Point of Contact, 1/2, RaBB!verse, Gen, PG-13, POST 4x13
Good god. This wouldn't END. Not that any of y'all are complaining.
To lissa_ann: this one's all on you, bay-bee. You wanted an RaBB!verse fic after this episode.
Well...my muse loves you, what can I say? ^_^
Title: Point of Contact
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1 of 2
Prompt: #132 - Trap for tamingthemuse
Spoilers: POST 4x13 liek WOAH.
Verse: Raising a Big Brother
Disclaimer: Do you really think I own these characters? Pssh. Not a chance.
Summary: Dean's 18, Sam's 14: Sam has an encounter at school, and Dean realizes the kid needs a cell phone of his own.
This segment of the 'verse points to why Dean is so adamant about cell phones.
Halfway through the school week, Dad came back. Grimy, covered in who knew what, but smiling for once. “Hunt went well?” Dean asked, but he already knew the answer.
“Yeah, it did,” Dad said, and Dean felt some part of him relax at that. His dad sounded happy, sincerely happy, and Dean felt his own lips turn up at that. Nothing would ever equal that feeling of being able to save the lives of innocent people, of knowing you were a hero. Warmed you up inside, made you smile for days.
And hey, the ability to lay down Winchester law with a demon was a pretty damn good feeling, too.
Sam chose that moment to appear in the main room of the suite, eyes wide when he caught sight of him. “Dad? You're...are you okay?”
“Better than,” Dad said, and the smile was contagious, because in seconds, Sam was smiling, too. A smile of relief and surprise, and Dean felt like they were coming straight out of some 50's family show. Someone had to roll their eyes or something.
“We'll pack up, head out tomorrow,” Dad said, and Sam's smile fell a little bit. Dean inwardly winced, and the wince turned into a cringe when their dad caught sight of Sam's expression. “What's the matter?”
Sam tried to pull his smile back up. “It's just...I've got a project due Friday, and...I'm really into it. Could we...could we stay until Saturday?”
Dad regarded him for a moment, before he began to smile again. The hunt must've been awesome. “Yeah, Sammy,” he said softly. “We can stay until Saturday.”
Sam's eyes lit up and he smiled even wider. Dean gave a small smile too, because damn if his kid brother's smile wasn't infectious. For once, Sam liked this school, liked staying, had put down roots. A couple bullies first day, because Sam was too short for his own good, but after one short scuffle with Sam the triumphant winner and not a scratch on him, they'd left him alone. Sam was happy, and Dean? Dean was pretty happy about Sam being happy.
And then Dean realized there was way too much smiling going on and rolled his eyes. “If you girls are done having your sentimental moment, I have schoolwork to do,” he said, heading for the bedroom.
“The way you've been these past two weeks, I didn't think you actually ever got homework,” Sam shot back, and Dean could hear their dad chuckle. He tossed Sam a look, and Sam just shot Dean a smirk he'd undoubtedly learned from Dean.
Dean could survive until Saturday. That still got him out of there by Monday, because if Dean had to spend his birthday in the crappy little town, head were going to roll. Nineteen was a big deal age wise, and Dad had promised him anything he wanted since his eighteenth had been a bust. And that meant Dean had saved his money since Dad's promise, and he finally had enough for a pretty expensive front row ticket to the Metallica concert that summer. All he had to do was get to Florida, which wasn't going to be difficult. Summer was a supernatural festival time down near the Everglades.
Still, while it wasn't his favorite school (that'd been the one with the entire cheerleading squad following him around, literally, and god Dean could've stayed there forever), and was edging towards his least favorite school of the school year, if Sam was happy...
Dean could definitely survive Saturday for that. Maybe even Monday, if he had to.
Sam slung his bag over his shoulder on Friday afternoon, a smile on his face. The project had been awesome, the presentation perfect, and Sam knew that whether they left or not, he was going to have an A on the project. He'd already given his teacher one of the PO boxes around the country that they checked periodically; he'd get his grade.
He'd even had a girl say goodbye to him. Katie was pretty and funny and smart, and she'd been interested in Sam from day one.
Not that he was ever going to tell Dean about her, because at eighteen, Dean was a hound dog, and thought Sam should have girls hanging off his arm. One of these days, Dean was bound to grow out of it and not chase after everything in a skirt, but until then, Sam's love life? Totally not a topic Dean was ever going to hear about it.
