Something about Bees
Disclaimer: Not mine
Beta: Faye Dartmouth – of course I revised it several times after her expertise, so most of this mess is my own.
Word Count: 2455
Tag: Bugs (alternate ending)
Something about Bees
He's never been happier to see the sun rise in his life. Thank God, this night is finally over. If he never saw Oasis Plains, Oklahoma again - - it would never be too soon.
He glances around the attic, the bright rays of sunlight bellowing in through the large hole in the ceiling. Freaking bugs! He physically gives a little shudder. He looks across the loft at Sam and wearily heaves a sigh. His kid brother seems to be okay. Thank God for that.
"Damn bees," he hisses out.
He swats at another buzzing insect that is crawling up the back of his neck. He shakes his body unconsciously, several bees escaping from the layers of his clothes.
He knows he's been stung, repeatedly; he can feel the welts quickly rising up against his skin. It isn't as bad as it could've been though, thanks to Sam and his OCD tendencies about wearing layers upon layers of unnecessary clothes. He smirks to himself; he usually makes fun of his brother's OCD tendencies, but this time, well he'll just have to thank Sam for encouraging him to do the same.
He pushes the tarp away from his body and it falls stiffly to the floor. He stares around the attic at the tired, fear-filled faces of the Parks family as they stumble to their feet. Larry, his wife, Joanie, and their son, Matt, all look stunned in disbelief.
Yep, it's been a very long night indeed.
"Sweet Jesus," the unhappy homeowner says as he staggers just to stand. "You okay, Joanie?" He tugs the tiny woman up to her feet.
Matt's mom looks wide eyed at her husband, "Let's just go." She says abruptly. Then she shuffles quickly from the room.
Matt gapes blankly at his Dad.
It's pretty clear to Dean that the kid is struggling to make sense of everything that's been going on. Why his mother was suddenly ready to leave their brand new home?
"Get your shit together," the father states firmly to his son, "We're so out of here."
Matt's not sure exactly what to do. He just stares across at Dean.
"You okay with that, son?" the father asks firmly.
Dean watches Larry's hand suddenly tugs upward, hesitate, and then cautiously rest against his young son's shoulder-blade. He sees the fifteen year old look curiously at his Dad. He can tell the teen remembers the discussion with Sam from earlier. It has stunned him when his own little brother encouraged the youngster to tell his father how he really feels.
And isn't that ironic - his own brother - the one that had adamantly fought with their father every single day for years - advising some strange bug kid about how much he needed to talk to his own Dad. Sometimes life's just strange.
Matt smiles hesitatingly, look across at his father and then back to Dean.
Dean grins at the kid. He must admit Sam gave him good advice.
Matt nods his head in slow agreement. "Yes sir, I think, I am," and with that, he smiles widely, and then races down the stairs.
"Thank you," Larry mouths silently as he looks back across at Dean.
Don't thank me, thank Sam.
The weary father brushes one hand down his tired face, "We're leaving," he states resolutely. "Screw the damn Indian burial grounds, screw all this shit." His arms go wide, motioning around at the attic, his house, his home. "We'll find another place to live."
"Good idea," Dean quips. He smiles smugly. Man, this guy is eating crow.
Larry follows his son quickly down the attic stairs.
Dean glances over his shoulder at Sam who has been alarmingly quiet throughout this entire little show of affection. He grins; he knows how Sam loves chick flick moments. Such a girl his little brother.
"Come on, Sam, I think we're done here too."
The older brother shuffles towards the stairs. He wholeheartedly expects some sort of smart ass retort from Sam, some 'I told you so' comment about fathers and sons and relationships.
He gets nothing. His feet grind him to a halt.
Something feels off.
Dean turns slowly to stare at his kid brother.
Sam sighs, his mouth bowed low in a frown of distress, "Dean?" He whispers again. He lifts one hand to rub absently against his chest.
Dean's face contorts. He pauses and looks curiously at his little brother.
Sam's just standing there with a funny look written on his face.
Is Sam wheezing?
"What?" Dean's brow furrows. His little brother can't seem to catch his breath, and that's just really weird.
In three large steps he's at Sam's side. "Hey," he states abruptly, "you okay?" His hand grips Sam by the upper arm, pushing him slightly backward with the force. "Sammy?"
"I…I…can't…." Sam stutters. His voice is a little husky, like the words are struggling to get past his closed up throat. A second hand comes up to rub absently against his aching chest. He looks with puzzlement at Dean, sweat beads rising up against his paling skin.
