Supernatural fic
May. 16th, 2006 11:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serafina20Part 1
The ring was unfamiliar on her finger. Rachel didn't wear much jewelry anyway, and she'd never worn a ring on her left finger before. It was strange, knowing what that finger was supposed to represent. What that ring was supposed to represent.
Or, really, what she was trying to pull off.
She highly doubted that Dean knew about this. He would have refused or thrown a fit or something. Rachel would have found out, at least. Before...
She blinked back the tears that threatened, took a firm hold of her purse strap, and walked into the hospital.
She'd come directly from her flight. While she'd run around gathering supplies, packing, finding the rings and everything, her parents had taken care of everything else. They'd book a flight, rented a three bedroom, furnished apartment, ordered groceries to be there when she got in. And, best of all, her father had already started with the bills that needed to be paid.
"I can do it," Rachel had protested when she'd heard, but her father had shaken her head.
"You can worry about any continuing bills," he'd said. He kissed her on the forehead. "When you get to the hospital, all I want you to be worried about is getting any demons away from them and making it safe."
"Right."
"Take care of them, Rachel."
She'd promised she would. And now she was here.
John was in the intensive care unit, but Sam and Dean were on the same floor, one room across. Because they were both in comas, they had been put in separate, private, rooms.
"Mrs. Winchester?"
She was never going to get used to that. She wouldn't even if it were really her name.
Rachel turned. "Yes?"
The man smiled. "Thank you for coming." He held out his hand and shook it.
He didn't flinch, sizzle, or pull away when he touched the cross that Rachel had gotten a priest to painstakingly ink on the back of her hand. It wasn't a tattoo--not a permanent one, at any rate--but it was supposed to be effective in keeping off the possessed or evil.
"Dr. Isaacosn?" she guessed.
"Yes. Why don't we go into Dean's room, so you can see him. Then I'll take you to Sam's and John's." He touched her arm gently, guiding her down the hall. "I was very pleased when the police uncovered the legal documents in Sam's belongings. It'll make things easier in the long run. Not every twenty-one year old has the wherewithal to appoint a health care proxy. We all tend to assume we're invincible."
Her mind caught onto that one word. "Health care proxy?" Crap, Sam.
He nodded. "You have the power to make medical decisions for Sam, Dean, and John Winchester should they be incapable of making them on their own. Which is definitely now." He stopped outside a room, hand on the door. "Tell me, though. What is it they do for a living? The documents are all so very well ordered, it's almost as if this was expected."
Rachel licked her lips. "They're, uh, bounty hunters." Another things Dad had set up for them; an official bounty hunting practice, licensed in Connecticut, at least on paper and in cyber space, should anyone look too closely. "It's dangerous work, you know?"
"Yes, it is. Well, that makes sense. The police are still going to have some questions for you. Do you think you might be able to talk with them this afternoon?"
"Sure."
"Good." He opened the door. "This is Dean's room."
She tried not to react. Tried not to be stereotypical, but Dean was so pale. There was a bruise on the side of his face, dark purple and painful looking. He was hooked to various machines and an IV. There were scratches on his face and arms. He looked lifeless, not like the man she'd met all those months ago.
"Are you all right?"
Rachel blinked. Tears rolled down her face. "I'm fine. Just... how long? I never even... How long?"
"Two days. The police found them Wednesday night after someone reported the crash. The man driving the semi was dead by the time paramedics arrived on scene. John and Dean both stopped breathing soon after; John is still on life support, but Dean's been breathing on his own since."
"That's good." She went to the bed and took Dean's hand in his. She squeezed it, but his hand remained lifeless. "How bad is it?"
"He's stable. We expect him to wake up soon. His brain is functioning normally, his breathing is good. However, there is some heart damage that we can't quite explain."
Rachel sat on the edge of the bed, her leg pressed into Dean's arm. "Heart damage." God. Did the accident reverse whatever that reaper had done to him?
The doctor nodded. "He has an irregular beat and bradycardia. That means his heart is beating too slowly. It was also, ah, slightly out of place."
"Out of place?" She almost dropped his hand.
"His, uh, sternum was cracked and the heart was pointing in the wrong position. There were wounds on his chest from where the sternum broke through the skin."
