-EIGHT-

"You gonna stand there all day or you gonna help me?"

Dean smiled, reaching over to take the tray out of her hands. She wouldn't let it go, and he rolled his eyes, like she was expecting him to, and leaned in. Their lips met and he smiled. She let go of the tray and he walked away.

"Hey, Jo?"

She turned back to him, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder, and he winked at her. She shook her head with a laugh, then started to push through the door to the kitchen.

"Oh, Dean."

He stopped, turning back to her.

"I'm taking Mom to that new doctor. You know, over in North Platte?"

He nodded.

"When?"
"In a few minutes."
"So I'm running this place by myself today?"

She smiled.

"Ash is here."
"Ash is probably still drunk from last night."

Jo laughed, propping a hand on her hip. Dean sighed.

"Fine. We'll be fine."
"I know. My baby works so hard."
"Damn right."

She laughed again, walking over to kiss him again. She left her hands on his face, her fingers drifting over his cheeks.

"Maybe I'll just have to make up for that later."

Dean smiled wide, making her laugh as he kissed her again. She gave him a wink and went into the kitchen. That day, Dean worked his ass off, pouring drinks, sweeping up peanut shells, listening to Ash bitch on and on about nothing in particular, because he was a rambler when he was drunk. As the sun started to go down, Dean glanced up from the cash register.

"Hey, Ash?"

Ash stopped in the middle of his sentence about the volatile properties of some chemistry bullshit that Dean didn't even pretend to understand, turning bleary eyes to the bar. Dean shut the drawer and turned to face him, laying his hands on the bar, a towel slung over his shoulder. Ash blinked and Dean stifled a laugh.

"Where did Jo and Ellen go?"

Ash blinked again, looking over at the clock.

"Hell, I think they … Yeah, they went to—over to North Platte earlier. Ellen had some sort of … appointment or something? Shit, I'm drunk."

Dean shook his head, laughing under his breath. He looked back to the clock, feeling a weird feeling settle in his stomach.

"It takes less than two hours to get to North Platte. Especially the way Jo drives."
"Damn girl drives like a bat out of hell."

Dean nodded his head as Ash tossed his empty can of PBR towards the trash can. And, miraculously, just like every time before, he sank it. Dean just shook his head. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dropping it on the bar when it started to ring. He blew out his breath, holding a hand over his heart.

"Shit."

He flipped open the phone, glancing at the number.

"Damn, Ellen. You scared the hell out of me."
"Dean Winchester?"

A funny look crossed Dean's face, and Ash leaned back on his barstool.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, this is Dean Winchester. Who is this?"
"Mr. Winchester, I'm Doctor Sarah Blake. I'm afraid I have some bad news. I hate to have to tell you this, but—"

Dean's eyes flew open, his breathing coming fast and shallow. The monitor beside his bed was going crazy, alarms ringing out, and Sam was at the door, bellowing for a nurse. One came running in, glancing at the monitors before she began talking gently to Dean, trying to calm him down as she removed the oxygen tubes from his nose. She grabbed a mask, quickly hooking it up and slipping it over Dean's nose and mouth.

"Take in a deep breath. Come on, now. Easy. There we go. Take another breath … and let it out. Do that again. Everything's okay, Dean. There we go."

Dean did as the nurse asked, laying his head back on the pillows and closing his eyes as he tried to regulate his breathing. The machines stopped blaring, the harsh sound replaced by a steady beep. The nurse, a kind of heavyset woman at least twice his age, gently ran her hands across his hair, in a calming, motherly way. Dean had been in the hospital for four days now, and had the nurses all wrapped around his little finger.

"You okay, honey?"

Dean nodded, not worrying about talking with the mask over his mouth.

"What happened?"

Dean opened his eyes, looking over to her with a smile.

"Bad dream."

She nodded, patting him gently on the shoulder as she turned to walk out of the room. Dean reached his good hand up, wrestling the mask off of his mouth.

"Hey, Donna?"

She turned back to him and he coughed.

"Do you think I might could …?"

She gave him a smile, cocking her head to the side.

"You feeling up to it?"

He nodded eagerly, and she let out a laugh.

"Let me call your doctor and I'll see, okay?"
"Okay. Thanks, doll."

Donna's cheeks were flushed as she walked out of the room. Sam walked over to the bed, reaching and moving the mask back in place.

"Not a word, Dean."

Dean shut his mouth and Sam sat back in his chair. Dean settled back in the bed and with the adrenaline fading off, he was once again feeling some lingering effects of the painkillers he'd been given earlier. Sam let out a sigh.

