Contact, Ch. 3
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This chapter is going out a little quicker than the others, but since it was done, I figured I'd go ahead and post it! However, please don't think this sets a precedent. I'm headed into a busy few weeks, so I'm pretty sure I won't get the next chapter posted so quickly!
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When Dean woke it was almost dark again. He struggled into a sitting position from where he'd been slouched down in the chair and blinked around trying to get his bearings. What the hell? He was really going to have to stop sitting if it meant he was going to lose hours every time he did so. He knuckled his eyes, trying to clear them of grit before turning his attention to where Sam lay in the hospital bed. He sat for a second trying to decide whether he should (and could) get out of the chair to check on his brother.
It took him longer than it should have to realize that there was someone sitting in the chair by Sam on the opposite side of the bed, watching Dean with a smirk on a face that was vaguely familiar.
Dean squinted. "Jake?"
"Hey, man."
Befuddled by the exhaustion dragging at his brain, Dean could only stare—another grown man where there'd been a boy the last time Dean had seen him. How was Jake even here? Had Michael gone ahead and called Jo even after saying it was Dean's choice? Had Dean told Michael to contact Jo, and he just didn't remember? He couldn't pull the information he needed out of his head.
In the meantime Jake had gotten up from where he'd been sitting, putting aside a hefty book before approaching Dean. Dean stared up at him.
Jake sat across from Dean in the chair Michael had vacated however many hours ago. "Don't worry," he said, somehow knowing what Dean's unspoken fear had been. "Michael hasn't called Aunt Jo. I live here; we're roommates." He gave Dean an exaggerated once-over. "You look like crap."
Breathing out a laugh, Dean held out a hand. "Damn, Jakey. When did you grow up?"
"Well, it's been awhile," Jake said dryly, taking the offered hand and shaking it. At Dean's slight wince, he added more warmly. "It's good to see you, Dean." He tipped his head at the hospital bed. "I'd ask how y'all have been doing, but the answer is pretty obvious."
"It's been a bad couple of days," Dean allowed. He looked at his brother and then back at Jake. "Did I miss anything?" he asked roughly, cleared his burning throat gingerly.
Jake shook his head. "No. He hasn't moved, and I've been here a couple of hours." He stood and reached for the little plastic pitcher that was in every single hospital Dean had ever visited. "How are you feeling?" He poured water into a cup and brought it back to Dean.
"Thanks," Dean said before taking a sip. The chilled water felt amazing on his aching throat. "Like I look," he admitted finally. "Michael said he thought I might have mono," he added with disgust.
"Yeah," Jake said. Evidently Michael was not so much about patient privacy when it came to the Winchesters and his family. "That kinda grosses me out, dude," he said. "You're way too old to be making out with teen-aged girls."
Annoyed and wondering how many times he was going to have to hear that particular dig, Dean chucked his now empty cup at the punk in front of him. The throw didn't have much force behind it, but Dean felt a glimmer of satisfaction when Jake wasn't fast enough to dodge the cup or catch it. The cup bounced off Jake's head, making a surprisingly graceful arc as it fell to the floor.
"Ow," Jake complained. He rubbed his forehead and bent over to retrieve the cup.
Turning his attention to other things – namely Sam – Dean hauled himself to his feet. The mask he'd been supposed to be wearing had slipped off his face while he slept, and he pulled it up awkwardly over his mouth as he made his way toward the bed. He came up along the side where Jake had been sitting and glanced at the book Jake had placed on the bed next to the leg of Sam's that wasn't broken.
"Civil Procedure?" he looked at Jake.
The kid shrugged. "Law school."
"Huh."
Dean didn't touch Sam, careful because of the possibility of infection, just looked him over. The swelling of Sam's face had gone down some, though it was still puffy, bruises and scrapes continuing to make him look not quite like himself. The skin under the obvious injuries was gray and his lips were pale, chapped and painful looking.
"You didn't talk to any doctors while I was out?" he asked Jake.
