A/N: AU set during season 14 when Michael is in and out of possessing Dean.

Dean's medical condition is intentionally non-specific and intended to be a mix of symptoms as his condition was supernaturally created. Medication names I got from some minimal research and the fact that I'm binging ER..hahah. Medications do not work the way I've depicted them though! I in NO WAY claim to know anything about medication, nor do I have any medical knowledge!

WARNINGS: Rather graphic depictions of a seizure.

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Dean's hooked right arm adamantly lay upon his chest. Fingers tense and fisted, shoulder locked. Sam knew his brother couldn't control it, but it was still annoying to work so hard at loosening muscles that he knew in a few hours would be clenched again.

"..nooo s' 'ard." Not so hard

Sam had become too familiar with his brother's new language—it bothered him how easily he now understood the mangled speech. At Dean's request, Sam lessened his grip, gently pulling the elbow away from his brother's ribcage while pushing down on his shoulder at the same time. Dean breathed rhythmically, trying not to resist Sam's efforts. Eventually, the tension lessened, his elbow hanging lower and his shoulder drooping as well. Next came his fist—the fingers clenching tightly onto nothing, but dedicated to the grasp nonetheless. Sam's large hands covered his brother's fist, wiggling his own fingers between the edge of Dean's fingertips and his palm. Pulling back slowly, Sam untangled the mess of phalanges as Dean grunted in pain.

"K..'p g..in. 'm O.K." Keep going, I'm ok

The worst part about Dean's condition wasn't the garbled speech or the hooked arm. It wasn't the limp or the coordination. Not the seizures or the medication. Not even the pain.

It was the fact that Dean—the old Dean—unburdened Dean—was still inside. Healthy as ever. Dean's mental capabilities hadn't been hindered in any way. His brain functioned as normally and efficiently as before; he just couldn't make his body do what he told it to do.

So Dean spoke in fragmented sentences but he thought in unbroken prose.

He walked with a limp but had no problem following directions.

He felt his seizures coming and knew to lay himself down safely.

He read prescription bottles with ease and knew what to take when, even if he couldn't open the bottle.

So where did this leave Sam? In a constant state of trying to predict Dean's needs, but not underestimating his brother's capabilities; a thin tightrope to tread. But they both try. And that's what matters. So Sam tells himself on Dean's bad days-on days like today.

They had two distinct routines (though Sam had a third that Dean wasn't privy to) which they silently practiced. Today was no exception.

Routine 1 was for good days: Sam would let Dean do things himself with the exception of things he couldn't, which on those days was mostly limited to opening pill bottles and helping him get dressed.

Routine 2 was for bad days-for days like today. Sam, with no prompting, did almost everything for Dean. Making food, helping him hold the fork, (or helping him with finger food if the shaking was too badly for utensils), walking beside him as a balance aid, monitoring his medication so Dean didn't have to think about it, stretching and massaging his ever-tense muscles, and, occasionally, sitting with him when he just couldn't get out of bed.

Routine 3, whose existence Dean was unaware of, was reserved for days when Dean was fully capable of functioning at a decent capacity, but was too exhausted to do so.

Sam made silent adjustments. Routine 3 looked a lot like Routine 1, except Sam would rearrange the pantry and fridge so that granola bars and bananas and hot dogs were more accessible than pesky lidded yogurts, or cereal that required both a spoon and the pouring of milk. Sam would set the temperature to 65 because walking around made Dean sweat, and he'd leave prescription bottles sitting on the counter, caps untightened. The younger Winchester would make as many inconspicuous changes so that by the end of the day, Dean wasn't so exhausted. He did it for his brother, yes, but it was also partially a selfish decision...without Routine 3, Dean would have so many more bad days-tiring himself unnecessarily and leaving them both suffering through more and more days of Routine 2.

But regardless of the days that came before, today was still a bad day for the both of them. Dean had woken up in pain; enough that he took painkillers at breakfast (which he let Sam help him eat) and leaned heavily on his brother as he attempted to walk with his limp leg on the move back to his room.

"You need anything? Wanna try and sleep?" Sam checked in, but knew there was little to be done...and it was only ten o'clock. "Want some water? You haven't had much to drink, man." Dehydration on Dean was not flattering.

"..'k'." Any kind of agreement Sam got was enough and he left his brother momentarily. Upon his return, Dean drank clumsily, the nipple of the Poland Springs bottle occasionally slipping out of his mouth. Sam saw as Dean gripped the bottle tighter with his good hand-agitation growing. Eventually giving up, Dean nodded for Sam to take it back.

