Archive of Our Own

In his defense, Dean was really trying to breathe.

Both the team’s medical staff and the emergency room doctor had spent most of their time telling him that taking deep breaths would help. They had all made it sound so easy and manageable that Dean was beginning to suspect none of them had to deal with broken ribs before because every time he tried to take those recommended breaths, pain exploded through the entire right side of his chest and shoulder. 

However, the most most irritating part in Dean’s opinion was that he wasn’t exactly new to injuries. Hockey players got hurt. It was practically part of the sport. Over the years he had accumulated enough injuries that most of them blurred together. He'd dealt with sprains, strains, bruises, cuts, stitches, pulled muscles, and concussions. There had been injuries that looked terrifying but turned out to be minor, and injuries that felt minor before turning into something worse. Usually he could shake them off. Usually he could tough it out.

Not this once.

At first, after the hit, he'd honestly thought nothing big had happened. The collision had been hard and awkward, but hard and awkward described half the hits in hockey. He remembered lying on the ice for a second with the wind knocked out of him, waiting for his lungs to start working properly again. He remembered thinking he'd be fine in a minute. 

That had been wishful thinking.

Two minutes later, he'd tried to move his right shoulder, and he couldn’t help the gasp that had left his mouth. The pain had arrived so suddenly and so violently that it had completely erased every other thought from his brain. One second he was preparing to get up. The next he was flat on the ice again, unable to stop the sound that escaped him as pain exploded through his chest, shoulder, and side. Even before the trainers reached him, he'd known something was badly wrong.

Looking back, he should have realized how serious it was from the reactions around him. Garrett, Logan, and Tucker had all seen enough injuries over the years to know when something was bad. Usually one of them would be making jokes before the trainers even arrived. Usually somebody would be rolling their eyes and telling the injured player to stop being dramatic. Not this time. The second Dean had gone down, all three of them had gone quiet.

The emergency department had confirmed exactly what everyone already suspected. X-rays and a CT scan showed a broken right collarbone and three fractured ribs. Thankfully nothing had punctured a lung and there was no internal bleeding, which apparently qualified as good news. Dean had a difficult time appreciating that distinction while somebody was explaining it because every small movement still felt like his upper body was being ripped apart. 

After confirming nothing required emergency surgery, the doctors had quickly shifted their attention to pain management. He received nerve blocks around the injury sites, steroid injections to reduce inflammation, and enough medication that entire sections of the afternoon had become blurry around the edges. The pain never disappeared completely, but eventually it stopped being unbearable to merely awful.

The discharge process was somehow even worse because it involved listening. Unfortunately, by that point Dean had enough medication in his system that the entire conversation sounded like it was taking place underwater. 

Apparently he was supposed to watch for increasing shortness of breath, worsening chest pain, fevers, numbness, uncontrolled nausea, vomiting, signs of infection, and approximately forty-seven other things that would require a return trip to the emergency room. There were instructions about how often to ice the injuries, how to wear the sling, how to move safely, and how to avoid making the fractures worse.

The nurse had eventually handed over a collection of medications that included pain relievers, steroids, anti-inflammatory treatments, and intramuscular Zofran for nausea to Garrett before sending them home.

Which was exactly how Dean had ended up where he was now.

“Hey.”

Logan's voice cut through the fog filling Dean's head, pulling him away from whatever half-asleep place he had drifted into without knowing. 

Dean blinked several times before managing to focus on his friends’ face. Even that seemed to take more effort than it should have. He slowly turned his head toward Logan's voice and immediately regretted it when the movement sent a sharp bolt of pain through his collarbone and down the side of his chest.

“Hurts,” Dean mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his good hand. He carefully shifted, trying to find a position that felt even slightly less terrible.

“I know, man,” Garrett gave him a small sympathetic smile while studying him for a moment before speaking again. “You sure you still wanna do this?”

The moment they stepped through the front door of the house, Dean had announced that he needed a shower. The problem was that he'd been thinking about the shower itself and not the several complicated steps required before actually getting into one. Specifically, nobody had considered how they were supposed to remove a t-shirt from a guy with a freshly broken collarbone and three fractured ribs.

So now Dean was sitting motionless on the closed toilet seat in the bathroom while Logan and Garrett stood in front of him debating the least painful way to get the shirt off. Unfortunately, after nearly ten minutes of discussion and several cautious attempts, they had come to the conclusion that there wasn't one. The only thing they had successfully accomplished so far was removing the sling and even that had been awful. 

Dean sat with his good arm wrapped loosely around his stomach and focused on taking the slow, controlled breaths the doctor had recommended. The breathing wasn't helping nearly as much as the doctor had promised, but it gave him something to concentrate on besides the pain. Every few moments Garrett or Logan would carefully adjust the fabric of his shirt, and every few moments another stab of pain would shoot through Dean's chest and shoulder hard enough to make his jaw tighten. More than once he had to remind himself not to snap at them.

That was the part making him feel guilty. Garrett and Logan looked almost as stressed as he felt. Neither of them had complained once. Neither of them had pointed out that they had just spent an entire afternoon sitting in the emergency department. They were just trying to help. Dean knew that. Which was why every time a movement sent pain exploding through his shoulder, he swallowed whatever irritated response tried to come out. They didn't have to be here dealing with this. They certainly didn't have to spend twenty minutes trying to remove a shirt from a grown man who could barely move without wincing. Yet here they were anyway.

“Gosh, why do you even have a shirt on?” Garrett finally asked, dragging a hand through his hair in obvious frustration after another unsuccessful attempt to free the fabric around Dean's injured shoulder.

Dean stared at him for several long seconds, trying to come up with an answer. Under normal circumstances, the question would've been easy. In fact, under normal circumstances, Garrett would've practically been handing him a joke. 

Dean Di Laurentis, the guy who somehow managed to find an excuse to take his shirt off in every possible situation, the guy who had spent years showing off in locker rooms, gyms, beaches, and basically any location where he could flex, should have had a sarcastic response ready immediately. Usually the comments came so naturally that he didn't even think about them. He would've said something about protecting everyone from being distracted by his muscles, or claimed that his abs deserved privacy, or come up with some ridiculous speech about maintaining an air of mystery. Normally Garrett wouldn't have been able to get through the question before Dean was already making fun of him.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much going on inside Dean's head at the moment. Between the pain radiating through his shoulder and ribs, the exhaustion from the game, the hours spent in the emergency department, and the impressive amount of medication the hospital had pumped into him over the course of the afternoon, his thoughts felt slow and distant. So he just gave Garrett a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was all he could muster at the moment. 

After a few seconds of silence, Logan finally crouched down in front of him again and studied him for a moment. Dean looked exhausted, his eyes were droopy and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. 

"Can I try one more time?"

Dean opened his eyes long enough to look at him and gave a small nod. It wasn't like he had any better ideas. The shirt wasn't going to remove itself, and spending the rest of the night trapped in it wasn't exactly a realistic plan either. At some point they were going to have to get it off, and waiting another hour probably wasn't going to magically make his collarbone heal.

"Alright," Logan said, turning toward Garrett. "We're going to do this slowly. Get the uninjured arm out first, then pull the shirt up and over his head. Once that's clear, I'll support the injured side and slide the sleeve off that arm last. That should keep us from moving the shoulder any more than absolutely necessary."

Garrett nodded, "Got it."

As soon as Garrett reached for the sleeve on his good arm, Dean's entire body tensed automatically. He closed his eyes tightly and focused on breathing before Garrett had even touched him. The reaction was almost embarrassing, but after the afternoon he'd had, his body seemed to associate any movement near the shirt with pain.

"Easy," Garrett said quietly, stopping his movement to make sure Dean was still with them and not about to pass out or throw up.

After a few seconds, Dean managed a small nod without opening his eyes. Taking that as permission to continue, Garrett carefully gathered the fabric around Dean's wrist and began working the sleeve upward a few inches at a time. 

Logan had already moved closer, one hand firmly supporting Dean's injured arm and shoulder to keep them as still as possible while the other rested lightly against his upper back, ready to stop any movement that looked like it might pull on the fractured collarbone.

Dean concentrated on breathing through his nose while Garrett gradually freed his forearm and then his elbow. Even though this was the uninjured side, the process still wasn't comfortable. The shifting fabric tugged at muscles across his chest and upper back, and every small adjustment seemed to remind his ribs that they were broken. 

Garrett had to stop several times when Dean's breathing hitched or when his face tightened, waiting for the worst of the pain to pass before continuing. Eventually the sleeve cleared his elbow completely and then his shoulder, leaving the entire good arm free. Dean let out a shaky breath and sagged slightly, relieved that at least part of the ordeal was over.

