The Rain It Fell, The Story Went On (1/?)

[crazybeagle.livejournal.com]

Title: The Rain It Fell, The Story Went On (1/?)
Author: crazybeagle
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen, hurt/comfort/angst
Characters: Dean, Sam, John and Tessa (sort of….), minor OC's.
Spoilers: None as long as you've seen season 2!
Summary: One obnoxious Big Bad with some unexpected tricks up its sleeve equals one hunt gone pretty far south for the Winchesters. They're both badly hurt, but Dean's got it decidedly worse this time around, and feeling pretty belligerent about it. Because hospitals? Not exactly his thing. Not after the last time. Set after "In My Time of Dying," written for a "lonely prompt" for the hoodietime community by doylescordy, found here. Title from "Salina" by the Avett Brothers.

When Dean opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a swirling cloud of clichéd stars and birdies. He wondered how hard he must've hit his head. Upon closer reflection, however, he realized it felt less like he'd hit his head and more like he'd hit his everything.

Awesome.

When his eyes finally did manage to focus, which took awhile, he saw a dark canopy of leaves overhead, bits of cloudy night sky peeking through it. Dazed, he blinked a few times and clenched his fists around the dry leaves on the ground, waiting for the world to stop spinning around him. Come to think of it, it'd be pretty nice to just lie here for awhile, really.

Except…

Oh, right.

Black Dog.

Whoop de freakin' doo.

Not too keen on getting pounced on and getting his throat ripped out by an evil three-headed mutt, he tried to prop himself up on one elbow.
…Only to be floored again by an explosion of pain coming from his left side, somewhere between his armpit and his sternum. The closest comparison he could come up with for the feeling was as if somebody had dropped a bowling ball on his ribcage. His eyes watered, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming.
 
What the hell…

What even happened, anyway?
 
And where was Sam?
 
He couldn't think. Everything was starting to go all fuzzy again.
 
No, no, no…come on…

Focus. Think. Black Dog. Sam.

He tried to take a steadying breath, but his eyes squeezed shut of their own accord at the resulting sensation of his lungs being squeezed together and of a stupid friggin' huge hole puncher taking a chunk out of his side.

He pounded desperately at the ground with a fist, his vision whiting out.

"Dean!"

He managed to raise a hand. "Righ' here…" he muttered through gritted teeth, trying to make his eyes focus long enough to try to see where Sam's voice was coming from.

"Dean?" And then something big and dark entered his line of vision, crouching down next to him. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Dean managed to croak. "Hey there, S'mmy…"

A flashlight clicked on, and Sam's face swam into view, looking alarmed, eyes automatically scanning him for injury.
 
"H-hey, stop shinin' that thing in m'eyes…" Dean grumbled.
 
Sam ignored him. "What happened?" his voice was urgent.

Dean's eyes rolled back up to the leaves hanging above him, interspersed with patches of cloudly sky. "Dunno…" he said breathlessly. "M'best guess though? It was me versus the tree and the tree won…" He felt a stupid grin spreading across his face.
 
"Yeah, that's what I thought." The light flashed on the tree trunk. "Damn."

"D'dya kill the—"

"Yeah." He jabbed a finger behind him, at where the corpse of a three headed Black Dog presumably lay. "Got up close and I stabbed it."
Despite the suckiness of the situation, he felt a swell of pride at that. "Way t'go Sammy." He raised a shaky fist for a fist bump, but Sam didn't oblige him, one hand still holding the flashlight. Which was weird. Sam didn't like that sort of thing, but as long as nobody was around, he usually didn't care too much. But then he remembered—"Wait a sec…" He squinted past the glare of the flashlight, trying to see Sam's other arm. Sam was holding it bent against his chest, the fabric torn, dark, and wet. And then Dean remembered the reason he'd been thrown against the tree in the first place… "Well next time, Sammy, see if you find some other way of getting close up than getting your arm mauled, 'kay? 'Cause I pretty much sucked as the rescue-Sam-brigade, didn't I?" Now he remembered how he'd gotten thrown into the tree—Sam had been taken by surprise and knocked down by the Black Dog, and the leftmost of the three heads (three freaking heads) had gotten its teeth around his arm. Dean had ineffectually tried to distract the thing and make it let Sam go by coming at its leftmost head and firing a shotgun, but apparently it hadn't done much good, sinking into the shoulder and only managing to make two out of the three heads really angry. The third head, apparently oblivious, had just kept on using his brother as a giant chew toy. He remembered seeing the whole creature turning and bounding towards him, the third head dragging Sam along with it. He shuddered at the memory of the third head's bloody teeth, and even in the dark, looking at Sam's sodden arm now, Dean was surprised Sam had had the presence of mind to even try to stab the thing.

