Unsinkable
Title: Unsinkable
Summary: When a haunted ship case goes bad Sam and Dean are left stranded and Dean decides that only one of them can make it back to shore.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 2,170
Author's Note: Written for a prompt at the hoodie_time Dean focused hurt/comfort comment-fic meme #3 requesting Sam and Dean sunburned, dehydrated and stranded on a raft. Full prompt here.
~~~
Dean leaned back against the yellow inflated rubber. The Baja sun beat down hot and heavy while the raft bobbed with a deceptive tranquility, drifting through the Sea of Cortez. Between them he and Sam had one life jacket that they both refused to wear and a jug of water Sam had snatched from the galley when the ship had started taking on water.
His eyes closed against the drying heat of the sun. There was nothing to see but a vast expanse of blue sky, blue water and the mocking blue tinged silhouette of land in the far off distance. If Dean saw one more shade of blue he was going to drown himself.
“How does the ‘Jaws’ theme song go?”
“Not funny, Dean.”
“Wasn’t supposed to be.”
Reaching his hand back over the side of the raft, Dean let his fingers float in the water that was far too warm to offer any cooling effect. At least if a shark came it would give him something to do. He was going to die of boredom long before the heatstroke did him in.
“Keep your hands in the boat,” Sam chastised.
“Or what?” Dean asked as he pushed his arm further into the water. “You gonna throw me overboard?”
“You’ve had stupider ideas, like investigating a haunted ship that wasn’t dry docked.”
Finally pulling his arm out of the water, Dean glared indignantly across the raft at his smug brother and kicked his boot at him just on principal. “Dude, how was I supposed to know the boat was gonna go Titanic on our asses?”
“It was crewed by ghosts, what could have gone right?”
If Sam thought he was going to be the one to hand out the dumbest idea award, he sure as hell had another thing coming. “Demonic airplane trumps haunted ship any day of the week.”
“At least the plane didn’t crash.”
“Damn good thing too because if it had I couldn’t be floating around listening to you bitch about a little salty sea air.”
“Dean, put your shirt back on.”
“Why? Am I making you jealous?” Stripping his shirt the rest of the way off, Dean defiantly tossed it overboard. “Maybe it’ll make it back to California before our mummified corpses do.”
“Stop screwing around. You’re going to get sun burnt.”
“I’m already fried and you look like a damn tomato.”
“You’re not thinking straight.” Sam reached over the raft’s edge to retrieve the t-shirt. “Just soak it in the water and put it back on.”
“How am I not thinking straight?” Dean scrubbed his hand over his face as he tried to focus, which he was pretty sure wasn't supposed to be this hard. He grimaced as his stomach suddenly took notice of the waves. “I don’t remember getting sea sick."
Sam’s brow creased with a concern that only irritated Dean all the more. His brother needed to stop worrying about him and focus on how he was going to get himself back to shore.
“Are you nauseous?”
“No, I’m not nauseous."
Not as long as his gut clenching, head spinning and the taste of rotten anchovies licking the back of his tongue didn't count as nauseous. Dean clamped his jaw closed and glared at his brother's ceaseless need to ask stupid questions.
“It’s time for another drink.”
With a glance to his watch Dean saw that he wasn’t the only one here lying. They only had the one jug of water and at least thirty miles between them and anything but salty water, stuck in a raft that Dean was pretty sure hadn't budged an inch. From the second they’d settled in the raft they’d agreed that the water needed to be rationed, but even at that there had been barely a days worth and now they were on day two. Luckily Sam didn’t seem to be doing the math.
“I will if you will,” Dean agreed.
With a sigh Sam took another drink from the jug. Dean watched to make sure Sam’s lips were wet when they pulled away before Dean accepted it. He set it against his own parched lips, but didn’t tip the container back far enough for the water to actually touch his tongue. Making a show of wiping off his dry lips, he passed the jug back to Sam.
“So what’s Plan...” Dean hesitated to count the letters of the alphabet on his finger. “I don’t know...what’re we on ‘W’?”
