My thanks to Fanpire101 for betaing this for me and helping me to figure out where to break the chapter. I'm going to have Dean bring you a nice slice of pie when he's feeling better. Any remaining errors are mine. My thanks also to PharmTech for the comment on the last chapter, and my appreciation to everyone who has favorited or followed so far.
I own nothing. Except maybe Jess' dad. And I haven't quite decided how I feel about him. Cross-posted at Archive of Our Own.
Dr. Thomas Moore prided himself on being a reasonable man, despite what everyone around him seemed to think. Some of his hospital employees might say he was a bit harsh. Blunt even. Dr. Moore shrugged away the criticism. He called it like he saw it.
And right now, as he pushed his way into room 343 after another boring day of meetings, he didn't like what he saw. His only daughter, his baby girl, sat slumped asleep in an uncomfortable-looking chair between two bickering young men. The Winchester brothers - one defiant and sneering, the other angry and exasperated - were hissing and posturing at each other like rabid dogs.
The older boy - Dean, the scarred salt thief - had clearly ripped out his IV. Dr. Moore could see swelling and a thin line of dried blood near the former point of venous entry. If any of his staff had done that, he'd tan their hides. The disheveled man wore an unbuttoned shirt over too-long checkered pajama bottoms that Dr. Moore vaguely recognized as Sam's. Or perhaps the brothers had similar taste in lumberjack clothing. A weathered flannel shirt hung loosely over the top of the man's newly repaired right arm. The cumbersome cast went up past his elbow and was strapped tightly to his chest with a sling. He was attempting to lace up his boots one-handed, without much success. Dr. Moore marveled that the man was moving around at all - he wasn't due to be discharged for another day at least.
The younger one - Sam, vending machine vandal and potential daughter stealer - held his brother's good arm in a vice grip. His other wrist was wrapped in an elastic bandage. The younger man's face, drawn and pale, reflected a night impacted by migraine and/or a panic attack, depending upon the source of your hospital gossip.
Dr. Moore had read his chart: Migraine, probable panic attack. Refer for neuro-psych eval for migraines, possible PTSD. Sprained right wrist, mild. Mild metacarpophalangeal sprains of right index and ring fingers. And a special note: Do not allow John Winchester access to the third floor under any circumstances.
He wondered if Sam had been told that his father now came with a warning label. He'd have to ask if that instruction originated with Dean, Sam, one of his hospital staff, or his own daughter. Dr. Moore knew that Sam had been discharged earlier that day with instructions to rest and reduce his stress levels.
Clearly, the boy had paid no attention to these orders. Sam appeared to be attempting some sort of mind meld with his older brother using his best lost puppy imitation. The fact that both Winchesters had botched up their right wrists and wound up admitted into his hospital at the same time led the older man to wonder about the strength of that connection. It reminded him of why he had come here in the first place.
"And how are we today, gentlemen?" Dr. Moore boomed into the small space, pleased when both brothers jumped.
His daughter stirred and popped open one slate blue eye as she stretched. Still half-asleep, she replied, "Hi, Daddy." He smiled fondly in her direction before facing the two miscreants.
Sam dropped his brother's arm and used his free hand to smooth back his unruly mop of hair. "Uh, hi Dr. Moore." He gestured at the other bed. "This is my brother, Dean."
"I figured as much." The older man held out a hand to the more injured of the two. Dean had to let go of his shoelaces to awkwardly return the handshake with his left hand. Dr. Moore caught a glimpse of amusement on Sam's face, to which Dean returned a slight growl.
"Am I interrupting something?" the doctor asked dryly.
Sam swallowed, waving his free hand. "No, sir. Dean was just—"
"Leaving," Dean interrupted. He stood up, forcing the doctor to take a step back as the injured man wobbled slightly on his feet. Dr. Moore stopped just short of placing a hand on the boy's elbow to steady him.
"Dean," Sam admonished. "The body shop isn't even done with the Impala yet. And you haven't been properly discharged."
Dean's green eyes narrowed. "I don't need to be here, racking up medical expenses. I'm fine."
Dr. Moore cut his eyes to Jess, who rolled her own back at him, shook her head, and shrugged. Clearly, she'd already had this argument with the man.
"You can't travel like this, Dean," Sam implored, waving his arms to encompass his brother's surgically altered wrist, taped up forehead, and broken ribs. The wrinkle between Sam's hazel eyes deepened. "You need rest."
So do you, Dr. Moore thought, but didn't say.
"I'm not stayin' at your girlfriend's parents' house, Sam."
