Darker Shoulders to Lean On ~ A Supernatural Fanfic

Here we are guys, the last leg! Not a lot to say about this chapter, oddly, only that the support from you guys throughout this story has been absolutely incredible, so thank you so much! This was one of the most difficult chapters to write, so I really hope y'all enjoy!

As always, please feel free to leave a review at the end of the chapter, feedback of any kind is always appreciated!

Previously…

"Hasta la vista, Bitch," Dean muttered, toeing the body with his boot for a reaction. When he received none, he advanced on the creature on the ground. Upon first glance Dean would have mistaken her for a vamp, though now she was still her parted lips revealed several rows of small pointed teeth as opposed to just one. Trailing vines grew from between sections of her hair and fell in a ring around her head and her tattered, now bloody clothing cascaded in pleats around her lifeless body.

Dean turned away, attention already set back on Sam. He sprinted to his brother's side, falling to his knees as he approached.

"Sammy, hey, Sam…SAM?"

An iron band seemed to tighten around Dean's heart and he pulled his brother's limp form against his chest as he tried to supress the paralyzing fear sweeping through him once more.

"It's gonna be ok, Sammy," he tightened his grip around his brother. "Don't worry, I've-I've got you, you're gonna be fine."

Getting Sam down the stairs and out of the building had been just as much of a struggle as Dean had imagined. With Sam down for the count and almost three flights of stairs to descend, the odds weren't exactly stacked in the eldest Winchester's favour. As it turned out, supporting one unconscious 6'4" not-so-little brother down about forty rickety stairs was easier said than done and Dean was panting by the time they had reached the bottom floor. He was almost ready to cry when the Impala finally came into view, parked off to the side of the building exactly where he'd left her. After covering the short distance to the car, Dean folded Sam carefully into the back seat before sprinting round to the driver's side and throwing himself behind the wheel.

There was little point driving back to the motel. It was clear that Sam's injuries were far beyond his medical pay grade and, though difficult as Sam's condition would be to explain, they had little time and even fewer options. Dean tightened his grip around the steering wheel and floored the accelerator, speeding out of the small town and back to the hospital that he had left just hours earlier. By his calculation, the drive from the motel to Sam had taken him roughly twenty minutes with a ten minute walk on top of that. Dean's eyebrows knitted together in concern as he glanced at the rear view mirror to check on his unconscious brother. He hadn't moved an inch since he'd last checked on him.

"C'mon, Sammy." Dean muttered around the tightness in his chest and gunned the engine, pushing the car ever faster down the silent highway. Panic clouded his judgement and safety precautions flew out of the window as they skidded wide round a bend, the Impala never dipping below eighty as she sped on into the night.

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The Impala screeched to a halt in the ambulance bay of the hospital and Dean threw on the handbrake before running around to the backseat and hauling his still unconscious brother outside.

Where the comforting rise and fall of Sam's chest should have been there was nothing, only empty space and that could mean only one thing: Sam wasn't breathing.

"No, no, no, c'mon Sammy don't you do this to me!" fear stole his breath, billowing through his brain like dry ice. No way, no freaking way was Sammy checking out on him. Dean wouldn't let it end like this. Sam was a dead weight as Dean pulled him the last few metres through the doors and into the bare waiting room. He couldn't see, couldn't think, and before he knew it he was yelling for help, his body on autopilot as he lugged Sam further into the empty space of the building.

Time slowed to a halt and for a moment Sam and Dean stood marooned in the middle of the hospital floor, greeted only by the startled expression of the young brunette receptionist sat across from them. The only sound was that of Dean's own breath, a shaky pant within the confined space of the reception and upon his next inhale sound and movement exploded into existence around them.

Within a split second half a dozen orderlies were upon them, the receptionist on the wall opposite shouting down the phone for further assistance. Sam was ripped from Dean's grasp and he had no time to protest as his brother was strapped down onto a gurney, an oxygen mask plastered over his pale face. The sound of raised voices filled the air; all numbers and medical jargon that Dean didn't properly understand and then he was panicking as the gurney began to pull away. Dean struggled toward his brother, pushing through the wall of medical personnel that were attempting blocked his path.

"... kid on a respirator, he's not breathing!"

"Pulse?"

"Negative!"

"Sir, please, stand back, this man is in a critical condition, let us help him!"

The word 'critical' hit him like a blow to the gut and Dean stumbled backwards, eyes wide and mouth agape as a blonde nurse batted him away from the crowd of people converging on his brother. In the next moment the gurney was moving again and against his will Dean found himself pushed roughly down into one of the blue plastic waiting chairs.

