A/N: Reminder that I hold no medical degrees and everything medical I've...

a) made up

b) googled

c) copied from ER.

Dean came to full consciousness about five hours after they arrived at the Urgent Care. It was well into the evening by now but he had lost his concept of time. The discomfort in his body told him that his hunting excursions couldn't have been long ago, and the mild dripping sound he heard above him indicated he was still receiving some sort of medication. While he was awake, his memory was spotty to say the least. He had clear images of everything up until Jody and Sam attempted to pull him upright. After that, he was unsure of everything. He still had logic, though, and it wasn't difficult to assume what had happened. Most likely he had some kind of setback in the aftermath of his fight with the Adlet and Sam and Jody had taken him to a hospital or a clinic. Sam. Dean's gut told him that his brother was safe, but without his most recent memories, he couldn't be absolute. Nervous to call out, he feared that his words would come out as a garbled mess of noises; his progress ruined. But sitting in silence wasn't a better option.

"H'llo? N-nyone t-there?"

Better than before, but still not perfect. He could deal with it.

"S-Sam?"

He couldn't manage to raise his voice above a loud conversational volume, but he hoped it was enough. Rather than seeing his brother's face, a soft round one came into view. She was calm and moved patiently, her doctor's coat telling him who she was.

"Hi there. I'm Dr. Kroff. Your brother is sleeping in the other room and he's just fine. Your other friend-the police officer-she went home to grab you both a few things. How are you feeling?"

"B-been worse. My b-brother g-get hurt?"

"His wrist and shoulder. Nothing serious. I can get him if you need."

"N-no. Let him s-ssleep."

"You mind if I ask you a few questions? Make sure you didn't hit your head too hard?"

"K."

She pulled a small penlight from her pocket and flashed it into both of his eyes, making sure his pupils were equal and reactive.

"Doesn't look like a concussion. Can you tell me what day it is? Where you are?"

"W-Wednesday I think s-still. I'm c-clearly in a h-hospital or s-something s-smaller. S-Sam said he was going to Urgent C-Care."

"Perfect score. Does your head hurt?"

"No."

She squinted a little, not believing him entirely.

"Does anything else hurt?"

Dean was hesitant to answer her, not enjoying the fact that he didn't know what was going on, or what their cover story was.

"L-let my b-brother sleep and then w-we'll l-leave."

"I know this has been an awful day for you and your brother. I'm just trying to help. Kinda my job. Let me do it right, please?"

Her tone softened his mood and he conceded despite his instincts.

"Y-you being nice c-cause I'm so m-messed up?"

"I worked in emergency medicine in New York City for seven years. You're not messed up, Dean. I'm being nice because I think I can help. And if I can help, then it's my responsibility to do that."

Oddly, Dean was kind of moved by her quiet resolution. He felt the same way.

"My l-leg. S-shoulder."

"Do they normally hurt?"

She put gloves on as she spoke to him, and went about looking in various drawers.

"N-not this b-bad."

In truth, his limbs were vibrating in pain-clenched and unrelenting in their pulsating. She came to the side of the bed, reaching out her hands to his bent knee first. Her touch caused a fiery pulse of heat to radiate down his leg and he instinctively moved away from her touch. She gave a nod in apology and did the same with his shoulder-his reaction the same.

"They're cramping pretty badly aren't they?"

Dean looked away from her, turning his head to the window. He tensed his jaw and tried to remember that she wasn't judging him, or pitying him. She was just doing her job. Still, Dean couldn't stop his feelings of anger and resentment, embarrassment and shame. He didn't want to confess weakness to this woman, and yet he needed her help. Stepping away from him, the woman gave him a moment of privacy and space. It was clear to her that his condition, however used to it he seemed to be, was recent. She could see how it degraded him and made him feel different and strange...he still saw it as suffering a loss. She hoped time would teach him that none of his perceptions were true.

"I'm not here to counsel you...to make you feel comforted. I'm here to make sure you're safe, and not in pain. You want that, your friend wants that, your brother wants that, and I want it too. But I can't do it alone. I need you to meet me halfway."

