Note: This fic has a connection to Frostbite (which I swear I'm still working on) and A New Kind of Evil (which is the next of my multi-chapter fics to be updated - hopefully in a couple weeks if things go my way) - said connections are in no way detrimental to the story, it can be perfectly enjoyed as a stand-alone.
"Where the hell are you?"
Sam flinched at his brother's greeting before bracing himself, aware that the older boy's anger was soon to escalate.
"Sam! I've been waiting for an hour and it's fucking freezing out here."
The younger boy sucked in a shaky breath, knowing Dean required a response.
That he deserved a response.
No matter how furious it was about to make him.
Because Sam didn't know that it had been an hour, but he did know that he was late picking up his big brother from work and that the reason for his tardiness would infuriate Dean all the more.
Sam was terrified.
Terrified of the pain he could feel thrumming through his body.
Terrified of the lost time he was unable to account for.
Terrified of the mistake he had made.
Terrified of Dean's anger.
Most of all, Sam was terrified of disappointing his big brother.
Again.
"Sam? What's going on, buddy? Talk to me."
The teenager quirked a small smile, because of course the simple act of breathing had been enough to set off Dean's sixth sense.
"I'm sorry." He choked out. It wasn't what he had meant to say. He wanted to explain the situation and maybe help Dean understand just a little, but Sam couldn't seem to stop apologizing. "I'm so sorry, De. I'm sorry."
"Hey, calm down, Sammy. Tell me what's going on."
Sam tried to ground himself in his brother's words, the soft tone and childhood nickname easing some of the teen's anxieties. He tried for a deep inhale, but his breath hitched as pain seared through his left shoulder.
"Talk to me, kiddo."
The younger Winchester could hear his brother pacing, he could picture Dean standing out front of the grocery store - where he got a job stocking shelves – with the collar turned up on his leather jacket and one hand in his pocket while the other clutched his cellphone.
Dean must be cold, Sam thought distractedly, seeing how dark it was outside and knowing that the store would be closed by now. He was in the car, protected from the wind and he still felt cold right down to his bones, so Dean must be freezing.
And it was Sam's fault.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, voice cracking. He wasn't sure if the warm moisture sliding down his cheeks was tears or blood, perhaps it was both. The pain coursing through him and the emotion flowing over him was all overwhelming, reducing the mature teenager to nothing more than a weeping child.
"For what, Sam? What are you sorry for?" The twenty-year-old's tone was stern, but maintained its soft edge, equal parts demanding and pleading.
It was so Dean.
"I didn't see it. I'm sorry. I stopped when I saw it, but it was too late. I wrecked it. I'm so sorry." Sam sobbed, hiccupping in anguish as his body shuttered – be it from the cold or physical pain, he wasn't certain.
"Wrecked what?" Dean asked, sounding nothing but concerned.
Sam bit down on his bottom lip, knowing the truth had to be announced, but terrified of the repercussions it would bring.
God, please don't let him hate me, Sam thought as he struggled to make his confession.
"I'm lost here, bro. Help me out. What do you keep apologizing for? What got wrecked?"
The older boy was using his calming-Sam-the-hell-down tone of voice, which never failed to work to some degree, if only because it was so damn familiar.
"The car." Sam whispered, inwardly bracing himself for his brother's reaction.
There was a moment of silence, one that both felt far too short and frighteningly long.
"This better be a dumb-ass prank."
Dean sounded lethal. The teen winced, swallowing thickly, his fear and anxiety mounting high enough to distract him from the agony coursing through his veins.
"I'm sorry. You let me borrow her and I messed up. I really messed up."
"You're damn right you messed-up. What the fuck, Sam? I trusted you with my car for five goddamn minutes and you wreck her? Are you fucking kidding me?"
Sam bit down harder to halt his bottom lip from trembling, blinking rapidly to keep his tears from falling, ignoring the temptation to distance the phone from his face; he had no right to avoid his brother's fury, because he had earned it. Dean already had so little. He had next to nothing and whatever he did have he often shared with Sam.
The Impala was Dean's baby. It was his treasure. One of his most prized possessions.
And Sam had destroyed it.
"I'm sorry, Dean." He insisted past the growing lump in his throat, a wave of despair crashing into him as he realized the weight of the damage he had caused.
"Sorry doesn't fix my fucking car." Dean growled.
