Summary: Field Medic training had been ground into them since day one. Today Dean needs to use that training on the one person he always hoped he never would. His brother.
Author's Note 1: This takes place sometime in Season 4, and I'm going to go ahead and label this AU, because I'm not sure how much of the original cannon I'll be referring to.
Author's Note 2:There are a few F-bombs, and it might not be rated as highly as it should be, but I've seen a lot of stories go that route, so I'm going to jump on board. Please PM me if you feel differently, and I'll see what I can do. Also, this is completely unbeta'd. I tried as best as I could to catch and fix any errors, but it's more than likely that I missed a few. Sorry about that.
Author's Note 3: Hi, everyone. I just wanted to say that I've been reading Supernatural fanfiction for a while now. And, a few months ago, got the desire to write a story of my own. While I'm not new to posting on FanFiction, I am new to posting on this forum. And, over the months, I've read so many incredible stories, and I have to admit that I'm a little nervous about adding one of my own into the mix.
I sincerely hope you enjoy this.
Chapter One
"… he'd've had better luck trying to get a damn chicken to bark like a dog."
Dean laughed and took another drink from the beer in his hand as Bobby fiddled around with an old carburetor.
He and Sam had rolled into town the night before, after finishing up on a job in Minnesota. An exorcism; nothing too exciting. They were packing up the trunk, and Dean asked Sam what was next on the schedule. He'd come back with an unexpected, "nothing", and Dean had smiled. They were less than two hours from Bobby's and the sound of some home-cooked meals and sheets with no mystery stains was just too damn hard to pass up. So, they headed that way to pop in on the old man and hang out for a few days.
Early the next morning, Rufus had come pounding on Bobby's door somewhere around the butt crack of dawn. He was standing in the kitchen and pissed about something, like usual. Bobby hissed at his old partner to shut his yap, and Dean had cracked an eye open in time to watch Bobby gesture toward the living room.
Rufus had thrown a glance their way, scowling from the inconvenience, but lowered his voice as he resumed his gripping. He was going on about some work Bobby had done on the transmission of his truck a couple of months ago. Said it kept slipping gears. Bobby had told his best-not-friend not to get his panties in a wad, and said he'd look at it after his first cup of coffee.
Rufus put up a hand, telling him not to do him any more favors, and that he was hijacking Bobby's car lift and tools. He'd do it himself. Correctly, this time. Bobby had waved him away with an air of good riddance, and went straight for the empty coffee pot.
Dean closed his eyes again, and drifted back off. He and Sam slept in until sometime shortly after ten. That's because the wafting smells of eggs, bacon, hash browns and a fresh pot of coffee had wandered in and woke up their stomachs. And, if you didn't know Bobby well, you might not think the gruff, hermit hunter/mechanic would be any good in the kitchen. But, Bobby's grub is good.
After breakfast, they had refilled their coffee cups and went out to the workshop. The two of them kept the old hunter company while he puttered around with a few of his unfinished projects. They sat around a couple of hours, getting caught up on the latest news in the hunters' community, and then caught Bobby up on some of their more interesting cases, since the last time they'd rolled through town.
Sometime around one in the afternoon, Billy and Cooper, a couple of other hunters their age, showed up, asking to look through Bobby's library. Bobby had asked them if it was something of an emergency and, when Cooper had said no, Bobby smiled. He told them they could look through all the books they wanted. If, they went to the south end of the lot and pulled all the brush back there to the burn pile, and lit it up.
Dean had smiled. Bobby never made him and Sam work before using his stuff. His smile grew; they're his favorites.
Cooper and Billy had agreed it was a fair trade and Bobby sent them on their way, telling them the kerosene was in the shed. Billy had piped up about him having about a dozen sheds on the property, and Sam laughed, saying he'd show them which one.
Bobby watched the trio head off, and then walked back into the workshop, muttering something about, everyone showing up on the same damn day, and something else about, not a moment's peace. Dean had grinned, and followed after, knowing the grumpy old man liked the company.
