oh, I like it

The smartwatch on your wrist vibrated, and you glanced down.

Dean: Wanna come to Malones w da boys?

"We're going to put an IV in to help replace some of what your body's been depleted of," the doctor explained.

You looked up at her, too drained to answer, and simply nodded.

"I'll get one of the nurses and we’ll start, okay, hun?"

She disappeared behind the curtain surrounding your little corner of the emergency department.

Your watch buzzed again.

Dean: Helllooooo???

You let out a tired sigh. With what little energy you had left, you reached for your phone on the bedside table and typed a reply.

You: Soz can't rn

His response came almost instantly.

Dean: Why nut?

Despite everything, you smiled. Before you could think of a believable excuse, your phone lit up with his contact.

FaceTime.

Of course.

"Shit," you muttered.

You didn't want Dean worrying. You already felt ridiculous for ending up here over something that would probably pass after a few bags of fluids and some sleep.

You answered, holding the phone far too close to your face so none of the monitors or hospital bed could be seen.

"Ew. Why are you so close to the screen?" Dean laughed, his grin practically lighting up the display.

"Hello to you too."

Your face filled the entire camera, which wasn't exactly flattering considering the dark circles under your eyes and the handful of stress pimples you'd acquired from weeks of surviving on caffeine and poor decisions.

Dean chuckled before his expression slowly changed. "Why's there so much beeping?" His brows furrowed.

As if the universe had decided you hadn't suffered enough, the doctor returned with a nurse. Without thinking, you lowered your phone so you wouldn't look like an idiot video calling someone while being treated.

Unfortunately, it also gave Dean a perfect view of the room.

He called your name sharply. "What the fuck? Is that the hospital?"

You barely had time to react before the doctor started checking your chart.

The last thing you heard before the call disconnected was Dean saying, "I'll be there in twenty."

Your stomach twisted.

He was supposed to be out with the boys. This wasn't worth dragging him away for.

Dean had been your best friend since first year. Between sharing nearly every law class and spending more time arguing hypothetical court cases than actually studying them, the friendship had formed naturally. You'd always suspected law wasn't really what he wanted though. Sometimes it felt like he was only here because it was expected of him, but that was a conversation for another day.

The nurse checked your observations before inserting a cannula into your arm and hooking up another bag of fluids. Instead of feeling better, you only felt heavier, your eyelids refusing to stay open.

You just wanted to go back to your dorm, sleep for twelve hours, then pretend the mountain of assignments waiting for you didn't exist.

The curtain suddenly slid open. You looked up, ready to tell the nurse you weren't hungry anymore.

Instead, Dean stood there in his black jeans, white T-shirt and brown leather jacket.

His hair was windswept, his chest rising and falling as though he'd sprinted through the hospital.

You blinked. "It's only been like... ten minutes."

His breathing hadn't even settled.

"Did you speed?" you asked, suddenly finding enough energy to sit up.

Whether that burst of energy came from worrying he'd wrapped his car around a pole or simply because he was standing there was something you chose not to examine.

Definitely the first one.

Dean barely reacted. He dragged a chair beside your bed and sat down, concern written all over his face. "You're worried about whether I sped," he said quietly, "when you should be worried about yourself."

Silence settled between you.

Finally, Dean broke it. "Why didn't you tell me you were here?"

You looked away, chewing the inside of your cheek. "It wasn't a big deal. I didn't want anyone worrying, and you were already going out..."

"Fuck going out with the boys!" The words came so suddenly you stared at him. "I don't care where I am or what I'm doing," he continued, frustration slipping into every word. "I care whether you're okay. So don't give me that crap about not wanting to worry me."

His jaw tightened before he exhaled.

"You're my best friend."

Your chest tightened. You wished you were more.

"I'd rather you call me over nothing than sit here alone pretending everything's fine."

You swallowed hard. "I…I'm sorry." Your voice barely came out above a whisper. "I've just got so much work. I need to stay on top of everything, Dean. You know I do."

Your vision blurred before you realised tears were already slipping down your cheeks.

Dean reached over without hesitation, brushing one away with his thumb before pulling you gently into his arms.

His familiar scent, sandalwood and cedar, wrapped around you.

Home.

You buried your face against his shoulder as every bit of exhaustion you'd been holding together finally cracked.

He held you tighter.

"Don't ever tell yourself I'm better off not knowing." His voice was quiet against your hair. "I'll always show up."

Those four words settled somewhere deep inside you.

You hadn't realised how badly you needed someone to say them.

A polite cough interrupted the moment.

You both looked up as the doctor stood there trying very hard not to smile. Dean cleared his throat and leaned back, rubbing the back of his neck.

"We'll just run through your final observations and you'll be free to head home."

You quietly thanked her while the nurse finished checking everything one last time before removing the equipment.

"You look much better," the doctor smiled. "Just promise me you'll actually rest."

"I'll try."

Dean snorted beside you. "She will."

The doctor laughed. "I figured."

By the time you left the hospital, the sun had disappeared and the night air bit at your skin. You instinctively folded your arms across yourself. Without a word, Dean shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over your shoulders.

You looked up at him. "Thanks."

He simply nodded, opening the passenger door like he always did.

Some habits never changed. You sometimes wondered if he did this for every girl.

You hoped he didn't.

Dean climbed into the driver's seat, started the car, then immediately switched on the heater and heated seats.

"Warm enough?"

You pulled his jacket tighter around yourself.

"It smells like you."

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Dean glanced over, amused. "I shower occasionally, thanks."

You rolled your eyes. "I meant in a good way."

"I'll take the win."

The drive home passed quietly. Your eyelids grew heavier with every passing streetlight until your stomach growled loud enough to make you wince.

Dean smirked. "Hungry?"

"Apparently."

"We're almost home. I'll heat something up."

True to his word, he parked outside Hockey House and walked you inside.

Holding the front door open, he gave an unnecessarily dramatic bow. "M'lady."

You couldn't help laughing.

"There she is," he grinned. "I was starting to think the hospital stole your personality."

"Don't push it."

"Sit on the couch. I'll make you food."

You didn't argue.

The cushions practically swallowed you whole as you collapsed face first into them, letting out the deepest sigh you'd breathed in weeks. Somewhere in the kitchen you heard the microwave beep.

Your eyes drifted shut.

Dean walked back into the lounge carrying a steaming plate. "Alright, eat..."

He stopped. You were already asleep.

He smiled to himself before setting the plate down on the coffee table and pulling the throw blanket over you. Carefully, he crouched beside the couch, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face.

The front door suddenly opened.

"Honey, I'm ho..." Logan froze as Dean shot upright, raising a finger to his lips.

Dean spoke through gritted teeth, barely louder than a whisper. "This is the most sleep she's gotten in weeks. If you wake her up, I'm cockblocking you."

Logan slowly zipped his lips shut before raising both hands in surrender.

Dean looked back at you. For the first time all day, your face looked peaceful.

He realised then that seeing you like this, finally resting instead of constantly pushing yourself, made something inside his chest ache. He wasn't about to admit that the ache had very little to do with friendship.

Some feelings were easier left unsaid.