After the last request was so long, I decided to buckle down a bit, seeing as I'm home sick for a few days at the moment, which sucks. So here's the next request, set Season Eight Trial era. Ooh, yes, that I can do! The only other things I'm doing at the moment is performing movie marathons - Toy Story & Ice Age at the weekend, and Pirates of the Caribbean on Monday while off college. Anyway, so here's the next story. Apologies in advance for how long it may take to write; hope it's alright. NOTE: this chapter holds a Trigger Warning for Panic Attacks, because it was the best thing I could think up that fit the request. This means I was writing about a trigger of my own, but I've done that before, so I can manage it, it's fine. Just be warned and don't read if you think it could trigger you. Just trying to keep everyone safe :)
Season: Eight, set Trial-era just before **8.21**
Characters/Themes: Sam, Dean; Trials, sickness, panic attack, hurt/comfort - especially comfort
Request: from 'AlxM' - "Because of the trials, Sam somehow stops breathing for a sufficiently long enough time. He ends up fine of course, because of a certain awesome big brother. But Dean seriously starts freaking out afterwards, like the awesomely overprotective big bro he is, all yelling and pissed and guilty and maybe to the point of a few tears. Sammy's all weak after the ordeal and puppy-like and little brotherly and still manages to calm him down"
Restless, Sam Winchester shifted his position as he lay on his bed in the Bunker, their home now. At least, his brother called it home.
The list of ailments that Sam could come up with on the spot that he was feeling at the moment was so long that he would need about three pens with the most ink possible in them to write all his thoughts down.
Well, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but he did feel very sick. Not that it would help to admit this, to Dean least of all. If Dean couldn't help Sam - which he couldn't, despite his persevering attempts - then he didn't need to know.
Said brother was worrying enough about Sam as it was. Since the second trial, the symptoms had gotten worse, until his unsteadiness had led to almost passing out from standing up - while Charlie was there, no less.
This had simply led to being benched from the job, until Sam had decided enough was enough and, after failing to preach to Dean that staying home would do him no better good anyway, went out after the hunter and hunter-in-training anyway. Which, predictably, had led to him feeling worse than before.
He had crashed in his bedroom the night Charlie had left, but had barely go any proper rest. After over a day's sleep after the second trial - which Dean had concernedly noted immediately after Sam had stumbled into the main room, seeming hardly able to walk straight - it seemed that his body was too busy trying to fight the illness the plagued him to let his mind actually stop whirling for a few hours.
Consequently, a lack of sleep had swiftly led to a lack of strength; even more so than what the trial sickness had and was taking from him.
All of these thoughts running through Sam's mind, and more, made him simultaneously weakly angry but exhausted. He knew there was nothing left that didn't hurt like hell. The blood he coughed up was darkening - it in itself a result from some internal damage, and the darker it got the worse the damage seemed.
Overall, he was tired. Worried and scared, and just plain tired. Well, scared was a simply way to put it. Terrified was more like it. Complete and utterly in fear of what was happening, and what would happen...
Sam realised his breath was quickening, and he cursed himself. Dammit. And this was what he was trying to avoid - panicking.
There was a soft knock at his door that made Sam jump, almost panting as he tried to breathe, coming to the quick and correct conclusion that he was swiftly nearing hyperventilation. Simply because of thinking too hard. Goddammit.
However, help was soon at hand. Not hearing any response from inside the room, Dean frowned and pushed the slightly ajar door open more so he could see inside the room. "Sammy?" he questioned, hesitating. He really didn't want to interrupt any rest his brother may finally be getting, but the need to check on Sam was overwhelming.
And the state that his brother was in right now confirmed that overprotective need at the correct way forward.
Because as Dean stepped into the room, he could see Sam struggling to sit up on his bed, labored breathing easily heard as he equally struggled against the panic that was beginning to invade his mind, because his thoughts could no longer be silent.
The big brother was immediately on the alert, at Sam's side in an instant. As he rubbed his brother's back and whispered soothing nothings, he wondered what had brought this on. Pain? Fear? Simply just thinking too deeply?
Whatever it was, it had a hold on Sam and was not letting go. Instead of calming in Dean's presence, Sam's breathing got faster, to the point of hyperventilating, and he tried to lean his head down to try and catch him breath, chest heaving as he fought to stay focused.
Dean quickly realised what this was - a full on panic attack. And one that was not just letting Sam get away with a little panic; no, this was scaling into a complete and utter unable to breath fear and worry induced flare of panic that was gripping Sam tightly.
Searching his mind for how to appropriately react, Dean slipped off the bed to kneel in front of Sam, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his knee, trying to catch Sam's eye, because it was the only way that the kid was going to stop panicking and calm the fuck down.
"Sam, listen to me. Calm down. Just breathe. It's okay, you can breathe. Slow it down, calm down," Dean ordered, rubbing soothing circles with his fingers. Sam finally caught his eye, but instead of calming down and breathing slower, he shook his head silently, fear in his eyes, and groaned, closing his eyes and rubbing his chest and pain overtook him.