"You want to talk about it?"

Dean looked over to his brother, who was stretched out in the chair, his long legs out as far as they could go, his hands folded over his stomach, his head leaned back and eyes closed. Dean swallowed as Sam opened an eye, looking over to him before lifting his head and looking Dean straight on.

"Hey—"
"No, Sam. I don't want to talk about it."

Dean lay back, taking in a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. Sam nodded, moving back to his position in the chair.

"It's something bad, isn't it?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut at Sam's murmured words. Dean rolled over on his side, wincing as pain shot through his back.

"Let it be, Sam. Please God, just let it be."

Sam had his eyes open, watching his brother. He had a feeling that something had happened, something to spur Dean to come to him, but he didn't know what. Now he figured it had something to do with someone named "Jo" and whatever he had been dreaming about. He kept whispering "Jo," over and over again, each repetition becoming more and more pain-filled. Sam let out a sigh, closing his eyes again, thinking maybe he could catch a few more minutes of sleep.

Nope.

His phone started vibrating in his pocket and he sighed as he fished for it, then pulled it out. Jess was texting him. There was still no change with Melinda. Jess knew, even if the doctors weren't saying it just yet, that Melinda had fallen into a coma. There was still a small window that she could wake up on her own, but the longer she stayed out, the more likely it was that she would never wake up again.

Dean asked every single day to go and see her, but the second night he was in the hospital, he'd developed a fever. One of the cuts on his back had started to look as though it may be getting infected, so the doctor had pumped Dean full of antibiotics. The doctors refused to risk Melinda getting anything else, so they told Dean that until he was fever-free for at least 24 hours, he wasn't to leave his room. It broke Sam's heart to see Dean resign himself to that, because that wasn't like the brother he knew. Or at least the brother he remembered.

The Dean he knew would have laughed in those doctor's faces while he climbed out of the bed that very first night. He would have smiled through the pain of ripping out his IV, oxygen tubes, whatever the hell else and held his middle finger in the air as he walked up to Melinda's room. And he wouldn't have left her side until he was damn good and ready.

But this Dean… This Dean had known sadness in a way that Sam didn't. Something was weighing on this Dean, something that Sam couldn't get out of him, wanted to help him with, but didn't know how.

Sam slid the phone back in his pocket, stretching out again, getting as comfortable as he could in that awful chair. He looked over to the bed, where Dean was still on his side, facing away from him. Sam let out a sigh as he laced his fingers together, resting them on his stomach again.

"I'm here, Dean."

Sam's voice was barely even a whisper, but it resounded in Dean's ears. Dean let out a breath as a tear slid from his eyes, and he pushed his face further into his pillow.

"Gin."
"Goddamn it, Dean."

Dean smiled as Bobby tossed his cards down. Seventeen games under their belts and Bobby had won two of them. And Dean swore he'd only let Bobby win one. At their regular rate of fifty cents a game, something that had been established when Sam was still in diapers, Dean was already up nearly eight dollars, though he had given Bobby back the one dollar he'd earned. He hadn't, though, taken the advice Bobby had given him to take that dollar and shove it. Nurse Donna came walking in the room, a smile on her face.

"Mr. Singer, are you harassing my patient again?"

Bobby glanced behind him with a smile.

"No, ma'am. Son of a bitch keeps stealing my money."
"Poker?"

Dean shook his head.

"Gin."

Donna smiled.

"He's been killing the night shift with poker. Almost conned one of the residents from pediatrics into a Blackjack tournament."
"Hey, that cocky bastard is asking for it."

Donna laughed, then smiled at Dean.

"Guess what."

He laid his cards down, cracking his neck and his knuckles.

"What?"
"Got the okay."

Dean's eyes flashed to the door, where Donna was bringing in a wheelchair.

"Your fever broke about 30 hours ago, and you've been clean ever since. I managed to get you an hour of visiting time, then it's back here to bed. Any inkling of any discomfort and you are to come back immediately. Understood?"

Dean nodded, and Bobby helped him from the bed to the chair. Dean hated it, but he was weak from lying in that bed all the damn day, only getting up to go to the bathroom. Not to mention the new knee brace the doctor insisted on, thanks to something they saw on the stupid MRI he'd suffered through.

He let out long, slow breaths, then smiled up at Donna. She wheeled him to the elevators and they rode up to the Intensive Care Unit. Sam met them at the elevators with Jessica. She bent and kissed Dean's cheek and while Sam took over pushing the wheelchair, Jess tried to warn Dean.

