He let the world spin around him, twisting and dancing before his eyes even as they closed. If he concentrated he could almost pretend it was a carnival ride, like the ones he and Dean went on when they were younger and Dad gave everyone a few days off to relax. There was this one, The Chaos it was called, that Dean just loved. They strapped people side by side into two-person pods, flimsy little things, and the ride would spin and flip and swing all the while rotating around the center. They must have gone on it a dozen times, never wanting to stop.
This kind of felt like that. Except, here, he was desperately looking forward to getting off the ride.
He'd gone back into Dean's room, unsure of what to do or where to go. All of their things were still there, Sam's phone, Dean's phone, Sam's bag and jacket, some magazines. The bed had been stripped and new linens added, stray wires all tidied up, and no sign of the blood dotting the floor. He wondered if he would have to head back into the waiting room, take up a spot in that chair again, the one he'd sat in after he'd seen his brother dead and had been forced back there to wait, Dean's blood on his hands.
He was not a fan of that chair.
It was complete surprise that overtook him when he saw his brother wheeled back into the room a few hours later, a doctor and several nurses with him. Out like a light and a small grin on his face assuring Sam it was a pleasant slumber—likely due to morphine pumping into his system—Dean was unresisting as they transferred him back to his bed.
"How is he?"
The doctor, an unfamiliar face to Sam—who had been acquainted and was on a first-name basis with several doctors, a surgeon, and multiple nurses—turned and clasped his hands together, turning his nose up at Sam.
"Well, you'll be happy to hear he does not need surgery. There are no signs of internal injuries along any of his ribs, and while we did note one internal stitch had pulled, it is still holding and there is no bleeding involved. We've redone the other torn stitches."
Sam felt the world that had been spinning around him come to a grinding, blessed halt. He's alright. He's okay, he's okay, he's going to get better.
"His head injury is very minor, he'll probably be a bit sore for a bit but there's no concussion. The biggest issue is his knee. Walking around has aggravated it quite a bit, and it's much more inflamed than it was before. We'll keep a close eye on it and prescribe some anti-inflammatories and painkillers, but he needs to stay off of it for at least three weeks. When he's discharged we'll give him crutches, but I don't recommend using them unless in an emergency. The strain on his chest outweighs the benefits of mobility in this case, you see."
Okay, Dean, you're parking your ass in front of the TV for the next three weeks.
"Your brother is a lucky man, his own lack of safety for himself notwithstanding. Please do make sure he doesn't do anything like this again? It's quite a stress on everyone to have to keep an eye out for unruly patients like these."
The doctor stopped himself then, feeling the temperature in the room suddenly drop as the brother's eyes turned darker on him, his initial look of relief replaced by something a bit more dangerous.
"Unruly?"
"Oh, well, not so much unruly as—"
"I appreciate the update, doctor, you can leave now." Sam's voice had dropped lower, softer, protective instincts for his family kicking in. He might be angry at his brother and ready to kick his ass when he woke up, but he'd be damned before he let anyone else take a shot at him.
The doctor could feel the threats emanating from the man and thought it prudent to follow his instructions.
"Y-yes, of course, you have a good night, now. His regular doctor will be back in to check on him in the morning." With that, he made his hasty exit. The nurses who had been with him snickered, and one turned to Sam with a smile. "He's kind of an ass, don't worry about him. Your brother's alright and we'll be keeping a close eye on him."
"Thank you."
They left as well, leaving Sam to resume his post with Dean at his side once more.
"See that, sleepyhead, you've gone and pissed off the doctors. Go figure the nurses are still into you though, huh." Knowing Dean wouldn't answer him, it was actually a bit easier to talk, the threat of judgement removed for the moment.
"You do anything like this again, man, and I'm strapping your ass down to the bed for the next month." He paused and sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the bed. "I'm sorry I pushed you into thinking you had to do that. I'm not going anywhere, Dean, I promise."
With the stress of the last few hours catching up with him, Sam let his head fall onto his arms, too worn out to care about the hell he'd receive from his back at its uncomfortable treatment. He closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
"I thought only the sick people get the bed."
"Uuuuumph?" Sam lurched up, eyes half-open and mouth agape, to see his brother smirking at him. "Well, that's a pretty picture of you, Sam, I wish I had a camera."
He pulled back, feeling the hard knot of discomfort in his back, the old familiar friend, and worked his shoulders around, blinking sleep out of his eyes. "How long you been up?"
"Eh, like an hour or so." Dean didn't look much worse for the wear, thankfully. Bags perhaps a bit heavier under his eyes, and a small furrow in his brow indicating a bit more pain than before, but otherwise okay.
"Why didn't you wake me up?"
"I'm not your butler, man. Besides, you make funny faces when you sleep and I needed entertainment, there's nothing on the TV."
"Dean—"
"I tell ya man, it's cute, like a puppy having a dream. You could get a lot of ladies with those looks, plus you don't have to worry about making conversation with them." Dean's smile had widened a bit more, mischievous glint in his eyes. He didn't fail to notice that Sammy didn't seem to want to reciprocate any sort of banter, though. Judging by the emotions swimming in the kid's eyes, anger being at the forefront, Dean could guess why.
"Let me guess, I'm in trouble here, huh."
Sam ignored it and followed with his go-to question, "You feeling okay? Any more pain?"
"Chest is a little sorer than before, but I'm alright." He sank back and waited for Storm Sammy to erupt.
It didn't though, and Dean wasn't sure if that was a way of tormenting him a bit more or if Sam was just trying to figure out the most effective words. The guy did get stuck in his head too often.
Not that Dean hadn't spent some quality time in his own. He'd freaked out a bit after he'd lost sight of Sam as the doctors took him down the hall, shoving him around into a new room, more orders shouted over his head while he laid there and tried not to jump up and run like a frightened rabbit. He figured one time touring the hospital halls on his bare feet was enough. Then they'd given him those fake smiles and told him everything was fine and knocked him out before he'd had the chance to process any of it.
The last hour, Sam asleep almost in his lap, he'd spent watching his little brother. This hospital trip was turning out to be worse for Sam than it was for him. The song was always the same in their family: someone gets hurt, the others worry themselves sick over it and everyone leaves a little more burdened and scarred than before. It wasn't fair to Sammy to have to deal with this.
And Dean had made it worse. Looks like I should be mending a few fences. Here goes.
Sam saw the apologetic look in his brother's eyes and let the aggravation and annoyance mask the fear in his own, and he tensed, ready to pounce on his brother's excuses.
"Look, Sam—"
"Don't." Not angry, but collected and firm, not what Dean was expecting.
"Come on—"
"I mean it. We're not going to talk about this one, alright. You're in one piece and you're damn well gonna stay that way. Here's how it's going. You're staying here, you're gonna do exactly what the doctors tell you this time, and we leave when they say it's okay. No arguing."
"Dude—"
"No." Sam turned to face his brother directly. "You scared the living hell out of me, man."
You scared your little brother. Well done, Dean, nice going with the older brother routine. They both sighed, heavy and deep matching the weight in their hearts. "I'm sorry, Sam. For what it's worth, I am.
"And…ugh…I'll listen to the friggen docs, okay?"
Truth in his brother's eyes, Sam slumped back with relief. It looked like they had one marker down, and a few more to go.
A/N: Took all the willpower I had not to keep whumping Dean, but Sam and Dean have been looking pretty frazzled lately so I figured it was best to cut them a break before the poor guys tuck tail and run away on me.