“Sit up,” Dean said as he sat on the edge of his bed. He could smell the broth in the bowl that Dean was holding. His stomach grumbled. He hadn’t been able eat to each much, or keep it down. But this was day twenty and he was actually feeling hungry, he wanted the broth. “Can feed myself,” he gritted out as Dean lifted the spoon to his lips.
“Let me help,” Dean murmured.
Grudgingly, he did. And he managed to keep the broth down. Maybe this was the turning point for him.
Day twenty-five had been a milestone as far as he was concerned. He had been able to eat toast and chicken noodle soup without tossing it back up. Dean had counted that as a win for him. He wasn’t too sure. He still ached from head to toe, but the ache was bearable. It didn’t feel like insects were crawling under his skin.
By day thirty, he was no longer shaking and sweating. He was actually dressed in a t-shirt and jeans instead of just his boxers. “How much longer?” Sam asked quietly. He watched as Dean raised his head up from the book he was reading. He scrunched his face up. Where had the book come from? Why hadn’t he noticed it before now? Oh right, to busy detoxing to notice anything. It wasn’t a lore book. It was one by Stephen King. Dean set the book aside and he could read the title, It. because of course his brother would be reading about a clown just to fuck with him.
“I’m only half way through this. When I’m done, we can think about leaving. And, you know I’m a slow reader.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sam asked, not sure if he should believe his brother or not.
“It’s for your own good,” Dean replied, a serious tone to his voice as he locked eyes with Sam.
“You got another book?” Sam asked.
“Sure,” Dean said as he tossed Sam a battered paperback.
Sam picked it up and stared at it in disbelief. Misery. “Really?”
“What? You asked for a book. It’s that or nothing,” Dean replied. Then his eyes went wide. “Or, I could start from the beginning of this one and read it out loud.” He smiled and waggled his eyebrows at Sam, liking his own idea.
“No you’ve tortured me enough!” Sam shot back. “When are you gonna uncuff me?” He asked.
Fill Little Helper P 4
“Let me help,” Dean murmured.
Grudgingly, he did. And he managed to keep the broth down. Maybe this was the turning point for him.
Day twenty-five had been a milestone as far as he was concerned. He had been able to eat toast and chicken noodle soup without tossing it back up. Dean had counted that as a win for him. He wasn’t too sure. He still ached from head to toe, but the ache was bearable. It didn’t feel like insects were crawling under his skin.
By day thirty, he was no longer shaking and sweating. He was actually dressed in a t-shirt and jeans instead of just his boxers. “How much longer?” Sam asked quietly. He watched as Dean raised his head up from the book he was reading. He scrunched his face up. Where had the book come from? Why hadn’t he noticed it before now? Oh right, to busy detoxing to notice anything. It wasn’t a lore book. It was one by Stephen King. Dean set the book aside and he could read the title, It. because of course his brother would be reading about a clown just to fuck with him.
“I’m only half way through this. When I’m done, we can think about leaving. And, you know I’m a slow reader.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sam asked, not sure if he should believe his brother or not.
“It’s for your own good,” Dean replied, a serious tone to his voice as he locked eyes with Sam.
“You got another book?” Sam asked.
“Sure,” Dean said as he tossed Sam a battered paperback.
Sam picked it up and stared at it in disbelief. Misery. “Really?”
“What? You asked for a book. It’s that or nothing,” Dean replied. Then his eyes went wide. “Or, I could start from the beginning of this one and read it out loud.” He smiled and waggled his eyebrows at Sam, liking his own idea.
“No you’ve tortured me enough!” Sam shot back. “When are you gonna uncuff me?” He asked.