A/N: Sorry this is a day late! I was unable to post yesterday--but here's the next bit with the reveal on Dean's health and another minor turn in the road :) Thanks!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

It looked just about like every other hospital room she'd ever been in, which really made sense, since this was the hospital she'd had to visit before. Only this time, it wasn't her grandfather and it wasn't Logan and it wasn't Sookie having a baby (thank God!) but it was Dean.

Her grandfather had looked completely misplaced in the bed, too big for it, but sort of bigger than it in the way that made Rory feel not so worried about it. Logan...well, Logan had been hard to grasp because she wasn't family and she hadn't been allowed in and that was hard. And he had been unconscious and it'd been his own stupid fault and she'd been too busy fretting about what she didn't know to really think too much about what she did.

And she was not going to talk about Sookie and babies. Not now. Not ever.

But Dean.

Dean, all six foot four of him, was slouched in the bed, almost shrinking into it. His head was bowed, bangs falling all over his face. It was remarkable, really, how small he looked. How he could make himself look so small, so much more defeated than her grandfather had, than Logan had, and that alone hollowed out her stomach.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but that really wasn't it.

"Hi," she said.

He jerked his head up, his face awash with surprise and sheepishness before he seemed to recognize her. Then he seemed to pull further into himself before offering a small smile. "Hi," he said.

She raised her eyebrows, suddenly realizing she had no idea what to say. She had no idea what she was really doing here because she wasn't a granddaughter or a girlfriend this time. She was just a friend who wanted to be more and really she just wanted to know he was okay. "So," she said. "Fancy meeting you here."

He offered another half-hearted grin that looked significantly more awkward. "Yeah," he said. "Did you stay all night?"

"I think so," Rory said. "It got kind of blurry for a few hours there before my mom got me some coffee."

Dean almost winced. "Your mom's here, too?"

Rory tried to shrug, hoping to look nonchalant. "We just wanted to make sure that we took advantage of the waiting room. No sense in hospitals keeping those things around unless people use them."

Dean nodded. "I'm sorry," he blurted. "You shouldn't have waited. I mean, I appreciate it, but I shouldn't have made you come here."

"Well, I'm not sure you really had much say in the matter," Rory said. "Passing out and all."

"I'm sorry about that, too."

"So, you're okay?" Rory asked. "Clara said you were okay but she didn't say what it was and so I would hope that it's nothing too serious since you're okay but, you know, I don't know."

"They think it's an ulcer," Dean said, ducking his head again.

"An ulcer?"

He looked up, grinning half heartedly, more for her sake, she could tell, than for his own. "Yeah. Ate away at the lining of my stomach. Apparently, I was stressed enough that I let it go all the way through and perforate into my abdominal cavity. Which, of course, explains the intense pain. If you let it go long enough, it can even cause the chest pains. Not totally common, but that's their best guess."

"Dean," she said, feeling her own stomach bottom out. "You can't be doing this to yourself."

His smile got nervous. "Yeah, I know," he said. "It'll help if I stop popping the Aleve."

"You've been popping Aleve?"

"All within the proper dosages, don't worry about that. It can just, well, exacerbate the problem."

"Exacerbate? Like, instead of just destroying your stomach it could start in on your intestines as well? What next, your skin?"

Dean looked nauseous. "That's gross."

Gross, yes, but an ulcer. And Dean was popping Aleve and stressing out to the point where it was literally eating parts of him. And all of this was really about to stress her to the point of losing all inhibitions she may have had. Because she was in a hospital and she didn't know where she stood with Dean and he'd passed out and it was an ulcer. "Why did you let it go on so long?" she asked. "I mean, weren't you in pain?"

He shrugged a little. "Things were so crazy I guess I just lost track of it," he admitted. "There wasn't time to worry about a stomach ache."

"A stomach ache?" she asked, more than slightly incredulous. "You worried a hole through your stomach. A few more weeks and you could have had a window in your midsection!"

"It's more common than you think," he offered, but it was a meager attempt, even for a guy who was already in a hospital bed.


She snorted. "You so do not get to downplay this," she said. "You scared the crap out of me."

His gaze fell. "I'm sorry. I never meant for this to fall to you."

