, then gave me a reassuring smile. "I'm going to go get that bag from the hospital."
"Alright." I closed my eyes. Whether I wanted him to or not, Dean was going to care for me. Like a bird with a broken wing, I knew would flounder out on my own, flapping helplessly until I was dead.
Moments later, Dean returned with the plastic hospital bag. He set it down on the bed beside me, then went to the sink and washed his hands. I lifted my shirt back up, then started to pull back the perforated clear tape. "Just hold on." He commanded as he dried his hands and walked back to me.
With the edge of his fingernail, he started to peel the tape up and tug it off. His eyes widened and then he shrunk back in disgust, his lip upturned as he saw the crusty wound, the black stitches peeking through the dark pink cinched skin.
"It's infected." I stated.
"Yeah, I know." He went to the sink again, this time returning with a wet, warm washcloth. As he delicately dabbed at the sutures, I squinted in pain. "I'll get you another couple of painkillers if you eat something."
"I need a doctor."
Dean frowned. "No, you don't."
"You just admitted that it's infected..."
"No. You don't need a doctor and there's no way I'm taking you to a hospital." He declared.
"I know you don't get it." I sighed.
He stopped cleaning the wound and glared at me, then got up and washed his hands again. He rifled through the bag, grabbing out a roll of clear plastic tape, a 6" by 6" gauze pad, and a few packets of triple antibiotic ointment. "Have you ever hunted a djinn?"
"No." I replied.
Dean squeezed the ointment across my incision. "I got caught by one a long time ago. It almost killed me."
"That's not good."
"Yeah, actually kind of was." He confessed as he laid the pad across the stitches. "See, it put me in a dream state. The sonofabitch erased my past. My mom never died and our house never burned down. My dad never dragged us around the country, teaching us how to hunt. Sam didn't even know about supernatural things. He went to college and was engaged. I had a super hot girlfriend. She was a nurse." He grinned, then met my eyes. He wiped the smile from his face.
"Sounds great." I murmured. Maybe he really does understand.
"But none of it was real, Jane. Sam hated me. The people we had saved? They were all dead. And the whole time I was thinking things were perfect, that goddamned monster was killing me." He pressed the last piece of tape onto my skin, running the length of it with his fingers to ensure the adhesive had stuck.
"Thanks." I pulled my shirt down, then rolled away from him.
"You may think things are better with you going all Inception and everything, but it's not. It's all fake. Those good times you dream about, they're just illusions and you know it, Jane. And the whole time you're in la-la land, you're not living; you're dying."
Dean draped the white washcloth across the sink, then left the room. I hated that he was right. When I checked in to a hospital and slipped into unconsciousness, it was a slow suicide. I lost days and weeks. I lost weight and strength. I lost the lucidity to know if I was awake or dreaming.
Soon he returned, a couple of tablets hidden in his palm, a small yellow bag of Lay's potato chips in the other hand. "Sorry. This is all we've got. I'll go get groceries later. Or I'll send Sam." He apologized as he filled a glass from his sink.
"This is fine." I sighed as I pushed myself to sitting.
Dean dropped the pills into my hand and I took them with a sip of water. "Now, eat." He commanded as he opened the Lay's.
I ate a chip and started to lie back down.
"Not good enough. You need to eat more." He ordered.
I ate a second and a third before my stomach started to turn. I grabbed my abdomen.
"More." Dean ordered me.
"I can't. I'm sorry. I'll eat more later, okay." I promised.
Dean eyed me suspiciously. "You swear?"
"Yeah. I swear." I started to ease myself back down, but he interrupted. .
"Let me help you get under the covers first." He pulled back the blankets and sheet, then helped guide my legs under the covers. I rested my head on his pillow and he pulled the blankets up to my chest.
"Thanks."
"You mind if I lay down, too?" Dean asked politely.
"It's your bed." I mumbled.
"It's ironic, though, right? You can heal everyone else but you can't heal yourself."
"That's not irony, Dean. That's just life."
Just like the night before in the hotel, Dean lay down behind me on the top of the bedspread, keeping a few inches between us, his open palm on my hip. I wanted him to hold me, to kiss the back of my neck, but I said nothing. If I let him get too close, I wouldn't be able to leave him.
