Title: Moonstar

Ch. 9: ADaze Work

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: This chapter is for the reader who likes oozy infected wounds. I will protect your anonymity. You know who you are. And thanks, you inadvertently gave me the idea for the chapter after this one. Wastinaway, I haven't forgotten your request. Working on it.

Coming awake for Sam, was like crawling through a dark tunnel that spiraled upward with broken glass scattered here and there. You didn't want to keep going, but you'd come so far already it seemed pointless to stop.

He groaned and forced his eyes open. The room was disgustingly bright with sunlight. He pawed at his gritty eyes and stretched stiffly. He was as tired as he had been when he had gone to bed, not including Dean's little---

Shit.

He rolled over and swore at the sight of Dean's empty bed, covers kicked onto the floor. Sam checked his watch. 7:15. He couldn't believe Dean could have willingly gotten up that early. Crap.

Sam shook his head and started searching for some clothes that were moderately clean. Laundry was becoming an issue. He'd have to ask Linda about a laundromat.

He tugged on his boots and stood to look out the window. He had a great view of the mountains behind the hotel, mist still settled in the lower areas, swirling around the buildings. But no Dean in the gardens he could see.

He couldn't help himself, he grabbed a gun and stuffed it in the back waistband of his jeans. He jerked open the door and clattered down the stairs. Pausing as he crossed the lobby and going to the now open front doors. Some of the workman were already pulling up in trucks and SUV's. He stepped out onto the veranda and squinted out across the parking lot, shrugging into his jacket. The early morning air was chilly.

Relief hit him as he saw the hood up on the Impala and what had to be Dean's body draped across the engine.

He trotted across the loose gravel, deliberately making enough noise so that Dean would hear him coming. Sam could hear Dean coughing as he approached.

Dean turned slightly as Sam drew closer then returned his attention to the car. Jerking motions indicated he was replacing or removing something.

"You're up early," Sam commented, coming to a halt and peering at whatever it was Dean was doing.

"Couldn't sleep anymore." Dean's voice sounded raw. "Wanted to take a look at her."

"You sound awful." Sam said.

Dean cleared his throat. "Thank God, I thought something was wrong with my ears."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean jerked back from the engine, grasping his right hand in his left.

"What happened?" Sam exclaimed, reaching out. He was shocked at Dean's appearance. His face was thin and haggard looking, telltale dark circles forming under his eyes. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days even though Sam knew otherwise.

Dean twisted away, grimacing. "It's nothing! I just hit my hand! Shit!" He growled and hugged his injured hand to his chest.

"Let me see." Sam insisted, torn between irritation and concern. Dean was so damned stubborn.

"It's ok, Sam!" Dean turned back to the car and started gathering up tools one handed.

Sam rolled his eyes and felt angry frustration fill him. He fought it back and leaned in next to Dean. "Any luck with the car?"

Dean shook his head. "Still won't start. I don't know what the hell's wrong. Everything looks okay." He backed out from under the hood. His face wrinkled up and he sneezed explosively, twice, doubling over with the force of it. The toolstumbled out of his hand and he fell back against the Impala, clutching his head. "Ugh, God…." He shook himself like a dog.

Sam sqauatted down and gathered up the fallen tools. He tossed them in the open toolbox and snapped the lid closed. "I don't think you need to be out here in this cold air, Dean. You really look sick." Sam commented carefully as he stood back up.

"Yeah, well I had a bad night." Dean rasped. "Someone slapped the shit out of me while I was asleep." He looked at Sam and then down at the ground. "Dude, can I have some more aspirin?" he finally asked in a tired voice. He rubbed the back of his good hand across his eyes and looked over at Sam, sighing. "Please." He was still cradling his right hand against his stomach, slightly hunched over, as if standing was almost too much effort.

The please surprised Sam more than the request. Dean rarely said please unless he was wheedling or it was life or death. Sam realized with some alarm that he couldn't recall ever having seen Dean so beaten and miserable looking, not even during that God awful trip to Nebraska. This was something in Dean's eyes Sam had never seen, a haunted look.

