Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Fight or Flight ❯ A Chance to Rest? ( Chapter 12 )

It officially sucks to be the last one standing. Dean knew that all too well, considering Sam's seemingly endless capacity for trouble lately. And now he found himself in that situation again, as the three people around him either fell unconscious or just lost the ability to stay on their own two feet.

 

As he held a semi-conscious Sam on his feet, Dean's gaze flicked from Ryo, lying flat on the ground, completely out, to Dee, on his knees five feet away, fighting to hold onto his awareness.

 

It had been barely five seconds since the demon had fled from Sam, but to Dean's scattered senses, it seemed like hours before Dee pushed himself up, and lifted his head to look at Ryo.

 

He immediately went pale, his complexion turning completely ashen, and he murmured in a choked voice, “Oh…oh, God, Ryo…”

 

As Dee scrambled over to Ryo on his hands and knees, Dean's daze broke, and he reached into his pocket with one hand—still holding Sam up with the other—to take out his cell.

 

As he dialed for an ambulance, though, Dean looked over at Ryo, cradled against Dee's chest, and he couldn't help but think that maybe they hadn't entirely succeeded in this after all.

 

XXX

 

Dee could feel his mind trying to blank out on him, a combination of shock, exhaustion, and confusion. He had absolutely no idea what he was doing here, or how he'd gotten here. Everyone else seemed to know, but he couldn't remember.

 

And what was with Sam, anyway? He looked absolutely white…and that black mist that had erupted out of him—what was that about? Did he even want to know?

 

Well…yes.

 

But not right now.

 

He held Ryo closer, and looked down into his too-pale face. The only reassurance Ryo offered was the fact that his chest still rose up and down evenly and normally, though his pulse raced.

 

A hand fell on his shoulder, and he jumped about a foot as Dean lowered Sam gently to the ground next to him. Despite his fear for Ryo, he had to notice that the younger of the brothers did not look good. His face was utterly livid—not a speck of color there—and he couldn't seem to even sit up without assistance.

 

But he was awake, if not exactly alert, so Dee turned his attention quickly back to Ryo.

 

“What's the matter with him?” he asked—well, demanded, really, his fear and his impatience getting the better of him. “What happened? Where are we? Why can't I remember?” The last part came out as more of a howl, and he was immediately embarrassed as the echo of it died away. “Did you call an ambulance?” he asked, as calmly as he could.

 

Dean nodded, but his eyes were on Ryo and he looked as confused as Dee felt. Maybe more, and theoretically, he knew what had happened! Then again, seeing the way his eyes kept flicking to Sam at odd moments, Dee thought that maybe Dean wasn't only confused over Ryo's condition.

 

“I dunno what could be wrong with him,” Dean said, in answer to Dee's first question. “There's no blood, so the bullet couldn't have actually gotten him…”

 

“Bullet?” Dee practically shouted, causing Sam to jump a little before falling back into his sort of half-stupor. “Did someone shoot at him?!”

 

Dean went from looking confused then, to looking damned uncomfortable. “Well…uh…yeah. About that…look, we'll talk about it later. The point is, he had on a bulletproof vest, anyway, so that can't possibly be what's got him like this. Yeah, we did know he was gonna get shot at,” he added, before Dee could ask. “Did you even see what happened to him?”

 

Dee shook his head, his hand reaching, almost of its own accord, to take Ryo's, rubbing it gently. “I wasn't watching. I was too busy—”

 

“Staring at my brother. Yeah, me too. Damn it, Sammy, will you quit pushing?”

 

“`M not…” Sam slurred, opening his eyes to glare blearily at Dean.

 

“Whatever,” Dean muttered, but he didn't remove the arm that was holding Sam in a sitting position.

 

“Uh…is he okay?” Dee asked.

 

Dean shrugged. “Who knows. I guess he's just tired. From…what he did.”

 

“Yeah…about that…what did he do?” Dee asked, latching onto any subject that could take his mind off the fact that Ryo could be dying in his arms right now. “What was that…that black stuff?”

 

But the sound of sirens cut the conversation off then, and in his worry Dee never caught the relief on Dean's face.

