Killing Sammy's Time
Title: Killing Sammy's Time
Summary: Nobody can see Dean, which would suck enough if not for the fact that his wheezy brother's having a hideous time trying to breathe. And it's hard to take care of Sam when Dean doesn't have a body and nobody can hear him. And a reaper won't stop following him. Except he's beginning to think it's not him the reaper's circling.
Warnings/Spoilers: It's 2.01, so you want to be through there, and you'll appreciate parts of it more if you've seen at least through season 2. Like in Under Sammy's Skin, some of the dialogue is directly from the episode. More this time. I'd be happy to point it out if anyone asks, and I don't mean to be taking credit for it. Me and profanity are bunk buddies.
Wordcount: 9,243
Author's Note: It's in the Sammyverse, so Dean POV, severely asthmatic Sam, badass, take-charge boys. Except they're a little less badass in this one because the world is really out to get them here. It has a PLOT, which is entirely thanks to wave_obscura, who talked me through it and helped me brainstorm and told me when I was being stupid, and any poor execution of said plot is entirely thanks to me, because I don't write plot, I write h/c porn. I'm sorry for the things that I did to these boys. I feel like a horrible person. I still think you're pretty.
--
His first thought is that he finally got some fucking sleep. His second is that his mouth tastes like something curled up under his tongue and died, and his third is that he's woken up in enough hospitals (usually with two days of stubble on his face and his cheek against the foot of Sammy's bed) to know the sounds by now and goddamn it, what the fuck is he doing here, if Sam got sick and he didn't remember than he must be sick too with some fucking fever that has him missing time (he lost a day and a half to a fever once when he was nine, walking around a motel room he couldn't remember seeing while he sweated out what was left in him, John chasing him around with juice and a cold washcloth, Sam...where was Sam, he doesn't remember, that's weird because when was the last time he didn't know where Sam was) and--
Sam.
Shit, where the fuck is Sam?
He sits up. It's his hospital bed, and the one next to his is empty. Why the fuck wouldn't they room the two of them together? Sam must be in the ICU, and goddamn it, it's been years, and there are all these stupid rules about how he can only visit for a half an hour the first time and Sam gets freaked out by all the masks and machines when he's woozy and if Dean's sick they're not even going to let him in. He needs to call Dad--
Dad.
And then it all hits him like...well, like a fucking truck.
The Yellow-Eyed Demon. The Colt. The cuts in his chest, Sam driving, there's a bad moon on the rise, we still have one bullet left, truck out of nowhere, the noise, so loud but it sounded just like a shovel crunching into snow and his baby, the ditch, hisdadhisbrotherhisfamily Sam's voice from somewhere Sam.
He gets out of bed. Everything's so quiet. He doesn't even hear himself hit the floor. He isn't attached to anything. No IVs, no cuts, not even the slashes Yellow-Eyes gave him. Why the fuck was he still in bed if there's nothing wrong with him, why wasn't he already with Dad and Sam, what the fuck, Dean?
“Sam? Dad?”
What the hell was he expecting? Then to pop out from the nurse's station, surprise!
“Anybody?”
The signs are totally unhelpful because none of them say your family is that way and Dean isn't sure he can process anything less direct than that right now because his fucking family but there's a nurse downstairs at a desk and she looks nice and he goes to her (why is everything so quiet) and says, “Uh, excuse me, hi, I...think I was in a car accident mydadandmybrother, I just need to find them.”
She doesn't look up and oh my fucking God, they're dead, they're both dead, she's trying to think of a nice way to tell him and look don't fucking waste your time thinking of a nice way just hand him a nice shotgun DadSamSammy
He says, “M-my dad was...he was sick before the accident, and my kid brother has bad asthma and he had a concussion before and I...can you just tell me what room they're in? Are they together? They should be together.”
Is she Deaf? Are nurses allowed to be Deaf? (That's probably a horrible thing to think, Sam would probably make that face and tell him he wasn't being PC and Sam come back that face and tell me I'm not being PC).
He snaps his fingers in her face like the assholes used to when he zoned off that month he was a busboy and look it's not his fault being a busboy is really boring and it's not like anyone's fucking lives hang in the balance you fucking-
Something's wrong.
And before he can think about about what he's doing he's back up the stairs and back up to his room and there's his fucking body lying in the bed and maybe he should have figured this out faster but this isn't the kind of thing he ever thought would be a possibility because he's lying there looking like shit with that tube down his throat that Sam's had a few times and he knows it's a cliché and he knows it's something he think all the time when Sam's in the hospital but Jesus Christ he looks small and he's scared, actually worried about himself, like he wants to reach down and hold his own hand and tell himself it's going to be okay and shouldn't someone else be here doing that and this isn't supposed to be him, he's supposed to be the one holding someone's hand and then Jesus Christ mother of fucking thank Jesus Sam is here.
His face is still the swollen mess it was before the accident and he's got some new cuts but he looks okay, which doesn't make sense to Dean because the car was hit on that side, he remembers because he was there and because there wasn't any time for him to warn Sam or to get something, his fucking hand, whatever, between Sam's head and the truck, but someone was looking after his kid (angels were watching over him, what the fuck, Dean) and he's here and he's okay and everything's going to be fine.
“Sammy,” he says. “You look good. Considering.”
But Sam's just staring at Dean in the bed, fake-Dean, and he says “Oh, no,” and fuck, this is the first time Sam's seeing him, which would explain why the kid now can't fucking breathe, fucking predictable kid, he gets teary and everything in him just locks down, no wonder he doesn't cry (trained him out of that early, fucking stop it Sam it's just a nightmare you need to fucking breathe you don't get to cry) and Dean says, “Come on, Sammy, it's okay. Where's your inhaler?”
Sam stands there and stares at the bed and chews at his lip and fuck.
“Man, tell me you can hear me,” Dean says.
Sam doesn't tell him jack shit, and then a doctor comes and tells Sam that John's awake, and that's awesome, don't get him wrong, but is this doctor maybe going to comment at some point on the fact that the kid's wheezing like a sunovabitch because seriously, we're talking heaving shoulders and the works here but instead the doctor's just telling him scary shit about how Dean might not wake up and look Dean can't even process that right now which means that Sam definitely can't either so this doctor needs to shut the fuck up.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean says. We'll find some hoodoo priest to lay some mojo on me. Calm down.” He turns to the doctor. “Do you not have fucking oxygen at the hospital or something? If you don't help him, when I wake up, I swear to God- ”
Sam turns his head and coughs into his fist and Jesus Christ, Dean knows this is stressful and all but Sam is better than this. Sam knows better than to pull this drama queen bullshit right now because he needs to be okay, Dean's fucking counting on him and Dean's not around to take care of him (fuck) and come on Sam don't martyr out right now it's not the fucking time take your meds.
The doctor says, “Sam, right?”
Sam nods. He's looking at Dean's body. Dean says, “You see that fucking tube down my throat? I'm going to take it out and shove it down yours if you don't goddamn behave.”
“Are you all right?” the doctor says. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“I...yeah. Sitting down sounds good.”
So the doctor pulls out the chair and Dean crouches down next to it and says “Okay, come on,” and Sam sits there and looks confused while the doctor grapples with the stethoscope and Dean says, “Now's the part where you ask him for a refill or tell him you lost your inhaler or whatever the fuck your reason is for not taking it already, and if that reason is because I'm feeling guilty my brother's hurt instead of me or some bullshit like that I'm going to ghost smack you so hard that you will fucking feel it, you understand me?”
The doctor monologues about panic and the importance of staying calm and Dean can't fucking believe this, he'd like to see this asshole try to stay calm while his lungs were spasming shut and then the doctor puts the stethoscope on his chest and says, “You're wheezing,” and Sam startles and puts his hand on his chest.
“Yeah, I have asthma,” he says, and he breathes out and says, “God, and it's...kind of hideous right now.”
Shit. Dean fucked this one up, because the problem isn't that Sam is ignoring it but that Sam didn't notice and God, that's such a bigger problem, because he's seen Sam get into this before, back when Dad was on a hunt that went sour when they were kids and was gone a week longer than he was supposed to and Sam just worried himself sick and when Dean told him to take his meds or sit down and take a break, he did, but he didn't notice the problems on his own because he was so in his head. He did it after Jess, but he'd been so numb and pliant that Dean had stuffed him full of meds and hadn't really given a shit that Sam didn't know what was going on, but now Sam's walking around and getting himself worked up and Dean's not around to take care of him.
“Sam, can I set you up with a nebulizer before you go see your Dad?””
“Um, yeah,” Sam says, and Dean reaches out to squeeze his shoulder because he apparently can't get this spirit thing through his head. “Can I do it in my dad's room?” Sam says.
“Yeah, we can do that.”
“Okay. I'll be-” he stops and pants, Christ, “--there in a second.”
The doctor leaves, and Sam sits down by Dean's bed, and Dean says, “Come on, man, let's go, there's nothing for you in here,” and Sam doesn't touch Dean's body, he just wraps his hands around the edge of the mattress and squeezes hard and don't cry, Sam, don't fucking cry, there's breathing to do and stuff to figure out because you have to fix me.
“I'm going to fix you,” Sam says. “Don't worry.” He coughs. “I've got this.”
Atta boy.
**
Sam curls up in the chair in the corner of Dad's room with the nebulizer on and he looks like he did when he was a kid because they gave him a mask and not one of the mouthpieces, and he and Dad are looking at each other and not talking which Dean guesses is better than fighting but Jesus Christ Dad say something, Sam needs you here.
“Is it getting better?” he says eventually. “You sounded rough when you came in.”
Sam nods like he's so tired.
“Good. I'm glad the doctor helped you out. We need to get them my insurance...” he reaches for his pocket, but his arm's in the sling and he can't move and it looks like it hurts and Dean wants to help, and Sam should get up and help, but he just sits there and holds his chest and looks out the window, come on Sam, don't check out, okay?
John slides a card towards Sam but Sam doesn't look up and John clears his throat and Sam still doesn't look up.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean says. “Are you holding your fucking breath? Pay attention.”
“Sammy,” John says, and Sam startles and breathes in. “Do you need anything I can get you, son? I can have the nurse bring water or coffee.”
Sam tugs the mask off. “I'm doing okay.”
“Keep that on 'til it's over, all right?” John says, and Sam nods and curls up in the chair, huddling inside his jacket.
“Are you cold?” Dean says. He looks at John. “He's cold. You're not even using your blanket.”
“Sam,” John says, and he reaches down to the bottom of the bed and takes the blanket and hands it to Sam, and Sam takes it and burrows under it and squeezes his eyes shut.
