Summary: An unfortunate accident while hunting leaves Dean with an injured and delirious Sam on his hands. To keep his brother conscious however, Dean finds himself actually encouraging one of those brotherly bonding moments he so desperately tries to avoid.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural! And I don't do the whole witty disclaimers thing. Obviously.
A/N: Well, I didn't think I'd actually find myself writing for the Supernatural fandom, but my muse just wouldn't leave me alone until I typed this up. So, I hope you enjoy it. Leave a review before leaving, won't you? ;)
And the Rain will Fall
Dean's frantic footsteps fell heavily on the rain-soaked ground, splashing water and mud every-which-way in the darkness. His breath beat out at constant intervals—small clouds of mist that hung for a single brief moment before being pelted through by a thick drop of rain.
Dean took no notice of the rain, the cold, or the ache that was slowly growing in his side. All he knew was that he had to keep running. Keep running in the direction he had heard it come from—His brother's distressed yell.
"Sam!" Dean yelled into the darkness, slowing his pace for a moment in hopes of receiving an answer. None came. Dammit, Dean thought. Why had they agreed to split up?
This hunt had done nothing but gone from bad to worse. They had been hoping to be done and back on the road by sundown. No such luck. And then the raindrops started falling. Slowly at first, but they had since built up into a considerable rain storm that was intent on soaking Dean through to the bone. And then Sam had brilliantly suggested they split up—take alternate routes and cut their prey off. What a bright idea, Sammy, Dean thought bitterly. If only you were capable of watching out for your own ass.
Though he was plagued with frustration and annoyance at their current predicament, the main thing Dean felt at the moment was worry. He hadn't liked what he had heard only moments ago. Sam had been caught off guard. The abruptness and urgency of his voice had indicated that. And then there was the fact that his voice had been cut off mid-yell. Another sign Dean didn't like. If that thing had hurt his brother...
"Sam!" Dean called again, louder this time.
Again, no reply.
Shouldering his shotgun, Dean glanced around through the darkness, desperately trying to gain his bearings and figure out which direction his brother was in. While paused however, his ears caught something—heavy footprints approaching from behind, obviously trying their best to be discreet in the mud.
Dean glanced to the side, a smirk etched across his face. Trying to sneak up on me, huh, bitch? he thought smugly. Heh, nice try.
In a split second the footsteps' pace increased. Faster and faster, until it was clear the creature was no longer concerned about hiding its presence.
Dean's cocky smirk vanished instantly. Crap, it's a lot closer than I thought.
Throwing himself to the ground and rolling at the exact moment, he only barely managed to avoid the lunging mass of flesh and fur that crashed to the ground where he had just been standing. Pushing his reflexes to their max, Dean brought himself up, desperately trying to regain his footing on the slippery ground. He struggled to maintain his balance and steady his shotgun at the same time so he could get a decent shot but it was no good—he slipped and went down on a knee, fumbling with the gun. Dammit, Dean, get a hold of yourself! he thought frantically.
Fortunately for him however, the creature was also having a bit of a struggle with the mud. Furious at having missed its prey, the creature tried to whip itself around as quickly as possible and getat him again. But it had underestimated the lack of friction in the mud, and all its quick movements and desperate attempts at standing were in vain. Finally after several falters the creature managed to regain its footing and slowly brought itself up to its full height. Turning slowly, a ravenous look in its wild eyes, it sought out the annoyance it so desperately wanted to kill. There it was...It was going to die...The creature's face twisted into a sort of smirk, anticipation evident. It squatted down, preparing to lunge...
And was met with the barrel of a shotgun. The impact of the blast threw the creature off its feet where it crumpled several feet away, flesh torn and blood spilling.
Dean stood still for a moment, watching the smoke silently dissipate. Slowly lowering the gun, he released the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. That had been close. But Dean was used to that. It was always close. But the feeling once it was over—the high he felt at surviving to see another day—was exhilarating. Ah, he lived for that feeling. Literally. Dean straightened himself and shouldered his shotgun once more.
Sam.
Just when the adrenaline pumping through his veinswas starting to recede, it immediately fired up again in full force when Dean's thoughts returned to his brother. Where the hell is he, Dean wondered, the worry becoming evident on his face.
