To everyone who has read this story - I apologize for taking so long to get out another chapter. I've had a seriously hard time with this one, for some reason. I had it in my head, it just didn't want to translate on paper. Grrrr. As a result, I'm a little iffy about it, but I got super tired of agonizing over it and decided enough was enough... just publish it!!! :P So I did. I hope everyone likes it! *bites nails*
Just a few other things, quickly, please bear with me :) - thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has read and reviewed this story. It's gone so much better than I could have ever hoped, and I'm SO happy. You all are amazing. Emerald-Water - thank you for always being encouraging, always gently prodding me to write by asking if there was something new to read ;) - you've kept me going, so I definitely owe you, girl. :) To ILOVESUPERNATURAL, who didn't leave a signed review so I couldn't give a proper thank you - thank you SO much for your review. I've never had anyone tell me I was their favourite fanfiction author before, and it actually brought tears of joy to my eyes. THANK YOU!!! :) Also a huge thanks to everyone else who left an unsigned review - they mean so much. :) This story has gone so much better than I could have hoped, like I said, and when I reached the 90 reviews mark I leaped around the room like a crazy person, I tell you. If this story reaches 100 reviews, I will probably sob like a baby. So thank you so much, once again, for making a girl's dream come true. I love you guys!!!!
One more thing - (I know, shut up already!!!) I recently heard David Cook's new song "Permanent", and the whole thing just made me think of Supernatural and the boys' relationship, enough to actually bring tears to my eyes. Especially the line "I know he's living in Hell every single day, and so I ask, oh God, is there some way for me to take his place?" It's a beautiful song, and it just relates even more because it's written for his own brother. If you haven't heard it, listen to it. It's amazing, and it helped inspire me to write this chapter.
Now... thank you for reading all my ramblings, and on to the story. I own nothing, unfortunately.
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It's just a regular, routine salt-and-burn. But of course, 'regular, routine' usually turns into something exactly the opposite. Just to keep things interesting.
Dean's been thrown into many a gravestone before, but this time when he lands, he finds he can't catch his breath. It's as if all the air in his body has been shoved out of him, and he can't draw in enough to replace it fast enough.
This has happened before, but never really to this extent. It usually just takes a few seconds of laying there, stunned, to catch his breath and then he's back up again. Not this time.
He kneels there, on all fours, struggling to breathe. He's vaguely aware that he's making scary gasping sounds.
From a far off source, he hears Sam's voice. "Dean?"
He turns his head, looks at Sam. He looks scared. "Dean, are you okay man?" Sam's standing by the edge of the grave still, matches in hand.
Dean wants to answer him, he really does. He opens his mouth and tries, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper. That's when he starts to wonder if he's really in trouble. Cause if he doesn't get air into his lungs – fast – he's going to be a dead man. And that threat is so getting old.
He hears the familiar crackle of flames, and then Sam's crouched in front of him, eyes worried. "Dean?"
Dean tries for a voice again, but once again it's just a funny whisper.
Sam pats him on the back, kneels down. "Got the wind knocked out of you, huh man?"
Dean doesn't care what's happened. He'd like to be able to breathe again, if it's not too much trouble, thank you very much.
It takes a few minutes, in which Sam sits close and rubs his back, but finally he's drawing in breaths again. Still short ones.
He lets his head fall back onto the gravestone, struggling to breathe easier.
Sam tugs him forward, coaxes Dean to lean on his shoulder instead. He rubs his back again.
Dean grips Sam's jacket for an instant, drawing strength, then gently pushes him. "Help me up man." At least his voice is back.
"You sure you're ready?" Sam asks, hands ghosting over Dean's back and settling at his neck.
"Damn sure," Dean says firmly, or as firmly as is possible at the moment.
When Sam helps him up, there's a funny ache in his chest. He rubs at it a little, avoiding Sam's I-see-everything eyes.