He used to be a bitch about sitting through neb treatments when he was a kid. They're fifteen minutes, and he didn't like the feel of the strap of the mask so he'd hold it on with one hand instead so he couldn't play, and sometimes the crappy motels didn't have TV so Dean read him the same books over and over and they made up a stupid sign language and sometimes Dean would sing-fucking sing-if he thought it would get Sam to sleep, but right now Dean can't do anything and Sam's getting antsy and he takes off the strap and holds the mask on with his hand and the other hand worries at the hem of the blanket, twists it and pulls it and rips at the stitches.
“I'm going to be fine,” Dean says. He turns around and stares at his dad and says, “Tell him I'm going to be fine, he's fucking terrified.”
But John just sits and watches him and Dean thinks he doesn't know what to say, because the last time he saw Sam having real asthma trouble was before Stanford (was that time he saw Sam in the hospital and didn't say hello didn't tell Dean) and Sammy was a kid then, he was three inches shorter and he had those wide eyes and he was just angry, angry all the damn time, and he fought them on everything and he fought John when he told him to take his meds and he fought John when he told him to come train on days his breathing was already rough and he was so easy to scream at and push into things and order around and stress over and now he's sitting there all quiet in his chair and holding the mask on and what the fuck are you supposed to do about that?
Finally the treatment's done, and Sammy takes the mask off and John's on him immediately, all, “What else did the doctor say about Dean?” because he already threw half a dozen questions at Sam when he first came in and he was wheezing and looking at the nebulizer mask and answering quickly because he wanted to fucking breathe and God, maybe Dean's already died and this is some kind of purgatory, watching his brother doing this and not being able to fucking touch him or yell at him or anything.
Sam clears his throat. “Nothing. Look. The doctors won't do anything, then we'll have to, that's all. I don't know, I'll find some hoodoo priest and lay some mojo on him.”
“He sounds like crap,” Dean says. “Make him do another round.”
“We'll look for someone,” Dad says. “But, Sam, I don't know if we're going to find anyone.”
And what the fucking fuck, Dad, don't let the fucking body get cold or whatever the hell, seriously? Not to mention that giving up on Dean is one thing but telling Sam you're giving up on Dean, do you have a death wish, because if Sam doesn't kill you first Dean is coming back and kicking your ass halfway to Sunday for scaring Sam, Sir or no Sir, which he can do because he's fucking coming back, all right?
“Sam,” Dean says.
But Sam isn't freaking out. “Why not? I found that faith healer before.”
No thanks to you, Dean thinks, and God, nothing like an out of body experience to turn him into a total asshole, apparently, but it's not his fault Sam's saying all the good stuff in this conversation.
“Right,” John says, “But that was one in a million.”
If Dean weren't such a great son he would be thinking something like hey, screw you right about now.
But now Sammy's finally getting upset and who the hell could blame him but Sam don't and John decides of course that now's the time to ask about the Colt and Sam's feelings seem about in line with Dean's regarding the appropriateness of this discussion except if Dean had a body to fuck up it wouldn't react how Sam's is and Jesus John grow a little common sense and finally John backs the fuck off and tells Sam to go get the car.
“No,” Dean says. “No, he needs to stay.”
“I don't want to leave Dean,” Sam says.
“What Dean needs is for us to have all of this in order...when he wakes up.”
“Yeah, now it's when,” Dean says. “When you're bossing my fucking kid around, now it's when.”
Sam says, “Dad, I feel like crap. I can't breathe.”
“It's just a bus ride. You can do it. I know you. You're tough for your brother.”
“I will fucking kill you,” Dean says.
“Hey. Here.” John holds out this piece of paper to Sam. I made a list of things I need, have Bobby pick them up for me.”
Dean says, “Dad, come on. Please. Please.”
And Sam's asking questions about what these things are and John's giving him these half-assed answers and Sam doesn't want to take it and oh my God someone needs to fucking listen to him and someone needs to wise up and realize that if he leaves the hospital, Dean can't follow him. And for some reason even though they both know that (because as far as they know Dean's off cruising the vegetative highway or whateverthehell) they're both okay with Sam going out alone when there are demons out there with Winchesters Wanted posters and Sam's breaths are clogged in the bottom of his lungs and seriously, fucking seriously?
“It'll be good for you to get away for a little while, son,” John says, and Dean is fucking shaking because no, it will be shit for Sammy to get away for a while when he's so in his head that he doesn't know what's going on his body and when the whole world's out to get him and when Dean's fucking lying there and what's he supposed to do without Sam here, who's he supposed to follow, when Dad's asleep he's just going to sit by his broken body and no one will hear him and no one will be trying to wake him up and Dean is seriously barely holding it together and you're going to take his kid away?
Sam says, “Hey, Dad? You know, the demon, he said he had plans for me, and children like me. Do you have any idea what he meant by that?”
And John lies and Dean doesn't care because as long as he's around, nothing bad is going to happen to Sam and then Sam's gone and apparently spirits can get dizzy, who the fuck knew.
**
And now Dean's just sitting here staring at his body because it's better than staring at his father's and he whispers, “Wake up. Wake the fuck up. Go get Sam, this is your fucking job.”
And then it's freaking tomorrow and he's in John's room, yelling at him about what a shitty father he is and how he hasn't done jack shit to try to fix Dean and he hasn't called anyone and he hasn't called Sam and what the hell is there that Dean hasn't done and could he have ever made it any clearer at any single damn point that Sam was not to be fucked with when he wasn't around to decide whether or not Sam was being unreasonable and that if Dean says he needs Sam you have to just fucking let them be together for a fucking minute goddamn it and if Sam says he needs a break he needs a fucking break.
And John sits there and doesn't look at him and doesn't call anyone and doesn't do fucking anything (and really what else is new besides that now Dean can't take this) and then there's some spirit or something to hunt down, whatever, something to do.
**
Sam's back.
And Dean can't even get excited about it because even though Bobby clearly made him eat something and shower and maybe even sleep, the kid looks like shit and he's breathing even worse and he's mad as all hell which means John fucked up in more ways than Dean had figured out and Jesus Christ what he wouldn't give to have a fist to punch something with.
“Sammy, tell me you can fucking hear me, okay? We need to get you the fuck well because I need to get back and there's a hunt here, okay? So we need to hurry this shit up. You need to breathe. Why the fuck can't you hear me, you fucking psychic?”
“You're quiet,” John says, which is fucking moronic when the kid is breathing like a freight train.
And then Sam's throwing things and yelling about Dad trying to summon the demon and seriously Sam Dean is still on your side but you need to calm the fuck down and you're the one who starts yelling, you're always the one who starts yelling, Sammy, but then Dad's yelling and do you guys always have to do this every single damn time?
“Listen to him!” Dean yells at John. “Take a fucking break and let him catch his breath!”
“This demon killed your mother,” John's saying. “Killed your girlfriend.”
“Don't you fucking bring up Jessica!” Dean says, and he's breathing so hard and so fast and God knows how Sammy's surviving this.
John says, “If you'd killed the damn thing when you'd had the chance, none of this would have happened.”
“I begged him not to, “ Dean says. “Don't you put that on him! He needs meds, can't you hear him?”
“It was possessing you, Dad, I would have killed you too.” Sam's breathing between every few words and apparently John just doesn't notice.
“He can't breathe!” Dean says.
“Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now,” John says, and Sam and Dean scream “Fuck you!” at the same time, and Dean feels hot all the way through his blood, and it's spreading through his fingertips and across his shoulders and making him feel solid and alive--
“I should have never taken you along in the first place,” John says. “I knew it was a mistake, I knew you weren't strong enough-”
And that's just all Dean can take, and he yells, “He's hell of a lot stronger than you he just can't fucking breathe!” and he swings and knocks a glass of water to the floor. The touch of it shocks him. It hurts. He forgot what it was like to feel anything.
He mumbles, “I full on Swayzed that motherfucker.”
They stare at it, and everything's quiet except for Sam, and John finally looks at him and says, “Sam, take your inhaler,” and Dean's going to laugh or cry or something, except then something's on his chest, something heavy, squeezing him, and he looks up at Sam and thinks fuck is it this bad is this how it feels
Except then he's fucking dying everywhere and there's that spirit again and there's Sammy crying in the hallway and Dean's saying, “Don't worry, Sammy, okay? I'm not going anywhere. I'm getting that thing before it gets me,” but then a nurse comes and fusses over Sam and tells him he's wheezing and he looks confused and says, “Maybe?” which isn't even an answer because she didn't ask you a question, Sam, but now she asks if he wants oxygen and he nods and Dean gets behind him and pushes him towards her even though it doesn't do anything, and Sam sits by Dean's bed with the oxygen mask on and he takes Dean's hand and he feels something, not Sam's hand, not anything he can grab, but something. Something that isn't anger or frustration or terror so yeah, he'll take it, and he says, “You're a good kid, Sam, okay?”
And then it's here. The fucking spirit. It's standing beside Dean, staring at the bed, and Dean yells “Get the fuck away!” and throws it, and it's gone.
That was too easy.
Sam starts coughing and doesn't stop, but Dean has to go because this girl is yelling that no one can hear her or something.
**
He wishes he could sleep. He wishes he could get out of this. Just for a little while.
**
Then he and the girl who's just like him, Tessa, they're back in Dean's room and they're watching Sam, and Tessa seems bizarrely okay with the whole out-of-body thing and she says, “So that's your brother?”
Dean nods. He doesn't take his eyes off Sam even though the kid's looking better. He still has the oxygen mask on, but he's mostly asleep in his chair, rolling his head back and forth between each shoulder, trying to get comfortable. He looks at the bed and so does Dean and Dean mumbles, “There's no room, buddy,” and Sam says, “No room,” to himself and draws up his knees to rest his head on.
“What's wrong with him?”
“Asthma.”
“Must be bad asthma.”
Dean nods. “Since he was pint-sized.”
“What triggers it?”
“Allergies, usually. He...sometimes when he's stressed. Now. But...”
“What?” she says, all soft.
And Dean says the thing that's been eating at him since the first damn time he saw Sam come into his hospital room. “It shouldn't be this bad just from stress. I feel like there's something going on I'm not seeing.”
“It's not always this bad?”
“Are you kidding? No. He wouldn't be fucking alive if it were always this bad. He's okay a lot of the time.”
“Completely okay?”
“Well...no.”
“Have you tried doctors?”
Dean makes a fist and presses into his forehead. “Of course we've fucking tried doctors. We've tried everything. He's on the strongest stuff he's not allergic to and the only thing they can say is that he should avoid triggers and try to de-stress and use better pacing when he exercises and those aren't exactly options in our line of work. So we give him weeks off when we can and even then...”
