Turn the Page -Sequel to More Than a Feeling

Chapter 18

Sam sat beside Dean's hospital bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Hours of relentless worry had left him bone tired. They'd eventually gotten the infection under control, but doubts lingered about the after effects of that high fever. The doctor had seemed optimistic, but warned they wouldn't know for sure if there had been any brain damage until Dean woke up.

It was difficult for Sam to imagine something so destructive happening in Dean's head, because he seemed so peaceful—besides his swollen, split, black-and-blue bottom lip. The hospital bed propped him up at a forty-five degree angle. He lay under a thin blue blanket, his breathing shallow but steady. An IV tube stuck out from a vein on the back of his left hand. Late afternoon sun shone through the window blinds.

Sam rubbed his forehead, wondering how long he'd have to wait like this before Dean woke up. The last time he'd taken a short bathroom break, his reflection had startled him. Dark circles under his eyes, pale skin, hollow cheeks. Like he'd aged ten years since last night. He kept wondering what he'd do if Dean wasn't Dean anymore. He'd murmured a few dozen prayers already, fully aware that his brother would mock him if he knew.

Sam thought back to early that morning, when Dean had stumbled in with bloodshot eyes and fiery skin. He'd apologized over and over. Every labored breath had been an "I'm sorry." Every shuddering exhalation a pleading for forgiveness. Sam knew his brother. Dean would beat himself up over what he'd done for years. From the looks of his lip, he'd already gotten started.

Sam leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and blew out a breath. For Dean, getting over the bite and infection and fever would be easy compared to getting over the guilt.

If he woke up.

"You look like hell."

Sam jumped; his eyes snapped to Dean's face. His brother lay there, looking a bit gray, but awake. And judging by that greeting, he was still entirely himself.

Sam suppressed a giant grin. He gestured to Dean, then himself. "Pot, kettle." Sam wiped his palms on his jeans to hide the fact that they were trembling with relief. "I was about ready to call Cas."

Dean's heavy-lidded eyes scanned the small hospital room. "So, what am I in for?"

Sam leaned in and folded his hands together. "That ghoul bite you didn't tell me about got infected. When the ambulance arrived, your temperature was nearly a hundred and six. It was probably higher before that, but Ruthie kept it down. She put you in a cold bath."

At the mention of her name, Dean's gaze dropped. He gritted his teeth, then stared off into a corner.

"Where did you go last night, Dean? What happened to your face?"

Dean opened and closed his hands a couple times. "I picked a fight."

Sam pressed his lips together and gave a nod. That sounded about right. "Dean," he began, but Dean cut him off.

"Don't, Sam. Okay? Just don't."

Sam sat back. Unbelievable. Dean had been awake for all of two minutes after nearly dying or being brain damaged, and he was already starting an argument. Yeah, he was definitely still Dean. "You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"Yeah, I do. You're gonna tell me it's okay, I did what I thought I had to do, you forgive me. Or that I screwed up bad, but it's gonna be okay anyway. But it's not. What I did, what I almost did...it's not okay."

Sam recognized the familiar current of self-loathing running through Dean's words, his tone, his eyes. He waited for a minute. Then he asked, "Is that why you went out and got somebody to beat the crap out of you? Because you think you deserved it?"