don't go around tonight, well it's bound to take your life.

[mulletrock]

Who: Dean Winchester, OPEN TO ALL.
What: Dean takes matters into his own hands.
When: Early afternoon of today.
Where: Skye hospital.
Warnings: Sick things. Cursing.
OOC notes: Family, friends, and enemies otherwise are welcome to forward-date visits to yell and/or console him (most likely yell) when he's actually situated in a room. IDK. ♥

[It's hard to slip out unnoticed in a house that has half your family and a kid you're responsible for but he managed it.

He's been on bed rest for the past few days, enough to have the cycle of people looking in on him memorized. So when he saw opportunity, he took it.

He sat curled up in a cab with a sweatshirt on instead of his Dad's leather jacket and took it to the hospital.

When he gets there he's still hunching his shoulders in a way that's pretty indicative of him being in pain. For the people that knew him.

He's spent the past five minutes arguing with the receptionist.] Look, I don't give a shit if you're busy I'm not gonna sit around and infect my family. I don't care if you have t'keep me in a friggen' linen closet I'm not leaving.

[He's pale, his lips are chapped, and he looks miserable. It only takes the subtlest of brushes from a passerby to knock him flat on his ass.

His hand goes to his head because the room starts to spin.] Dammit... [He didn't even like hospitals, but this was necessary.]

Comments

[mulletrock]

Hey. [Dean smooths his rough hand over his mom's blonde hair. He leans in against her shoulder, and pulls her close against him ready to the rock she needs all over again even though he's pretty beaten up and it's getting harder to see.

Lucky for them both his face is tucked away and his eyes are screwed shut so he can fight against the vertigo.] I'm not goin' anywhere. Might not remember but if I have to I'll fight this thing tooth and nail. I can already tell you, as bad as this looks, I've been through worse.

[Without going into detail Dean makes it obvious he doesn't want to be anywhere but here with her. As lousy as it is.] Last thing I wanna do is die in a friggin' dress.

[momchester]

[Mary feels his hand in her hair and looks down at him, how tired he is, how uncertain he feels. God, she's being selfish. He shouldn't be lying here telling her it'll be okay. He's the one dying- she should be telling him.

So many years later, and Dean's still being the parent. With a surge of guilt, Mary smooths his hair back, presses a kiss into his hair with a tearful laugh. Her back is starting to hurt anyway, so it's a good excuse to turn over, so she's lying on her back more, rather than curled up on her side. The new position lets him lie with his head and shoulders on her, and her to put her arms around his shoulders and pretend like he's just falling asleep. Like he's a kid and they're watching TV and everything is normal.]

Shhh. [Gathering him closer. Being the rock.] It's okay. It's okay.

[He's tired. His body is getting weaker- she can feel it. God, as much as she wants to reach out and catch the strength draining from him, to keep it, to at least bleed herself dry to keep him going, she knows she can't. So she keeps talking, just to keep her breathing steady- talking, to keep the tears from coming back.]

You probably don't remember... I wasn't creative enough for my own lullaby. [A horrible kind of unfunny, self-deprecating chuckle. Fuck. Some powerful part of her wants to go back to when things were simple. She squeezes his shoulder lightly and starts to sing the words she used to sing to him when he was small.] Hey Jude, don't make it back, take a sad song and make it better...

[Her breath hitches on the last line, but she determinedly smooths her voice out and keeps on that same low tune.]

[mulletrock]

[Dean doesn't mind hearing it. Knowing that at least he'll be remembered. It's the same old story. He's dying and someone he cares about, someone that shouldn't have to, is holding him close and giving him reassurances they both know is a lie.

He doesn't say much. Every word, every syllable takes too much effort. It hurts and the words part from his mouth with a pained wheeze. She doesn't need that right now. So, he just buries against her. Listens to the lullaby and closes his eyes, sucking in his still wavering breath to keep himself from crying.

It's bittersweet. He shouldn't be hearing that now. When everything's crappy. It's something she should be singing to Ben, not him. Ben needs the comfort. He could go without.

His chest is unbelievably tight. Each exhale sounding like it's rattling his bones. He tightens his grip around her, as much as he can, anyway. All it ends up being is a weak hug with his fists balled loosely at her back.]