Just Breathe Chap 11/?
Title: Just Breathe Chapter 11/?
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, underage
Word Count: 2,345
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Dad is away and Sam falls ill leaving Dean to deal with a sick brother. For Better or worse, Dean makes his choice
Author Notes: Title from Faith Hill song. Also, as always completely unbeta-ed.
A/N 2: Thanks to all who stayed with me through the last chapter. Wasn't my favorite either, but I needed to get all the back story out.
Dean swallowed. Killed by a witch that was draining the life outta some kids somewhere in Wisconsin back in eighty-eight. Unbidden, images flashed through his mind: newspaper articles spread across a faux wood tabletop touting headlines about mysterious illnesses and sick children wasting away; five year old Sammy, curly haired, face illuminated by the bluish light of Thundercats on a crappy television; a picture of a blackened handprint with long fingers and claws, stark against a white windowsill; Dad locked and loaded leaving with a perfunctory ‘take care of Sammy’ called over his shoulder; an innocently sleeping Sammy lying cross ways on the bed, a cloaked figure holding his soft cheeks in its skeletal hands sucking the energy from him. Ho-ly shit
“Dean? You okay?” Fingers slightly warmer than the last time he’d felt them, but still too cool touched his forearm startling him slightly.
Forcing a smile on his face, “Yeah, Sammy. ‘M fine.”
“Crazy day.” Dean knew that Sam was fishing for a way to start talking about everything they’d learned that day, but where the hell do you start? Should they begin with their Dad and his obvious disregard for their safety? Or how about the girls with freaky angelically bestowed powers and supposed biblical hunting ancestry? Then they could wrap it up with where the fuck they go from here? Great choices…like whether you’d rather be shot or hung.
“What do you think Casey meant when she told Bobby that something was circling?” Sam found the loose thread on the blanket again and began wrapping it around his finger, turning the tip purple before unwinding it and allowing the trapped blood to flow free.
“I dunno. I don’t think it pertains to us or she would have told us not Bobby. If it’s something he needs our help with, I’m sure he’ll tell us,” Dean watched the alternating purpling and paling of Sam’s pointer finger.
“Who do we trust now?” And wasn't that the question of the day. Dean’s heart clenched painfully. Sam sounded so lost, so young, so…broken. In a life where you grew up fast or didn’t grow up at all, it was too easy to forget that Sam was only 17, not even a man by society’s standards. He could still feel the weight of Sam’s other hand on his arm and he placed his over it, squeezing it reassuredly.
“Each other,” he answered simply, trying not to think too much about how natural and easy it had become to touch Sam. Placing his brother’s hand back on the bed and untangling the string wrapped finger of Sam’s other hand, he pulled the covers over both in an attempt to warm them. “Look. You’re exhausted. Try to get some rest and we’ll figure this mess out later.”
Sam’s mouth opened to probably protest but the words were preempted by a jaw cracking yawn. Resignedly, he rolled his eyes at Dean’s knowing look. “You sure we’re safe here?”
“As safe as anywhere,” Dean mumbled, watching Sam’s lids get heavier until they closed and didn’t open again.
Dean passed the next hour with his hand clasped alternatingly between Sam’s and his own head. His mind turned over different plans of action each revolving around a central idea, get Sam out and keep him safe. Unfortunately, in the short term, he was going to need help regardless of which way they went so all of the plans hinged on the decision of who to trust. Twenty minutes into that line of thought had him fidgeting so bad, he stood up to pace off some of the excess nervous energy.
Back and forth, door to window. Back and forth, Dad or Casey. Back and forth, pros and cons.
Pausing to stare out the window at the twilit evening, he heard Sam stir when a cart, being wheeled down the hall, rattled and clanged. Sam snuffled and shifted his legs, but mercifully didn’t erupt into one of the coughing fits that continually plagued his sleep. Dean crossed to his side, hand smoothing back the newly cleaned locks, and stared unfocused at the daffodil picture on the wall opposite. His hand carded through the stands, catching in tangles on every few swipes, as all thoughts blanked from his soothed mind.