He tried to prop himself up, trying not to feel faint at the grinding sensation coming from his ribs. "'S it broken?"

Sam pushed him lightly back down, which wasn't hard considering Dean had only made it a few inches off the ground. "Yeah, probably. But it's just my arm. It's not our biggest problem right now, okay?"

Dean frowned. "It almost ripped your arm off… If ya bleed out 's a pretty damn big problem."
 
Sam rolled his eyes. "Just do me a favor, shut up and lie still for a second, okay?" Dean didn't want to admit how easy it was to do just that right now. "What hurts?"
 
"'re you kidding?" he drawled. "I feel great. Fan-flipping-tastic."

"Did you hit your head?"

"Think I hit m' everything, Sam…"

"Yes or no?" he snapped.

"Not sure… hey, save the interrogation for later, get pressure on your arm first." Yes, he did want to make sure Sam didn't bleed to death, but it was also because it just hurt to talk, and it was getting increasingly hard to catch his breath. He felt like he was getting stomped on with every inhalation.

"Can you stand up?" Sam asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Don't think so…" he admitted.

"Then no, we can't save it for later," Sam said dryly. "Where are you hurt?" he repeated, insistent.

Well, he figured, might as well not sugar coat it. Not when he hurt like shit—because at this point, he couldn't deny that there was something seriously wrong— and when Sam was just going to be pushy and obnoxious and all frantic anyway. It was almost endearing how much Sam sucked at the whole keeping-an-injured-person-calm thing, because he was always so grim and panicky about it. Not like Dad; Dad could've probably convinced somebody on their deathbed that they just had a head cold, which came in handy when they were dealing with injured and terrified victims. It was something that Dean had always tried to emulate, specifically with Sam, who wasn't known for being particularly mellow when he was hurt or sick. But even if Sam had an abysmal bedside manner, what he lacked there he made up for in an abundance of genuine concern.

"Ribs," Dean told him, barely able to gesture at them. "Left side."

"Broken?"

He nodded tightly. "Think so."

"I'm gonna take a look, alright?"

It took Sam awhile to get the flashlight situated where he could hold it under the armpit of his good arm so he could both see what he was doing and get to the injury. Dean had planned making a wheedling comment about getting fresh when Sam opened his jacket and flannel and then lifted up his t-shirt, but it hurt too bad for anything to come out of his mouth other than a sharp gasp.
"Crap," he muttered.

"What?"

"Well for starters, it's basically the start of one gigantic bruise all through here." He waved a hand over pretty much the entire left side of Dean's ribcage.

"Great." He paused. "Now don't touch it."

Sam sighed, frustrated. "Dean, if you've got broken ribs—"

"Don't touch it, Sam," he growled.

But of course, Sam did anyway.

Dean hissed. "Augh…fuck you, Sam—"

"Shut up," Sam said shortly, and as he prodded at the skin around Dean's ribs and sternum, Dean had to try not to pass out. After a second, he said, "Yeah, it's looking like you got some broken r—" his words suddenly died, and he bent over to get a closer look, brow furrowed. Dean could see splatters of thick, inky blood from the Black Dog on Sam's face and in his hair. "Wait a second," he whispered. "Shit…"

"What?" Dean snapped.

Sam shushed him.