Sam set the jug aside and stared out over the water. “I think we’re still on Plan B.”
“Plan B sucks. We could at least hold a séance and get that ghost captain’s ass up here so the son of a bitch can steer us home!” Dean called uselessly over the water.
“Dean, are you sweating?”
“Wow. Hello, Mr. Random.” Dean dismissively waved him off. “That’s your BO you’re smelling, dude.”
“Seriously...” Sam scooted over far enough to reach out and wipe a hand across Dean’s forehead.
“Stay on your own side and keep your damn hands off me,” Dean growled as he swatted Sam away.
“Your skin is dry.”
“Okay...do you have any idea how much of a freak you are?” Sometimes he wondered if Sam really was secretly a girl. “I’ll borrow your flowery lotion when we get back to the car. Now if I could just remember where I parked it...”
“I’m sopping wet,” Sam said with a motion towards the sweat-drenched shirt that clung tightly to him.
“Good for you. Excessive sweating could be a sign of...I don’t know. Bring it up with your pediatrician.” Turning away, Dean pretended to scan the ocean as he operated under the delusion that Sam would get bored of staring at him. The problem was that there wasn’t anything out here to distract Sam with. “How many species of fish did you say were here?”
“You don’t give a crap about fish.”
“Sure I do, I’m hungry.” Just the thought of food made him want to hurl. He only felt safe using it as an excuse because he knew they didn’t have anything to eat. “Do they got any halibut here in Florida?”
“Halibut? I don’t know...Dean, we’re not in Florida.”
Dean let out an uneasy chuckle before running his tongue over his cracked lips. “I know that...”
Apparently Sam had a death wish because he scooted back over to Dean’s side of the raft despite Dean shooting him a lethal warning glare. Sam’s hand this time set against his neck.
“What part of keep your hands to yourself...”
“Your pulse is racing.”
“I know. It’s my pulse. Get your own.” Dean shoved Sam away or at least he tried to, but Sam didn't seem to notice. He blinked his bleary eyes in a useless effort to figure out which Sam was the real one. Everything would be fine if he could just cool off. “I’m going for a swim.”
“No. Not a chance.”
Sam grabbed a hold of his arm before he could make it to the edge of the raft. It was all good and well for Sam to think he should cook in this sorry excuse for a boat, but Dean was sure he’d literally melt if he didn’t get into the water.
“Too hot sitting around here...I’m gonna go get help.”
“What? Dean...what the hell are you doing? You’re going to flip the raft over. Sit down.”
“Sam, just...”
Dean went to pull his arm free, but Sam had suddenly gotten really strong and blurry looking. His free hand went to his clenched chest and tried to rub away the pain. It was just so much damn work to breathe. Distantly he knew it shouldn’t be but it was a little late for thinking now.
~~~
“Dean!”
“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean mumbled. “Just wasn’t enough.”
“Wasn’t enough what? Dean?” Instead of responding, his brother went slack in his arms. “Dean, come on, man...wake up!” He uselessly shook Dean who flopped limply in his grip.
There was no way for Dean to drink if he was unconscious and no way to survive this heat without water. Sam’s hand again went to Dean’s neck where he confirmed that Dean’s heart rate was dangerously high. His brother’s usually pale, freckled skin was flushed red, way too hot and leathery dry to the touch.
He reached for the jug of water, there was still enough. If he could just get Dean conscious enough to swallow Dean might have a chance. Sam froze as he again shook the jug that was still a quarter full of water. It should be empty.
“Damn it, Dean. You idiot!”
While Sam was looking at his unconscious brother, the insult was meant for himself. He should have known his brother would pull a stunt like this. They were sitting two feet apart, surrounded by nothing, and he'd been too distracted thinking up useless plans, to see what his brother had been doing right in front of his face.
If they were farther north he could try getting Dean in the water, but the chances of him being able to pull Dean back out without losing the raft was low and the water they were floating in was at least as warm as a hot bath. Warm water wouldn't bring down Dean’s core temperature.