Panic started to threaten at Dean's mind too. Whatever this was, it was more than just a panic attack. Something to do with the trials, no doubt. Those goddamn trials, screwing with his brother. Anger, not at Sam, took the place of coming panic, and Dean was able to focus on calming his brother again.
"Listen, Sam, you have to slow down your breathing. You're panicking, okay, you need to calm down. Just breathe, and focus on me," he urged. Sam shook his head again and started coughing, the hand that wasn't rubbing his chest flying up to his mouth to cover the cough.
Dean winced at the deep, hoarse, coughing, and gently rubbed Sam's shoulder, waiting for it to be over. "Just take it easy, Sammy. Calm down," he soothed.
But when Sam pulled his hand away from his mouth, it was covered in blood. The mere sight made his eyes slam closed in panic and his breath ratcheted back up to hyperventilating again.
For his own part, Dean was stunned too. The blood that almost freaking covered Sam's hand was dark, signifying something deeply wrong. Quickly focusing back on his continuously panicking brother, Dean shoved his worry aside to try and help Sam calm down.
"I know it looks bad, but it'll be okay, I'm here, it's okay little brother. I'm here to help, and you are not going to panic all night," Dean told Sam with conviction. "Come on, calm down, breathe slowly like this."
Dean made a good attempt to slow his own breathing, for Sam to follow that pattern, and to his credit, he did try for a minute, but then the cough racked his weak frame again and more dark blood ended up on his hand, sending him into another frenzy of panic.
Feeling lost, Dean couldn't do more than rub Sam's knee and shoulder softly and whisper increasingly desperate reassurances at him. "Sammy, please calm down... if you don't calm down, I'm going to have to drag your ass to a hospital, or drug you, or something," Dean said urgently.
Sam was breathing so fast he just couldn't catch his breath any more. He tried to reach out a hand for his brother, and Dean gripped his hand. "Dean... can't... breathe," he wheezed, bowing his head more, fighting to take in a slow breath, and not succeeding, his body succumbing to weakening pants as he began to lose consciousness.
"Okay, okay, I know Sam, but you have to try. You can talk, then you can breathe. Just try to take it slow," Dean said softly, increasing urgency in his voice.
Again, Sam tried to slow down his breathing, but he just couldn't, and that scared him as much as the trial business and the blood and he just couldn't and he was coughing again, and he couldn't see, his vision whitening out, and he wondered if he was going to die here, because he couldn't breathe and Dean Dean I can't breathe...
Something thumped him on the back and he coughed, blood smeared all over his hand now, and he couldn't deal with that, and he still couldn't see, and Dean help please and the hand hit his back between the shoulder blades again, and he coughed and drew in a ragged breath finally, and his vision filtered back, and the hand on his back stayed there and rubbed soothing circles.
Sam would of liked it to stay like that, but he still couldn't see, and maybe that was because his eyes were closed, but he couldn't remember closing them, but it was so dark, and he could hear his heart thumping in his ears, and it was so loud, and it was slowing...
Dean felt Sam's body go limp against him after he had hit him twice to try and stop him choking on his own blood, and Sam had managed to take a breath and leaned against Dean, and Dean thought that the worst was over.
He carefully lay Sam down on his bed and frowned, looking him over. He had passed out very quickly - and then Dean realised; Sam had gone from panicking to not breathing at all.
Fear seized Dean by the heart and he immediately pressed two fingers to the base of Sam's jaw, feeling a small relief at the weak pulse he found, but that was soon going to disappear if Sam didn't start breathing again soon.
This trial crap was getting way too hard and bad for the Winchesters, and Dean was about done with it. But first he had to save Sam. Always saving Sam, always looking out for his little brother.
Ordering hadn't worked before, but contact usually did, but - focus Dean focus - to wake Sam up with a jolt enough to get him realising he can breathe again would have to be a hit or -
That'll do. Dean slapped Sam full on the face as hard as he could, knowing it was their only chance. "Sammy, wake up and breathe or so help me I will -" he began, terror making his voice ragged, but thankfully, oh thank god, Dean didn't have to say what he would do, because Sam flew awake with a gasp, pushing himself up to cough.
Dean automatically caught him and thumped Sam on the back once more until he stopped coughing and there was a blissful silence in the room, broken only by somewhat regular, though hoarse, breathing from the younger Winchester, and terror stricken but calming from the other.
Pulling Sam closer, a hand against his little brother's neck to feel his slowing to a calmer rhythm pulse, Dean rested his head against Sam's hair, and was struck by the last time they were in this position.
It was when they had gotten back together, and had gone back to their old house. The poltergeist in the house had animated objects, and Sam had fallen victim to being choked to death by a lamp cord. It was pure luck that Dean had ran to check on him first, and had broken the spell the ghost had on the house, and had gone to Sam, pulling off the cord, and held his weak little brother close, just listening to the sound of Sam's breathing.
