Preface

under the table and dreaming
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/26842678.

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Supernatural

Relationship:

Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Character:

Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Additional Tags:

Hurt/Comfort, Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Sam Winchester, implied gore, Whump, Hurt Sam Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Hugs, Dean Rescues Sam, use of defibrillators, cardiac arrest - Freeform

Language:

English

Series:

Part 4 of Sam Whumpchester 🎃 Whumptober 2020

Collections:

Whumptober 2020, Sam Winchester WHUMP

Stats:

Published: 2020-10-05 Completed: 2020-10-29 Words: 3,349 Chapters: 2/2

under the table and dreaming

by fogsrollingin

Summary

Ghouls think Sam Winchester's a tasty cinnamon roll too

Notes

This is my next entry for Whumptober 2020! Prompt filled is No. 5 “Rescue.” This is the first of a 2-chapter story (next chapter after this will be another fill 😊)

Tumblr link.

Chapter 1

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

The blood. The ghouls' diets had changed. They'd been draining the neighborhood dogs of blood and then graduated to nibbling the patients from the hospital. They did it so slowly nobody knew.

Sam shivered against the leg of a... he blinked up, the leg of a work table. His head was splitting, eyes sensitive to what little twilight there was shafting in from thin windows high up on the walls. He was in a basement with cement flooring. It was a big space, lots of stored furniture stacked up making shadows, enabling weird acoustics.

The ghouls were here too, moving around. A lot of them. He heard shuffling, raspy mumbling conversations, one sighed closer to him and another pulled out a chair, the screeching drag on the concrete floor knifing through his brain.

Nobody was paying him much attention though. It gave him time. He examined himself next. Thick bandages layered around his arms that weren't there before. Despite the padding he could see blood had seeped through. It took a second to filter through his foggy mind but… they'd fed on him. While he'd been unconscious, they’d eaten him, slurped his blood and probably peeled strips of flesh. And then bandaged him so he wouldn’t die. So they could do it all over again.

Okay, he was gonna throw up.

He swallowed the excess saliva that pooled in his mouth, tried to breathe through it, focus on just… the pounding in his head, his shallow heart beat, adrenaline pumping through him but he was so sick he couldn't put it to good use. The floor lurched and swayed like the deck of a ship and the table leg bent like rubber in his grip. If he closed his eyes he knew he’d feel like he was falling and he couldn’t have that either. This wasn’t going good.

Sam, stop, a low, angry voice sounding suspiciously like Dean ordered, You can do this. You can handle this. C’mon, Sammy. Get it together.

He was cold, sweaty, his hair so wet it was sticking to his face and Sam wasn't sure why until he realized the pavement floor was pocked with puddles of water. They'd hosed recently. No way to know how much blood had been shed here. Enough to need hosings. Sam grimaced.

Sam! Dean voice pierced through again. Sam shook and nodded along with his familiar auditory hallucination. He had to steady out. Okay. He held onto the table leg tighter, fixed his eyes at the drain in the floor and worked to get himself under control.

He brought his legs around and realized they'd taken his shoes. He only wore jeans and a navy t-shirt, both damp. It was a blessing he wasn’t bound, but then again that was probably because they knew Sam was weak as a kitten with how much blood he’d lost, how much of him they'd gone ahead and eaten.

He slumped against the table leg, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think about other things. At least they didn't know he was conscious. He still had that going for him. Sadly it didn't count for much; he wasn't firing on all cylinders just yet to attempt an escape.

He settled in. The ghouls continued to mill. To Sam’s surprise and disgust, he spotted some bandaged dogs limping around, lapping at the water puddles, sad eyes peering up for food scraps from the monsters who kept them there. Their enduring loyalty to these ghouls that fed on them was hideous.

Without warning, Sam’s heart began beating laboriously. A new cold sweat broke out all over as he tried to breathe deep. A few agonizing, terrifying seconds and his heart went back to normal. Sam clutched his chest, eyes wide, waiting to see if it would happen again.

After a few non-eventful minutes waiting, nothing happened. Sam's breaths evened out.

Okay, that had been scary.

His hair chilled his neck, the wet tendrils dripping water down his spine causing involuntary shakes. His hands quaked and he flexed his fingers, unable to feel them.

He was getting worse, not better.

