A/N: Well folks, we're at the end of this story *wipes tear away* I hope that you've enjoyed it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Also as a note, to any health professionals out there, I do not have your base of knowledge, and I bow to your intellect. So.. try not to snicker, and hopefully my small take of the medical stuff won't be so horrendously ridiculous that it takes away from the rest of the chapter. :p
A/N #2: Again, a big thank you to all those who have taken the time to read and review, and a huge thank you to Bayre for all her mad beta'ing skills.
The ambulance wailed as it sped down the main street, it's flashing lights bouncing off vehicles and people alike as it whistled past them all, heading towards the town's general hospital. Dean was lying down on the bench seat in the back of the vehicle, a warming blanket snug around his body and an oxygen mask expelling warm air into his frozen lungs. Sam was on the gurney, an IV inserted into his right hand, an oxygen mask on his face and a warming blanket covering his chest, leaving his limbs exposed. Dean watched numbly as the paramedic moved about in the cramped space, checking monitors and communicating with his partner behind the wheel. Dean tentatively reached a hand out towards his brother, grasping one of Sam's frozen hands and slipping his fingers around to Sam's pulse point to keep his own point of reference on his sibling's vitals.
"How long till we reach the hospital?" Dean croaked, wincing at the sound. The paramedic looked up at the sudden sound.
"About another five minutes. Just hold on till we get there, okay?"
Dean nodded hesitantly, keeping his eyes fixed on his brother's pale and unconscious features.
Dean woke from a restless sleep; consciousness hit him like a slap in the face. Turning his head to the right, his eyes roamed over his sibling's still features. They'd arrived here sometime after twelve-thirty in the morning, Sam taken upstairs for x-rays and further assessments, and Dean was checked out in emergency. His doctor looking this side of dead himself with white stringy hair in the shape of a toilet seat around his head.
After more poking and prodding, the diagnosis was mild hypothermia and the good ol' doc wanted Dean admitted overnight for observations. After that, he was settled into a room with the promise of info on Sam once it became available when he started to protest his new digs. Sam had woken up briefly when they were wheeled through the emergency doors, but just as quickly closed his eyes to the world around him.
It was almost two hours later that Sam's attending physician walked in and sat down with Dean and explained Sam's condition. Moderate hypothermia, mild concussion and stitches for the cut on his head, a dislocated shoulder and a badly sprained ankle, among other scrapes and bruises. The doc explained that there had been some water still in Sam's lungs when he had been admitted and they'd done the best they could to suction it out. They wanted to do another x-ray this morning, to check for anomalies in his lungs as a precaution – they were worried about infection or pneumonia setting in.
Not too long after that, they wheeled Sam into his room and settled him into the bed next to Dean's. Sam had then proceeded to cough for most of the night, Dean wincing in sympathy at each hacking, grating bark. It meant a restless night for both of them.
"Are you going to continue staring at me all day?" Sam asked, his voice hoarse and weak from a tender throat.
Dean looked away, embarrassed he'd been caught. "No. Why the hell would I be looking at you, Samantha? I was wondering when that Brittany girl is coming back. Maybe she'll offer me a sponge bath." Dean grinned widely, was Sam rolled his eyes and tried to prevent another cough from escaping.
"Dude, you look like week old roadkill." Dean added when he saw Sam go a shade paler after he finally got his coughing under control.
"Thank you for your observations, Dean. I love it when you compare me to dead things." He groused.
"What can I say? I see the resemblance." Dean leaned his head back on his pillow, letting out a long sigh.
"Your Doc is coming in later this morning to take you back for x-rays – Don't give me that look, you're going." Dean pointed a finger at his brother when he tried to rebuke, his face in a sour expression.
"You're going Sam, so sit back and shut your pie hole." All he heard from the other bed a harrumph and the rustle of blankets as Sam rolled over on his other side – his back to Dean.
As least he's still around to act like a four-year-old. Dean thought fondly as he settled in his own bed, waiting for breakfast to arrive.
"So the verdict?"
Sam let out a tentative sigh. Oh, he was going to hear about this for a long time. "Pneumonia."
Dean nodded. If Sam didn't know better, he'd say Dean was gloating.
"Great. See? Aren't you glad I told you to go? Wouldn't want you to keel over and die when we took off from this place." Dean grumbled, tying up the laces on his left shoe. Sam would probably think he was gloating, the moron. Dean wasn't at all. It's not like he loved being proven right about Sam getting that x-ray. Dean could tell Sam wasn't doing well, and it wasn't just the cough-your-lungs-out marathon he'd done all last night, but the slight flush of pink in his cheeks in an otherwise pale face and the way his voice dipped with a rougher edge to his words. He'd raised the kid – he knew Sam was getting sick before Sam himself did.
Damn that Declan to hell and back. He thought acidly.
"Look, I can take the antibiotics orally. We don't have to -"
"Sam, just put a cork in it and go to sleep. The docs want to keep you here at least a few days until your fever is kaput, so shut it."
Sam glared. "I can just walk out of here…."
"And I would drag your ass back and tie you to the friggin bed! For once Sam, just…" Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "…just take it easy, alright? We don't have anywhere to be."
