Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Supernatural, I just borrow.
Thanks for all of the reviews and reads!
Dean was sinking.
He couldn't see-his eyelids were heavy, heavier than they should be. No matter how much he struggled to open them, they wouldn't budge.
Even breathing was difficult-every time he tried to inhale, it was like someone was stabbing him with a white-hot blade. Soon, it became impossible-it was like there was a hundred pound weight on his chest.
So he quit trying.
"DEAN!" he could hear his father's voice, thick with concern and pain. "Come on, you've got to breathe."
He wished he could tell his father that he was sorry. It's too hard. The pain was slowly subsiding, and he began to feel like he was floating away.
"I need some help here!" his father was carrying him now, and he was cold. Were they outside?
He could hear a reply, but the words were unclear. Was he dying?
He couldn't die like this. He was only fourteen-still a kid. He hadn't accomplished anything, hadn't changed anyone's life. He needed more time.
But still, he could feel himself floating away. He was looking down at his body now, hovering above the scene. There were doctors and nurses surrounding him-not him, but his body.
His body was battered. Blood poured from a wound on his head, his entire face was blue, his arm and leg looked broken, and he was covered in small lacerations.
Dean thought about his family. His father-he'd never had a chance to show him what he was made of. He thought of Bobby, the man who had been like a second father to him. He thought of Sammy, his sweet, smart, amazing little brother.
Sammy.
He couldn't leave Sam alone with his father-they would kill each other. Sam couldn't understand their dad's motives, and his dad was too stressed to try to see Sam's side of the moment.
That was what gave him the strength to fight. He wasn't ready to leave his family yet-he needed them. They gave him strength and support, and he needed to be there to return the favor.
"Clear!" a doctor shouted, and Dean could hear him. He was back in his body.
A painful shock raged through his body, and suddenly, he could breathe. It was labored, it was painful, but he was breathing.
"We've got a pulse," someone-a nurse?-announced.
"Clear the OR," a male voice announced, as someone slipped something over Dean's nose and mouth. "He's got massive internal injuries."
That was the last thing Dean heard before things went entirely black, and he was gone.
SPNSPNSPN
It was raining.
Sam Winchester was laying out in the open, trying to avoid moving-every time he shifted his position, he was plunged into agony.
But he didn't care. All he could think about was Dean.
Dean, his thoughtful and caring big brother. Dean had always been there for him-always had his back and covered for him.
What would he do if his brother-if Dean-
You can't think like that, Sammy. The realization came in Dean's voice-it was something his brother had said often, whenever Sam thought he'd failed a test, or that Dad wasn't coming home. Everything will work out.
And Dean had always been right.
It was getting dark now, and Sam could hear the howl of a dog. Or a werewolf.
He was scared. He wanted his brother to be there with him, protecting him. He wanted to be warm and safe in some backwoods motel room, fighting with Dean over what they'd eat for dinner. He wanted everything to be normal.
But it wasn't.
When he began to shiver, Sam realized that he had to move. He would catch pneumonia sitting out in the rain.
It was no easy feat-he had to drag himself for a hundred yards, across the muddy ground. He coughed, and then gasped in pain. Every bit of movement brought him intense agony.
He reached the shelter of the trees-they weren't perfect, but they would do. He needed someone to help him, to rescue him.
Where was his father?
SPNSPNSPN
John Winchester sat in the waiting room of the hospital, breathing in antiseptic fumes and worrying about his sons.
He'd tried to leave two hours ago, but a doctor had called him over and updated him on Dean's condition-which wasn't very good.
They had managed to get Dean breathing, but he was on a ventilator. His spleen was ruptured, and he had two broken ribs-one which had impaled his lung. He had a severe concussion, and internal bleeding.
Not to mention his leg, which was broken in two places, and his broken wrist.
He was still in surgery-had been ever since they'd arrived. John just wanted his son to be okay-to be alive.
He thought of all the things he had never done with his sons. Sam and Dean had never been to an amusment park, even though they'd been dying to go to one. John had never had enough time to bring them. If Dean lives, I'll take them to goddamn Disney World.
That was when he remembered Sam. Sam, his ten year old son, who was stuck in the middle of the woods with a couple broken bones and a gun.
John couldn't leave the hospital. But he could call someone.
He walked outside, opened his phone, and dialed Bobby Singer's number.
"Bobby Singer," the hunter's gruff voice answered.
"Bobby, it's John Winchester," John replied. He continued without giving Bobby an opportunity to interrupt. "Listen, there's been an accident. Dean and Sam fell from a rock wall."
"Oh my God," Bobby gasped. "Are you at the hospital? How are the boys?"
"Me and Dean are at the hospital, he's in surgery," John answered. He couldn't go into detail about Dean's condition-he would break down. "But I-I left Sam back at the site with a gun."
There was a moment of silence. John thought the call might've disconnected-but then, Bobby exploded.
"YOU DID WHAT?" he shouted, furious. How could this man be so stupid? "YOU LEFT YOUR TEN YEAR OLD IN THE F-ING WOODS WITH A GLOCK?"
"Bobby, I didn't have much choice!" John replied. He wasn't angry with Bobby-his ignorance had harmed both of his sons. "Sam was concious, Dean wasn't, and I couldn't call an ambulence."
"Give me the coordinates," Bobby demanded. "I'm going to get him."
John obliged, and said, "Thank you, Bobby."
"I'm not doing it for you," the grizzled hunter replied, before he hung up.
SPNSPNSPN
It had been eight hours since his father had left with Dean, and Sam was still alone in the woods.
It was completely dark now-he couldn't see two feet in front of his face. He was shivering so hard that he didn't trust himself to hold the gun without accidently pulling the trigger.
He was beginning to get tired. Extremely tired. It was a fight just to keep his eyes open-but he knew that if he let them close, he wouldn't wake up.
But eventually, they became too heavy to support, and they closed.
Just before everything went black, he heard someone shout his name.
"Sam!"
And then, he passed out.