Daddy's Little Soldier (SPN) - Dean

[telltale]

This remains great. I love that you brought the holidays into the story, and Dean is just so deliciously sick.

[MissBayliss]

Sorry, I've totally lost momentum with this one. Had so much going on, but I hate it when people don't finish a fic so I'll be sure to see it through to the end. Warnings for this next part to be a little graphic.

***

Sam shut the door, still facing away from Dean.

“So, it’s Christmas tomorrow?” Dean rasped.

Sam turned to him, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Like you didn’t know,” Dean moaned, as he rolled onto his back.

“Why do you say that?” Sam tried to not get angry about it, let’s remember what happened last time he did that.

“Come on, Sammy...”

Dean didn’t say anything else, and Sam didn’t push it, besides Dean was already asleep by the time he’d sat down on his own bed.

***

It was about the longest night they’d had since they got there, for Sam and Dean. Dean couldn’t seem to keep the mass if mucus he had growing in his lungs, actually in his lungs, and it didn’t come out easily either. Dean had slept until about seven pm, Sam fed him some soup when he woke up and they watched an old western on the tiny, fuzzy TV. The soup hadn’t stayed down long, the result of coughing till you spewed. They’d probably had an hour of unbroken sleep before Dean had woken them again, gasping like he couldn’t breathe. Sam had had to grab him, and sit him up, so he could cough out whatever he was choking on, resulting in more bitter bile being lost into the trashcan.

Sam had relinquished all his pillows to keep Dean comfortable, and spent the rest of the night lying on his own rolled up hoodie. The coughing continued like clockwork every half hour, and Sam just resigned himself to lying there, listening to his brother’s claggy lungs trying to get in air. He knew Dean wasn’t sleeping.

It went on like that, pretty much till first light, when Sam was still awake and Dean was stealing about an hours sleep. Sam got up at about five am, thankful for the next day. Merry Christmas, Sam.

He went for a walk, scared he might wake Dean up if he started clicking away on his laptop, got some cheap coffee from a vending machine. He was going to have to hustle some pool if they wanted to still afford food. He walked back into the motel room at about six, with two cups of luke warm coffee. The walk had done him good, he’d been able to clear his mind, try not to worry about Dean for one freaking minute.

Dean roused as Sam walked through the door, pillows stacked behind him so he could breathe.

“M’rry Chris’-... mas -” he spluttered through coughs, his whole frame shaking.

Now in the light of day Sam could see how terrible he looked. He was covered in sweat, like, rolling beads down his neck, disappearing under his shirt. His face was the one shade of stark white, even his lips, which were cracked and dry, were no longer pink. His eyes were bloodshot and watery, his eyelids reddening from the constant lack of sleep. He had dark smudges under his eyes, and his nose looked tender and sore, red around his nostrils, like he’d been scraping it with sandpaper.

“Geez, Sam, I feel all warm and fuzzy... Take a picture why don’t ya.”

Sam was still standing in front of the closed door, “Are you okay?” God, he sounded like a five year old. He couldn’t help it, he was just suddenly... afraid.

“Shut up,” Dean groaned, “Bring me my coffee, bitch.”

His words were weak. It was a nice gesture, but Sam wasn’t fooled. He smiled anyway, shook his head, muttered a light hearted “jerk” like he knew he was supposed to. Showing Dean he was scared wasn’t going to help anyone.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, handing the cup to Dean.

Dean nodded.

Sam sat on his bed and took a swig, “Oh, wow, this is terrible coffee.”

“I don’t know, man. I can’t taste anything anyway...”

Sam clenched his jaw, tried to keep his expression neutral.

“You should take your meds,” Sam said, putting his cup on the nightstand, and getting up to rummage in Dean’s supplies.

“What would I do without you?” Dean said, holding his hand out for the offered meds.

Crash and burn.

Sam cleared his throat, tried to quell the tears that were fighting their way to his eyes, as Jessica’s words rung in his head, filling every hollow crevice in the hole her death had created.

