Dean knew his heart was damaged, but he didn’t feel any pain.
Well, that was not quite true because he felt like crap. Every muscle hurt like he’d been jello wrestling with a wendigo. And there was the matter of the couple of ribs Sammy had cracked when he thumped him back to life. Most of the hurting stopped when the morphine kicked in (and hey why do you only discover wicked shit like morphine when you’re dying?), although he could still feel a dull ache, deep in his bones. But in his heart, the damn thing that was busted, that was killing him, he felt nothing.
After three days he decided to check out of the hospital. There wasn’t anything more they could do for him, the nurses weren’t hot and daytime TV may just kill him quicker than his heart. He thought it might be a bit unfair on Sam, having to be there when he died, but Dean was feeling just a bit selfish right now. So he got a cab back to the motel, back to Sam, because there were a few things he needed to fix while he still could.
Sam told him he’d found some specialist, someone with a cure. Dean was skeptical to say the least, but figured it was better for them to be doing something rather than sitting around the room waiting for him to stop breathing. That was just creepy. He liked the idea of one last rode trip, even if he wouldn’t be doing much driving himself. And he was already legally dead, so he figured Sammy could just roll him down a ravine somewhere.
What hurt him more than the migraines and his aching body was that he was going to lose Sam again, just when they had been getting to know each other. They’d both changed so much in four years, and all the new stuff was mixed up with the old stuff, so they kept blundering around each other, getting things not quite right. But Dean had thought they’d have time to figure it out; he had faith that they would be a family again.
Which bought him to Dad. Dean had to know that Sam and Dad would be together. Besides Dad would never forgive him if he left Sam unprotected in the world. He really hoped he’d be there to see them together again, putting the harsh words and silence of the past four years behind them. So he’d call Dad and get him to meet them wherever the hell Sam was dragging him. Sure, Dad hadn’t responded when Dean had called him from Lawrence, but that was different. Dean had been a bit freaked out at being back there, spazzed like a girl more like it, and Dad had obviously assessed the situation and made a tactical decision that his presence wasn’t necessary. But if Dean called, told him Sam needed him? That he was dying? Dad would be there for them like he always had.
He asked Sam for the phone. Dean told him he was going to call Dad and Sam of course argued. Dean insisted – Dad had to know, had to come. Sam stared at the floor, the phone engulfed in one big hand. Finally he raised his head, met Dean’s questioning look. Sam confessed he’d called Dad already, told him everything. Straight to voicemail.Three days ago. He hadn’t called back.
Dean knew his heart was damaged. He could feel the pain.