Oh yeah, there he went again with that delightful bedside manner…

Sam must've sensed Dean's irritation, and his expression softened. "Look, I'm sorry. Just please be quiet for a second, okay? Don't talk. There's a good reason, I promise."

Dean raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Nothing was easier anyway.

And then Sam was, very slowly, uncurling his right arm away from his chest and resting it on the other side of Dean's chest, on top of all the nice non-broken ribs. His good hand was splayed out over the broken ones. (Ow.) On his non-injured side, Dean could feel that Sam's fingers were slippery with blood, and his stomach churned.

"Wha—"

"Shut up," Sam repeated for a third time. "Now I need you to breathe in, okay?"

No, Dean mouthed, shaking his head a little. He was going to black out if he couldn't subsist on the minimum amount of necessary oxygen right now.

"Dean, don't fight me on this. Please." He sounded desperate. "All you gotta do is breathe."

So Dean breathed. And owsonuvabitchowww…. And there were those stars and birdies again.

"Do it again."

Sammy, you really suck, you know that?

But he did it again.

Sam took his hands off a second later and then swore, colorfully, under his breath.

Dean let out a wheezy laugh. "'M impressed. Didn' know y'knew that word, Sammy…"

"Shh." Sam looked shaken.

"Not 'till y'tell me why you looked freaked to hell right now."

"Can you taste blood or anything?"

"No…"

"Good."

"Sam, what's wrong?"

 Sam said nothing, but freaked-to-hell was still written all over his face as he looked down at Dean.

"Dude. What is it?"

Sam sighed. "Do you know what a flail chest is?"

Dean blinked. "Maybe…" The term sounded really familiar and he felt like he should know, but it sure didn't sound like anything good. Anything with the word flail in it, really. "Do I really wanna know?" Even if it was probably better if he told him, so he could help Sam figure out how to deal with whatever it was.

"Maybe not."

"Well…how d'you know what it is, then?"

"'Cause Jess was pre-med."

"Yeah, y-you said..."

"Anyway, she worked as an intern for an EMT for awhile. She used to tell me about the patients sometimes, 'cause certain cases…uh, bothered her."

Lightheaded, Dean let his eyes roll back up towards the leaves. He thought he might hear thunder in the distance and hoped to God it was just heat lightning. Yeah, because a storm is just what we need right now. And never mind that Black Dogs tended to be attracted to storms.
"An' this case with, what was it, flail chest? How'd that one turn out?"

"Uh, the guy died in the ambulance."

Oh. Well that boded well, didn't it.
 
"Great," Dean muttered. "Well you're gonna have to tell me now, huh?"

Sam looked away. "A flail chest is when you break a bunch of ribs that are all right next to each other enough so that that entire part of your ribcage—like, lungs and everything—move differently than everything else. You breathe in, that part pops out, you breathe out, that part pops itself in."

 Truth be told, Dean's first reaction was aw, gross. After that the Oh my god kicked in. "So…that's what's goin' on, huh?"

"Yeah, looks like." He pointed at the giant bruise. "'Cause this part's doing its own thing whenever you breathe."

"Oh…" Dean said, feeling sick at the thought. "Well shit."

 Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, uh…" Dean floundered for words. "How's your arm?"

Sam let out an incredulous laugh. It sounded a bit manic.

"Really, dude…"

Sam glanced down at it and shrugged. "I'll live." But Dean didn't miss how pale he looked, even in the flashlight, and judging by how wet his hand had felt against Dean's chest, he'd be willing to bet Sam was still bleeding, a lot.

 "Seriously. Pressure."

Sam shrugged. "We don't have anything out here."

"Well how close're we to the car again?" Not terribly far, he knew, because in order for Black Dogs to be a problem, there had to be people around, and where there were people, there were roads. And in their case, a neat little nature path made of gravel and packed dirt as well.

"Two miles out, maybe? Three?"

"'S it blocked off?"

"Yeah, but just by that road barrier. It's got a lock and chain. I could pick the lock…" He sounded dubious.

"But? 'M sensin' a but here."

 "But," Sam said firmly, "we're not taking the car."

