Title: Death Warmed Over
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: Sam's panicking, there's too much blood and his big brother can only ask him stupid questions. Hurt!Dean, Caring!Sam post s6x15 "The French Mistake" One Shot.
Author's note: There's no excuse for this one really except that I was making coffee, still suffering the flu, looked in the mirror and thought 'sheesh I look like death warmed over'…and then I wondered, where the hell does that phrase even come from? So hear you go. XD Enjoy?
Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P
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"Why d…death warmed over?" Dean groaned as his little brother forced him to lay flat again. "Don't get it. Never did. Doesn't make any…any sense. Things get c-cold when they die."
Sam replaced his hand over the bleeding wound in Dean's stomach and did his best not to panic. He hastily replaced the now sodden bandage with another; the increasing pallor of Dean's face not helping his level of calm.
"Stop talking Dean." Sam ordered. He couldn't wipe the image of Dean impaled from his mind. The little fence surrounding the overgrown family plot hadn't seemed dangerous at all; not until a very pissed off Civil War ghost had picked up his brother and thrown him on top of the little spikes.
"Come on, Sammy." Dean managed a smirk and weakly batted at his shoulder. "You're a g-geek. I know you know this. Why death warmed over?"
"Seriously, Dean? You're bleeding out and you wanna know the etymology of a ridiculous idiom?" Sam shook his head and pressed harder on the wound because he wasn't over reacting…his brother was bleeding out beneath him; warm blood still bubbling up around his fingers to coat his hands and fall to the ground, seeping into the knees of his jeans.
"Huh?" Dean gave a wet chuckle, unaware of the blood that began to trickle from the corner of his mouth. "Used too many big…big words, Sammy." He closed his eyes and clasped his fingers weakly into Sam's shoulder. "What's it mean? Dying man can't know?"
"Corpses." Sam said softly. "When they'd…put corpses into the fire, the heat would warm them and…and give them rosy cheeks in pale faces, almost like they were still alive." Dean was smiling, his cheeks warmed by the nearby fire in the grave even as all color left his skin. "Dean?" Sam called him but got no response. His brother's hand loosened its grip on his shoulder and dropped away. "No. No, no, no." Sam looked up in despair into the night sky.
"CASTIEL!" He screamed it. Sam had tried calling the Angel several times already with no response. They hadn't heard from him since Balthazar had turned over his heavenly arsenal and both men were still angry with the Angel for using them. "Cass please! He's dying. Dammit you can save him! CASS!" The blood began to slow beneath his hands and a last, rattling breath escaped Dean's blood, reddened lips.
"Sam." The quiet flutter of wings and a gust of wind blew Sam's hair back from his face as the Angel's voice heralded his arrival. Castiel stood beside them suddenly, brown raincoat flapping lazily in the evening breeze, the light from the fire making it appear colored with blood. "What has happened?"
"Cass, hurry!" Sam pleaded; still loathe to move his hands. "He's almost…you have to save him. Please."
"Move aside." Castiel moved Sam with a gentle hand on the man's trembling shoulder. He knelt, soft blue eyes taking in the copious amounts of blood on Dean, the ground and his brother. He placed a hand at Dean's temple and his other over the grievous wound. Sam had not been wrong; Dean was moments away from leaving the world of the living forever. Castiel eased into Dean's mind, coasting along the surface thoughts that were hastily fading. He took each thought up, holding tight to them and to Dean as he flooded his power into the man's body. In his mind he pictured the white light enveloping him; grace sweeping through the eldest Winchester and knitting torn flesh, replacing lost life's blood. Dean's thoughts strengthened; Castiel felt him returning to consciousness and let go the threads of his mind as Dean opened green eyes to peer up at him.
"Cass?" Dean asked and then gasped, lurching upright with a hand to his stomach. "Holy crap."
"Hello, Dean." Castiel nodded and stood, letting Sam back at his brother's side to lift him to his feet.
"Dean? How do you feel? You ok?" Sam asked anxiously and pushed Dean's hands aside to see for himself. The wound in his stomach was gone, only the blood remained. Dean was still pale but very much alive and Sam turned watery eyes to the Angel. "Cass…thank you."
"Whoa, whoa, Dude. I'm good." Dean slapped Sam's hands away from his stomach and pointlessly tried to cover himself with his shredded shirt.
Castiel watched them and felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He ruthlessly pushed it back, unable to afford any weakness. "I must return." He looked at Dean, his head tilting to the side. "You do have the appearance of…death warmed over."
"What?" Dean stared in surprise and laughed as the Angel vanished on a soft, feathery flutter. "How's he know what we were talking about?"
Sam shrugged and took a deep breath and then another, settling the bone deep terror that had settled into him before Castiel had made his timely appearance. "You have looked better." He said finally, smiling for his big brother.
"Dude, I always look awesome." Dean punched his shoulder. "Come on, I need a drink, a bath and a woman. Not necessarily in that order."
Sam sighed and followed behind him toward the waiting Impala. "Yep, you're back."
"I never left." Dean retorted with a snort and fingered the rents in his shirt again. "I liked this shirt."
Sam chose not to contradict him, knowing his brother had indeed left for a moment. Instead he took another deep breath and prepared to spend the evening in a seedy bar watching Dean flirt with anything that moved and loving every minute of the fact he was there to do those things at all. "Still look like death warmed over."
"Bite me, Sammy."
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The End.