Dean was silent, swallowing about eight pills, individually, which told Sam everything about how his throat was feeling.

Dean tipped his head back, downing the shot of cough syrup, an expectorant, to help get the shit out of his lungs. Dean caught his breath for a minute, then sniffed hard.

“Alright, help me up, sasquatch. I need a shower.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam joked, grabbing his brother’s arm and putting a helpful hand at his back.

Dean swayed a little, and grabbed Sam’s shoulder once he was upright. Sam’s hands were back around him instantly, to catch him if he fell.

“You good?”

Dean nodded, then shut his eyes, “Woah, bad idea.”

“Here, lie back down...”

“Nah, man, I’ll go crazy if I have to get back in that bed,” his eyes were still shut.

“Do you need... help?” Sam said tentatively.

Dean eyes opened and he looked at him, “To shower? No thanks, Sammy. I don’t swing that way.”

Sam laughed but put a hand under his elbow and helped him walk to the bathroom.

“You sure you’ll be alri-” the door was shut in his face. He threw his hands weakly in the air, “Well, call out if you need me.”

He heard Dean laugh, and then cough.

He screwed his face up, stood there for about another minute before sitting at the table with his laptop, listening to the faint sounds of Dean humming Metallica.

“Yeah...” he sighed, “Merry Christmas.”

***

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Dear lord.......I don;t know why, but this is just hitting all my feels. either one by one, or multiple to all at once.

Poor Dean, poor Sammy. I just wanna hug Sam and give Dean a noogie.

[telltale]

Dizzy!Dean, yay! I love how sick he is and even though we're on this forum I still feel weird saying that. But it's true.

[MissBayliss]

Okay! Next part! This is like the second last one, because this thing has become so epic lol I hope you like it...

***

Dean leaned against the vanity, tried to avoid looking at his own reflection. He let out a breath and hung his head. God, he felt awful, still. And he was so weak, his legs shook even as he stood there. He couldn’t let Sam worry about him like this though, it was ridiculous. He was a grown ass man and he was going to get over this, all on his own. No need to worry the kid any more than he already had. It might be a little more tiring but he needed to let Sam know he was okay. If there was one thing he needed to do, it was that. They still had to get through this case, finish the ritual. They still had to find dad and that son of a bitch that killed their mum, and Jess. He couldn’t let a stupid cold knock him out of action for weeks. With one last shake of his head, he straightened his shoulders and looked at himself in the mirror, started humming Metallica loud enough for Sam to hear, pausing to cough every now and again.

The steam from the shower made his breath crackle even more but at least the stuff was easier to spit out when he did cough it up. He washed himself as well as he could, given how tired his arms and legs were.

He toweled off, sweat replacing the water pretty much instantly and he coughed again, catching himself on the edge of the bath before he went down, towel pressing against his mouth. He spat a tonne of bloody mucus into the threadbare material, and tried to catch his breath, one knee on the floor, the hand on the bath shaking as it carried most of his weight.

Eventually he got the strength to push himself up, throw that towel into the corner of the room and steal another to wrap around himself, silently thanking Angela for giving them extra everything. He sat down on the edge of the bath and cleared his throat loudly.

“You wanna make yourself useful and bring me some clothes,” he called, cringing at how bad he sounded.

Sam tapped on the door a moment later and Dean got up, game face, and opened it for him, accepting the pile of clothes. He looked down at the pile.

That ain’t mine, he thought, as he unfolded the big red sweater.

“What is this?” he groaned.

Sam folded his arms, “It’s warm, and it’s clean...”

“It’s red,” Dean said, piling it back up again.

“It’s Christmas,” Sam smirked, “And would it kill ya to wear some colour?”

“Yes,” Dean answered, slamming the door in Sam’s face again.

To Sam’s credit, the damn thing was warm, and super soft. Dean Winchester was not one for creature comforts, but man, this was comfort. The sleeves were slightly too long, he pulled them down a little further to wrap around his hands. He made a lazy attempt at styling his hair, it was good enough.

