Fic: Hiss

Nov. 18th, 2015 08:09 pm
cowboyguy: (fall Impala)
[personal profile] cowboyguy
Title: Hiss
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: Written for the Triple Play fic meme at OhSam. The general idea of the meme is to write fics involving hurt or sick Sam, and the prompts are all in the format of “location, other character, situation.” This prompt was for the woods, Dean, bitten by a snake.



Fourteen miles in the woods in the middle of the night is no small feat, and Dean’s already tired from having walked that same distance in the first place. Beside him, Sam is stumbling along quietly, looking a little drained after that last trial. But Bobby’s safely up in heaven, they’ve got two out of three done, so they’re both counting it as a win.

In hindsight, Dean really wishes he had brought something - anything - with him. He’s getting thirsty, and he can’t remember when he last ate, thinks it was probably that McDonald’s drive-through, burger-in-the-car meal he’d eaten while speeding down the highway towards central Maine. Of course, it’s been even longer for Sam, who just spent the last twenty-four hours journeying through places that no human being should have to go.

So it’s not like either of them is on their guard. All Dean is thinking about is how to get back to the car, and how much sleep he’ll get when they finally arrive. It’s probably not much, considering he’ll still have to drive them back to Kansas, and it’s not exactly a small country. Still, maybe he’ll get a couple of hours stretched out in the front seat before they head out.

He casts a weary glance over at Sam, and then pulls his phone out of his pocket again. Thank God for Google Maps, even with crappy reception. At least they’re still pointing in the right direction, and it shouldn’t be too long before they get back onto a real path again. But he’s gotta start conserving his battery. His phone is halfway drained, and so he puts it back into his pocket, making a mental note not to check it again for a while.

As he pulls his hand out of his pocket, there’s a soft rustling in the leaves at their feet, barely audible over the night sounds of insects buzzing.

“Ow!” Sam yelps, lurching to the left and bumping into Dean.

Dean grips his brother’s jacket, keeping them both balanced, and responds, “What? What happened?”

Sam grimaces and looks down at his feet. “I don’t know. I think something bit me.” He twists his leg, trying to get a good look at it, though it’s nearly impossible in the dim moonlight coming through the trees.

“Lemme see,” Dean says, releasing his brother. He clicks on his flashlight -- at least he remembered to bring that -- and crouches down, lifting up the ankle of Sam’s jeans. Shining the light on his brother’s skin, he doesn’t see anything for a moment, until he pushes the top of Sam’s sock down.

There are two side-by-side puncture wounds, slowly dripping blood.

“Shit,” Dean mutters, and gingerly pulls Sam’s sock back up. Even that small movement, though, makes his brother hiss in pain. He looks up at Sam, who has been craning his neck, trying to see what Dean’s seeing. “I think you got bit by a snake,” he tells him.

Sam’s eyes widen, and if it wasn’t so dark, Dean thinks he probably would have been able to see his skin pale by a couple of shades. “What... what do I do?” Sam asks immediately, his breath quickening.

Dean stands up again and puts his hands squarely on his brother’s shoulders. “First, don’t panic,” he says, all business and trying to keep Sam from freaking out. “Second, I call 911. Third, we get the hell out of here. Don’t worry, Sammy, you’ll be fine.” He tries to put up a brave front for Sam’s sake, but the truth is, Dean has no idea what to expect. He doesn’t know if the snake was venomous or not, doesn’t even have the slightest clue what symptoms to look for. He vaguely remembers their Dad drilling them on this kind of stuff years ago, survival training and all that, but it’s been so long.

Sam, to his credit, nods along with Dean like he thinks Dean’s got it all under control. “How far is it back to the car?” he asks, clearing his throat to hide the way his voice shakes slightly.

“Couple of miles,” Dean answers. “Don’t put any weight on it, though, okay?” He pulls his phone back out of his pocket, and at the same time, drags one of Sam’s arms over his shoulders so that he’s supporting Sam’s weight, keeping the pressure off of his injured leg. Dean dials 911, hoping his cell signal holds out.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they’re still hobbling their way towards civilization. Dean’s carrying most of Sam’s weight by this point, with Sam doing his best to limp along beside him.