Making shade was the only remaining half viable option and even that plan sounded as viable as sitting around praying for a sudden onset of nuclear winter. Sam again felt for Dean's pulse, it was thready but there.
He held his hand up to shield his eyes as he attempted to get a read on the sun, which was shining down from nearly directly overhead. They were far closer to the equator than he was used to, but it was maybe early afternoon. While he wished for the relative coolness of sunset, no one was going to find them in the dark and Dean would be hard pressed to make it through this day.
Before the ship had gone down, Dean had contacted the coast guards. Dean had sworn to him that help was coming and Sam had gone along with it, but what his brother didn’t know was that Sam had overheard the communication. Only part of the message had gone through before the ship’s radio had shorted thanks to the spirits onboard. Even if the message had made it, by now they had drifted a long way from the wreck site.
It wouldn’t matter if anyone came if Dean was dead when they got here.
Sam reluctantly laid his brother down on the heated vinyl of the raft's bottom. His eyes only left Dean long enough to peel off his own sopping t-shirt and unwind the the raft’s anchoring rope. With unsteady fingers, Sam wove the nylon rope through the raft’s handholds and tied it off.
He pulled loose the laces of Dean's boots, half hoping that the jostling of yanking off the boots would bring Dean back to consciousness. His brother didn't so much as twitch even when Sam went on to unzip Dean's jeans or shimmy them down his thighs.
The jeans were draped over the ropes with the shirts to make a shade tent over Dean that was tall enough to still let any breeze blow through while blocking the sun. Sam could potentially make the shade big enough for them both, but he couldn't risk not seeing their only chance at rescue.
With the shade up, helplessness quickly flooded through him. Sam's heart pounded as he watched Dean's still body fight to take in rapid, shallow breaths. His brother was dying and there was nothing more he could do.
He reluctantly sat back with a hand slipped below the makeshift tarp to rest on Dean's overheated chest for the bittersweet reassurance the clipped movements brought. His worried eyes scanned the horizon and he settled in to silently pray for his unconscious brother.
~~~
Dean nestled into the pillow beneath him until he drifted close enough to awake that he could feel every painful inch of his aching skin against the scratchy sheets. A grimace came to his face, which felt too tight.
“Dean?”
His eyes blinked open to see Sam sitting beside him. Slowly Dean processed the familiar sounds and smells of a hospital room and the sight of IV tubes running from his arm. He did a double take when he saw how red his arms were.
“Did I get roasted by a dragon?”
“You’re about to,” Sam replied.
Dean stared up at the ceiling as he tried to remember what he’d done this time. By how concerned and pissed off his brother looked, whatever he had done obviously hadn’t been a Sammy approved maneuver. When he looked back at Sam he saw that he wasn’t the only one who had been fried.
As Dean ran his hand across his overly hot skin it started to come back to him. “I didn’t just fall asleep watching ‘Lifeboat’ did I?”
“Dean, do you have any idea how close to dead you were?”
“Well, I don’t see my seventy-two virgins so I’m guessing we’re not dead unless it’s the hellfire giving you that rosy complexion.”
Sam pushed out of his chair and paced to the end of the bed before quickly turning back around to glare at Dean. It looked like Sam had gotten around to doing the math on the water.
“I almost had to watch you die.”
“Uh yeah...that would’ve sucked for us both.” His stubborn brother didn’t drop the glare. “Look, Sam, you can be as pissed as you want, but the fact is I’m alive and you’re not in a hospital bed. Like it or not, I’m always going to do whatever it takes to keep your sorry ass alive.”
“Do you think I want live knowing you died for me?”
Dean shrugged, immediately regretting the pull of his skin. “Guess it’s a good thing I got you around to save my ass.”
With an exhausted sigh, Sam sunk back into the bedside chair. “Just don’t ever do that again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dean settled back into his pillow. “I promise next time we’re stranded in the middle of the ocean I’ll drink my share of the water. Cross my heart.”
“You’re laughing now, but it was a Mexican fishing boat that picked us up. You get to figure out how to get two of the FBI's most wanted back into the US.”
