The Kid, Part 3 -- Supernatural, PG
Jul. 24th, 2008 11:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phantismaFandom: Supernatural
Title: The Kid Part 3 (Part one, Part Two)
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, John, Bobby,
Rating: PG
Genre: GEN (did you even know I could GEN?)
Word Count: 2837
Summary: Dean is 17, Sam is 13. John is going on 6. The Winchester family is adjusting to their new life. at least until a little bit of the old comes to visit. Told from Sam's POV.
A/Ns & Warnings: Um. This is at least partially![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
varkelton's fault. De-aging fic.
It was kind of nice, having a little brother. Sam picked John up everyday after school and they walked home together, talking about school. Sam would fix them a snack and play with John until Dean came home, then they’d fix dinner together.
Well Dean did most of the fixing. Sam got stuff for him and set the table, and John mostly sat on the counter and bantered with Dean. After dinner, Sam went to their room to do his homework while Dean helped John with his.
He was getting better at it, but he still sometimes messed up his “b” and his “d” and his “4” and his “9”
Sometimes John let Sam read him a story at bedtime. Sometimes he only wanted Dean to do it, and that was okay, because after all, John thought Dean was his dad.
And that was a little messed up if Sam thought about it. But Sam didn’t think about it. It made his head hurt when he did. Because John was Dad, but now Dean was Dad for John and even though Sam was smart, there was no way that that made any kind of sense in the real world.
In the real world there were no witches or demons or ghosts, no possible way for Dad to become John. That only happened in the nighttime world. The one Sam hated for taking their father away from them for so many birthdays and Christmases and stupid school things. The one that Sam didn’t have to worry about anymore because Dad wasn’t hunting anymore.
So maybe it was messed up, but that was then. And now? Now things were pretty cool. John looked up to him, like Sam had always looked up to Dean. And Sam was thirteen now, practically a grown up himself. When Dean was thirteen he came to Sam’s school play because he had a speaking part and was nervous, and Dad had been away.
It was December already, and the ground was covered in snow. Dean had told them to come to the diner after school because it was closer and he’d drive them home. Sam trudged through the snow from his school to John’s.
The air was frigid and they were expecting more snow by morning. Damn West Virginia. He liked it better when they got to spend the winter in warmer places. Like California. Sam liked California.
Of course, it would help if they could afford something more than thrift store clothes. With the rate Sam was growing, nothing fit and the jacket Dean had bought him in October was already too small.
“Sam!” He looked up to find John jumping up and down next to his teacher.
“Hey, squirt.” Sam ruffled his hair and John swatted at his hands.
“Sam, I did it! I got them all right!”
Mrs. Martin smiled at him. “He’s been working really hard, Sam.”
John thrust a piece of paper at him. Sam took it and opened it. Three neat rows of letters, upper case and lower case filled the page. There was a bright yellow smiley face in the corner. “Wow, this is really good, Johnny. Dean’ll be proud.”
“Are we going to work now?”
Sam tucked John’s paper into John’s back pack and threw it over his own shoulder. “We are. Maybe if we’re lucky Mrs. Afferly will give us hot cocoa.”
“That’d be sweet.” John said, taking Sam’s hand as they headed out.
Mrs. Afferly was the wife of the guy that owned the diner, and she sometimes sent Dean home with cakes and cookies for him and John. Sometimes she invited them to come to dinner, but Dean only took them once because he didn’t want to get too close. He said it was because he didn’t want to impose, but Sam knew they were leaving soon, and John was already attached to way too many people.
Marian was working the counter when they got there. Only not so much with the working part, since there was no one there. She smiled at them as Sam led John to their regular booth.
“Hey boys, how was school?”
“Good.” Sam said, pulling his coat off and helping John with his.
“Want some cocoa?”
“Yes please.” John said brightly before Sam could respond.
Marian disappeared in the kitchen. It was Dean who came out a few minutes later with cocoa though. “Hey.”
Sam could tell by the look on his face that something wasn’t right. “What?”
Dean shook his head and turned his attention to John. “Hey Kid. How was school?”
“I did it, show him Sam!” Sam pulled out the paper and handed it to Dean as he slid into the booth.