"..hay 'his, 'an" Hate this, man

"I know. But tomorrow there's a COPS marathon so...you can look forward to that." "..gon ash 't my ..." Unable to finish, Dean went silent, closing his eyes, frustration evident. He swallowed, then took a breath and attempted to enunciate.

" y'okes?"

Sam pieced together the fragmented thought: Gonna laugh at my jokes?

"Only if they're funny, Dean."

The two sat in comfortable silence, Sam noting that Dean's breathing was a bit louder than usual-a bit more strained. Distracting himself more than anything, he proposed a question.

"Whaddya wanna do today? Netflix? Research? Some hunter outta Oklahoma, Ted, I think, is hunting a ghoul. Asked for some info. Or, if you want, I can leave you alone if you wanna have some you time ... watch some 'Dean-approved-material'..."

Sam attempted a smile but regretted his suggestion as soon as he said it, realizing why it was a bad day to have recommended those particular activities.

"..'ink 'll p-ass awn 'hat un. Nooo 't oo cawr..n' ted. W...ulln't w-want to wisk 'reaking 'ha mer...shan-ice." I think I'll pass on that one. Not too coordinated. Wouldn't want to risk breaking the merchandise.

Dean's grin alleviated any and all of Sam's worries and he was pleased when Dean suggested an alternative activity.

" ..'c-can we 'oo 'eash 'ay?" ...

"Sorry, I need that one more time. I got the 'doing something today' but kinda missed the key part." Dean swallowed again, concentrating.

"..s- p..eeesh" Sam tried his best to hide his shock, though he was pleased.

" Speech! Y es! Sure-wh-what do you wanna do? You want the sentences or the blocks?" Sam rambled on excitedly but Dean shook his head.

"W-wan oo f-fun erds. W-ish 'oo sic" Want fun words. With music.

"Fun words and music it is! What album you want?"

"Z-zep-" Sam waited for him to finish. "C-o-oda"

As Sam cued up the music to help stimulate Dean's speech (a technique they had learned that Dean actually approved of) he wondered what made his brother-on a bad day, no less-want to practice. He wouldn't ask, of course, but was curious nonetheless. The music started emanating and Dean closed his eyes, loving that listening to music required nothing he couldn't do-he could be the same Dean as before when he was listening to Led Zeppelin.

"So I'm dying to know what the hell these 'fun' words are you're so desperate to work on."

"..'uk"

"I'm sorry, duck?" Sam grinned.

"..uuck"

"Luck?" Sam smiled bigger and Dean sent his good hand out to swat at him.

"...Fff..uck ..awff B'ish"

"Now that w as clear as day, jerk . Try again, though."

"..f-uck. you. B'i.." Dean swallowed. "ish." Dean closed his eyes, hooked arm tightening and good arm tensing as well. Sam wondered how long his composure could possibly last-how patient with himself he could be.

"B-bi-ttt-c-h" Dean should have looked pleased but he looked defeated. Initiating a little bit of Routine 3, Sam suggested a few things he knew Dean had been so close to getting.

"What about 'Baby' ... ?"

"Noo-bidy p-puts B-aby 'n a c'rner." Dean took the bait, but Sam suspected Dean had known he was throwing him a bone.

"You wanna keep going? We can stop whenever."

"D..aaa..m str't we c'n s'op wh'n'vr." Damn straight we can stop whenever

"What is with you today, rolling out the jokes, the smiles , the douchery..." Dean paused, frowning a little at Sam's poking fun. Sam's face remained calm but worried he had hurt his feelings.

"Youu strt-ng 't' s..own' k' me. How 'I fink 't, at 'east." You're starting to sound like me.

How I think, at least

Sam gave a sad smile, at a loss for words. Dean, always the protector, re-directed and met Sam's fake smile with one of his own.

"...g'ad to see 've t..aind you well yun...j-e-d-i" Glad to see I've trained you well, young Jedi

Sam grinned back, but the joke was not really Dean...it was a by-product of Dean's condition. A defensive joke. But it was a joke . So Sam would take it.

Dean, suddenly, looked at Sam-serious. His younger brother's hope waning. "W'ana 's-ay..." He gave up mid-sentence, breaking eye contact.

"I can turn up the music if you want...see if that helps."

"Nno. W'ana s-ay, tt-h-anks"

" Th 's are hard dude, don't push yourself. Besides, that's not a very fun word. I thought I'd have to sit here trying to listen to you say 'erotica' or something..."

"No. S-am. M..e. 'M say-in' t-h-ank y-ouu." No, Sam. Me. I'm saying thank you. D ean's voice clear as a bell in Sam's head. Thank you.

