Note from Nashcon 1: Jared Padalecki is even better looking in person, though I don't know how that's possible. I want to adopt him.

Note from Nashcon 2: Jensen Ackles can sing. Oh my.

Sam made sure everything was set before he left for the hospital. Dean's bed had two thick down quilts - courtesy of the local thrift store - spread over the sheets to make the stiff mattress more comfortable for Dean's battered muscles and cracked ribs. The fridge was stocked with Dean's favorite foods and - because of the pain meds - the only non-alcoholic beer he could stand. Sam set the thermostat a little higher than normal in case Dean got chilled walking from the car to the motel room, made sure the TV was set to Dean's favorite channel and that the remote was on the side table closest to Dean's bed .

Sam wanted everything comfortable and easy for Dean while he recovered. He didn't want Dean to have to worry about anything. He was going to take care of everything.

Finally satisfied that everything was as close to perfect as it could be, Sam drove to the hospital to get Dean.

"You're late." Was how Dean greeted him when he walked into the hospital room.

"I said I'd be here at ten." Sam reminded him. "It's only seven after."

Dean shrugged and grunted something unhappy and didn't move from where he sat hunched on the bed. He'd gotten himself dressed but that was all. Sam shoved all of the 'you never know when we might need this' hospital paraphernalia into Dean's bag and tried to not dwell on how slumped, broken, and depressed Dean looked right now.

"Got everything signed?" he asked.

Dean didn't look at him, only lifted a handful of paperwork.

"Prescriptions?"

"Pharmacy downstairs."

"Wheelchair?"

A jerk of Dean's chin indicated one folded up and waiting, tucked behind the door.

Dean was pale and bruised and turned in on himself. Sam thought he'd be happy to be getting out of the hospital. Happier than he had been anyway.

Apparently not.

"Ready then?"

Another shrug, another noncommittal noise.

Sam held back his aggravated sigh, kicked open the wheelchair, and wheeled it to the bed.

"Up and at 'em." He tried to sound cheerful, but he didn't feel it. Dean rolled his eyes and moved from slumping on the bed to slumping in the wheelchair with no complaint, no remark at all. Sam slung the duffel over his shoulder and wheeled Dean to the bank of elevators.

It was testament to how poorly Dean was feeling that no bevy of nurses converged on them to say goodbye. One or two looked up from the work at the nurse's station as they passed, they even smiled, said 'goodybe', 'take care of yourself', but Dean had generated no spark in them. That was bad.

They got to the elevators without incident or interruption, and once they were inside and the doors were closed and the elevator was falling, Dean pushed himself out of the chair.

"Hey -." Sam warned.

"What? They gonna throw me out?" Dean kicked the wheelchair out of his way and leaned his shoulder and then his head against the elevator wall. He looked exhausted. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

Sam couldn't argue with that.

When the doors opened, Dean led the way out and Sam followed, hating Dean's slumped shoulders and shuffling steps. He didn't want Dean to be hurting that bad, to be that vulnerable. He'd expected Dean to be tired, physically sore, physically run down. But he'd also expected him to be mad as hell, to come up fighting the way he always did. Right now, Dean looked like he didn't care if he lived or died, or if anybody else did either.

"Why don't you take a chair in the lobby, and I'll get your meds for you?" Sam asked. "The pharmacy's just down the hall here."

"Right, genius. They won't give you my meds unless you're my parent."

So Sam kept following Dean, down the hallway, and into the not-short-enough line at the pharmacy counter. He considered going to get the car while Dean waited here in line, but he threw that thought out just soon as it occurred to him. Now that Dean was released, Sam wasn't leaving him alone even for a second. Not even in the hospital pharmacy.

The time in line passed slowly and quietly. Dean didn't make any remarks, snarky or otherwise, about their surroundings or companions or how long it was taking. He just stood there, looking at something Sam wished he could see, too.

Finally Dean's turn came. He got his bottles and scrawled a signature and turned to shuffle his way out of the hospital.

Sam followed.

"Car's this way." He told Dean when they were out on the front sidewalk, gesturing to the parking garage across the street. He still didn't want to leave Dean alone but he wasn't sure Dean could walk that far. "You wanna wait here or -?"

Dean kept walking, toward the garage.

Sam followed him.