Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or the characters, and chances are that I never will.
Thanks to everyone who responded to the last chapter of To The Bone! I hope that you will enjoy this new fic, it's the sequel to My Brother's Heart that I have promising for way too long.
And on top of this fic, though I'll probably regret it later, I'm also starting another new fic, When There's No More Tomorrow, please check it out.
After the funeral, John and Dean left Palo Alto in a hurry. They didn't have a destination in mind, all they knew was that they had to get away from where they had been forced to say goodbye to their beloved youngest.
John was driving, while Dean lay in the backseat, resting, or so it would seem. In reality Dean was lying there, silently trying to process everything that had happened, his baby brother was gone, he'd been killed in a senseless act of violence. And now Sam's heart was beating within his chest, the product of a bizarre twist of fate, from what his father had said, he, Dean was on the verge of death, on the brink of falling into a coma that he wouldn't have woken from, being kept alive by countless machines and drugs, and then suddenly everything changed, Sam was brain dead, and John made the impossible choice to end one son's life to save the other.
The very thought of his baby brother being sacrificed to save him made Dean begin to hyperventilate, to panic.
He was at Stanford, he got away from this life, he was meant to be safe there.
This wasn't meant to happen.
It should've been me.
I was meant to die, and he was meant to get a chance to be normal, to have a real family, a real home, the life he deserved.
And now he's dead, it isn't right.
Suddenly Dean was pulled from his thoughts as the impala swerved onto the embankment at the side of the nearly abandoned road they were traveling on.
And then John was at his son's side, urging him to breathe, to calm down, apparently he'd fallen asleep, and awoken screaming out for Sam, crying out desperately for his baby brother.
Eventually they arrived at a small motel on the edge of a middle of nowhere town about six hours from Palo Alto. Dean was still weak from his illness and the operation, and so he was forced to wait in the backseat until his father appeared, and then he let himself be practically carried into the shabby motel room his father had rented for them to stay in that night, while they worked out what to do next.
Dean was asleep within minutes of his father helping him into one of the motel beds, but it wasn't long before he was once again, as he'd done every night since Sam's death, Dean woke up screaming.
It was much the same as the one he'd had the night his father had delivered the devastating news, and each night that followed.
A much younger Sam and Dean were sparring in the backyard of a place the Dean recognised as one they'd stayed in when Sam was eleven, Sam was still learning, and one minute everything was fine, then Dean knocked Sam to the ground, he fell hard, his head slammed into the ground, then John would come out to see what was happening, and then John'd be at Sam's side, looking up at Dean, telling him "He's dead, Dean. You killed him. He'd dead, and it's all your fault."
That was the nightmare, and it haunted Dean without fail every night, he didn't know it then, but for years to come he would be torn from his slumber by the same horrific scene.
Now sitting bolt upright in bed, his chest heaving, Dean struggled to get himself back under control, his chest felt like it was on fire from where his sternum had been spilt in half for the surgery, and was now being jarred by his irregular breaths. He probably shouldn't have even been out of the hospital, but he had to be at his baby brother's funeral, and he just couldn't bring himself to go back to the hospital, he'd spent far too long there, and it held too many unpleasant memories.
Being a naturally light sleeper, John woke up when he heard his adult son crying in the next bed, he knew from previous experience that trying to talk to Dean would only upset him further now, and eventually he would go back to sleep, for a while at least. But as he waited there, listening to his son's distress, it quickly became apparent that this wasn't like every other time, Dean's breathing was getting worse and worse, and by the time John sat up in his bed and looked over at Dean, his lips were tinged with blue, and in the dim lighting, his skin appeared bloodless.
Dialing the ambulance had become all too routine to John in the past year, and in just ten minutes a paramedic crew was leaning over Dean, giving him extra oxygen via a mask over his face, and then quickly loading him onto a gurney and into the waiting ambulance, with his toughened father hovering over them the whole time, feeding them whatever medical information they requested.
At the hospital, Dean was rushed straight back into the treatment area, while John was forcibly restricted to the waiting room. Back in the treatment room, a physician quickly worked to assess Dean, all the while talking to him. Through Dean's answers, and the information that the doctor already had, he stopped what he was doing, and turned to one of the nurses. "Get five milligrams of Ativan, but don't push it yet, I want to try something else first."
"Sure." The nurse replied before turning on her heels, and moving over to the locked medication cabinet, and starting to draw up the sedative.
Meanwhile the doctor pulled over a stool, and sat down beside Dean. "I know it's hard right now, Dean, but I need you to really listen to me. You are having a panic attack, you need to slow your breathing down, so just look at me." The doctor made eye contact with Dean, and held it as he said. "Now, just breathe in and out, nice and slow. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out...." The doctor continued repeating these words until Dean started to respond, and slowly but surely his breathing slowed down, and with it his heart rate started to slow and his oxygen levels improved. "Good work, Dean. That's it, just keep breathing, nice and easy." The doctor encouraged Dean as he moved away from the bed to the nurse standing at the edge of the room. "He's stable now, how about you bring his dad back? And" He lowered his voice "give psych a call."
Thanks for reading! Please review!
And as always, suggestions and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism are welcome, feel free to put them in a review or PM.