Bionic Man
Sam had grown used to watching his brother deteriorate over the past few days, but even so, Dean's condition was startling; he was still and pale, lying listlessly on the table Sam had been forced to strap him to. His breathing was uneven and ragged and when Sam pressed a hand to his chest, the heartbeat that greeted him was erratic. Dean was in serious trouble.
"Sammy?" Dean whispered, eyelids fluttering and voice rough.
"Hey Dean, hey," Sam said, grabbing a glass of water and tipping it to Dean's lips. Dean swallowed then choked on the water. Sam put the glass back on the table and wiped a cloth over Dean's face.
"Such a girl," Dean said, but he turned his face into Sam's touch.
"Yeah, whatever," Sam said.
"Seizure?" Dean asked after a moment. Sam paused then nodded. "Bad?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "Pretty bad."
"And I, you know. I got all…demon?"
Sam nodded grimly. "Yep. Got pretty creative in your threats this time."
Dean smiled weakly. "At least I'm not boring," he said, then swallowed thickly. His breathing was still harsh, and Sam rested his hand on Dean's chest for a second and closed his eyes.
"'M fine," Dean muttered. "How's your side?"
"Fine, Dean," Sam answered. "It was hardly a scratch anyway."
"More than a scratch," Dean said with a scowl.
"I stitched it up and it's not infected," Sam said. "It's fine, Dean."
"Sam, I'm -"
"Hey, stop that Dean. It'll take more than a little swipe from you to kill me."
Dean managed a smile before closing his eyes. "I'm so tired, Sam," he whispered.
"You're getting weaker," Sam said. "You, uh, you stopped breathing after that last seizure."
Dean frowned when he heard that and Sam could see his hands trembling. Sam curled his own hands into fists, remembering those terrifying few minutes where his brother laid there, still as death, lips turning blue.
"You're dying, Dean."
Dean swallowed and shook his head.
"I don't wanna be a demon again," he whispered. "I can't."
"You won't," Sam said, gripping Dean's shoulder.
"What, you got a magic cure for this too?"
"Not exactly," Sam said. "But maybe I have a way to get rid of the Mark permanently."
Dean looked up at him before rolling his eyes.
"'M too tired to use my brain, Sammy."
"We could cut it off."
"Cut it off," Dean repeated, before his eyes widened. "You mean the whole arm."
Sam nodded, biting at his lip. "I mean, it's not optimal, obviously, but maybe - "
"Do it," Dean said.
Sam frowned. He opened his mouth and then closed it again and then shook his head.
"What?" he said finally.
"Take it off," Dean said. "I'd rather lose the arm, Sammy. Please."
Sam took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, okay, of course. I'll just go get - go get the stuff together."
"Thanks," Dean said, eyes drooping in exhaustion. "I'll just wait here."
"Smartass," Sam said, ruffling Dean's hair. Then he stood and walked out of the room. It wasn't until he was outside that he let himself panic, just for a minute, bent over with his hands on his knees and his breathing rapid and choked with tears, before inhaled deeply and wiped his eyes and got to work.
xxxx
"Dean. Wake up man, there you go. Come on."
Dean woke slowly and Sam wondered if he would even remember what they had decided on, but as soon as he saw Sam and the armload of supplies he'd dumped on the table, he seemed aware of what was going on.
"Hey," Sam said. "I got everything. And, uh, watched a few youtube videos."
(He had. They'd been hard enough to watch without picturing his own brother's arm being the one chopped off. )
"Sounds like you're qualified," Dean said, a forced smile stretching over his face. For a second Sam wished he didn't know Dean well enough to see through his bluff so he could just allow Dean to be strong, but he was far too intimate with his brother's moods now to be fooled. "How you gonna explain it at the hospital?"
"Oh, you know, you were kidnapped by a satanic cult or whatever, I found you like this, I'll be in hysterics…they'll go for it." At least, Sam hoped they would go for it.
"Shitty actor," Dean slurred. Sam smiled tiredly and sighed.
"Pretty sure it won't all be acting, Dean," he said. They were quiet for a minute. "Oh, I brought you something. For - for support, or whatever." Sam said, handing over the picture of Mom and Dad, watching as Dean took it gently and then clutched it to his chest, inhaling deeply as he tried to maintain control over his emotions.
"What'd'y think they'd think? About us? And," Dean waved his hand as much as he could with it being bound to the table, "this?"
Sam didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound like a total chick-flick moment, but looking down at Dean's wan and, though it pained him to admit it, scared face, he figured maybe his brother could use a little chick-flick right now.
"He'd be proud, Dean," he said. "They both would."