A vibration pulled him from his numbed state of consciousness and he dug in his pocket for his cell phone. Feeling it shake twice more before he fully freed it from his jeans, he looked to see he had three new text messages. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now, anyway.
BOBBY: caleb lost your dad.
BOBBY: think heading your way. coming for S.
BOBBY: decide now. all leave with J or you get S away.
Dean read and reread the messages. Sam coughed, muttered in his sleep, and turned onto his right side. As his weight settled against his broken ribs, he whimpered and rolled on his back. Watching Sam calm, Dean hesitated for a moment considering his options before making a choice. He bent over the rail and pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s temple. God Sammy. For your sake, I hope I’m doing the right thing. Dean lifted his cell phone and sent a two word message.
DEAN: how long?
His boots squeaked against the floor as he rushed to the Nurse’s Station. Susie gave him a blinding smile when he came to a halt at the chest high counter. Normally, Dean would charm his way, but right now there was no time.
“Where’s Casey?”
The redhead’s smile fell and her face stiffened a little, “I dunno. I’m Sam’s nurse now, so if you need something I can get it for you.”
“I need Casey. Do you know where she is?” A mantra of no time, no time, no time, ran through his mind.
“I. Don’t. Know.”
“Look! I have enough attitude of my own, I don’t need yours. Now, I really need Casey. Can you help me find her or not?” His voice was raised, but he could care less.
“Dean?” Zoe’s alarmed voice had him spinning on his heel.
“Zoe, where’s Casey? I need her.” Seeing her unimpressed expression, he amended, “Sam needs her.”
She considered him for a minute and Dean resisted the urge to shake her and make her hurry. “I made her lie down in the lounge. She’s barely slept since Sam was admitted.”
Dean pecked the girl on the cheek as he darted by her to the lounge door. Casey was curled up on the bottom bunk, dark hair splayed across the pillow in a halo, sleeping peacefully. Crouching next to her head, Dean reached over to wake her when a hand zipped out, grabbing his neck in a crushing grip. Eyes slitted open, surprise crossed Casey face. She released her hold and sat up.
Clearing his tender throat, Dean croaked, “We need your help. I have to get Sam somewhere safe.”
Without hesitation, she swung her legs off the mattress and pushed to a standing position. “Go back to Sam. I have to get a few things together. Be ready to leave in 10 minutes.”
Nine minutes later, Casey walked into Sam’s room followed closely by Zoe. Both girls had traded their hospital scrubs for black fatigues, tank tops and steel toed boots. Dropping matching duffels on Sam’s bed, they shrugged on the jackets that had been draped over their arms.
“Do you have a gun,” Zoe asked Dean, unzipping her bag. Nodding her understanding at his head shake, she reached in to retrieve a silver Taurus .38 and tossed it in his direction. Dean popped the clip, checked it over and clicked it back into place. Grunting his approval, he pulled the slide back, chambering the first bullet, and tucked the gun in the back of his pants.
“John’ll expect Dean to leave with Sam in the Impala, so I think a diversion will be our best bet of getting him out of here without a showdown,” Zoe zipped up her bag, nudging Casey around to check that her weapon was holstered at the small of her back. Dean was taken aback at Zoe’s take charge attitude. He’d barely heard her utter two words since he met her, but it was clear from her tone and Casey's silence that Zoe was in charge.
“Since Sam is in no condition to fight, my suggestion is we split up, one of us paired with a brother. Casey go with Dean, I’ll take Sam with me. We’ll meet up at the house.” Zoe picked up her bag and raised an expectant eyebrow at Sam.
“Wait, no! Sam and I stay together,” Dean protested on principle. He could see the merit of separating them, but it felt like Zoe had suggested he remove his arm or…his heart.
“Sorry, Dean. Not this time.” Zoe voice was soft but firm, broking no argument.
Casey’s eyes flittered between Dean and Sam, watching them. Turning to Zoe, she pulled the girl to the side asking her to help her determine the best route to take. They huddled near the window as they debated the pros and cons of different streets. Sam was standing near the end of the bed, doing his best to look solid on his feet even as his swaying betrayed him. Dean could see the uncertainty in his stance and knew that Sam was upset at the idea of them splitting up as well. He walked over to stand in front of his little brother, hand going up to cup the back of Sam’s neck.