"That's not what I meant," she said quickly. She was frustrated, yes, really frustrated after that kind of night and that little coffee, but she wasn't mad. And really, the last thing Dean needed was more guilt. She didn't doubt that he was getting that from his mother already. Not to mention what he seemed capable of doing to himself. "And you know it."

He tried to smile at her. "I feel so ridiculous," Dean said, turning his head away again. "You shouldn't have come."

Angst was not the way to go. Not this morning. She'd had her fill and she couldn't bear to make Dean suffer any more of it. Joking, however, was a good fallback. Laughter was, after all, good for the soul, so surely it could only help a stomach ulcer. "Aw, but bedside vigils are totally my thing," Rory said. "I don't have a lot of experience, so I really needed the practice."

Looking at her now, Dean grinned wearily. "Well, I'm glad to help you out in that regard. Now when you write your novel, you can describe the ins and outs of a hospital room with great detail."

"And I promise, that gown of yours will be the primary focus," she said, nodding to the paper-thin gown he was donning.

Dean grimaced, rolling his eyes. "Open back and all."

Rory raised her eyebrows. "Quite scandalous. Are you sure I can't help you to the bathroom?"

"I wish," he said. "I think I'm confined to bedpans until they can rule out any other complications."

"And if that's not incentive to keep yourself healthy, I don't know what is."

He laughed a little, but the attempt was a bit lackluster. She wanted to say something else, to say anything else, but her mind was blank. If she opened her mouth, she was just going to say something stupid, something about hospital ceilings needing to have murals painted on them for the bedridden, and that just wouldn't be right.

"Well," she said. "I guess I'll let you get your rest and check on you in a bit. I would tell you to take care of yourself, but I have a feeling the doctors and nurses will be all over that one for you. You know, since this is a hospital and all, and I wouldn't think they'd let you near the Aleve for a bit, considering."

Dean nodded absently. He paused and she was readying to go, awkwardly, when his voice stopped her. "Rory."

"Yeah?"

He looked uncertain for a minute, brow furrowed and mouth set. Then it softened. "Thanks," he said. "For being there."

Rory wanted to say something sweet, maybe something pithy, maybe something sweetly pithy, but apparently watching someone collapse from a probable ulcer deadened her senses. She supposed the fact that she hadn't slept all night and was in serious caffeine withdrawal probably had something to do with it as well.

Still, she wanted to say something. Because Dean was lying there, still looking so pale, turning those big eyes on her, telling her thanks and it felt so good.

She found herself smiling. "There's no place I'd rather be."

It was the right thing to say. It really was. She wasn't sure where it came from and she wasn't totally sure how her caffeine-depraved, sleep-deprived mind came up with any intelligible at all, but the look on Dean's face, the smile of his lips. It was the right thing.

Given the events of the last twenty-four hours, that was definitely something they needed.

-o-

Fate. It was fate. It had to be fate, because what on earth could be the cause of all of this entirely ridiculous mess?

It was like fate seemed to be going on the offensive these days. First Dean rejected her (well, kind of, but not really, but who really knew anymore?). Then Dean passed out in front of her and had to be carted off in an ambulance (which was more than slightly terrifying, no matter how she looked at it). And then, on the way out of Dean's hospital room where she was just barely recovering from those first two blows, she ran into May Forester.

Also known as, the mother from hell.

Well, to Rory anyway.

Not that May was her mother but Rory was not a fan of the way May acted around her or Dean or Clara or anyone for that matter. Basically, the mother from hell. Condescending, oblivious, self-absorbed--you name the bad trait, May basically embodied it. To be fair, Rory knew that she'd just lost her husband, but that did nothing to excuse the previous injunctions, the ones Rory herself had witnessed and the ones she'd heard from her mother.

Rory really needed coffee. She did. Because her antagonism was flaring and she hadn't even had a real conversation with the woman.

Was it possible that she could slip by May without having to engage in some form of conversation? It wasn't like May liked her either, so it was entirely possible that May was having equally negative thoughts about her and therefore discourage either of them from attempting to start some kind of misguided conversation.

Still, they were going to walk right by each other. She had to acknowledge her presence at least.

She was going for a nice, courteous if curt nod, when her bad luck streak seemed to rear its ugly head.

"Rory," May said and even in her half-delirious state, Rory could see anxiety light in the woman's eyes. "You talked to him?"

