Challenge 21 - Impressive, truly

He just needed a minute alone.

Just one minute to get his thoughts in order before everyone bombarded him with questions and prodding exams.

One single moment to himself so he could get back to a place where he didn't feel like curling up and vanishing from the world.

Because, while waking up in a hospital room wasn't exactly unfamiliar territory, it wasn't something that Dean relished, either.

He knew how bad it had been; how close he had come.

The nurse, Sara, had been sympathetic about the injuries he had sustained in the mugging, never once suspecting that Dean had actually been stabbed by a murderous shapeshifter right before he'd managed to shoot it with a silver bullet.

Dean wasn't about to tell her the truth.

Instead, he flirted with her and made jokes while she checked the settings on his IV and got him situated to her satisfaction. Flirting was familiar. It was comfortable. It was a good way to kill time while Sam was downstairs feeding the cover story to the cops sent to investigate Dean's attack.

When Sara was finally done, Dean was nearly shaking with the effort of keeping his devil-may-care expression in place.

"Hey, Sara, can you just give me a minute before you send my brother in?" Dean asked. "Gotta make sure my hospital gown isn't giving him a show or anything."

"Sure," Sara replied, giving him a small smile.

Dean waited until the nurse was gone before he let his smile drop. He took a shuddering breath, trying to get his emotions under control.

Stabbed again.

Almost died.

Again.

A horrible heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach and he felt like crying.

Here he was again, injured and in pain after another near-miss with death. He wasn't twenty-six anymore and convinced of his own immortality. Every time he made a miraculous escape, Dean knew just how close he had come to a horrible end. He had faced those horrible ends more times than he could remember, but instead of getting easier to deal with, it seemed like it was getting harder.

Lying in bed with his guts sewn back together, Dean was painfully aware of how badly things could have gone. He could have bled out in the sewers next to the body of the shifter, or in the car on the way to the hospital; he could have slipped away while Sam begged him to stay.

He knew the pain that would accompany his recovery and the discomfort that would plague him for weeks as he pushed his body and forced it back to combat readiness; he didn't have the luxury of bed rest.

Evil wouldn't wait for Dean to feel better.

The thing was, Dean was tired of pain. He was tired of feeling it and tired of seeing it reflected in the mirror or on his brother's face.

Those close-calls weighed on him, visiting him in the middle of the night when he should have been sleeping, waking him in a cold sweat when he did manage to sleep, even sneaking into his waking thoughts sometimes without warning.

There were so many ways he could have died and only chance seemed to stand between him and the grave. One day his luck would run out. It was simple math. There were some things for which no amount of skill could prepare him - survival sometimes came down to a coin toss and it was a terrifying thought.

There were so many what-ifs.

What if he'd jumped left instead of right to dodge that bullet?

What if that spirit had flung him just a little harder into that tombstone?

What if the ghoul had bitten his jugular instead of his shoulder?

What if one of those coin tosses got his brother killed instead of him?

There was nothing he could do to guard against flukes of fortune. He would always be in danger and Sam would always be in danger. They would walk into situations that would kill them sooner or later, regardless of the fear that warned them away.

How many times could a man be expected to put himself in a position where he might die at any moment? How many times would Dean be forced to bleed and suffer one night only to get up the next day, push past it, and somehow find the strength to face that pain again?

At moments like this, alone and hurting, Dean wanted so badly to give up. He wanted to find a place that was safe and hidden where he and Sam could just exist without everyone trying to kill them. He didn't want to have to summon up his courage just to face his day. He didn't want to have to push past the fear and walk into a situation that he might not walk away from.

He didn't want to know exactly how long it took to recover from a gunshot to the shoulder, or a stab wound in the side, or a hellhound bite, or the countless other teeth and claws and crushing blows that had rained down on him over the years.

He didn't want to die, and he didn't want Sam to die.

He was tired.

He was done.

He was-

The door creaked open slowly and Sam's tousled head peeked into the darkened room. "Dean? How are you feeling?"

Dean winced, hoping it was dark enough that Sam couldn't yet see him clearly. Putting on his game face took a little work sometimes. He cleared his throat and pressed the button to raise his bed, forcing a cocky grin onto his face as he did so. "You know me, Sammy. Takes more than a toothpick to keep me down."

A small snort was his reply as his brother made his way to Dean's bedside.

"My nurse is hot, at least," Dean continued on. "I think she likes me."

"She's married," Sam replied lightly. "Sorry."

"Damn. Maybe the next one will be single."

Sam looked as terrible as Dean felt, and the elder Winchester felt the despair rising in him again. He couldn't deal with it; he couldn't make it better; he didn't want to think about it-

"It was close, Dean. The wound was deep and you almost bled out. They said if we'd been any longer . . . "

He really didn't want to hear it.

Instead, he feigned nonchalance. "Impressive, truly."

Sam's face scrunched. "Impressive? Dean-"

"I cheated death again, isn't that at least a little impressive? Another win for the Winchesters."

Sam didn't look impressed.

"I'm okay, Sammy," Dean said firmly. "Honest. A few weeks of easy hunts and then we're back in the game, right? I'm not about to let a few stitches get me down, am I?"

The younger Winchester managed a weak smile. "Of course not."

"Right, now tell me what happened with the cops."

Dean watched approvingly as some of the haunted look slowly faded from Sam's face while he spoke. Things would be normal again soon. They'd move on and Dean's fears would get slowly locked away behind the walls he had built just for that purpose.

If only for a little while.