Dean sighed. "Tried to kill you," he said. "Twice." His hand hovered over the wound on Sam's side, trembling slightly. Sam gently grabbed his brother's fingers, banished the little voice that said he should enjoy it while he could, and drummed up a smile.
"If anything, Dad would just be pissed about your bad aim, huh?"
Dean managed a smile and looked away. Tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes, so Sam looked away too.
"Take this back," Dean said, handing him the picture. "The, uh, demon's prob'ly gonna come back before, you know. Before you start. And he's not as sentimental as me, so."
Sam accepted the picture and set it carefully on the table (next to the sawzall and the tourniquet and the other stuff) before smiling grimly at Dean.
"You ready?" he asked.
Dean looked up at the ceiling, nodded resolutely. "Don't stop," he said. "No matter what, don't stop."
xxxx
Sam tightened the tourniquet around Dean's upper arm (but not over a joint, do not do it over a joint, holy shit what the hell is he doing) and grabbed the betadine. He was coating Dean's arm liberally when Dean's eyes shot open, pupils blown wide so that they looked black, though not as black as his demon eyes had been.
"I'm going to hate you, you know," he said, his voice deeper than normal. "I'll hate you for the rest of our lives."
Sam grit his teeth and tried to ignore him, continuing to swab Dean's arm down.
"You're going to cripple me," Dean said. "What do you think I'm gonna do? How many one-armed hunters you know, Sammy?"
"Shut up, Dean," Sam hissed, checking the IV in Dean's other arm.
"You think I'm asking you to do this, but you know that I'll never forgive you. That every time I reach for something or I look down and see the stump of my arm, I'll remember this moment and how I begged you to stop but you didn't. I'll remember that you sliced into my arm and you cut it off and I'll hate you for it. You want that on your conscience too, Sammy? Killed our mommy, crippled your brother. Hell of a kid."
Sam shook his head and inhaled deeply. "I'm giving you a local now, Dean, and some meds. They're not going to knock you out. You're, uh, you're still going to feel it. Do you want something to bite on?"
"I want you not to fucking cut my arm off, Sam."
"Okay," Sam said. "Let me know if you want it. I'm, uh, I'm going to start now. Okay."
Sam grabbed the scalpel and held it over Dean's arm. His hand trembled so badly he had to stop for a moment, swallowing thickly and blinking back tears.
"You too scared to do it, Sam?" Dean asked, looking at him with a smirk. Sam swallowed again and sliced.
Dean grunted. Sam sliced deeper. Dean screamed.
By the time the blade hit bone, Dean had passed out and Sam had tears streaming down his face. He put the scalpel down and picked up the saw. For a second he stood looking at his brother, breathing in gasping sobs, then he bent over and finished what he started.
Sam looked away when the dismembered limb hit the ground with a soft plop, then turned and vomited. He wanted more than anything to give into the temptation to let his emotions get the best of him, but Dean was bleeding and needed help, and Sam didn't have time to spare.
He mechanically bound up what remained of Dean's arm and loosened the ropes that held him to the table.
"I'm sorry Dean," he whispered, then hefted Dean's weight over his shoulder and bundled him into the Impala.
xxxx
Dean didn't wake the entire ride, just lay heavy and unmoving against Sam's shoulder, blood oozing from what remained of his arm. Sam murmured to him the whole time, whispered that he'd be okay and that everything would be fine now and that they would get through this together. (In his head he knew it was all bullshit and their lives would never be the same not to mention Dean just kept bleeding all over the place and he was pale as hell.)
He pulled into the hospital and stumbled out of the car. Somewhere, probably when he'd manhandled Dean into the car, his side had reopened, and he felt warm blood trickling down his side. He opened the passenger door and held onto his brother, shouting for help. Now that he was here, a few feet from help, everything crashed into him at once and drove him to his knees as efficiently as the weight of a black dog.
People swarmed him and his brother, gasped at the state of Dean and pulled him from Sam's arms. Sam let them come, mumbled some crap about a cult, and welcomed the darkness when it came.
xxxx
Days later, after Sam had spun a story elaborate enough to appease the police and Dean's fever had finally broken, Sam sat next to Dean's bed and stared at the spot where his brother's arm should have been. He let himself stare at it and even let himself cry. The theory, of course, was that he would get it all out before Dean woke up so he could be supportive and an awesome brother.
What actually happened was that Dean woke up and looked at his arm and looked at Sam and just whispered "thank you" before he passed out again. Sam bawled like a baby.
When Dean woke up with enough awareness to actually hold a conversation, Sam told him about the stormtrooper arm some biomedical scientist made for a little kid ("you could be like, a legit bionic man, Dean") which Dean thought was pretty awesome.