“So he's not okay a lot of the time.”
“He's not like this.”
“He looks bad,” she says, right as Sam jerks awake and coughs and coughs, and he takes the oxygen off to take his inhaler. (What the fuck doctor left him here? He should be on a nebulizer now Jesus why does Dean have to do everything Sam can't handle it so no one needs to step up to the fucking plate, John.)
“He's too freaked out to take care of himself. He's usually good, but I can't fucking ask that of him right now.” Then he shakes his head and says, “I would completely ask that of him right now if I could.” Fucking Sammy.
“I'm sorry you can't really be with him,” Tessa says.
'I think he knows I'm here.”
“Is that why you're afraid of dying? You don't want to leave him?”
Dean doesn't say anything.
“It would make sense,” she says. “I just have this feeling that you guys are supposed to stay together.” She looks at him. “I know what you call him.”
“What?”
And then someones yelling about a code blue down the hall, and Dean tells Tessa to stay here-he says “Watch Sam”--and he takes off down the hall and there's this little girl dying and there's the fucking spirit, and Dean isn't enough and okay, so it's definitely a goddamn reaper, and it's here naturally so...this is bad.
And it's probably not a good sign that Dean keeps seeing it and that it was trying to suck him dry not too long ago, and he goes back to his room just to check on himself and Tessa is gone but the reaper is there. It's not doing anything. It's just standing by the side of the bed.
But it isn't Dean it's looking at, and Dean stumbles and steadies himself on the wall and Sam coughs and coughs and coughs.
**
“You need to watch Sammy,” he tells John. “You need to fucking watch him, this is serious, and nobody's paying fucking attention.”
John's reading something on some laptop, Dean doesn't even know, and he doesn't know where the fuck Sam is because he put the oxygen mask down and left the room and never came back and it's been so long and Jesus Christ if something happened to him (if something happened to him Dean would feel it because it is Sam.)
He looks over his shoulder and the fucking reaper is there, staring at him.
“Go away,” Dean says. “Go the fuck away. You can't even do anything to me, you need that meat in my bed.”
The reaper bobs a little and practically sticks out its tongue and goes neener just here to fuck with you and Dean chokes it and tosses it to the side.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Dean says. “Does he even come see you? Does he know you've given up on both of us? What the fuck good are you without us? What the fuck's your point? Sam can't breathe.”
John closes the laptop.
“You were so good at this when he was a kid,” Dean says. “You held him on your lap and rubbed his back and made him feel safe and just because he grows up and pisses you off doesn't mean you stop taking care of him. You think I'm fucking crazy about him every minute? He's whiny and bitchy and takes everything too seriously and he sneaks around and keeps secrets and he just cares too much about every goddamn thing and he annoys the fuck out of me all the time but I take care of him because he's my kid and he hangs the goddamn moon, okay, so what the fuck excuse do you have?”
John gets up and leaves and Dean is alone.
**
Sam's still not here (where is Sam) so Dean spends some quality time with his body. “You look like crap,” he says. “Get up. Shave. Brush your fucking teeth. Get up.”
And he just fucking lies there.
“Come on, damn it! Sam needs you. Dad needs you. What the fuck is up with Dad, okay, you need to figure it out, and you need to get this fucking reaper. Get up, damn you. Get. Up.”
And then the door opens and there's Sam. He's holding this brown paper bag and he's pale as all hell. He looks up and says, “Dean? You here?”
Dean swallows. “I'm here. Sit the fuck down.”
“I think maybe you're around,” Sam says. He stops and coughs for a minute. “And if you are, don't make fun of me, but-” he stops and coughs more and fucking looks away like he's fucking embarrassed, “uh, there's one way we can talk.”
And then he sits down on the floor and takes out this ouija board and what the fuck, Sam, seriously? This isn't going work.
But at least it got him sitting down. He takes his inhaler out and takes a hit off it, and Dean relaxes a little even though he knows Sam's well past the point of that doing much of anything. The kid needs shots and a few hours off with some oxygen. The kid needs to calm the fuck down.
He's by the foot of the bed, and he coughs and lets his head rest against the plastic while he unpacks the board. Dean sits down on the other side and watches him, and he hasn't gotten to see his kid up close like this for more than a few seconds in days so hey there, Sammy.
He has circles under his eyes and he's still all swollen and cut up and his nail beds are purple and he has his shoulders hunched up to his ears to get air (and seriously, how the fuck is he not getting assaulted by doctors and nurses trying to fix him in the hallways, and how the hell is John letting him walk around like this, shit, how the fuck is he walking around like this period, he should not be getting around like this, he should not be going out to fucking magic stores, he has no idea how bad he is and he really is going to get the shit reaped out of him and Jesus Christ, shit, how high does Sam have to be on the reaper's list by now, and he's not even fucking admitted, he's walking around the hospital like he's fine but Dean knows this kid, he knows this asthma, and he's seen Sam breathe like this before and he's watching the door waiting for the reaper to come in and he sees his own vitals up there on the screens, okay, he's doing just damn fine and Sam needs help and I don't think he knows.)
“Sammy,” he says, because he doesn't know what else to say and because he can't fucking do anything so what does it fucking matter.
“Dean?” Sam says. “Are you here?”
And Dean puts his hands on the planchette and slides it over to 'YES.'
Shit. It wasn't even hard.
They both stare at it. Sam does this gaspy wheeze and Dean whispers, “I'll be damned.”
Sam coughs out a laugh and says, “It's good to hear from you, man,” but Dean doesn't have time for this shit, he's pushing the planchette from letter to letter as fast as he can and Sam watches and waits and sucks down breaths and Dean spells out Y-O-U-O-K.
“Yeah, I'm okay,” Sam says. “Don't worry.” He gives this little smile, up again. “I'm okay.” He coughs and shakes his head and says, “Are you sitting across from me? Where are you?”
Dean moves the planchette to “YES,” and Jesus fucking Christ Sam smiles at him.
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean whispers.
Sam coughs into his elbow and gives him a little wave.
T-A-L-K Dean spells out.
“We're going to get you back,” Sam says, immediately. “We're working on it. I am, and Dad...he said we're...” he's stopping to wheeze, shit. “That we're...that you're our priority. He gets it now.”
NO.
“What?”
A-S-T-H-M-A. T-A-L-K.
Sam blinks at him. “Oh.”
And Sam shuts up and closes his eyes and breathes, he's checking himself, he doesn't know, and Dean sees him start to shake a little and he doesn't know why he always forgets that the asthma scares Sam, it scares him.
“It's bad,” Sam says. “I'm doing everything, I'm doing prednisone a-and I don't have a fever or hives a-and it's just constant and it's...” He bites his lip. “But it'll be okay.”
R-E-A-P-E-R Dean spells out.
“I...what? Here?”
YES.
“Shit,” Sam whispers, and then he's coughing.
S-A-M, Dean spells, fast.
“Is it after you?” Sam says.
Dean hesitates, and apparently that's enough for Sam, because now the kid's shaking way harder and running his hand through that fucking hair and God he needs to calm down, okay, this is why Dean didn't say yes.
“There's a way,” Sam says. “There's a way out of this.”
S-A-M.
“What?”
Y-O-U. H-E-L-P.
“I know,” he says. “Don't worry, okay, I'm going to figure out how to help you.”
NO. Y-O-U-A-R-E-I-N-D-A-N-G-E-R.
Sam's coughing so hard that he can't keep his eyes open and Dean has to spell it twice more and he does, faster and faster and fucking faster.
Then Sammy takes the planchette and spells out W-H-A-T and Dean says “Why are you using the board?” and then he realizes that Sam can't talk.
He takes another hit from the inhaler but he's just so tired, Dean sees it in every inch of him, he's a couple more fucked up breaths away from lying on the floor and closing his eyes and we can't fucking do that, Sam, okay? You think I'm feeling great? I haven't had a body in three fucking days but we can't fucking give up, okay, that's not how this is gonna go.
H-O-L-D-O-N. Dean says. Y-O-U-N-E-E-D-B-R-E-A-K.
Sam nods and pushes back a little and leans back against the bed, and he takes the inhaler again and it actually fucking does something, and Sam's being a superhero and slowing down his breaths and Dean hears his lungs let go a little bit and all right, he'll fucking take it. Sam even shoots him this exhausted little smile, and Dean moves the planchette over to YES.
“Okay,” Sam says. Quietly. “I'm in danger?”
YES. R-E-A-P-E-R.
“Af...” He hesitates. “After me too?”
YES.
“What? Why?”
There are no spaces on the ouija board for the look Dean needs to give Sam, so he drops the planchette and looks at him, and whether or not Sam knows it, he's looking back.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean says, quietly. “Don't bullshit me. Be brave, okay?”
And it's like Sam hears him, because he blushes and hunkers his shoulders up again and looks down.
But then he looks up and his eyes are red and he's mad as hell and he says, “This isn't fucking okay. Look, I'm sorry, Dean, I try to be brave. I'm the good little patient and I do everything I can and I try so goddamn hard” (fuck Sammy I know I know you do I'm here I see you I see you right now) “and I can't fucking kill this thing inside me, and this is supposed to be about you, okay, about fixing you, because you're the one who took a truck to the head and I'm supposed to be keeping us treading water and here I am fucking drowning on the shit of my own lungs,” and he's breathing practically every word and Jesus Christ Sam and Dean spells out S-H-U-T-U-P but Sam isn't looking at the board he's looking at Dean, and he says, “and this is just so fucking unfair and I know you hate when I do this and fucking Dad hates when I do this and I hate when I do this but I just...this is supposed to be about you and I don't want to be dying right now, okay?”
And he's panting and his face is red but his lips are purple and Sammy, Sam, goddamn it, he just needs to keep going long enough to figure out how to get Dean back and then Dean will take care of the rest because he just does not get sick of saving his kid. That's not how this works.
Sam leans against the bed and closes his eyes but (not dead he's not unconscious just resting) and tries to catch his breath and takes the inhaler again but it's not enough. This is way worse than Sam can do himself, hell, it's way worse where Sam could do it just with Dean.
Finally Sam turns and looks at him and Dean starts moving the planchette and Sam looks down.
4-T-H-H-I-T Dean spells out. Y-O-U-N-E-E-D-H-E-L-P.
“Yeah,” Sam whispers. “Yeah, I need help.”
YES.
Sam swallows and looks up. “I'll get Dad?”
