Rock Salt and Snowflakes - A Supernatural Fanfic
Chapter Two
Hi Guys!
It's been a bit of a rush to get this one finished as I have had work every day this week (including Christmas Eve because I just can't catch a break!) but hope you enjoy the fic and Merry Christmas to everyone, hope y'all have an amazing day!
Enjoy and R&R!
Rock Salt and Snowflakes -Chapter Two
The drive to the hospital had been a white out for Dean, and he was almost sure he hadn't dipped below eighty at any point during the journey. It was an honest-to-God miracle that no members of the local law enforcement had pulled them over. The Impala had flown dangerously around corners, almost skidding off the road on more than one occasion, the engine creaking and stuttering constantly as if sharing the pain of her two companions.
After Sam had passed out, Dean had slung his brother's giant frame over his shoulder before stumbling the rest of the way out of the graveyard and to the car. After carefully folding Sam into the passenger seat, Dean had raced to the driver's side, throwing himself inside and slamming the door before thrusting the key into the ignition. For a horrible moment, Dean had been afraid that she wouldn't start; there was no time to let the engine warm, and so had turned her over, again, and again until the ignition finally caught.
After that things got fuzzy. It was all winding roads and flashing signs before they finally pulled up at the hospital. Dean had retained physical contact with his brother the whole journey, his palm splayed across his brother's chest; counting breaths, counting heartbeats; making sure his baby brother kept breathing until they reached the hospital.
It was just as they approached the turn off that things began to go oh-so-horribly wrong. A shallow breath. A beat. The hospital sign flashed across Dean's vision. He waited for the next. But it didn't come. Sam wasn't breathing.
"No, no no, no, Sammy? Sammy please-!" Dean floored it, panic stealing his breath, attacking his every sense. No way, no freaking way was Sammy checking out on him. He was not going to lose his baby brother.
The car came to a screeching halt in the ambulance bay, and Dean threw himself from the car and around to the passenger side, heaving his brother's unconscious body from its position in the front of the car. He grabbed a hold of his brother, pressing the saturated material of his shirt more firmly into Sam's shoulder and stumbled the last few metres into the hospital reception.
"Please, somebody help! I can't- he's not." The words tumbled out; there was no logical order to his thoughts, and before he could even begin to fathom an explanation the orderlies were upon them. Sam was ripped from his arms and strapped to a gurney, flat on his back as several medical staff shouted a series of codes and numbers; medical jargon of which Dean had no comprehension. He was vaguely aware of raised voices, words such as 'internal bleeding' and 'cannula'filling his ears and then somebody was talking to him, their voice urgent, asking him something. It was only on the fourth attempt that he finally realised what they wanted, stuttering "Sam, he's-he's my brother, his name's Sam." Before Sam's unconscious form was whisked away and out of sight. Dean stood alone in the empty waiting room, staring after his brother whose blood, still slightly warm, coated the front of his clothing.
It was almost two hours before Dean received any news on Sam's condition, and in that time he'd had more than enough time for his thoughts to turn sour.
Sam had told him it wouldn't be worth pursuing the case on Christmas Eve, pointing out that, most likely, nobody would be around. The snow forecast would make sure of that. But Dean wouldn't listen, eager to be out of the town as soon as possible, when all of the shops and gas stations would be shut down for Christmas Day. They didn't want to find themselves stuck in some cut off honeypot village over Christmas, not after them posing as FBI to the local police force, anyway.
But Sam had drawn the metaphorical short straw, and so instead of choosing to go against his brother, Sam had resided to follow him on the hunt, no matter how much he disagreed with the decision made.
And so here they were, Christmas Eve, Sam in potentially critical condition and Dean, staring across at the double doors, waiting. If Dean had been the praying type, he guessed this would be the kind of time to ask upstairs for a little guidance.
Dean didn't even know who he would be praying to, let alone what to say.
The eldest Winchester was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice the orderly who approached him, and Dean figuratively jumped out of his skin, when the doctor laid their hand on his shoulder.
"Sorry Sir, I didn't mean to startle you; I was told that you came in with Sam, what's your name, Mr-?"
"Larner," Dean replied, pulling the name from the magazine cover on the table beside him. "Sam and Dean Larner, Sam's my brother."
"As I've been told," The man nodded, his overall demeanour somewhat calming to Dean, a quality which must make him a great doctor among patients, he thought. "My name is Dr Harraway," he continued, taking a seat beside Dean, "I'm the one who performed the operation on Sam."
Dean stood, visibly paling. "You-you had to operate?" Even to his own ears, Dean's voice sounded low and scratchy, the hours of worry and lack of fluids finally catching up with him.
