Hi! No, I didn't forget to post this morning lol. Thursdays are my late day to work so I had a bit more time to work on this one. Of course, now i'm going to seriously have to RUSH to get to work on time lol!
Hope you enjoy!
No. 15: INTO THE UNKNOWN
prompt options: Possession, Magical Healing, Science Gone Wrong
setting: season 2
"This is not good," Dean muttered, studying his brother's crumpled form.
Sam let out a harsh laugh that morphed into a gasp of pain.
"Take it easy."
"You take it easy," Sam ground out through gritted teeth.
"Alright, alright." Dean held his hands up, his attempt to soothe his brother failing spectacularly.
Wasn't like he'd really expected his ridiculously useless words to do anything to help. He ran his hand through his hair, desperation and anger coursing through him as he stared at his brother.
Sam was on the bed, literally curled around a bag of ice. He was burning up despite medications, cold showers, and ice packs. They'd tried everything. And nothing was making a bit of a difference.
This wasn't anything they'd ever dealt with before. A magic hex was something Dean didn't know how to fix with traditional methods and he'd already tried a lot of non-traditional ones, too. It had been almost a day and he'd gone through Dad's journal at least four times. Bobby had been going through every file and book and drawer and nook and cranny of his place, searching only to come up completely empty handed.
"I've gotta go back." Dean paced the room. "There has to be something-"
"No." Sam shifted, lifting his head for a split second before flopping lifelessly back down against the soaked sheets. "We burned...everything."
"Maybe we missed something."
Sam did another half-laugh, half-gasp thing and said, "We don't miss things."
"Sometimes we do," Dean argued, but it was pointless.
Sam was right. They hadn't missed anything. They'd burned the witch's entire house to the ground. That should have been enough to destroy the hex or trap or whatever it had been that Sam had inadvertently stumbled into. Of course, they hadn't realized anything had been amiss until they'd been back at the motel about to go to dinner.
Maybe we burned something we shouldn't have.
"It's magic, right?" Sam mumbled, his words starting to slide together.
"Yes."
"So. Magic cure."
"We already knew that." Dean frowned at his brother. "The problem is I can't find a magic cure."
Sam's grip on the ice pack was lessening, the tension in his body melting away like the ice cubes that surrounded him.
"Sam." Dean knelt down, squeezing Sam's shoulder. "Hey, talk to me."
But he didn't talk. He just closed his eyes and no amount of prompting or yelling brought him back around.
Dean cursed, checking his brother's pulse, then running his hands through his hair. Urgency battled frustration for domination and won. If he didn't do something soon, Sam would die. He'd been in pain for hours and burning up with fever for even longer. He was plenty stubborn, but a human body could only take so much abuse.
"I'll be right back, ok?"
He put a fresh cloth, straight out of the bowl of ice water on the nightstand, over Sam's forehead, then made his decision. He could either stay where he was and watch his brother die or he could leave him in the hopes of finding a magic cure.
"You're not dyin' on my watch," he assured softly, squeezing Sam's shoulder before leaving the room.
The instant he stepped over the threshold, he consciously left the big brother behind and channeled his focus and energy into being the best damn hunter he'd ever been. There was a cure out there somewhere; he refused to believe otherwise. He just had to find it.
He'd sift through every last ash of that burned down house if necessary.
Behind the wheel of the car, he dialed Bobby's number.
"Bobby, you better have some answers," Dean growled into the phone after Bobby's answering machine picked up.
Dropping the phone on the seat next to him, he put the gas pedal to the floor.
An hour later, he was parking the car back in front of the motel room. He'd just barely started his fruitless search through the wreckage of the burned down house when Bobby had called with a shopping list of items to get and an order to go back to the motel as fast as he could.
"Are you sure?" he asked, shoving his door open. Bobby had been reviewing the instructions with him all the way back. "This is going to work?"
"Of course I'm not sure," Bobby snapped back. "I'm not a freakin' witch!"
Dean slammed his door. "But you're at least somewhat sure?"
"I'm sure that at this point anything's worth a try if you want your brother to live through the night."
"That is not helping."
"Just get in there and do it. Call me after."
The call ended and Dean cursed. He rushed to the motel room door, heart in his throat. He'd been gone for an hour. An hour in which he'd had no contact whatsoever with his brother. An hour in which Sam could've died.
"Sam?" He shouted, as he threw the door open.
"Dean?" Sam's voice was a hoarse whisper.
"Sam," Dean said, sucking in a relieved breath.
Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, squinting up at him. "Where've you been?"
After locking the door behind him, Dean set the bag of supplies on the table. "Went back to the house. Didn't find anything, but Bobby thinks he has a solution. Maybe."
