Authors Note: Well I've decided to try my hand at Fanfiction again and see how it goes! Hopefully I've improved :) This story just popped into my head already completely written, and I just wrote it all out. I'm fairly pleased with it, but I've just posted one chapter for now to see what everyone thinks, and if I should continue. Basically, Dean's injured on a hunt and while in the hospital, bad memories from other hospital visits come back to haunt him... everyone knows I can't resist a hurt, angsty Dean! xD
Disclaimer: Obviously not mine, or I wouldn't be guessing what Dean and Sam are thinking, I'd know! :)
"CA Team to South Wing..."
Sam Winchester sighed, leaning forward in his chair to rest his head in his hands. He barely heard the voices over the intercom, and the cool hospital air felt almost stuffy, it was kind of hard to breathe.
That's just cause you're panicking, moron. Take deep breaths, Sam reminded himself. It wouldn't do anybody any good to panic.
Sam's head flew up.
The doctor – Dr. Lewis, as he'd introduced himself earlier – stood just outside the entrance to the closest room.
"Yeah." Sam leaped up, nerves making his stomach turn over. "What's going on, doctor? How is he?"
Dr. Lewis let the door close gently behind him, and headed over to Sam. "Let's sit down."
Sam sat down opposite the doctor, clenching his hands together and biting his lip.
Dr. Lewis smiled at him. "Don't look so worried. It's not as bad as we thought originally. Your brother's going to be okay. Although he is hurt pretty bad – he has two broken ribs, a broken wrist, and a cracked collar bone."
Sam wasn't sure whether this was good or not. He didn't remember ever having a cracked collarbone before, and he didn't think Dean had ever had one either.
"So… what does that mean?" he looked anxiously at the doctor. He felt better now that the doctor said Dean would be okay, but a cracked collarbone didn't sound good.
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Dr. Lewis replied, reading Sam's feelings correctly. "He'll have to keep it in a sling for a while, but it should heal just fine."
Sam let out a sigh of relief, not bothering to disguise it at all. "Great. Thanks so much, Doc. Can I see him?"
Sam quietly opened the door to Dean's room and edged quietly in, in case his brother was sleeping.
"Sammy?" Dean's voice sounded strained.
"Hey Dean." Sam approached the bed as Dean turned his head stiffly to look at Sam. "How you doin', man?" He sat down beside his brother's bed.
Dean shrugged, then winced. "Okay."
Sam knew this meant he was in a lot of pain. Why couldn't he just say so? He decided to avoid an argument for now. "Did a number on yourself this time, huh dude?" Sam said, giving Dean a wry smile.
"You know me," Dean said, with a cocky little grin, "I never can do things only halfway… I like to get the job done."
Sam nodded, smiling in spite of himself. "How's the pain?"
"Not too bad, think I'm on painkillers," Dean replied, slurring a little.
Sam smirked. "Ya think?"
"Shut up," Dean murmured, his eyes drifting shut, then popping back open again.
"Get some sleep, bro," Sam said, starting to stand up.
"Where're you going?" Dean's voice was suddenly young and vulnerable, his green eyes bigger than usual and openly desperate in his drugged and injured state.
Sam had only been going to get a coffee, but decided to wait until Dean was asleep. "Nowhere, dude. Chill. Not leaving." He sat back down.
Dean looked relieved. "Don't leave, 'kay?"
Sam mentally dismissed the coffee. "'Course not, Dean. Now go to sleep." He settled himself further into the chair.
"You can get a coffee if you want."
Sam grinned. "Okay Dean. Thanks."
Later that night, Sam woke up to the sound of a quiet hospital. Gentle whirring, quiet beeping, and slight humming. Dean was still sound asleep. Sam stood and stretched, then walked over to the window, watching the snow drift lazily down outside.
They were on the fourth floor of the hospital, but Sam could still see the Impala, parked far below, black paint gleaming in the bright parking lot lights, covered in a thin dusting of sparkling snow. He sighed. Thank God Dean was alright.
The poltergeist they'd taken out had been particularly difficult, and hadn't given in before throwing Dean down a large spiral staircase. Not fun. Sam ambled across the room, looking at the blank walls and empty windowsills. He felt a little pang that whenever he and Dean were in the hospital, there was never anyone to bring flowers or get-well cards or even to send their best wishes. Other patients' windowsills were overflowing with bright flowers and cheerful cards… the Winchester boys' rooms always remained empty and dull.
Oh well. Just another thing the Winchester boys had never had.
He returned to his seat and leaned back, awaiting morning.
The next morning, Sam awoke to Dean's big, bright eyes.
"Sammy! Gonna sleep all day? I'm bored out of my skull, dude."
Sam smiled a little. It was good to hear Dean sound so cheerful.
"Sorry man, did you want something?"
Dean grinned at him, one of his "aren't-I-cute-don't-you-want-to-get-me-anything-I-ask-for" grins. "I was thinkin' a beer, Sammy."
Sam laughed, hoping his brother wasn't serious. "You can't have any alcohol, you know that, Dean."
"Awww, c'mon, man." Dean eyed him for a minute, checking to see if there was any chance Sam might give in. There wasn't. Sam had his best "I'm-going-to-do-what's-best-for-you" look on.
"Fine… Sam, when can I get outta here?"
Sam raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Dean, you have a cracked collar –"
"I know, I know. Cracked collarbone, broken ribs, broken wrist. Got that already from the doc. But come on, dude! You can take care of me, right? We'll just grab some painkillers…"
Sam was so disarmed by Dean saying "you can take care of me" that he could only stare for a minute. Since when was he allowed to "take care of" Dean? Since never. Sam was pretty sure Dean would rather his eyeballs gouged out with spoons than willingly allow Sam to take care of him.
Finally Sam recovered. "Um, are you kidding, Dean? There is so no way we're leaving. You need a doctor."
"Aw, c'mon Sammy! You're better than these guys…"
"Dean, stop, okay? You know we can't leave. Look, I'm gonna grab that coffee now, okay? You want anything?"
Sighing lightly, Dean shook his head. As soon as Sam left the room, Dean let his nerves take over. He started trembling uncontrollably, and quickly let his head rest in his hands. All he wanted was to get out of here. He hated hospitals, so much. And with good reason. So many awful things had happened in hospitals… Dad's death, the reaper, the heart attack… it was no wonder they gave him nightmares. What some people might find a comforting, safe environment, Dean thought of as a prison.
A constant reminder that death was always lurking right around the corner, ready to claim you whether you were ready or not. The stuffy hospital air made him have a hard time breathing. The whir and beep of machines frightened him – all he could think about when he heard them was the flatlining of his Dad's heart monitor.
"Time of death, 10:41 am."
"Honey, are you alright?"
A nurse was watching him, looking concerned. "You're shaking, are you cold?"
"Um… yeah," Dean replied, realizing it was true.
"Okay, I'll bring you a warmed blanket." She started to leave, then looked back. "Anything else I can get you?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah… if you see my brother – freakishly tall guy, probably carrying a coffee – tell him to hurry up, please?"
"Sure, hon." She left.
Dean ran a hand through his hair wearily. I just want to get out of here.
Well... what do you think? Let me know if you think I should continue. :)