As Time Rolls By
By Carol M.
Summary: Tag for Time After Time…spoilers…picks up right after the episode ended…Dean passes out and wakes up to a fussing Sam and a mother henning Jody…hurt/comfort
Spoilers: Time After Time
Word Count: 1400
Disclaimer: Don't own them, only love them
Dean's throat throbbed in time to the beat of his heart, pulsing furiously, painfully, the sensation so intense it made him light-headed. He'd seen Sam stab Chronos, could hear some of what the god of time was saying about black ooze and those Leviathan sons of bitches. He could feel Sheriff Mills hand wrapped tightly around his shoulder, could taste the vaguest traces of coppery blood in the back of his throat. He knew all of these things were happening to him, around him, but it was like he was watching himself in a movie or like he was one of those damn avatars in the video games that he used to play with Ben. He registered Chronos falling over dead and then suddenly everything was amplified. The grip on his shoulder doubled to two hands and tightened even more, the blood in his throat thickened and he swallowed it, the coppery warmth making his belly nauseous. Sam was in Technicolor now, right in his face, looking worried and on the verge of freaking out. He could hear his name being called over and over by both Sam and Sheriff Mills, their concerned tones jarring his ears. The grip on his shoulder tightened even more and then released as he felt himself being gently settled back against the floor, something soft shoved under his head for a pillow.
Then it all went away, and Dean wasn't aware of a damn thing.
He awoke sometime later and realized things hadn't chance that much since he'd last been conscious. His throat felt three sizes too big for his neck and throbbed worse than some of the bullet wounds he'd suffered throughout the years. The sharp tang of blood in the back of his throat was gone, but it was replaced by a gritty, sandpaper like paste from a scab that must've formed over whatever Chronos had managed to jostle free in his chokehold. Dean groaned, which sounded more like a pathetic squeak from a mouse then from a grown man and the pain vibrated through his throat in torturous waves, so sharp that he wanted to cry.
"Sam, he's waking up," he heard Sheriff Mills say from somewhere nearby and then he felt a tiny hand gently rest against his cheek as if checking for fever. Dean's eyes fluttered open and he saw Sam bounding towards him like a giant St. Bernard, ready to lick his face and smother him with love until he was better.
"Dean… Dean, you okay?" Sam asked as he bent over him, grasping his arm.
The taste of blood flooded Dean's throat once again, suffocating him against the swollen throb that had already taken up residence. He hurriedly sat up, ignoring the intense dizzying head rush, pushing the crowding hands off of him. He turned to his side and hacked up a thimble and a half of bloody loogies. The pain was excruciating, leaving him shaky and weak. He shut his eyes against the dizzying ache of nausea.
"Hang on, man," he heard Sam say, his brother squeezing the back of his neck before dashing off from his side in search of something.
"Easy, Dean. It's okay," Sheriff Mills whispered in a surprisingly reassuring voice. He let her grasp his arm and place a supporting hand on his back. And he might not have resisted as she pulled him against her and let his head rest against her shoulder. Her shoulder, yeah, not her chest, or god help him, her bosom. He relaxed his head against her, just catching his breath, trying not to get used to the way she rubbed her hand up and down his back in a manner so comforting he was convinced his mother would've done it the same way is she had still been alive.
Dean sagged even further against Sher… Jody, no longer caring about pretense or about being a big brother or an avenger for Bobby Singer. He just let himself be held up.
"I told you we should've taken sickie here to a hospital," said Jody, her voice vibrating through her chest against Dean's ear.
Dean moaned mentally in protest, knowing that the real thing would kill his throat. He pulled away from her, putting on his most pitiful kicked puppy expression and looked her square in the eyes, shaking his head pathetically.
Jody chuckled and reached out a hand to the side of his face, her fingers mussing with his hair. "Honey, you've got some big guns there, bazookas even and I'm sure they've worked on girls, women and even a few grandmothers. But they won't work on me. I've had my cutie pie immunity shot. Couple times."
She patted his head delicately much to his chagrin and then carefully pulled it up, exposing his throbbing neck to her. "This still looks bad, Sam," she said, probing the tender area with her fingertips. She pushed a little too hard in one area and it sent a wave of pain coursing down Dean's throat that made his eyes water. He winced and hissed in spite of himself, his eyes slamming shut as his head fell against her chest once again.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she said, her hands coming to rest against his back, just holding him against her, letting him ride out the pain. When the edge finally wore off, he opened his eyes again and pulled back from her, catching the apologetic look that washed over her face. "Guess your cussing your head off at me in that noggin of yours, am I right?"
Dean didn't dare laugh, but instead offered her a half smile and a raised eyebrow.
"How's he doing?" he heard Sam ask from behind him. Dean turned and saw his brother approaching with a few essential medical supplies in hand. Ice pack, pain killers, a Popsicle and a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue.
"Think he's gonna pull through," Jody responded, tapping him lightly on the cheek.
Dean gazed up at Sam, his eyes trying to ask all the questions that his throat wouldn't let him voice.
"Chronos is taken care of," answered Sam without missing a beat. "No news from Frank. No moves from the Leviathans. There is however news about a certain Dick we know."
Dean widened his eyes anxiously, pleading for an answer. Sam set down the supplies and grabbed his computer. He pulled up a gossip website and pressed played for a video of Dick walking out of a press conference.
Dean looked back at Sam in question. Sam nodded back to the computer. "Wait for it."
He watched Dick suddenly stumble and then fall smack on his ass, taking out two reporters in the process. Dean smiled triumphantly.
"It's something, right?" asked Sam with an amused grin.
Dean nodded, eyeing Sam, trying once again to speak with his eyes.
"I know," said Sam. "It's like somebody pushed him over."
"Somebody like an old, surly hunter," said Jody. "One with an affinity for dirty trucker hats."
Dean caught her eye and nodded, smiling proudly.
Sam set aside the computer and picked up the Popsicle and the scotch, placing both in front of Dean. "Which one?"
Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed the scotch. He took a heavy gulp, the act of swallowing a lesson in torture, but it was worth it as the warmth hit his gut, smoothing away the edges of the pain. He went to take another gulp, but Jody smacked him upside the head and took the bottle away, taking a swig herself. "You're hurt. We have to conserve this."
Dean flashed an obscene hand gesture in her direction.
"Immune, big boy," she responded.
Her and Sam both gripped his shoulders then and began to settle him back against his makeshift bed on the floor. "Just for a while, okay," said Sam as Dean weakly struggled against them. "Humor me."
Dean stuck his tongue out and then let himself be laid back against the floor, accepting the ice pack that was placed soothingly against his tortured throat. He gazed up at Sam, who gave him a nod of relief that Dean took as glad you didn't get stuck back there, bro and I'm glad you didn't die. Dean nodded back.
He then slapped Jody's mothering hand away.
"Fine. I get when I'm not wanted," she said jokingly, stepping away.
"Those are some pretty fancy duds there, handsome," kidded Sam.
Dean glared up at him, not needing to say a word.
"Whatever," said Sam with a chuckle. "Jerk."
That's All Folks!