"I don't understand. How does someone get a projecting wound on the chest from a car crash?" Rachel asked stupidly. Her mind refused to be sensible and give an answer that was plausible. Like some demon had tried to rip it out.
"I'm not sure," Dr. Isaacosn replied. "But it's from the injuries of all three men that they were injured before the car accident. John has a gunshot wound in his legs, and Sam has various injuries as well. Dean's are the most troubling. It almost seems like he may have been mauled. However, the injuries look like they're coming from the inside out rather than the normal way."
She snorted at the idea of anything that happened to the Winchesters as being normal. Blinking back another round of tears, she adjusted her body so she was looking at Dean. Careful not to cause him pain, Rachel stroked his hair, then down his cheek. "Anything else?"
"There are other scratches on his chest, bruises, head trauma. His lungs were damaged, too, not badly; they'll heal. The injury to his heart and chest forced a lot of blood up through his GI tract."
"What about his heart?" She carded her fingers through Dean's hair. "Can you fix it?"
"We can. We've already operated once to put the heart in its correct position. Right now, we're hoping the arrhythmia corrects itself, given time and rest. However, if it doesn't, bradycardia is treatable with a pace maker."
She snorted. "Oh, he'll love that." She traced the shell of Dean's ear with her fingertip. "Can he hear us?"
"It never hurts to talk. I'll leave you alone with him a few minutes before taking you to see the others. Just come out when you're ready."
"Thank you, Doctor." She waited until the door closed behind the doctor. Once she and Dean were alone, Rachel sighed and leaned forward until her forehead rested against Dean's. "Oh, Dean." She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, caressing the battle-worn skin. "You, my dear, are going to be so pissed when you wake up." She kissed his forehead. "But I'm glad Sam did what he did. You're all hurt, and I can take care of you all. I hope." Rachel hesitated, then kissed Dean lightly on the lips. Hey, they were married, right?
She rose and picked up the purse she'd put on the floor. Inside, in a small jewelry bag her mother had lent her, were three crosses, a pen blessed by the priest who had done her marking, and the wedding ring she'd bought at a pawn shop. The wedding ring she slipped on Dean's left finger; it, too, had been blessed and might add a modicum of protection. She looped the cross necklace over his wrist and tucked it underneath the hospital bracelet.
"Okay, Dean. I'm going to check on your brother and father, then I'll be back. And I'm going to have to go through all your stuff at some point, so I'm asking your permission. You said yes, by the way, so don't think you can yell at me when you wake up." She brushed the hair over his temple. "I'll try to find the time to check the Impala out as soon as I can. I imagine she needs some body work. Kind of like her driver." Tears filmed her eyes. Rachel blinked them away again. "Okay. I'll go now. You be good and get some sleep. I'll be back in a heartbeat." She winced. "Well. In your case, maybe a few." She bent forward and kissed him again, softer this time. Lingering. Then she stood and left the room.
* * *
Sam had stitches across his forehead. His nose was broken, both eyes badly bruised. He was on oxygen, but not intubated, pale as the sheets. Plus, he had a bad head injury from the accident.
Rachel wrapped the cross around his wrist. There was no wedding ring, of course, and she felt bad about not having extra protection to give him, but it would look suspicious. So, she kissed his forehead and told him she'd be back soon. Oh, and she also said, "When you wake up, Samuel Winchester, I am going to smack you so hard, you're going to think that whatever it was you faced was cakewalk next to me. And I'm going to tell Dean what you did."
She hardly heard the rundown of John Winchester's injuries. She was too busy looking at the man himself. Pale, intubated, but still strangely powerful looking. An imposing man.
"Trace elements of sulfur," Dr. Isaacosn said.
Rachel blinked and pulled her gaze away from the father. "Sulfur? What?"
"It was on his clothes, his hair. Inside his mouth. We can't explain it. It wasn't on the boys, just John. It doesn't seem to be affecting him, although we're keeping an eye on his lungs, of course. We do think that's one reason he hasn't started breathing on his own yet."
"The sulfur. Yeah." Crap. Crap, crap, fuck, shit, damn. He'd been possessed. Sulfur equals demons.
Her palms discharged about a gallon of sweat.
"Can I have a moment alone with him?"
"Of course. Just, be careful. He's not stable."
"I'll be careful." She smiled weakly at the doctor and rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans.
He left.
