A/N: And here is some "How To Fix A Winchester" love for all of you. This chapter is based off of a prompt from Colby's Girl. She asked for a strangled Sam having trouble breathing, and a guilty Dean not realizing it because he had left after they had fought.
I was having a little trouble convincing Dean to leave, however, and finally, the only way he would go was because he genuinely thought Sam was cleared to fly. So, no actual strangling, but plenty of fighting, guilt, swelling, wheezing and trying to reach big brother. Hopefully five out of six is okay for now, because my muse refused to strangle Sam tonight, so Colby's Girl, I hope you forgive me for tweaking your prompt a little.
As Always,
EverReader
Disclaimer: Not Mine
How To Fix A Winchester – Chapter Twelve
"The Unfortunate Thing About Arguments"
Dean looked bleakly at the doctor as he stood over Sam's hospital bed.
"Your brother's responding to the medicine very well, Mr. Morrison, but until he regains consciousness, we can't begin weaning him off the ventilator. The few trials we've run in the last two hours have been pretty hit and miss, and I'm not willing to take a chance, especially as this appears to be some kind of delayed reaction."
Dean nodded mutely, and after fiddling with the monitor for another moment, the doctor left, and Dean was left alone with the quiet of the steadily beeping machines, and a little brother who refused to open his eyes.
Stubborn little shit.
Dean sighed, leaning forward, shifting his shoulders as he tried to relieve some of the gathered tension in his neck and back. One of the nurses had suggested heading home and grabbing a hot shower and some food, but Dean had waved her off, knowing how panicked Sam would be when he woke up with a tube shoved down his throat.
If he woke up, that is.
Dean quashed that thought as soon as his mind gave birth to it, refusing to believe that an allergic reaction, of all things, would take down his pain in the ass little brother.
"Come on, Sam. Open your damn eyes already so we can finish our fight like men." He whispered.
Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural
(Seven Hours Earlier)
Sam cursed as he dodged another air born spike, thinking less than charitable thoughts about his brother.
When would his brother learn to ask first and shoot later? Was it so crazy for Sam to want to know the stupid little details about the monsters they were hunting?
Details like, oh, say, Gremlins could shoot poisonous spikes?
Crazy, right?
"Anytime, Dean!" He hollered, dodging another volley of spikes.
The old factory was practically falling down around them, and as Sam leapt over an old conveyor belt, he felt a stinging pain in his side.
Well, shit.
Yanking the spike out as quickly as he could, he was thankful to see Dean burst through the door with the homemade gas bombs.
For some stupid reason, Sage killed gremlins faster than fire or silver, and a few well placed bombs could take out even a large infestation, which was a good thing, because Gremlin nests apparently tended to be very large.
Very, very large.
As in, almost three-dozen strong large.
Another teeny tiny pointless detail.
Sam had wanted to do more research, wait for Bobby's call back, but Dean had insisted that the info in Dad's journal would be enough.
Obviously.
After the first volley of spikes had entrenched themselves into the wooden doorframe next to Dean's face, Sam's brother had changed his mind quickly, and they'd retreated to the Impala. Sam hadn't had any books on Gremlins in the car, but he'd had on on leprechauns (Dean insisted on it ever since Sam had been poisoned last year).
Fortunately, or unfortunately, the very last chapter had mentioned that Gremlins and Leprechauns were distant cousins, though gremlins were rarer and meaner.
And thought to be toxic.
Bobby had called back a moment later with the sage info, and Dean and Dean had set to work making the Sage bombs. The gremlins had started creeping outside with the setting of the sun, however, and Dean's ankle had been giving him problems off and on all week (he'd twisted it a few days ago, aggravating an old break from shortly after Sam had rejoined Dean, and the hunting life). So Sam had gone in, with the intention of keeping the creatures focused and in one place while Dean finished up the bombs.
"Sammy, you clear?" Dean called, lighting the first fuse.
"Go for it!" Sam called back, reaching his brother's side, and grabbing up a couple a bombs of his own, lobbing them with deadly accuracy.
Soon the factory was filled with the stench of burning sage, and before the brothers very eyes, the gremlins started dropping like flies.
"Well, look at that." Dean said with a grin, looking over at Sam.
Sam made a bitch face at his grinning brother, holding up the spike for Dean to see. "Yeah."
Dean's face morphed from jubilant to serious in a heartbeat, and in the next instant, he had dragged Sam out of the factory and into the weak light of the only working street lamp near the abandoned factory.
"You okay? How many hit you? Where at? What hurts?" Dean fired the questions off rapidly, yanking Sam's shirt up nearly to his armpits as soon as Sam gestured to his side.
"It doesn't hurt much." Sam offered reluctantly. It was the truth, but he was still aggravated about the entire thing.
Dean knelt, probing the wound carefully. "There's no swelling or drainage, I thought you said those bastards were poisonous?"
Sam made an irritated face. "Well, either their not, or I'm immune. I didn't exactly get a chance to do all my homework, did I?"