The nurse responsible sprinted the length of the waiting room, following the path that her co-workers must have taken seconds before and disappeared through a set of double doors after the gurney and into the hospital labyrinth beyond.

Dean sat slumped in the waiting room chair, mouth parted as he stared in silent terror at the softly swinging doors on the opposite wall. The waiting room, so alive and fevered with activity just moments before was now silent: he was alone with only his thoughts for company. Dean cradled his head in his hands and blew out a long, shaky breath before settling back into his seat. This was going to be a long wait.

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The two hours that it took for Dean to receive any news on Sam gave his thoughts ample opportunity to turn bitter. The hospital itself was little more than a glorified clinic and its small, void waiting room offered little refuge to Dean from his own imagination. The biting tingle of antiseptic lay heavy and bitter on the air and served as an all-to-familiar reminder as to why and how the brother's had ended up in this mess.

The sudden screech of door hinges filled the waiting room and nurse hurried through, breaking Dean from his thoughts for a moment. He sprang to his feet, choosing to ignore the popping of his back as he stared at her in anticipation, silently pleading for news of his brother. The nurse paused, the tap of her heels on the polished floor stilling as she did a double take, staring back at the eldest Winchester with a bewildered expression on her face. There was something oddly familiar about her overall demeanour, but as Dean opened his mouth to speak she was moving again. Her pace quickened, and upon reaching a set of doors to the right of the reception desk she disappeared through them, throwing a last look over her shoulder before the doors swung shut behind her.

For a moment Dean considered following her before shaking his head in confusion and returning to his seat. If somebody came through with news of Sam then he didn't want them to find him missing.

Forgetting the nurse Dean picked up a magazine and flicked through it for half a second before replacing it on the table. The thought of reading whatever it had to say made his stomach turn. There was nothing in that magazine that could possibly distract him from the fact that behind those double doors his baby brother was most likely lying flat on an operating table surrounded by doctors trying to keep him breathing. The drying blood still coating the front of his jeans was a damn clear reminder of that.

Though it pained him to admit it, Dean had known since Sam's visit in the hospital that the kid would try something like this; a blind man could have seen it coming. Though he'd tried to explain, ease him in gently, Sam had refused to listen. He'd rejected the fact that Dean was dying. He hadn't seemed to understand how important it was that he carried on whether Dean was there beside him or not. Dean had decided years ago that if Sam kicked the bucket he would rather eat a bullet himself then be forced to walk the earth without him. People could call it selfish, unhealthy even, whatever the hell they wanted, but for all that it was worth, Dean would be damned to hell before he let his brother die before him. Sitting alone in the same waiting room that Sam had just days before, Dean felt the sickening worry that must have consumed Sam as he too had waited for Dean's own diagnosis.

The pain of waiting for news of a loved one was a specific form of torture found only between the four suffocating walls of a hospital waiting room. The guilt he felt consumed every part of his soul to a point where it became almost physically painful to think, as if Dean was sharing his brother's pain, and although he couldn't pretend he was ok with what Sam had done, as much as it terrified him, he understood why the kid had done it.

After all, if their positions were reversed, he would have done exactly the same.

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It was a further hour after the odd incident with the nurse before anyone came for him. When they finally did, Dean jumped to his feet, covering half of the length of the waiting room before stopping dead in surprise at the familiar face.

The doctor approached him, a measured smile on the lips of the man who had treated him just days before for a terminal heart condition.

The man extended his arm to Dean and chuckled as he drew level with the older Winchester.

"Mr Lewis. This is a surprise. You see, when I diagnose someone with a fatal bout of vascular destress; most people don't just bounce back from that. You gave one of your nurses the quite the fright when she saw you!"

"Doc," Dean smiled tightly, grasping the man's hand in a firm handshake. "Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are. I know it must be difficult to understand, I'm not sure I do yet, but I'm ok. I'm cured, one hundred percent."

The doctor's eyes sparkled and he nodded.

"I don't know how, my boy, and frankly I'm not sure that I want to, but I've seen my fair share of the impossible in my time, working in a hospital you see more than one expects they might." Dr Johnson sobered, a sudden solemn expression cloaking his features.

"I can't help but suspect that your miraculous recovery had something to do with the condition of the young man brought in with you several hours ago. I'm currently overseeing his treatment."

A sudden lump of emotion clogged Dean throat as he began to speak. He stared imploringly at the Doctor.

"Sam, he…" Dean swallowed, eyes clouded with emotion. "He's- he's my brother. He saved my life." He paused again, sinking down into a seat as Doctor Johnson waved him down. "Is he-?