Still turned away, Dean couldn't yet meet her gaze, but he respected her enough to speak.

"M-muscles f-feel how they do b-before I'm gonna s-seize."

"Do you feel like you're going to have one now?"

"N-no. Just tense."

She went back to rummaging through her supplies and came back with a long piece of fabric.

"I think your muscles are still tonic. I'm gonna try and relax them if I can. Do you take anything usually? For your cramping?"

"Diazep-pam."

"Okay. I'll wrap your leg here and then get you a dose, see if we can't calm the spasming down."

The doctor reached towards Dean's leg, and in one swift movement, wrapped the fabric around his leg such that it was kept in a slightly bent position. Dean exhaled sharply at the sudden jolt of pain but almost immediately felt blood rushing out of his leg, releasing some of the pressure.

"T-thanks."

"I'll get that Diazepam now."

The doctor disappeared momentarily to a back room and came back with a syringe. She administered the drug to Dean's I.V. and then took his pulse. After removing her hands from his wrist, she knitted her eyebrows and bent to retrieve a blood pressure cup.

"W-what?"

"Your pulse is a little fast. I'm gonna check your blood pressure. Are you feeling okay?"

"F-fine."

She placed the cuff on his working arm and began pumping the small bulb. Cleary concentrated on numbers and counting, Dean didn't interrupt her thoughts. Pulling away from him and releasing the air on the cuff, she pulled a vial from the cabinet and prepared another needle.

"W-what's going on?"

"Sorry to break this to you but I think you're gonna have another seizure. I gave you medication to stop them earlier but your blood pressure is high and your muscles are still locked… Do you always feel them coming on? Do sometimes they surprise you?"

"Us-sually know. S-sometimes just happens. B-been a bad day."

"I don't mean to be pessimistic but I think your body's having some trouble. Have you broken your routines lately? Anything to aggravate your condition?"

The events of the last few days flashed in Dean's mind and it was almost funny how ironic her question was.

"You c-could s-say that."

"Your brother said something about your speech changing, he said you had a huge improvement? Did that just happen? Today?"

"Yeah. W-why?"

"I'm not sure...sometimes there's kind of an unexpected relationship between mind and body."

Dean had a deep intake of breath as he was helpless to the replaying of Michael banging in his head, the havoc the angel left, Cas' ominous warning, the unbalanced scales… Dean was at the mercy of his mind and he watched a terrifying scene unfold in his head; the room where Michael had been, destroyed and dilapidated, was rearranging itself. The storage room was reconfiguring. Barrels knocked over but crates stacked neatly, broken glass swept away but bottles still leaking...the mess was changing. And as this unfolded, Dean felt his limbs freeze in a tonic state, his neck stiffening and turning away from the doctor's face. He was still clinging onto consciousness and heard her attempts to calm him. He felt her climb onto the bed and roll him into his side, placing one hand on his back and another on his shoulder. He wanted to call out to Sam-to explain to him that something was wrong, something was changing. But his jaw had long ceased being under his control. As a gravely bleat came from his throat, he heard the woman's soft assurances before he was pulled into the dark disarray of Michale's grave-a place only accessible from the recesses of his mind.

( ) ( ) ( )

Dean, lost to unconsciousness, was unaware of the bustling in the small exam room. Sam responded to his brother's involuntary cries and came barging into the room. Upon seeing Dean contracting on the table and the doctor frantically attempting to keep him from rolling off, Sam rushed over to help without fearing danger of attack.

"What happened?" Sam demanded as he grabbed Dean's other side.

"His blood pressure was high...he was lucid but it came on quickly. Take his I.V. out, it'll tear his vein."

Sam removed one hand from his brother in order to pull the needle and tape from Dean's skin.

"JEFFERY CAN WE GET SOME HELP IN HERE?" The woman shouted and her panic began worrying Sam.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam was becoming agitated at her lack of communication and scared about the violence of Dean's seizure. He still held onto his brother tightly, attempting to keep him firmly on the bed.

