Chapter 19: The More Things Change...
John didn't realize he had fallen asleep until a groan woke him. He lifted his head, expecting to see Sam in pain. Sam's upper body was sprawled over the foot of Dean's bed, one arm wrapped around Dean's legs and the other hanging off the side as he snored softly, his head resting against Dean's knee.
The groan sounded again. John shifted his gaze up to Dean's face. It was twisted in pain and Dean looked like he was trying to sit up.
"Hey, hey," John whispered, attempting to hold him down. "Easy, Dean. Just lay back."
Dean continued to writhe under his hands. "Dean." John tried a sterner but still quiet voice, hoping not to wake Sam. "Be still. That's an order."
Dean stiffened instantly. One eye, the one on the nonswollen side of his face, opened. John felt thoroughly scoured by the deep hazel-green orb. Then Dean nodded, resting back into the bed.
"Yes, sir," he croaked. Dean made a face. "Throat," he said, motioning to his neck.
"Probably from the ventilator," John explained. Confusion raged across Dean's face. "We're in the hospital. You were on a ventilator for a couple of days."
Dean's eyes widened in panic. He started to push up again, looking around wildly.
"Easy, son," John crooned, pushing him back again. "Sam's fine. He's right here." He released Dean's shoulder to motion to the still sleeping Sam draped across the end of Dean's bed.
Dean chuckled lightly at the sight, the tension easing from his sturdy frame. He motioned for John to come closer. "Demon?" he whispered.
John felt his fears of amnesia fade away. "Got away," he hissed back. "But don't worry about that right now. I want you to concentrate on getting better."
Dean rolled his eye, the other one being too swollen to open, but he nodded. He motioned to Sam with a questioning look.
"Sam's been here since he convinced the doctor to remove his restraints," John told him.
Both of Dean's eyebrows shot up.
John shrugged. "Sam wasn't completely rational when he woke up. I understand he took out two doctors and a nurse before they got him back under in the ER."
Dean grimaced. Before John could figure out what was bothering him, Dean kicked one knee up, waking Sam.
Sam shot upright, still clinging to Dean's legs. He blinked sleep-blurry eyes at them, then his eyes widened and a smile spread. "Dean! You're awake!"
Dean glared. Then he pointed to Sam and whispered, "You should be in bed!"
Sam frowned. "Something wrong with your throat?" he demanded.
John cleared his throat to get both of their attention. "I believe it's still sore from the ventilator."
"Oh, right," Sam nodded in agreement. He grinned again. "Good to see you awake, man."
Dean tried to cross his arms over his chest, but there were too many tubes and wires in the way. He found the one running up his nose. The questioning look was pretty clear.
"Feeding tube," John told him. Dean scowled. "Dude, you've been unconscious for two days. What'd you expect?"
Dean tugged on it, so John whipped a hand out to grab the boy's wrist. "Uh-uh. The doc needs to check you over, then we'll see about getting rid of some of this annoying crap that's been keeping you alive."
Some pink crept into the unbruised side of Dean's face. He nodded, dropping his hands. Relieved, John made eye contact with Sam. Sam jumped up and raced over to the nurses' station. As long as the staff were already scared of Sam, they might as well put it to use.
Two nurses ran in ahead of Sam's return. They had taken Dean's blood pressure and temperature, made him talk, and brought him some ice chips for his throat before the neurologist arrived. The doctor walked in slowly, as though he knew all along that Dean would be perfectly fine and there had been nothing to worry about. He checked Dean over pretty thoroughly before addressing him.
"Good to see you awake. Tell me, do you remember your name?" the doctor asked.
Dean shot John a questioning look. John gave him a quick nod.
"Dean," he replied.
The doctor smiled. "Full name?"
John mouthed 'George' at him. Dean's shoulders relaxed. "George Dean Adams." One eyebrow quirked up in amusement. "I take it you've met Sam Adams over here?" He grinned at Sam.
The doctor frowned. "He's a terrible patient," he said.
"Don't worry, Doc," Dean said in a hoarse voice, the smile dropping. "You just tell me what he needs to do, and he'll do it. Or I'll kick his ass."
