SPN: Fevered
Okay, so this started off as a request by dragonfly_sg1. She wanted Cold-Wet Sam. *shrugs* No problem. Hopped on that.
Bad Sam. He went from Cold-Wet Sam to this. *huffs* So I'll try again. In the meantime, enjoy this twisted little Sam-Whumpage. ^_^
Spoilers: None.
Timeline: N/A
Ages: Adult
The first thing Sam becomes aware of is a bone-deep, teeth-rattling chill that's set up shop in his bones, freezing his joints as he shivers and groans in confusion. He forces himself to open his eyes, the lids heavier than they should be, and he blinks hard, trying to make his vision focus.
Everything is blurry, not quite there as he shakes like a broken thing under the blankets, and he whimpers again in pain and confusion and cold, eyes searching for Dean. His brother has to be here...He racks his brain, trying to remember, but it's cut short as a blurry figure comes closer, murmuring.
"You're okay. Shhh." The voice isn't right, it's too low, a harsh and gravely bass instead of his brother's comforting baritone, and he struggles to move, to find his brother. Something's not right, he can feel it in his gut, but the stranger runs fingers through his hair, and he curses his body as it succumbs to the weariness dragging at him, taking a little comfort in that steady motion. "Shhh. Go to sleep."
"Sam! Down!" Sam followed the voice without question, dropping into the snow, eyes never leaving the werewolf that was slavering at him. The silver burrowed itself into the monster's shoulder as it spun, turning to the more obvious target. Dean managed another rapid shot, this one grazing the things ear as he's moving, but not quick enough. The bullets had pissed it off, and a massive blow sent him flying through the air, stopped abruptly by the pines that make up the forest they were in, and he blinked hard as the stars swirled in front of him. A shot rang out, and he tried to not let the relief show across his face as the ugly dropped, eyes still wide and shocked, revealing Sam standing on shaky legs behind it, gun still aimed.
Fire licks along his frame as he drags himself awake again, mind screaming at him to move, to run, to get away. The heat is too much, and he shoves weakly at the blankets, trying to get free. It's too hot, and his mind whispers treacherously to not look up; he's seen his mother burn in the heat of the flames, and Jessica. As hot as it is, surely the place is on fire, and he thanks his blurry vision as he struggles to not look up, to not see Dean pinned to the ceiling, flames kissing the rugged silhouette. Dean's not here, not answering his hoarse cries, and he falls from the bed, sweat running trickles along his back as he struggles to stand up.
"DEAN!" The cry is almost broken, lost and pathetic, and he's almost ashamed to hear it, but damnit, his brother is missing, and something just isn't right.
"Whoa, easy there." The stranger is back, grabbing his arms, and he thrashes, screaming for his brother. He vaguely remembers seeing Dean airborne, frame slamming into a snow-covered pine before slumping into the snow. He latches onto it...his brother is out there, hurt if he's not here with Sam, and this stranger has no clue.
"No. Dean." He can hear the slurring of the words, curses himself for the inability to make it more clear.
"Shh. You're okay. It's alright. Let's get you into the bed."
The thought of resting as his brother freezes to death in the snow gives a bit more fuel to him, and he shakes off the restraints, trying again for the portal to outside, where the cold will wake him up, make him more alert. His vision is blurry, but he can see the wooden door, and he's lunging for it again, trying to scream, even as his voice comes out as a whimper. "Dean."
The stranger has no problems grabbing him by the waist, pulling him away again. He want to fight. He really does. But he's too weakened by the fire coursing through his veins, and can barely shove at the presence between him and the door, teasing him from so far away. The man eases Sam back onto the bed, flipping on a nearby fan, and the cool air blowing across him sends a chill down him, beating back the flames. He makes another attempt at the door, struggling until the fight drags him back into the darkness, and further from Dean.
They hadn't seen the second one, the mate to the woman changing back in the white powder. The rounds had alerted the damn thing, and it had taken one look at the human dead in the snow, and roared in fury. It was small and lithe, quicker than they had expected, and had taken to Sam in a rage. The bullets had no effect on the thing, adding fuel to it's rage, the thing too pissed off to let the searing fire of the metal slow it down. Dean paled as he heard the empty click of the handgun, his green gaze flickering to where his own lay yards from him. "SAM!"