“This is very cool, Johnny. Very cool.”
John beamed and sipped his cocoa.
“You guys hungry? I’ll have Shaun whip you up some mac-n-cheese for dinner before we head home.”
“I want pancakes.” John said
Dean nodded. “Pancakes it is. What about you Sam?”
Sam frowned at him, trying to will Dean into telling him what was wrong. “Pancakes are fine.”
“Why don’t you guys get started on your homework. I’ll bring it out in a minute.”
Dean headed back to the kitchen and Sam slid out of the booth too. “I gotta pee John, you stay here, okay?”
John was already digging out his crayons and coloring pages that was his homework most nights. He nodded and Sam headed toward the bathrooms, detouring into the kitchen.
“Sam! You don’t belong back here.” Dean said, pushing him back out the door.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Dean made a face, then sighed. “I’m going to go out tonight. I need you to keep an eye on things.”
“Out?” That sounded suspiciously like Dad’s mask for hunting. “What kind of out?”
“There’s something I need to do.”
“Let it wait for Bobby. He said he’d be back tomorrow.”
Dean shook his head. “Can’t wait. Tonight’s the last night of the full moon.”
Sam felt his heart race. “Werewolf?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Dean nodded. “Looks like. Here in town. It killed two people already.”
Sam didn’t like it. “Not alone.”
“I don’t have a choice Sam. It looks like its first cycle. I should be fine.”
Sam didn’t like it. But Dean was right. They couldn’t let it kill again. “Call Bobby.”
“I already did. He’s on his way, but he won’t make it in time.” Dean cocked a smile. “Go get your homework done and I’ll bring you some dinner.”
Dean had never hunted alone. Not really. Sam knew that Dean thought he had, and their father had let him think it. Built confidence John said. Not that he knew Sam knew either. Sam had over heard him talking with Bobby. Their father had shadowed Dean on both hunts.
Still. Dean was good. He was a good tracker and a better shot. He’d be okay.
Sam slipped back into the booth.
“I broke the black one.” John said, holding it up.
“You hold them too tight.” Sam answered. “They aren’t like pencils.”
“Where’s you’re homework?”
“I did it in school.” Sam said. It wasn’t totally true, but he was busy watching Dean in the window into the kitchen.
“Color with me?”
“Maybe later.”
“Are you mad at me?” John asked suddenly and Sam tore his eyes away from his brother to look at him.
“What?”
“You’re not normal.”
“I’m a Winchester.” Sam said reflexively, then shook his head. “No, I’m not mad at you. Just hungry.”
“Me too.”
“Good, cause I’ve got food.” Dean said, coming out of the kitchen with a big plate of pancakes. Marian came behind him with plates and napkins and a big bottle of syrup. “Dig in Sammy, don’t let it get cold.”
Sam watched Dean tuck John in, kiss his forehead and turn off the light. It was barely eight. Sam followed Dean back into the kitchen, dragging Dad’s old weapons duffle to the table. Dean lifted it and put on the cracked Formica with a clank.
“You lock the doors behind me.” Dean said. He lifted a revolver from the bag and dumped the bullets, replacing them with silver ones from the beat up wooden box. He handed the gun to Sam. “This one’s for you. Set the salt lines like I taught you.”
“I know Dean.”
He was loading another gun, sorting through the bullets in the box for ones that fit. “I’ve never left you alone.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Dean looked at him, then at the kitchen door. “No matter what, he doesn’t know what this is about, okay?”
Sam nodded. No kid should know what was really out there in the dark. Once you knew, you couldn’t ever forget. “I got it. I’ll salt the doors and I’ll wait up.”
“Shouldn’t take long. It hit in the same area both nights. Just out past town. Got a guy in a broke down car first night, out on that stretch near Miller’s. Slashed up a bunch of cows too.” Dean tucked a gun into the back of his belt and another near his hip. He exhaled and nodded. “Okay.”
He was nervous. Sam could tell. “You’ll get him.” Dean smiled at him and headed for the door. Sam followed him and watched him get into the car. Dean didn’t pull out, just sat there, watching Sam.
