Made sure I got this done before the weekend. Headed to Chicon this weekend. :) So enjoy the chapter. Won't be updating for a while cause of homework i'll have to work on after the busy weekend.
Ch. 8
Without Dean by his side, Sam is ever aware of where he is. Underground, in a small tunnel, in the dark, without any idea of what could be around him. He tries to spare the lighter, not having much fluid left after the fire earlier. Realizing Dean is without a means to even do that now, he vows to go back if he doesn't find any way out or anyone coming within the time frame he guesses as twenty four hours.
As he walks, he keeps his arms securely around his ribs in a way that helps him walk without too much pain as he breathes. It still hurts. His stomach growls. It's cold without that extra jacket. And he's never felt so alone. All in all, separating from Dean sucks. Not really surprising. But he keeps going. Because Dean isn't going to make it without help.
It takes him hours, probably half of his twenty four hour standard, but when he finally gets to where the water had chased them over the cave in, he lets out a "No!" of despair. The water makes it up to his ankles before he even gets to the cave in. When he does, he wants to cry. It's more than flooded now. Water has filled the tunnel on the other side and is coming through the top of the cave in that has fallen even more to almost close the distance to the top from the water softening the dirt. They're trapped on this side. And it looks like it's either still raining, or a new storm has made it through. Because the water keeps coming.
"Can't we ever get a break!" he cries breathlessly in frustration. Running a hand through his hair, he turns back around. All he can do now is go back to Dean. Maybe they'll die together. Maybe someone will get through the rocks piled at the entrance. Either way, he just want's to be with Dean. He doesn't care what happens as long as he's with his brother.
The long walk back seems to take twice as long as getting there. His shoes squish with the water that soaked them, turning even colder as they start to air dry little by little. His ribs burn with the weight of the bag over his shoulder, and he finds himself stopping to lean against the wall every once in a while to let it push his rib cage up so he can breathe. He starts to realize how dangerous it could be if he moved in a wrong direction and it moved his ribs again. Forgives Dean for his freak out earlier. It feels like maybe pulling his brother did hurt him some.
He falls asleep during one of his rests, snapping awake after maybe an hour or so in a panic. Not wanting to leave his brother alone longer than necessary, he pushes himself to his feet and keeps going. He realizes how long he's probably been gone, the journey away from Dean seeming shorter just because he had hope of getting out. Now he's done. Just walking to get back to him. Feeling every second.
When he finally gets back to Dean, he falls to his knees before lowering himself carefully down and curling up next to his brother. Doesn't check if Dean's alive. Tries not to care. The warmth still emanating from him is the only way he knows he actually is. Pulling part of the jacket over himself and wrapping himself as close to Dean as possible, he closes his eyes and lets the darkness take him.
They're done.
Muffled explosion.
Then it's quiet for a while.
Then voices. Very loud voices. Calling. Calling something. Someone?
He's too tired. So very tired. He curls closer to the warmth next to him. Dean. He curls closer to Dean. Tucks his nose into his neck. Tries to block out the voices.
They get louder.
He tenses. No one is going to touch Dean. They aren't dead yet. And he'll protect his brother as long as they're still breathing.
Footsteps now. They're getting closer. Voices echoing. Makes him wince. Just wants the quiet back.
He finally opens his eyes, face still in Dean's neck but he sees light. Streams lining the side of the tunnel. His hand closes around the knife. He groans when he shifts and makes his ribs hurt. His eyes snap open again when he hears quick footsteps closing in. He lunges.
A mix between a cry of pain and a growl ends up being punched from his chest when his ribs move and send a white-hot heat through him. He ends up on his knees between his brother and the bright lights, eyes shifting blearily around to follow the moving shapes. There are so many voices. It's so hard to concentrate with his fatigue, a tear making it's way from the corner of an eye from the pain an frustration of not being able to keep steady. He bites out a growl of, "Back off," before he falls back to sit on his feet. His arms span to shield his brother.
"Sam!"
Clarity surges through him at the familiar voice, eyes snapping around to try and find the source. "Dad?" he croaks out.
John pushes through the men in front of him, allowing Sam to see him by the lights instead of being blocked by their brightness. "Sammy. Put the knife down."
Sam drops the knife, body slumping with a sigh. "Dad." He barely catches himself with his hand and is barely caught before he falls over.
John catches his son, slowly lowering him to the ground. "Easy. God, Sammy. You alright?" He looks to Dean, reaching out to his older son as everyone moves in. "Dean?"