Another coughed gripped him and he clutched at his chest, spitting more bloody mucus into the sink. He groaned as he washed it away, looked up at himself in the mirror.

“Yeah, Merry friggen Christmas...”

****

Sam waited for Dean to emerge from the bathroom. He looked like he was making an effort, even styled his hair and shaved for the first time in the last few days. Sam could see through it, but he didn’t say anything.

Dean sat on his bed, took a few breaths, and then bent down to put his boots on.

“Where are you going?” Sam said, closing his laptop.

“We gotta finish this hunt, Sam,” he croaked.

“You wanna do that now? Today? On Christmas?”

“Come on, don’t play the Christmas card...”

“Seriously though, Dean. What if something goes wrong? What if Martin shows up? We’re not up to full strength yet, not by a long shot.”

“Yeah, and what happens when they go to bulldoze the lot, huh? What happens when a bunch of kids go sneakin’ around in the wreckage? And the ghost we did nothing about kills someone else?”

Sam sighed, gritted his teeth. Dean was right.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get dressed, let’s get it over and done with.”

Dean coughed into his fist, groping at the edge of the mattress with the other hand. Sam could see his pain and desperation in the movement, he furrowed his brow and waited for it to pass. Dean eventually took a ragged breath in and groaned, clearing his throat at the same time, wiping his hand down his jeans.

“You good?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow, “Need help with the other shoe?”

Sam was just playing, but he could see how Dean’s face had lightened a shade since the fit and how he leaned towards one side to get the pressure off his fractured rib, swallowing convulsively against the pain. Dean flipped him off, and Sam laughed as he rose from the table and squatted in front of his brother, helping him into his left boot and doing up the laces. He remembered wistfully how many times Dean had done this for him in the past when they were both much younger, well, when he was younger. Dean was never young.

****

Sam crouched over the bowl of magic ingredients. It hadn’t taken long to set up. The sigils were easy enough to drawer, the latin even easier. Most of the house had gone up in flames but at least they weren’t out in the open, in view of the street. The front room still had it’s walls and most of it’s floor and Sam had just cleared a space in the debris. He had ordered Dean to sit down and keep watch while he put it all together. Dean grumbled about it but did it anyway, Sam thought he was secretly relieved, and was a little worried when Dean moaned as he sat down, like he was grateful for the respite. That wouldn’t usually be something he would make known, but he hadn’t really slept all night so he could understand it.

Sam looked back at his dad’s journal, making sure he got the phrasing right before he lit the match.

“Sam!”

Sam looked up at Dean, who was struggling to stand, raising his shotgun with shaking hands. He turned to see Martin flickering behind him.

“Get away from him, you son of a bitch,” Dean spat. He took a shot...

He missed.

Martin was suddenly next to Dean, reaching out a hand towards his throat.

Sam fumbled with the box of matches, willing his fingers to work as he listened to the sounds of his brother choking. He lit the match and threw it in, yelling the latin phrase as loud as he could.

The flames sparked purple, then blue, then fizzled out. Sam looked up at Dean as he fell to the floor, Martin’s ghost burning beside him.

“Dean!” he skidded to the floor at his brother’s side, “Dean, can you breathe?”

Dean was on his hands and knees, coughing until he fell onto his side and curled up, his gag reflex kicking in.

Sam rubbed his back up and down hard, trying to loosen the crap.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re alright. Just breathe, Dean. Jesus...”

Dean lay on the ground long after he’d stopped coughing, gasping like there was treacle in his lungs, glugging together in his throat.

“Do you wanna sit up?”

A weak nod.

Sam grabbed Dean’s arm, looping the other round his middle, being careful of his broken rib, and hoisted him up gently, resting him against his chest.

“That better?”

Another small nod.

“I said we should wait,” Sam sighed, more to himself than anyone else. How the hell had he let Dean talk him in to coming out here? Dean could have died.

