Work Text:
“Come on, Sammy, stay with me.”
Baby hurtled down the street, passing every red light and nearly running into multiple cars on the way to the nearest hospital, five miles from where-
Dean grimaced, forcing down the memory of the sound of the bat cracking open his little brother’s skull and glared harder at the road, pushing Baby to go faster.
Sammy was unconscious in the passenger seat, limp neck leaving his chin against his chest, clearly showing the mess the back of his head currently was.
Shoving down the anxiety churning his stomach, Dean tried to focus on driving as he pulled out of that town and into a separate road, nothing but ditches and wide fields of grass as far as the eye could see. The hospital was still three miles away, he couldn’t afford to get distracted by the way Sam’s complexion resembled that of a corpse, the way the fuel gage was rapidly dropping, the way he swore he could smell smoke.
Smoke?
The engine was smoking.
The engine is smoking!
“Crap!” Dean yelped, pulling over and into the field next to him, yelling Sam’s name as he pushed his door open, scrambled to the other side and yanked open Sam’s door, well aware of the glow under Baby’s hood, and pulled Sam’s limp form out of the car, away, they gotta get away, they have to-
Boom.
Dean threw his brother behind him as the force pushed him back another few feet. He landed on his back in the damp grass, head smacking the surprisingly hard dirt underneath, swallowing his vision in darkness and numbing his body. His ears rang obnoxiously, and he frowned as his vision came back, blurry, foggy, still spotted in the corners.
The sunset sky looked really pretty that night. It was a dim blue, spotted with stars now they were away from any cities. The purple clouds spun, slowly, beautifully, like a dance. Internally, Dean smiled at how nice it looked, how nice the cool breeze felt in contrast to the blaze of heat in front of him.
Sammy groaned somewhere off to his left, snapping him out of his stupor as smoke assaulted his nose.
Forcing himself to sit up and shaking the remnants of his daze off, he crawled back to where Sammy was still groaning, a couple feet behind him
“Come on…” He huffed, coughed, chest tight and achy, the blazing pain behind his eyes making it hard to concentrate. “Come on, Sammy, we...we need to go to the hospital.”
Everything ached and he rested his head on his still-unconscious brother’s chest, closing his eyes against the pain. It was dizzying, distorting and...something else that began with D.
Dean. Dean began with D.
Dean sniggered despite himself then immediately sobered when another wave of pain, stemming from his sternum, flowed over him, ripples of aftershock making his entire body throb. He coughed as smoke filled his lungs, burning his eyes. When Dean lifted his head, he couldn’t tell if the crimson staining his brother’s shirt belonged to him or Sammy.
If it was Dean’s, Sammy was going to kill him. That was his favourite shirt. Jess had given it to him.
Jess, who had died in a fire. Looked like Sammy’s death would be fire related, too.
His Baby was still ablaze, mesmerising, fascinating licks of heat lapping out the engine, the hood blown...somewhere. The seats were melted and charred, the heat spreading out of the windows like the fingers of memories, of the initials carved into the wood, the rattling Legos stuffed into the air vents, the stiff soldiers stuck in the door handles, standing guard, melting, going down with the ship in one last valiant attempt to protect their childhood.
Sammy’s groans grew quiet, and Dean’s ringing ears were met with only the sound of the clicks of fire, the mix of smoke and petrol strong and nauseating and yet Dean didn’t move, staring at his Baby, his childhood, as it went up in flames. Literally.
I feel like I should be crying right now.
That would be the expected response. Guess Dean isn’t exactly normal.
That’s the first sign of shock.
Sammy’s pulse was growing weak. He needed protection.
Dean pulled his brother into his lap, hand automatically running through his blood matted hair. Tiny shards of shrapnel cut into his fingers but he didn’t stop, continued to card through his brother’s hair, as if he were asleep and he were comforting him through a nightmare.
Sammy had a lot of those as a kid, and Dean would be left to help him through so he wouldn’t wake up their father.
He shifted his other hand to feel Sam’s neck. His pulse was only growing weaker.
Another pair of hands came into view, gruff, calloused, familiar. They touched Dean’s shoulder, tapped his cheek, waved in front of his face but it was like he was dreaming, his only worry feeling Sammy’s pulse, carding his hair, staring at his burning Baby.
Sammy shifted. Those traitorous hands were pulling his baby brother away from him.