"He's… sick," Sam gasps out, hand grasping at John's arm. "Infected. Help him. Quickly. He's… he's dying."
"Easy. Easy." John keeps Sam calm as he worriedly watches the paramedics that came with the group check Dean over. "He'll be okay. They'll help him."
Sam finally relaxes.
John moves over for them to check Sam over too, turning to the people around Dean. "How is he?" he asks quietly.
One of the paramedics shakes her head. "We need to get him into the truck. Sam is it?" She nods to Sam.
John nods.
"He's right. Your oldest here is infected. Cut in his right side."
"I tried to squeeze it out," Sam murmurs next to them.
John turns to him with a soft smile.
The paramedic blinks in shock.
As gurneys are brought in and both boys are lifted onto them, more and more shocked looks are passed between the paramedics. John learns to distinguish them as such, and not worry too much. He knows his sons' abilities to take care of injuries is pretty extensive and likely to cause some impression.
The gurneys are carried out so as not to jostle them on the rough terrain, some of the crew staying behind to walk the tunnels and hopefully make a story of what these boys went through. The rest escort the Winchester family out. Lifting them over the rubble is the hard part, their father insisting on being one of those lifting. It helps a lot, seeing as how he's stronger than most of the people there. Everyone starts to understand the durability of these three men.
Both boys are put in the same ambulance, the father climbing in without a word. No one bothers to dissuade him. Most of them saw how he supervised the explosion of the blockage. Getting between this man and his sons is a bad idea. So they ignore him and start going more thoroughly over the two brothers.
"They're both dehydrated. We need to get them hooked up to an IV."
"Isn't exactly clean water down rhere," Sam murmurs.
John chuckles. "We know." He runs his fingers through Sam's hair. "You alright?"
"Is Dean okay?"
Rolling his eyes, he looks to his other side where his other hand is resting on Dean's arm. "He'll be fine." He pats Dean's arm and leaves his hand there again.
"Then I'll be okay," Sam breathes.
As the ambulance pulls away from the now empty mine, John looks through the back windows at the disappearing blackness. "Good riddance," he mutters. Then focuses all of his attention on his boys as they are hooked up to IV's and are poked and prodded in the search for any more damage. Sam has finally passed out.
None of the medical staff are prepared for the three tornados that are the Winchesters. Of course, that's not the name they're given. But the point stands. These three? Probably one of the most hectic families to ever come in and have as many total injuries as they do. The two boys, anyway.
All three of them had been in the ambulance. By insistence of the father, Mr. Johnson, most likely. Things are hectic as they two injured boys are wheeled in, followed by their father among the throng of medical staff. They're all torn between annoyance and approval as the father insists on staying with them.
"They've been trapped under ground, alone, for six days! I'd like to be with them now!"
The two boys themselves… they're something else. Having woken up almost at the same time when they were almost to the hospital, they seem to alternate between reassuring each other and worrying almost periodically as if it's planned on a schedule.
The fact that the older one is talking clearly at all in his state is a feat. The younger one sitting up enough to keep his eyes on his older brother shouldn't even be possible with the obvious damage to his body. Through all of the noise, it's hard to not hear the blatant bond these two have. When the separation starts, that's when things get hairy.
"Temperature is over 102! Infection in the side, laceration about six inches long!"
"Dean!"
"Easy, Sammy. I'm still here." Voice weak. Faint.
Wheeled into the same room as they're checked over, younger brother reaches his hand out. Older brother seems to know it's there without looking and takes it in his, tying their fingers together. The sight is so moving, giving them all thoughts of how horrible it must have been to be alone down there in the darkness makes most of the staff avoid breaking them apart. They reach over and around them if they have to.
Sam suddenly cries out, hand tightening in Dean's for a second.
"Sammy? Sam!" Dean pushes himself up.
"We have two broken ribs, nothing seems to be punctured but we need an x-ray." Stethoscope pressed to his chest. "Breathe for me." Listens. "Possible water in his lungs."
"I'm okay, Dean." Gasping now.
Dean's head falls back to the bed again, eyes falling closed. His brother is in good hands. He's safe. Dean's job is done. When he gives in to the fever, he crashes hard.
Sam feels Dean's hand go limp in his, head snapping around to see his eyes closed and head falling limply to face Sam. "Dean!"
"Fever is up to 103!"
"We need to get that infection out or he's not going to make it."
