Disclaimer: Neither Supernatural nor its characters belong to me. Supernatural is Eric Kripke and Warner Bros., etc. No infringement intended, no profit made—this story is just for fun.
Spoilers: All of Season one and Season two— specifically "Everybody Loves a Clown" and "Born Under a Bad Sign"
Summary: Dean's physical and emotional boundaries are broken. Sam does his best to hold everything together.
Characters/Pairing: Gen, Sam and Dean, but very "smarmy"
Rating: R for language, horrific imagery and graphic descriptions
Warnings: MAJOR Crack!fic (well, I think it is anyway), hurt!Dean, mpreg, demons, horror, graphic descriptions— think ER on SPN!crack. This story, while mpreg, is not Wincest or slash. Some might consider this to be "pre-wincest" as the brothers have a very close relationship. Read at your own discretion.
A/N: Please read the warnings! Credit must go to Pinetranio, who was the test audience for this fic. Thank you!
o0o00O00o0o
Eviscerated
By Libellule (aka Griselda Jane)
o0o00O00o0o
Everything was wrong and Sam didn't know how to fix it. Dean bled and bled and bled and Sam floundered around him, sliding this way and that, trying to gain purchase.
His brother was there in the room with him but he was no longer present. The person Sam knew and loved was gone, never having made it off of the operating table.
Sam had been fooling himself thinking Dean ever had.
o0o00O00o0o
Chapter Two
"Let me explain what I'm going to do," Jim said as he flipped through a pair of books on the desktop.
Sam, Dean and Jim had migrated to Jim's office, which was a small room off of the kitchen. This room was lived-in with much of the human chaos Sam noticed was missing from the family room. Two tall bookshelves lined the wall between the windows, jam-packed from top to bottom with all kinds of books; stacks of newspapers weighted down by coffee cups leaned lazily against the side of Jim's desk, which was papered with bills and invoices and handwritten notes; a rotary style phone sloped over a stack of manila file folders, just asking to slip off the desk with a melodious clatter.
Though still pale and discomforted, Dean was doing a bit better now that he was out of a moving car and sitting at rest in a chair pulled up in front of Jim's desk. The nausea seemed to be at bay for now and aside from his engorged stomach, Dean looked nearly like himself after a long and tiring hunt. Sam sat beside him and did his best not to shoot worried glances at Dean every six seconds.
Jim stood behind his desk with two open books and he turned them around to face Sam and Dean. One book showed a diagram of a pregnant woman, a side view showing where the baby takes up residence in her body. The other book had a diagram of the male body, showing layers of muscle and bone.
Tapping the male diagram, Jim explained that the demon must be growing in Dean's abdominal cavity for lack of a uterus and he emphasized this by pushing the books towards Dean.
"I don't know what to expect," the doctor said, "I've never done a c-section on a man before."
"But you have done them?" Dean asked calmly. Sam studied his brother's profile, seeing the worry beneath the composed exterior.
"Yes," Jim said. "Though it's not my area of expertise. You'll be the fourth c-section of my career."
"Well, this one's going off the books," Dean said.
"Don't worry, son," Jim replied with a smile. "No one would believe me anyway." His face became more serious. "I'm going to prepare you for surgery the same way I would any other cesarean case."
Dean nodded, though he visibly tensed in his chair as he looked over the medical books laid out before him.
"I'm going to make an incision here," Jim said, moving the eraser end of a pencil over the male diagram low across the stomach just below the hipbones. "I'll separate the abdominal muscles, and the inner lining of the abdominal cavity and hopefully extract the demon there."
"That's more than I need to know," Dean said quietly. Sam was torn between wanting to know everything that was going to be done to his brother and wanting to know nothing about it.
"You must understand that there is a fair amount of risk involved," Jim said. "There could be any number of complications."
"What kind of complications?" Sam asked, brows drawn together with worry.
Jim sighed, leaning back in his chair. "For one, I have no idea how demon pregnancy works, let alone demon pregnancy in a human man. It could be more complex to extricate than a human baby would be. I just don't know."
He paused, eyes sighting the floor as he worked up the nerve to say something else. "If it is more complicated," Jim said quietly, "it may already be too late to get it out."