Now, it was only him and Bobby in the workshop, kicking back a few, and doing more talking than working.
Bobby looked up at Dean, "Hey, wanna put down the suds and come over here'n give me a hand?"
"Yep," Dean said, setting his bottle down and hopped off the stool. He was halfway around his side of the workbench when a bomb went off. The sound of the blast had him ducking out of instinct. He grabbed the worktable, as the ground shuddered and the walls shook.
The noise from the explosion was deafening, but brief, and when it was over, the two hunters looked over at each other, both wearing the same freaked-out expression.
"What the hell was that?" Dean cried, clutching at his chest.
"I don't know, but it was damn close," Bobby said, shaking his head and crossed the floor, with Dean hot on his heels. He yanked the door open and they both ran out into the yard, but came to a halting stop with a wide-eyed stare.
On the back-end of the lot, a geyser of fire and black smoke was shooting a good thirty feet into the air. They could hear Rufus shouting something, and just below that, a howl of agony.
Sam.
The sound stole Dean's breath and his heart forgot how to beat. Panic tried to smother him, but he squelched the beast down and broke into a sprint.
Bobby's place is big. It may not seem like it because it's crammed to the brim with anything that might have had a set of wheels at one time. But, it's acres of wrecked cars, trucks, Semi tractors, school buses, church buses, old people buses..., you get the idea. And, it would just be his luck that the burn pile was way the hell over by the other workshop, nearest the house.
But, Dean can run the 100 m in 11.8 seconds. The explosion was a little farther than double that distance away, and today was the day he was going to shatter his personal record.
Chin lifted, Dean's arms pump hard as his feet pounded the ground below. A steady stream of scenarios of what he might find played through his mind in seconds. The anxiety over the unknown caused his heart to hammer in his chest. His ragged breathing had nothing at all to do with running full-out.
He'll get there in a matter of seconds, common sense told him that, but time was trying to screw with him. Those seconds were flying by but he was moving slower. The distance between them grew as his brother got sucked further and further away from him. No matter how hard he pushed himself, it still wasn't fast enough, and a prickle of fear that he wouldn't be in time blossomed in his chest.
Again, he forced it away and just focused on getting there.
He rounded a flattened stack of junkers, and took a second to catch his breath and process the scene. His vision zeroed in on Sam, on the ground, about ten feet from the blaze. His hands were covering his face and Rufus had him under one of his arms, struggling to drag him back.
"Sam!" Dean bellowed. Racing the last twenty yards to his brother, he skidded to a stop opposite Rufus, hooked his arm under Sam's, and pulled.
"What the hell happened?" Dean shouted at Rufus as they hauled his brother away from the flames.
"Hell if I know! I was about to crawl under a car when a bomb went off. I got over here, found these two on the ground."
They got him to what Dean considered a safe distance and then Rufus left to go check on Billy.
Dean dropped to his knees beside Sam. Rufus was yelling at Billy to do something, use something to knock back the fire. Dean wasn't sure, and right then, he really didn't care. Not when his little brother was on the ground before him, holding his face, and writhing from a pain so bad he couldn't respond when Dean tried to find out where he was hurt.
So, when his peripheral vision registered Bobby's boots storming past, he just let him and Rufus worry about the best way to deal with the fire, while he focused on the best way to help his brother.
It was a tricky thing, though. Because, it meant that he had to ignore the raw, suffocating emotions that were screaming right in his face, and call up all that field-medic training his father had pounded into themover, and over, and over again.
Back then, there were some days that he flat-out loathed the man with how meticulous and painstakingly perfect everything had to be during the man's practice scenarios and verbal pop-quizzes. And, every wrong answer, every single wrong decision, carried with it its own penalty.
Delaying transport during a critical situation? Forty-five push-ups. If he even thinks you're trying to have an attitude, he'd forget to hear you counting off, and you got to go again.
Give the wrong body temp for mild hypothermia? Well, was there a pool or a body of water nearby? You got to look forward to treading water for an hour.