Summary: When a haunted ship case goes bad Sam and Dean are left stranded and Dean decides that only one of them can make it back to shore.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 2,170
Author's Note: Written for a prompt at the hoodie_time Dean focused hurt/comfort comment-fic meme #3 requesting Sam and Dean sunburned, dehydrated and stranded on a raft. Full prompt here.
~~~
Dean leaned back against the yellow inflated rubber. The Baja sun beat down hot and heavy while the raft bobbed with a deceptive tranquility, drifting through the Sea of Cortez. Between them he and Sam had one life jacket that they both refused to wear and a jug of water Sam had snatched from the galley when the ship had started taking on water.
His eyes closed against the drying heat of the sun. There was nothing to see but a vast expanse of blue sky, blue water and the mocking blue tinged silhouette of land in the far off distance. If Dean saw one more shade of blue he was going to drown himself.
“How does the ‘Jaws’ theme song go?”
“Not funny, Dean.”
“Wasn’t supposed to be.”
Reaching his hand back over the side of the raft, Dean let his fingers float in the water that was far too warm to offer any cooling effect. At least if a shark came it would give him something to do. He was going to die of boredom long before the heatstroke did him in.
“Keep your hands in the boat,” Sam chastised.
“Or what?” Dean asked as he pushed his arm further into the water. “You gonna throw me overboard?”
“You’ve had stupider ideas, like investigating a haunted ship that wasn’t dry docked.”
Finally pulling his arm out of the water, Dean glared indignantly across the raft at his smug brother and kicked his boot at him just on principal. “Dude, how was I supposed to know the boat was gonna go Titanic on our asses?”
“It was crewed by ghosts, what could have gone right?”
If Sam thought he was going to be the one to hand out the dumbest idea award, he sure as hell had another thing coming. “Demonic airplane trumps haunted ship any day of the week.”
“At least the plane didn’t crash.”
“Damn good thing too because if it had I couldn’t be floating around listening to you bitch about a little salty sea air.”
“Dean, put your shirt back on.”
“Why? Am I making you jealous?” Stripping his shirt the rest of the way off, Dean defiantly tossed it overboard. “Maybe it’ll make it back to California before our mummified corpses do.”
“Stop screwing around. You’re going to get sun burnt.”
“I’m already fried and you look like a damn tomato.”
“You’re not thinking straight.” Sam reached over the raft’s edge to retrieve the t-shirt. “Just soak it in the water and put it back on.”
“How am I not thinking straight?” Dean scrubbed his hand over his face as he tried to focus, which he was pretty sure wasn't supposed to be this hard. He grimaced as his stomach suddenly took notice of the waves. “I don’t remember getting sea sick."
Sam’s brow creased with a concern that only irritated Dean all the more. His brother needed to stop worrying about him and focus on how he was going to get himself back to shore.
“Are you nauseous?”
“No, I’m not nauseous."
Not as long as his gut clenching, head spinning and the taste of rotten anchovies licking the back of his tongue didn't count as nauseous. Dean clamped his jaw closed and glared at his brother's ceaseless need to ask stupid questions.
“It’s time for another drink.”
With a glance to his watch Dean saw that he wasn’t the only one here lying. They only had the one jug of water and at least thirty miles between them and anything but salty water, stuck in a raft that Dean was pretty sure hadn't budged an inch. From the second they’d settled in the raft they’d agreed that the water needed to be rationed, but even at that there had been barely a days worth and now they were on day two. Luckily Sam didn’t seem to be doing the math.
“I will if you will,” Dean agreed.
With a sigh Sam took another drink from the jug. Dean watched to make sure Sam’s lips were wet when they pulled away before Dean accepted it. He set it against his own parched lips, but didn’t tip the container back far enough for the water to actually touch his tongue. Making a show of wiping off his dry lips, he passed the jug back to Sam.
“So what’s Plan...” Dean hesitated to count the letters of the alphabet on his finger. “I don’t know...what’re we on ‘W’?”