"Just for a minute," Rory said. "I think he's pretty tired."

"What did he tell you?" she prompted. "He wouldn't tell me much."

And suddenly, May's interest made sense. She needed information. Rory was a convenient source.

Sure May made sense, but that just made Rory's position all the more uncertain. She didn't know what May knew, she didn't know what Dean wanted May to know or what he might not or the reasons why he would withhold such information. Too many variables. Too little caffeine. Vague was the way to go. Safe. Less thought required. "Well, he's tired, like I said," Rory offered. "I think it's been kind of a long night."

Dean's mother sighed. "So, he didn't tell you anything else? Like about how it happened? I mean, I know they think it's an ulcer, but how did he get it? My Aunt Louise had an ulcer and she never collapsed, so I just don't understand."

"Well, it's been a rough go of things," Rory offered the obvious.

But May was hardly listening to her. "He's always doing this," May said, running a hand through her hair. "Every damn summer he drags us back here, and he has no idea what it does to us--what it did to Randy."

Rory shifted uncomfortable. "I don't think he does it on purpose," she said. "I know I wasn't around the last few summers, but I know this wasn't his fault."

May still didn't look at her. Her jaw was clenched and she looked like she hadn't slept in about two days. The stress was wearing her out, too, just like it was Dean, so Rory knew to tread carefully. The woman had lost her husband, after all, and was just learning that her son had worried his way into a poorly placed ulcer. "But who's going to run the store? How are we going to pay the bills? We can't afford this right now. Dean knows that. He knows it better than I do, so I don't understand these childish stunts--"

"This isn't a stunt," Rory interjected, too incredulous to let it pass. "Nor is it childish. Dean has a medical problem. He can't control this."

May looked at her this time, her eyes almost scathing. "Excuse me, young lady," she said. "But I'm fairly certain you don't know my son like I do."

"No, I clearly don't," Rory agreed. She agreed and she should have left it at that. Should have left it alone. Because picking fights with grieving widows in hospital waiting rooms was not a good idea. Not advised. Not proper. But just because May was hurting didn't mean she should take it out on Dean. Didn't mean that Dean should bear the brunt of his family's needs and problems.

For a second, May almost looked smug.

And Rory couldn't hold it back. Wouldn't. Because that reporter's clarity was still there, stronger and truer than ever. This time, not just about her. But about Dean. She got it. All of Dean's sacrifices, all of Dean's efforts had been for his family, to keep them together, to do the right thing. Foreign concepts to Rory--foreign because Rory's family had never wanted her to be anything but Rory. Dean's family needed him in a different way, a harder way, a way that meant that love required sacrificed, it required giving up oneself.

The part that killed her, the part that made sure she wouldn't hold her tongue, was that Dean did. He did so willingly, time and time again, no matter how much he wanted, no matter anything. And it still wasn't enough. Not for her, not for his mother, and Rory didn't know how much more he could take.

She did know she wouldn't take it on his behalf. Not now. Not ever.

"Because I know that your son has given up everything for his family," Rory continued. "I get that he's let you down before. I get that he's made mistakes. But I also know that he gave up a great job, his dream job to come back and work a store for no other reason than it meant something to his father. I know he gave up a chance to be on his own for no other reason than to support you and Clara, so you can keep the house, so Clara can go to school. I know your son would do anything for you and has worked himself senseless just to try to make you happy. And still somehow you're never happy and I don't know if you ever will be. What, when he's dead? Will it be enough for you then? Or you will you just be mad that he let you down again?"

It came out in a rush, in one breath almost, and it left her heaving for air and red in the face.

May stared at her, too shocked to be angry. Her eyes were wide, her mouth hanging open.

"So, excuse me," Rory said. "I'm going to be sure Dean's okay before I sit around and talk about what he should or shouldn't do, or worse, what he's failed to do. Because maybe Dean needs someone to care about Dean for awhile."

She didn't hesitate, didn't even look back as she brushed past May.

She really needed that cup of coffee. Though she was pretty sure that once she woke up, she would realize exactly what she'd just said.

-o-

She was shaking by the time she got back to the waiting room. At least she felt like she was shaking. Her entire body felt cold, electrifyingly so, and it was like her nerves were totally an edge with the adrenaline still pumping through her veins.