Dean stood, letting Sam's shirt drop. "Huh, well, that's a lucky break one way or another then. Make sure you wash it when we get back to the motel."
As the brother's made their way back to the motel, Dean started whistling (a habit of his whenever he considered a hunt successfully concluded) but with every mile, Sam felt his irritation grow.
He could have been killed. They both could have been killed. Or maimed, or eaten, or a hundred other things, hell, anything could have happened, just because Dean hadn't wanted to wait on intel.
By the time they reached their motel, Sam was seeing red, he was so angry. He slammed into their room, throwing his duffel onto the bed.
"Dude, what's your problem?" Dean asked, looking at Sam as if he were crazy.
Ha.
As if Sam were the crazy brother.
"What's my problem?" Sam snarled. "My problem is we almost got killed tonight, I almost got killed tonight, just because you couldn't wait the play exterminator."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Dude, you saw the size of that nest. They had already taken out most of the neighborhood pets. It was only a matter on time before they moved on to bigger prey. We had to act!"
"Like hell, Dean." Sam snapped. "We could have waited another day, or, I don't know, another hour? One of those things shot me, Dean. What if that stupid book had been right. I could be dead right now, because you were trigger happy."
"Hey! Don't take that tone with me!" Dean snapped back. "You agreed, time was short. We've gone in blind before, the monsters don't always give you advanced notice. Sometimes you just have to wing it."
"It was sloppy, Dean. Plain and simple. It was shoddy work, and Dad would have skinned us alive for half-assing the job." Sam yelled, and Dean pulled back in shock at the mention of John.
The topic of John was mostly taboo, a barely healed wound, and for the most part, neither brother brought him up unless it was necessary.
"You know what, screw you Sammy. How many times have I been bait while you made the bomb, or whatever the hell it took, huh? Screw. You." Dean said, pulling his jacket back on.
"Where the hell are you going!" Sam said, so angry he was seeing red.
"Out." His brother snarled, and slammed the door.
A moment later, Sam heard the Impala's engine start up.
Asshole.
Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural
(Six Hours Earlier)
Dean slammed into the bar with a 'don't fuck with me attitude' and unfortunately for Dean, everyone in the bar was wise enough to head it, because, Fuck, what he wouldn't give for a good fight about now.
What he really wanted to do was pound his jack ass little brother into the ground, but Dean knew he had a bad habit of taking his anger out on Sam, and usually, Sam let him.
Dean could still remember those first few rough months after John had died, when he had hit Sam more than once in his pain and anger, and Sam had just...let him.
Though memories, for some reason, had haunted him more than most after the pain of John's passing had faded, and Dean had sworn he'd keep his damn fists to himself.
But, oh man, did Sam ever push Dean's buttons sometimes.
What the fuck had gotten into the kid?
"Whiskey, double." He ordered curtly, and when the bar tended brought it, he drained it in one go, and nodded for the next.
Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural
(Five Hours Earlier)
Sam paced the motel room, trying vainly to walk off the fury that still coursed through his veins, but instead, the anger only seemed to grow. His hands were shaking, and his was actually so upset it made his chest feel tight, his skin hot and prickly.
Decided maybe a shower would literally let him blow off some steam, he headed into the bathroom, stripping off his shirt as he went, dropping it carelessly one the floor.
Standing in front of the mirror, he tried to decide if his hands were steady enough to let him shave. Deciding he might as well go for it, he bent over, turning on the shower, turning the heat to high. Dean had mentioned the water had taken forever to come on that morning, and Sam wasn't in the mood for a cold shower, no matter how pissed at Dean he still was.
Just the thought of Dean made a wave of rage crash though him, making his limbs jittery and his hands twitchy. He opened his eyes again, startled to see the mirror had already fogged up, the bathroom now filled with steam.
How long had he stood there, trying to regain his temper.
He shook his head, rattled by the feeling of having lost time somehow, and wiped the condensation of the mirror.
He frowned at the pallor of his complexion, startled by the dark circles under his eyes. The steam in the bathroom was suddenly too thick, it was actually had to breath now, and as Sam turned to open the bathroom door to let some of the steam out, a flash of red in the mirror caught his attention.
He looked down and realized his wound from earlier had turned a dark, angry red. The room seemed to shimmer around him, and Sam leaned quickly against the wall, sliding down to the ground as he lost his balance.
He was still having trouble catching his breath, and, stupidly enough, he was still freaking pissed off at his brother, and dimly, some part of his brain realized that was not right, that he should be calling Dean, right now, because something was wrong...
He blinked again, and maybe he was losing time, because now it was even harder to breath, and wasn't he going to call someone...
Dean.
Sam was going to call Dean.
Wait, wasn't he made at Dean?
His breath whistled in and out in sort, wheezy breaths, and that was bad, Sam knew that was bad, but he didn't know what to do about it, couldn't think of what he should do.
Maybe Dean would know...
With numb, clumsy fingers, he pulled out his phone, but the numbers swam in front of his eyes, and Sam blinked, trying to clear them...
