Hold Him Up, 1/1, SPN Gen (S2 finale spoilers), PG-13

[authoressnebula.livejournal.com]

Anyone recognize my icon? *points* Do you know the episode, the scene? Yeah. That's what this one's about. It's the only thing I could think of when I thought of the word "desolate". Tried a different style for this one, too. Present tense, but...not. It's an odd thing. Give it a go? It's short. Promise.

And I have NOT forgotten about HSG. I'm still working on it. Astra's not happy with how I finished it, so I had to go back and rewrite it. Picky little bitch.

Title: Hold Him Up
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #59 - Desolate for tamingthemuse
Fandom: Supernatural (Gen), Season 2 Finale Spoilers
Disclaimer: Kripke is an awesome person. He owns the boys and the show and he definitely owns me.
Summary: Dean's thoughts from the moment he turns that corner with Bobby and sees his brother.
Warnings: Death fic. You guys know what happens.

Special thanks for the text goes to Rachel at Sinful Desire. I also went over the clip she has posted a dozen or so times to make sure I got this all right. So thank you muches! *blows kisses her way*

Note: Not beta'd in the slightest. I'm cold-headed, which means I'm in a total fog. If anything's wrong, please let me know?

“Sam!”

Gonna find him. God, I'm gonna kick his ass when I find him. After I make sure he's okay. And he'll be okay, IS okay and I can see him. He's clutching his right arm, but he's smiling, and things are finally going right for a

Who the hell is that? Is that a knife in his-no Sam look out!

“Sam look out!”

Too late. Oh god no. Sam's jerking, that bastard is too close, no no no...

“NO!”

Wincing once, wincing twice, wincing three times and Sam's left alone as the guy runs. I'm running, too fast I'll trip but not fast enough because Sam's falling, eyes half open to the sky. I'm the big brother, though, and I grab his jacket, hold him up. It's what I do.

“Sam?”

He's falling, and I force myself to hold him up. I won't let him fall.

“Whoa, whoa, easy, Sam?!”

So heavy (deadweightNO), but it's muddy and he'll be pissed if I get his favorite jeans muddy, and this'd be easier if he weren't taller than I was, or if he'd just move

“Sam!”

Too heavy, and I can't hold him up. We both go down in the mud.

“Hey, hey, come here.”

Pull him close to hold him up and hold him close, like that was what I intended to do in the first place. Because big brothers don't let their little brothers fall.

“Come here, let me look at you.”

Holding him close as I reach my hand around to the back to see how bad the wound is, the wound I know has to be there, and my entire left palm finds wetness. No pink skin left; it's all blood red now. Sam's blood. I pull back around and force a light tone to my voice. Can't let him freak out, I'll patch him up. It's what I do.

“Hey look, look at me, it's not even that bad.”

Moving myself around a bit, gently tipping his head back towards me because with blood loss comes shock. He's not tracking my words so well, he's not even looking at me, so I've got to help him move. I keep my voice light.

“It's not even that bad, all right?”

His eyes are half closed. No sleeping on my watch, kiddo. Too much blood loss; you can sleep when you're in the nearest hospital with a blood transfusion. Gotta keep him here with me.

“Sammy?”

No answer. Why won't he even just say anything? Maybe because his mouth's full of blood. Spit it out, spit it at me, anything, just say something.

“Sam!”

The order's barked, but he's not answering. Who knows what he's gone through in the past day? Okay, good news. I've gotta give him some good news, talk to him, keep him focused.

“Hey, listen to me, we're gonna patch you up, okay? You'll be as good as new, huh?”

I say it like I'm trying to coax him into something. “Could be fun, huh Sammy?” “What do you think about her? Huh?” His head rolls down and then sort of rolls up, and I can see that his eyes are closed now. Let him rest. I'll make sure he stays with it on the way to the hospital. His head rolls again, and I've got his body supported with mine, so I take his head in my hands. Don't want him to have a sore neck on top of everything else.

“I'm going to take care of you, I'm gonna take care of you, I gotcha.”

I've always got him. I'll always take care of him. He knows it, I know it, but I feel like I should say it. Like it's important to say it now so he knows. He'll know after today, of course, but I still feel something that says to say it now. I force a grin even when he still doesn't answer, his eyes still stay closed.

“It's my job, right? Watch out for my pain in the ass little brother?”

I move my hand up to hold his cheek and slide it down to his chin. His skin feels cold. Too cold. Time for you to start talking to me, Sammy. I gotta know you're okay.

“Sam.”

No answer. That something that was pushing at me to say the obvious pushes again, and my chest tightens. He'll be fine. I smooth back his too long hair from his face. He won't get it cut, but it bugs the hell out of him when it's in his face.

“Sam.”

Louder now, but still no answer. C'mon Sammy, answer me!

“Sam?”

My throat closes on the word, comes out strangled but he still won't answer.

“Sammy?!”

Yelled, right in his face, and when I move my hand from his face to grab at his jacket again, his head slips forward again. Like he won't move it, can't move it, and the something in my chest finally blossoms into sharp clarity, leaving me with my little brother. My little brother who's gone. Who's de...

“No.”

Dead. No pulse, no heartbeat, no life, no breath, no annoyed looks, no puppy eyes, no patient tones, no Sam.

“No-n-n-n-n-n-no.”

Yes.

“Oh god.”

I can't look at his face that'll never smiletalkglarelaugh again. I'm losing my grip, so I move to pull him in closer, my chin on his left shoulder. My arms clutching at his body, his body that's too cold and never going to warm up again. His own chin's a dead weight on my right shoulder, and it'd be funny if it weren't true. If it weren't Sammy.

But it's Sammy, and he's GONE. Doesn't matter if I hold his neck or his back or anywhere. I can't bring him back.

“Oh god.”

Anger surges forward at the bastard who took him from me, and it fades out into nothing because it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. My brother, my best friend, my comfort, my fellow prankster, my hunting partner, my drive-me-home-when-I'm-too-drunk-to-drive buddy, my world, and he's gone. I can't get him back, can't talk to him one last time, can't tell him how much I need him, can't tell him how much I've always loved him, and I'm desolate, empty without him.

Sam's dead. Oh god, he's dead. My anger and grief are fueling each other, and god Sam, I hope you can hear me, please come back, don't leave me please come back I need you I'm sorry please hear me and come back...

“SAM!”

I'm not sure I did the scene justice, but I tried. Lemme know how I did?

~Nebula