"What d'you mean we're not taking—" And then Dean got it. "No," he said immediately.

"Dean—"

"Uh-uh. No way."

Sam shook his head, resolute. "Dean, you are in no shape to be calling the shots right now. You need a hospital."

A hospital.

Dean's already shallow breathing involuntarily grew shallower. "Can't we just…deal with it?"

 "Ourselves? No."

"Why?" Fear was gnawing at his stomach. He knew Sam probably wasn't wrong, but still….they'd dealt with nastier injuries themselves. …Right? "I can patch your arm up for you, we'll get you x-rays tomorrow—"
 
"Really."

"Yeah—"

"Dean, you can't even sit up."

"I can 'f you help me," he said through gritted teeth. Actually, the prospect of sitting up made him ill, but anything was better than…that.
 
"Come on, man… Busted ribs. Flail-whatever or no, there's nothin' punctured or anything, so we bind it up and I jus' stay in bed a few days, and it'll work itself out. We've had worse—"

"No," Sam snapped, angry now. "Look, we can't fuck around with something like this. Weren't you listening? A flail chest'll probably kill you if you let it go, suffocate you. I mean it. Don't be an idiot."

 But he looked just as terrified as he did mad, so Dean had to relent. And Sam was right, anyway—he really couldn't be the one calling the shots right now.

"Besides," Sam muttered tiredly. "Don't think I should drive right now, anyway."

Dean glanced at his arm. "You dizzy?"

Sam nodded. "Sort of, yeah."

He sighed, or as much as he could manage to without setting off his ribs. "Crap. We gotta get it looked at, huh?"

Sam grimaced and shrugged with the shoulder of his good arm. "Still bleeding, so…"

 Reluctantly, Dean nodded. "Okay, yeah. You should call." If Sam needed a hospital, then it wasn't negotiable anymore.

"Problem." Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "No reception here. Think I gotta go head back toward the road."

"Great."

"Okay, uh…" Sam stood up and ran a hand through his hair. "Alright. Okay, I'm gonna go walk a little ways back up the road, call and then come back, okay? Be back in a few minutes, and please, please try to stay awake, okay?"

Dean frowned. "'Kay. Don't faceplant on the road either."

Sam grinned faintly. "No guarantees."

"Sam."

"Kidding." He looked back down at Dean, and his smile faded. "I know it sucks, but you gotta keep breathing, okay? Don't fall asleep." He walked over to something on the ground nearby, the flashlight still wedged under one arm, picked it up, and set it down next to Dean. It was Dean's gun. "Here. In case Sparky over there has any friends."

It wasn't until a minute or so later, when Sam had gone, taking the flashlight with him, that Dean realized exactly how difficult a promise don't fall asleep was going to be. Talking alone had done a number on him, and the sensation of being socked repeatedly in the chest had only escalated with every minute. His head was heavy, and the rest of him felt weirdly tingly as he struggled to take in air. It was getting harder to concentrate, even despite his very present fear that Sam would faceplant. He blinked rapidly, trying to snap himself out of it, focusing on anything he could, which was a bit hard now that he was lying in almost total darkness—the now persistent rumbling of thunder, the musty odor of a newly dead Black Dog—speaking of, how were they gonna explain that to the medics?—and then one raindrop hitting his forehead…two…

A sudden explosion of agony and OWsweetmotherofWHATTHEFRIGGINHELL in his chest…

After that, he didn't remember a thing.
 
Part Two

 

Comments

[dante-s-hell.livejournal.com]

I loved how Dean didn't want to go to the hospital until it became necessary for Sam. What a wonderful start. Looking forward to more.

[crazybeagle.livejournal.com]

:) Thanks so much!
And yeah, that's pretty much what it's like with these two, huh... ;)

[elder-bonnie.livejournal.com]

Oh shoot! Cliffhangerrrr.
So intriguing, I'd never heard of a flail chest before. Some serious Agony!Dean potential thar.
HURRY SAMMEH!
Very much looking forward to the continuation!

