"No, no, no, don't do this to me, you hear me? Don't you fucking dare!" John shouted miserably as his heart was torn apart by the sight of his son lying on the ground, limp and deadly still. He still hoped for some magical miracle to happen, but nothing suggested any change.
John forced himself to calm down to the point he could regain control over his shivering body as streams of tears were running down his cheeks, successfully blurring his vision. He recalled all the medical training he'd received while serving in the army in order to do everything right. He was too aware of the burden he'd have to carry if something, even the smallest element, went wrong.
He bent down above his older son's body and pushed his fists against the torso, feeling the sternum gave up and broke. He minded that if Dean had been conscious, he would've been in terrible pain. "Sorry, son," he mumbled automatically.
His arms worked hard to maintain the steady rhythm of his offspring's heartbeat and occasionally deliver a new supply of oxygen.
Sam fell heavily on his bed, dropping his backpack nearby. He was way more than tired; every single cell in his body was screaming for some rest for a while now, making him very likely to conform and sink in the abyss of the quilt.
He wasn't surprised when as soon as his cheek met the pillow he fell asleep. He didn't care about the clothes, still covered in dirt that reminded of today's events, or taking a shower, even though it was probably his favourite part of a daily routine. It was the only thing that would relax him to the point he could almost forget about how bad the world surrounding him was and change him into an average, innocent twelve-year-old he should have been.
John leaned over his son's vulnerable body even further, gently placing his head close to Dean's chest. He insistently tried not to have high hopes about what he was about to experience as he knew how unrealistic the return of spontaneous circulation was.
His quiet prayers were fulfilled as he noticed a weak sound of pumping blood.
He couldn't help but smile with joy, gently moving his hand through Dean's short brown hair when a small tear escaped his right eye.
Sam woke up multiple times during the night, still frightened of the previous day's events and the constant absence of his family. He knew that hunting a wendigo wasn't the easiest thing in the world and that Dad would be more careful having Dean by his side, but it didn't change the fact he wanted his brother now more than ever.
He hadn't realised it before, but he always unconsciously sought for his brother's comfort. Unlike his father, Dean had been there any time Sam needed him to be, without all the talk about 'being a man'. He was his one-and-only cuddle toy. And, like a toddler deprived of the favourite teddy bear, Sam wanted to cry.
John gently put his son on the backseat of the car, and instantly took the driver's place to start the engine. He was impressed by how fast the emotions went down as he started to listen to steady roars coming from under the hood, almost lulling him to sleep.
Except the small space lightened by Impala's headlights, everything around him was completely black. John was thankful that the road was straight and smooth, allowing him to look at Dean without a fear of causing a car accident. He drove steadily and fast, not even realising that the speed limit had been long exceeded.
I'm dead. Ugh, it hurts, so maybe I'm not dead. Where am I anyway?
Dean had managed to shift his arm slightly before his chest was flooded with pain, making him sincerely regret the movement. Oh crap. He slowly opened his eyes, one after another. His vision was very blurry, yet he knew exactly where he was. And he wasn't happy about it.
"Hey, hey, hey, take it easy, buddy," John whispered firmly, kindly. Dean glanced at the source of the sound, relaxing his muscles as he met John's concerned look. "It's okay, you're okay," he mumbled, more for his own sake than his son's.
"Sammy?" Dean splattered, fighting a sudden urge to cough, not to cause himself any more pain than he had been already in.
"Sam's fine and it's not gonna change any time soon, so it will be really great if you just calm down and lie still." Seeing Dean's confused gaze, John continued. "You're safe now, in the hospital." The boy appeared even more bewildered. "You almost died, Dean; I'm not risking you getting hurt again. And don't try to argue again, you look awful, son. Now, go back to sleep."
Dean eased himself against the pillows.
Sam ate his breakfast in a deafening silence. The absence of any form of life around him was driving him crazy. Every single cell in him was boiling, desperately screaming for unleashing the emotions hidden inside.
The spoon was lazily circling around the bowl, blending the already smooth porridge. Sam supported his chin with his left arm, staring at the clock nearby, counting the long seconds of his worthless life in his mind. Tick-tock, tick-tock, seven of the clock, twenty minutes and I can finally walk.
The enthusiasm Sam felt towards the school was more than surprising for him, especially considering the latest events. Yet everything was better than sitting in this motel room, worrying and wondering why he hadn't received any response from either of his relatives. He wasn't shocked by the fact that they weren't here, but the lack of any information was kind of a new thing.
Just before the time, he went into the bathroom, briefly assessing his appearance. He was wearing a wide, black hoodie he used to cover his face in, so all of the bruises were well-hidden. Also considering that all of his clothes were clean and not-so-folded, he thought he looked more than decent.
He briefly checked the salt lines before going out. As everything seemed untouched, he shut the door, happy and comfortably oblivious to what was hidden just around the corner.