Rachel exhaled shakily. "Okay, John. I'm, uh, Rachel. I don't know if your boys have told you about me. Well. Sam is the one who would have. Dean and I are... you know. Complicated." She swallowed and moved towards the bed. "I have a lot of respect for you. For raising them so well under the circumstances you did. So, uh, please understand that this? Isn't personal." She took the last cross from her pocket. Pressed it into his arm.
Nothing happened.
"All right." A weight was lifted from her and she smiled. "Good. So, whatever it was, it's not there anymore." Maybe. Some demons weren't affected by Christian symbols. Dybbuks, for example. And kitsunes, although they, of course, didn't possess. And, some, very powerful demons, weren't affected either.
"Mrs. Winchester?"
Rachel turned. There were two police officers standing just outside John's room. Dr. Isaacosn was inside again.
"Yes?"
"The police are here. They have some questions."
"Of course." Rachel hesitated before slipping the cross underneath John's mattress. Then she stepped outside the room. "Officers?"
Doyle and Schmidt were both in their early thirties, polite, and hesitant. There was no good cop, bad cop here. They sat her down, got her coffee, and set the piles of documents they'd exhumed from the wrecked Impala between them.
"How long have you been married, Mrs. Winchester?" Doyle asked her.
"Not long," she hedged. "I haven't known Dean for all that long. It was kind of a whirlwind because of his job. He came in on a case and sort of swept me off my feet." Rachel twisted the wedding ring around her finger.
"What exactly does your husband do for a living? We can't find any records."
"He's a bounty hunter. A, uh, fugitive recovery agent. He and his brother work out of Connecticut, where I live."
"Do they work with any particular bail bondsman in Connecticut?"
"Not that I know of. And, really? Dean and Sam are good at what they do, so, sometimes, if people they've worked for in the past feel that they need their help, they call. That's what they were doing in town."
"And John Winchester?"
"He's a bounty hunter, too. But he doesn't stay... he's usually off doing his own thing. This was just, you know. A special trip." For whatever reason, that made the tears come. And once she started, she couldn't stop. She just sat there, crying because Dean was hurt and Sam was in a coma and John had been possessed by a demon and wasn't breathing and it was all too much. She was just a scholar with no experience in anything who was married on paper to a guy who didn't want to touch her in case he hurt her.
Schmidt handed her a tissue. "We found a lot of weapons in the trunk of the car. Do you know if they're registered or legally obtained?"
"I assume so. I really don't know."
Doyle placed a box on top of the table and opened it. "And these?"
"False IDs," she said, picking one up. Department of Homeland Security. A really bad picture of Dean. Sam's picture wasn't much better; it claimed his name was Robert Singer. A Minnesota Law Enforcement ID gave Dean's name as Gregory Washington. One of Sam's said he was female. "I guess they use them on the job." She wiped her eyes. "I really want to get back to my husband, gentlemen. Is there anything else?"
They exchanged looks. "Not right now. We'll be following up, though. Where do you live?"
"New Haven."
They wrote it down, along with her phone number and address in town. The books, journals, and papers, they gave to her; apparently, the supernatural crap in it wasn't enough to intrigue them. Or worry them.
Then they let her be. She was still crying. She couldn't seem to stop. Schmidt insisted they walk her back to Dean's room. He was next to her the whole way, glued to her side. He kept passing tissues and chatting inanities at her, asking how her flight was and her hotel. Rachel got the feeling he wouldn't have left had his partner not pulled him away once she got to her destination.
"I'm back," she said. She pulled a chair next to the bed and sat. "Sam looks awful, but don't let that worry you. A broken nose can only improve his looks, right?" She was so glad Dean wasn't awake. "And your dad... I don't know about your dad. I'm going to go through your journals tonight and tomorrow, I'll perform an exorcism. I don't think there's any demon in him right now. I mean, he'd be awake then. Demons do that to people. But I want to be sure." She wiped her eyes and tried to calm down. "Dean, you need to wake up, okay? I'm not good at this, and if Sam woke up, we'd just console ourselves into a spiral of depression. At least you'll keep things interesting." She took his hand, squeezed, then shook her head. "Oh, fuck it."
Rachel kicked off her shoes. And, heart pounding, she climbed carefully into the bed, stretched out next to Dean, and held him. "I'll give you until tomorrow," she said, stroking his cheek. "And then you better wake up."
