Title: Moonstar

Ch. 4: The Mourning After

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Only get pleasure no money. Welcome to the world thru my eyes.

Summary: Dean is crashing after a string of bad jobs. One last, terrible incident pushes him over the edge. He's on a downhill slide and the Moonstar is the last place he needs to be.

A/N: I finished this just as I collapsed into a coughing pile. I wrote Dean exactly how I feel so it's definitely true to life. I'm gonna post this, but I'll be damned if I know what I wrote….

Sam's eyes opened slowly and he stretched luxuriously, yawning. He was warm and relaxed. His back felt great after a night on a mattress instead of bent to conform to a car seat. If he'd dreamt at all he didn't remember. That was worth more than any of it. God, he owed Dean one. He scratched the unruly hair out of his eyes and rolled over to check Dean out.

Dean was facing him, still asleep. The covers had slipped most of the way off of him, trailing onto the floor and his bandaged hand was wedged upright with a pillow. Sometime during the night he had pulled off his t-shirt and thrown it on the floor.

As he watched, Dean shifted, his eyes fluttering open, but he didn't appear to actually awaken. His hand brushed his face and he rolled onto his back, eyes still open. Sam frowned, slowly pushing himself upright. Dean's breathing deepened abruptly and he groaned. His hand batted at the air, his body twisting.

"Wh….Sssam…" Dean was suddenly sweat slicked but Sam could see him shaking. Dean's head rolled violently back and forth and he dug his fingers into his eyes . Sam scrambled out of his bed and over to Dean's just as Dean sat up with a snap, voice a smothered cry from deep in his chest.

"NO!"

Sam caught Dean's arms as he flailed out, keeping his own head back out of the way.

"Dean! Dean, wake up! It's me, Sam!" Sam shook him as Dean continued to struggle, moaning.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled.

Dean's eyes popped open and he stared at Sam, gasping. "Sam?" Relief flooded Dean's face and he closed his eyes for a second, hands to his face.

Sam relaxed his grip on Dean's arms. "Yeah, Dean. It's me. Calm down." He could feel Dean shaking under his hands, his eyes clouded by confusion.

Dean flinched back, pulling out of Sam's grip, still breathing heavily. His throat worked and he covered his mouth suddenly, wincing.

Sam leaped for the trash can and shoved it under Dean's face.

Dean clutched it, gagging, but managed to keep from throwing up this time. He swallowed the saliva that flooded his mouth and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, resting his chin on the edge of the plastic.

After a moment, Sam offered him a wet cloth in exchange for the trash can.

Dean coughed and lay back against the pillows, holding the cold rag to his aching head. His muscles trembled and he had a hard time keeping his breath even. He felt the bed sink as Sam eased down on it. For some reason his closeness was bothering but Dean couldn't ask him to move. His heart gradually slowed to a regular thump that he couldn't feel throbbing in his head.

Sam tentatively rested a hand on Dean's leg, feeling the muscles jump at his touch and he withdrew it. "You okay, now?" he asked softly.

"Son of a bitch….." Dean moaned. He turned the washcloth over to get the cool side against his eyes.

"You had a nightmare." Sam began.

"No shit."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Shit, no."

A statement that left little room for argument. "It was just a stupid dream." Dean growled. I will sleep in the car forever before I'll take another drink to buy a bed, he swore.

Dean lowered the cloth and blinked, pushing himself up on his elbows. His short hair stuck up everywhere and there was a clear imprint on his cheek of the amulet he always wore. It would have been laughable if his face hadn't been so gray and there weren't circles under his eyes. "Wh'time…is it?" he squinted in the dim light from the dresser lamp.

Sam glanced at the clock. 10:46 am. Wow. He must have died after Dean went back to bed.

"It's almost 11:00—" Sam began.

Dean jerked spastically. "11:00! Shit!" He shoved Sam off the bed with his leg, pushing to his feet. And immediately sat back down as pain shot through his skull and his brain short circuited. He curled forward, head down, elbows on his knees.

"Jesus…"

"For God's sake, Dean!" Sam exclaimed in exasperation.

"I'm fine," Dean panted. "Other than my head, my hand and my stomach. I'm fine. Just gimme a minute." He gulped air and clutched his head until the pain settled itself back into a dull knot behind his left eye. He was aware when Sam moved away and the door opened and closed.

