Author: Mirrordance
Title: Open, Shut
Summary: A street prophet foresees a deadly disaster. He goes to the only people who would believe him: the Winchesters and Bobby Singer. It's an open and shut case except the only solution is - how do you empty a town of four thousand people? Post-Family Remains.
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Open, Shut
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6: Out for the Count
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Bobby Singer on a mission was at his very worst and his very best. He was single-minded, and it was overwhelming, impressive and scary to watch him in his most efficient and casual violence.
He and Wei reached the foot of the mountain – the edge of town – in record time; this was easier than it would have been, given that the explosion had wiped out a lot of the foliage at the bottom. The two hunters traveled a smooth decline, in a straight line. An SUV was just at the edge of the explosion; one side caught the brunt of it, but she remained on her wheels and looked to be running. Bobby practically tore open the door and dragged the sputtering driver out, and then left him right on the street.
"We're just gonna leave him here?" Wei asked as the two men took over the car.
"He's right at the very edge of town," Bobby said tersely, "He can walk out if he wanted. And emergency groups should be coming in, they'll get to him in no time if he decides to wait."
He revved the engine of the 4-wheel drive. He knew exactly where the police station was, had it mapped in his head. He also knew that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, so he just careened in that direction; the car was tough, the terrain bumpy, but essentially the town was flattened. He'd reach Dean any moment. He simply had to.
" " "
The SUV screeched to a dust-kicking stop, and Bobby got out of the car and immediately started coughing at the toxic air, even from beneath his makeshift mask.
"We can't stay here too long," Wei choked out as well, as the two men walked side by side to where the police station had once stood.
Finn's Canyon was hot as a furnace, and the air was thick and cloudy around them. Small fires dotted the landscape of hollow shells of houses and buildings and isolated walls jutting out on the ground. Cars were littered left and right, knocked on their sides, the metal twisted.
"They kept him in a cell in the basement," Bobby said as he toed away a few pieces of debris. He saw charred human remains where the entrance to the station should have been, and though it sickened him, he looked carefully at the bodies, Wei also examining beside him.
"I don't think Dean's any of them," Wei said softly. Bobby felt the same way, but he had to hear it from someone else.
"The stairwell should be somewhere..." Bobby murmured, "Here!" He heaved off a piece of wall, and found the battered cement stairs leading down to the basement, looking mostly-intact and spared by the blast. He was immediately rewarded by the sight of Dean, lying down on the steps, looking up at him blearily.
The younger hunter's sooted face stared up at him, and Dean's green eyes blinked lazily. "Bob-" he tried to say, broken voice cut by dry hacking that had Bobby running down the stairs, not caring if the structure was stable after the blast or not. He heard Wei curse in disapproval behind him.
Bobby skidded to a stop on his knees by Dean's side, placed a palm to his shoulder reassuringly. "I gotcha."
Dean kept staring at the older hunter like he wasn't sure Bobby was really there. "They won't," Dean coughed, "They won't stop looking at me."
Bobby frowned, and then followed Dean's line of sight to the severed head on the floor and the body behind him. He grimaced, and scooted to block Dean's view.
"Does anything hurt?" Bobby asked him, "Is anything broken?"
Dean shook his head, and then closed his eyes against rolling nausea. His lips trembled like he was about to get sick, but he pressed them together, swallowed thickly, and took calming breaths.
"Okay," Bobby said, and noted the cuffs on Dean's wrists and ankles. "Your daddy would have wrung your neck, not getting out of these on your own."
Dean just grunted at the joke, as Bobby drew out a handy pin from his pocket and started picking at the locks. He set Dean free as Wei squatted beside them.
"How are we doin'?" Wei asked.
"Nothing too bad," Dean gasped, "It's just... my chest feels real tight. And this fucking air... keep feeling like I'm gonna be sick or something. I just gotta... just gotta get outta here, I think. Where's Sam?"
"Safe and waiting for you," Bobby replied.
Dean found the heart to smile a little, "He's gonna kill me."
"You know it," Bobby guaranteed.
"Got... got any water?" Dean whispered in quiet request. Bobby looked at Wei worriedly as the other hunter's eyes raked over Dean's form, assessing the situation.
