Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ A Sea of Waking Dreams ❯ Good Talk ( Chapter 10 )

Chapter 10

 

Dean walked slowly back inside the motel room and went straight to the bed, collapsing onto it and folding his arms beneath his head. Beside him, Sam curled in closer, the fingers of his good hand clenching in the hem of Dean's shirt. Dean let him cling, but manfully resisted the urge to cling back—if shifting so that Sam's head was—coincidentally—resting against his shoulder could be considered “resisting.”

 

God, it felt so good to breathe. He felt like he hadn't done it freely in…well, a long time. Between Sam, Niko, Cal, Dr. Thornton, Michael, and himself, he felt like he'd been suffocating under the weight of all their combined issues. But now Dr. Thornton was gone, Michael was…was dead, and Sam was—maybe—okay again, even if Dean wouldn't know that for sure until the kid woke up. Niko and Cal maybe weren't doing so good, but at least the load was lightened a little now.

 

As subtly as he could, Dean snuck a look toward the other bed. As far as he could tell, Niko hadn't so much as glanced up when he'd walked out of or into the room, and he didn't now, whether he knew Dean was watching him or not. His eyes didn't move from Cal's face and his hand didn't move from where it gripped Cal's. Dean felt his face grow red at the less-than-manly sight, but he managed not to turn away like he usually did when he saw things like this.

 

“How's he doing?” he asked instead, keeping his voice low so as not to interrupt either Sam or Cal's drug-induced sleep.

 

Niko's eyes finally flicked upward at the sound of his voice. “He'll be okay. He heals much more quickly than most.” He didn't have to add the Thank God aloud for Dean to hear it. He wasn't exactly forthcoming with the Thank you, Dean, either, but that was okay, Dean supposed. Thank yous were sometimes hard to get out, he knew from experience.

 

“Well…uh…that's good,” Dean said awkwardly.

 

“Yes,” Niko agreed, his eyes back on Cal. “It is.”

 

And then he stopped talking entirely, and Dean had nothing to do but shift into a more comfortable position—in other words, one even closer to Sam—and fall asleep easily for the first time in two weeks.

 

Niko's eyes were aching by the time Cal started to stir, at about four in the morning. They'd even come dangerously close to closing once or twice, but the urge toward sleep vanished immediately when Cal's head turned toward him and his eyes scrunched up like a child's. These weren't exactly classic Cal Leandros wake-up signs—he could usually go from a sound sleep to fully awake in a split second, as much as Niko mocked him for laziness—but then, his system was pumping more pain medicine than blood right now.

 

It wasn't morphine, though, and so while it did manage to take a great deal of the edge off, it didn't entirely stop the look of pain from flitting across Cal's face as is eyes cracked open and he croaked out something that sounded faintly like, “Nik?”

 

Niko leaned forward and put a firm hand on Cal's shoulder, holding him in place as he tried to sit up. “Don't move. You'll ruin the stitching job.”

 

“What?” Cal mumbled, staring up at him with glazed eyes. “Where's the stitches?”

 

“In your stomach,” Niko answered.

 

“Oh. That why it hurts?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why're they there?”

 

“Because the doctor put them there after he dug the bullet out.”

 

Cal didn't say anything for a long time, probably trying to decide what to question first.

 

“…`M confused, Nik…”

 

Niko found himself smiling at that. “I know,” he said gently, reaching out to run his fingers through Cal's hair. “I'll explain later.”

 

“`M gonna hold you to that.”

 

“You do that.”

 

“Nik?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“How long've you been holding my hand?”

 

Niko stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “Go back to sleep, Cal.”

 

Cal blinked twice, and then his eyes closed a third time and didn't open again.

 

XXX

 

Niko was still awake and watchful when Dean woke up five or six hours after he fell asleep. It didn't look like he'd even gotten up, which was just creepy. Didn't the guy ever have to eat? Sleep? Visit the bathroom?

 

“Dude, are you even human?”

