A/N: *rushes in* Has it been a week already? And I'm updating on time? Just barely. Whoa. And damn guys, put a healthy dollop of Sammy-whump and Winchester angst and people and inboxes just implode! x) Seriously though, *happily shocked* you guys are awesome, and I love to answer your guys' great reviews :3 And if you're one of those people who only favorite and alert and I don't respond, thanks loads for reading this. Drop me a line, though, eh? ;)
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, nor any of the lyrics used in the beginning of chapters
Flirting With Disaster
~ Dreams of war, dreams of liars, dreams of dragon's fire,
And of things that will bite ~
Chapter Two: Heavy Thoughts
Dean hadn't let the paramedics take him in without a fight.
Being separated from his brother? After what had just happened? Hell no.
The elder brother had completely ignored his injuries, his sole focus was and would stay Sam's recovery. The paramedics, however, fought right back to get Dean on a stretcher and away from Sam so they could do their job.
But Dean had a job too, and that was looking after his brother. Considering the gut-clenching failure in his duty that Dean was beating himself up over, there was no way he was going to have another reason for his father to be disappointed in him.
There was, after much hurried and heated arguing, a compromise, where Dean would ride in the ambulance with Sammy as long as he let himself get looked over. Still, Winchesters didn't do hospitals, or cops, or any authorities, and Dean had to fight every instinct ingrained in him to admit that this time, this wasn't something they could fix with an army med kit in a shitty motel room. Sam needed medical attention, and if Dean wanted his brother helped he'd have to sacrifice his pride and suspicious nature a bit. Book a hospital room and stay put with fake insurance until Sam recovered from Dean's mistake.
And Dean really didn't want to think what his father would have to say about that.
"Damn kids," Dean had sworn he heard a paramedic say as they'd started the ambulance moving. The Winchester's eyes had narrowed and he clenched his teeth, moving closer to Sam protectively and making a mental note of the blond-haired dickwad that was speaking.
"A drag racing ring? Really?"
"Relax, Bill," an older man had said sharply. "Do your goddamn job."
Dean had felt a twinge of satisfaction at the slightly guilty look on the blond's face. Now, though, the drive seemed like distant memory overshadowed by the activity at the hospital once they'd arrived. Sam had still been unconscious, and Dean had finally started to feel his injuries again even though he didn't break his silently glaring exterior. His shoulder was dislocated and he didn't think there was a place that he wasn't bruised. His knee felt kind of jacked up, too. But Dean felt incredibly lucky whenever he looked over at Sam. The kid had been impaled in a goddamn fence...
Dean had pulled out of those thoughts like he'd been doing for the past few hours now. After Sam had been forcibly separated from Dean with a flurry of nurses and exchanged words -
"Deep puncture wound..."
"Lost a lot of blood, comatose risk..."
"Hit any organs?"
"Need him stable and prepped for surgery..."
Dean had listened to all this with a wide-eyed, forced calm exterior even as he panicked inside. The nurses had held off insurance and personal information for the meantime, seeing as Dean was being forced into admission for his injuries as well. But when they'd come to tell him that Sam needed immediate surgery and Dean was old enough to give consent, it took a lot for the nineteen-year-old to keep himself in check.
Nobody would tell him how bad off Sam was, or what was going on in his surgery. No, because apparently when you were injured as well, the staff tended to put a greater emphasis on getting you stabilized before anything. Even if you couldn't care less about yourself when it came to putting your brother's safety first.
Despite knowing the storm that would come along, Dean had to admit that the sooner John got here, the better.
Dean blew out a loud breath in frustration. "Screw it," he muttered to himself, attempting to swing his legs over the side of the hospital bed he had been all but tied to.
His right arm was in a sling, and his face felt stiff from all the bruises even through the basic pain medication he'd received. His knee had yet to be wrapped or – as the nurse had speculated and Dean had denied – casted, but he wasn't about to wait around in a bland room meant for comfort when his brother could be dying.
His knee felt like the size of a bowling ball, but thanks to the medication the pain was a dull throb that Dean could more than handle at the moment. He pulled out his IV with worrying ease, even with his slinged arm, and rose slightly unsteadily to his feet. Dean worked to hide his limp as he moved to leave, and by the time he found the nurses' station on the floor he was on he didn't think anybody would be too suspicious.
There was middle-aged brunette in front of a computer that looked about as ancient as some of the nurses Dean had seen around – and really, he'd allowed himself to briefly disbelieve how there could be no hot nurses. She was on the phone and twirling a dry curl around her finger, and immediately Dean felt irritated that she could just sit there while people like him were beating themselves up over lack of information.
