Supernatural Fanfic: Twenty Questions (10/20)
Title: Twenty Questions
Author: poestheblackcat
Chapter rating: PG-13
Chapter characters/pairings: Sam, Dean, John
Chapter warning/spoilers: Uh, since it’s set sometime after the flashbacks in the Christmas episode, I suppose spoilers for that.
Chapter summary: A seriously hurt!Dean fic. Why is it that I like to hurt him so much? Is there something wrong with me? I’m not really a sadistic person, but when it comes to television, film, and fanfiction characters, I’m all about the gore, sickness, and angst. There is something wrong with me. At least I’m in the same boat as all you other fangirls, huh? I mean, you did get this far in my anthology. ;D
Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately. Darn you, Kripke. So, like I was saying, it’s almost my birthday…Okay, wishful thinking?
Chapter 10: First Hunt
It was on Sam’s fifth hunt that something went terribly wrong. Someone got hurt. And that someone, surprise surprise, was Dean. He’d gone and jumped in front of Sam, shooting the creature in the heart when the younger boy had frozen in fear. He had gotten a huge, gaping slash across the abdomen for his trouble. The older boy was now bleeding out on the cold, hard ground in the middle of a freaking forest, far away from any kind of help.
At Dean’s cry of pain, Sam had leapt into action, bringing up his gun and shooting the sharp-clawed dead thing in the head, finishing what Dean had started. It died without a sound.
Sam dropped onto his knees next to his limp brother. In the moonlight filtering down through the trees, Dean looked pale, too pale. A dark red stain was spreading on the front of his shirt. Sam’s trembling hands wouldn’t obey him as he tried to lift the soggy shirt up to see how bad the wound was. “Dean?” No answer.
He tried again. “Dean?” He hated the way his voice squeaked. He hated hunting. He hated the way his brother just laid there, still. Too still. Dean was never this still. “Dean!? Wake up. Oh my god, are you dead?” He called for their father. “Dad! Dad!” It came out as a sob.
When Dean moaned and moved his head, Sammy let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Dean? Are you alive?”
“S’mmy?” Dean’s eyes opened to slits. “Y’ ‘kay?”
Sammy breathed a sigh of relief as he applied pressure to the wound. His hands shook and slipped in the dark mess. “Yeah, I’m okay, you idiot. You’re the one who got hurt. I thought you were dead,” he muttered, voice shaking. Tears flowed unchecked down his cheeks but the nausea that was threatening to choke him subsided slightly.
Dean gasped in pain. “Du’,” he panted, face screwed up in agony. “Would I be talkin’ if I was dead? An’ you’re s’posed to be the brains of the fam’ly.” His face was even paler than before. “Where’s Dad?”
Sammy sniffed. “He’s coming.” He hoped Dad had heard him. “Hang on, Dean. Please.” He shouted for their father again. “Dad!”
Somewhere in Dean’s foggy brain, the fear in his little brother’s voice registered and brought him back from the spiraling darkness he wanted to fall into. “Don’ let me bleed all over th’ frickin’ upho’stry when we get to th’ car. Dad’ll kill me,” he rasped, hoping he’d be able to hold on that long. Not for himself. For Sammy. He was not going to die in his little brother’s arms.
Sammy held on harder. Jesus, his brother was leaking pints of blood from his body and he was still cracking jokes. Trying to make him feel better. “Dad’s coming,” he whispered. “He’ll make everything okay.” His voice cracked.
Dean gazed up at his brother, eyelids at half-mast. He muttered something Sammy couldn’t quite catch. He leant in. “Dean, what?”
Dean swallowed painfully and tried again. “Girl.”
Sammy sobbed out a laugh. “God, Dean, this is serious.” He sniffed.
The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched in a pale imitation of a smile. “Had worse, ‘member?” he gasped. “I’ll b’kay.”
It was true. Dean had been hurt worse. But seeing his big brother like this, bleeding out miles from help in the middle of the night, was different from seeing him all patched up in a hospital bed. At least there, doctors and nurses could help him. Out here, there was only Sam. And Dad, if he would only get here.
“Dad! Dad! Please. Dean’s hurt. Daddy.” Tears streamed down the blubbering nine-year-old’s face. “Dad.”
John charged into the clearing, shotgun at the ready. He saw three figures in the pale moonlight. One was the monster, obviously dead, head blown to smithereens. The two others were his boys, the smaller figure sobbing over the taller one. “Sammy.” He rushed to their side. “Dean. God.”
Sammy looked up at him with wet eyes and cheeks. “Dad. Dean’s-” He was cut off by his father removing his sticky, wet hands and replacing them with his own.
John’s face hardened. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. He slipped his arms under his boy’s neck and legs and stood. Dean was still small and light enough to carry like this, but he was growing. He soon would be too tall to carry to safety. And that day would come. It had to.
“Sammy, come on,” he snapped to his dazed younger son. “We need to get him to the hospital.” He charged purposefully away into the forest, towards the car.
Sammy followed Dad, rubbing his wet face and runny nose on his shirt as he ran to keep up. Dad was here now. He’d make Dean better.
The forest thinned out and soon (but not soon enough) they were out on the road. The Impala gleamed comfortingly in the dark. Home. Dean would be safe now. The car would get them to the hospital in time. She always did.
Chapter 11: The Three B’s-Birds, Bees, and Bananas-yep, you read that right!