Just a quick one-shot because I was a little sad that Dean showed like, zero compassion towards Sam after he was attacked by the hunters and made to drink the demon blood...then again, Sam may not have told him, but still - it's like the season four voice-mail all over again. It's short, by no means completely wrapped up with all loose ends tied, but I like how it turned out, so here it is. Anyway, hope you enjoy, and don't forget to R&R.
Sam wiped down the top of the bar in the new joint he was working in after quitting his last job, trying to push the single name that kept repeating itself with every breath out of his head. He had thought of nothing other than his brother since the two had parted ways, and even more so since Dean had all but said he didn't want to help him when he had called him about what Lucifer had told him. He could still taste the demon blood in his mouth from when the hunters had forced it into him, but the effects hadn't taken hold since he had managed to spit most of it out, and had thrown up afterwards to try and force it from his system. When he had told Dean that he wanted to be better he had meant it, but after everything that he had done he didn't blame the lack of trust his brother had in him.
The door jingled open behind him and he sighed.
"Sorry, bar's closed, last call was an hour ago," he said without turning around.
The click of the safety being brought back on a gun and a bullet sliding into place made him freeze, however, and he slowly turned to face the person holding the weapon as he tried not to panic or focus on the fact that he was completely unarmed.
Once he had turned around, he found himself face-to-face with a man who stood several inches shorter than him, but there was no look of hesitation in his eyes as he aimed the gun at Sam's chest, unwavering.
Sam slowly lifted his hands up in surrender, his mind racing as he tried to think of a way out of the situation without getting himself shot. There was no one else in the bar, he was on the last shift, and there was no way he could get the attention of anyone outside without the man firing at him, or worse, an innocent person trying to help.
"Okay, look, I'm sure we can work this out, whatever it is," Sam said cautiously, desperately staring into the man's eyes, when he noticed the cross hanging from his neck. He felt his heart sick inside of him as he realised what this meant.
"They're telling you to do this, aren't they?" he asked, resignation coloring his tone.
The man took a step forward, nodding. "This is my purpose – if I stop you, I can stop Lucifer from starting the apocalypse."
"Who told you this, because he's just going to bring me back-"
"Anna said she will scatter you far and wide so that there is no possible way he could ever restore you to agree to being his vessel," the man interrupted. He smiled, his face sympathetic and patronizing. "I'm sorry, Sam Winchester, but this is for the greater good. Think of the lives I will save by doing this!"
"Why aren't the angels icing me themselves?" Sam demanded, losing his cautious attitude as he felt his temper rise. "It's not like I have one up on them, they could've ganked me and I wouldn't even have realised what had happened!"
"I don't know the specifics, all I know is that I was told that it was my destiny to be the one to do this, and so, I'm sorry but I must carry out my task."
And with that the man pulled the trigger and fired, sending a bullet through Sam's chest before turning and walking out of the bar calmly, and not as though he had just killed a man.
Sam gasped as he hit the ground, his fingers fumbling over the bleeding hole that just missed his heart where the shot had done through. He vaguely registered an unhealthy amount of blood coming from both his front and back, and somehow understood that it had been a through-and-through which is most cases of gunshot wounds would be a good thing, but in this situation it only meant more uncontrollable blood loss.
Knowing that he had only minutes left, if he was lucky, he reached a shaking hand down to his pocket and pulled out of his phone, struggling to press the '1' before hitting the green button. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts he finally managed it and raised the phone to his ear while trying to keep pressure on his wound.
"You've reached Dean. Leave your name and nightmare after the beep."
"Dean," Sam managed to gasp out, coughing. "I…I think this is it, m-man. I'm s-sorry, Dean, for e-everything." And with that, the world began to fade at the edges before completely going black.
...
Dean leant against the Impala, running a hand across his forehead in exhaustion. There was something about working with Castiel that was just tiring, whether it was the constant explanations or what, but it was just harder than working with…Sam. Dean sighed as he thought of his little brother, and felt the pang of betrayal, guilt and hurt course through him as it did every time he thought of the kid. With everything that had happened over the past year he didn't know how to get past it to the point where Sam was just his pain in the ass kid brother, rather than the one person in the world he counted on the most who had chosen a demon over him and had started what could quite possibly end up being the end of the world.
Feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket pulled him from his thoughts, but as soon as he saw the name pop up on the display he rubbed a hand across his tired eyes before hitting 'Ignore' and stowing the phone away again, an action he never would have done less than a year ago.
Pulling himself back into the present, he opened the driver's door and got into the car, beginning the drive back to Bobby's.
...
"Sir, can you hear me? Sir, if you can hear me, can you open your eyes for me?"
There was a burning sensation in Sam's chest and he could see a light shining into his closed eyes, as well as pokes at his arm and a dripping sensation at his elbow, almost inside the skin.
Forcing open his eyes, he squinted through the blurry vision and bright lights at several people stood over him, all dressed in white and making it hard for his eyes to stay open.