He made his way down the front stairs of the school and hung a sharp left. Dean had opted to skip the last day of school, mentioning some sort of documentary for his class and if it was his last day, no way in hell was he going to sit and watch the reproductive cycle of fish. Sam grinned at the memory of Dean's face and his dad's laugh. The hunt must've gone really well for their dad to be so happy. And he'd let them stay.
Long enough for Katie to kiss him. His cheeks flushed red as he cut through the football field to get to the street that would take him to the hotel. He didn't know when Dean had gotten his first kiss (probably when he was nine years old, knowing Dean) but he doubted it had been as awesome as his. It hadn't been a peck, either. A long press of lips, enough to make Sam breathless and gasping for air when they were done, and it was totally because the kiss had deprived him of oxygen for so long, not because he'd been kissed for the first time-
He was suddenly yanked to the side, causing him to gasp and lose his balance. He stumbled and fell onto the grass, and when he looked up, five angry faces glared down at him. The bullies from his first day. Plus two new friends. Sam glared back, trying to hide his fear. Each of them was at least twice as tall as he was, even though they were all freshmen.
“So...heard Sammy Winchester's leaving today,” one of them sneered. “The midget got a ticket to join the circus.”
“Shut up,” Sam said, voice low and angry. He pushed himself up and onto his feet, and promptly got shoved back down again by all of them. Hard. He felt breathless for the second time that day, and this wasn't anywhere near as fun as Katie. “What's your problem?”
“You,” the one in the middle said. He snorted and gave a smirk. “Thought we'd made that pretty obvious, shrimp.”
Sam leaned up on his elbows, his hands curling into fists. God, he just wanted to be tall, taller than anyone, and then they'd leave him alone. If he was as tall as Dean, they wouldn't even think about messing with him. Well, a couple of kids still did try and mess with Dean, but they learned the hard way that it wasn't the smartest idea. Fine, taller than Dean. He wanted to be taller than Dean.
The first kick didn't surprise him, but it did cause him to gasp and curl in on himself. One of them laughed; Sam wasn't sure which one. He was a little too busy trying to wrap arms around his sore midsection. “Look, he even curls up like a shrimp!” the first one said, and they all burst into laughter.
All he had to do was get up. All he had to do was stand up, and then he could show off the new punch Dean had been teaching him. No matter that Sam had defended himself against Dirk last autumn, Dean was still adamant about Sam training to defend himself from bullies.
He took in a deep breath, and when he pushed it out, he used it to propel himself up and at the nearest bully, punching him hard in the gut. The bully went down, and Sam geared up for the second one.
Only to be blindsided by a hard crack to the back of his head. Sam went down, dizzy and desperately trying to stand back up. If he stayed down now, he was going to get the crap beaten out of him. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, trying to get his focus solid and sure.
The next thing he knew, something hard hit him in the middle of the back. Sam yelled in pain and went down to the ground, hard. He was flipped over onto his screaming back, and he cringed at the pain.
Several wild grins met him. “Boys, I think we oughta break the shrimp's shell to fully enjoy this experience,” one of them said. A punch came out of nowhere, followed by another on the other side, and this time, Sam couldn't even fight back. This time, he was happy to be a shrimp, and wished he was smaller.
It meant they'd have less to hit.
He curled himself up and shielded himself as much as he could from the blows.
3:50 pm. Dean glanced at the clock out of habit before settling back down in the chair. His eyes were glued to the TV in front of him, but his ears were tuned to the door and Sam's arrival, not the program he was watching.
4:06 pm. His eyes darted more towards the door instead of the program, and his leg began to bounce. Probably taking forever to say goodbyes. He was fine.
4:21 pm. Dean turned the TV off completely and stared hard at the door. Kid should've been home by now. It was still winter, still cold out, and the sun came down a lot earlier. Which meant it was going to get darker sooner, and already Dean could see the pink and orange hues through the window. The hell was he?
4:42 pm, and Dean was shrugging into his leather jacket just as the door opened. “You little punk, I swear to god,” he started as he turned, only to come up short by his dad in the doorway.
His dad frowned. “'Little punk'?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
Dean checked to see if his cell phone was still in his leather jacket before bending to tie on his boots. “I thought you were Sam,” he said tersely.
He watched his dad's good humor immediately disappear. “He's not home yet?”