“No!” Dean shouted, folding his body over his baby brother’s, protecting him, saving him, as he always did. He would not let the hands take his brother away, he wouldn’t, he swore he would protect him and he would, until the day he dropped dead.
“Dean.”
He ignored the demon, the imitator.
“Never trust a voice, Dean.” His father had said. “Demons can possess anyone, imitate anyone, and use it to control you. You have to be smarter, son.”
“I’m...no, I’m smarter than you, you…”
“I have no doubt you are, Dean, but your brother needs a hospital.”
Dean frowned. Why would a demon want to save his brother? “Go away, you...you demon, leave us alone.” He pushed his hand out, shoving the demon away before returning them to feel that Sammy’s pulse was still waning.
“Oh for God’s sake, move, you idjit!”
“No!” He yelled as he was shoved, his weak form collapsing in a numb heap, head spinning but he soldiered on, forced himself up, stumbling towards the demon that was moving away far too quickly, dragging his dying brother from under the arms. “Don’t...don’t.”
His knees gave out, along with his neck, his chin connecting with his chest. Everything was on fire, inside and out. Somewhere far away, past the ringing in his ears, someone whimpered, “Don’t hurt him.”
The world tilted and he followed, listing sideways as the smoke clouded his vision and he watched, helpless, paralyzed by pain, as the black eyed bitch wearing Bobby took his brother, along with his purpose.
The grass was cool against his cheek, the scent of smoke and the crack of fire reminding him of his Uncle Bobby’s camping trips.
Some of his favourite childhood memories were of stealing a bag or two of marshmallows from the nearest convenience store and roasting them over a roaring fire. Sammy couldn’t reach them from his distance from the fire, his obscene phobia preventing him from going any closer, so Dean would roast his for him - melted and dripping, just the way Sammy liked it.
They would lay down under the stars, Sammy, under the warmth of the jacket Dean had passed him, rambling for hours about all the constellations he read about and Dean silently listening, pretending not to care. He’s always adored Sammy’s fascination with the ordinary.
The demon was coming back and Dean growled as much as he could, pushing past the burning ache of fatigue and standing up, ignoring the way the world spun much faster than it should around him. He reached for his flask of holy water in his back pocket, fumbling with the lid and giving the demon a nice big splash.
“Argh - Dean, I’m not a demon!”
Dean frowned, heart dropping in momentary fear and confusion. The demon’s skin didn’t hiss and burn. Could it really be… “Bobby?”
“Yes, you idjit, now come on! You need a hospital as much as Sam does.”
But Dean’s knees had other ideas as they gave out, Bobby only just catching him as he leant against his chest, closing his eyes against the woozy feeling in his head.
Bobby looped Dean’s heavy arm over his shoulder and half guided, half carried Dean back to his borrowed car, helping him into the back where his brother slept ( not dead not dead not dead ) in the other seat.
As Bobby sped off, Dean frowned before removing his sticky jacket from his shoulders, pulling his baby brother into his lap and covering him with his jacket, just as he used to on those camping trips. His fingers instantly began to weave through Sammy’s hair, familiarity relaxing him, numbing him, pushing all the pain somewhere far away.
“Un…” He blinked, hard, letting his head fall back against the headrest. “Uncle Bobby?”
“Hang on, Dean, we’re nearly there.” His voice sounded fluffy, like he was talking underwater. Dean felt like he was underwater, floating, sinking, the darkness slowly caving in.
“Uncle B’bby, ‘m t’red.”
“No, De...ay awa….De…!”
---------------
His little brother shivered, curling up tighter under his blanket.
Dean rolled his eyes, already shrugging off his jacket. “Come here, Princess.”
Sam glared at him, trying his damned hardest to be scary. It fell short under his trembling puppy-dog gaze as he crawled over, resting his head against Dean’s thigh and letting Dean spread his jacket over his shoulders, relaxing with a sigh.
Dean stifled a laugh, running his hand through his brother’s hair. “One time opportunity, okay? Next time you’re a baby about a little chill, I’ll let you freeze. You get this one cheesy chick flick moment and that’s that.”
Sammy yawned, snuggling further under his brother’s jacket and closing his eyes.
“Better not drool on me.”
Sam snorted. “Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
“Dean?”
Another voice broke through the dark. It was gruff, low, familiar and yet Dean couldn’t place it as he floated, enjoying the dark, enjoying the peace.