"I know. I know. I'm sorry." The younger boy pleaded, swiping away the liquid dripping into his eyes, distractedly glancing at his hand and seeing bright red smeared across it. "I'll pay to get it fixed, Dean. I promise."
"With what, Sam? You got a few grand stashed away?" Dean spat.
Sam dropped his pulsing head tiredly against the seat, bringing it back up a blink later and dropping it down onto his chest, so as not to get blood on the upholstery – he had done enough damage.
Dean was right, Sam had next to no money to his name, the few savings he had were spent on his big brother's present several weeks ago. They had spent Christmas and all the holiday break with Bobby and had just been picked-up by John and moved to a new town last week. There had been a quick hunt on the weekend and then their father had taken off to aid a fellow hunter in the chase of yet another monster, one that he deemed too dangerous for either of his son's to be a part of. The eldest Winchester had been hunting non-stop for the past few months and hadn't had much cash to leave behind for the boys, so Dean got a job at the grocery store (one of the only places in town work could be found), while Sam occupied himself with school. The teenager had offered to pick-up some part time work, but his older brother had declared it unnecessary and insisted Sam focus on school, which is what he had been doing when everything went to shit.
Sam had been working on a group project with some other kids, Dean had let him take the car because the town was too small to have a bus system or taxi service, yet still too vast to get around easily. The twenty-year-old hadn't wanted Sam walking out in the freezing cold all the way to the library, which was hours from the little one-bedroom cabin they were renting on the outskirts of town, especially not after both brothers had taken an unplanned-polar-ice-dip at Bobby's - which they were both still recovering from. Sam had driven the car to the library after dinner and had promised to be back in front of the grocery store by ten to pick Dean up.
The teen had sworn that he would take care of the Impala, he had driven slow and extremely cautious to and from the library. Unfortunately, not all the other drivers on the road had taken those same precautions.
"Sam, answer me!"
The volume of his brother's demand returned Sam's attention to the phone clutched in his vibrating hand.
"Sorry." He mumbled, fighting to focus. "What was the question?" He asked, struggling not to slur and to keep his teeth from chattering as the cold began to invade his senses.
"What the fuck happened to my car?" Dean growled, sounding far from pleased to be repeating himself, not to mention livid over the entire situation.
"I didn't see it. It came out of nowhere." Sam responded, squinting as he worked to recall the origins of the accident, the pounding in his noggin doing a great deal to impede his thought process.
"You jacked-up my baby by hitting some dumb fucking animal?"
Sam automatically shook his head, wincing the moment he moved it and biting back a groan.
"No." Was all he could get out past the agony screaming through his skull.
"So, what then? Did you wreck my car swerving from it? You better not be telling me you ran the Impala off the road to keep from hitting a damn bunny, because I swear to god, Sam, if—
"I didn't hit 'nothin. It hit me." The teen defended lamely. He knew it didn't really matter who hit who, either way the Impala was a mess; but he thought maybe Dean would hate him a little less if he knew it wasn't all Sam's fault.
Maybe.
"What hit you? Did a deer charge the car or something?"
Sam shivered in the cold, swallowing a gasp as his shoulder cried out in anguish, pain blazing all the way down his left arm to the tips of his fingers.
Shaking his head hurt.
Shivering hurt.
Breathing hurt.
He was in so much pain. He didn't want to be in the car anymore, or out in the cold. He didn't want to be on some backroad in some nameless town. He didn't want to be a hunter. He didn't want anything, except Dean.
All Sam wanted was his brother.
Even if Dean hated him and was going to yell and lecture him, even if he gave Sam the silent treatment for the rest of the week. Sam didn't care, he would take a furious big brother over anything or anyone else in the world.
"Sammy! What hit you?"
From his tone, the injured driver could tell that was not Dean's first or second time asking the same question.
"Was it a deer? I know there are some farms out that way too. Was it livestock?"
Sam twitched the phone away from his ear as his brother's voice escalated in frustration and amplified the pain thundering through his brain.
"Wasn't an'mal. S'a truck." Sam mumbled, shutting his eyes as he recalled the sudden flash of headlights, followed by the deafening screech of metal that filled the air as a surge of agony inflamed his being, before his world went blessedly dark.
"A what? A truck? Did you get hit by a fucking truck?"
Sam cringed at the volume of the question, but couldn't begrudge his brother the outburst upon hearing the panic in his tone.
"S'not a big truck. S'a pic'up."
