filled: This Time 1/2etoile_etioleeMay 22 2012, 00:13:55 UTC
There it is. I hope it's what you were asking for. :)
Thanks to disneymagics for her quick beta work. She's awsome.
This Time
In the dark warehouse, the complex symbols written on the wall are starting to fade. The sound of the rain falling on the roof is deafening.
Sam takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. Castiel is standing next to him, head cocked to the side, waiting patiently. Dean sits on the ground between the both of them, stubble rough on his face, traces of dirt all over him, hair sticking in greasy strands to his head. He looks at his swollen left hand with a somewhat thoughtful expression.
"Okay… okay. Let's start all over again."
"Of course, Sam," Castiel nods obediently.
"What happened to him, Cas?"
"He was bitten by a thing in the dark."
"A… a thing in… ? Cas? Could you be more specific?"
"No."
"What the Hell?"
"M'gonna puke." Dean says in a dull voice.
"No you're not." Sam replies without looking at him.
"How can you tell?"
"'Cause you've been saying that for almost an hour and you haven’t yet."
"I will, eventually."
"Shut up for a minute. Cas?"
"I'll go find a cure."
"What? You don't even know what bit him!"
"Right. Then I'll go find out what bit him, and then find the cure. Following the proper order is the key here."
"Where?"
"Where what?"
"Where will you go?" Sam snaps because really, there's only so much a man can take from a delirious brother and a mad angel.
"I'm still unsure as to where to start."
And then he's gone. "Cas, come back here!" Sam yells.
"Sam." Dean tugs gently on his sleeve.
"What?!"
"M'gonna puke now."
And he does, this time.
"Damn it, Dean, my shoes!"
= = =
Dean stays very still as Sam wipes his face with a cold washcloth. His eyes are wide open and soft, an uncertain smile quirks up his chapped lips.
"What's funny?"
"Nothing. Feels good is all." He whispers, voice a bit slurry.
"Yeah, I bet. As soon as your fever lowers somewhat, I'll help you with a shower."
"Okay."
Sam drops the washcloth in the water basin and takes a look at the small white bandage on Dean's hand. It's clean. Still, the skin all around is angry red and swollen.
"Dean, what bit you?"
A shadow passes in Dean's eyes. "Don't know. T'was dark. We were running."
"From who, Dean? From what?"
"Don't know," Dean repeats. He shifts on the bed and winces. Sam had stripped him down to his boxers and it seems like every inch of his body is covered with bruises in different shapes and colors. Sam has enough experience to know it's more impressive looking than dangerous. Still, he doesn't like seeing Dean hurting like that. Never has.
"How long was I gone?" Dean asks.
"Six days."
"Oh."
Dean's teeth start chattering again and his uncovered body is wracked by a violent shiver. Sam pulls the blankets back over him. Dean had thrown them away five minutes earlier, sweating and panting and complaining about the sun.
It's close to midnight.
His fever won't go down, even with the meds. Sam had burned sage in the room and had given him holy water to drink, without any effect.
"Another one, m'still cold," Dean mumbles, trying to curl in on himself under the covers.
"Yeah."
Sam snatches the comforter from his own bed and carefully places it over Dean's shaking frame.
"I'm back, aren't I?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
Dean closes his eyes, and there is no doubt he would fall asleep immediately if the fever would give him a break. He sighs deeply, gets closer to the edge of the bed where Sam is sitting.
"How long was I gone?"
"Six days, Dean."
He opens his eyes again, looks carefully at Sam. "You're real, right?" "Yes."
"I'm back."
"You're back."
"Okay."
Sam lets his hand rest on Dean's chest, feels the tremors wracking his body. He's here, he thinks, feeling so relieved he could cry.
Re: filled: This Time 2/2etoile_etioleeMay 22 2012, 00:15:33 UTC
Dean's fever has dropped and he seems more alert, more like himself. He is even able to down a bottle of Gatorade without throwing up. He says he’s fine.
Sometimes Sam thinks he'll never learn. He stays in the bathroom, just in case.
Dean's halfway through washing his hair clumsily, using only his good hand, when his knees buckle suddenly. Sam literally jumps into the stall to keep him standing. Dean raises his fever-bright eyes to look at him. "Hey Sam," he says.
Then he smiles, that uncertain, soft smile again. Water drops are sliding down his pale face, catching in the short, dark blond hair that covers his chin and cheeks. He wraps his right arm around Sam's waist. "Help me out."
"Yeah."
The fever is up again.
= = =
Dean falls asleep, shivering and groaning, drenched in sweat. His eyes keep moving rapidly under his swollen, bluish eyelids. The swelling in his hand has worsened. Twelve hours since he's been back. He's getting worse.
Sam frenetically goes through a stash of books while keeping an eye on him. Cas doesn’t come, no matter how hard he calls.
The motel room is silent. Dean's startled gasp makes him jump. Sam’s back at his side in an instant, helps him out of the sheets bundled around him. Dean sits, head bent, cradling his wounded hand close to himself with his good one. Sam touches his skin, unsurprised to find it as hot as before. Damn it.