It was hard to say who was more surprised at the question, because Dean truly had not meant to ask it out loud, and apparently Niko just really thought it was a weird question. He replied as politely as ever, though.

 

“I am. Why do you ask?”

 

“Because,” Dean said, levering himself up on his elbow and rubbing one of his eyes. “You've been sitting in the same position all night, and no human could do that.”

 

“Evidently that isn't true, seeing as I have.”

“Well, then, you're just a freak,” Dean said, sitting up the rest of the way. “How's Cal doing?”

 

“He woke up for a minute or two a few hours ago. I should be able to take him back home soon.” He looked over then and asked, “And Sam?”

 

Dean looked fondly over at his brother, whom he suspected would soon produce drool. “I dunno what's going on in that freaky head of his, but physically he'll be fine. He'll be out for a few more hours, though—pain meds always knock him for six.”

 

Sam's uninjured hand twitched just then, then came up to scratch his nose before falling back to his side again, and the words were tumbling out before Dean could stop them.

 

“D'you ever feel like you have absolutely no power? Like basically your life revolves around Cal and you can't do anything about it—and don't really want to?”

 

Niko smiled. “Yes, I really do, every day.”

 

Dean chuckled. “Seriously. Why bother with a wife if you already have a little brother?”

 

“Would you really have it any other way?” Niko asked.

 

Dean looked back at Sam, and smiled. “Ya know, I really wouldn't.”

 

And really, he was glad he had a trauma-filled week to excuse his undeniable chick-flickiness. Otherwise he'd have to kick his own ass—many, many times.

 

XXX

 

Sam swam toward consciousness clinging to the very random thought that he really shouldn't be so susceptible to pain meds after so long. There was absolutely no reason he should feel like he was wading through a bog when all he was really doing was trying to wake up.

 

But even with the pain-med-sleep-crash-arm-pain combo, he was still thinking more clearly than he had in a while. It hadn't worn off, like he'd half-expected it to—the clarity apparently wasn't just temporary.

 

He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Part of him was over the moon about it, because he knew his cloudy fuzziness had been causing Dean no end of pain and worry. But…well, clarity also meant thought and memory and a large part of Sam's mind shrunk away from that.

 

But for better or worse, the clarity was there, and he was just going to have to deal with it.

 

With a small inward sigh, Sam turned over on his side. He grimaced as the movement jarred his arm, and just like that, Dean was there.

 

That it was Dean was simply an irrevocable, unequivocal fact, a fact of life. He didn't have to see to know. It could have been no one else slipping an arm around his shoulders and guiding him up, leaning him against the pillows as if he hadn't known they were there.

 

He hadn't opened his eyes, but he did then, realizing—all-knowing, all-awesome little brother that he was—that until he did, Dean would worry about his sanity.

 

Dean was, of course, hovering, and probably had been while he was unconscious, too. Sam smiled at him, and was surprised at how easy it was. Dean looked startled, but hid it well and asked easily, “How're you feeling, Sammy?”

 

“I'm fine,” Sam replied. Then he noticed that Dean was looking resolutely at the cast on his arm, and he said gently, “Dean. Hey. Look at me.”

 

Reluctantly, Dean met his eyes, and Sam repeated his words as firmly as he could.

 

“I'm fine, Dean.”

 

Dean stared at him, doing that weird, borderline creepy thing where he searched for something Sam wasn't even sure was there. He could always tell when Dean found it, though, and that, at least, hadn't change, because he could certainly tell now. He could see the moment when Dean found it—when the tension of his muscles eased and the lines around his eyes faded a little.

 

But he hadn't expected what Dean did next, which was to sit down heavily on the bed and cover his face with one hand and put the other hand on Sam's knee and mutter, “Jesus, Sammy.”

 

Sam…really wasn't sure what to say. Dean just looked so vulnerable, and Dean never looked vulnerable.

 

Well, except when he came to get Sam at college.

 

And when he went on that plane.

 

And when they'd gone back to Lawrence.

 

And when Dad went missing that second time.