"That wasn't the goddamn point, Sam. Where are you?" Dean demanded, outrage and panic giving way to a familiar anger.
Sam twitched a smile, Dean's fear often disguised itself in anger.
A lot of people didn't get that, even Dad sometimes, but Sam understood. He could always see what was hidden beneath his big brother's armor of fury, be it desperation, embarrassment, sorrow, or terror. Whatever it was Dean was masking with anger, Sam could see it.
Because he had been studying Dean his entire life, trying to be just like him.
Sam knew his big brother, better than anyone else in the whole world.
And the edge in the older boy's voice, the depth of his tone – that wasn't anger; it was concern and it was fear, and it was the thing that filled Sam with more gratitude and love than he could handle in his current state.
"Sam? Where are you? Answer me, now."
The teen sniffled, trying and failing to reign in his unruly emotions. He strained to concentrate on the voice prompting him through the phone, but it was so damn hard. He was cold and everything hurt so much, breathing was enough of a chore, he couldn't possibly be expected to focus as well?
"Sammy? Come on, kiddo. Just tell me where you're at."
An order the teen could have ignored, he was an expert at that - much to his father's disgrace - but a soft appeal was something Sam had no power against, especially when it came from his big brother.
"Back road we took cupla' days ago."
"The one that goes around the outside of the town?"
"Yeah. At the in'section afta' the bridge. Cross from the – the fact'ry. You 'member?" He queried, hoping Dean could recall the large building Sam had pointed out to him the first time they had driven down the backroad, in an effort to avoid the evening traffic.
"Of course, I remember. You wouldn't shut up about the vehicle crap they do at that dump."
"Ford truck 'sembly, mostly." Sam mumbled absently.
"Yeah-yeah-yeah, whatever." Dean dismissed with a snort, the sound that always meant he was equal parts impressed and annoyed by his little brother's endless supply of fun facts.
Sam tried and failed to quell a shiver that raced its way through his limbs, he also failed to swallow back the moan of pain that sounded from his throat in response to the slight movement of his shoulder.
There didn't seem to be much the teen wasn't failing to accomplish today.
"Sammy? How bad are you hurt, little brother?"
The question was soft and gruff, and though Sam was trying his best to keep from enlisting Dean's concern, he would be lying if he didn't confess his big brother's worry made him feel all warm and gooey inside.
"M'okay." He slurred, watching distractedly as flakes of snow landed on the spider-cracked windshield.
"Bullshit. I know you're not okay, I can hear it. What I need to know is if you can wait for me to get there, or if I should be calling an ambulance. You need to be honest with me."
"No. No amb'lance. S'fine. I'll wait."
"Yeah, sure, the slur you've adopted makes me feel super confident about that." Dean snorted, but he made no further argument on the matter. Sam was surprised his brother was still trusting him after what he had done. He had promised not to damage the Impala and he'd fucked that up. He would understand if his brother never trusted him again, but Dean was already trusting him. He was trusting Sam to be honest about the severity of his injuries and the last thing the teenager wanted was for his brother to arrive on the scene and feel as though he had been betrayed.
"Think I broke m'shoulder." Sam stated, making an effort to keep his voice clear as he portrayed the truth of the situation. He didn't want to lie to Dean, especially not after the older boy chose to trust him so soon after Sam's colossal fuck-up.
"Alright, buddy, try and keep it immobile until I get there. What else?" The twenty-year-old asked, sounding calm, cool, and collected – the way he always was in an emergency.
Sam sucked in a breath, doing his best to focus and report a proper triage of the damage, when he heard the sound of an engine starting up over the phone and a muttered exclamation of success come for his brother.
"You stealing a car?" He inquired.
"Yup." Dean chirped shamelessly.
"Shouldn't do that." The teen sighed.
"I don't have a whole lot of choice here, bro. There's no taxis in this runt of a town and there's no way in hell I am going to waste time walking out to you."
"But, De—
"I know, I know. Your precious moral code doesn't agree with hot-wiring. Well, I hate to break it to you, dude, but I don't much give a shit about your delicate sensibilities right now."
Sam dropped his head back down against his chest as he breathed slow and shallow and used his limited energy to think his way around his big brother's defenses.
"S'not what I meant." He murmured, still struggling to organize his thoughts, the cold and pain dominating his body's senses making it difficult for him to concentrate. "Don't wan' you t'get caught."