Unfortunately, the harder part was next. With the good arm free, the shirt was now bunched awkwardly across Dean's chest, neck, and shoulders. Logan immediately shifted his grip, keeping one hand supporting the injured arm while using the other to help Garrett gather the loose fabric.

"We're going over your head now," Logan warned quietly, sparing a quick glance at his blond friend to judge his reaction. 

Dean only managed another small nod, his eyes still firmly shut. Working together, Garrett and Logan slowly lifted the shirt upward. The cotton dragged across sweaty skin, caught briefly against the back of Dean's neck, and then began inching over his head. 

Logan used his free hand to carefully guide the fabric so it wouldn't snag on the injured shoulder while Garrett pulled from the opposite side. For several long seconds Dean sat completely motionless except for his shallow breathing, letting them do all the work. Finally the collar slid over his forehead and then his hair before clearing his head completely. Cool air immediately hit his skin.

Garrett exhaled in relief while Logan adjusted his hold on the injured arm again. The shirt was now hanging only from the sleeve covering the broken side. They had reached the point they had been trying to get to for nearly twenty minutes.

"Almost done, buddy," Logan told him quietly as he adjusted his grip once more. One hand remained supporting Dean's injured arm, keeping it as stable as possible against his side, while the other reached for the loose fabric bunched around the shoulder.

Dean didn't answer. At some point during the process he had leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against Logan's shoulder, seeking something solid to focus on besides the pain. His good hand was gripping the side of the toilet seat so hard his knuckles had turned white. The shirt sleeve was gathered around the upper part of his injured arm now, and everyone in the room knew this was the part they had been dreading.

Garrett moved closer and carefully took hold of the fabric near the elbow while Logan kept the shoulder completely immobilized. The moment the cotton shifted against swollen skin, Dean's entire body stiffened. A sharp gasp escaped him before he could stop it, followed by another. His breathing immediately became uneven as pain flared through his collarbone and spread across the fractured ribs beneath it. Logan could feel Dean trembling against him.

"Easy, easy," Logan murmured, keeping his voice calm even as Dean buried his face deeper into his shoulder.

Garrett slowed even further, moving the sleeve only a fraction of an inch at a time. The fabric seemed determined to catch on every sore muscle and bruised patch of skin along the way. Each tiny adjustment sent another wave of pain through Dean's upper body. His fingers tightened painfully around the edge of the seat and several strained breaths escaped him in quick succession. Dean looked miserable. Sweat dampened his hairline, his face had gone pale again, and every muscle in his body seemed locked tight as he fought not to move.

Finally the sleeve reached Dean's wrist. Logan immediately adjusted his hold, keeping one hand supporting the injured arm while using the other to help Garrett free the last section of fabric. Dean let out a broken sound against Logan's shoulder when the shirt caught briefly near his hand. For a terrifying second Garrett thought they were going to have to reverse everything and start again. 

Instead Logan carefully guided Dean's fingers through the opening while Garrett gently pulled. The cotton resisted for a moment and then suddenly slipped free. Just like that, the shirt came off entirely. Garrett immediately tossed it aside while Logan kept supporting the injured arm, unwilling to risk any sudden movement now that they had finally succeeded.

Dean remained exactly where he was, forehead pressed into Logan's shoulder, taking shallow, shaky breaths. The ordeal had only lasted a few minutes, but judging by the way he was trembling and the exhausted sound of his breathing, it might as well have been an hour.

“There," Logan said softly, rubbing his back with his free hand. "It's off. You're done." 

Dean didn't respond right away. He simply stayed where he was, eyes squeezed shut, trying to recover from a level of pain that had left him feeling completely drained.

The door swung open and Tucker stepped inside carrying an armful of supplies. Dean's black sweatpants and a pair of clean boxers were hooked over one arm, a large glass of water was balanced carefully in his hand, and a towel was draped over his shoulder. Thankfully there wasn't a shirt anywhere in sight.

The younger man immediately slowed when he saw the scene in front of him.

Dean was half folded against Logan, Logan still had one hand supporting his injured arm and the other rubbing slow circles across his back, and Garrett looked about as exhausted as the person who was actually injured.

"Everything okay?" Tucker asked cautiously, suddenly unsure if he'd walked into the middle of a crisis.

Logan glanced up and simply shook his head before mouthing, not right now.

Tucker immediately got the message. Without another comment, Tucker crossed the room and started organizing things. He draped the towel over the shower door where it would be easy to reach afterward and set the sweatpants and underwear on the counter. Then he placed the glass of water beside them before taking a step back to admire his work.

"I brought some meds too," Tucker announced,  reaching into his back pocket. He pulled out the bottle of pain medication they'd picked up from the pharmacy on the way home.

That finally got a reaction. Dean lifted his head from Logan's shoulder for the first time in several minutes and blinked sleepy at the bottle as if it were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"I knew you were my favorite,” Dean whispered, looking at Tucker and the pain medication in his hand.

Tucker's grin appeared immediately, "See? Finally getting the appreciation I deserve."

"Cheap shot, hmm?" Garrett chuckled from beside them while Logan joined in with a quiet laugh of his own.

"He's only saying that because you brought the drugs," Logan added, reaching over to take some of Dean’s hair off his forehead. 

Garrett finally reached over and took the bottle from Tucker before Dean could make any attempt to open it himself. 

Judging by the way Dean was leaning heavily against Logan and blinking at random intervals, there was a very real possibility he'd end up dropping the entire thing. Garrett quickly checked the label, counted out the prescribed dose into his palm, and then grabbed the glass of water Tucker had thoughtfully brought in.

"Alright, buddy," Garrett said, crouching down in front of him. "Let's get these in you."

Dean looked down at the pills resting in Garrett's hand and immediately held out his good hand. Garrett dropped them into his palm and Dean lifted the pills to his mouth before accepting the glass of water Garrett held out. His injured arm remained completely still against his side while he carefully swallowed the medication and took another sip of water afterward.

"There we go," Garrett said, taking the glass back.

Watching him, Garrett made a mental note that food needed to happen before anybody even thought about putting him to bed. Between the medications administered in the emergency department, Dean had accumulated a truly impressive amount of medication in his system over the course of a single day. The last thing Garrett wanted was for him to wake up in the middle of the night feeling sick because he'd taken all of it on an essentially empty stomach.

"Ready for your shower?" Logan asked as he finally stood up, stretching slightly after spending the better part of half an hour crouched beside Dean.

"Yeah," Dean replied immediately.

"I'll stay with him."

The two answers came at exactly the same time.

Dean's head snapped toward Garrett, “What?”

Garrett wasn't even looking at him anymore, he was already reaching for the towel Tucker had hung over the shower door.

"No."

Dean opened his mouth, clearly preparing to object some more, but Garrett cut him off before he could get a single word out.

"If I were you, I'd save my words. Your dominant arm is out of commission, you're pretty much drugged up, and you're one dizzy spell away from face-planting into the shower wall. What exactly do you think happens if you fall?"

Dean frowned, his brain took several seconds to process that. Then another few seconds to formulate a response.

"You're my least favorite, G."

"Thank you," Garrett replied with a chuckle. Turning toward Logan and Tucker, he jerked his head toward the door. "I got it from here, guys."

Logan looked at Dean one last time, clearly making sure he was still upright and conscious. Satisfied that Garrett had things under control, he gave Dean's shoulder a careful squeeze on the uninjured side before heading toward the door. Tucker followed behind him after collecting the empty water glass, though not before pointing at Dean and announcing that he expected his position as favorite friend to remain secure until at least tomorrow morning.

The moment the bathroom door closed behind them, the room became noticeably quieter.

For a few seconds neither Dean nor Garrett spoke.

Dean was still sitting on the closed toilet seat, shirtless now, his skin marked with deep purple bruising that stretched across his ribs and shoulder. Without the shirt hiding them, the injuries somehow looked even worse. The entire area around the broken collarbone was swollen, angry-looking, and already turning shades of purple and blue that would probably continue darkening over the next few days. Garrett had seen hockey injuries before. He'd had plenty of his own. Even so, looking at Dean's shoulder made his stomach twist a little.

"Alright," Garrett said finally. "First step is getting you standing."

Dean immediately looked skeptical, but he was too tired to put much effort into arguing. Garrett stepped in front of him and crouched down slightly, giving him a second to prepare himself. "Good arm around my shoulders," he instructed.

Dean obeyed, lifting his left arm and draping it across Garrett's shoulders while keeping the injured side completely still. Even that small movement made him wince. Garrett slid one arm carefully around Dean's back, making absolutely sure not to touch the swollen collarbone or the bruised ribs beneath it.