He should get a fucking doctor, but if he goes to John looking like this even he'll be able to see the kid needs to be strapped down and IV'd and glued to a mask for a while and he'll know how to help and what to tell the doctor and the list of shit Sam's allergic to and and he knows that when Sam's the most sick are the times he has the hardest time with doctors, because he only wants to be handled in really specific ways by really specific people and he gets confused and can't remember all the things he needs to say and Dean can't give him his fucking hug right now, but John can. And he will.
YES.
Sam nods and starts to stand up, but he stops and watches the planchette because Dean is spelling out G-O-O-D-B-O-Y as fast as he can, and Sam says, “We have to get you better too, okay?”
YES.
**
Dean follows Sam to John's room with a hand on the back that neither of them can feel, but John's bed is still empty and Jesus Christ they need to stop disappearing on Dean (Stanford, Yellow-Eyes) because haven't these idiots fucking noticed that it's never okay when they do (although the ouija board was a good call, Sam, all right).
Sam looks at the empty bed and makes this sound in his throat and Dean says, “Hey, it's okay. We'll find him,” but Sam grabs Dad's notebook and then goes to the hallway and grabs the first doctor he sees by the shoulder and says, “I need help,” and Jesus fucking Christ Dean's kid Dean's goddamn kid.
**
In the first good thing to happen to them all fucking week (all fucking year) they put Sam in the same room as meat-Dean. Meaning Dean can sit there and keep an eye on both of them, but also meaning that he gets a front row seat to Sam IV'd and masked and and shot full of half the shit in this hospital and not getting better (something is wrong).
Sam looks around, searching, and Dean scoots his chair up to the bed and says, “I'm right here.”
Sammy's hands are shaking from all the meds and he can't talk through the mask but he mouths “Read with me?” and flips through until he finds the page on reapers.
And Dean should be reading but he's looking at Sam and he says, “Why the hell aren't you getting better? What's going on? They sedated you, you can't be panicking anymore. They're pumping you full of everything. Why the fuck aren't you getting better?”
Sam reads half the page before he closes his eyes and turns his cheek against the pillow (just sleeping) so Dean takes over and reads until he feels like his heart stops which is a pretty sick and inappropriate thing to say but these are sick and inappropriate times, and he whispers “Son of a bitch,” and closes the journal because this isn't information Sam needs because Dean's on it, okay?
“I'm coming back,” Dean says while he stands up. “Don't you go into any lights.” He hits his own foot on the way out the door. “You either.'
**
So Tessa's a reaper, and he's embarrassed it took him that long to figure it out, but sue him, he's been kind of distracted, okay?
And she's going on and on about how she couldn't be in her true form because Dean wouldn't accept her and he's going to die, he's going to die, and there's no other way but she's not saying anything about the part of this Dean gives a shit about, so he cuts her off and says, “What the hell are you doing to Sam?”
She looks surprised. “Nothing but what's fated to happen, Dean. I don't make the rules.”
Dean stares at her.
She says, “You two are bonded. Have been since you were four years old, Dean. This has been written for over twenty years.”
He stares at her because what the fuck, seriously, what the fuck. “So one of us goes, the other does too?”
She nods, slowly. Like he's an idiot.
“So I fucking bash my head in, and you give Sam the mother of all asthma attacks.”
“It's not that simple. We're not giving him anything. He's merely doing what he's supposed to do. He's supposed to stay with you.”
“Then I'm staying here. He's not dying for me. He's not dying.”
“You're just drawing it out, Dean,” she says. And her hand is on his cheek and it's warm and he can feel it and she says, “You're just making him suffer.”
He hears something in his ears like water, like how Dad once held a seashell to Sam's ear and another to Dean's and tell them they could hear each other's blood (he didn't say that they were each other's blood John doesn't have that way with words) and fuck goddamn shit, he sits down and holds his head and shit.
“Look,” he says. “I'm sure you've heard this before, but... you've gotta make an exception, you've gotta us a break. We're not done yet. He's not done.”
Tessa sits down next to him.
“He's not supposed to live without you, Dean. Just like you're not supposed to leave without him. It's a rare and beautiful thing, you see that, don't you? Most people are destined to die alone. You never could.”
“Why?”
She shrugs a little and says, “You two are different from the rest,” and yeah, okay, Dean knows that, he gets that there really isn't anyone else out there like him and Sam and that it's frustrating as hell for them sometimes and it means that sometimes his throat hurts when Sam gets choked and Sam limps when Dean has a sprained ankle and it means that Dean never gets sick of waking up and seeing that kid in the next bed and it means that Dean fucking carried Sam out of two goddamn fires and okay he gets that and he came to terms with that a long time ago and yeah, he and Sammy are different but they're good different, they're keep each other alive keep each other real, they're goodbeautifulwhateverthefuck kind of different fine and what the fuck good is that if they're dead.
Dean has the urge to say “I can't breathe” and isn't that just the epitome of every fucking thing that's going on here.
“I'm not going,” he says. “We're not going.”
Tessa is quiet for a while. “I can't make you come with me,” she says. “But you're not getting back in your body. And that's just facts.”
Dean tilts his head up and looks at the ceiling and there's got to be some way out of this and where is Sam with those fucking puppy-dog eyes.
“So yes, you can stay,” Tessa says. “You'll stay here for years. Disembodied, scared, and over the decades it'll probably drive you mad. Maybe you'll even get violent. How do you think angry spirits are born?”
“I'll have Sam.”
“An echo of Sam. A piece of him. And that's only if Sam decides to stay. Does that sound like your brother to you? Too afraid to take the next step? Especially considering the consequences of staying. The two of you together, as spirits, imagine how many people you'll kill. And you know what you'd target.”
“Shut up.”
“Imagine all the brothers you'll kill.”
Fuck goddamn it goddamn it shit.
“Sam is hurting,” she says. “Sam was struggling every day before you even got here. How much longer did you think he could keep going? And when his body finally gave out, so would yours. You're putting him out of his misery.”
“He's not fucking miserable.”
“Dean,” she says. Like he's fucking stupid, like she pities him.
Dean bites down hard on the inside of his cheek because he can't, he just can't do this, and then she's stroking his hair and God it feels good and he wants to be touched and if he stays like this no one is ever going to touch him again but who the hell knows what happens if he doesn't stay and what if Sam gets stuck somewhere no one can touch him.
“It's time to put the pain behind you,” she says. “Your pain and his.”
“And go where?”
“Sorry. I can't give away the big punchline.”
He's probably supposed to laugh or something.
She says, “Moment of truth. No changing your mind later. So what's it going to be.”
He grits his teeth and swallows and says, “You can't have Sammy.”
“Dean.”
“Unbind us.”
She doesn't say anything, and that means she can fucking do it, so he keeps talking. “Cross out his name next to mine and write him somewhere different, anywhere different, I don't care, but you leave him alone, and he dies when he's good and ready and he does something stupid or he goes out like a fucking hero but whatever it is not because of me.”
“He's not supposed to be without you. You don't know what the consequences of this could be.”
“He'll be fine.”
“You're not supposed to be without him. You're not supposed to go into the next part alone. I don't now what will happen if you ask me to break this. You're supposed to be bound.”
Dean closes his eyes and squeezes them hard and thinks about Stanford and not seeing Sammy every day and he thinks about that kid locked in the cage by the psycho and for a day and half not knowing where he was and if he was okay and God knows what would have happened to him if Dean hadn't found him and god the fuck knows what would have happened to Dean, how insane he would have gone never knowing, not watching Sam and he could be in pain and people could be hurting him and he thinks about a fucking eternity of never seeing Sam again and he thinks about dying alone alone alone fucking alone the whole point of this was never to be alone and he says, “I'm fucking positive. You can't have Sam. Unbind us.”
And she looks at him and sighs and shakes her head and says, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“It's done.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I have nothing to gain from lying to you, Dean.”
“Can I see him?”
“No. You don't get to leave this room. It ends here for you. But he's getting better already. He still has asthma,” she says when he looks at him, “but he won't die today.”
“How long does he have?”
“I can't tell you that.”
“You can't fucking tell me anything, can you?”
She gives him a small smile. “No. But I can show you want comes next. I can take you there. It's time to go, Dean. Are you ready?”
And he looks at her and opens her mouth to say yesnoIdon'tknowpleaseletmetalktohimfirst and all of a sudden the lights are flickering, and there's black demon smoke whatever the fuck coming out from the vents, and he says, “What are you doing?” and his heart hammers out you're going to hell, Dean, what the fuck did you expect and at least he gets some solace knowing that she's full of shit and he wouldn't have been with Sam anyway because there's no fucking way that kid's going to hell so he hasn't broken anything he hasn't ruined him and Sam he hasn't really left the kid any more alone than he had to but then Tessa's screaming, “You can't do this!” and her mouth's full of demon and then she turns to Dean and her eyes are yellow and where is the fucking Colt when you need it--
“Today's your lucky day, kid.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
And she gives this slow smile and those eyes glow and he says, “What I was going to do anyway. Can't let my kid go to waste. Poor stupid Daddy, what a mistake he's made.”
“What?”
But then her hand's on Dean's forehead and he's shaking and his chest is burning and his head's feels like it's shrinking and something cold lances through his stomach and what the fuck is in his throat and he's on his back trying to cough it up--
It's the tube. It's the fucking tube.
And he feels the sheets and his shirt and everything is louder and brighter and Jesus get this fucking thing out of his mouth--
And Sam. Sam is standing by his bed and the mask is off and he's wheezing but he doesn't look like he's fucking dying and he's yelling, “Help! I need help!” and Sammy yeah but you got help and you look okay and what's wrong and could you maybe help me out with this thing but then nurses are coming in and they're taking the tube out and Sam's crying and Dean coughs and the thing's out of him and Sam says, “Holy shit, Dean, holy shit.”
And Dean doesn't even think about it, he's out of the bed and launching himself at Sam like a firework and the IVs are yanked out and what the hell does he care because he's hugging his kid harder than he's ever done anything and Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ he can feel him and Sammy's breathing and crying into Dean's hair and Dean is just not going to fucking let go, okay, and everything is all right. He can't believe it, because they're Winchesters, but somehow something happened and he's alive and Sam's alive and he thinks vaguely that maybe this is actually heaven but the nurse is yelling at him about his IV and she's not even cute so clearly not, and Sam still doesn't sound perfect but he's here, and all the memories are fading out fast, hitting him and crashing out like a wave until...something with a girl, yellow eyes, the Colt, coughing, but he can't place any of it and it's leaving him quickly and just Sam, okay? Sam.
He pulls back and takes Sammy's face in his hands and Sam is ugly-crying and it's making Dean smile and he says, “Where the hell's Dad? Dad needs to see you. Fuck, he's going to be so proud of us, Sammy.”