"Dean," Sam's voice softened, despite the ache in his throat, "we still haven't found the girl's remains. She's still a danger out there, and we can't just leave - "
"We're not going to just 'leave' it. I called Bobby while you were getting your tests done, and he said he knew someone who could finish it up for us. Stop fishing for ways to get out of here, Sammy, I know all the tricks of the trade." Dean flashed a wide grin. "After all, where do you think you learned all the diversion techniques from, huh?"
It turned out Dean was right about staying, as Sam spiked a fever later on in the afternoon, the Doctor ordering medications to bring his temperature back down and for use of oxygen therapy as needed. Sam bitched to high heaven about that, though Dean hid his amusement behind a copy of the local paper. It wasn't too long after, that said little brother was finally sleeping after being drugged to the eyeballs, much to his relief and Sam's chagrin before he dropped off the face of reality. Sighing, Dean put the magazine down, stretching in the seat until he heard a satisfying 'pop' as he cracked his back, working the kinks out of his stiff joints.
Just sitting there, seeing his brother black and blue from bruises, his left arm held protectively in a sling, and an oxygen mask strapped to his fevered face he realized just how easily he could have lost Sam again. He nearly did. It seemed demons of all sort, past and present, were out to get he and his brother. Declan had wanted to show Dean what it was like to feel like to lose your only sibling – to watch them die in one of the most painful ways and to do nothing. What Declan didn't know was that Dean had been there. He'd held his brother as he died, feeling blood trickle down his little brother's back, and how it bubbled out between too infrequent breaths. He'd watch his brother die, and had been able to provide nothing for him. No promise that Sam could or would believe. No smart remark, and Sam's killer having gotten away while Dean watched blood stain the ground, mixing with rain and holding a cold body.
A shuddering breath was all Dean would allow himself to try and reign in his emotions. He'd fixed his mistake, and Sam was alive now because of his deal with the devil. Right or wrong, he couldn't change it. He knew Sam wanted to get out of bed so he could go back to researching a way to try and get Dean out of his deal, but he physically couldn't do it. Dean wasn't about to encourage him, either.
"You're just going to have to wait until big brother hands over the keyboard, runt." He whispered fondly, before picking up a magazine one of the nurses had dropped off earlier and settled in to read.
It was four days later and much to Sam's relief that his mischievous brother told him he was being paroled. He sat through his doctor's lecture of at least a week of minimal activity and rest, and to make sure he took his antibiotics diligently. He didn't mean to be rude, but he was tired and restless, and wanted to get on the road and head towards Bobby's place, where they were to stay for the next week while Sam recuperated.
Nodding his thanks while his brother picked up his prescription, they headed out the hospital exit, Sam hobbling through as his brother ran ahead to bring the car around.
The car ride was fairly quiet, the music for once not blaring at ear-splitting levels as the country side passed them in a blur.
Sam's chest still ached, and his coughs hadn't died down yet. Not like he was going to tell Dean that anytime though. But something bothered him, and he could tell by Dean's curt responses and stiff posture for a portion of their stay at the hospital whenever talk of the case came up, that Sam wanted and needed to offer his brother an avenue in which to talk. He'd been a little out of it the past few days, but Winchester stubbornness was nothing but boundless.
"Hey Dean?" His brother glanced in his direction, before looking forward again, but Sam knew his brother was listening.
"Do you, uh, wanna talk about what happened back there? With Declan, I mean."
Dean took so long to answer, Sam wasn't sure he'd get a reply, but eventually his older sibling responded in a gruff tone. "I took care of it, Sam. He won't be coming back. Jack took care of the girl as well. Found her bones tucked just out of sight in the woods not far from the main docks. Someone had dug them up before he got there. There were some signs of a ritual having gone down." Sam could see his brother grinding his teeth, but said nothing. "But whatever, the main thing is that it's done with."
"That's well, nice, but do you want to talk about what happened, Dean? Or even what happened back then?" Dean had given up so little about his encounter with the other hunter that Sam really had no idea what the feud was about, but he figured it had been extremely personal. Dean rarely got so uptight about things, even if it was things that tried to kill them.
A loud sigh attracted his attention. "Stop trying to 'fix' me Sammy, I'm not broken." Dean tried not to snort at the pile of manure he had just shovelled at his brother. "Look, I get that you wanna try and help. But honestly? Some things I have to deal with myself. It's in the past, so let it stay buried there." He chanced a glance at Sam, silently begging him to let it go. A few moments passed before he saw what he needed, and turned up the volume on the radio.
"We should get there just after six. Why don't you get some sleep? I'll wake you up when we stop for lunch." At Sam's nod, Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as Sam settled down, his head leaning on the back of the seat. Dean rolled his eyes, and with one hand on the steering wheel, fished for his jacket from the backseat, before draping it across his brother's drooped shoulders, careful with the one arm still wrapped in a sling. Sam's eyes didn't open, but the corners of his mouth twitched up.
"You drool on my jacket, and you get to ride in the trunk the rest of the way to Bobby's." He growled, though the threat held no weight and they both knew it.
Finally relaxing, Dean tapped out a beat on the Impala's steering wheel, pushing the Impala to go faster down the deserted highway. Bobby's famous pot of chili was waiting for them with his name on it.
A/N: For those who are curious, the prompt Jenilee proposed was: Sam tied up in a car that's been pushed into a lake or bog – slowly sinking. You can put him in the front with his hands and feet bound, seatbelt on and taped mouth or throw him in the trunk doesn't matter to me. How he gets there totally up to you.