"Dean. You never have to thank me. Didn't have to before, and you don't have to now." Dean nodded and closed his eyes and Sam wished that they could talk-for real-without struggle. But of course, he knew even if Dean was better, he wouldn't say much more than he already had. Wouldn't have needed to.

"C-an t-urn mo'sic ovv" Can turn the music off.

And he did; Sam stood and silenced the music and handed Dean back the water bottle which he drank from readily. Soon, though, he gestured for Sam to take it. Opening his mouth a few times, questioning the taste, he warned Sam.

"T'sts f-unny" Tastes funny. "Y ou worried?"

"..w..ittle"

"Feeling dizzy?

" "

"Anything else?"

"No't yet."

"Well...we'll wait and if anything changes, just let me know. You want Depakote?"

Hating his options, Dean allowed himself a disappointed sigh, not knowing if he'd be able to get through the day if things got any worse.

"D-on wan 't if 'urn..s out t'b n'u'hin" Don't want it if it turns out to be nothing

Sam nodded and waited for Dean to indicate what was next. Sam looked to his brother but was depressed to see that things had only gotten worse. His spirits may have been high today, but his body was being a pain in the ass. He saw how tightly clenched his left arm clung to his side, how sensitive his knee was to movement, how much effort it took him to try and speak. But Dean was goal-oriented and the goal now, as he announced, was to make it to the bathroom.

"All that water?"

"Y..ou s'y ho'fu-lly" You say hopefully. "I'll do your arm again after, if you want." "...m'by l'tr" Maybe later

"I don't mind. We'll do it in a minute."

"-f'ck' n hrts, S'm" Fucking hurts, Sam

Great. He'd done it. Pushed him too hard and made him admit his limitations-as if he wasn't already aware, especially on a day like today. The bathroom a growing priority though, Sam extended his arm for support.

Dean paused uncharacteristically on his way to standing.

"Dean?"

The older brother groaned in response.

"..'eeed..."

"Need? What do you need?" Dean shook his head at his brother's incorrect translation. He grasped Sam harder, trying to look back at the bed as a clue, but the taller man was still confused.

"..p-in..eed..ll. ss" Pins and needles.

"Do we have any time?" Sam started to move Dean back to a sitting position when he saw his brother's jaw go rigid and his hooked arm begin to tremble against his chest.

"Guess not." Dean leaned his head against Sam's chest for support as quiet, uncontrollable noises started gathering in his throat.

"I gotcha. Gonna put you on the floor." Sam tried his best to gingerly lay 170 pounds of Dean onto the ground but he could only be so gentle. Eyes still open, Dean stared at his brother as drool leaked from the corner of his mouth; Sam didn't notice because he was busy rolling up a washcloth, trying to pry open Dean's clenched fist. The last time, his nails had punctured his palm badly and Sam wanted to avoid repeating the past. Succeeding, Sam wedged the small towel in his brother's grasp right before the more violent convulsions started. Dean's green eyes rolled, his bad leg twitched, hooked arm beat against his ribs, good arm shook at his side, his head (thankfully), remained relatively still, guttural noises gurgled in his throat, and his pants darkened from the missed trip to the bathroom. Sam couldn't do anything but watch his brother suffer as the clock continued on, unphased by the horror before it.

90 seconds passed.

120.

140.

Too long Way too long

It seemed that Sam's heart rate was beginning to match the number of seconds that Dean had been seizing. Finally, at three minutes, all that remained was the spazzming of Dean's bad arm, which it occasionally did on a regular basis anyway. Sam lowered himself onto the floor next to Dean and impatiently rubbed his knuckles lightly against his brother's sternum.

"Hey Dean? You with me?" Dean's head turned away from Sam. "Don't need to do anything, ok? Just look at me if you can." Dean turned back to Sam, and began to open his eyes.

He understood;

He had done what Sam asked.

His brain wasn't fried.

They could live with everything else.

"That's good, just stay still. I'm right here." Sam attempted to convey a safe environment before explaining what happened to what he knew to be a confusion-plagued Dean.

"You had a seizure. Lasted three minutes. You're ok." Sam spoke simply but still doubted if his words meant anything to the dazed man. Dean's head shifted back and forth a bit, it seemed like he was surveying the room.

"We're in your room. On the floor. In the bunker."

Dean still hadn't responded, nor had he made any attempt at a response, but Sam wasn't holding his breath. Sometimes Dean woke up alert and aware, but other times, (most of the time), it took him decent spans of time to come back to reality. It was in these moments that Sam was reminded how devastating it would be to really lose Dean-for Dean to lose control of his mind. Sam would always be there for him, that was a cosmic truth; in these painfully long minutes, Sam realized the degree to which he appreciated how much Dean was still Dean in the ways it mattered.

