fic: Lost and Lifted Up (SPN)
title: Lost and Lifted Up
rating: PG for the mention of bodily harm
words: 1,124
warnings/spoilers: the aforementioned bodily harm (amputation)
summary: Sam is trying to help. Sam believes in a solution. But there is no solution. There is no cure for this.
notes: A trilogy of ficlets inspired completely unexpectedly by a trilogy of pics that petite_madame drew for the Dean-focused H/C tags challenge on hoodie-time. The title of each ficlet links back to the pic in question. Set at some unspecified time late in S2 or possibly early in S3. Thanks to embroiderama and beadslut for helpful critique and some ego-stroking, as I haven't had the urge to write Sam&Dean (as opposed to Jared&Jensen) since S1 and no longer know how.
Male. Late Twenties. Severely Injured. No ID in his wallet.
Sam
Dean has been gone too long. This isn't right.
Dedicated searching brings him to a scrubby clearing where he finds Dean's phone, but nothing else. Not his wallet, not his car keys, not the handgun he was carrying, nothing, not a clue. Just the phone and a dried trail of blood leading to the road.
He puts the phone in his jacket pocket and walks through the brush and the sparse trees yelling his brother's name. It occurs to him to check the phone - maybe Dean tried to call him, or someone called in - but all he learns is that the last call was hours and hours ago, and that was when Dean bitched to him about being hungry and wanting a pizza.
He spins wildly in a circle. He will not panic. He cannot panic. But he's pretty sure the blood is his brother's. Dean could be hurt somewhere.
He could be.
He could.
"DEAN!" he yells. "DEAN!"
Dean
He wakes in a hospital, the third time in less than two years, tubes stuck under his skin and up his nose, machines beeping next to his bed. He doesn't know where he is or how he got here and he knows that something is very, very wrong.
He's just not sure what it is.
There is no part of him that doesn't hurt, but the drugs are strong. He slips in and out of consciousness and he sees people who aren't there, who couldn't possibly be in this sterile room with him. The Yellow-Eyed Demon. Mom. Dad. Samuel Colt. Even Tessa, once.
Seeing her should piss him off, but he can't produce much of a reaction.
People come and go - doctors, nurses, orderlies, strangers in white uniforms and blue scrubs and latex gloves. One of the doctors looks like Cassie. One of the nurses looks like Ash. He's pretty sure these people are real.
In the moments when he's lucid, he asks the questions sitting on his tongue - Where is he? How did he get here? What happened to him? He gets some answers - the name of a hospital, a city - but no one can give him the most important piece of information. No one can answer the most important question.
Where is his brother? Where's Sam?
The End of the Family Business
Sam
This is too close for comfort to the last time Dean was in a hospital bed. But at least now he isn't in a coma, and he'll live. They're still brothers. They're still together.
Thank god for small favors.
Waiting in a hospital was hard then and isn't easy now. He can't stand to see his big brother so tired, so defeated - so hurt - but nothing he can say or do will convince Dean that this isn't the end.
He hangs around the room until he is told to leave, and then he is torn. He doesn't want to be gone if something happens, but he needs privacy to explore options and make plans. He needs space to talk to doctors and nurses, to call Bobby, to reach out to the hidden hunter network.
Twice before he has looked to the shadowy supernatural world where they live for a way to save his brother's life. Now is no different. He is going to do it again, one way or another - he has to help Dean because Dean will not help himself.
Dean
He has seen and experienced a lot of things in his life, many of the hardest in the past couple of years, and he can't remember ever being this tired. He's finished. He's done with his old life. He's done with everything.
Sam has been trying to convince him he still has a future, face set and earnest through all possible permutations. Sam is trying to help. Sam believes in a solution.
But there is no solution. There is no cure for this.
He can still feel his leg sometimes. He'll reach down to scratch an itch and feel air, and the emptiness inside his chest could swallow the universe.
All his life he has believed he was put on this earth for two reasons - to protect his brother and to hunt monsters. But how can he do either of those things now? And if he can't do them, who is he? What is he?
He is a hunter with one leg. How can he save people like this? How will he continue his father's legacy?
Everything Is Gonna Be Alright
Sam
He has resources and he learned to lie from the best, but more than that, he knows how to talk to people to get what he needs. He has a secret weapon in his puppydog eyes and his earnest face, and if Dean is the immovable object, he will be the unstoppable force. Not even doctors and nurses and administrators are immune. His arsenal even - finally - works on his brother.
He has a solution to their problem, and Dean has an answer for his questions, and more than that, they have each other.
Dean is stubborn and frustrating and immature and obnoxious and in blind denial about many things, but Dean is his brother and there is no one alive or dead who has ever meant as much to him, no one alive or dead who he has ever loved more.
When he was six months old, Dean carried him out of a burning house. It is time to repay that favor and every one since. It is time to pick his brother up and hold him, as he has been picked up and held for so many years. He will do it, and they will be ok.
And if that means he has to carry Dean the rest of their lives, he will.
Dean
He doesn't ask how Sam has managed this and Sam isn't telling, but he'll get physical therapy. He'll get a prosthesis. Sam says he'll hunt again.
He doesn't believe it. He's not sure he wants to. Too much hope for something that looks and feels too hopeless.
He wants to quit. He tried to quit. Sam won't let him. Sometimes he resents that and sometimes he is too exhausted to argue.
