Title: Chipping Away

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

Summary: Homeward bound

A/N: I have no idea what constitutes a good response on these stories but I've gotten over 19,000 hits since I posted this story. To say I'm thrilled is an understatement The fact that you were interested enough to even just open it to see what the hell it was, whether you read it or not. I especially appreciate the wonderful people who take the time to review, that extra effort on your part makes losing my mind trying to keep this going worth while. This has become such an important outlet for me in the short time I've been doing it that I just wanted to let you all know how terrific you are. Hope you like this chapter and ta for the continued comments!

Alone Dreaming, I'd keep screwing up just to get your magic touch.

Consciousness returned slowly to Dean as he lay quietly in the hospital bed. There was a slow rise and fall of his senses as he drifted in and out of sleep. It was peaceful, comfortable, no one making demands on him, no thinking, just floating along on the last vestiges of slumber. He considered the possibility that if he didn't move he might be able to stay in this limbo of not-quite-awake forever.

A thin shaft of sunlight lanced between the curtains and hit him right in the face. With a hoarse growl he threw his arm over his eyes. The freedom of the movement surprised him and he realized the IV in that arm was gone. He was now only tethered to one rack. When the hell did that happen?

He had a groggy recollection of some flurried activity around him during the night. His brain was a little fuzzy and he suspected he had been sedated again, which pissed him off. He had to acknowledge though, for the first time in days, he actually felt less than horrible. That, in itself, was worth a lot.

He took a quick mental inventory of himself. His headache had subsided to a dull annoyance. He was still wheezing but found that he could take a deeper lungful of air before the ache began and he started coughing. His stomach even felt better, allowing him to admit he was almost hungry. He couldn't gauge his own temperature but the room seemed fairly comfortable. His spirits rose with each noted improvement.

He lay there thinking for a moment, then carefully slid his legs out from under the covers and pushed himself upright. The cold floor felt good on his bare feet and he was only a little shaky

as he stood, resting his weight against the bed. Giving himself a moment to get his bearings, he reached over and jerked the plug for the IV out of the wall and draped the cord around the top. He grabbed the handle and dragged the rack with him to the bathroom.

The distance to the bathroom didn't seem very far so he was genuinely shocked at the effort it took to get there. He had to lean in the doorway to rest before he could reach in and flip on the light.

The lights were too bright and he squinted against them until his sight adjusted. He leaned over the sink and studied his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles he always got under his eyes when he was sick made the rest of his face even paler. He looked hollow and thin, stubbly growth darkening his jaw. He needed to shave but knew he didn't have the strength to stand that long. Still handsome, though, his ego told him. Chicks dug that gaunt look. Granted it was spoiled by the hospital gown and the fact that he didn't have the energy to spit. He splashed cold water on his face and let it drip back in the sink. His arms shook slightly as he braced himself over the sink. He felt so weak…

The next breath had him coughing again. He doubled over against the sink, hacking and gagging and finally fell back onto the toilet, unable to keep his feet. The inhaler he had been shown how to use was 10 feet away but it may as well been on the moon for all the good that did him right now. When the bout was finally over he pulled himself to the sink, clearing his throat and spitting what he had coughed up into the basin. At least, there was no blood this time. He turned the water on and splashed his face again, cupping water to his mouth to rinse it out, spitting again.

The rushed movement and the sudden coughing spasm had left him depleted. Despite what he wanted he found himself sitting on the toilet once more. He dropped his head to his hands and sat there, waiting for his heart to slow down and his breathing to ease. When he thought he could stand again, he had to use all of his upper body strength to pull himself back to his feet. The damned IV lines were tangled and he had trouble trying to maneuver around them. He braced his hands in the doorway and stood there, so wrung out he wasn't sure he could make it back to the bed.

The door to his room opened and banged into the IV rack, startling Dean. The morning aide charged in with a tray in her arms. Seeing the empty bed she turned toward the bathroom. "Oh, there you are!" She took in his strained posture and hurried to put the tray down "You okay, honey?" Dean had found her perky morning attitude annoying but he was glad to see her right now. She pulled the IV rack out of the way and took his unencumbered arm.

"I'm okay, " he replied, embarrassed by his weakness. "I guess I'm not as strong as I thought."