“Can you hear me, Dean?”
An invisible hand grabbed his own, soft yet firm, also familiar. That touch sparked, igniting his dead nerves, bringing feeling back in a slow wave.
He was lying on something soft, relatively comfortable. His skin itched everywhere like one giant scab. His head felt tight, bandaged, and his lungs rattled with every breath, aching, my god did it hurt.
Something ran under his nose and he frowned at its discomfort, lifting a heavy hand to fiddle with it before another hand, rougher, grabbed it and forced it back to his side.
“That’s there to help, ya idjit, stop playin’ with it.”
Igjit. “B’bby?”
“Yeah, Dean, I’m here. You’re brother’s here, too.”
Brother...I have a brother? “S...Sammy?”
“Hey, man. Can you open your eyes for us?”
He frowned, tried, but they were glued shut and hurt. He whimpered despite himself.
“That’s okay, give it a minute, you’ll get there.”
He scrunched his eyes shut and wrenched them open, squinting, blinking hard against the harsh fluorescents above his bed.
“Hey. Hey, Dean?”
Where the fuck am I?
“You’re in the hospital, Dean. Hey, look at me.”
His gaze flickered down, blurred, focused on…his face grew in a grin, despite how much that fucking hurt. “Hey, Sammy.”
His brother flashed that trademark concerned smile. He was showered and freshly clothed so he no longer resembled a mangled corpse. His head was bandaged lightly and the cuts on his face and arms were gauzed, some bandaged. Other than that, he looked great. Alive.
“Wh-” His lungs burned, throwing him into a dizzying coughing fit. A cup was brought to his lips and he swallowed gratefully, allowing the cool liquid to sooth his scratchy throat. The cup was lowered and he leant back onto the pillows. “What day is it?”
“Tuesday.” Bobby answered, leaning back in his chair. He had a styrofoam coffee cup in hand. “You’ve been unconscious for three days.”
Dean stared at him, his brain taking a second to catch up. “Three days?”
“Yep.” Bobby scratched his beard. “You took the brunt of the explosion, got a shit ton of shrapnel from the hood in your chest and face. Almost went blind, actually.”
“Blind?”
“Yep.”
“Hm.” Dean frowned. “Like, uh...like what’s-her-name, uh…” His mind went blank, grabbing for the name that was right at the tip of his tongue.
“...Pamela Barnes? The one who got blinded after looking at Cas’ true form?”
Dean snapped his fingers with a grin. “That’s the one.” His heart panged painfully. “May she rest in peace.”
Sam nodded solemnly.
Dean’s eyes widened. “Does this mean I get to be Tony?”
Bobby’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
Sam smirked, shaking his head. “Movie character.” He turned to Dean. “No, Dean, you’re fine, you don’t need an arc reactor.”
Dean felt a pout automatically form on his lips. “Sucks.” And he felt it, too. Being Iron Man would have been awesome.
He looked at Sammy. “You okay, though?” He pointed to the bandage on his brother’s head. “Looks like you got banged pretty good.”
Sam laughed. “Yes, Dean. I’m all good. Just a mild concussion that disappeared a day later. You’re the one who got nearly blown up.”
Dean sat up. “Baby? Is she okay?”
His heart mirrored the drop in Sam’s face. “Dean, the car...she blew pretty bad. There was nothing but the smouldering frame by the time the fire department was able to douse the flames.” He shook his head. “She’s gone, man.”
Dean felt his body slide back to the pillows, vision blurring with tears he couldn’t care to force back. Baby couldn’t be gone, not after...after everything they’ve been through.
Somewhere in the distance of giving a fuck, Sam was talking about how much artillery they lost but Dean couldn’t care less about the knives and guns. He didn’t care about the fake IDs and mobile phones and spare cash that went up in flames.
He cared about the wear in the hood from where they sat, staring at the stars, drinking in silence. He cared about the dent in the roof from when Cas had landed on top of them. He cared about the bloodstains and old shirts and discarded beer bottles. All the things he would normally complain about for days on end became so subconsciously dear to him that, for the first time in months, he felt the warm trickle of salt down his cheeks.
He didn’t even complain when Bobby enveloped him in a fatherly hug, but rather clung to his shirt as much as his stiff fingers would allow, and allowed all the exhaustion and pain he had been holding in for so long come out in one heaving sob.
He was going to miss the hell out of that car.