“No,” Dean said, and his boots were tied with a harsh tug. “If that kid's all right, and he's making me worry for no good reason, I swear I'm gonna smack him into the next century.”
“We'll take the car,” Dad said, and Dean followed him out. Out in the distance, the sun was almost near the horizon, and it didn't hurt to look at. Dean could feel the temperature dropping, and his gut dropped with it. The kid should've contacted them, should've let them know what was going on.
Of course, Sam didn't have a cell phone. They were big and bulky and expensive, and the newer, sleeker, tinier models cost even more. Besides, Dean had one to contact their dad with. And Dean was usually with Sam.
In five minutes they were at the school. No cars remained in the parking lot, no buses ramping up to take kids home. Dean pursed his lips and scanned the area, much as he knew his dad was doing. The car slowed to a crawl on the empty street, watching for any movement. Nothing.
His dad turned the corner, and the side of the school came into view. Dean leaned as far over as he could to peer into windows, to see if anyone was still there. No one peered back out at the rumble of the car, no blinds fluttered, nothing.
“Dammit,” Dean muttered under his breath. The hell had Sammy gotten into now?
Dad turned the next corner, looking more grim by the moment. The football field and adjoining track were long and expansive, taking up a good two or three blocks. The sunlight was fading even further, making it harder to see.
Dean's eye still had no trouble locating the brown bag his brother always carried with him. It was laying near the center of the field, obvious against the green. “Dad,” he said sharply.
The car slid to a halt, and Dean wasted no time in hurrying out, hitting the pavement and running hard for the field. The bag didn't look ripped or torn, didn't look thrown or tossed, just looked abandoned, and Dean's face twisted. He slid to a stop in front of it, then bent down and checked the handle, just to make sure. Sammy W. was written in black marker, worn and faded from use.
“Sammy!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the silent evening. There was no answer, and Dean could feel his heart hammering hard in his chest. Where the hell was he? “Sammy!”
If his shout held a tinge of panic and edged towards a scream, he didn't care. Not if Sam answered.
A gentle but firm hand caught his shoulder. “Here,” his dad said, and Dean turned to see a flashlight being offered. “We'll search the grounds. Is there a pool on the premises?”
Images of Sam choking on water made Dean shut his eyes tight for a minute. “No,” he managed. “Not even inside. Out here, it's just the track, the football field, four sets of bleachers on the east side, six on the west, and a small shed towards the school that holds everything.” Memorized, cataloged, just in case of a possible emergency at the school.
Like his little brother going missing. That was an emergency.
The hand squeezed hard, before his dad turned and strode away towards the school. The shed would be his first stop. Dean swallowed hard and rose to standing, the bag tossed over his shoulder. Sam had to be fine. He'd be fine, and Dean would chew his ass out for making them all worry, but he'd be fine.
He flicked on the flashlight and began searching the field, watching the ground for tracks. There were dozens of footprints in the patches of dirt between the grass, and all of them turned towards the field. A few turned towards the bleachers, but Dean couldn't honestly tell if any of them were his kid brother's tiny shoe size.
Nothing was out on the field, so Dean turned towards the bleachers instead. It was out of season, and the grass was allowed to grow taller around them. A few more weeks from then, and they'd be mowed, but for the time being, it was tall and itchy, almost reaching up to the top of the first step of the bleachers.
And almost enough to hide a dark covered mop of hair lying in the grass.
“Sammy!” he yelled, darting forward. All he could see was the back of his brother's head the unmistakable hair, too long for its own good, but still so tiny, too tiny, and why did the kid have to be so small? It made him easier to hide in grass-
Made him easier to bully.
Dean stopped short once he came around to the other side of Sam. Sam's face was a mess of bruises and blood, his body limp like a rag doll. His right arm was trapped underneath his head, stretched out like he was reaching for help. His legs were laid out, short but straight, as if he'd been dragged. Dragged away from the field where they'd beaten him up.
He swallowed past the anger and rose up to call out. “Dad! I've got him!” Then he was kneeling, his fingers reaching for a pulse. Sam's skin was cold to the touch, but even as Dean's heart stopped, the steady pulse beat beneath his fingertips. “I've got you,” he repeated, softer now and only for Sam to hear. “C'mon Sammy, wake up. Big brother's right here, okay? You're safe, I gotcha, you're gonna be okay.”
Not an answer from him, and Dean hoped like hell that he was telling the truth, and that Sam would be okay. He had to be fine.