"Let me give you a hand," She was stronger than she looked as she helped him walk. He checked her name tag, as he did every morning because he could never remember precisely what to call her, and noted 'Carla' was printed on it. The trip back to the bed was a journey in itself and Dean was grateful to let the bed take his weight so he didn't have to hold it up any more. Carla moved the IV, repositioned it by the bed and plugged it in.

"There now," Carla pulled the blankets up over Dean. The short trip to the bathroom had worn him out. "Are you all right? Do you want me to call the nurse?"

"No!" Dean snapped. "I'm fine. I just over…did it. Really." Now that he was off his feet, he did feel better. "Just gimme a minute." God, he hated this. He really wanted a hit off that damned inhaler, it helped a lot, but would not use it in front of her.

"Well, if you're sure." Carla answered, eyeing him. He nodded, eyes closing briefly. She pulled the tray table over to the bed and across Dean's legs. "I brought you some breakfast. Are you hungry?"

He nodded again. "A little." He watched her as she fiddled with the various bowls and cups on the tray.

"Great!" She replied removing the cover over the plate. "You dig right in! You need to get your strength back." She raised the head of the bed until Dean was comfortable and patted him on the arm. "I'll check back later. Hit the button if you need anything. "

"Thanks, Carla." He conjured up a smile for her as she left. He grabbed the inhaler and shot a lungful of medicine down his throat as deeply as he could inhale. He coughed some more but the pressure in his chest started lessening. Man, that stuff tasted bad. He glanced at the tray. He really was kind of hungry, some food would get that god-awful taste out of his mouth.

He looked over the trays offerings, relieved that the thought of eating was not totally repulsive for a change. Bacon, scrambled eggs, toast and –oh God! Coffee! He grabbed the cup and swallowed a mouthful, closing his eyes and moaning happily. The coffee settled in his stomach and seemed willing to stay there so he decided to chance a bite of egg to keep it company.

Something suddenly dug into his back and he shifted around to see what it was. His fingers caught something hard and square and he pulled it out from under him. It was a small dark green folder with a gold tassel hanging from it. His mouth twitched into a smile and he ran his fingers over the gold embossed school emblem. Sammy's diploma. He opened the cover and a note slid out that he grabbed before it fell off the bed. Reading the words on the inside of the folder broadened his smile. Magna Cum Laude. His geek brother.

Pride burned Dean's eyes and he closed them, holding the little book against his chest for a moment. He wished he could have been there, applauding when they'd called Sam's name.

A shadow passed over his face as he remembered the secret he had been entrusted with. What Sam's graduation really meant. Sam would be leaving soon. The thought sent a cold sensation over him and he felt his chest tighten.

He took as deep a breath as he could, coughing a little and lifted the note to read. It was in Sam's precise handwriting.

"Hi Dean, hope your feeling better when you read this. You were asleep when we got back. They put you out again- "

Dean snorted.

"-and we didn't want to wake you up, but here's my diploma, like I promised. Dad and I will be by in the morning. They wouldn't let us stay. -Sam." Dean's smile was broken at the corners as he tucked the note back in the folder and laid it on the bedside table. He sighed and went back to his food, which didn't seem nearly as appealing any more.

Dean had fallen to poking disinterestedly at the remainder of his eggs when Sam stuck his head in the door a short time later.

"Hey!" Sam said with a quick grin, thrilled Dean was eating.

Dean's eyes lit up. "Sammy! Hey, man!" He put down the fork and pushed the tray away, even though it was barely half gone. The few bites he had taken were almost too much and he didn't want to push it.

"I'm a graduate now, Dean! It's Sam, okay?" Sam retorted with mock severity, coming into the room. "That all you're gonna have?" he asked, gazing at the remains of Dean's tray, sounding disappointed. Dean normally possessed a huge appetite. It was literally impossible to fill him up. "You gotta eat, man."

"You want some, help yourself. I'll be happy if what I did eat stays down. Don't complain." Dean cleared his throat and took another sip of coffee. The warm liquid eased some of the rawness in his throat when he swallowed. "Dad with you?"

"He's talking with Dr. Hendrix," Sam informed him. Dean rolled his eyes. "He'll be here in a minute." Sam's face grew serious. "You feel better today?"

