Guardian Angel
Chapter 1
Synopsis: A sick, delirious Dean becomes a big handful when he starts seeing things. Sammy has to do his best to look after his feverish brother when they are stranded at a small motel in the middle of a blizzard.
This is part one of a multi chapter fic … it was going to be a one-shot, but then Phoebe decided to make me wait, so I'm returning the evil favor LOL :D
Birthday fic (5th June) for the generous, talented and completely awesome PADavis :D – hope you have a fantastic day bud and may it be filled to the brim with wonderful surprises.
Also check out the stories that PADavis, Muffy Morrigan, Amarintha and Silver Ruffian have written for me XD … Iza love them!!
Warning: Rated T for bad language – not beta'd, so all mistakes are my own *looks around nervously* :D
Dean was wheezing.
Goddamnit to hell.
Sam glanced over at his brother for what felt like the hundredth time. His older sibling was wrapped up in their thread bare blanket, wearing Sam's favorite sweater, the one with the hoodie, which was pulled so low down over his face, Sam could just barely see Dean's red nose.
Dean was seriously sick, had to be to even consider wearing that sweater, he really hated that thing, had even tried to "accidently" leave it at a few Laundromats on occasion, but Sam had always managed to rescue it, thanks to Dean's very own 'Sammy tracking system'. The whole thing would be pretty funny, if it weren't for the congested sounds rumbling from Dean's tight chest, or the slumped manner in which his brother was leaning against the passenger window, or the flush that had become the only color on an already too pale face.
Goddamnit to hell!!
He gripped the steering wheel tighter in frustration, fingers flexing through fingerless gloves.
He needed to get Dean somewhere warm. Any place where he could finally rest up, and where Sam could force feed him whatever meager supply of medication they had left stashed in their sad excuse for a first aid kit. Or better yet, find some clinic or hospital … or even a goddamned vet, he was that desperate.
And he'd be fucked right now if he could see where the fuck they were. Stuck in the middle of god knew where, Montana. The freak blizzard had hit so quickly and without warning, that it was whiting out the view ahead. He couldn't drive more than two fucking miles per hour, for fear of running off the road or into some godforsaken tree, or off the fucking face of the earth for that matter.
Holy fuck. Why did these things always happen to them? Hell, he knew exactly why … his bull headed brother, was why … and this was definitely all Dean's fault. He was always hiding injuries and illness. He could be missing a whole fucking limb and he'd smile at Sam, all innocently, and say shit like 'it's just a scratch, Sammy' or 'stop being such a drama princess, Sammy', and fuck … fuck he should have known something was wrong the minute Dean started coughing and saying 'it's just a little tickle, Sammy.' He should have turned around in his tracks, right there and then, and punched Dean's lights out, carried his fucking stupid ass back to the Impala, hog-fucking-tied him in the back seat and sped off to the nearest fucking ER! That's what he should have fucking done!
He huffed in frustration, glancing quickly at his brother again.
Okay, so he was panicking, but he had the right to, goddamnit. Traipsing around up in the snow for two days, hunting a friggin 'Wendigo', which turned out to be a very sick, very angry, old bear … that had probably died of a heart attack before either of their shotgun rounds could do any damage. Dean had been getting steadily quieter, which was another fucking sign, until yesterday afternoon, when he had passed out just a few feet away from the car. It was only when Sam had knelt down next to his brother that he had felt the heat radiating from Dean's skin, heard the soft gurgling sound emanating from his chest, had realized that his gut instinct had been right, and he should never have listened to Dean's assurances, and well, it had just been getting steadily worse.
Dean's hoarse cough startled him out of his thoughts. The sound rattled in the interior of the Impala, instantly becoming a desperate fight for air.
"Shit!"
He swerved, quickly pulling over on to what he hoped was the side of the road. A road that was pretty deserted, but he was playing it safe, he sure as shit didn't need to be rear-ended by some semi. He reached for his gasping brother, shifting closer and pulling him forward, letting Dean's head slump onto his shoulder as he started to vigorously hit Dean between the should blades, hoping to dislodge the phlegm that was filling his lungs.
"Come on, Dean, breathe, nice and slow … breathe through it."
The desperate hacking, followed by winded gulps had Sam's heart beating frantically in his throat. He pulled away, grabbing Dean's chin with his hand, looking into his flushed face. Dean's eyes were rolling, mouth slightly parted, lips going pale blue, oh shit, he wasn't getting enough air.
Sam shook his brother desperately, before letting Dean's torso fall over his outstretched arm, moving closer, pulling Dean into a tighter hold and firmly hitting him on the back. His brother just slumped forward, on the verge of unconsciousness, possibly fucking dying, and suddenly Sam was angry.