"Don't you dare die on me!" His hand is gently pried away from his brother as Dean is wheeled from the room. "Don't you do that! Not after all we made it through!" Sam slumps back against the pillows behind him, gasping at the pain in his ribs. His teary eyes land on John to see him torn between staying with Sam and following Dean. "Follow him. You make sure he makes it."
John isn't surprised at the tone Sam uses. Heard that rebellious voice many times. What dose surprise him is the sharpness in it. The conviction that John could do anything to save him. He goes forward, smiling softly when he sees Sam's eyes drooping closed. The pain meds are taking affect. He kisses Sam on the head. "You be good now."
Sam snorts, finally unable to fight the drowsiness and lets his eyes fall closed. As he's wheeled out for his x-rays, he gets out one more sentence. "Don't you let 'im give up." A tear escapes his eye to flow down his cheek.
John chuckles. "He won't, Sam." His face falls as his second son is pushed down the hall. "He better not."
After the x-rays, Sam is back in the room he was initially wheeled in to. He's kept sedated to keep him still while they debate on whether surgery is needed. When they tell John they will be proceeding with surgery to make sure the badly broken ribs will heal right, he takes a shuddering breath. As they hook Sam up to all of the machinery, he sits by the bed and runs his fingers through Sam's hair.
"Dean's doing okay right now. Fever hasn't gone down but it hasn't gone up either. He's holding his own. Now I need you to do the same. If Dean wakes up and you're not okay all hell is going to break loose. You know it will. I'm not blind." He chuckles to himself. "So I'll be with Dean while they fix you up. Keep updated. And I'll be here when you decide to wake up and let you know what's going on. Okay?"
"Mr. Johnson?"
John nods, standing with one last fluff of Sam's hair. He turns to the doctor. "I'll be in my other son's room. You keep me updated. You hear me?"
The doctor smiles knowingly. "Don't worry. Sam will be just fine. It's something I've done more than you'd believe. Mostly from car accidents, but this will be no different."
John nods. He gives one last look to Sam, then turns and goes down the hall to Dean's room. He collapses into the chair next to his older son. "You two are going to give me even more grey hairs."
He doesn't move from that chair for hours. Periodically, a nurse would come in and check on Dean's condition. She lets him know the gash in his side is stitched up cleanly and was thoroughly cleaned out. With the antibiotics hooked up to the IV, he should start showing signs of improvement soon. No other major injuries besides a dark bruise along his back that runs perfectly straight from one shoulder to halfway down his spine. They saw that when pulling off his clothes and checked it out. It probably hurts like hell, but didn't do any bad damage.
The smaller injuries include a bump on the head that's doing fine and caused no major problems and some bruising in the ligaments of his shoulders. John knows that the very beginning is what caused that. Both Dean's own weight and hanging onto Sam pulling his arms in awkward and stressful places. Wonders how Dean managed that pain through the journey. Besides a few more various bruises and cuts, that's the total damage.
Dean's temperature finally starts going down at four in the morning. Not a half hour later, Sam's doctor comes in. John sits up. "How is he?"
The doctor smiles tiredly. "Your son has two broken ribs that I had to set by wiring them. The risk of puncturing a lung or any other organ was too high. He also has one cracked on the other side. I've wrapped up his whole mid-section from hips to chest to try and keep him and the bones still enough to heal. Before you leave, I'll provide him with a belt that will stabilize them for a little longer."
John lets out a sigh. "He'll be okay?"
The doctor shakes his head with a chuckle. "From what I hear, both of your boys are very lucky Mr. Johnson. The x-rays showed some inflammation around the ribs, which is to be expected of course, but during the surgery I noticed some things weren't quite right."
John frowns. "What…?"
"I believe your older son probably saved the younger's life by moving a rib away from his lung."
John looks over to Dean as he collapses back in his chair. "I believe it," he breathes.
"Besides the telltale signs of lingering sickness in him, the younger seems to have made it out a little better." He nods to Dean. "He looks like he got a little more dished out to him down there. Or took on more."
John huffs a laugh. "That obvious, huh? Yeah, I'm sure he's had more than he let Sammy know. He'd take on anything for his brother."
"You raised some fine, strong boys, Mr. Johnson," the Dr. leaves that as a parting compliment as he turns to leave.
John smiles softly to himself as he looks to Dean again. "I know." After a minute or two, he reaches out to grip Dean's wrist that's next to him lightly. "You did good, Dean. You did good."