Sam guiltily fingered the bottle in his jacket. He had hidden them again after Dean had gone back to bed. He opened his mouth but Dean cut him off in the same tired voice.

"I had something to eat." Dean said, eyes closed "Linda had some donuts. I grabbed a couple and some coffee before I came out here." He neglected to include the part where the coffee and donuts became part of the landscape shortly thereafter.

When Sam seemed to hesitate, Dean snapped. "I'm not lying! She saw me eat them, you can ask her." He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, coughing again. Between his nightmare ridden sleep, his hand, this whatever he had come down with and just the general shittiness that was his life lately he had had about all he could tolerate in the last two days. "Jesus Christ, Sam!" he snarled. "Who died and made you lord of the pain pills anyway?"

"I didn't think you were lying," Sam responded in his own defense. He took the bottle out and shook out two pills, holding them out to Dean. His voice was harder than he liked but he was really getting pissed. "You take too many of these at a time and too often." Sam ground between his teeth. "It's bad for you. I know you don't care about what you do to yourself, Dean, but I do." He screwed the cap back on and held the bottle out to Dean, he was so mad his hand was actually shaking. "Here! Take 'em." He rattled the bottle.

Dean's eyes were dull and bloodshot as he looked at Sam's hurt expression. He sighed again. Tearing Sam's head off wasn't going to make him feel any better. In point of fact it made him feel worse. He knew he was being an asshole but he couldn't help himself. He accepted the two pills but pushed the bottle away and shook his head. "I know you do, Sam." He tossed the pills in his mouth and washed them down with a swig of water from the bottle sitting on the roof of the car. He grimaced as he swallowed with an effort.

"I need to redress your hand, Dean. " Sam said, after a moment, returning the pills to his pocket.

Dean shook his head. It hurt like hell just to move his hand, the thought of Sam screwing with it made him ill. "It can wait." He motioned at the hotel. "Linda said she'd take us around whenever we were ready." His voice was fading fast. "I gotta take these-" he kicked the toolbox at his feet and nodded his head toward a group of men sitting on a tailgate drinking coffee.

"Fine, return the tools and we'll get going with Linda. After I do your hand," Sam replied. He reached into his arsenal of facial expressions and pulled out the big guns. The I'LL STAND HERE FOREVER LOOK .

Dean recognized it. He couldn't fend it off when he felt well, it was hopeless right now. He glared at Sam for a moment then groaned and shrugged. He didn't have the strength. "Fine. Whatever."

As they came back in the lobby Linda turned from the counter with a smile. "You boys ready for the grand tour?"

Sam smiled apologetically at her, pulling a non resistant Dean along by his jacket sleeve. "We need to take care of something, do you mind waiting a little longer?"

"No problem, sweetie, just let me know. I'll be working on the books." She went back to her papers.

Sam herded Dean upstairs to their room, stripped off his jacket and over shirt, which was like trying to undress a sleepy child. He dragged a chair into the bathroom and settled Dean in it. Then hauled one in for himself.. Dean sat quietly, head down, with his eyes closed as Sam got to work. Sam couldn't help but note how flushed Dean's skin was.

Sam made a face as he pulled the old bandage away from Dean's hand. It came away slowly, glued to the wound with gooey ooze. Dean hissed and tried to jerk away.

"Hold still!" Sam barked, jerking back. He ran warm water and as gently as he could washed the wound. Several of the stitches had pulled and the flesh was red and swollen. Sam chewed his lip.

"Dean, you pulled some of these stitches, this really looks infected." He eyed Dean. "You probably should have gotten a tetanus shot."

Dean had his head pillowed on the other arm. "Just do what you need to do."

Sam sighed and went to get the first aid kit.

It was a nasty job. Sam did most of it with his teeth clenched. He removed the torn stitches and cleaned the wound with antiseptic as thoroughly as he could, then set about re-stitching.

