I did it, I did it...I updated!!! I can not believe it...I think I'm even more excited then you, my lovely readers. I have never ever written a story as I go, so this is a WIP and I'm going wherever and whenever the story is taking me THAT is why this updates take so looong. I'm really honored that you are all going along with me, so...come…
Enjoy…
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The first aid kit fell from Dean's thighs and made a weird noise when it hit the ground or maybe it hit Sam's sneakers, Dean couldn't be sure. His line of vision was his baby brother's hair at the moment, his ears in tune with Sam's breathing…everything else was nonexistent. Not even the pesky mosquito that made its task to drink all the blood out of Dean's body.
The gauze he'd been using to clean Sam up, fell on the floor too, but made no noise. There was nothing to break the silence of Dean holding his baby brother in his arms, the tiny body, the bones and flesh, held him for all his life was worth, didn't hear the creek, didn't hear the cricket, didn't hear the mosquitoes, didn't pay any attention to the mocking of the moon: "You weren't fast enough. He saw, he heard, he felt…"
Screw you, lady…
He tightened his hold for a split second, his palm flat on the middle of Sam's back, feeling the sweat drenching Sam's shirt, felt the little, barely there tremors that slipped up and down Sam's spine, when he breathed. He shifted his left hand, slid it up to the back of Sam's neck. The hair there, the soft curls were still soaking wet, and he intertwined his fingers with them. Just a quick hug, no one needs to know.
"Hold him, boy, or you'll loose him." the trees whispered, when the wind picked up speed, when the hot breeze twirled around his ears.
I know…
The darkness was thick with little silver patches of light that the moon gave away to brighten up the scenery. Thin rays of light cut through Sam's wayward hair, to make their peace on the black back seat of the car. The narrow beams of light were cutting between the tree branches to cut Dean's heart in little peaces…to get lost into the forest ground.
He shook Sam, shook him lightly, barely a touch and Sam didn't notice…didn't stir, didn't even breathe out wrong. He just…was…there, a warm, solid presence on Dean's chest, pressing his chest to his, sharing warmth and cold, breath and heartbeats.
"Sam!"
No movement, no hitch in breath, nothing but silence and puffs of breath on Dean's neck, stirring the short hair at his nape. It tickled, the warm breath, the damp exhale.
Well at least you're breathing, that has to count for something.
"Sammy, wake up!"
He shook harder, twisting his hand on Sam's back, clenching his fingers into the fabric of Sam's T-shirt, probably tearing it apart, probably leaving bruises, squeezing the wet cotton between his fingers. He could have sworn that a little water dripped down his hand. Sam was sweating so much, too much and Dean knew that it wasn't just because of the hot night. It was fear and it was seeing and hearing something he was far too young to see and hear. Not yet anyway.
Sammy, you are weird. And I'm right there with you.
Sam's legs were between Dean's, a solid presence of warmth, his forehead a weight on Dean's shoulder and holding his brother like that, was…strange. It was…it felt as if even the darkness couldn't squeeze between them, no sound that could penetrate their bubble. It was a moment of being free…no one and nothing could disturb them and if it did, just for a second, Dean would snap. Its. Neck. Not one thought made him try to release Sam, he felt that if he would let go, if he would just breathe out wrong, Sam would disappear.
Sam was too young to see a man get…killed. He was just fifteen. A boy who has seen a lot and will see even more as his life would pass, but at fifteen…seeing a man get killed…too soon, too fast.
But that was not the only thing that made Sam like that…limp in his brother's arms. That was only a sick, sick side effect of…
"You have to wake him up…" the gentle wind told him, as it passed his nose, bringing with it the smell of mushrooms and clarity. It interrupted his thoughts; it interrupted his knowledge of what was going on, it brought him back to the matter in his hands…literally.
You think I don't know that…
"Sam, wake the hell up!"
Sam's silk soft hair was in his nose, in his eyes, in his mouth…girly shampoo.
"Dean?!"
A hand touched his shoulder, a big, strong hand that could only belong to his father. It startled him, in his state of focusing only on Sam and nothing else. He jumped a little, unnoticed to his Dad, but Sam's hand dropped a little to his knee. It was a heavy presence, Sam's hand…a reminder that Sam was born with bones and limbs…limbs that were just 'unconscious' at the moment.