"DEAN! Don't you fucking stop breathing on me … I am so not in the fucking mood to do an emergency tracheotomy with my only fucking pen … and I sure as shit don't want to start CPR. I'm fucking tired, hungry, possibly lost and fucking cold, dude, but I will kick your ass if you pull that shit on me … you hear! Now fucking breathe!"
The short, sharp slaps to his brothers back became more frantic, each second ticking by slowly, until finally, Dean coughed. It was weak, but it grew in intensity, until it was followed by the wonderful sound of Dean inhaling.
"Shit, dude!"
Dean was pushing himself up, swatting his brother helping hand away weakly, a small grin pulling at the corner of his pale lips.
"… such … girl …"
The relief of hearing his brothers voice nearly made Sam pass out. He chuckled, even though all this worry was more than likely gonna give him a fucking hernia.
"Your ass is a girl … you nearly gave me a coronary!"
He helped settle his brother back against the seat, his heart still hammering with fear. He gave his brother a disgruntled look.
"Now if you've finished milking me for attention, you needy jerk … I'm gonna try and find us a place to hold up for the evening."
Dean was attempting a smile, his eyes closing as he fell back into a fevered doze. His voice slurred for a moment, but the words warmed Sam's heart.
"Bossy … beesh."
"Yeah? Well, live it with it!"
After he was a hundred percent sure Dean was still alive, and letting his hand hover in front of Dean's nose for a full minute, just to feel the warm puff of each exhale, he pulled back onto the road, more determined then ever to find someplace they could both defrost. He glanced at his Swiss Army watch. Dean had given it to him as a gift a few Christmases back, the compass attachment showing that he was still traveling in a Southerly direction. Good.
Half an hour later, and if he had been going any faster than the snail pace he had set, he would have missed the shimmering red sign, flashing in the haze of white flakes.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
He pulled into a small parking lot, in front of an even smaller motel. Dean was still out cold, so he quickly made his way over to the small reception office, the doorbell tinkling as he entered in a swirl of snow and wind.
A haggard looking guy, who had obviously just woken up, gave him a surprised look. He straightened his balding hair and started fishing out a book, under a newspaper, on the counter he was sitting behind.
"Evening. Ahem, Room?"
"Yes. Two singles, please."
The man punched something onto an ancient looking calculator.
"That will be forty dollars. Water's hot, towels are clean. Need anything else, you can get it from the vending machines."
He waved in the general direction, without looking, at the two vending machines squeezed tightly into the corner of the room. Sam glanced at them. One had a coffee/tea/soup option and he had never been so happy to see soup in his whole life. When he had settled Dean, he'd come back for some of that for the both of them.
He fished out his wallet, handing over the cash.
"Bad weather you're having up here."
The guy just looked at him, a bored expression plastered on his aging face.
"So, are there any shops or a chemist, maybe a clinic, close by?"
"Ain't nobody up here, not for miles, 'cepting you."
Sam felt a shiver run down his spine. That was so not good. He needed medical supplies, with this storm they might be stuck here for a few days, although he was praying their luck would change. But he was still grateful that they had at least found this place, considering the alternatives.
He left, feeling the guy's eyes on his back as he opened the door again to the howling storm hammering the small buildings.
When he got back to the car, Dean's eyes were open. He seemed to be staring at something, a small smile tugging at his lips. Sam quickly opened the passenger door, wrapping his arms around his brother, ready to pull him to his feet.
"What you looking at?"
Dean didn't look up, and Sam thought that maybe he was still completely out of it.
"Smmy … lil cat …"
Sam squinted, following Dean's gaze. There was nothing. Just heaps and heaps of snow, more of the stuff falling in heavy drifts and almost obscuring the door just ahead of them. He shook his head, adjusting his brother's weight, locking the Impala and half carrying, half dragging Dean inside.
He lowered his sick brother onto the nearest bed, watching nervously as Dean swayed where he sat, still wrapped in the now flaked blanket, fevered gaze moving to stare at nothing near the door.
He left him like that for a few minutes to rush back out. It was fucking freezing but he needed to get their gear and the first aid kit from the boot. He was back a few minutes later, Dean still sitting precariously, just the way he had left him.
Sam threw the duffels on his bed, cranked the AC on full heat, laid a towel at the base of the door to stop the draft and started boiling some hot water.
He made short work of undressing his brother. He'd done it often enough because Dean was usually unconscious and too hurt to help. When he had Dean down to his boxers, he managed to settle him under layers of blankets.
