A.N.: So here is the recovery chapter that you guys have been waiting for, and a break from the angst. A couple more to go and we will close the book on this tale. Thank you SO much for all of your support. I'm SO sorry for not responding to your reviews for Chapter 17 yet, I'll get right on that! Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: Not mine.
It happens so fast that Sam doesn't have time to react.
One minute Dean's shuffling his feet along, head bowed and arm raised in a careless wave to Bobby as he pulls up in the Impala, and the next his legs buckle, the shovel clangs haphazardly to the asphalt and his body slumps hard against the hood of his baby.
"Dean!" he yells out, racing towards his brother as Bobby exits the car at lightning speed, eyes wide with concern.
As Sam approaches he can see it, hidden beneath a layer of dirt and sweat. Blood. It thickens around the now obvious gash just below Dean's ear on the back of his skull.
"When did that happen?" Sam questions, fingers dancing lightly over the wound.
Dean's head lulls towards him, his eyes glassy with pain.
"Dammit Dean, why didn't you say anything?" Sam whispers angrily as he and Bobby work to get Dean folded into the front seat.
"Bitchy lecture later, hospital now." Dean groans as Bobby leaves his side and makes his way to the backseat.
Sam stares at his fingers, the ones that are now sticky with Dean's blood, and feels the bubbling annoyance present in his own veins melt away. "Dean, are you okay?"
"I'm asking for a hospital Sam." He huffs. "So, I'm thinking no, not okay."
Sam opens the door tentatively, regarding his brother with a soft nod. "How bad is it?"
Dean lifts one of his hands in the air and wiggles several of his fingers with a grin.
"Five stitches, two broken fingers, severe dehydration, a scar on my hairline from head-butting that damn box and hot nurse Brenda's phone number." Dean brags from his hospital bed, brandishing the number with a flourish.
Sam rolls his eyes. "Did they say anything about lasting damage? Anything we have to worry about in the future?"
Dean shrugs. "Just the usual Sammy. Keep an eye out of memory loss, and sluggish reactions, blah, blah blah." he adds with a carefree wave which quickly turns into an air drum solo.
"Jeez Dean, how much morphine did they give you?"
"What?" He questions, clueless to his younger brother's amusement.
"I don't know." He states, scratching the back of his head with one of his hands. "Enough so that the marching band of pain in my head is now just a distant memory." He leans back on his pillows with a contented sigh before his medicated brain catches up and registers that the third member of their party is absent.
"What about Bobby? Where is he? How did he make out?"
Sam opens his mouth to answer just as the door opens up behind him and Bobby strides into the room. "Six stitches and I got them from a tree, not a rusty soccer trophy."
Dean smirks and waves his number again. "Yeah, but you didn't get hot nurse Brenda's number."
"No," Bobby agrees. "I didn't. I got Dr. Hamilton's though."
"Dude," Dean's mouth drops open. "Really?"
Bobby snorts. "I may be old, but I'm not that old."
Sam laughs as Dean grumbles. "I didn't mean it like that."
Bobby harrumphs and grabs one of the worn magazines from the side table. "So they keeping you overnight or what?"
Dean winks and retorts. "If Brenda has her way."
Sam looks back from Bobby and then to Dean as they continue their lively exchange full of smiles and laughter.
It hits him hard then, as their words seem to melt away and he contemplates just how close he had been to losing his brother. It doesn't seem possible that they managed to get out of this hunt pretty much unscathed.
"So everyone is really okay?" He whispers, as Bobby and Dean turn their eyes on him.
Dean's eyes soften as he takes in what Sam figures must be apprehension on his face.
"Of course Sammy, what did you expect?"
He can't answer that. He can't tell Dean that he expected he would be too late. That he expected to pull Dean's still, lifeless body from that coffin. That what he expected was to recommit him to the earth in the form of a burning pyre.
He gulps down the rapidly rising emotion in his throat and shakes his head to clear the bitter image that has taken root there.
Bobby tilts his hat down further on his head as if to give the boys privacy.
"Sammy?" Dean inquires.
"Nothing." He chokes on the laughter he tries to force out of his mouth. "I should have known better."
Dean smacks the side of the railing. "Damn straight! Now bro, why don't we see about getting me some real food."
"Doctor said nothing solid for you at least the rest of the day."
"Dammit." He groans. "Jello?"
Sam swipes the chart from the bottom of the bed and scans it. "Yeah, jello's fine."
"Awesome! Make it cherry and not that crap with the fruit in it."
Sam grins and notices that Bobby is holding up a silent finger to request one as well.
As he goes to close the door Dean calls out. "And if you run into Brenda ask her when I can have a cheeseburger. I'm starving!"
A genuine chuckle erupts from his lips.
He doesn't know what he was so worried about; his brother is too full of life to ever die.