Part 2
~Nebula
To lissa_ann: this one's all on you, bay-bee. You wanted an RaBB!verse fic after this episode.
Well...my muse loves you, what can I say? ^_^
Title: Point of Contact
Rating: PG-13
Chapter: 1 of 2
Prompt: #132 - Trap for tamingthemuse
Spoilers: POST 4x13 liek WOAH.
Verse: Raising a Big Brother
Disclaimer: Do you really think I own these characters? Pssh. Not a chance.
Summary: Dean's 18, Sam's 14: Sam has an encounter at school, and Dean realizes the kid needs a cell phone of his own.
This segment of the 'verse points to why Dean is so adamant about cell phones.
Halfway through the school week, Dad came back. Grimy, covered in who knew what, but smiling for once. “Hunt went well?” Dean asked, but he already knew the answer.
“Yeah, it did,” Dad said, and Dean felt some part of him relax at that. His dad sounded happy, sincerely happy, and Dean felt his own lips turn up at that. Nothing would ever equal that feeling of being able to save the lives of innocent people, of knowing you were a hero. Warmed you up inside, made you smile for days.
And hey, the ability to lay down Winchester law with a demon was a pretty damn good feeling, too.
Sam chose that moment to appear in the main room of the suite, eyes wide when he caught sight of him. “Dad? You're...are you okay?”
“Better than,” Dad said, and the smile was contagious, because in seconds, Sam was smiling, too. A smile of relief and surprise, and Dean felt like they were coming straight out of some 50's family show. Someone had to roll their eyes or something.
“We'll pack up, head out tomorrow,” Dad said, and Sam's smile fell a little bit. Dean inwardly winced, and the wince turned into a cringe when their dad caught sight of Sam's expression. “What's the matter?”
Sam tried to pull his smile back up. “It's just...I've got a project due Friday, and...I'm really into it. Could we...could we stay until Saturday?”
Dad regarded him for a moment, before he began to smile again. The hunt must've been awesome. “Yeah, Sammy,” he said softly. “We can stay until Saturday.”
Sam's eyes lit up and he smiled even wider. Dean gave a small smile too, because damn if his kid brother's smile wasn't infectious. For once, Sam liked this school, liked staying, had put down roots. A couple bullies first day, because Sam was too short for his own good, but after one short scuffle with Sam the triumphant winner and not a scratch on him, they'd left him alone. Sam was happy, and Dean? Dean was pretty happy about Sam being happy.
And then Dean realized there was way too much smiling going on and rolled his eyes. “If you girls are done having your sentimental moment, I have schoolwork to do,” he said, heading for the bedroom.
“The way you've been these past two weeks, I didn't think you actually ever got homework,” Sam shot back, and Dean could hear their dad chuckle. He tossed Sam a look, and Sam just shot Dean a smirk he'd undoubtedly learned from Dean.
Dean could survive until Saturday. That still got him out of there by Monday, because if Dean had to spend his birthday in the crappy little town, head were going to roll. Nineteen was a big deal age wise, and Dad had promised him anything he wanted since his eighteenth had been a bust. And that meant Dean had saved his money since Dad's promise, and he finally had enough for a pretty expensive front row ticket to the Metallica concert that summer. All he had to do was get to Florida, which wasn't going to be difficult. Summer was a supernatural festival time down near the Everglades.
Still, while it wasn't his favorite school (that'd been the one with the entire cheerleading squad following him around, literally, and god Dean could've stayed there forever), and was edging towards his least favorite school of the school year, if Sam was happy...
Dean could definitely survive Saturday for that. Maybe even Monday, if he had to.
Sam slung his bag over his shoulder on Friday afternoon, a smile on his face. The project had been awesome, the presentation perfect, and Sam knew that whether they left or not, he was going to have an A on the project. He'd already given his teacher one of the PO boxes around the country that they checked periodically; he'd get his grade.
He'd even had a girl say goodbye to him. Katie was pretty and funny and smart, and she'd been interested in Sam from day one.
Not that he was ever going to tell Dean about her, because at eighteen, Dean was a hound dog, and thought Sam should have girls hanging off his arm. One of these days, Dean was bound to grow out of it and not chase after everything in a skirt, but until then, Sam's love life? Totally not a topic Dean was ever going to hear about it.