What the hell? Dean grips his swaying brother tighter by the arm. "You can't what?"
"B…b…breathe," Sam says huskily.
Dean doesn't like this, not one single bit.
"C'mon, you're probably just tired," he offers his brother reassuringly. He backs slowly toward the doorway, both hands latched tightly onto Sam's arms, physically leading Sam along. His deep green eyes are fixated on his brother who is dragging in quick breaths or air. "Easy, kiddo, let's just get you out of here…." His voice trails off when Sam attempts to talk.
"D…D…?" He wheezes. He looks with large wide eyes at Dean.
Dean tows Sam's staggering form forward a sense of urgency overtaking his movements.
"You're okay," he soothes, reassures, while he is holding back the trepidation that's now niggling in his gut.
Sam sways, body gasping for some air.
"Come on, Sam…"
Sam blinks sluggishly.
"…get you out of this attic, you'll be fine…"
Dean frowns, this is so not good.
Sam stumbles. His breath hitches in and out. His legs suddenly falter, his body slumping boneless downward toward the floor.
Dean reaches for his shoulder, roughly grabbing him before he falls.
"Sam?" he says urgently. "Whoa, whoa…hey…"
He eases Sam down against the floor.
Foggy hazel eyes blink lethargically up at him.
"Damn it, Sam…" Do Sam's lips look kind of blue? "Sammy?" The older brother's fear ramps up a notch-several notches actually - when Sam doesn't answer him.
The kid's gasping, wild hands grabbing at his throat.
"Easy" Dean grabs the flailing hands, "you're gonna hurt yourself."
Slow realization dawns on Dean's face. He thinks he's seen this before, on some movie - no, no, some crazy documentary that Sam had made him watch; what was it again? Something on the Discovery Channel - -
Sam slumps further into Dean, his chest is scarcely rising now and he's barely moving air.
Dean panics. "Help…Larry…Help!" the older brother yells out loud and frantic, "Call 911!" He looks wildly from the attic door and back to Sam. "It's okay, Sammy…" he coos, "…it's going to be okay…just breath…"
Sam's fingers grasp at Dean's wrist weakly, pathetically trying to grab a hold of something, anything. His wide freighted eyes look blankly up at Dean. His fingers grasp weakly at Dean's shirt, his face, anything that he can reach, 'cause he's not getting any air.
"SAM," Dean demands, voice quivering, barely keeping it together.
Larry and his son bound loudly back up the stairs into the attic. "What's going on," Larry blurts. His eyebrows furrow. "What the hell?" he mumbles.
Sam blinks lethargically, his arms falling limply to his sides. All he wants to do is go to sleep.
"I'm right here, Sammy…"Dean tugs his brother higher up against him, hugging him tighter to his chest, willing him to suck in air. "Breathe like me, bro. Come on, you can do it."
Larry fumbles for his cell phone. He stares at the youngest Winchester's paling face, his blue lips. Holy crap! The large kid is cradled up against his older brother looking all of five years old. "911? Yes, yes…I got an emergency." He moves quickly from the room, banging loudly back down the stairs, words fading, as he moves swiftly toward the front door of the house. "Yes…yes…the address is…"
Matt looks from Dean to Sam, "I got this," the kid mumbles to himself. He sprints from the room.
Dean doesn't notice either of them. He's too focused on one point and one point only; his body willing his little brother just to take in another breath of freaking air.
"Sam…Sammy," he gives Sam a little shake. "You got to breathe, kiddo. Stay with me…breathe, Sam, breathe!"
Sam's head wobbles loosely on his neck, eyes trying to stay focused on his brother. Dean's voice fades in and out. He blinks sluggishly.
"Hey…hey…hey…" Dean gives Sam another shake, "Stay awake, dude."
Sam's chest is barely rising, shallow breaths barely ghosting past his dark, blue tinted lips. If Sam hears him, he doesn't know for sure. His fingers grip Sam's chin, tilting his little brother's face upward to look at him. Oh hell Sam, don't make me have to give you CPR. "Concentrate on me, Sam…"
Listless hazel eyes look at Dean.
"Sammy…" Dean gives his brother another harsh and brittle shake. He watches in shock as Sam's unfocused eyes slowly shut and stay that way.
"Sammy?" Dean whispers in almost stunned surprise. "No," he barks, he hugs Sam up against him willing the kid to breathe, to just take in some air.