"Okay, so she's a little banged up still. Her face has a couple of fading bruises and cuts. Her arm is still in a heavy bandage, and she's got a cast around her ankle. It's pink."

Jess smiled, then sighed.

"She's got a tube down her throat to help her breathe, and she's hooked up to a ton of machines. But I know she'll be glad to see you."

Dean put on a smile as Sam stopped in front of room 1023. Dean took in a deep breath as Jess pushed open the door. Sam wheeled him in, and Dean moved to the front of his chair when the bed came into his view.

"Oh, shit. Mel."

He spoke quietly, under his breath, and Sam gently squeezed his shoulder. Jess walked over to the bed, a smile on her face.

"Melly, Dean's here. I know, it's about damn time, right?"

Jess looked over to Dean, her smile shaky, watery, and he smiled what he hoped was a convincing smile back at her. Sam wheeled him over to the bed and Dean just stared. Melinda's skin was an awful, almost gray color. Her beautiful blue eyes were closed, and there was an angry-looking purple bruise stretching out across her cheekbone, and a cut over one of her eyebrows. Her hair was spread across the pillow and her mouth was open, due to the tube stuck down her throat. Dean swallowed, and Jess walked over, patting him on the shoulder.

"I think we'll give you two a minute."
"Yeah, Dean, we'll be right outside."

Dean nodded, and Sam and Jess left the room. He turned back to the bed, letting out a long breath.

"God, Mel. What … How …"

He shook his head, letting it fall. After a moment, he lifted it, tears in his eyes.

"You listen to me, all right? I have been through some shit. So have you, so you understand. I have lost more people than I should have, and so have you. So damn it, Mel, I am not going to lose you, too. We've known each other for less than a week, but you've already messed me up. So you need to just go ahead and wake up, because I'm not letting you go."

Dean reached over, hesitating for just a moment before taking her hand. It was cool and limp in his grasp and he closed his eyes. He lowered his head to rest on her bedrail, looking up to her sleeping face again, before shutting his eyes. He let out a shaky breath.

"I … I—I don't … I don't do this. Ever. Maybe I should, but I really don't see the point. The, uh … The only reason I'm doing it now is—is because of her."

Dean lifted his head, looking to Melinda's face.

"Please, God. Don't let her die. I … I can't do this again. Please don't take her from me. I—I'll do whatever it takes. Whatever You want. I'll …"

He swallowed hard.

"I'll walk away if I have to."

He was a little surprised at just how bad it hurt to say that. He looked up at the ceiling, letting out a laugh before looking back to Melinda's face. A tear slid down his cheek, but he smiled, slowly shaking his head.

"No. No, I won't. I'm not leaving her. I won't let her be alone again. Not … not again. Just … just let her live. Please, God, let her wake up."

He let go of her hand, covering his face with his hands, trying to get control of himself. He was breathing hard, his eyes squeezed shut, willing himself not to cry, to be a man, a soldier like his dad had taught him. He let out a sigh, then froze as he felt a soft pressure on his head. After a moment, he felt it again. Almost like … like a hand running across his hair.

"Mel?"

He lifted his head from the bed, looking up to see sleepy blue eyes staring back at him.

"Oh my God. Mel, can you hear me?"

She nodded ever so slightly and Dean let out a laugh.

"You're awake. You're awake. Are you—are you hurting?"

Her hand shook as she slowly lifted it to her throat. Dean nodded.

"You've got a tube down your throat to help you breathe. Mel, do you know who I am?"

He laughed as he felt the punch, as gentle as a butterfly's wing, against his arm. He leaned over, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Let me get a doctor."

He started to try and wheel himself out, thinking it probably wouldn't be the best idea one-handed, when Melinda grabbed his hand. He turned to look at her, saw the look in her eyes, and he smiled.

"I'm not leaving you, Mel. Not again. Just hang on."

Dean turned his face towards the door as he pressed the call button on Melinda's bed.

"Sam! Sam, get in here!"

Jess had an iron grip on Melinda's hand, and Dean held her other one. Sam sat behind Jess, in the same chair, running his hands through her hair.

"So how long was I out?"

Melinda's voice sounded as though she had swallowed a parking lot worth of gravel. At least they had removed the tube from her throat. She had oxygen in her nose now, because her lungs still didn't sound clean. Jess smiled, squeezing her hand.

"Four days. Mom and Dad are here, but they've been up for two days straight and I just sent them to a hotel."

Melinda nodded, lying back against the pillows. She was so tired, and she had absolutely no reason to be, if she'd slept for four days. She shook her head.