Get an ego and don't step down from a procedure you know the other person is better at? You might get dropped off five miles from wherever, and hoof it the rest of the way. Oh, and you had damn well make sure you got it done in an hour or less.
It was hell for him and Sam at times; okay, maybe most times. Especially when the old man was having a hard day with even the small things, like being alive, and he drank too little coffee and too much Jack.
But, one thing Dean could say for certain about those exercises in correction was, you learned to pick up stuff quickly and you didn't forget. It gets drilled into your mind and every fiber of who you are. You eat, sleep and shit those protocols, facts and procedures, until they came to you as naturally as taking a piss.
And, right now, if he could, he would give the man a big, fat kiss for all of those times he'd put them through hell. Because, if he hadn't, and Dean had to triage his own brother, who had just been the victim of a fucking explosion, who wasn't responding, and who was palming his eyes like they're just not there, he knew he'd be wasting time on thinking and planning, instead of just getting it done.
Starting with the basics, Dean tried again to get a response out of his brother, but he came up empty. So, he bypassed getting answers for now. He talked to Sam, trying to keep him as still as possible, while performing a quick field assessment for any life-threatening injuries.
He looked at his watch and gave himself a time limit of one minute:
Sam's breathing was too fast, but good enough. His pulse was accelerated, but steady and strong. He was moving all his extremities. Other than the obvious burns, Dean didn't see any clear signs of trauma: no bleeding, lumps or depressions to his head; no open fractures or gushing wounds; abdominal palpitation was a negative for rigidity and distention, so no obvious internal bleeding. He had a burn on his right arm with a varying width of one to two inches and it ran from the side of his hand to mid-forearm. It was blood-red and already showing fluid. Blood was leaking out of Sam's right ear. A ruptured ear drum was a safe bet, and Dean hoped to high Heaven that was why Sam wasn't responding to him.
Dean knew his next move was one that he'd been dreading the entire time. He needed to figure out what the hell was going on with Sam's eyes.
Trying once more to get through to his brother, and hoping he could get Sam to work with him, Dean placed a hand to the top of Sam's head and leaned over him to talk at his good—well, his not-bleeding ear, "Sam. Hey; you hearing me, Sammy?"
Sam's distress dialed down a notch or two and Dean was relatively certain that was because he finally heard a trusted voice inside a world filled with pain and darkness.
Military training be damned, it tore him up on the inside to see his little brother suffering and afraid. And, he did what he could to offer comfort while staying on top of the situation. Hell, he was a fucking Winchester. They were great multitaskers, and Dean knew how to pull-off being a doting brother and a badass medic at the same time.
Speaking louder into the same ear, he rubbed Sam's arm, trying one last time to get him to respond, "Let, me see, Sam. C'mon, move your hands!"
But, it was no use and, after looking at his watch again, decided he was wasting too much time by being diplomatic. He'd been on the scene almost three minutes already and hadn't even looked at Sam's most serious injury.
Being subject to a thermal flash burn, Dean knew the burns needed to be irrigated, to halt their progression. More importantly, Sam's eyes needed to be flushed out.
Dean switched modes to badass medic and was careful not to touch the burns on Sam's arm when he grabbed his wrists, "Damn it, Sam. Let me see, so I can help you!"
Fighting against his brother, Dean grunted from the strain as he began to inch Sam's hands away from his face, wondering briefly, when in the hell did his kid brother became just as strong as him.
Dean got his hands down halfway and Sam balled them into fists, groaning low and desperate, as he tried to pull away. And, he'd been so caught up in a world that only involved helping Sam, that, Dean had forgotten about everyone else.
He starts a little when Rufus' hands latched onto Sam's fists, helping Dean to pull the kid's hands away from his face. They were able to force them down to his chest and, once they got them pinned, leverage gave them the upper hand.
"Hold'em down; but, watch his right forearm," Dean ordered. He palmed one of Sam's fists, giving it a few strokes with his thumb, and spoke to him while leaning in, moving with him, so he could inspect the damage.