“Everything’s going to fine, Sam. It’s just for a little while, until we’re clear of the hospital. Gotta throw Dad off.” Dean pressed their foreheads together for a moment and then leaned up to press a kiss between his brows. Relaxing back down, he found himself level with Sam’s mouth. Unable to resist, he pressed forward, lips connecting in a chaste kiss. Mind catching up to his actions, Dean pulled back and came face to face with Sam’s shocked features. Opening his mouth to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, Sam was yanked from his hands.
“Come on, Sam. We have to go now!” Zoe spared a last glance to Casey, Sam’s arm clutched in one hand, her duffel in the other, before escorting the younger Winchester out the door.
Casey came up behind Dean and gently clasped his arm, leading him from the room and heading in the direction opposite the other pair. Leaving the room, Dean’s mind couldn’t concentrate on where he was being guided; it was stuck on I kissed Sammy! He felt he made progress when they reached the elevator and he had moved to ohshitohshitohshitohshit, but felt he lost some ground when the real panic set in on the first floor as he settled on ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
The waning moon illuminated the parking lot enough for them to navigate their way to the black work of Detroit art waiting patiently for them. Casey pushed him in the direction of the driver’s side door as she rounded the bumper to the other side, but when he stumbled to a stop in front of the grill, she moved to him quickly.
“Either snap out of it or I’m going to drive.”
Her words seeped in and he pulled the keys from his pocket then slid behind the wheel. They sped through the sleepy one horse town, Dean steering according to Casey’s terse directions. Following her last instruction, ‘turn left, pull past the gate and stop’, he braked on a gravel road just past a three rail horse fence.
“Get out and help me with the gate,” Casey commanded, door already flung open.
Dean jumped out and helped her shove the gate. His hands ran over carvings in the wood as they moved it into position and he looked down to see protective sigils. The entry slammed shut with an audible clank of the metal handle.
“Dean Winchester.” His name broke the quiet of the night, interrupting the symphony of crickets hiding in the surrounding tall grass. He peered over the top of the fence to see two people, a man and a woman, standing twenty feet back on the other side.
“Who are you?” His tone was stronger than he actually felt, his hand reaching back to touch the cool metal of the gun hidden there. He heard Casey’s soft curse from beside him and shot her a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye.
“I thought they were farther away,” she mumbled as explanation, her own hand wrapped around grip of her concealed weapon. Dean mirrored her actions when she pulled it free.
“We’re here for little Sammy, Dean. Our boss wants to talk to him.” The man’s eyes inked over as he stepped closer. The etchings in the wood glowed bright blue as he neared and the man hissed like he’d been burned. “Smart girl,” he snarled, “But guess what…sigils don’t protect against bullets.”
Casey and Dean raised their guns and took aim as their counterparts did the same. Nothing to fear from the hunter’s weapons, both demons opened fire. Forced to separate and seek cover, Casey and Dean squatted behind the posts on either side of the gate. They locked gazes and then simultaneously looked to the Impala parked over 10 feet away, too far away and too out in the open to provide safety. When a round caused wood to splinter close to Dean’s head, he turned and fired off a few shots at the man, the closer of the two opponents. Over the cacophony of gun fire, Dean could hear Latin drifting on the air. Fifty words later, the noise stopped as black smoke funneled up and circled above them before disappearing. Glancing over his shoulder, Dean could see the two bodies lying in the gravel of the turn off.
Standing slowly and brushing off the dust from his jeans, he grinned at Casey. “Nice work with the exorcism. Man, what the fuck? Demons with guns?” As the words left his mouth, he saw movement from the woman’s body. His brain screamed danger in the same heartbeat he heard the retort of the gun. Dean felt his body slam back into the ground, pain lancing from several points, and heard Latin being scream from close by. Warm fingers pressed into his cheek, his name and curses repeated on a loop, as the smell of blood and the darkness consumed him.
