A/N: This story hit me in the face while I was dealing with one particularly cold night recently while I was sick. Set before my others; say early to mid season 2, before the Usual Suspects. Sam has no controllable abilities in this one and still has vision-pain. Does not involve Kira or Drea. Still don't own the guys. The miner's ghost is mine though.
Anything that I write that doesn't sound right is because I didn't spend too much time gathering background info on poisoning or deep mines. My dad is a retired miner and has a lot of stories. I'd like to thank my mom for the music reference. That song came out way before I learned a lot about music and country just isn't my thing. Hope everyone enjoys and all reviews appreciated!
Chapter 1: Breathing Through Pain
"Gaaahhhhddd! D-dean?" Sam was writhing on the bed next to Dean's in the sparse but clean motel room in Utah. Dean was jarred from a deep sleep by Sam's cries. Coming instantly awake; he was at his brother's side.
"Sammy, what is it?" Sam continued to toss on the twin bed, hands now shooting up to clutch his head as he flopped onto his back. His casted hand made a thumping sound against his head and Dean doubted he even felt it. His eyes scrunched tight, he moaned again. Now Dean knew exactly what was happening. Vision. Sam began gasping for breath as the vision and the pain it inflicted hit him full force. His lips began to have a blue tinge as he struggled to get enough oxygen into his lungs to supply his rebelling body. This is one of the worst I've seen him have. "Sammy? Hey bud, you gotta breathe." Dean hauled Sam onto his side, propping his head up against his sweat clad thigh. Sam was facing him. He began to rub circles along Sam's spine with one hand while the other squeezed his in a rhythm that he hoped he could get Sam to follow.
"Sammy, c'mon. Breathe through it, ride it out, Sam. Just like Dad taught us to do with pain. Breathe, c'mon. In (squeeze). Out (release). Again, Sam."
Sam struggled to follow his big brother's rhythm, now desperate for the air his stressed breathing was denying. The pain in his head had his mind fragmented. He couldn't think, couldn't make his body follow his commands as his brain tried to send impulses through his screaming nerves. He heard his brother's voice, penetrating the fire in his mind. He struggled to keep the voice from being lost to his ears as the roaring pain swamped him again; praying the soothing timbre of Dean's voice worked its miracle again as it always had in the past. Chills wracked his tall, muscular frame; making him feel again like the sick seven year old that Dean had last used this tactic on.
"Guh… De…huuuhhh." He got some air past his trembling lips and down his parched throat. Dean continued to rub the soothing circles, now with the butt of his palm, a little more strongly. The friction built and began to warm Sam's chilled flesh. Sam got more air into his lungs this time on another squeeze from Dean's strong hand. Dean felt the intake of air and breathed once again himself.
"That's it Sammy. Keep going, little brother. C'mon, kiddo. Breathe. Just breathe. You can do it. Just listen to my voice, Sammy. In………out………..in……….out. Good."
Sam latched on to the sound penetrating his pain induced haze. That tell-tale white that had flashed across the end of his vision began to darken, turning gray around the edges. The agony shooting through his brain began to slowly ebb away, fading to the ache that would last for hours or even the next day. Gray faded to black and encompassed the glimpse he caught of his brother as he raised his hazel eyes to meet his brother's worried green ones. Sam slumped against Dean, his breathing still ragged, but evening out. The vision was over. Sam was exhausted and had given in to that lethargy. Dean picked up his brother's limp form and put his head back on the pillow. He pushed back Sam's sweat drenched dark brown hair, and ran a thumb across his forehead. His skin was clammy and Dean knew he would not be getting back to sleep that night.
He went to the small bathroom and got a washcloth from the basket that adorned the small vanity as well as taking up most of the counter top around the sink. He dampened it and returned to Sam after he'd wrung out the excess water.
"What's going on in that freaky head of yours, Sammy? You know, you really know how to scare a guy." Dean said as he sat down on the bed next to Sam's unresponsive body and began bathing the sweat streaks from his pale features. He continued the soothing motion of the washcloth across Sam's forehead, waiting for the response that would tell him that Sam was truly resting. It soon came. That sigh, childlike in quality, that reassured Dean more than anything that his little brother would truly be okay. Dean passed the remainder of the night sitting on the edge of Sam's twin bed with his feet up, crossed at the ankle; and one hand on his brother's chest feeling it rise and fall steadily.