Dean was pushing at them as Sam tried to cover him up, fighting his brothers attempts … moaning in discomfort.
"Hot. Chesss hrts."
"I know."
Sam grabbed his brothers flaying arms.
"I'm gonna fix it, Dean, hear, I'll fix it. Just drink this, it will help."
He reached over for the bottle of Tylenol, shook out two tables into his hand and resorted to finally popping them into Dean's mouth himself, when his brother's attempts landed the tablets on the floor. He helped Dean take a sip of bottled water, noticing how dry his lips were. Shit, he really needed to get his temperature down.
Exhausted, Dean fell back against the pillow, watching his brother sluggishly through half open eyes. Sam made a quick dash to the bathroom and came back with a thermometer and a moist towel, which he began wiping over Dean's forehead, lifting the sheets to continue his ministrations across Dean's sweating skin. Heat was just radiating off him in waves, and Sam felt his throat tighten up as the full impact of just how sick Dean was, started hitting home.
"Smmy … lil cat …"
Dean was smiling again, his line of sight had moved to lock on the empty carpet space in front of Sam's bed. Sam's hand had snacked behind Dean's neck, hoping that the cool cloth was at least helping to bring down the fever.
"There's nothing there, dude, I've checked, you've got a fever, just try to get some sleep."
Dean frowned at his obviously insane brother.
"It's there …"
He nodded his head in the direction of Sam's bed.
"I think it likes me."
God, not a good sign. Dean was burning up, delusional, and probably suffering from double pneumonia from the sounds of things.
"Okay, whatever, you just lay here for a minute, I'm gonna get us something to eat. Okay? Dean, do you hear me … I'm just gonna get some supplies from the vending machines, I won't be long."
Dean just nodded, eyes finally closing.
"I'll be back in a minute."
A soft raspy response followed him as he quickly opened the room door again, the icy wind trying to push its way into the heated room.
"Put on your sweater, Sammy … cold outside."
"Okay, Dean."
He couldn't help but smile. Even sick, his big brother was looking out for him. He picked up the pace, half jogging to the reception area, the thought of warm soup making his stomach growl. When last did they have something warm to eat? He hoped he could get Dean to take a few sips and keep it down. He needed to keep Dean hydrated because the fever was definitely taking its toll.. He just hoped this storm would blow over by tomorrow, so he could get back on the road, and get Dean some proper medical care. He just prayed his brother could hold out that long.
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Dean opened his eyes, his body felt like it was on fire. He moaned, his eyes traveling around the small room, in search of something … someone.
"Smmy?"
No answer. He lay still for a second, trying to hear any sounds from the bathroom. But the door was open and the light was off, so Sammy wasn't in there.
Panic helped push him up, the room spinning for a second as he tried calling again.
"Smmy? You here?"
The effort had him doubled over, coughing painfully until he could catch his breath. Still no answer. The room was empty. The only sound coming from the raging storm outside. Oh god. His stomach suddenly sank at the thought.
Sam was outside.
He struggled out from beneath the layers of blankets, fighting the nausea that suddenly assaulted him as he managed to get to his feet. He teetered for a second, eyes closed as his head started pounding. Shit, he really didn't feel too great. He had started staggering towards the door, when he spotted it. Hanging over the side of a chair. Sam's sweater.
Motherfucker. Sammy was out there, in the storm, and he didn't have his sweater? Oh shit, Dad was going to kill him. Wait, no … Dad was gone. Dad was dead.
He picked up the garment and stumbled forward again, turning the handle. The impact of the freezing cold air hitting his bare skin, made him inhale sharply, his chest tightening up as he wheezed out a breath. He looked down at himself, seeming to notice for the first time that he was only wearing his boxers. When did he get undressed? He was about to turn around and go back in, then he remembered. Sammy was out there, cold, possibly lost, and Dean needed to find him. His little brother could die. His heart nearly stopped at the thought. He was the reason Dad was dead. He needed to find his baby brother, fast, make him put on his goddamn hoodie, 'cause he really didn't want to be the reason for Sammy death. No sir, not again, that loss would kill him.
A soft mewing sound caught his attention, and Dean glanced back at the small fur ball watching him with wide eyes, sitting on the carpet, in the warm room. It was almost as if the little guy was calling him back. He was tempted, but …
"Smmy?"
Sammy could die out there. It pushed him to take a tentative step, stumbling away from the motel. He took a moment to lean against the Impala's snow covered bonnet, leaving his hand print glowing black through the frosty mass. It gave him just enough time to regain his balance, before he started his trek out into the raging tempest, the soft flakes quietly covering his tracks as he disappeared into the sheet of white.
TBC