The boulders were at least kind enough to stop his brother's unexpected flight, the crunch of him slamming into granite turning Dean's stomach. His brother swayed on his hands and knees, head hanging low as he shook it dazedly, and the werewolf wasted no time in rushing him, sensing his prey weakened. Dean lunged for the gun, praying it was still operational despite its snowy bath.
Third time was a charm, Sam's mind chants at him. He wakes a bit slower this time, teeth chattering as the cold burrows into his gut, his joints, his mind. It's foggy, and he idly wonders what the hell happened, but he remembers snow, and Dean limp and a werewolf, and he doesn't remember it dying, and panic burns the rest of the sleep from him. He seems alone in the room, he can hear the fire crackling from the fireplace beside him, but it's not enough, he's still freezing. But Dean must be colder out in the snow, and he forces himself out of the bed, away from the warm and comforting blankets, swallowing hard as his stomach rolls and twists oily. He keeps one hand on the wall as he makes his way to the door, and the blast of frigid air is bone-chilling and teeth-rattling again.
Dean is out there somewhere. He knows it. The stranger is still not in here, and he stumbles forward, the lack of a steady surface beside him a loss. He's not even aware he's listing until he falls sideways, eyes blurring again as he struggles to stand again, to move, to rescue his brother. But he's too weak, too broken, and he can only lay in the cold fluff as the tears slid down his cheeks, breath shaking as he whimpers in pain and loss.
He's the only one who can save Dean. And he's too weak to even stand. He tries once more to stand, slumping over to his other side as the world spins sickeningly, his fist clenching in the cheerful snow. His teeth nick his tongue as they chatter, and the sweet and hot taste of copper is so potent, he gags, stomach churning warningly as everything moves too fast. This was a bad idea, but Dean is out there somewhere. He has to get him, make sure he's okay, that the werewolf is dead.
But a gruff and coarse bass voice behind him kills any notion, and he doesn't even have the strength to fight back as the stranger drags him back inside, locking the door with several chains and deadbolts this time. The defeat is a bitter taste, almost as sour as the bile rising, and he just curls miserably in the cold bed, quivering as the stranger twists his fingers through Sam's hair, murmuring a quiet litany of 'shhh' and 'you're okay' and 'it's alright' in the quiet twilight, luring him into the darkness again.
Dean got to his gun a split second after the werewolf got to Sam, and time froze, tripping forward in slow motion. He stared in horror as the beast grabbed his little brother, slinging him without a care and hurling him in the only direction without trees: the barely frozen-over pond. The sound of his brother slamming into the ice, and the gut freezing sound of the ice cracking had Dean firing off several rounds into the monster, lip curled as he emptied the clip into the damned things skull. Green eyes met dazed hazel for a moment, alarm licking through both as the ice cracked further, plunging one brother into sub-zero water.
Sunlight stabs at Sam's eyes, and he screws them shut, moaning softly. He tries to roll over, but a heavy arm around his chest stops him, and he cranes his neck to see what the hell was going on.
Dean is pressed tightly to his back, stress-lines making his eyes look tight and furrowing his brow, his body heat easing the aches that have settled into Sam's long frame. He blinks again, jaw creaking as he yawns, and a quick once-over of the room shows just a room, a fireplace snapping with flames, a single bed set up close, set apart by a dresser, and a table with chairs against the window. A sink and stove are nestled into another corner, and that's it.
Dean wakes then, green eyes concerned as he does a once-over of his brother. He swallows hard, and Sam is stunned at the low and bass tone of Dean's voice as he asks how Sam is doing.
"What the hell happened to your voice?"
Dean shrugs casually, the low growl of his voice laced with pain. "Lost it. You okay?"
Sam nods dazedly, suddenly putting the stranger with his brother, and the way his body submitted so quickly and effortlessly suddenly makes sense. Even out of it, his subconscious knew who it was, and knew he was safe. He glances again at his brother, and Dean's eyes are at half-mast, head dipping as he fought against Morpheus. He does a mental inventory, and decides that sleep is more important than figuring out this mess right now, and he burrows back under the sheets, smiling sleepily as Dean's arm slips under his own and pulls the taller one against the elder one, their hearts beating solidly against each other.
Another day, another monster, another hunt gone wrong. But they're both okay, and in the end, that's all that matters.