Something's beeping. The sound is persistent, relentless, and something about it makes anxiety churn in Dean's stomach. He feels a restlessness pervading his limbs, urging him to move; to run, but he finds he doesn't have the strength.

It takes several more seconds for Dean to realise the beeping is quickening, keeping time with his heartbeat. He opens his eyes.

Immediately, he's forced to squint, the sudden intensity of the light too bright for his pupils to adjust. He sees white: white walls, white ceiling, white bedsheets. Wires and leads trail off to join monitor screens on his left. It doesn't stop his rising panic to realise he's in hospital, one thought quickly forcing its way to the front of his mind. It passes his lips as soon as it enters his head, a single gruff syllable: "Sam?"

"Dean?"

Relief sweeps over him at the sound of the voice. He turns to face the other direction, surprised to see his brother on a second bed beside his own. There's a bag of saline on a stand beside him, connected to an IV line flowing into Sam's veins. Beside it is a bag of blood. "Sam, you okay?"

It surprises Dean to see Sam looking so well. There's color in his cheeks. The scratches on his face have been cleaned up, the worst of them covered with tiny strips of gauze. He doesn't even seem to be in pain, and just that thought is enough to make Dean's own injuries fade to almost nothing.

"Yeah, I'm good. They gave me a blood transfusion, fluids, some antibiotics…I'm doing okay. What about you? Cas said you were in a bad way when he found us."

"Cas?" Confusion lingers for a heartbeat before Dean notices the figure sat in the chair by the door. He looks over at the angel, hardly knowing what to say. Cas speaks first.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean should be relieved. Grateful. Yet he can't help the anger that rises in his voice as the mounting frustration of the past two days pours out. "Where were you?"

Even Sam seems surprised by the hardness of his voice.

"Dean…" Cas rises, strides closer. "I can't tell you how sorry I am. I tried…"

"Well, you should have tried harder." Dean can't even look at him, his vision strangely misty as he stares at the ceiling. All the hell of the past two days, and Cas could have come for them, got them both out…

"There was a force preventing me from reaching you, Dean. I didn't even know where you were. I promise, as soon as I knew, I came."

It makes sense. Dean knows it does, knows he's being unfair, yet he just can't let go. "You didn't think to ask questions? Find out where we'd gone on the hunt?"

He's hardly being reasonable. He's mad at himself for doing this, but if he can't take it out on the bitch that put him through all that, he has to take it out on something.

Sam intervenes. "Dean, hey. Cas did what he could. If he hadn't found us when he did, we'd both be dead by now."

Dean's fists clench briefly, then all the fight seems to seep from him. He doesn't want to be mad at his friend. He just doesn't know how to accept this is over. "Yeah, I know." He blinks as he meets the angel's gaze, yet finds he can manage neither a "thank you" nor a "sorry". The look in Cas' eyes tells him he doesn't need to.

The monitor continues to beep.

A shaky breath is drawn into Dean's lungs as he tries to block it out, but finds he can't. He could do without the constant reminder of his beating heart. "Hey, Cas, could you turn that off?"

The angel follows Dean's gaze to the monitor, and his brow creases. "Dean, it's for…"

"Yeah, I know. Can you just turn it off?" Guiltily, he realises he snapped again, and tries to soften it with, "Please?"

Cas does as he'd asked, going to turn the monitor off at the wall without further question. Dean's grateful for the silence. "So, no healing then?" he says after a few moments.

"I did what I was able, but you needed medical attention."

Dean grunts. "Mm. And what about Baby?" He doesn't want to have to go back to the park to retrieve the car. Doesn't think he can face it.

"I went and fetched the Impala as soon as the doctors assured me the two of you would be alright. You should rest now, Dean. There's nothing you have to worry about."

Dean wants to believe that's true.

Some time passes, although Dean's hardly able to tell if it's minutes or hours. The police don't ask questions. They try, two officers appearing at some point wanting to talk, but a forehead touch from Cas later and they're thanking them for their help and leaving again. A nurse comes in presently to check on the brothers, berating Cas for Dean's monitor being off, but he's probably spared the worst of her wrath by Dean being awake. Dean all but white-knuckles it through watching Sam be examined, stethoscope pressed to his chest, and then it's his turn. He screws his eyes shut and tries so hard not to think, not to remember, not to feel the pain stinging behind his ribs. The beeping of the now-turned-on-again monitor is a dead giveaway.

"I'm going to give you a sedative," the nurse announces as she pulls the stethoscope away from his chest. "Your heart's recovering well, but you seem distressed. You need to relax and get some sleep." Dean doesn't complain as she inserts a needle into his IV port and depresses the plunger, then she's gone again. It feels nice as everything begins to go fuzzy and he doesn't have to think anymore, doesn't have to worry about the pain. He can hear the pauses widening between the monitor's beeps.

"Dean?"

Sam's voice is distant, but it's his brother's voice, and Dean focuses on it. "Mm?"

"What happened?" He seems hesitant to ask, but his concern is apparent. The question is asked almost tenderly. "Why can't you stand to hear the monitor? Or let her examine you?"

The answer hovers in the air for a few moments before Dean tries to give it voice. His vision is misting again, although he can't tell whether from tiredness or tears. "She was going to kill you, Sammy," he says at length. "If my heart beat too fast, she was going to bleed you dry." His voice doesn't crack. It comes close, tightening in his throat, but never breaks.

He's surprised when he hears movement beside him. Wheels roll across the vinyl floor, and Dean forces his drooping eyelids to stay open. Sam has gotten up from the bed, pulling the stand of saline alongside him as he approaches Dean. Puzzlement washes over his already-dulled mind for a moment before Sam reaches for Dean's hand and holds it to his chest. Dean can feel the steady beating of his brother's heart beneath his palm.

"You feel that?" Sam says softly, and Dean wonders if he's already fallen asleep and this is just a dream. "You saved me. I'm alive. My heart's still beating, so you don't have to worry about yours anymore. It's over."

It's comforting, to hear him say it. His chest is warm beneath Dean's hand, his heartbeat strong and steady, and distantly Dean hears a beeping monitor beginning to keep time. Everything feels safe and warm, and when his brother says it, Dean finds that he can at last believe it. "Everything's going to be okay."

Dean's head sinks back into the pillow, and he sleeps.

Fin.

Concluding author's note: Huge thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed and supported this story. Additional behind-the-scenes info about the process of writing it can now be found as an appendix to the AO3 version, linked to on my profile page, as well as a playlist of songs that set the mood for the story. The wonderful IzumiLover is also in the process of providing full illustrations included in the AO3 version. The first piece of artwork, "Anatomy of a Damaged Dean", is now available if you check out the link.