The man gestured to the water machine beside him and nodded as Dean shook his head in response. He understood: Dean didn't need to be mollycoddled, or eased in gently, he needed to know whether his brother was ok.

"Your brother is currently under heavy sedation. It really was a miracle that you got him to us when you did. Ten minutes later and there is an extremely high possibility that Sam wouldn't have made it. We did have Sam on a respirator for the first hour, but that was changed as soon as possible to a cannula when his lungs began to function properly on their own. He may be thirsty when he wakes up." Dean blew out a sigh of relief. Sam was ok. Everything was going to be fine. After a moment he nodded to Dr Johnson to go on. He continued, "Perhaps the most severe of Sam's wounds were that of his abdomen. A full thickness skin graft was required to repair the damage. We have him on a drip of morphine which should dull the pain for the time being and, hopefully, if the wound remains clean and uninfected it should heal with minimal scaring. The same goes for the wounds on Sam's arm. The lesions are uninfected and partially cauterised, though they will be extremely painful and delicate as the skin properly heals." Dr Johnson smiled kindly. "Sam actually cared for them very well, they should heal nicely. Your brother suffered a bite wound to his lower ribcage and four claw-like wounds across his chest. Stitches were required for both, working to a total of forty-four stitches. Along with that, Sam sustained a chipped rib, which, if all goes to plan should heal on its own. He did require a blood transfusion, and so was administered as we saw fit, and that went incredibly smoothly, though we are monitoring him periodically for both infection and a concussion, which we are keeping a very close eye on. As a final precautionary measure, Sam is on an antibiotic drip to ensure that his wounds remain free of infection as he heels."

A short silence fell over the pair as the true gravity of Sam's wounds sunk in. Dean ran his fingers through his hair before finally speaking.

"When can I see him?"

Dr Johnson smiled, gesturing for Dean to follow him.

"We had him transferred from IC to your old room roughly ten minuses ago; we'll go as soon as you're ready."

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Upon entering the familiar doorway, Dean would have most likely fallen had the frame not been there to support him. His eyes flew to the middle of the room and his mouth went dry as they landed on the prone form of his little brother. His legs wobbled beneath him as he moved stiffly towards the bed and he nodded in thanks as a chair was pressed into the back of his knees. He sank gratefully down and sucked in a breath as he stared at his little brother.

Sam's face was pale, his forehead slightly clammy with a deep purple bruising which blossomed across the bridge of his nose and lay heavy across his right cheekbone. Wires and monitors snaked their way under Sam's hospital gown, the surrounding computer screens crowded with numbers and stats that fluctuated slightly with Sam's every breath. The slight bulge across Sam's abdomen and chest suggested heavy bandaging and the cocoon of them around his forearm was enough to assure Dean of this.

Dean blew out a shaky breath as he folded his brother's limp hand into his own, staring at Sam's closed eyelids for any sign that he was close to waking.

"God, Sam," Dean whispered, giving Sam's hand a gentle squeeze. Emotion clogged his throat and he was beyond speech when the doctor, still suspended in the doorway, next spoke.

"I'll pull a few strings, make sure you can stay, seems as visiting hours are technically over. From the looks of things, you wouldn't be leaving if I asked you to." Doctor Johnson paused, turning back to address Dean. "I've seen that look on enough faces to know when someone's blaming themselves, Dean. However much you think this was your fault, however responsible you feel, you just remember Sam's in good hands now, all thanks to you. You say Sam saved your life but it seems that you've got his back just as good. Just think on that, Son. "

Dean nodded as the doctor departed, far from over blaming himself yet. He closed his eyes and allowed the steady beep of the heart monitor to minimally calm him, its stable rhythm soothing his pounding mind.

"Any time you wanna wake up, Sammy, that's fine by me. I'm getting kinda tired'a waiting on your Sasquatch ass." Dean searched his brother's face for any kind of reaction. When he received none he continued. He smirked.

"Yah know, I could cut off that ridiculous mop o' yours and you wouldn't even now about it. Could make a beautiful Vin Diesel outta you." Dean's only response was the sound of his brother's soft breathing and the constant hum of the heart monitor. He blew out a long shaky breath and tucked his chair closer to the bed. "C'mon Sammy, please. I just need you to- I need to know you're gonna be ok. C'mon Bitch."

Sam just kept right on sleeping, his eyelashes fluttering softly against his flushed checks. Dean sighed, laying his head to rest on the bed beside Sam's hip, his hand still gently holding his brother's.