He made his way down the front stairs of the school and hung a sharp left. Dean had opted to skip the last day of school, mentioning some sort of documentary for his class and if it was his last day, no way in hell was he going to sit and watch the reproductive cycle of fish. Sam grinned at the memory of Dean's face and his dad's laugh. The hunt must've gone really well for their dad to be so happy. And he'd let them stay.
Long enough for Katie to kiss him. His cheeks flushed red as he cut through the football field to get to the street that would take him to the hotel. He didn't know when Dean had gotten his first kiss (probably when he was nine years old, knowing Dean) but he doubted it had been as awesome as his. It hadn't been a peck, either. A long press of lips, enough to make Sam breathless and gasping for air when they were done, and it was totally because the kiss had deprived him of oxygen for so long, not because he'd been kissed for the first time-
He was suddenly yanked to the side, causing him to gasp and lose his balance. He stumbled and fell onto the grass, and when he looked up, five angry faces glared down at him. The bullies from his first day. Plus two new friends. Sam glared back, trying to hide his fear. Each of them was at least twice as tall as he was, even though they were all freshmen.
“So...heard Sammy Winchester's leaving today,” one of them sneered. “The midget got a ticket to join the circus.”
“Shut up,” Sam said, voice low and angry. He pushed himself up and onto his feet, and promptly got shoved back down again by all of them. Hard. He felt breathless for the second time that day, and this wasn't anywhere near as fun as Katie. “What's your problem?”
“You,” the one in the middle said. He snorted and gave a smirk. “Thought we'd made that pretty obvious, shrimp.”
Sam leaned up on his elbows, his hands curling into fists. God, he just wanted to be tall, taller than anyone, and then they'd leave him alone. If he was as tall as Dean, they wouldn't even think about messing with him. Well, a couple of kids still did try and mess with Dean, but they learned the hard way that it wasn't the smartest idea. Fine, taller than Dean. He wanted to be taller than Dean.
The first kick didn't surprise him, but it did cause him to gasp and curl in on himself. One of them laughed; Sam wasn't sure which one. He was a little too busy trying to wrap arms around his sore midsection. “Look, he even curls up like a shrimp!” the first one said, and they all burst into laughter.
All he had to do was get up. All he had to do was stand up, and then he could show off the new punch Dean had been teaching him. No matter that Sam had defended himself against Dirk last autumn, Dean was still adamant about Sam training to defend himself from bullies.
He took in a deep breath, and when he pushed it out, he used it to propel himself up and at the nearest bully, punching him hard in the gut. The bully went down, and Sam geared up for the second one.
Only to be blindsided by a hard crack to the back of his head. Sam went down, dizzy and desperately trying to stand back up. If he stayed down now, he was going to get the crap beaten out of him. He pushed himself up to his hands and knees, trying to get his focus solid and sure.
The next thing he knew, something hard hit him in the middle of the back. Sam yelled in pain and went down to the ground, hard. He was flipped over onto his screaming back, and he cringed at the pain.
Several wild grins met him. “Boys, I think we oughta break the shrimp's shell to fully enjoy this experience,” one of them said. A punch came out of nowhere, followed by another on the other side, and this time, Sam couldn't even fight back. This time, he was happy to be a shrimp, and wished he was smaller.
It meant they'd have less to hit.
He curled himself up and shielded himself as much as he could from the blows.
3:50 pm. Dean glanced at the clock out of habit before settling back down in the chair. His eyes were glued to the TV in front of him, but his ears were tuned to the door and Sam's arrival, not the program he was watching.
4:06 pm. His eyes darted more towards the door instead of the program, and his leg began to bounce. Probably taking forever to say goodbyes. He was fine.
4:21 pm. Dean turned the TV off completely and stared hard at the door. Kid should've been home by now. It was still winter, still cold out, and the sun came down a lot earlier. Which meant it was going to get darker sooner, and already Dean could see the pink and orange hues through the window. The hell was he?
4:42 pm, and Dean was shrugging into his leather jacket just as the door opened. “You little punk, I swear to god,” he started as he turned, only to come up short by his dad in the doorway.
His dad frowned. “'Little punk'?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
Dean checked to see if his cell phone was still in his leather jacket before bending to tie on his boots. “I thought you were Sam,” he said tersely.
He watched his dad's good humor immediately disappear. “He's not home yet?”
“No,” Dean said, and his boots were tied with a harsh tug. “If that kid's all right, and he's making me worry for no good reason, I swear I'm gonna smack him into the next century.”