Shaking his head, denial on his lips, Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean was more accepting than he. "I understand, Doc," Dean said. "What else?"
"Like with any surgery there is a risk of infection or increased blood loss and possibly organ damage," Jim said. "But I'm going to take good care of you so these risks are minimal."
"What about after the surgery?" Sam asked, quickly glossing over the notion that Dean might not make it to post-op. "What kind of recovery time are we talking about?"
"He'll sew me back up and we'll be on the road in no time," Dean said, glancing at his brother.
"This is major surgery, Dean," Jim explained. "You're going to be out of commission for at least a week and you won't be fully recovered for more than a month. That means, no hunting."
"But I could recover faster, right?" Dean asked. "I'm at the top of my game right now, Doc."
Sam frowned. "Dean, we're not going anywhere until you have Dr. Martin's clearance."
"It's possible you'll make a quick recovery, but I wouldn't count on it," Jim said. "You're going to be laid up for four days at the very least."
"I just want to get this over with," Dean said.
Red flags of warning shot up in Sam's mind— Dean would probably dismiss his recovery time in order to get back to their hunting routine. His brother never saw the value in taking care of himself.
"I understand. The sooner we get this over with the better for everyone." The doctor stood, saying, "I'll need to move you to my clinic in the center of town. There's much to be done before surgery can begin."
o0o00O00o0o
For all that was happening to him, Dean was very self-possessed as Sam helped him from Jim's house to the Impala. He had as much focus as he could spare invested in keeping his composure.
When Dean was younger, his little brother had eagle eyes for him, watching his every move with keen interest. There was a time in their lives when Sam wanted to be exactly like his big brother, wanted to wear the same clothes and play the same games and spend all his time with Dean. Dean learned very quickly that Sam took his cues from him, watched Dean to see how he was supposed to react. If Dean laughed, Sam laughed; if Dean felt bad, Sam did too; if Dean was scared, so was Sam.
Even though Sam was no longer a child, there was still a little part of him that looked to his brother for guidance. And Dean would see to it that Sam would be protected, even from him.
So it was habit alone that allowed Dean to display outward calm while he was terrified on the inside.
He braced himself against the side of the car, running his fingers across the smooth, sun-baked metal. Even his girl couldn't bring a smile to his face, though he tried for Sam's sake. Sam opened the door, guiding Dean inside the Impala with a gentle hand. He didn't immediately join Dean inside the car and through the windshield Dean watched him cross to where the doctor stood beside his truck.
To the casual observer, Sam had a determined manner about him as he talked to Jim, but Dean knew all his looks— years of living in cramped quarters and tense situations betrayed him. Sam was scared too.
Damn it, Dean thought. Not doing my job.
Pain flared across his abdomen and Dean sucked in a breath, pressing his hands to his stomach. When Dean glanced down at his body, he couldn't believe that this was him, that the swollen stomach beneath his hands was his stomach, that the weakness causing his legs to tremble was weakness in him, in his body.
Sam had had the forethought to give Dean one of his larger shirts, but still it was pulled tight across his stomach. As it was his jeans were rolled over and secured with a makeshift rope-belt.
Dean was more exhausted than he could ever remember feeling, more exhausted than he thought a person could be. He felt as if his boots were plated with lead and he'd been running a marathon underwater. No matter how hard he fought, he just couldn't catch his breath.
The demon was using him the way a car uses a battery. And the little bastard was wreaking havoc on his insides like a gremlin at play in a jet engine. Dean knew it was only a matter of time before he crashed and burned. When the demon was done with him, when it had taken all that his body had to offer, it would dispense with Dean as easily as he would discard a used up battery from the Impala.
Dean didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep it off and wake up from this nightmare in the morning. This wasn't how he imagined going, leaving this world cut open on an operating table.
He took another look at Sam, seeing his jaw clench and his head bow as he listened intently to whatever Jim was telling him. The doctor clapped Sam on the shoulder and turned back to his truck. Sam met Dean's eyes briefly as he walked back to the Impala. A tight smiled crossed his lips, but Sam couldn't hold it and he ducked his head to hide his uneasiness from him.