"Nice and slow," he warned.

Dean nodded once. On the count of three, Garrett helped him rise from the toilet seat. The movement was awkward and immediately painful. Dean's ribs protested the second his abdominal muscles engaged, and a sharp ache shot through his shoulder despite how carefully Garrett supported him. For a brief moment he remained standing, slightly hunched, trying to adjust to being upright again.

Then the dizziness hit.

It arrived so suddenly that Dean actually thought the floor had moved beneath him. The bathroom tilted alarmingly to one side and his vision blurred around the edges. His stomach dropped. Instinctively he tried to grab onto something, forgetting for half a second that his dominant arm wasn't available.

Garrett felt Dean's entire body sway and immediately tightened his grip around him before he could stumble. "Whoa," Garrett said quickly. "I've got you."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of dizziness rolled through him. Between the pain medication, the exhaustion, the injuries, and the fact that he'd been sitting down for so long, his body clearly wasn't thrilled about being vertical. He leaned heavily against Garrett, breathing harder now. The last thing he wanted was to pass out in the bathroom. Garrett shifted slightly to keep Dean balanced while making sure the injured shoulder remained supported and wasn't allowed to pull or hang.

"Deep breaths, D," Garrett said quietly. "Come on. Focus on me for a second."

Dean tried, but it was difficult when everything felt like it was moving. Garrett glanced around the bathroom before pointing toward the sink across from them. "Look at the sink."

Dean blinked. "W- what?" 

"The sink. Pick something on it and focus on that,” Garrett instructed, not caring what it was but Dean needed to focus on something. 

Dean finally managed to force his eyes open. The room still felt unsteady, but he locked onto the silver faucet sticking out above the basin. Garrett stayed exactly where he was, one arm securely around Dean's back while his other hand remained near the injured side, making sure nothing shifted out of position.

"That's it," Garrett encouraged. "Keep looking at that. Slow breaths."

Once Garrett was convinced Dean wasn't about to collapse, they tackled the next problem. The sweatpants Tucker had brought were waiting on the counter, but first Dean needed to get rid of the jeans he'd been wearing since the game. Unfortunately, that turned out to be almost as complicated as the shirt. Dean could only really use one arm, and every movement seemed connected to either his shoulder or his ribs.

Garrett ended up doing most of the work while Dean held onto the counter with his good hand for balance. The process was slow, awkward, and accompanied by several muttered complaints from Dean whenever a movement pulled on sore muscles. Eventually the jeans slid down his legs and Garrett helped him step out of them one foot at a time. By the end Dean was standing in nothing but his underwear, leaning heavily against the bathroom counter while Garrett kept a steadying hand at his back.

Satisfied that Dean wasn't about to collapse, Garrett crossed the bathroom and reached into the shower to turn the water on. He adjusted the temperature carefully, making it warmer than usual but not hot enough to irritate bruised skin. Garrett knew the shower wouldn't magically fix broken ribs or a fractured collarbone, but maybe it would loosen some of the tension that had settled into every muscle in Dean's body over the last several hours.

Garrett returned to Dean’s side and gave him another minute before helping him shuffle toward the shower. He stayed close enough to catch him if his balance disappeared again. Once they reached the edge of the shower, Garrett steadied him while Dean stepped over the lip and onto the wet floor. Only after he was sure Dean was standing securely did Garrett finally let go.

The first droplets hit his skin and Dean immediately sucked in a breath. For a second he couldn't decide whether the sensation felt amazing or terrible. The warm water splashed across bruises that felt like one giant ache beneath his skin, and the initial contact stung enough to make him tense. Then, slowly, the warmth began to spread through muscles that had been locked tight for hours. 

Water ran over his shoulders, down his chest, and across the deep bruising covering his ribs. Some places protested immediately, sending sharp reminders of exactly where the fractures were. Other areas seemed to relax beneath the steady heat. It was a strange mixture of pain and relief happening at the same time. Dean closed his eyes and simply stood there while his body tried to decide how it felt about the experience.

After a moment he stepped a little farther beneath the spray and carefully rested his good hand against the tiled wall for support. Then he lowered his forehead onto the cool surface and allowed the water to run over him. The steady stream hit the back of his neck and flowed across muscles that felt knotted from pain and tension. Water dripped through his hair and down his face before disappearing over bruised skin.

Garrett, understanding exactly what Dean needed, quietly retreated to the other side of the bathroom and sat down on the closed toilet seat. From there he could still keep an eye on him without hovering. The shower curtain remained partially open in case Dean needed help, but otherwise Garrett gave him as much privacy as possible. 

He pulled out his phone more as a way of occupying himself than because he was actually reading anything. Every so often he glanced toward the shower to make sure Dean was still standing and hadn't fallen asleep against the wall. Given the day they'd had, Garrett honestly wouldn't have been surprised. Dean looked exhausted enough to nap anywhere.

Meanwhile Dean stood beneath the water and slowly took inventory of his body. The exercise wasn't particularly encouraging. His collarbone hurt. His ribs hurt. The muscles around the injuries hurt. His back hurt from compensating for the injuries. His head felt heavy from medication and exhaustion. Even his legs felt tired from the game and the trip to the emergency room. Every time he shifted his weight he discovered another sore spot. It seemed impossible that one hockey game had managed to leave him feeling this beaten up. As the warm water continued running over his skin, he let out a slow breath and rested more of his weight against the wall. 

God, he was tired. 

Standing there beneath the shower, eyes closed and forehead against the tile, Dean honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted his bed this badly. The warmth of the water had relaxed him enough that he had almost drifted away completely. He wasn't asleep, but he was definitely somewhere close. The combination of pain medication, exhaustion, and the constant ache radiating through his body made it difficult to focus on anything for very long.

"Hey."

Garrett's voice cut through the haze.

"You okay?"

Dean opened his eyes.

Apparently more time had passed than he'd realized.

When he'd closed them, Garrett had still been sitting on the toilet across the room. Now he was standing just outside the shower, one hand resting against the frame and his forehead creased with concern.

Dean blinked water out of his eyes, "Yeah."

Garrett studied him for another second before reaching for the shampoo bottle sitting on the shelf. "Want me to help wash your hair?" he asked. "The faster we get this done, the faster we can both go to sleep."

Dean looked at the bottle and then at Garrett and thought about the effort required to lift his arm above shoulder height, “Yeah.”

Garrett stepped into the shower carefully, keeping himself mostly out of the spray as he squeezed shampoo into his hand. 

Years ago the entire situation would've been mortifying. Then again, years ago he also hadn't spent countless road trips, locker room sessions, injuries, illnesses, practices, games, and hospital visits living alongside three other hockey players who had collectively seen him in every possible state of misery. Somewhere along the way, embarrassment had lost most of its power. 

It was difficult to maintain dignity after your roommates had witnessed stomach bugs, concussions, stitches, sprains, and countless other disasters. Dean still felt his cheeks grow slightly warm as Garrett worked the shampoo into his hair, but it was more out of habit than genuine discomfort.

Garrett's movements were careful and surprisingly gentle. He avoided jostling the injured shoulder and kept one hand lightly against Dean's upper back whenever he shifted position. Dean closed his eyes again and let Garrett do the work. Warm fingers moved through damp hair while water continued running down the back of his neck. He just stood there while somebody else handled things. The sensation was strangely comforting.

Dean felt Garrett's hand briefly steady his good shoulder as he tilted his head slightly backward to rinse the last of the shampoo away. 

The warmth still felt good, but something else was beginning to creep in beneath it. At first it was only a small feeling sitting low in his stomach. Nothing dramatic. Just a vague uneasiness. Dean swallowed once and ignored it. The last thing he wanted was to add vomiting to the list of problems they'd dealt with today.

Unfortunately the feeling didn't leave. 

Garrett was busy helping him carefully wash around the areas he could safely reach one-handed, keeping a constant eye on the injured shoulder while making sure Dean didn't lose his balance. Meanwhile, Dean was occupied with an entirely different problem. He tried swallowing again. Then again a few seconds later. Neither attempt helped. If anything, the sensation only seemed to climb higher. Every instinct in his body was beginning to scream a warning that he desperately didn't want to hear.

Then he coughed. It wasn't even a big cough, just a little silly one.

But the second it happened, pain exploded through his fractured ribs.

Dean froze.

Fuck.

His good arm immediately wrapped around his chest in a protective reflex as he bent forward slightly. The movement hurt. The cough hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. His eyes squeezed shut as he waited for the flare of pain to settle, but instead something else happened. His mouth suddenly flooded with saliva.

