Hey guys :) This will be a two-shot, maybe more if people want, and was just written on the spur of the moment – You gotta love summer holidays! Sorry for any mistakes… The italics are flashbacks or things that Dean is thinking. Hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural.
Summary: Dean could deal with blood. No big deal – except when it was Sam's blood. So he slowly starts to break apart as he waits in the waiting room, Sam's blood staining his hands, the clock counting down the seconds of Sam's life.
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The emergency room was loud and busy, but somehow everyone slowed down when Dean burst through the doors. He was screaming and cursing, both in fear and pain, while supporting Sam. Time seemed to drag on as he yelled for help, Sam's heart pumping out more blood from his wounds every second that Dean held him. His brother's hair was crusted with blood, and it swayed slightly as Dean shifted him in his arms.
"Will somebody fucking help me! Please, I need some help over here!" A gurney was rushed over, Sam manhandled out of Dean's arms, and suddenly he was alone. Breathing hard, hands shaking, Dean dropped his head into his arms, and tried to keep it together.
The whole emergency room was watching in shock as Dean shrugged off nurses who tried to help him, instead running his hands through his hair and struggling to get his breathing under control. Short hair was stained with blood, hands dripping redness, and eyes screaming silently for reassurance. Dean followed the nurse, stumbling every few steps until he reached the waiting room.
He manages to scribble some random shit onto the forms, come up with the name Sam Singer for comforts sake, and refuses yet again to be checked out by a doctor. Then he is left alone, and the memories come flooding out past the walls that Dean put up.
Colours assaulted him, images of Sam's bloody and broken body flashing into his mind, and Dean gratefully accepts the cup of coffee that a scared looking intern offers to him. Its then that he realises what he must look like, hands stained red, face smeared with blood, clothes dirty and splashed with blood… But he didn't care. All that mattered to him was somewhere in this hospital, probably dying. Oh God, Sammy…
After two hours of torture and self control, a doctor approaches apprehensively and tells Dean that Sam is in surgery. When Dean asks the inevitable question that he doesn't really want to know the answer to, all the doctor can do is avoid Dean's eyes and shrug slightly while muttering statistics. He leaves when Dean loses control for a second and breaks the hand rests on the shitty wooden chairs from grief.
The cheap wood breaks easily, splinters cutting into his bloody palms, but Dean only places his head in his hands once again and shuts out the world. He is brought back to reality by an orderly who cautiously points the way to a bathroom where Dean can get cleaned up. The only reason why Dean doesn't scream and curse at the guy is because he's brought caffeine and a sandwich.
The mirror in the bathroom is cracked and grubby, matching Dean's feelings. Hands braced against the sink, Dean forces himself to look up into his reflection's eyes and face the guilt staring back at him. This whole situation is his fault, he knows that.
When he manages to tear his gaze away from himself, Dean washes the blood off his face and hands, working on autopilot. He doesn't even flinch when he rips the splinters out of his hands, creating new bloody trails, too numb to register the pain. His fingers roughly work through his hair and wash out the blood, eyes staring into the sink as the whirlpool of scarlet disappears.
Walking back into the waiting room, Dean sees heads turn at his mostly clean appearance, but he ignores everyone and slumps back down in the seat next to the one where he had previously sat, shards of wood scattered on the ground around him.
The clocks ticks on while Dean alternates between studying his fingernails and Sam's blood that had dried underneath them, to reliving the moment when everything went wrong in his mind. People enter and leave the waiting room at different times, but Dean doesn't move, vowing not to go anywhere until he hears word on Sam.
Looks of pity are wasted on Dean every few minutes as he leans forward so his elbows are resting on his legs, the hunter ignoring the strangers who study him. His head snaps up every time a doctor enters the room, but the name called is never his brother's. People around him break down in tears, sink to their knees in relief, run out of the room so overcome with emotions, pray aloud and silently, hug loved ones as they wait, make phone calls to relatives, but Dean refuses to do any of these. Green eyes shine as he flashbacks to the car ride to the hospital, but he holds the tears in, and waits.
"Oh God, Sammy… Just—Just try and stay awake for me, okay, kiddo? Sam? Shit… answer me, Sam!" The Impala swerves violently on the empty road as Dean struggles to keep pressure on the gaping slash that cut cruelly across Sam's chest and steer the car at the same time. A sign for the nearest hospital is a blessing, and Dean presses his foot down on the accelerator, internally crumbling at the sight of Sam's closed eyes. A sharp turn has Sam's unsupported head flopping around, and it rests on his older brother's shoulder, mouth slightly open. "Hey, Sammy, you see that? We're nearly there, man, so just hang on. I'll get us there, I promise… I gotta look out for you, remember? D-don't fade away on me there, okay? Sam?" There was no reply.
A part of him wonders if he should call Bobby, but Dean knows that he wouldn't be able to utter a word if the older hunter answered. If Sam… doesn't make it… Dean realises that he'll have to make the phone calls, organise things, and—
Dean snaps his eyes open and jumps up before his train of thought can get any further.
He's hyperventilating with fear, hands fisted tightly, and his head is suddenly pounding. He forces himself to stop breathing so heavily before he passes out, and decides on pacing to distract himself. The steps back and forth the waiting room soon become Dean's way to keep holding on to whatever shred of sanity that he has left, and he gules his gaze to the ground. One step after another, and another, and another… It just keeps going on and on.
After an agonizingly long half hour of walking back and forth, Dean knows that he's going to go insane if he has to wait any longer. It's been almost five hours ('for fuck's sake!'), and all he's been told is that Sam is in surgery. Dean's waited in hospitals numerous times, he's used to the drill, but this is verging on ridiculous. All he wants is to know if Sam is still alive or not.
The picture of Sam looking half dead, blood everywhere, and limbs sprawled out awkwardly on the ground replays in his head for the millionth time, and it's all Dean can do to keep his scream inside him. He fights the urge to sink to his knees and grip his head tight, starting to pace with a purposeful stride yet again. Only a few minutes into his pacing, the door opens, and a doctor saunters in. All eyes are drawn to him like a magnet.
"Family of Sam Singer?"
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…. Review?