He immediately started scouring the area, calling out his brother's name at frequent intervals. The flashlight he'd been keeping in his back pocket did little to improve visual conditions with the thick rain still pelting down. Frustrated and quickly losing patience, Dean ran a hand across his brow for the hundredth time, squinting into the darkness for any sign of his brother.
As the minutes slipped by, Dean couldn't help but imagine worse and worse scenarios of what could have happened. Please let him just be wandering around here lost like an idiot somewhere...Please don't let him be hurt...Please don't let him be...
He's not, Dean firmly told himself, not even letting himself finish the thought. He's fine. I'm going to find him, he's going to be all right, and then I'm going to chew his ass out for making me worry like this.
But his feeble reassurances did little to shake the panic that was slowly creeping up inside him, threatening to take hold at any moment.
Dean suddenly stopped short in his tracks, an idea striking him. Sam's cell phone! He'd put it in his jacket pocket before the hunt. Dean was sure of it. Ah, why hadn't he thought of this in the first place?
Taking out his own phone, Dean quickly punched in his brother's number, too frantic to scroll through the contacts list. He didn't wait for an answer—he knew there wouldn't be one. Instead, he perked up his hearing and listened through the darkness and monotone rain for the faint ring that would signal the location of his brother.
It was on the fifth phone call that Dean finally managed to pick up on the faint, tinny sound of his brother's phone. It was nearby. Which meant Sam was nearby. Dean quickened his pace.
It was on the sixth call that Dean finally caught sight of his brother. And it wasn't the welcoming one he had been praying for. Sam was lying on the ground. And he wasn't moving.
Slamming his phone shut and dropping the gun, Dean couldn't get to his brother's side fast enough.
"Hey! Sam!"
He dropped to the ground next to his brother and gently shook his shoulder. "Sammy, come on. Sam!" No response. Dean felt his own pulse quicken.
He quickly scanned the motionless body trying to make an initial assessment of the damage. No limbs were set at any odd angles, no massive pool of blood was visible, both of which were good signs. But there still had to be some cause for his brother to be lying there unconscious as he was.
Grasping his younger brother's shoulders, Dean slowly turned him over so he could get a look at his front side, and more importantly his fa--
Ah, there it was. Running along the upper right-hand side of Sam's brow was an inch-and-a-half long gash. And it looked deep. A stream of watery blood trickled freely down his face in crooked lines.
"Dammit." Dean whispered.
Thinking fast, he quickly jerked his jacket off, followed immediately by his shirt. He needed something to stop the bleeding. Wadding the already-wet material up he gently pressed it against the gash and applied pressure.
"Sam." he tried again, insistent that his brother wake up. "Hey, Sammy, come on, you have to wake up now, okay?" he paused, looking for any signs of coherence. "Sam!"
Sam...
Sam...!
Sam!
God, what does he want?
Thoroughly annoyed, Sam figured it was probably time he answered the pestering calls of his brother. He couldn't quite make out the tone of the distant voice calling him, but he was sure it was Dean. It was always Dean. What did he want? Why couldn't he just let him sleep?
Saaaam...! It sounded a bit closer this time. More insistent, too.
Okay, okay...I'm getting up...
But his limbs didn't move. His eyes wouldn't open. His voice was only an echo in his own mind.
Hey, Sammy, come on now...
A hint of alarm quickly spread through Sam's semi-conscious reasoning. He tried once more to answer. Again nothing. Just stillness...silence.
Why wouldn't his body respond? What the hell was wrong? Fully alarmed now, Sam desperately tried to answer his brother.
"Hey, that's it. Come on, you can get up now." It was Dean. He could hear him now.
Dean? It only came out as a faint groan, but Sam felt somewhat relieved nonetheless. Finally his senses were coming back under his control.
"'Atta boy, Sammy."
Dean? he asked again, this time groaning a bit louder.
"Yeah, that's it. Come on, Sam."
Sam could never remember a time when opening his eyes had proved to be so difficult. Finally, after several frustrated attempts, his eyelids obeyed. And with the slight crack they created in opening, it suddenly felt to Sam that he had opened the flood gates to a whole reservoir of pain.
