disneymagics (disneymagics) wrote,

I Wish I was a Growed Up 7/?

Title:  I WIsh I was a Growed Up
Author:  Disneymagics
Rating:  PG
Characters:  Sam, Dean, John
Genre:  Gen
Disclaimer:  I don't own Supernatural except in my dreams where schmoop abounds.
Warnings:  Those of you who think John Winchester was a good father doing the best he could under terrible circumstances may not like my portrayal. He's not deliberately cruel, but he is negligent and he treats his sons as though they are soldiers, not little boys. Just remember this story is AU and Sammy knows what his daddy does at a much younger age than canon Sammy.  Violence towards children.
Word Count:  ~3,100
Summary:  Sammy has just figured out that life isn't fair for his older brother, Dean. He wishes there was some way he could help. When his wish comes true their lives are changed forever. AU hurt/sick!Dean protective!Sam Wee!chester  

I Wish I was a Growed Up
By Disneymagic

Chapter 7 Uncle Sammy

Sammy watches in helpless horror as the spirit hurls his older brother twenty feet into the far wall, sees Dean's head connect first, shoulders and back next, legs last, hears the sickening thud of flesh and bone meeting an immovable object. He wants to hide and he's scared out of his mind, 'cause even though he knows there are monsters, knows his Dad fights monsters, he's never actually seen one before.

The ghost lady is mean and she's hurting his brother. Dean never did anything to her except to stand up for Sammy and tell her to leave him alone. She looks so mad though and Sammy thinks this might be his fault 'cause sometimes he gets Dean in trouble without meaning to. Sometimes he makes a mess in the apartment and when Dad comes home he gets mad and punishes Dean. Maybe it's like that, but he doesn't remember doing anything bad to the ghost lady. She wears an angry sneer as she flickers and glides closer to where his big brother now lays panting on the floor.

A dark smear of blood paints a gruesome path down the otherwise unmarred cream colored wall, marking Dean's passage. Sammy's lungs seize in terror and he can't breath, can't move, can't stop the hateful apparition from grabbing Dean's arm. The resounding snap of bone sends a shudder down his spine that breaks through the mind-numbing paralysis and suddenly he's not scared any more, he's pissed, furious.

He doesn't even feel the change from cringing child to charging adult when it occurs.

"Dean!" His brother's name rips from his throat like a battle cry.

Sammy's entire universe contracts until it consists only of Dean, eyes saucer wide and glassy, and the spirit of a long dead woman, taking her revenge on those least deserving of it. Red tinges the edges of his vision.

Long legs eat up the distance and in one fluid motion, Sammy nicks the shotgun off the floor, aims with lethal accuracy, and fires. Rock salt explodes across the short gap that separates him from the ghastly phantasm, pelting into the misty form, tearing jagged holes in her ethereal body. The woman wails once and pops out of existence, dropping Dean like a discarded rag. As soon as she's gone, the door springs open.

Sammy barely registers the freedom the open door provides, all his attention on the crumpled and too-still form of his bloody and broken brother. "Oh god, Dean." Crouching down, he reaches out hesitantly, wanting to console, but not sure where to touch that won't cause more pain. The injuries he can clearly see are bad enough, but Sammy's even more worried about the potential for less visible injuries, internal bleeding topping the list. The room is as quiet as a church, Dean's shallow breath hitching in and out the only noise. Silent tears fall from mere slits of green in a face pinched with anguish. Sammy lightly swipes the back of his hand across his suffering sibling's cheeks, brushing the tears away.

The spirit could rematerialize at any moment, they can't stay here. There's no time to wait for an ambulance and paramedics to arrive, not even time to do a more thorough assessment. As much as Sammy hates the possibility that he may further injure his brother by moving him, it's too dangerous to stay put.

"We have to get out of here. I'm sorry, Dean. I'll be as careful as I can." He croons, all too aware that Dean is fighting not to cry out loud, unwilling to show further weakness.

Infinitely gentle, like lifting a newborn, Sammy carefully picks Dean up, supporting his wobbly head and boneless neck. Blood drips from a gash above his ear and his arm juts out at an awkward, unnatural angle. A soft stifled moan, like a wounded animal's cry, escapes his pursed lips when the arm gets jostled and Sammy wishes that Dean would just let go, pass out already, save himself a little bit of the torture. But the stoic boy clings tenaciously to consciousness, eyes latching on to Sammy, stubbornly refusing to give in despite the obvious toll.

"Sorry, Dean, sorry." He hisses breathlessly, unshed tears making his eyes burn with remorse.

It's not until he has Dean securely wrapped in his arms to prevent any additional bumping to his battered body that he looks up and sees his Dad standing in the doorway, effectively blocking the only exit.

"S-sammy? That really you, son?" Shell shocked and frantic, Dad stares disbelievingly at his two sons.

"Yeah Dad, it's me. We tried to tell you." Sammy indicates his incapacitated brother and insinuates that Dad should have listened to their explanation instead of dismissing it out of hand.

