"You're not exactly looking too hot yourself," Dean remarked. And he really didn't. Okay, so he wasn't wrapped in bandages like some living mummy or on crutches or wheelchair-bound, like some of the other patients here, but Dean knew that look: the way Blondie's skin was too pale to be healthy, the dark bags under his eyes. If he didn't know better, he'd say the other guy had been hit by the same hypothermia magic Dean had earlier. "I'm Brian," he said.
He didn't offer his hand. Blondie didn't want it or need it, especially with how crappy he looked. Just standing here in the humid air of the Greenhouse, crowded around by all these plants, Dean swore he looked possibly nauseous. Dean didn't quite take a step back, just in case, but he did keep an eye out in case he had to jump backward. Ending the day with getting another guy's puke on him wasn't his idea of a good time. Aware of the nurses' eyes scanning the room, Dean helped himself to a pot, sneaking a glance at the other patients to clue himself in on what he was supposed to be doing to look busy. Potting plants was way too Home and Gardens for him, and while he could pretty much say he'd never held down an honest job in his life, gardening wasn't exactly a skill you needed in hunting.
He mimicked the others, taking a handful of soil and sticking it in the pot.
"So what got you?" Dean asked Blondie. He indicated with a little hand shovel his pale skin. "Not my business, but I looked like that the other day. Wonderin' if you ran into the same thing."
A sudden series of loud coughs made Dean look away sharply from Blondie, distracted for a split second. His eyes sought out Sam, but, he noted with relief, it wasn't his brother who was hacking up a storm; instead, it was the older guy he was with, and, as he watched, the guy hacked up a hairball. Dean watched, but Sam didn't follow suit, and while every part of him wanted to head over anyway, he had to keep his cool and not jump the gun if Sammy wasn't in trouble. His brother glanced over then. Dean met Sam's eyes. You okay, Dean didn't even have to ask outloud, dipping his head slightly. Sammy gave him a slight shake of the head, signaling that he had it under control.
Dean chewed the inside of his cheek, and reluctantly turned back to dicking around with the pot.
no subject
He didn't offer his hand. Blondie didn't want it or need it, especially with how crappy he looked. Just standing here in the humid air of the Greenhouse, crowded around by all these plants, Dean swore he looked possibly nauseous. Dean didn't quite take a step back, just in case, but he did keep an eye out in case he had to jump backward. Ending the day with getting another guy's puke on him wasn't his idea of a good time. Aware of the nurses' eyes scanning the room, Dean helped himself to a pot, sneaking a glance at the other patients to clue himself in on what he was supposed to be doing to look busy. Potting plants was way too Home and Gardens for him, and while he could pretty much say he'd never held down an honest job in his life, gardening wasn't exactly a skill you needed in hunting.
He mimicked the others, taking a handful of soil and sticking it in the pot.
"So what got you?" Dean asked Blondie. He indicated with a little hand shovel his pale skin. "Not my business, but I looked like that the other day. Wonderin' if you ran into the same thing."
A sudden series of loud coughs made Dean look away sharply from Blondie, distracted for a split second. His eyes sought out Sam, but, he noted with relief, it wasn't his brother who was hacking up a storm; instead, it was the older guy he was with, and, as he watched, the guy hacked up a hairball. Dean watched, but Sam didn't follow suit, and while every part of him wanted to head over anyway, he had to keep his cool and not jump the gun if Sammy wasn't in trouble. His brother glanced over then. Dean met Sam's eyes. You okay, Dean didn't even have to ask outloud, dipping his head slightly. Sammy gave him a slight shake of the head, signaling that he had it under control.
Dean chewed the inside of his cheek, and reluctantly turned back to dicking around with the pot.