 

XXX

 

Come on, Sammy, ya gotta gimme some help here…Dean thought, as he and Dee rode along in the ambulance with Sam and Ryo. He had originally just planned to take Sam in the Impala and drive to the hospital to find out about Ryo, but the EMTs had been so alarmed at his appearance that they'd insisted he come in the ambulance. Dean had looked at Ryo, and decided that they didn't have time to argue—and maybe a part of him hadn't wanted to, because to be perfectly candid—which Dean usually was not—Sam was scaring him a little right now. (Plus, the Impala was back at the motel…)

 

There was barely room for someone to lift his hand in the ambulance, what with two patients, two EMTs, and two passengers, but neither he nor Dee would consent to stay behind, and the EMTs had no choice but to agree.

 

Dee didn't take his eyes from Ryo's face the whole ride, and his hand never detached itself from Ryo's. Even when the EMT sternly told him to move so she could actually get some work done, he somehow managed to create the space without breaking the connection once. His eyes were bright, and once or twice Dean could have sworn he saw a tear or two slip out.

 

Finally, Dean looked away entirely, feeling both extremely intrusive and highly uncomfortable. Was this, then, the way people felt when they looked at the relationship he and Dean shared, from a distance? Was this why the doctors and nurses—and, hell, even their father—tended to avoid bothering him and Sam when one of them was in the hospital? Were they as put off by his and Sam's obvious closeness as he was by Ryo and Dee's?

 

And what was it about this place that made him think about these things all the time?

 

Even as all of these thoughts wandered aimlessly through his head with no place to go, Dean found his gaze traveling to his brother, as if guided by the silent questions.

 

Sam's head was propped up a little, and his eyes wandered vaguely around the ambulance, from wall to wall, from person to person. The EMT who wasn't focused on Ryo was talking to him, asking questions. Only they weren't the questions that were asked when someone was suspected of having a concussion—Dean knew those questions backwards and forwards—so maybe the guy was just trying to capture Sam's attention?

 

Well, if that was his intent, he was failing miserably. Sam was barely acknowledging the poor guy—just murmuring one or two words in this vague, quiet voice that made it obvious that his mind wasn't on the questions, while his eyes continued to wander around the ambulance.

 

Finally, after hearing the guy repeat the question “Could you tell me what Stanford was like, Sam?” for about the fifth time, Dean decided enough was enough. With a grunt, he leaned forward in his seat and spoke in his “stern older brother” voice. “Sammy, look at me.”

 

It took a couple of seconds, but Sam's gaze finally got around to him, and when it got there, it stayed, though his eyes were so glazed that he seemed to be staring at Dean's nose. “Wha' s'matter, Dean?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes, and forced himself to sound nothing more than annoyed. “Nothin's the matter, Sam, except that if you don't focus, and try to talk to this guy who's trying to do…whatever he's supposed to do…I'm gonna kill you both.”

 

Sam just looked confused then, and Dean sighed and reached out to turn Sam's head toward the EMT sitting next to him. “Him, Sammy. He's the one you're supposed to be paying attention to.”

 

Sam, however, was clearly not in the mood to listen. His eyes snapped back to Dean as soon as the older Winchester let him go, and he said, “Dean, `m confused…”

 

“Really? I had no idea,” Dean replied sarcastically.

 

“No, not about that,” Sam said exasperatedly, though what “that” was, Dean had no idea. “About what happened, Dean. What'd I do…?”

 

Oh, damn it… Dean cursed silently, envisioning Sam blurting out everything that had happened tonight in his confusion. “Sammy, we'll talk about it later, okay?”

 

“But Dean…”

 

Luckily, though, Dean was let off the hook—again—when they reached the hospital.

 

My luck has to be running low by now…I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if the cops were waiting inside to finally arrest me for all those murders in St. Louis…

 

XXX

 

Dean was allowed to accompany Sam into the examining room, mainly because he seemed to be the only one able to keep his brother's attention for any length of time. Dee, however, was forced to stay behind as Ryo was wheeled off, and he was too worried and scared and exhausted to try to convince them. He'd probably just be in the way, anyway.

 

But that knowledge didn't stop the situation from being frustrating. He'd never actually had to sit in the waiting room before—every other time they'd been in the hospital, he and Ryo had been together—and now that he was actually in this position, he had absolutely no idea what to do.