"Sam, I've done this a dozen times, I know what I'm doing." Dean dismissed, sounding more than a little insulted.
"Gud, cause f'ya get caught I can't help 'ya. Then I'll be all 'lone. I don't wanna be 'lone." Sam confessed, too out of it to censor his fear.
He hadn't realized the weight of what he had said until there was nothing but the hush of exhalations sounding through the phone.
It took several moments before Dean's steady response filled the silence. "There were no cameras on the street where I jacked it, no one is around, and I've got my gloves on so there's no prints to worry about."
"Kay." Sam breathed, trusting his brother. He knew that even if Dean wouldn't be safe and cautious for himself, he would be for Sam. That's just how his big brother was.
It was how he had always been, for as long as Sam could remember.
It was something about Dean that frustrated the teen, but Sam could never hold it against his brother, because it was who he was and not only had it saved the youngest Winchester more times than he could count, but it made him feel more love than he could ever begin to quantify.
"I won't get caught. You won't be alone, Sammy." The reassurance was given softly but surely and left Sam with no choice but to believe every word.
"Kay, De." The teen whispered, his eyes falling closed as he shivered.
"Hey, I asked you a question before our little debate over my criminal behaviour, you never answered."
Sam opened his eyes simply to squint in confusion. "Wha' was the 'estion?" The slur in his voice becoming heavier with each sentence.
"What else is wrong with you? What else hurts?"
Sam watched the falling snow, thinking that Dean had never posed such a question and must have been mistaken.
"Sam? Come on, dude, front and center."
The teen didn't feel the need to respond to the order, he never had, he wasn't a soldier; but his big brother's pleading tone did tug at Sam's heart and force a reply out of him.
"M' ribs. Hurts t' breathe."
"That explains the short sentences." The elder Winchester muttered, more to himself than any present company. "What else?"
"M' head." Sam mumbled, reaching shaky fingers up to tentatively wipe the moisture from his eyes, before pulling them away and detachedly staring at the red liquid that painted them.
"Fuck."
The curse was spat viciously, but Sam took no offense. He knew that Dean was just worried about him, which made the teenager feel surprisingly fortunate. He had often taken his big brother's endless worry for his wellbeing for granted, but he had been so worried after crashing the car that the older boy would hate him, which made Dean's concern nothing but comforting – even when it arrived dressed in fury.
"Sam! You listening to me?"
The youngest Winchester snapped to attention, the impatient holler echoing through the phone telling him that he must have zoned out for more than a moment.
"S'ry."
Dean huffed a relieved and partially annoyed sound, before the teen could hear him sucking in a deep inhale. "Don't be sorry. Just try and stay with me. Alright?"
"Kay Dean." Sam whispered, widening his eyes in a pathetic attempt to wake himself up.
"That's my boy."
The praise was quiet and gruff, but it still meant the world to the youngest Winchester. He hoped that Dean would still feel the same towards his kid brother after seeing the state of his car. Sam hadn't been able to get a full view of the damage himself, but from where he sat he knew it was bad. He had tried to get a good look at the mess that he had made, but his foot was wedged between the concaved driver's door and the floor of the now tarnished vehicle.
"Som'thin wrong with m' foot." He pondered aloud.
"Is it broken?"
"Don't know. S'cold." He shivered as he watched the snow begin to accumulate on the Impala's black hood.
"I know, kiddo. We'll get you warmed up in no time. I'm almost there, just hold on a little longer."
"Okay." Sam whispered, dropping his noggin back against the headrest, internally apologizing for the blood that was probably dripping onto the upholstery.
He was so tired.
The pain that had awoken him and dominated his focus had faded and left him feeling cold and detached.
"Sam, tell me about your foot. What's wrong with it?"
"Stuck. I tried t'get out afta' I woke up. Couldn't get out."
"Woke up? You were unconscious?"
Sam knew that he was inadvertently frightening his older brother, but he was too exhausted and too out of it to even attempt a well-meaning fabrication.
"Think so. After th' crash. Not sure tho' it's hazy. Don't 'member. Sorry, De. I wrecked it. M' so sorry. It's all m' fault." Sam didn't realize he was crying until the warm salty liquid dripped off the edge of his nose.
"Hey, it's alright. Take it easy, Sammy. We'll figure it out, okay?"
Sam nodded slightly, causing the phone to shift from where it was wedged between his face and shoulder.