“And I said... to shut up,” Dean swallowed in the middle of the phrase, but had a dopey grin on his face, so Sam took it as a win. “Angela’s husband’s... a dick.”

“Here, here,” Sam smiled, “You wanna get up?”

“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here,” Dean croaked, allowing Sam to help him up.

When they were finally back in the impala, Dean slumped in the passenger seat, Sam white knuckling the steering wheel, Dean piped up.

“Hey, Sammy?”

Sam looked over at him, “Yeah, Dean...”

“I hope Angela made extra potatoes...”

****

Angela was standing outside the office when they pulled up in the parking lot. Dean swallowed, if he thought having his game face on for Sam was hard, Angela was going to be so much worse. He couldn’t let her know about the broken rib, no way. He couldn’t have her worrying and fretting and blaming herself for everything that had gone wrong. It wasn’t her fault her husband had become an evil bitch of a vengeful spirit. Angela was a sweet lady, and she’d looked after them, and she’d cooked Christmas dinner for Christ’s sake. If there was a time to man up, this was it.

Sam was already hugging her by the time he’d gotten out of the car.

“Oh, Dean,” she called, “Come here, honey. Let me look at you.”

She was already starting. He smiled and hugged her. She pulled back and kept a hold of his shoulders.

“You poor thing, you look awful.”

“Ah, I’ve had worse,” he said lightly, brushing her off.

Angela looked at Sam.

“It’s true, he has,” he laughed, even though there was nothing funny about it, “Are we in time for lunch?”

“Oh, yes, I was just putting everything on the table. It’s not much though, I... well, you know,” she shrugged.

Now Dean felt bad about taking this poor woman’s food.

“But I bought the turkey back when Martin was still alive. I used to stock pile the stuff for Christmas so... Shouldn’t go to waste,” she smiled, a little sad.

Dean turned away from them, unable to stop the cough. He pulled a hanky out of his back pocket and pressed it against his mouth, as he coughed for a good while.

“Dean, come in out of the cold,” There was small warm hands on his back and a firm, strong one on his shoulder. He followed them in, quickly stuffing the bloody handkerchief back in his pocket.

****

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

DEEEAAANNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dear lord, I'm crying! Dean you stubborn piece of Ass! Handsome ass.

Omg I can't, this is too much. Dean, go to bed! Stop being Dean for like, one day. It wont kill you! Being Dean will kill you!

Oh sweet muffins, I just wanna snuggle him

[gingerdean]

Soo much love for this! I feel like this should be called 1001 Ways to Torture Dean Winchester Poor Dean is such a hot mess. And I'm just loving all the lovely moments between the boys, and also with Angela. Love love love it. So sad it is coming to an end, but all good things must, I suppose...

[MissBayliss]

Things took a downward turn... Sorry. :/

****

They were eating dinner in the office behind the reception area. Strictly no cats allowed. There was a small dining table in there, turkey in the middle, surrounded by potatoes and pumpkin. Dean couldn’t smell much, but it sure looked great.

He slumped into one of the chairs, still being guided by Angela’s hands.

“Wow, it looks amazing,” Sam smiled.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Sam and Angela sat down around the table.

“Well, tuck in boys,” she laughed.

Dean made a show of leaning forward but Sam had already started loading his plate for him, before starting on his own.

Either Sam was overzealous on the portions or Dean was losing his touch, because half way through his throat couldn’t take anymore, and the increased, impossibly thick, saliva made him feel like he was drowning. Besides, as good as it was, it was sitting like a ball of sludge in his stomach.

“Oh, Dean, honey, what’s that on your neck?”

Dammit.

He put his hand to his throat, felt what must have been obvious bruising around his neck from where Martin had tried to choke him to death.

He shrugged his shoulders, straightened his collar, looked anywhere but her, “‘t’s nothing to worry about.”

Angela looked at Sam. Sam looked at Dean. Dean gave him the ‘don’t tell her, dude’ face, right before Sam gave him the ‘sorry, but I gotta’ sigh.

“Sam...” Angela led, “What’s going on?”

