Of Angels and Airwaves

Rating: PG

Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel

Word Count: 1200+ words

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR 5.13 "The Song Remains The Same"

Disclaimer: It's not my sandbox, it belongs to others far more diabolic than I.

Summary: Coda to 5.13- Sam doesn't quite make it back in one piece and Dean is there to take care of him.

A/N: Quick thank you to scribed_n_blood for the read through and help with the title. You rock my socks love!


The first thing he's aware of is pain. White hot and blinding in his gut. His hands automatically grab his stomach trying to identify why he's in pain. It all comes rushing back when he feels the blood on his shirt.

Fighting Anna, trying to protect his parents. Anna impaling him with a pipe, a cold gleam in her eye. Watching with blurred vision as Dean gets attacked by Uriel, unable to help his brother as his body shuts down.

Nausea grips him hard and despite the pain, Sam's rolling off the bed and stumbling blindly towards the bathroom. He barely makes it before his body heaves. It feels like acid rushing up his throat, all burning pain from the pit of his stomach all the way up to his tongue, spewing bile and clots of dark red blood into the bowl. Startled, he barely has time to take a breath before it hits again.

Sam thinks he hears a commotion in the room, thinks Dean and Cas must've made it back. He hears muffled voices and his name, though it sounds garbled and far away, and the soft thud of what must be a body hitting a bed before his attention is back on vomiting once again.

A minute later the light above him is flicked on and a presence settles beside him. Sam doesn't need to look to know its Dean. A hand settles on the back of his neck as he tries to ease his rolling stomach.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean whispers as he gives Sam's neck a gentle squeeze.

Sam nods and manages to lift his head a few inches to give Dean a once over. Not a scratch on him. Sam's exhale hitches in his chest; not from pain but from relief. Sam can still feel the terror in his chest as he watched Dean and Uriel fighting, knowing there was no way he could save his brother.

Dean must understand because he gives Sam a grim smile. "Let's get you up, okay?"

Sam nods his head, not sure if he's up to moving just yet but knowing he has to try. Dean's arm slides around his waist and hoists him up to lean against the sink. The room dances and sways around him for a moment, the floor shifting beneath his feet, but Dean keeps him steady until everything levels out once again.

Glancing down, Dean sees the blood in the toilet and feels his heart skip a beat. Michael had said Sam would be fine. Quickly he closes the lid and moves Sam out of the tiny space.

He eases Sam down on the unoccupied bed; one hand on his chest, the other on his shoulder, guiding Sam down to the mattress. When he pulls his hand away from Sam's chest, it comes away wet with fresh blood.

"Oh god," Dean whispers, mind flashing back to Sam slowly collapsing to the floor, pipe sticking out of his chest and blood spilling over his chin. "Sammy!"

Dean grabs Sam's shoulder and gives it a shake when he sees Sam's eyes are closed. Panic grips his heart tight when Sam groans in pain.

Sam is suddenly very tired now that the nausea has settled down. Lying down on the mattress feels blissful and he can feel his eyes drifting closed. The fierce pain from before has dulled to nothing more than an ache. At least until Dean shakes him awake. His body protests the rough treatment, pains reawakening, and he's helpless to stop a groan from escaping.

Whether it is from the pain flaring up or the panic in his brother's voice, Sam isn't sure but his eyes are suddenly snapping open. He looks up at Dean's wild eyes and the blood staining his brother's hand.

He's about to ask Dean what happened when his brain finally puts all the pieces together. The pain in his chest. Throwing up blood. Blood on his shirt. Anna impaling him. Sam's eyes widen in shock. He starts to sit up, wanting to survey the damage, but Dean beats him to it.

Dean shakes himself out of his shock and reaches for Sam's shirt. Gently, he peels away the cotton, afraid of what he might find. A gaping hole in his brother's chest or his insides on the outside is at the top of that terrifying list.

Sam can't see his chest, Dean's arm is purposely in the way. But he watches his brother's reaction. The tightening of his jaw in anticipation, his brows drawn together in concentration, then finally a shaky exhale, his posture relaxing. Sam feels his own body relaxing in response.

Dean looks down at Sam's chest and breathes a sigh of relief. No vital organs peeking out, no impossible gaping crater to fix. Sam's chest is dark with purpling bruises just below his sternum. And in the spot where the pipe had been is a perfect circle of broken skin weeping blood. Not too deep, just enough to be sore and bleed.

"It's okay," Dean murmurs, not sure who he's trying to calm, himself or Sam. Either way, he sees Sam nod and melt back onto the pillow like a deflated sail. All of the day's events are taking a toll on his brother's body; the time travel, the shock of seeing their parents, the fight – it's a lot for Sam to take.

Dean gives Sam's shoulder a squeeze as he gazes down at him. "It's okay, barely a scratch," his lips quirk into a smile at Sam's relieved look. "I'm just gonna clean it up, should be fine."

He gathers up the first aid kit and a wash cloth. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean watches as his brother fights to stay awake, eyelids bobbing up and down.

"Do you want something for pain?"

Sam, too tired to speak, just shakes his head no. His eyes close again before snapping open sharply.

It's a testament to how exhausted his brother is that he never inquired about any injuries Dean might be harboring. Or even the whereabouts of Castiel. Dean smiles, gentler this time, as he remembers a much younger Sam battling sleep so many nights, wanting to stay awake until Dad got home. And just like when they were younger, Dean claps Sam on the knee softly and whispers, "Get some rest, okay? I've got you."

That is all the encouragement Sam needs. When his eyes close this time, they stay closed, a sigh slipping through his lips.

Dean waits a moment, making sure Sam is fully asleep, before he starts gently cleaning the dried blood away and bandaging the wound with expert movements.

With Sam taken care of for now, Dean pulls the blanket up over Sam's body and glances over to his bed. Now he has a comatose angel to deal with.