Considering the force of the explosion, Sam's face wasn't anywhere as bad as Dean had feared. He had superficial cuts from flying debris and the skin to his face, neck and part of his chest were redder than the epic sunburn from the summer of '96. The tips of his bangs were singed, but at least the kid still had his eyebrows.
That left his eyes, which he had squeezed shut.
"I'll go get some ice," Rufus jumped up and ran for the house.
Dean grabbed his brother's hands before they could touch his face, "Easy, Sam! You're going to make it worse. Don't fight me, man." Then, what Rufus said registered and he snapped his head up. The guy was already half way to the house.
"Rufus, No!" Dean shouted the distance, "No ice; cool water!"
"Okay, then the hose!"
"No! Either tap from the house or bottled!"
Rufus looked at him like he was being ridiculous, "Water comin' out of that hose is the same damn water comin' out the kitchen faucet; only faster!"
Dean struggled to keep Sam's hands away from his face and got them pinned back to his chest, barking, "Yeah, and who knows what kind of bacteria are in that hose! Can't fucking chance it with these burns!"
"I got some distilled in the shed."
Dean threw a glance over his shoulder and saw Bobby rushing off toward a nearby building.
Sam groaned and Dean's eyes shot back to his brother, "Easy, Sammy. Gonna take care of it in just a sec. Just hang in there, kiddo."
"Dean?"
His name. Just that single word was all it took for his emotions to overpower him for a moment. Sam said his name; knew who he was talking to. He was finally responding to something Dean said, and the relief of that alone was enough to bring tears to his eyes.
Hovering over his little brother, Dean placed a hand to the top of his head and took hold of Sam's left hand, "Yeah, Sammy. It's me." Dean squeezed his hand and smiled when Sam squeezed his in return. But, Sam didn't just squeeze back, he gripped Dean's hand and held on.
Dean breathed through a rush of empathy and smoothed a hand down the side of his brother's head, gripping back just as tightly. It sent a message that Dean's got it all under control and he was going to take care of everything. It sent a message that Dean's going to hold on and see him through this. It's sent a message that Dean promises to never let him go.
"Sammy, open your eyes for me." Dean leaned in closer; spoke louder, "Sam. Open your eyes. Let me see."
Sam groaned through barred teeth and panted, "… can't—ah...! God, Dean… feels like they're shredded."
A spark of dread ignited in his gut, but Dean was quick to push it away, "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. Bobby's got some water. We're gonna take care of it."
Hauling four gallons of water; two jugs in each hand, Bobby dropped to his knees opposite Dean and started tearing off the safety tab from of the first jug.
Dean looked back to his brother, "Sam, gonna pour some water on your face and your arm now. Gonna help the pain to ease." He looked back at Bobby, "Focus on his eyes first, Bobby. He says they're bad."
Bobby popped the lid and grabbed it with both hands. He was careful with how far he tipped the jug and a controlled stream of water started to flow over Sam's face.
Sam jumped when the water first hit his hyper-sensitized skin and tossed his head back and forth. Dean took his head in his hands and held him steady. "Damn it, Bobby, don't drown him!" Dean griped, when Sam started hacking, and turned his brother's head it to the side until he stopped sputtering.
"Ain't tryin' to! Boy's a damn movin' target!"
"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?"
Bobby looked up as Cooper came running out of the house. "Grab some clean towels!"
The hunter doesn't ask any questions, just made a tight U-turn and ran back into the house.
Dean looked around, "Where's Billy?"
"Looks like the kid broke his arm," Rufus supplied. "Sent him back to the house for now."
Broke his arm. Dean stewed over that for a minute. Sam was burned and going through hell, and, Billy broke his arm? How in the fuck was that fair? You know, it's not like he wanted the guy to be hurt at all, or anything like that. It's just that for once in their miserable existence, could they just catch one fucking break, already?
"This one's about done. Rufus, open me up another jug." Bobby glanced at Dean, "How bad is it?"
Dean shook his head, pulling Sam's hands away again, "Don't know yet. Looks like mainly first-degree burns, although the arm looks more like second. Right eardrum is fucking blown. No clue about his eyes; won't really know until we get him to the hospital. Might have other injuries from the blast, but nothing obvious enough to find on a quick check."
