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“Get him on the bed!”
“Dad, he’s losing blood!”
“Put pressure on it!”
Dean ripped his jacket off and pressed it hard against Sam’s bare side where the bullet wound was steadily seeping blood. He blinked several times to clear his blurry vision and mentally cursed his hands for shaking so hard. He was freaking out.
“Move!” John yelled, shoving Dean out of the way forcefully and taking the jacket off of Sam’s side, instead looking at the wound intently.
Dean brought his hands up to his head and ran his fingers roughly through his hair. He watched his father study the wound and felt his stomach churn.
It had been friendly fire. A total accident. Sam had been shot in the side accidently by Rufus when the shapeshifter they were hunting moved a little too quickly and Sam accidentally ended up in his line of fire. He immediately went down, and Dean ran to him as John finished off the monster. Rufus apologized profusely, but that didn’t stop the bleeding.
And now John’s fingers were roughly running over the wound and Dean was watching as Sam’s eyes grew wide with hurt and panic and his breathing picked up, each fast exhale shallow and uneven.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Dean told him with a forced smile, reaching a hand up and gently caressing his jaw. The kid looked so shaken. Dean looked down towards the wound and felt his stomach drop when he saw the amount of blood already all over John’s hands. In panic and worry, he shouted, “Dad?!”
They were absolutely frantic. Worry, fear, and adrenaline surrounded them and spread through the room like a thick cloud of smoke. Sam had never been this hurt before. He’d never been shot .
“I gotta get it out.” Dad barked, and the slight bit of fear in their father’s voice made Dean’s blood turn ice cold. Rarely ever did that side come out.
“Then do it!” Dean yelled, begging for urgency. He couldn’t stand to see Sam in pain much longer.
He heard more than saw John grab the tweezers and then he was loudly being instructed to, “Hold him down!”
Dean leaned his whole body over Sam’s, gently placing a hand on both shoulders and firmly pressing down to keep him in place. Immediately he could see Sam start to freak out due to being pinned down, his eyes growing even more wide and breathing growing more staccato.
“Breathe, Sammy, breathe.” Dean told him, making eye contact that he hoped was somewhat reassuring, “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”
Sam met his eyes and Dean smiled tightly when he saw that it visibly calmed down his brother. He squeezed Sam’s shoulder in comfort, and then things went south. Fast. John had begun digging for the bullet and Sam was thrashing and screaming out and writhing under Dean’s hands.
“Keep him down!” John yelled, and Dean did his best to do that. He pressed down harder on Sam’s shoulders and brought a leg up to press down on Sam’s untouched side. They spent nearly two minutes in that position, Dean’s eyes starting to water in sympathy and fear.
It was like a blessing from God when John finally announced, “It’s out.”
Dean released some of his hold on Sam when his brother stopped writhing so hard. He was still twitching and breathing roughly, but the thrashing and screaming had ceased.
“Did it hit anything?!” Dean asked. It didn’t look like it at first glance, but the bullet wasn’t too far off from a kidney or his intestines. Never know.
“Looks like just muscle.” John answered, and Dean sagged his shoulders in relief. His father continued, “I need to stitch it, though. Get him some pain killers.”
Dean slowly let go of Sam’s shoulders, easing into the release to male sure Sam would stay down and not try to escape pf thrash out of position. He seemed to stay unmoving though, arms limp and eyes blinking slowly. He looked exhausted.
Dean gave him one last look before going to the bathroom and grabbing the strongest meds they had. He jogged back out to the main room, stopping to grab a water bottle from his duffle on the way, and then sat down beside Sam’s head. He gently guided his brother’s head up so he could swallow properly and gently placed the pills in Sam’s mouth, followed by some water.
“Swallow, Sam. Careful.” He encouraged, hearing John getting the supplies ready at the other side of the bed but choosing to ignore it. He both saw and felt Sam swallow the pills and he smiled softly, “Good, baby brother.”
And then Sam’s eyes slid closed and his head fell back against the mattress and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. He looked so fucking sick.
“He’s really pale, dad.” Dean announced, his voice cracking just the tiniest bit.
John simply responded, “He lost a lot of blood.”
“Maybe we should take him to a hospital.” Dean suggested, worrying his lip between his teeth. They couldn’t take a chance on Sam’s life. They couldn’t risk him just for the sake of avoiding insurance and questions. Sam was worth everything.
But John held firm and simply stated, louder than before, “No.”
Dean shook his head, “Dad-”
“I said no!” John yelled, cutting him off. And then he growled, “Just hang onto him!”
And Dean did as told, gritting his teeth together as Sam squirmed and John started stitching up the wound. Sam’s eyes were barely open, just tiny slits staring up at him. His face was ashen pale and his lips were purple. There was sweat gathering all along his hairline and the muscles in his neck and chest were bulging and strained. Dean blinked away tears and shut down the tear, solely focusing on keeping Sam steady as John stitched him up. It took several long minutes before their dad was done.
“Stitches are done. I just need to dress it.” He announced, placing the thread and needle down on the bedside table and grabbing the gauze and medical tape. He finally looked up at his sons, and he must’ve seen the fear his eldest son was harboring when he met Dean’s eyes, because he immediately sighed, “He’ll be fine, Dean.”