Summary: Nobody can see Dean, which would suck enough if not for the fact that his wheezy brother's having a hideous time trying to breathe. And it's hard to take care of Sam when Dean doesn't have a body and nobody can hear him. And a reaper won't stop following him. Except he's beginning to think it's not him the reaper's circling.
Warnings/Spoilers: It's 2.01, so you want to be through there, and you'll appreciate parts of it more if you've seen at least through season 2. Like in Under Sammy's Skin, some of the dialogue is directly from the episode. More this time. I'd be happy to point it out if anyone asks, and I don't mean to be taking credit for it. Me and profanity are bunk buddies.
Wordcount: 9,243
Author's Note: It's in the Sammyverse, so Dean POV, severely asthmatic Sam, badass, take-charge boys. Except they're a little less badass in this one because the world is really out to get them here. It has a PLOT, which is entirely thanks to wave_obscura, who talked me through it and helped me brainstorm and told me when I was being stupid, and any poor execution of said plot is entirely thanks to me, because I don't write plot, I write h/c porn. I'm sorry for the things that I did to these boys. I feel like a horrible person. I still think you're pretty.
--
His first thought is that he finally got some fucking sleep. His second is that his mouth tastes like something curled up under his tongue and died, and his third is that he's woken up in enough hospitals (usually with two days of stubble on his face and his cheek against the foot of Sammy's bed) to know the sounds by now and goddamn it, what the fuck is he doing here, if Sam got sick and he didn't remember than he must be sick too with some fucking fever that has him missing time (he lost a day and a half to a fever once when he was nine, walking around a motel room he couldn't remember seeing while he sweated out what was left in him, John chasing him around with juice and a cold washcloth, Sam...where was Sam, he doesn't remember, that's weird because when was the last time he didn't know where Sam was) and--
Sam.
Shit, where the fuck is Sam?
He sits up. It's his hospital bed, and the one next to his is empty. Why the fuck wouldn't they room the two of them together? Sam must be in the ICU, and goddamn it, it's been years, and there are all these stupid rules about how he can only visit for a half an hour the first time and Sam gets freaked out by all the masks and machines when he's woozy and if Dean's sick they're not even going to let him in. He needs to call Dad--
Dad.
And then it all hits him like...well, like a fucking truck.
The Yellow-Eyed Demon. The Colt. The cuts in his chest, Sam driving, there's a bad moon on the rise, we still have one bullet left, truck out of nowhere, the noise, so loud but it sounded just like a shovel crunching into snow and his baby, the ditch, hisdadhisbrotherhisfamily Sam's voice from somewhere Sam.
He gets out of bed. Everything's so quiet. He doesn't even hear himself hit the floor. He isn't attached to anything. No IVs, no cuts, not even the slashes Yellow-Eyes gave him. Why the fuck was he still in bed if there's nothing wrong with him, why wasn't he already with Dad and Sam, what the fuck, Dean?
“Sam? Dad?”
What the hell was he expecting? Then to pop out from the nurse's station, surprise!
“Anybody?”
The signs are totally unhelpful because none of them say your family is that way and Dean isn't sure he can process anything less direct than that right now because his fucking family but there's a nurse downstairs at a desk and she looks nice and he goes to her (why is everything so quiet) and says, “Uh, excuse me, hi, I...think I was in a car accident mydadandmybrother, I just need to find them.”
She doesn't look up and oh my fucking God, they're dead, they're both dead, she's trying to think of a nice way to tell him and look don't fucking waste your time thinking of a nice way just hand him a nice shotgun DadSamSammy
He says, “M-my dad was...he was sick before the accident, and my kid brother has bad asthma and he had a concussion before and I...can you just tell me what room they're in? Are they together? They should be together.”
Is she Deaf? Are nurses allowed to be Deaf? (That's probably a horrible thing to think, Sam would probably make that face and tell him he wasn't being PC and Sam come back that face and tell me I'm not being PC).
He snaps his fingers in her face like the assholes used to when he zoned off that month he was a busboy and look it's not his fault being a busboy is really boring and it's not like anyone's fucking lives hang in the balance you fucking-
Something's wrong.
And before he can think about about what he's doing he's back up the stairs and back up to his room and there's his fucking body lying in the bed and maybe he should have figured this out faster but this isn't the kind of thing he ever thought would be a possibility because he's lying there looking like shit with that tube down his throat that Sam's had a few times and he knows it's a cliché and he knows it's something he think all the time when Sam's in the hospital but Jesus Christ he looks small and he's scared, actually worried about himself, like he wants to reach down and hold his own hand and tell himself it's going to be okay and shouldn't someone else be here doing that and this isn't supposed to be him, he's supposed to be the one holding someone's hand and then Jesus Christ mother of fucking thank Jesus Sam is here.
His face is still the swollen mess it was before the accident and he's got some new cuts but he looks okay, which doesn't make sense to Dean because the car was hit on that side, he remembers because he was there and because there wasn't any time for him to warn Sam or to get something, his fucking hand, whatever, between Sam's head and the truck, but someone was looking after his kid (angels were watching over him, what the fuck, Dean) and he's here and he's okay and everything's going to be fine.
“Sammy,” he says. “You look good. Considering.”
But Sam's just staring at Dean in the bed, fake-Dean, and he says “Oh, no,” and fuck, this is the first time Sam's seeing him, which would explain why the kid now can't fucking breathe, fucking predictable kid, he gets teary and everything in him just locks down, no wonder he doesn't cry (trained him out of that early, fucking stop it Sam it's just a nightmare you need to fucking breathe you don't get to cry) and Dean says, “Come on, Sammy, it's okay. Where's your inhaler?”
Sam stands there and stares at the bed and chews at his lip and fuck.
“Man, tell me you can hear me,” Dean says.
Sam doesn't tell him jack shit, and then a doctor comes and tells Sam that John's awake, and that's awesome, don't get him wrong, but is this doctor maybe going to comment at some point on the fact that the kid's wheezing like a sunovabitch because seriously, we're talking heaving shoulders and the works here but instead the doctor's just telling him scary shit about how Dean might not wake up and look Dean can't even process that right now which means that Sam definitely can't either so this doctor needs to shut the fuck up.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean says. We'll find some hoodoo priest to lay some mojo on me. Calm down.” He turns to the doctor. “Do you not have fucking oxygen at the hospital or something? If you don't help him, when I wake up, I swear to God- ”
Sam turns his head and coughs into his fist and Jesus Christ, Dean knows this is stressful and all but Sam is better than this. Sam knows better than to pull this drama queen bullshit right now because he needs to be okay, Dean's fucking counting on him and Dean's not around to take care of him (fuck) and come on Sam don't martyr out right now it's not the fucking time take your meds.
The doctor says, “Sam, right?”
Sam nods. He's looking at Dean's body. Dean says, “You see that fucking tube down my throat? I'm going to take it out and shove it down yours if you don't goddamn behave.”
“Are you all right?” the doctor says. “Maybe you should sit down.”
“I...yeah. Sitting down sounds good.”
So the doctor pulls out the chair and Dean crouches down next to it and says “Okay, come on,” and Sam sits there and looks confused while the doctor grapples with the stethoscope and Dean says, “Now's the part where you ask him for a refill or tell him you lost your inhaler or whatever the fuck your reason is for not taking it already, and if that reason is because I'm feeling guilty my brother's hurt instead of me or some bullshit like that I'm going to ghost smack you so hard that you will fucking feel it, you understand me?”
The doctor monologues about panic and the importance of staying calm and Dean can't fucking believe this, he'd like to see this asshole try to stay calm while his lungs were spasming shut and then the doctor puts the stethoscope on his chest and says, “You're wheezing,” and Sam startles and puts his hand on his chest.
“Yeah, I have asthma,” he says, and he breathes out and says, “God, and it's...kind of hideous right now.”
Shit. Dean fucked this one up, because the problem isn't that Sam is ignoring it but that Sam didn't notice and God, that's such a bigger problem, because he's seen Sam get into this before, back when Dad was on a hunt that went sour when they were kids and was gone a week longer than he was supposed to and Sam just worried himself sick and when Dean told him to take his meds or sit down and take a break, he did, but he didn't notice the problems on his own because he was so in his head. He did it after Jess, but he'd been so numb and pliant that Dean had stuffed him full of meds and hadn't really given a shit that Sam didn't know what was going on, but now Sam's walking around and getting himself worked up and Dean's not around to take care of him.
“Sam, can I set you up with a nebulizer before you go see your Dad?””
“Um, yeah,” Sam says, and Dean reaches out to squeeze his shoulder because he apparently can't get this spirit thing through his head. “Can I do it in my dad's room?” Sam says.
“Yeah, we can do that.”
“Okay. I'll be-” he stops and pants, Christ, “--there in a second.”
The doctor leaves, and Sam sits down by Dean's bed, and Dean says, “Come on, man, let's go, there's nothing for you in here,” and Sam doesn't touch Dean's body, he just wraps his hands around the edge of the mattress and squeezes hard and don't cry, Sam, don't fucking cry, there's breathing to do and stuff to figure out because you have to fix me.
“I'm going to fix you,” Sam says. “Don't worry.” He coughs. “I've got this.”
Atta boy.
**
Sam curls up in the chair in the corner of Dad's room with the nebulizer on and he looks like he did when he was a kid because they gave him a mask and not one of the mouthpieces, and he and Dad are looking at each other and not talking which Dean guesses is better than fighting but Jesus Christ Dad say something, Sam needs you here.
“Is it getting better?” he says eventually. “You sounded rough when you came in.”
Sam nods like he's so tired.
“Good. I'm glad the doctor helped you out. We need to get them my insurance...” he reaches for his pocket, but his arm's in the sling and he can't move and it looks like it hurts and Dean wants to help, and Sam should get up and help, but he just sits there and holds his chest and looks out the window, come on Sam, don't check out, okay?
John slides a card towards Sam but Sam doesn't look up and John clears his throat and Sam still doesn't look up.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean says. “Are you holding your fucking breath? Pay attention.”
“Sammy,” John says, and Sam startles and breathes in. “Do you need anything I can get you, son? I can have the nurse bring water or coffee.”
Sam tugs the mask off. “I'm doing okay.”
“Keep that on 'til it's over, all right?” John says, and Sam nods and curls up in the chair, huddling inside his jacket.
“Are you cold?” Dean says. He looks at John. “He's cold. You're not even using your blanket.”
“Sam,” John says, and he reaches down to the bottom of the bed and takes the blanket and hands it to Sam, and Sam takes it and burrows under it and squeezes his eyes shut.
