Chapter Text
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Dean was in pain.
Even though he couldn’t figure out how to move anything in his current state of semi-reality, he could tell that he was in pain. And a lot of it. An intense throbbing nudged at his closed eyelids and demanded his attention, causing him to blink. Just a little. Luckily for his vision, the room’s lights had been dimmed to a spectrum he could handle, but it was still bright enough that he could see the humming medical equipment all around him.
Ah, fuck. He’d fucked up.
Dean looked down to gauge the damage, taking in the tight wrapping around his chest. Broken ribs, probably. The headache he was feeling meant that he probably had some sort of bandage there, but when he reached up to touch it, pain shot through his right arm, causing him to gasp and hunch over.
That was when he noticed his arm.
Dread sank into his gut as he studied the white cast and the pain that came along with it. That stupid white cast probably marked the end of his career, effectively crushing any sort of optimism he had about this situation.
Leave it to the great Dean Winchester to ruin his entire career and life plan with a single, stupid decision.
He groaned and tried to sit himself up, craning his neck for a sign of a doctor or nurse or something. Anyone who could explain to him what had happened after he’d… well. He’d probably fallen asleep at the wheel.
Snippets of memory came flashing back as he rubbed at his eyes.
Falling.
Rolling.
Pain.
Touching.
Yelling.
Blue.
“Oh, good! You’re awake.”
Dean looked up as a blonde nurse in light pink scrubs hurried into his room, looking relieved that her patient was finally awake. He swallowed dryly as she walked around his bed to reach the IV drip that was connected to his neck.
“What--” his voice croaked from disuse. “--what happened?”
The nurse smiled at him sympathetically as she looked over the drip. “You got yourself into a pretty terrible car accident. I’m not going to give you my usual lecture about drinking and driving because there wasn’t any alcohol in your blood, so we’re all kind of confused as to what actually happened.” She eyed him curiously. “Though I have a guess.”
Dean leaned his head back against his pillow and closed his eyes. “I think I fell asleep,” he murmured. “But I… I can’t remember.”
The nurse nodded. “You’re more than likely going to be a little fuzzy on what happened. You’ve got yourself a bit of a concussion.”
That would explain his headache.
“Do you know what your name is?” She asked, looking over the clipboard she’d brought in with her.
“Dean Winchester.” he answered softly.
“Do you know what state you live in?”
“Denial.”
The nurse--Jess, from what Dean read off her name badge--huffed out a laugh. “Sense of humor, check.”
The nurse continued listing off simple questions until she seemed satisfied. The only question he’d had trouble with was what he’d been doing the night he’d driven off the road. It had taken him a few moments before he remembered.
“Driving to LA. I was gonna sign a contract.”
The nurse smiled and cocked her head to the side. “Oh yeah? What do you do?”
“I play guitar.”
Dean turned his face away the moment he saw her eyes linger on the arm that was wrapped tightly in a bulky white cast.
He licked his lips, refusing to look. “How bad is it?” he asked softly.
She cleared her throat and looked over her clipboard. “It, uh… looks like it’s broken in two places, and fractured in three more.” She glanced over at him before apparently deciding that now was as good a time as any to continue with the rest of the diagnosis. “You’ve also got two cracked ribs, a total of forty-seven stitches in various places, a concussion that frankly could have been much worse and some massive internal bleeding.”
Dean let out a breath of air and shook his head slowly. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to just die?” he muttered to no one in particular.
“You almost did.”
Dean frowned. “What?”
Jess tucked her pen behind her ear as she dropped her clipboard down to her side. “Die. You very nearly did. You had V-fib pulse for eleven minutes, give or take. There was apparently a very persistent EMT that had to keep your heart beating, from what I hear.”
A memory of blue eyes flashed in his mind briefly before fading.
“Alright, Dean. I’m going to go ahead and give you a shot of--”
His eyes snapped open and he quickly tucked his one working arm tight against his side protectively. “W-wait!” he felt the familiar panic claw at his chest when he realized that the nurse would have to touch him.
Jess studied him curiously. She’d already pulled out the needle and medication and had paused halfway through filling it.
“Not a fan of needles?” she asked.
That wasn’t it. Dean had absolutely no problem with needles.
“No, it’s just…” he swallowed dryly, “could you wear gloves?
She blinked before nodding with a small smile. “Of course.” The needle was gently set back on the tray. “I’ll be right back, okay Dean?”
Dean let out a breath of air as she left the room and immediately gritted his teeth in frustration at himself.
Weak.
Pathetic.
If his dad could see him now.
Even with those words echoing in his mind and pounding down his ego, he still couldn’t make himself do it. Wearing his leather gloves in public was already a dead giveaway, but even without them and with the scene he’d just made, that nurse probably had already guessed. He was going to be known in this hospital as that weird guy that couldn’t stand to be touched.
Again.
Jess returned a few minutes later with her hands now covered in a thin layer of latex. She smiled and twirled her hands in the air a few times to show off the gloves. “Better?” She asked.
Dean just turned his head away and stuck out his arm. There was a moment of cold as he felt her wipe down a small area his shoulder. He winced at the press of fingers against his skin, but there was no voice in his head. No white noise. No connection. The gloves prevented that.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“No problem,” Jess smiled, and rolled the rubber gloves off her hands before picking up the clipboard that she’d set on his bedside table. “Alright, you’re probably still feeling the effects of the morphine, but as soon as you feel it start to wear off, let me know. We’ve already contacted your emergency contact--”
“Fuck, you told Sam?”
