FACING YOUR DEMONS

Chapter 9

Dean comes to an important realisation. One that does not, in any way, involve butterflies. Sam begs to differ.

xxxxx

"Dude, you look like crap!"

"Thanks…" Dean spluttered indignantly; "thought I was supposed to feel better now!"

Sam hid his smirk behind his coffee mug. If Dean was bitching - or bitching as well he could with bruised and swollen lips that looked and no doubt felt more like two rolls of linoleum than a functioning mouth - all was well with the world. "You will dude," he reassured; "you will, you just gotta heal up first."

Putting his coffee back down on the table, Sam pushed the bottle of antibiotics across to his brother.

"One of those, three times a day; salt-water gargle, and Vicodin," he stated economically. "Walker says you'll be fine in a few days – as long as you don't try any more do-it-yourself surgery," he added, aiming a barbed look at his brother; a look which was totally ignored as Dean was too busy chasing down the tablet with a glass of juice, of which more seemed to be flowing down his chin than down his throat.

"So," not to be deterred, Sam carried on regardless; "any more butterflies?"

Dean choked briefly and froze, staring at his brother as if he were insane.

"Butterflies? What the hell woul' I know abou' friggin' butterflies?" he responded grouchily.

Sam shrugged; "you tell me, dude; you were obsessed with them yesterday while you were under the happy juice."

Dean glared at him; "butterflies?"

Sam nodded. "You nearly wrecked the doc's surgery and pulled half my hair out looking for them," he explained casually; "red ones apparently."

The effect of Dean's withering glare was somewhat spoiled by his chipmunk cheek and the bead of drool hanging off his chin.

"Just wondered," replied Sam with an innocent shrug.

"Yeah well, don't," Dean warned darkly; "nothin' I said while I was drugged up to the eyeballs can be hel' against me."

"Spoilsport," grinned Sam.

"I'm warnin' you bitch," Dean grumbled; "if you start tellin' anyone abou' butterflies, I'll be forced to tell how you howled like a girl the whole way through Bambi when I took y'to see it on your birthday."

"I was six years old," Sam snapped.

"Yeah, well, I might jus' forget certain details," Dean gave the best evil, one-sided grin his abused face could muster; "anaesthetic can have weird effects!"

Touché. Resigned to defeat, Sam shook his head with a smile. Dean, the loved-up lepidopterist, was gone, replaced by Dean, the evil, smart-mouthed dick. Life was back to some degree of normal.

Life was good.

xxxxx

Pouring himself another glass of juice, Dean sat down at the table and a companionable silence settled between the two men as they savoured their drinks.

"You were righ' y'know," Dean eventually broke the silence.

Sam looked up; "what about?"

"Me," Dean replied; "the dentist, this whole thing."

Sam shrugged, gesturing silently for Dean to continue.

"That's all it was," Dean sighed; "scared of what I didn't know, how freakin' stupid is that?"

Sam shrugged; "not stupid at all," he replied quietly.

"I wasn' completely out when he was doing his stuff;" Dean mumbled thickly; "I kinda knew wha' he was doin', and I kinda didn't. But the thing is, all the while, the little par' of me that coul' still think rationally was thinkin' what the hell had I been afraid of? It wasn' so bad."

Dean drained his juice and licked his swollen lips; Sam could see the faint flush reddening his cheeks.

"That's good to know," Sam replied; "so hopefully you won't end up in this mess again next time you need something doing. Seriously Dean, you could have ended up in hospital with blood poisoning or something just as crappy."

Dean nodded, his downturned eyes staring at the table. "I guess there's something to be said for facing your demons – somehow not knowing how bad they are makes them worse than when you do."

Sam smiled, "That's our life all over," he replied; "although I've gotta say, the scary dentist was a refreshingly new touch."

"He was the bes' part," Dean replied with a shrug; "he survived havin' his head staved in with a machete'. After that, I'd look a complete pussy makin' a fuss 'bout a tooth extraction."

Sam nodded his agreement; "oh, and the butterflies," he added.

Dean's eyes narrowed dangerously; "forget the friggin' butterflies!"

Sam raised his hands in a concilliatory gesture; "got it dude, no more butterflies." The voice sounded sincere, the smirk suggested otherwise; "promise I won't mention butterflies in your presence ever again."

"SAM!"

Sam nodded. "Yes, of course. Colourful winged insects are off-limits."

Dean snorted irritably, shooting Sam a last warning glare which bounced harmlessly off the younger Winchester's smug grin.

xxxxx

"So, what happens now?" Dean asked, reaching across the table towards the coffee pot; "have I gotta go back?"

Sam's nod turned into a shrug; "Walker said he'd like you to go back and get it checked out, but he didn't expect you would. He said you'd probably be fine if you took all the tablets and did the saltwater thing."

Dean took a long, noisy gulp of coffee.

"I wanna go back."

"Huh?" Sam blinked in disbelief.

"Wanna get it checked ou'," Dean replied hesitantly.

Sam stared at his brother, "Oh … um … right;" he nodded, "okay."

"I'm not puttin' myself through this again;" Dean explained, pulling in a deep breath; "an' 'm not puttin' you through this again. This demon's screwed Sam, 'm gonna kick it's ass once an' for all."

This sounded more like the bull-headed, irrational brother Sam knew, not the pain-addled, frightened stranger that had taken his place over recent days. He smiled, and reached for his phone before Dean had a chance to change his mind.

Sipping his coffee, Dean watched his brother tap in the doctor's name and shivered with a strange mixture of apprehension and relief as Sam began to speak.

xxxxx

"Hey Doc, it's Sam."

Sam looked across at Dean and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he spoke to the familiar voice on the phone.

"… Yeah, Dean wants to come back for that check-up … He's seems to be doing great thanks … yeah, whenever you can fit us in … what? … oh, uh wait – I'll ask him …"

Sam tried and failed to stifle a grin as he looked away from the phone toward Dean; "Doc Walker says he can fit you in next Tuesday, dude," he paused briefly; "and he says do you want the appointment with butterflies, or without?"

He ducked as the bottle of pills flew across the table and bounced off the side of his head.

xxxxx

end