Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters, ever xP This is simply fan-fiction love!

AN: This was actually sitting on my desktop for the past 3 weeks, I didn't even realize I've never posted it TT_TT

Well, I think this is the second to last chapter, I'm hoping to end it off with a twist (but I'm all plot-bunny-less atm... I'll have to visit the virtual pet store *_*) Anywho! Thank you all so much for supporting this series for so long, and with all these hiatus-es in between! I'm trying to get ideas for a new series, one that'll really inspire me, so if you have any suggestions, please let me know! Full Cred!

.

.

Not a sissy, just recovering... like a man

.

.

.

"John….?"

"Yeah?"

"Why the hell do you always end up here either shot, with somebody else shot or mauled halfway to hell?" Patrick frowns and slaps Dean's hand away from his side, "I'm not a Red Cross, you know."

John chuckles, pours another cup of coffee and hands it over to his friend, "Give me break, the kid just had surgery…"

"Yeah, tell me again how he got appendicitis, broke his ribs and got shot by his own brother?" Patrick deadpanned and shook his head, "I thought you said you trained them."

"I thought I did…" John grimaced at the implication, "Don't say what you're about to say…"

"Hey, Dad, I'm packed…" Sam says as he walks in. He pauses at the door and clamps his mouth shut, "OH.. wow, that looks worse than yesterday…"

"That's because you didn't see it yesterday," Patrick says and dangles the bloody gauze in sight, "I've had to change his dressings twice now. It's gross and I can't eat for an hour afterwards!"

"Is it bad?" Sam tries his best not to let his gag-reflex kick-in as he comes closer for a better look.

The area was purple, with dark bruising over several parts of Dean's chest. It didn't look like a picture of health. "He's got some serious bruising… I had to redo a couple of the stitches on his side… completely redo the stitches of the gunshot… " Patrick rolls his neck and shrugs, "I gave him a cocktail mix of some anaesthesia and sedatives…"

Sam nods, "Good, he needs sleep…"

"You do too," John says and takes a long slurp of coffee.

"And you, Dad?"

"What about me!" Patrick chimes in and drops the scissors he'd been using on the stitches in the tray, "I was awake since you got here, getting you all sorted… getting-" he slapped Dean's chest (inadvertently causing an extremely sissy-sounding shriek to emit from the young hunter), "Oh shit, sorry, man…"

"…ffff…" was all Dean manages to huff out, his face turning a scarlet red.

Patrick continues right where he left off, "getting you sorter and this guy all patched up… the least you guys can do is make me lunch!" he snaps and looks at Sam expectantly… mostly because Patrick knows that John would never agree to making anything edible –at least not for anyone who is not family.

"I want some beer…" Dean finally pipes up, he sounds shaky and tired, but he grins –eyes still closed though- and sighs, "and bring me pie…"

"Yeah… that sounds like plan!" John chuckles and pulls Sam with him, "There's a little café just a few miles from here… "

"Hey, no beer!" Patrick yells as they head out the door.

"Whiskey then!" John retorts and grabs the Impala's keys before any retorts come.

"It's a good theory, but contrary to popular Winchester-wisdom, whiskey does not disinfect from the inside-out! I'm serious!" Patrick says as the pair of hunters head to the door.

Sam throws him a thumbs-up but John makes no such promises.

"I'm driving," the elder Winchester says when Sam makes a grab at the Impala's keys, "You're underage."

Sam glares at his father for a moment before following him out the door, "Dean doesn't like it when you over-rev the Impala… "

"I know"

"You should always let the engine idle for a couple of minutes when it's cold out…"

"Sam, I owned the Impala before I gave it to Dean."

"And Dean doesn't like it when you adjust the seat -"

"-I will leave you here!"

"But I need to go get Dean some pie-" and that was the last of the little Winchester exchange that was heard, the rest was drowned out by the Impala starting.

The engine roaring to life was enough to wake Dean up though, a little bit more thoroughly than the last rude awaking-slap. "Sam! SAMMY?"

"Relax, they're going to get you some snacks…" Patrick calls from across the room, holding a comforter in his arms.

"Who?"

"John and Sam, they're going to the café," Patrick replies and frowns when Dean doesn't look satisfied. "…. Uh… they won't be long? If that's what you're worried about."

Dean seems to be off in space until Patrick finally amended the statement, "Oh… right…"

"Come on," Patrick smiles and pokes Dean on the forehead, "Evacuate to the living room, can't have you lying on my dinner table all day."

"But I like your dinner table…" Dean grins and nuzzles the table with his cheek just for kicks.

"Hey, I didn't give you that much drugs, knock it off," Patrick snaps and pulls Dean to a sitting position.

"Now I'm so looonnneeelllyyy…" Dean says in a sing-song voice and chuckles.

Patrick stares at the young hunter for a moment before sighing, "If you move your ass and I'll bring you some M&M's…"

Dean's eyebrow pops up and he grins, "Well, if you put it that way…"

"You are definitely John's son…. So disturbing…" Patrick glares and pokes Dean again, "Move or no M&M's!"

"With peanuts?"

"Yes."

That got him moving. Patrick passes him a comforter and instructs him to lie down on the couch in the living room.

Naturally, Dean wraps said comforter around his neck and dramatically sweeps his new 'cape' like Batman, only to squeal in pain a moment later.

"Wow, Mr. Wayne, you sound just like a little girl," Patrick says and waltzes off towards the kitchen.

Dean pouts and shuffles along the carpet and down the hallway until he finally takes a right to the living room. He doesn't quite manage to throw the comforter all the way over the couch –the tail end seems to be stubbornly stuck on the edge of the sofa- but he decides the effort just wasn't worth it. He wriggles himself up unto the couch and stuffs his head into the small gap between the armrest and the backrest. His feet are cold from the lack of comforter, but he doesn't particularly have enough energy to care right now.

He'll care once Sammy got him some pie. And his Dad brought the beer. Then he'll care. But for now, he's just trying to sleep.

.

.

Thanks for reading so far! I'm just waiting until inspiration hits then I'll write up and post the ending to this series *cries*