The teen lost some time after that. Dean continued to talk in his ear, but he could no longer connect the older boy's words together. He was soothed by the comfort of his big brother's voice and allowed himself to drift.
Sam was startled back to full awareness by the sudden appearance of blinding headlights, the cell phone falling to the floor as his head came up off his shoulder. He closed his eyes as the brightness bursting through the dark escalated the searing pain in his skull.
He couldn't see anything past the glare of the lights, but he prayed that it was his brother who was approaching. He heard the vehicle's engine switch off and with it went the bright illumination. He heard squeal of the door's hinges, but never heard the resounding slam he was expecting. The next sound was even closer and one the teenager was far more familiar with; the click of the Impala's passenger door being opened.
"Hiya Sammy."
Sam's lips twitched up at the classic greeting.
He didn't know why his brother wasn't furious, he had no doubt acquired a good look at his busted-up car. He should be raging and hollering, and giving Sam the firm reprimand he more than deserved. Instead, Dean's tone was soft as he quietly climbed into the battered vehicle. Sam figured he must look to be in a particularly pitiful state if he could so much as compete with the wrecked Impala for his brother's attention.
"How you doing, little man?" The inquiry was accompanied by the squeak of leather as Dean slid across the front bench seat.
"M'kay."
"Ha. Funny. Tell me another." Dean deadpanned.
Sam tracked the older boy lazily with his eyes as the long body contorted itself to fit in close. Dean's back was against the dashboard, his long legs bent at odd angles as he positioned himself to face the teenager who was wedged into the corner of the driver's seat.
"Alright, let me take a look at you."
Sam sat patiently as his brother triaged him. He winced as Dean felt his way down his leg, discovering his trapped food. He zoned out for a moment while his big brother tried to get him unstuck, until gentle prodding at his ribs had Sam sucking in a sharp inhale and twitching away from the harsh discomfort.
"Easy, Sam. Take it easy."
The soothingly familiar tone allowed Sam to still, but he remained tense as Dean proceeded to trace his chest.
Searching for broken bones.
The examination of his right side went smoothly, but when the prodding moved to the left the teen cried out as pain erupted through his frame, a feeling he knew to be birthed by a rib giving-way; however, the avalanche of agony was so much stronger than Sam ever remembered a busted bone being.
"Stop. Please stop." Sam pleaded as he brought his good arm up to protect his abdomen from his brother's persistent touch.
"I'm done. Alright? No more, just relax." Dean placated, his hands up in surrender.
"Fuck." The younger boy choked out, blinking the tears of pain from his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Sammy." His brother whispered through that familiarly gruff yet sympathetic tone, as Sam felt a pair of calloused thumbs wipe the moisture off his cheeks.
"S'okay." He stated, knowing Dean was not to blame. He wasn't the one who totaled the damn car. Once the tears were gone and his sight was no longer distorted by moisture collecting in his eyes, Sam watched his brother shrug out of his leather jacket and couldn't withhold a sigh as the warm material was wrapped around him.
"Just try and keep still, I'm going to check on that thick skull of yours." Dean narrated softly, as he raised to his knees, his hair brushing the roof as he examined the left side of Sam's head – where all the blood had originated from, the blood Sam knew had matted his brown locks and dripped down his face.
The teen did his best not to move or flinch away from the assiduoustouch.
"Shit, Sammy. You've damn near scalped yourself." The fear in Dean's voice was so strong it was damn near potent.
"M'okay." Sam rasped, trying to swallow down the anguish pulsing up through his chest and uniting with the throbbing in his shoulder; all that in addition to the hammering in his brain was overwhelming the youngest Winchester. In an effort to avoid a full-blown panic attack, Sam forced himself to focus on something other than the agony consuming him. He opened his eyes and stared at the small pendant dangling in front of his face.
The amulet.
Without even intending to, Sam was soon reaching forward with his right hand, curling his slender fingers around the small charm - feeling its familiar points and curves pressing into his palm as he grasped it.
He didn't release it, not when Dean's prodding had him gasping or when the older boy put an end to the head examination and returned to eye level, not when an impossibly hard shiver tore right through him, or when his brother whispered soft reassurances; not even when it became increasingly difficult to breathe or when he could hear sirens blaring in the distance.
Through it all, Sam's grip on the golden trinket never altered.
"Am'blance?" He slurred, cracking open eyes he hadn't known were closed.