Sam rolled his eyes and closed the door, locking it. He heard the Impala pull out. He sighed and touched up the salt line, checked the window, then went to the back door and did the same thing.
He figured he could finish the math homework he didn’t get done while he waited. He pulled his backpack to the kitchen and settled in. It wasn’t hard, and in fact it was boring. It didn’t take long to finish.
He wandered to the window, looking up and down the road. Of course it was silly to think Dean would be back so fast. It had only been a half hour or so. Sam went to check on John. He was curled up tight with Mr. Turtle, sound asleep.
Whenever Dean waited up for Dad, he got stuff ready, just in case. Sam went to the bathroom and pulled out the first aid kit. Just the thought of needing it made his palms sweat. He didn’t know how to take care of stuff like Dean did. He hadn’t learned how to do stitches and he mostly knew how to hold bandages so that Dean could do other stuff.
He put the first aid kit on the coffee table and sat down on the couch. After a while, he turned on the television. He flipped through channels until he found some movie that didn’t look too stupid and he settled in to wait.
The sound of the Impala woke him. The movie had given way to some infomercial. Sam squinted at the clock, but in the dark he couldn’t make out what time it was. The car stopped. Sam waited.
The car was still running. Sam went to the window and looked out. He could see the tail lights. He lifted the gun off the table where he’d left it and opened the door cautiously. He couldn’t see Dean.
He stepped out onto the stairs. “Dean?” His heart was pounding. The air was freezing on his bare arms. “Dean?”
He was at the bottom of the stairs now and still no Dean. “Fuck.” His father would have smacked him if he’d heard that. Sam stopped in his tracks. “Dean, this isn’t funny.”
Sam inched closer to the car. He could see the driver’s side door was open. The headlights reflected off the house. “Dean?”
He moved in front of the car, casting a long shadow over the car and lawn. “Come on, man.” He came around the driver’s side fender, gun up, half expecting Dean to jump out from the bushes.
But Dean didn’t jump.
“Dean!”
The snow was red. Snow shouldn’t be red. Sam fell to his knees beside Dean. He was cold. Or maybe Sam’s hands were frozen. There was blood, so much blood.
“Dean? Oh, god Dean. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.” Sam tried to remember what to do, how to tell. He put his hand over Dean’s mouth. There was air. He was breathing. That was good.
Dean groaned as Sam touched him. His eyes fluttered open. “Sam…”
“Don’t…fuck Dean…I don’t know what to do.”
“Call 911.” Dean said, his voice weak. “Get kit.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
Dean’s hand pulled his away from the gaping hole in his jacket. “Sam. You have to. Come back.”
“Don’t you die on me.”
Dean shook his head. Sam got on his feet and ran for the house, slipping in the snow. His face was wet with tears, his hands covered in blood. He tried to wipe them clean before grabbing the phone and dialing. It took forever for anyone to answer. “My brother’s hurt. We need an ambulance. 904 Grassling. Please hurry, there’s blood…lots of blood.” She was asking him questions, but Sam just dropped the phone and grabbed the first aid kit, and the ratty blanket off the chair before racing back outside.
Dean’s eyes were closed and he was ghastly pale when Sam got back. “Dean? Dean…they’re coming.”
Dean opened his eyes, rolling his head until he found Sam next to him again. His hand stuttered over the blood stained snow to Sam’s, dragging it to his bloody side. “Here. Stop the bleeding.”
Sam fumbled with the kit, finally getting gauze out of it and pressing it through the hole until he felt the warmth of blood. “Just hold on Dean. They’ll be here any minute. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”
The whole world narrowed down to his hands in Dean’s side and those words on endless repeat in his brain. Dean couldn’t leave him. Not like this. Not when his father was already gone. This shouldn’t be Sam’s job, holding Dean’s life in his hands, watching Dean bleed out into the snow. It shouldn’t be Dean dying.
Then there were hands pulling him away, voices asking him questions. All he could see was Dean’s face, slack and pale and lifeless as they worked on him in the snow, then lifted him onto a gurney.
It was John screaming in the doorway that snapped Sam back. He shook his head and pulled clear of the woman trying to hold him in a blanket. “Johnny, Johnny. Settle down.” Sam said, but John wouldn’t let Sam touch him.
