Cabin Fever Part Four
Cabin Fever Part Four
By Carol M
Summary: Fill in for The Girl Next Door…those missing three weeks
Spoilers: all of season 7
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, only love them
Enjoy!
Thanks so much for your interest and continued readership!! Enjoy the next part!!
When Sam realized Dean wasn’t breathing, he glanced at Bobby in absolute terror, making Bobby want to throw up with having the responsibility of removing that expression from Sam’s face. But he couldn’t worry about that now. Right now, they had to do everything they could to save Dean.
Bobby knelt over Dean’s chest and positioned his hands over Dean’s sternum. He looked to Sam and nodded towards Dean’s mouth. “Get up there and breathe for him, boy.”
Sam nodded and scampered into position. He pinched Dean’s nose and tilted his head back, checking to make sure his airway was clear. Then he gave Bobby a quick nod indicating he was ready.
Bobby began to press hard compressions against Dean’s chest with his hands. One… two… three… four… five. Then Sam would pinch Dean’s nose and breathe into his brother’s mouth.
One… two… three… four… five.
Breathe.
Dean’s face was slack, his skin grey. He looked like he was already dead. Bobby pressed Dean’s chest even harder, desperate, needing to feel the life flow through the hunter once again.
“Come on, kid. Breathe! Breathe!” Bobby shouted as his chest compressions took on a maniacal urgency.
Dean’s face remained unmoved as if to mock him. Bobby was struck by how young the kid looked, had to remind himself that even though Dean had lived three life times compared to most, he really was still a boy. He couldn’t let him go. Not again. He’d buried Dean Winchester once when he’d been torn to shreds. He wouldn’t do it again. He just wouldn’t.
He began to pound on Dean’s chest, his hands and arms starting to ache as he continued the tirade. Sam kept breathing into Dean’s mouth, not saying a word, his cheeks soaked with tears.
Bobby slammed his hands down so hard then he swore that he felt something crack in Dean’s chest. “Come on you stubborn son of a bitch! Breathe! Breathe!”
A weak sounding gasp suddenly whooshed from Dean’s mouth.
“Dean?” said Bobby.
Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he began to cough and choke, desperately sucking in air.
“Thank god,” murmured Sam, squeezing Dean’s shoulder a second, looking worn and entirely freaked out as he wiped at the tears still wet on his cheeks.
Dean continued to cough and sputter. Bobby ran his hand up and down Dean’s chest, encouraging his lungs to open up. “Easy. Easy, son.” Dean managed to pull in a wheezy breath. “That’s it. That’s it, kid,” Bobby encouraged, continuing to massage Dean’s chest, reveling at the feel of the hunter’s breathing even it was shallow and downright painful sounding.
“Chest hurts,” Dean gasped, swallowing hard, his eyes squeezing shut with hurt.
“Serves you right, ya idjit,” said Bobby, whacking Dean upside the head. “You don’t need to push yourself until you fall over dead, you know. You scared the hell out of your brother and me.”
“Mmmmm,” Dean moaned. “Sorry.”
“How’s your leg feel?” asked Bobby.
Dean groaned, relaxing against the floor, seconds away from passing out again from the pain and exhaustion.
“Dean, stay with me,” said Bobby, grasping Dean’s jaw with his hand.
“Hurts,” whispered Dean, a full body tremor coursing harshly through him.
Bobby looked to Sam, who was sitting on the sidelines, trying to catch his own breath. “We gotta get him back in the house and hooked back up to the antibiotics before his leg rots off.”
Sam nodded and sat back up, putting his hands squarely under Dean’s shoulders. Bobby took position at Dean’s legs and nodded at Sam. “On three… one… two… three.” They both lifted and Dean grunted in pain. Bobby did his best to keep Dean’s legs level and not jar them too much as he and Sam hauled Dean back inside and gently laid him out on the couch. Dean’s body was tense with agony again, his eyes darting about glassy and wide, his breath sawing in and out harshly through his chest.
Bobby gathered the medical supplies, while Sam hunkered down next to his brother, squeezing his shoulder and staying in his eye line. “Easy, dude. You gotta relax. We’re gonna take care of you.”
Dean reached up to Sam’s face and weakly patted his cheek. “You okay, Sammy?”
“I’m fine, Dean. I’m fine.” Sam gently pulled Dean’s hand off his cheek and lowered it to the couch, straightening it out so Bobby could reinsert the I.V. “You just worry about you, Dean. Just get better. I’m fine. Bobby’s fine. Everybody’s fine.”
Dean flinched as Bobby inserted the needle back into his arm. The young hunter looked up at Bobby and Sam through heavily lidded eyes, his look haunting, sending a chill down Bobby’s spine. “Cas’s not fine,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper.
Bobby and Sam looked at one another grimly, neither one sure what to do or say. After a few awkward moments, Bobby started the drip of antibiotics while Sam pulled the blanket up to cover Dean.
“Get some sleep, boy,” said Bobby, briefly resting his hand on Dean’s chest, the up and down movement of Dean’s breathing doing wonders to calm his scattered nerves.
Dean glanced up at him with big green eyes that held such an air of vulnerability that it made Bobby uncomfortable. He wasn’t using to seeing Dean like that. It was unnerving. And scary as hell. Bobby moved his hand from Dean’s chest to the side of his head, absently tousling his hair.