Dean's gaze hardened on Sam, but Sam lit up with a brilliant grin. "You'll try," Sam said in a teasing tone John barely recognized. Then Sam turned his attention back to the doctor. "So how much longer do you need to keep him here?"
The doctor checked Dean's chart again, probably buying some time as he thought it over. "Well, I want to keep him in ICU for another day, to be sure he's through the worst. Then we'll put him in a regular room until he can get around by himself. You do have someplace quiet to stay for a few weeks, while Dean recovers?"
"Yes," Sam said quickly. "No problem."
The doctor left and Dean motioned to Sam. He whispered something in Sam's ear. Sam pulled back, giving Dean an odd look. "I'm okay, Dean. Honest. I was more worried about you."
Dean gave Sam another nasty look.
"I am not going back to my room while you're still in here," Sam announced loudly, a familiar stubborn look appearing.
The sound of a foot tapping drew John's attention. "Or," the doctor said from the doorway where he had been listening, stressing the word, "I could move you both into a regular room tonight and request an additional nurse on the floor for the night shift and tomorrow morning."
Flooded with relief, John nodded his thanks.
Dean moved slowly into the backseat of Dad's truck, at Sam's insistence. Not that he could move faster, but he would have preferred the front seat. Back here he could lie down, even though he didn't want to. Dean spent the last two weeks on his back; he wanted to be up. Well, it was hard to go against Sam and those sickeningly concerned puppy dog eyes. Dad went someplace earlier, saying he was going to 'get things ready' for them, whatever that was supposed to mean.
The trip was quiet and uneventful until Dean asked where they were going. Sam stuttered a little, eventually coming up with something really lame.
"So we're headed to Bobby's?" he asked, wishing he could see Sam's reaction. Sam might be a hell of a liar, but he was pretty transparent when you got to know him.
Sam's head whipped around, eyes flashing between him and the road. Dean chuckled, which sent waves of discomfort over his ribcage, but it was worth it.
"It's okay, Sam. Bobby told me that we're welcome back. Both of us," Dean informed him. "He didn't say anything about Dad, though."
Sam's head shook, shaggy hair slashing futilely against the headrest. "No, it's okay. Dad left with Bobby this morning. Dad and Bobby get into it every couple of years. They always get over it." Then Sam let out a short bark of a laugh. "You should've seen them going at it over my sixteenth birthday. Dad forgot and Bobby really read him the riot act over it. Dad didn't talk to Bobby for nearly a year afterwards."
"What about you?" Dean asked, intrigued. No wonder Dad hadn't been more upset about being run off with a shotgun. Dean had wanted to go back and teach that Bobby guy a lesson, but Dad refused. Now he got it.
Sam's chuckle was light. "I've never stopped talking to Bobby. I might go a few months between calls, but I keep in touch."
Dean pushed up to a sit so he could see Sam in the rearview mirror. "Even after..." He didn't want to say 'Jessica.' "Even after Stanford?"
Had Sam been calling Bobby all this time? Was the demon right and they didn't really need him? Maybe Bobby was the one who really had Sam's trust.
Dean could just see Sam's brows draw together in the mirror, the familiar deep crease forming between his eyes. "No, I haven't. We've been pretty busy, I guess I didn't think of it."
Relieved, Dean sunk back into the seat. Okay, maybe he overreacted. A little.
"Lie down, Dean," Sam ordered. "We're still about an hour out."
Dean managed to mumble "pain in the ass" a few times as he shifted down. He knew his face looked terrible, but it didn't throb like it had when he first woke up. Every breath he took and move he made required concentration and pain management, but it meant he was alive. Waking up with Dad holding his hand like a girl and Sam clinging to his legs had been the best experience of his life, and wasn't that just sad?
"Hey Dean?" Sam called after he was settled in a horizontal position.
"What?" Dean found if he took a deep breath first and didn't move at all when he talked it didn't hurt.
"I don't think we should go anywhere for Thanksgiving, but I'm sure Bobby won't mind playing host. Do you think Ella would mind coming to Bobby's?" Sam asked.