"You can have some in a bit," Wei said. Bobby shifted to make room for him and immediately, his adroit hands felt along Dean's head, neck and back, and then his limbs.
"I'll check him out," Wei said to Bobby as he worked, "Look around, will you? We need a first aid kit, anything medical you can possibly find down here, and anything we can cover our noses and mouths with."
Bobby patted Dean's shoulder reassuringly before turning away and walking down the stairs to look through the rubble of the basement. There had to be a storage or utility room somewhere down there.
Wei continued his inspection of Dean's body, and then looked at Dean's face to find his eyes closed.
"Hey, hey!" Wei complained, shaking him a little, "No sleeping yet, all right?"
Dean grunted but understood and peeled his eyes open. He frowned in confusion. "Where's Bobby?"
Wei pursed his lips together, concerned. The disorientation wasn't promising. "He's looking for supplies, remember?"
Dean's glazed eyes said 'no,' but he just nodded. He closed his eyes again.
"Hey," Wei said, grabbing a bottle of water from his pack. The water caught some firelight, and it gleamed like the bribe that it was. "Stay awake and you get some of this."
Dean frowned at him, but he let Wei pull him up to sit and lean against the wall. Wei then removed the cap and wiggled the drink in Dean's line of sight.
"Thanks," Dean growled, and he tried to swipe the bottle from Wei's hand. The swipe went wide though, missing the bottle by inches, which is something that Dean tilted his head to marvel at. Wei was worried and decidedly not as amused. He kept a stern grip on the thing and put the spout to Dean's lips.
"Not too much right away," Wei told him calmly.
Dean looked belligerent, but complied with a few careful sips before regretfully watching Wei take the bottle away. Wei wet a piece of cloth, and then wiped at Dean's sooty face.
"Hey!" Dean exclaimed in disapproval before a coughing spell tore from his struggling lungs.
"I need to see you better," Wei explained hastily as Dean settled down and just decided to let the doctor do whatever the hell he wanted, "And I want to get rid of all the toxic crap that's anywhere near your nose, eyes and mouth. We'd have to ditch your clothes soon too, and clean you up. But this is the best I can do right now."
With the water cleaning away some of the grime, Wei could see that the injured hunter had reddish burns on his nose and around his mouth, and the rest of his face was grayish even with most of the dirt off. Wei also wiped black and red-tinged saliva from the corners of Dean's mouth.
"You sure don't look happy," Dean commented with a knowing smirk and sad eyes, just before he started to cough again. The sound was shallow and short, a grinding, whistling wheeze. His body folded as his stomach clenched. "I'm gonna be sick," he gasped, scant moments before doing precisely that. He turned his head away from Wei, his body tightening and coiling as he wretched out poison from his body.
He was tense as a spring, just wound up. Wei could see the veins on the side of his neck, and then again on the back of his hands as they clutched at the ground. His muscles trembled in shock and imbalance, and his legs started to kick out in jerky, unpredictable movements.
"Shit," Wei muttered, grabbing for Dean as his eyes rolled back and he fell forward, his entire body spasming now, shaking in convulsions with coiled, rigid limbs seizing.
"Come on," Wei grunted as Dean's body rattled against his, "You've survived this long. Just a little bit more."
It felt like forever, but then again it also felt like a moment. Wei thought of the single, absolute suicidal horror of having to be the unfortunate guy to tell Sam Winchester that his brother was dead. That saying about messengers who shouldn't get shot was going to be thrown out the fucking window along with his ass--
And then suddenly Dean was a still, dead weight in his arms. Wei sighed in relief and laid him back down. The former doctor checked Dean's airways if they were obstructed, checked his eyes for responsiveness, and then marveled when he stirred awake with a groan.
"You really are a stubborn sonofabitch," Wei breathed, ending the statement with a cough. He knew they had to get out of there as soon as they could. Dean needed help yesterday and no one could survive this toxic air for very long even if they were at the peak of health. He was just about to call out to Bobby when the other hunter emerged from his search with an armful of things that he tried to balance, as he himself was coughing.
"Gas masks from the riot gear," Bobby said after collecting himself, laying two masks on the floor. Wei macabrely thought that the masks looked like severed heads too, next to the real one.
"And then a decent kit," Bobby said, putting down a large, plastic box.