"He needs a hospital-I-I don't understand his condition well enough but this is too many seizures in a day...and back to back. This one's already been too long and I can't push any more drugs…"

The doctor who tended to Sam came rushing in and stopped her sentence. He went immediately to a cabinet, pulling out medications and she yelled at him angrily in response.

"Jeff, we can't push Ativan-"

As if reassuring her, Dean's body suddenly stilled. His frantic thrashing calmed but other unfortunate side-effects replaced it. Dean opened his eyes and absently looked around the room, searching for anything to ground him to reality. Sam's face came into view and he groaned-his only means of communication at the moment.

"Hey. I'm here. You're safe."

Rather than speaking, Dean let out a breath and attempted to roll onto his back. Dr. Koff made a few relaxing assurances as she helped guide him into a recovery position. The male doctor, Jeffery, still lingered in the room. He looked on plainly and made no efforts to help or allow for privacy. His presence was made worse by the fact that Dean had an accident-his pants wet. Not yet fully present, Sam wanted Dr. Kroff to check his vitals as quickly as possible so that Dean could recover in privacy. The women placed a palm on Dean's forehead and seemed pleased that his reaction was to turn towards her; obviously this had been some kind of reflex response test. Sam kept a hand on Dean the whole time-reminding him that he was anchored somewhere safe.

Putting her hand in his good one, she began another test.

"Hi Dean. You with me? Squeeze my hand if you can. If you need another minute that's okay. Take your time."

Dean's hand was still, but he turned to look at Sam.

"He hears you but I think he needs a second." Sam articulated the message for his brother, and the other doctor, still looming, began collecting things around the room. A plastic bag, a dressing down, scissors...and with his collection in tow, he approached the end of the bed. Dean rapidly squeezed Dr. Kroff's hand, and sent a look back to Sam.

"Good, Dean. Now-"

"Excuse me." Sam interrupted her commentary in order to pause the other man from proceeding. At the present moment, the gentleman had scissors lined up with Dean's pants, and a bundled gown thrown over his wet crotch. "We'd like a moment of privacy please." Sam attempted to be polite but the man didn't look up at him, continuing to treat Dean like a slab of meat. "We don't need an audience!" Sam emphasized the last part of his sentence and spoke with enough volume that anyone outside would have certainly heard. The man looked to his co-worker, but she raised her eyebrows and nodded her head towards the door. Leaving, he mumbled indignantly.

"I'm sorry about him. He used to be a surgeon. Not very used to patients being conscious." The woman spoke to both of them despite the fact that Dean was still a little foggy.

"Anytime you feel like moving you let us know."

Dean shakingly lifted his good arm and made a loose thumbs up as he brought the arm to rest on his abdomen. Dr. Kroff smiled and nodded.

"Okay well you are clearly coming out of this just fine. No rush. Take all the time you need. I'll step away for a minute but just shout if you need me." She left with a wink and Sam allowed himself a rare moment of confession.

"Dean this is my fault. You never should have had to rescue me. I was so tired of...of not being helpful. I thought if I killed the Adlet then we could feel good about something, anything. But I messed up and you had to save me just like always. And look what happened because of it." Sam pulled a chair from the corner and sat next to Dean's prone form. "I'm so sorry."

Sam's brother shook his head lightly back and forth and opened his mouth to try and speak for the first time since his fit.

"Don't ever say that, Sammy." Dean spoke with no impediment. No hesitation, no stutter. Nothing. It was perfect.

The younger Winchester's head snapped upwards and Dean's eyes grew wide.

"What the hell is happening?" Sam's first instinct was worry, rather than joy.

"You're complaining?" Dean responded, a little disappointed.

"No, no, no no no! Of course not. I didn't mean to sound like that."

"Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Yeah?"

"Nothing. Just like saying it."

Saam laughed, standing from the chair.

"I have a feeling there are a lot of words that'll be making an appearance in the next hour."

"Bitch."

"You feeling better?"

"Fuck."

"You wanna sit up?"

"Impala."

