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Sam slammed the shovel into the ground, picking up a clump of clay and dirt. He tossed it aside and repeated the process, frowning at the work that was still left to go. He had been digging the grave for almost an hour and there was still feet left to go. The clay that was impacted with the soil made things that much more difficult and he was left sweating and painting, movements unfocused and strength zapped away.
“Hey, Sammy. Think you can dig a little faster so that we actually complete this in this century?”
Sam glanced over to see Dean, who had made slightly more progress than he did. Sweat was pouring off of his brow as well, shovel thrust over his shoulder before slamming it down on the ground to pick up more dirt to toss aside.
“Yeah, I’m trying.” Sam shoved the shovel back down, almost falling forward when the tip became wedged under a stone that he was unable to lift. Frustration pulsed through his sore muscles and he was forced to push it back into the dirt, panting heavily as he leaned over the shovel that was shoved under his arm. His chest heaved with each breath, a weight pressing so firmly that Sam almost choked on his own breath.
Dean cast aside another shovel of dirt before casting a sideways glance at his brother. That’s when he saw the sweat falling from him and how he stood on wobbly legs. His shirt was almost completely soaked through from his undershirt to his flannel and even portions of his jeans. Unfocused eyes were looking somewhere ahead into the forest, although directly where was a question that not even Dean could answer.
“Sam?” Dean dropped his shovel and walked over to his brother just in time to see his eyes roll back in his head and body collapse.
Dean was there to catch him awkwardly, holding him so that he didn’t slam into the ground. “Geez, you weigh, like, a ton!” Dean began to lower Sam down to the best of his ability, careful to set him down on his back. He leaned over his brother to block the sunlight from his face and began to tap the sides of Sam’s cheeks before giving his shoulders a firm shake.
“C’mon, open your eyes for me. Let’s go. Here isn’t the time or place to pass out on me.” Dean continued attempting to wake Sam up. In the process, his hand flew to Sam’s forehead where he felt heat pulsating through his fingers. It wasn’t quite a fever, but Sam was definitely overheated if nothing else.
They had been outside digging for longer than Dean could remember, and before that they had gone for a three mile hike to some cabin in the woods to acquire information on a recluse, which had then taken them to this grave where they were having issue upon issue. The ground was mixed with tough clay that made things that much more challenging to dig through. The sun was also scorching them where they stood, rising their body temperature and leaving their skin angry and red. They were used to their line of work in less than desirable conditions, but this was something different entirely.
Once it was clear that shaking his brother was getting him nowhere, Dean turned and managed to snag the left strap of his backpack. He pulled it close and nearly ripped the zipper open to find a bottle of water. It was warm, much warmer than Dean would’ve wanted to give his brother, but it was the only option.
“You’re beyond dehydrated,” Dean muttered to himself.
How has he been that stupid?! Had he really not been paying that much attention that his brother’s physical state has escaped his knowledge? What kind of brother was he?
Dean tipped the water over into a bandana he found at the bottom of the bag and gently dabbed at Sam’s forehead, brushing his bangs aside. He was still sweating, which was a good sign in Dean’s mind.
‘Sam’s body is still producing sweat. He must have at least some water still in his system,’ Dean told himself, thinking back to all of those years of grueling first aid training that his father had put him through. It finally seemed to be paying off now.
Dean continued to dab at Sam’s brow, careful not to use an excess of water; the rest Sam would need to drink.
Time stretched on for what felt like an eternity before Sam’s eyelashes fluttered and his eyes opened. He made a single groggy attempt to stand, but Dean was there to force a hand against his chest to push him down.
“I don’t think so,” Dean chided, already forcing the water bottle against Sam’s lips. “Drink first.”
Sam attempted to refuse, head twisting back to avoid it. One look into Dean’s less than understanding expression had him reluctantly taking it and swallowing a couple mouthfuls. He left the bottle a quarter of the way filled and pushed it back towards Dean.
“Your turn,” he responded hoarsely.