So that was all he did now, years and years and so many trials and tribulations later. Just held his little brother close and was soothed by his breathing, just knowing that it meant that they weren't giving up yet.
As Sam came back to consciousness, understanding filtered in and he shifted a little, feeling Dean tense around him. "Sammy?" He asked quietly, waiting for a response.
Sam cleared his throat hoarsely and immediately felt the hand on his back that had been rubbing stop warily. Letting out a slow breath, Sam replied just as quietly, "I'm here."
It was all Dean needed for a moment. He took a deep breath, and then slowly let Sam go, watching as he moved back against the bed's headboard. Settled, Sam looked up and met his eyes, a thousand thank-yous in his gaze.
Dean just nodded. Crisis over, for now, he suddenly felt total and complete anger - not at Sam, but at what had his little brother in its grip, and in its grip so much that it had almost stopped Sam breathing for good.
Unable to stay sat still, Dean stood up, pacing and breathing harshly. Sam watched him with his eyes, wary, but too weak to do anything physically. "Dean..." he began cautiously.
"This freaking thing is going to kill you, and it's just not right!" Dean exploded, yelling in the direction of Sam's desk rather than the room's occupant, because he knew that he would feel guilty later if he yelled at Sam, even if he wasn't really yelling at Sam.
The fact that that thought didn't make any sense made Dean even more mad; he was so angry that he would love to punch something, anything - but what he would really like to do would be to stop this illness that was slowly but surely killing his little brother, taking Sam from him. And that wasn't allowed. Nothing could take Sam from him.
"Son of a BITCH," Dean shouted, the sound echoing through the Bunker's empty halls.
"Dean," Sam repeated forcefully, seeing where Dean's rant was going. But it was going to go nowhere but another panic attack unless he calmed down, and soon. And that really didn't need to be repeated so quickly.
"No, Sam, this thing - this - this goddamn trials are... they're just going too far," Dean continued, glaring at everything except his brother. It isn't Sam's fault; if any, it's mine.
"We knew something like this would happen, but Dean-"
"Sam." This time Dean did turn and stare intensely at his brother. "You couldn't breathe, and then you weren't breathing. If I wasn't here to wake you the hell up, then where would we be, huh? I would've found you dead!"
Taking a breath to avoid panicking again, Sam nodded. "You would of," he agreed quietly. His cheek still stung and his back ached from being hit, but it was worth it to Dean, and to him, as long as he was still alive.
Dean's expression softened as he stared at his brother. "And then where would we have been?" he asked, voice cracking. Sam bit his lip and flicked his eyes down. He knew that there was no way Dean would live with finding him dead.
"But, Dean, listen," Sam repeated, waiting until he had eye contact with his brother. "You were here. And you saved my life tonight. And you've saved my life all the other times I would of died - because you're here." Truth dawned in Dean's eyes. Sam swallowed, feeling the tacky texture of blood, and continued, "and yes, this whole thing sucks, but at long as we've got each other, I know we'll be okay. We'll kick it in the ass, like we always do."
After Sam's speech, there was a silence, and Dean just watched his amazing little brother, weak and barely still having the strength to keep his head held up, let alone his thoughts as clear as that.
But Sam was a Winchester, and Winchesters - much less hunters - did not give in without one hell of a fight. Dean nodded once, and walked back over to Sam's bed, sitting on it with him.
Sam looked at him in surprise. "What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.
Dean shrugged. "You're exhausted, and hell am I leaving you alone to sleep. So sleep now, with me here, and I'll wake you up if something is wrong," Dean replied, as if it was no big deal.
And it wasn't, for them. Dean would do anything to keep his little brother safe, and Sam knew it, and, sometimes, relished in the knowledge that Dean was always there.
Well, he was quite tired. "Fine," he sighed, pretending to be resigned to it, and knowing he was too weak to argue. Dean half smiled, still trying to escape the shock and terror that was his little brother almost dying in front of him - again.
Sam settled down next to Dean and sighed again when he was comfortable. "You good?" Dean asked lightly. Sam nodded wearily, realising he was exhausted, and yawned.
Dean chuckled. "Go to sleep, bitch. I'm here," he added in a murmur.
Sam smiled, closing his eyes. "Jerk," he muttered, and it was worth it to hear Dean chuckle again, and know that his big brother knew that it mean 'I know you will be'.
As Sam drifted off, he smelt the familiar smell of whiskey and gunpowder that was just Dean. He sighed once more, contently, knowing that the scent came from his brother's hand, positioned near to his face, feeling for his breath.
Sam smiled again. He truly was the luckiest little brother in the world.
Note 2: That was actually quite hard to write, but it's alright, I didn't get triggered (just about, jeez). It was really intense, maybe a tad more than it should of been, but when I get into writing I really need to write the first words that cross my mind, and they just make sense and form a perfect line. I hope that was okay. It got a little sappy at the end, but I figured they deserved it. Please review, and I hope that the story was okay for the requester! Thanks for reading (hope nobody got triggered, take care of yourself guys) and you're welcome. -Rayne