Sam set the jug aside and stared out over the water. “I think we’re still on Plan B.”
“Plan B sucks. We could at least hold a séance and get that ghost captain’s ass up here so the son of a bitch can steer us home!” Dean called uselessly over the water.
“Dean, are you sweating?”
“Wow. Hello, Mr. Random.” Dean dismissively waved him off. “That’s your BO you’re smelling, dude.”
“Seriously...” Sam scooted over far enough to reach out and wipe a hand across Dean’s forehead.
“Stay on your own side and keep your damn hands off me,” Dean growled as he swatted Sam away.
“Your skin is dry.”
“Okay...do you have any idea how much of a freak you are?” Sometimes he wondered if Sam really was secretly a girl. “I’ll borrow your flowery lotion when we get back to the car. Now if I could just remember where I parked it...”
“I’m sopping wet,” Sam said with a motion towards the sweat-drenched shirt that clung tightly to him.
“Good for you. Excessive sweating could be a sign of...I don’t know. Bring it up with your pediatrician.” Turning away, Dean pretended to scan the ocean as he operated under the delusion that Sam would get bored of staring at him. The problem was that there wasn’t anything out here to distract Sam with. “How many species of fish did you say were here?”
“You don’t give a crap about fish.”
“Sure I do, I’m hungry.” Just the thought of food made him want to hurl. He only felt safe using it as an excuse because he knew they didn’t have anything to eat. “Do they got any halibut here in Florida?”
“Halibut? I don’t know...Dean, we’re not in Florida.”
Dean let out an uneasy chuckle before running his tongue over his cracked lips. “I know that...”
Apparently Sam had a death wish because he scooted back over to Dean’s side of the raft despite Dean shooting him a lethal warning glare. Sam’s hand this time set against his neck.
“What part of keep your hands to yourself...”
“Your pulse is racing.”
“I know. It’s my pulse. Get your own.” Dean shoved Sam away or at least he tried to, but Sam didn't seem to notice. He blinked his bleary eyes in a useless effort to figure out which Sam was the real one. Everything would be fine if he could just cool off. “I’m going for a swim.”
“No. Not a chance.”
Sam grabbed a hold of his arm before he could make it to the edge of the raft. It was all good and well for Sam to think he should cook in this sorry excuse for a boat, but Dean was sure he’d literally melt if he didn’t get into the water.
“Too hot sitting around here...I’m gonna go get help.”
“What? Dean...what the hell are you doing? You’re going to flip the raft over. Sit down.”
“Sam, just...”
Dean went to pull his arm free, but Sam had suddenly gotten really strong and blurry looking. His free hand went to his clenched chest and tried to rub away the pain. It was just so much damn work to breathe. Distantly he knew it shouldn’t be but it was a little late for thinking now.
~~~
“Dean!”
“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean mumbled. “Just wasn’t enough.”
“Wasn’t enough what? Dean?” Instead of responding, his brother went slack in his arms. “Dean, come on, man...wake up!” He uselessly shook Dean who flopped limply in his grip.
There was no way for Dean to drink if he was unconscious and no way to survive this heat without water. Sam’s hand again went to Dean’s neck where he confirmed that Dean’s heart rate was dangerously high. His brother’s usually pale, freckled skin was flushed red, way too hot and leathery dry to the touch.
He reached for the jug of water, there was still enough. If he could just get Dean conscious enough to swallow Dean might have a chance. Sam froze as he again shook the jug that was still a quarter full of water. It should be empty.
“Damn it, Dean. You idiot!”
While Sam was looking at his unconscious brother, the insult was meant for himself. He should have known his brother would pull a stunt like this. They were sitting two feet apart, surrounded by nothing, and he'd been too distracted thinking up useless plans, to see what his brother had been doing right in front of his face.
If they were farther north he could try getting Dean in the water, but the chances of him being able to pull Dean back out without losing the raft was low and the water they were floating in was at least as warm as a hot bath. Warm water wouldn't bring down Dean’s core temperature.
