If only
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If only they'd ordered pizza.
Dean would give anything for a do-over.
Limp Sam and major guilty Dean.
Set season 2, not long after John's death.
NB: Before anyone starts having a go, this is AU. I know this would never have passed through Dean's mind. Just a little fic experiment. And if people like it, I might be persuaded to continue.
A short angsty little story written during a break from the werewolf fic.
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"Your turn for the food run." Dean didn't even glance up from the TV, content to watch the reruns of MASH and leave things alone as usual.
Sam sighed, feeling drained beyond belief. They'd been on the road for more days than he could count, and frankly, he was getting sick of it. Sick of the scenery, sick of the shitty fast food, and more importantly, sick of Dean's even shittier attitude. Nothing had really been resolved between the boys, in spite of Sam's best efforts; even the novelty born of the fully restored and gleaming Impala had worn off, leaving an older brother who could easily have given Oscar the Grouch a run for his money. Complete with a sawn-off and sharp knives. The only reprieves were the hunts, and some of those were pretty dismal. Fighting off restless, angry spirits probably wasn't the best way to deal with losing their father, but it was all they knew, and they couldn't stop now.
Sam really thought they'd been making some headway after Gordon. Clearly he'd been wrong.
"What do you want?" Sam kept it short these days. Dean didn't have the patience for conversations that lasted any longer than four or five words. Unless it was a hunt.
"Cheese burger, extra onions, pie."
Yep, Sam counted in his head, sadly, five words exactly this time.
"Pass me the car keys?" Sam waited, fully expecting a jingling mass of metal to come sailing across the room. It hadn't occurred to him this would be his first time behind the wheel since the crash.
Dean's response, however, suggested he'd thought about it all right. His head shot up and cold green eyes levelled with Sam's blue-green gaze.
"You got legs, Sam. Walk!"
Sam gaped. "Dude, it's like five below freezing out there!"
"Walk fast." Dean insisted sharply. "It'll warm you up."
"Food'll get cold…" Sam tried again, hearing the wind moaning round the motel, a cold draft winding its way through the gap under the door. He shivered lightly at just the thought of being out there.
His argument clearly wasn't working, however, judging from the way Dean upped the wattage of his glare.
"You think I'm letting you anywhere near the driver's seat? After what happened last time?"
Sam flinched and visibly paled at the reminder. The youngest Winchester had been the one behind the wheel when the semi ploughed into them, virtually destroying the Impala. Yeah, he'd felt responsible as hell for it, but he'd never gotten the impression Dean blamed him. Until now.
"You… you really b-blame me for that?" He whispered forlornly, eyes widening with hurt.
"Just… go get the food, Sam." Dean barely spared him a look before mumbling "too icy to drive anyhow."
Fighting the urge to sniff miserably, while biting down hard on his trembling lower lip, Sam quietly opened the motel room door, and left without a word.
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It came out of nowhere. One minute he was standing on the sidewalk, waiting to cross the street, and the next he was bouncing aimlessly across someone's car hood, and experiencing what he could only describe as a cracking pain in his head. As he rolled off the hood and landed heavily on icy cold, hard tarmac, another sharp pain in his left leg had him crying out.
He blinked hard, trying to clear his wavering vision, and someone appeared in his line of sight, gazing down at him worriedly. The person, woman, was talking to him, but he couldn't hear a damn thing over the ringing in his ears.
His head hurt. Thought processes were firing, but out of order, and there was something important he had to do.
Brother.
The word was jumping up and down, screaming at him.
Dean.
Sam blinked again and struggled to sit up, fighting the gentle hands trying to push him back down. There were more people standing over him by now, all with that same guarded concern etched on their faces, and his hearing seemed to be making a comeback in fits and starts.
"… don't move… hit your head… ambulance…"
That last word made sense to Sam and he didn't like it.
"No…" he whispered, breathless with pain. "N-no ambulance. I'll b-be f-fine."
Sam, to the surprise of all, finally lurched to his feet, and someone grabbed his arm to steady him.
Oh yeah sure. You'll be fine. Sneered his inner voice when the world began to spin lightly.
"I really think you should stay still and wait for the medics to exam you, sweetie." The woman sounded a little clearer by now and Sam got a good look at her.
Middle-aged beauty, nice dress sense, clean nails, he noted absentmindedly, not sure why his brain could note something like that when everything else was going to pot.