Dean nodded. "A lot better compared to yesterday." Crap! That was the wrong thing to say, he thought, giving himself a mental kick, as Sam's face fell.

"God, Dean, I'm so sorry for what happened yesterday, " Sam gushed in a volley of guilt ridden words. "That was totally my fault, I shouldn't have unloaded on you– "

Dean's stopped him with a raised hand, afraid the words would continue to pour out unchecked and he just didn't have the energy to deal with this situation at the moment. "I don't wanna hear it, Sam." Dean replied, leaning forward. He drank the rest of his coffee in one gulp and put the cup on the tray. He pressed his fingers against his forehead, trying to frame his thoughts. "I think I understand what's going on in your head," he paused, one hand jerking open. "At least I'm trying to." He clawed a hand through his hair. "You gotta talk to Dad about this. The longer you wait the worse it's gonna be." For all of us, Dean thought.

Sam made a frustrated sound and grabbed his long hair again. "I know, Dean! It's just—you've been sick and everything—"

Dean made a face. "That doesn't give me the right to act like a jerk any more than it does you!" Dean slapped Sam's hand away from his hair. "Sam, you have to do what you need to, but you can't treat Dad like he doesn't matter." Sam said nothing, staring at the floor. Dean took as deep breath as he could and coughed. Subject change time.

Dean grabbed the diploma off the night stand and waggled it at Sam. "So, Mr. Graduate? How was it?"

"It was okay." He looked up from under his bangs at Dean. "It would have been better with you there."

"Damn straight!" Dean agreed. "And you know, you could have woken me up last night!"

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Dean, they had you so zonked a cannon couldn't have woke you up!

Before Dean could reply, the door opened and John entered. His face brightened as he saw Dean sitting up, obviously feeling better, grinning at Sam.

"Dean, you're up!" he said, pleased. Some of the tension lines left his face. "The doctor said you had a quiet night. That's good."

"I guess so, after they cold cocked me." Dean growled, still pissed.

John walked to the side of the bed, reaching out to feel Dean's forehead and face. Dean forced himself to sit still.

"Fever's down. How's your chest?"

"Better, I think." Dean could still feel his breath dragging but he'd had colds where he thought he had sounded worse. "It still hurts some and I'm still coughing a lot but the breathing is easier."

"Good!" John replied, he pulled Dean's breakfast tray over and studied it. "Is that all you're gonna eat?" he asked, frowning. "Are you still nauseous? They switched you to a different antibiotic. It's not as strong but they thought it might not make you so sick."

"No, my stomach feels better, I'm just not really that hungry." Dean admitted. Dean put the back of his hand against his mouth as he started coughing again.

John waited until Dean quit coughing, pushing his water toward him. Dean took a quick drink, grimacing.

"We talked about it," John did not elaborate on who "we" was. "And after some….discussion…. it was decided that you could come home today if you showed improvement. Which I would say you do."

"Great!" Sam exclaimed.

Dean sat up straighter, his excitement plain. "Shit, Dad, really?" He pushed the tray table out of

the way and started to get out of the bed. "Where're my clothes?" The sudden activity set him off on another coughing fit and he fell back into the bed.

John caught Dean by the shoulders. "Whoa, there, Dean. You haven't heard the whole thing." He waited until Dean's coughing subsided and he had Dean's full attention.

"You can come home provided you're willing to stay quiet, do what you're told, take your meds without any crap, do those breathing excercises and use that inhaler you keep bitching about." John gave Dean a gentle shake. "I mean it, son. I'm willing to sign you out, but only if you promise to do as your told. One step outta line until you're certified healthy and I'll toss your ass back in here myself. You're no good to me or Sam if you have a relapse and taking it easy will help keep the lung scarring to a minimum. No hunting for the time being. Sam and I can handle anything that comes up. Now, that Sam's graduated we're gonna be moving on once you're over this. Do you understand? "

Dean would have done anything to get out of the hospital, but John's comment about moving on sent a chill through him as he locked eyes with Sam over John's shoulder. "Yes, sir." He finally said, eyes still fixed on Sam. "I understand."

Sorry for the long wait. I've been out of town, the log-in on the site has been down and I wrote this long hand in a car which then required deciphering. Review please if you can. If you feel compelled. If you want to read the end of this story.