For the next few moments, Sam attempted to steer the conversation towards productivity, but Dean was hell-bent on enjoying his newfound ability for articulation. Sam would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't feeling happier than he had all year. A piece of him was still unsure, though; what consequences did this have? It was rare that the Winchesters ever had a free pass.

"Dean, did anything change? Anything you know about?"

"Before the last fit I - I don't know how to describe it. My head- I mean…" Dean struggled to find a way to explain how his mind worked-how to explain the destruction Michael left, and how to explain how it was changing. "When he left, there was...I felt everything collapse...any order there was just fell apart. And it's been that way ever since. Messy. But right before I seized there was a... a reorg, kinda. I'm not sure. I could feel it though. Those scales Cas talked about...they don't feel like scales but I know what he was saying now. Things aren't any less messy upstairs but the balance changed. The weight shifted."

"But where did it shift? I'm not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth, I just don't want any surprises."

"Yeah you and me both. I don't have an answer though. I need a little time."

"Of course. Not trying to rush you."

"You know what I do want to rush though? Getting off this freakin bed."

Sam reached to put a hand behind Dean's good shoulder and at his brother's go-ahead he helped lift him into a sitting position. Dean moaned at the change in positioning and Sam recognized his face before Dean had gotten the word out.

"Sick…"

Sam reached for a nearby basin but it was too late. Dean puked over the side of the cot, not fully able to avoid getting it on himself. Dean's eyes were closed, Sam assumed because to him, the room was spinning. He held Dean upright and patted his back gently until the gagging settled, muttering generic condolences. With a final spit, Dean made a noise of disgust and brought his hand to his face to wipe his mouth. Sam handed him a cloth, instead, and Dean took it thankfully. After a minute of silent recovery, Dean motioned for Sam to move away from him and looked at himself, repulsed. His shirt was stained with his bile, his limbs still a little shaky, and his wet pants beginning to become uncomfortable.

"I'm disgusting…"

"Jody's bringing our stuff from the house. You can change when she gets back."

"I need a shower."

"I'll go ask. You ok for a minute?"

Dean nodded and remained still in his seat; he knew that Sam was going to ask about using a shower, yes, but he also knew that he was telling them he'd thrown up. Dean tried not to think about it, and when he did, he tried reminding himself that it didn't matter. But Dean had never been good at extending allowances. Himself included.

Reentering, Sam gestured with his head to a back hallway.

"Jody's ten minutes out. Dr. Kroff says we can use the bathroom down the hall."

Dean was hesitant to admit that his body was stiff and unresponsive; it began to occur to him that this was the trade off for his improved speech. His body fails, his language improves. What a twisted deal. It was too soon to tell, though, so he shelved the conspiracy for another time. Unaware of how bad it was, Sam waited for Dean to either get off the bed, or ask for a hand. The older brother struggled to ask for the level of assistance he'd need. Somehow, with his speech now in perfect condition, it made it even harder to ask for help.

"Sam?"

His brother's big, round, puppy eyes could not have been more difficult to stare at.

"Need help moving."

Sam came to stand next to his brother, awaiting more instruction.

"No…" Sam looked on, confused, and Dean had to look away before continuing. "I can't move my leg at all. It's not listening." Dean tried to add a dry chuckle to the end of his statement but it was in vain. Sam, as usual, seemed completely unaffected by his confession and simply retrieved a folded wheelchair from across the room. Opening it, he wheeled it to the side of the bed and positioned himself under Dean's good side. Successfully wedged under his unbroken shoulder, Sam prepared to lift.

"One. Two. Three."

With a little difficulty, they managed to get Dean settled into the chair, and Sam began leading him down the hall, towards the bathroom.

"How's your wrist?" Dean asked.

"Numb, mostly. The doc gave me some painkillers."

Arriving at the bathroom, Sam put the locks on the wheelchair and moved to stand in front of Dean, extending an arm.

"Thanks." Dean said, locking eyes with his brother. Sam scowled at the comment.

"I told you, you never have to say that."

"Different now that I can actually say it."