The ring was unfamiliar on her finger. Rachel didn't wear much jewelry anyway, and she'd never worn a ring on her left finger before. It was strange, knowing what that finger was supposed to represent. What that ring was supposed to represent.
Or, really, what she was trying to pull off.
She highly doubted that Dean knew about this. He would have refused or thrown a fit or something. Rachel would have found out, at least. Before...
She blinked back the tears that threatened, took a firm hold of her purse strap, and walked into the hospital.
She'd come directly from her flight. While she'd run around gathering supplies, packing, finding the rings and everything, her parents had taken care of everything else. They'd book a flight, rented a three bedroom, furnished apartment, ordered groceries to be there when she got in. And, best of all, her father had already started with the bills that needed to be paid.
"I can do it," Rachel had protested when she'd heard, but her father had shaken her head.
"You can worry about any continuing bills," he'd said. He kissed her on the forehead. "When you get to the hospital, all I want you to be worried about is getting any demons away from them and making it safe."
"Right."
"Take care of them, Rachel."
She'd promised she would. And now she was here.
John was in the intensive care unit, but Sam and Dean were on the same floor, one room across. Because they were both in comas, they had been put in separate, private, rooms.
"Mrs. Winchester?"
She was never going to get used to that. She wouldn't even if it were really her name.
Rachel turned. "Yes?"
The man smiled. "Thank you for coming." He held out his hand and shook it.
He didn't flinch, sizzle, or pull away when he touched the cross that Rachel had gotten a priest to painstakingly ink on the back of her hand. It wasn't a tattoo--not a permanent one, at any rate--but it was supposed to be effective in keeping off the possessed or evil.
"Dr. Isaacosn?" she guessed.
"Yes. Why don't we go into Dean's room, so you can see him. Then I'll take you to Sam's and John's." He touched her arm gently, guiding her down the hall. "I was very pleased when the police uncovered the legal documents in Sam's belongings. It'll make things easier in the long run. Not every twenty-one year old has the wherewithal to appoint a health care proxy. We all tend to assume we're invincible."
Her mind caught onto that one word. "Health care proxy?" Crap, Sam.
He nodded. "You have the power to make medical decisions for Sam, Dean, and John Winchester should they be incapable of making them on their own. Which is definitely now." He stopped outside a room, hand on the door. "Tell me, though. What is it they do for a living? The documents are all so very well ordered, it's almost as if this was expected."
Rachel licked her lips. "They're, uh, bounty hunters." Another things Dad had set up for them; an official bounty hunting practice, licensed in Connecticut, at least on paper and in cyber space, should anyone look too closely. "It's dangerous work, you know?"
"Yes, it is. Well, that makes sense. The police are still going to have some questions for you. Do you think you might be able to talk with them this afternoon?"
"Sure."
"Good." He opened the door. "This is Dean's room."
She tried not to react. Tried not to be stereotypical, but Dean was so pale. There was a bruise on the side of his face, dark purple and painful looking. He was hooked to various machines and an IV. There were scratches on his face and arms. He looked lifeless, not like the man she'd met all those months ago.
"Are you all right?"
Rachel blinked. Tears rolled down her face. "I'm fine. Just... how long? I never even... How long?"
"Two days. The police found them Wednesday night after someone reported the crash. The man driving the semi was dead by the time paramedics arrived on scene. John and Dean both stopped breathing soon after; John is still on life support, but Dean's been breathing on his own since."
"That's good." She went to the bed and took Dean's hand in his. She squeezed it, but his hand remained lifeless. "How bad is it?"
"He's stable. We expect him to wake up soon. His brain is functioning normally, his breathing is good. However, there is some heart damage that we can't quite explain."
Rachel sat on the edge of the bed, her leg pressed into Dean's arm. "Heart damage." God. Did the accident reverse whatever that reaper had done to him?
The doctor nodded. "He has an irregular beat and bradycardia. That means his heart is beating too slowly. It was also, ah, slightly out of place."
"Out of place?" She almost dropped his hand.
"His, uh, sternum was cracked and the heart was pointing in the wrong position. There were wounds on his chest from where the sternum broke through the skin."
"I don't understand. How does someone get a projecting wound on the chest from a car crash?" Rachel asked stupidly. Her mind refused to be sensible and give an answer that was plausible. Like some demon had tried to rip it out.