"Dean? You okay?"
Dean moans.
"Dean?"
"Hurts."
"I know. Let me get you some meds. Think it's time."
Sam makes another round. How many does this make now? Meds. Getting him to drink a little. Inspecting the wound. Dean complains that his clothes hurt and is back down to his boxers again. Sam fills the bucket with fresh cold water and gets back to cooling Dean's skin with it. Small shivers go through him as the towel slides gently on his legs, and stomach and arms. Sam finishes with his neck and face, careful not to rub too hard at his oversensitive skin. Once again, Dean's attention is solely focused on Sam. His eyes are so wide it would be funny in other circumstances. Right now, it's kind of scary.
"Feel better?" Sam asks, feeling Dean's forehead and finding it a little cooler.
"Yeah."
"Maybe you could get back to sleep while I do some research."
"We were running. Always," Dean whispers. "It was dark. They were everywhere. Cas… Cas said that we had to keep moving or else somebody… something would find me."
"Dean…"
Dean grabs Sam's wrist. The washcloth falls onto his chest and he gasp in surprise. "That's why I didn't see it… What bit me." He explains.
"It's okay. We'll figure it out."
"Because you got me back. Me and Cas. You brought both of us back."
"Yes."
Dean lets go of Sam's arm and sighs again. He blinks, looks around him like he's somewhat surprise to find himself there in a motel room. "Because all of this is real," he adds, voice childish and uneven.
"Yeah, Dean. Don't worry."
Dean smiles again. "You brought me back this time," he murmurs.
This time. And now, Sam understands what Dean's rambling has been about. Sam knows without a doubt what Dean had been thinking every minute he had spent in Purgatory.
Hell has so many ways to deserve its name.
And what is Sam supposed to say to that? What can he possibly say? He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Dean still smiles at him with his delirious too-bright eyes. And he's the one to speak now.
"I knew it, Sammy. Knew you would get me out."
Sam brushes his fingers in Dean's hair, slow, soft strokes, and Dean leans into it. Always has liked it when he was sick enough to allow it.
"Go to sleep, Dean. M'not going anywhere."
"I know," Dean whimpers, already half asleep and still smiling.
= = =
Cas gets back a few hours later with some strange looking plant. He boils some water and makes an infusion. Sam is too relieved to ask him about the tall hat he's currently wearing.
Thanks to disneymagics for her quick beta work. She's awsome.
This Time
In the dark warehouse, the complex symbols written on the wall are starting to fade. The sound of the rain falling on the roof is deafening.
Sam takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. Castiel is standing next to him, head cocked to the side, waiting patiently. Dean sits on the ground between the both of them, stubble rough on his face, traces of dirt all over him, hair sticking in greasy strands to his head. He looks at his swollen left hand with a somewhat thoughtful expression.
"Okay… okay. Let's start all over again."
"Of course, Sam," Castiel nods obediently.
"What happened to him, Cas?"
"He was bitten by a thing in the dark."
"A… a thing in… ? Cas? Could you be more specific?"
"No."
"What the Hell?"
"M'gonna puke." Dean says in a dull voice.
"No you're not." Sam replies without looking at him.
"How can you tell?"
"'Cause you've been saying that for almost an hour and you haven’t yet."
"I will, eventually."
"Shut up for a minute. Cas?"
"I'll go find a cure."
"What? You don't even know what bit him!"
"Right. Then I'll go find out what bit him, and then find the cure. Following the proper order is the key here."
"Where?"
"Where what?"
"Where will you go?" Sam snaps because really, there's only so much a man can take from a delirious brother and a mad angel.
"I'm still unsure as to where to start."
And then he's gone. "Cas, come back here!" Sam yells.
"Sam." Dean tugs gently on his sleeve.
"What?!"
"M'gonna puke now."
And he does, this time.
"Damn it, Dean, my shoes!"
= = =
Dean stays very still as Sam wipes his face with a cold washcloth. His eyes are wide open and soft, an uncertain smile quirks up his chapped lips.
"What's funny?"
"Nothing. Feels good is all." He whispers, voice a bit slurry.
"Yeah, I bet. As soon as your fever lowers somewhat, I'll help you with a shower."
"Okay."
Sam drops the washcloth in the water basin and takes a look at the small white bandage on Dean's hand. It's clean. Still, the skin all around is angry red and swollen.
"Dean, what bit you?"
A shadow passes in Dean's eyes. "Don't know. T'was dark. We were running."
"From who, Dean? From what?"
"Don't know," Dean repeats. He shifts on the bed and winces. Sam had stripped him down to his boxers and it seems like every inch of his body is covered with bruises in different shapes and colors. Sam has enough experience to know it's more impressive looking than dangerous. Still, he doesn't like seeing Dean hurting like that. Never has.
"How long was I gone?" Dean asks.
"Six days."
"Oh."