 

And when Dad died.

 

Okay, so Dean had had more vulnerable moments lately. But not…exactly under these circumstances. It was awkward, and Sam automatically began casting around for another subject. As luck would have it, one was lying on the bed not three feet away.

 

Cal looked…not so good. And Niko looked even worse. Well, more tired, anyway. He looked exactly like Dean looked after a sleepless, worry-filled night, exactly, and Sam felt shame sweep over him.

 

“Oh, Niko, I'm so sorry.”

 

Weird. He hadn't been planning to say that, and Niko looked just as taken aback as he felt.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“This is all my fault,” Sam blurted. “Cal was just trying to protect me, and now he's…” Sam shook his head, hearing the borderline desperation in his own voice as he asked, “He's gonna be okay, right?”

 

“Yes,” Niko said, and Sam wondered if he was imagining the quiet relief there, or if he was the only one who heard it. “I plan to take him home today—between doses, I suppose.”

 

“Are you sure you want to?” Sam asked, all the while wondering why his words seemed to be totally out of his control. “I mean—you can, ya know, stay. If you want.”

 

“Thank you,” Niko said. “But…we take care of our own, for the most part.”

 

Sam glanced over at Dean. “Yeah. I know that.”

 

“I'm sure you do. I assume that's why your brother was so uncomfortable working with me.”

 

Dean had the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Hey, it's not…I mean, I…it's…”

 

Niko waited patiently for him to finish stuttering, then said, “I understand. I felt the same way. It was…strange.”

 

“That's one word for it, yeah. So are you guys gonna need a ride or…anything?”

 

Watching his brother struggle, it occurred to Sam to wonder when they'd gotten so bad at even talking to someone outside the family. When had they become so screwed up? Was it a specific moment that he'd missed? That they'd missed? Was it something that could have been rectified, changed, if he'd looked for it?

 

And suddenly, for no reason at all, Sam felt incredibly sad. For himself, for Dean, for Niko, for Cal—for all of them, and all the rest of the hunting community who were probably living the same way, with the same distrust.

 

Without any way to change, and most even without the desire to.

 

“Sam? Hey. You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Sam said instantly, tuning in to the upped worry in Dean's voice. “I'm fine.”

 

“Sure you are,” Dean said, in his unmistakable, “I could not believe you less, but we'll argue about that later” voice. That particular promise was one Dean always stuck to, and Sam suddenly felt profoundly grateful for Niko and Cal's continued presence, however long it lasted.

 

XXX

 

True to his word, Niko called his apparent jack-of-all-trades, Robin, and pulled a favor to get a car from him, and carted a half-conscious, confused and mumbling Cal out of the motel room within the hour, taking any hope of Dean being distracted with him. It simply couldn't be avoided anymore—they really were going to “talk about it.”

 

And when did he and Dean suddenly switch roles, anyway?

 

God, this had been..

 

“Weird week, huh?”

 

Sam started as the end of his sentence was spoken aloud, then gave Dean a wry look. “Just a little.”

 

Dean crossed the room and lowered himself to the bed, and after a few moments of silence he asked, “So should we…y'know…avoid the subject awkwardly for awhile, or dive right in?”

 

Sam looked away and didn't answer, and heard Dean's sigh.

 

“What happened, Sam?”

 

Sam considered dissembling, avoiding, evading, but Dean was pinning him with that gentle but determined gaze that always promised no mercy and no escape. It was useless to pretend he didn't know exactly what his brother was talking about.

 

“After you…after you left…there was this fire…”

 

XXX

 

“Ouch.”

 

The word was quiet, muttered, through a haze of sleep and drugs and barely even recognizable as a word, but Niko responded to it instantly. Cal listened to him cross the room and to the creak of wood as he sat down, and then repeated himself with great care.

 

“Ouch.”

 

He cracked his eyes open to glare at his brother, who was looking down at him—and smiling.

 

“`M dying, aren't I?”

