A/N: Gah! I haven't updated in a while, mainly because my dear old computer crashed and partly because I'm just lazy. Thanks to all the reviewers! I didn't reply to anyone because…well you know why:D This chapter is a bit rushed and I think it's obvious by the way it's written…LOL
Dean's first night away from the hospital since the accident, went more smoothly than expected. Dean assumed there would be nightmares, though he rarely had any, and he assumed he would wake up in a fit, his father and brother standing over him, asking him if he was alright.
Dean started to doubt he even had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. He considered maybe he had been diagnosed incorrectly, that maybe he didn't even have anything and that it was just a temporary result of the accident. Sam had a busted leg, a physical consequence, maybe Dean was just imagining being tired, and maybe he was just imagining the muscle pain, the joint pain, the sore throat and the severe headaches. Maybe it's just a psychological consequence. He'd just have to tough it out.
Dean turned his head from his position on the motel room chair, silently searching the bare motel room for his cell phone.
"Dammit," he muttered when his search didn't turn up anything. Bracing himself against the back of the chair, he levelled himself upwards to stand. "Where the hell did I put that thing?" he muttered angrily, travelling towards his bed from the other side of the room.
Sitting down upon it slowly, taking mind to the steady ache in his legs, he bent forward and reached down to grab his duffel bag at the foot of the bed. While his seemingly hopeless search through his duffel bag continued, the door banged open and Sam and John entered both red in the face, followed by an average sized man with a greying beard and moustache.
"Bobby," Dean greeted, dropping the bag onto his feet and jumping up to shake the hunter's hand. "How're you?"
Bobby grimaced as he looked Dean up and down. "I should be asking you that," he pointed out, positioning the hat on his head so that he could see properly. "Being in an accident and all. Your daddy told me about this sleepy thing you have."
Dean glanced fleetingly at his father, whose reddened face stared right back at him, challenging him.
"Yeah," Dean nodded, turning back to Bobby. "Load of crap, if you ask me," he said confidently. "Never felt better in my life."
Bobby smirked and swung his head back to John. "So, Winchester, you want to do this or what?" he asked.
John averted Dean's gaze when he replied. "Sure, just as soon as Dean gives Sam a lift to the hospital," he grunted.
Dean cleared his throat. "What's this?" he asked curiously, looking between John and Bobby.
"Let your daddy explain later," Bobby replied, turning away from all three Winchesters and heading towards Dean's abandoned chair.
Dean continued to stare at his father in what he hoped to be penetrating, but whether his father noticed or not, Dean was none the wiser.
"We need to go now, if we want to make my appointment," Sam piped up, looking at Dean pointedly.
"Right," Dean nodded, forcing his eyes towards Sam. "Y'know where my cell is?" he asked.
Sam felt in his pocket before retrieving a black cell phone. Handing it over to Dean, Sam grimaced noticeably.
"You leant it to me this morning, remember?" he said, his brow furrowed in concern.
Dean scanned his mind quickly, trying to remember indeed that had happened, or if Sam was yanking his chain.
"Right," he concluded, not really remembering anything, but needing to believe that it was just a coincidence.
Sam turned on his heel and made towards the door, opening it and leaving the cramped motel room. Dean opened his hand in front of John, signalling for his father to hand him the keys to the pickup. John thrust his hand in his front pocket, retrieving the keys and handing them to his son, a small smile evident in his eyes. Dean didn't smile back.
When Dean reached the pickup, Sam was already in the passenger seat, watching Dean carefully through the windshield as he climbed into the pickup. They sat silently side by side, almost uncomfortably before Dean broke the silence as he turned the ignition. Pulling out of the motel, he couldn't help but glance sideways at his brother, only to find that Sam was glancing right back at him.
Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "What's up with dad?" he asked, shifting slightly as he brought the truck onto the road.
"I dunno," Sam replied, shrugging. "They weren't talking much outside when Bobby arrived."