"Who?" Dean considered sitting up again to see if Sam was messing with him, but he didn't think Sam would be as forgiving a second time.
"Ella." Now Sam sounded a bit put out. "Would she make the drive for Thanksgiving? I know you wanted us all to go there, but I don't think you should be doing that much traveling."
Dean stared at the back of the front seat. "Sammy? You hit your head too, right?"
Dean imagined he could hear the swish of Sam's hair as his brother's head whipped around to glance at him. "Yeah. Why?"
"How hard?" Dean demanded.
"Hard enough I still have a headache. Why, Dean?" Sam asked again. Dean recognized that anxious tone in Sam's voice, though he didn't know why it would be there.
"Because I don't know any Ella," Dean said slowly. "Maybe she's a friend of Dad's?"
Sam got real quiet, long enough that Dean thought his little brother had just blown off his question.
"We'll be at Bobby's soon," Sam finally said. "I want to talk about Ella then, with Dad."
Dean nodded to himself. This was good. If this Ella was a friend of Dad's, then Dad could set Sam straight. Poor kid was clearly confused as hell and Dean still had the dude with the jackhammer whaling away at the inside of his skull, so he wasn't thinking straight either. It wasn't like he had a good memory for names anyway. Hell, Ella could be some chick he hooked up with a few weeks back and promised to go see for Thanksgiving. He wondered if she was a good cook.
Bobby leaned back on one foot, trying to see if he could spot the Impala. Sam insisted he hide it out of view from the front of the house, so it was around the side behind a stack of junkers. Sam promised if he didn't upset Dean, they would be staying here for a while. Bobby was kind of a sucker when it came to that boy, he was even willing to put up with this Dean character John hooked up with. What Sam saw in the arrogant, swaggering jackass was beyond him, but Bobby could deal. He could. If he kept telling himself that, he might even start to believe it.
"Bobby!" Winchester's deep baritone rang through the yard. That man was a royal pain in the ass. "Think we have time for another trip to the store?"
Satisfied with his job of hiding the Impala, Bobby turned to face the man he regarded as more of a brother than a friend. Good thing, too, otherwise Bobby would have shot the ass long ago.
"Now what?" he demanded. "I forget an ingredient for one of your extra protection wards?"
"Nah." John limped across the yard. "I wanted to buy some double chocolate, chocolate chunk ice cream. It's Dean's favorite."
Bobby ground his teeth. Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean. The Winchester vocabulary had been reduced to a single syllable, and it was pissing him off.
"I already have homemade vanilla," Bobby said in as calm a voice as he could manage.
John scowled. "Vanilla's boring, Bobby."
Bobby held John's gaze. "It's Sam's favorite, John."
John let out a heavy sigh as he moved to stand beside Bobby. One of John's hands gripped his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Mine too, Bobby. Or did you forget?"
He refused to look over, to see whatever expression was on John's face. "Nah," he admitted after a strained silence, "I didn't forget."
"I just want to soften the blow," John said, waving at the hidden Impala. "That boy is gonna blow a gasket. I'd hate for him to rupture something else."
Bobby did turn his head to look at John now. "How bad is he?"
John gave him a questioning look. "Don't tell me you're worried about him, Bobby."
Bobby looked away again. "Not really, just wondering."
The hand on his shoulder squeezed again before falling away. "Careful, Bobby." John limped towards the house. "That kid has a way of getting past your defenses. Before you know it, you start to give a damn. And then..." John glanced back at Bobby as he opened the door. "Then he's got you. And the scary part is, he can't see how much of a damn you give."
The sharp report of the front door slamming closed shot through the salvage yard. Bobby stared at the closed door until John's voice came through an open window.
"You planning to stand out there all day, or you going to help?" John shouted from inside the house.
Bobby rubbed the back of his neck, figuring the knots in his muscles there were only a prelude to the days ahead. With slow steps, he made his way back to the house. John probably wanted him to mop the kitchen floor or some shit now. Sam had better show up soon, if he wanted to find his father conscious and breathing. As his fingers wrapped around the cool metal of his doorknob, Bobby heard the sound of a large motor turning down his drive.