Making shade was the only remaining half viable option and even that plan sounded as viable as sitting around praying for a sudden onset of nuclear winter. Sam again felt for Dean's pulse, it was thready but there.
He held his hand up to shield his eyes as he attempted to get a read on the sun, which was shining down from nearly directly overhead. They were far closer to the equator than he was used to, but it was maybe early afternoon. While he wished for the relative coolness of sunset, no one was going to find them in the dark and Dean would be hard pressed to make it through this day.
Before the ship had gone down, Dean had contacted the coast guards. Dean had sworn to him that help was coming and Sam had gone along with it, but what his brother didn’t know was that Sam had overheard the communication. Only part of the message had gone through before the ship’s radio had shorted thanks to the spirits onboard. Even if the message had made it, by now they had drifted a long way from the wreck site.
It wouldn’t matter if anyone came if Dean was dead when they got here.
Sam reluctantly laid his brother down on the heated vinyl of the raft's bottom. His eyes only left Dean long enough to peel off his own sopping t-shirt and unwind the the raft’s anchoring rope. With unsteady fingers, Sam wove the nylon rope through the raft’s handholds and tied it off.
He pulled loose the laces of Dean's boots, half hoping that the jostling of yanking off the boots would bring Dean back to consciousness. His brother didn't so much as twitch even when Sam went on to unzip Dean's jeans or shimmy them down his thighs.
The jeans were draped over the ropes with the shirts to make a shade tent over Dean that was tall enough to still let any breeze blow through while blocking the sun. Sam could potentially make the shade big enough for them both, but he couldn't risk not seeing their only chance at rescue.
With the shade up, helplessness quickly flooded through him. Sam's heart pounded as he watched Dean's still body fight to take in rapid, shallow breaths. His brother was dying and there was nothing more he could do.
He reluctantly sat back with a hand slipped below the makeshift tarp to rest on Dean's overheated chest for the bittersweet reassurance the clipped movements brought. His worried eyes scanned the horizon and he settled in to silently pray for his unconscious brother.
~~~
Dean nestled into the pillow beneath him until he drifted close enough to awake that he could feel every painful inch of his aching skin against the scratchy sheets. A grimace came to his face, which felt too tight.
“Dean?”
His eyes blinked open to see Sam sitting beside him. Slowly Dean processed the familiar sounds and smells of a hospital room and the sight of IV tubes running from his arm. He did a double take when he saw how red his arms were.
“Did I get roasted by a dragon?”
“You’re about to,” Sam replied.
Dean stared up at the ceiling as he tried to remember what he’d done this time. By how concerned and pissed off his brother looked, whatever he had done obviously hadn’t been a Sammy approved maneuver. When he looked back at Sam he saw that he wasn’t the only one who had been fried.
As Dean ran his hand across his overly hot skin it started to come back to him. “I didn’t just fall asleep watching ‘Lifeboat’ did I?”
“Dean, do you have any idea how close to dead you were?”
“Well, I don’t see my seventy-two virgins so I’m guessing we’re not dead unless it’s the hellfire giving you that rosy complexion.”
Sam pushed out of his chair and paced to the end of the bed before quickly turning back around to glare at Dean. It looked like Sam had gotten around to doing the math on the water.
“I almost had to watch you die.”
“Uh yeah...that would’ve sucked for us both.” His stubborn brother didn’t drop the glare. “Look, Sam, you can be as pissed as you want, but the fact is I’m alive and you’re not in a hospital bed. Like it or not, I’m always going to do whatever it takes to keep your sorry ass alive.”
“Do you think I want live knowing you died for me?”
Dean shrugged, immediately regretting the pull of his skin. “Guess it’s a good thing I got you around to save my ass.”
With an exhausted sigh, Sam sunk back into the bedside chair. “Just don’t ever do that again.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Dean settled back into his pillow. “I promise next time we’re stranded in the middle of the ocean I’ll drink my share of the water. Cross my heart.”
“You’re laughing now, but it was a Mexican fishing boat that picked us up. You get to figure out how to get two of the FBI's most wanted back into the US.”