Title: Chipping Away
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Summary:. Dean is in ICU, John and Sam's POV
A/N: There have been a lot of comments on research in this story. I want to make it as believable as possible so I do try to research things that require fair accuracy, and draw from personal experience, but, by the same token, I'm liable to alter time and space to suit myself. I do want to stay as true to the characters as I can but the TV show is forced to leave so much unsaid that we the writers of these fics have no choice but to speak for them, or at least as we wish them to speak. I appreciate the acknowledgement of my research and the comments, agreeing and disagreeing with what I wrote. It shows you're thinking along with getting off on the suffering. Major ta's to all of you. I can't live without you, or more to the point, my stories can't.
Applause for Alone Dreaming, please, my wicked beta. It's better for efforts. I love you.
Sam and John hurriedly made their way to the second floor where the small ICU unit was located. They were forced to wait again so that the staff could finish getting Dean settled. Apparently, even half dead, he was still a handful. By that time, Sam wouldn't have crossed his father on a bet. John paced back and forth in front of the double doors that blocked ICU like a caged lion.
Sam glanced at his watch, stunned to see that it was after 4:00 am. Had they been here for six hours? He rubbed his eyes, watching John's dark presence disturbing the staff. They would almost run past him whenever they had to go in and out of the doors, trying like hell not to make eye contact. Sam had draped his lanky frame across one of the couches, a safe distance away from John's potential blast zone and slumped there waiting.
Finally, to Sam's great relief, an older, heavy set nurse opened the doors and gestured them to her. "You can only see him for a moment. He needs to rest and we're having difficulty keeping him sedated. He keeps trying to remove the ventilator." She shook her head and led them through the dimly lit room to a curtained bed.
John hesitated and then pushed the curtain aside and stepped in. Sam followed, hanging back slightly, a little afraid of what he would see. The rhythmic sound of the ventilator pushing air in and out of Dean's lungs seemed loud in the overall hush of the room. The ventilator mask was secured around his head so he couldn't rub it loose.
"I'm sorry, we had to restrain him but it's for his own good." The nurse said. That's when Sam saw Dean's arms were strapped down. There was an IV in both arms dripping only God knew what into him from 3 different bags. A heart monitor beeped softly. The nurse smiled at Sam's strained look and patted him on the arm. "We'll take good care of him, sweetie." She winked at him. "Can't let anything happen to a cutie like that. What would the women of the world say?" Sam grinned despite himself. His eyes stung suddenly. Dean would have loved hearing that. The nurse turned and moved back through the curtains.
Sam stepped quietly to Dean's side and reached out but was afraid to touch him. He was not sure if it would hurt Dean. He finally laid his hand over Dean's and leaned closer. Dean moaned softly, restlessly rolling his head back and forth on the pillow. "Hey, Dean," Sam said in a hushed tone. "Can you hear me?" Dean's eyes fluttered but when they opened they were glassy and unfocused, they closed again almost immediately.
Sam smiled up at his dad. "His color looks better, don't you think?" He straightened up as John came closer.
John reached out to brush Dean's short, raggedly cut hair. He was still too hot to the touch and John took the edge of the sheet and gently dried the sweat from Dean's face. "Yeah," John replied. "It does."
Pulling up the chair by the bed, John sat down wearily. He squeezed Dean's forearm, massaging his own eyes with the other hand. He watched Dean's face for a few long moments, reaching out again to run a rough finger down Dean's flushed cheek. Dean looked small and young when he was lying in a hospital bed. He always did. It was as if the fire that made Dean, Dean, had extinguished itself and left only the bewildered boy behind. John cursed at himself mentally. He forgot sometimes, in his zeal for vengeance that Sam and Dean were his sons, not his soldiers
He drew a deep breath, swallowing. "I'm sorry, Dean," he began softly. "I know you've been hurt worse, but this is the first time you've been hurt because of me." John snorted softly . "So maybe this is the worst."
Sam had backed up to the curtained doorway. He had his hands in the pockets of Dean's leather jacket. Having it around him was comforting. It smelled like Dean. Cinnamon, coffee and a muskier scent Sam couldn't identify but was still Dean. He could always smell it, even if he couldn't see Dean, even as children. It made Sam feel safe just knowing by that scent that Dean was around, that Dean was there for him. He hugged the jacket closer, hearing a crackle in the inside pocket. Frowning, he reached inside the jacket and drew out a long white envelope smeared with what looked like dried blood. Puzzled, he dragged his fingers over the blotches and turned the envelope over.
