Dean didn't hate hospitals. He appreciated what they did; what they tried to do for everyone. You can't hate something that tried to help. It just doesn't mean that he liked being there. He hated being at the hospital, not the hospital itself. There's a difference.
One good thing, he was scuffed up beyond looking good or smelling good, for that matter, yet no one seemed to care. No one stared. Their problems were more important than dirt.
Exhaustion.
That's what the doctors said. He dropped, in the middle of a gig, from exhaustion. Dean was lucky he didn't think when he fought, if he had he knew he would have hesitated getting to Sammy before the ugly.
"Jerk, you took me to a hospital."
Dean's head snapped toward the doorway on his right. He was up without a passing blink.
You get back into that bed, or so help me God-"
"What are you going to do, Dean?"
Dean glared. Sam swayed. Dean poked Sam's chest through the gown; the nurses had underestimated Sam's body size, giving him a mini skirt instead of a calf length paper thin gown. Idly, Dean wondered if what Sam was wearing was for a girl and they ran out of GIANT gowns.
Dean herded Sam back to the bed, even tucked him in.
"You know full well these beds are way more comfortable than the motels and we are not passing up one free night in a comfy bed."
Sam snorted.
"Free?"
"Is either of us Thomas Quinn?" Sam shook his head. "Then it's free to us." Dean didn't idle long on the observation that Sam didn't fight Dean's hands away when he tucked him in. He wanted a fight.
Sam watched as long as his eyes allowed him before they drowned under eyelids. Dean sat down in a chair carved by the devil himself.
"Fuck."
Watch your tongue, boy.
"Oh, yeah. Like anyone's going to hear me."
Talk to yourself like a crazy? Oh yes they will.
"They'll just think I'm talking to him," he gestured toward his sleeping brother.
Maybe, but you've never risked it before.
"He's never done this before."
No, but you have.
"That was before I knew better."
The Game.
"He was trying his own version."
Isn't very good, though.
"Not at all."
Can I say I told you-
"Finish that sentence-"
And what?
"I'll come over there."
Would you really? With him right there?
"You suck."
Tongue. Tongue.
Dean's eyes rolled. Then he ripped off his black leather bracelets.
"Try that." Silence met him. "Psychics." He shook his head and stuffed the bracelet into his jacket pocket.
Two days into the hospital and Sam fought Dean's hands when he went to tuck him in.
No longer did the circles around his eyes look like black eyes, nor did his eyes fight his commands. He didn't sway on his way to the bathroom. That was enough for Sam to want to clear himself from the hospital. Dean wasn't sure if he should have fought it. Either way, it wasn't going to be any good. If he went home, that'd mean Dean would have to talk to Sam. Family talks weren't for public places. If Sam stayed in the hospital, it would imply he was worse off. Sam hated weakness just as much as Dean. His ideas of what were weaknesses were different, though they shared some ideas.
Sam signing himself out took the decision out of Dean's hands.
Once at the motel, Dean forced Sam to take a bed and stay there.
"I'm not tired." At this point, Dean had been sitting, waiting, patiently for everything to begin. For the moment that everything would boil over. He knew Sam was the pot of water and he was the fire. He understood that.
"Bullshit." He didn't hide anything in the word, nothing at all. Sam stared.
"I'm not."
"And I'm a Lady in White, Sam."
"I don't want to sleep."
"There is a difference between wanting to sleep and needing it. You don't have a choice."
"I never do." Sam mumbled. Dean heard it though and froze.
"Damn it Sam, you had a choice. Now you don't. That's your fault."
"I hate this."
"You think I'm loving this?" Dean's voice raised slightly." We were in the middle of a fucking fight with a nasty looking sucker, and you collapse. I didn't know what was going on." Dean rubbed his chest. "Jesus Sam, you can't do that to me."
Sam was silent before he turned on his side and closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry." Sam whispered, groggy.
"Sorry implies you won't do it again."
He didn't get a response. He blamed it on sleep and sighed. Sam was running, but you couldn't run away from dreams. Dean knew. Hazel eyes closed a moment.
"Do you remember that thing you were screaming for to save you? I said it was here." He breathed. "It just wasn't doing anything."
Dean climbed onto the other bed, turned to make sure Sam was sleeping, and closed his eyes.
"Shit."
Dean slept and Sam didn't have any nightmares.