"Anything broken?" Sam asks, standing unnecessarily close in Dean's opinion.
Dean squints at him. "Don't think so." He's not lying. Nothing feels broken, it just feels… weird.
"Okay…" Sam's still eyeing him. "Well if you're sure, let's go get the stuff and head back."
He starts off, and Dean follows him automatically, testing his breathing. His back really hurts. Crap.
Sam stops beside the grave, picks up his shovel. "I'll do it, Dean," he says quickly when Dean picks up his too.
"I got it, Sam," Dean cuts in roughly. He's not dying. At least he's pretty sure he isn't. Hmmm.
You couldn't die from being thrown against a gravestone, could you? It would be a quick thing if you could, right? Like BAM, you hit it, you're dead. Not a slow, agonizing death.
He decides to stop thinking, and helps Sam fill in the grave. His body protests every movement.
Dean doesn't care. Nothing's broken, so what's the big deal? He's hit gravestones numerous times before. Got up close and personal with many a headstone.
What a freaking weird life. He laughs a little, then stops. It really hurts to laugh.
Sam, patting the dirt down on the hole they just filled, looks at him worriedly. "You sure you're okay?"
Dean gives him his brightest smile. "'Course I am, Sammy." But he's not. The ache in his chest is getting worse, and he can still only take very small breaths without it hurting. He drops the shovel by accident, and Sam picks it up.
"I got it, man. You look drunk."
Dean half-smiles at him and follows his brother to the car, all amusement about their weird lives gone now. He leans on the Impala while Sam puts their shovels and gear in the trunk, and tries to assess what's wrong with himself.
His ribs aren't broken. But they definitely ache. Maybe I cracked one. His back hurts pretty bad. Probably bruised. His neck hurts too. And his head. Wow, that's becoming quite a list.
He raises his eyes as Sam shuts the trunk. "Ready to go?"
Dean nods, heads for the driver's seat.
"Whoa, whoa, wait a second," Sam says loudly. "Come here. I want to take a look at you."
Dean regards him through long lashes. "Can't you see me from there? Maybe you should get your eyesight checked, Sammy."
Sam huffs, and Dean gives in and walks over to his brother.
He runs his hands under Dean's jacket, feeling his ribs, then turns and feels Dean's back. "Where does it hurt?"
"Doesn't hurt," Dean lies, not meeting Sam's eyes. He just wants to get back to the motel. Please, Sammy. "I'm fine."
Sam's looking at him incredulously. "It doesn't hurt," he repeats.
"No." Dean peers at his brother, hoping he's buying it.
"I don't believe you," Sam says flatly.
Nope.
"But you haven't broken anything, so I guess you're just banged up. You can drive, I guess."
"Don't need your permission," Dean mutters, and opens the door. His chest twinges, but he ignores it.
He manages the drive back just fine, although he's still not feeling too well. He's aware of Sam's worried eyes the whole way.
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Back in the motel room, Dean sits on the end of the bed and breathes. Everything still feels weird.
He watches Sam put down their bag, take off his jacket, and walk to the bathroom and splash water on his face.
His concentrates on breathing slowly and lightly.
"Dean?"
"Yeah." He looks up.
Sam is standing in the bathroom doorway, hands on his hips, watching him. "Are you sure you're okay? You look weird."
"Not as weird as you," Dean shoots back half-heartedly.
Sam smiles. "Good one. That stung." He sits on the other bed. "What's wrong."
Dean shrugs. "Nothing. I'm just a little sore."
"You'd say that if your head was hanging on by one thread," Sam replies calmly.
Dean raises his eyebrows. "Wow Sam. Nice image."
Sam smiles again, his eyes knowing. "Let me see you, okay?"
"You already saw me," Dean grumbles, but he's too tired to really care.
Sam helps him out of his jacket, and Dean winces. "See, now it hurts," Sam says, with just a touch of smugness. "I seem to remember back at the graveyard it didn't."