“We, uh,” Sam cleared his throat, “did the ritual this morning, early.”

Now she was looking at Dean, her eyes steely, “What happened?”

“Nothin’,” Dean grunted, “It’s done. Your husband’s at rest... He just got a little handsy is all.”

She looked down at her plate, shaking her head, “Dean...”

“What’s done is done. It’s over.”

She met his eyes again, “I’m so sorry...”

“No,” Dean squared his shoulders, “This is what we do, okay? This is our job.”

***

They didn’t talk about the job again. Sam and Angela had started in on some boring conversation, about traveling or some shit. Dean was trying to pay attention. He knew how important it was for Sammy to have something normal for once, to sit down and eat christmas dinner, and have some real conversation, not about ghosts or demons. Dean understood that, and he was trying his best. Trying not to be so sick, trying not to cough every five seconds, trying to stay upright in his chair, to stay awake. Trying.

He felt his eyelids close momentarily, before he forced them back open again, quickly checking their faces to see if they’d noticed. Smiling through it.

His eyes closed again, but he felt his head nod this time and jerked it back up.

Get it together. You’re a Winchester.

He did it again, but the hand he had resting around his glass went limp, dropping it on it’s side, creating a clatter of crockery.

“Hey,” Sam said.

Dean righted the glass, pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes until he saw stars.

“Okay, time for bed, hot shot,” Sam had a hand on his shoulder.

“No, I’m fine. Go on...”

There was a pause.

“Dean...” she cooed, already at his other side, and how did she get there?

“No,” he said, looking at her, “It’s Christmas, alright? I’ll go back to the room but just... Keep talking, okay? Get drunk,” he smiled, “Look after Sam.”

“Dean, I don’t need looking after...”

“Sam, you need this.”

Sam gulped, his eyes were already fogging up and he looked down. Dean knew how upset he was, how he struggled everyday to hold it together. He was out. He had an out. Dean sucked him back in, took everything from him and burnt it to the ground. It was his fault...

“Fine, Dean. But let’s get you to the room, okay?”

Dean knocked Sam’s hands away.

“Dude, I can walk. Leave me alone.”

Sam huffed, did his best bitch face, as Dean lumbered to his feet, fighting the head rush.

“You good?” Sam asked, a hand outstretched like he thought he might fall.

“Shut up,” he groaned, put a hand on Angela’s shoulder, “Thanks for all this.”

“Never mind that, hon. Go and get some sleep.”

“Sounds good to me,” he used everything he had just to smile.

He left them alone in the office. Knowing that at least for half the time they’d be talking about him. He didn’t really care. His weak pathetic body had let him down, he was willing to admit that. He stepped out into the cold. Snowing. Of course. White Christmas, my ass. Dean just wanted to be somewhere warm right now.

I wonder what Miami’s like this time of year, he thought. He shuddered, pulling the sleeves of Sam’s red sweater down over his hands, reaching for his handkerchief as he coughed through tightly closed lips. It seemed like he’d walked a mile, and he was so tired. He finally got to the motel room, pulled the key out of his pocket with shaking hands, tried three times to get it in the keyhole, cursing himself the whole time.

The room wasn’t much warmer and he grabbed the comforter off his bed and wrapped it around himself while he checked the thermostat, cranking up the heat.

He flopped onto his bed, snatching the box of tissues and clutching it to his chest. He lay on his side, shivering. He could hear his own lungs, letting out air in a weak squealing sound long after he’d finished exhaling. He imagined it getting stuck in all the mucus. He coughed some more, now that no one was here, he could moan in the agony it inflicted on his poor rib. All the muscles in his chest and stomach screamed. He got bloody mucus on the pillow case. Shit. He pawed at it with a tissue. He thought about getting some more pillows so he was sitting up because, man, it was hard to breathe. He groaned again. Useless noise and energy, but he felt so bad. His eyes slipped shut, leaving him in complete darkness. His last thought before blissful unconsciousness took him, was that perhaps he needed help.