She raised an eyebrow and flipped up the first page. “Sam Winchester? Yes. We’ve told him that his brother was almost killed in a car accident after he drove off a cliff. It says here that he’s on his way from Kansas.”
Dean groaned. The last thing he needed was for Sam to come see him broken and bleeding after he’d just figured out how to get his shit together. The plan was for him to come to Cali under very different circumstances.
“I’ll come back to check on you in about an hour. You’re stable now, so try and sleep.”
Dean had already shut his eyes in an attempt to block everything out.
But he could still hear screaming.
* * *
The next time Dean woke up, Sam was sitting in the chair next to him.
Before he even opened his eyes, he could smell that forever-lingering scent of animal that his brother always carried with him; whether it was dog, cat, or boa constrictor, he didn’t know. But working at that animal clinic sure did have a downside.
“You’re supposed to be in Kansas.” he managed to croak out, peeking one eye open to glare at his brother.
Sam whipped his head back from where he had been gazing out of the one window Dean’s room had.
“Dean!”
He stood up and smiled down at him, a lot more relief on his face than Dean cared to think about. His brother had dark circles under his eyes, which meant that he had more than likely been up longer than he should have been - and all because of him.
“Heya, Sammy. Is this what I have to do to get you out here now?” he said, trying to keep the conversation light-hearted for as long as possible.
Sam scoffed and shook his head. “You know, I’d really appreciate it if you called me next time you wanted to see me, instead of a hospital staff. I’ll make the trip either way.”
Dean made a small grunting noise as he shifted in his bed. “Yeah, but this way was so much fun.” he murmured, his words practically dripping in sarcasm. He glared as Sam reached forward to help him, effectively stopping the hand in its tracks before it touched him.
“Sorry,” Sam murmured, slowly drawing his hand back. “I--”
“Whatever,” Dean interrupted, not wanting this to get blown up into some big thing again. "How's Bones?"
Sam hesitantly sat back down, rolling with the abrupt change in subject.
"Old. He's getting really old. He keeps bumping into walls and is kind of hobbling everywhere." He shrugged his shoulders. "Poor guy."
Dean cracked a small smile. "I'm amazed that dog keeps sticking with you."
“Yeah well, he’s a lot like you. Just feed him and he’ll stay.” Sam chuckled. “So, uh,” he tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, “What happened?”
“I fucked up.” Dean answered bluntly. That was a nice summary of most of his life, in all actuality. Fucking up and having to start over again. His gaze dropped to the newly-shattered arm.
Sam’s face fell. “You weren’t… drunk, were you? Because--”
“God Sam, NO.” Dean rubbed at his eyes with his one good arm, a little hurt that Sam would think he was that stupid. Dean didn’t blame him, though. There was a time when… yeah. It might have happened.
“I was just tired. Pushed myself too far and just wasn’t paying attention.”
His brother nodded slowly. “Well I’m just glad you’re okay, Dean. You look like shit.”
“And I feel so much worse.” He started coughing loudly, wincing when the movement caused his ribs to protest in pain.
Sam stood quickly. “I’ll go get Jess.”
Jess? Who was-- the nurse?
“I don’t need a nurse, Sam. ‘M fine.”
“I think I’ll get her just in case.”
Dean squinted his eyes suspiciously at his brother when a light blush tinted his features.
“Unbelievable,” he breathed.
“What?” Sam asked, with more defensiveness to his tone than was necessary.
“Here I am, on my deathbed--”
“Dean, you’re not dy--”
“--on my deathbed, and my little brother is trying to get lucky with my nurse.”
The pink hue to Sam’s face grew progressively darker.
“I’m not…” he sputtered, “I’m just saying hello and stuff. She’s nice.”
Dean rolled his eyes and waved his good hand. “Whatever. Go use your dying brother for your own personal gain.”
“You’re not--” Sam scowled when Dean tossed a grin at him, and left the room with in a huff.
At least something good might come out of this shitty situation. But definitely not for Dean.
No, his life was pretty much over now. All of the good things that had recently fallen into place had just been decimated in a few, tired seconds.
He was out of a job.
Out of a passion.
Out of the reason he stayed sane.
Too bad he hadn’t just--
“Everyone deserves to be saved.”
Dean jolted, looking around to see who’s touched him, but there wasn’t even anyone in the room. He could have sworn…
Maybe his concussion was worse than he thought.
“You okay?”
Dean looked over just as Sam walked into the room, closely followed by Jess. He took the moment to deflect to a scoff.
“I rolled down a cliff, Sam. A cliff.”
“I was told that it was barely a cliff.”
Jess was smirking as she pulled on another rubber glove. Wonderful. Another shot.
“Yes, you did,” she said to Dean. “And I’m going to give you some more pain medication because of that wonderful incident.”
Dean didn’t flinch this time when he felt the press of gloved fingers. A few moments after she pulled away, he felt himself growing drowsy again.
“Hey, Jess?” he murmured, his eyelids growing heavy.
“Yeah?”
“Who was it?”
He watched her tilt her head in confusion. “Who was what, hun?”
Dean swallowed as he struggled not to give into the call of sleep. “The EMT. The one that… you know… ”
Jess frowned sadly and shrugged her shoulders just before he shut his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Dean. I don’t know.”