The next morning, Dean awoke to the sound of hushed voices. He laid still and kept his eyes closed, knowing they were talking about him.
"...in no shape to be hunting." Their father was saying.
"Yeah, but we can't just leave him alone like this." Sam argued.
"Why not?" John asked. "Do you think he's still suicidal? We talked it out, he should be fine now."
Dean could almost hear the bitchface in Sam's voice. "He's been like this for a while, Dad. Those kind of thoughts don't just magically go away after one little talk. I still think we should keep an eye on him for a while."
As much as he hated to admit it, his brother was right about one thing: he didn't feel any better. But that didn't mean he was gonna let Sam babysit him.
"Fair enough." John sighed. "But the demon is so close. This could be our one shot."
Sam was quiet for a moment. "Alright. You go, Dean and I will catch up when his wounds are healed. The ones on his thigh are the worst; the stitches should come out in about a week."
NO! Dean wanted to shout. It was too dangerous for their father to go after this thing alone. What if he got hurt? Or worse...
"Sounds good. You boys take care of each other."
"We always do. Here, I'll help you pack the truck." He could hear them carry the bags out the door.
He waited until he was certain they were both outside, and then threw off the covers, limping to Sam's duffel. He quickly rummaged through it, finding the pills hidden at the bottom of the bag inside one of his brother's socks.
He didn't even have to think about it this time.
There was no way he could let their father take on the demon by himself. He needed Sam for backup. And obviously the only way that was gonna happen was for Dean to take himself out of the picture.
He swallowed every single pill in the bottle, chasing them down with whiskey. He already felt sick, but he was pretty sure it was just nerves. He hurriedly climbed back into bed, throwing the covers over himself just as Sam and their father walked back in.
"You'd better stay in touch this time." Sam was telling him.
"Oh, I will. I'll text you the coordinates when I finally catch up to the thing."
"Good." Sam paused. "Hey, Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you get into my bag?"
Fuck.
"No..."
"That's weird, I could've sworn I zipped it up..." He heard Sam pick up the bag. "Oh my god." He said in a horrified tone. "Dean, what the fuck did you do?"
Shit. It wasn't supposed to go like this.
Dean opened his eyes as Sam threw the covers off him. There was no point in pretending to be asleep anymore. He struggled to sit up, suddenly feeling very drowsy. His muscles felt like jello.
"How many did you take?" His father asked, white knuckles clutching the empty bottle tightly. Dean had never seen his father look so scared before.
"All of them. He took all of them." Sam said, panicking. "Dean, you gotta throw them up." They literally had to drag him out of bed to the bathroom. He resisted as much as he could, but his body just didn't want to cooperate. He felt a numbness spreading through him.
"No," He shook his head. "Dad, you need to take Sam with you. You can't do this by yourself. Just go, you can't lose the trail again!" He pleaded.
"I'm not leaving you!" John's voice broke as he held Dean above the toilet. Sam shoved his fingers down his brothers throat, forcing him to gag.
Dean's eyes watered and his throat burned as he emptied the contents of his stomach.
"Is that all of them? Did he throw them all up?" John's desperate voice seemed to come from somewhere above him, and Dean realized he was too weak to even hold his eyes open.
"I don't know. Dad, we need to get him to a hospital now!" Sam shouted.
Suddenly he was being lifted off his feet. What the hell? He was a grown man, there's no way in hell his father could still lift him.
Then again, it's crazy what adrenaline can do to a person.
The last thing he heard before blacking out was the sound of the Impala's engine roaring to life, and his father screaming, "Drive, Sam!"