A/N: This is another short chapter – sorry, but I had a CPR refresher course this morning for work, followed by WORK, and then night school until 9pm. Stick a fork in me, I'm done! But I tried to inject a little levity into this chapter, to ease some of the angst I've been tossing your way lately. So enjoy. :)
Doctor Mitchell looked as if someone had just told him Santa clause was real and the moon really was made of cheese. Sam had a sneaking suspicion that gthe ood doctor had just experienced a significant shift in his world view.
"Incredible-" he blurted, "Simply… incredible. Mr. Winchester, do you have any idea what a miraculous turnaround this is for you? I've never heard of someone recovering to this degree after brain damage."
"Good genes." Dean said proudly, rocking back on his heels and jutting his chest out a little. "Superior, even."
"Don't mind my brother, Doctor Mitchell. I think he's got a touch of the ol' brain damage, himself." Sam said dryly, shooting Dean a look before turning back to the doctor. He could see his brother out of the corner of his eye, making an overly-dramatic face of shock and indignation.
"So what about this thing in my head? I hate to sound rude, but could you please get it the hell out of my skull? Soon?"
Doctor Mitchell glanced down at Sam's chart, flipping to look at an underlying page.
"Your test results are continuing to improve, your intracranial pressure has stabilized at a normal level, and with this recent reversal of symptoms, I think it's safe to take out the shunt."
Sam huffed in relief, sinking back down into the mattress. He hadn't even realized how tense he'd become until he relaxed.
"Try to shave as much of his head as possible, will ya Doc?" Dean said jovially.
"Actually, we shouldn't need to shave any more of your brother's head."
"Wait," Sam interjected, "My head's been shaved?"
"You heard that crack he made, about me being brain damaged and all." Dean argued, ignoring Sam. "Don't you think you could at least consider it?"
"Asshole!" Sam protested from the bed, patting at his bandaged head as though he would be able to feel the missing hair.
Doctor Mitchell looked a slightly taken aback at the sudden eruption of brotherly sparring, and he smiled nervously before replacing Sam's chart and moving towards the door. A nurse entered with a quick apology, a lunch tray in hand.
"I'll arrange a time to remove the shunt, Sam, and let you know as soon as we have the details."
"Thanks, Doctor Mitchell." Sam said distractedly, trying to keep the pudding on his lunch tray from Dean's suddenly eager hands. The doctor and nurse both left, exchanging amused looks.
"Jesus, Dean, back off! I'm recovering from brain damage – I need it more than you do."
"Are you kidding?" Dean said in mock resentment. "You've lounged around in a bed for the last three months. Meanwhile, I've been working shit jobs and looking after your skinny ass. Plus, it wasn't really brain damage. It was brain interference."
He reached across Sam's chest, fingers wiggling for the pudding cup.
Realizing that Dean could easily overpower him physically, Sam resorted to underhanded tactics. Thinking quickly, he pulled the pudding close to his face and spit into it.
"There," he said smugly. "Still want it, jerk?"
Dean stared at the pudding cup for a moment.
"Yes."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Sam laughed. "That's just… sick, man. And you still can't have it."
"Why not? You're not going to eat it now. I mean, you once threw out an entire porterhouse steak because you sneezed near it. Dude - come one. I know you too well."
Sam glanced down at the pudding with a grimace.
"Shit."
Dean held out an expectant hand, twitching his fingers in a gi'mee gesture. He smirked triumphantly, as though he'd just won a great battle of wits, and Sam couldn't help but smile a little as he handed over the pudding. Dean had been ridiculously upbeat all day, and Sam had been strangely reminded of the few times in high school they'd gotten stoned.
Despite the amusing memories it evoked, Sam felt a pang of sadness as well. Dean's behavior was an indicator of how bad things had been for his older brother - an upswing this drastic had to come from a serious fucking low.
Not to mention, it was incredibly alarming -to know that he had been awake and aware for the duration, but would never be able to remember. His ability to form new memories had been mercifully restored, but three months of his life were still gone forever.
It was going to take a long time to get used to the gaping hole in his memory, the feeling of having his life's timeline fragmented. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it. It was like a sore tooth that he couldn't stop poking at – his mind returning to it over and over again, prodding, searching for some remainder of that lost time.
But there was, and always would be, nothing.
The only thing that allowed him to keep it together was the knowledge that Dean had been there, every day, looking out for him. Whatever else had happened in those months, his brother had been with him – and that erased a good deal of the fear and uncertainty.
"Man, I can't wait to spring you from this place," Dean said, interrupting Sam's thoughts as he tossed the empty pudding cup into the trash.
"I am so sick of crappy hospital food…"
"Thanks for the overwhelming concern, Dean."
"I mean, you'd think people in hospitals would be miserable enough without having this shit crammed down their throats."
'Dean, the only one cramming anything down your throat is you. So stop your bitchin' and get me something to read, will ya? I'm so bored I might slip into a coma just to pass the time."
"Funny, Sam. Real funny." Dean griped sarcastically, but he stood to get the magazines anyway. "When'd you become such a friggin' comedian, anyway?"
"I learned it from watching you," Sam said in his best after-school-special voice, batting his eyes dramatically as he spoke.
Dean flipped him off as he left the room, and Sam grinned.
God, but he loved getting in the last word.
Thanks for all the nice reviews! You guys kick so much ass, you should all be made official Winchesters!