"Dad?"
He untangled himself from the privacy he had, holding his baby brother in his hands, like so many years ago and like every day since. And now his Dad was here, breaking the silence, breaking the easiness of clinging to Sam, breaking the loneliness…the darkness.
"What happened?"
John's voice stopped the rotation of Dean's world, stopped the panic that was slowly rising up Dean's spine, and before everything could collide together there was his Dad to fix things.
Finally.
Before Dean knew what was going on, Sam's steady warm weight was removed from his hold, torn away from his hands that made a whoosh movement in the air, chasing Sam's body to hold again, but only finding hot summer air instead.
He was pushed aside, pushed away from Sam, pushed into the hard, warm ground. His hands found purchase in the dead leaves and needles that pinched his palm. His behind found a 'cozy' spot to sit on, a stone, that was turned way, way wrong. He shifted when he saw his Dad holding Sam. Holding him…hard. Bruising.
"Sam?"
Whereas Dean's hands were gentle and soft, almost feather light in their pressure, John's were hard, rough and breaking bones. Dean observed his Dad running his hands over Sam's body, obviously checking for injuries, obviously being too rough, too hard on Sam and it made Dean's blood boil. He fisted his hands and gripped the ground, the tinny needles pushed themselves into his palm, underneath his fingernails, but…
"Dad, he's fine. Just some scrapes and bruises. Sir."
The creek almost stopped, almost ran out of water, the moon hid behind a cloud, that was almost sheep shaped, the trees stopped shhhhhhing and Sam stirred.
"Dean, he's unconscious." John said the words that were dripping with worry and they were said to Dean like he was responsible for it.
"Your fault Sammy is like that." The moon laughed when it peeked out from behind the cloud.
I know, I know, I know…
John sighed and grabbed Sam by the shoulders, softly now, Dean could tell, and dragged him into the backseat of the Impala. Tucking his long legs in and wiping the sweat covered hair from his forehead, John murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 's fine, boy, you're gonna be fine.
Dean rose from the floor, his jeans covered with dirt, his hands scraped a little, but nothing time wouldn't fix, and made his way to his father's side.
Standing there, in the silver darkness of the hot summer night that was turning achingly slow into dawn, side by side with his Dad, looking at Sam…made something right in Dean. Repaired a particle of him, he didn't even know was broken.
Sam was…silent and still. The only thing of his that was moving was his chest. The hand that laid splayed on his stomach was twitching, like it was tapping to a beat. A beat neither of them knew.
"He's alive, boy." The trees concluded for Dean, when the soft wind rustled their leaves.
Yeah, yeah he is…
It was a different kind of privacy standing like this, with his Dad watching Sam. It only lasted for a few seconds, but to Dean it seemed minutes before he got the urge to say something.
"He's," scared, unconscious, hurt, not here, catatonic, asleep, breathing, alive, passed out, he saw, "I don't know."
The words felt foreign to him, felt strange in the stillness of the dark forest, it felt like he spoke them out too loud. It felt as if he broke the golden rule of 'keep it silent'.
"Well I do. Come on, let's go."
John rounded the car when Dean picked up the first aid kit and threw it on the floor of the front seat when he sat down. He turned around to look at Sam, sprawled in the back seat, his chest rising up and down, fast, slow…so slow and too fast, so fast and too slow. His mouth was open, catching the night between his lips.
Dean looked up front, when the Impala roared to life and absentmindedly scratched the spot where the mosquito found its snack.
"What did you do to the body?"
"The usual."
"Good."
Now all we have to do is fix Sam.
Dean clenched his jaw, mimicking John. He wanted to be the one driving, he wanted to be the one who would grip the steering wheel until his knuckles would turn white and break. He wanted to be the one to feel the strength of the Impala…he wanted to be the one who would fix Sam.
"Can't save him!" the moon mocked from the sky.
Shut the hell up, bitch!
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TBC…
Is it just me or do you have the feeling like I'm not answering any major plot questions? If the answer is yes, well then, I'm doing my job properly. If the answer is no, then you know something I don't and it would be awesome if you would tell me what you know.