Through The Flames
Title: Through The Flames
Summary: Sam has a fever, Dean has hope, and John is a soldier.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Word Count: 500
Author's Notes: This was the result of me wanting to do an actual drabble (ie 100 words precisely). In the end, I did three drabbles, and a double drabble, which all connect into this one story. Dean has one hundred words, John has two hundred words, and Sam has one hundred words at the beginning, and another hundred at the end. I'm quite proud of myself.
****
Sam Winchester is floating in flame. He can feel the fire rolling off him in waves. It hurts so much, but he is still ashamed of the whimper that rises, unbidden, from his throat.
“Shh, Sammy.”
His name, but it’s distant; muffled like its being spoken through cotton wool. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he knows the voice belongs to his brother, and that knowledge is comforting, soothing. The flames don’t recede any, but they don’t seem as fervent anymore either.
But there’s still something missing. Something he wants. He struggles to pull the thought from the fog.
“Dad?”
****
Dean Winchester is watching his brother suffer.
He knows, of course, that it’s just a fever, just some stupid bug, that it will break soon, and Sam will be up and bitching at him in no time, but right now, every whimper, every mewling cry his brother makes tightens the clamp around his heart a notch.
When Sam asks for their father, the clamp tightens until he is almost breathless, can feel the physical burn in his lungs, as he looks to his father standing by the door and waits to see what he will do. His hopes rise.
“Dad?”
****
John Winchester is a scary son of a bitch. He knows this, and it serves him well. He can make any monster quiver with the cock of a gun and the shake of a packet of salt. He can keep his boys safe from everything that goes bump in the night, every creature that might hide under their bed or stand above.
But he can’t fight Sam’s fever for him. There isn’t anything he can physically fight to stop his boy making those noises.
He is a soldier, and soldiers like to solve problems in very straightforward terms. He has cooled Sam down and fed him his medicine. Physically, he has down everything he can think of to ease Sam’s suffering.
“Dad?”
When Sam calls for him, he knows what he should do. He could sit with him, but he doubts Sam even knows they’re in the room with him; he wonders if it would make any difference.
“Dad?”
Dean turns to him, eyes bright and pleading for him to make this better, for once, to just stay and help him. Help Sammy.
He knows what he should do.
But he is a soldier.
The door closes softly behind him.
****
Sam wants his father. But his father doesn’t come to him, or speak to him through the flames. He feels something cool on his forehead, and then he is tugged upwards.
His head lolls against something broad, that moves slowly up and down. It is his brother, he deduces, Dean has pulled him against his chest. The realisation makes him feel something other than the heat and pain. He feels cooler now, but there’s a residual warmth nestled deep in his own chest. It’s not unpleasant.
Sam can hear Dean’s heart thumping steadily. The beating now lulls him to sleep.
Summary: Sam has a fever, Dean has hope, and John is a soldier.
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Word Count: 500
Author's Notes: This was the result of me wanting to do an actual drabble (ie 100 words precisely). In the end, I did three drabbles, and a double drabble, which all connect into this one story. Dean has one hundred words, John has two hundred words, and Sam has one hundred words at the beginning, and another hundred at the end. I'm quite proud of myself.
****
Sam Winchester is floating in flame. He can feel the fire rolling off him in waves. It hurts so much, but he is still ashamed of the whimper that rises, unbidden, from his throat.
“Shh, Sammy.”
His name, but it’s distant; muffled like its being spoken through cotton wool. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he knows the voice belongs to his brother, and that knowledge is comforting, soothing. The flames don’t recede any, but they don’t seem as fervent anymore either.
But there’s still something missing. Something he wants. He struggles to pull the thought from the fog.
“Dad?”
****
Dean Winchester is watching his brother suffer.
He knows, of course, that it’s just a fever, just some stupid bug, that it will break soon, and Sam will be up and bitching at him in no time, but right now, every whimper, every mewling cry his brother makes tightens the clamp around his heart a notch.
When Sam asks for their father, the clamp tightens until he is almost breathless, can feel the physical burn in his lungs, as he looks to his father standing by the door and waits to see what he will do. His hopes rise.
“Dad?”
****
John Winchester is a scary son of a bitch. He knows this, and it serves him well. He can make any monster quiver with the cock of a gun and the shake of a packet of salt. He can keep his boys safe from everything that goes bump in the night, every creature that might hide under their bed or stand above.
But he can’t fight Sam’s fever for him. There isn’t anything he can physically fight to stop his boy making those noises.
He is a soldier, and soldiers like to solve problems in very straightforward terms. He has cooled Sam down and fed him his medicine. Physically, he has down everything he can think of to ease Sam’s suffering.
“Dad?”
When Sam calls for him, he knows what he should do. He could sit with him, but he doubts Sam even knows they’re in the room with him; he wonders if it would make any difference.
“Dad?”
Dean turns to him, eyes bright and pleading for him to make this better, for once, to just stay and help him. Help Sammy.
He knows what he should do.
But he is a soldier.
The door closes softly behind him.
****
Sam wants his father. But his father doesn’t come to him, or speak to him through the flames. He feels something cool on his forehead, and then he is tugged upwards.
His head lolls against something broad, that moves slowly up and down. It is his brother, he deduces, Dean has pulled him against his chest. The realisation makes him feel something other than the heat and pain. He feels cooler now, but there’s a residual warmth nestled deep in his own chest. It’s not unpleasant.
Sam can hear Dean’s heart thumping steadily. The beating now lulls him to sleep.