"We need some O2," Wei said quietly, looking at Dean worriedly, "He had a mild seizure and he's just coming to, but if I'm not wrong, it will get bad again soon. Likely worse."
"You're starting to talk like Reade with all the moaning and groaning of the gloom and doom of the apocalypse," Dean mumbled.
"You need a hospital," Wei told him flatly.
Bobby raked through the med kit and handed Wei a small, portable oxygen canister. Wei read some of the markers to ensure that it was still good, toggled at a few levers, and then put the mask over Dean's face.
Dean opened his eyes and his chest rose massively for a few breaths, before he broke into a vicious cough. Wei pulled him up to sit again and slapped at his back, hoping to keep the air moving and the congestion at bay, before handing the canister to Bobby.
"Take a whiff of that yourself," Wei instructed Bobby, "And then give it back to me. We have to get out of here right now, out to decent air."
Bobby did as instructed, and then started coughing too. He took a few breaths, and then gave the oxygen back to Wei, who put it back over Dean's nose and mouth. Bobby put on one of the riot-gear gas masks, and then offered the other one to Wei.
Wei grabbed Dean's slack hand and closed it around the canister, and Dean's fingers tightened against it as he took over holding it. The clean air was making him more alert.
Wei slipped on his own mask, and then stood up. "We gotta go. I'll take care of him."
Bobby nodded in understanding; Wei was younger and stronger after all, and the best thing about old men was that they were wise enough to know when to give in.
Wei wound Dean's free arm around his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. Bobby grabbed the kit he'd laid on the floor, and the three men carefully walked up the stairs, out of the basement and then to the car.
" " "
Dean sagged against the window at the door of the backseat, where Wei sat beside him as Bobby drove them out of town.
"Keep that over your face, Dean," Bobby admonished the younger hunter whose eyes were drooping sleepily, and whose hands were starting to go slack on the oxygen. Dean ignored him, and looked about to doze off.
Wei reached over to help him with holding the canister, but Dean swatted at him, saying, "I think I've had enough of yer hands today, doc."
Wei sighed in exasperation and ended up coughing. The sound was dry and thinly airy, and he swore to himself that he'd never take breathing for granted again, and that he would probably quit smoking. Probably.
Dean hesitantly lowered the oxygen and offered it to Wei, "I think I've been hogging this, haven't I?"
Wei shook his head and waved him off.
Dean stared at him stubbornly, unused to taking the mask when everyone seemed as hungry for air as he was. He tried stifling a cough, ended up coughing so hard he started to turn vaguely blue, and Wei was shoving his head between his knees and pressing the O2 back on his face.
"How bad's it gonna be?" Bobby said without turning his head. Dean obliviously tried to catch a breath, but it sounded like he was on the losing end of a geriatric marathon.
"He was down there a long time," Wei replied quietly as he pounded against Dean's back, "The smoke inhalation's a given. He looks like he got sideswiped by that blast, so I'm expecting thermal injuries to the respiratory tract, maybe some concussive internal injuries too, I'm not yet sure. As if the blast and the smoke ain't bad enough, we gotta consider other issues in an explosion like this. It's that damned toxic air. That means chemical injury too and I can guarantee you this - poisoning. I don't know what shit they were mixing up in that plant, but it's pesticides in its most concentrated forms taking to the air, Singer, so you can imagine the worst. The really nasty symptoms of all this will present in the next few hours; we want to really pay attention when he stops coughing, to airway obstruction, respiratory distress. The toxic air might also have a systemic effect: you know, tissue damage, neurological symptoms. He needs to be heavily medicated and monitored: drugs, intubation, suction, the whole nine yards. Smoke inhalation injuries and chemical exposures like this are severe and as you can tell, pretty damn comprehensive."
"But," Bobby stammered, "But he's conscious, he's lucid--"
"I am!" Dean rasped in agreement from beneath Wei's hold.
"Doesn't matter," Wei said, "There's going to be fluid build-up and swelling, chemical imbalances... bodily reactions that can be dangerous if unchecked. It's also why we should both get checked out too. Especially you."
"Why?"
"You're..." Wei bit his tongue, "Older."
Bobby just growled at that, "You know the boys have some big trouble with the law. The further he is from Finn's Canyon, the better off he'll be. How much time are we talking about?"