"Whatever," Dean responds softly, rubbing his chest with the heel of his hand.
Sam shakes his head, gives him a check-over again. There's nothing that looks seriously wrong though, only a growing bruise on Dean's back. He moves back, looks at his brother.
"You having trouble breathing?"
Dean shrugs a little. "I think I'm just bruised, Sammy."
Sam fixes him with a look. "But are you having trouble breathing?"
Dean shrugs again, shifts away a little. "Maybe a little. No big deal, Sam."
Sam laughs dryly. "No big deal? It looks like a big deal to me, Dean. You're quiet, you're pale, and you look like you're hurting."
Dean stands up, mustering all his strength. "I'm good, Sam. It's fine." He is fine, after all. How many times has he hit gravestones? Too many to count. No reason for this time to be any different. He's just tired. "I'm gonna go take a shower." As he heads to the bathroom, he hears Sam sigh.
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Stepping out of the shower, he takes a look at his back in the mirror. It's bruising nicely, but doesn't look serious. Hurts, though. He winces and studies his chest – it looks fine.
Dean sighs. When he was younger this happened, too. He's pretty sure of it, anyway, cause it feels familiar. He has a vague memory of sitting and gasping for breath while Dad leaned over him, telling him to breathe. He's pretty sure it scared him a lot, cause it stands out sharply in his mind even from all the other terrifying things that happened to him when he was younger.
But hey, he lived then, and he'll live now too. It's no big deal.
Sighing, he dries off, gets dressed, and opens the bathroom door. Sam's at the table, he's putting down a pizza box. "Hey man. Feel better?"
Dean's green eyes lighten at the appearance of the pizza box, and he smiles. "A bit."
Sam smiles back. "I got something else too… I dunno if you want to see it or not…" He holds up a DVD case, and Dean takes it from him, curious.
"Tropic Thunder? Are you kidding, Sammy?" He can't stop himself from grinning.
Sam looks pleased. "The food market down the street had video rentals, too. And we haven't seen this one yet." Tropic Thunder came out last August, when Dean was still in Hell, and Sam hadn't gone to see it, even though there were times he really wanted to. It was a movie he and Dean had agreed they'd go see together, after laughing so hard they nearly cried when they saw the trailers.
Sam is eternally thankful that he didn't go and see it, now that he sees the complete and utter happiness shining from Dean's wide eyes as he looks up at Sam, smiling like a ten-year-old. Sam grins back, then turns to the pizza box. "What do you say we eat and watch?"
Dean gives him a look. "Sam. I'm going to spew pizza all over the place."
Sam shrugs. "So?"
Dean looks surprised for a second, and then he grins. "That's my boy, Sammy." He crosses to his bed and sits, a little gingerly still, Sam notices. He watches as his brother curls up a little, pulling in his knees. He drops down next to him, switching on the TV. "You good, Dean?"
Dean nods, eyes sparkling.
Sam smiles, hands his brother a slice of pizza, and settles back next to him. He'd figured that all he'd need to do was get Dean's mind off things, and he'd feel better. Sometimes his brother really does think about things too much.
Two minutes later, they're already laughing so hard it's hard to keep food inside their mouths, and Dean's already pretty much forgotten about his sore back. Now that he's laughing, he's actually breathing easier.
And the fact that Sam waited for him to see this movie, even when he thought he was never coming back… and now they're watching it, together, against all odds…it makes a warm feeling settle in Dean's chest, easing the pain and achiness. Even when Sam was almost sure he could do nothing, nothing to save him, some small part of his brother had still never given up.
He glances at Sam between hilarious scenes, and Sam smiles at him, his eyes conveying everything they try to never say to each other. Those three words that Dean hopes he'll never have to say, although he thinks them everyday. And he knows Sam does too.
And that – that knowledge just makes this life so much more worth while.
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*covers eyes* Please let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading! :)
~Deanandhisimpala