"You looked angry," Dean pointed out, remembering John and Sam's reddened face when they had first entered.
Sam shook his head, blowing out a great huff of air and turning his head away from Dean so that he was looking out the passenger side window.
"It's nothing," he muttered and Dean could tell that it definitely wasn't nothing and had to be something, but he didn't have to wait long to find out. "Alright, alright," Sam exclaimed, as if he were forced into telling all. "He suggested we leave you here for a while, you know, and get a move on with the whole demon hunting scenario."
Dean nodded, not agreeing, just understanding. He felt his insides freeze, because he knew why Bobby had made such a suggestion. Bobby thought that he couldn't handle the demon hunting business anymore, that he was soft and that he couldn't be trusted. Dean hadn't always been a big fan of the man; in fact, sometimes he wished he had never met him. The number of threats he had made against John was unimaginable. The man was just plain grumpy.
"Right," Dean said, his eyes fixed on the road. "And what did dad say?" he asked, his mind itching for an answer.
Sam smiled softly as he turned back to face Dean. "He said we're 'doing this as a family'," he said it almost proudly; almost unbelieving that John was capable of saying something so sentimental.
"Huh," Dean said, but inside he was jumping. "Right."
John stared fiercely at the man before him, glaring angrily as he spoke about John's son as though he were merely just another inconvenience in their lives.
"Listen, John," Bobby said, standing from his chair and looked over at the eldest Winchester. "Dean's a good boy, a good hunter, no one's denying that. But you said it yourself, the boy's not himself," Bobby reasoned. "I could see that he's clearly struggling. He walks like the dead, he's pale and pasty. John, the boy's hunting days are over."
John growled. "Bobby, he's only twenty-seven, he's got plenty of mileage left for the road," John said, running a hand through his hair, clearly stressed. "I promised both him and Sam. We hunt together as a family. I'm not leaving him behind."
"The demon has left the town, Winchester," Bobby's voice rose in anger. "Don't you think he knows about Dean? He knows everything and he wants revenge on the boy for killing his children. You take Dean with you and it's the last time you'll see him alive, I guarantee you."
"He's much safer where Sam and I can protect him," John spat. "He's much safer with us next door to the demon than by himself at the other end of the country."
Bobby stepped closer to John, an eyebrow cocked. "Then don't leave him by himself, if you're so worried," he said.
John's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What are you suggesting, Bob?" he snapped, grabbing Bobby by the collar and bringing him up so that their noses were nearly touching. "What are you trying to say?"
Bobby smirked condescendingly. "If he's a nuisance, I would put him in a home or something. Get someone to protect him, if you will."
"A home?" John snarled, shaking Bobby from his collar. "He's twenty-seven not eighty-seven."
Bobby's eyes sparked with rage. "Listen Winchester," he scowled. "You and your damn sons have cost us Jim, Elkins and Caleb, so you best-"
John gave off a deep growl and pushed Bobby up against a wall. "If I hear a sentence with 'your damn sons' in it again, I will kill you Bobby."
Bobby frowned shifting slightly against the wall, finding it hard with John's fists still clutching his collar fiercely. "He's not himself, John," he said softly. "You bring him with you and you're only going to get trouble."
John nodded. "Then that's what I want," he barely whispered, letting Bobby go and stepping back.
"I'll spar with him," Bobby offered, fixing up his shirt and retaking his seat. "I'll test him out. Maybe I've got it wrong. Maybe I'm overreacting."
John sighed and rubbed his face. "I'd rather you didn't," he said hollowly. "He's not some kind of experiment."
"I never he said he was," Bobby retorted, bringing up his hands before him. "Just so we know what his strength is."
John shrugged, but remained silent thinking deeply, his mind wandering to his eldest son's face.