"Thank God," he muttered, hoping at the very least for a customer.
John's truck pulled into view. Bobby could only see Sam inside the cab. Did he leave Dean someplace? Or maybe the hospital decided not to release him yet? Nah, probably just wishful thinking.
Sam gave him a wave through the windshield before turning around in his seat. Then Sam got out to hold the passenger door open and the seat up. With his free hand, Sam helped Dean out of the back.
John had warned him that Dean had taken a pretty good beating from the demon as well as in the wreck, but that didn't prepare Bobby for this. One side of Dean's face was ghostly pale, something Bobby had familiarity with, while the other side was covered in one huge purple and red blotch. He moved slow, as if all his movements were weighted. When he stood on both feet, Dean glanced up toward the house. Bobby could see the eye on the bruised side of his face was heavily bloodshot, actually it was redder than bloodshot, like it had been damaged. Dean headed towards the house with Sam chastising him every few feet for walking too fast. Before they reached the door Bobby was sick of Sam's comments, he could only imagine how Dean felt.
"Sam? Why don't you go on in and see if the couch is ready? It doesn't look like Dean needs to be taking the stairs. I'll keep an eye on him." Bobby waved for Sam to go inside.
Sam hesitated over Bobby's suggestion, and that was a first. Dean gave the boy a quick nod. In turn, Sam gave Bobby a strong look warning him to behave before heading inside the house.
Bobby stepped closer, close enough to catch Dean if he stumbled but not close enough to actually touch. "You do want the couch?" he asked softly.
Dean turned his head and gave Bobby a lop-sided grin. Bobby couldn't remember if Dean had always grinned like that or if it might be a result of the accident.
"Yeah. And thanks for the break from Mother-Sam. He's driving me nuts," Dean replied, a certain sparkle in his clear eye.
"Yeah, well, enjoy it. In about two minutes you'll have to deal with both of 'em," Bobby said gruffly.
Dean's grin broadened. "I know," he chuckled. Then he paused, wrapping one arm around his middle.
"You all right?" Bobby demanded, moving a little closer.
Dean shook his head. "Fine. It's fine. Wasn't ready to laugh, that's all." He took a few breaths, like he needed air to get through the pain. Then Dean fixed his eyes on Bobby, a determined look on his bruised features. "What happened to my car? Sam won't tell me."
Bobby shook his head. After being forced to hide it in order to prevent Dean additional stress, there was no way Bobby was just going to spill the beans like that. "Ask Sam," he insisted.
They reached the door. Dean leaned up against it, the arm still wrapped around his middle. "Dude, I'm a mechanic. It's not like I can't fix it. Just tell me."
Bobby sighed. Dean might not have been born a Winchester, but he certainly shared the stubbornness. "No. Sam'll be pissed."
"Bobby," Dean said in a sigh. "Really, man, Sam doesn't give me enough credit on some things. He's afraid I'll be mad at him because he was driving. Honestly, I'm just glad Sam and Dad are alive. Now how bad is the car?"
Bobby scratched his jaw, wanting John to shout for him or Sam to appear demanding air freshener or something. He couldn't think of one more excuse. If he didn't start treating Dean like he was a human being now, Bobby wasn't sure he would ever be able to.
"One of the rear blinkers still works," he said.
Dean's gaze shifted out to the piles of cars. "You didn't stack it, did you?"
"What? And have Sam shoot me?" Bobby demanded. "You think I'm crazy?"
Dean's attention shifted back to him, a trace of the earlier smile returning. "Well, you have been known to chase off your best friend. With a shotgun."
Bobby looked skyward, as if help would come from there. "Just gonna keep throwing that in my face, are ya?"
When he looked down again, he found a little more of the cocky smile. "Better believe it," Dean replied. "And for that, I'm recruiting you to help with the Impala. Sam isn't touching it. Last time he tried to check the oil he couldn't find the oil cap, but he did find a 7-10 cap."
Bobby groaned. "God, I thought he'd picked up a little more than that."
"You and Dad were seriously slacking in his important education," Dean informed him as Bobby opened the door.