And that terrified him because he knew exactly what that meant.

For a second he couldn't hear anything except the pounding of his own heartbeat. Garrett was saying something nearby, his voice reaching Dean through the steady sound of the shower, but the words weren't registering properly. 

Dean's brain had latched onto a single horrifying thought and refused to let go. He was about to throw up. With broken ribs. His stomach twisted again and another wave of nausea rolled through him hard enough to make his knees feel weak. The memory of how much his ribs had hurt during something as simple as a cough flashed through his head. Vomiting involved muscles. Lots of muscles. Violent muscles. Dean suddenly wanted absolutely no part of that experience.

"Dean?"

Garrett's voice sounded closer now.

Dean swallowed hard, but the effort barely helped and his stomach lurched again.

Water continued running over his shoulders while he stood frozen beneath the spray, one arm wrapped around his ribs and his forehead nearly touching the tile. He could feel the saliva gathering in his mouth faster now. His breathing had become shallow and uneven. Every survival instinct he possessed seemed focused on preventing what was coming. Maybe if he stood perfectly still. Maybe if he breathed slowly enough. Maybe if he concentrated hard enough. None of it worked. Deep down he already knew it wasn't going away.

Garrett finally stepped around far enough to get a clear look at him and immediately felt his stomach sink. Dean had gone absolutely pasty. The little bit of color he'd regained had been replaced by a sickly green tint. His lips had gone pale, his eyes looked glassy, and there was a strained, almost panicked expression on his face that Garrett recognized immediately.

“Dean…”

Garrett didn't even get to finish the question.

Dean's entire body suddenly tensed before a violent heave rolled through him.

"Oh, damn it."

Garrett moved instantly, grabbing Dean's good shoulder and carefully turning him away from the spray. The last thing he needed was water hitting him in the face while this was happening. Dean made a choked sound and bent forward slightly before immediately regretting it. 

Pain shot through his ribs so hard that it seemed to steal what little breath he had left. Drool slipped from the corner of his mouth onto the shower floor as he fought another gag. One arm remained wrapped tightly around his chest as though he could somehow protect the fractured ribs from what was coming.

"Easy, easy, don't fight it," Garrett instructed, but even he had no idea what to do to help. 

Another heave hit him.

The movement forced his upper body forward again and the pain that followed was immediate. Dean let out a broken sound somewhere between a gasp and a groan as every injured muscle in his torso protested at once. 

The fractured ribs felt like they were being squeezed in a vice. His collarbone throbbed. The bruised muscles across his chest and back tightened involuntarily. For a terrifying second he was more aware of the pain than the nausea. Then the nausea surged back with a vengeance and completely overwhelmed everything else.

"I don't wanna..." Dean whined miserably before having to stop and spit into the shower floor again.

For a brief second Garrett considered telling him it might pass, that maybe the nausea would settle if he just stood still and took a few deep breaths. The problem was that Dean knew his own body well enough to recognize what was happening. Garrett did too. Instead of offering false reassurance, Garrett carefully moved closer. One hand settled lightly against the uninjured side near Dean's shoulder and upper back to keep him steady, while his other arm rested gently over the blond's forearm where it was wrapped around his ribs. It wasn't enough to stop the pain, but Garrett hoped it might keep him from instinctively tensing every muscle in his chest when the next wave hit.

"Just let your body do what it needs to do," Garrett said quietly. "Don't fight it."

Dean made a frustrated sound and squeezed his eyes shut. Easier said than done. Every instinct told him to resist because he knew exactly what was coming afterward. The nausea surged again, stronger this time, and he immediately felt the muscles in his abdomen tighten involuntarily.

The next heave rolled through him before he could prepare for it. A gurgling retch surged up his throat and his stomach flooded up his esophagus and out his mouth in a long, drawn out effort, his stomach contents spilling onto the floor.

“Shit,” Garrett cursed, holding Dean a little closer. 

The involuntary tightening of his stomach and chest muscles immediately sent pain ripping through his injured side. A strained sound escaped him as he bent forward slightly, trying to protect the injured shoulder while also giving his body enough room to do what it was determined to do. Tears sprang to his eyes mixed with the water still dripping from his hair and ran down his face unchecked.

"You done?" Garrett asked quietly.

Dean wanted to say yes.

He really did.

Unfortunately, the answer never made it out.

A low warning sensation twisted through his stomach again, and Dean immediately knew he wasn't finished. His eyes widened slightly as another wave built without mercy. He barely managed a weak shake of his head before his stomach lurched again. 

The movement forced his upper body forward and another spike of pain shot through his ribs hard enough to make him groan. Fresh tears gathered at the corners of his eyes as he tried desperately not to tense, but his body wasn't interested in cooperating. Every muscle contraction seemed to radiate directly through the injuries. The effort left him shaking afterward, his grip tightening instinctively around his side.

By the time the wave finally passed, Dean was left panting for breath. Tears streamed unchecked down his pale face, mixing with the water dripping from his hair and chin. His entire body was trembling from exhaustion and pain. Every muscle across his chest and abdomen felt overworked, and his fractured ribs were protesting every shallow breath he managed to take.

"Okay, okay," Garrett murmured quietly. "You're alright. I've got you."

Dean didn't answer.

He wasn't sure he had the energy.

Garrett let the remaining water run for another few moments, allowing it to rinse away evidence of Dean being sick while giving him a chance to recover. Once it was clear Dean wasn't immediately getting sick again, Garrett finally reached over and turned the shower off completely. 

Grabbing the towel Tucker had left ready earlier, Garrett unfolded it and carefully wrapped it around Dean's shoulders and chest. By this point Garrett was soaked nearly as badly as Dean. His shirt clung to him, his sleeves were wet, and water dripped from his own hair where he'd spent the last several minutes standing inside the shower trying to help.

"Come on, buddy," Garrett said softly. "Let's get you out of here."

Keeping one arm securely around Dean's back and making sure the injured shoulder stayed protected, Garrett slowly guided him toward the edge of the shower. Dean managed the step down with Garrett doing most of the work. His legs felt shaky beneath him, and he leaned heavily into his friend's support. The second his feet touched the bathroom floor, however, something in his expression changed. Garrett felt it before he saw it. Dean suddenly went rigid.

He doubled over as much as his injuries allowed, one arm immediately wrapping around his ribs again while Garrett caught most of his weight before he could fold in on himself completely. He let out a mix between a gag and a sob as his stomach contents splattered on the floor. The sudden movement made Dean groan in pain. His entire body seemed caught between protecting the injuries and dealing with the lingering nausea. Garrett's concern immediately spiked. Dean was pale enough that he almost looked gray now.

"Logan!" Garrett shouted toward the hallway. "Tucker!"

The scene Logan and Tucker walked into stopped both of them in their tracks for a second.

The bathroom looked like a disaster zone. Steam still hung heavily in the air from the shower. Water covered most of the floor. Garrett was completely soaked, his shirt plastered to his skin and his hair dripping as he struggled to keep Dean upright. Dean himself looked even worse. Wrapped loosely in a towel, pale enough to look almost gray beneath the bathroom lights, he was standing unsteadily in front of Garrett with tears streaming unchecked down his face. A puddle on the floor made it immediately obvious what had happened.

Logan reacted first and crossed the bathroom in two strides and immediately moved to Dean's injured side.

"Hey, hey, I've got you."

Garrett carefully transferred some of Dean's weight over while Logan slipped an arm around his back and another beneath his good arm. Together they guided him the few feet toward the sink. It wasn't far, but Dean looked exhausted enough that it may as well have been across the house. By the time they stopped in front of the counter, he was breathing hard again, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow movements that Logan knew couldn't be helping the broken ribs.

"Dean."

Logan waited until he had his attention.

"Look at me."

Dean barely managed it, his eyes were glassy and unfocused.

Logan could practically see the panic building behind them.

The nausea wasn't even the biggest problem anymore. Dean was terrified of the pain. Logan understood why. Every time his body got sick, the movement seemed to pull on every injured muscle and fractured bone at once. He couldn't imagine how much it hurt.

"Listen to me, Deanie," Logan said firmly. "Don't try to hold it back. Don't fight it."

Dean swallowed hard and his grip tightened on Logan's arm.

"H-hurts."

"I know it does."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

His entire body was trembling now.

"Just lean forward a little and let it happen. Okay? Don't make yourself work harder than you have to."

Logan adjusted his hold slightly, keeping most of Dean's weight supported against him. One hand remained securely behind his back while the other steadied him through the good arm. He was already preparing himself for what was coming. The moment he saw Dean's face change, Logan shifted again and gently guided his posture forward.