 

So, he did what any other self-respecting male who was scared out of his wits would do: he paced. He paced the width of the room. Then he paced the length of it. Then he paced the diagonals. Finally, he paced a complete square of the area. Then he sat down for about a minute, before he jumped up and began the cycle again.

 

And all the time he paced, there were thoughts and questions—oh, so many questions—flying through his head, unstoppable, uncontainable. So, to occupy his mind more than anything else, he began to sift through them, trying to solve the mystery.

 

All right, so what's the most basic rule of detective work? Dee thought, taking a strange comfort in the familiarity of his work and its regulations. Start with what you know.

 

Okay, so…what did he know?

 

Well, almost nothing. His mind was a complete blank from a little while after Ryo left his hospital room, to when he suddenly “woke up” in that alley. He'd felt like he'd just run five miles, but physically, he'd been unhurt. He'd been staring at the ground when he'd heard that roaring sound, and looked up to see that…stuff…pouring out of Sam Winchester's mouth.

 

He'd been staring at Sam when the other man collapsed. Dean had caught him easily, but Sam hadn't regained consciousness for several seconds, and then he'd been barely lucid. Dee had turned away then, and had looked around him. And it was then that he had seen Ryo, lying over near the brick wall…

 

Dee froze as a sudden memory leaped into his mind, before carefully repressed.

 

There had been a gun in his hand.

 

When he had come to himself again, he'd been holding a gun.

 

“…The bullet couldn't have actually gotten him…”

 

“Bullet? Did someone shoot at him?!”

 

“Well…uh…yeah.”

 

Well…uh…yeah.

 

The words echoed in his mind, over and over again.

 

Well…uh…yeah.

 

Someone had shot at Ryo.

 

And Dee had had the gun in his hands.

 

The implications of it were more than he could handle right now. His chest began to tighten…he couldn't breathe—he was suffocating under his own guilt.

 

He didn't realize his phone was in his hand until he'd already began dialing, but that was okay, because his fingers knew what buttons to push, anyway.

 

“Hello?”

 

Dee tried to force words past the lump in his throat. He failed the first time, and the second, but finally—third time's the charm—he spoke in a choked, tearful voice. “…JJ?”

 

“EEEEE!”

 

XXX

 

“Mr. Mitchell, please,” the doctor checking Sam over said, trying and failing to keep the bite of impatience from his voice. “I need you to try and focus.”

 

Sam just continued to read the paper on the nearest wall—one of those lame things they put up to keep you from killing yourself out of sheer boredom before they can cure you—and ignored the doctor, his lips moving silently. It wasn't like he was purposefully ignoring the poor guy—he really couldn't pay attention.

 

The doctor looked pleadingly at Dean, who simply sighed and said tiredly, “Sammy, come on, man. Try and do what the doc says, okay?”

 

He still couldn't tell if Sam was reacting to his voice alone, or to the sternness he carefully injected into it, but regardless, his attention turned sluggishly to Dean, and the doctor continued his exam.

 

Dean sat back in his chair, and sighed again, staring moodily at the wall, putting all his effort into not looking half as worried as he felt—a practice he excelled at by now, sadly enough.

 

Still, he could no sooner control his thoughts than he could control the tide, and it occurred to him that this doctor had been checking Sam over for a very long time. And that, combined with the fact that Sam had fallen completely unconscious for at least a few seconds, and that he still couldn't seem to focus on anything for any length of time—it all made Dean very nervous.

 

He'd never seen his brother like this. He'd seen Sam unconscious, he'd seen Sam with broken legs and arms and wrists and ankles and everything else, he'd seen Sam comatose a couple of times, even seen him dead once—but no, so not going there—but never anything like what was happening now. Not this simpleminded, vague, oh-so-polite puzzlement that would have been hilarious if it wasn't so damned worrying.

 

Still, Sam's eyes were now obediently following the little light, and even from here Dean could see that there was no evidence of a head injury. So as long as they didn't need a CAT scan—Sam had a terrible tendency to need heavy sedatives when it came to those devils—maybe things would turn out okay after all…

 

“Well,” the doctor said at long last, “he doesn't have a concussion or any sort of head injury, that much is obvious. But it doesn't explain the attention problem, or the general shakiness…” He shook his head. “I don't think a CAT scan will be necessary—”

 

Dean breathed a quick, silent sigh of relief.