Dean tapped his hand on the desk and she glanced up with a slight sigh. Dean just met her with a tight smile, raising his eyebrows in a clear suggestion that she pay attention to what he had to say.
The woman rolled her eyes slightly, said a quick good-bye into the receiver, and straightened to speak with Dean.
"Yes?" she asked.
Dean didn't bother trying to flash her a grin or even a smooth greeting. He didn't know how much time had passed since they'd reached the hospital, and his list of priorities was pressing in on him fast, the most urgent one being Sam.
"Sam Winchester," Dean said, deciding that they'd just have to deal with the fact that Dean had been too screwed to recall any of their current insurance scams. "He went into surgery awhile ago."
The nurse just kept looking at him. "And you are?"
Dean fought the urge to shake the bored look off her face. "His brother," he growled out, making sure she knew that brother or father, he was responsible for Sammy.
She sighed as though Dean had asked her to do something painful and turned to the ancient computer, clicking several windows open as she searched for who Dean was looking for. As the Winchester watched with barely constrained exasperation, she turned next to the stack of files in front of her, flipping through them methodically until finally, finally she pulled one out, flipped through those papers, and paused at one to scan over the information.
The nurse – Linda, as Dean could now see her name-tag read – looked up at Dean again, assessing him critically. "How old are you?"
"Nineteen," Dean said, his teeth still gritted in an attempt to hold back his growing impatience. He was an adult, legally able to make decisions for himself and – in the absence of his father – his brother, and knowing Sam's current condition would be Dean's fault, the teen wanted it clear that he had to handle his screw-up.
Dean didn't stop for a moment to think that he was being too hard on himself, didn't try to push off the blame at all, as though he deserved the self-inflicted guilt, was trying to accept it before his father spelled it out for him.
Linda looked back down at the file, reading off, "Sam Winchester, fourteen, car accident. Internal puncture wound, critical. Parental contact pending. Last status was in surgery." She met Dean's slightly shocked eyes. "No word yet."
Dean swallowed, finding his throat suddenly dry. Critical, he repeated to himself. Still in surgery. Shit.
Dean just nodded to the nurse, who grunted and picked up the phone again, but Dean was already limping away. He tried to order his thoughts a few minutes later, stepping out of the elevator onto the first floor and maneuvering the sterilized hallways until he reached the main waiting room and hospital entrance beyond. He sank down into one of the chairs with a clear view of the area, noting in the back of his mind the two nurses at the front desk and the single woman flipping through a magazine across the room.
Dean, dropped his head in his free hand, massaging his temple as he thought. Sam was still in surgery then, and Dean wished he knew how much time had passed since they'd arrived. He glanced through the clear glass doors and saw that though it was still dark outside, the sky had the light tint of dawn coming around the corner. They'd been at the track before at around midnight. It could've been a good four hours that Sam was in the ER, and Dean's stomach clenched at that thought.
He'd given as much information to the staff as he could, and he'd said that his father was out of town and couldn't be reached, much to their disgruntlement. But now, Dean knew, was his chance to call his father and explain why the hell he and Sam hadn't been home when his father had come back from his hunt. Before one of the do-good nurses came looking for their patient.
Dean knew that it had probably been only an hour or so since his dad returned, but it was still enough time for shit to hit the fan. John hadn't gotten either of his sons cell phones even though he had one – money didn't grow on trees – but there was a payphone outside and even though every part of Dean's brain was telling him that he should call his father, the kid still didn't move.
Dean sagged slightly, as though the weight of the previous night got heavier upon his shoulders. He knew Sam would never let Dean blame himself so much, but then again Sam would do anything if it was the opposite of John. Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the ever-so-slight stubble on his chin and the ache behind his eyes as he'd crashed from the high of the race and adrenaline of worry and bustle of activity in the hospital.
The thought brought him back to the fact at hand that he'd checked himself out and someone might have noticed by now. Not that Dean would allow himself to be constricted to a hospital room again, but he needed to at least get his phone call to John off his back before dealing with the hospital issue.
With a sigh, Dean dragged himself to his feet, but his knee locked and he stumbled slightly, a throb shooting through the wearing-off pain medication. Dean steadied himself, moving forward hesitantly as he regained his balance, making it through the sliding doors and into the squared-off pay phone area.
He held the receiver in one hand and dialed his dad's number with the same, holding his sling close to his body and absently looking forward to when the damn thing wasn't restricting him any more.