Dean tapped his foot in rhythm as he waited patiently outside the rehab room where Sam had disappeared into. He looked down at his right hand which sported a large scar, stretching from just below his middle finger to his wrist. This scar, he knew, would never fade. This scar, he knew, would be a constant reminder of what he had gone through. Tracing it with his fingers, Dean drew in a deep breath as he felt a wave of nausea reach him. He hated knowing that this scar would haunt him, but in some twisted way, he was grateful that it would. It was a reminder of a failure he knew he could never repeat.
The steady voice broke him from his thoughts and Dean brought his eyes up to meet an approaching figure. His vision somewhat blurry, Dean blinked to clear it, when Barton's cheerful face met his eyes.
"Dr. Barton?" Dean stood to address the doctor. "Hey, how are you?"
Barton nodded and smiled broadly. "I'm good. Didn't expect you to be back. Missed the food?" he laughed.
Dean chuckled. "Hardly," he said honestly. "Sammy's in rehab. I gave him a lift."
Barton frowned. "You drove here?" he asked. "I hardly think that's wise in your condition."
Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Well how else was he supposed to get here?" he asked. "It's just a little scratch."
"I wasn't talking about your chest Dean," Barton said. "What if you had tired while you were driving?"
Dean scowled. "I'm not here to get my health reviewed, thanks doc," Dean replied, returning to his seat and looking down at his hand again.
Dean heard Barton sigh loudly and take a seat down next to him. "You know, maybe accepting it will help you deal with the problem," Barton suggested.
"You're a shrink now too?" Dean said sarcastically.
Barton chuckled. "No," he said mildly. "But I am trying to help you."
Dean looked back up at Barton haughtily. "I drove here, I walked through that door and I sat down. I'm still alive," he smiled. "Where's my reward?"
"You need to understand that this cannot go on," Barton replied bluntly. "You can't keep up this charade. You are not invincible. This illness will tire you down."
Dean growled. "You know what?" Dean's face was a picture of rage. "I don't think I like you very much. So can you go off now and heal an infected finger or something."
"Huh," Barton grunted, standing up without another word and striding off down the corridor.
Dean buried his face into his hands, breathing deeply and wondering if life ever stopped throwing nasties at him.
"Well, I'm free," Sam's voice penetrated through Dean's thoughts and when he lifted his head he saw a jubilant Sam, his arms outstretched, standing on his own, cane-free.
Dean jumped up, taking no heed to his stiff legs. "It's about damn time," he replied, his laughter echoing in the corridor. "Thought you might have fallen down."
Sam laughed. "I'm as good as ever," and to prove his point, he did a little skip. "Let's get out of here. It's depressing."
Sam led the way to the exit of the hospital. Dean hated the walk out, passing people in wheelchairs and people leaning heavily on canes. One teenage girl he passed was missing an arm while a middle aged man had blemishes all over his face.
Dean and Sam reached the pickup soon after their departure, both in high spirits. Sam sat comfortably in the passenger's seat while Dean took the seat behind the wheel.
"I feel like walking back to the motel," Sam laughed, shaking his leg in excitement.
"Be my guest," Dean nodded towards the door and smiled. "But I'm taking the pickup, much more efficient."
"You mean you're lazy," Sam corrected.
Dean nodded and turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. "Yeah," he said bluntly, grinning at Sam and reversing out of park.
They were soon on the road and making a steady progress towards their motel. Dean's mind wandered to Bobby as he continued to drive. What right did the man have to come in and decide what the Winchesters should do and how they should go about on their hunting duties. This was their mission, not his. It was their decision, not his. It was Dean's life, not his. As far as Dean was concerned, nobody had a right to decide how Dean lived his life or which fights Dean fought in. If Dean decided that he would be in the fight against the demon, then not even the great John Winchester could stop him. And there was still some doubt as to whether he was actually sick. Not once had he woken up with night chills or sweats. Truth be told, he did feel slightly tired and he did have aches, he did have headaches and a sore throat, but that all could be fixed with a good night sleep and a couple of pills. Right?
