A/N: A token of gratitude to the followers. Ya'll rock my world. Keep on keepin' on.
It took three flights of stairs, five seriously PO'd neurosurgeons, a dozen indiscriminate variations of the word sorry, and a snubbed CAUTION: WET FLOOR sign—all for one room number.
Oh yeah, there was also heavy bribing involved. Benny's pretty sure that as of next week, he has a hot date with Martin Creaser's daughter, Becky. Martin wasn't even part of the sickbay union; he was just a senile (or just completely insane) custodian on the fourth floor. Apparently his spawn was "the pride and joy of my life, so if you break her heart, I'll break your spleen".
Lovely, can't wait t' meet her, was all Benny could reply.
Sometimes the patient confidentiality agreement was a lot like high school. Only if you were part of the elite upperclassmen or putting around cowhide (i.e. administration, GPs, neurosurgeons) could you have access to the local database, save for the occasional nerd (read: nurses) that does the homework for them. Unfortunately, Benny wasn't assigned to one Sam Winchester in the extensive care unit—hence the ludicrous amount of prying and bribing just to get a freaking surname.
To the extent of his knowledge, 17-year-old Sam was put in a medically induced coma after sustaining multiple lacerations to his head and pelvic region, prime reason for major blood loss. Dean was the eldest of the two. He was the only emergency contact on Sam's file—five different numbers with a post-it attached that read "just in case".
He doesn't know how or why Sam's in the infirmary, but his life is hanging in the balance of Fate's two-faced coin.
The only difference was that, as of last week, Benny was the one playing God.
The door was open but the immortal knocked anyway. Usually, his rounds didn't consist of more than a few preliminary checks, but today was different. "Different" was binaural in hospital talk, either meaning good or extremely bad. Judging by the way the first-born's shoulders caved inward like a flightless bird and kept his head angled at his war-torn brother, it was probably the latter.
Benny stood behind him as he began speaking over the high-pitched drone of the IV, "When he got accepted, Dad was so pissed… said he was wasting his time when he could've been supporting his family… I was a complete asshat, pulled the whole 'Yes, Sir, whatever you say, Sir'…next thing I know, he's packing his clothes and it was sayonara el papacito until…." He paused, giving his brother another once over before a forged smile masked his dry tears. "Sammy was the valedictorian and I was the castaway… not much good for anything other than fixing cars and double entendres… he was so excited about college and I was literally driving him away from me."
Benny stood in overwhelming silence. What can you say to a man who lost everything? His Turning wasn't a choice, more like a completely unintentional (and no, definitely not a kinky thing) chapter in his so-called life. The whole reason he liked working in a hospital is so he could help people, somehow prove he wasn't an incognito monster, but then there was the Dean Winchester factor. Sometimes he couldn't save everyone. The brokenhearted were an incurable people.
The RN was soft-spoken in saying, "I'm sure you have a third hidden talent."
At that, Dean turned to meet Benny's arctic blue eyes. He ran his thumb over his bottom lip and what? No, of course he wasn't looking there. "Benny, how are so you perfect?"
If only, thought the latter man. "It's par for the job."
"That's not what I mean," the mechanic said, crossing his arms. God, he was gorgeous. Between his crew cut caramel hairs, cluster of freckles dancing around his nose like a bonfire, and those green-gold eyes like something out of Disney. If he gets any hotter, Benny's pretty sure he'll be laying in a bed next to Sam sooner than later. "Anyone can slap on a uniform and a smile but you—you're… different. You're just, I dunno, perfect."
There are those words again: different and perfect. He hasn't heard them in the same speech since his pseudo and very much vampiric boyfriend at the time Roy bought him a Guinness. "Perfect or not, I wasn't always this cute n' cuddly."
"I have a hard time believing that." They stared at each other for some time until Dean stirred their thoughts with a statement: "Well, I'm gonna grab some grub at Biggerson's across the street, just in case Sam wakes up. No offense, but the hospital food might send him straight to the grave. And I'm pretty sure 'death by Spam' isn't covered under the insurance."
Benny laughed softly, shaking his head, "None taken. Get the boy some real food."
"Oh yeah, and one more thing…" He was rounding past Benny in his short-lived quest for the exit when he turned blithely and leaned in, pressing his lips to his. Dean's lips were soft; surprisingly free of callouses considering how many times he's seen him in the last week and a half masticating on the lower one. Benny kissed back readily and like that he was caught in the eye of the fire that had once and since set his rugged soul ablaze. Dean pulled back quicker than he'd like. "You want anything?"
The little shit. It took a moment for the nurse to rejoin after five whole seconds of brainwave inactivity. He's pretty sure he heard a flat line ringing in his head. "Uh—no, I'm alright, thanks." Were those his—? Yeah, his cheeks were totally red. Not embarrassing at all.
"Oh hell no…"
Suffice to say Benny never believed in an Almighty until he heard Sam Winchester speak.