The ringing of the phone on the other end did nothing to help Dean's headache and he shut his eyes briefly, leaning back and stretching out his busted knee with a wince.
"Hello?" His father's voice sounded urgent, carefully controlled concern masked by a sharp tone.
"Dad," Dean said quietly, almost relieved, because even if the man was going to tear him a new one for this at least Dean could have someone to turn to. "It's me."
"Dean," John breathed, and the Winchester son could've sworn that his father's voice sounded like a great weight had lifted. Then, "Christ, Dean, where the hell are you?!"
Dean exhaled obviously. "Dad...we – I screwed up. Sam and I...we're at the hospital." Dean swallowed. "Sam's hurt. Bad, I think."
"How?" John said, worry once again making his voice angry.
"Shit happens," Dean couldn't help but respond, holding back a humorless laugh that would've fit the slightly desperate look in his eyes that John couldn't see. Though even if he could see it was doubtful he would pay attention to.
"Report, Dean," came the pissed growl.
Dean rested his throbbing head against the top of the pay phone, shifting his weight further onto his favored leg in order to lessen the pain that was shooting from his knee. His father's voice was urgent in his ear.
"I screwed up, Dad," Dean repeated dully. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken Sammy with me-"
"What happened, Dean?" John cut in, and Dean could hear the sounds of things being thrown around and knew that his dad was getting ready to come to the hospital about half-an-hour from the motel that they'd been staying in.
"We went to a drag racing track, Dad," Dean said, then tried to force a grin. "Drag racing, huh? It's pretty cool, y'know..."
"Dean," John growled again and Dean nodded to himself.
"The guy we were racing...he was a total dick, Dad. We kicked his ass in the first race, and he didn't take it too well. Rammed the Impala-" Dean broke off suddenly, his already tight stomach clenching painfully as he recalled the state of his car when he'd left it. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten. His car, she'd been totaled. And Dean didn't even know if she was still there or if someone had decided to impound her. Oh, his dad was going to kill him. Salt and burn his bones.
He was screwed.
"Dean," John was calling his name. "Dean, are you two okay?"
"I'm fine," Dean responded, trying to push away the ache of losing his baby and hurting his brother all in the space of one night. "Just bruised up. It's Sam, he...he's been in surgery for a while, Dad..." Dean took a deep breath. "He got nailed by a fence. I think it might be bad." Dean's voice wavered ever so slightly but John didn't bother to notice.
"Why the hell," John spoke through gritted teeth and Dean heard a car door slam, "were you two fucking drag racing?"
"We didn't mean-"
"How long?" John cut in, apparently deciding that he didn't want to hear Dean's excuses at the moment. The engine gunned in the background of John's side, and Dean took the chance to instinctively glance around the still-dark lot for any people, but it was deserted. No one around to see if he got murdered through the phone then.
"How long have you been at the hospital, Dean?" John elaborated.
Dean answered with a growing sense of dread. "I don't know," he admitted. "But...at least four hours."
He heard his father swear loudly and a distant thud. Dean winced.
"Why the hell didn't you call sooner?!" John shouted. "Four hours, Dean!"
"You were on a hunt," Dean tried. "I didn't think you'd be back-"
"You thought you could fix it up and I would never know?"
Dean flinched as though hit, slightly shocked that his father would think that. "No," he said seriously. "No, Dad, I couldn't find time-"
"Save it, Dean," John cut him off once again. "You have a lot of explaining to do when I get there and you better hope your brother's okay."
Dean bit his lip, hurt. Of course he wanted his brother to be okay, and it had nothing to do with saving his own ass. He'd known John would've needed anger as a channel for the worry and concern that he never liked showing. Knew that his father was only pissed because his children had been in danger.
But it still didn't change the fact that Dean was in deep shit when John got back.
A/N: I think it can be said that updating halfway through the night before Monday is not a good schedule. At all. I take too long to even send it to agent iz hyper to be properly analyzed and beta'd on time *sulks* I'll work on that.
Aww, Deano! Sorry this was sorta just a setting-the-scene type bit, so that I can get Johnny in next chapter! *pauses* Not that I'm particularly fond of him in this story *glares at bunnies* They just insisted that he be a jerk...and I don't like writing John as a jerk. It hurts my feels. *le sigh*
But review guys! Last time totally made my whole entire week and I'd love it if y'all reviewed again ^.^ Lemme know if I should let up on the thinking, put in more angst, decide that this is a dumb idea, whatever! Speak, people :3 You make my life. *solemn nod*
Dodrizzle xD