Misery boiled up in Dean that had nothing to do with the demon. How could Dean leave his brother like this? He determined right there that he would fight this demon as hard as he could with whatever he had left.
o0o00O00o0o
"It was good that Jim explained the details of the procedure," Sam said, hands with a white-knuckle grip around the steering wheel, eyes focused on the bumper of Jim's truck.
"Yeah," Dean replied.
It was a short half hour drive to the clinic, but Sam was going out of his mind with impatience. Much to his brother's dismay, Sam filled the time with chatter.
"You don't have to do this," Sam said quietly, chancing a look at Dean. He was staring out the window watching the lonely landscape roll alongside them.
"Not much of a choice," Dean replied.
It was quiet in the car for nearly a mile. As Sam eased the Impala to a stop sign, he paused and studied Dean's determined profile.
"I won't let him so much as touch you if you don't want him to," Sam said. You don't have to let him cut you open. "You just say the word and we'll find something else." I'll do whatever you want.
For a fleeting instant, Dean's features contorted, but then a mocking grin slid across his face with practiced ease. "Aw, defending my honor, Sammy? How sweet."
Sam scowled, turning his gaze back to the road. He was shaking his head, gearing up to let loose his frustration. Typical Dean, Sam groused, belittling my sentiment.
"There's nothing else, Sam," Dean said. "It's this or nothing."
"Okay," Sam said. "I just— I just wanted to make sure—."
"I get it," Dean growled. Then his voice softened as he said, "I know, Sam." He gave a short sigh and finally set his gaze on his brother.
"You gotta be on your A game, Sammy," Dean said. "When he gets the demon out, who knows what it will do. It could be defenseless or it could go after you and everyone in the room. You gotta be prepared."
"I know that, Dean," Sam said, annoyed. "I've been back in it for quite some time now and have just as much demon experience as you."
"Just— don't let me distract you," Dean said quietly. "Whatever happens, you nail this son of a bitch."
The ire melted right out of Sam. He didn't say anything, just steered the car down the dusty center lane road into town.
Aside from Jim, Sam had yet to see a single resident, not even any passing cars. At one time Winnett boasted thousands of inhabitants, but the town had lost more than a third of its population over ten years, eventually dwindling down to less than two hundred scattered people. It was really more of a truck stop than a town, especially in the off-season.
They parked in the back of the clinic. Though it was Sunday and most businesses were closed, they wanted as little attention as possible. Being the sole doctor for miles, Jim was on call pretty much twenty-four seven, but Sundays he typically spent at home.
The brothers sat for a moment in the Impala, waiting for Jim to open the clinic and wave them in. Dean breathed out a pained breath, eyes pressed shut tightly.
"I think it knows we're about to terminate it," he said, letting out a shaky laugh. "It's goin' crazy." Dean turned his hazel eyes on Sam, a smirk quirking his lips. "Wanna feel? It's wild."
Sam hesitated before sliding over closer to his brother. He looked from Dean's enlarged stomach up to his face. Sam had been careful to avoid touching his stomach since that first moment in the woods. He'd told himself it was because he didn't want to hurt Dean, but in truth he was really freaked out by it.
"It's okay," Dean assured. Something in his hazel eyes implored Sam— there was a need lingering there.
Maybe… Maybe Dean needed Sam to touch him, needed something so simple as human contact to help him cope with what was happening to him. Dean wasn't the kind of guy who believed in that "touchy-feely crap", but Sam knew that a lot of times that was just a macho front.
He must feel so alienated, Sam though, suddenly struck with the sad notion. He needs to not feel alone in this.
Gently, Sam pressed his palm against Dean's stomach. He was surprised at how warm his body felt through the fabric of the shirt. Like a furnace, Sam thought, resisting the urge to once again reach up and feel Dean's forehead for fever.
"You feel it?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head, feeling nothing but warmth beneath his fingers. Dean clasped his hand over Sam's and moved it lower along his stomach, pressing his hand firmly against his distended abdomen. Breath caught in his throat as Sam felt the demon moving within his brother, pushing against his palm more firmly than he expected.