Dean looked at his watch: four minutes, seventeen seconds. They needed to pick up the pace and get Sam out of there, because he sure as hell wasn't doing no forty-five push-ups.
Rufus started to dig out his cellphone, "I'll call an ambulance."
Dean looked at Bobby, "Way out here in the Boonies… What's quicker? Waiting for a rig or driving him ourselves?"
The two hunters looked at each other for a beat.
"Ourselves." They both answered in unison.
Sam was beginning to calm as Bobby started in on the second jug, and Dean let go of his wrists with one hand, fishing his keys out of his jeans with the other. He tossed them to Rufus, and the older hunter responded with a nod.
Dean watched him rush off and looked back to his brother, "Hey, Sammy," Dean stroked a hand down the side of his brother's head. The water Bobby continued to pour over the burns was soaking Sam's hair, and Dean was gentle as he moved his bangs away from his face, "You with me, Sam? Sam, can you open your eyes now?"
The kid shook his head and Dean leaned in closer, "I know it hurts like hell, Sammy, but we need to flush out your eyes so we can get you out of here and get you some help."
Sam just shakes his head again and Dean sighed as Cooper came sliding into third with the towels. Dean looked over at him, "Cooper; Come over here, behind Sam, and hold his head. Try not to grab him where he's burned."
Dean straddled his brother's chest, and then looked up at Bobby, giving him a tormented look of uncertainty.
Bobby just looked back at him like Dean already knew the damn answer, "Go on. Hurt him now, or deal with permanent damage later. Those are your options."
Dean put his game face on and glared at Cooper, "He's gonna thrash. You hold him good." Then he leaned over his brother and wasted no time in prying open his left eye.
The eye was intact and Dean thought he saw the pupil react to the light. The relief was enough make him light-headed, but then Sam howled like a wounded animal as Bobby started pouring a gentle stream of water into his eye, and that relief was effectively squashed.
The sound of Sam's agony, and knowing he was a big part in inflicting that pain upon his little brother—logic be damned, it broke his fucking heart. Tears invaded his vision again and he felt his chin begin to tremble. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm so sorry."
Dean was practically sitting on Sam's chest, his knees pressed against his brother's upper arms, pinning them to his side. Sam brought his knees up and pushed and off the ground, trying to throw him off. But, Dean simply shifted his weight back and squeezed his knees harder against his brother's arms.
Dean heard Baby roar to life and rev her engine a couple times. He looked at Bobby, "Gotta get the other one flushed out before we get him out of here."
"Shit. I'm out."
Dean released Sam's lid, cursing the break in their progress as Bobby tossed the empty jug down and then tore off the seal from the third one.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut again, begging them to stop. Fucking begged them.
Dean's heart shredded into pieces and all he wanted to do was pull his little brother into his arms and tell him everything was going to be all right, over and over until he believed him. Just like he would when Sam was little.
But, instead, he just got to torture the kid some more. "One more time, Sammy. Almost done."
Dean barely touched his face and Sam jerked his head to the side.
"Damn it, Cooper! You've gotta hold him!"
"Right. Sorry."
Cooper forced Sam's head back, the Impala was bearing down on them, and Dean became the hard ass Sam needed him to be as he forced the lids on his right eye to part.
The kid was already hollering before the water even touched his eye and Dean tried not to think about how red it was. How fucking blood-red both of them were.
Sam was screaming at them to stop, struggling and fighting, and trying to twist his body out from under Dean's weight. He managed to yank an arm loose from his side and, in his attempt to do whatever, ended up cracking Dean right in the jewels.
Bobby shot him a startled, sucks-to-be-you look as Dean turned his head and closed his eyes with a grunt. The initial pain from the blow was manageable, but he knew better, and waited for what was coming.
He didn't have to wait long and, true to form, the pain came rushing in like a title wave. It started at the site of impact, then traveled to his groin before taking the express route to his stomach, where it set up camp and tried to kill him.