He reached his brother's side. Before even touching him, Dean felt the heat coming off his brother in waves. He hadn't expected anything to improve while he'd been gone, but it would've been a nice surprise.
"I'm going to need your help for this," Dean said, a hand on Sam's shoulder when he started to waver.
"With what?" Sam asked, his eyes barely open.
This was going to be a challenge to say the least.
"With the cure." Dean piled up the pillows. "Need you to sit up for a bit."
Sam slumped against the pillows without much prodding. It was a mystery how he'd even managed to sit up in the first place. Dean shoved the now completely depleted ice packs off the bed. The bedding was soaked and so was his brother. Not that the ice had done anything to lower the fever. They needed to fix this. Now.
"I have to get the stuff set up," Dean said, pushing Sam's wet hair back from his face and trying to hold his gaze. As relieved as he was that his brother was somewhat alert, success depended on them completing the spell before Sam was too far gone to try. "Stay awake, ok?"
"What...what do you have to do?" Sam frowned, his bleary gaze shifting between Dean and the table.
"Well." Dean took a deep breath. "It's not so much what I have to do as it is what you're gonna have to do."
"Me?" At the thought, Sam looked even more sick than he already had.
"You don't have to do anything too strenuous. Promise."
Sam gave him a wearily dubious raised eyebrow.
Dean grinned. "It's gonna be fine."
Sure it is. Because he totally looks like he's up for what he's gonna have to do. Yep, this is gonna go great.
"Sit tight." Dean squeezed his brother's shoulder, then hurried over to the table. Unpacking the supplies, he said, "If this works, dinner's on me. Anything you want."
"And if it doesn't?" Sam asked, his voice softer and weaker.
Dean gritted his teeth, fumbling with the spices and paper cups. He swallowed down the fear and worry and said, "Then you're buying."
Sam just groaned.
Glancing over his shoulder, Dean's heart sank at his brother's pained expression. Sam hadn't been able to put into words what exactly was hurting. Just that everything was. The pain had come in waves, but the fever had been unrelenting.
"Hang on, Sammy," Dean said, giving the cup of spice mix a quick shake.
After quadruple checking his hastily scribbled notes, he opened the bottle of wine. Wine wasn't their typical beverage of choice, but Bobby had insisted it had to be red wine or the spell wouldn't work. So he'd barrelled through the liquor store to the shelves he never frequented, grabbed the most expensive bottle of red wine and ran for the checkout.
"This better work," he muttered under his breath, pouring wine into the cup. Mixing in the last couple ingredients, he called out, "Still with me?"
Sam's harsh, rapid breathing was the only reply.
Finally, the concoction was finished. He grabbed the cup and his notes then rushed across the room. One look at his brother and Dean knew they had mere minutes to finish this.
"Ok, Sam, hey, look at me." He sat on the edge of the bed, cup and notes in one hand, while he tapped his brother's cheek with his other. "Hey, come on, stay with me. Need your help."
Sam blinked, struggling to keep his eyes open.
"You gotta read the spell," Dean said, trying to keep his tone calm while his heart rate was skyrocketing. No time! No time! "Sam, I can't do it. It only works if you do it."
"What…"
"You have to read this." Dean shifted, holding the paper up for Sam to see.
Sam's eyes barely tracked his movement. He closed his eyes and whispered, "Can't."
"Yes you can."
"Can't...see it.."
A spike of sheer panic ran through Dean, but he refused to allow it to take hold. There was no alternative he would accept except complete success. He leaned closer, holding Sam's gaze.
"I'll read it to you," he said, forcing a smile. "Just like when you were learning to read, right? I'll read it and you can just repeat it."
It had to work, it just had to! Bobby had been very specific that this only worked if the one who had been hexed read the spell. But nothing said they couldn't cheat the system a little, right?
Sam blinked slowly, then asked, "What're we...doing?"
"Magic," Dean said, struggling to hold onto his smile and his confidence. "Magic trick. You like magic. Just repeat everything I say, ok? Please, Sammy, you gotta do this."
Without waiting for his brother's response, Dean started reading the spell. The unfamiliar words - he didn't even remember what language Bobby had said they were - stumbled off his tongue. Word by word, he read through the spell. And word by painful, slow, miserable word, Sam repeated what he said.
Once the spell was finished, whatever had remained of Sam's strength had been completely depleted. He was as good as unconscious, his breathing gone shallow and slow.
"Come on," Dean said softly, lifting the cup of spiced wine to his brother's lips.
He gently tipped the liquid into Sam's mouth and held his breath until Sam roused a bit and actually swallowed the wine. Hope soaring at the positive signs, he continued to coax his brother to drink until the entire mixture was gone.
Setting the cup aside, he patted Sam's cheek. "Sammy? You with me?"
"Hmm." Sam's face tightened in a frown. It took another minute before he managed to get his eyes open.