"M'ok." He whispered again. But apparently that was all he could manage right now.
The woman smiled sadly.
"I'm so sorry. My car slid on a patch of ice and I just couldn't get it back under control."
Sam squinted at her.
"S-stepped on r-road? M-my f-fault?" He muttered wearily, and shivered in the cold.
"No! No, absolutely not. You were on the side walk…"
That was all Sam needed to know. There was an accident, but it wasn't his fault, therefore not his problem. He was kind of aware that perhaps he wasn't thinking straight but no longer cared, because now he remembered what he'd come out for.
And he suddenly experienced a sense of desperation unlike anything he'd ever felt before.
Dean wanted food. My turn. Have to get Dean his food.
Sam felt like a little boy who'd become separated from his family, and lost his way in the supermarket. He didn't know who to trust or where to go.
My brother's around here somewhere, right? He'll find me. Dean won't let anything happen to me.
"Sweetie, you're cold and hurt. Let the medics take care of you." Came that woman's voice again.
But Sam had other ideas. Sort of. He shook his head slowly and stumbled away, hissing at the pain in his left leg.
"G-gotta g-get m'brother his f-food." Sam mumbled through teeth that were beginning to chatter rather alarmingly by now.
Dean won't let anything happen to me…
But memories were swirling round, confusing and frightening him. And his head still hurt.
Dean shouting, furious, punching him.
Dean's mad at me.
Another horrific memory quite literally crashed into him, nearly flooring him.
Hurt his car.
Dad's car once.
Sam's eyes filled with tears and he felt his heart breaking.
Dean doesn't care.
The Impala.
Dean hates me.
Blinking the tears away, Sam struggled onwards and the small crowd gradually dispersed, leaving the woman staring after him helplessly.
If I get Dean his food, maybe he won't hate me anymore.
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A loud grumbling in his stomach distracted him, and Dean glanced at his watch for the first time since Sam went on the food run.
Damn! He was getting hungry, and no doubt his little brother was off sulking somewhere, determined to make Dean wait it out. This was Sam's childish way of getting his own back for not letting him take the car.
Do the kid good, getting some fresh air. Pasty faced little shit!
Dean felt the tiniest twinge of guilt start to grow and flourish, and not just at sending his brother out into the cold.
Did he really need to say that to him? That he pretty much held him responsible...
Oh God.
That was as good as telling Sam he was responsible for Dad's death.
Bad move. Not good.
Understatement you asshole!
As is mostly the case with guilt, Dean tried to justify his actions.
Seriously, the kid was grating on his nerves, with those pleading puppy dog eyes, and the not-so-subtle attempts to talk about their late father.
Sam seemed to take any exchange of dialogue as an open invitation to discuss things Dean really would rather not discuss. So in an attempt to get some peace, Dean had kept communication down to a bare minimum. He'd shut himself off from his kid brother for the time being, until he was ready to deal.
He glanced at his watch again and frowned.
Sam's been gone a while now.
Out came his cell phone, and Dean jabbed away at his contacts list.
"C'mon Sammy pick up!" Dean muttered, caught between worry and anger at his kid brother. But the call went unanswered.
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"What can I getcha?"
Sam blinked at the cheerful old guy behind the counter, not sure he understood the question.
"Hey!" Now the guy was snapping his fingers under Sam's nose in annoyance, but that annoyance soon turned to mild concern when Sam swayed violently. "You ok there buddy?"
The smell of cooked food was making Sam's gut churn, and there was a distinct possibility the cheap lino would be wearing its meagre contents very soon.
Sam swallowed back bile like a trooper, and nodded carefully. A memory of his brother's food order stood out clear against the murky backdrop of some far more unpleasant ones.
"Ch-cheese b-burger." Sam whispered slowly, still shivering in spite of the heat coming from the kitchens. "Onions. P-pie."
"What kinda pie?" The guy, Chip, according to his nametag, watched his customer carefully.
Sam began to panic. "Uh… Idunnoheneversaid…"
"Alright buddy, just calm down" Chip softened his voice. Clearly he was dealing with some poor mentally disturbed patient. They should never be allowed out on their own. "Let's just settle on apple, ok? Always a favourite."
Sam nodded sadly without saying a word, just stood there, head bowed in shame. He no idea what to do or say, but this Chip seemed nice enough.