“Where are they taking him?”
“Dean’s hurt. Dean’s hurt. But they’re going to make him okay.”
“What did you do?” John demanded, poking at Sam’s blood soaked shirt. “What did you do to him?”
“Me?” Sam backed away from him. This wasn’t his fault. If anything it was John’s fault. “You’re the one…you…” Sam turned away, right back into the woman and her blanket.
The ambulance was pulling away. “No, I have to go with him.”
“Take it easy. We’ll get you both to him, but right now the doctors need to work on him. Can you boys tell me where your parents are?”
“You just took my father.” John said, his lip trembling.
Sam sat down on the step, pulling the blanket around him. He was suddenly freezing and shaking. “Dean…looks after me. My dad’s…gone.” Sam said. Gone. His father was gone. And Dean could die.
The skies were starting to lighten. There was the sound of a car door.
“Sam?”
“Bobby.”
“What the hell happened?”
The woman straightened up and turned to Bobby. “And who are you?”
“A friend of the family. What’s going on?”
“As near as we can figure, the young man ran into a wild dog we’ve been having trouble with.” The woman said. “He’s in bad shape, on his way to the hospital.”
“Sam, you okay?”
Sam shook his head. “He’s gonna die Bobby…he’s gonna die.”
Bobby pulled him into a hug, held him while he shook and cried. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then we’ll go to the hospital, see how he’s doing.”
When Sam looked, the woman was gone. Bobby led Sam and John into the house and helped him change his clothes, wash his face and arms, then settled them both in the back seat of his car.
Bobby held Sam’s hand and Sam held John’s as they entered the ER. “Dean Winchester? They brought him in about a half hour ago?”
The nurse at the desk checked her computer. “Have a seat there. The doctor will be out to see you.”
Sam watched around them. He hated hospitals. Judging from John’s reaction he did too. He held on to Sam’s hand as they waited and he started when Bobby stood to talk to the doctor. When he came back, he sat down again. “He’s in surgery.”
Sam nodded. That wasn’t good. At least it meant he was still alive.
Title: The Kid Part 3 (Part one, Part Two)
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, John, Bobby,
Rating: PG
Genre: GEN (did you even know I could GEN?)
Word Count: 2837
Summary: Dean is 17, Sam is 13. John is going on 6. The Winchester family is adjusting to their new life. at least until a little bit of the old comes to visit. Told from Sam's POV.
A/Ns & Warnings: Um. This is at least partially
varkelton's fault. De-aging fic. It was kind of nice, having a little brother. Sam picked John up everyday after school and they walked home together, talking about school. Sam would fix them a snack and play with John until Dean came home, then they’d fix dinner together.
Well Dean did most of the fixing. Sam got stuff for him and set the table, and John mostly sat on the counter and bantered with Dean. After dinner, Sam went to their room to do his homework while Dean helped John with his.
He was getting better at it, but he still sometimes messed up his “b” and his “d” and his “4” and his “9”
Sometimes John let Sam read him a story at bedtime. Sometimes he only wanted Dean to do it, and that was okay, because after all, John thought Dean was his dad.
And that was a little messed up if Sam thought about it. But Sam didn’t think about it. It made his head hurt when he did. Because John was Dad, but now Dean was Dad for John and even though Sam was smart, there was no way that that made any kind of sense in the real world.
In the real world there were no witches or demons or ghosts, no possible way for Dad to become John. That only happened in the nighttime world. The one Sam hated for taking their father away from them for so many birthdays and Christmases and stupid school things. The one that Sam didn’t have to worry about anymore because Dad wasn’t hunting anymore.
So maybe it was messed up, but that was then. And now? Now things were pretty cool. John looked up to him, like Sam had always looked up to Dean. And Sam was thirteen now, practically a grown up himself. When Dean was thirteen he came to Sam’s school play because he had a speaking part and was nervous, and Dad had been away.
It was December already, and the ground was covered in snow. Dean had told them to come to the diner after school because it was closer and he’d drive them home. Sam trudged through the snow from his school to John’s.
