A/N: The Winchesters still don't belong to me. Crap.
Dean could almost see Sam roll his eyes.
"You've just had a splenectomy, for cyring out loud! Just take it easy, Dean." Three days since he'd woken up, and though he didn't want to admit it, he was nowhere close to being up to his full strength. He flashed Sam with one of his smiles.
"Come on, Sammy, it was just my spleen. Not like it does anything anyway." This time there was a definite eyeroll.
"That's your appendix, Dean! Your spleen helps with your immune system, so, yeah, it does something. Just relax!" Dean looked at him and tried to exude strength and confidence. He could tell by Sam's face that he was failing.
"Sam, come on," he whined, knowing that he sounded like a little kid and not caring. Damn, he was getting tired again.
"Dean," Sam said, his voice low, and Dean was getting really tired. "You can barely keep your eyes open. You are not, I repeat, not getting out of that bed." Dean nodded.
"I know," he mumbled, glaring at his huge brother. The lights were too damn bright all of a sudden, and his eyelids slipped shut of their own accord. He could hear Sam getting settled into the chair next to the bed and felt a pang of guilt that his brother was sleeping so uncomfortably for him. He felt another pang, this one of pain, as he tried to shift positions. Sleep was finally starting to overcome him for good when he heard, distantly, the door open and Sam move at his side. He couldn't really tell what was going on, but Sam was mad, keeping his voice to a rather loud whisper. Dean wanted to tell him to calm down, but he was so tired…The door closed again and Sam resumed his place at Dean's side.
"Happened?" Dean slurred, struggling to open his eyes. Sam was sitting there, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He didn't answer. "S'my?"
"That was the police," Sam answered quietly, and Dean could hear the weariness in his voice. He opened his eyes fully now, looked at his brother. He looked worn down, bags under his bloodshot eyes, and Dean felt terrible.
"They want?" He mumbled, and Sam looked at him.
"They're investigating your stabbing," he answered. Dean stared at him. "They don't really suspect you of anything, but if they dig around…" Dean nodded.
"Gotta go," he said simply, and Sam looked at him.
"Damnit Dean, I'm sorry," he muttered, letting a hand rest briefly on Dean's shoulder. Dean didn't try to shrug him off. "We'll have to get out of here, but hopefully I can hold them off for another day or two." Dean shook his head.
"Tomorrow," he said as firmly as he could. Sam nodded, running a hand through his hair.
"I'll see what I can do, okay?" Dean nodded, content, and slowly fell back asleep.
When did things get so messed up? Sam thought, watching his brother sleep in the bed next to him. He was expecting Bobby back anytime, not wanting to tell the older man what they were going to do-what they had to do. It was a huge risk, Sam knew that, had done the research. He knew how critical it was that Dean receive antibiotics against infection due to the removal of his spleen, but he didn't see any way to avoid signing out AMA. He had barely held off the police today, was actually really relieved that Dean had fallen asleep when he had.
"Hey Sam," Bobby said, entering the room and holding out a cup of steaming hot coffee. Sam took it gratefully. "How's he doing?"
"He stayed awake longer," Sam answered, sipping at the coffee. "But the police are starting to snoop around." Bobby nodded, looking at the floor in obvious thought.
"So you boys are planning on getting' out of here, then," Bobby said, not a question but a statement. He knows us so well. Sam nodded.
"I'm worried about it though," Sam admitted quietly. "Dean's still got a little ways to go, and the risk of infection is way higher since the splenectomy. Staying in a motel room…" He trailed off. He couldn't imagine dragging his weakened and vulnerable brother into a filthy, who-knew-what-had-happened-in-there motel room.
"You boys can come stay with me again," Bobby said quickly. Sam turned to look at him. He was quiet for a minute before nodding.
"Thanks, Bobby," he muttered, not trusting his voice not to crack. It had been such a long few days and he was bone-tired and Bobby felt like the closest thing to a father he had and Dean needed to recover…
"Relax, Sam," Bobby's voice said, low and soothing, and Sam nodded, letting the weariness that had threatened to overwhelm him do just that. He fell asleep to Bobby's soft reassurance that everything would be okay.
Dean was nodding off again, head resting briefly on his chest before jerking up as bleary eyes peered out the windshield.
"Dean, it's okay. You can sleep," Sam said, turning to look at him briefly before looking at the road again. Dean didn't reply, just slid down in the seat a bit more with a grimace, trying to find a comfortable place to put his head. He was lightly snoring within what seemed like seconds. Sam sighed and kept driving. He wasn't used to the complete silence that now engulfed him, and he didn't like it. Listening to music was out of the question; unfortunately, so was doing something to Dean. Like sticking a spoon in his mouth.
Sam's mind was wandering over what the hell he was going to do about Dean when tbe object of his ponderings stirred in the seat next to him.
