Before they reached the sliding emergency room doors, Jacob paused to glance at Dean. "It's actually a pretty neat system they have, borrowing magic like that. It's how Rischa made those flowers glow."
Dean nodded. "She was telling me about it. I mean, we didn't have much time before you showed up." He winced as he remembered that. His first reaction to a stranger in the woods, especially with a tiny, vulnerable girl in his hand was to close those hands up. It was to protect her, but it also trapped her, taking her out of the conversation. "She said she was just playing when she lit those up."
They stepped over the threshold of the hospital, and were bathed in the bright lights inside. "She had a path leading right to her,," Dean said, shaking his head. "It's a good thing Bobby didn't stumble on the sprites sooner. They're pretty innocent little guys, as far as anything supernatural goes."
"They really are," Jacob agreed. "That's why I was kinda ... leery, when we first met." He offered a sheepish grin. He didn't realize who he was talking to when he'd found Dean. All he could see was a man who clearly had a sprite trapped in his hands. He couldn't bring himself to regret bristling as much as he had; if Dean had turned out to be a threat, Jacob was ready to help the sprites the best he could.
Before he could say more, they'd reached the desk. He'd barely opened his mouth before the nurse there looked them over with some concern and tapped a box on the counter with crisp white forms. "Please fill one of these out and we'll get to you as soon as we can, alright?"
"Thanks," Jacob answered, a little thrown off guard. He grabbed one form and one of the spare, worn out clipboards next to the box. Once he picked up a pen, he glanced back at Dean. "I'll ... I'll just fill this out for you since writing's probably a bitch like that."
"That's right." Dean eyed up the paperwork with a suspicious look while he dug in his back pocket. He was always suspicious of the way hospitals were with injuries. If Jacob wasn't around, filling out that form would be arduous and just a step away from actual torture.
The black leather wallet he freed from his pocket was well worn, and contained more than one form of identification. Most of them with varying identities, depending on the job he was on. John Winchester had made sure that Dean knew to keep a faked health insurance card on him, one that linked to his father's.
Dean had tried, back when John first vanished, to see if an 'Elroy McGillicutty' had checked into a hospital, but no dice.
"Use this to fill it out," Dean said as he handed off the card, taking a heavy seat in the waiting room.
"Sure ... thing," Jacob answered, pausing when he glanced at the name on the card. Larry McGillicutty. It was the third name Jacob had gotten for Dean, and he had a sudden feeling he'd only seen the tip of that particular iceberg. He chose not to comment on it and sat down to fill out the form with information from the card.
He couldn't stop a guilty, sideways glance when he reached a section headed Cause of Injury. Jacob had crushed Dean's arm in his own hand, but he couldn't put that on the form. Hopefully there weren't bruises in the perfect shape of his hand; it would raise complications that they didn't need, and that Sam and Scar couldn't afford.
He ended up writing camping accident in scrawled handwriting and moving on with the rest of the form. A nurse making rounds through the room to check the few others waiting took the form when she saw him finish it up.
He handed the fake insurance card back to Dean. "So, Larry, how're you holding up?"
"Oh, I'm just awesome," Dean said dryly as he took back the card and tucked it away. "Peachy. Like a million bucks. We should just blow this joint and hit the nearest bar. I'll teach you a trick or two and we'll find some barflies to hit on." He grimaced. "How do you think I feel? My brother's missing and I have to waste my time here getting my arm set."
Dean didn't blame Jacob for the injury, but he hated that they were wasting time on him while Sam could possibly be out in the forest on his own. He knew it was best they had, the arm hurt enough that it clearly wasn't setting right. If they left it, he would heal wrong. Not to mention Sam was tiny, all it would take was either human taking one wrong step to maim or kill him. He could hide under a leaf; them bumbling around in the dark trying to find him had done no one any good.
Jacob nodded slowly and sat back in his chair while they waited. His lighthearted attempt to check in on Dean's status had certainly sprung back at him, but then again he couldn't really say he didn't have it coming. Just about every problem Dean listed off could have been avoided if Jacob had been smarter about things.
He looked down at his hands absently, brushing a thumb over a long, thin scar that had formed on one of them. Sam had done that without even hesitating. He'd always presented himself as a very skilled fighter, regardless of size. He was badass, to put it simply.
"I guess this doesn't mean much, coming from a stranger and all," Jacob began, his voice hushed despite the almost deserted ER, "but Sam's not as helpless as his size might make him seem. I bet if you ask Bowman, they've gotten caught out at night before. Sam's tough. He knows what he's doing."
The worry lines didn't fade from Dean's face, but he nodded in understanding. Despite being surrounded by humans that towered over him, Sam had displayed nothing but confidence. Even when he'd stood on the back of Dean's hand with no way of knowing if he was about to get snatched up just like Bowman and Rischa had been before him. A confidence like that came with complete assurance in his abilities, like Dean and his Colt.
"I know he is," Dean sighed. "He'd have to be after what he's been through. I just wish I didn't feel so damn helpless here. Until today I thought he was dead, and now that I finally found him again, I lose him. Just like that."