"Aaaagh..." Sam moaned, flinching as his senses fully returned. It felt like a knife had pierced right through his skull, and the constant throbbing of his pulse made it feel as if someone was sawing that knife in and out of his head over and over.
"Sam! Hey! You okay?"
Slowly his brother's bent form crystallized and took shape from the rest of the swirling, blurry images clouding Sam's vision. Sam blinked and continued to stare up at him, waiting for the fog to clear.
"Sam," his brother tried again. "Are you all right? Can you talk? Can you move?"
Sam blinked again, the pain he was feeling making it hard to make sense of any of his brother's questions. God, he was confused. Was it raining? He wasn't sure. It was so cold.
"Come on, Sammy, say something." Dean pleaded, giving his brother's shoulder another gentle shake.
Another groan and then, "Yeah..."
"Hey, welcome back, buddy." Dean said, a relieved smile flashing briefly across his face.
Still confused as ever, Sam slowly reached up and tried to brush his brother's arm away. Dean was pressing something against his face and it hurt like hell.
"Get off, will you?"
"That's one hell of a head wound yougot yourself there, genius," Dean explained, his voice carrying a gentle tone. "I've got to stop the bleeding."
Sam winced. "It hurts..."
"Yeah, I'd imagine it does. Here," Dean said, an idea striking him. He sat up straight, hands quickly going to the waist of his pants. Just a button and zipper...damn.
"Hey, Sam, you wearing a belt?" he asked, pulling up his brother's jacket to see. Oh good, he was. He quickly started unfastening it.
"What the hell are you..." Sam started to ask, his speech slurred.
But Dean was already fastening the belt around his brother's head, holding the wadded-up tee-shirt in place.
"There." Dean said, admiring his handiwork. "That'll have to do for now." It was a pretty ridiculous looking bandage, and, under any other circumstances, would have probably caused him to snicker a bit. "Think you can sit up?" Dean asked, knowing it was a wonder his brother was even managing to stay conscious at the moment. But they couldn't sit around here all night. Sam's injury was serious.
Sam gave a slight nod, shutting his eyes tight from the stab of pain that ensued. Bracing himself, he forced his body to ignore the pain and sit up. He hardly noticed Dean helping him. The throbbing in his head seemed to increase ten-fold, and black lines flitted across his vision. Everything was swimming around him once more. Which way was up, again?
"You okay?" Dean asked, holding his brother up.
Sam was too busy trying to get the world to stop spinning to listen. A sudden wave of nausea washed over him. "Oh, God, Dean...I think I'm gonna be sick..." He turned his head and sure enough his body started heaving. There wasn't much to throw up, but man, it didn't feel good. His head was in full protest, and the sawing knife went back to work in full force, piercing his skull again and again.
"Hey, Sammy!" Dean said, eyes wide. "Hey," he slapped his brother's back lightly. "It's okay. You're gonna be okay."
Sam turned back towards his brother, head lolling, eyes struggling to stay open.
"Hey, look at me, Sam," Dean said urgently, hand going immediately to his back pocket. He withdrew the small flashlight and flicked it on. "Sam," he said again, demanding his attention. He grasped his brother's chin and firmly brought hisface up even with the light. Two dilated pupils of unequalsizesstaredup at him.
"Shit."
Just as Dean had feared, they were looking at a concussion.
"All right, come on, Sammy. We've got to get you out of here." He stood up quickly, pausing only to throw his jacket back on before grasping his brother firmly under the arms and pulling him up, much to Sam's protest.
"Yeah, I know it hurts, Sammy. I know it does. I'm sorry. But we've got to get you to a hospital as soon as possible." He gently lifted his brother's arm and wrapped it over his shoulders, his other hand grasping his brother's waist for support. Half-carrying, half-dragging his brother, he pulled him along, forcing him to put one foot in front of the other.
Sam was still desperately trying to make sense of the situation. He didn't know where they were. He couldn't remember what had happened. He was sure something had happened because Dean was acting awfully worried, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. He kept trying to get a grasp on one of the many random thoughts and memories that were flitting sporadically through his mind, but every time he seemed to mentally have a hold on one, it would slip away again before coming fully into focus. Frustrated, and sick of fighting the sharp pain that would not relent, Sam finally decided the best way to deal with this situation would be to just go to sleep.