"Sir, can you tell me your name?" The voice asking this came from one of the people by his left arm, but without the clarity Sam couldn't tell which one.
"S-Sam," he muttered, surprised by the weakness of his voice and how tired he felt from the minimal effort of keeping his eyes open and speaking.
"Okay, Sam, I need you to stay with me, okay? I need you just to stay with me, don't go to sleep."
More pokes and prods, and this time a pulling sensation added to the burning one. The feeling reminded Sam of getting stitches.
"Now Sam, is there someone that we can call? You called someone named 'Dean' last, should we call him?"
The sound of Dean's name immediately brought an alertness out of Sam, and as he tried to sit up in response several people went to hold him down to prevent him from moving.
"No!" he yelled, or tried to as he over-estimated his strength at that moment, "no, don't…Dean…doesn't need to know….can't….tell Dean."
As soon as Sam finished his attempt to speak he immediately felt even more tired than he had moments before, and there was a loud beeping alarm that pierced the atmosphere.
"He's crashing!" someone yelled, and there was a response of commotion around him. "Sam, Sam stay with me!"
However, Sam felt the pull of sleep as he closed his eyes, and it all went quiet again.
...
After a couple of hours of driving, Dean had finally arrived in Sioux Falls and was throwing open the back door of Bobby's house where he was greeted by a beer being held out by the older hunter.
"Where's the angel?" Bobby's gruff voice asked as Dean loosened his tie, pulling that and the jacket off as he took a seat at the small kitchen table.
Dean shrugged, "Freakin' angels, man. I was talking to him and then he was gone, said something about checking upstairs for intel, I don't know."
Bobby leant back against the counter, looking over the older Winchester boy in front of him and taking note of the bags beneath his eyes, and the frown lines on his forehead that seemed to be frozen in place.
"You heard from him?" Bobby asked cautiously, very aware of the sensitive topic that Sam had become to Dean.
Dean didn't reply, instead pulling out his phone and tossing it on to the table, 'One Missed Call: Sam' still flashing on the LED screen. Bobby sighed, shaking his head.
"I'm not saying what he did was right, boy, hell, that ain't even close to what I'm trying to say, but he's still your brother – and he still needs you, especially with Lucifer's offer to wear him to the apocalypse."
Dean dropped his head into his hands, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. "I know, Bobby, I just – I don't know how to trust him, you know? After everything he did, I don't think there's any way I'll ever be able to trust him like I used to again."
"You know if the situation were reversed he would already have forgiven you by now, right? Hell, he would've forgiven you the moment you broke the seal."
Dean thought for a moment. "I know. I know he would've, but it would've been wrong for him to do that."
At that moment Dean's phone rang, interrupting the conversation between the two, and when he saw 'Unknown Number', he frowned at it and lifted it to his ear.
"Is this Dean?" a voice on the other end asked before giving Dean the chance to say anything.
"That depends, who is this and how did you get this number?" Dean asked defensively, immediately on alert. Bobby straightened up his position by the counter at the tone of Dean's voice.
"I got the number from Sam's phone – my name is Dr Anderson at First Presbyterian Hospital in Canton. Do you know someone called Sam who is likely to have your number?"
As soon as he heard the word hospital, Dean was pushing himself away from the table to grab his keys from the counter and to grab a map from the library, tearing it open to the route from Sioux Falls to Canton.
"He's my brother, why the hell is he in the hospital?" Dean asked, trying to keep the panic he was feeling under control as Bobby stood over him, eyes widening as he heard Dean's side of the conversation.
"He was shot at the bar he was working at in the town, and I'm afraid that's all the information I can give you over the phone, but if you come-"
"Is he alive?" Dean interrupted bluntly.
There was a pause at the other end of the line before the doctor responded. "For now. It's been fairly touch and go, but if I were you," she hesitated, "I would get here as soon as possible, because I don't know if that will continue to be the case."
Dean felt the phone slip from his grasp as he stood up, grabbing the map and trying to keep his head from spinning out of control. However, before he could get out of the library Bobby grabbed him by the shoulders.
"What the hell happened?" he asked, worry etched into his features.
"He's been shot," Dean managed to get out as he pushed passed the older man, trying to keep the flashing memories of Cold Oak out of his mind, "he's in Canton."
Without another word, he sprinted out of the house and to the Impala where he got in, started the engine and took off down the road in the direction of his brother without a moment of hesitation.
...
The first thing Sam became aware of was the soft beeping sound coming from somewhere beside his head. It annoyed him, but there was nothing he could do about it without opening his eyes and he was too tired to do that just yet. He could feel pressure on his right elbow, almost a tugging sensation, but most importantly was the searing pain coursing through his chest.
What the hell? he thought to himself, trying to remember anything that could've caused that pain.
Suddenly the memories came flashing back through his mind, and the look on the face of the man who shot him came to the forefront as he remembered the feeling of the bullet going through him. The memory confused him, though. He got shot through the chest at virtually point-blank range with no one around to help – did that mean he was dead? No, he couldn't be dead, he was in too much pain to be dead, and not enough to be in hell and he knew for a fact there was no way someone like him was going to go to heaven.