Chapter 12A
Author: JCRGIRL
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Wincest, underage
Word Count: 2,345
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue. Just playing in Kripke's sandbox.
Summary: Dad is away and Sam falls ill leaving Dean to deal with a sick brother. For Better or worse, Dean makes his choice
Author Notes: Title from Faith Hill song. Also, as always completely unbeta-ed.
A/N 2: Thanks to all who stayed with me through the last chapter. Wasn't my favorite either, but I needed to get all the back story out.
Dean swallowed. Killed by a witch that was draining the life outta some kids somewhere in Wisconsin back in eighty-eight. Unbidden, images flashed through his mind: newspaper articles spread across a faux wood tabletop touting headlines about mysterious illnesses and sick children wasting away; five year old Sammy, curly haired, face illuminated by the bluish light of Thundercats on a crappy television; a picture of a blackened handprint with long fingers and claws, stark against a white windowsill; Dad locked and loaded leaving with a perfunctory ‘take care of Sammy’ called over his shoulder; an innocently sleeping Sammy lying cross ways on the bed, a cloaked figure holding his soft cheeks in its skeletal hands sucking the energy from him. Ho-ly shit
“Dean? You okay?” Fingers slightly warmer than the last time he’d felt them, but still too cool touched his forearm startling him slightly.
Forcing a smile on his face, “Yeah, Sammy. ‘M fine.”
“Crazy day.” Dean knew that Sam was fishing for a way to start talking about everything they’d learned that day, but where the hell do you start? Should they begin with their Dad and his obvious disregard for their safety? Or how about the girls with freaky angelically bestowed powers and supposed biblical hunting ancestry? Then they could wrap it up with where the fuck they go from here? Great choices…like whether you’d rather be shot or hung.
“What do you think Casey meant when she told Bobby that something was circling?” Sam found the loose thread on the blanket again and began wrapping it around his finger, turning the tip purple before unwinding it and allowing the trapped blood to flow free.
“I dunno. I don’t think it pertains to us or she would have told us not Bobby. If it’s something he needs our help with, I’m sure he’ll tell us,” Dean watched the alternating purpling and paling of Sam’s pointer finger.
“Who do we trust now?” And wasn't that the question of the day. Dean’s heart clenched painfully. Sam sounded so lost, so young, so…broken. In a life where you grew up fast or didn’t grow up at all, it was too easy to forget that Sam was only 17, not even a man by society’s standards. He could still feel the weight of Sam’s other hand on his arm and he placed his over it, squeezing it reassuredly.
“Each other,” he answered simply, trying not to think too much about how natural and easy it had become to touch Sam. Placing his brother’s hand back on the bed and untangling the string wrapped finger of Sam’s other hand, he pulled the covers over both in an attempt to warm them. “Look. You’re exhausted. Try to get some rest and we’ll figure this mess out later.”
Sam’s mouth opened to probably protest but the words were preempted by a jaw cracking yawn. Resignedly, he rolled his eyes at Dean’s knowing look. “You sure we’re safe here?”
“As safe as anywhere,” Dean mumbled, watching Sam’s lids get heavier until they closed and didn’t open again.
Dean passed the next hour with his hand clasped alternatingly between Sam’s and his own head. His mind turned over different plans of action each revolving around a central idea, get Sam out and keep him safe. Unfortunately, in the short term, he was going to need help regardless of which way they went so all of the plans hinged on the decision of who to trust. Twenty minutes into that line of thought had him fidgeting so bad, he stood up to pace off some of the excess nervous energy.
Back and forth, door to window. Back and forth, Dad or Casey. Back and forth, pros and cons.
Pausing to stare out the window at the twilit evening, he heard Sam stir when a cart, being wheeled down the hall, rattled and clanged. Sam snuffled and shifted his legs, but mercifully didn’t erupt into one of the coughing fits that continually plagued his sleep. Dean crossed to his side, hand smoothing back the newly cleaned locks, and stared unfocused at the daffodil picture on the wall opposite. His hand carded through the stands, catching in tangles on every few swipes, as all thoughts blanked from his soothed mind.