“Shut your eyes, son,” he said, not able to meet Dean’s gaze any longer, instead looking over at Sam, who seemed to be just as unnerved and uncomfortable by Dean’s rare display of weakness as he was. Dean’s eyes finally drooped and then closed. Thirty seconds later, the young hunter was out like a light, softly snoring and looking all of five years old.
“He’ll be okay,” said Sam, sounding unsure of himself. “Right?”
“Kid’s as tough as nails, son,” Bobby responded. “He’ll be fine.”
Sam nodded hard as if trying to convince himself. “Yeah. For sure.”
“Why don’t you get some sleep, Sam. I got this,” said Bobby, taking a seat a few feet from the couch, ready to keep vigil for the next few hours.
“I’m good,” said Sam, settling down at one of the chairs surrounding the table in the kitchen.
“Sam, don’t you think you should go back to bed? Rest your noggin a little more?”
Sam shook his head. “No. I’m okay, Bobby. Really.” He flashed Bobby a small smile before picking up one of the lore books on the table and starting to read.
“Alright then,” said Bobby, relaxing back in his chair, his gaze focused on Dean, watching his chest rise and fall to make sure he was still breathing. He swore he could feel the spirit of John Winchester watching him from afar, making sure that Bobby did everything he could to protect his sons. Bobby snuck a glance over at Sam, thankful that the boy seemed to be out of danger and was instead engrossed in the text of the book he was reading.
Bobby sat like that for hours, glancing back and forth between Dean and Sam, watching them, making sure they were both safe. He didn’t know how they were going to beat the Leviathans, if they even could beat them, but the one thing he could do was keep the Winchesters safe and healthy for as long as he possibly could. Even if it killed him in the end. It would a good death.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of pained whimpers and ragged moans coming from Dean. He quickly focused his attention back on the hunter and saw that his face was tense with pain again, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, his body shivering restlessly, even in his unconscious state.
“Hang on, kid,” said Bobby, grabbing up a vial and syringe from off the coffee table. He loaded the needle as Dean groaned loudly, his body trying to curl up protectively around his leg. “Here it is,” said Bobby, injecting the painkiller into Dean’s I.V. It took a second for the drug to hit Dean’s brain and when it did, the hunter moaned in relief and that let out a contented sigh as his whole body relaxed back into a quiet sleep. A beat passed and then Dean let out a horrendously loud snore. Bobby couldn’t help but laugh.
“How is he?” asked Sam, glancing up worriedly from his book, having heard the ruckus.
Bobby pressed his hand against Dean’s forehead, noting with relief that despite the sweat, his fever had lowered significantly. “Better,” he answered. “Much better.” He nodded at the book Sam was reading. “You figure out a way to kill our big bad of the month yet?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Mind if I join you? I’m getting sick of staring at your brother’s ugly mug.”
Sam pushed a chair back from the table in Bobby’s direction, encouraging him to sit down. Just as Sam finished, his eyes went wide with terror and then turned totally blank.
“Sam? Sam you okay, son?” asked Bobby worriedly.
Sam inhaled roughly and then jammed his thumb into his hand, twisting it so harshly Bobby was surprised it didn’t make a hole.
“Sam?” Bobby repeated, cautiously approaching the troubled kid.
Sam let out a large breath, his eyes clearing. He took his thumb out of his hand and grabbed one of the books, pushing it towards Bobby on the table. “Take a look at this one,” said Sam, barely meeting his eyes, practically begging Bobby not to say anything.
Bobby obliged. He took a seat at the table and grabbed the dusty book, titled The Rules of Purgatory. “Well, alright then,” said Bobby, taking a final peek at Sam before opening the book and starting to read.
He didn’t know how much time had passed before a loud moan, not of pain, but of terror exploded out of Dean’s mouth. Bobby and Sam shared a look of concern before both slammed down their books and hustled over to the couch. Bobby was disturbed by what he saw. Dean was breathing loud and heavy, his face screwed tight with agony and fear, his body twisting into itself like he was trying to escape from whatever was trying to hurt him.
“Dean, wake up,” said Sam, giving Dean a small shove.
“Ahhhhh... no,” murmured Dean, the movement having no effect. He began to breathe in panicked gasps and Bobby was afraid he might hyperventilate.
“Dean, wake up, boy,” said Bobby in a loud authoritative tone.
“No!”Dean cried out in terror, his back arching off the couch, a tear falling down his cheek.
“What the hell do we do?” asked Bobby as he helplessly looked at Sam, feeling totally lost and out of his element.
“No… no… please,” Dean wailed, more tears streaming down his cheeks.
Sam wordlessly bent down and grasped Dean’s hand in his, squeezing it tenderly. “It’s just a dream, bro. You’re safe. You’re safe. I’m here. Sam… Sammy’s here,” he whispered so softly that Bobby had to strain to hear him.
Bobby watched in awe as Dean almost immediately settled down, his face smoothing out and his body going lax. Another couple of seconds and Dean was once again sleeping peacefully.
Sam let go of his brother’s hand and stood up, looking at Bobby awkwardly, shrugging. “For some reason, if I hold his hand, the nightmares go away. Always been like that. Course if he knew, he’d probably chop his hands off.”
“No kidding,” Bobby remarked.
“You mind not mentioning it to him?” Sam asked, hovering protectively over his brother, making sure he was fully at peace. “ I don’t think he’d take it too well.”
Bobby swallowed past a lump forming in his throat. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
TBC