 

“—But I'd like to admit him, just for a few hours—until he becomes more coherent.” He looked at Sam then, before turning back to Dean and lowering his voice. “So you say you don't know what caused this?”

 

Dean looked over at his brother, and he saw that Sam's eyes had gone back to wandering the room as he ignored the two of them completely.

 

“No, doc,” he murmured, without taking his eyes off Sam. “I really have no idea.”

 

XXX

 

JJ and Drake arrived about ten minutes after Dee hung up his phone, and it probably would have been faster if they weren't in New York City, where there seemed to be twice as many cars as people.

 

Now, obviously, Dee hadn't told them everything. In fact, he'd barely told them anything—just that he was safe once again, and that Ryo was in the hospital with a so-far-unexplained illness.

 

Dee was still pacing when they raced in, but now more slowly and leisurely. The first signal of their arrival was, of course, JJ's screech—the only warning Dee had to ready himself before a pair of arms wound around him from behind, and a body slammed into him like a freight train.

 

“DEEEEE!”

 

“Get off me, JJ,” Dee said wearily, and JJ was apparently so surprised that he actually let go, allowing Dee to turn around. The first thing he saw was JJ's face, inches from his own, gigantic purple eyes staring at him. Behind him, Drake stood, looking at him with concern. He smiled wanly. “Hi, guys.”

 

“Hi!”

 

JJ's voice rang out across the room, and the nurse at the desk glared formidably.

 

“JJ, please,” Dee said quietly, and realized that his voice was choking again. He swallowed twice, and tried again. “Don't do that right now, okay?”

 

“But I'm just happy to see you, Sexy—” JJ said, looking hurt. Then, after a moment, he seemed to decide on just looking sad. “Is Ryo pretty bad?”

 

“I…I don't know, no one's come yet,” Dee said, sighing, and finally allowing himself to give into his exhaustion, collapsing limply into a chair, his face falling forward into his hands. After a moment, he sensed JJ and Drake sitting down on either side of him, and both their arms slid around his shoulders, linking them all.

 

“Dee, what happened?” Drake asked gently.

 

Dee lifted his head a little, enough that his reply could be understood. “I don't know. I had just gotten back to him—” Better not even go into that whole thing… “And then he just…collapsed.” He took a deep, shaky breath, and let it out slowly. “H-his breathing was normal, but his pulse…it was so fast…”

 

“Oh, God…” Drake murmured, his arm tightening impulsively.

 

“Yeah. And then we…we called an ambulance, and they took him away, and now they won't tell me anything, and…and I'm so scared…”

 

The confession came out in a ragged whimper, and he had to fight back tears again.

 

“Oh, Dee…” Drake sighed, squeezing his shoulders gently. A few moments of silence, and then he said reluctantly. “Listen, Dee…this is a really bad time, I know, but…we need to know where you've been. What happened to you?”

 

Dee sighed. “Honestly…I have no idea. No, seriously,” he added at their looks of disbelief. “Last thing I remember, I was in the hospital, and then I woke up in this…this alley. Sam and Dean were there—”

 

“Oh, those really hot guys who turned up at the precinct? I was wondering where they'd gotten to…”

 

“—And so was Ryo. I guess I was just…blacked out, the whole time.”

 

“And whoever kidnapped you…”

 

“He's dead,” Dee said absently. “And you aren't gonna find a body. I do know that much.”

 

How he knew, he couldn't say, but out of this whole crazy, confusing mess, that, at least, was one thing he was sure of.

 

XXX

 

“All right, Mr. Mitchell, you're all set up,” Sam's doctor said brightly. “Now just sit tight until that IV empties, and then we'll see about releasing you.”

 

Dean glared at the man's back as he left—he'd said nothing about an IV, and Dean had never liked seeing those needles poking out of his brother's hand. He didn't know why one was even necessary—the things were only used to replenish fluids, and Sam hadn't lost any fluids!

 

“Dean, stop that,” Sam complained.

 

“Stop what?” Dean replied, still glaring at the doorway, just because it was the last place he'd seen that doctor.

 

“Stop feelin' so mad and freaked out. You're makin' my head hurt.”

 

Dean did look at him then, startled. “What do you mean by that, Sammy?”