"Dean," Sam said, almost in a whisper, pulling his brother to a stop.
"What is it?" Dean asked, glancing at him, the worry lines etched deeper in his face.
Sam paused for a moment, trying to remember what he wanted to say. "I'm really tired, man." He said, letting his knees go slack, refusing to support his own weight any longer.
Dean caught him, trying his best to hold him up, but Sam was intent on slumping back down to the wet and muddy ground.
"Sam, come on, we can't stop. We've only gone a few steps." Sam slid down a bit further, letting his eyes slowly slide shut as well.
"Sam!" Dean said, giving his brother a frustrated shake. "We're not stopping, do you hear me? And there is no chance in hell I'm letting you fall asleep on me. You have a concussion, Sam. You have to stay awake, do you understand?" He gave his brother another shake, this time not bothering to keep it gentle.
Sam was getting annoyed again. Why wouldn't Dean just leave him alone? Couldn't he see he needed to sleep? He really didn't feel well. And his head...man, it was killing.
"Sam!"
Something in the pleading tone Dean was using caught Sam's attention. Dean really was worried about something. Maybe it would be best to try and humor him.
"All right, all right, Dean...I'm not going to sleep..." He forced his heavy eyelids open once more to prove his point.
Dean sighed, "Good, thank you. Now, come on, we've got to keep going. We've still got a ways to go to the car." Dean grasped his brother under the arms again and attempted to pull him up.
Sam refused to cooperate, however. It wasn't that he was trying to piss his older brother off. It was just that he couldn't muster the energy. He felt himself slipping back into that peaceful detached state—neither fully awake nor fully unconscious. He was welcoming it, too.
Dean gave his brother's arm one more tug but to no avail. "All right, you know what?" Dean said, losing his patience. "Screw it. If I have to carry you, I will." He bent over his brother, forcefully pushing him into convenient position where he could pick him up and sling him over his shoulders.
This caught Sam's attention however, and hepushed away the darkness that was claiming him, bringing back a semblance of reason to his muddled mind. Like hell Dean was going to carry him!
"Dean, no," Sam said, keeping his dead weight planted, refusing to allow his brother to lift him. "You're not carrying me. I'm fine. I can walk."
"Look, Sammy," Dean said, and his voice had a bit of a hard edge to it. "I don't really give a damn about your pride right now. Okay? So either you let me carry you out of here, or you get off your ass and start walking."
"I can walk," Sam insisted again, though he really, really didn't want to. Just the thought of having to get up off the ground again was making that nauseous, churning feeling return to his stomach. Why couldn't he just go to sleep, again? He forgot...
"Okay, Sammy," Dean said, helping him to his feet once more. "Here we go again. Stay with me, okay, buddy? You're gonna be all right." He wrapped his brother's arm around his shoulders once more and, holding him steady, they resumed their slow march.
The going was slow, made all the worse by the heavy rain that pelted them at even, non-stop intervals. It was so cold. Dean was vaguely surprised it wasn't snowing. He would have actually preferred snowflakes over the thick, heavy rain drops that were now actually starting to sting. The storm was getting worse. Dean couldn't believe it. Just when he thought this night couldn't possibly suck any more than it already did. The rain was like a sheet now, blanketing everything with its thick and unrelenting persistence. A bright flash of light suddenly lit up the woods, followed closely by a clap of thunder.
"Perfect," Dean said, exasperated. "Just perfect."
Another step later Sam lost his footing, slipped, and went down. Dean tried to save him from the fall but only succeeded in slipping himself and going down with his brother. Cursing, covered in mud, Dean finally lost all patience.
"That's it." They weren't going to fight the storm any longer. The progress they were making was too damn slow. And it wasn't worth exposing Sam to these conditions when he was already suffering as it is. They had no choice now but to find a safe place and wait out the storm...
"Here we go, Sammy," Dean said, lowering his brother into a sitting position beneath the outcropping rock that would have to serve as their shelter from the rain. "We're gonna rest for awhile."