"Apparently," Bobby agreed, watching the poor kid step laboriously over the threshold. "So I help with the car and I'm off the hook. Is that it?"
"We'll see," Sam said, appearing suddenly beside Dean.
"Cool it, Sam," Dean said with a wave. He sunk into the couch, face twisted in a grimace. When the tenseness drained from Dean's frame and the grimace was replaced with a more relaxed expression Bobby let out the breath that until then he hadn't realized he had been holding.
"I'll check on supper," Bobby announced as he made a hasty escape to the kitchen. What the hell was he doing? He did not like Dean. Period.
His homemade chili which John insisted on eating tonight was simmering away, filling the kitchen with a delicious aroma. Bobby stirred it a couple of times. Dean did look like he could use a few good meals, might put some color back in the good side of his face.
The wooden spoon banged against the far wall, leaving a dark red-brown smudge on the cabinet. Bobby glared at his hand, tiny splatters of chili freckling his forearm.
The kitchen door swung open. "Hey, Bobby," John said in a soft voice. He limped in, settling against the counter. Bobby noticed John checking out the chili smear and the discarded spoon.
Bobby ignored his old friend as he rummaged in the drawers for another wooden spoon. "I think it's ready," Bobby declared as he found his ladle.
"Probably," John agreed. "But are you?"
Bobby did not turn around. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Bobby, do you remember the first time I brought Sam out to meet you?" John asked. Bobby refused to look over, pretending to focus solely on the chili. "You didn't want anything to do with a little kid, kept fussing at him for messing with your books. But then Sam found us working on the Impala, I forget why. Probably another brake job. Anyway, he started asking all kinds of questions about the book he found on supernatural creatures, and he couldn't even read yet. You just melted."
"Did not," Bobby growled, swirling the chili in the pot faster.
John chuckled. "You did." He cleared his throat. "Bobby, Sam told me what you said, about thinking I was trying to replace him." His voice dropped to a serious tone. "I guess I should've warned you, or at least told you what was going on, but I really didn't know how."
Bobby snorted, eyes focusing on the bubbling mass before him. "That woulda been an interestin' conversation."
"You still would've gotten the shotgun," John added.
Bobby gave a curt nod. "Probably," he admitted, glancing over to find John watching him intently. "Did you really blame me?"
John got this far-away look on his face. "Nah. I probably would've been disappointed if you hadn't. It would've meant you blamed Sam."
Bobby turned to face John. "I never blamed Sam."
John rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable. "Yeah, I got that message. In spades." He stared at his feet for a moment before meeting Bobby's gaze again. "I take it you see what I meant now? About Dean?"
Bobby snorted, diverting his attention back to the chili.
"Don't bother fighting it, Bobby," John said in a careful voice. "It'll just take longer that way. You can ask Sam about that. You know, I never knew Sam didn't want a brother. I guess I just assumed he would want two boys in the family, because I did."
"Do what?" Bobby glared at his old friend. "Why?"
John shrugged, moving away. "I'm going to check on them, make sure Sam isn't smothering poor Dean. Sam wasn't this overbearing when we left the hospital."
"You think something happened?" Bobby asked quickly, before John had a chance to leave. "On the way?"
John shrugged, leaning on the doorframe. "It didn't look like it, but maybe. I'll send Sam in to help with the chili. It smells ready."
"It'll keep if no one is hungry yet," Bobby offered. Simmering never hurt chili and usually improved the flavor.
John laughed at him. "Dean is always hungry. If you ever see that boy actually turn down food, find the nearest doctor and fast."
Bobby shrugged, like he didn't care. "Yeah, sure. I'll keep that in mind."
"I'd appreciate it," John replied seriously.
Bobby directed his attention to the man standing in his kitchen. "Why? You planning to take off again?" John looked away, pushing off the wall and squaring his shoulders. "John?"
He kind of thought John ought to have an answer. "John!" Bobby hissed.
John just shot Bobby a glare as he pushed through the door. Bobby ground his teeth, turning back to his chili. Stupid-ass. He was surrounded by stupid-asses. God-damned Winchesters!