Work Text:
Summary: ...fear clawed at the insides of his stomach, making nausea the only real thing he could feel.
Warnings: only two of three Winchesters make it out of the car
Beta: Kaija, my beta goddess!
Author's Note: Seeing Sam & Dean like that and having "Bad Moon Rising" played during the scene actually crept me out a bit. I bet Dean would feel the same way, though. *evil*
***
When Dean woke up, he thought he was still sleeping.
There was music playing softly in the background. It was almost enough to cover the sounds of hot metal creaking and laboured breathing, of liquid dripping on the ground.
Combined with the numbness of his own body it all created a feeling of detachment. Nothing seemed quiet real. Not the sight of the back of Sam's head before him - blood on his neck, in his hair and what Dean could make of his face - nor the stillness of his father's body in the passenger seat.
Dean couldn't get his brain to work and connect the dots, couldn't get past basic instinct and towards reasonable thought. He had to fight the overwhelming urge to go back to sleep - or was that unconsciousness? - while fear clawed at the insides of his stomach, making nausea the only real thing he could feel.
The music kept drawing his attention again, made what was awake of his mind wander and wonder who had turned on the radio and how it could be still working in the wreck that once had been the Impala.
As more of the lyrics registered in his brain, Dean realized he knew that song. He might even have liked 'Bad Moon Rising' at some point in his life. Now though, it made his skin crawl, intensify the dread that was rushing through his veins and spilling out on the upholstery with his blood.
He needed to move, needed to check on Sam. On John. Get them out of here, as far as away as possible. From what, he couldn't quite decide, the details still eluding him.
All Dean knew for sure was that he needed to get them to safety.
He could sleep when he was dead.
Ignoring the music, he gathered as much of his strength as he could muster. Well aware that when the numbness went, pain would take its place. He tried to steel himself for the onslaught.
Biting back a scream, Dean drew himself up and closer to the door. Fingers slick with blood needed embarrassingly long to latch onto the door handle, to pull and push, but eventually the door opened, depriving Dean of its support, too.
When his body landed on the hard asphalt Dean wished for the numbness to come back. His nerves where on fire, his head screaming and every breath was an agony in itself. But this was not the time to rest or wallow in his own misery. He closed his eyes and counted to three, willing himself to get up and going.
Opening his eyes, Dean caught sight again of Sam; through the smashed window, with bits of glass scattered everywhere, tinted red with his brother's blood. It was enough to push the pain back into to the deepest corner of his mind, filing it under "to be dealt with later".
With another groan he gathered his body up from the ground. Pulling the driver's door open wasn't any easier than getting his own door open had been, but he managed. Without falling this time.
As he watched his bloody fingers reach out to touch Sam's face, he felt like he was about to dirty his brother, tainting him with his own failures. He shouldn't do that to his little brother, it felt wrong. As wrong as seeing Sam so broken.
Carefully he searched for a pulse at Sam's neck, almost doubling over in relief as he could feel the skin beneath his fingers tentatively move in response. As close as Dean was now he even could make out the small rise and fall of his brother's chest.
But a quick glance over to where their father lay still showed nothing but stillness and Dean's thoughts quickly shied away from going there, instead focusing all his attention on Sam and the next steps to take.
His eyes roamed over the prone form in the driver's seat, not daring to touch more than necessary. There were no metal objects or glass sticking out of him and their side of the car was still farley intact.
Yet Sam remained unconscious and didn't show any signs of waking up soon.
"Sam. Sammy. Wake up. Common, buddy. This is not the time to catch up on your beauty sleep. I need you to wake up now, Sammy, because I'm sure as hell not gonna carry you anywhere." Shaking Sam with as much care as if his little brother could break like a glass doll, Dean kept talking to him, cajoling him out of his unconsciousness with promises and threats alike. Despair coloring his every word.
Thankfully it was enough and Dean could feel some of the fear lift as Sam's eyes sluggishly opened. His green eyes where clouded with pain and confusion, looking at Dean without really seeing him.
Keeping up with the constant stream of inane words, Dean hoped for Sam to focus on it and use it to get his mind cleared up some. Dean needed his brother to pull at least some of his own weight, knowing that he hadn't much strength to spare, maybe not even enough for himself alone but certainly not enough for the both of them.
There were static like lights flashing at the edge of his vision and the ground beneath his feet kept moving like a series of small earthquakes that just wouldn't stop.
"Sammy, listen to me. Your cell phone, where do you have it?" His own had been long lost, maybe in the cabin, maybe even earlier in the apartment building. He hadn't cared at the time as everything had been moving so fast.
Now the world was in slow motion, caught between possibilities, waiting for him to decide to act.
Sam was mumbling something, trying to move hands that wouldn't quite work as he needed them to.
"Where, Sam, just tell me where," Dean urged.
"Jacket... insi-," Dean watched as Sam swallowed hard, needing to wet his lips before he could continue. It didn't bode well to Dean. "Inside pocket. Right... right side."
While lifting Sam's jacket - ignoring the blood soaking into the shirt beneath - he silently prayed for the phone to be still intact. There just weren't too many options for them at hand.
For once, the gods were listening. The phone was in one piece and could even connect.
Without further delay he called 911. When he was asked for their positing he named the interstate he knew they had taken and told the operator that they were hardly to miss, with a fucking semi practical parked on top of them.
He ended the call despite the protests from the other end. If the ambulance wasn't there soon no instructions or assurance would help either of them.
No, instead he scanned the area. With a little jolt to his system he had remembered about the demon, not doubting in the least that this had been no accident at all. But he couldn't see anything else moving around them. Squinting his eyes he thought he could make out a form slumped over the wheel in the driver's cabin of the truck.
Maybe, just maybe, the demon had been hurt enough when Sam had shot him with the colt earlier. Enough too weaken him so much that it couldn't keep its host body alive after such an accident.
Dean hoped for their sake that it was true. They couldn't take much more.
Minding the glass on the ground, he slowly settled himself down, leaning his shoulder against Sam's thigh and grabbing his brother's hand, holding on for both of them.
When the sirens arrived Dean could barely react. Seeing the figures of EMTs rushing towards them he squeezed Sam's hand tighter for a moment before he allowed the darkness to finally take him back.
***
When Dean woke up, he thought he was still sleeping.
There was music playing softly ... but this time he knew it was only in his head.
The bad moon had come and gone. It had taken one of them with it. But Sam was still alive, lying in the hospital bed next to Dean's, breathing on his own. That was all that counted for Dean at this moment. He couldn't think about anything else.
Couldn't and wouldn't think about John Winchester's body down in the morgue. Or about the questions the police kept asking them. Nor about the demon that was still lurking in the shadows and waiting for them.
It had gotten part of its revenge. An eye for an eye. Their father's life in trade for its children. Now it could wait to get the rest of them.
Dean looked at where Sam was sleeping. Drinking in the sight of his brother being in one piece and recovering.
He wished that the song would at last stop playing and would let him rest just for a short while longer.
End