Sam groaned as Dean tried to help him into a comfortable position. The pain he was feeling had actually dulled a bit as they had been walking, the constant movement taking his mind off it. But now that they had stopped, it went back to the sharp, jolting pain that caused him to wince with every small movement.
It was dark but Dean stillnoticed every time his brother's eyes squinted closed, or he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Sam was hurting. More so than he was letting on. He wished he could let his little brother fall asleep, escape from the pain for a while. But it was too risky. From the evidence Dean had gathered—the dilated pupils, the delusional, forgetful behavior, the vomiting and the overpowering urge to sleep—Dean was pretty sure this concussion was a severe one. And he wasn't about to risk the chance of Sam lapsing into a coma. So he was going to do everything he could to keep his little brother awake. Even though it pained him to see Sam hurting like he did.
"Hey, you hanging in there, Sammy?" Dean asked, seating himself next to his brother and watching him closely.
Sam's head was leaned back against the rock and his eyes were closed. "Mmmm..."
"You have to stay awake, remember?" Dean asked, still staring at his younger brother, wishing he would open his eyes. Damn, how can I keep him awake?
"Sam, open your eyes, will you? I can't let you fall asleep on me."
Sam didn't move or make a reply of any sort.
"Sam!" Dean said, shaking him hard. "Wake up! You've got to stay with me, bud." He continued shaking his brother, willing him to respond.
Sam's eyelids slowly slid open. He was too tired to be annoyed. Too tired to be defiant. And his brother was certainly not going to leave him in peace. He just didn't get it. Didn't Dean understand? He needed to go to sleep right now. He couldn't stand the aching pain any longer. And he was just so tired...
"Dean..." Sam said, blinking heavily, "I'm...just so tired..."
"I know. I know you are, Sammy. But listen, you've just got to keep talking to me, all right? About anything. Just keep talking." He prodded his brother once more to keep his eyes from sliding shut.
"...'Kay," Sam said, giving in. He wanted to please his brother right now. That worried tone in Dean's voice was really starting to get to him. What was wrong?
"You worried, Dean?" Sam asked, his speech still slow and slightly slurred.
"Hell yeah, I'm worried," Dean answered honestly, eager to get a conversation started. He didn't care what they talked about, just so long as he kept Sam talking.
"Why?"
"Well, you busted your head open, Sammy. I'd say that's a pretty good reason to be concerned."
"I did?" Sam asked slowly.
"Yeah, you don't remember?"
"...No."
"Do you even know where we are, Sammy?"
"...Kansas?" Sam ventured, not for any particular reason. He had no clue where they were.
"No, we're in Colorado. We were hunting a Sasquatch, remember?"
"Oh, yeah," Sam replied, though he couldn't really recall anything of the sort. "You're not hurt are you, Dean?"
"Psh, me? 'Course not."
"Dad's not hurt, is he?"
Dean gave his brother a funny look. Wow, he must be really mixed up. He hadn't seen his father in over two years. "Dad's not here, Sammy."
"Where is he?"
Dean paused. "...I don't know."
"Is he okay?"
"I don't know, Sam," Dean said, trying for his confused brother's sake to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He really didn't feel like discussing this topic.
"...Is he mad at me?"
Dean turned to fully face his brother. Where was this coming from? "No, Sammy, why would he be mad at you?" Dean asked, curious. He felt a little bad taking advantage of his brother's delusional state, but he had to keep him talking, and chances were Sam wouldn't remember any of this anyway.
Sam didn't answer. He just blinked again slowly. His eyes looked a bit glazed and bloodshot. "Dean, I'm sorry..." Sam said after a moment.
Dean's brow furrowed. "For what?"
"For...everything," Sam said, and his voice seemed to catch as a lump formed in his throat.
Whoa, what the hell was this? This was not the type of "talking" Dean had in mind. He felt he should humor his brother, however. After all, he was delirious. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sammy. I can't think of anything you should be sorry for...I mean, you are a pain in the ass on occasion, but I've been used to that for years." He said, grinning.
"No...I mean..." Sam said, pausing, trying to sort through his thoughts. "This life..." he said slowly.