[crazybeagle.livejournal.com]

I hadn't heard of it either, but when I found it my first reaction was "Oh, ewwww," and my second reaction was "Ohohoh I wanna inflict that on DEAN!" I saw a video of a flail chest patient on one of the med sites and it looked pretty horrible though, because you can see it happening really clearly, the in-out thing being reversed. >shudders<
Hurry Sammeh indeed.
Thanks so much! :) Should update tomorrow.

[rince1wind.livejournal.com]

And when do you think you'll be posting the next bit?
When?

[crazybeagle.livejournal.com]

Tomorrow, if my performance studies final doesn't do me in.... ;)

[rince1wind.livejournal.com]

I'll be waiting... Hope the exam goes well!

[crazybeagle.livejournal.com]

Thank you! <3

[si-star-x.livejournal.com]

Oh, wow! I've been recently drifting away from hurt!Dean for the complete lack of it, but this? This is the best thing I've read in weeks. So much hurty goodness and beautiful brotherliness and Dean, ah, Dean. He's just him. You hurt Sam too, which is awesome, and just, everything. I'm not totally coherent, but when I saw the word 'flail' I just grinned 'til the end. Dude. This is brilliant, I can't wait for more.

[crazybeagle.livejournal.com]

Aww, thanks so much! You're very sweet. I really do love that I'm not the only one who got giddy over the prospect of hurting BOTH of them. SO much angst potential, I love it. And I'd never done any Dean-whump before and I wanted to try...it's fun...a little too fun...
Yes, flail's a funny and painful sounding word. I can just imagine what was going through Dean's head..."A flail WHAT now? What exactly is flailing here?"

[si-star-x.livejournal.com]

It's great to find people who share the same kinks in regards to hurting our boys. I really can't wait for more, hope to see another chapter soon. *Hugs*

[maypoles.livejournal.com]

I've been recently drifting away from hurt!Dean for the complete lack of it, but this?

Noooooo. ::clings::

[si-star-x.livejournal.com]

Aww. ^___^;; I'll always be around, you know that.

[maypoles.livejournal.com]

"Well, uh…" Dean floundered for words. "How's your arm?"

Ahaha, OH DEAN. I can just hear him saying that.

Your dialogue and brotherly banter is all spot-on. I'm really enjoying this.

[crazybeagle.livejournal.com]

Pshhhh, I know, right?
Typical avoidance tactic.
I'm so glad you like it.

[zoemathemata.livejournal.com]

cliffhanger! I hope you'll post the next bit soon!

*bats eyelashes*

PLEASE!

The Rain it fell, the story went on

[taylorariel.livejournal.com]

I both liked and disliked the "To Be Continued" line: Because it meant more to come but it also meant the end of this part! Hope you can post again soon. Thank You.

[doylescordy.livejournal.com]

Thanks for filling my prompt! I'd never heard of flail chest before until this fic. OUCH! I'm really enjoying it so far and can't wait for more.

[crazybeagle.livejournal.com]

Glad you like it, hope you'll enjoy the hospital bits. I'm having problems posting the next bit so I will do that ASAP, but it IS all written and has been for about a month. :)
And I bet Dean wishes he'd never heard of a flail chest either....sigh. Lol

[si-star-x.livejournal.com]

I just read it again... it's so good. I want more like woah, I'm so impatient, hehe. ♥

[crazybeagle.livejournal.com]

D'awww, that's sweet. I'm so glad you liked it enough to read it over again. :)

[xwacky.livejournal.com]

Ahhhh, I love broken!Dean so much that it scares me sometimes. I also adore the brotherly dynamic you captured here, especially this: "Well, uh…" Dean floundered for words. "How's your arm?" -- that's Dean to a tee!

[crazybeagle.livejournal.com]

Awww, thanks so much!
And yeah, deflect-deflect-deflect ad nauseum plus be narrotic about Sam's well-being is Dean's typical method of existence.
Oh and just so you know,
If you went onto the second and third part and you see mentions of Pastor Jim...just refresh the page. I changed it to Bobby because I had a brainfart and forgot Jim was dead. XD