Wow, fourth (and last!) chapter in four days :) That's defiantly some kind of record for me! Haha, thanks a MILLION to everyone who's been reading this... And thanks so much to all my reviewers :) You guys are awesome!
I hope people enjoyed reading this little random summer story – I had fun writing it! I'd love if you guys dropped me a quick line to let me know how I did... Reviews are appreciated and treasured :) Thanks again!
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 only sound in the room, apart from Dean's harsh breaths, is the heart rate monitor. Dean stays leaned against the closed door for a few moments, eyes squeezed tightly closed, lightning bolts of pain flashing around in his head. He has to get himself together before Sam wakes up and sees him in pieces. Dean feels like a coward as it takes him another minute to open his eyes again, and even then they're barely slits.
Sam's unconscious on the bed, flat down on his back. He's got a nasal cannula giving him extra oxygen, a bulky cast around his wrist, along with numerous small cuts on his face and arms. All the blood is gone.
The worst part is the thick layers of gauze that are wrapped around Sam's uncovered torso, making Dean's brother seem like the Hulk with his chest. Dean knows that underneath all those protective layers, Sam is cut open, and that he'd been the one holding Sam together a few hours ago. It's odd to Dean, seeing Sam bandaged and clean after spending so many hours picturing his bloody, limp body.
He approaches the bed quietly; reluctant to get too close in case he woke his brother. Sam looked so peaceful, lost in the world of dreams and strong drugs, but Dean knew that his younger brother would start hurting when he woke up, and he also knew that he was responsible.
Sinking down in the chair beside the bed silently, Dean reached out a tentative hand to touch Sam. He needed to put a hand on his brother, feel the texture of smooth skin, and not the slick bloody man that he had hauled out from the car. He needed to feel Sam breathing steadily under his hand, to grasp the concept that Sam was no longer struggling to draw a rasping breath in.
After a minute of indecision, Dean placed his hand over Sam's still one, trembling slightly in the milliseconds before he felt the warmth of Sam's hand. Once he had made contact with his brother, all the pressure that had been building up inside his head seemed to fade away. For the first time since he had arrived in the hospital, Dean lived in the present, banishing all thoughts of the past day, his mistakes, and what Sam would think in the future.
Dean went from staring at Sam with a fierce protectiveness, to leaning back and closing his eyes in tiredness during the next hour. He always snapped back to attention, muscles tensed and body ready to react, whenever a nurse entered the room to check Sam's vitals. Each time he scared the crap out of the staff, with his intense eyes, dangerous expression, and intimidating body language.
Blinking rapidly, Dean relaxed back into the chair after yet another nurse had scuttled in and out, determined not to fall asleep. He automatically looked at Sam, scanning the monitors for any irregular signs, before flicking his gaze back at Sam's face... to find his brother's eyes open and staring back at him.
Sam's pupils looked slightly glazed over, under the influence of heavy painkillers, but he still looked lucid. Dean's breath hitched in his throat, and he choked on the words that he had been practicing to say for hours. Sam stared on as Dean tried numerous times to say something, anything, but failed each time. When it looked like Dean was about to have a heart attack he was trying so hard to force some words out, Sam spoke up.
"D-dean..."
That one word, his name slipping past Sam's lips, jolted Dean out of his trance, and sent him spiralling down into yet another horrifying flashback.
Dean sprinted though the hall of the abandoned house, turning the corner just in time to see Sam's head smash into a mirror on the second floor. Sam's feet dangled above the dusty ground, his body supported by the spirit they were hunting. "Sammy!" Dean yelled, but it was too late.
Dean's brother turned his head slightly, blood running down his temple, just in time to give Dean a desperate look before he was thrown across the landing. By then, Dean was already thudding up the stairs, unable to breathe for fear for Sam, adrenaline rushing though his body. The spirit glared down maliciously at Sam, a long blade in its hand, before swiping downwards.
Just as the knife cut into Sam's chest, Dean reached the top and tackled the spirit. It didn't do much, as the ghost wasn't solid and immediately disintegrated, but it stopped the blade from cutting directly though Sam, instead leaving a large laceration that started splurting blood straight away. Knowing that he had to find the body before the spirit returned for Round Two, Dean cast a horrified glance at Sam before running into one of the rooms.
Finding no body after a quick scan, he ran to another room, shouting for Sam to, "Hold on, man! Just hang on, and I'll make everything okay! You hear that, Sammy? You're going to be fine..." Praying to everything that he knew, Dean felt tears start to run down his face, hearing only a weak moan as a response. When he finally ripped open a rotting wood closet, his gaze fell on the pile of bones that was pushed up in the corner. "Gotcha, you son of a bitch!" Dean poured the whole box of salt over the bones, fumbling for his lighter for a brief moment before igniting the flame and setting the wardrobe on fire.
"Sam!" When Dean entered the hallway to get his brother, a cold hand closed over his heart when he saw the pool of blood on the floor, but no Sam. As the final bones caught fire in the other room, an unearthly cry was heard, and Sam, who had been hovering over Dean's head, suspended by the spirit's power, was dropped to the ground.
Sam hit the ground with a sickening cry, before rolling a few feet and tumbling down the stairs. Dean lunged forward, but was too late again to save Sam. He was forced to watch his brother come to a silent stop at the bottom of the stairs, smears of blood making a trail down the stairs to his still, crumpled body.
"Sammy! Oh God, Sam..."
Dean was hunched over in his chair, rocking back and forth, silently mouthing his brother's name. He snapped out of the flashback just in time to hear Sam saying his name repeatedly, a tone of worry present in the youngest Winchester's rasp. "Sam!" Dean jolted back to reality with a cry, his face paling as he started hyperventilating.
"Dean... You've gotta c-calm down, man... Are you o-okay?" Sam was struggling to reach for the bed control to raise himself into an upright position, but his face was screwed up with pain, and he was panting in agony. Dean's younger brother looked as if he was about to pass out again, but he kept pushing himself.
"Sam...? Shit, Sammy, stop. Just lay still okay? I'm fine, and you're going to be fine, as long as you stop moving," Dean grabbed his brother's hand gently, and lowered in back to the bed. "Oh God, man, I'm so sorry... This was all my fault. I screwed up badly, Sam; I nearly got you killed... I just— This is all my fault, and you nearly died, and—"
Sam cut Dean off swiftly, coughing slightly before saying, "Dean. Calm down, okay? I'm fine, you're fine, everything's okay... It was no one's fault, just a smart son of a bitch who got the jump on me, okay? I need you to just calm down, and relax, huh? Do it for me, Dean..."
Slowly, Dean's breathing got back to normal, and he concentrated on Sam's voice. Sam talked gently to his brother until Dean had completely calmed down, the images and flashbacks fading away till there were only bad memories and distant screams of the past. "I'm so sorry, Sammy..." Dean mumbled, resting his head softly against the bed, "I didn't mean for you to get hurt..."
By the time Dean regains control of himself, Sam's already starting to slip into sleep, and the lines around his face indicate the pain that he must be in. Dean ruffles Sam's hair with a sigh, watching Sam fall under the influence of the drugs again. He lets out another shaky sigh, before whispering, "No more chick flick moments anymore, 'kay man? But, thanks..."
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