 

Sam, though, was already moving onto another subject. He wasn't exactly back to full strength yet—hell, he was barely even halfway—but he was at least becoming capable of looking at one thing for more than ten seconds, and to pay attention for at least that.

 

But why was he like this? Sure, he'd been possessed, but this was way more than the normal weakness that comes from that. And not only was his body impaired, but apparently his mental abilities, as well. It was all just temporary—Sam was already beginning to come back to himself—but that wasn't even the point. The point was that once again, Sam had reacted…differently. Abnormally. And that just sucked.

 

“Dean, `re you even listenin' to me?” Sam slurred, and Dean pushed the dark thoughts away, focusing on Sam, who was looking at him in innocent puzzlement and interest.

 

“Sorry, Sammy, what?”

 

“I asked you what happened to me,” Sam said, not at all offended at being ignored—if he even noticed it now that more than two seconds had passed.

 

“...Oh. Well, uh…” Dean began uncomfortably, trying frantically to come up with a suitable reply.

 

“I mean, I know I got possessed,” Sam continued, and now Dean suddenly blessed his brother's distance from emotion, if it allowed him to actually say those words calmly and rationally. “But why didn't it kill anyone? It didn't even kill Ryo…just hurt him, before it left.”

 

“Well, ya see, Sammy…” Dean said, deciding to just bite the bullet and tell Sam the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. So help me God…ha… “You…it…didn't do anything to Ryo. Or…anyone else. Ryo…he just collapsed. It had nothing to do with the demon. It didn't even try to hurt us. It…it was only in you for a few seconds, and then it just…it left.”

 

“Left?” Sam echoed, confusion ringing in his tone. “But…but why?”

 

“I don't have a clue. And you don't remember anything, right?”

 

Sam paused, then shook his head. “No…nothing.” He didn't give Dean a chance to wonder at the hesitation. “So it just…let me go?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well…then why bother taking me at all?”

 

“See, that's the thing. I don't think it left on its own.” Dean pushed the words out as quickly as possible, not liking the way they felt—or what they could mean—at all.

 

“What're you talkin' about?” Sam asked, and the confusion was back again.

 

“Well…” Dean said, then sighed. “Look, maybe I just imagined it, but…”

 

“What?” Sam asked impatiently, when Dean paused again.

 

“I think…when it possessed you…right before it vanished…it looked…scared.”

 

“…Huh?”

 

“Scared, Sam. It looked terrified, okay? And I think…I think you killed it, Sam.”

 

XXX

 

Ryo's doctor didn't come out for another forty-five minutes, but the waiting seemed slightly more bearable with Drake and JJ around, so at least Dee was able to refrain from ripping heads off.

 

Drake called the precinct a little while after they reached the hospital. Rose had apparently been there `round the clock, trying to put a lid on all the rumor over Dee's second disappearance, and Drake insisted that they should let him know he could take a break.

 

Dee had been fairly surprised at the idea that he'd been a major topic covered by the news crew over the last twenty-four hours—and by the fact that Rose was working so hard to take care of it all. But the fact was, he had something far more important to worry about, and he really couldn't bring himself to care about anything outside this hospital, this place that was holding and caring for the love of his life. So, when Drake tentatively brought up the idea of calling Rose, Dee just sighed and said, “Just try to keep him from coming here.”

 

Drake had reported back ten minutes later, telling them that Rose had been extremely short and irritable with him. He'd barked at Drake that he'd take care of everything there, and ordered him to give Dee a smack over the head for creating so many problems for him and everyone else. But then, after Drake told him where they were, apparently Rose had completely changed his tune. It had taken all of Drake's persuasive powers to keep him from coming straight to the hospital, but he'd finally prevailed, and so Dee had at least another day of freedom before he had to face the dragon in its lair.

 

“Drake,” Dee said seriously, as soon as he found out what had gone down. “You…are a god. How do you manage him so well?”

 

“Wouldn't you like to know?” Drake countered. “No, no, I can't share my secrets! They might lose their awesome and terrible power!”

 

Dee took a swipe at him. Drake ducked, laughing slightly, and Dee felt a smile begin to cross his own face as JJ swatted him on the arm with an offended squeak.

 

“Ryo McLean? Friends and family of Ryo McLean?”