Dean's teeth start chattering again and his uncovered body is wracked by a violent shiver. Sam pulls the blankets back over him. Dean had thrown them away five minutes earlier, sweating and panting and complaining about the sun.
It's close to midnight.
His fever won't go down, even with the meds. Sam had burned sage in the room and had given him holy water to drink, without any effect.
"Another one, m'still cold," Dean mumbles, trying to curl in on himself under the covers.
"Yeah."
Sam snatches the comforter from his own bed and carefully places it over Dean's shaking frame.
"I'm back, aren't I?"
"Yes."
"Okay."
Dean closes his eyes, and there is no doubt he would fall asleep immediately if the fever would give him a break. He sighs deeply, gets closer to the edge of the bed where Sam is sitting.
"How long was I gone?"
"Six days, Dean."
He opens his eyes again, looks carefully at Sam. "You're real, right?"
"Yes."
"I'm back."
"You're back."
"Okay."
Sam lets his hand rest on Dean's chest, feels the tremors wracking his body. He's here, he thinks, feeling so relieved he could cry.
= = =
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Sometimes Sam thinks he'll never learn. He stays in the bathroom, just in case.
Dean's halfway through washing his hair clumsily, using only his good hand, when his knees buckle suddenly. Sam literally jumps into the stall to keep him standing. Dean raises his fever-bright eyes to look at him. "Hey Sam," he says.
Then he smiles, that uncertain, soft smile again. Water drops are sliding down his pale face, catching in the short, dark blond hair that covers his chin and cheeks. He wraps his right arm around Sam's waist. "Help me out."
"Yeah."
The fever is up again.
= = =
Dean falls asleep, shivering and groaning, drenched in sweat. His eyes keep moving rapidly under his swollen, bluish eyelids. The swelling in his hand has worsened. Twelve hours since he's been back. He's getting worse.
Sam frenetically goes through a stash of books while keeping an eye on him. Cas doesn’t come, no matter how hard he calls.
The motel room is silent. Dean's startled gasp makes him jump. Sam’s back at his side in an instant, helps him out of the sheets bundled around him. Dean sits, head bent, cradling his wounded hand close to himself with his good one. Sam touches his skin, unsurprised to find it as hot as before. Damn it.
"Dean? You okay?"
Dean moans.
"Dean?"
"Hurts."
"I know. Let me get you some meds. Think it's time."
Sam makes another round. How many does this make now? Meds. Getting him to drink a little. Inspecting the wound. Dean complains that his clothes hurt and is back down to his boxers again. Sam fills the bucket with fresh cold water and gets back to cooling Dean's skin with it. Small shivers go through him as the towel slides gently on his legs, and stomach and arms. Sam finishes with his neck and face, careful not to rub too hard at his oversensitive skin. Once again, Dean's attention is solely focused on Sam. His eyes are so wide it would be funny in other circumstances. Right now, it's kind of scary.
"Feel better?" Sam asks, feeling Dean's forehead and finding it a little cooler.
"Yeah."
"Maybe you could get back to sleep while I do some research."
"We were running. Always," Dean whispers. "It was dark. They were everywhere. Cas… Cas said that we had to keep moving or else somebody… something would find me."
"Dean…"
Dean grabs Sam's wrist. The washcloth falls onto his chest and he gasp in surprise. "That's why I didn't see it… What bit me." He explains.
"It's okay. We'll figure it out."
"Because you got me back. Me and Cas. You brought both of us back."
"Yes."
Dean lets go of Sam's arm and sighs again. He blinks, looks around him like he's somewhat surprise to find himself there in a motel room. "Because all of this is real," he adds, voice childish and uneven.
"Yeah, Dean. Don't worry."
Dean smiles again. "You brought me back this time," he murmurs.
This time. And now, Sam understands what Dean's rambling has been about. Sam knows without a doubt what Dean had been thinking every minute he had spent in Purgatory.
Hell has so many ways to deserve its name.
And what is Sam supposed to say to that? What can he possibly say? He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Dean still smiles at him with his delirious too-bright eyes. And he's the one to speak now.
"I knew it, Sammy. Knew you would get me out."
Sam brushes his fingers in Dean's hair, slow, soft strokes, and Dean leans into it. Always has liked it when he was sick enough to allow it.
"Go to sleep, Dean. M'not going anywhere."
"I know," Dean whimpers, already half asleep and still smiling.
= = =
Cas gets back a few hours later with some strange looking plant. He boils some water and makes an infusion. Sam is too relieved to ask him about the tall hat he's currently wearing.
Dean drinks and gets better.
Fin.
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I love your wonderful, competent Sam, and Dean's tentative acceptance that he's back. So great, all of it. Thanks again. <3
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And by the way, your meme is generating really good fics, well written and so imaginative. Best hiatus ever.
It's awsome.
<3
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I'm glad you liked it :)
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crazy!Cas, competent, caring Sammy and confused, sick Dean, what more could one ask for?
All their voices were utterly IC and the whole fic was not too outlandish. Totally believable!
Thanks for sharing!
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