Jake shook his head. "They won't talk to me, man. They know I'm not related. And Michael hasn't been by while I've been here." He hesitated. "Someone did come by asking about insurance, though."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, okay."
Jake didn't pursue it, but Dean read the uncertainty and curiosity on his face. Dean shrugged. "We got something set up a little while ago just in case… well, just in case something like this happened. Where it was so bad we couldn't skip out."
Jake nodded, relieved. "Have you got the information on you? I can go find the woman who came by about it."
Dean nodded, shakily reaching for the wallet in his back pocket before remembering he didn't actually have the card on him. "It's back at the motel," he sighed. They tended to keep that information separate from the rest of their identification.
"Where are you staying? I can go get it," Jake offered. "Or maybe I could take you back to your room, and you could, you know, shower or something."
Dean huffed out a laugh. "Are you implying I stink?" Dean didn't have any doubts about that himself.
"No implication necessary. You absolutely stink."
With a vague smile at the comment, Dean thought about it. He hadn't showered or shaved in days. Getting cleaned up would actually be something of a relief. Maybe a shower would clear his head. Or at least make him feel less slimy. But he wanted to talk to the doctor, see what….
"Hey. You're awake." Michael swung into the room, a young woman in a business suit following.
Jake tipped his head at the woman. "Insurance," he said to Dean.
"Oh, yeah, right." Dean shuffled carefully around the bed. "I actually don't have our insurance card with me. We were just talking about that. I need to …."
The woman's eyes had narrowed somewhat when she'd seen Dean, taking in the mask over the bottom half of his face and the rest of his rumpled appearance. "I hate to keep coming by," she said, falsely apologetic and clearly annoyed. "We need to have that information as soon as possible, so we can make sure billing is taken care of. I'm on my way out right now, and I was hoping…"
"We understand." Jake stepped up, sliding in between Dean and the administrator. "I'm going to go get that as soon as we find out how Sam is doing. If you'll give me your office number, I'll be glad to drop it by. If you're headed home, should I slip it under your door? Or can I get it to you first thing in the morning?"
"I guess tomorrow morning would be fine," conceded the woman somewhat grudgingly, pulling a card out of her pocket. "I do need the information soon because…."
"Of course," Jake cut her off smoothly, angling her out the door. "What time do you get here in the morning? I'll…"
Dean didn't hear the end of the conversation as Jake left the room, looking like he was actually escorting the woman all the way out of the ICU.
"He's good," Dean commented to Michael.
Michael shook his head. "You have no idea. Somewhere along the line he's developed quite the ability to get people to do what he wants them to do without their even realizing it."
Dean huffed a quiet laugh. Yeah. Somewhere along the line…. "That's a handy skill for a lawyer."
Michael just smiled, moving toward Sam's bed. He glanced at the white board on the wall that indicated when vitals had last been taken and what medications had been administered when. He then looked at what seemed to be a chart in his hand.
"How's he doing?" Dean asked.
"About how we'd expect. The pressure on his brain is at good levels, and the antibiotics seems to be doing their job at preventing an infection in his leg, though we'll keep an eye on that."
Dean moved up alongside Michael. "Should he be awake by now?" He couldn't stop the automatic reach toward his brother, though he managed to keep himself from touching, tugged the light blanket smooth over Sam instead.
"Not necessarily," Michael said. "Look, it's not unusual for this level of brain injury to result in several days of unconsciousness. I don't think there's any reason to worry about that quite yet, OK?"
Dean nodded. He was somewhat reassured.
"So." Michael flipped the chart closed. "Let's talk about you."
"Did you tell him?"
Dean startled somewhat. Jake had snuck up behind Dean without him realizing it.
"Not yet." Michael looked at Dean. "You do have mono."
Dean groaned.
"Though Sam doesn't."
Well, that was good news.
"You're also coming to stay with us," Jake added. He reached across the bed to snag his book, shoving it into a backpack Dean hadn't noticed before.