"Hey Dean, you awake?" Sam asked, risking a glance at his older brother. Dean mumbled something incomprehensible and Sam smiled.
"Good. We're just about to Bobby's," he announced, and Dean nodded, hoisted himself up straighter in the sear, winced.
"How long you think we'll be down?" He asked quietly, rubbing at one of his eyes. He looked like a four-year old. Sam suppressed a laugh.
"I dunno, Dean, kind of depends on you," Sam answered. "Hopefully a week or two and you'll be at least functional again." Dean swore under his breath.
"That's a long time, Sam," he muttered.
"Not really, Dean, considering what you just went through. Come on, it'll be okay." Dean didn't look convinced, just stared out the window. Sam sighed. It was going to be a long few weeks.
A few minutes later, they pulled up to Bobby's house, the familiar heap of junk looking more inviting than ever. Sam hopped out quickly and jogged around to Dean's side, opening the door. Dean glared at him until Sam stepped back, hands up in surrender, going to the back and hefting both duffles. When he walked back, Dean was still trying to get out of the car, sweat on his forehead and looking a bit pasty. Sam kept walking, though he wanted more than anything to help Dean. Still, he knew better than to push his stubborn-ass brother when he didn't want to be pushed. He could sense Bobby watching him as he came through the door, and they shook their heads as they shared an exasperated look. It took another couple of minutes for Dean to stumble in through the door, refusing to make eye contact with either of the other hunters. He made it to the couch and collapsed onto it, breaths shuddery with exertion.
"That brother of yours is gonna kill himself one of these times," Bobby muttered, and Sam nodded, running a hand through his hair.
"I know, Bobby. I worry about him," Sam replied quietly.
"I can hear you," Dean moaned from the couch, and Sam laughed.
"Maybe you should listen!" He yelled, and Dean gave him the finger before covering his head with a pillow. Sam turned back to Bobby. "It's gonna be a hell of a few weeks," he muttered, and Bobby laughed.
"Yeah, I'm plannin' on getting' out of here for awhile," he said. "You know where you can sleep. Make yourself at home." He waved a hand around the small house, and Sam smiled, feeling at peace for the first time in a long time. He didn't realize how shortlived that peace would be.
"Sam! There is absolutely nothing on daytime TV!" Dean yelled, throwing the remote at the ancient television in disgust. Sam looked up from his laptop, one eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, I know Dean. You said the same thing yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that," he answered, and Dean glared at him.
"Sam, I really feel a hell of a lot better now," he said, his voice nearly a whine. "So don't you think it would be a good idea to go, you know, hunt some bad guys or something? Please?"
"Dean, you really should stay down for a few more days, okay? Just relax, I'm doing some research now. I think we might have a case, and when I'm absolutely certain you're 100%, we'll go. Got it?" Sam said it firmly, knowing that Dean was going to hate it but absolutely not changing his mind. "Besides, you've still got a few more rounds of antibiotics to go." Sam had managed to get ahold of some of the medications prescribed for Dean, but he knew that it wasn't as much as he should've had, and there was no way in hell he was going to let his brother on a hunt without finishing the meager medications he did have.
"Bitch," Dean mumbled, glaring at Sam again.
"Jerk," Sam replied automatically. "Shut up and get some rest."
A few days later, Dean would not take no for an answer. He was up and walking around, albeit a bit slower than usual, practically wearing holes in the floor as he paced. He looked up as Sam walked into the room, toweling his wet hair, almost following him like an eager puppy.
"Today, right? We're going today," Dean said, looking at Sam expectantly. Sam shrugged, and Dean frowned at him. "No. Sam, we are leaving today. Your days of tyranny are over."
"Days of tyranny? Dean, I was making sure you were okay," Sam protested, and Dean shook his head.
"You wouldn't let me do anything!" Dean cried, and Sam gave him an exasperated look.
"Dean, all you wanted to do was play pool, pick up babes, and drink."
"And?" Dean answered, arms spread in confusion. Sam rolled his eyes.
"Not exactly good things for someone who just had emergency surgery, Dean!" He yelled, and Dean shrugged.
"I don't see a problem with them. Anyway, you found a hunt, right? Tell me you found a hunt." Sam gave his brother a long look. He still wasn't entirely convinced that Dean was completely better yet, but he figured that it was close enough, and if Dean had to stay home too much longer…Well, then Sam would probably be the one to kill him.
"Yeah, I got a hunt," Sam answered. "It's in Montana. A lot of campers have been disappearing up around Flathead National Forest, I think it might be a Wendigo or a Hidebehind? They've found some pretty…messed up bodies. Nine in the past month and a half." Dean grinned.
"Sounds like our kind of monster."
A/N: So sorry it wasn't too eventful, hopefully more action soon!