Breath of Life
“C’mon, man,” Sam begs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I need a pit stop.”
Dean’s hands are clenched on the wheel and his foot doesn’t ease off the accelerator. He blinks slowly and licks his lips before replying. “We stopped in Decatur, Sam. Big as you are, your bladder shouldn’t be the size of an acorn.”
“That was nine hours, one extra large coffee and two bottles of water ago,” his brother replies through gritted teeth, “I’ve been asking you to stop for the last four hours and I swear to God, if you don’t pull over right now I’m pissing on the floor.”
“Be the last thing you ever do,” Dean mutters, but he takes the next exit and pulls into the first gas mart he comes across.
Sam’s halfway to the rest room before he realizes Dean’s not following him. A quick glance over his shoulder reveals his brother slumped back against his seat, head down. It’s the first good look Sam’s gotten at him since they left Illinois and in the glare of the overhead lights Dean looks washed out and lifeless.
“Dean,” he calls, walking hurriedly backwards toward the men’s room because he wasn’t kidding about pissing on the floor. Dean’s head turns his way and Sam makes an ‘aren’t you coming?’ gesture. Dean waves Sam on and heaves himself out of the car with the lack of grace only driving for nine hours straight can supply. Sam’s back hits the bathroom door and he spins to go inside. Dean’ll probably decide he has to go just when they’re ready to leave or wait until they get to where ever they’re stopping for the night because sometimes he’s like a freakin’ camel and sometimes he’s got to one up in Sam in the ‘I can hold it longer than you can’ competition. But that’s when he drinks, Sam’s mind supplies when it can think again over the relief of emptying his bladder. He suddenly remembers Dean only coming back with coffee for him before they started the trip and repeatedly turning down offers of water. Had Dean eaten today? Snuck hits of Jack while Sam was carnapping? When was the last time he slept? These are things you can concentrate on when your pressing bodily functions are taken care of.
Three motels are visible from the parking lot and if there isn’t an all night diner around it won’t be the first time they’ve eaten microwaved burritos and cold cut sandwiches at four a.m. This is as far as they’re going tonight if he has to wrestle Dean for the keys and he’s definitely driving to the motel even if it’s the one right next door. When Sam exits the rest room, Dean’s not back in the car, so he heads for the little convenience store, hoping to catch his brother before he stocks up on corn chips and mystery chili.
At first glance, Dean’s not in the store and neither is anyone else. There’s no one behind the glassed in counter and from his vantage point almost six and a half feet above the floor he’d be able to see anyone in the aisles. Check that. He’d be able to see anyone standing in the aisles. As he starts for the back of the store he spots a booted foot sticking out of the next to last aisle.
Dean’s sprawled face up on the dirty tile floor, one arm twisted behind his back. He’s not alone. A woman that Sam assumes is the clerk is crouched beside him, head bent over Dean’s.
“Hey,” Sam yells, “get away from him.”
The woman holds her position, raising one hand in the classic ‘wait a second’ gesture before she comes up for air. “Artificial respiration,” she says, gazing at Sam with wide eyes. “You know, the breath of life?”
Sam stares at the woman, then the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest. “He looks like he’s doing fine on his own.”
“Oh, yeah,” she replies, running her eyes down Dean’s supine form. “Fine.”
Her tone and expression are definitely on different pages and Sam rolls his eyes, pushing her semi-gently out of the way. “Did you call an ambulance?”
“Figured I’d see what was wrong first. Wouldn’t be the first drunk to decide to take a nap on the floor.”
“He’s not drunk,” Sam tells her in an almost positive sort of way. Dean picks that moment to open his eyes.
“’m not drunk,” he responds. “An’ I was having a really great dream, Sam, why’d you have to wake me up?” The clerk giggles and Dean blinks hazily up at her. “Hey, ’m Dean.”
“You weren’t sleeping, Dean,” Sam says repressively, lifting and turning his brother’s head to probe for tender areas or bloody spots. “Did you hit your head when you fainted?”
“Din’ faint. Was getting’ a Butterfinger from down…” Dean’s eyes track the shelves,” up there and…and…”
“You decided you’d take a nap?”
“Well, I din’ fuckin’ faint.”
“Whatever.” Sam gently levers Dean to a sitting position and leans him against the candy rack. “You wait here while I get some supplies. Then we’re going next door and checking into the motel. You’re going to eat something, drink at least two bottles of water and then you’re going to get some sleep. Understood?”
Dean opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, but one good look at Sam’s face closes it again and he twists it into a smirk instead. “Love it when you get all take charge, Sammy.”
The clerk sighs, shoulders drooping as she heads back to her station. “Figures,” she mutters and Dean looks at Sam in confusion. Sam just rolls his eyes again and puts a carton of orange juice and a half dozen bottles of water into his basket.
“Chili?” Dean asks hopefully from the vicinity of Sam’s knees, earning himself another eye roll.
Sam pulls two relatively new ham and cheese sandwiches out of the cold case then takes a little pity on his brother and throws a Butterfinger into the mix. He puts the groceries in the backseat before slowly hoisting Dean to his feet and supporting him out to the car. After a brief and one sided tussle, Sam drives them one building over. Ten minutes later Dean’s asleep, curled under several sets of blankets, two bottles of water and half a sandwich working in his system.
“You have to take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam whispers. He sits on the other bed, cradling his throbbing head and praying that Ruby doesn’t choose tonight to call.