Dean turned to Jake and opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say, but sure that was not going to happen. "I don't …."
"Shut up," said Jake, cutting him off and hitching his backpack onto his shoulders. "We have an extra bedroom; we're close to the hospital; and it's stupid for you to pay for a motel room when you're going to be up here most of the time anyway." He picked up Dean's jacket and started rummaging through the pockets. He'd pulled out the car keys before Dean was able to register what the kid was doing. "Do you want to go with me to the motel to get your stuff or should I just get the insurance card and pack y'all up myself?" Jake looked at Michael. "He shouldn't stay here, should he? Sam's not liable to wake up overnight, is he? And if he does you'll be here anyway. So yeah. Never mind." He thrust the coat into Dean's hands. "Come on."
Things were moving too fast for Dean's over-tired brain to process, and he accepted the jacket reflexively, not protesting immediately when Jake actually took it back and started to help him into it.
Though he did jerk clumsily away when he realized what was happening. "I'm not a kid, dude," he said sulkily.
"In case you missed it, Dean," Michael said, "Jake has developed alarming mothering tendencies since you last saw him."
"You shut up, too," Jake said, one hand on Dean's elbow, steering him toward the door. "Call us if anything changes on Sam, OK?"
"Will do." Michael settled into the chair next to Sam's bed, pulling out a stack of paperwork before propping his feet up and getting to work.
Dean found himself out of the room and down the hall before he'd really grasped what had happened.
"I thought we weren't allowed to say 'shut up,'" he offered, about two steps behind the conversation, as he was tugged along after Jake, dragging his feet somewhat, limited in his ability to register his reluctance.
Jake hummed a vague acknowledgement that Dean had spoken, tightening his grip on Dean's arm. "Keep moving."
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It was amazing what a shower and twelve hours sleeping in a bed did for a person. Dean was still moving slowly and aching, but he didn't feel like road-kill anymore. At least for the moment. Michael had warned him that the only thing to do for mono was treat the symptoms and let the virus run its course. The symptoms would likely come and go to one degree or another based on how much rest he got. Dean figured he'd better take advantage of the little bit of energy he had and planned to grab a bowl of cereal – if he could stomach it – before heading back to the hospital.
Showered (again) and dressed, Dean sat at the somewhat battered kitchen table in the house Michael and Jake's shared. The table looked familiar, and he finally realized that it had been in the kitchen in the old apartment attached to the diner where he and Sam had first met Jo and her family. It was oddly comforting to Dean that the table was still around.
"You don't want coffee?" Jake was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved white t-shirt with "Texas Law" emblazoned across it. He slung his backpack into one of the chairs and looked at the fancy, empty coffee maker.
"I couldn't figure out how to make the damn thing give me any," Dean said, disgruntled. He'd tried to get the coffee started, but been defeated when it required more than just putting grounds in the filter and filling the water tank. Plus the showering and walking to the kitchen from the bedroom had worn him out.
Jake rolled his eyes and got the thing working before turning back to Dean. "Are you eating?"
"I was going to get some cereal," he said. After he'd rested for a while from the strenuous activity of taking a shower, putting his clothes on, and staring at the uncooperative coffee maker.
"Do you want eggs?" Jake asked. He'd opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton.
Dean thought about it. The idea didn't make him feel nauseous. He still accepted somewhat uneasily. "I guess."
"If you're not up for eating them when they're done, I'll eat 'em," Jake said, understanding the hesitation, cracking eggs into a bowl.
"OK." Dean put his head down on the table. Damn. That surge of energy hadn't lasted very long.
"Here."
Dean blinked and raised his head as Jake put a plate in front of him and held out a fork. Dean took the fork, studying the eggs, deciding whether he was going to eat or not.
"You should eat those." Michael now. He sat in the chair across from Dean. "I know it may not seem all that appetizing, but you need the food."
"Coffee." Jake reached out to give Dean a mug, but was intercepted by Michael, who extended an arm over the table to take the coffee before Dean could get a hand on it.