When the question of where he actually was brought around enough motivation to open his eyes, he managed to pry his lids apart, blinking into the light that flooded the white room he was in. His vision was blurred but getting clearer with each passing second, but before he could fully take in his surroundings he sensed movement from beside him.
"Looks like Sleeping Beauty finally decided it was time to get up," a familiar voice came from where the movement was, and Sam felt shock course through him at the sound of it. Turning his head, he came face to face with Dean who was leaning forward in a chair beside Sam's bed. At one look he could tell his brother was exhausted – he looked like he hadn't slept for days, with dark rings under his eyes and his hair sticking up as though he had been running his hands through it. The thing that surprised him the most, however, aside from his brother's actual presence, was the smile on his face that Sam only ever saw directed towards him.
"Dean?" Sam managed to get out before wincing at the pain in his throat at having talked, but Dean was already grabbing a cup of water from the table at the end of the bed and handing it to Sam, holding it while he could drink out of the straw.
"Easy, tiger, you got the ventilator pulled out this morning, it's gonna hurt to talk for a while." Dean put the cup back when Sam was finished with it before falling back into his chair.
"What happened?" Sam forced out despite the pain, to which Dean frowned.
"Did you not just listen to me? That was entirely self-inflicted." Dean looked at Sam and sighed, dropping his head before lifting it to meet his brother's eye.
"You got shot, Sammy," he began, trying to keep his voice level, "they don't know who did it, but someone found you in the bar and called 9-1-1. You were brought here and they called me – it was pretty touch and go for a while and they said you probably wouldn't pull through, but you always were a stubborn pain in the ass who never did what people told him to," Dean finished, letting out a single, hard laugh while trying to shake the paralysing wave of fear that came with the memory of being told it was unlikely that his brother would survive the first 24 hours, let alone the three days he actually did live through while unconscious and on basic life support.
Sam frowned, still unsure of one thing. "Why're you here?" he whispered, a tired look of resignation in his eyes, and the question hit Dean like a truck, increasing the guilt he was feeling ten-fold.
"You're my brother, Sammy," he said quietly in a measured tone, watching his brother carefully and keeping eye contact with him. "I was a dick and I was wrong letting you go off by yourself, and if I hadn't let you this wouldn't have happened, you wouldn't have been in that bar to get shot and I wouldn't have nearly lost you-"
"Wouldn't have stopped it," Sam muttered, "angels told the guy to do it. Said – said it would stop the apocalypse if he killed me."
Fury rushed through Dean at this statement, and immediately he was on his feet, closing the door and the blinds to Sam's room before walking over to the window.
"Castiel!" he shouted, "get your ass down here, now!"
There was, however, no appearance of the angel in the hospital room, and that caused the fury to continue to build in Dean. He paced across the room and punched a wall in frustration before turning back to Sam who looked a little alarmed and whose heart rate was increasing, the beeps on the machine becoming closer and closer together.
Dean quickly went to sit back in the chair he had been in beside his brother's bed and placed a hand on his chest.
"Dude, you need to calm down, okay? Just calm down, I'll deal with this," he said in as reassuring a voice as he could manage, pushing down his anger for the person who needed him to be his big brother at that moment, not someone seeking revenge on his behalf.
Sam gave him a look as to say 'you calm down', and Dean rolled his eyes in response, but within a couple of minutes of the two just sitting there, Sam's heart rate was back to what it should be. Dean waved away the nurse who came in, having been slightly alarmed at the rise in his pulse, and it was once again just the two of them in the room.
After a few more minutes of neither boy saying anything, Dean sighed and knew he had to break it.
"Sam, why didn't you want me to know what had happened to you?" he asked quietly, looking him in the eye. "When I got here, the nurse said that you told them not to call me, that you didn't want me to find out – did you really think I wouldn't care that you'd been shot?"
Sam looked away from Dean, turning his head towards the opposite wall to stop his older brother from seeing the tears forming in his eyes.
"You said so yourself, Dean," he said weakly, "we're each other's weakness," he took a breath, turning back to Dean whose heart shattered when he saw the tears in his brother's eyes. "Besides, what would you have been able to do about it?"
Dean dropped his gaze to the floor and took a deep breath before looking back at Sam.
"Sam," he began, "you're my little brother. My pain in the ass, freak of a little brother who, sure, started the apocalypse, but that doesn't mean that you stop being my brother because of that – you don't stop being my responsibility. It's my job to look out for you, always has been since you were six months old, and it always will be. I taught you how to drive, how to fire a gun, and no matter what happens, I'm always gonna want to know if you've been hurt or if you need me." He sighed, shaking his head. "And I let you down this week when you called me. You needed me, and I wasn't there for you, and I'm sorry, but there's one thing I can say, and it's that Lucifer can dream all he wants," the look in his eyes hardened with resolve, "he's not getting my little brother."