Chip sighed heavily. M'not paid enough for this. Should really be calling in some help for him.
But there was something about the kid.
He rounded the counter and gently grabbed the boy's arm, leading him over to some plastic seats by the window.
"Why don't you sit here for now, and I'll call you when your order's ready, ok?"
The kid raised his head and fix him with such a sweet and grateful gaze, that old Chip couldn't help but beam at him before heading back to the counter.
A few minutes later, Chip brought over a large brown bag, and settled it in Sam's lap.
"There ya go kid. And there's an extra piece of pie in there, but don't tell no one or they'll all want some." He stared at the kid's face, wondering about the bruises.
"Th-thank you," Sam muttered and fumbled in his pockets with shaky hands, pulling out some notes. He stared hard at the cash, vision blurring, unable to tell one from another. He felt sure there'd been a ten and a twenty in there at some stage.
In the end he dumped the whole lot in a surprised Chip's hands, lurched to his feet and headed out the diner door before anyone could stop him.
"Hey kid! That's too much...!"
But once outside, he staggered away, and was presented with a problem.
Slowly shuffling round, head spinning, stomach still threatening to revolt, Sam's eyes once again filled with tears.
Where do I go? I don't even know where Dean is!
Something in his jacket pocket chirped loudly and Sam nearly dropped the bag of food in shock.
Pulling out the offending article, Sam stared at it.
Cell phone, his fuzzy brain supplied him with the information a little belatedly.
The tiny screen revealed a name.
Dean.
Sam huffed miserably and hugged the cooling bag of food close to his chest. Dean was going to kill him.
Too scared to answer, Sam shoved the phone back in his pocket and limped away down the sidewalk, shivering harshly in the cold. He hoped and prayed he'd find something familiar that would lead him back to his brother.
I'm so confused... and God! So scared!
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Sam was exhausted by the time he found the right place. It seemed to have taken forever but here he was, and his brother was on the other side of the door, waiting for his food.
His now stone cold food.
Sam leaned up against the motel room door, head resting against the frame for a second while he pulled himself together, just knowing he was in the shit for real this time.
He reached out with a shaky hand and grasped the door knob.
At least I'm home.
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Dean was about to try Sam's cell again, but leapt to his feet when he heard the door open. He didn't wait for an explanation, just launched right into an angry tirade the minute Sam's face appeared.
"Where the hell have you been Sam?! And next time answer your godamned phone when I call you!"
And, once his little speech was over, he knew something was wrong. The kid limped on by, dumping a greasy brown bag on Dean's bed. He finished his difficult journey by slumping dejectedly on his own bed, keeping his back to the room. Sam's head was tucked right down, shoulders shivering, hands stuffed into his pockets.
"Sammy?" Dean called softly. His brother winced at the sound. "Sammy what's wrong?"
Striding over and gently cupping Sam's chin, Dean tilted his face up and gasped when unfocussed, uneven pupils gazed up at him, and there were fresh bruises forming on his jaw and cheek to consider.
I don't remember doin' that!
"Shit Sam, what the hell happened to you?"
Sam blinked heavily, and promptly slid right off the bed, much to Dean's shock.
"Whoa! Easy kiddo." Lifting him up and sitting him back on the bed was a challenge in itself, given Sam's bulk and height, but Dean soon managed it, carefully keeping the boy upright so he could examine him.
Cradling Sam's head, Dean's fingers soon found a large bump crusted over with dried blood, right at the base of his skull. The kid flinched and whimpered in pain, eyes filling with tears.
"Ok." Dean smiled softly and nodded. "It's ok. Let's get you cleaned up huh buddy? See what damage you've done."
Sam just gazed back at him unsteadily, eyes fighting to stay open, as though he didn't have a clue what his brother was saying.
"Can you hear me, Sammy?"
Dean chewed on his bottom lip and decided to have another try.
"Sam, can you tell me what happened?" He spoke slowly and clearly, keeping his voice soft and calm, and a light appeared to go on behind his brother's eyes.
"S…s'mon h-hit m'withacar." Sam slurred out painfully slow, eyes heavy with fatigue.
Dean frowned as he took that in.
"You mean, you were knocked down?"
Sam let out a small half sob, half giggle.