The air was frigid and they were expecting more snow by morning. Damn West Virginia. He liked it better when they got to spend the winter in warmer places. Like California. Sam liked California.
Of course, it would help if they could afford something more than thrift store clothes. With the rate Sam was growing, nothing fit and the jacket Dean had bought him in October was already too small.
“Sam!” He looked up to find John jumping up and down next to his teacher.
“Hey, squirt.” Sam ruffled his hair and John swatted at his hands.
“Sam, I did it! I got them all right!”
Mrs. Martin smiled at him. “He’s been working really hard, Sam.”
John thrust a piece of paper at him. Sam took it and opened it. Three neat rows of letters, upper case and lower case filled the page. There was a bright yellow smiley face in the corner. “Wow, this is really good, Johnny. Dean’ll be proud.”
“Are we going to work now?”
Sam tucked John’s paper into John’s back pack and threw it over his own shoulder. “We are. Maybe if we’re lucky Mrs. Afferly will give us hot cocoa.”
“That’d be sweet.” John said, taking Sam’s hand as they headed out.
Mrs. Afferly was the wife of the guy that owned the diner, and she sometimes sent Dean home with cakes and cookies for him and John. Sometimes she invited them to come to dinner, but Dean only took them once because he didn’t want to get too close. He said it was because he didn’t want to impose, but Sam knew they were leaving soon, and John was already attached to way too many people.
Marian was working the counter when they got there. Only not so much with the working part, since there was no one there. She smiled at them as Sam led John to their regular booth.
“Hey boys, how was school?”
“Good.” Sam said, pulling his coat off and helping John with his.
“Want some cocoa?”
“Yes please.” John said brightly before Sam could respond.
Marian disappeared in the kitchen. It was Dean who came out a few minutes later with cocoa though. “Hey.”
Sam could tell by the look on his face that something wasn’t right. “What?”
Dean shook his head and turned his attention to John. “Hey Kid. How was school?”
“I did it, show him Sam!” Sam pulled out the paper and handed it to Dean as he slid into the booth.
“This is very cool, Johnny. Very cool.”
John beamed and sipped his cocoa.
“You guys hungry? I’ll have Shaun whip you up some mac-n-cheese for dinner before we head home.”
“I want pancakes.” John said
Dean nodded. “Pancakes it is. What about you Sam?”
Sam frowned at him, trying to will Dean into telling him what was wrong. “Pancakes are fine.”
“Why don’t you guys get started on your homework. I’ll bring it out in a minute.”
Dean headed back to the kitchen and Sam slid out of the booth too. “I gotta pee John, you stay here, okay?”
John was already digging out his crayons and coloring pages that was his homework most nights. He nodded and Sam headed toward the bathrooms, detouring into the kitchen.
“Sam! You don’t belong back here.” Dean said, pushing him back out the door.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
Dean made a face, then sighed. “I’m going to go out tonight. I need you to keep an eye on things.”
“Out?” That sounded suspiciously like Dad’s mask for hunting. “What kind of out?”
“There’s something I need to do.”
“Let it wait for Bobby. He said he’d be back tomorrow.”
Dean shook his head. “Can’t wait. Tonight’s the last night of the full moon.”
Sam felt his heart race. “Werewolf?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Dean nodded. “Looks like. Here in town. It killed two people already.”
Sam didn’t like it. “Not alone.”
“I don’t have a choice Sam. It looks like its first cycle. I should be fine.”
Sam didn’t like it. But Dean was right. They couldn’t let it kill again. “Call Bobby.”
“I already did. He’s on his way, but he won’t make it in time.” Dean cocked a smile. “Go get your homework done and I’ll bring you some dinner.”
Dean had never hunted alone. Not really. Sam knew that Dean thought he had, and their father had let him think it. Built confidence John said. Not that he knew Sam knew either. Sam had over heard him talking with Bobby. Their father had shadowed Dean on both hunts.
Still. Dean was good. He was a good tracker and a better shot. He’d be okay.
Sam slipped back into the booth.
“I broke the black one.” John said, holding it up.
“You hold them too tight.” Sam answered. “They aren’t like pencils.”
