Secrets, Scars and Shotguns.
Sick.
Within a week Dean was hooked up to a drip. He had blacked out several times; at one point the eldest Winchester couldn't keep solids down, then liquids. Dean had become so dehydrated that the drip was necessary.
The hospital had become Sam's home since the day Dean went in. He had been searching through his father's journal, through the internet, trying to see if there was an explanation for what was going on. To see if John had recorded any other incidents of suicide attempts from his son. He wanted answers to see if there was any possible way to help his brother. He would be damned if he was going to let this slide.
The pills that Dean had been prescribed where being force-fed to him, only to be brought back up. His body wouldn't accept them, and it was looking hopeless for any recovery.
Of course Dean didn't want to be there, he was trying everything to get out of the hospital, or just out of his bed. He had tried all the tricks in the book, well all the ones that didn't involve using his limbs.
"Dean. Lie down!" Sam ordered, pushing his brother back down onto the mattress.
Dean groaned, reluctantly agreeing.
"Geez Sammy! For the last freaking time, I'm okay!"
"Jerk!"
"Bitch!"
The brothers watched each other in silence, there was nothing that could be said, nothing that could help this situation. Of course Dean wasn't happy being bed bound, of course Dean wasn't happy being waited on head and foot and of course he wasn't happy being this vulnerable, but this is what had happened. It was his own fault. Despite what he said.
"Sammy. Go back to the motel. Rest up. I'll be okay. I promise."
Sam sighed.
"The last time you said 'I promise' you broke it. How do I know you won't break it again?" He stood up and stretched," But I guess you're right."
"Bye. Sleep tight and no surfing porn! You'll corrupt your innocent mind."
"Bye Dean."
His brother left, it was just him and the intercom yelling for doctors and lost patients who had the right mind to run away. He tapped his fingers on the side of his bed, in a rhythm, anything to keep his mind from slipping. From thinking, from sleeping.
They're going to leave you, you know that don't you? You'll be all alone.
He couldn't cry, he wouldn't. Even as the tears burned in his throat and blurred his vision.
And then they'll die, go to hell because of what you done. They'll go to hell because of you. You'll never see them again.
But he should be the one going to hell not them. What if he could save them?
You can't save them, oh no. It will be all your fault.
No.
Yes Dean. You're useless; you don't deserve to live here. No one ever loved you; even poor old daddy left you. And its obvious Sam hates you, for what you did to Jessica; she would still be alive if it weren't for you dragging him off on a wild goose chase. You're better off dead Dean Winchester.
Dean sat up as his stomach lurched. It felt like something was ripping him apart. The stitches where open and bleeding and out of no where water spilled from his mouth. Tears dripped down his cheeks, as he cradled his stomach.
"Mr O'Malley. God I'm so sorry. Let me get help. "A young nurse rushed in to fix the drip and redo the stitches.
He couldn't take the pain any more, it was too much. His body gave up and he fell back in the bed. Peacefully asleep. Peacefully asleep.
Sam groaned and sat up wiping his eyes. Who could be knocking at the door at this hour, in fact who would be knocking at the door at all?
"Hello?"
"Hi. Sam?" a young woman stood in the door way, her long, dark curls curtaining her face.
"Yeah?" Sam squinted," Sarah? That you?"
"Yeah. Hi. Sorry for waking you, but I have been calling all day and no ones answered so I figured you'd be home now."
"Okay . What can I do for you?"
"Here." She handed him a piece of paper. Three numbers were wrote in neat handwriting.
"Thanks. Um...What is it?"
"I'm a physiologist; the first two are my numbers. Ones cell the others office. The last one is a friend of mine. He's a guy, just in case Dean would rather talk to a man."
She smiled.
"Thank you very much. This is really too kind of you –"
Sam's cells rang, loud and shrill through the air. He dived across the bed and took hold on it.
"Hello?"
There were a few words spoken and then his expression changed.
"T-thanks."
The cell was closed; he tossed it onto the other bed as if it were nothing.
"What's going on is everything okay? Was that Dean?" Sarah asked
"Dean's in hospital, he tried to kill himself. And...and has taken a worse turn. I have to get there. I have to go now."