Confrontation, inherently, did not appeal to her. It was too, well, confrontational. She didn't like the way it made her feel, the way it haunted her afterwards. Which was why she tended to avoid it, instead opting for excessively verbose diplomacy that, if nothing else, subdued her confronter with fast, inane talking.

Besides, she always shook like a leaf when it was done, a habit which made her feel about eight-years-old.

But maybe it wasn't as bad as she thought. It could just be in her head--a lot of things seemed to be.

"You look like crap," her mother noted the instant she got back.

So much for hiding it. "I need coffee." True, though perhaps beside the point. Well, as much as coffee could ever be beside the point.

"Well, I was thinking more along the lines of breakfast," her mother said. "You know, actual food. Crazy idea, I know, but generally they do recommend that people eat three solid meals a day."

"We've never listened to dietary guidelines."

"No time like the present to start," her mother said. "Besides, Luke's on this breakfast kick. Keeps telling me that it is actually the most important meal to eat, which you always hear, but he actually said it's because it starts your metabolism earlier. And you need to jump start that good old metabolism or everything moves slowly. Of course, I'm pretty sure Luke wasn't thinking pancakes and hash browns, but hey, you can't do everything right."

"You could always make it worse with sausage links."

"Or bacon," her mother suggested. "But seriously. I think we should make a run for it. Assuming, you know, that Dean's okay."

"Dean's fine," Rory said absently.

"Fine?"

"You said he would be."

"Yes, but I was hoping for a little more insight than that."

Rory sighed, sinking to the chair. "It's an ulcer."

"An ulcer?"

Rory just nodded. "Something about it eating away all the way through the stomach wall and into places where it shouldn't."

Lorelai made a face. "Sounds...unpleasant."

"If the look on his face was any indication, it was unpleasant."

"But he's okay."

"He's okay," Rory agreed wearily.

"So, why are you not okay?"

There was no point in hiding it. No point in avoiding it. This was her mother after all. "I ran into May."

"And I'm taking that you didn't just exchange reassuring thoughts on Dean's condition."

"She started to go off," Rory said, feeling her steam come back. "About how Dean's always doing this, about how she can't trust him, about all this stuff. And she just didn't get it."

"I don't think she's ever gotten it," her mother said. "She said the same stuff to me that summer Dean got hit by a bike."

"Which still doesn't make any sense to me," Rory said. "But that's not the point. The point is that Dean worried his way into an ulcer for her. I mean, he gave up everything for her and the family and all of it, and she doesn't care. She doesn't care."

"I think she cares, she just doesn't quite grasp it all," her mother ventured.

"But it's not fair."

"Honey, lots of things aren't fair. And you have to cut May a little slack. It's not like there's a guidebook on how to best cope with the loss of your husband."

"But it's not fair to Dean."

"Again," her mother said. "Lots of things haven't been fair to Dean."

Rory furrowed her brow and sunk back in the seat, not caring if she looked more than a little petulant. She hadn't gotten any sleep. Dean had an ulcer. She needed coffee. And she'd just chewed out May Forester, which wouldn't be so bad, except it was Dean's mother, his mother, and it didn't matter how right Rory could be, she was pretty sure riling up Dean's mother would only come back on Dean. "It should be."

"Well, we can't change that," Lorelai said. "But when we come back from breakfast I was totally thinking about buying him a movie or two. You know, some of the classics that we used to subject him, too. Nothing says healing quite like Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory."

"Ooplma loopmas do have that kind of effect on people."


"Even if they are sour little things. That somber music Orange faces. You have to love orange faces. Everyone looks healthy in contrast to an orange face."

"Why did you want to get him that one again?"

"We can always settle for something more manly. Action. Adventure. Something with Bruce Willis."

"That's your idea of an action hero? He doesn't even have hair."

"Hair is a prerequisite of an action hero?"

"He's sort of fatherly."

"Well, I don't hear you making any suggestions."

That was true. Probably because her brain wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. "Maybe we should get food now."

"Smart move," her mother agreed. "Food first, the perfect get well movie to torture him with second."

"He has an ulcer, you know."

"So we avoid movies with flesh eating diseases."

"I didn't know that was a genre."

"It is now."

"I think we need to go," Rory said.

Her mother mercifully relented. "We're going, we're going."

And Rory knew they couldn't go fast enough.