Cabin Fever Part Five
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Bobby stood guard over Dean, watching him sleep, rousing him for pain medication when it became clear he was hurting, giving him water and trying to force feed him, having Sam talk him down from nightmares. And in a few instances that would never be spoken of again, helping him go to the bathroom.
It seemed to go on like that forever, but in reality it was just three days. Slowly the life and color came back into Dean's cheeks and his body relaxed not into that of the pained injured, but of someone in a deep peaceful healing sleep. Finally Bobby was able to relax and take a breath, take stock of the situation and figure out what he was going to do next.
Sam appeared to be doing okay. Bobby knew damn well Sam still had Lucifer in his sights. Could tell by the way the kid kept jamming his thumb in his hand like he was drilling for gold. He seemed to be managing it though and not letting it get the best of him, which was the most they could hope for at this point.
As for Bobby, well, he was just surviving like the rest of them. He tried not to think about the fact that his home and everything he'd ever owned was a burning pile of smoldering ash. It was just stuff, he kept telling himself. He was alive. The boys were still alive. He didn't have the luxury of getting sentimental over a couple of keepsakes and photographs. He just thanked God he'd had enough foresight to make copies of his library so he and the rest of the hunting community hadn't lost all of their resources. Just as soon as he was convinced Dean was in the clear to be left alone and Sam was also stable enough to his liking, he'd go out on a search and retrieval mission.
His thoughts of the next step were interrupted by the sound of Dean rousing from sleep.
"Mmmmmm," Dean murmured from the couch, his green eyes flitting around the room momentarily before landing on Bobby, a look of pain and confusion shining out of them.
Bobby reached for one of the vials of painkillers. "You ready for your next dose, son?"
Dean groaned, trying unsuccessfully to sit up.
Bobby hurried over to the couch and lent him a hand, placing his palm securely against Dean's back for support. "Damn kid, you look like battered road kill."
"Feel like it too," said Dean, his voice hollow and rusty.
Bobby grabbed a syringe and filled it with the liquid painkiller. "Last one of these, boy. Better live it up."
Dean saw the shot and shook his head. "Naw. No more of that strong crap. I've been out of my head enough."
Bobby shrugged and set down the needle. "If you say so."
Dean scanned the room. "Where's Sam?"
"Outside chopping firewood," Bobby responded as he picked up the bottle of pain pills and shook out two, handing them to Dean. He was about to get the kid some water, but Dean threw the pills in his mouth, dry swallowing them with a grimace.
"You sure it's such a good idea to let Sam near an ax?" Dean asked. "He still cuckoo for cocoa puffs?"
Bobby shrugged. "Well, who ain't a little out of their gourd these days? Especially us. All we've seen. We've got a right. Sam's got a right. He's doing the best he can. And that's all you can do too, son. The best you can. I know you've got a lot on your plate and most of it is foul and tastes funny."
"You're telling me, man," said Dean. He sank into the couch with a sigh, glancing around the house curiously. "Nice digs. This your summer home?"
"How long we been here?"
"Bout a week."
Dean pawed at his cast. "How long do I have to keep this stupid thing on?"
"Three weeks . Minimum."
"That's such crap."
"Fine. Hack it off. See what happens."
Dean grumbled, pouting, looking all of ten years old. "Sucks."
"Could've been worse."
Dean looked down at the ground, his face grim. "Yeah it could've. We could've lost you." Dean's eyes flicked up to his, wide with gratitude, shiny with unshed tears. "I don't know what I would've done…what Sam would've done..."
Bobby put his hand up in the air, cutting Dean off. "That's enough of that. We're all alive. Let's not go weeping in the damn ice cream over it."
Dean's eyes perked up at the mention of ice cream. "Do you have any ice cream? Or pie maybe?"
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Do I have a sign around my neck that says Bobby Singer's Eats and Treats?"
"No, but it's got a nice ring to it," said Dean, grinning.
Bobby shook his head and grabbed the remote for the television set, tossing it at Dean. "Why don't you make yourself useful and shut the hell up. If you're a good boy, maybe I'll go on a food run later. That and buy copious amounts of alcohol."
"Now you're talking," said Dean with a wink. He flicked on the television and absently began to flip before finally landing on a Spanish soap opera. The young hunter appeared to watch the program for a moment and then turned to regard Bobby seriously. "Hey Bobby… thanks for saving my life. Sam's too."
Even an old salt like Bobby couldn't refrain from smiling. "Don't mention it, ya idgit. Now why don't you watch your soap there."
Dean chuckled. "Fair enough."
Bobby watched as Dean settled back into the couch, his gaze content, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to figure out the words and the storyline.
It warmed his damn heart.
He glanced out the window and saw Sam was still chopping wood, no sign of Lucifer or his merry men haunting him, just a sure, capable hunter doing the best he could. It was enough to make Bobby jump up and down for joy.
He was so damn lucky to have them.
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