“Uh huh. You finish that, Sammy,” Dean told him forcefully.
Sam was defiant when he shook his head, the strength beginning to return. “You need some too. You’re as hot as I am.”
“I’m not the one that just passed out when were were digging a damn grave. You’re the dehydrated one.” Dean pushed a finger against Sam’s chest and he partially stumbled back, elbows catching him before he fell. “You’re as weak as a kitten, dude. Are you seriously going to tell me that you’re not dehydrated?”
Sam’s dull gaze momentarily flashed. “I’m not saying that I’m not dehydrated, but I’m saying you probably are too. Just drink the rest of the water.”
Dean could tell when an argument with Sam wasn’t going anywhere. They were both stubborn, sure, but Sam had a deep rooted stubbornness that may have been rivaled by their father, but Dean could never come close. He gave in fairly easily when it came to Sam. All it took was one look into those dewy hazel eyes and he would back down, not without a good bit of grumbling, but he would back down all the same. It didn’t matter how old they both got; Dean still would do anything for Sam, especially when he looked into those eyes of him.
“Fine. Will that make you shut your trap?”
Sam gave a small nod.
Begrudgingly, Dean took the water and downed it in two gulps. He stuffed the plastic bottle into the backpack and turned back to Sam, tracking his brother’s eyes for signs of dehydration. Half a bottle of water wouldn’t cure Sam or replenish his electrolytes, yet they had to start somewhere.
“This is getting a little weird, dude,” Sam commented when Dean wouldn’t look away.
Dean scoffed. “This is on you. If you would’ve listened to me and not pushed yourself like this, we may not be in this situation.”
Sam turned his head to the side, breaking eye contact with Dean. “When don’t we push ourselves, Dean? How was I supposed to know this was the one time it would catch up with me?”
Sam did make a good point, not that Dean would openly admit it to his brother. They had been through dozens upon dozens of cases, some of which were much more strenuous in this one. It took the perfect storm of conditions to bring forth a reaction such as this, which would put them way behind. Sam would insist that he was fine and that he could continue while Dean would say the exact opposite. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it hadn’t happened in a while.
“Well, now we have plenty of time for you to hydrate yourself and we can come back and finish this when you’re no longer a risk to yourself,” Dean responded, already reaching to grasp Sam’s arm and haul him to his feet.
Sam glanced over his shoulder at the half dug grave. “We’re just going to leave this?”
“It’s at the edge of the woods, Sam. The only people stupid enough to dig in this tick infested clay and soil is us. I think that we’re more than in the clear.”
Dean waited for Sam to ponder his words while debating it in his own head. He would’ve said anything to get Sam to abandon their hunt for at least a short period of time so they could get him something to eat and drink and perhaps some rest. It was difficult to coax either of them to do it even on a good day, but sometimes using reason would work to pull one of them from their stubbornness.
“I’ll be fine,” Sam muttered after a second, eyes beginning to mist over once more.
Dean snapped his fingers in front of Sam’s face. “You most definitely won’t be fine! Give yourself time and we’ll come back and do this later, okay? Will you at least listen to me this once?”
Sam curled his lip in distain at Dean’s insinuation. Stubbornness caused each muscle to tense, but he quickly deflated when another sharp pang worked its way through his left temple, leaving him blinking manically against it. “Alright....fine,” he muttered after a moment.
Dean would’ve leapt for joy if he didn’t think Sam would then purposely refuse to listen to him then. Instead, he reached out and grasped his brother by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet, cautious so not to tumble down with Sam if he lost his balance. He then tentatively reached down and grasped the backpack and then kicked the shovels under a nearby bush. The likelihood that anyone would find them was exceptionally low, but one could never be too careful.
They started back toward the long hike to the car, Dean taking most of Sam’s weight despite Sam’s nonverbal protest that he was fine. That was something Sam did often when he pushed his body to the brink and Dean was left to be the voice of reason.
Dean didn’t mind for the most part. It meant that he was needed, and he had no idea what he would do when that wasn’t the case.