The emergency dispatcher had promised help was on the way, but Dean’s cell signal kept dropping out, cutting off the woman’s voice on the other end. He’d managed to give her their location, and she’d promised they would send a team out to keep them as quickly as possible. In a forest this dense, though, there was no way to get to them quickly. No roads, nowhere for a helicopter to land. So Dean’s best bet is to stay on the path and keep his brother moving.

“How’re you doing, Sammy?” he asks, panting with the exertion of moving both of them along the uneven ground.

“Mmmmnot so good,” Sam groans. “Leg hurts. ...Little bit nauseous.” He’d begun breathing heavily, and Dean can feel Sam trembling against him.

“Just hang in there, buddy,” Dean encourages him. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Maneuvering them down a dip in the path, Dean tries to keep Sam steady. Without a good source of light, though, neither of them can see very well where they’re going, and Sam stumbles over an exposed tree root, tripping forward and landing heavily on his injured leg. He cries out at the sudden pain. “Dean!”

“Whoa, whoa, I gotcha, it’s okay,” Dean reacts, not quick enough, but manages to catch Sam before he falls over.

But even that movement is too much, the sensation too overwhelming. “Nnngh, De--” Sam manages to gasp before he’s doubled over and retching, vomit splattering against the leaves and dusty dirt path.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Dean reassures him, patting Sam’s back as he coughs roughly.

Sam takes a couple of wheezy breaths and spits on ground, trying to rid his mouth of the awful sensation. “Mmokay,” he pants. “Let’s... less’keep goin’...” His breathing is getting worse, Dean notices, but he can’t do anything but haul Sam upright again, and together they start hobbling down the path.

* * *

Sam is barely conscious now, being dragged along by Dean and just barely managing to stay upright. Dean isn’t sure how much longer they can do this.

His own legs are aching, every step feeling heavier and slower than the last.

Just when he’s ready to give up and stop, over the hill in front of him appear several bright flashlight beams, light sweeping in broad arcs through the trees.

“Hey!” he shouts, voice hoarse and dry. “Here! Over here!”

After that, there’s a flurry of action. The paramedics race down the hill towards them, shouting questions that Dean tries his best to answer. Before he can really process what’s going on, he feels Sam being lifted away from him, and watches as his brother is carefully laid onto a stretcher. After making sure Sam’s secure, two men lift the stretcher, carrying Sam through the darkness and to safety.

In front of Dean, a third paramedic is talking to him, her face illuminated by the bright lantern she held. Saying something about a hospital, what kind of snake was it, running out of time…

“Dean...” Sam moans in confusion and pain, one hand reaching back towards his brother, and that’s all Dean needs to push past her and rush back to his brother’s side. He holds onto Sam’s hand in the darkness, hurrying alongside the stretcher to keep up with the paramedics.

“It’s okay, Sam, it’s gonna be okay. I’m here.”

* * *

When Sam wakes, it’s not dark anymore. The ceiling — inside, he thinks groggily — is bright white, and he blinks while his eyes adjust to the light. He squints, looking around the room. All hospitals look basically the same, and he wonders for a moment why he’s here. He looks down, and sees Dean, bent over in a chair with his head resting on Sam’s bed, fast asleep. He’s got one hand resting on the mattress, near Sam’s right hand, and Sam reaches out and pats it affectionately.

There’s a cannula under his nose, feeding him a steady stream of oxygen. It tickles. And his leg is throbbing, but in that dull, disconnected way that means they’ve got him on all the good painkillers.

Oh. Snake. His thoughts come to him slowly, drifting through the haze. Ouch.

Dean’s hand moves under his, and he watches as his brother jolts awake, head snapping up as he regains consciousness. When he sees that Sam is awake, a relieved smile spreads over his face. “Hey, Sammy,” he murmurs. “How you doing?”

One side of Dean’s hair is pressed flat, the other sticking up at a weird angle. Sam giggles.

“So, high as a kite, then,” Dean says, answering his own question.

“And nnnn… not dead,” Sam adds helpfully.

Dean shakes his head. “Nope. Not dead.”

“Thanks for… savin’ mmme.” Sam’s eyes close wearily. “I’mma… take a nap.”

“You do that, buddy,” Dean responds. “I’ll be right here.”

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