"That's it."

Dean's fingers dug into Logan's sleeve.

Then his stomach lurched.

Logan immediately supported more of his weight and angled his head downward toward the sink area so he wouldn't have to strain against the movement. Gravity could do some of the work instead of forcing Dean to bend farther forward and aggravate the injuries. Even then, the effort clearly hurt. Dean let out a broken sound and his shoulders tightened as another wave rolled through him. Tears immediately sprang back into his eyes.

"Easy," Logan murmured.

Dean wasn't really listening anymore. He just had to survive the pain. 

Everything else had been pushed out of his mind.

The bathroom. His friends. The shower. The conversation happening around him. None of it seemed particularly important anymore. His entire world had narrowed down to the overwhelming ache radiating through his ribs and shoulder and the constant battle raging in his stomach. 

Every time he thought the nausea might finally be settling, another wave would build without warning and drag him right back into it. The pain wasn't staying in one place anymore either. It felt like it had spread through his entire upper body, wrapping around his chest and back until it became difficult to separate one injury from another. Dean squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing because it was the only thing he could still control.

His vision kept fading in and out around the edges, not enough to completely black out but enough to make him feel disconnected from what was happening around him. One second he could see the sink in front of him clearly, the next it seemed farther away than it should have been.

Somewhere nearby he vaguely heard Tucker ask why he was still throwing up. The question floated through the fog in Dean's head without really landing. He wasn't sure he could have answered even if he wanted to. 

At this point he felt trapped inside a vicious cycle that his body seemed determined to repeat over and over. The nausea would build until it became impossible to ignore. Then his stomach would react. The reaction would pull violently at muscles connected to fractured ribs and a broken collarbone, causing pain severe enough to make his vision blur. That spike in pain would immediately worsen the nausea, and before he could fully recover another wave would start building. It felt endless. Each round left him weaker, shakier, and more exhausted than the one before. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this miserable.

"Deep breaths, Deanie. Come on, stay with me."

Logan's voice remained calm and steady beside him, one of the few things still cutting through the haze. Dean tried to do what he was being told. He really did. He carefully pulled in a breath, attempting to make it deeper than the shallow panting he'd fallen into. The effort immediately stretched muscles around the fractures. Pain flared sharply through his side, making his stomach twist all over again.

A small burp escaped him unexpectedly. The sour taste that followed was enough to make Dean's stomach drop. He immediately squeezed his eyes shut tighter. The acid burned the back of his throat and left a familiar, unpleasant taste behind. 

A second burp followed only moments later, bringing more acid with it. Then a third. Neither of them needed a medical degree to know that wasn't a good sign. Dean swallowed repeatedly, trying to force the taste back down, but it wasn't helping. If anything, it only made him more aware of how unsettled his stomach remained. The nausea that had briefly eased after the last wave was beginning to creep back again, slow and insistent.

By now Dean was leaning almost completely against Logan, his good hand gripping Logan's sleeve so tightly his fingers hurt. He could hear Logan and Garrett talking to him, could hear Tucker moving around somewhere nearby, but the words seemed distant and difficult to follow. He caught fragments here and there "We've got you," and "Just breathe," and "You're okay" but they felt far away compared to the pain pulsing through his body.

His face was damp with tears he hadn't even realized were still falling, and every few seconds another tremor ran through him despite his best efforts to stay still. 

What finally pulled him out of the haze was Logan's voice.

"D, we're gonna give you something to help the nausea."

Dean blinked slowly.

For a moment he simply nodded.

That sounded good.

Anything that stopped the nausea sounded good.

In his current state, he automatically assumed Logan was talking about another pill. His brain was still operating several steps behind normal, so he wasn't really paying attention as Tucker moved around the bathroom. He only became curious when he noticed Logan wasn't reaching for a medication bottle. Instead, Tucker appeared beside them holding a small medical kit they'd apparently brought home from the hospital earlier. Dean's eyes followed the movement lazily until he spotted the syringe Tucker handed over.

Oddly enough, that made him feel better.

Good idea, Dean thought.

There was absolutely no chance he was keeping anything down right now.

"Good call," Garrett said quietly as he watched Logan prepare the medication. "There's no point giving him a pill."

Tucker nodded, "Not unless we want it back five minutes later."

Logan lowered the waistband of his underwear slightly on one side and Dean flinched a bit when the alcohol wipe brushed across his skin. Every nerve ending in his body felt oversensitive right now.

"Little pinch, buddy."

Dean nodded once.

The injection itself turned out to be completely underwhelming compared to everything else he was dealing with. There was a brief sting, a little pressure, and then it was over. Compared to broken ribs that hurt every time he breathed and a collarbone that throbbed relentlessly, it barely qualified as discomfort. Logan quickly finished, covered the spot with a small bandage, and adjusted everything back into place before returning his attention to Dean.

"There. Done."

Dean released a slow breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Done?"

"Done."

Garrett stepped closer and brushed damp hair away from Dean's forehead while Logan continued supporting most of his weight. Up close, Dean still looked awful. His skin was pale, his eyes were glassy from pain and medication, and exhaustion seemed etched into every line of his face.

Ten minutes later, the bathroom looked considerably calmer than it had before, although nobody would have described the situation as good. 

Logan was sitting on one of the few clean, dry patches of floor with his back resting against the wall and Dean settled carefully against his chest. At some point standing had simply stopped being a realistic option.

Logan didn't particularly care about the cold tile digging into his back if it meant Dean wasn't trying to remain upright anymore. One arm was wrapped securely around Dean's waist while the other moved a towel slowly over his shoulders and back, doing his best to dry him off without aggravating the bruises and fractures. Every few seconds Logan could feel another tremor pass through him. 

Dean barely reacted to any of it. His good hand remained tangled tightly in the front of Logan's shirt, fingers gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping him anchored to the room. His eyes drifted shut more often than they stayed open now, and whenever Logan stopped moving the towel for more than a few seconds Dean's head seemed to get heavier against his chest. The poor guy looked completely spent.

Across from them, Tucker knelt on the floor holding Dean's sling.

"Alright," he said quietly. "Let's get this back on before your shoulder starts complaining even more."

Working carefully, Tucker moved into position beside them. Logan immediately adjusted his hold so Dean's injured arm remained supported while Tucker guided the sling into place. 

The process was considerably easier than removing it earlier, but it still wasn't painless. Dean's face tightened briefly when his arm had to be repositioned, and his fingers immediately clenched harder in Logan's shirt. Logan felt the movement and instinctively tightened his own arm around him.

Tucker secured the sling, checked the positioning twice, then adjusted it a third time until he was satisfied the injured shoulder was properly supported. By the time he finished, Dean had practically melted against Logan's chest again.

The thing that worried all three of them was how tired he looked.

Between the emergency room visit, the medications, the CT scan, the nerve blocks, the injections, the pain, and everything else that had happened since the game, Dean should have passed out hours ago. The sedative they'd given him during the scan alone should have at least knocked him out for a little while. Instead he'd somehow stayed awake through the entire drive home, through getting undressed, through the shower disaster, through being sick, and through everything that followed. The problem was that now he seemed to be hitting a wall all at once.

Logan sighed and shifted slightly against the wall, careful not to jostle him. His free hand moved into Dean's damp hair, combing slowly through the wet strands and untangling them with gentle passes of his fingers. 

The memory of the last half hour was still fresh in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the less he liked it. Dean had been in obvious pain since leaving the hospital, but watching him get trapped in that cycle of nausea and pain had been something else entirely. Logan glanced toward Garrett and Tucker before looking back down at the exhausted hockey player practically asleep against his chest.

"If that happens again, we're going back to the hospital. I'm not watching him go through that again." 

Nobody disagreed.

The image of Dean trembling, crying, and trying not to move while every wave of nausea sent pain tearing through his ribs had been more than enough for all of them.

Tucker sat back on his heels and glanced toward Dean thoughtfully. "What do you think caused it?" he asked after a moment. "I mean, he was nauseous at the hospital, but he wasn't that bad."

Logan considered the question while his hand continued moving slowly through Dean's hair. Dean remained completely still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest and the occasional tightening of his fingers where they were still loosely tangled in Logan's shirt.

"I think it was a combination of things," Logan said finally. "The pain, the shock from the injury, all the medications they've been giving him, the fact that he barely ate anything after getting hurt, then standing up, moving around, getting into a hot shower..." He shook his head. "Honestly, I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner."

"I think we should get him changed and into bed," Garrett said after another minute. "The bathroom floor isn't exactly comfortable and he's falling asleep on you." 