***

Sam took Dean’s advice. He didn’t mean to get drunk, not at first, but it felt so good to feel good. He was happy for a moment. Drinking with this random lady that for some reason made him feel like he had a mother, had given him this sense of what a mothers love felt like. It was crazy, but he liked it. He sat with her talking about anything and everything. Mostly about Dean, which he didn’t mean to do either but when you’re with someone constantly sometimes you just need to talk about them. His brother was so stubborn and so stoic, he just wanted him to admit when he needed help, instead of trying to shoulder it all. He’d checked himself out of the hospital AMA... again. He actually understood the first time more, Dean’s heart had given out, there was nothing they could do for him anyway. But maybe pick up the phone, call Sam to pick him up, instead of struggling all the way there, barely about to hold himself up. This time though, he needed to be in the hospital. He needed to be on heavy IV antibiotics and fluids. Sam was doing everything he could but it wasn’t enough. Dean was still sick.

He said goodbye to Angela, thanked her for the meal, and stepped out into the cold. Wow, he didn’t realise it’d been snowing so much. He pulled his jacket tighter and walked back to the room. It had gotten dark very quickly, and he checked his watch. It was after 7. He’d left Dean alone for four hours. He swallowed, tried to quell the sinking feeling in his stomach, as he opened the door, closing it quickly behind him so the cold didn’t get in.

It was stiflingly hot in the room, Sam immediately took his jacket off. The room was dark, but he could see a Dean shaped lump on the bed.

He went into the bathroom and turned the light on. God, Dean was a pig sometimes. There were towels everywhere. Sam sighed, stooped to pick them up.

His stomach lurched. His heart was in his throat, now pounding a mile a minute. The dark brown stain sticking the towel together was blood. No two ways about it. Sam knew what dried blood looked like.

“Dean!” he called, dropping everything and looking over at his brother. The florescent light from the bathroom was now lighting up the room, illuminating Dean’s face. He was completely white and his lips looked suspiciously blue.

“Dean!,” Sam ran to his brother, grabbing him, tapping his face. His brother was cold, “Dean! God, please, wake up...”

He put his fingers to his bruised neck and felt for a pulse. He held his breath. It was weak, but it was there.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his fingers shaking, the other hand on Dean’s face, and he dialed 911.

---------

“911, what is your emergency?”

“My brother’s sick, he’s barely breathing. He won’t wake up,” the words came tumbling out of his mouth.

“Stay on the line, I’m getting your location.”

“His lips are blue, and he’s cold, what does that mean?”

“Stay calm, an ambulance has been despatched to your location.”

“What do I do? He’s not waking up,” He felt tears roll down his cheeks.

“I need you to check for a pulse for me. Do you know how to do that?”

“He has a pulse. He’s not dead!”

“Okay, that’s good. I need you to clear his airways, see if he’s choked on anything.”

“How do I -” he started, as he opened Dean’s mouth. His shoulder pressing the phone to his ear.

“Tilt his head back gently. Can you see anything in his mouth, down his throat?”

“N-no. There’s nothing.”

“I need you to feel. Get two fingers in there and make sure there isn’t any blockage.”

...

“Sir, are you there?”

“No, there’s nothing.”

“Has your brother had any recent illnesses or injuries?”

“Yes, he was in hospital with pneumonia.”

“When was this?”

“Ah, a few days ago.”

“I need you to be specific.”

“... Uh, Sunday. It was Sunday. He checked himself out AMA.”

“Has anything else happened to him since then?”

“He thought... He thought he broke a rib from coughing.”

“Okay. Is he still unconscious?”

“Yes.”

“What’s you name?”

“Uh, it’s Sam.”

“Okay, Sam. You’re doing really well. The ambulance will be there soon. What’s your brother’s name?”

“It’s Dean.”

“Okay, is Dean breathing?”

Sam put his ear to his brothers mouth, felt a weak brush of air. He gently put his ear to his chest.

“He’s breathing, barely... Should I move him? He might be able to breathe if I -”

“Sam, don’t move your brother. What position is he in?”

