Archive of Our Own ^beta

“The meteor shower has been a spectacular, unannounced surprise for the people of-”

The radio had turned on automatically the second Dean had started the car. He hadn’t been bothered with turning it off. His brain was not even registering it over the uneven, terrifying sounds coming from his brother, who was fighting for every single drop of oxygen. He sounded like he was trying to breathe through burnt paper. Maybe that was exactly how his lungs looked like. Dean had no idea. He had no clue about the extent of damage that Sam’s body had suffered. Seeing him collapsing like that in the church had been so unexpected that he didn’t even had the time to think about what might had caused it. All Dean needed to know was that Sam was in pain – he might have actually been dying from that thing – and that was enough to make him focused on his one single task. Keep his brother safe.

Sam was slumped in the middle of the front seat, head resting on the seatback, shoulder pressed against Dean’s. He was close enough so Dean could check on him every moment without losing focus on the road. And Dean definitely needed to keep his eyes on the road, given the way he was pushing on the pedal, the Impala roaring, devouring the road beneath them. A car accident was literally the last thing he needed.

Despite that, Dean’s mind was filled with the unexpected, inexplicable chain of events that brought him hauling his brother out of an abandoned church in the middle of nowhere, with the King of Hell compressed in their trunk, and all the Angels in Heaven singing Geri Halliwell. Just an average Monday for the Winchesters, if it wasn’t for that little speech Sam gave him, before collapsing without a warning.

Sam seriously thought Dean hated him? That he had been let down by his little brother? Well, there was some truth in that, and Sam had definitely deserved the cold shoulder in the past. But going kamikaze for that? How could he not see?

‘Damn, sometimes the kid is the most stubborn, blind son of a bitch.’

At first Dean had felt deeply hurt by Sam’s words in the church. He made them sound like it was Dean’s fault. Or did he? Dean would had smacked him in the face, if it hadn’t been for the miserable and heartbreaking expression Sam was pulling. And the moment his giant brother had made himself so small in his hug, all Dean’s anger evaporated in a second. And he felt so sorry. In that moment, the big brother mode had clicked on, and he had reacted in the only way he knew: taking over all the responsibilities, accepting that everything was his fault and that he had to fix it, no matter at what cost.

“You’ll be okay soon, Sammy, I promise,” Dean said trying to keep his voice calm.

“Showers like that are a beautiful natural phenomenon. Although the scientists are still baffled by the absence of warnings-”

“Please, Sam, tell me what’s wrong. Tell me what to do,” Dean pleaded, now too worried by the lack of response in his brother for trying to hide his panic.

“Such a breathtaking view-”

“Ehi, talk to me now.” Dean lifted Sam’ head with his right hand, in an attempt to ease his painful breathing.

“Dean, it... it h-” Sam’s words were cut off by a wet cough that made him double over and almost hit the dashboard with his forehead. Dean grabbed the collar of his shirt just in time.

“Ehi, take it easy! We don’t need a concussion on top of that, uh?” He even forced himself a smile that Sam obviously couldn’t see. Dean glanced desperately at the road, hoping for a sign pointing to a hospital, a town, or any form of civilisation. Sam kept on coughing, incapable of catching a single breath. He grabbed Dean’s arm just below his shoulder, squeezing it so hard it made Dean jump on the seat.

“It’s alright, let it out,” Dean said, ignoring the pain, gently patting Sam on the back. When Sam finally straightened up, his lips and chin were dripping blood.

“Oh shit,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam must had thought that too, judging from his face. He looked at his brother with fear, and Dean was sure that that was exactly the same expression he himself had.

“It was more entertaining than fireworks!”

Suddenly he felt his heart rushing up to his throat as they fell down, hit the ground, and then flew up again. The pain stroke in the moment his head hit the car ceiling. A bloodcurdling sound of scratching metal and clanging reverberated into his skull. Dean lost his grip on Sam’s shirt and put both his hands on the wheel, as he struggled to keep the car on the road. He hit the brakes with both his feet as he realised he couldn’t keep control over the Impala. A rattling sound followed them until the car was completely still. Even then, he kept both his hands wrapped around the wheel, panting, blood rushing into his ears.

“Holy crap!” He instinctively brought a hand to his head, checking for injuries – because that hurt like a son of a bitch!

“Sam, you okay?”

Sam was now lying on his right side, his head against the door, and he had started coughing again.

“I’m gonna check on the car. Will be back in a sec. Hang in there!”

Dean grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and pushed the door open. He pointed the light to the road behind the car and he finally figured out what happened. A big hole in the asphalt, just in the middle of the road. They got right into it at max speed. Dean considered themselves lucky to be still alive.

Still.