The door opened and closed again after a minute and Dean heard an odd tiny pop.

"Here," Sam said, nudging Dean's hand with something wet and cold.

Dean opened his eyes a crack, Sam held a sweating bottle of water. His face was creased with concern and if Dean had been able to look closely enough, a little guilt. Sam had felt so good upon waking up and Dean obviously still felt like shit.

Dean squinted up at him and accepted the water. "Thanks." He slowly eased himself back into a sitting position. He took a long drink of water. It was too cold, but still felt good running down his throat.

Sam sat on his bed, opposite Dean. He gestured at the bottle. "I know you always seem really thirsty after you—" He broke off, uncomfortably.

Dean had already downed half the bottle. "After I've been drunk off my ass." he finished for Sam, managing a crooked smile. He poured some of the water in his good hand and patted his face with it, letting it drip onto his chest.

"That's not what I meant," Sam protested. "It wasn't like that this time."

Dean closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "It sure as hell wasn't." He rubbed his forehead. "Usually, I have fun."

"You sure you don't want to tell me about the dream? You always bug me about telling you mine."

Dean shook his head gently. "You mean, I'll show you mine if you show me yours? Yeah, well, my dreams don't come true, so there's nothing to tell. It was a crappy nightmare compared to yours. I don't wanta bore you." Dean's manner suggested otherwise but Sam knew better than to press right now.

Instead, Sam shook his head and snorted. "Listen, check out is in an hour, do you want to stay here another night or go on? I don't care, if you want to rest up."

Dean coughed and drank some more water. He was so dehydrated he could almost feel his body sucking up the water as he drank. He desperately wanted some more aspirin but decided he better wait until he ate something. He'd thrown up about as much as he could stand.

"No, let's get outta here." He finished the bottle and tossed it at the trash can. Missing it. He hiccoughed softly and grimaced. "Let me grab a shower." He slid himself off the bed again, slowly this time and put a hand against the wall until he knew he had his balance.

Sam watched him to make sure he would stay upright and then rose and walked to the door. "I'll check us out. Back in a few minutes."

Dean nodded at him and waved. He rummaged in his bag and came up with his last pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt. A deeper search excavated a long sleeve blue shirt, two socks, mismatched, and some boxers. He shrugged over the unmatched socks, wouldn't be the first time, and headed to the bathroom. He flipped on the light, wincing as it hurt his eyes and reached out to turn on the water, getting it as hot as thought he could stand it. His hand hurt too much to try to hold a razor so he blew off shaving. He liked his skin smooth, but not ripped to shreds.

Steam started to fill the bathroom. God, he was still so thirsty. He grabbed one of the cups off the counter and ran tap water into it, drinking it down in one long swallow.

He dragged off the rest of his clothes and stepped under the water, doing his best to keep the bandaged hand dry. He faced away from the water and leaned the other hand against the wall letting the needles of hot water loosen up the muscles in his back and neck.

He stayed like that for a few minutes, eyes closed, water running over his face. The pain in is head slowly eased.

Eric Bailey lifted the tiny arm to his bloody lips and peeled the flesh back with his teeth, eyes fixed on Dean….

Dean gasped as the image leapt into his mind, clapping his hands to his eyes as if that could block it out. His foot slipped on the wet porcelain and he cried out, grabbing the catch bar with his bad hand, barely breaking his fall.

He hung there for a minute breathing heavily, heart thudding. Why did his brain keep playing those images?

He finally straightened slowly, unclenching his hand from the bar. He looked at the bandage in disgust, not only wet but seeping red again. Shit. He made a face. Well, now that it was wet- He grabbed the soap and quickly finished his shower, more interested in just getting the hell out of there than cleanliness.

He toweled off and quickly pulled on his jeans. Curling his lip, he carefully stripped the soggy bandage off his hand and dabbed at the stitched gash with a dry wash cloth as blood oozed up between the stitches. Man, that hurt!

"Dean, I'm back!" Sam called from the other room.

Dean pulled the door open. "Hey, uh, I could use a little help here," he stated, holding out his hand. He stepped back to make room for Sam as he hurried through he door.

He caught Dean's hand, moving the wash cloth out of the way. "What happened?"

Dean shrugged. "I kinda slipped, I grabbed that bar to keep from…OW!...falling, dammit Sam!" He tried to pull his hand back as Sam examined it but Sam held on tight.