 

It was actually kind of surprising how fast Niko managed to lose that smile. “Of course not,” he said. “You're going to be just fine.”

 

“Nik,” Cal said patiently. “Joking. Drugs?”

 

“Not for another forty-two minutes,” Niko said, tapping the watch on his wrist.

 

Cal groaned. “Great.”

 

“Yes, if it wouldn't rip a hole in your stomach I would suggest a jig,” Niko said dryly, reaching out and giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

 

“Hole?” Cal asked, confusedly trying to lift his shirt so he could see his stomach.

 

The hand looped around his wrist became more restraining, pulling his hands away, and Niko said, “Don't do that.”

 

“Why not? Hurts. Want to see why it hurts.”

 

“It hurts because you were shot, and I won't let you look because it's too much movement. Besides, you don't want to see it. It wasn't the most sterile environment or the smoothest surgery. The wound is…not pretty.”

 

By the time Niko finished reeling it all off, Cal's mind had cleared enough to remember what had happened—well, some of it.

 

“Nik, you need to start filling me in. Who did this surgery…thing?”

 

“A surgeon, of course,” Niko replied, as calmly as if it were a totally natural thing for his not-entirely-human little brother to be put under the knife of a complete stranger in a motel room. “His name was Thornton. Dr. Thornton.”

 

“And where did you get this, uh, surgeon?” Cal asked, dreading the answer but needing to know all the same.

 

“I didn't kidnap him,” Niko said, to the point as always. “I was planning on it, but Dean, of all people, pulled an M.D. out of his pocket at the last moment.”

 

“And you just let him do surgery on me?” Cal asked skeptically.

 

“I didn't have any choice, Cal!” Niko said, suddenly sounding agitated—and possibly angry. “You were dying. So yes, I allowed a stranger to perform surgery on you. Believe me, though, he knew the consequences, should the surgery take a turn for the worse.”

 

“Aww, you look out for me.”

 

“And don't you ever forget it.”

 

Cal smiled at him. “I won't. Hey, how many—”

 

“Thirty-seven,” Niko said, looking at his watch.

Cal groaned again.

 

XXX

 

“So this…fire, whatever it was, is gone now?” Dean asked carefully, lounging next to Sam, his face not betraying anything of what he was thinking.

 

“I think so,” Sam said quietly. “It…I dunno, I guess it brought me back, and then it…left.”

 

“And this is the same thing that made you…you know…”

 

“Insane?” Sam asked, wryly, and Dean grimaced.

 

“Yeah, that.”

 

“Well, I guess so. I mean, they looked the same. Different results, though.”

 

“Very,” Dean agreed companionably, and for a while neither of them said anything more.

 

“I'd kill Michael again, you know,” Sam said suddenly, finally looking up at Dean. “If he was trying to hurt you, I mean. I don't think I'd even hesitate.”

 

“I know the feeling,” Dean said.

 

“But…” Sam looked back down, then up again. “I've still killed five people—people who weren't even possessed. “And…I don't know how to deal with that.”

 

“I know,” Dean repeated. “Neither do I, really. But…we will. We will, Sam.”

 

“How?” Sam asked, not even caring that he sounded like a child.

 

“I don't know. But we will. We'll do what we have to. Everything's gonna be fine, Sammy.”

 

Sam looked at his brother and saw open earnestness where before there'd been nothing, and there was less skepticism in his voice than he was trying for when he said, “Okay.”

 

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Author's Note: Okay, guys, so do any of you remember that book from elementary school, The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day? Well, take that day and stretch the badness of it into a month, and then cram that month into seven days, and you have my week. That's how bad things were. I barely had time to write anything until a couple of days ago. Ask anyone who talks to me, and they'll tell you I've barely been online at all. Things have calmed down now, but on the downside, my deadline for my AP summer work is closing in—August 1—and I still have half a paper to write and two books to read.

 

So, the bottom line is, my updates shouldn't take much longer than usual, but things may come out in drips and drabs until the end of the month.

 

Anyways, review, please, now that I was finally able to update!