"Not a lot," Wei replied, "I can't say this any more bluntly, but you shouldn't expect to take him anywhere far, sitting on the back of an SUV, sipping on a lame-assed can of O2 and expecting him to live long enough to get there."
"Now, that's just mean," Dean frowned from his position, his voice muffled.
" " "
Reade watched, fascinated, as Sam's fingers drummed against the dashboard of the ambulance, his long, graceful digits pounding on the plastic, and then moving left to right and back again. It was the injured-version of pacing.
"Want me to sling you over my shoulder and we can take a furious pacing walk together outside?" he asked Sam wryly.
The younger Winchester was unamused, "Did you see that goddamn town?"
Who can survive that, they both thought, but rightfully did not mention aloud.
"They should be here by now," Sam said darkly, grabbing for his phone for the nth time since they'd parked in front of the collapsed cabin.
"Maybe you should uh..." Reade suggested, "Take a nap or something."
"Concussion," Sam mumbled, "And not until I know Dean is--"
Both men started at the sound of an approaching car. Sam drew himself out from the passenger seat of the ambulance, and held tight to the door for balance. Reade jogged to Sam's side, in case the younger Winchester had any stupid ideas of running to his brother in the state he was in.
"Thank God," Sam breathed, seeing his brother in the backseat of the battered SUV. Their eyes met and held, even from feet away and with Dean behind grimy glass windows.
The car stopped, and Wei and Bobby disembarked. Dean swung his door open but remained where he was, making Sam practically jump forward toward him.
Woah, he thought as the world twisted, changed axis or something. Reade caught him by the arm and steadied him, and he saw Bobby doing the same for Dean, who had apparently shot forward upon seeing Sam sway.
Their resigned friends brought them face to face.
"What happened to you?" Dean rasped.
Sam jerked a thumb at the collapsed cabin, before jutting his chin at Dean, "What happened to you?"
Dean snickered at him and jerked a thumb in the direction of the profoundly destroyed Finn's Canyon.
"Always gotta one-up me?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, yeah," Dean sighed, before doubling over in a long, exhausting cough. Wei pressed the oxygen into his hands again, and he complied with the unspoken order by putting it over his face. Sam's worried eyes shot from Dean to Bobby.
"With the ambulance," Wei said to Bobby upon spotting the parked vehicle, "He has an excellent shot."
"What's he talking about?" Sam asked.
" " "
They traded Winchesters; Dean was passed on to Reade, who ushered him over to the ambulance as Sam settled on the hood of the Impala to suffer a check-up under bribery of an update on his older brother's health. Bobby hovered worriedly over Wei's shoulder, holding the chart Reade had also thoughtfully stolen from the hospital relating to Sam's injuries.
Wei's hands were firm and sure as he examined the stitches on Sam's head, shining a pen light on his eyes.
"So what were you saying about Dean?" Sam asked, gaze trailing to his brother after the eye examination.
"Smoke inhalation injuries," Wei murmured, as he moved his probing hands down Sam's neck, and then stopping at the injured shoulder. "And pesticide poisoning from what I can see. Likely concussive injuries from the blast too. We have to get him to a hospital right away."
"Then what are we doing h--"
"The ride to the hospital is going to be fairly long," Wei replied, "The nearest one is an hour away, and if you were buried under a goddamn house and unconscious for a couple of hours, I need to know what I'll be dealing with on the road, because I'm all you both will have for a little while."
Sam's gaze was back on his brother's form, hunched on a bench in the back of the ambulance, breathing carefully. He looked away suddenly, and Wei knew Dean had stared right back at them just then.
"When Reade saw him die," Sam said shakily, "Remember he said that Dean was cut at the throat, and black things were coming out of his mouth? What's that got to do with all this?"
"Huh," Wei tilted his head in thought, and he lifted up Sam's shirt to examine his heavily-bruised and bandaged chest. "Maybe he was seeing him live, Sam, instead of the other way around."
"What do you mean?"
"His injuries are very complex," Wei explained, "And the most life-threatening symptoms can present hours after the exposure to the smoke and the poisonous air – swelling of airways, fluid build-up, chemical imbalances from the lack of oxygen and the toxic materials... Even now you can see his attention shortening, his disorientation increasing, his breathing growing more laborious. When his respiratory and neurological functions become severely disrupted, we will have to intubate, or, if Reade's vision proves correct, possibly even to harsher measures of breathing for him." He tapped at his throat meaningfully.