"Yeah. No." Michael took a sip out of the mug, ignoring Dean's grunt of protest. "You need to avoid coffee and alcohol," he added. He turned to his brother. "Me?" he asked.
"Fine." Jake dropped the second plate of eggs in front of Michael before heading back to the fridge.
"Thanks, Jakey."
Dean got lost for a moment staring morosely at Michael drinking his coffee.
"Eat, Dean." Michael jiggled the plate gently, and, grumbling, Dean complied.
When Jake finally joined them, the three men ate in companionable silence. Dean munched vaguely on the toast Jake had dropped on his plate at some point during the meal and drank the glass of water Michael had pressed on him with, "You need to stay hydrated."
By the time all three of them were finished, Dean just wanted to get back in bed again. The thought of getting out of the chair and driving himself to the hospital left him feeling exhausted. He sighed. But it had to be done. Pushing out of his seat, Dean carried his dishes to the sink.
"Where are my keys?" he asked Jake, who had driven him to the motel and back to the house the night before.
"In my pocket," said Jake.
Dean held out his hand.
"I don't think so." Michael this time, getting up from the table and taking his and Jake's plates to the counter.
"What?" Dean asked.
"Michael and I have decided that you shouldn't be driving," Jake said.
They were tag-teaming him. Jake stood, grabbing his backpack and shrugging it over his shoulders.
"What?" Dean said again.
"We'll take you back and forth for now," Michael said in what Dean was sure the kid considered to be a reasonable tone of voice.
"No."
"Yes."
Dean glared at both of them, hands curling into fists.
"You wanna fight me for the keys?" Jake asked, sounding strangely delighted. He'd dropped his backpack on the floor and was bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, raising his fists – one still holding the keys – as he ducked and weaved, a smirk on his face, thinking Dean was too weak to engage in such a match.
Dean stared for a long moment, then sagged his shoulders. Like he was giving in. Jake dropped the play and moved closer, into Dean's space, thinking he'd won. The sucker actually put a consoling hand on Dean's shoulder.
And Dean swept his leg into Jake's, knocking the kid on his butt. Before Jake could recover, Dean had bent down and jerked the keys from Jake's lax fingers, holding his prize aloft in his victory. Then he staggered backward, dizzied by the sudden movement and change in location of his aching head. He felt the keys plucked out his hand as Michael caught him before he fell.
"Nice try, man," Michael said, easing Dean into a lean against the wall before turning to pull Jake to his feet.
Dean slid the rest of the way to the ground, holding his pounding head in his hands. It was more than a little tempting to just let himself topple slowly to the side so he wouldn't have to struggle even to stay upright.
"Let us do this, okay?" Michael handed the keys to Jake and crouched down in front of Dean. "The less energy you expend on getting to and from the hospital – and fighting us – the better you'll be able to use the little energy you do have when you see Sam."
It sounded so reasonable when it was said like that. Dean nodded his capitulation gingerly, head still resting in his hands.
"Good."
There was the sound of movement around the room and when Dean finally raised his head, Jake was standing in front of him, backpack on again. He reached down a hand, and Dean grasped it, letting himself be pulled to his feet.
"Thanks."
Michael handed him his coat. "Call me if you need to come home, OK? Jake's going to bring the truck back here after he's dropped you and the insurance card off. If I don't hear from you, I'll see you when I'm on shift later today."
"Yeah. OK," Dean agreed and followed Jake out to the truck.
It was a gorgeous day, the sky a bright blue and the air pleasantly cool. Jake cranked down the windows on both sides of the cab saying that after the heat they'd endured through the summer and early fall, he didn't mind being a little cold. Dean hadn't minded it either, the breeze through the windows feeling nice on his warm face. He leaned his head back against the headrest, letting his eyes ease shut and mind drift, Jake mostly quiet beside him, occasionally singing along softly with whatever was on the radio.
