My hearing came first, and all I could hear was my name rattling around in my head for a few seconds before it died away.
The voice was getting more urgent and I recognized it as Dean's.
The voice echoed through the silence for a few seconds before being joined by the sound of a saw cutting through metal, then the voices of people shouting to each other, a few police or ambulance sirens, police talking to each other over their car radios, and the pitter patter of rain hammering down.
Sight came next, and when I slowly opened my eyes, I couldn't really take stock of anything around me. But after a few seconds, it came to me. I was lying on the floor in the rear of the Impala, why I was back there, I had no idea. The car looked distorted from my position, and I figured it probably didn't just look that way, it was that way. The roof was pretty caved in with dents all over the place. The door behind the driver's seat--by my feet--was really dented in, and the one above my head didn't look much better.
I couldn't remember what happened, and thought it was probably better that I didn't.
"Sammy! Can you hear me?" I was positive that the voice belonged to Dean, but I couldn't see him anywhere, and my voice betrayed me, I was unable to answer him.
Touch came back to me more slowly, and I wished it never had. It seemed like my whole body was on fire and I didn't want to move anything for fear of adding to the pain. I couldn't really assess where any of the pain was coming from directly, but I knew that pretty much everything on my body was ablaze.
I tried to lift my head to look down at myself and see what was wrong, but when I did, a blinding, white hot pain seared through my head and I groaned, quickly setting my head back down and shutting my eyes.
"Sam, you with me back there?" Dean asked, and I assumed that since he said 'back there' that he was in the car and somewhere up in the front seat.
"Yeah," I rasped back, and it wasn't until then that I realized how thirsty I was. I could also detect the taste of blood in my mouth, and there was quite a bit of it.
"How you doin'?" he asked, and he sounded almost fine, just concerned. I prayed that he wasn't in as bad of shape as I seemed to be.
I didn't want to lie to him in a situation like this, but I didn't think it would quell his concerns to give him a fake response. "Not s-so good."
"Well, just hold on, man, help's out there, we'll be out of here in no time, just stay with me."
I realized my hands were shaking pretty violently and that chills were running up and down my body like electricity. "D-Dean, it's so c-cold."
I heard a sigh and a grunt, and Dean's head popped up over the front seat. He had a large gash running down the left side of his face and his nose looked a little off center, but other than what I could see of his head, he looked pretty ok.
I couldn't quite register the look on his face when he saw me, but I knew it wasn't anything good. "What?" I asked, not sure if I wanted to know or not.
"Nothin', hold on, I'm coming back there," he swung his right leg over the front seat and carefully slid over it, trying not to land on me, before he landed with a thump and a painful grunt in the back seat. He slid to the edge of the seat on his side and I painfully raised my hand in the air, needing some sort of contact with him.
He grasped my hand in his and laid his head down on the leather seat. "You're gonna be ok, we both are, we'll be fine."
He was being overly consoling, and I knew that I had to be pretty messed up for him to act like that. Some part of me had already lost hope, and I was starting to think I wouldn't make it out of there. Darkness was waiting at the edge of my vision and my heart was beginning to slow.
Dean shook my hand a little and leaned over the seat a little more. "Hey, you have to stay awake, there's no doubt you got a concussion."
I coughed and felt more blood trickle out of the side of my mouth. "Jesus, Sammy," he said quietly, almost to himself, and reached down with his other hand to wipe the bloody hair off of my forehead.
The saw that was cutting through the metal drew closer to finishing the task of cutting the door off so the paramedics could get in to help us, but if they didn't hurry, they would only be pulling one brother out of this car alive.
I tried to pull in a breath and realizing that, with each one, the simple task was getting harder and harder. The air struggled down my throat with a rattle and gurgle and left with a wheeze.
"Dean— " I started, but he cut me off with a soothing shush.
"Don't talk, you're gonna be fine, you need to save your strength."
"I'm sorry," I got out quickly before he could silence me again. He closed his eyes for a second and sighed before turning slightly teary eyes on me.
"I'm sorry too."
I didn't have time to ask him what he had to be sorry for before my heart rate sky rocketed and that same white hot pain shot through my entire body, like something was trying to get out. I squeezed my eyes shut in pain as my back arched off the floor and my hand clamped down on Dean's harder than it ever had.
"Sammy? What's wrong?" Dean asked frantically, sitting up on his elbow and looking over me.
I groaned in pain and realized I could no longer pull air into my lungs.
Dean sat up fully and looked out the smashed window of the door. "Hurry up out there!" he screamed, and I could hear him continue, but couldn't make out the words as a high pitched ringing drowned out the sounds of him, the blade, the officers, the sirens, and the yelling outside.