Dean had always been tired. He'd been tired the day his mother was found pinned above little Sammy's crib. He'd been tired the day his father told him that his life would now include demons, werewolves and wendigos. He'd been tired the day Sam came home from school and announced that he had been chosen for the basketball team, only to realise that they had to leave the state the next day. He'd been tired when his first girlfriend asked him when they would seal the deal and he had replied that he could never stay to be her boyfriend. He was tired the day he found himself pinned against the wall with his father jeering at him, his eyes showing nothing but hatred. What was the difference from the tiredness he felt all those times and the tiredness he felt now?
Dean's eyes snapped open just in time to see Sam's terrified face and the feeling of being airborne. The next second, he was surrounded by a muddy plain.
"Dean?" Sam's horrified voice reached him and Dean knew his eyes had shuttered closed again. "Oh God, Dean."
Dean felt soft fingers brush his neck and land on his pulse. They rested there for a minute before they left. Dean was confused, unable to understand what exactly had happened and why. Why couldn't he seem to open his eyes? Dean wondered why Sam sounded frightened and suddenly panic filled Dean. What if Sammy was hurt?
"Dean, you're alright," Sam's voice sounded much calmer and Dean could hear him twist in his seat. "Dean, we got to get out of here. Dad is going to kill us."
Something in Dean stirred as Sam let out this new piece of information. 'Dad is going to kill us' translated into 'Dad is going to kill Dean' and the eldest sibling knew that he couldn't let John be any more disappointed in Dean than he already was.
It would take a lot for Dean to admit so, but a large amount of energy was put into forcing his heavy weighted eyes open. His lids felt almost like cement and his eyes stung from the incoming light. Blinking furiously, adjusting to the light slowly, his first movement was towards Sam, grabbing almost blindly for his arm and shaking it.
"Are you alright?" he rasped, his throat burning.
Sam flinched in his shock, disbelieving that Dean could have woken, so suddenly.
"I should be asking you that," Sam snapped, his hand laying on Dean's own, still gripping Sam's arm strongly. "What the hell happened, Dean?" he asked fiercely.
Dean let go of Sam's arm and shook off his hand. Looking around, Dean noted the short distance from the road to where they now sat in the pickup. The mud that sat around them gave Dean a good indication of how deep the pickup had sunk through. Dean turned back to his younger brother, not at all proud with this new situation he had created.
"I dunno," he mumbled, almost shamefully. "I guess I wasn't concentrating."
Sam cocked an eyebrow. "I can get us out," he said simply, opening the passenger side door and stepping out swiftly.
Dean waited almost patiently as Sam circled round the back of the pickup and towards the driver's side door. He only pushed open the door when Sam tapped on the window.
"You can't drive," Dean pointed to Sam's still somewhat stiff leg. "You're not fully healed."
"So what do you expect me to do?" Sam snarled his anger evident. "Let you drive and fall asleep again at the wheel?"
Dean frowned. "You know what, I'm not too crazy about this smartass attitude you've got going on," Dean, nevertheless, stepped out of the pickup and into the mud below. "Listen, Sam, it was just an accident."
Sam climbed into the pickup and shut the door, facing the front, his face grim and tight. Dean turned around and, holding his side, he limped slowly around to the passenger side door. Sliding in, he turned his eyes on Sam, trying to ignore the way the youngest Winchester's frown only became more pronounced.
"You're worrying me, Dean," Sam said, his hands gripping the wheel firmly, still facing the front. His hard, angry expression softened slightly, but he still averted Dean's gaze. "You fell asleep, you weren't distracted, so don't bullshit."
"I'm fine," Dean snapped, feeling his anxiety incline.
"Dammit it, Dean, you're not fine," Sam banged in hands on the steering wheel and Dean could honestly say that he was just a bit frightened of his younger brother. "And don't tell me to stop the crying or whatever because you and I both know that I'm right. I had to push your foot on the brakes, you idiot," Sam continued to rage, still adamantly staring anywhere but at Dean. "And what would have happened if I wasn't here? I'll tell you what. You'd have died, Dean. You would have crashed and died."
