Waring: Rating (T) is for slight gore.
Author's Note: This little story was partially inspired by a certain part of the season 9 premier I won't say directly. (Don't worry readers. I promise it gives absolutely zero spoilers away.) It takes place mid-season seven, when Dean had already put the Impala into hiding and was using various stolen muscle cars. This is from Dean's POV. I'm experimenting with a new writing style for fun, so I hope this turned out ok! :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.
In the haze of my awakening, at first all I can remember is the sound of screeching metal. Like nails on a chalkboard only even more shrill. The kind of sound that made your ears want to bleed.
Then came other sounds. The screaming sound of rubber being abruptly dragged across pavement. The blaring of a horn through previously silent night air. The voice of my younger brother calling for me to "Swerve Dean! He doesn't see us!"
At the recollection of Sammy's voice I start to snap out of it a bit. My head clears and my eyes do their best to focus on anything more than blurred shapes and dark colors. This is made even harder by the fact that it's nighttime on a typical back-woods road with no street lights. After a too much damn time, I'm greeted with a now relatively clear image of the situation I'm in.
The old Mustang I was driving is a piece of scrap metal now. The whole front is crunched in, the windows are shattered, and the roof beneath me is crumpled like tinfoil. Oh yeah, it's beneath me because the car is freaking upside down.
I groan, trying to maneuver in my seat to see where Sam is. Moving was a bad idea. Pain immediately shoots through me like fire. The pain should inspire me to take some time to figure out my injuries, but instead only spurs me to double my efforts at turning to the passenger seat. If I'm in this much pain, then Sammy could be even worse.
I fight the waves of agony and nausea that attack me as I twist in the inverted driver's seat, and am rewarded with a sight that scares the shit out of me.
The passenger seat is empty.
Instantly I'm fumbling with my seat-belt, trying to free myself from its restricting hold on my torso. I hear a soft click, and I drop the meager foot and a half from the floor-turned-ceiling of the vehicle to the mess of bent up roof below me.
The landing hurts like hell, but my adrenaline is already pumping through my veins. I'm in the zone now. Gotta find my brother.
I'm crawling out from under the wreck, ignoring the stinging pain of glass as the remnants of the windows and windshield press into my palms. "Sam?" I call out. My voice comes out in little more than a whisper, and I have to push harder the second time. "Sammy?" This time my word carries some volume, but to no avail. The silence that answers my call is deafening.
I'm squinting in the darkness, looking for any signs of my brother. And that's when I see it. A crumpled shape lying not far from the front of the Mustang. Face down and sort of curled in on itself, surrounded by what appears to be a dark pool of blood. Way too much blood.
My heart stops.
I think of the shattered windshield and the force of the impact during the crash. Was Sam wearing his seat-belt when we crashed? The kid never forgets the freaking seat-belt… There's no way he got ejected. No way this bloodied, broken figure I'm staring at could possibly be my little brother.
I'm crawling fast now, ignoring the searing protests coming from my ribs, ankle, and just about everywhere else. "Sam!" And I'm almost upon the man lying in the road now. Almost there. Almost ready to face what might be my worst nightmare.
I reach my hand out and grab the shoulder of the immobile person. I roll his body toward me, and the sight that greets me is horrific, to say the least.
Glass is embedded in the majority of the man's face and in the dark of the night it's hard to tell a face ever existed there at all, between the open wounds and the blood. Further down it becomes obvious that the man's throat was severed during the crash, resulting in the large pool of blood I now kneel in. The blood has soaked through his beard, straight to his… Wait. Beard?!
I am suddenly a million pounds lighter. It's not Sam. Not Sam. He's not my Sammy… These words play on repeat in my mind filling me with shameless relief.
It is now that I am able to recognize the distinct shape of a large pickup truck about ten feet away from us both. Both headlights smashed out, its front completely totaled. And a giant man-sized hole in the windshield. As I'd swerved the guy must've collided with us anyway and not been wearing his belt. I want to feel bad for him. To feel some kind of sadness that this man died tonight. But all I can think is still "He's not Sammy."
At that moment I hear a voice calling my name. It's a frantic voice coming from beside the Mustang. "Dean?!" The voice repeats, getting louder and slightly more panicked. But I know that voice anywhere and even when it's scared, I'm just relieved it belongs to someone alive enough to use it. Before I can call out to the owner of the voice, I hear urgent footsteps and cracking glass beside me.
"Dean!" Sam says, bending down to where I'm still sitting in the blood of a dead man who isn't my little brother. I open my mouth. I want to explain what I'm doing. I want to tell Sam to never scare me like that again, or to tell him how grateful I am that he isn't the dead guy I've been kneeling over. But I'm still pretty disoriented from the crash and the words aren't coming fast enough.
Instead I push myself up and grab him in both arms with as much force as I can muster. I fall into the hug more than anything, but I'm holding on tight and Sam is stable enough to support me. He's alive and he's there, and that's all that matters to me.
I think he understands. He doesn't push me away. He just sits there silently for a few moments while I gather my composure once more. When I finally manage to let go and find my balance again, my face betrays none of the terror I had experienced minutes before when I thought Sam had died.
"Where the hell were you?" I finally ask, trying to sound snarky about it. Casual. Definitely not like I'm more relieved than I've been in years.
"I had no signal on my cell and you weren't waking up. I went a quart mile up the road to the emergency phone. I had to call an ambulance Dean…" Sam looks at me with a mix of guilt and concern.
"I think the ambulance is a little late for this one." I manage to say as I gesture to the lifeless body of thank-God-he's-not-Sam. The effort causes me to wince in pain as knives stab my internal organs and fire erupts in my arms and legs. Sam looks at the corpse with a hint of sadness before returning his gaze to me. "Yeah, you're not getting out of a hospital trip this time Dean." He says flatly. And for once I don't feel like arguing.
The sound of the crash is now a distant memory, replaced by the continuing stream of questions from my brother as he tries to assess my body's damage. I'm content to let him talk.
Secondary Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please take the time to leave a review, as your feedback is immensely appreciated. :D