The Percocet Dean gave me dragged me into a deep sleep. Nightmares didn't plague me and visions of bliss didn't beg me to stay. Instead, I wandered through golden wheat fields, from one abandoned farm house to the next. The gray rough floorboards groaned under my bare feet. Frayed cotton curtains floated in the wind. Each sad house was empty. I was all alone.
I awoke to the sound of clinking and clattering. I opened my eyes to see Dean taking a pistol off the wall, then lowering it into a cardboard box.
"What are you doing?" My groggy voice questioned him.
"Putting these away."
"Because you're afraid I'm going to kill you in your sleep." He saw the bar in Nara Visa. He probably examined Mike's cold corpse.
Dean scowled at me. "No. I'm not afraid you're going to hurt me. I'm afraid you're going to hurt yourself." He dropped a nasty looking dagger onto the other weapons with a metallic thud.
I rolled my eyes. "If I wanted to hurt myself, Dean, do you really think you could stop me?"
"I'd sure as hell try." He grumbled back. "How are you feeling?"
"Great. I'm ready to leave now." I strained to sit up as my incision began to throb.
"Yeah, like hell." Dean took the last sawed off shotgun from the wall and set it in the box. "You ready to eat something?"
"No. But I want some more Percocets." The narcotics helped numb some of the pain in my abdomen, but mostly I wanted them to mute Mike's cries in my head. "And I need a shower." I said as I swung my legs off the bed.
"You gotta eat first." Dean insisted.
"Fine. Okay." I swayed for a second as I stood. He grabbed my arm, steadying me.
"Are you sure you can walk to the kitchen? You can eat in here." He offered.
"No. I can make it." I hobbled out of his room and down the hallway, keeping one hand against the cold tile on the wall. Dean followed close behind.
By the time we reached the kitchen, a cold sweat beaded on my forehead and I was out of breath. I knew something was wrong, but said nothing as I sat on the round red seat at the table.
The thought of eating caused my stomach to roil. Other than the few potato chips Dean had forced me to eat the night before, I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten anything. Oh God. What if he makes me a greasy hamburger? I felt the saliva rush into my mouth as I fought the urge to gag.
Dean went to a paper grocery sack on the stainless steel counter. "Sam says that you need to be on the BARF diet until you get your digestion or whatever working."
"'BARF diet'? Are you kidding me?" I held my arm across my abdomen, hoping my stomach would settle and the ache would go away.
"No, uh it's..." Dean pulled out a bunch of yellow bananas from the bag. "Bananas," then he named off each of the items as he removed them from the sack, "applesauce, rice, and bread?" He stared at the whole wheat loaf in confusion. "That spells 'BARB,' not 'BARF.'"
Sam stepped through the kitchen doorway. "It's the BRAT diet, Dean: bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast."
"Oh." Dean nodded.
"How are you doing today?" Sam turned to me and asked.
"I'm great. As soon as Dean lets me have my painkillers, I'm going to take off." I retorted.
Sam met eyes with his brother. "She's still like this?"
"Yep." Dean replied. "So, which do you want, Jane?"
"Um...applesauce is fine."
Sam grabbed a cup of coffee while Dean poured a cup of applesauce into a red rimmed bowl. Dean set it in front of me, then handed me a spoon. "I'll go get your pain pills."
I stirred the applesauce, then forced myself to take a bite. It tasted sweet and sour on my tongue, but I wasn't hungry. I knew they would only let me go if I was well. Sam sat across from me at the table, his large hands curled around his cup of coffee.
"You still haven't told Dean what happened in Nara Visa. If you can't talk about it with him, you can talk about it with me. You have to tell someone, Jane." He pleaded.
"No, I don't." I swallowed another spoonful of applesauce.
"If you don't, it will fester inside of you. You know it will. You have to let it out." The taller Winchester argued.
I dropped the spoon. "Confessing to what I did won't solve anything, Sam. Will it change what I did? No. Talking about shit doesn't solve anything. It just forces everyone else to deal with it, too." I started eating again.
"But Jane..."
"Not talking about it, Sam." I ignored him and finished the applesauce in front of me.
Though I wanted a shower, I could barely walk back to Dean's room, even with his help. As I collapsed on the bed again, I thought about what Sam said. Maybe confessing was the best thing. When I was well, I could hitch a ride to Nara Visa and turn myself in. Maybe I should trade a stark hospital room for a cold cell.
