There is another chapter of "Oglethorpe House" coming soon, but this just needed to be written. It was calling to me for the past three hours and wouldn't let me do my English homework. I hope that you guys like it.
There was a throbbing in his chest and in his head, but Dean struggled to open his eyes. Something had happened, and he knew it was bad. Sammy had been driving, being the one with the least amount of injuries, and something had pushed them off the road. Despite the growing dizziness, he pushed his eyes open. He had to make sure that his family was okay.
"Sammy? Dad?" He croaked out, his voice sounding weak and hoarse, even to him. They had to be all right. Just when he was about to call out to them once again, he saw his father move his head.
"Dean? Sammy?" John called out to his sons. Sammy had been driving and talking about something...his hazy mind struggled to remember what...and something had ran into the Impala and dragged it. He heard one of them, though. They had to be all right. They were all he had, all that he'd had for years. It was Dean's voice. That meant that he was all right, that he could use his cell phone, call for help. He knew that he was bad off, that his body was broken and he was dying. Their only hope was Dean calling for help. He waited to hear his youngest son's voice. His baby had to be okay. They had sacrificed so much for him over the years, and even though he wasn't happy that Sam had refused to shoot him to kill the demon, they had just reestablished ground. He couldn't lose him now.
"Dad, I'm all right. Check on Sammy," Dean pleaded, needing to know for sure that his baby brother was okay. He tried to reach for the cell phone that had fallen across the seat from him, but couldn't quite do it. 'Sammy, please be all right.'
Their dad had turned a little bit, swallowing a groan of pain, and looked at Sammy. Blood was coming from his nose and ear, and he looked really gaunt. His head was at an awkward angle, but John reached so that he could put his fingers on his neck to check for a pulse. There was movement in his chest indicating breathing, and when John's hands rested on his neck, they found a pulse. It was barely noticeable, but when he found it, he found that it was racing. There was a time when he could fool himself, tell himself that Sammy was still shaken up even unconscious, but he knew better. Dean needed to call an ambulance or they would lose him. His skin was so cold, and he felt panicked for just a moment. "Dean, son, he's in shock. I need you to get to your cell phone and call an ambulance."
Fear laced his father's voice and through the weakness and pain, Dean pushed himself to reach the phone. Tears came down his face, but he finally got it. He dialed the number and waited for the voice on the other end. It was like music to his ears. "911, what's your emergency?"
"There was a semi, it ran us off the road, my brother, my father and me. My brother's not doing too good. Please send help." His voice trailed in and out, but he was fairly certain the woman had heard him. She calmly asked him where they were, and he almost laughed. 'Out in the middle of an old country road where a semi shouldn't be.' He should have let Sammy do it, should have let him shoot their father. It would have been him alone to die, but now his old man looked broken, and Sammy still hadn't stirred. "I don't know. Out on Highway 40. About a mile out from town. Please, send someone to help us."
John had laid his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes. He knew now that the boys were taken care of. Someone would come and help them. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he was making it out of this car. He was pinned in, and if he moved more than he already had, his body would be cut in half. But his boys were okay, and that was all that mattered.
Dean noticed his father close his eyes, and he picked up when he stopped breathing. He couldn't help it, tears flowed from his eyes. It wasn't supposed to be like this. This wasn't supposed to happen. He had loved them, taken care of Sammy all of his life, but they were still dying. There was so much pain, in his body as well as his mind, but as he laid back and waited for the ambulance, he watched Sammy breathe. His breathing was shallow and quick, but he was breathing, which was more than he could say for Dad. 'Please, don't die, Sammy.'
Excruciating minutes went by, knowing that their father was dead, his brother was dying and he wasn't doing too good either. When they were finally saved, when the flashing light finally brought his attention away from his brother, he began breathing again. Sammy had been gasping for a while now, and it scared him more than he had ever been. They couldn't pry open Sam's door, but they opened his. "Please, save my brother. Just take him first." Dean panted out, his own weakness and vulnerability catching up to him. They didn't listen, because he was in the way. He was the closest and therefore removed the first. When his body hit the gurny and he lost visual with Sammy, he broke down. They were separated, and he was unable to help his brother. Everything spun, and the bright light that was shown in his face made him want to get sick.
"Can you tell me your name?" The paramedic asked him. He faltered for a moment, debating on what name to give her, and finally settled on the one Sam had used for him the last time he was in the hospital.
"Simon Burkovitz." He slurred his words now. "Where's my brother?" He begged the woman for information, needing to know before he lost consciousness again, what his baby brother's fate would be.
"They're trying to get him out of the vehicle still." She told him. "What day is it, Mr Burkovitz?"
"It's November 2nd." He laughed at the irony of it all. It was a cursed day, and as he lay here, injured and waiting to hear if his family would be down to just himself, he felt cursed.
They were moving him now, away from the wreck, but he caught the careful movements of the other medic team as they removed his brother from the wreckage. They were being too cautious with his neck, and Dean was sure he heard the words 'spinal injury' and 'brain damage.' There was no way his intelligent little brother could have either of those things, but they were voiced and he felt his heart rate go up. They had him in a neck brace now (always the neck), and were rushing him towards the ambulance. He laid his head back and allowed sleep to come. His brother had been saved from the car. Before he lost recognition, he heard the words "This one's dead." The mighty hunter, the strong arm of their family, was now gone.
Hope you liked it. As always, feel free to review in any way that you'd like, whether it be praise, constructive criticism, or even a question.
Take care.