Sam gulped nervously, "What else?"
"Those are procedures I'd rather not do in the field even if I had practice, which I haven't had since I stopped working," Wei said, stopping his examination when Sam winced in pain.
"It's nothing," Sam snapped impatiently, "Just keep going."
Wei wasn't certain if Sam meant to continue with Dean's update or with the examination, but he resumed both. "Pneumonia's practically a given, but the field trach also opens him up to infections. Difficulty in breathing also puts a strain on his heart. That's just from the smoke and the blast, aside from the possible poisonous effects the toxins in the pesticide chemicals that he breathed might cause, which I cannot definitively predict at this point. He's already seized on me once, Sam. I don't know what toxins are on that air. The point is that he's going to need a lot of medical attention immediately and for a fairly long time, and there are decisions you're going to have to make, especially," he glanced up at Bobby, "Especially given your delicate situation with the law."
"The further we are from Finn's Canyon," Bobby said, "The better for Dean after that stunt he pulled claiming he planted a bomb in this town. Bringing him to the closest hospital practically guarantees he's going to get spotted, but bringing him further might kill him."
"That's not a choice," Sam said with a resolute shake of his head. Bobby gripped his arm when he swayed.
"I can't risk him dying," Sam gasped, "No way. We bring him to the closest place, and if we run into trouble, we'll deal with it later." He paused and licked his lips, "Does he ah... does he know all of this?"
"He knows he's not doing so good," Bobby replied, "He's a hunter, Sam, he knows his own body."
" " "
"This is like high school all over again," Dean smirked at Reade from beneath the oxygen mask after looking at his brother, Bobby and Wei talking, "All the girls gossiping about me."
"Sam's worried about you," Reade said.
"Yeah, about him," Dean said, jerking his head in the direction of the collapsed structure of the log cabin, "So you pulled Sam outta there, huh?"
Reade nodded.
"Thank you," Dean said gravely.
Reade smiled at him, and they both lifted their gazes when Bobby and Wei headed toward them with Sam, held by both arms, more-or-less walking between them.
"We were talking about you too!" Dean tried to joke, before breaking into a furious cough. He dropped the can of oxygen in favor of grabbing at his chest.
His friends moved fast; Bobby angled to take all of Sam's weight, Reade sprinted out of the way, and Wei hopped into the back of the ambulance and manhandled Dean from the bench to the stretcher. Dean curled to his side, shuddering with the effort to catch a decent breath. Wei's eyes roved around the ambulance quickly to see what he had in his arsenal. He snatched the oxygen mask and placed it over Dean's face, and then began setting up bags of IV's. He stuck two at the crook of Dean's elbow, and then hurriedly motioned for Sam.
Bobby helped the younger Winchester into the back of the ambulance, and when he was settled on the bench, Wei worked on a set of IV's for him also.
"Singer," Wei said as he took care of Sam, "Take over the O2 that Dean dropped, you'll need that. Reade, on the wheel now. We need to get outta here."
" " "
Winchesters in general did not like showing injury or illness. Such things were inevitable in their line of work however, and they dealt with it the way they dealt with any other unfortunate thing that came their way: they read the signs and looked after each other.
Their father, who was gruffly strategic when he was feeling well, tended to turn seething and homicidal when hurt or sick. He turned aggressive and combative, like a predator caught in a bad spot, blindly lashing out in an effort to protect itself. He was made better by Dean's patience and Sam's stubbornness: Dean looked after his hurts in that gently cajoling way that was so like his mother's style that it sometimes made John's attitude worse, and Sam kept him in line by biting right back and throwing punches and threats of his own.
Bullheaded and vocal Sam, who was usually either complaining about life or constructively contributing to research and planning, turned pensive and quiet when he himself was injured or under the weather. It was always only Dean who knew what to do with him; Dean filled up the quiet with assurances and lewd jokes when fairy tales stopped working after Sam learned how to read for himself. John kind of just... hovered over the two of them like an uncertain shadow, wordlessly passing on hunts and buying Sam's favorite food, but leaving all the rest to Dean. There had been a time just after Mary's death that Sam had fallen ill. John didn't know what to do and so the absence of his wife felt magnified. The same memory surfaced in his eyes anytime Sam got sick or hurt, that same helplessness and loss. And so whenever Sam was hurting, John fell silent also and just let Dean take care of his brother.