He released a long, throaty groan and buried his eyes against the crook of his extended arm. It took all he had to keep his brother's eye open, when all he wanted to do was collapse to the ground, fold in on himself, and hold the boys until it passed.
Rufus pulled up in front of the group and swung Baby around so that the side of the car was facing them. He left the engine idling and jogged back over to the group.
Bobby kept pouring water into Sam's eye for about another ten seconds and then pulled the jug back, saying, "Okay; that's gonna have to be good enough for now."
Dean released him and Sam clamped his eyes shut, whimpering, "No more, please; please, no more…"
"All right, son. No more." Bobby said, rubbing Sam's shoulder couple of times, "No more."
Dean watched the grizzled hunter blink shiny pools from his eyes as he ruffled the top of Sam's head. Then he grabbed one of the towels Cooper had brought out. He soaked it with the water, folded it, and was uncharacteristically tender when he draped it over Sam's eyes. Then he repeated the process with another towel, wrapping it around his forearm.
Bobby grabbed the other towels along with the fourth jug of water and thrusted those at Cooper's chest, saying, "Put these in the front seat."
Bobby pointed at Dean, "You good to walk?"
Dean knew what he was asking, knew it wasn't really a question so much as a warning that they were moving. And, no; he really wasn't ready, but that didn't make a damn bit of difference because Sam needed to go. Now.
Dean slid off Sam's chest with as much grace as he could manage, and then took the open jug and drizzled more water onto the towel covering his eyes. He placed his hand on the top of his brother's head and Sam flinched a little in response to the hell just been through.
"It's okay, Sammy." Dean said and took the hand Sam had hovering near his face, brought it to himself, and pressed it against his chest. He leaned in and spoke in gentle tones, "Okay, Sam. Gonna get you up and get you to the hospital. Okay?"
He gave his brother's trembling hand a squeeze and then guided it to the wet towel covering his eyes, "I need you to hold this against your eyes while Bobby and I get you up and into the car. Can you do that, Sammy? Can you hold that?"
Sam swallowed and took a gasping breath, but then he nodded.
"Good boy," Dean pat his shoulder. "Okay, little brother," Dean said, getting his feet under himself, "On three," He looked at Bobby and both men grabbed Sam under his arms. "One, two, three… c'mon, Sammy, help us out," Dean grunted as they hauled his giant, little brother off of the ground.
Sam responded to instruction, which gave Dean another moment of relief, and staggered to his feet. He pitched forward, but Dean and Bobby gently pulled him back to center. Sam hunched over, holding the dripping towel to his face, and exhaled a small whimper.
"Hang in there, Sammy. We got'cha. Baby's right here," Dean soothed as they guided him to the waiting car. "Gonna turn you around so you can sit down, go slow... Okay, go ahead and sit down. Don't worry, me and Bobby will guide you," he said and gave his brother's hip a little shove, urging him to sit down.
Sam complied, and Bobby covered the top of his head with his hand, guiding him into the car. The back of his hand bumped against the frame and he told the kid to duck down a little more.
Once they got Sam on the seat, Dean left him with Bobby, and rushed around the back of the car to the driver's side. He clambered into the back seat and put a hand on his brother's shoulder, trying to guide him further into the car. But, Sam jumped at the touch and Dean kicked himself for being stupid.
"Sorry, man. It's just me. It's just me, Sammy," Dean said, and put his hand on his brother's shoulder again. He gave it a little tug. "I got you, Sam. Go ahead and lay back."
Sam all but crumpled into his brother's arms, and then Bobby shut the car door. Pulling Sam against himself, Dean dragged them across the seat to his side of the car and eased his brother across his lap.
The half-empty jug of water entered the car, followed by Bobby as he slid into the driver's seat, slammed the door shut, and put the car into gear.
Dean, with his arms full of hurting little brother, looked up and met Bobby's eyes in the rear-view mirror. And, when he spoke, his voice dipped into a warming growl, "Bobby, you drive this damn car like a pack of hellhounds are on your ass."