Jake pulled up to the entrance of the hospital to let Dean out before using Michael's parking pass to get into the garage.
"I'm not coming up to the room," Jake said. "I've got class, so I'm headed out after I drop this off." He waved the insurance card at Dean.
"I could…," Dean started.
"Nope," Jake said. "Get out."
Dean climbed down from the truck. "Thanks," he said, speaking through the window after he'd shut the door. "Again."
"Have I told you to shut up recently?" Jake asked with mock-seriousness. He waved. "See you later."
Dean stood for a minute, watching Jake drive away. It had been a long, long time since he and Sam had had any kind of back up. And as usual Dean was torn between being incredibly thankful for the support and being equally embarrassed that they required any help at all.
Dean made his way up to the fifth floor of the hospital, nodding his thanks at the nurse who buzzed him in. Now that he had a definitive diagnosis of mono, the hospital staff was willing to let him in without a hazmat suit. Mono was passed via saliva and since Dean didn't plan on sharing utensils with or frenching his brother or anyone else in the unit, he'd been passed.
Dean greeted Sam as he entered and the morning nurse gave Dean the update – no change really, though Sam did seem to be getting closer to the surface of his light coma, which was encouraging.
The reclining chair was wedged between Sam's bed and the window, angled toward the foot of the bed and the television mounted on the wall. Dean eased himself into it before aiming the remote at TV. He flipped through the available channels and clicked it off. Morning television didn't ever not suck.
Dean sighed and leaned back in the chair. He still hadn't made a definite decision about calling Jo and Luke and neither Michael nor Jake had pressed him on it this morning. Truthfully, Dean wasn't sure why he hadn't already just said "no" about the call.
Dean was familiar and agreed with all the reasons that supported not bothering Jo and Luke. Winchesters had never been good at asking for or accepting help. When he and Sam had been growing up, Dad had only ever relied on Bobby and that reliance had been sporadic, times when Dad had been truly desperate. After Dad's death, Dean and Sam had relied on Bobby to a degree that Dean hadn't been comfortable with at times; but they'd gotten used to it until, by the time Bobby had been killed, it hadn't seemed at all strange to think of Bobby as a father of sorts. And the ache of that loss still felt like a blow at times. Common sense and history said not to call, not to get sucked back into relationships where there was the danger of hurting and being hurt.
And yet. Dean couldn't seem to bring himself to just pull the trigger and tell Michael that he didn't want Jo and Luke called.
It had been just him and Sam for so long now. When God had returned and put heaven (and hell) back in order, Cas had gone home. The angel still popped in occasionally, but his focus was elsewhere, and Dean got that.
So Dean and Sam, just the two of them, on their own, in the aftermath, had gone back to basics – saving people, hunting things. They still used the Lair of Letters as a home base, but they spent most of their time on the road, looking into the unexplained, whether it was an urban legend or the occasional demon that needed its ass sent back to hell.
If Dean sometimes felt restless or discontented, wondering if this would be what they did until they died, Dean figured most people felt that way about their lives at one point or another. And if Sam sometimes seemed distant or withdrawn, unwilling to engage with Dean outside of the demands of the job for days at a time, Dean figured that was probably normal, too. They lived in each other's back pockets. Of course there were times when they needed to be alone. And if Sam felt that need more often than Dean did, well, so be it. What they had worked, and given what they'd been through, Dean thought that just having each other should probably be enough.
But the thing was, in just the last 24 hours, Dean knew he was already being sucked back in, actually already had been sucked back in—back into relationship, back into caring and being cared for. Plus, there was something about not being on your own in the middle of a crisis. He might have chafed against being bossed around by the McCrae boys, but there was comforting about it, as well. There was no getting around that.
Almost of its own volition, Dean's hand reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Hesitantly, he found the number he wanted and stared at it for a long time before hitting "call." His stomach churned as he waited, tempted to hang up and not….
"Hello?"
It took him a second to speak. He cleared his throat.
"Hey, Jo," he faltered. "It's Dean."
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