Later that night, my knees kept buckling while I tried to shower. Dean gave me a t-shirt and another pair of pajama pants of his to sleep in. He made me eat again, but I couldn't make it back to the kitchen. Pain ripped through my abdomen after a few bites of toast and I curled up on my side. I threw back another two Percocets then fell into a dreamless sleep.
Without my phone, without the sun, I couldn't tell how long I had been out. Dean had switched the light off. Was it night? Was it day? Did it matter? I could feel him beside me on the other side of the bed and the steady rhythm of his breath lulled me back asleep.
"Hey, Jane? Jane?"
I awoke to see Dean crouched down beside the bed. My mouth felt like sandpaper. I didn't want to wake up. "What?" I croaked.
"You need to drink something and eat something. You want another couple of pills?" He tried to tempt me.
"No. I'm good." I closed my eyes again.
"Jane. You've been out for twelve hours. Come on, wake up." Dean continued.
As I pushed myself to sitting, it felt like someone was sitting on my chest. My head began to throb so bad I thought for a second that my eyeballs would burst. "I'm really thirsty."
"Yeah, I'll get you something." He grabbed the glass from the end table and refilled it at the sink. I took it from him, guzzling the water down.
"I gotta eat before pills, right?" I wondered. The edges of my vision blurred.
"That's the deal." Dean affirmed, his hands on his hips.
"Okay. I'll get up." I tried to stand, but my legs gave out under me.
"Whoa!" He grabbed me before I fell and helped me back to the bed. "You alright?"
"Yeah. I'm fine." I lied. "Just give me a sec."
"I'll bring you something." Dean insisted. "Toast? A banana? Applesauce?"
"Whatever is fine." I slumped back on the pillow and shut my eyes. My heart thumped in my chest. Instead of getting better, it felt like I was getting worse.
Dean rushed back with a banana and the bottle of pills. I didn't want either.
"I'm fine. I don't need anything." I dismissed him as I tried to lie still.
"Jane, you need to eat."
"I'm just...really tired." I muttered.
"Eat. Dammit." He demanded.
"Alright." I sat back up with a grimace and he peeled the top of the banana, then he handed it to me. I took a bite.
"Kinda sexy..." He grinned, then frowned. "Sorry."
The room began to spin. The rumble in my stomach started to rise.
"I need a trash can. Now!" I moaned. Dean grabbed the waste basket beside the desk and shoved it in front of me the moment I began to hurl. Afterward, I dropped back to bed, sweaty and panting, too tired to move.
"Aw. Gross." He cringed as he carried the metal bin out of the room. Soon he was back, still insisting that I eat.
"Alright. Bananas are a no. I brought some toast." He held out the small plate.
"I can't." I groaned.
"Yeah, you can." Dean argued.
No matter what he brought me to eat or drink, it came back up. Even water caused my stomach to churn. My skin burned; my teeth began to chatter and my muscles twitched. Just as quickly as the hot flash came, it departed, leaving me clammy and cold.
"I've been trying to get a hold of Cas." Dean reassured me as pulled the blankets up around me and grabbed a washcloth for my forehead. "You have a fever." He dug through the hospital bag, pulling out another bottle of pills. "Keflex? Is this an antibiotic?"
"I h-have no i-dea." I stammered back as the chills shook my body.
"I'll check with Sam." He said as he hurried out of the room.
Of course, I couldn't keep the pills down, either. For the next two days, I vomited any time anything entered my stomach. Even if I didn't drink or eat anything, I doubled over with dry heaves. The pain in my abdomen dulled. I couldn't find a way to get comfortable, even on Dean's memory foam mattress.
Someone knocked on the door. Maybe it's Brad here to take me. Please just let me die.
"Yeah?" Dean answered. His voice seemed so far away.
I heard Sam enter the room and started talking with Dean. Their words sounded like whispers, staticky mutterings over a bad connection.
"Oh my God. She needs a doctor, Dean." Sam informed his brother.
"You know I can't take her to a hospital."
"If you don't take her to a hospital, then she's going to die here." Sam argued. "Is that what you want?"
"She's not going to die." Dean denied.
"Are you sure of that?"
I thought I saw the shadow of Death in the corner of the room.
"I'll do it. But not here. Please not here." I mumbled as the image flickered out of sight.
"What?" Dean demanded. "Did you just see a reaper? Is that sonofabitch here?" He yelled.
My vision blurred.
"Dean!" Sam roared.
"God dammit! Get the car, Sam!" Dean picked up my limp body and carried me out of the room.