Jacob knew the feeling all too well. Helpless, unable to do anything to change what happened. He probably understood that better than he'd ever let on. He shrugged. "I mean, maybe you're not out there right this instant looking, but you're getting yourself ready to do that. That counts, Dean. Trust me. Just one step of a few, that's all."
"Larry McGillicutty?" a voice from near the desk called out. Jacob almost didn't recognize it as the fake name he'd put on Dean's form.
"Guess you're up."
Dean didn't have much of a comeback for Jacob's words, knowing how true they were. He was no good to anyone if he just pushed himself until he collapsed.
He was unsteady on his feet as he walked to the desk, most of his customary swagger gone. He could only hope that his trip to the emergency room was fast. Not only was Sam and Scar missing, Bowman was also out on his own. He was far safer hiding in the Impala herself, but he was still vulnerable without Jacob or Dean around. There was more than one person who'd grab him up if they saw him sitting out in a car.
One more reason to get it over with.
"I'm Larry," Dean said as he finally reached the counter, trying his best not to sway.
The nurse glanced down at the form on the clipboard she wielded, and tutted at the information there before focusing on "Larry" once more. "Looks like you had a close call there, Mr. McGillicutty," she said, weary sympathy in her voice. "Glad you made it to us so fast. Follow me."
She led Dean into a hallway, her practical white shoes tapping lightly on the linoleum while every surface gleamed under the sterile, fluorescent lights. The small examination room she led him to contained a workbench, a chrome rolling cart laden with bandages and rolls of plaster, and an upright chair all stuffed claustrophobically into the space together.
A doctor with lines under his eyes that seemed permanent inclined his head. "What have we got, Candace?" he asked.
"Mr. McGillicutty has a closed fracture in his right forearm," the nurse explained, while she made her way to the cart in the room and began unwrapping rolls of bandages and plaster for them to use.
"We'll need to set that," the doctor determined. "I think a splint will do, since the skin isn't broken, sir, if you'd like to have a seat..."
Dean followed the doctor's direction, eyeing up the gleaming equipment in the room with envy in his eyes. More than once he'd had to stitch himself up with whiskey and dental floss for lack of better supplies. Minty fresh stitches weren't the best way to go, but they worked in a pinch.
Putting them in on his own was probably the worst part.
"So, doc, you think this will take long?" Dean asked, unable to help himself. Every second he was stuck here he could feel his brother slipping away from him.
The doctor shook his head, examining the crooked shape of Dean's arm without putting his hands on it for the moment. "I don't think so. It's when the bone breaks the skin that you have trouble, but I think in your case we can splint it up and you'll be fine. If you take it easy."
The nurse finished preparing the supplies on the cart and wheeled it awkwardly around the chair to set it up near the doctor. "We can give you something for the pain, if you'd like. Your insurance would cover it, if that's a concern."
Dean gave a half shrug. "I won't say no to the good stuff," he told her with a cocky grin. It was fleeting at the pain from his arm. He definitely wouldn't miss that pain. He didn't bother answering the doctor's comment about taking it easy, considering anything he said would be a blatant lie.
"Just… nothing that'll put me to sleep?" Dean asked the nurse. He'd already fallen asleep once, he didn't want to repeat that before they got out of there. People were counting on him.
Candace smiled in understanding before ducking back to one of the cabinets behind the chair. "This shouldn't put you to sleep. It might make you a little lightheaded for a little while. Nothing extreme," she explained, while the sound of supplies being prepared came from the counter.
The doctor nodded to himself after assessing what he could see of Dean's arm in the sling. "We're gonna need to get that sling and jacket off of you, sir. Then she can administer the pain medication, and after you tell me it feels like it's kicking in, I can make sure your bones are all set to heal right."
He held up his own arm, keeping his elbow at a 90-degree angle, to demonstrate his procedure. "You're going to get a splint that goes from the top of your hand like this, wraps back around your elbow, and ends at about your palm. It should keep things stable so that healing can get going, but you'll still be able to flex your hand while everything's wrapped up. Make sense?"
"Works for me," Dean replied. It was the first time he'd broken his arm himself, but he'd seen others have it happen. It was impossible for hunters to escape injuries forever. It was a dangerous line of work, and he'd been around it his entire life. The amount of griping he'd hear at Bobby's when a hunter was injured was entertaining, especially when it was John. Bobby had threatened to kick him out of the house on a daily basis.
The nurse gave him a hand with the sling Jacob had improvised, sliding the broken arm out. Dean hissed with pain as it dropped away, and steeled himself. Getting the jacket off would be harder. It was good his clothing wasn't skin-tight. There was enough space to maneuver his arm out so they didn't have to cut the jacket away from the inflamed skin. The sight of his arm was enough to make him flinch from it.
It just looked so wrong. Puffy skin on his forearm and the awkward angle it was at pointed to where the break was, and Dean could remember Jacob's hand sealing right around the limb before it broke. He'd probably be hearing the snap! in his dreams on top of the other nightmares that made a regular appearance.
Right next to the nightmare of Sam vanishing, not three feet away.
Those bright hazel eyes always looked up at Dean right before the flash hit, even though they hadn't during the actual attack. Like they were begging Dean to just do something. Save him from the fate the witch had in store.