Sam gripped the steering wheel even tighter, panting hard and shivering slightly, either from rage or worry, Dean couldn't tell. Dean sat silently, watching his brother carefully before trying once more to press his luck.
"It's probably just some freak thing," he shrugged, watching as a vein bulged above Sam's eyebrow. "It's probably never going to happen again."
Sam finally turned to face Dean, his eyes shining suspiciously and his nose and ears tinged pink.
"It's not just some freak thing," Sam spat. "What you have is chronic. It's constant and ever-going. It's never going away and I think you should accept that. Some of the things you could do before, you can't do it at the same rate or capacity." Sam sighed and put his face in his hands. Dean had the sudden, unmistakeable urge to wrap his arms around Sam, but he resisted.
"It'll be alright, Sammy," Dean said in what he considered to be a soothing voice.
Sam's head snapped back up and he glared dangerously at Dean. "No it won't Dean," he said. "First you get electrocuted, then you get sliced and diced courtesy of dad, and then I created a shocking car accident and now this? What's next? You get stuck in a hurricane? No, no, no, I can beat that. You get testicular cancer."
Dean fidgeted uncomfortably. "Hey, watch what you say there, buddy."
"The point is," Sam continued. "I'm worried and not the kind of worry that's going away whenever you say that you're fine."
Dean nodded his understanding and patted Sam's arm gently. "I'm the older brother," he said softly, almost cringing at how pathetic he must sound. "How about you let me worry? It's much less stressful that way."
Sam chuckled softly and turned straight, starting up the car again. "To be honest with you, I wish I could swap places with you, you know? It just seems like you need a bit of a break."
"Nah," Dean smiled. "Life is full of challenges, right?"
Sam glanced fleetingly at Dean before forcing the car out of the mud with a lurching sound. It didn't take too long before they hit the road again.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked, twisting his head to look through the car's back window. "You're going back into town."
"Well you don't want dad to see the car all muddy do you?" Sam grinned, pressing his foot down on the accelerator.
John paced nervously; trying to ignore Bobby's tut, tut tutting. His anxiety over the upcoming spar between an unbeknownst Dean and Bobby made John edge ever so slowly towards the bathroom where the toilet was on standby.
"If he gets sick on you, I'm not cleaning it up Bobby," John snapped out of nerves to Bobby.
"If you've already forgotten, Winchester," Bobby snarled menacingly, "but the boy had a violent case of diarrhoea when he was sixteen. Not a pretty picture, but I cleaned it up."
John turned away from the hunter again, rolling his eyes. "And that gives you bragging rights does it?" he muttered snidely returning to his pacing.
A low rumbling noise brought both men to the window. Shoving each other like little boys for a better view. John smiled softly as he made out Sam and Dean in the pickup truck, Sam behind the wheel and Dean chuckling next to him, the sun gleaming off the pickup's too shiny surface. John was sure his car hadn't been that shiny when he had given it to them for the loan.
"Why is Sam driving?" Bobby asked as the boy parked the car. "I thought he had a busted leg."
John shrugged and stepped back as the boys jumped out of the pickup. "Must be better than we thought," he suggested.
Bobby stepped back from the window a second before Dean and Sam stumbled into the motel room, both wearing large grins, Dean's a bit cheekier than usual. Without a word of welcome, John strode over to Sam and grabbed the pickup's keys clutched in his hand. Smirking at his son, John stepped back beside Bobby and waited for one of his sons to speak up first.
"Well, we're back," Sam said as Dean stalked past both John and Bobby to his bed. "Missed us?"
"How's your leg?" John asked, pointing to Sam's once crooked leg. "I saw you driving the pickup."
Sam's glance at Dean was so quick that John almost missed it. Almost.