But it was later, when everything was quiet that Dean looked up at Sam with tears in his eyes.
"I can't hear it anymore, Sammy," he whispered, and just like that Sam knew that somehow, impossibly, everything would be okay.
"Sammy?" Dean whispered, eyelids fluttering and voice rough.
"Hey Dean, hey," Sam said, grabbing a glass of water and tipping it to Dean's lips. Dean swallowed then choked on the water. Sam put the glass back on the table and wiped a cloth over Dean's face.
"Such a girl," Dean said, but he turned his face into Sam's touch.
"Yeah, whatever," Sam said.
"Seizure?" Dean asked after a moment. Sam paused then nodded. "Bad?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "Pretty bad."
"And I, you know. I got all…demon?"
Sam nodded grimly. "Yep. Got pretty creative in your threats this time."
Dean smiled weakly. "At least I'm not boring," he said, then swallowed thickly. His breathing was still harsh, and Sam rested his hand on Dean's chest for a second and closed his eyes.
"'M fine," Dean muttered. "How's your side?"
"Fine, Dean," Sam answered. "It was hardly a scratch anyway."
"More than a scratch," Dean said with a scowl.
"I stitched it up and it's not infected," Sam said. "It's fine, Dean."
"Sam, I'm -"
"Hey, stop that Dean. It'll take more than a little swipe from you to kill me."
Dean managed a smile before closing his eyes. "I'm so tired, Sam," he whispered.
"You're getting weaker," Sam said. "You, uh, you stopped breathing after that last seizure."
Dean frowned when he heard that and Sam could see his hands trembling. Sam curled his own hands into fists, remembering those terrifying few minutes where his brother laid there, still as death, lips turning blue.
"You're dying, Dean."
Dean swallowed and shook his head.
"I don't wanna be a demon again," he whispered. "I can't."
"You won't," Sam said, gripping Dean's shoulder.
"What, you got a magic cure for this too?"
"Not exactly," Sam said. "But maybe I have a way to get rid of the Mark permanently."
Dean looked up at him before rolling his eyes.
"'M too tired to use my brain, Sammy."
"We could cut it off."
"Cut it off," Dean repeated, before his eyes widened. "You mean the whole arm."
Sam nodded, biting at his lip. "I mean, it's not optimal, obviously, but maybe - "
"Do it," Dean said.
Sam frowned. He opened his mouth and then closed it again and then shook his head.
"What?" he said finally.
"Take it off," Dean said. "I'd rather lose the arm, Sammy. Please."
Sam took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, okay, of course. I'll just go get - go get the stuff together."
"Thanks," Dean said, eyes drooping in exhaustion. "I'll just wait here."
"Smartass," Sam said, ruffling Dean's hair. Then he stood and walked out of the room. It wasn't until he was outside that he let himself panic, just for a minute, bent over with his hands on his knees and his breathing rapid and choked with tears, before inhaled deeply and wiped his eyes and got to work.
xxxx
"Dean. Wake up man, there you go. Come on."
Dean woke slowly and Sam wondered if he would even remember what they had decided on, but as soon as he saw Sam and the armload of supplies he'd dumped on the table, he seemed aware of what was going on.
"Hey," Sam said. "I got everything. And, uh, watched a few youtube videos."
(He had. They'd been hard enough to watch without picturing his own brother's arm being the one chopped off. )
"Sounds like you're qualified," Dean said, a forced smile stretching over his face. For a second Sam wished he didn't know Dean well enough to see through his bluff so he could just allow Dean to be strong, but he was far too intimate with his brother's moods now to be fooled. "How you gonna explain it at the hospital?"
"Oh, you know, you were kidnapped by a satanic cult or whatever, I found you like this, I'll be in hysterics…they'll go for it." At least, Sam hoped they would go for it.
"Shitty actor," Dean slurred. Sam smiled tiredly and sighed.
"Pretty sure it won't all be acting, Dean," he said. They were quiet for a minute. "Oh, I brought you something. For - for support, or whatever." Sam said, handing over the picture of Mom and Dad, watching as Dean took it gently and then clutched it to his chest, inhaling deeply as he tried to maintain control over his emotions.
"What'd'y think they'd think? About us? And," Dean waved his hand as much as he could with it being bound to the table, "this?"
Sam didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound like a total chick-flick moment, but looking down at Dean's wan and, though it pained him to admit it, scared face, he figured maybe his brother could use a little chick-flick right now.
"He'd be proud, Dean," he said. "They both would."
Dean sighed. "Tried to kill you," he said. "Twice." His hand hovered over the wound on Sam's side, trembling slightly. Sam gently grabbed his brother's fingers, banished the little voice that said he should enjoy it while he could, and drummed up a smile.