Dr. Moore blinked. That was precisely the reason he had come to visit the boys. The background checks he'd had his friends in law enforcement run on the Winchesters had turned up some odd hits on Dean. He wasn't even sure he wanted Sam in his house anymore. Grave desecration? Breaking and entering into a morgue? Sure, the charges were later dropped but he'd be damned if he'd lose his baby girl to a cult.
"I'm afraid Dean is right. We don't have the room to accommodate him," Dr. Moore agreed, nodding his head at Sam with mock sadness, arms folded.
"Dad!" Jess chided, standing up to face him. "We have plenty of—"
"We'll rent a place for a few weeks until you're better," Sam interrupted, eyes on Dean. All three of the room's other occupants stared at him.
Jess barked out a surprised, "What?" at the same time Dean huffed a "Sam, I—"
"No, Dean. I did not sign on to pay for your surgery only to have you screw it up at the first opportunity!"
The older brother looked properly chastened at that and sat back down on his hospital bed.
"Sam, we need to talk about this," Jess fumed, arms crossed.
"I can help you find a suitable room to rent," Dr. Moore said, turning to Sam. "It would be less expensive than trying to find an apartment for the rest of the summer."
"Thank you, sir," Sam replied, running his left hand through his hair again before rubbing the back of his neck.
"Sam!" Jess admonished. "You are not renting—"
"And we will need to postpone the engagement party, of course," Dr. Moore continued, interrupting Jess.
"Dad," his daughter all but growled. Dr. Moore held a hand up to forestall her, curious to see how the Winchester boys would react to this news.
"Of course," Sam murmured, rubbing his forehead now. If anything, he appeared even paler.
Dean's sullen eyes locked on the doctor. "No need for that. I wasn't—" an audible swallow — "plannin' on attendin' anyway." He gave his brother a meaningful glare and Sam dropped his gaze to the tile floor.
"Un-be-lievable." Jess paced slowly through the small room and shook her head at all three men. Once she stood near the door, she pointed at Dean. "You get in bed." Her finger moved on to Sam. "We need to talk." And a final jab at her father, "If you kick Sam and his brother out, I'm going with them." She then nabbed Sam by his elbow and tugged him out of the room.
Once in the hallway, Jess felt her anger evaporate when Sam put a hand to his eyes. He swallowed hard, beads of perspiration dotting his pale forehead.
"You okay?" she asked, knowing full well what the answer should be. She wondered what he would actually say.
Sam lowered his arm and she could see pain in the squint of his eyes. "I need to sit down," he admitted, and Jess exhaled a sigh of relief at his honesty. She led him over to the little alcove where she'd spoken with Dean earlier and made sure to seat him in the darkest corner.
"I'll be right back. I'm going to get your meds and a soda." Sam leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.
When Jess poked her head into Dean's room to grab her purse, a nurse was reinserting his IV line. Her father wasn't in the room.
"Hey, Fern." Jess greeted the older woman as she picked up her handbag from the visitor's chair. She could tell Dean was awake by the rigid set to his jaw, but he didn't open his eyes or acknowledge her.
"You need something, honey?" Fern asked.
"Just grabbing Sam's pills," she said, twisting her mouth in an unhappy line. "Headache's back."
As Fern clucked her sympathy, Dean's eyes opened and locked on Jess. "Sam okay?"
She nodded. "But it would be better if you stayed put for awhile. He can rest in your room till I can get things sorted out with my dad." It occurred to Jess that Sam would not like her coddling him in this way, but she pushed that thought aside.
Dean shrugged, then winced as the movement jostled his injured arm. Fern noticed and gave him a pat. "Nothing to sort. Your father and I had a little chat. We're in complete agreement." Before Jess could protest, Dean insisted, "I don't like him. He don't like me. He doesn't want me at his house. I don't wanna be there. He's finding a room for Sam and me right now. End of story."
"But—"
"You want Sam and your dad to get along, right?" His gaze pinned her down like the trapped insect that she was, and Jess wondered exactly when he'd gained the upper hand in this conversation.
"Yes, but—"
Fern excused herself from the room, and Dean gave his temper free reign. "Then quit your bitchin' already. I ain't stayin' 'round here any longer than I have to. You'll have Sam back before you know it."
"I'm going to stay with you and Sam," she declared.
"To do what?" Dean snorted. "I'm not stealing him from you, sweetheart. It's just gonna be for a few days, till I convince my worrywart of a little brother that I'm okay. But if you run off now, your dad's gonna get pissed. And he's gonna take it out on Sam." His voice softened. "And he ain't lookin' so hot."
Jess bit her lip and looked down at her purse. "I need to get these meds to him," she faltered.
Dean nodded and closed his eyes. She found herself warring between irritation and relief at the unspoken dismissal.