Beginning to come back to his senses, Dean fidgeted on the ground more, and eventually looked to Sam, anxious to speak, though Sam knew that what would come out required serious deciphering.

"..'m"

"I'm right here. I can get you to bed as soon as you're ready to stand up."

"..mmm.." Sam was in a bit of a bind, as usual. Dean couldn't communicate well enough yet, which meant Sam had to wait on the floor while Dean recovered. Or, he had to make decisions for his brother rather than with him. Thinking in silence for a moment, Sam considered what had to be accomplished and how best to achieve it. Logic, in this scenario, had to be his friend.

needed to be moved from the floor.

2. Dean needed a change of clothes and preferably a shower but he thought the latter might be expecting too much.

3. Dean needed medication.

4. Dean needed sleep.

5. Dean needed whatever Dean said he needed.

The problems followed as soon as the challenges were identified.

1. Lifting 170 pounds of semi-unconscious man was nearly impossible. Especially when he was disoriented, uncoordinated, and in pain.

2. See above in addition to maintaining privacy and decency.

3. Dean would have to be aware enough-and willing enough- to eat and drink.

4. This would be no problem if it were number one. Sitting at priority four meant that 1-3 had to be accomplished while also fighting off oncoming drowsiness.

5. Dean probably wouldn't be able to convey his needs well enough for Sam to fulfil them.

Before Sam could give any real thought to troubleshooting, however, Dean continued making frustrated noises.

"..g'mm 'pp" Sam, hopelessly lost, remained silent.

"..g'mm ahh-pp" This time, Dean's good hand waved generally and Sam put it together.

Get me up

"I got it, I got it, sorry. We'll get you up. Try and relax." Sam adjusted himself behind

Dean so that he could pull his brother up from his armpits. From there, he could awkwardly maneuver him into the chair or onto the bed. Usually, this was a struggle, but thus far had a nearly impeccable success rate. Staring at his brother though, Sam doubted their strategy; Dean's eyebrows were folded down in discomfort, his eyes blinking slowly. His limp arm still vibrated with tremmors and his bad leg was still turned inward. Dean, in this instance, had little capability of helping.

Beyond the physical, Sam could see that Dean was awake inside and that he was hurting more than any pain his body was experiencing. Not only had it been a bad day to begin with, but he had started seizing in Sam's arms, had a long and tiring fit, wet himself, and couldn't manage to speak well enough for even Sam to understand. He was forced to suffer alone, inside his head where nothing was wrong, and Sam feared there was nothing he could do for his brother. How could he fix that? Remind him it's not his fault? Dean already knew that. Remind him that he never judges him? He rarely had before, so why would he now? It was all a moot point and neither one of them had the energy to engage with the depth of their current reality. They still couldn't bring themselves to say the name, "Michael" so they certainly weren't ready to talk about what he'd done. Instead, for the moment, they just dealt with getting Dean off the floor.

"Ready?"

"mmf" Sam took it as an affirmation and prepped his arms under Dean's shoulders.

"One. Two. Three." Sam threw out his back just a little as he lifted, and they nearly collapsed when Dean's weak leg caught the edge of the chair, but Dean was safely deposited on the edge of his bed. Noticing his closed eyes, still-shaking arm and tight jaw, Sam feared another seizure.

"You gonna have another one?" Sam tried to keep his tone from being demanding, but he was desperate to know if Dean knew something he didn't.

"...m''mm'f'ay'n." Again, Sam was at a loss. So much for Dean's earlier progress; his speech had been shot to hell now. Dean knew that Sam couldn't understand him so he opted for the next best thing he could think of. Lumberingly, he lifted his mobile arm into Sam's view and gave a thumbs up-albeit a weak, loose thumbs up, but Sam got the message so what did it matter? Unfortunately, there were so many things Dean still needed to say:

He wanted a shower.

He wanted more comfortable pants-his ugly tan sweatpants that reminded him of cowboy saddle trousers.

He wanted Dilantin because the Depakote made his stomach hurt.

He wanted to sleep.

He wanted bourbon.

He wanted heating pads.

He wanted his computer and Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

He wanted Sam to stop worrying.

He wanted to be alone.

He wanted a cheesesteak with peppers even though he knew he'd probably throw up. And he wanted to be able to make it through the rest of the day without crying.

Most of all he wanted to be able to say these things. But he couldn't—not yet—so he settled for his lousy thumbs up and waited for Sam to start making decisions; they both knew Dean would lay there indefinitely if he didn't.

