Pulled In..... To Supernatural

Okay, Uh, Awkward

~~~~~~36 hours later ~~~~~~~

I ran the the pad of my thumb up and down repeatedly on the hand in mine. I was anxiously waiting for Dean's eyes to open, every second with them closed making me even more nervous. I didn't even know people could sleep for this long. Well, alive, healthy, people. The beeping on the bedside monitor dramatically increased in pace, so looked from it to Dean with wide eyes, noticing the deep falling and rising of his chest. Frantic thoughts started running through my head as I clenched his hand tighter in mine. Well, it's a hell of a lot better than a flatline. His breathing returned to normal, his hand actually gripping mine back loosely. He arched his back just the slightest bit, stretching his neck and shoulders. His head turned toward me, his grip losening, and soon enough his eyes were staring straight into mine. He seemed a bit shocked, his brow furrowing as he looked my face over. Maybe he was expecting someone else.... Sam? Maybe I looked like a total train-wreck, the worry in my eyes and the stress lines that had formed on my forehead and around my mouth. At that thought, I pulled my free hand up to comb through my hair. Wait, why did I even care if he thought I looked bad? Am I... Do I... Like him? No. No way. Dean's a ladies man, a manwhore. Of course it was impossible not to fawn over his looks, but I assumed he might be kind of a bitch in real life. "Pudding?" Dean asked with a lazy smile as if expecting some. He shut his eyes again, his voice quieter this time. "Where's Samantha?"

"Out to get breakfast. You were out quite a while Sleeping Beauty," I grinned. He just turned and looked at me with blank, but happy eyes, mind riddled with anesthesia. "Twenty-four hours," I giggled. Somebody cleared their throat near the door, both of us looking over.

"Sammay!" Dean called out, jerking his head up drunkenly.

"Looks like someone's still a little affected by their anesthesia," Sam smiled, walking over and setting a bag and a coffee on the table by the bed. He lifted his own cup to his lips.

"You. Have. No. Ideath. I feel..." Dean slurred drowsily, an excited look quickly appearing on his face. "Coffeeth!" He yelled, pointing at Sam. Sam just sighed, a slight smile marking his face. "Gimme- gimme, gim-" Dean trailed off tiredly, then fell asleep again, mumbling something about coffee. While Dean slept, Sam and I made a plan to burn the bones ourselves. I set my hand on Dean's shoulder carefully after about two hours, trying to wake him gently. His eyes opened, and he tried to say something to me, but a groan from his own mouth cut him off. He pointed frantically to the trashcan in the corner of the room, his face turning an unpleasant shade of green.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, scrambling across the room to retrieve the can. I held it next to the bed for the first minute as Dean retched into it. He took the bin himself after a moment, losing whatever he'd eaten in the few days. I knew it had to be hard on his stomach where his wound was. I shuffled around to the other side of the bed to rub his back comfortingly. He relaxed and stopped coughing after a minute. He lied there for a second, just holding the sick-filled trashcan. I plucked a couple of tissues from the corner of the room and handed them to Dean, who wiped his mouth and set the can back on the ground by his bed. When he went to move back into his previous position, he winced in pain and groans. I put my arms under him and slowly slid him back. "Good morning to you too," I told him sympathetically. He just looked at me as Sam strode back into the room. He had been out fixing the trunk and putting everything back into it.

"Let's get this done," He said to me blandly, then noticed Dean was awake. "How was your sleep Dean?" He asked tentatively, obviously noticing the pain on Dean's face.

"Well, I had some pretty messed up dreams," He replied in his raspy morning voice, bringing his hand up to rub at his temple. Sexy. Wait! Not sexy....? Yeah yeah, okay, there is no more denying it. I definently had a thing for him. Sigh. I remembered the barf-filled bin sitting by the bed with a grimace, and grabbed a tissue, picking it up by the rim, making a discusted face, because frankly, this is discusting. "Oh come on, my bodily fluids can't be that bad, now can they?" He pulled an innocent, yet evil smile, despite the fact that just yesterday he'd been stabbed in the stomach. I put on a sarcastic smile, and strode out the door into the hall. I walked down into the reception desk, and up to the nurse behind the counter, sorting through saline bags. I cleared my throat quietly and she looked up at me.