Dad strides with newly discovered purpose into the room, eyes darting from one son to the other, arms outstretched. "Give him to me."

Sammy can't imagine what his hunter father must be going through right now, one son gravely injured, the other son instantly aged twenty years right before his eyes, but honestly, he can't find it in himself to really care too much. Not right now, not with his arms full of the one person who pays the price for his Dad's obsession over and over again. The man has seen a lot of crazy things in the last four years, he ought to be able to deal with a simple transformation. No matter how unbelievable the situation may be, getting Dean to safety trumps all other concerns.

"I've already got him, let's just get out of here before the spirit decides she's not done with him." Sammy takes a step to bypass his distressed father.

But Dad's still trying to take Dean out of his gentle grasp, ignoring reason in favor of possessive paranoia, and Dean is flinching away from his father's touch, burrowing further into Sammy with the last of his reserves, moaning weakly. Sammy can't tell whether his brother is making a conscious choice between the two of them, selecting someone who he knows has his best interests at heart, or if he's just afraid of being moved around more than necessary, or if he's so far gone that he thinks the spirit is still trying to inflict more damage, in any case a protective wellspring floods through Sammy's every synapse.

"I want my son, now!" Dad's voice is rough, tense, and thoroughly stressed out.

"I know you're freaking out, Dad, but you need to pull it together and make Dean your top priority for once. He needs a hospital!" Sammy intervenes, shaking off his father's clutching hands, and continuing toward the door.

Distrust written all over his face, Dad makes another grab for his oldest son.

A low keening mewl brings Sammy's attention back to the child trembling against his chest. The sound comes from deep in Dean's throat and one look tells him that his brother is no longer aware of what's happening around him, lost in a fog of pain and possibly going into shock.

"Cut it out. There's no time for this and we're scaring him. We can argue in the car on the way to the hospital or better yet, we can not argue in the car. Either way, we need to get moving." Sammy all but growls.

With an inscrutable expression, Dad snags the now empty shotgun from the floor where Sammy had dropped it, and heads toward the parking lot, casting multiple glances over his shoulder to track his sons' progress behind him, as though he's not sure whether Sammy is going to follow or take off with his eldest in the opposite direction. Taking off isn't a possibility, but Dad apparently doesn't know that and isn't quite sure that Sammy really is…Sammy. But no matter what their Dad thinks is going on, the car is the fastest way to get Dean some proper medical help and since Dad has the car keys, he's definitely following Dad.

"How bad is he?" His father asks as soon as he has the Impala on the road, nose pointing toward the nearest hospital. In his line of work, it pays to scope out the closest medical facility as soon as he hits a new town.

Sammy is sitting in the back seat, Dean cradled on his lap, the eerie mewling noise still vibrating in the back of his throat. "I don't know. He has a broken arm for sure. The spirit threw him twenty feet into a wall." He has to stop to swallow thickly before continuing, the memory playing havoc with his stomach and its ability to contain its contents. "There could be internal damage, concussion, broken ribs. I'm not sure what else."

Dad regards him soberly from the rearview mirror. "Has he moved yet, said anything?"

Shaking his head anxiously, dark hair falling like a curtain across his forehead, Sammy replies, "Not really. I've been trying to keep him as still as possible and he hasn't said a single word since we dispelled the spirit." Speaking more to Dean now than to his Dad, Sammy continues, "You should have seen him though Dad, he was so brave. Not scared a bit, were you, Dean? Bravest kid I know."

There's no noticeable reaction from his brother other than a few sleepy blinks. Dean has not once, ever since the spirit released him, stopped his intense study of Sammy's face and it makes him feel important, like he means something special to this selfless child. He can't imagine a better feeling. But the blood welling from the side of the boy's head and the sounds of lingering torment have the opposite affect, resulting in a constriction around his heart making each heart beat painfully evident.

"How about you? I mean…I saw you change, but…I still don't think I trust my own eyes. Are you… are you OK, Sammy?" His normally imperturbable father's voice cracks on his name, shooting up an octave.

"I'm fine." Sammy speaks slowly. "I know it's a lot to take in all at once, this is new to you, but Dean and I have been through it once already and everything is going to be all right. You can trust me." He meets Dad's gaze in the mirror, steadfast and confident.

The calming tone of his voice has the desired effect on both his Dad, who nods acceptance, and his brother, who's distressed keening finally tapers off.

"Dean certainly trusts you." Dad acknowledges. "You should keep talking to him, it seems to be helping."

"Yeah, Dean and I have been through a lot together." Keeping his tone light, Sammy smiles fondly at the young boy and strokes his fine blond hair away from his face. "Isn't that right, kiddo?"

Dean says nothing, but Sammy thinks he detects the faintest nod of the head.

"It makes sense now." Dad muses out loud.

"What does?" Brow wrinkling in confusion, Sammy tries to divide his attention between his brother and his father.

"I noticed when I got back from the last hunt that you had stopped calling me Daddy and started calling me Dad. It makes sense now." A wry chuckle wafts from the driver's seat.