"Jesus," Sam whispered.
"It's just about done with me," Dean said. "It's coming. Any time now."
o0o00O00o0o
Refusing assistance, Dean grumbled, "I can walk," as he rose from the car, but Sam persisted when the demon decided to amuse itself with Dean's insides, nearly forcing him to his knees despite his mantra of I'm fine, I'm fine. Sam took his brother by the arm and ushered him inside the small one floor building. Dean's loathing of the situation was silent but evident.
Though it was built sometime in the eighties, the clinic had been well kept over the years. It consisted of a small waiting room with a reception area that doubled as Jim's office, a kitchen in the back and four exam rooms with a range of medical equipment. The floor was generic white-gray linoleum and the walls were painted sterile white from the kitchen to the waiting room, which had calming sage green and light ochre walls.
Sam was only slightly more assured now that they were at the clinic. Feeling nauseous as he thought about what was in store for his brother, Sam wondered, How is Dean not freaking out? Dean was quiet, not having said more than a few words since getting out of the Impala. Sam swallowed, trying to focus on the present moment. It would do no good to think upon anything else.
They entered the clinic through the back door that led into a kitchen area. Jim explained that at one time he had a few nurses and another physician, but as the town diminished so did the need for a staff that large. An office manager came in on Tuesdays to help with paperwork, a cleaning crew came in on Thursdays, and occasionally another doctor or a nurse would stop by if need demanded it, but otherwise Jim did everything himself.
"Of course, I don't spend all my time at the clinic," Jim said as he flicked on a light switch. "I make routine trips to ranches in the area and at least twice a month I make the trek to the hospital."
Leading them down the corridor where the exam rooms were, Jim continued, "This isn't hunting season and I don't have any more scheduled checkups this month, so we shouldn't be disturbed until Tuesday when Sarah comes in to take care of the books," Jim said. "Unless there's an emergency between now and then."
With a gentle prod at his back, Jim steered Dean into an exam room, but stopped Sam firmly at the door.
"You need rest," Jim said, the fierceness back in his eyes. Sam opened his mouth to object, but Jim cut him off. "You'll be no good to Dean if you are exhausted."
Not liking the doctor's order one bit, Sam protested, "How can I sleep when Dean's—,"
"Both of you haven't slept in over twenty-four hours and I need time to prepare," Jim continued as if Sam had not interrupted. "You lay down on a cot in exam room four while I give Dean an ultrasound. He'll join you as soon as I'm finished taking a look inside."
Jim gestured down the hall indicating exam-four then ducked inside the room where Dean waited, closing the door in Sam's face. The matter was closed for discussion.
Sam frowned, stalking down the hallway to the designated room. Exam room four was a large room lined with half a dozen cots perpendicular to the wall. Sam guessed that the room was set up for blood donation.
Sinking down on the last cot, Sam sighed deeply. Now that Jim had mentioned it he could feel the weight of exhaustion pressing in his skull. He lay back on the cot, thinking he'd never find sleep, but after a few minutes of anxious turning, Sam fell asleep.
When he woke, his brother was passed out on the cot next to him. Dean lay on his back, face turned away from Sam. His breath rose and fell with a gentle, steady cadence.
God, what a mess, Sam thought as he watched his brother sleep. He rubbed at his eyes, still feeling the burn of fatigue.
Quietly, Sam reached for his phone, pressing a button to reveal the time. It was just after noon; by some miracle, Sam had slept over four straight hours. He had no idea when Jim had eventually brought Dean to rest but Sam felt a stab of guilt that he hadn't been awake to help his brother.
Of course, when Sam tried to be quiet, he made more noise than he'd ever made in his entire life— the cot groaned under his weight as Sam shifted to sit up— every button on his cell phone chirped loudly— his footfalls on the linoleum tile seemed to echo and boom. Sam glanced nervously at Dean, knowing his older brother was a light sleeper, a habit born from years of being the only thing between Sam and the bad things in the world.