“He’s lying on his side...”

“Leave him there. Don’t move him.”

“Dean, come on, wake up...”

“Sam, are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Is he wearing any tight clothing? Be gentle when you check, don’t move him.”

“Um, nothing tight across his chest. He has jeans and a belt on.”

“Carefully undo the belt, and the top of his jeans.”

Sam did what he was told, “Sorry, man. I’m not trying to get fresh,” he whispered to Dean.

“Can you tell me anything else about your brother? Any symptoms...”

“There’s... There’s blood on his pillow. There was blood on the towel. I think he’s been coughing up blood.”

“The ambulance is almost there, Sam. Check his pulse again.”

...

“Sam, does he still have a pulse?”

“Yes. It’s really fast.”

“Has he had any other injuries?”

Sam gulped. He could see the purple bruising around Dean’s neck and he hadn’t had time to think of a story yet...

“Yes...”

“What happened, Sam?”

“Last night, he was in a bar fight. The guy tried to choke him.”

“Can you see any bruising on his neck?”

“Yes.”

“What colour is the bruise?”

“Um, purple, I guess.”

“Any swelling?”

“No.”

“Okay, I need you to go to the door the ambulance is pulling into the parking lot.”

Sam got up and flung the door open, stood waving his hand in the air, as the ambulance screamed right up to their door.

“Sam, do you see the ambulance?”

“Yes, they’re here. Thank you,” he said, quickly hanging up the phone as the paramedics rushed towards him.

***

[sallyhally]

dean!!!!!

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

OMG DEAN! NOOOOOO!!!!!!! NONONONONONO! Not Dean! Edited January 21, 2015 by Pyrus_Fangmon

[HPG]

Well, I certainly wasn't expecting that.

[telltale]

Eeee! This is intense and I love it.

[MissBayliss]

***

Sam was standing in the parking lot, tears down his face, hands matted in his hair, when Angela came running out of her room.

“Sam! What’s wrong!? Where’s Dean!?” she called, as she raced over.

The paramedics were wheeling Dean out of the room on a stretcher, oxygen tank in one of their hands, a mask strapped to Dean’s face. They were talking so quickly, so urgently.

Angela gasped, when she saw him, put her hand to her mouth, “Oh, God...”

She composed herself quickly and put a hand on Sam’s arm.

“He’s going to be fine.”

“I’m going with them,” was all Sam said, all he could say.

“Give me the Impala keys, I’ll follow you up.”

Sam shook his head, “Dean wouldn’t want...”

“Dean would want the car at the hospital. My husband had a 56’ Chevelle for 20 years, I can handle it.”

Sam pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them to her, “If you crash it, Dean’ll kill you.”

The paramedics were loading Dean into the ambulance and Sam raced to climb in the back too.

Dean’s face was almost grey, his lips blue, fingertips blue too. Sam grabbed his hand and prayed, prayed that he would wake up, that he wouldn’t die. Not like this, he kept saying, Please, God, not like this...

***

Dean was in the hospital for 8 days. 2 days before he woke up. 3 days before the chest drain was removed. 4 days before he was breathing on his own. 6 days and the pneumonia and pleurisy had mostly cleared up. 7 days and Dean was complaining about the hospital food. 8 days and he wanted out. 8 days.

It was too long to stay in one place. They new that. Especially since he’d been in before. His doctor seemed to hate him. Rolled his eyes and left the room when he said he was leaving.

He was a kind man though, and he left them a wheelchair, which they were supposed to return but he knew they wouldn’t. Dean would get out of breath very quickly, even walking was not really advised.

Sam wheeled him down to the Impala. Dean grinned but made no move to get out of the chair.

“Hey, baby. You miss me?”

Sam couldn’t get used to the new panting way Dean talked. But it would get better. He knew he’d get better.

Dean reached for Sam’s arm as he helped him out of the chair and into the passenger seat. Sam packed up the chair, threw it in the trunk, and hurried round to the driver’s seat. He was not letting Dean out of his sight for a good long while.