"I'm not sure," Dr. Isaacosn replied. "But it's from the injuries of all three men that they were injured before the car accident. John has a gunshot wound in his legs, and Sam has various injuries as well. Dean's are the most troubling. It almost seems like he may have been mauled. However, the injuries look like they're coming from the inside out rather than the normal way."
She snorted at the idea of anything that happened to the Winchesters as being normal. Blinking back another round of tears, she adjusted her body so she was looking at Dean. Careful not to cause him pain, Rachel stroked his hair, then down his cheek. "Anything else?"
"There are other scratches on his chest, bruises, head trauma. His lungs were damaged, too, not badly; they'll heal. The injury to his heart and chest forced a lot of blood up through his GI tract."
"What about his heart?" She carded her fingers through Dean's hair. "Can you fix it?"
"We can. We've already operated once to put the heart in its correct position. Right now, we're hoping the arrhythmia corrects itself, given time and rest. However, if it doesn't, bradycardia is treatable with a pace maker."
She snorted. "Oh, he'll love that." She traced the shell of Dean's ear with her fingertip. "Can he hear us?"
"It never hurts to talk. I'll leave you alone with him a few minutes before taking you to see the others. Just come out when you're ready."
"Thank you, Doctor." She waited until the door closed behind the doctor. Once she and Dean were alone, Rachel sighed and leaned forward until her forehead rested against Dean's. "Oh, Dean." She stroked his cheeks with her thumbs, caressing the battle-worn skin. "You, my dear, are going to be so pissed when you wake up." She kissed his forehead. "But I'm glad Sam did what he did. You're all hurt, and I can take care of you all. I hope." Rachel hesitated, then kissed Dean lightly on the lips. Hey, they were married, right?
She rose and picked up the purse she'd put on the floor. Inside, in a small jewelry bag her mother had lent her, were three crosses, a pen blessed by the priest who had done her marking, and the wedding ring she'd bought at a pawn shop. The wedding ring she slipped on Dean's left finger; it, too, had been blessed and might add a modicum of protection. She looped the cross necklace over his wrist and tucked it underneath the hospital bracelet.
"Okay, Dean. I'm going to check on your brother and father, then I'll be back. And I'm going to have to go through all your stuff at some point, so I'm asking your permission. You said yes, by the way, so don't think you can yell at me when you wake up." She brushed the hair over his temple. "I'll try to find the time to check the Impala out as soon as I can. I imagine she needs some body work. Kind of like her driver." Tears filmed her eyes. Rachel blinked them away again. "Okay. I'll go now. You be good and get some sleep. I'll be back in a heartbeat." She winced. "Well. In your case, maybe a few." She bent forward and kissed him again, softer this time. Lingering. Then she stood and left the room.
* * *
Sam had stitches across his forehead. His nose was broken, both eyes badly bruised. He was on oxygen, but not intubated, pale as the sheets. Plus, he had a bad head injury from the accident.
Rachel wrapped the cross around his wrist. There was no wedding ring, of course, and she felt bad about not having extra protection to give him, but it would look suspicious. So, she kissed his forehead and told him she'd be back soon. Oh, and she also said, "When you wake up, Samuel Winchester, I am going to smack you so hard, you're going to think that whatever it was you faced was cakewalk next to me. And I'm going to tell Dean what you did."
She hardly heard the rundown of John Winchester's injuries. She was too busy looking at the man himself. Pale, intubated, but still strangely powerful looking. An imposing man.
"Trace elements of sulfur," Dr. Isaacosn said.
Rachel blinked and pulled her gaze away from the father. "Sulfur? What?"
"It was on his clothes, his hair. Inside his mouth. We can't explain it. It wasn't on the boys, just John. It doesn't seem to be affecting him, although we're keeping an eye on his lungs, of course. We do think that's one reason he hasn't started breathing on his own yet."
"The sulfur. Yeah." Crap. Crap, crap, fuck, shit, damn. He'd been possessed. Sulfur equals demons.
Her palms discharged about a gallon of sweat.
"Can I have a moment alone with him?"
"Of course. Just, be careful. He's not stable."
"I'll be careful." She smiled weakly at the doctor and rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans.
He left.