Is this what it's like to die? My body felt as if it was tearing itself apart, limb from limb, and I could feel hot tears streak down my cheeks, clearing away the blood.
I felt as Dean leaned back down and placed his hand on the side of my neck, his thumb whipping away the tears on my cheek.
Through the ringing, his voice came through loud and clear. "Come on, Sammy, don't do this to me, please, you can't leave me here alone." He pulled his hands from our firm grasp and my neck and pressed them both hard against my stomach, obviously trying to stop something from bleeding.
I heard the saw stop as the door was ripped off the frame of the Impala and I pictured Dean, days from now, at the auto body shop, cursing every mechanic in the place and tearing the shop apart.
I felt as Dean was pulled from the car, already swearing at the paramedics as they tried to calm him and tell him they couldn't help me if he was fighting them.
My body was still now and my heartbeat came with uncertainty. I couldn't breathe any better than I could open my eyes. My shirt was soaked with blood and I could feel it building up in my mouth as well. The breeze that flowed through the now absent door carried the soothing sent of the rain and felt nice on my cool skin as the paramedics climbed into the car to try and help me, try and save me.
They pried one of my eyelids open and shone a bright light into it before releasing it and doing the same with my other eye. Other than that, my eyes remained closed. The pain seemed to have turned into nothing but an uncomfortable throb.
I heard as, above me, two paramedics shouted things back and forth, pressing gauze pads to me and trying to wipe away blood to see what was wrong with me.
I felt as they carefully picked me up and tried to move me out of the car, and that's the last thing I felt before the darkness finally moved forward to claim me.
Pain. Cold hands. Cold Table. Bright lights. Men in white jackets wearing masks over their mouths and noses. Pain.
My eyes shot open and I searched around frantically. I had no idea where I was. Once again, I couldn't remember anything. My shirt was off, as were my pants, boots, and socks, leaving me in nothing but my black boxer-briefs. People were pressing white gauze pads to my stomach and chest and pulling them away, dripping red. I tried to sit up but was pushed back down none too gently.
There was an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose, delivering sweet gas that was doing nothing to relieve me. I didn't like it and they were starting to aggravate me. I lashed out with my arms, hitting two of the men at my sides square in the face and knocking them backwards. I pulled my legs back, ignoring the pain, and kicked at the men by my feet, sending them flying back.
"Hold him down!" one of them yelled, and I struggled harder. They all came back at once, pinning my arms and legs down.
Where was Dean? Was he ok?
"Sir, please, calm down! We're trying to help you!" I didn't listen to him though. I got my legs free and kicked them up in the air, bucking wildly. I was able to lift my body off the table, all but my head and shoulders, and slam it back down. It sent waves of pain over my body but seemed successful in giving the men a harder time.
I tried to call out for Dean to come and help me, but I couldn't get words out, just sounds as my throat closed up from the dryness and panic.
I continued to buck wildly, no doubt making my injuries worse, but at the moment, I really didn't care. A few seconds later Dean came barreling into the room, a white gauze pad taped to the left side of his face and a white cast over his right forearm and wrist.
He immediately ran to the head of the metal table I was laying on, ignoring the yelling from the doctors. "Sammy! It's ok, stop fighting them, they're doctors! They're trying to help you." He placed his hands on the sides of my face, trying to soothe me.
I calmed down and the doctors suddenly seemed very grateful to have Dean in the room.
"Are you ok?" I rasped out, biting my lip under the mask when one of the doctors pressed roughly on my chest.
"I'm fine, you worry about yourself," he said, cracking a smile and smoothing my hair back.
"Sir, we've got him from here, you need to leave now, you shouldn't be in here," one of the doctors said, throwing down a soaked gauze pad and turning to Dean. Panic raced through me at the idea of Dean leaving me alone with these strangers.
Dean glared at the doctor but nodded, not wanting to cause any trouble. "I gotta go, Kiddo, but I swear I'll be here when they're done fixing you up, take it easy, no more fighting," he said, smiling again. He patted my shoulder lightly before he disappeared from my line of vision and the darkness washed over me like a cold wave of ice, rushing up from my feet to my head.
I didn't remember waking up during surgery, but I remember the doctors telling me that I had. I also remember them telling me that my heart had stopped and I was clinically dead for five minutes. They had given up on me, after performing manual CPR and giving my heart half a dozen shocks with a defibrillator.
They said that faith and my own will had brought me back from the dead, and that there was no other way to explain it other than calling it a miracle. I couldn't recall what it was like to be dead. I couldn't really recall anything at all from the time that I had spent unconscious.
I don't even remember when they told me all of this because it was a whole week later when I finally woke up post-surgery. And I remember waking up very well.
