[Slash] On My Lips - And So It Is 08
Title: On My Lips
Author anyothergirl415
Character(s)/Pairing: Bobby, Sam/Dean
Theme: Theme 06 - 365. And So It Is
Prompt(s): 08 - present
Words: 990
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I wish I controlled what happened but well, let’s be honest, who could really top Kripke?
Summary: There should be automatic answers for fixing problems.
Warnings/Author Notes: The stories are all linked together in the same verse, I would recommend reading from the first prompt chronologically.
“Bobby!” Dean yelled, loud and crisp the moment he kicked the driver’s side open. His steps were already leading him around to the front hood, quick and panicked. “Bobby! Damnit help me out here!”
When he tugged the passenger door open Sam all but tumbled out, landing hard onto dirt and gravel, coughing loudly. Dean momentarily froze at the spray of blood across the ground.
“Ah, fuck. Fuck. No Sam, c’mon, you’re alright,” Dean scooped down and wrapped arms tight around his brother, heaving him up. Heavy, too heavy, like dead weight. Internally Dean cringed away from the word dead and wished he’d never thought it up.
“Dean? Jesus Christ boy what the hell is goin’ on?” Bobby was by his side without Dean even registering the screen door clanging shut. “Is that…”
“Just help me get him inside,” Dean grunted and pulled at Sam, dragging him across the ground. “Come on Bobby he’s too heavy.”
They scuffed and shuffled their way across the drive, Sam barely moving between them. Dean was, he was okay. He could handle this. No, he was downright terrified and Sam wasn’t answering his litany of calls. “Fuck Sammy, not now. Not like this. Come on man, you’ve gone through worse. You can handle this. You can.”
With his brother safely on Bobby’s couch Dean paced to the kitchen. Water, a cool rag, ice just because ice helped. Ice fixed everything. No, alcohol fixed everything but now didn’t seem like the time or place. Only it was, completely, but Sam. Sam was the most important.
“How long he been this way?” Bobby had pulled up a chair and Dean, though aching from the drive, was grateful to take it.
“Just happened. He was asleep the last half hour, been doing a lot of that. Sleeping. Then we pulled up in here and he just started coughing,” Dean shook his head, too helpless to really process things. “Some of the shit he’s been saying Bobby, damnit, it’s just…” Dean didn’t really know how to say it, couldn’t explain the cold bite of fear it started in his gut.
With the cool rag he cleaned the lingering blood from Sam’s chin, folding it over to sweep gently across his neck and up his brow. Sam was too many things. Too still. Too warm. Too shallow breaths. Dean bit down on his lip and creased his forehead.
“What the hell happened Dean? Did he just wake up like this?” Bobby had taken up the other chair in the room and his eyes were on Sam, narrow and worried.
“No. It was, Jesus, there was this thing, crashed into the windshield. Sam went out to check. Then, it got all dark and I saw… I don’t know. A witch. Something. She looked familiar but I don’t know. Something happened to him and then he just, he’s-“
“Black. Black like the night sky without stars.” Sam’s eyes popped open, wide and unblinking. They were fixed on Dean and he shuddered under the odd intensity. “I don’t like the taste of blood. Ironically.”
“Water,” Dean grunted, only thing he could manage, and reached down for the glass by his foot, bringing it to Sam’s lips. “Drink some Sam.”
Sam’s hand curled over Dean’s and their gazes remained locked while he drank. When he’d drained the entire glass he settled back and groaned. “So little for so much. I’m here. You’re there. Wilbur’s climbing up a fucking tree.”
“Wilbur?” Bobby asked quietly, eyebrows lifting until they almost disappeared beneath the rim of his baseball cap.
“Samael,” Dean clarified, cringing at the idea that he could.
“Samael!” Sam called in return and pushed up, turning to kneel on the couch and tap along the walls. “Thrum, thrum, thrum, there be death in these walls.”
Dean blinked, staring at Sam’s back for just a moment before he looked over at Bobby. “See what I mean?”
“This ain’t good,” Bobby slowly shook his head and pushed up from his chair, walking over to his desk to pull out an assortment of books with titles that would normally make Sam salivate.
Dean could almost sigh wistfully at that. What he wouldn’t give to have his geeky, slightly moody, little brother back. And god he never thought he’d be wishing for that. “Got some idea what it could be?”
“No. But we gotta find out right? This ain’t exactly the time for Sam to be batshit insane,” Bobby muttered, speaking down to his books as he flipped through the pages.
Glancing back over at his brother, Dean watched Sam stroke the walls, muttering something about death and the walls and a cliff that he was apparently stuck on. He swallowed thickly and stepped toward him. “I’m gonna get him up to bed. He needs to just, sleep it off. He’ll be okay.”
“Not really somethin’ you can sleep off Dean,” Bobby pointed out but Dean was already gently prying his brother from the couch and leading him upstairs to his room.
“Come on Sammy, let’s get you in bed.”
They were in the guest room minutes later with only a handful of collisions into the wall, nothing Dean couldn’t shake off in the light of this.
“Dean,” Sam whispered and turned, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck. “Can’t we just, make it all better? My mind. My soul. It aches. It aches.”
“Jesus,” Dean huffed, eyes pricking with tears. It shouldn’t be like this. He should be fixing his brother, he always did.
Lips brushed soft and moist against his own, Sam’s hair flopping across his brow, the gentle murmur of words he didn’t recognize. Dean’s eyes closed, opened, he stepped back and blinked. Sam smiled and shook his head. “Wind.” He shrugged and turned to walk to the bed.
Dean watched him sink down onto the mattress and inhaled shakily. “You just, get some, uh, some sleep.” Sam didn’t answer, or, Dean left before he could.
Help Me Angels - And So It Is 09
Master Post