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Sam was drifting, conscious thought sliding through his fingers like fine silt on a riverbank. His brain was foggy, his senses clouded and muffled as if he were underwater, and it took him a long moment to realise that he wasn't. Sound returned first, everything loud and invasive, stabbing at his tender head like pins in a voodoo doll. Sam was slowly pulled forward, a garish beeping drawing him from the depths of his lethargic state like a fish on a line. A muted ache throbbed through his body with every pulse and he groaned at the new invasive and unnatural sensation, rolling his head to one side and knitting his brows in pain.

Ever so gingerly Sam peeled his eyelids open, observing his surroundings through hooded eyelashes. Bad move. The room was a flash of blinding white, its colour startlingly bright upon his addled brain. His head pounded and he snapped his eyes shut again as he rode out the wave of pain and nausea that had accompanied his attempt to open his eyes. Sam breathed deeply through his nose, teeth gritted as he repressed the rolling of his stomach and his pounding head.

After several minutes Sam slowly came back to himself, aware of a soft, comforting pressure on his left hand and he flexed his fingers cautiously, twisting his head to the side where his eyes fell on the sleeping form of his big brother.

Dean sat slumped in a plastic chair, his head laid on the bed next to him and his body hunched forward in an awkward position that would almost certainly result in a chronic case of stiff neck. His shoulders rose and fell softly in turn with his breathing, and his eyelashes fluttered softly where they fell upon his pale cheeks. Everything about his brother spoke of great stress and exhaustion, yet as he slept on, Sam couldn't help but notice how peaceful he appeared, how the years of responsibility and guilt seemed to peel away revealing the gentle big brother that had raised him.

As if on que Dean began to stir, groaning as he pushed himself backwards from the bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He popped his back, pausing mid-stretch as he noticed Sam's heavy eyes on him.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean breathed, once again taking up his brother's hand from where he'd dropped it moments before.

Sam's mouth twitched, too tired to berate Dean for using his nickname and swallowed thickly.

"Thought y'said no chick flick moments."

Dean chuckled, his eyes sparkling in relief at the sound of his brother's voice. "Shuddup, Princess. You've put me through enough these last twelve hours." He squeezed Sam's hand gently again, careful not to hurt him further. He didn't want to berate Sam, not so soon after him waking up anyway, that would come later, but it was important that he knew how real the consequences of his stupid decision had almost become.

"You're ok." Sam's voice was rough and strained. He tried to sit up, pushing weakly at the bedframe. Dean nodded, jaw tight as he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder and he stilled, sensing that his brother was about to speak.

"It was close Sam. The Doc says ten minutes later and, well, your bacon was fried. You stopped breathing as we pulled up."

Sam nodded, taking it in as his eyes slipped closed again.

"Sam-"

"I'd do it again Dean." Dean opened his mouth to protest but Sam continued, "You always seem to forget that you're not the only one with a brother to protect. It's a two way street, dude. I'm not gonna pretend I'm sorry for what I did, I'm not, you can hate me all you want but it doesn't change anything. We're ok and that's all that's ever mattered. You've said it yourself; we go together or not at all. I couldn't, not without-"

He swallowed thickly and bowed his head as his breath clogged in his throat, eyes welling with emotion. There could never be a second thought, never had been, not when it came to Dean; because he wasn't sure he could keep going if his big brother checked out on him. He swallowed past the pressure in his chest; eyes lifting again to meet his brother's.

"Well, not on my watch. That's the last time you pull any o'that stupid Lone Ranger crap on me."

Sam chuckled, his eyes slipping closed. Exhaustion pulled at his every sense and his brain began to slow, the events of the night finally taking their toll on his body.

Dean noted Sam's sleepy expression and snorted. His voice was soft and mischievous when he next spoke.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Huum?"

"Y'know, I never would have let you die here,"

Sam cracked a single eyelid, smirking as he mumbled in response.

"Oh yeah, why's-at?"

"The nurses, dude." He grinned at Sam's baffled expression. "No brother of mine is going to die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot."

Sam laughed, his head rolling to the side as sleep finally took him. His brother there, witty slurs and all, heart healthy and beating beside him and that's all that mattered. They were going to be ok. The job was hard, hell, it always had been, but together they always found a way to keep fighting: just the two of them against the world.

"Goodnight, Jerk,"

Dean chuckled, "Goodnight, Bitch."

There yah have it folks! It's been a wild ride! Thank you all so much for reading and I really hope that you enjoyed this story: please feel free to leave a review if you have the time; I love to hear from you!

Author's note: One of the main issues with this story was the fact that I decided not to write the entire story before posting each of the chapters, and so I instead opted to alternate between posting and writing chapters. Bad move! I quickly discovered that it takes a lot less time and effort to post a chapter than actually create, write and edit one…hence the year long hiatus!