"Hmmm, yeah about that…I'm twenty four right now. There's no way anyone's gonna believe you're my father. When we get to the hospital, we'll have to say we're brothers, Dean will be my nephew and I'll have to call you 'John'."

"Twenty four, huh? Well, that's a good point then. Don't guess I want a twenty four year old calling me Dad just yet." The disconcerted tone is back full force in John's voice, leaving no doubt that he's still struggling with the turn of events.

The hospital squats three stories high, surrounded by intricately landscaped terraces filled with flowering shrubs and spring blossoms. Although the flowers are meant to be cheery for the convalescing, Sammy can't be bothered to spare them a second glance. Dean's breathing has gotten more labored just in the last couple of minutes and it's all he can do not to scream at John to 'Hurry up, drive faster, why is this taking so long'.

The emergency room is around the back of the building. Whoever thought up that design deserves to be shot and left to meander aimlessly about, searching for the ER entrance while his life blood spills out, Sammy thinks viciously.

As soon as they pull up in the emergency lane, John throws the Impala into park, rushes into the ER vestibule, and demands help for his son in no uncertain terms. By the time Sammy reaches the entrance, gingerly clutching his brother and murmuring nonsense to the boy who has started up his plaintive moaning again, a nurse and an orderly are on site with a gurney.

Sammy carefully arranges Dean on the gurney, being especially gentle with the busted arm, but Dean's agitation increases at the separation.

"What's the boy's name?" The nurse asks as she and the orderly begin rolling the gurney through a set of double swinging doors.

"Dean." Both Sammy and John answer at the same time, easily keeping pace with the fast moving hospital staff.

Efficiency is the name of the game and the nurse never breaks stride as she calls over her shoulder, "Parents and guardians only allowed in the examination room with a minor child. Which of you is the father?"

"I'm his father and this is my brother, Dean's Uncle Sammy." John doesn't hesitate on the lie, pulls it off effortlessly. It's part of what makes him such a great hunter.

"All right, Dad come with me. I'm sorry Uncle Sammy, you'll have to wait here." The nurse, Cathy, if her name badge is anything to go by, gives him an apologetic smile and indicates a waiting room off to the left before continuing down the hallway, John in tow.

Left to stare forlornly as his family disappears through another set of double doors, Sammy fingers the wet splotch of blood on his shirt where Dean's head had rested seconds ago. The sickly sweet smell of hospital disinfectant makes his nose wrinkle in distaste. Sighing out his displeasure, he resigns himself to the typical waiting room fare of pacing and clock watching.

It doesn't take long, however, before the swinging doors open and Nurse Cathy is there, a decidedly harassed look on her face. "Uncle Sammy, we need you in the exam room." Without waiting to see if he's going to comply, she turns around and rushes back the way she came.

No sooner does he enter the exam room than he sees the problem. The orderly is attempting to fit an oxygen mask over Dean's nose and mouth and Dean is fussing, fretting, batting at the orderly with his one good hand. His eyes are rolling wildly, incomprehension in every movement. John is standing next to Dean looking totally out of his element and whatever he's saying to Dean is having absolutely no effect whatsoever.

"We don't want to sedate him until we have a chance to check out his head injury and as you can see, he's fighting us on everything we try to do to help him. His dad seems to think you might be able to calm him down." Nurse Cathy looks as though she doubts there's anything anyone can do to calm Dean down, but she's willing to try calling the President himself if there's a chance at getting her young patient to cooperate.

Sammy crosses the room to Dean's side and enfolds the boy's fluttering hand in his much larger one. "Hey, Dean, it's OK. It's me, Sammy. I'm here and I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. Relax, kiddo, I've got it all under control." He whispers.

A final whimper and Dean settles under Sammy's calming influence. A hush falls on the room as though the occupants are momentarily stunned.

Nurse Cathy recovers first. "You seem to have the magic touch." She states while fitting the oxygen mask firmly in place, careful not to dislodge Sammy's crucial position next to his 'nephew'.

Working around him, Cathy takes Dean's temperature and his blood pressure, admirably without requesting that Sammy relinquish Dean's hand. While she's examining his pupil reaction, the door to their alcove opens and a middle-aged Asian gentleman in a white lab coat and white sneakers enters.

"I'm Dr. Amora. Who can tell me what happened to our young dare devil here?"

I Wish I was a Growed Up Chapter 8 The Diagnosis )


Back to ( I Wish I was a Growed Up Chapter 6 Spirits Fight Nasty )
Back to ( I Wish I was a Growed Up Chapter 5 Daddy John )
Back to ( I Wish I was a Growed Up Chapter 4 The End of the Beginning )
Back to ( I Wish I was a Growed Up Chapter 3 The Opportunity )
Back to I Wish I was a Growed Up Chapter 2 The First Time )
Back to ( I Wish I was a Growed Up Chapter 1 - The Wish)

Tags: h/c, hurt!dean, protective!sam, reverse de-aging, schmoop

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