The doctor gave a sad smile before addressing Dean's question. "Your brother suffered from heavy internal bleeding from an apparent stab wound to the left shoulder," he paused, assessing Dean for a reaction before continuing. "The bleeding has been stabilised, though Sam defiantly lost more blood than I was comfortable with, so a transfusion was administered as necessary. Sam required a total of thirty-six stitches. The shoulder, however presented further issues, the joint dislocated from the downwards force of the weapon used along with the left collarbone broken." He paused again, whipping his hands on his overalls. "Both the collarbone and shoulder have been stabilised, the shoulder set back in place, although it will be extremely painful and swollen for at the very least the next week," Dean nodded, from all his years of hunting he knew what to expect from a dislocated shoulder. "Sam also received three cracked ribs and severe bruising, which will both remain extremely tender for the next few weeks along with a broken leg on the right side. That has been set and secured with a cast. To accompany this, I have detected a moderate concussion, which we are keeping a close eye on."
A stern look overtook the doctor's features, and he raised his head so that his troubled eyes met Dean's.
"I suspect that I don't quite want to know the full extent by which Sam received such injuries, and so I don't expect either you or your brother to share this information with either me or my colleagues, however," he paused, his face serious. "If Sam, as my patient, is in any further danger related to incident, I will be forced to call on the police. I will not tolerate further harm to any of my patients during their time in my hospital." Dean nodded, relieved by the doctors apparent lack of interest in the past circumstances.
"Yes, Doc, It's…been taken care of, Sam's safe. I won't let him be any other way."
The doctor smiled. For same strange, completely irrational reason he trusted the young man before him, and where some of his co-workers had been quick to accuse Dean of causing the grievous wounds to his brother, it was clear to Dr Harraway that this wasn't the case. He looked back at the younger man as he began to speak again.
"When-can I see him?"
Dr Harraway stood, brushing off his jacket before gesturing ahead of him to a set of double doors leading further into the hospital.
"Please, Mr Larner, right this way."
Upon entering Sam's room, had it not been for the wall to Dean's left, he would have most likely collapsed. Dean leant heavily upon the doorframe, staring into the room, barely noticing Dr Harraway entering behind him. His brother's still form lay pale and unmoving in a bed surrounded by monitors and wires, several IV lines protruding from the fold of Sam's right arm. The left lay strapped across his chest in a navy sling, rising and falling gently with each steady intake of breath, and bandages were visible peeking through from underneath his hospital gown. His face was pail, a split lip clotting over on one side and bruising blossoming across one temple from beneath his hairline. A cannula snaked from under his nose to an oxygen tank positioned off to one side, and the steady, rhythmic beat of the heart monitor was the only sound to pierce the heavy silence of the room.
"Sammy…" Dean stumbled to the bed, his vision tunnelling towards Sam's prone form. He nodded in thanks as somebody pushed a chair into the back of his knees and he sank down into it, his eyes still fixed on his unconscious brother.
"He's heavily sedated," The doctor addressed Dean quietly from where he had paused in the doorway of the room. "We had to anesthetize him in order to fix his shoulder, leg and collarbone; awake the pain would have been excruciating."
"Thank you," Dean's voice caught as he stared at his peacefully sleeping brother. Sam always looked so young when he rested, the years of hunting and heartache falling away to reveal the innocent baby brother that Dean had practically raised.
The doctor nodded solemnly, recognising the brothers' need to be alone. "Just so that you are aware, Mr Larner, we wouldn't advise Sam should consume any kind of alcohol due to the strong sedatives he's currently on; they should take a day or two to completely flush from his system, but I'll speak to the nurses; organise for you to stay as long as you need." Dean nodded once again, shoulders slumping as the Dr Harraway left the room.
"Damn it, Sammy," He spoke quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "Only us Winchesters, huh?" he paused, hoping for any indication of acknowledgement from Sam's lax features, but nothing changed; his brother just kept right on sleeping.
Dean continued, unperturbed by Sam's lack of response.
"The doctor thinks you'll be ok, buddy. They fixed y'up, almost as good as I could have, too. You look like a mummy covered in all those bandages, y'know, like that time when you were eight and we wrapped you in toilet paper for Halloween, remember Sammy?" Dean's eyes searched Sam's face, once again desperate for any sign that Sam had heard him. If he had, he didn't show.
Dean's hand found his brothers and he gave it a light squeeze, his voice catching in his throat.
"C'mon, Sammy, don't leave me alone on Christmas."
Sam was drifting: there was no other way of describing it. He felt nothing, was nowhere and for a moment, he feared he was dead. He didn't remember dying though, surly he would remember that.
But there was only darkness.
Then he began to hear sounds. A soft, whining beep, repeating at regular intervals and a low, continuous voice. It was comforting, familiar even, and it called to him in a way the darkness couldn't. It was calling out, it was laden with guilt, regret, and that fact alone was almost frightening to Sam: that voice should never sound so broken.