And for some reason, that angered Dean. He was so nonchalant about it. So sure. Like they hadn’t been this close to losing him. Sam’s life was one the line and John was acting like everything was perfectly fine.
“We could’ve lost him today.” Dean said aloud, clenching his jaw as he stared down his father.
John, as he rolled out the gauze and placed it over the wound, refuted, “We didn’t.”
And Dean just shook his head in silent frustration and rage as John finished dressing the wound. How could he be so relaxed about this? Sam had never been in this much danger before, and John was acting like it barely fazed him.
“We could-”
“Enough!” John cut him off, face going red and words sharp, “We didn’t lose him, and we aren’t losing anyone else!”
Dean took an automatic step back in fear of his father’s harsh tone and angry words. He blinked and swallowed in shock as his father forcefully threw the leftover gauze and tape to the floor and stood up abruptly. Then John was grabbing his coat and storming towards the door.
“Where are you going?” Dean asked, voice shaking and eyes wide. His heart was pounding.
“Out!” John yelled simply, and then he was stepping through the door and slamming it behind him. Dean flinched at the sound.
—————
Dean went on a walk while Sam slept, half walking off his anger at John and half just getting some air. He stayed right around their motel room, simply doing some laps around the parking lot and looking up at the stars in the sky. Rufus had called once, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t in the mood to tell him it was okay that he shot his brother. He couldn’t comfort the man that almost killed his whole world.
About thirty laps and twenty minutes later, Dean made his way back into the room. It was probably just past 2am, the sky pitch black and nobody wandering around except for him.
The lights were on dimly when he walked back into the room. He left them that way so Sam wasn’t completely in the dark but also had enough of it to sleep. Except… Sam wasn’t asleep.
Dean raised his eyebrows when he saw his brother wide awake, curious eyes scanning the room and breathing uneven.
“Hey, you’re awake.” Dean walked over to the bed, taking a seat next to his brother and gently running a hand down his cheek, “How are you feeling?”
Sam cleared his throat and then grumbled out sleepily, “Tired and sore.”
Dean frowned. Sam sure looked like he was a hell of a lot worse off than just ‘tired and sore.’
“I’m okay.” Sam added after a moment, obviously seeing Dean’s skepticism, “Just need some time to recover, you know how it is.”
Dean looked down at his hands and tried not to sound sad when he replied, “Yeah.”
And then, of course, Sam had to ask, “Where’s dad?”
Dean clenched his jaw and answered as vaguely as he could, “He went out.”
Sam raised a brow, “Bar?”
Dean tilted his head. Sam was too smart for his own good. He sighed, “Probably.”
Sam looked down at his bare chest and the gauze that was already stained with blood and whispered, “I think I scared him.”
Of course Sam was all doped up and bleeding from a bullet wound and yet thinking about their fucking dad.
“Don’t worry about him.” Dean said a little too sharply. Then he sighed and got up, moving to Sam’s other side and gesturing at his wound, “Let me check on that.”
He sat down where their father was before and gently ran his fingers over the edge of the tape.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked in a raspy whisper, and Dean scoffed. As if he should be asking anyone else about their wellbeing.
“Can’t complain.” He said simply, studying the edges of the dressing and thinking about how to rip it off in the least painful way.
“You haven’t slept.” Sam said quietly, and Dean looked up at him and met his gaze. Of course he hadn’t been sleeping, his brother had almost bled out before his own damn eyes.
Dean exhaled, going for humor, “Yeah, well, I was making sure you didn’t croak on me.”
But Sam saw through his attempt to lighten the mood and replied softly, “I’m okay.”
“Yeah.” Dean stared at the wound, gently pulling up one corner of the tape, “Right.”
He gently placed one hand on Sam’s pelvis and used the other to grip the tape, ready to peel it away.
“This is gonna hurt a little.” He warned. Sam nodded his acknowledgment and then Dean ripped the dressing away. Sam flinched and groaned in pain and Dean winced in sympathy, “Sorry.”
Sam just sighed and nodded.
There was dried blood all around the wound, but the stitches looked solid and there were no signs of pus or leakage. No evidence of an infection or any mistakes in the stitches. Dean hummed in satisfaction.
“Could’ve been a lot worse.” He announced to his brother, keeping his voice soft and steady, “Like half an inch to the left and you’d be toast. You were lucky.”
“Do ya think it’s gonna scar?” Sam asked, and Dean frowned a little as he looked at it.
He said, “Probably,” but he knew the answer was definitely .
He narrowed his brows when Sam just smiled and exhaled, “Cool.”
Dean laughed in disbelief and shook his head, “You’re a weirdo, Sammy.”
Dean started redressing the wound, and tried to hide his skirk when Sam corrected him with a strained, “Weirdo badass.”
“Right.” Dean scoffed as he finished up the dressing. He placed a hand on Sam’s thigh and squeezed, “Well, even badasses need sleep. Get some rest.”
Sam closed his eyes and asked hopefully, “Coffee in the morning?”
Dean rolled his eyes, “Sure thing, your majesty.”
Sam just smiled slightly and whispered, “Thanks, Dean.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean said as he walked over to the light switch and flicked it off all the way, “Night, Sammy.”