He was about to run back to check on Sam, when he spotted the wet, dark trail on the road. He followed the trail with the flashlight until it disappeared under the car, where a much larger pool had started spreading from underneath. Suddenly, he felt like all his blood had been drained from him.

“No... No!”

The controls on the dashboard simply proved what he was fearing. The indicator was precipitating as the fuel flowed out of the tank.

“Shit!” Dean shut down the engine immediately. He then laid against the car, closed his eyes, and focused on regaining control. He rubbed a hand on his cheek, thinking. Dean had been instructed on identifying priorities and he knew what he had to do. He wasn’t sure about the kind of damage the Impala might had suffered. The only think he sure about was that keeping his brother near a pool of gasoline and an engine was not safe enough to him.

Dean run to the other side and opened the passenger door. “Sam, we gotta go now. C’mon help me here. I’m not gonna carry your ass out,” he said, hoping to get some kind of response. Sam was clenching to the seat with one hand, and had the other arm wrapped around his stomach.

“De-... I can’t...”

“Yeah you can,” Dean said, manhandling him out of the car. Once he had him on his feet, Dean brought Sam’s arm across his shoulders and grabbed his belt by the hip, carrying most of his weight. “Come on, I’ll take you somewhere safer.”

Sam was not doing good. The simple act of standing was taking him a huge effort, so that he could barely walk, dragging his feet on the wet grass, completely relying on Dean to remain upright. His bandaged hand was stained with blood, although that couldn’t had been from his wound only.

“Good. You’re doing good, Sammy,” Dean reassured him, just before Sam’s legs gave up, unable to go any further. They both dropped on their hands and knees, Sam coughing and vomiting more blood, Dean drawing slow circles on his trembling back.

“I’m-m...sorry...”

“It’s alright, we’re far enough now.” Dean was not sure, but he knew he could not ask Sam for anything more.

Once Sam had finished, Dean stood up and patted him gently on the back. “I’ll be right back. Can you please not choke in the next two seconds?”

“Wh’re you goin’?”

“To put the King of Hell to good use, for once.”

“Don-”

“Sam, we don’t really have a choice here!”

Sam grabbed the end of Dean’s jeans to prevent him from going, while he struggled to catch a new breath.

“The keys...”

“The keys?”

“The handcuffs... keys. You didn’t take them with you.”

“The keys?!” Dean repeated shaking his head. “I thought you had them!”

“I did... Crowley.... was playing tricks on me... so I hid them... outside the church.”

“Fuck.” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth and tried to concentrate. For the second time in less than five minutes. He felt like everything was spiralling into a black hole of hopelessness. So, Cas was AWOL, and without the keys to remove the magic handcuffs, Crowley was completely powerless.

“Okay. Okay.” Time for plan B, then. There was always a plan B. “We’ll do it the old fashioned way.”

Dean propped him up against himself, to at least try to ease his breathing. With his brother’s head against his chest he could clearly feel now the waves of heat Sam’s body was emanating. Dean, however, was freezing. He was frozen by the fear of not knowing what was happening, and not being able to help Sam. He placed a cold hand against Sam’s forehead – hoping that would, at least, have helped – while he dialled 911 with the other. A female voice answered, although it took him a few seconds to be able to speak. Dean realised his voice was a lot shakier than he expected, and he didn’t want Sam to hear it.

“Ah... My brother’s hurt. The car is broken. I need an ambulance now."

“What’s wrong with your brother?”

Dean was doing his best to focus on the lady’s voice instead on Sam’s wheeze sounds and low whimpers, but his mind was not programmed for ignoring Sam’s pain.

“Sir, calm down, we can help. I need you to describe me his symptoms.”

“He can’t breathe. He’s coughing up blood. A lot. And he’s burning up. He’s hurt bad! Please, you need to hurry!”

“The ambulance is on the move while we speak. Tell me where you are.”

“I-” He didn’t know. After he loaded Sam in the car, his first thought was hitting the road as fast as he could and drive until he found a town. He didn’t know where he was going. He might had driven into the wrong direction, as far as he knew. Dean tried to remember the exact location of the abandoned church. They must had driven about... fifteen minutes? Thirty? That could had been hours for what they felt to him. Towards where?

Sam’s hand grabbed Dean’s jacket, his lips cracked and bloody, eyes glassy.

“Dean... where are we?”

“Sir, where?”

Dean collected his fragmented thoughts and told her what he knew. Not much. Maybe not enough.

“Okay, sir. The ambulance is coming, but it might take some time to find you. Meanwhile, you need to help your brother. You need to make sure his airways are free.” The lady’s voice was so calm and professional, while all Dean wanted to do was yelling at the phone that yes, he knew he needed to help his brother! And he couldn’t! Because that was not a simple problem of obstructed airways and fever. That was the fricking Word of God trying to kill Sam!