 

XXX

 

Dee stood in the doorway of Ryo's room for a few agonizingly long seconds before he had the courage to step inside and move toward the bed. Ryo was facing him, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling gently with each breath. To Dees's intense relief, he had regained a lot of his color, and his face was no longer so deathly pale. But he was also hooked up to a couple of machines and an IV line, and that was a little intimidating…

 

And then Ryo opened his eyes, and Dee fell into the deep brown pools and immediately forgot whatever he'd been thinking about.

 

Ryo blinked sleepily at him, and Dee's heart jumped. God, how he loved this man…

 

“Hi.”

 

The voice was small, weak, and tired, but it was also totally, completely Ryo, and suddenly Dee felt like they'd been apart for a lifetime. No, scratch that…like they'd been apart for several lifetimes.

 

Like some kind of zombie, Dee moved closer to the bed, stopping only when he was as close as he could get without actually tripping over it. Hesitantly, he reached down and picked up Ryo's hand.

 

Ryo flinched, and for a moment, there was actual fear in his eyes, fear that broke something in Dee, and made him want to jump off the nearest thirty-story structure. But then those eyes met Dee's, and stared into them, and then his fingers tightened until it hurt, and Ryo sagged back against the pillows.

 

“Dee, it's so good to see you,” he breathed, so softly, so very softly.

 

Dee wanted, so badly, to ask Ryo what he'd done, what had sparked that cursed fear…but there were more pressing matters at hand than himself.

 

“Ryo…why didn't you say anything, love? About how stressed you've been?”

 

Ryo squeezed his hand, and shrugged. “I didn't know, really. I mean, I've been feeling a little off lately, ever since the first time you…it's kinda been like I'm…not all here, y'know? But I didn't know it was anything serious…” Then he shrugged. “Well, anyway, I'm outta here as soon as they finish pumping all these meds into me for the heart thing. They'll probably prescribe something for blood pressure and whatever, and I'll have to take a few days, but I'm gonna be fine, so what does it matter?”

 

“What does it matter?” Dee repeated incredulously. “Are you kidding me?! You nearly died, Ryo! Again! How could you be that stupid?” And then, a beat later, “Ryo, I didn't mean that…God…I…” Why can't I seem to keep my mouth shut anymore…?

 

 

But Ryo just smiled sweetly at him, and tugged on his hand a little, until he sat down on the edge of the bed. Then he frowned, shook his head in disgust, and pulled him up, until they rested side-by-side on Ryo's hospital bed.

 

“Ryo, what—?”

 

“I have no idea. Just enjoy it before my shyness rears its ugly head again,” Ryo replied, winding his arms around his partner and laying his head on his shoulder. “It feels like…a really long time since we've been able to do this.”

 

Dee smiled, and hugged him back, reveling in the warmth of it. He would have loved to be able to do this forever, but…

 

“Ryo.”

 

“Hm?” Ryo replied without opening his eyes.

 

“What happened?”

 

Now Ryo's eyes opened, stared at him. “What?”

 

“With me. I know something happened to me, but I can't remember. And…well, I have the worst feeling that I need to apologize to you.”

 

“You don't…”

 

“Ryo, please. Just…just tell me. I…I have to know. Tell me what I did to you.”

 

So, haltingly, Ryo did. He told the whole story—left nothing out. He didn't look at Dee during the recitation, but Dee didn't take his eyes off him. He didn't say a word the entire time, and when Ryo finally fell silent, he still didn't speak—simply wrapped his arms around Ryo, and held him.

 

Ryo leaned against him, closing his eyes with a quiet sigh, and suddenly, the apology on the tip of Dee's tongue vanished. There was no need, because in that one moment, whatever trust the demon had taken away came sliding back, as if it had never been gone in the first place.

 

And who knew? Maybe it hadn't.

 

Maybe it didn't matter.

 

XXX

 

When Sam's doctor returned an hour after leaving them in the room—exactly one hour…those guys were just creepy, the way they did that—it was to find the Winchesters waiting for him in silence.

 

Sam hadn't said a word to Dean in that whole time—not since Dean blurted out his theory. He didn't seem angry—no, far from it. It was absurdly easy to tell when Sam was angry, and this was not Angry Sam.

 

No, this was Scared Sam.

 

Which, actually, was quite a bit worse, because there was nothing Dean could do to fix Scared Sam. Angry Sam was easier—a few hours of general moodiness, a couple of lame jokes, some “Sammys,” and everything was fine.