And sometimes, like now, balancing on his one remaining leg, Sam's arms around him, his hand on Sam's hand, too weary to even open his eyes, he can lean against his brother, the boy whose tiny hand he used to hang on to crossing the street, and he knows that as tired as he is, his brother will hold him up and he will be ok.
rating: PG for the mention of bodily harm
words: 1,124
warnings/spoilers: the aforementioned bodily harm (amputation)
summary: Sam is trying to help. Sam believes in a solution. But there is no solution. There is no cure for this.
notes: A trilogy of ficlets inspired completely unexpectedly by a trilogy of pics that petite_madame drew for the Dean-focused H/C tags challenge on hoodie-time. The title of each ficlet links back to the pic in question. Set at some unspecified time late in S2 or possibly early in S3. Thanks to embroiderama and beadslut for helpful critique and some ego-stroking, as I haven't had the urge to write Sam&Dean (as opposed to Jared&Jensen) since S1 and no longer know how.
Male. Late Twenties. Severely Injured. No ID in his wallet.
Sam
Dean has been gone too long. This isn't right.
Dedicated searching brings him to a scrubby clearing where he finds Dean's phone, but nothing else. Not his wallet, not his car keys, not the handgun he was carrying, nothing, not a clue. Just the phone and a dried trail of blood leading to the road.
He puts the phone in his jacket pocket and walks through the brush and the sparse trees yelling his brother's name. It occurs to him to check the phone - maybe Dean tried to call him, or someone called in - but all he learns is that the last call was hours and hours ago, and that was when Dean bitched to him about being hungry and wanting a pizza.
He spins wildly in a circle. He will not panic. He cannot panic. But he's pretty sure the blood is his brother's. Dean could be hurt somewhere.
He could be.
He could.
"DEAN!" he yells. "DEAN!"
Dean
He wakes in a hospital, the third time in less than two years, tubes stuck under his skin and up his nose, machines beeping next to his bed. He doesn't know where he is or how he got here and he knows that something is very, very wrong.
He's just not sure what it is.
There is no part of him that doesn't hurt, but the drugs are strong. He slips in and out of consciousness and he sees people who aren't there, who couldn't possibly be in this sterile room with him. The Yellow-Eyed Demon. Mom. Dad. Samuel Colt. Even Tessa, once.
Seeing her should piss him off, but he can't produce much of a reaction.
People come and go - doctors, nurses, orderlies, strangers in white uniforms and blue scrubs and latex gloves. One of the doctors looks like Cassie. One of the nurses looks like Ash. He's pretty sure these people are real.
In the moments when he's lucid, he asks the questions sitting on his tongue - Where is he? How did he get here? What happened to him? He gets some answers - the name of a hospital, a city - but no one can give him the most important piece of information. No one can answer the most important question.
Where is his brother? Where's Sam?
The End of the Family Business
Sam
This is too close for comfort to the last time Dean was in a hospital bed. But at least now he isn't in a coma, and he'll live. They're still brothers. They're still together.
Thank god for small favors.
Waiting in a hospital was hard then and isn't easy now. He can't stand to see his big brother so tired, so defeated - so hurt - but nothing he can say or do will convince Dean that this isn't the end.
He hangs around the room until he is told to leave, and then he is torn. He doesn't want to be gone if something happens, but he needs privacy to explore options and make plans. He needs space to talk to doctors and nurses, to call Bobby, to reach out to the hidden hunter network.
Twice before he has looked to the shadowy supernatural world where they live for a way to save his brother's life. Now is no different. He is going to do it again, one way or another - he has to help Dean because Dean will not help himself.
Dean
He has seen and experienced a lot of things in his life, many of the hardest in the past couple of years, and he can't remember ever being this tired. He's finished. He's done with his old life. He's done with everything.
Sam has been trying to convince him he still has a future, face set and earnest through all possible permutations. Sam is trying to help. Sam believes in a solution.
But there is no solution. There is no cure for this.
He can still feel his leg sometimes. He'll reach down to scratch an itch and feel air, and the emptiness inside his chest could swallow the universe.
All his life he has believed he was put on this earth for two reasons - to protect his brother and to hunt monsters. But how can he do either of those things now? And if he can't do them, who is he? What is he?
He is a hunter with one leg. How can he save people like this? How will he continue his father's legacy?
Everything Is Gonna Be Alright
Sam
He has resources and he learned to lie from the best, but more than that, he knows how to talk to people to get what he needs. He has a secret weapon in his puppydog eyes and his earnest face, and if Dean is the immovable object, he will be the unstoppable force. Not even doctors and nurses and administrators are immune. His arsenal even - finally - works on his brother.
He has a solution to their problem, and Dean has an answer for his questions, and more than that, they have each other.
Dean is stubborn and frustrating and immature and obnoxious and in blind denial about many things, but Dean is his brother and there is no one alive or dead who has ever meant as much to him, no one alive or dead who he has ever loved more.
When he was six months old, Dean carried him out of a burning house. It is time to repay that favor and every one since. It is time to pick his brother up and hold him, as he has been picked up and held for so many years. He will do it, and they will be ok.
And if that means he has to carry Dean the rest of their lives, he will.
Dean
He doesn't ask how Sam has managed this and Sam isn't telling, but he'll get physical therapy. He'll get a prosthesis. Sam says he'll hunt again.
He doesn't believe it. He's not sure he wants to. Too much hope for something that looks and feels too hopeless.
He wants to quit. He tried to quit. Sam won't let him. Sometimes he resents that and sometimes he is too exhausted to argue.
And sometimes, like now, balancing on his one remaining leg, Sam's arms around him, his hand on Sam's hand, too weary to even open his eyes, he can lean against his brother, the boy whose tiny hand he used to hang on to crossing the street, and he knows that as tired as he is, his brother will hold him up and he will be ok.