Logan glanced down immediately. Dean's eyes remained closed and there was no indication he'd heard a single word of the conversation. Dean wasn't actually asleep. Logan knew him well enough to recognize the difference. Every now and then his fingers would twitch slightly against the front of Logan's shirt or his breathing would change just enough to suggest he was still vaguely aware of what was happening around him. Still, he was closer to sleep than he'd been all evening, and after everything that had happened, Logan found himself reluctant to move him.

"Can we give him five more minutes?" Logan asked quietly, feeling terrible for having to move him just yet.

Garrett followed his gaze toward Dean and immediately understood what he meant. For the first time all evening he wasn't actively hurting, nauseous, or struggling through something. He was simply resting. Garrett opened his mouth, clearly prepared to argue that the bathroom floor wasn't exactly an appropriate resting place, but the words never quite arrived.

"Five minutes?" Garrett repeated.

Logan nodded.

"He just settled down. Every time we've moved him tonight it's been another disaster. The shirt. Standing up. The shower. Getting sick. Let him sit for five minutes before we make him move again."

Garrett stared at him for a second before shaking his head "You're such a softie."

"You were the one who looked on the verge of a panic attack when we walked into the bathroom," Logan pointed out with a smirk. 

Dean had somehow managed to curl slightly closer to Logan while they were talking, his forehead resting against Logan's chest and his grip on Logan's shirt finally beginning to loosen. He looked more exhausted than Garrett had ever seen him.

Garrett immediately looked offended, "I was not." He pushed himself away from the counter with a slight shake of his head, before adding. "I'm getting changed before I catch pneumonia."

"Probably smart."

"Seriously though," Garrett said more quietly this time. "If anything changes, yell."

"We will."

Once Garrett disappeared down the hallway, Tucker focused on cleaning while Logan remained exactly where he was on the floor with Dean tucked securely against his chest. 

The cleanup took longer than either of them would have liked. Water covered most of the tiles from the shower, several damp towels were scattered around the room, and there was still evidence of Dean getting sick that needed to be dealt with. Tucker gathered towels and wiped down the floor, making it as clean as possible. 

Logan continued running his fingers through Dean's damp hair while Tucker worked. Every so often he felt Dean shift slightly, usually when a sore muscle protested or when he unconsciously tried to find a more comfortable position. By the time Tucker finally tossed the last towel into the laundry basket and straightened up, the bathroom looked considerably more normal than it had twenty minutes earlier.

The door opened a moment later and Garrett walked back in.

This time he had changed into comfortable sweatpants and a t-shirt, his damp game-day clothes nowhere in sight. He looked considerably more relaxed now that he wasn't soaked from helping Dean shower, although the concern returned immediately when his eyes landed on the hurt boy.

"Still alive?" Garrett asked quietly as he stepped into the room.

"Barely," Logan replied.

Garrett huffed out a laugh before looking toward Tucker.

The younger man gestured toward the pair sitting on the floor.

"Alright, how exactly do you want to do this?" he asked. "Because he hasn't moved an inch since you left."

Logan glanced down at Dean before shaking his head.

"That's because the second we move him, he's going to remember how much he hurts."

All three of them knew it was true. Dean had spent the last ten minutes drifting somewhere between sleep and exhaustion, resting against Logan and finally getting a break from the constant pain. The moment he stood up again, every injury was going to make itself known. Logan carefully adjusted his hold around Dean's waist before looking up at the others.

"Okay. Garrett, you're taking most of his weight when we get him up. Tucker, stay on the injured side and make sure the sling doesn't shift. I don't want that shoulder moving any more than absolutely necessary. Once he's standing, we're walking him straight to his room. No stopping. No detours.”

"Sounds good."

"Got it."

Only once both of them moved into position did Logan finally look down at Dean.

"Hey, D."

Nothing.

Logan smiled slightly, "Dean."

This time a low noise escaped him. Not awake, but definitely not fully asleep either.

Logan gently squeezed his side, "Buddy, we gotta move."

Dean cracked one eye open long enough to glare in Garrett's general direction before letting it drift shut again.

Logan shook his head while continuing to run a hand through his damp hair.

"Come on, Deanie. Time for bed."

For the first time, Dean actually reacted to something they said. The word bed seemed to break through the exhaustion fog surrounding him. He let out a dramatic sigh before reluctantly allowing Tucker and Garrett to help him sit upright. 

Unfortunately, the second he was no longer resting comfortably against Logan's chest, reality came crashing back in with remarkable speed. His ribs immediately reminded him they were fractured. His shoulder began throbbing again. The muscles across his chest and stomach ached from being sick. Dean froze halfway through the movement, his eyes squeezing shut as the pain reintroduced itself all at once.

For ten wonderful minutes he'd been too comfortable and too exhausted to fully register what his body was doing. Now every injury had apparently decided to file a formal complaint at the same time.

A few moments later, with Garrett supporting most of his weight and Tucker carefully helping him upright, Dean finally made it to his feet. The second he was fully standing, he immediately leaned heavily against Garrett. His face went pale, his good hand instinctively moved toward his ribs, and a pained groan escaped before he could stop it. For several seconds he simply rested there, eyes closed and breathing carefully while the room stopped spinning.

"Alright," Tucker said. "Let's finish getting you dressed before you fall asleep naked in the bathroom."

Dean made a tired noise that might have been an agreement. At this point he seemed willing to cooperate with almost anything. Garrett kept him steady while Logan and Tucker handled the task. 

The damp underwear had to go first, which proved more complicated than it should have been considering Dean could barely stand without leaning most of his weight against Garrett. 

Dean's eyes remained closed through most of it. He was so tired that embarrassment barely registered anymore. After everything that had happened in the emergency room and bathroom tonight, modesty had long since stopped being a priority. 

A minute later Tucker had a dry pair ready and, working together, he and Logan managed to get Dean changed and then eased the sweatpants into place. By the end of it Dean looked like he might genuinely fall asleep standing upright.

The trip to his bedroom happened at a pace that could generously be described as glacial. Garrett and Tucker took either side of him while Logan walked ahead clearing a path. 

Dean shuffled forward one careful step at a time, trying not to jar his ribs or shoulder. The walk couldn't have been more than twenty feet, but by the time they reached his bedroom door Dean looked exhausted all over again. 

The second he saw his bed, however, a surprising amount of determination appeared. Without warning he tried to move toward it faster. The effort lasted approximately two steps before Garrett immediately stopped him with a hand across his chest.

"Nope."

Dean looked horrified.

The bed was right there.

"So close," he complained weakly.

"I know."

"Garrett."

"No."

The injured hockey player actually whimpered.

The reason became obvious almost immediately. Dean's room looked exactly like Dean's room usually looked after a week of classes, practices, and general chaos. 

Clothes were scattered across the comforter, a hoodie was tangled in the blankets, two textbooks were somehow on the pillow, and a collection of random items had claimed ownership of most of the mattress. 

Logan took one look at the disaster and immediately started clearing it. He tossed clothes toward the laundry basket, moved the textbooks onto the desk, grabbed the hoodie, and finally pulled the comforter back into something resembling an actual bed. The entire time Dean stood there leaning heavily against Garrett and Tucker, looking increasingly offended by the delay.

"This is your fault, bud," Logan informed him while shaking out the comforter. "Who leaves their room this messy?"

Dean immediately lifted his head enough to look at him, and the expression he managed to produce was so utterly pitiful that Logan almost felt guilty. Almost. If Dean had possessed even a fraction more energy, he probably would've launched into an argument about how he had been busy, how hockey players had important things to do besides making beds, or how his room wasn't actually that messy. Instead he simply stared at Logan with the wounded expression of a man who felt deeply betrayed by his friends during his hour of need. The fact that Logan was completely right only made it worse.

Despite the complaint, Dean didn't have enough energy to keep arguing. His head slowly drooped forward again until Garrett gently nudged him upright before he could accidentally fold himself in half.

Once the bed finally resembled an actual place a human could sleep, Garrett and Tucker carefully guided Dean forward. The process of lowering him onto the mattress required almost as much coordination as everything else had tonight. 

Garrett kept a firm hold around his back while Tucker watched the injured shoulder and sling, both of them moving slowly enough to avoid any sudden shifts. Even then, the second Dean's body began transitioning from standing to sitting, pain immediately reminded him of its existence.

His face tightened, his eyes squeezed shut, and a strained breath escaped him. By the time Garrett finally managed to settle him on the edge of the mattress, Dean looked ready to pass out. Getting him the rest of the way onto the bed proved no easier. Every adjustment seemed connected to either his fractured ribs or broken collarbone.