A moment later, the phone fell to the bathroom floor, Sam slumped unconscious beside it, each breath shorter, wheezier that the last.
Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural
(Four Hours Ago)
Dean finally took out his phone, expecting to see a host of angry texts from his brother, but to his surprise, the only notifications were of a missed call from Bobby.
Dean stood, testing his balance, pleased to find he could walk relatively well. The motel was only a few blocks away, but Dean didn't like taking chances with his baby.
As he exited the bar, he called Bobby.
"Took you long enough." The older hunter grumbled. "I take it you guys managed the gremlins?"
"Yeah, but don't ask Sam about it anytime soon. Kid's PMS'ing or something." Dean said in aggravation.
"Well, at least neither one of you got stung." Bobby said.
"Actually, I think that's what ticked Sam off. One off the little suckers got off a lucky shot, and Sam took offense big time."
"What?" Booby exclaimed. "Why the hell didn't you say you were at the hospital?"
"Why would we be at the hospital?" Dean said in confusion as he started the Impala.
"Because Gremlins are big-time poisonous, ya idjit!" Bobby practically yelled.
"That's what we thought, too. But Sam was fine, just righteously ticked off." Dean answered, pulling out of the lot.
"Dean, where's your brother, where's Sam at right now?" Bobby said urgently, and Dean frowned at his tone.
"Back at the motel. I was tired of his pissy mood. Why?" Dean said, as a sinking feeling crept into his stomach.
"When you say 'pissy' ya mean screaming and hollering for no good reason?" Bobby asked quickly.
"Yes, okay. He was in a mood. What the hell is going on, Bobby?" Dean said, pressing harder on the gas, eager now to get back to their room.
"Gremlin poison's delayed, Dean. It triggers a massive fight or flight reflex. Irritability, anger, rage, those are just the first signs. Then you have the shakes, racing heart, and trouble breathing."
"Trouble breathing?" Dean said, alarmed. "How bad we talking, Bobby?" He asked, as the motel came into view.
"Get to Sam, Dean. Now. Get off, and call 911, right now." Bobby actually hung up on Dean, which was probably a good thing, as all of Dean's cognitive function had diminished drastically as he screeched into the parking lot of the motel. Flying out of the car, he raced for their room, shoving the key into the lock.
"Sam? SAMMY?" He called, looking around worriedly. The main room was empty, but the bathroom door was cracked, and Dean could here the water running.
"Sam? SAM-"
Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural
(Present Time)
Dean refused to sleep, watching the monitors instead, counting heartbeats to ward off the images off the frantic paramedics desperately trying to get the trach down Sam's throat.
Sam had been nearly blue, and they had been ready to cut a hole in his throat, when one of them finally managed to get the trach in.
Things hadn't gotten any better when they'd reached the hospital. Sam's oxygen was been so low it barely registered, even with the ventilator, his blood pressure had kept dropping, his heartbeat completely erratic.
The doctors had grilled Dean, frantic to figure out what had triggered what they assumed to be an allergic reaction. When steroids had done very little, they'd started trying anti-venom.
They had had to use an Epi-pen on him twice, and Dean vowed to snag a couple of those when they left the hospital.
Eventually, though nothing seemed to actually help, Sam appeared to crest some kind of hill, blood pressure and heartbeat stabilizing, though, as the doctor had said, he still needed the ventilator.
Though Dean hated seeing Sam with a tube down his throat, anything was better than the white skin and blue lips, the way Sam had slumped like a rag doll...
Guilt ate at Dean, and he was forced to admit that Sam's rant had been right. Though, had he not been suffering the aftereffects of the toxin, he probably would never have said anything.
Sam was good at that, at knowing that sometimes Dean just had to act, to fight, to keep moving forward, like a shark that had to swim or risk drowning.
Sam seemed to know that sometimes Dean needed to put the bad guys behind them, fast and brutal, one more lock between him and the rest of the world.
But this time, Dean's carelessness hadn't gotten one of them a twisted ankle, or a broken arm.
It had nearly gotten Sam killed.
So Dean settled in, knowing his eyes wouldn't close until he'd seen Sam's open, until Sam was breathing on his own, until Dean didn't have to count heartbeats to stave of the demons.
Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural Supernatural
Sam looked up from where he was stealthily packing his bag. The next shift of nurses were due to come on the clock any moment, and he'd thought Dean was more than ready to blow this Popsicle stand.
Sam had been there two days already, having been extubated yesterday morning, a less than pleasant experience, to say the least.
Finally, Dean walked in, hands shoved in his pockets.
"Dude?" Sam asked, voice still a little hoarse from the venom and the ventilator.
"Here, put these in your bag." Dean shoved a handful of something into Sam's hands, and he looked down, curious to see what Dean would think was worth risking being caught for.
The medical jargon was as wordy as ever, but after a moment, Sam realized they were Epi-Pens, like Jess had carried for her peanut allergy.
He raised a brow inquiringly.
Dean just shook his head. "Let's move, man. Bobby's expecting us by nightfall."