"Well get dressed, I'll drive you!"
"You don't have to."
"Sam, you're in no fit state. Just get dressed and come on!"
The hospital had become Sam's home since the day Dean went in. He had been searching through his father's journal, through the internet, trying to see if there was an explanation for what was going on. To see if John had recorded any other incidents of suicide attempts from his son. He wanted answers to see if there was any possible way to help his brother. He would be damned if he was going to let this slide.
The pills that Dean had been prescribed where being force-fed to him, only to be brought back up. His body wouldn't accept them, and it was looking hopeless for any recovery.
Of course Dean didn't want to be there, he was trying everything to get out of the hospital, or just out of his bed. He had tried all the tricks in the book, well all the ones that didn't involve using his limbs.
"Dean. Lie down!" Sam ordered, pushing his brother back down onto the mattress.
Dean groaned, reluctantly agreeing.
"Geez Sammy! For the last freaking time, I'm okay!"
"Jerk!"
"Bitch!"
The brothers watched each other in silence, there was nothing that could be said, nothing that could help this situation. Of course Dean wasn't happy being bed bound, of course Dean wasn't happy being waited on head and foot and of course he wasn't happy being this vulnerable, but this is what had happened. It was his own fault. Despite what he said.
"Sammy. Go back to the motel. Rest up. I'll be okay. I promise."
Sam sighed.
"The last time you said 'I promise' you broke it. How do I know you won't break it again?" He stood up and stretched," But I guess you're right."
"Bye. Sleep tight and no surfing porn! You'll corrupt your innocent mind."
"Bye Dean."
His brother left, it was just him and the intercom yelling for doctors and lost patients who had the right mind to run away. He tapped his fingers on the side of his bed, in a rhythm, anything to keep his mind from slipping. From thinking, from sleeping.
They're going to leave you, you know that don't you? You'll be all alone.
He couldn't cry, he wouldn't. Even as the tears burned in his throat and blurred his vision.
And then they'll die, go to hell because of what you done. They'll go to hell because of you. You'll never see them again.
But he should be the one going to hell not them. What if he could save them?
You can't save them, oh no. It will be all your fault.
No.
Yes Dean. You're useless; you don't deserve to live here. No one ever loved you; even poor old daddy left you. And its obvious Sam hates you, for what you did to Jessica; she would still be alive if it weren't for you dragging him off on a wild goose chase. You're better off dead Dean Winchester.
Dean sat up as his stomach lurched. It felt like something was ripping him apart. The stitches where open and bleeding and out of no where water spilled from his mouth. Tears dripped down his cheeks, as he cradled his stomach.
"Mr O'Malley. God I'm so sorry. Let me get help. "A young nurse rushed in to fix the drip and redo the stitches.
He couldn't take the pain any more, it was too much. His body gave up and he fell back in the bed. Peacefully asleep. Peacefully asleep.
Sam groaned and sat up wiping his eyes. Who could be knocking at the door at this hour, in fact who would be knocking at the door at all?
"Hello?"
"Hi. Sam?" a young woman stood in the door way, her long, dark curls curtaining her face.
"Yeah?" Sam squinted," Sarah? That you?"
"Yeah. Hi. Sorry for waking you, but I have been calling all day and no ones answered so I figured you'd be home now."
"Okay . What can I do for you?"
"Here." She handed him a piece of paper. Three numbers were wrote in neat handwriting.
"Thanks. Um...What is it?"
"I'm a physiologist; the first two are my numbers. Ones cell the others office. The last one is a friend of mine. He's a guy, just in case Dean would rather talk to a man."
She smiled.
"Thank you very much. This is really too kind of you –"
Sam's cells rang, loud and shrill through the air. He dived across the bed and took hold on it.
"Hello?"
There were a few words spoken and then his expression changed.
"T-thanks."
The cell was closed; he tossed it onto the other bed as if it were nothing.
"What's going on is everything okay? Was that Dean?" Sarah asked
"Dean's in hospital, he tried to kill himself. And...and has taken a worse turn. I have to get there. I have to go now."
"Well get dressed, I'll drive you!"
"You don't have to."
"Sam, you're in no fit state. Just get dressed and come on!"