"Yeah, buddy, I called them as soon as I saw the car. I don't know what took them so fucking long to show-up." Dean grunted, as he tugged the leather jacket closer together around Sam, careful of the teenager's injuries. The older boy placed one large calloused hand around the back of the teen's neck, squeezing gently as his other hand rested on Sam's right collarbone.
"S' it that bad?" Sam asked, knowing the car must have been in a truly desperate state if just the sight of it had been enough for Dean to call in reinforcements.
"You're that bad. You're a mess, Sammy. You're wedged in here, your foot is stuck, there's blood all over you head – I can barely see the wound past all that damn hair – your shoulder is broken, I don't even know how many of your ribs are busted up, your breathing sounds like shit, and you're fucking freezing." The older boy added as another hard shiver tore through Sam's thin frame.
Dean's green eyes were glowing through the dark, alight with fear, the youngest Winchester felt another spark of guilt flare through him. His big brother was never afraid, but Sam had done something to make him that way.
The teen was desperate to fix the mess he had made; and while he couldn't do anything about the vehicle he had destroyed, or the fact that he had left Dean out in the freezing cold for an hour, and though he wasn't able to un-wedge himself, Sam needed to do something to erase his big brother's fear. He worked to even out his breathing, closing his eyes to focus, hoping that if he could get enough oxygen that would help dissipate some of the pain that was holding onto him and in turn, that would aid in easing a fraction of Dean's anxieties.
The younger boy's upper body exploded in agony as he attempted to fill his lungs. He cried out as his ribs shifted in his chest, contracting and restricting his lungs even more. The pain was excruciating, but the terror of not being able to inhale enough oxygen was impossibly worse.
"Dean." Sam wheezed, his heart thudding violently in panic. He felt his brother's touch strengthening and moving, growing more persistent. He watched the twenty-year-old's mouth moving, but was unable to hear anything past the blaring ring in his ears – or was that sirens?
Then, suddenly, Dean's reassuring touch vanished, which left Sam drifting without his anchor. He snapped his eyes open only to find someone he didn't recognise, someone who was speaking to him, but the teen didn't bother trying to interpret the words, because all he wanted was his brother.
He opened his mouth to call out for Dean, but his words were stolen as cold hands manipulated him and caused pain to erupt from his shoulder and race through his body. He thought he screamed for his brother before the world went black, but perhaps that was just in his head.
The next thing Sam knew, he was coming to in a hospital. He knew that before he was even able to crawl through the fog in his mind. He had woken up in a medical facility more times than he could begin to calculate, so much so that it was becoming down-right routine. The beep of the heart monitor, the scuffing of feet, the distant drone of voices, the weighted feeling of his limbs, were all too familiar – the underlying chemical sent of the oxygen mask was a little less so.
It was the older boy's face that was there to greet Sam once he had pried his eyelids open. Dean was seated in a chair next to the hospital bed, slumped forward with his arms and head on the mattress. One of his hands was wrapped around Sam's and his face was angled towards the teen, even in sleep it was lined with concern, looking far older than Dean's twenty years – something else that was becoming much too familiar. Sam knew that was his fault. He had played the biggest part in Dean's forced entry into premature adulthood. He was the heaviest weight on his big brother's shoulders. He was the older boy's biggest responsibility.
Sam didn't even know why the hell Dean did so much for him. He always tried to give back, but he knew it would never be enough.
Not only had he totaled his brother's prized-possession, he had hijacked Dean's entire childhood.
And he hated himself for it.
"Sam?"
That voice was completely unfamiliar and much closer than the teenager anticipated, causing him to flinch. The physical reaction, however minute, was enough to awaken Dean, his head snapping up off the mattress as he straightened up instantaneously – like a jack popping out of its box.
"Sam? Sweetie, I need you to focus on me."
Reluctantly, the injured boy dragged his hazel gaze over to the lady dressed in scrubs standing to his left.
"I just need you to answer a few questions for me."
Sam frowned, not appreciating being quizzed seconds after returning to consciousness, then again, the kid was born with bad timing so it certainly didn't surprise him that he happened to come-to at the same moment the nurse was checking him over.
"How's your breathing? Any tightness in your chest or other respiratory difficulty?"
Sam did recall having trouble acquiring air last time he had been conscious. He took a second to test his lungs, discovering none of the previous pain or restrictions. He reported his findings to the nurse with a nod.
"Good, that's good. I'm going to remove the oxygen mask and replace it with the nasal cannula instead and we'll see how you do on that. Does that sound good?"
