He's Not Waterproof Anymore (1/1)
Summary: A broken Dean, a numb Sam, a hospital bench and a rain shower (gen)
PG-13 – language warning. Sever potty mouth warning!
Spoilers: Tag on scene to 2.01 IMToD, slightly AU to how Dean reacted in the second series so far, e.g. tears and brotherly hugs
A/N: Comparative piece to the end of chapter 12 of FtA (Dean's mental state and the use of the Sparks 'Waterproof' song) but you don't necessarily have to read it to follow this…. Yeah, really it's just an excuse for an absolutely drenched Dean and man-love. Wrote this after it aired in America, but before I watched it, so inaccuracies may be present. Extreme Brotherly fluff! Lyrics to Sparks 'Waterproof' found in ch.12 of Fly to the Angels.
Disclaimer: Don't own the show or the boys. Not for profit.
He's Not Waterproof Anymore (1/1)
It had been exactly one hour and fifty-eight minutes since it had been called.
'Time of death 10.41 am'
It still didn't feel real, Sam thought, as he watched the clock on the wall tick away slowly, getting one second and with it one tick closer to the caustically harmless forty-one minutes past the hour.
At 10.41 his heart had thumped wildly in his chest, palms sweaty, temples throbbing as pulses all over his body reacted uncontrollably to the fear, horror and adrenalin that had spread throughout him.
At 11.41 he'd flinched and shuddered, bile rising in his throat, as he attempted to sign forms that had been uncompassionatly pushed into his line of view, pen shaking in trembling hands. A few tears were able to find their way out and slid down his cheeks like a crystallised trail on a porcelain face.
Dean had been ushered away not to long after it had happened, throwing one complete startled and shocked look in Sam's direction, letting a nurse reattach him back to monitors that beeped to loudly in the silence of the room but reminded him that his brother was alive.
And now as the clock struck 12.41 he felt numb as he paced the hallway, backwards and forwards, hand running through his dirty and dishevelled hair.
And at 12.42 he pushed the door open to Dean's hospital room only to find the machine yet again unattached and no sign of his brother. He strode across the room in three quick strides, pushing open the door to the accompanying bathroom, hoping to find him there.
No such luck.
"Shit!" he exclaimed, worry creeping up deep inside of him, "Where the hell are you?"
He jumped slightly as the door opened and a petite trainee nurse walked in, her brunette hair piled messily up.
"O.h.!" she said quietly, stopping at the sight of the unoccupied bed.
"Have you seen my brother?" he asked urgently, but by her reaction, he already knew the answer.
"O.h. God" she exclaimed, her eyes widening, "My supervisor is going to have me for this. He's supposed to be having half hour obs".
Sam didn't care what this girl was and wasn't supposed to have done. All he knew was Dean was missing and their father was dead. Anger bubbled up inside of him and he wanted to scream 'Our Dad's dead, you bitch!' but he didn't because, really, he thought, it should have been him who had sat with Dean.
Ignoring her, he pushed past and headed back into the hallway, looking left and right, up and down, past the nurses station, for any sign of his brother.
Where are you Dean?
He found him, about fifteen minutes later, sitting on a bench outside the main entrance.
The ground was glittery and shiny, reflecting the glass of the hospital windows, and the sky dull and overcast. He wondered when it had started to rain – the last time he had been outside it had been bright and dazzling amidst the chaos of Bobby's salvage yard. Now the heavens were pouring.
At least the sun wasn't out. That would have been bitter and unjust.
But that didn't change the fact that Dean was sitting in it, slumped on the bench, head bowed down, elbows resting on his knees. The rain was becoming torrential, pelting down into his clothes, the light blue pyjama bottoms turning a darker shade and the white t-shirt becoming a light grey, almost transparent, tightening and clinging to his already abused body. The bandage on his chest appeared, startling, through the shirt, as it soaked into him.
Behind him, under the safety of an overhanging canopy, people shielded themselves from the onslaught. But Dean continued to sit there in the rain, seemingly oblivious.
"What are you doing Dean?" Sam asked with a voice that sounded tight and strangled. It was hard trying to keep it together when your dad was lying in the morgue.
"You're supposed to be in bed" he continued when Dean did not show any recognition of his arrival.
"Leave me alone Sam" Dean replied, voice empty and quiet.
"It's raining" Sam noted, "You're getting wet".
"I noticed" Dean said, head still bowed, arms shimmering with rain. His mousy hair looked darker as it lay flat against his head.
"You shouldn't be out in it" Sam tried again, weakly, pulling his own zip-up hoodie tighter around him, "It's not good for you".