Dean had to shake that off and pry his eyes away from his arm. "Ready when you are," he told the nurse with a forced grin.
She nodded and smiled faintly, a sympathetic glimmer in her eyes for the pain he worked so hard to hide. With expert hands that were well practiced with doing this over and over in the average ER shift, the nurse brushed an alcohol wipe over Dean's skin barely an instant before a needle had broken through. Her hands were steady and gentle while she pushed the plunger all the way down, administering the pain medicine quickly and efficiently.
There was definitely something to be said for sitting still during something like that. A squirming patient took several tries for that to work.
In a fluid moment, the nurse sidled out of the way and the doctor stepped forward. His hands, gloved and ready, settled lightly on Dean's broken, misshapen arm. "Here we go," he muttered to himself, before glancing up to watch Dean for signs of the medicine really kicking in.
Dean also waited for the medication to really kick in, staring at his arm determinedly. It slowly crept in from the needle, putting his mind in a fog with a vague feeling of the room being in motion. His eyes were slightly unfocused, and it was good that he was sitting down. He glanced up at the doctor when the time stretched out longer than he thought it should. "Well? What're you waiting for? I can take it!"
The doctor smirked for barely a second before focusing on the injury. His hands took a surer hold on Dean's arm, and though the medication couldn't completely do away with the pain of such an injury, only a dull throb would ever make it to Dean's brain as the doctor shifted the bones back into the alignment that they needed.
Dean's arm was swollen and bruised, but no longer had that sickeningly wrong angle to it. After that, the doctor and the nurse worked in efficient tandem to place some padding on Dean's arm before wrapping the layers of wetted plaster around Dean's arm as the doctor warned him before.
The procedure didn't take long, and soon enough Dean's splint was dry and his arm wrapped in more soft gauze, topped off with sturdy bandages.
"There we go, you're all set," the doctor determined, while also fixing Dean's arm into a more professional sling that wasn't nearly so tossed-together as the shirt. "If you feel anything weird with it, come back in as soon as you can. I don't think we need to stick a full cast on there but that's only if you behave, you hear me? Candace will lead you back to the waiting room. You've got someone who can drive you, right?"
Dean watched the cast with curious eyes for a few moments before it even sank into his head that he'd been posed a question. "Huh? Drive?" He squinted slightly as he thought back. "Jacob wouldn't let me drive here," he complained as he remembered the ride in and how he'd been confined to the passenger side of his own damn car.
"He even took my keys." Dean had to steady himself as he stood shakily from the chair and accepted his jacket back. The room had a curious tilt to it that he tried to ignore as he stood there and slung the jacket over his good shoulder.
"I can understand his reasoning," the doctor answered him kindly. "Take care, now, sir."
The nurse opened the door to lead Dean back into the bright hallway, watching him closely to make sure he didn't tip right over in his haze. The pain, along with the sharper edges of his senses, was pushed aside in favor of the strange calm that only drugs can provide.
"Just a short walk back," she prompted, before leading Dean down the hallway back towards the waiting room. She glanced back at him several times, making sure he was doing okay.
When they returned, Jacob looked up and stood, making his way over to Dean. He glanced at the wrapped up arm before noting Dean's eyes seemed ... out of focus. "Hey, dude. Feeling any better?" he asked cautiously.
"Never better!" Dean boasted as he walked up to Jacob, only noticing at the last second that he was veering off course. He corrected his direction and came to an abrupt stop when Jacob ended up being closer than he'd thought. "Arm's all better and I'm ready to go. Sam's waiting for us!"
He took off without looking. It took a few seconds of determined walking to realize he'd gone in the wrong direction and had to backtrack. "I don't know what they used in that shot they gave me but I can't feel a thing," Dean enthused to Jacob when he found him again. "Where's the car parked?"
"Well ... outside," Jacob answered, keeping his expression as neutral as he could. Hopefully Dean wouldn't see the smirk at the edges of his mouth in this state. Despite everything going on, it was hard not to find the drugged antics amusing. "Lemme show ya."
He led the way towards the automatic doors, pausing often to give Dean a fighting chance at following him. As soon as they were close enough, the doors slid open with a quiet, pneumatic hiss.
"There she is, right where we left her," Jacob announced when the sleek, monstrous Impala came into view. "Bowman's probably wondering how you're doing."
When he caught sight of the car, Dean didn't need Jacob's guidance anymore. He made a beeline for the familiar beauty. "Talk about a sight for sore eyes," he murmured as he came up to her. "I can always count on you to be around for me, can't I?" From childhood on, she was the one constant that always stood out in his mind. Even before they lost their home she'd been around for him and it felt like just a matter of time before she became his in his teen years.
Dean pulled open the door and sat heavily in the passenger's side of the bench seat. He might have trouble focusing on what was going on around him but he retained enough to remember that he wasn't supposed to drive. This was reinforced by the way the edges of his world insisted on not staying still, teasing the edge of his vision.
A/N:
Dean doesn't totally know what's going on right now, but he definitely needed the help with his arm. Good thing Jacob's here to look after Dean and his new little bro!
Next: March 8th, 2020 at 9pm EST.