“Where’s you’re homework?”
“I did it in school.” Sam said. It wasn’t totally true, but he was busy watching Dean in the window into the kitchen.
“Color with me?”
“Maybe later.”
“Are you mad at me?” John asked suddenly and Sam tore his eyes away from his brother to look at him.
“What?”
“You’re not normal.”
“I’m a Winchester.” Sam said reflexively, then shook his head. “No, I’m not mad at you. Just hungry.”
“Me too.”
“Good, cause I’ve got food.” Dean said, coming out of the kitchen with a big plate of pancakes. Marian came behind him with plates and napkins and a big bottle of syrup. “Dig in Sammy, don’t let it get cold.”
Sam watched Dean tuck John in, kiss his forehead and turn off the light. It was barely eight. Sam followed Dean back into the kitchen, dragging Dad’s old weapons duffle to the table. Dean lifted it and put on the cracked Formica with a clank.
“You lock the doors behind me.” Dean said. He lifted a revolver from the bag and dumped the bullets, replacing them with silver ones from the beat up wooden box. He handed the gun to Sam. “This one’s for you. Set the salt lines like I taught you.”
“I know Dean.”
He was loading another gun, sorting through the bullets in the box for ones that fit. “I’ve never left you alone.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Dean looked at him, then at the kitchen door. “No matter what, he doesn’t know what this is about, okay?”
Sam nodded. No kid should know what was really out there in the dark. Once you knew, you couldn’t ever forget. “I got it. I’ll salt the doors and I’ll wait up.”
“Shouldn’t take long. It hit in the same area both nights. Just out past town. Got a guy in a broke down car first night, out on that stretch near Miller’s. Slashed up a bunch of cows too.” Dean tucked a gun into the back of his belt and another near his hip. He exhaled and nodded. “Okay.”
He was nervous. Sam could tell. “You’ll get him.” Dean smiled at him and headed for the door. Sam followed him and watched him get into the car. Dean didn’t pull out, just sat there, watching Sam.
Sam rolled his eyes and closed the door, locking it. He heard the Impala pull out. He sighed and touched up the salt line, checked the window, then went to the back door and did the same thing.
He figured he could finish the math homework he didn’t get done while he waited. He pulled his backpack to the kitchen and settled in. It wasn’t hard, and in fact it was boring. It didn’t take long to finish.
He wandered to the window, looking up and down the road. Of course it was silly to think Dean would be back so fast. It had only been a half hour or so. Sam went to check on John. He was curled up tight with Mr. Turtle, sound asleep.
Whenever Dean waited up for Dad, he got stuff ready, just in case. Sam went to the bathroom and pulled out the first aid kit. Just the thought of needing it made his palms sweat. He didn’t know how to take care of stuff like Dean did. He hadn’t learned how to do stitches and he mostly knew how to hold bandages so that Dean could do other stuff.
He put the first aid kit on the coffee table and sat down on the couch. After a while, he turned on the television. He flipped through channels until he found some movie that didn’t look too stupid and he settled in to wait.
The sound of the Impala woke him. The movie had given way to some infomercial. Sam squinted at the clock, but in the dark he couldn’t make out what time it was. The car stopped. Sam waited.
The car was still running. Sam went to the window and looked out. He could see the tail lights. He lifted the gun off the table where he’d left it and opened the door cautiously. He couldn’t see Dean.
He stepped out onto the stairs. “Dean?” His heart was pounding. The air was freezing on his bare arms. “Dean?”
He was at the bottom of the stairs now and still no Dean. “Fuck.” His father would have smacked him if he’d heard that. Sam stopped in his tracks. “Dean, this isn’t funny.”
Sam inched closer to the car. He could see the driver’s side door was open. The headlights reflected off the house. “Dean?”
He moved in front of the car, casting a long shadow over the car and lawn. “Come on, man.” He came around the driver’s side fender, gun up, half expecting Dean to jump out from the bushes.
But Dean didn’t jump.
“Dean!”
The snow was red. Snow shouldn’t be red. Sam fell to his knees beside Dean. He was cold. Or maybe Sam’s hands were frozen. There was blood, so much blood.