But Dean slept on, pure exhaustion knocking him out cold. Sam crept from the darkened room, going back down the short corridor, cutting quickly through the kitchen and into the parking lot. He leaned against the door for a moment, wishing he would wake from this nightmare, then sat down on the back steps. He took out his phone, dialing Bobby's number again.
"How much do you know about this guy?" Sam asked him by way of a greeting. "I'm not letting just anyone cut open my brother."
Don't see as you have much choice, Bobby pointed out. I've never met him myself, but he's saved a few hunters in his day. How does he seem to you?
"He seems too good to be true," Sam admitted. "He could get in serious trouble for doing this. I don't know why he's risking so much for us."
You and Dean don't have the market cornered on risking for others.
Sam's lips quirked up as he thought, Sure feels like it sometimes. Sam sighed into the phone. "Dean could die," he said quietly, abruptly. He hadn't meant to say it, but once he did a whole slew of accompanying thoughts came to the surface. "The doctor said it could be too late already."
Bobby didn't say anything— he knew when he was meant to listen. There was nothing he could have said to change that possibility or assuage Sam's fears.
"We won't know until the doctor has him… open," Sam said. "I just have to be prepared for anything."
That's all you can do, Bobby replied. If you need anything, Sam, you let me know.
Sam smiled into the phone. "Thanks Bobby," he said, hoping that he wouldn't need to take him up on his offer.
o0o00O00o0o
As Jim readied himself and the clinic for surgery, Sam went out to the Impala to make some preparations of his own. Even though Sam had scoffed at Dean on their way to the clinic when he had lectured him about staying focused, in truth Sam's thoughts were solely devoted to keeping his brother alive. He'd not given much thought to the Rakshasa itself or what to do with it once it was out.
Sam gathered materials from the Impala's trunk— the entire store of holy water, the Lesser Key of Solomon, a gun and a supply of blessed bullets. Rummaging through the trunk, Sam located a large plastic bucket that at one time held rock salt. Sam pulled the cover off and turned it over. With a black sharpie, he began copying a Devil's Trap onto the lid.
He would kill this demon, would send it back to hell before it could hurt anyone else. Fierce raged churned up inside him. Should Dean die, Sam would make this creature suffer greater pain than an eternity spent in hell. There wasn't much he could do for Dean, but Sam could do this.
It took nearly an hour, but Sam had drawn a near perfect replica of a Devil's Trap on the lid. He collected all the items he'd gathered from the trunk, placed them in his backpack and headed back towards the clinic.
Sam set his pack down on an empty cot in exam four. Looking over at Dean, he noticed that his brother had moved in his sleep during the short time he'd been gone, falling into a fitful slumber. Sweat trickled down Dean's brow. His breathing was no longer an even rhythm.
Sam sat on the edge of his cot, watching over him, a thrill of anguish twisting his gut. He could barely stand it. Sam wasn't meant for this— the demon had disrupted the natural order of things— Sure, Sam always worried for his brother's safety but he rarely had to worry about it. Dean was strong and smart and a smartass but reliable and always there for Sam with whatever he needed. But Dean was failing now— his body was failing him and it was heartbreaking to watch.
A whimper of pain and Dean turned his head to the other side, jaw clenched unconsciously. Sam turned away, casting his eyes to the floor. He noticed Jim's oblong shadow on the tiles as he leaned in the doorway.
"Why is his temperature so high?" Sam asked him. "He's been running a fever for hours now."
Jim stepped into the room, coming up beside the bed. "I think his body is reacting to the demon as if it were a virus," Jim replied. "As far as I know human antibodies will not kill demons. His body won't win the battle. It's just going to get worse. I've got to start prepping him now."
Sam looked up from Dean to Jim, lips pursed to speak, but words held in check.
"I know you're putting an awful lot of trust in me," Jim said quietly. "You want to know why I'm helping you."
Sam studied the doctor, waiting. This was exactly what Sam wanted to know.
"A man named Aidan Hale," Jim began, "is the reason you and your brother were sent to me."
"Aidan Hale?" Sam asked, trying to pinpoint the name in his memory. "I don't think I know him."