Dean laughed dryly, head shaking with his shoulders, "How can this get any worse Sam?".
"Dean-" Sam began.
"Just don't" Dean barked, "It's… I just can't, o.k.?"
Sighing loudly he sat himself down next to Dean, feeling the sodden wood seep into his pants, arms not touching, an invisible barrier between them.
"He's gone" Dean mumbled quietly.
"I know" Sam replied, rubbing his finger at the edge of the bench, "I was there".
He spoke the words too harshly, instantly regretting his tone, as Dean winced and flinched.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Dean ground out, anger and despair lacing his words, "He can't be. He can't just do that. He can't say those things and then just … die. He can't just do that. He can't just do that and… leave. Go there to her" the words were pronounced sharp and painful, "He can't' just finish it. He doesn't get to do that!"
Sam bit down on his own overwhelming grief, so overwhelming he wanted to crawl into a tight ball and cry it all away, and slid closer to Dean.
"It's going-" Sam started to say, realising that he had nothing that would reassure or comfort, words dying on his lips.
"Don't you dare tell me it's going to be o.k." Dean hissed out, straightening and body tensing, watery eyes flashing angrily, "He's Dead Sammy. How's it going to get any better than that"?
"It's not o.k." Sam agreed, his own voice strained and shaky.
Dean turned away from him and looked across the parking lot.
"Dad's gone Dean"
Sam repeated the words that Dean had, only moments before, said blankly to him. And maybe it was because he said the words back, reminding him it was true, anchoring him back into the harsh reality, that caused the strangled whimper that parted through Dean's quivering lips.
One hand rubbed ferociously at his eyes as tears attempted to mingle with the already dripping rain-drops. The whimper turned into a swallowed sob as shoulders shook with tension.
"You've still got me Dean" Sam said quietly, moving his hand to Dean's own, which was tightly gripping the edge of the bench.
The sob finally choked out of Dean and he turned, devastated crumpled in defeat. And Sam, near-drowned and numb in his own grief, fractured and split a bit further.
Dean, older brother, hero and hunter, was broken and lost. His whole future and hope for the family he wanted had just been shattered and scattered to the four winds in the worst way possible. He had lost the one man, who Sam knew apart from himself, Dean loved more than life itself.
Unable to watch anymore, he released his hand, reaching up and pulling Dean's shaking form into his arms.
Dean tensed slightly, body stiffening and then relented, arms instinctly enveloping Sam back, fingers tightly digging into Sam's top, searching for a firm and desperate hold.
"You've got me" Sam repeated, speaking into Dean's hair, chin and mouth resting there as lips ghosted his head.
Dean shuddered in his arms and Sam wasn't entirely sure if it was due to the wet coldness or his grief.
Sam was aware of the sheltering people, some with umbrellas, some with cell-phones, some with friends, some with relatives, all throwing curious glances in their direction. He was aware of the nurse, a cigarette hanging lazily from her fingers who didn't seem too bothered at the sight of a drenched patient having a breakdown in the arms of another.
"He's gone Dean" Sam repeated, his own voice wavering, a few tears falling. He pulled Dean tighter into him, seeking his own comfort, and was relieved when he felt the familiar reassuring squeeze and a fluttered stroke to his back, "You've got me, I've got you. I've got your back and you've got mine, right?"
He felt Dean nod against his chest and shoulder as a muffled reply of confirmation fluttered to his ears.
There was a sudden click and whoosh above them as an umbrella unexpectedly opened above their heads. They pulled apart quickly, freeing their arms from each other, and looked up. A nurse from the floor that Dean was on, stood there, a sympathetic smile on her face.
"I'm sorry" she said, "But I couldn't wait any longer" she paused and looked at Dean, raising an eyebrow in disapproval, "I've been looking for you… you really need to b inside, you know".
"Sure" Dean replied, gingerly pushing himself, aware of Sam hovering at his side. He started to walk past and then stopped directly in front of him, sideways on, as he stared ahead, "I've always got your back Sammy".
Dean's voice sounded stronger, with no trace of the emotions that had just plagued him and seeped out like a punctured bottle, "When I said nothing was going to happen to you while I was around, I meant it".
He continued to walk around the bench towards the main doors of the hospital even before Sam could react.
"Wait a minute" the nurse called out, hurrying after Dean with the umbrella and an empty hospital wheel-chair, "Hospital policies, it's got to be the chair".
Sam came to a stop next to the nurse and the chair as Dean turned, a ghost of a smile, superficial to the knowing, masking an assortment of emotions and secrets.
"Fuck the chair" Dean said, before turning back as he slowly made his way into the hospital.
Sam smiled apologetically at the nurse before trailing after his brother.