"Fuck, it hurts," Dean mumbled for the first time in a while. 

Tucker immediately moved toward the head of the bed and started rearranging pillows. One was tucked behind Dean's back. Another was positioned beneath his arm to help support the sling. A third was adjusted behind his head. Garrett helped guide Dean backward against the pillows, moving slowly enough that Dean could brace himself for each adjustment.

However, even with all the precautions, Dean still winced the moment his back finally touched the pillows. The movement pulled at sore muscles across his chest and ribs, and the expression on his face made it clear he wasn't having a good time.

"There."

Tucker studied him for a moment before looking toward Garrett, "I think he's due for more pain medication."

Garrett nodded, "He probably is." Then he immediately pointed toward Dean, "But he needs food first."

Garrett had no interest in reliving the events of forty minutes ago. 

Tucker understood immediately, "Got it."

Without waiting for further instructions, he headed toward the door.

"I'll see what we have."

"How you feeling, buddy?" Logan asked quietly as he reached over and gave Dean's knee a gentle squeeze.

Dean opened his eyes long enough to look at him. For a second it seemed like he might actually consider the question, then he simply shook his head, "Tired."

The answer came out barely above a mumble as rubbed one eye with his good hand like a little kid fighting sleep. The gesture was oddly endearing, but it also made Logan's chest tighten a little.

While Logan kept him occupied, Garrett moved around the room gathering a few of the supplies they'd brought home from the pharmacy. 

Eventually he found the tube of bruise cream and squeezed a small amount onto his fingertips. Deep shades of purple and blue spread across the right side of Dean's chest and wrapped around toward his ribs. The area beneath the fractured collarbone was swollen and angry-looking, while darker bruising had already started appearing lower across his side where several of the fractured ribs sat hidden beneath the skin.

"Damn."

Garrett sat down carefully beside him. "That looks awful."

Dean glanced downward and immediately regretted it because moving his neck hurt. "Thanks."

"Not a compliment."

Garrett leaned forward and very gently touched the cream to the least angry-looking section of bruised skin. 

The second his fingers made contact with Dean's chest, the boy flinched hard enough to make all three of them notice. His entire body tensed. A sharp breath escaped him and his eyes squeezed shut. 

Garrett immediately tried to lighten the pressure, but it didn't seem to matter. The bruising was simply too fresh. Every small movement across the injured area appeared to send pain straight through his chest and ribs. Dean tried to stay still. He really did. Garrett could see the effort. His jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffened, and he focused on breathing while Garrett attempted to spread the cream without putting pressure on the injuries.

After several painful seconds Dean finally gave up, "No more, please."

Garrett stopped instantly, "Sorry."

Dean shook his head weakly. The apology wasn't necessary. Neither of them had realized it would hurt that much.

Garrett immediately wiped the remaining cream from his fingers and set the tube aside. Across the bed, Logan watched Dean carefully as some of the tension slowly left his body now that nobody was touching the bruises anymore.

"Let's wait for the pain medication," Logan suggested.

Garrett nodded immediately. There was no point making Dean suffer through anything else tonight if they could avoid it. Instead, he reached over and carefully pulled the duvet higher around Dean's body, tucking it loosely around his legs and uninjured side. 

Dean let out a slow breath as the blanket settled over him. He wasn't even sure if tired was the right word anymore. Exhausted didn't quite cover it either. Mostly he just wanted a break. A few minutes where nothing hurt, nobody had to move him, and his body stopped finding new ways to remind him it had been hit by a hockey player traveling at approximately the speed of sound. 

Without really thinking about it, he allowed his head to drift sideways until it came to rest against Logan's shoulder. Logan immediately responded by running a hand through his hair and lightly rubbing the back of his neck.

Dean's eyes drifted shut almost immediately.

The darkness behind his eyelids felt nice.

Comfortable.

For the first time all evening, nobody was asking him to stand up, sit down, move his arm, drink something, shower, or survive another painful task. He simply rested there while the sounds of Garrett and Logan talking quietly faded into the background. 

The pain hadn't disappeared, but it felt farther away than it had an hour ago. Maybe the anti-nausea medication was helping. Maybe exhaustion was finally winning. Either way, Dean found himself sinking deeper into the mattress and the pillows.

His eyes suddenly snapped open when he felt movement near his injured shoulder.

Garrett had only been trying to adjust the pillow supporting the sling, but the slight shift was enough to drag Dean back toward full awareness. His eyes opened wide for a second, confusion flashing across his face before pain quickly reminded him where he was. Logan noticed immediately.

"Easy,” Logan’s hand moved to Dean's back and began patting slowly.

"Just Garrett."

Within another minute his eyes were closing again.

This time he drifted off more completely than before. Not deeply enough to qualify as proper sleep, but enough that the room around him disappeared. Enough that the pain retreated into the background. Enough that his body finally stopped fighting for a little while. Logan and Garrett exchanged a quiet look when they realized Dean had actually managed to doze off. 

Which was exactly why Dean startled so violently when the bedroom door suddenly opened. His eyes shot open, his head jerking upright. For one confused second he had absolutely no idea where he was, all he knew was that his ribs were killing him.

A sleepy whine escaped him before he could stop it.

Standing in the doorway was Tucker carrying a tray loaded with chopped fruit, a handful of crackers, and a large glass of water. 

The second Dean registered what was happening, he made a miserable sound and immediately buried his face against Logan's shoulder as if refusing to acknowledge the tray would somehow make it disappear. Logan felt him press closer and had to bite back a laugh.

Dean looked genuinely offended by the entire concept of food. It wasn't that he disliked what Tucker had brought. It was that eating required effort, and effort was currently very low on Dean's list of priorities. He simply wanted to curl up beneath the comforter and sleep until the pain went away. Unfortunately for him, three teammates who knew him far too well were currently occupying his bedroom.

Garrett immediately pointed toward Dean's head tucked against Logan's shoulder.

"He was sleeping, man," he said quietly to his youngest friend.

Tucker's expression softened immediately. "My bad."

He crossed the room and carefully set the tray on the bed beside Garrett before lowering himself into the desk chair. 

Dean didn't even spare the food a glance. He remained stubbornly hidden against Logan, eyes closed, apparently determined to ignore the situation until it resolved itself. 

The problem was that nobody seemed interested in letting it resolve itself naturally. Logan looked down at the exhausted hockey player resting against him while Garrett looked at the tray and then back at Dean. A silent conversation seemed to happen between all three healthy occupants of the room.

Garrett picked up a piece of fruit and held it out.

Nothing happened.

"Dean."

No response.

"Dean."

A pause.

Then a tired mumble against Logan's shoulder.

"No."

"You need to eat."

"No."

"Just a little."

"No."

Eventually Garrett resorted to patience. 

He sat there with a piece of fruit in his hand while repeatedly reminding Dean that he needed food before medication. 

It took far longer than it should have. Dean complained. Garrett argued. Logan occasionally contributed by rubbing Dean's back and reminding him that everyone was trying to help. Tucker mostly watched with amusement. 

In the end exhaustion became Garrett's greatest ally. Dean simply became too tired to keep arguing. Without lifting his head from Logan's shoulder, he finally accepted a piece of blueberry followed by a small piece of strawberry. The entire process looked less like feeding a college hockey player and more like convincing a stubborn toddler to eat something healthy.

By the time Garrett managed to get several more pieces of fruit and a couple of crackers into him, all three of them were looking increasingly entertained by the situation. Dean remained curled against Logan with his eyes closed while Garrett patiently fed him one bite at a time. The sight was ridiculous enough that Logan finally raised an eyebrow.

"You sure I'm the softie one?"

Garrett looked up from the tray.

"What?"

"Ten minutes ago you were accusing me of wanting to let him nap on a bathroom floor."

Garrett pointed immediately at Dean.

"Look at him."

"I'm looking at him."

"Exactly."

Logan glanced down.

Dean was still leaning heavily against his shoulder, eyes closed, blanket pulled up around him, clearly seconds away from falling asleep again.

Tucker snorted from across the room.

"He's got a point."

Meanwhile Dean, who had somehow managed to eat several pieces of fruit without fully opening his eyes, let out a sleepy hum and settled even closer against Logan's shoulder. The movement was enough to make all three of them stop talking for a second.

Garrett reached for another piece of fruit and sighed, "One more bite, buddy."

Dean groaned quietly, but he opened his mouth anyway. One piece of fruit turned into another, followed by several more bites and a handful of crackers. The process took far longer than it should have because Dean kept drifting off halfway through. More than once Garrett had to remind him there was still food in his hand. By the time the tray was mostly empty, everyone considered it a victory.