“Sir, please, stay on the line and listen to my instructions.”

Dean hadn’t been answering for a while. He had been looking at how fast Sam was deteriorating, his cheeks flushed by fever, while the rest was so pale. He was fading, right into his arms, while all he could do was nothing.

“I have to go now.” Dean discarded the phone dropping it onto the grass.

Sam was not able to suffocate his groans anymore. He was clenching his hands to his chest, all muscles tensed, legs scratching weakly the ground.

“Dean... It hurts too much...”

Dean pulled him closer, his hand tangled in Sam’s hair. “I know. It’s going to be okay. The ambulance’s coming. You’re going to be alright soon.”

Sam’s words were cut by uneven wheezes. “Ambulance?... Where’s... the car?”

“Broke it. The idiots living here didn’t think of filling up a hole in the road.”

“How’s-s baby?”

Dean scoffed nervously. “She’ll be alright. I’ll fix her. Yeah, I can... I can fix her...”

Pressed against his brother’s chest, Sam seemed to be less restless.

“No doubt.”

Yeah. Dean knew how to fix the Impala. Although that was not what he wanted to fix right now.

“Sam... tell me what’s wrong. Let me do something.”

Dean felt Sam’s breath burning on his chest, through the layers of fabric.

“It’s... okay. S’rry, I’m a bit... dizzy.”

“I bet that. How’s the breathing?”

“A little better.”

‘Yeah, because you have nothing left to cough, except for your lungs,’ Dean thought grimly.

Sam attempted to straighten up his back, but fell back immediately, clenching his teeth to stop a scream from leaving his mouth.

“Where are you hurting?”

“It’s... everywhere. I don’t know... It’s like... every single cell in me is... burning.”

Dean could definitely feel that. His brother was a furnace. And every time Dean thought he couldn’t be any warmer, he was proven wrong. He had nothing, though, to lower down the temperature. Sam had no other choice than hanging on until the ambulance arrived. There was no other option.

“Dean...” he said in a weaker voice. “I think I... I feel like I’m-”

“No, Sam! Don’t say that! That is not an option, you hear me? After all the shit we’ve gone through... you have gone through, you’re not allowed to give up now!”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Sam’s face on hearing those words. “I thought that too. But-”

“You stop it right there! I know you can do it, Sam. But you need to help me here, kiddo. So stop this bullshit talk now.”

Sam did what he was told. He stopped talking. And Dean immediately realised how little he liked that.

“Sammy?!” He shook him gently, trying to stop the wave of panic raising from his stomach.

‘No no no no no.’ The word was drumming into his brain. ‘Not yet!’

“I’m sorry.” That came as a broken whisper from below. “I was so sure... and I failed.”

Despite the laborious breathing, Sam put all his effort in getting those words out. However, his body didn’t seem to collaborate.

“I told y-” The words were substituted by more blood in his mouth and Sam had to stop once again, trying to find the right equilibrium between coughing and breathing. For once, Dean was grateful for the timing. He knew what his brother meant to say. The usual string of apologies for something he didn’t do or didn’t have control over. Or, again, for something that Dean was responsible for, instead.

Sam made another miserable attempt. “I told you I could have shown you-”

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean shushed him harshly, repositioning him so his head was now resting on Dean’s shoulder. He found comfort in feeling Sam’s rapid, hot breaths against his neck.

“Don’t you start now with your Little-Women-style speeches.”

“But Dean-”

“Don’t but Dean me now!” Dean was aware of the anger in his words, but he couldn’t help it. He was angry because, once again, he was useless. Because he couldn’t do anything more than listening to his brother suffering. He was angry because he was so damn scared, and because he could feel tears burning into his nose and he didn’t think he could stop them.

“I’m not going to listen to you talking like these will be your last words! I’m sick of this! You don’t get to die tonight. No more argument there.”

Sam’ breaths were getting faster and faster against Dean’s skin, only interrupted by painful groans that cut through Dean’s heart like swords.

“Sam, you gotta start breathing normally now, you understand? Take it easy.”

The only answer was a hand, clenching and pulling his jacket above his chest. Sam had buried his face even deeper in Dean’s shoulder and the sobs came out muffled.

“Hurts... too much.” Dean knew that. He knew Sam was not one who complained about the pain, so what he was suffering now must had been simply excruciating. All Dean could hear though was Sam’s silent plea: make it stop! An horrible thought was forming into his mind. He realised there was no way he could stop that suffering. He just wanted it to be over. He hated himself for thinking of it, but maybe... there was only one way that could have happened. He bit his bottom lip and pressed his mouth against Sam’s hair, because he feared that otherwise his screams might have joined Sam’s ones.