Jim nodded, expecting this. "People just don't come to Winnett. You're either born here or else you marry someone who lives here, so strangers stick out. Winnett sees all kinds of hunters, though mostly they hunt elk. Aidan Hale showed up on my doorstep in July of seventy-eight. It was suspect enough that he showed up for hunting season four months too soon, but the claw marks across his chest were more than enough to make me dubious of him."
"He was a hunter," Sam guessed. "A hunter like me and Dean."
"Came to my house, just like you did, asking me for medical help. I helped him of course, but I knew he was lying when he told me a bear had caused the damage. I didn't know what he was into, but I knew it couldn't have been good. I was going to call the sheriff on him."
"Why didn't you?" Sam asked.
Jim folded his arms across his chest, the first closed off gesture Sam had witnessed from him. It's not a good memory, Sam thought.
"Molly was playing outside in the backyard— Molly's my little girl— she was trying to catch fireflies in a jar." Jim paused, shaking his head. "I remember that she screamed with such absolute terror— a sound no parent ever wants to hear. Hale jumped right off the table as if he didn't have deep gashes across his chest and pushed me out of the way."
Sam could guess where the story was headed and listened sympathetically as Jim recounted one of the most horrific nights of his life.
"It was some sort of wolf thing about to strike my girl. I knew I wouldn't get there in time— I knew she was dead— but then Hale charged in, no fear, going at the thing without a moment's hesitation."
It was clear to Sam that even after nearly thirty years the memory was still difficult for Jim to face. "I have no doubt in my mind that Molly would have been killed had he not been there," he said quietly.
"It was a werewolf," Sam said.
Jim nodded. "Hale killed it, but was fatally wounded. I tried so hard to save him but there was nothing I could do. Hale knew this and told me what he did for a living— what he hunted— and I thought he had to be raving from the pain and delirium. I went outside and saw that where the carcass of the wolf had been, a human body lay instead.
"He told me everything he could to explain who he was and how he came to be, leaving me his legacy. He died an hour later.
"I didn't know what to think. Life returned to normal, only it can never really be normal after something like that. Every time I looked at Molly I thought how easily she could have been taken from me had Hale not intervened. There were things out there that I didn't know about— that I didn't want to know about but I couldn't ignore.
"Two months later, a friend of Hale's turned up. Wanted to know what had happened. I told him everything. I gave him my name and told him to pass it along to any hunter that needed my services."
"So you've been patching up hunters ever since?" Sam asked.
"It's the least I can do. Because of people like Hale— like you and like Dean— others may live. Molly would have died. She'd have never grown up and gotten married or had children. If I can't help you, then I can't help anyone," Jim said. "You want to know why I am helping you. If not you then who?"
"I don't know how to repay you," Sam said.
"You've already paid, Sam," Jim said. "But don't thank me yet— the hardest part is yet to come. It's time to get started."
o0o00O00o0o
In the first room next to the kitchen, Dean sat on the exam table, which had been moved to the center of the room. He wore a white johnny lose over his front, untied in the back.
Steeling himself, Sam entered exam-one, which would serve as the operating room and stood before Dean, dressed in green scrubs, eyes dark with worry. He dropped the backpack filled with supplies onto the floor.
"Don't you look the part of young medical student," Dean said, nodding to the clothes. He looked down at himself and said, "I look like expectant mother number five."
Sam smiled tightly. "Let me tie that for you," he said, stepping closer to Dean. Sam reached around and tied the top strings behind his back. When he was finished he brought his hands to rest on Dean's shoulders.
He didn't say anything even though he wanted to because he knew Dean wouldn't want to hear it, wouldn't want to hear the words he hadn't said out loud since well before Stanford, a just in case you know I love you, right? Sam would be strong for him because that's really all he could do.
"It's okay, Sam," Dean said, always the big brother, even now trying to protect Sam from his inner anguish. These simple words were his undoing.
Sam's façade of confidence wavered, face crumpling with grief. He smoothed out his features with a tight smile, wanting to say so many things but unable to form a single word.
"I know," Dean said. "Me too."
"You're going to be fine," Sam said, trying to convince himself as much as Dean. A terrible, horrible feeling slashed through his gut. Everything would not go as planned. Squashing the premonition down, Sam said instead, "Jim's gonna have the demon out and patch you back up in no time."