"I'll get you a change of clothes and—" "..'how'r" ...?

"Shower?"

"..mm'hmm"

"You feeling up to that?"

"..d'n..w..'na ee h'ere lk is" Don't wanna ... ?

"I didn't get all of that but if you wanna take a shower then..." Sam disapproved. It was preferable, yes, but it would exhaust him. Dean had a right to his dignity though, and who was Sam to take that away from him?

"Then we'll get you in the shower." Dean nodded lightly and Sam was relieved to notice that his leg and arm had seemed to calm.

"Can you can walk with me under your shoulder?" "...y' eahh"

"You want another minute?"

"-we k'in g'" We can go

Sam was back to understanding him decently and they slowly—this cannot be emphasized enough—slowly made their way to the bathroom. The bunker's showers were industrial much like the rest of the facility so they were large and open and ended up being the right amount of accessible. Sam had put a heavy metal bench in Dean's shower so he could sit when he needed to. Making it to the bathroom safely, (and surprisingly without much difficulty), Dean leaned against the countertop while Sam retrieved a towel.

"I don't know how much help you want." Sam was direct this time, feeling Dean's mental exhaustion and knowing how irritated he was with his limitations after the seizure.

"J's h.'p me git ow' ah t shh'rt 'n 'pn'ts. 'll sh'wr... br'n me sw'pnts." Just help me get out of shirt and pants. I'll shower. Bring me sweatpants

God it was nice to be talking again. Sam's mood was turned around instantly and because of it, Dean's positive efforts from earlier started creeping back. The water ran and Sam let his brother be. After a few silent minutes, Sam began hearing faint music. Putting his ear to the door, he heard Dean humming Metallica.

A feeling this good hadn't washed over Sam in a long time. The humming stopped after five or so minutes and Sam's worry flickered, though the water turning off relieved him.

"S'..m?"

"Yeah, I'm right outside, Dean."

"C' 'min" Come in

"You decent?"

"..wol'na c'al'd you if a' wa'nt" Wouldn't have called you if I wasn't

Sam entered the foggy bathroom and found Dean sitting on the bench, wet, and still in his boxers.

"You showered in your underwear?"

"..n' dff fom b'thin swut." No different from a bathing suit

"Sure..." Sam offered Dean the towel and he started drying off. Sam wasn't sure what was next on the docket so he waited patiently for Dean's instructions. Dry enough, Dean let the towel fall to the ground and extended his arm so that Sam could help pull him to a standing position.

"Your pants are next to the sink, there. I'll be outside." Sam left, and Dean grinned as he caught sight of the ugly tan pants that Sam had laid out. His cowboy ones.

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Emerging clean and moving with relative stability, Dean looked better; his spirits higher than expected. Eyes still tired, though, Sam really didn't want to push their luck.

"Do you wanna try and sleep?"

"..'l'eeat 'n t'ke d-ie-" Dean struggled and Sam interrupted, sparing his brother.

"Dilantin, yeah. You don't want the Depakote?"

"..m'ks m' si'k" Makes me sick

"I know. Sorry. How bad's the arm?" Sam looked at the crumpled limb, knowing how weary Dean had been of it today. He had already admitted that it hurt, the seizure hadn't helped, and Sam knew Dean wouldn't want any attention or efforts to be made about it. If they ignored it though, Sam knew it would be so much worse tomorrow.

"..'n't gr'ate." Not great

"I know you don't wanna hear this, but if you take the Depakote you can take Diazepam for your arm." Dean paused, thinking over his options. Take the Dilantin and suffer through the cramping arm; take Depakote with Diazepam and have a relaxed arm but a cramping stomach. He really didn't want to throw up and his arm was gonna hurt no matter what.

"..wan ha d-i-e" Want the Di... Dean stopped, hoping Sam would understand him, and not push back anymore.

"Ok. I'll get the Dilantin and you can sleep." Dean liked the sound of that plan.

Because the Dilantin didn't usually make him sick, when Sam brought him the pills, he also brought Dean a burrito of sorts...Dean forced himself to eat the mysterious tortilla wrap but couldn't bring himself to care about its contents; all his energy was focused on bringing his hand to his mouth without too much trembling. Ironically, Dean knew that Sam brought it because Dean would have the best chance of eating it without making a mess or needing Sam's help. After a few painfully slow minutes of coordinating bites and chews, Sam made him drink a few more sips of water, and he finally took the Dilantin. With the extended release pills now working in his system, Dean let the exhaustion take full effect and Sam left him to sleep off the after-effects of the seizure.

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed—chapter 2 will hopefully will be added soon.