"Yeeaahh. S'ons'walk. Carsli…ice…" He winced again and, suddenly, all the blood draining from his face had Dean reaching out to the waste bin with lightening quick reflexes, and shoving it under Sam's nose.
As his brother let loose the contents of his stomach, Dean tried not to grimace at the bitter smell.
But he'd sure figured out what Sam was trying to tell him.
A car had slid on a patch of ice and ploughed straight into his little brother.
And it wouldn't have happened if...
Oh God Sammy, I'm so sorry.
For all he knew, the kid could be badly hurt with internal injuries, maybe a cracked skull, and when he first entered the room – I yelled at him! - Sam had been limping badly.
Glancing down at the kid's legs, Dean reached out and tentatively pressed both his hands along Sam's jeans, until his brother cried out in pain.
"Sorry kiddo."
The area on Sam's left shin under the denim was hot, swollen and obviously tender.
There was nothing for it. Sam needed a hospital and quickly.
But before he could do anything, Sam whimpered and turned his bewildered gaze on Dean once again.
"D-Deeaann… s-sooorrrrryyyy… gotyaffoood...colddddd"
The boy tipped forward at the same time as his eyes slipped back in his head.
But Dean was ready and caught him before he hit the floor, wrapping Sam up in his arms.
"I'm the one who should be sayin' that Sammy." Dean sniffed sadly and once again pulled out his cell, speed dialling 911. "You got nothing to be sorry for."
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"You can go in now."
Dean looked up from his tightly folded hands to stare at Sam's nurse, then peered anxiously at the door to Sam's room.
"He ok? I mean, is he awake?"
The nurse nodded. "He's settled, but groggy." She smiled reassuringly. "He's been asking for you. Got quite upset when he woke up and you weren't there."
Dean got to his feet, still feeling nervous, and took a deep breath before moving forward.
Stepping closer to the bed, he studied Sam's face, pale, almost grey against the pillow, but mostly hidden by the mask covering his mouth and nose. Humidified oxygen hissed quietly as his brother breathed in slowly but surely, and soft bleeps from the cardiac monitor told Dean it was ok to relax. Sam really was still alive.
Careful not to dislodge any wires or IVs, Dean perched on the edge of the bed, and ran his fingers gently through the kid's soft hair, smiling when confused, sleepy eyes opened.
"Hey kiddo," Dean whispered. "How ya feeling?"
Sam blinked slowly. "M'ok." His answer was slow coming and muffled by the oxygen mask, but it was there. "Whenwel-leeeeaving?"
Dean frowned. "Not for a little while yet Sam. You got a bad concussion and a hair-line fracture to ya shin bone. Not to mention hypothermia. You're…we're lucky ya still here at all. Let's just take it slow, huh? One day at a time, dude."
And if his voice turned a little shaky towards the end of his little speech, Sam didn't seem to notice.
"Y-yooouuu okkkk Deeean?" Sam slurred out. "Ca…can't 'member much. Car okkk?"
Dean stiffened up a little, until he realised Sam was genuinely struggling to remember what happened to him.
"Wasn't there Sam." Dean shook his head, eyes never leaving his brother's. "You went out to get food." Tears suddenly spilled down the older brother's face. "I sent you out and I shoulda gone with you, but I let you go off all alone. You got hit by a car…I'm so damn sorry kiddo!"
Sam's eyes widened at Dean's outburst, and reached out to gently squeeze his hand.
"N-not yaffffaullllttt." He was feeling tired again, eyelids drooping, mind going fuzzy, but Sam fought to stay awake, desperate to comfort his brother. "Yooouuu geeetttyaaa foooddd? Chiiippp... piiiieeee..."
The bag of take out was still sitting in their motel room, grown cold long ago. But Dean still smiled. For some reason it seemed the most important thing in the world to Sam right now.
"Yeah Sammy. Ya did good. Tasted great." Dean still stroked Sam's hair. "Get some sleep kiddo."
His brother kept staring at him with such sadness, that Dean was a total loss.
"Just relax. Rest now." Knowing that Sam was too groggy, wouldn't remember, Dean planted a gentle kiss on his little brother's head. "We'll be ok Sam. We'll be ok I promise."
He watched as his little brother finally succumbed.
Someday soon I'm gonna have to tell you what he said...
Dean sniffed softly.
But next time we order in pizza little brother.
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