"If anything, Dad would just be pissed about your bad aim, huh?"
Dean managed a smile and looked away. Tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes, so Sam looked away too.
"Take this back," Dean said, handing him the picture. "The, uh, demon's prob'ly gonna come back before, you know. Before you start. And he's not as sentimental as me, so."
Sam accepted the picture and set it carefully on the table (next to the sawzall and the tourniquet and the other stuff) before smiling grimly at Dean.
"You ready?" he asked.
Dean looked up at the ceiling, nodded resolutely. "Don't stop," he said. "No matter what, don't stop."
xxxx
Sam tightened the tourniquet around Dean's upper arm (but not over a joint, do not do it over a joint, holy shit what the hell is he doing) and grabbed the betadine. He was coating Dean's arm liberally when Dean's eyes shot open, pupils blown wide so that they looked black, though not as black as his demon eyes had been.
"I'm going to hate you, you know," he said, his voice deeper than normal. "I'll hate you for the rest of our lives."
Sam grit his teeth and tried to ignore him, continuing to swab Dean's arm down.
"You're going to cripple me," Dean said. "What do you think I'm gonna do? How many one-armed hunters you know, Sammy?"
"Shut up, Dean," Sam hissed, checking the IV in Dean's other arm.
"You think I'm asking you to do this, but you know that I'll never forgive you. That every time I reach for something or I look down and see the stump of my arm, I'll remember this moment and how I begged you to stop but you didn't. I'll remember that you sliced into my arm and you cut it off and I'll hate you for it. You want that on your conscience too, Sammy? Killed our mommy, crippled your brother. Hell of a kid."
Sam shook his head and inhaled deeply. "I'm giving you a local now, Dean, and some meds. They're not going to knock you out. You're, uh, you're still going to feel it. Do you want something to bite on?"
"I want you not to fucking cut my arm off, Sam."
"Okay," Sam said. "Let me know if you want it. I'm, uh, I'm going to start now. Okay."
Sam grabbed the scalpel and held it over Dean's arm. His hand trembled so badly he had to stop for a moment, swallowing thickly and blinking back tears.
"You too scared to do it, Sam?" Dean asked, looking at him with a smirk. Sam swallowed again and sliced.
Dean grunted. Sam sliced deeper. Dean screamed.
By the time the blade hit bone, Dean had passed out and Sam had tears streaming down his face. He put the scalpel down and picked up the saw. For a second he stood looking at his brother, breathing in gasping sobs, then he bent over and finished what he started.
Sam looked away when the dismembered limb hit the ground with a soft plop, then turned and vomited. He wanted more than anything to give into the temptation to let his emotions get the best of him, but Dean was bleeding and needed help, and Sam didn't have time to spare.
He mechanically bound up what remained of Dean's arm and loosened the ropes that held him to the table.
"I'm sorry Dean," he whispered, then hefted Dean's weight over his shoulder and bundled him into the Impala.
xxxx
Dean didn't wake the entire ride, just lay heavy and unmoving against Sam's shoulder, blood oozing from what remained of his arm. Sam murmured to him the whole time, whispered that he'd be okay and that everything would be fine now and that they would get through this together. (In his head he knew it was all bullshit and their lives would never be the same not to mention Dean just kept bleeding all over the place and he was pale as hell.)
He pulled into the hospital and stumbled out of the car. Somewhere, probably when he'd manhandled Dean into the car, his side had reopened, and he felt warm blood trickling down his side. He opened the passenger door and held onto his brother, shouting for help. Now that he was here, a few feet from help, everything crashed into him at once and drove him to his knees as efficiently as the weight of a black dog.
People swarmed him and his brother, gasped at the state of Dean and pulled him from Sam's arms. Sam let them come, mumbled some crap about a cult, and welcomed the darkness when it came.
xxxx
Days later, after Sam had spun a story elaborate enough to appease the police and Dean's fever had finally broken, Sam sat next to Dean's bed and stared at the spot where his brother's arm should have been. He let himself stare at it and even let himself cry. The theory, of course, was that he would get it all out before Dean woke up so he could be supportive and an awesome brother.
What actually happened was that Dean woke up and looked at his arm and looked at Sam and just whispered "thank you" before he passed out again. Sam bawled like a baby.
When Dean woke up with enough awareness to actually hold a conversation, Sam told him about the stormtrooper arm some biomedical scientist made for a little kid ("you could be like, a legit bionic man, Dean") which Dean thought was pretty awesome.
But it was later, when everything was quiet that Dean looked up at Sam with tears in his eyes.
"I can't hear it anymore, Sammy," he whispered, and just like that Sam knew that somehow, impossibly, everything would be okay.