Rachel exhaled shakily. "Okay, John. I'm, uh, Rachel. I don't know if your boys have told you about me. Well. Sam is the one who would have. Dean and I are... you know. Complicated." She swallowed and moved towards the bed. "I have a lot of respect for you. For raising them so well under the circumstances you did. So, uh, please understand that this? Isn't personal." She took the last cross from her pocket. Pressed it into his arm.
Nothing happened.
"All right." A weight was lifted from her and she smiled. "Good. So, whatever it was, it's not there anymore." Maybe. Some demons weren't affected by Christian symbols. Dybbuks, for example. And kitsunes, although they, of course, didn't possess. And, some, very powerful demons, weren't affected either.
"Mrs. Winchester?"
Rachel turned. There were two police officers standing just outside John's room. Dr. Isaacosn was inside again.
"Yes?"
"The police are here. They have some questions."
"Of course." Rachel hesitated before slipping the cross underneath John's mattress. Then she stepped outside the room. "Officers?"
Doyle and Schmidt were both in their early thirties, polite, and hesitant. There was no good cop, bad cop here. They sat her down, got her coffee, and set the piles of documents they'd exhumed from the wrecked Impala between them.
"How long have you been married, Mrs. Winchester?" Doyle asked her.
"Not long," she hedged. "I haven't known Dean for all that long. It was kind of a whirlwind because of his job. He came in on a case and sort of swept me off my feet." Rachel twisted the wedding ring around her finger.
"What exactly does your husband do for a living? We can't find any records."
"He's a bounty hunter. A, uh, fugitive recovery agent. He and his brother work out of Connecticut, where I live."
"Do they work with any particular bail bondsman in Connecticut?"
"Not that I know of. And, really? Dean and Sam are good at what they do, so, sometimes, if people they've worked for in the past feel that they need their help, they call. That's what they were doing in town."
"And John Winchester?"
"He's a bounty hunter, too. But he doesn't stay... he's usually off doing his own thing. This was just, you know. A special trip." For whatever reason, that made the tears come. And once she started, she couldn't stop. She just sat there, crying because Dean was hurt and Sam was in a coma and John had been possessed by a demon and wasn't breathing and it was all too much. She was just a scholar with no experience in anything who was married on paper to a guy who didn't want to touch her in case he hurt her.
Schmidt handed her a tissue. "We found a lot of weapons in the trunk of the car. Do you know if they're registered or legally obtained?"
"I assume so. I really don't know."
Doyle placed a box on top of the table and opened it. "And these?"
"False IDs," she said, picking one up. Department of Homeland Security. A really bad picture of Dean. Sam's picture wasn't much better; it claimed his name was Robert Singer. A Minnesota Law Enforcement ID gave Dean's name as Gregory Washington. One of Sam's said he was female. "I guess they use them on the job." She wiped her eyes. "I really want to get back to my husband, gentlemen. Is there anything else?"
They exchanged looks. "Not right now. We'll be following up, though. Where do you live?"
"New Haven."
They wrote it down, along with her phone number and address in town. The books, journals, and papers, they gave to her; apparently, the supernatural crap in it wasn't enough to intrigue them. Or worry them.
Then they let her be. She was still crying. She couldn't seem to stop. Schmidt insisted they walk her back to Dean's room. He was next to her the whole way, glued to her side. He kept passing tissues and chatting inanities at her, asking how her flight was and her hotel. Rachel got the feeling he wouldn't have left had his partner not pulled him away once she got to her destination.
"I'm back," she said. She pulled a chair next to the bed and sat. "Sam looks awful, but don't let that worry you. A broken nose can only improve his looks, right?" She was so glad Dean wasn't awake. "And your dad... I don't know about your dad. I'm going to go through your journals tonight and tomorrow, I'll perform an exorcism. I don't think there's any demon in him right now. I mean, he'd be awake then. Demons do that to people. But I want to be sure." She wiped her eyes and tried to calm down. "Dean, you need to wake up, okay? I'm not good at this, and if Sam woke up, we'd just console ourselves into a spiral of depression. At least you'll keep things interesting." She took his hand, squeezed, then shook her head. "Oh, fuck it."
Rachel kicked off her shoes. And, heart pounding, she climbed carefully into the bed, stretched out next to Dean, and held him. "I'll give you until tomorrow," she said, stroking his cheek. "And then you better wake up."