After what felt like hours of suffering and sobbing, Sam’s exhausted and shaky body leant heavily against Dean’s. Through the fabric of his jacket and shirt, he was feeling the wetness of breath, tears and blood.

For a long time, it was silent. Dean didn’t dare talking or moving. He stared into the night, sure that his chest and his throat were about to explode.

“I’m sorry... I didn’t close the gates,” Sam started again, his voice so weak Dean could barely make out the words. This time Dean didn’t interrupt him. He didn’t mind what his brother was saying, as long as he could hear his voice. “Everything we’ve been through... was worthless. I told you I-I’d have shown you the light... but I should’ve known. This couldn’t end up well.”

Dean drew in a shaky breath. “You would have done it. If it wasn’t for me. You would have closed the gates and saved the world. Again. But I couldn’t...” Saying those words was actually less difficult than Dean thought. Because that was the truth. Because he, Dean Winchester, had made his brother’s death vain. Trying to hide his tears was completely pointless now. He couldn’t take any more of that.

He heard Sam exhaling slowly. He felt him shuddering, and couldn’t make out how was that possible given the scorching heat Sam was emanating.

“T-Thank you for stopping me. It meant a lot.”

Dean scoffed. That was so typical. Sam was the one dying, but still he was the one who was trying to make Dean feel better.

“I’m sorry,” Dean repeated. He didn’t think he could say anything different right now.

“Please, stop."

“It’s just that I couldn’t let you go. I couldn’t do it again. And I screwed up.”

“Dean, p-please,” Sam begged again, teeth rattling. “I d-don’t want to hear this... n-now.”

In Dean’s mind that meant ‘I don’t want these to be the last words I hear from you.’ Dean didn’t wish that either. There was stuff that needed to be said now.

He inhaled deeply. He didn’t want his words to sound shaky, because he had never been more certain about anything else.

“I’m proud of you, Sam. I’ve always been, actually. But with this trial thing... I could have never done it the way you did.”

“Yes... you could...”

Dean shook his head. “Not this way. To me that would have been the usual mission: being the big brother, keeping you out of trouble, and maybe die in the process. But you...” Dean had to stop a few seconds and swallow, before having his voice back. “You wanted to prove me something. Sam, you told me once you’ve always looked up at me. Truth is... I also looked up at you. I’ve always admired the way you can stand up for yourself and the others. Damn, if only I had looked up at you more often, probably we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

The night, so silent, and the heat coming from Sam were almost comforting. Dean thought that it wouldn’t have been that bad if the world had ended in that right moment. Actually, it was. Although not in the way he wanted. His world was about to end in seconds, and he was not one single bit ready for that. Then again, when did the world be kind to the Winchesters?

Sam had stopped responding and moving, with the exception of the occasional shudders.

“You should go” Sam said, after a long silence.

“Go where?”

“Joining dad. On the hunt. I’ll be fine, it’s just a fever. I had worse.”

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed back a sob. “I’ll just stay a few minutes. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Dean stroke Sam’s hair gently. “Always.”

He heard Sam inhaling, but nothing followed. He felt his body tensing, all muscles stiffening. Dean knew what was about to happen, he had been waiting for that. He hugged Sam tight, braced himself, and prepared for the seizure to start.

Dean was completely oblivious to the hits his collarbone was receiving, or to the kicks in his shin. He wouldn’t have let go. He would have waited for it to be over, humming Metallica like he always did in moments of distress, even if, this time, the notes were distorted by the lump in his throat.

Dean gave a last look at the horizon, in the vain hope to see the flashes of an ambulance, to hear a siren wailing into the distance. But that was not the day his prayers would have been answered. Everything was silent and still now, even Sam, who had stopped trashing around and had fallen motionless and lifeless in Dean’s arms.

Dean knew he had to check for a pulse, he just didn’t want to. Not yet. There was nothing he could do, anyway. No one was coming for help, he could not help. He could wait, though, and delay the moment he would have found out that Sam was dead.

Then something tickled the skin on his neck. It could have been the night breeze, but Dean recognised it as a faint, familiar breath.

“Sam?”

He received no answer, but he felt brave enough for pressing his fingers against Sam’s neck, waiting for a pulse. It was fast and weak like his breathing, and slowing down.

“Sammy, you with me?”

He wasn’t. Sam’s glassy eyes were fixed into the night, looking at something that wasn’t there, sleepy eyelids closing slowly. His heartbeats were now so sluggish Dean could count them in rhythm with his own breaths.

One, two. Three.

Four.

“Fireworks.”

The word reached Dean’s ears like a whisper, so faint that it could have been the wind. But Dean knew what it meant, and he knew he didn’t imagine it. He felt revealed at the memory, and somehow he managed to smile.

“That’s right, Sammy.”

At least Dean knew where to find him.