Bedeviling the Chipper

By: Maygin

Summary: "Loneliness is never more cruel than when it is felt in close propinquity with someone who has ceased to communicate." – Germaine Greer

Disclaimer: I am not making any money off of nor do I own anything supernatural… other than my roommate.

Sidenote: If you guys ever don't understand something, please let me know! Sometimes my thoughts don't always transfer to paper very well. And for those of you (Kaewi ;) wondering how the boys landed themselves in this position in the first place, don't worry, I will explain that.

CHAPTER 6

The knock on the door was so quiet he would've missed it had he not been trying to pick up on any sound other than the constant beeping and humming of the instruments surrounding him and his brother. That didn't stop him from ignoring it completely though.

Cal ever-so-quietly opened the door and slipped inside, closing it just as quietly. He peeked around the corner and saw the two Winchesters. Dean was just sitting there, leaning against the bed, his back to him, one elbow resting next to the younger brother's arm, with his head propped up. He crept around to the other side of the bed, and was slightly startled to see the elder brother was awake; eyes bloodshot and completely still, as if numbness had taken over and simply breathing was all he could bear at the moment.

"Hey." Cal whispered sympathetically as he took a good look at his specter's true form.

Dean's expression didn't change; his eyes glanced slightly to the right and then back; a show of acknowledgement.

Cal gave a small nod in acceptance before reaching down and taking the lifeless hand below into his own. "Jamie's assigning himself and another guy he trusts as the managing nurses to- um… to Sam. You know, so the media and suits won't get wind of some mysterious guests being here and all." He could feel two green orbs suddenly shift his way. He gave a small shake of his head and looked down at the hand in his. "I haven't seen him." The tired green eyes blinked slowly in acceptance before shifting back to the loved one, still lifeless. "That doesn't mean he's not still out there," Cal reasoned softly, "fighting to get back."

Cal sighed quietly for once, not really expecting a reaction from the elder brother. He grinned softly, "It seems Sam's created quite a stir. The hospital is getting bags of mail addressed to one Samuel Winchester. There's so much of it in fact, they've even had to assign a nurse to open them all." His grin suddenly shifted into a smirk. "Apparently, the female to male ratio of cards and letters coming in are 99 to 1." Dean's eyes softened ever-so-slightly. "There's even protester's outside as we speak. They all want Sam to live." Cal glanced hesitantly at the stoic man across the bed. "He's got a lot of people fighting for his survival."

He gently squeezed the hand in his, grateful to finally be able to connect in some form other than super-naturally. "Just thought you should know." He finished quietly, the humming of the life support filling the void once more.

"Thank you."

Cal was almost certain his ears had misheard the oxygen machine's repetitive release of air; but after a pause, he knew it had been the quiet whisper of a man trying to reach for some small semblance of hope… and failing miserably. Cal had quickly picked up on the Winchester brother's way of dealing with emotions; and he knew he had to respect that… even if it was stupid. He released the younger man's hand, kissed his own finger and pressed it gently to the lifeless patient's cheek bone. He then found a comfortable, reclining chair in the far corner of the room and took up residence. He may respect the Winchester's way of dealing with feelings, but there was no way in hell he was leaving the moron's to face it alone… even if he was an un-wanted presence.

He picked up a stack of opened cards that were sitting on the window sill and began reading.

Dean ran his head under the freezing cold stream of water pouring out of the faucet. He needed it… something to shock him out of the numb state he had fallen into; a little bit of 'the jazz' in his veins. He grabbed a towel from the shelf of the small bathroom and rubbed his hair down, causing soft spikes to go every which way when he was done. He spit out the mouthwash that had surprisingly showed up among a few other commodities.

He had to admit, for a hospital room, it wasn't too bad for visitors; the bathroom even had a shower. Dean guessed this wing of the hospital was meant for long-term patients so it was set to better service the long-term visitors that would no doubt follow. He had grabbed a coffee from the machine right outside the room and was ready to undo any hard work the mouthwash had just accomplished. He had really only used it to help himself feel clean, a little more human again.

He quietly opened the door and slipped into the room again, heading toward his assigned chair next to the bed. Nothing had changed in the last six hours; other than a few visits from Jamie, some really horrific late night television programs and the fact that Cal was now dead asleep in the corner of the room. Instead of sliding into his chair, he leaned his elbows on the bed rail, near his brother's side, and loosely clasped his hands together.