 

But how was Dean supposed to take care of this? How could he tell Sam that he shouldn't be afraid, when deep down he felt exactly the same way? Only his fear was harder to deal with, because he couldn't show it, lest Sam have a heart attack and die and nullify twenty-three years of fighting to keep him alive. So he bottled it up and shoved it down until he felt like he was about to explode, and then he shoved it down some more…

 

And damn it, but this isn't getting us anywhere! Dean thought angrily, annoyed at the fact that there was really only one way to deal with this.

 

He would have to talk to his brother. Really talk to him, one-on-one, no jokes or sarcasm to lighten the topic. A true heart-to-heart.

 

Oh, God, this is gonna kill me for sure…

 

“Hey, Sam—”

 

“Well, how are we doing, Mr. Mitchell?” the doc said, walking in in the middle of Dean's first attempt.

 

Dean was trying to figure out whether to deck the guy or worship at his feet as Sam answered. “I'm okay, I guess. Better than before.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” the doctor (who has no name—let's say it's because Dean didn't really care to find it out) said, pulling out one of those damned penlights and shining it in Sam's eyes. “No more problems paying attention?” he asked, as he looked for…whatever it is doctors look for in their patients' eyes.

 

“Nuh-uh. Just a little fuzzy,” Sam replied, patiently following the light.

 

“And you still aren't having any vision problems? Headache? Any ringing in your ears?”

 

“Nope, it's all normal.”

 

“Hmm…” The doctor looked puzzled, and for a moment Dean was worried that he would try to make Sam stay until he figured out what had been wrong. Luckily, though, after another moment the man pocketed his instrument and stood. “Well, I can't find anything whatsoever wrong with you right now. You, Sam Mitchell, are a free man. Just go down whenever you're ready to sign the release forms, and you can go—preferably for good.”

 

“Thanks, doc,” Sam said, and the man smiled at him and turned to leave.

 

“Oh, and hey…” Dean spoke up. “That guy who came in with us…” He wracked his brain for a moment, and managed to come up with Ryo's real name. “Randy McLean. How's he doing?”

 

The doctor looked at him. “I'm not supposed to tell you this, but since you seem to be friends…” He shrugged. “Randy's apparently been under a lot of stress lately, and he also seems to have been missing out on a lot of sleep. Individually, those things are dangerous. Combined, they could very well kill you. Randy's body just…gave out on him, because he ignored the signs for too long.”

 

“So…will he be okay?” Dean asked, with a bite of impatience in his voice that seemed to amuse Sam greatly, for some reason.

 

“He should be, yes…provided that he gives himself a break, and stops pushing his luck so hard.” The doctor took a look at his watch then, and excused himself without further ado.

 

Sam slid out of his bed the second he disappeared, and Dean was reaching for him when he shook his head. “I'm fine, Dean.”

 

Ha. Fine. Sure.

 

Instead of saying what was on his mind, though, Dean just backed off, and followed his brother wordlessly out of the room and down the hall to the nurses' station.

 

Now, of course Dean had expected not to see Dee in the waiting area. Obviously, he would be with Ryo, probably until he was physically removed from the premises.

 

But Dean also had not expected to find the other two officers they'd met at the NYPD there—and engaged in the kind of activity that made most peoples' eyes pop straight out of their heads when it was practiced in public.

 

Observing the two of them with mild interest as they went at it like the world was coming to an end and this was their last chance, Dean said, “I should probably be more surprised than I am, right?”

 

Sam shrugged. “Well…I guess they do have the right to be…um…excited. You know, since Dee's back and Ryo's gonna be okay and all…”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “That is not just excited, Sammy. That's…” Then his eyes, which were still fixed on JJ and Drake in a weird sort of fascination, widened, and he averted them. “Oh, now that is just wrong…come on, Sammy, let's get your release forms before they have to take it to the bathroom…”

 

“Dude, come on. You've totally and completely abused this situation, and now I'm actually able to notice it.”

 

“What're you talking about, Sammy?” Dean asked, all innocence.

 

Sam glared at him. “Okay, that's it. I'm at my wits' end. Just know—you've brought this on yourself.”

 

“What—?”

 

“Oh, hi