Dean’s hands are clenched on the wheel and his foot doesn’t ease off the accelerator. He blinks slowly and licks his lips before replying. “We stopped in Decatur, Sam. Big as you are, your bladder shouldn’t be the size of an acorn.”
“That was nine hours, one extra large coffee and two bottles of water ago,” his brother replies through gritted teeth, “I’ve been asking you to stop for the last four hours and I swear to God, if you don’t pull over right now I’m pissing on the floor.”
“Be the last thing you ever do,” Dean mutters, but he takes the next exit and pulls into the first gas mart he comes across.
Sam’s halfway to the rest room before he realizes Dean’s not following him. A quick glance over his shoulder reveals his brother slumped back against his seat, head down. It’s the first good look Sam’s gotten at him since they left Illinois and in the glare of the overhead lights Dean looks washed out and lifeless.
“Dean,” he calls, walking hurriedly backwards toward the men’s room because he wasn’t kidding about pissing on the floor. Dean’s head turns his way and Sam makes an ‘aren’t you coming?’ gesture. Dean waves Sam on and heaves himself out of the car with the lack of grace only driving for nine hours straight can supply. Sam’s back hits the bathroom door and he spins to go inside. Dean’ll probably decide he has to go just when they’re ready to leave or wait until they get to where ever they’re stopping for the night because sometimes he’s like a freakin’ camel and sometimes he’s got to one up in Sam in the ‘I can hold it longer than you can’ competition. But that’s when he drinks, Sam’s mind supplies when it can think again over the relief of emptying his bladder. He suddenly remembers Dean only coming back with coffee for him before they started the trip and repeatedly turning down offers of water. Had Dean eaten today? Snuck hits of Jack while Sam was carnapping? When was the last time he slept? These are things you can concentrate on when your pressing bodily functions are taken care of.
Three motels are visible from the parking lot and if there isn’t an all night diner around it won’t be the first time they’ve eaten microwaved burritos and cold cut sandwiches at four a.m. This is as far as they’re going tonight if he has to wrestle Dean for the keys and he’s definitely driving to the motel even if it’s the one right next door. When Sam exits the rest room, Dean’s not back in the car, so he heads for the little convenience store, hoping to catch his brother before he stocks up on corn chips and mystery chili.
At first glance, Dean’s not in the store and neither is anyone else. There’s no one behind the glassed in counter and from his vantage point almost six and a half feet above the floor he’d be able to see anyone in the aisles. Check that. He’d be able to see anyone standing in the aisles. As he starts for the back of the store he spots a booted foot sticking out of the next to last aisle.
Dean’s sprawled face up on the dirty tile floor, one arm twisted behind his back. He’s not alone. A woman that Sam assumes is the clerk is crouched beside him, head bent over Dean’s.
“Hey,” Sam yells, “get away from him.”
The woman holds her position, raising one hand in the classic ‘wait a second’ gesture before she comes up for air. “Artificial respiration,” she says, gazing at Sam with wide eyes. “You know, the breath of life?”
Sam stares at the woman, then the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest. “He looks like he’s doing fine on his own.”
“Oh, yeah,” she replies, running her eyes down Dean’s supine form. “Fine.”
Her tone and expression are definitely on different pages and Sam rolls his eyes, pushing her semi-gently out of the way. “Did you call an ambulance?”
“Figured I’d see what was wrong first. Wouldn’t be the first drunk to decide to take a nap on the floor.”
“He’s not drunk,” Sam tells her in an almost positive sort of way. Dean picks that moment to open his eyes.
“’m not drunk,” he responds. “An’ I was having a really great dream, Sam, why’d you have to wake me up?” The clerk giggles and Dean blinks hazily up at her. “Hey, ’m Dean.”
“You weren’t sleeping, Dean,” Sam says repressively, lifting and turning his brother’s head to probe for tender areas or bloody spots. “Did you hit your head when you fainted?”
“Din’ faint. Was getting’ a Butterfinger from down…” Dean’s eyes track the shelves,” up there and…and…”
“You decided you’d take a nap?”
“Well, I din’ fuckin’ faint.”
“Whatever.” Sam gently levers Dean to a sitting position and leans him against the candy rack. “You wait here while I get some supplies. Then we’re going next door and checking into the motel. You’re going to eat something, drink at least two bottles of water and then you’re going to get some sleep. Understood?”
Dean opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, but one good look at Sam’s face closes it again and he twists it into a smirk instead. “Love it when you get all take charge, Sammy.”
The clerk sighs, shoulders drooping as she heads back to her station. “Figures,” she mutters and Dean looks at Sam in confusion. Sam just rolls his eyes again and puts a carton of orange juice and a half dozen bottles of water into his basket.
“Chili?” Dean asks hopefully from the vicinity of Sam’s knees, earning himself another eye roll.
Sam pulls two relatively new ham and cheese sandwiches out of the cold case then takes a little pity on his brother and throws a Butterfinger into the mix. He puts the groceries in the backseat before slowly hoisting Dean to his feet and supporting him out to the car. After a brief and one sided tussle, Sam drives them one building over. Ten minutes later Dean’s asleep, curled under several sets of blankets, two bottles of water and half a sandwich working in his system.
“You have to take care of yourself, Dean,” Sam whispers. He sits on the other bed, cradling his throbbing head and praying that Ruby doesn’t choose tonight to call.