He used to be a bitch about sitting through neb treatments when he was a kid. They're fifteen minutes, and he didn't like the feel of the strap of the mask so he'd hold it on with one hand instead so he couldn't play, and sometimes the crappy motels didn't have TV so Dean read him the same books over and over and they made up a stupid sign language and sometimes Dean would sing-fucking sing-if he thought it would get Sam to sleep, but right now Dean can't do anything and Sam's getting antsy and he takes off the strap and holds the mask on with his hand and the other hand worries at the hem of the blanket, twists it and pulls it and rips at the stitches.
“I'm going to be fine,” Dean says. He turns around and stares at his dad and says, “Tell him I'm going to be fine, he's fucking terrified.”
But John just sits and watches him and Dean thinks he doesn't know what to say, because the last time he saw Sam having real asthma trouble was before Stanford (was that time he saw Sam in the hospital and didn't say hello didn't tell Dean) and Sammy was a kid then, he was three inches shorter and he had those wide eyes and he was just angry, angry all the damn time, and he fought them on everything and he fought John when he told him to take his meds and he fought John when he told him to come train on days his breathing was already rough and he was so easy to scream at and push into things and order around and stress over and now he's sitting there all quiet in his chair and holding the mask on and what the fuck are you supposed to do about that?
Finally the treatment's done, and Sammy takes the mask off and John's on him immediately, all, “What else did the doctor say about Dean?” because he already threw half a dozen questions at Sam when he first came in and he was wheezing and looking at the nebulizer mask and answering quickly because he wanted to fucking breathe and God, maybe Dean's already died and this is some kind of purgatory, watching his brother doing this and not being able to fucking touch him or yell at him or anything.
Sam clears his throat. “Nothing. Look. The doctors won't do anything, then we'll have to, that's all. I don't know, I'll find some hoodoo priest and lay some mojo on him.”
“He sounds like crap,” Dean says. “Make him do another round.”
“We'll look for someone,” Dad says. “But, Sam, I don't know if we're going to find anyone.”
And what the fucking fuck, Dad, don't let the fucking body get cold or whatever the hell, seriously? Not to mention that giving up on Dean is one thing but telling Sam you're giving up on Dean, do you have a death wish, because if Sam doesn't kill you first Dean is coming back and kicking your ass halfway to Sunday for scaring Sam, Sir or no Sir, which he can do because he's fucking coming back, all right?
“Sam,” Dean says.
But Sam isn't freaking out. “Why not? I found that faith healer before.”
No thanks to you, Dean thinks, and God, nothing like an out of body experience to turn him into a total asshole, apparently, but it's not his fault Sam's saying all the good stuff in this conversation.
“Right,” John says, “But that was one in a million.”
If Dean weren't such a great son he would be thinking something like hey, screw you right about now.
But now Sammy's finally getting upset and who the hell could blame him but Sam don't and John decides of course that now's the time to ask about the Colt and Sam's feelings seem about in line with Dean's regarding the appropriateness of this discussion except if Dean had a body to fuck up it wouldn't react how Sam's is and Jesus John grow a little common sense and finally John backs the fuck off and tells Sam to go get the car.
“No,” Dean says. “No, he needs to stay.”
“I don't want to leave Dean,” Sam says.
“What Dean needs is for us to have all of this in order...when he wakes up.”
“Yeah, now it's when,” Dean says. “When you're bossing my fucking kid around, now it's when.”
Sam says, “Dad, I feel like crap. I can't breathe.”
“It's just a bus ride. You can do it. I know you. You're tough for your brother.”
“I will fucking kill you,” Dean says.
“Hey. Here.” John holds out this piece of paper to Sam. I made a list of things I need, have Bobby pick them up for me.”
Dean says, “Dad, come on. Please. Please.”
And Sam's asking questions about what these things are and John's giving him these half-assed answers and Sam doesn't want to take it and oh my God someone needs to fucking listen to him and someone needs to wise up and realize that if he leaves the hospital, Dean can't follow him. And for some reason even though they both know that (because as far as they know Dean's off cruising the vegetative highway or whateverthehell) they're both okay with Sam going out alone when there are demons out there with Winchesters Wanted posters and Sam's breaths are clogged in the bottom of his lungs and seriously, fucking seriously?
“It'll be good for you to get away for a little while, son,” John says, and Dean is fucking shaking because no, it will be shit for Sammy to get away for a while when he's so in his head that he doesn't know what's going on his body and when the whole world's out to get him and when Dean's fucking lying there and what's he supposed to do without Sam here, who's he supposed to follow, when Dad's asleep he's just going to sit by his broken body and no one will hear him and no one will be trying to wake him up and Dean is seriously barely holding it together and you're going to take his kid away?
Sam says, “Hey, Dad? You know, the demon, he said he had plans for me, and children like me. Do you have any idea what he meant by that?”
And John lies and Dean doesn't care because as long as he's around, nothing bad is going to happen to Sam and then Sam's gone and apparently spirits can get dizzy, who the fuck knew.
**
And now Dean's just sitting here staring at his body because it's better than staring at his father's and he whispers, “Wake up. Wake the fuck up. Go get Sam, this is your fucking job.”
And then it's freaking tomorrow and he's in John's room, yelling at him about what a shitty father he is and how he hasn't done jack shit to try to fix Dean and he hasn't called anyone and he hasn't called Sam and what the hell is there that Dean hasn't done and could he have ever made it any clearer at any single damn point that Sam was not to be fucked with when he wasn't around to decide whether or not Sam was being unreasonable and that if Dean says he needs Sam you have to just fucking let them be together for a fucking minute goddamn it and if Sam says he needs a break he needs a fucking break.
And John sits there and doesn't look at him and doesn't call anyone and doesn't do fucking anything (and really what else is new besides that now Dean can't take this) and then there's some spirit or something to hunt down, whatever, something to do.
**
Sam's back.
And Dean can't even get excited about it because even though Bobby clearly made him eat something and shower and maybe even sleep, the kid looks like shit and he's breathing even worse and he's mad as all hell which means John fucked up in more ways than Dean had figured out and Jesus Christ what he wouldn't give to have a fist to punch something with.
“Sammy, tell me you can fucking hear me, okay? We need to get you the fuck well because I need to get back and there's a hunt here, okay? So we need to hurry this shit up. You need to breathe. Why the fuck can't you hear me, you fucking psychic?”
“You're quiet,” John says, which is fucking moronic when the kid is breathing like a freight train.
And then Sam's throwing things and yelling about Dad trying to summon the demon and seriously Sam Dean is still on your side but you need to calm the fuck down and you're the one who starts yelling, you're always the one who starts yelling, Sammy, but then Dad's yelling and do you guys always have to do this every single damn time?
“Listen to him!” Dean yells at John. “Take a fucking break and let him catch his breath!”
“This demon killed your mother,” John's saying. “Killed your girlfriend.”
“Don't you fucking bring up Jessica!” Dean says, and he's breathing so hard and so fast and God knows how Sammy's surviving this.
John says, “If you'd killed the damn thing when you'd had the chance, none of this would have happened.”
“I begged him not to, “ Dean says. “Don't you put that on him! He needs meds, can't you hear him?”
“It was possessing you, Dad, I would have killed you too.” Sam's breathing between every few words and apparently John just doesn't notice.
“He can't breathe!” Dean says.
“Yeah, and your brother would be awake right now,” John says, and Sam and Dean scream “Fuck you!” at the same time, and Dean feels hot all the way through his blood, and it's spreading through his fingertips and across his shoulders and making him feel solid and alive--
“I should have never taken you along in the first place,” John says. “I knew it was a mistake, I knew you weren't strong enough-”
And that's just all Dean can take, and he yells, “He's hell of a lot stronger than you he just can't fucking breathe!” and he swings and knocks a glass of water to the floor. The touch of it shocks him. It hurts. He forgot what it was like to feel anything.
He mumbles, “I full on Swayzed that motherfucker.”
They stare at it, and everything's quiet except for Sam, and John finally looks at him and says, “Sam, take your inhaler,” and Dean's going to laugh or cry or something, except then something's on his chest, something heavy, squeezing him, and he looks up at Sam and thinks fuck is it this bad is this how it feels
Except then he's fucking dying everywhere and there's that spirit again and there's Sammy crying in the hallway and Dean's saying, “Don't worry, Sammy, okay? I'm not going anywhere. I'm getting that thing before it gets me,” but then a nurse comes and fusses over Sam and tells him he's wheezing and he looks confused and says, “Maybe?” which isn't even an answer because she didn't ask you a question, Sam, but now she asks if he wants oxygen and he nods and Dean gets behind him and pushes him towards her even though it doesn't do anything, and Sam sits by Dean's bed with the oxygen mask on and he takes Dean's hand and he feels something, not Sam's hand, not anything he can grab, but something. Something that isn't anger or frustration or terror so yeah, he'll take it, and he says, “You're a good kid, Sam, okay?”
And then it's here. The fucking spirit. It's standing beside Dean, staring at the bed, and Dean yells “Get the fuck away!” and throws it, and it's gone.
That was too easy.
Sam starts coughing and doesn't stop, but Dean has to go because this girl is yelling that no one can hear her or something.
**
He wishes he could sleep. He wishes he could get out of this. Just for a little while.
**
Then he and the girl who's just like him, Tessa, they're back in Dean's room and they're watching Sam, and Tessa seems bizarrely okay with the whole out-of-body thing and she says, “So that's your brother?”
Dean nods. He doesn't take his eyes off Sam even though the kid's looking better. He still has the oxygen mask on, but he's mostly asleep in his chair, rolling his head back and forth between each shoulder, trying to get comfortable. He looks at the bed and so does Dean and Dean mumbles, “There's no room, buddy,” and Sam says, “No room,” to himself and draws up his knees to rest his head on.
“What's wrong with him?”
“Asthma.”
“Must be bad asthma.”
Dean nods. “Since he was pint-sized.”
“What triggers it?”
“Allergies, usually. He...sometimes when he's stressed. Now. But...”
“What?” she says, all soft.
And Dean says the thing that's been eating at him since the first damn time he saw Sam come into his hospital room. “It shouldn't be this bad just from stress. I feel like there's something going on I'm not seeing.”
“It's not always this bad?”
“Are you kidding? No. He wouldn't be fucking alive if it were always this bad. He's okay a lot of the time.”
“Completely okay?”
“Well...no.”
“Have you tried doctors?”
Dean makes a fist and presses into his forehead. “Of course we've fucking tried doctors. We've tried everything. He's on the strongest stuff he's not allergic to and the only thing they can say is that he should avoid triggers and try to de-stress and use better pacing when he exercises and those aren't exactly options in our line of work. So we give him weeks off when we can and even then...”