"Its fine," Sam shrugged, avoiding his father's gaze and heading over to the table where his laptop sat. "I had to practically wrench the keys out of Dean's hands, but I got my first drive in a while."
John could tell, without a doubt in his mind that Sam had tried to make an emphasis on that one sentence.
"Right," Bobby cleared his throat and turned towards the eldest Winchester sibling. "So, Dean, how are you feeling?"
Dean positioned himself more comfortably on the bed and cocked an eyebrow at Bobby.
"I'm fine," he said slowly, carefully, suspicious of where this was going.
"Good, good," Bobby replied, taking a seat by Sam while John took one on his own bed. "What do you say we relive old times, buddy?"
Dean furrowed his brow. "Huh?"
"You wanna spar?" Bobby asked bluntly as though to make it easier for Dean.
Dean's eyes widened slightly. "No thanks," he said, glancing briefly at his father as though asking for permission.
John kept his gaze down; trying to ignore the way Dean's voices was slightly hitched and trembly. John knew Dean was hesitant to do anything that required physical strength, just yet, until he knew himself how far he can go.
"Why not?" Bobby asked, ignoring Sam's strange sounds of protest. "Tired, are you?"
John knew the second the words flew out of Bobby's mouth that Dean would fight back, that he would accept the offer. And, sadly, he was right.
"You know what?" Dean stood up, a defiant expression plastered to his face. "I think I'm going to take you up on your offer."
Sam's groan resonated around the small room and John's was soon to follow.
"Don't be an idiot, Dean," Sam snapped, pushing away his laptop in frustration. "You know you're not up to it." The look that Sam gave Dean was unmistakeable, a silent reminder of the incident that occurred just an hour prior.
"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean said, shooting Sam a steely glance.
"I think you should listen to Sam, Dean," John intervened. "I don't think you're up to it just yet."
Bobby cleared his throat and stood up. "I think you should let the boy do what he wants, Winchester," he said. "He is twenty-seven. I'm pretty sure he can make up his own mind."
"Where d'you wanna do this?" Dean asked.
"I've rented out an apartment a few blocks down," Bobby said, ignoring John's steely glare. "Your family won't be there."
"Like hell I won't," John snapped. "You think I'm going to leave my son alone with you? Might pull out a knife on him, you will."
"Dad, chill," Dean sighed. "It'll be cool."
John gave Bobby a dirty look. "Sure it will," he muttered darkly.
Dean stood opposite Bobby in his jeans and singlet top in Bobby's rented apartment. Furniture was pushed against walls to make enough room for a spar. Bobby had a small smirk on his face as he carefully watched Dean's slightly sluggish movements. Dean knew Bobby thought that he had one over Dean and he was probably right, being more energised, less tired and all, but Dean knew that it had to be more than physical strength and Bobby wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the box.
"You ready, Deano?" Bobby sneered, his face a mask of satisfaction.
"Hell yeah," Dean replied with a mirroring expression.
"Just so you know, Winchester," Bobby continued as though Dean hadn't spoken. "I'm not paying to clean up any blood or vomit that ends up on this floor."
"Well, seeing how it'll be yours, I don't see how you're gonna have any choice," Dean fired back.
"You're a cocky one, ain't ya?" Bobby snarled. "Let's see how cocky you'll be after I finish you."
Dean smirked and waited for Bobby to make the first move. This was how it used to be when Dean was younger and he had sparred with Bobby. He would always let Bobby have the first punch, because, even from just the beginning, Dean knew where Bobby would be heading with it. The man was so predictable. Bobby didn't disappoint the Winchester and took the first step towards Dean and then another until they were barely an arm length away. Bobby pulled back his arm and almost like lightening, pushed it through the air until it connected with Dean's jaw.