Sam sat for a moment, listening to Dean breathe.

“Dean...”

Dean turned to look at him, winced at the pain in his broken rib and wound from the chest drain.

“Don’t you ever do that again.”

Dean chuckled, weakly.

“I mean it,” Sam clenched his jaw, tried so hard not to cry, he could feel the tears forming, “Please, Dean...”

Dean nodded, looked out the window. Sam started the engine, paused again to shake his head.

“I can’t believe you let a chick drive my car.”

Sam couldn’t help the smile, he actually laughed. He was so tired and so stressed out, and just so freaking grateful.

***

They stayed at the motel for 2 more nights while they got everything ready. Dean was only allowed to leave his bed to use the bathroom, which he complained incessantly about. But he had itchy feet, and he was feeling better, and that meant they had to move on.

***

"Look, we, uh," Dean cleared his throat, "got this money hustling pool a few weeks ago, and..." Dean slipped it into her hand, "For dinner."

Angela opened her mouth, presumably to protest.

"No," Dean put both hands on hers, curling her fingers tightly around the money for her, "It's not enough to pay you for the room. You've done so much more than that."

"Dean, you don't..."

"No, just let me finish here, I gotta..."

She nodded.

"It's just me and my brother right now. Our dad's out there somewhere... We don't have... Our mom..."

Angela's hand closed around his and she bit her lip, tears welling.

"This is as close to home as we've had in a long while. I almost forgot what it felt like."

"What?"

"To have someone care about you."

"Sweetheart, you know Sam cares about you."

"Oh, I know he does. I mean... it's different, you know. You just reminded me of... somethin' I haven't had in years."

Her eyes softened and Dean's gooey heart couldn't take any more.

"I'm tryna say thanks."

"You're welcome, Dean."

Sam was standing beside the open passenger door, waiting for Dean to get in. As soon as he was inside Sam wrapped his arms around Angela, whispered something in her ear that he couldn’t quite hear and slid in behind the steering wheel.

Dean looked at him. Sam had been begging to go to Wisconsin for days, weeks. Phil had a cabin up there. They could lay low for as long as they wanted.

“Alright,” Sam cleared his throat, “Where to?”

Dean looked back at Angela, she was crying.

“Wisconsin,” he grunted.

“Wisconsin?” Sam was looking at him, eyes lit up.

Dean nodded, “Good place to get some rest... You look like hell.”

Sam huffed a laugh, “Back at ya, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

END

Man, that was a long ride. I enjoyed it. Hope y'all did too

P.S Sorry if the ending seems really cropped. I had to wrap this baby up. Feedback always welcome. You guys have been great and kept me writing for so long

[Sass]

I'm so glad you posted again so soon I was so worried! I know, I know, this isn't reality, but whatever! This story was really cohesive and flowed well, I bet it's not easy to write a long fanfic like that and you did an amazing job!

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

“Back at ya, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

BEST. ENDING. EVER!!!!!!!

Omg this story was just full on! I so didn' want it to end, but also could'nt wait to see how it would all come together. Dear God, the tears, the feels, the bro love. mmph!

Please do write more! Your writing is amazing and incredibly talented!

Hope to read more from you.

[HPG]

Aww. Loved it!

[this_is_not_me]

bbbbbbbbbs... I loved this so much from start to finish!!

[MissBayliss]

Y'all are amazing. This post just reached over 10,000 views! I can't believe it. The support is unbelievable.

Also, just to clarify something which I just realised I never really explained; When the 911 operator tells Sam not to move him it's because she's been informed of a possible rib fracture which could have caused/may cause a punctured lung, hence why she doesn't want him moved.

P.S I am in no way a medical professional, so if people are reading this and going "wrong, wrong, wrong," I apologise. I will know better for next time because I start nursing at university next week.

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

Cangrats to you! Hope your classes are fair and you have fun!

[Poniessneezetoo]

Wow. Just wow.