"Alright," Tucker said once Garrett finally seemed satisfied. "Now we can give him the good stuff."

Dean's eyes opened slightly at that.

The promise of pain relief apparently still managed to capture his attention.

Tucker reached for the medication bottle and shook two pills into his palm before holding them out along with the glass of water. Dean immediately extended his good hand. He accepted the pills without complaint, dropped them into his mouth, and reached for the water. The glass felt cool against his fingers. He took several careful sips before swallowing and then another sip just to wash away the lingering taste.

"Thanks," Dean whispered as he handed the glass back.

Tucker smiled.

"No problem."

The medication was down.

The hard part was over.

Now all they had to do was wait.

For the next several minutes Dean made an honest attempt to follow the conversation happening around him. 

Logan and Tucker were talking about something involving practice schedules while Garrett occasionally added comments from the foot of the bed. Dean genuinely tried to pay attention. He really did. The problem was that his brain seemed determined to shut down. 

One moment he would be listening to Tucker complain about Coach Jensen, and the next he'd realize he'd missed half the conversation because his eyes had closed. Then he'd force them open again and try to catch up. A few minutes later the same thing would happen. His head would slowly get heavier against Logan's shoulder, his eyelids would drift shut, and he'd find himself slipping toward sleep before jerking himself back awake. Eventually he stopped fighting quite so hard.

Time passed strangely after that.

Dean wasn't entirely sure how much.

Five minutes.

Ten maybe.

Long enough that the edge of the pain had begun to dull slightly.

Long enough that the medication was finally starting to work.

His eyes suddenly popped open when he felt something cool touching his chest. For one confused second he had no idea what was happening. Then he looked down and realized Garrett was sitting beside him with the bruise cream again. 

This time, however, it wasn't nearly as bad. The injuries still hurt. Everything still hurt. But the sharp, unbearable edge from earlier had softened enough that he wasn't immediately tensing away from the contact. Garrett worked carefully, spreading a thin layer of cream across the dark bruising decorating the right side of Dean's chest and ribs.

The area around the fractured ribs looked particularly angry, while the bruising beneath the collarbone seemed to darken by the hour.

"There we go," Garrett murmured as he worked. "Better than before?"

Dean considered it.

"A little."

"That's progress."

The cream still stung slightly against tender skin, but it no longer felt unbearable. Mostly it felt cool. Combined with the pain medication slowly working its way through his system, the sensation was oddly soothing. Dean's eyes drifted shut again while Garrett continued applying it.

Across the room, Tucker was studying the injuries. "His collarbone's going to need an ice pack."

The observation immediately got everyone's attention.

Tucker pointed toward the swollen area beneath the sling.

"It's huge."

Garrett followed his gaze and winced.

Now that Dean wasn't moving around as much, the swelling was easier to see. The skin around the fracture looked tight and inflamed beneath the bruising.

"Yeah," Garrett admitted.

"We should ice it before bed."

Logan nodded in agreement while continuing to absentmindedly run his fingers through Dean's hair.

Dean, meanwhile, had only caught about half of the conversation. The words ice pack registered somewhere in the distance, but the significance didn't. 

The pain medication was finally beginning to pull him under. His body felt heavier, warmer, and strangely disconnected from itself. The ache in his ribs was still there, but it seemed farther away now, dulled into a persistent soreness instead of the sharp agony that had dominated most of the evening. Even the relentless throbbing in his shoulder had softened around the edges. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy. Every time he managed to open them, they seemed determined to slide closed again a few seconds later.

Logan eventually looked down and realized Dean wasn't really sitting up anymore. At some point his entire weight had settled against him, his head resting heavily on his shoulder. The poor guy was practically asleep already. Exchanging a glance with Tucker, Logan carefully shifted closer. 

"Come on, buddy," he murmured. "Let's get you lying down properly." 

Dean responded with a sleepy noise that didn't resemble words in any language Logan recognized. 

Between the two of them, Logan and Tucker carefully began repositioning him. Dean's injured arm remained secured in the sling while they guided him backward onto the pillows. His good hand briefly grabbed at Logan's shirt as though protesting the movement, but the grip lacked any real conviction.

By the time they finally settled him onto his back, Dean was barely participating in the process. The mountain of pillows Tucker had arranged earlier helped support his upper body while keeping pressure off the fractured ribs. His injured arm remained tucked carefully across his chest in the sling, supported by additional pillows to prevent any unnecessary movement. Dean's head rolled slightly to one side as he settled into the mattress. 

His eyes fluttered halfway open.

"Hmm."

Logan immediately reached over and patted his back through the comforter.

"Shhh," he soothed quietly. "You're okay."

Dean blinked once.

Then twice.

His eyes slid shut again.

A few moments later Garrett returned carrying an ice pack wrapped carefully in a towel. He'd apparently made a quick trip downstairs while Logan and Tucker were getting Dean settled. 

Without a word, he handed it over. Logan accepted it and gently positioned it over the swollen area around Dean's collarbone. The cool temperature immediately earned a reaction. Dean stirred against the pillows and his face scrunched slightly as he became vaguely aware that something had changed.

The movement was enough to catch Tucker's attention. "Just ice, bud," he said quietly.

At this point he seemed too exhausted to question anything.

Garrett carefully pulled the duvet higher over him, tucking it around his legs and along his uninjured side while making sure not to disturb the sling or the ice pack. Dean didn't help. He didn't even open his eyes. The entire process happened while he remained motionless beneath the blankets, his breathing growing slower and deeper with every passing minute.

Dean hadn't moved in nearly a minute. His grip on the blanket had loosened. The tiny lines of pain that had been present around his eyes all evening had finally faded. Tucker folded his arms across his chest and studied him for another few seconds before finally breaking the silence.

"I think he's out for good."

Logan glanced down at Dean and smiled, "Yeah, definitely."

Garrett looked relieved more than anything else, "About time."

The three boys stayed in Dean's room long after it became obvious he was asleep. None of them seemed particularly eager to leave.

Eventually Logan broke the silence. "You guys can go to sleep. I'll stay with him tonight."

Garrett looked from Logan to Dean and then back again before crossing his arms. "You sure?" he asked. "We can swap if you want. I'll take a few hours and wake you up later."

Logan shook his head without even considering it. "No, it's fine. He's finally asleep and I don't feel like moving."

Garrett looked like he wanted to argue for another second before eventually accepting the answer. The truth was they were all exhausted. Dean wasn't the only one running on fumes.

Tucker stretched and grabbed the empty tray from the bedside table. "Alright, but if he wakes up and starts trying to be stubborn again, you're getting us."

The comment earned a smile from Garrett. One by one they said their goodnights, keeping their voices low so they wouldn't wake Dean. Tucker paused at the doorway and pointed toward Logan. "Seriously. If he wakes up feeling sick, dizzy, in pain, or decides he wants to walk downstairs at three in the morning, come get us." 

Logan waved him off immediately, "Go to bed." 

Tucker narrowed his eyes but finally surrendered and disappeared into the hallway.

Garrett lingered a little longer. Before leaving, he stepped back toward the bed for one last look.

Dean hadn't moved. The comforter was pulled up to his chest, the sling remained secure, and his face looked far more peaceful than it had at any point during the day. Seeing him asleep like that made Garrett realize just how worried he'd been.

A few hours ago Dean had been pale, shaking, crying from pain, and struggling to stay upright. Now he was finally resting. Garrett reached down and adjusted the edge of the blanket one final time before straightening up. "Night, D," he murmured, even though he knew Dean couldn't hear him. Then he crossed the room, switched off the lights, and quietly pulled the door shut behind him.

For a while the room remained completely still. Nearly fifteen minutes passed before Dean suddenly shifted. The movement was small at first. Then he let out a sleepy whine and attempted to push himself upright. Logan reacted immediately. One hand moved into Dean's hair while the other settled lightly against his shoulder before he could accidentally sit up and aggravate every injury he had.

"Shhh," Logan whispered softly. "I'm here, Deanie."

Dean's eyes never actually opened. He simply paused, head turning slightly toward Logan's voice. For a moment he looked confused, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Logan continued running his fingers through his hair, using the same soothing motion that had worked all evening. "You're okay," he murmured. "Go back to sleep."

Dean let out a tired hum and gave the smallest nod before relaxing back into the pillows. Then, about three minutes later, Logan heard a soft snore. He couldn't help smiling. 

After one of the worst days Dean had experienced in a long time, he was finally asleep for real. Logan let his own eyes slip close, but kept one hand resting lightly in Dean's hair, and listened to the quiet sound of his friend sleeping. For the first time since the injury, everything felt finally okay.