Dean was listening intently, the grin gone. Sam was trying to get something off his chest. Something that he could tell had been burdening him for a while. He almost wondered if he should stop him. He knew Sam wasn't really aware of what he was saying. But then again...Sam might just be talking nonsense. Dean wasn't exactly sure. He decided to hear him out.
"The hunting..." Sam went on, "The lack of normalcy..." he paused, swallowing hard, "...Mom's death."
"What?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. "Sam, what the hell are you talking about?"
Sam looked over and met his brother's intense gaze. His half-closed eyes looked watery and feverish. "I...I think I have something to do with it all..."
Dean furrowed his brow, confused as all get out. What was his brother raving on about?
"I can't explain..." Sam went on, "It just feels like...like I'm the cause of it all. Like I'm at the center of it...What with Jess and all...I dunno...I'm just..." his voice trailed away.
Dean continued to stare at his younger brother. Did Sam really think that? Did he really think he had anything to do with their mother's death...?
"It's like..." Sam went on again, breaking the silence, "I dunno, I'm cursed or something...Everyone I'm close to...ends up hurt."
Dean just continued to watch him closely, lost for words.
"The other week...When I thought I was going to lose you...God, Dean...You don't even know..." Sam said swallowing hard. His eyes slowly closed again.
Dean looked away and quickly brought a hand up, rubbing his brow. These were the type of moments he desperately tried to avoid. "Hey, Sammy..." he said, looking back to his brother, "You can't carry all that around with you, man," he said, not exactly sure how to say what he was trying to get across. "You can't keep blaming yourself for things you have no control over. You just can't do that, Sam. That would drive anyone out of their mind."
Dean paused. "And, Sam," he said, placing a hand firmly on his brother's shoulder. And suddenly, it was no longer twenty-two-year-old-college-boy-Sam he was talking to. Those big brown eyes staring up at him instantly took Dean back many years before. Suddenly, it was six-year-old-afraid-of-the-dark-Sammy Dean was talking to. The little brother who idolized him. The little brother who respected, and listened to, and loved him. Dean suddenly felt a lump of his own form in his throat. Normally, this would have been too much, but those round, feverish, six-year-old eyes continued to stare up at him. Dean swallowed. "I'm still here, Sammy," he said, squeezing his shoulder. "I will always be here. Okay?"
Sam gave a slight nod, his mouth forming a half-smile as he leaned his head back against the rock again. A content silence fell between the two and they resorted to listening to the pattering rain that still paraded the air outside their small shelter. Dean followed suit and leaned his head against the rock too, mulling everything over in his mind.
It just feels like...like I'm the cause of it all. Like I'm at the center of it...
While Sam most likely would not remember anything that was said tonight, Dean was certain he would not be forgetting those words anytime soon. Was Sam the reason for all this? There had certainly been some odd things going on with his kid brother the last several months, but Dean had never really considered the full scale of things. Could there possibly be something bigger than he realized going on here concerning his brother? Could there really be something out there that...has it in for Sam? Dean didn't have the answers. And he had no clue where to find them, either. The only thing he was certain of was that he would always be there for his brother. Just like he'd promised. Nothing could touch him as long as he was around.
"Dean?" Sam asked quietly, bringing Dean's thoughts back to the present.
"Yeah?"
A moment's hesitation. Then, "Never mind."
Dean shrugged and went back to staring out into rain.
A moment later, "Dean?" Sam asked again.
"What?" Dean asked, trying not to sound irritated.
Sam hesitated again, "Never mind..." he said, a slight smile visible on his face.
Dean snorted, his memory once again dragging him back many years before. It really was six-year-old Sammy sitting next to him! He could remember that game his little brother used to play with him anytime they were on a road trip or simply bored out of their minds. Sam would get such a kick out of teasing his big brother, seeing just how many times he could get him to answer only to reply with a casual, 'Never mind.'
"Dude..." Dean said, shaking his head. He couldn't help grinning. "You're such a dork," he laughed.
Sam gave another weak smile, and despite his delirium, he fully understood the endearment concealed behind the insult. That was Dean for you. Still grinning, Sam leaned back and closed his eyes.
And despite Sam's injury, despite the cold, despite the confusing and unknown future that lay ahead of them, both brothers were happy for the moment.
And the rain continued to fall unhindered.