"Be still!" Sam snapped. "I'm trying to see if you pulled any of the stitches." Finally, he pressed the cloth into Dean's hand and curled his fingers over it. "I'll bandage it again. Sit down." He pawed through the first aid supplies still scattered on the counter, found the tape, gauze and ointment and went about re-bandaging Dean's hand. As he worked he noticed how pinched Dean's face looked, his eyes a million miles away.

"Earth to Dean…" he said softly.

Dean started. "What?"

"Where are you?" Sam replied, taping down the gauze. "If you feel that bad, maybe we should stay." He finished wrapping Dean's hand and stood up to clear away the mess.

Dean took a deep breath and shook his head. He flexed his fingers carefully. "No, I'm okay. I just…last night…I can't get it….." God, had it just been last night? He dug his thumb between his eyes.

"Let it go, Dean. It's done." Sam turned to give Dean a small smile. "C'mon. You're stuck back together. Let's get outta here. I don't know about you, but I'm starving and there's a place down the road from here that the clerk said does breakfast all day. Supposed to be pretty good. I'm hungry as hell and you seriously need to get some food into you." He snapped the box closed.

Dean sighed and nodded. He was feeling really shaky, maybe he just needed a sugar hit.

Sam handed him his t-shirt. "Finish getting dressed. I've already got our stuff out in the car." He went back into the other room and Dean heard the door again.

Dean yanked the t-shirt on and grabbed his socks. Where the hell were his boots and belt?

Sam drove because Dean, for one of the few times ever, just didn't want to drive. He felt too woozy and gripping the wheel with his right hand would have been too painful. He slumped in the passenger seat as they drove toward the restaurant. It was a quick drive. The Sunny Side Up was apparently a favorite local spot, the parking lot was filled with cars and an area was set aside for semi trucks of which there were several.

As they entered, Sam found the buzz of voices and the clatter of crockery rather pleasant. As the hostess led them to a table, Dean followed along in his wake, looking at the floor. Once they were settled in a booth Dean put his head down on his arms.

"Man, is it that bad?" Sam asked, more than a little concerned.

"Yes," Dean's voice was muffled by his arms.

The waitress came up to the table, set down two waters and stared at Dean's head. She cocked her head at Sam.

"He okay?"

Sam lifted an eyebrow. "He just needs coffee, I think." He leaned closer to Dean. "Do you want coffee?"

Dean lifted his head enough to blast Sam with a look then lowered it again.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, two coffees, two large orange juices, one of your breakfast specials—Dean, what do you want?"

"Anything sweet," Dean replied from the depths.

"Pancakes and sausage with extra syrup, please," Sam snapped the menu shut and handed it to the waitress. She shook her head as she wrote down their order and went to get the coffee. Sam made a face as his stomach growled. The thought of a real breakfast in God only knew how long, was downright exciting.

"You got any aspirin?" Dean finally raised his head and pressed his fingers over his eyes.

Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pushed the bottle at Dean after removing the childproof cap, which always stonkered Dean, even on a good day. He took another small bottle out of his other pocket and popped the lid, shaking two red pills into his hand. He dropped one in front of Dean and tossed the other in his own mouth, washing it down with the water.

Dean palmed 3 aspirin and the antibiotic without comment and swallowed them all at once, draining his water glass as he did.

They sat in peaceful silence, Dean with his head in his hands, taking sips of coffee he had dumped three packets of sweetener into and Sam, placidly watching the action around them in the fast paced restaurant.

When the food came, it not only smelled great it looked great. Sam grabbed his fork and dug into the mound of hash browns that had been fried in butter. Scrambled eggs nestled up against them and four slices of bacon flanked the eggs. A plate next to it was stacked with buttered wheat toast. The orange juice at least tasted fresh and he drank half of it in one gulp.

Dean smiled, watching him and somehow at least part of him felt some of last night had been worth it.

His body desperately craved sugar, so he picked up the syrup pitcher and proceeded to drown the pancakes in front of him.

I know, I promised it would pick up this chapter but I lied through my teeth. I can do that because one of my front teeth is broken. (Oh, joy!) I decided to wallow some more. At least then I could lie down……. Jump into the mud and go for it. I'll do better next time... if I live…….Review please!