Welcome To Lawrence
Title: Welcome to Lawrence
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Sam, Missouri
Warnings/Rating: PG for language
Notes/Summary: For madebyme_x's prompt on the OhSam birthday fic meme: Sam gets strangled by a poltergeist with a cable in Home (1.09) - but if Dean arrives a moment later, and Sam passing out and stops breathing? I guess I did a little more than stop his breathing but hey, Sam's pain is our love, right?
The first thing Dean noticed was that Sam wasn’t fighting. There was a cord wrapped at least twice around his throat, tight, but he wasn’t trying to pull it off, or kicking his legs, or just generally making a racket.
Upon closer inspection, it turned out that there was a simple explanation. Sam wasn’t breathing.
Sam: Condition: Not Breathing
First things first, which was ridiculous, but true - Dean had to throw that hex bag into the wall. And so he did. But then he returned for a second look. This time, the cord wasn’t tight so Dean pulled it off, suppressing a curse when he saw the mark it left behind. Pressing two fingers next to Sam’s windpipe, Dean got a pleasant surprise - a strong and steady pulse at the cartoid. That bruising was gonna be a problem, but it was not at the top of the list.
Sam: Condition: Not breathing, strong pulse, heart is beating. Conclusion: Respiratory failure.
Rescue breaths, then. Easy enough. Dean made sure Sam’s nose was completely covered, sealed their lips, and breathed out once, hard (not too hard).
Five seconds. He remembered their dad teaching them how to do this on an actual CPR dummy he’d stolen from somewhere.
Another breath. Sam’s chest rose and fell.
Sam did CPR on an old lady on the sidewalk outside his school when he was twelve, kept her alive until the EMS got there, had to refuse getting his photo in the small-town paper for being a little snot-nosed middle school hero.
Five seconds.
”Come on, Sam”, Dean whispered.
Another breath. Sam’s chest rose and fell.
Five seconds.
”No goddamn poltergeist is taking my brother from me”, a yell this time.
Another breath. Sam’s chest rose. Fell. He started coughing, instinctively moved his hands up to his neck.
Dean grabbed his hands and said, “Hey, easy brother. That thing just tried to Boston Strangler you. Chill for a minute.”
This was obviously not good. Sam still wasn’t even trying to sit up, and his eyes were broadcasting a whole lot of pain. But hey, this thing was over now. They could go back to the motel, put some ice on that shit, watch terrible movies, the usual.
Except Sam was adamant that it was not over, definitely not, even though he could only insist in a barely-there whisper of a voice that it clearly hurt like hell to use, and this stubborn kid Jesus Christ. Dean was able to talk him into the ice pack, at least. But before the night was over, they were right back in there, this time leaving with more emotional baggage than either one of them had bargained for, even for a case in their childhood home.
For once on this trip, though, it was Sam who got the lecture from Missouri.
“We really appreciate everything you did to help us, Missouri”, Sam whispered, trying to smile though it was very obvious that using that many words was painful.
“You’re welcome, Sam. There’s a walk-in clinic about a mile before you get back onto the highway. I’m sure they’ll be able to help.”
“Oh, it’s all right. I’ve got an ice pack and I’ll just take it easy-”
Missouri cut him off right there. “You’ll go to that clinic before you get back on the road, you understand me?’
Since Sam was unable to respond except with a wide-eyed look and a sincere nod of his head, Dean took the opportunity to snicker until Missouri turned her eyes in his direction.
“I’ll drive him right there, ma’am, promise.”
Filling out paperwork in the waiting room, Dean asked, “We going with bar fight this time?”
Sam nodded, and they counted themselves lucky not to get another lecture from the doctor. They took an x-ray and what the hell, Sam’s hyoid bone was fractured. Dean thought that shit only happened to dead people on TV crime shows.
Fortunately, this one was mild enough that it could be managed with ice, vocal rest, and 3-4 days of a liquid diet. They stopped in the next decent sized town a few hours north to fill the prescription for pain meds and pick up pre-made smoothies as well as some better ice packs. Sam tried not to show his happiness at getting to choose days and days worth of smoothies, but Dean could see it a mile away.
They got checked into a kind of halfway decent motel so Dean could set Sam up with his strawberry-banana smoothie, give him his pain medication, and hand over a fresh ice pack. When the adrenaline and the Percocet finally caught up with Sam, he was almost asleep when he tried to whisper something to Dean.
Dean walked over and crouched down next to Sam so he could hear what he was saying, in case there was something else he needed.
“Albert DeSalvo. The Boston Strangler, that’s his name. The poltergeist tried to Albert DeSalvo me.”
“Please go to sleep, you giant nerd”, Dean replied, but Sam probably didn’t even hear him.
Sam: Condition: Asleep, breathing, being a dork. Conclusion: Gonna be fine.