"Good as knew," Dean replied with a small smile. "You got everything?" he asked, glancing down at the backpack on the floor.
Sam nodded, stooping to open the bag. Taking out the holy water, he poured it into the plastic bucket and set it down beside the table. He held out the lid with the Devil's Trap for Dean's inspection.
"Nice," he grinned, turning it over in his hands. "This'll hold it for sure." Sam took the lid from his brother and placed it beside the bucket.
Dressed in blue scrubs, facemask around his neck, Jim came up beside them, reluctant to intrude. "Sam, you should scrub up for the procedure," he said, gesturing to the kitchen. "Dean, I'm ready to get you started."
Sam nodded, dropping his gaze downward. Dean watched Sam exit the small surgery room, disappearing through the doors into the kitchen.
"Hey, Doc," Dean began. "If don't make it off this table, will you tell my brother—." Dean faltered as he tried to put his emotions into words. "Tell him—."
"He knows, Dean," Jim replied, "The same way that you know what he can't say."
"If it doesn't work out, will you look after my brother for little bit? Make sure he doesn't crash-up the car?" Dean said, "He's the guilt-ridden type. We've this friend— Bobby Singer— over in South Dakota. If something happens to me—." Dean paused. "You'll see that Sam gets there, right?"
Jim nodded and said, "Of course I will. Don't worry about that though. I'm going to get you through this."
o0o00O00o0o
Despite knowing what to expect, Sam was not ready to see Dean laid out on the table. It made this whole situation suddenly very real and scary. The surgery lights were on, bright and focused on Dean. There was already and IV line in place and he was hooked up to some sort of monitor.
Dean's engorged stomach was exposed, his hands placed over in an attempt to soothe the pain. He was naked under the johnny that was hitched up over his stomach, but the doctor had a sheet draped over him for privacy until the surgery.
As Sam crossed the room, Jim stopped him before he reached the operating table. "His blood pressure is too high," the doctor said softly. "Try to calm him down if you can."
Sam nodded and proceeded to his brother's side. "Hey," he said. "Jim's almost ready to start."
Dean closed his eyes and nodded. No longer with a quip on his lips, his whole demeanor had changed from a few moments ago. Being laid out on the operating table made the situation suddenly very real and scary for Dean especially.
"Are you ready for this?" Sam asked him. Stupid question, Sam berated himself immediately. It was a stupid question, but Sam didn't know what else to say.
"As I'll ever be," Dean replied, then his face scrunched in pain, hands moving slowly over his stomach. "Goddamnit," he hissed.
Placing a hand on Dean's stomach, Sam felt his body shaking. He could see Dean struggling to will the discomfort away. Shifting his own hands away, Dean let Sam's remain for a moment longer before saying, "Feeling me up while I'm down and out? I'll remember this, Sammy."
Sam grinned, but didn't remove his hand. His brother was still trembling, and Sam wasn't entirely sure it was from pain alone. "It'll be over soon," Sam said. "I'm going to be with you the whole time."
"Great, just what I need— an onlooker ringside for this freak show," Dean said.
Behind Sam, Jim was double-checking his preparations, silently counting out his instruments and suture trays.
"No place else I'd rather be," Sam said quietly.
"Dean," Jim said, face masked, coming up with a syringe in his gloved hand. "I'm going to administer the morphine now. Sam here is going to watch your breathing."
Earlier, Jim had given Sam a crash course in how to work the oxygen and what signs indicated that his brother wasn't breathing right.
"Great, Doc, load me up," Dean said, "and get this son of a bitch outta me."
To be continued…
o0o00O00o0o
Author's note:
Wow, thanks for the reviews everybody! I appreciate them very much. Have any questions? Feel free to ask:)
Slight amendment from last time— this fic has grown! Now I'd say it's projected anywhere from six to ten chapters. It's mostly written, I know exactly where the plot goes, and it's just connecting the dots that are left.
I am also posting this on my LJ (griseldajane . livejournal . com) if you prefer to read it that way. Friending welcome!
Thanks for reading. See you next chapter.
- Li