A vibration pulled him from his numbed state of consciousness and he dug in his pocket for his cell phone. Feeling it shake twice more before he fully freed it from his jeans, he looked to see he had three new text messages. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone right now, anyway.
BOBBY: caleb lost your dad.
BOBBY: think heading your way. coming for S.
BOBBY: decide now. all leave with J or you get S away.
Dean read and reread the messages. Sam coughed, muttered in his sleep, and turned onto his right side. As his weight settled against his broken ribs, he whimpered and rolled on his back. Watching Sam calm, Dean hesitated for a moment considering his options before making a choice. He bent over the rail and pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s temple. God Sammy. For your sake, I hope I’m doing the right thing. Dean lifted his cell phone and sent a two word message.
DEAN: how long?
His boots squeaked against the floor as he rushed to the Nurse’s Station. Susie gave him a blinding smile when he came to a halt at the chest high counter. Normally, Dean would charm his way, but right now there was no time.
“Where’s Casey?”
The redhead’s smile fell and her face stiffened a little, “I dunno. I’m Sam’s nurse now, so if you need something I can get it for you.”
“I need Casey. Do you know where she is?” A mantra of no time, no time, no time, ran through his mind.
“I. Don’t. Know.”
“Look! I have enough attitude of my own, I don’t need yours. Now, I really need Casey. Can you help me find her or not?” His voice was raised, but he could care less.
“Dean?” Zoe’s alarmed voice had him spinning on his heel.
“Zoe, where’s Casey? I need her.” Seeing her unimpressed expression, he amended, “Sam needs her.”
She considered him for a minute and Dean resisted the urge to shake her and make her hurry. “I made her lie down in the lounge. She’s barely slept since Sam was admitted.”
Dean pecked the girl on the cheek as he darted by her to the lounge door. Casey was curled up on the bottom bunk, dark hair splayed across the pillow in a halo, sleeping peacefully. Crouching next to her head, Dean reached over to wake her when a hand zipped out, grabbing his neck in a crushing grip. Eyes slitted open, surprise crossed Casey face. She released her hold and sat up.
Clearing his tender throat, Dean croaked, “We need your help. I have to get Sam somewhere safe.”
Without hesitation, she swung her legs off the mattress and pushed to a standing position. “Go back to Sam. I have to get a few things together. Be ready to leave in 10 minutes.”
Nine minutes later, Casey walked into Sam’s room followed closely by Zoe. Both girls had traded their hospital scrubs for black fatigues, tank tops and steel toed boots. Dropping matching duffels on Sam’s bed, they shrugged on the jackets that had been draped over their arms.
“Do you have a gun,” Zoe asked Dean, unzipping her bag. Nodding her understanding at his head shake, she reached in to retrieve a silver Taurus .38 and tossed it in his direction. Dean popped the clip, checked it over and clicked it back into place. Grunting his approval, he pulled the slide back, chambering the first bullet, and tucked the gun in the back of his pants.
“John’ll expect Dean to leave with Sam in the Impala, so I think a diversion will be our best bet of getting him out of here without a showdown,” Zoe zipped up her bag, nudging Casey around to check that her weapon was holstered at the small of her back. Dean was taken aback at Zoe’s take charge attitude. He’d barely heard her utter two words since he met her, but it was clear from her tone and Casey's silence that Zoe was in charge.
“Since Sam is in no condition to fight, my suggestion is we split up, one of us paired with a brother. Casey go with Dean, I’ll take Sam with me. We’ll meet up at the house.” Zoe picked up her bag and raised an expectant eyebrow at Sam.
“Wait, no! Sam and I stay together,” Dean protested on principle. He could see the merit of separating them, but it felt like Zoe had suggested he remove his arm or…his heart.
“Sorry, Dean. Not this time.” Zoe voice was soft but firm, broking no argument.
Casey’s eyes flittered between Dean and Sam, watching them. Turning to Zoe, she pulled the girl to the side asking her to help her determine the best route to take. They huddled near the window as they debated the pros and cons of different streets. Sam was standing near the end of the bed, doing his best to look solid on his feet even as his swaying betrayed him. Dean could see the uncertainty in his stance and knew that Sam was upset at the idea of them splitting up as well. He walked over to stand in front of his little brother, hand going up to cup the back of Sam’s neck.