Dean did his best to remain still and be quiet but Sam knew it hurt like hell. Dean sat up finally and ground his fist into his forehead, fingers twisted in his hair, making a guttural sound of pain. His side was pressed against Sam's. Dean was hot and Sam could feel him shaking.

Finally, Sam forced the last new stitch through and tied it off. He covered the area with more antibiotic ointment and carefully laid new bandages over it. He wrapped Dean's hand more thickly to help protect it. It would be a little awkward to use but might keep him from pulling any more stitches.

Dean's head had fallen back down on his arm and Sam gave him a gentle shake. "You with me, man?"

After a cough and some throat clearing, Dean nodded, lifting his head slightly. "Yeah…"

"Take this and let's get you up." Sam held out one of the little red pills and some water. While Dean downed the pill, Sam got up and pushed his chair out of the bathroom.

Dean shoved himself away from the sink and got shakily to his feet. His hand was throbbing. He felt totally wrung out, as if Sam's ministrations had drained the last of his energy. He took an unsteady step and reached out to catch himself on the doorframe as dizziness stole his balance.

Sam grabbed Dean's arm as all the color drained out of his face. "You okay?"

"….m'dizzy…" Dean breathed out. His head rocked back and his knees buckled as he slumped against Sam.

Startled, Sam managed to take Dean's weight as he fell. "Whoa, whoa!…take it easy." He put an arm around Dean's waist and hauled him over to his bed, easing Dean down. He adjusted Dean's body more comfortably and then hurried back to the bathroom to get a wet cloth.

He stroked it over Dean's face. There were smelling salts in the kit but he didn't want to use them, they'd just make Dean cough more. "Wake up, Dean. C'mon…" He tapped Dean's hot cheek with his fingers, insistently. After another moment Dean's eyelids fluttered and opened.

"There you are," Sam said, relieved. "How you doin', bro?"

Dean looked confused. "What…?" He lifted his hand to his face and covered his eyes.

"You fainted." Sam replied, folding the cloth and placing it on Dean's forehead.

"….don't faint…" Dean replied blearily. He coughed, wincing.

"Ok," Sam agreed. "You decided to take a nap standing up." He got up and rummaged for the thermometer, coming back and sticking it in Dean's ear. Dean didn't fight him, which was disturbing. "Dean, dude, you are a total wreck. Why I'm not hauling your ass to the doctor right now, I'll never understand." Sam bitched, checking the reading on the thermometer after it beeped. 101.5. Not as high as he was expecting, considering how bad Dean looked and was acting.

"Car won't start, that's why. I'm fine, jus' ….lie down…awhile…." Dean's voice was a hoarse whisper. He opened his eyes. "What day is it?" His fingers massaged his temple in slow digs.

Sam frowned. He had to think. "Uh…Wednesday. Why?"

Dean' s eyes closed again and he groaned softly, "My head…hurt's. It's too loud." He shifted uncomfortably, brows drawing together.

"What's too loud?" Sam asked, feeling a coldness shift over him. Sam's eyes widened as Dean's fingernails suddenly clawed into the skin of his temple. Sam grabbed his hand. "Dean! Stop that!"

Dean twisted away. "Stop the noise…. my head." He mumbled, resettled himself in a series of jerking movements, rolling on his side. His coughed weakly as his limbs relaxed with a few twitches and his hoarse breathing evened out.

Sam sat watching him for several long moments. He rested a hand lightly on Dean's arm.

Why the hell couldn't Dean have left his fucking cell phone in the car yesterday? That thought staggered Sam.

Christ, had it only been 24 hours?

Isn't it funny how a comment like "I like oozing, infected wounds" can inspire you. This chapter and the next one are much better than what I was gonna do and they helped move the story along. I know there isn't a lot of action in this story, there's a lot of setup, plus I'm enjoying dragging out the hurt. I do think it will deliver enough bang for the buck when it counts. Review please, you know what it does to me.