Dean's tell was just as distinct; it was a childhood quirk he never lost. Loud booming voice turned modulated, tall tales and boisterous teasing turned clipped and abrupt, and he held himself in a posture both tight and small, as if he just wanted to vanish off the face of the earth. He'd accept aid in profound embarrassment but with resignation, just wanting to get better as quickly as possible to get out of the situation. Sam's overtly worried mother-henning tended to drive him insane, especially when all he wanted was to either get better or be ignored. John's gruff style worked best on him, all-business and no-nonsense. He would always get better faster with John's orders for compliance and Sam's caring hands.
Sam thought about these things as he watched Wei tend to his older brother in the ambulance. They'd been on the road for a good number of minutes. Miraculously, Dean was conscious but quiet and pliant, making no move to fight his way out of the stretcher which the doctor had angled up so that Dean was leaning in a seated position, instead of lying flat on his back. An oxygen mask covered half his face, but Sam didn't need to see anything else to know how his brother felt; his weary green eyes were over-bright as they stared at the ceiling. It looked like he was trying to have an out-of-body experience, like he was wishing like hell that he was anywhere else but there. Dean ignored all of them; Sam and Bobby staring, and Wei's hands affixing leads on his chest and fingers to monitor his vital signs.
His body tightened suddenly, and his face reddened when he stifled a cough.
"Don't," Wei said, "Don't hold it in."
Dean closed his eyes miserably and nodded, just as a set of hacking coughs erupted from his shaking body. The spell lasted frighteningly long, so long that Sam watched with a growing fear that it would never stop. He couldn't get air in between the bursts that sputtered out of him, and his face was turning red in strain. Every muscle of his brother's body tensed and tightened as he coughed; eyes shut, fingers digging into the white cloth of the stretcher, stomach folded, leg muscles clenched, and he could see the veins popping out against Dean's neck and forehead. He curled up, as if he was trying to conserve himself, and Sam's trembling hands drifted to Dean's back, patting it with hesitation. When Dean's coughing finally subsided, he was curled on his side, head facing away from Sam. He was still shaking, so Sam reached for the thin white sheet gathered near Dean's legs and pulled it up to his older brother's shoulders.
Dean tried to get his breath back, and it sounded like it was coming through a thin straw. Sam squeezed Dean's shoulder reassuringly, and then on a whim said, "So... 4,000. Not bad, Dean."
For a long moment, Dean didn't face him, and Sam worried that he had lost consciousness. He said it again, and was in the middle of the number when Dean turned toward him with an irritated glare.
"I got it the first time," Dean rasped at him.
"Paid," Sam said quietly, "Good job."
Dean jerked his gaze away, and put his hand over his furiously rising and falling chest. "No... Lost--" he choked out, body jerking as he started coughed again, "They were... running at me... and..."
"Tell him to stop talking," Wei told Sam quietly as he looked at the readouts of Dean's vitals worriedly.
"Been trying for years," Sam murmured as he planted a firm hand on Dean's shoulder again, "Hey. Dean, hey!"
Dean turned his gaze back to Sam, and his suddenly deep and infinitely lonely eyes pinned the younger Winchester into frozen alarm. Dean raised his hand from his chest and lowered the mask from his face. His eyes were inconsolable but he laughed humorlessly, "Why... it all feels the same," he gasped, "I don't... understand. Time... waste... what a joke."
"Dean--" Sam admonished as he reached to put the mask back on. Dean took his younger brother's wrist mid-grab in an unwavering grip.
"It's on me!" Dean choked out in a sudden panic, and Sam blinked in alarm at the black-streaked saliva dribbling from his lips, "I can't... can't get rid of it!"
The words were rambling and desperate, but Sam knew full well what Dean was getting at: There's gotta be something that wipes the slate clean. Otherwise... otherwise it's just... on me, Dean had said, just days before when he was justifying why on god's earth he'd been counting like an obsessive-compulsive and why he had to save this town, even at the risk of death.