“Everything’s going to fine, Sam. It’s just for a little while, until we’re clear of the hospital. Gotta throw Dad off.” Dean pressed their foreheads together for a moment and then leaned up to press a kiss between his brows. Relaxing back down, he found himself level with Sam’s mouth. Unable to resist, he pressed forward, lips connecting in a chaste kiss. Mind catching up to his actions, Dean pulled back and came face to face with Sam’s shocked features. Opening his mouth to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, Sam was yanked from his hands.
“Come on, Sam. We have to go now!” Zoe spared a last glance to Casey, Sam’s arm clutched in one hand, her duffel in the other, before escorting the younger Winchester out the door.
Casey came up behind Dean and gently clasped his arm, leading him from the room and heading in the direction opposite the other pair. Leaving the room, Dean’s mind couldn’t concentrate on where he was being guided; it was stuck on I kissed Sammy! He felt he made progress when they reached the elevator and he had moved to ohshitohshitohshitohshit, but felt he lost some ground when the real panic set in on the first floor as he settled on ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.
The waning moon illuminated the parking lot enough for them to navigate their way to the black work of Detroit art waiting patiently for them. Casey pushed him in the direction of the driver’s side door as she rounded the bumper to the other side, but when he stumbled to a stop in front of the grill, she moved to him quickly.
“Either snap out of it or I’m going to drive.”
Her words seeped in and he pulled the keys from his pocket then slid behind the wheel. They sped through the sleepy one horse town, Dean steering according to Casey’s terse directions. Following her last instruction, ‘turn left, pull past the gate and stop’, he braked on a gravel road just past a three rail horse fence.
“Get out and help me with the gate,” Casey commanded, door already flung open.
Dean jumped out and helped her shove the gate. His hands ran over carvings in the wood as they moved it into position and he looked down to see protective sigils. The entry slammed shut with an audible clank of the metal handle.
“Dean Winchester.” His name broke the quiet of the night, interrupting the symphony of crickets hiding in the surrounding tall grass. He peered over the top of the fence to see two people, a man and a woman, standing twenty feet back on the other side.
“Who are you?” His tone was stronger than he actually felt, his hand reaching back to touch the cool metal of the gun hidden there. He heard Casey’s soft curse from beside him and shot her a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye.
“I thought they were farther away,” she mumbled as explanation, her own hand wrapped around grip of her concealed weapon. Dean mirrored her actions when she pulled it free.
“We’re here for little Sammy, Dean. Our boss wants to talk to him.” The man’s eyes inked over as he stepped closer. The etchings in the wood glowed bright blue as he neared and the man hissed like he’d been burned. “Smart girl,” he snarled, “But guess what…sigils don’t protect against bullets.”
Casey and Dean raised their guns and took aim as their counterparts did the same. Nothing to fear from the hunter’s weapons, both demons opened fire. Forced to separate and seek cover, Casey and Dean squatted behind the posts on either side of the gate. They locked gazes and then simultaneously looked to the Impala parked over 10 feet away, too far away and too out in the open to provide safety. When a round caused wood to splinter close to Dean’s head, he turned and fired off a few shots at the man, the closer of the two opponents. Over the cacophony of gun fire, Dean could hear Latin drifting on the air. Fifty words later, the noise stopped as black smoke funneled up and circled above them before disappearing. Glancing over his shoulder, Dean could see the two bodies lying in the gravel of the turn off.
Standing slowly and brushing off the dust from his jeans, he grinned at Casey. “Nice work with the exorcism. Man, what the fuck? Demons with guns?” As the words left his mouth, he saw movement from the woman’s body. His brain screamed danger in the same heartbeat he heard the retort of the gun. Dean felt his body slam back into the ground, pain lancing from several points, and heard Latin being scream from close by. Warm fingers pressed into his cheek, his name and curses repeated on a loop, as the smell of blood and the darkness consumed him.
Chapter 12A