“So he's not okay a lot of the time.”
“He's not like this.”
“He looks bad,” she says, right as Sam jerks awake and coughs and coughs, and he takes the oxygen off to take his inhaler. (What the fuck doctor left him here? He should be on a nebulizer now Jesus why does Dean have to do everything Sam can't handle it so no one needs to step up to the fucking plate, John.)
“He's too freaked out to take care of himself. He's usually good, but I can't fucking ask that of him right now.” Then he shakes his head and says, “I would completely ask that of him right now if I could.” Fucking Sammy.
“I'm sorry you can't really be with him,” Tessa says.
'I think he knows I'm here.”
“Is that why you're afraid of dying? You don't want to leave him?”
Dean doesn't say anything.
“It would make sense,” she says. “I just have this feeling that you guys are supposed to stay together.” She looks at him. “I know what you call him.”
“What?”
And then someones yelling about a code blue down the hall, and Dean tells Tessa to stay here-he says “Watch Sam”--and he takes off down the hall and there's this little girl dying and there's the fucking spirit, and Dean isn't enough and okay, so it's definitely a goddamn reaper, and it's here naturally so...this is bad.
And it's probably not a good sign that Dean keeps seeing it and that it was trying to suck him dry not too long ago, and he goes back to his room just to check on himself and Tessa is gone but the reaper is there. It's not doing anything. It's just standing by the side of the bed.
But it isn't Dean it's looking at, and Dean stumbles and steadies himself on the wall and Sam coughs and coughs and coughs.
**
“You need to watch Sammy,” he tells John. “You need to fucking watch him, this is serious, and nobody's paying fucking attention.”
John's reading something on some laptop, Dean doesn't even know, and he doesn't know where the fuck Sam is because he put the oxygen mask down and left the room and never came back and it's been so long and Jesus Christ if something happened to him (if something happened to him Dean would feel it because it is Sam.)
He looks over his shoulder and the fucking reaper is there, staring at him.
“Go away,” Dean says. “Go the fuck away. You can't even do anything to me, you need that meat in my bed.”
The reaper bobs a little and practically sticks out its tongue and goes neener just here to fuck with you and Dean chokes it and tosses it to the side.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Dean says. “Does he even come see you? Does he know you've given up on both of us? What the fuck good are you without us? What the fuck's your point? Sam can't breathe.”
John closes the laptop.
“You were so good at this when he was a kid,” Dean says. “You held him on your lap and rubbed his back and made him feel safe and just because he grows up and pisses you off doesn't mean you stop taking care of him. You think I'm fucking crazy about him every minute? He's whiny and bitchy and takes everything too seriously and he sneaks around and keeps secrets and he just cares too much about every goddamn thing and he annoys the fuck out of me all the time but I take care of him because he's my kid and he hangs the goddamn moon, okay, so what the fuck excuse do you have?”
John gets up and leaves and Dean is alone.
**
Sam's still not here (where is Sam) so Dean spends some quality time with his body. “You look like crap,” he says. “Get up. Shave. Brush your fucking teeth. Get up.”
And he just fucking lies there.
“Come on, damn it! Sam needs you. Dad needs you. What the fuck is up with Dad, okay, you need to figure it out, and you need to get this fucking reaper. Get up, damn you. Get. Up.”
And then the door opens and there's Sam. He's holding this brown paper bag and he's pale as all hell. He looks up and says, “Dean? You here?”
Dean swallows. “I'm here. Sit the fuck down.”
“I think maybe you're around,” Sam says. He stops and coughs for a minute. “And if you are, don't make fun of me, but-” he stops and coughs more and fucking looks away like he's fucking embarrassed, “uh, there's one way we can talk.”
And then he sits down on the floor and takes out this ouija board and what the fuck, Sam, seriously? This isn't going work.
But at least it got him sitting down. He takes his inhaler out and takes a hit off it, and Dean relaxes a little even though he knows Sam's well past the point of that doing much of anything. The kid needs shots and a few hours off with some oxygen. The kid needs to calm the fuck down.
He's by the foot of the bed, and he coughs and lets his head rest against the plastic while he unpacks the board. Dean sits down on the other side and watches him, and he hasn't gotten to see his kid up close like this for more than a few seconds in days so hey there, Sammy.
He has circles under his eyes and he's still all swollen and cut up and his nail beds are purple and he has his shoulders hunched up to his ears to get air (and seriously, how the fuck is he not getting assaulted by doctors and nurses trying to fix him in the hallways, and how the hell is John letting him walk around like this, shit, how the fuck is he walking around like this period, he should not be getting around like this, he should not be going out to fucking magic stores, he has no idea how bad he is and he really is going to get the shit reaped out of him and Jesus Christ, shit, how high does Sam have to be on the reaper's list by now, and he's not even fucking admitted, he's walking around the hospital like he's fine but Dean knows this kid, he knows this asthma, and he's seen Sam breathe like this before and he's watching the door waiting for the reaper to come in and he sees his own vitals up there on the screens, okay, he's doing just damn fine and Sam needs help and I don't think he knows.)
“Sammy,” he says, because he doesn't know what else to say and because he can't fucking do anything so what does it fucking matter.
“Dean?” Sam says. “Are you here?”
And Dean puts his hands on the planchette and slides it over to 'YES.'
Shit. It wasn't even hard.
They both stare at it. Sam does this gaspy wheeze and Dean whispers, “I'll be damned.”
Sam coughs out a laugh and says, “It's good to hear from you, man,” but Dean doesn't have time for this shit, he's pushing the planchette from letter to letter as fast as he can and Sam watches and waits and sucks down breaths and Dean spells out Y-O-U-O-K.
“Yeah, I'm okay,” Sam says. “Don't worry.” He gives this little smile, up again. “I'm okay.” He coughs and shakes his head and says, “Are you sitting across from me? Where are you?”
Dean moves the planchette to “YES,” and Jesus fucking Christ Sam smiles at him.
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean whispers.
Sam coughs into his elbow and gives him a little wave.
T-A-L-K Dean spells out.
“We're going to get you back,” Sam says, immediately. “We're working on it. I am, and Dad...he said we're...” he's stopping to wheeze, shit. “That we're...that you're our priority. He gets it now.”
NO.
“What?”
A-S-T-H-M-A. T-A-L-K.
Sam blinks at him. “Oh.”
And Sam shuts up and closes his eyes and breathes, he's checking himself, he doesn't know, and Dean sees him start to shake a little and he doesn't know why he always forgets that the asthma scares Sam, it scares him.
“It's bad,” Sam says. “I'm doing everything, I'm doing prednisone a-and I don't have a fever or hives a-and it's just constant and it's...” He bites his lip. “But it'll be okay.”
R-E-A-P-E-R Dean spells out.
“I...what? Here?”
YES.
“Shit,” Sam whispers, and then he's coughing.
S-A-M, Dean spells, fast.
“Is it after you?” Sam says.
Dean hesitates, and apparently that's enough for Sam, because now the kid's shaking way harder and running his hand through that fucking hair and God he needs to calm down, okay, this is why Dean didn't say yes.
“There's a way,” Sam says. “There's a way out of this.”
S-A-M.
“What?”
Y-O-U. H-E-L-P.
“I know,” he says. “Don't worry, okay, I'm going to figure out how to help you.”
NO. Y-O-U-A-R-E-I-N-D-A-N-G-E-R.
Sam's coughing so hard that he can't keep his eyes open and Dean has to spell it twice more and he does, faster and faster and fucking faster.
Then Sammy takes the planchette and spells out W-H-A-T and Dean says “Why are you using the board?” and then he realizes that Sam can't talk.
He takes another hit from the inhaler but he's just so tired, Dean sees it in every inch of him, he's a couple more fucked up breaths away from lying on the floor and closing his eyes and we can't fucking do that, Sam, okay? You think I'm feeling great? I haven't had a body in three fucking days but we can't fucking give up, okay, that's not how this is gonna go.
H-O-L-D-O-N. Dean says. Y-O-U-N-E-E-D-B-R-E-A-K.
Sam nods and pushes back a little and leans back against the bed, and he takes the inhaler again and it actually fucking does something, and Sam's being a superhero and slowing down his breaths and Dean hears his lungs let go a little bit and all right, he'll fucking take it. Sam even shoots him this exhausted little smile, and Dean moves the planchette over to YES.
“Okay,” Sam says. Quietly. “I'm in danger?”
YES. R-E-A-P-E-R.
“Af...” He hesitates. “After me too?”
YES.
“What? Why?”
There are no spaces on the ouija board for the look Dean needs to give Sam, so he drops the planchette and looks at him, and whether or not Sam knows it, he's looking back.
“Come on, Sam,” Dean says, quietly. “Don't bullshit me. Be brave, okay?”
And it's like Sam hears him, because he blushes and hunkers his shoulders up again and looks down.
But then he looks up and his eyes are red and he's mad as hell and he says, “This isn't fucking okay. Look, I'm sorry, Dean, I try to be brave. I'm the good little patient and I do everything I can and I try so goddamn hard” (fuck Sammy I know I know you do I'm here I see you I see you right now) “and I can't fucking kill this thing inside me, and this is supposed to be about you, okay, about fixing you, because you're the one who took a truck to the head and I'm supposed to be keeping us treading water and here I am fucking drowning on the shit of my own lungs,” and he's breathing practically every word and Jesus Christ Sam and Dean spells out S-H-U-T-U-P but Sam isn't looking at the board he's looking at Dean, and he says, “and this is just so fucking unfair and I know you hate when I do this and fucking Dad hates when I do this and I hate when I do this but I just...this is supposed to be about you and I don't want to be dying right now, okay?”
And he's panting and his face is red but his lips are purple and Sammy, Sam, goddamn it, he just needs to keep going long enough to figure out how to get Dean back and then Dean will take care of the rest because he just does not get sick of saving his kid. That's not how this works.
Sam leans against the bed and closes his eyes but (not dead he's not unconscious just resting) and tries to catch his breath and takes the inhaler again but it's not enough. This is way worse than Sam can do himself, hell, it's way worse where Sam could do it just with Dean.
Finally Sam turns and looks at him and Dean starts moving the planchette and Sam looks down.
4-T-H-H-I-T Dean spells out. Y-O-U-N-E-E-D-H-E-L-P.
“Yeah,” Sam whispers. “Yeah, I need help.”
YES.
Sam swallows and looks up. “I'll get Dad?”