Sam didn't know why she asked, because she certainly didn't wait for a response before making the switch. He did feel far less claustrophobic without the mask, but wasn't a fan of the tube blowing stale air up his nostrils, or the scratchy tape that was holding it in place.
"There we go, how's that?"
"S'kay." Sam croaked, inwardly cringing a how hoarse he sounded.
"Good. You suffered a pretty bad concussion, so I'm just going to ask you a few simple questions to make sure you're doing alright, before the doctor performs a more thorough evaluation. Do you understand?"
The teen nodded, feeling his anxiety rise and wishing he had more time to adjust to reality before being interrogated. Dean must have sensed his apprehension, because the grip the older boy had on Sam's right hand grew stronger.
"Can you tell me your name?" The nurse questioned.
Sam was certain that most patients would be relieved that she began the questionnaire with the easiest inquiry, but when your last name had to mirror the one on your ever-changing falsified health insurance, it tended to complicate things.
"Sam." The teen supplied simply, knowing his Dad and Dean always made sure to keep his first name the same, even in counterfeit documents.
"And your last name?" She prodded.
Sam pinched his lips, panic causing his heart to beat out of rhythm, if he fucked this up he could get them in serious shit. Saying the wrong name could get them tossed out of the hospital, or even put his brother in legal danger – something he refused to risk.
He looked to his right for help, hoping his big brother could save him…again.
"Don't worry about it, kiddo, just tell the nice lady what she wants to know." Dean instructed with a supportive half-smile as he gave Sam's hand another reassuring squeeze.
The teen glanced back over to his left, not meeting the nurse's eyes as he whispered his reply, his husky voice making it particularly difficult to hear.
"Winchester."
"And how old are you, Sam?"
By the lack of confusion, the injured child knew he must have been correct about his name, which was concerning in ways it shouldn't be.
"Sixteen." He rasped, eager to get the cross-examination over with and rid of the stranger in the room so he could speak privately with his big brother.
"Good. Do you remember what happened? Do you know why you're in the hospital?"
"Car accident." Sam croaked, self-recrimination surging through him at the confession.
"Yes. You came in here with a pretty bad concussion and a contusion—
"If you don't mind, ma'am. I'd like to give my brother the rundown." Dean interrupted, coming to a stand, rising to his full height, clearly asserting his dominance; all the while never releasing his little brother's hand.
The nurse didn't like that. Her nostrils flared, her eyes narrowed, and she practically clicked her heels. "I don't think that would be appropriate."
"I'm his guardian, it's my decision."
That tone was as familiar to Sam as the nose on his face. It was the protective-big-brother-tone that he had grown up listening to. He knew it was a tone that was not to be messed with - the nurse, however, was not nearly as knowledgeable.
"It would be best Sam learn about his injuries from a medical professional." She snapped.
The teenager tensed, wondering how bad his wounds must be for them to be arguing like this. He glanced down at himself, double checking that his limbs were all fully intact. His left shoulder was secured in a sling, he could feel a rather large bandage taped over his chest, and his left foot was wrapped up tightly.
Dean's grip grew impossibly tighter around Sam's right hand; the older boy no doubt sensing his little brother's tension, he had always had a strong sense of all things Sam.
"I will decide what's best for him." Dean practically growled, his long body rigid and ready for a fight.
If Dean didn't make Sam feel anything but safe, he would have been frightened of the dangerous gleam in the bright green eyes that held the promise of pain for the target of their gaze.
"I don't think—
"I don't give a shit what you think, he's my fucking kid!" Dean declared, his voice low and threatening booming and rolling through the room like thunder.
The nurse smoldered with indignation before marching off in a huff.
The elder Winchester's body was vibrating with rage as he tracked the threat's exit from the room, Sam tugged on his brother's hand, hoping to redirect his focus and ease his fury. Dean's outrage visibly faded as he angled back towards the smaller boy lying on the bed.
"Winchester?" Sam rasped, knowing his brother would understand the insinuated inquiry.
It took a moment for Dean to catch on, longer than it would usually take him but Sam was chalking up the delay to the older boy's obvious lack of sleep. The tall hunter proved his level of exhaustion by collapsing back into his chair, resting his arms on the mattress before zeroing in on Sam.