My head hurt, as did most of the rest of my body, and it felt as if the air itself was pinning me to the bed and holding my eyelids shut. I turned my head to the side, my bed hair slightly uncomfortable under my head, and moaned in pain at the motion. I felt dizzy even without opening my eyes.
A hand came to rest on my upper arm and Dean's soothing words reached my ears after a week of silence. "Hey, Sammy, it's ok."
I moaned again, just wanting to open my eyes and get it over with. "Dean," I mumbled through barely open lips.
"I'm right here," he said, keeping his hand in place and rubbing his thumb over my bare skin. Hospital gown sleeves were always too short, and I realized now that goose bumps were starting to run down my arms.
"Open your eyes, Sam."
My chest was dully throbbing, as were the left side of my neck and side.
I was finally able to flutter my eyes open a bit, and the world greeted me with bright sunshine streaming in through the window and blurry shapes. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision. Dean came into my line of vision, a happy grin on his face but his eyes showing concern.
"You in there?" he asked. I started to nod my head, but moaned instead.
Dean's smile faded and he leaned in a little closer. "Can you hear me, Sammy?"
"Yeah," I rasped, trying to work some saliva down my dry throat.
"Should I go get the doctor?"
"No, I'm ok, just give me a minute," I whispered and shut my eyes again to take a few deep breaths.
Dean was still in my face when I opened my eyes again, but he visibly relaxed when I did so. The large bandage on the side of his face was gone and a few butterfly strips now held its place. He still had the cast over his right arm and the dark circles under his eyes showed he hadn't been sleeping very well, or at all, for all I knew.
"It's about time you woke up. I was ready to pull the plug so the hospital could have their bed back," he joked and cracked a smile.
I smiled back and took a quick glance around the room. "What happened?"
"Let's just say cars and poltergeists don't mix."
"But…we weren't even on a hunt…were we?" I asked, my eyes settling back on him.
"Nope, this one came out of nowhere."
I thought for a minute, the aftermath of the accident playing back in my mind. "Did you call dad?"
"Of course I called dad, but do you think he answered?"
"Do you think he bothered to call back or even drop by to check on how his damn-near-dead sons were?"
"No." I shook my head, playing with a bandage on my arm. "How bad was it?"
Dean sat back in the chair by my bed. "Well, I was the lucky one. You, on the other hand, were pretty freakin' messed up. A narrow little piece of metal, about seven inches long, was stuck right in the side of your neck. You broke a few ribs, one punctured your lung, one—somehow—punctured the skin over your chest and was bleeding like crazy. You smacked your head pretty good on the window and got a nice, severe concussion. And another piece of metal pretty much sliced your stomach open, missed all the organs though. That's about it for you, other than a couple scratches and bruises. I don't imagine that you giving them hell in the operating room did anything to help you along either."
"Jesus," I whispered. That was as close to as gone forever that I had ever gotten. I had even died in the process, but Dean seemed to want to avoid that topic. "How 'bout you?"
"Me? Just a fractured wrist and a mild concussion. I don't know how the hell you managed to get so messed up," he smiled.
A wicked grin spread over my face and I looked up at him. "And the car?"
Dean cleared his throat and stared out towards the window. "Dr. Mechanic said she should make a full recovery in a few weeks. Which is ok, seeing as the doctors in this place aren't gonna let you out of here anytime soon."
There was silence for a few minutes as we sat in the warmth of the sun, thinking how close we had actually come this time.
"Hey, I'm ok, you're ok, it's all good," he said, his hands raised slightly in the air.
I nodded, a small smile spreading across my face. "So, this poltergeist…"
Dean smiled as well, sitting forward and beginning to brief me on the research he had no doubt done from the laptop as he sat at my beside over the past week.
We were Winchesters, would always be Winchesters. That's what we did. Hunt, recover, repeat.
We were gonna be just fine no matter how much death, fire, and uncertainty the future held.
So yea, that was my first supernatural fic. Actually, that's not true. I've got about two or three others in the process of being written that I started before this, but I kept changing my mind on what I wanted to write that it took me forever to finally finish one. I wanted to write a few-chapter story and I've got one in mind, but I figured a one-chapter kinda thing would be good to start with. I hope you liked it!
Before turning to Supernatural, I wrote one One Tree Hill fic and quite a few Friends ones, most of which have gone unfinished, but I'm no stranger to fanfiction. You'll probably be seeing more of me around here, so watch for other fics.
Thanks for reading, please drop me a review and let me know what you thought! (I'd really appreciate a review on this one especially, since it's my first story of the Supernatural bunch.)
(Oh, and sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes. I wrote this over several days and I caught what I could, but some things may have slipped by.)