He should get a fucking doctor, but if he goes to John looking like this even he'll be able to see the kid needs to be strapped down and IV'd and glued to a mask for a while and he'll know how to help and what to tell the doctor and the list of shit Sam's allergic to and and he knows that when Sam's the most sick are the times he has the hardest time with doctors, because he only wants to be handled in really specific ways by really specific people and he gets confused and can't remember all the things he needs to say and Dean can't give him his fucking hug right now, but John can. And he will.
YES.
Sam nods and starts to stand up, but he stops and watches the planchette because Dean is spelling out G-O-O-D-B-O-Y as fast as he can, and Sam says, “We have to get you better too, okay?”
YES.
**
Dean follows Sam to John's room with a hand on the back that neither of them can feel, but John's bed is still empty and Jesus Christ they need to stop disappearing on Dean (Stanford, Yellow-Eyes) because haven't these idiots fucking noticed that it's never okay when they do (although the ouija board was a good call, Sam, all right).
Sam looks at the empty bed and makes this sound in his throat and Dean says, “Hey, it's okay. We'll find him,” but Sam grabs Dad's notebook and then goes to the hallway and grabs the first doctor he sees by the shoulder and says, “I need help,” and Jesus fucking Christ Dean's kid Dean's goddamn kid.
**
In the first good thing to happen to them all fucking week (all fucking year) they put Sam in the same room as meat-Dean. Meaning Dean can sit there and keep an eye on both of them, but also meaning that he gets a front row seat to Sam IV'd and masked and and shot full of half the shit in this hospital and not getting better (something is wrong).
Sam looks around, searching, and Dean scoots his chair up to the bed and says, “I'm right here.”
Sammy's hands are shaking from all the meds and he can't talk through the mask but he mouths “Read with me?” and flips through until he finds the page on reapers.
And Dean should be reading but he's looking at Sam and he says, “Why the hell aren't you getting better? What's going on? They sedated you, you can't be panicking anymore. They're pumping you full of everything. Why the fuck aren't you getting better?”
Sam reads half the page before he closes his eyes and turns his cheek against the pillow (just sleeping) so Dean takes over and reads until he feels like his heart stops which is a pretty sick and inappropriate thing to say but these are sick and inappropriate times, and he whispers “Son of a bitch,” and closes the journal because this isn't information Sam needs because Dean's on it, okay?
“I'm coming back,” Dean says while he stands up. “Don't you go into any lights.” He hits his own foot on the way out the door. “You either.'
**
So Tessa's a reaper, and he's embarrassed it took him that long to figure it out, but sue him, he's been kind of distracted, okay?
And she's going on and on about how she couldn't be in her true form because Dean wouldn't accept her and he's going to die, he's going to die, and there's no other way but she's not saying anything about the part of this Dean gives a shit about, so he cuts her off and says, “What the hell are you doing to Sam?”
She looks surprised. “Nothing but what's fated to happen, Dean. I don't make the rules.”
Dean stares at her.
She says, “You two are bonded. Have been since you were four years old, Dean. This has been written for over twenty years.”
He stares at her because what the fuck, seriously, what the fuck. “So one of us goes, the other does too?”
She nods, slowly. Like he's an idiot.
“So I fucking bash my head in, and you give Sam the mother of all asthma attacks.”
“It's not that simple. We're not giving him anything. He's merely doing what he's supposed to do. He's supposed to stay with you.”
“Then I'm staying here. He's not dying for me. He's not dying.”
“You're just drawing it out, Dean,” she says. And her hand is on his cheek and it's warm and he can feel it and she says, “You're just making him suffer.”
He hears something in his ears like water, like how Dad once held a seashell to Sam's ear and another to Dean's and tell them they could hear each other's blood (he didn't say that they were each other's blood John doesn't have that way with words) and fuck goddamn shit, he sits down and holds his head and shit.
“Look,” he says. “I'm sure you've heard this before, but... you've gotta make an exception, you've gotta us a break. We're not done yet. He's not done.”
Tessa sits down next to him.
“He's not supposed to live without you, Dean. Just like you're not supposed to leave without him. It's a rare and beautiful thing, you see that, don't you? Most people are destined to die alone. You never could.”
“Why?”
She shrugs a little and says, “You two are different from the rest,” and yeah, okay, Dean knows that, he gets that there really isn't anyone else out there like him and Sam and that it's frustrating as hell for them sometimes and it means that sometimes his throat hurts when Sam gets choked and Sam limps when Dean has a sprained ankle and it means that Dean never gets sick of waking up and seeing that kid in the next bed and it means that Dean fucking carried Sam out of two goddamn fires and okay he gets that and he came to terms with that a long time ago and yeah, he and Sammy are different but they're good different, they're keep each other alive keep each other real, they're goodbeautifulwhateverthefuck kind of different fine and what the fuck good is that if they're dead.
Dean has the urge to say “I can't breathe” and isn't that just the epitome of every fucking thing that's going on here.
“I'm not going,” he says. “We're not going.”
Tessa is quiet for a while. “I can't make you come with me,” she says. “But you're not getting back in your body. And that's just facts.”
Dean tilts his head up and looks at the ceiling and there's got to be some way out of this and where is Sam with those fucking puppy-dog eyes.
“So yes, you can stay,” Tessa says. “You'll stay here for years. Disembodied, scared, and over the decades it'll probably drive you mad. Maybe you'll even get violent. How do you think angry spirits are born?”
“I'll have Sam.”
“An echo of Sam. A piece of him. And that's only if Sam decides to stay. Does that sound like your brother to you? Too afraid to take the next step? Especially considering the consequences of staying. The two of you together, as spirits, imagine how many people you'll kill. And you know what you'd target.”
“Shut up.”
“Imagine all the brothers you'll kill.”
Fuck goddamn it goddamn it shit.
“Sam is hurting,” she says. “Sam was struggling every day before you even got here. How much longer did you think he could keep going? And when his body finally gave out, so would yours. You're putting him out of his misery.”
“He's not fucking miserable.”
“Dean,” she says. Like he's fucking stupid, like she pities him.
Dean bites down hard on the inside of his cheek because he can't, he just can't do this, and then she's stroking his hair and God it feels good and he wants to be touched and if he stays like this no one is ever going to touch him again but who the hell knows what happens if he doesn't stay and what if Sam gets stuck somewhere no one can touch him.
“It's time to put the pain behind you,” she says. “Your pain and his.”
“And go where?”
“Sorry. I can't give away the big punchline.”
He's probably supposed to laugh or something.
She says, “Moment of truth. No changing your mind later. So what's it going to be.”
He grits his teeth and swallows and says, “You can't have Sammy.”
“Dean.”
“Unbind us.”
She doesn't say anything, and that means she can fucking do it, so he keeps talking. “Cross out his name next to mine and write him somewhere different, anywhere different, I don't care, but you leave him alone, and he dies when he's good and ready and he does something stupid or he goes out like a fucking hero but whatever it is not because of me.”
“He's not supposed to be without you. You don't know what the consequences of this could be.”
“He'll be fine.”
“You're not supposed to be without him. You're not supposed to go into the next part alone. I don't now what will happen if you ask me to break this. You're supposed to be bound.”
Dean closes his eyes and squeezes them hard and thinks about Stanford and not seeing Sammy every day and he thinks about that kid locked in the cage by the psycho and for a day and half not knowing where he was and if he was okay and God knows what would have happened to him if Dean hadn't found him and god the fuck knows what would have happened to Dean, how insane he would have gone never knowing, not watching Sam and he could be in pain and people could be hurting him and he thinks about a fucking eternity of never seeing Sam again and he thinks about dying alone alone alone fucking alone the whole point of this was never to be alone and he says, “I'm fucking positive. You can't have Sam. Unbind us.”
And she looks at him and sighs and shakes her head and says, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“It's done.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“I have nothing to gain from lying to you, Dean.”
“Can I see him?”
“No. You don't get to leave this room. It ends here for you. But he's getting better already. He still has asthma,” she says when he looks at him, “but he won't die today.”
“How long does he have?”
“I can't tell you that.”
“You can't fucking tell me anything, can you?”
She gives him a small smile. “No. But I can show you want comes next. I can take you there. It's time to go, Dean. Are you ready?”
And he looks at her and opens her mouth to say yesnoIdon'tknowpleaseletmetalktohimfirst and all of a sudden the lights are flickering, and there's black demon smoke whatever the fuck coming out from the vents, and he says, “What are you doing?” and his heart hammers out you're going to hell, Dean, what the fuck did you expect and at least he gets some solace knowing that she's full of shit and he wouldn't have been with Sam anyway because there's no fucking way that kid's going to hell so he hasn't broken anything he hasn't ruined him and Sam he hasn't really left the kid any more alone than he had to but then Tessa's screaming, “You can't do this!” and her mouth's full of demon and then she turns to Dean and her eyes are yellow and where is the fucking Colt when you need it--
“Today's your lucky day, kid.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
And she gives this slow smile and those eyes glow and he says, “What I was going to do anyway. Can't let my kid go to waste. Poor stupid Daddy, what a mistake he's made.”
“What?”
But then her hand's on Dean's forehead and he's shaking and his chest is burning and his head's feels like it's shrinking and something cold lances through his stomach and what the fuck is in his throat and he's on his back trying to cough it up--
It's the tube. It's the fucking tube.
And he feels the sheets and his shirt and everything is louder and brighter and Jesus get this fucking thing out of his mouth--
And Sam. Sam is standing by his bed and the mask is off and he's wheezing but he doesn't look like he's fucking dying and he's yelling, “Help! I need help!” and Sammy yeah but you got help and you look okay and what's wrong and could you maybe help me out with this thing but then nurses are coming in and they're taking the tube out and Sam's crying and Dean coughs and the thing's out of him and Sam says, “Holy shit, Dean, holy shit.”
And Dean doesn't even think about it, he's out of the bed and launching himself at Sam like a firework and the IVs are yanked out and what the hell does he care because he's hugging his kid harder than he's ever done anything and Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ he can feel him and Sammy's breathing and crying into Dean's hair and Dean is just not going to fucking let go, okay, and everything is all right. He can't believe it, because they're Winchesters, but somehow something happened and he's alive and Sam's alive and he thinks vaguely that maybe this is actually heaven but the nurse is yelling at him about his IV and she's not even cute so clearly not, and Sam still doesn't sound perfect but he's here, and all the memories are fading out fast, hitting him and crashing out like a wave until...something with a girl, yellow eyes, the Colt, coughing, but he can't place any of it and it's leaving him quickly and just Sam, okay? Sam.
He pulls back and takes Sammy's face in his hands and Sam is ugly-crying and it's making Dean smile and he says, “Where the hell's Dad? Dad needs to see you. Fuck, he's going to be so proud of us, Sammy.”