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Heavy rain rattled the window panes, and cold wind came in through the cracks in the small cabin. Sam was sick, and with a storm coming on, this was the best Dean had been able to do for shelter.
Now, with a small fire to tend to in the dusty and ash-covered fireplace, and Sam lying on a thin, smelly blanket on the floor, another one like that over him, Dean kept watch. His eyes would droop from time to time, but Sam moaning in his sleep always brought him back to the land of the living.
Lightning lit up the sky, light blasting through the windows.
It was soon followed by thunder that seemed to shake the very air around them, to shake the cabin.
Sam lay beneath the scratchy blanket, shivering. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, and whenever Dean checked his forehead, he had a fever. In fact, he seemed to be getting hotter by the hour.
“Come on, just hang in there. As soon as this storm’s over we can get you some help.”
Sam had come down with this sickness during a hunt, and of course it’d almost caused him to pass out while they were tracking something in the woods. Dean had carried him to the Impala, dark clouds building in the sky above them, seen through the bare trees in the chill of November. Then he’d found this cabin, and, well… it was the best he could do.
But as the lightning seemed to grow closer and closer, he started wondering if he should’ve had them stay in the Impala. Cars were safer during a lightning storm, acting almost like a Faraday cage.
But Sam was coughing now, rolling onto his side, and he couldn’t stop coughing.
Half a minute passed. Maybe more.
Dean had a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, hey! It’s okay, I’m here. Breathe. Can you breathe for me?”
But Sam couldn’t stop coughing, and Dean didn’t know what to do to help, and Sam wasn’t conscious enough to try and breathe. He had a hand on his chest, feeling it buck against him.
Please, please, please… Dean pleaded, eyes squeezed shut.
He rushed to get behind Sam, and he grunted as he lifted him up, having Sam rest back against his chest. The coughing eventually subsided, Dean barely able to breathe himself, but now, this close to him, he could feel how sweaty he was, how he shivered.
Did he have the flu? Pneumonia?
Lightning struck, and the thunder came at almost the same time.
Dean, against all his training, wanted to cower and cover his ears.
As the cabin shook, he held Sam closer.
God, he had to douse the fire, get them back into the car. But could he risk taking Sam out there in the rain, and getting him soaked?
No, he was too weak to move.
Dean was going to have to live with his earlier decision, and Sam was… he was going to have to live or die with it.
Dean’s world became nothing but light and thunder that drove into his chest, nothing but Sam’s heavy body against him, feeling the wheeze in his lower lungs as it crackled against his own abdomen.
Oh god.
Oh god, oh god, oh god.
Somehow, through it all, Dean fell asleep, curled up against Sam.
He woke, not sure how much time had passed, feeling achy from the hard wooden floor.
The fire had died down, and they were left in chilly darkness except for the occasional flashes of lightning that were now farther away, the storm having traveled northeast.
Dean reached under the scratchy blanket, and felt that Sam’s skin was clammy. He was probably cold.
There wasn’t much firewood left to burn, not much at all, but Dean had his lighter, and using some dead leaves that had blown into the corners of the cabin, he got a fire going again.
Standing now, he grabbed Sam under the armpits, and dragged him closer to the fire, blankets getting tangled with him. Dean almost tripped on the one he was trying to use as a barrier so Sam wouldn’t be right up against the hard, cold floor.
Dean sat through the long, stormy night with his brother, catching sleep when he could, and praying to a God he didn’t believe in that Sam would be okay.