“We'll take the car,” Dad said, and Dean followed him out. Out in the distance, the sun was almost near the horizon, and it didn't hurt to look at. Dean could feel the temperature dropping, and his gut dropped with it. The kid should've contacted them, should've let them know what was going on.
Of course, Sam didn't have a cell phone. They were big and bulky and expensive, and the newer, sleeker, tinier models cost even more. Besides, Dean had one to contact their dad with. And Dean was usually with Sam.
In five minutes they were at the school. No cars remained in the parking lot, no buses ramping up to take kids home. Dean pursed his lips and scanned the area, much as he knew his dad was doing. The car slowed to a crawl on the empty street, watching for any movement. Nothing.
His dad turned the corner, and the side of the school came into view. Dean leaned as far over as he could to peer into windows, to see if anyone was still there. No one peered back out at the rumble of the car, no blinds fluttered, nothing.
“Dammit,” Dean muttered under his breath. The hell had Sammy gotten into now?
Dad turned the next corner, looking more grim by the moment. The football field and adjoining track were long and expansive, taking up a good two or three blocks. The sunlight was fading even further, making it harder to see.
Dean's eye still had no trouble locating the brown bag his brother always carried with him. It was laying near the center of the field, obvious against the green. “Dad,” he said sharply.
The car slid to a halt, and Dean wasted no time in hurrying out, hitting the pavement and running hard for the field. The bag didn't look ripped or torn, didn't look thrown or tossed, just looked abandoned, and Dean's face twisted. He slid to a stop in front of it, then bent down and checked the handle, just to make sure. Sammy W. was written in black marker, worn and faded from use.
“Sammy!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the silent evening. There was no answer, and Dean could feel his heart hammering hard in his chest. Where the hell was he? “Sammy!”
If his shout held a tinge of panic and edged towards a scream, he didn't care. Not if Sam answered.
A gentle but firm hand caught his shoulder. “Here,” his dad said, and Dean turned to see a flashlight being offered. “We'll search the grounds. Is there a pool on the premises?”
Images of Sam choking on water made Dean shut his eyes tight for a minute. “No,” he managed. “Not even inside. Out here, it's just the track, the football field, four sets of bleachers on the east side, six on the west, and a small shed towards the school that holds everything.” Memorized, cataloged, just in case of a possible emergency at the school.
Like his little brother going missing. That was an emergency.
The hand squeezed hard, before his dad turned and strode away towards the school. The shed would be his first stop. Dean swallowed hard and rose to standing, the bag tossed over his shoulder. Sam had to be fine. He'd be fine, and Dean would chew his ass out for making them all worry, but he'd be fine.
He flicked on the flashlight and began searching the field, watching the ground for tracks. There were dozens of footprints in the patches of dirt between the grass, and all of them turned towards the field. A few turned towards the bleachers, but Dean couldn't honestly tell if any of them were his kid brother's tiny shoe size.
Nothing was out on the field, so Dean turned towards the bleachers instead. It was out of season, and the grass was allowed to grow taller around them. A few more weeks from then, and they'd be mowed, but for the time being, it was tall and itchy, almost reaching up to the top of the first step of the bleachers.
And almost enough to hide a dark covered mop of hair lying in the grass.
“Sammy!” he yelled, darting forward. All he could see was the back of his brother's head the unmistakable hair, too long for its own good, but still so tiny, too tiny, and why did the kid have to be so small? It made him easier to hide in grass-
Made him easier to bully.
Dean stopped short once he came around to the other side of Sam. Sam's face was a mess of bruises and blood, his body limp like a rag doll. His right arm was trapped underneath his head, stretched out like he was reaching for help. His legs were laid out, short but straight, as if he'd been dragged. Dragged away from the field where they'd beaten him up.
He swallowed past the anger and rose up to call out. “Dad! I've got him!” Then he was kneeling, his fingers reaching for a pulse. Sam's skin was cold to the touch, but even as Dean's heart stopped, the steady pulse beat beneath his fingertips. “I've got you,” he repeated, softer now and only for Sam to hear. “C'mon Sammy, wake up. Big brother's right here, okay? You're safe, I gotcha, you're gonna be okay.”
Not an answer from him, and Dean hoped like hell that he was telling the truth, and that Sam would be okay. He had to be fine.
Part 2
~Nebula