"Okay, I'm done being a drama queen… you can wake up now." He said quietly, rubbing his stubbly cheek self-consciously. "I think I've been spending too much time with Peter Pan and Tinkerbell… losing my edge." He sucked his bottom lip in and started gnawing on it, carefully watching for any sign of life. He had decided sometime in the last hour that he was going to hold fast to hope, however fleeting it seemed at this point. He wasn't going to give up, it just wasn't in his nature… he was a Winchester for cryin out loud! He reached a hand out and ran his fingers through the limp, dark strands of hair that was a constant topic of discussion between he and his brother… okay maybe not discussion so much as one-sided argument. He threw a quick glance to the corner of the room, making sure this was still a private discussion.

"Hey, you remember Laura Winters?" he asked with a small grin. He was sure had his brother been awake he would've answered with a glare that meant he didn't want to talk about it. Dean snorted, "I will never forget that man. The look on that guys face when you…" his eyes roamed, looking for the right words, "well, you know." He ran a hand over his face… this was a bit harder than he thought. But he knew if he couldn't do it when his brother was completely unresponsive, how the hell was he going to do it when he was responsive? He shoved the awkward fear aside, he was determined his brother needed this, ghost or not. This was simply something his little brother was unconsciously screaming for, so big brother was going to provide.

"I uh-" he cleared his throat. "I never told you this, but um… that painting of mom we did in the basement? You remember?" He looked down at the steady rise and fall of the sheets. "Yeah well… see Dad sort of found out about it." Dean chewed at his lip, clearly uncomfortable. "It was too much… for him. He uh," Dean swallowed, "he just wasn't ready to… face it yet." His head tilted. "Still hasn't I guess. Point is," he took a deep breath and glanced at the lifeless face, "he kinda freaked out. You were um… you were working on some school thing over at another kids house." God this was difficult.

"Dad just looked at it for a few minutes and then… well, he yelled a lot," Dean snorted, a grin pulling at his mouth. If there was one thing John Winchester could be faulted for it was that when he got mad, he yelled. Dean and Sam started carrying ear plugs in their pockets as a personal joke between the two; anytime one of them got into trouble, they'd stand behind their screaming father making a big show of putting them to use. They never really had a problem with their Father's choice of anger management… it could've been a lot worse.

"I thought he was gonna throw some paint over it or some thinner or something… instead he just locked the basement door and made me swear never to open it. Something about having to move on or something else as equally stupid. Anyways, I told him I painted it and that you didn't know anything about it so he said to just make sure you never went down there either." His voice had quickened, a little self-conscious, not liking that he sounded like he was patting himself on the back.

Dead paused, mouth half open. His eyes trailed down his brother's face. "I know you don't think I knew, but um… I heard you every night you went down there. At first I thought you were just having more nightmares and getting something to drink from the kitchen."

Dean's hand hovered above the patient's chest… his palm scarcely touching the thin hospital gown as it rose to meet, and falling once more, and again, and again… "So I followed you one night." He said as if stating an interesting fact, his gaze going back to the eyelids taped-closed. "Realized you were going into the basement." He shrugged one shoulder, "I don't know why, I guess you needed it. So when Dad made his demands…" Dean's head shook, a faraway look in his eye, "I don't know, I just- I knew whatever it was you were doing down there… you needed it." He found himself matching the timed breathing of the machine, the sound almost deafening in his ears. "So I stole the key from Dad's room one day, had a copy made and unlocked it night after night. In the morning I re-locked it."

Dean's piercing eyes stared. "Dad never caught on. And the reason I'm telling you this… I'm not looking for some dumb-ass big brother award or anything," he reasoned. "I just um… I want you to realize that uh…" Dean gave a small nod, swallowing hard, "That I never stopped unlocking doors for you Sammy… I don't know how to." Dean's jaw clenched as he stared hard, keeping the unwelcome rain at bay. "And maybe I uh… maybe I don't want to."

Dean sniffed and rested a hand on the un-responsive man's arm. "So wherever you are, whatever it is that you're doing? Or fighting? Just… hold onto that okay? Cuz there is no way in hell I'm repeating all that again." He finished with his characteristic flat sarcasm. "And if you ever bring it up I will kick your ass."

Dean shifted the sheets around the body once more and then leaned back in his chair, settling in again. "I still owe you for Mr. Churbie."

TBC…

NOTE: The next chapter is coming tomorrow! It's been like a week since I last updated, I figured you all deserved it! Thanks for all the reviews guys! This is awesome!