𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟔 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐒

dean winchester was no stranger to hospitals. he’s spent much time in the ominous white halls, as a patient, as a visitor, and as a long time watcher of hit show dr sexy. but still, the stench of medical grade cleaning supplies managed to make the hairs on his neck stand up.

although, one visit to the local hospital in berkeley, california had a surprisingly positive, and long term, connotation in his mind. sam was out like a light, bullet embedded deep in his arm as the doctors and nurses crowded around him. the medical jargon that was thrown about was about as comprehensible to him as japanese.

but one nurse had stayed with him the whole time. he was reluctant, at first, pushing you away like dean did to everyone whenever things got tough. everyone that wasn’t sam.

determined, you’d grown on him. like a disease, he’d say, but it was more like when beautiful flowers grow between the cracks of broken, damaged concrete. but like all good things that happened to dean, it didn’t last long. dragged away by cases and hunts, the flowers were ripped out, tossed aside, while the concrete is left to deteriorate, cracks spreading without the flowers to save it.

that must’ve been a year ago, now. dean couldn’t remember much exactly, arms clutched to his bleeding torso, head lolling back in the passenger seat of his impala as sam sped through the streets of california.

“take me to berkeley.” he managed hoarsely, and sam just nodded, thankful his brother was still talking and conscious. it felt like a blur, the hospital, the surgery, the slow, aching recovery. probably because of the drugs.

his hospital bed is as uncomfortable as it’s been all week. the food is still too cold, too hot, some lukewarm neutral that’s just what he should’ve expected from the food. his torso is still throbbing. there’s a knock at the door at 2:30pm, the same time sam’s visited everyday for the past week.

“sammy.”

but it’s not sammy. unless sammy’s hair changed that much in a week, his face got rounder, and he grew an impressive rack. he blinks a few times, and suddenly your familiar face hits him like a punch to his aching gut. you took your time showing up, but he can’t say he’s not a little bit thrilled at the sight of you, a pleasant distraction from the constant pain. physical or otherwise.