Dean thought he could have stopped the punch. He thought he might have had one over Bobby at that point, but he was mistaken. He felt the fist connect with his jaw and it was agony. He couldn't remember ever feeling that kind of pain all those times he had them bar fights, but he felt it now. Dean knew there wouldn't be any blood just yet, but he almost wished there were just for the sake of getting rid of the pain.
"Is…is that all you've got?" Dean wheezed, repositioning himself upright and stepping back from Bobby.
"Listen, Dean," Bobby's face was suddenly free of self satisfaction and sneers. "Maybe we should just stop it there. I mean, you don't look too good."
Dean caught his reflection in the window opposite him and admitted that Bobby had more than just a fair point. Dean's jaw was slowly showing a purple bruise that Dean wouldn't fancy sleeping on.
"Scared you might lose?" Dean jeered, swinging his head back to Bobby, choosing to ignore the soft voice in his head telling him to stop. He did feel drained after all.
Bobby snarled. "Let's do this, then," he spat, lunging again.
Dean saw it coming before it happened. He sidestepped Bobby and stuck a foot out. Bobby tripped and tumbled to the ground, panting heavily. Dean took the opportunity of Bobby's struck figure and swung him by the feet onto his back. Dean then proceeded to elbow Bobby in the stomach and then swing his arm back to pelt Bobby in the face. This was all too much for the startled man as he began to bleed from the nose. He kicked Dean in the chest and jumped up, holding himself around the middle, still panting rapidly.
Dean stumbled back to the opposite wall and leant against it, trying to ignore the nausea that swelled inside him when Bobby's foot collided with his own chest. It wasn't until then that Dean could tell what his own strength was and it wasn't much. Not anymore. It used to take a lot more than a punch to the face and a kick in the chest to bring down the indestructible Dean Winchester. But Dean slowly came to the realisation that maybe he wasn't the same man he had been before that crash.
"Is that enough for you, Bobby?" Dean snarled.
"I've still got miles on me, kiddo," Bobby retorted back. "It's up to you, buddy."
Dean smirked, knowing that although he couldn't go any further, he couldn't show weakness in front of Bobby.
"Let's go," Dean grinned, although he wasn't really into the gesture.
Bobby raised his eyebrows in obvious surprise. He smirked condescendingly and took a step towards Dean. By the second step, Bobby was lying flat on the floor, his breathing coming out in gasping rasps. Dean stumbled forward, slightly envious of the man.
"You alright there, Bobby?" Dean asked, not really concerned, but having to show some sort of manners to the man that he'd known for twenty years.
"Fine, fine," Bobby drew in a deep breath, which Dean found a miracle seeing how his face was plastered to the floor.
Bobby propped himself up on his elbows and grinned somewhat shakily at Dean.
"You're better than I gave you credit for," he commented, shaking his head slowly. "Shouldn't have given you the advantage."
Dean grinned, lending a hand to pull him up. "You didn't give me any advantage," Dean replied proudly, patting his chest. "It's all Dean Winchester."
Dean helped Bobby to a chair and wished silently to himself that he had taken that chair instead.
"I'll give you a lift home," Bobby offered, attempting to stand up. "It's dark, and I don't think your daddy would appreciate you walking home by yourself in your condition."
Dean pushed Bobby back into the chair more roughly than was necessary. "I'll take a cab," he said, swallowing furiously, to get rid of the bile filling his mouth. "I'll see you later."
Dean turned on his heel and hurried out of the room as fast as possible and out of the apartment. When he reached the elevator for the ride down, he leant against the wall, suddenly wishing he had taken the stairs instead. And then he could hold it no longer. Bending down, he emptied his stomach, just as the elevator door opened. He heard a moan and a gagging sound that was not his own and then a hurried shuffle of feet.
When Dean had finished he sat down, pressing any button to close the elevator door once more, not quite sure why but knowing at the moment, he just couldn't return to his father and brother.
"This shouldn't be happening," he muttered darkly, shoving his face in his hands.
I know, not the best chapter ever, but it was rushed. Thanks for the reviews again guys!