He started choking more heavily, body bucking. Sam snapped alert, and gripped Dean by the back of his neck as he readjusted the mask over his brother's face and held it there.
"Breathe, man," Sam begged, "You'll be all right, just breathe."
But Dean was lost, his eyes were mad with pain and disappointment. Trapped in a failing body was a tired, tainted soul. All he could smell was poison and smoke, and when his gaze lost its focus, he lost one more thing that bound him to the rest of the world. He was alone in his misery in almost every possible way, barely able to hear his brother's words, unable to be comforted. Sam watched in panic as awareness faded from Dean's eyes, and his body arched in an effort to get more air.
"Dean, please..." Sam begged as his brother shook against his grip. He barely noticed Wei throw things around behind him, looking for the proper tools to do what he had to do to save Dean's life.
"Dean!" Sam yelled. The movement and the yelling was making dark spots dance over his own wavering vision. He clenched his eyes to keep the nausea at bay, and then opened them again to stare intently at Dean's face.
"One," he choked out, "I'll give you a number. I only got one brother, that's all that counts. I'd have let this place burn to save you. Don't leave me alone, all right? Fight this-- Dean!"
Dean writhed and jerked, arms flailing desperately on his sides as he struggled for air. Sam angled himself against the stretcher, leaned his brother's body against his and kept a steadying arm around Dean's chest, his free hand holding the mask over Dean's face.
"Breathe with me, man," Sam whispered desperately against his ear, taking as massive an inhale as he could against Dean's back, "You feel that? Breathe with me."
Tears leaked from the corners of Dean's wide, senseless eyes. The green pools were deep, looking searchingly up at the ceiling of the ambulance. He looked perfectly lost, but something inside him must have heard. Something inside him always heard Sam. The mindless panic of jerking and bucking ceased, and though each laborious inhale was inadequate and broken by a cough before going deep, his exhausted body started to calm down.
"That's it," Sam soothed, "Just breathe with me."
Dean's eyes started to register with more awareness, and a few breaths later he patted at Sam's arm wearily, in acknowledgment. His eyes shuttered to half-mast, but they were more alert.
They stayed like that for a few more minutes. Both Winchesters were afraid to move, afraid to jar something that would change the situation. But there was nothing that could stop the inevitable failing of a body so assaulted and exhausted, and little by little, Dean's breathing went shallower and shorter, chest moving furiously beneath Sam's hand. His vigorous coughing turned sporadic, and then soft, and then ceased altogether.
Wei looked at some readings, and then looked at Sam grimly.
"You have to understand--" Wei began, wanting to say that he hadn't done any of what he was supposed to do in a long time.
"Don't," Sam told him, eyes steely and determined, "Don't say anything. Just do what you have to do."
Wei nodded shortly, and lowered the headrest of the stretcher to lay it completely flat. "Stop the van!" he yelled to Reade on the front seat.
Reade complied, and looked back at them, "What's going on?"
"You with us, Dean?" Sam asked as he lowered his brother to lie flat on the stretcher. Dean's head lolled limply, and his eyes had closed. The vital monitors started to buzz alarmingly at them, but Wei did not look surprised.
"You sure about this?" he asked Sam.
"I got no choice," Sam said, bitterly.
Wei tilted Dean's head up at an angle and opened his mouth, looked down his throat with a slim, lighted scope.
"He's progressing so quickly," he said as he drew out a gleaming syringe and a smooth, shining, silver surgical knife, "I was hoping we wouldn't have to do this here."
Wei injected something into Dean's IV, waited a few moments, and then felt at Dean's throat for a very specific spot - and pressed the blade down against the soft skin.
" " "
There was a kind of intimacy to it, breathing for somebody.
Sam watched Wei's hand rhythmically fist and release against the bag that breathed air into the tube shoved into the hole in his brother's throat. Dean's chest rose and fell with every breath forced into him.
The ambulance started up again, and Sam gripped at Dean's hand. His grip tightened and released according to the rhythm of Wei's, according to the rhythm of Dean's breathing. He imagined it was him keeping his brother alive, imagined that he knew what to do to make everything all right.
They sped toward the hospital.
To be concluded in the last chapter, 7: Accounts. Thanks for reading and 'til the next post!