Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.
Injured Sam (most of you probably don't mind) and worried/caring Dean and John. Okay, so I guess there will be one more chapter. Don't worry, I plan on angsty Sam to return as he and John engage in the threatened and promised talk about the events.
Thanks for reading and reviewing.
Sam is 17, and Dean is 21
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Sam's eyes flickered open and pain confused him. The last thing he remembered was the small spark of fire starting. As that memory flooded, panic came along with it. He tried to sit up, to escape, but the pain across his chest held him down.
"Easy, Sam." John's voice was low, his hand on his son's shoulder as a gentle restraint. "Just relax, take it slow."
All he could taste was blood and it churned his stomach. "Dad?"
"Right here."
A hand was at the back of his head and he flinched away, certain that it was the spirit. He winced at the pain in his head and chest, breath short and tight.
"Shhh, Sammy." Dean's voice cut through the terror. "You're okay."
"Dean." His voice broke, but he didn't care.
"Just drink this."
Sam found the smooth edge of a mug against his split and swollen lip. Warm and bitter liquid was tipped into his mouth. He closed his eyes and swallowed involuntarily, anything to cover the taste of blood. It stung his lip, a sharper and less important pain that helped take the focus of the incapacitating pulse across his ribs, around his wrist and through his head. Dean kept easing the tea into his little brother's mouth like he had countless times before with water or juice or whatever he was trying to get a semi-conscious Sam to drink.
He coughed slightly on the liquid and Dean pulled the mug back, hand still cupped behind Sam's head. "Home?"
"Yeah." Dean smiled a little. "For as smart as you claim to be, those one word sentences sure hide it well."
Sam smiled and sighed, though it could have been a weak laugh. "Jerk."
Dean carefully tipped the last of the tea into Sam's mouth and placed the empty mug on the table. He settled on the bed next to Sam's knees.
John pulled an instant ice pack from the kit, broke it, and passed it to Dean. "Put it on your shoulder." He also handed his oldest a few Advil which he dry swallowed.
He obeyed and rested it on his shoulder. The cold eased the tension and relaxed some of the pain away, or at least numbed it a little. John taped it onto Dean's shirt.
"Sam." John rested his hand on Sam's arm. "Where are you hurt?"
He knew, but it seemed to take a long time and a lot of work to get the words to his lips. "Chest."
"Yeah, you have a few broken ribs I want to tape up." John couldn't help but keep his tone calm, worried. "Where else?"
"…headstillhurts." The words blended together in an exhaled breath.
"From last night?"
Sam shook his head slightly, fear slowly reaching his eyes as he figured out that he was a hell of a lot more hurt than he first realized. His eyes sparkled suddenly with unshed tears.
Dean gripped his brother's leg. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy. Just breathe."
He took a shuddering breath, his hands fisted at his sides. Suddenly it all seemed like too much as bits and pieces came back to him, stacked on top of the ever-present pain.
John gently placed his hand in the center of Sam's chest, a centering gravity. With his other hand he pulled out a small flashlight.
"Just look right at me, Sam." John watched Sam's pupils for reaction as he moved the flashlight.
"S'okay?" He glanced over at Dean.
"You're okay." He paused. "Sam. I'm going to sit you up so I can tape your ribs."
He swallowed and nodded, his eyes on Dean. Slowly, John slid his hand behind Sam's back and helped him sit up. He held his breath, closed his eyes against the pain. Dean moved forward and braced his hands on his brother's shoulders.
"You okay?" He muttered, close to his brother's ear.
Sam nodded slightly, eyes still closed.
"Breathe." Dean whispered.
He slowly took a breath. John expertly wrapped tape around his son's chest. Sam relaxed some as his broken ribs were supported. John eased his boy back into the pillows.Weariness poured over him and he relaxed as the pain pill took effect.
"M'wrist hurts." He muttered, eyes slipping closed.
John slid Sam's bruised left wrist into his hand, pressed along the bones. Sam winced, but not like he had when John found the broken ribs. Sam's breathing evened out as he drifted in medicated sleep.
"His arm okay?" Dean kept his voice low.
"Just a sprain." John sighed. "When I first saw him on the ground like that, I thought…" He let the word fade, didn't want to voice what he really thought.
"That's what I thought when you passed him to me." Dean confessed. "It was too close."
"I know." He glanced back at his oldest. "Get some sleep. I'll stay with him tonight."
Dean hesitated, debated between his brother's bedside and his own bed. John wrapped Sam's wrist in an ace bandage and placed an ice pack around it. He glanced back at Dean.
John knew the options running through Dean's head. "Get a few hours and then take watch for me."
He nodded, looked once more at his sleeping, injured brother and left the room. John leaned back in the chair, arms folded across his chest. He had forgotten how reassuring it was just to watch his boy sleeping, to know that whatever had happened, he was all right.
"Dad?" Sam whispered with his eyes still closed.
John sat forward, gripped Sam's arm. "What do you need?"
"M'sorry." His eyes opened, blurred now with medication and fatigue.
"For what?"
Sam shook his head, tried to find the words. He simply looked at his dad, that Winchester perfected way of having conversations without words and nothing really being said at all. He shifted, winced as he moved and sighed.
"How's the pain?" John changed topic to something with answers for both of them.
"Little better." He breathed. "M'thirsty."
John smiled a little and stood. He stepped out of the room, filled a glass with water and returned. He cupped the back of Sam's head and helped him take a few, slow drinks. Sam sunk into the pillow as John placed the water on the table.
"Get some sleep, Sammy."
For a second, Sam was determined not to out of habit, but then he realized that it was a good suggestion and let his eyes close. He floated in light sleep for a while, heard his dad shift in the chair, felt the calloused hand move, but not leave his arm. He didn't know when he sunk into deeper sleep.
John felt gritty with fatigue as the hours passed. Sam had woke after a handful of hours of sleep. He didn't say anything, but pain once again spilled from his eyes.
"Think you can swallow a pill?" John's voice was low, like he was trying not to wake someone.
Sam considered the question and nodded slightly. He sat up a little and felt the pain, hot and sharp, pull across his ribs. John braced a hand behind Sam's shoulder and tipped a pill into his son's shaking hand. The bitterness of the pill had just started when he was handed the half full glass of water, the liquid tremored as he took a slow drink. He coughed on the water as John took the glass back. Already sleep was pulling him again as he sunk back into the pillow. He blinked, slowly and then drifted back to sleep.
John turned at the footsteps behind him.
"Get some sleep." Dean kept his voice down.
He stood, stretched and slipped from the room. He paused and watched Dean pull the chair closer to Sam, his arm rested on the edge of the bed. Unconsciously, Sam's moved so that the edge of his pinky finger rested against Dean's arm. John smiled slightly before he stretched out on the couch.