Dean let the moment drop as he held his hand out for Sam to grab. Getting Dean into the shower was not without difficulty, but Dean's ability to curse with impeccable articulation made the debacle more enjoyable than it normally would have been. Dean, sitting on a bench in the shower, tried to carry on a conversation with Sam who was standing on the other side of the curtain.

"So that Doc's pretty-" Dean made a sound somewhere between a whistle and tongue click, indicating that he found her attractive. Sam rolled his eyes into his head and bit his lip to stifle a smile even though Dean wouldn't see either way.

"Sure, Dean."

Sam knew his brother didn't mean it in any crude way, and mostly he was simply expressing a desire for normalcy and lightheartedness.

"Not that I'm complaining...but any word on when Jody'll show up with my clothes? Pretty as the doctor is, I don't think I want her seein' my unmentionables."

"Any minute prolly. If you're settled I'll go peak my head out. See if she's here."

"I'm good. Can't get up even if I wanted to so…"

A hint of sadness settled in his tone but he was trying very hard to stifle it.

"Okay, I'll be back in a sec."

Sam slowly left the room, waiting an extra moment to see if his brother would change his mind. Rather than call Sam back, though, Dean started singing the opening verse to Shook Me All Night Long. Sam smiled the whole way down the hall.

( ) ( ) ( )

Dean was changed into dry, clean clothes, Sam had aftercare instructions for his stitches, and Dr. Kroff was finishing up a few charts. As the Winchester's headed for the door, she ran and handed Dean a thin manilla folder.

"This is a copy of your records from today. In case you want to pass them along to your primary care physician."

Dean was surprised at her thoroughness but smiled his charming smile as if he was expecting it the whole time.

"Thanks. For the papers. And thanks for uhh-"

Dean's bravado fell apart as he replayed the time spent with her: seizing on the table. She was ever-the-professional though and shook her head to stop his gratitudes.

"Just do us both a favor and take it easy?"

"I can do that." He smiled at her, thinking their exchange was over. With a final turn, she gave him one last parting thought.

"You have a nice voice, Dean. I'm glad I was able to hear it."

If she was speaking in general terms, or was referencing his shower-concernt, he didn't know. Still, in either case, his ears turned a bright red and she turned and walked off, shaking Sam's hand on the way back to her office.

"What was that about?" Sam's eyebrows scrunched together and used his hand to reference both her departure and the folder in Dean's lap.

"She was just-just giving me some papers."

"Uhh-huh. And did she say anything about those papers?"

"No, not really." Dean's voice rose in pitch a little, still wondering if she'd heard him singing. Sam smiled to himself as he wheeled Dean down the ramp outside to the parking lot. Jody was standing by her truck with a few bags, and the Impala in the spot next to hers. Since dropping the boys off she'd made a whole bunch of errands; getting their things, their car, and helping Alex navigate the freeways home. Seeing them finally emerge, she started talking.

"Well you two really know when to quit. Alex and Claire just called-they are on their way home and they both sound like Oscar the Grouch. You're not missing out on anything here, that's for sure." She handed one bag to Sam, and another to Dean. "Oh and this is just some chicken and mashed potatoes-it's only leftovers so I promise I didn't go to any trouble."

"Jody, thank you. For absolutely everything. It was great seeing you." Sam gave her a half-hug while still holding his things.

"It was so good seeing you too." She reassured them.

"Jody. You're a saint. What can I say? Don't deserve you." Dean reached out his good arm for a quarter hug and Jody happily leaned in to meet him.

"Don't be strangers. And I promise if I come across another Adlet you'll be the first call I make. Don't know where else I'll be getting blood of the damned."

Sam nodded with a grin as he pushed Dean over to Impala. Jody also got into her car and waved as she pulled out of the small lot. They worked together in silence as Dean slid awkwardly into the backseat; once he was settled, Sam moved to the driver's seat and without prompting he put in an AC/DC tape.

"You know I'm gonna sing along, right?" Dean asked from the back.

"Was kinda hoping you would." Sam admitted, putting the car in reverse.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"The doctor left her number in the folder. Just sayin'" Dean laughed as Sam merged onto the road.

"Well then it's a good thing we're headed home."