A/N: Prompt from trope-appreciation-tuesdays: the whumpee was unconscious when they were found but they wake up in the middle of their injuries being treated.
Pain spiked into Sam's consciousness. There were hands, pressure, and there was burning, stinging. A scream sounded.
When Sam's vision came into focus, and he realized, he'd opened his eyes, it hit him that the scream was his. Dean had one hand on his shoulder to try and hold him down, but it wasn't enough, seeing as Sam was able to sit up.
"Ellen! Jo!" Dean called.
The two women came over and laid Sam back down, even as he struggled. His side was on fire, and it was all hot and inflamed. Blood ran out over his skin. Jo was resting his head in her lap, and she was soothingly caressing his face now, stroking his hair.
"What happened?" Sam asked, realizing he wasn't in any danger.
He winced, and held back a cry as something sliced into him. His toes curled in his sneakers.
"Werewolf got you pretty good in the side," Dean explained. He had a knee up on one of Sam's legs, also doing what he could do hold him down. Ellen's strong hands were over his shoulders, her hair falling in his face. She gave him a reassuring smile, and Sam returned it. But then a guttural cry left him as something dug into him. "Claw broke off, got stuck," Dean supplied. "I'm trying to dig it out, but the bastard's in there good."
Sam's nostrils flared at the pain, his vision going fuzzy.
"Just… get it out," he huffed.
"Yeah, that's what I'm trying to do!" Dean argued.
There were surgical instruments in him, and the cold metal was quickly warming from being in his body and soaked in his blood. All of Sam became hot and cold at the same time, and it seemed as if he was sweating all over. His head ached. Black spots were in his vision.
"Mom," Jo cried, as if she'd noticed and was alerting her mother to Sam's body threatening to pass out.
"Hey, hey. Boy, you're gonna keep your eyes open," Ellen order.
"Almost got it, Sam."
"Did we win?" Sam asked.
Jo and Ellen started laughing, even though they themselves were dirtied and bloodied, but most of the blood was not their own.
"'Course we did," Jo said. "You think we'd be doing field surgery while some werewolf's still out there?"
A strong tug was in Sam's gut, and Sam's breath came in a loud groan. He wanted to tell Dean, Not there! Not there! but the tugging grew worse and he couldn't think, couldn't get his mouth to form words.
It blessedly stopped as a gross, squelching noise came from his side. Pressure he hadn't realized had been there let up. Sam's voice was rough as he breathed in and out through his mouth.
"Got it!" Dean announced.
He tossed the broken claw off into the dirty, and Sam could see it. It was brittle at the end where it'd broken off, but the rest was black, looking like a sharpened sliver of zirconium. All of it was painted in his blood.
"Oh shit," Dean muttered.
Sam felt it as he said it. He was bleeding. He'd been bleeding before, but not like this. It seemed to come in gushing waves. Sam's eyes rolled back in his head, and he lost consciousness.
When he came to again he was getting stitched up, but he was still woozy. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck, but like he was barely clinging to the world. Maybe it was just his body wanting to pass out again.
Ellen no longer had to hold him down, and she seemed to be helping Dean. Jo was trying to soothe him.
"How you doin'?" Jo asked.
"Oh, just peachy," Sam answered.
Everyone laughed, but the sound was tight, stressed.
Finally, Sam was fixed up, but he couldn't get to his feet. His brother and his friends had to help him back to the Impala.
"God damn it, kid. Why do you have to be so big?" Ellen asked, taking her turn to carry Sam for a few seconds as Dean stretched his arms out while he walked.
"Yeah, you're fucking heavy," Dean agreed. He took his brother back again, and Sam stumbled from the switch over.
It seemed to take forever, and he thought maybe he passed out one more time (he couldn't really remember), but then, somehow, he was in the Impala.
"You gonna be okay?" Jo asked.
Sam wanted to give her a thumbs up, or nod, but he was too tired. Dean answered for him, "Don't worry. I'll take care of him."
Ellen said, "It's what you do."
Ellen and Jo each kissed their palm and quickly tapped Sam on the forehead, and then they closed the passenger side door and were headed to their vehicle.
"You good, Sammy?" Dean asked in the heavy silence that ensued. It was silence that was almost comforting enough to fall into, but some small part of Sam's brain that was still coherent thought that maybe that was the blood loss.
"Yeah," he answered, shifting down in his seat, closing his eyes. "I got you."