He struggled upwards towards the voice and it grew louder, so he carried on. He had to reach it.
Conscious returned as a dull tingling, spreading from several parts of his body and radiating outwards. Every beep from the outside world sent a throb of pain through his body and he groaned, unaccustomed to the new sensation.
Suddenly the voice stopped and Sam panicked; he needed to see, why couldn't he see?
The voice returned, full of emotion and hope and calling for him to wake up and that was the last push that Sam needed.
Slowly, ever so gently, Sam peeled his eyes open. He squinted through heavy lashes, the light invasive and painful on his tender head, and it was in that moment that he noticed how much his head hurt. He tried to lift his hands but started in pain and confusion as he was unable too, a jolt of pain racing down the limb. He tensed, a low moan escaping him, and then there was the voice, calm and soothing, a hand carding through his hair. He rolled his head to the side, eyelids heavy and stared into the face of his brother. Relief crashed through him in waves and he rolled his head back, eyes never leaving his brothers.
"Dea-"
"Hey, Sammy."
Dean's eyes were brimming with emotion, his voice cracked and scratchy as if he had been talking for hours. There was a comforting pressure upon Sam's hand and he nervously flexed his fingers, realising it was Dean's hand in his and smirked.
"Thought-no chick flicks'aloud."
Dean smirked, taken aback by Sam's comment and squeezed his hand tighter, hope unfurling like a flower in the pit of his stomach.
"Where're we?" Sam mumbled, turning his tired eyes to the window. The sun was rising, the sky throwing pink and orange light across the sill. Snow fell softly, the flakes large and fluffy, piling up across the ground: it had obviously been snowing for a while. He turned back to his brother as he began to speak.
"Hospital" He said, watching Sam for a reaction. "Casper got a little pissed and decided to use you as a pincushion," He paused, waiting for Sam's eyes to reach his. "It was close, Sammy."
Sam stared at his brother, taking a closer look at him. He was slumped in the chair beside his bed, hair messy, clothing crumpled and dark circles under his eyes; all pointing to a definite lack of sleep. His brother probably hadn't left his side all night.
"I'm sorry, Dean." Dean looked startled, and in that moment, Sam knew he'd said the wrong thing.
"What the hell for?"
"If I'd just moved faster, if I'd been paying more attention I could have-"
Dean sprang up from his chair, tension lining every muscle of his body.
"No, no way, kiddo, you don't get to pin the blame for this one, it's all on me." Dean looked haggard, guilt tearing at his heart and Sam could feel it, almost as if it was his own. "Dislocated shoulder, concussion, a broken leg and collarbone, not to mention the thirty-six freaking stitches they had to do, hell, Sam, you almost bled out."
He turned away, brow furrowed and voice watery.
"I almost lost you, Sammy. You really think I can just let that go?"
Sam swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly tight with emotion and immediately started coughing. Dean was there in an instant, heaving him up against the headboard as the coughing wracked his body, jostling his arm and collarbone painfully.
"Easy Sam, easy, take it slow."
After a while the coughing faded out and Sam sank back against his brother, now positioned behind him, holding him upright.
"You ok, Sam?" Dean was worried; brow knitted and eyes searching Sam's face for any signs of further injury.
"Water," Sam rasped, throat dry and scratchy. Dean reached beside him to the bedside table, producing a cup of water which he then helped Sam to sip. When he was done Sam exhaled, leaning backwards into his brother and closed his eyes. Suddenly Sam spoke, opening his eyes and turning to his brother.
"The date," He smirked at the confused look on his brother's face. "It was the twenty-fourth yesterday."
Dean looked confused for a moment longer before he too smiled, some of the tension of the last twelve hours leaving his face.
"Today's the twenty-fifth,"
Dean nodded, smirking.
"And I'm the only one who can actually drink the egg nog this year, " He grinned at Sam's confused expression.
"Doctor's orders."
Sam's face split into a smile and he laughed, properly, for the first time in days, and with it came a sudden rush of relief. Sure, he couldn't drink the egg nog, there wouldn't be a turkey for the Winchesters, but he was here; alive, spending Christmas with his brother, and in that moment, that's all that mattered. Sleep was tugging at his senses, and though powerless to stop it, Sam didn't mind; he knew his brother would be there when he woke again.
Dean smirked as Sam began to fall asleep, pulling the blankets further up his chest; things were by no means fixed, but Christmas was certainly a good place to start.
"Merry Christmas, Jerk."
Dean laughed.
"Merry Christmas, Bitch."
And there you have it guys, I apologise in advance for any typos, I haven't had much time to check it over!
Happy Christmas, everyone!
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