"Yeah, one of the EMTs has a kid in one of your classes, she knew your name and had it on the paper work before I could do anything about it, so there won't be any bogus health insurance this time around." Dean explained, a smirk playing on his lips.
As if Sam completely fucking up their meager finances was something to joke about.
A familiar calloused thumb rubbed over Sam's forehead, smoothing out the worry lines he figured must have been present.
"Cut it out, dude. We'll be fine. When they came looking for money I told them Dad was out of town and he would take care of it when he got back. Which is bullshit obviously, because I can't get the man to answer his goddamn phone. But the staff seemed to buy it, for now anyways."
Sam wasn't certain how long he had been out, but he could tell by the state of his brother that it had been at least a couple days.
"Sneak out?" He questioned, plenty familiar with how to properly execute a stealthy hospital escape.
"Eventually, but not yet. Not until the doc gets another look at you and writes me the proper prescriptions."
Sam sighed, flinching as the action caused a twinge of pain in his chest.
"Take it easy with the dramatic exhales, dude." Dean instructed with a sympathetic wince as he placed his hand on Sam's abdomen, cradling his sore chest.
"What's wrong with me?"
The worry lines on Dean's face – the ones that were becoming far too familiar – deepened as he responded.
"Your left foot was crushed, some of the tiny bones in it broke but nothing that won't heal in time, the doc didn't even have to cast it. He wrapped it in a tensor bandage and said you might have to use a cane until it's all healed because it's going to be difficult to walk on for a bit."
Sam nodded, inwardly scowling at the idea of limping around with a cane and how much extra ridicule that could potentially bring upon him in school.
"You smashed your head pretty good, but they cleaned it up and put in a few stitches."
Sam's eyes widened. "My hair?" He asked, attempting to reach up and touch it but being stopped by the unrelenting grip Dean had on his hand.
"Calm down, kid, it's fine. You have so many layers up there and they only had to shave off a little bit of the bottom one. You can't even tell."
Sam relaxed a little at the reassurance.
"And your shoulder is broken."
Sam gave a sleepy nod, knowing as much. "My chest?" He questioned through a yawn, feeling the bone-deep exhaustion that was beginning to fight for control and drag him back into unconsciousness.
Dean's expression became impossibly more subdued.
"Yeah, umm, well you broke a few ribs."
"How many?"
"Three."
The teen nodded, not surprised, he had been in agony.
"The doc had to perform surgery to fix them all." Dean practically whispered.
"Surgery?" Sam asked, the surprise rousing him out of his wearied state.
Dean cleared his throat, visibly collecting himself before he spoke. Sam may have been exhausted, but he didn't miss the emotions that flickered across his older brother's tired face; fear, guilt, misery, and distress.
"You had something called flail chest."
The boy in the bed squinted up at the young hunter, never having heard of such a thing before.
"It's what happens when you shatter a couple ribs and they break apart into pieces – which is why you were having such trouble breathing, because the fragmented bone was pressing down and restricting your lungs. Luckily, none of the pieces pierced your lungs, which the doc said would have happened if you had moved around at all."
"Guess it was a good thing I was stuck." Sam rasped with a smirk, hoping to extract some of the terror shining through the green gaze focussed down on him.
He had no such luck.
"Yeah, guess so. Anyway, they had to do surgery to screw your ribs back together, they used titanium plates, so you'll be setting metal detectors off for the rest of your life."
Sam did half a shrug with his good shoulder, not much caring about the new information, which probably had a lot more to do with his growing level of depletion and less to do with any actual feelings of apathy.
Dean must have identified the origins of his kid brother's lack of interest, because he stopped with the detailed explanations and skipped to the headline.
"You're going to be fine, little brother." He declared gruffly as he gently smoothed Sam's bangs off his forehead.
The youngest Winchester closed his eyes with a nod and a sigh, trusting his big brother and allowing himself to be lulled by the familiar feeling of Dean's fingers combing through his hair.
"Get some sleep, Sammy. I'll be here when you wake up."
As requested, Sam stopped fighting the fatigue trying to pull him into the darkness and allowed himself to succumb to his body's demands. He squeezed Dean's hand as he started to drift, offering the only form of comfort he had the energy to offer. The teenager felt his smaller hand being clutched in return and knew his message had been received.
When he woke up he would find a way to make everything up to Dean.
He would fix everything that he had damaged.
The Impala.
Dean's trust.
And his big brother's peace of mind.
Sam would find a way to repair it all.
Whatever it took.