“Dean? Oh, god Dean. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.” Sam tried to remember what to do, how to tell. He put his hand over Dean’s mouth. There was air. He was breathing. That was good.
Dean groaned as Sam touched him. His eyes fluttered open. “Sam…”
“Don’t…fuck Dean…I don’t know what to do.”
“Call 911.” Dean said, his voice weak. “Get kit.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
Dean’s hand pulled his away from the gaping hole in his jacket. “Sam. You have to. Come back.”
“Don’t you die on me.”
Dean shook his head. Sam got on his feet and ran for the house, slipping in the snow. His face was wet with tears, his hands covered in blood. He tried to wipe them clean before grabbing the phone and dialing. It took forever for anyone to answer. “My brother’s hurt. We need an ambulance. 904 Grassling. Please hurry, there’s blood…lots of blood.” She was asking him questions, but Sam just dropped the phone and grabbed the first aid kit, and the ratty blanket off the chair before racing back outside.
Dean’s eyes were closed and he was ghastly pale when Sam got back. “Dean? Dean…they’re coming.”
Dean opened his eyes, rolling his head until he found Sam next to him again. His hand stuttered over the blood stained snow to Sam’s, dragging it to his bloody side. “Here. Stop the bleeding.”
Sam fumbled with the kit, finally getting gauze out of it and pressing it through the hole until he felt the warmth of blood. “Just hold on Dean. They’ll be here any minute. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”
The whole world narrowed down to his hands in Dean’s side and those words on endless repeat in his brain. Dean couldn’t leave him. Not like this. Not when his father was already gone. This shouldn’t be Sam’s job, holding Dean’s life in his hands, watching Dean bleed out into the snow. It shouldn’t be Dean dying.
Then there were hands pulling him away, voices asking him questions. All he could see was Dean’s face, slack and pale and lifeless as they worked on him in the snow, then lifted him onto a gurney.
It was John screaming in the doorway that snapped Sam back. He shook his head and pulled clear of the woman trying to hold him in a blanket. “Johnny, Johnny. Settle down.” Sam said, but John wouldn’t let Sam touch him.
“Where are they taking him?”
“Dean’s hurt. Dean’s hurt. But they’re going to make him okay.”
“What did you do?” John demanded, poking at Sam’s blood soaked shirt. “What did you do to him?”
“Me?” Sam backed away from him. This wasn’t his fault. If anything it was John’s fault. “You’re the one…you…” Sam turned away, right back into the woman and her blanket.
The ambulance was pulling away. “No, I have to go with him.”
“Take it easy. We’ll get you both to him, but right now the doctors need to work on him. Can you boys tell me where your parents are?”
“You just took my father.” John said, his lip trembling.
Sam sat down on the step, pulling the blanket around him. He was suddenly freezing and shaking. “Dean…looks after me. My dad’s…gone.” Sam said. Gone. His father was gone. And Dean could die.
The skies were starting to lighten. There was the sound of a car door.
“Sam?”
“Bobby.”
“What the hell happened?”
The woman straightened up and turned to Bobby. “And who are you?”
“A friend of the family. What’s going on?”
“As near as we can figure, the young man ran into a wild dog we’ve been having trouble with.” The woman said. “He’s in bad shape, on his way to the hospital.”
“Sam, you okay?”
Sam shook his head. “He’s gonna die Bobby…he’s gonna die.”
Bobby pulled him into a hug, held him while he shook and cried. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then we’ll go to the hospital, see how he’s doing.”
When Sam looked, the woman was gone. Bobby led Sam and John into the house and helped him change his clothes, wash his face and arms, then settled them both in the back seat of his car.
Bobby held Sam’s hand and Sam held John’s as they entered the ER. “Dean Winchester? They brought him in about a half hour ago?”
The nurse at the desk checked her computer. “Have a seat there. The doctor will be out to see you.”
Sam watched around them. He hated hospitals. Judging from John’s reaction he did too. He held on to Sam’s hand as they waited and he started when Bobby stood to talk to the doctor. When he came back, he sat down again. “He’s in surgery.”
Sam nodded. That wasn’t good. At least it meant he was still alive.