Sam's head drops back against Dean's chest, his long limbs going completely lax in his older brother's arms - his chest no longer rising.
"No," Dean barks, he tugs Sam up against him. Don't you do this don't you do this don't you do this.
Suddenly, Matt bursts back into the attic, hurriedly dropping to his knees beside the brothers. He gazes, wide-eyed down at Sam. "I can help him," he huffs out in a hurried, urgent pant. He motions at Sam with the object that is dangling in his hand.
Dean gapes at Matt. "You can?" Wait….What is that, a needle? He rocks abruptly backwards away from Matt, physically dragging his now unconscious brother with him. "No freaking way are you sticking my brother with that thing?" he hisses out.
"It's...it's just an Epi-pen…." Matt stammers. "It's…it's for bee stings." The teenager looks pleadingly at the older brother. "I keep some, just in case…It'll help him." The young kid says with what sounds like confidence to Dean.
Realization dawns on Dean's face; he remembers this clearly now from that stupid bee documentary that Sam had made him watch. He thrusts Sam's long arm forward, fingers twisting at the sleeve of his brother's jacket, pushing and shoving it awkwardly up his brothers skinny arm. His intense green eyes look from the needle and back to Sam, who doesn't seem to be breathing now at all.
"Do it," Dean says firmly. "Do it now."
Matt looks at Dean's face hesitantly, what if he is wrong, what if this shot doesn't work?
"Do it NOW!" Dean demands again as his heart thuds loudly in his chest. Help Sam help Sam help Sam.
Matt grimaces, but does as he is told. He slams the Epi-pen down against Sam's limp arm, his thumb pushing the plunger in as the medication pulses quickly into Sam's vein.
Long moments pass, to Dean, it seems like forever.
"Come on…come on…"
He's cradling Sam limply in his arms.
"Give it a minute," Matt murmurs.
Dean nods, he hugs his precious burden tighter up against him as warm tears well into his eyes.
And then it happens, quick and quite intense. Sam's body arches up as he gasps and then tugs in some ragged gulps of air.
"Sweet Jesus, Sam…easy, easy…just breathe," Dean says softly.
Sam does it again, gulping down oxygen as if there's no tomorrow.
Dean's hand pushes the too long damp bangs away from his little brother's face. God, he'd almost lost Sammy. "Thank you," he closes his eyes, the adrenaline rush from a moment earlier waning. He feels Sam flail against him and he quickly opens them back up and stares down at his brother's pale face.
A small groan escapes past Sam's lips as he drifts slowly back toward consciousness.
"Sammy….can you hear me?" he asks anxiously. "Take it easy, kiddo. You're okay."
"Dean?" Sam slurs out in confusion, his eyes open to mere slits, his shaky fingers gripping weakly at his older brother's shirt.
Matt pushes to stand. "He still needs to be checked out at the hospital. Guess he's allergic to bees?" The kid grins goofily at Dean.
Dean gawks back. "What?" He looks back down at Sam. Holy crap! "Sam's allergic to bees?"
"Yep, I'd say so." Matt smirks. "It's all good though; you'll just have to keep some of these handy dandy Epi-pen's around. They work all the time for me."
The teen waggles the now empty shot needle in his fingers and steps backward as the paramedics bound into the room. Mr. Parks follows close behind.
Dean stares at Matt. Who would've thought? Bug boy is allergic to bees?
"Is he okay?" Larry asks as looks from Sam to Dean. He moves to stand right next to his own son.
"He's allergic to bees," Matt says quickly.
An oxygen mask is placed across Sam's pale discolored face.
"You know those pens are by prescription only…" The medic says as he continues to tend to Sam.
Sam fights the ministrations, weak arms pushing at the medic.
"Easy, kid," the paramedic says.
"You're okay, Sammy," Dean comforts, his hand griping Sam by the shoulder.
Unclear hazel eyes stare in confusion up at Dean.
The older brother smiles, gives his baby brother a little pat.
And Sam relaxes.
Dean relinquishes his grip on Sam. He stands. "Kid here had it." He nods his head at Matt. "Thank you," he says gratefully.
Checking Sam's blood pressure the paramedic smiles, "Good job, kid. You're familiar with bee allergies, huh?"
Matt's eyes dart uncomfortably to his father. "Kind of just hits you one day…one bug too many…"
Larry looks awestruck. "What?" His brow furrows at his son.
"Ah…there's some…something…I need to tell you…"
The father gives his son a puzzled look.
"There's something about bees…"