SHIT! He almost said it out loud. His breath caught in his chest. In the quiet of the room it seemed the sound of his heart beating was louder that Dean's life support system.
"What's that?" John's voice made him jump guiltily. John's eyes displayed only the mildest curiosity. John's entire body radiated exhaustion, squelching any real interest. He eyed Sam for a second and then turned back to Dean.
"Just something I found in Dean's pocket," Sam replied quickly, stuffing it back into the pocket. How the hell had it gotten into Dean's jacket?
Dean moaned suddenly and started thrashing on the bed, jerking his head back and forth and arching his back. The heart monitor started beeping and an alarm went off behind Sam. Mouth gaping, he was roughly pushed away by strong arms as two nurses entered the room. John was also forced from Dean's side.
"What's wrong?" John asked sharply, watching Dean struggle. "What's the matter with him?"
"He's fighting the sedation again. Please, you need to leave now. You can see him again in a few hours. He'll be fine. We just need to get him calm." The nurse hustled them out the door and closed the curtain, blocking their view.
Sam awoke to the sensation of his hair being stroked. He wasn't sure where he was and he jerked up, blinking. Bright waiting room lights hurt his eyes and caused him momentary confusion.
"Easy, son…" his dad said. Sam rubbed his eyes. He had been sleeping with his head on Dean's bunched up jacket in his father's lap. "Are you ok?" John was still tired but there was a little relief in his eyes.
"I… yeah, when did I fall asleep?" Sam shook his head and tried to calm his heart beat. He felt gritty and stiff. Stretching produced an array of crackling sounds.
John arched his back. "A couple of hours ago. You just sort of slumped over. Like you used to do when you were little." He glanced up at Sam, mouth quirking. "So, I just sat here, like I used to do." It had been a long night. Dawn was just beginning to burn in the horizon.
Sam's mouth twisted. "How's Dean? Any news?"
"Yeah, you were asleep when they came by." John took a deep breath. "They said he's resting comfortably now. He's still on the ventilator, but his color was better and he's responding to the antibiotics. They've got him pretty heavily sedated. If he keeps improving I think they'll put him in a regular room later today or tomorrow and then maybe he can go home the next day." John stifled a yawn and ruffed his hair. "He's going to be out of commission for a while, bed rest, the whole nine yards."
Sam nodded, relieved, feeling a weight lift. He pressed his fingertips into the back of his neck. "No problem, we can handle that. When will they let us see him again?" His stomach growled suddenly, loud in the quiet room. Red flared in his flat cheeks.
John laughed and glanced at his watch. It was a nice sound and Sam didn't get to hear it often. "They won't let us in for another hour. Maybe you should go get something to eat. You go grab breakfast and I'll stay here. Bring me back a sandwich and some coffee." He reached for his wallet but Sam shook his head.
"I got it. I'll be back in a minute. Call my cell if anything changes." Sam walked to the elevator and punched the button for the first floor.
John stretched again, monumentally, his own joints popping. He'd caught a few minutes sleep while Sam was dozing but nothing like what he needed. He moved Dean's jacket off his lap. The worn leather had made a decent pillow. Sam's head in his lap had been surprisingly soothing to John and he had taken to stroking that damned long hair without thought.
He never touched Sam any more, he reflected. Dean. either, for that matter. A clap on the shoulder after a good hunt, or shove to get them out of danger's way but nothing more. Dean wouldn't have welcomed it. In fact, he would have probably thought he was dying if John had bestowed a gentle touch on him while he was conscious. Sam had always needed more intimacy, more closeness. John found it difficult to give, falling back on his military training to give comfort and support. Tough love was easier. He couldn't help being glad and relieved that Dean seemed willing, no wanted, to give that intimacy to Sam, the intimacy that John, himself, couldn't give.
His sons had grown older and the love between them had changed with age, but John still heard it and saw it. In Dean's anger at Sam when he put himself in danger. In Dean's fear for him, his willingness to jump in harm's way to protect him. Even in Dean smacking Sam in the back of the head and calling him a stupid bitch. Sam was no different, but he wore his emotions where they could be seen, not hidden behind a facade of indifference like Dean.
John sighed again and rubbed his hands over his face. He understood how that façade was what had landed Dean in the ICU, under restraints, with a breathing tube down his throat. John accepted Dean's attitude at face value and Dean wanted so badly not to hurt Sam or John that he had ended up hurting himself. Son of a bitch, he thought, kneading his fingers into the soft leather of Dean's jacket. He heard paper crackle under his fingers and out of boredom reached in to see what was in the pocket.
Hello out there…review please, I need you!