"Hey." Dean smiled. "How're you doing?"
Sam lifted a shaking hand to rub at his forehead, then said, "Tired. Happened?"
"Don't worry about that right now, ok? Everything's fine."
Everything's fine!
"How's the pain?" he asked, thinking through next steps.
"Mmm." Sam shrugged, eyes slipping closed.
"I'll take that as a good sign." Dean pressed his fingers to his brother's wrist. Pulse steady, even. Skin no longer burning with fever. "We gotta get you out of these wet clothes."
Sam seemed perfectly content to just fall asleep where he sat, but that wasn't going to happen on Dean's watch. So they struggled through a challenging clothing and bed change. Sam was a little more awake by the time he was resettled in Dean's bed with warm, dry clothes.
"Here you go," Dean said, holding out the refilled paper cup. "Drink up."
Sam stared at the cup, then up at Dean. "What is that?"
"Wine."
"We have wine?" Sam raised an eyebrow.
"We do tonight."
There was no point trying to explain everything to Sam right now. He was still pretty out of it. Not that he'd be anything but out of it for the rest of the night. Dean cast a glance at the wine bottle on the table and couldn't help but smile. Bobby had said the only way to fully flush out the hex was with a lot of the spiced wine concoction. So as soon as Sam finished the cup, he refilled it. Sam drank it without question. When Dean filled it up a fifth time, though, Sam finally protested.
"Enough," he said, shaking his head. "What're you tryin' t'do t'me?"
Dean laughed at the slurred question. A day of fevered exhaustion coupled with half a bottle of wine and Sam was already drunk. He glared up at Dean when the laughter continued.
"Dean, you suck." It was a pure whine and it was the best thing Dean had heard all day.
"Ah, Sammy, you'll appreciate what I'm doing for you tomorrow, promise. Well, maybe not tomorrow. Tomorrow you're gonna be hungover and grumpy. But the next day, you'll thank me."
"Won't either." Sam tried to set the cup on the nightstand, his uncoordinated motion nearly sending it straight to the floor.
Grabbing it before it could spill, Dean said, "You have to drink all of this, Sam. It's part of the magic cure."
Sam rolled his eyes. "No such thing as magic."
Dean thought of a mere hour ago when his brother had been dying in front of him. Now he was drunk and annoyed and alive. Smiling, Dean said, "Yeah, Sammy, there is."
"There is?" Sam asked in awe.
"There is." He nudged his brother's hand. "Keep drinking."
A few cups later and Sam was three sheets to the wind yet coherent enough (barely) to have come to the sudden realization that he wasn't in his bed.
"Dean!" he exclaimed, eyes wide with shock. "Why're I inna your bed? 're you sud...sud...suducin' me?"
Having had a few beers of celebration and relief, Dean wasn't in the slightest drunk or even tipsy, but was relaxed and at ease. The fear from earlier was a fading memory and the current situation was nothing but hilarious. He grinned at his brother.
"If I was seducin' you, I'd have gotten you roses and an appletini or something like that because you're such a girl."
"Am not."
"We'd have candlelight and soft music and -"
"I hate you."
Dean laughed. "You're gonna hate me more tomorrow. Just remember, I saved your life."
"By gettin' m'wasted?" Sam motioned with the hand still holding the paper cup. Drops of wine flew everywhere.
"Shockingly, yes." Dean tilted the last of the wine into the cup.
Sam's eyes narrowed. He stared into the cup, then back up at Dean. "This…'s this wine?"
"Yes, it's wine."
"Wh's th' 'ccasion?"
"Our anniversary," Dean said, unable to help himself.
Sam looked at his watch for some inexplicable reason, then said, "I did't get y'nything."
Laughing, Dean patted his brother's shoulder. "You're all I've ever wanted."
Under different circumstances, it would've been the most chick-flick thing he'd ever said. Who was he kidding? Even under these circumstances, it was the most chick-flick thing he'd ever said.
"You're too," Sam said, nodding and trying to pat Dean's arm. "You're too all 've ever wan'ned."
"Well, then there we go." Dean smiled, the situation ludicrous but touching nonetheless.
Sam returned his smile, then drained the last of the wine.
"Alright, Sammy, time for you to get some sleep," Dean said, setting the cup aside.
As Dean helped him get settled, Sam mumbled, "Th'nks D'n."
"You're welcome."
Sam was out almost instantly and, adrenaline of the day finally running low, Dean wasn't far behind. He flopped down on the other side of the bed, content in the knowledge that his brother was safe and alive next to him.
Thanks for reading! This one turned out a lot funnier than I'd planned or expected. :) Hope you enjoyed!
tomorrow's theme/prompts: No. 16: A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY, Forced to Beg, Hallucinations, Shoot the Hostage