"I don't really understand. I don't remember what happened."
"Nothing at all?"

Melinda looked over to Sam, shaking her head.

"I don't think so."

Jess sighed, pushing a hand through her curly blonde hair.

"The apartment caught fire. Since we're on the second floor, they were thinking that the people under us maybe left their stove on? They're still investigating."

Melinda nodded, and Dean leaned in closer.

"We woke up, and I burnt my hand on the doorknob."

Dean held up his gauze-wrapped hand, what Jess still referred to as his "paw," and Jess smiled.

"I busted the window, and we jumped out. That's when the glass got stuck in your arm, and I'm pretty sure that's how you got this."

He laid his hand against the bruise on her cheek.

"And this."

He let his thumb follow the cut over her eyebrow, and her eyes drifted shut.

"That's also how you got your pretty pink cast."

Melinda smiled, opening her eyes to look at Dean again. Jess squeezed her hand again, and Melinda turned to look at her.

"When you got here, you had already lost a lot of blood. They couldn't stop the bleeding, and they took you in for surgery. Everything seemed to be fine, but …"

Jess shook her head, and Sam sighed, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"You had some sort of reaction to something, and they still aren't sure what exactly. But, uh… Your heart stopped, you weren't breathing. They brought you back, but you didn't wake up. You scared us pretty bad, Mel."

She lay back, letting out a breath. She felt Dean's thumb across the back of her hand, and it reassured her. It was comforting, the way he kept touching her, even his presence. She looked over to him.

"What about you? Are you okay?"

He smiled.

"Never better."

Melinda smiled, closing her eyes for just a moment before she looked at him again. He sighed.

"I burned my hand on the doorknob, because it was melting when I got there."

He held his paw up again, and Melinda nodded.

"I landed wrong on my knee, which is why I have this damn thing on."

Melinda bit her lip, trying to hide her smile, but it came through anyway.

"And when I was trying to carry you away, a window blew and rained glass down, most of which embedded into my back."
"And let's not forget the smoke inhalation everyone had. Has."

Sam and Dean nodded at Jess, and Dean turned his head into his elbow as he coughed. He'd been without oxygen for nearly two hours, and Sam let out a sigh.

"Dean, we need to get you back to your room."
"No."
"Come on. Don't be a dick about this."
"Sam, fuck off."

Melinda laughed, while Jess sighed.

"Dean, you need to be on oxygen. Your lungs were terrible."
"Then hook me up. I'm not going anywhere."
"Dean…"
"Look, I've seen it on TV all the time. Put us in one of those double rooms. A two-seater, you know?"

Melinda turned to Jess and nodded.

"Yeah, do that."
"Honey, you just woke up from a coma. We're sticking with ICU tonight."
"Oh, come on, Jessie. Please?"

Jess sighed as Melinda blinked those baby blues at her. She went to open her mouth and Sam stood up.

"I'll go ask the nurse."
"Sam… Wait for me."

Jess followed him out of the room and Melinda let out a breath, groaning quietly. Dean let out a broken sigh beside her.

"You okay?"

She looked over to him.

"Are you?"

He smiled.

"Not really."
"Yeah, me either. My head is pounding."
"Yeah, my chest aches like a mother."

She nodded.

"I can feel my heartbeat in my foot. Every beat is a throb."
"My knee throbs every time I move."

Melinda looked over to him and smiled.

"Well, aren't we just a pair?"

He laughed, trailing off into a groan as he coughed again. When he had caught his breath as best he could, he looked over to see her looking back at him. She smiled, and he couldn't help but smile back. He moved closer to the bed, resting his head on the rail, and Melinda rolled over, where her forehead was touching his. She murmured quietly.

"Something's changed, hasn't it?"

Dean smiled, letting his eyes close.

"I think so."

She nodded.

"You okay with it?"

He smiled again.

"Yeah. You?"

She smiled, letting her eyes close.

"Yeah."

After a moment, Melinda let out a sigh.

"You're falling asleep, aren't you?"

Dean grunted.

"So are you."
"At least sit back. That's got to be uncomfortable."
"Nah, I'm good right here."

Melinda smiled, yawning.

"I just don't want to hear you bitching about how bad your back hurts later."
"It hurts right now. Want to hear me bitch now?"

She let out a laugh.

"Shut up and go to sleep, Winchester."
"You too, Moore."

Melinda felt Dean's hand come to lay on her bed, moving around, and she moved her hand to lace her fingers with his. She heard his sigh, felt his fingers grip hers, and Dean was the last thought she had before she fell asleep.