Pairings/Characters: Dean, Sam, Missouri
Warnings/Rating: PG for language
Notes/Summary: For madebyme_x's prompt on the OhSam birthday fic meme: Sam gets strangled by a poltergeist with a cable in Home (1.09) - but if Dean arrives a moment later, and Sam passing out and stops breathing? I guess I did a little more than stop his breathing but hey, Sam's pain is our love, right?
The first thing Dean noticed was that Sam wasn’t fighting. There was a cord wrapped at least twice around his throat, tight, but he wasn’t trying to pull it off, or kicking his legs, or just generally making a racket.
Upon closer inspection, it turned out that there was a simple explanation. Sam wasn’t breathing.
Sam: Condition: Not Breathing
First things first, which was ridiculous, but true - Dean had to throw that hex bag into the wall. And so he did. But then he returned for a second look. This time, the cord wasn’t tight so Dean pulled it off, suppressing a curse when he saw the mark it left behind. Pressing two fingers next to Sam’s windpipe, Dean got a pleasant surprise - a strong and steady pulse at the cartoid. That bruising was gonna be a problem, but it was not at the top of the list.
Sam: Condition: Not breathing, strong pulse, heart is beating. Conclusion: Respiratory failure.
Rescue breaths, then. Easy enough. Dean made sure Sam’s nose was completely covered, sealed their lips, and breathed out once, hard (not too hard).
Five seconds. He remembered their dad teaching them how to do this on an actual CPR dummy he’d stolen from somewhere.
Another breath. Sam’s chest rose and fell.
Sam did CPR on an old lady on the sidewalk outside his school when he was twelve, kept her alive until the EMS got there, had to refuse getting his photo in the small-town paper for being a little snot-nosed middle school hero.
Five seconds.
”Come on, Sam”, Dean whispered.
Another breath. Sam’s chest rose and fell.
Five seconds.
”No goddamn poltergeist is taking my brother from me”, a yell this time.
Another breath. Sam’s chest rose. Fell. He started coughing, instinctively moved his hands up to his neck.
Dean grabbed his hands and said, “Hey, easy brother. That thing just tried to Boston Strangler you. Chill for a minute.”
This was obviously not good. Sam still wasn’t even trying to sit up, and his eyes were broadcasting a whole lot of pain. But hey, this thing was over now. They could go back to the motel, put some ice on that shit, watch terrible movies, the usual.
Except Sam was adamant that it was not over, definitely not, even though he could only insist in a barely-there whisper of a voice that it clearly hurt like hell to use, and this stubborn kid Jesus Christ. Dean was able to talk him into the ice pack, at least. But before the night was over, they were right back in there, this time leaving with more emotional baggage than either one of them had bargained for, even for a case in their childhood home.
For once on this trip, though, it was Sam who got the lecture from Missouri.
“We really appreciate everything you did to help us, Missouri”, Sam whispered, trying to smile though it was very obvious that using that many words was painful.
“You’re welcome, Sam. There’s a walk-in clinic about a mile before you get back onto the highway. I’m sure they’ll be able to help.”
“Oh, it’s all right. I’ve got an ice pack and I’ll just take it easy-”
Missouri cut him off right there. “You’ll go to that clinic before you get back on the road, you understand me?’
Since Sam was unable to respond except with a wide-eyed look and a sincere nod of his head, Dean took the opportunity to snicker until Missouri turned her eyes in his direction.
“I’ll drive him right there, ma’am, promise.”
Filling out paperwork in the waiting room, Dean asked, “We going with bar fight this time?”
Sam nodded, and they counted themselves lucky not to get another lecture from the doctor. They took an x-ray and what the hell, Sam’s hyoid bone was fractured. Dean thought that shit only happened to dead people on TV crime shows.
Fortunately, this one was mild enough that it could be managed with ice, vocal rest, and 3-4 days of a liquid diet. They stopped in the next decent sized town a few hours north to fill the prescription for pain meds and pick up pre-made smoothies as well as some better ice packs. Sam tried not to show his happiness at getting to choose days and days worth of smoothies, but Dean could see it a mile away.
They got checked into a kind of halfway decent motel so Dean could set Sam up with his strawberry-banana smoothie, give him his pain medication, and hand over a fresh ice pack. When the adrenaline and the Percocet finally caught up with Sam, he was almost asleep when he tried to whisper something to Dean.
Dean walked over and crouched down next to Sam so he could hear what he was saying, in case there was something else he needed.
“Albert DeSalvo. The Boston Strangler, that’s his name. The poltergeist tried to Albert DeSalvo me.”
“Please go to sleep, you giant nerd”, Dean replied, but Sam probably didn’t even hear him.
Sam: Condition: Asleep, breathing, being a dork. Conclusion: Gonna be fine.