I was bored which gives me an excuse to write some Hurt!Dean. Wrote this quickly. I researched a little bit on the medical information, but it's not all completely accurate.
It was the spirit of a ten-year-old boy that had put Dean out of commission this time. Throwing him repeatedly into a wall before tossing him down a flight of stairs had earned Dean a stay in the Blue River Hospital ICU for Tension Pneumothorax, or in simpler terms, the most serious form of a collapsed lung.
"Hurry up Sam!" Dean had yelled from inside the house as Sam stood back and struck the match, dropping it into the wooden box as the bones caught fire. They had figured out that young Alex Bridgeman's body was buried in the rose garden out back. The killer was Alex's stepmother, who had killed the boy because he had witnessed her having an affair with the deliveryman.
Sam let out a deep breath, glad it was finally over and headed back into the old Victorian house, wiping his muddy shoes on the carpet before entering.
"Dean?" He called. Worry instantly spiked through his entire body and he knew something was wrong. Sam ran through the hallways, shouting for Dean, opening every door and peering inside for his brother. Noticing the basement door was already open; he quickly turned on the light.
Dean was at the bottom of the stairs, hunched over on his side with an arm wrapped protectively around his ribs. His eyes were squeezed shut in pain and as he coughed weakly, saliva was stringing out of his mouth and down the front of his shirt.
What was scarier though, was even with the dim lighting, Sam could clearly see that Dean's lips were turning blue and the veins in his neck were bulging every time he drew in a shaky breath. Sam clambered down the stairs nosily, rushing to Dean's side.
Hey. Dean. Dean! Hey. Look at me Dean!
Dean's gaze flickered to Sam momentarily without a hint of recognition. Dean looked like he was in extreme pain right now, his eyes rolling as he fought to stay conscious. He was breathing in short, sudden gasps which were getting less and less frequent and his face more and more blue. It looked so painful, that Sam could feel his own chest clenching with each breath Dean took.
Keep breathing Dean! Come on!
Sam knew it was time to get some help. He punched 911 into his cell phone and gave his location before slamming the phone shut and dropping it back into his pocket. He didn't know what to do. All the medical training that had been drilled into his head by his father wasn't really helping right now. Sam knew how to make slings for broken arms or stitch up wounds but with Dean barely breathing, Sam didn't think he could really help Dean by doing anything.
He debated whether he should raise Dean into a sitting position to help him breathe better but the risk of Dean's lungs maybe puncturing his heart or something freaked Sam out to the point where he didn't really want to think about it.
Hey, it's okay Dean. Help is coming, Dean. Stay with me, Dean.
It felt like the ambulance was taking forever even though Sam knew it had only been a few minutes. The world seemed to stop as Dean slumped over, all sounds stopping.
Luckily, he heard banging on the front door and ran up the stairs, taking two at a time to let the Paramedic's in. They barged past him as Sam rallied off Dean's symptoms and some BS story of what had happened. Sam didn't miss the worried exchanges that the Paramedic's gave each other as they rushed to help Dean who wasn't moving. Or breathing.
Oh god Oh god Oh god Oh god Oh god
They had quickly assessed Dean, rolling him onto a backboard and cutting off his black t-shirt while they tossed around fancy medical terms that made Sam wish he would have went to med school so maybe he could understand what the hell was going on.
Sam watched in horror as one of the medic's pulled out a long, rather thick needle and stuck it into Dean's chest wall, in between his ribs. The Medic who was inserting an IV into the crook of Dean's arms quickly explained that one of Dean's lungs had collapsed which why was he was having trouble breathing. She continued on to say that they needed to re-expand the lung as soon as possible because the increasing pressure was cutting off blood flow to Dean's heart, which could kill him.
As soon as the needle entered Dean's chest wall, a loud hiss sounded immediately as the air rushed out. Sam watched numbly as the Medic's carefully started carrying Dean up the stairs and loaded him into the back of the ambulance. One of the Paramedic's jotted down the name of the hospital and thrust the sheet of paper into Sam's hand before shutting the doors and literally in seconds had the ambulance tearing out of the driveway, sirens blaring.
Sam had driven the Impala to the hospital, following the big blue "H" signs and hoping to hell that he wouldn't get lost because Jesus Christ, Dean is dying and he needs to be there now.
After an hour of not so patiently waiting, Dean's name is called and Sam practically knocks over the Doctor who leads him to one of the hospital's private client rooms.
The Doctor, who introduces herself as Dr. Strouts explained that Dean had the most serious type of Pneumonthorax, and if Sam would have waited a mere couple of minutes later, Sam would have gone into cardiac arrest and died. She noticed the way all of the color suddenly left Sam's face and she coaxed him into a sitting position while quickly reassuring him Sam that Dean was stable right now, and although it was serious, if no complications arose, she expected Dean to make a full recovery.
But all Sam can think about is. Dean almost died. Dean almost fucking died.
Dr. Strouts continued to explain that right now, Dean is sedated. They had inserted a chest tube, which acted like a vacuum to suck out the air so the lung could re-expand. She proceeded to tell Sam that the chest tube will probably be in for a couple days, and once it's removed, most go home the next day without any difficulties.
Dr. Strouts also told Sam to not be alarmed that Dean was on a mechanical ventilator. It was to help ease the work of breathing and let his body rest. She led Sam to Dean's cubicle and drew the curtain around Dean's bed to give them some privacy and told Sam she would return in a few minutes if he had any questions.
Sam's hands were clammy as he sat in the chair providing next to Dean's bed. Dean looked tiny and frail in the stark white hospital bed. His chest was bare and Sam could see the tube protruding grossly above Dean's ribs.
Jesus Christ, Dean. How many times am I going to have to see you like this, huh? You're my big brother, you're not supposed to look so…helpless.
The only response is the soft whoosh of the ventilator. Sam sunk lower into the chair, head in his hands. This wasn't anything new. He had seen Dean unresponsive in a hospital more times then he liked to remember but it never got any easier. In fact, it just got harder and harder. How many more times would it take before Dean just didn't snap back? How much more could Dean's body take?
Dean was one of the only people who could literally scare the hell out of Sam and right now, Sam just wanted to slam his fist into a wall and cry.
But he didn't because that's not what Dean would want him to do. Instead, he took one of Dean's limp hands in his. (Dean wouldn't have wanted him to do that either but if Dean didn't want more chick flick moments then he would just have to wake the fuck up and say it to Sam's face.)
Dean. I'm scared right now. I'm fucking scared.
Let me know what you think!! I LOVE REVIEWS!!!! I was planning on ending it here, but I might do one more chapter possibly on Dean's recovery.