He swallowed nervously, tasting copper and tried to look around again, this time for a weapon of any kind. It'd be a Hail Mary; there were so many ghouls roaming around but… better to go out fighting.

Sam fought the urge to close his eyes. Everything was cold and numb and pain. The adrenaline was waning. To rest would be heaven.

Instead he peered out with half-lidded vision, taking in more detail, looking for anything that could be a weapon amidst the abandoned furniture surrounding him. Stacked office chairs, file cabinets, a broken microwave on a couch, the blocky cement stairs built into the wall leading to the base of the stairs where his brother stood, slightly crouched and holding a machete.

Sam jerked and gasped in surprise.

Dean heard, his quick eyes instantly going from surveying the nest to locking in on him. Sam watched his expression shift from alert and wary to boiling fury, the way Dean always got at the sight of Sam hurt. Sam's relief and hope equaled his desperation to apologize for putting that look on his face. He knew Dean knew though; if Sam ever had a choice in the matter he'd never be seeing his brother like this.

Dean broke his gaze to study their surroundings. They were lucky Sam's gasp hadn't alerted anyone else. He bit his lip, embarrassed how much confidence was flooding into him now that Dean was here. For the first time since waking up he knew things would be okay. His brother was without injury and had that determined glint in his eyes and a strong but loose and ready grip on his machete.

Someone snarled behind him, quickly followed up by other animalistic sounds of agitation. Dean's eyes widened and he stepped back. Someone - their leader probably - growled out words. "You think you can take all of us?"

"Actually I'm just here to get my brother." Dean took his jacket off as he strolled over. Sam ducked forward and put his arm out. Dean crouched and slid the sleeve up his arm. The jacket was warm. Sam's teeth chattered as Dean's hands were gentle examining him, looking for injuries before tugging the jacket right to fit. He got Sam's other arm though the sleeve. Dean looked back up at the ghouls but his palm lingered on Sam's head. Sam leaned into it and opened his eyes. The ghouls hadn't bothered them. Were they just watching? An alarm went off somewhere in the floors above. Sam could only vaguely hear it but the ghouls glanced up, curious.

Having moved so much to get the jacket on, Sam was exhausted now, idle tears of no particular emotion slipping down his cheeks. Dean saw and wrapped an arm around him, pulled him in. Sam tilted into it. When vulnerable, they both understood how it felt better when Dean had him.

Not a word, not a whisper had passed between them but with Sam tucked against him safe and breathing, Dean was in his element again. He twisted a little to look at the ghouls. They stood leering but not attacking. It was odd but Sam couldn’t dwell on it, too busy restraining himself from falling asleep now. Dean was so close, his jacket smelled like gas, coffee, gun oil, burger grease, the impala’s worn leather, all heady scents instantly suggesting he was safe now, he could let go.

Dean said something that sounded far away like from the other end of a long tunnel.

“What?” Sam slurred.

"Back under the table, Sammy," and suddenly Dean wrenched him sideways and dragged him. A siren burst into their eardrums from a fire alarm here in the basement. Sam scrambled as Dean maneuvered them. He ended up slumped low against his brother, the back of his head on Dean's chest. He could feel Dean's breath on his neck, his hands continuously moving to hold him around the chest and stomach to keep him anchored.

The sprinklers turned on and the ghouls' screams were ghastly as they were showered by whatever was in the sprinklers. Dean hugged Sam tighter.

“It’s special-made for ghouls but legs and arms inside the vehicle anyway, Sammy,” Dean quipped, pulling Sam's legs in. Sam hurried to follow instructions. Dean covered Sam's ears while the ghouls shrieked and howled as they perished. A few made it to the staircase and got out but not many. Sam could see through the rain to the dogs ducking under couches and low tables, places the ghouls couldn't use to hide.

When it was over, nobody else was in the basement except Sam and Dean. The dogs sniffed the steaming remains of the ghouls who'd dissolved and thought better of it, instead following the brothers out of the building. 

Sam was a tall drink of water and heavy haul both; he knew it was taking Dean a lot of effort to get him to the Impala. He stuttered thank you's as he stumbled and fell to his knees a few times before they finally made it. But when Sam sank into the passenger seat, he was finally home, and he couldn't make out what Dean was saying but he had a calm tone and then there was a blanket on his lap and Sam finally, finally, got to close his eyes and sleep.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you so much for reading. Please kudos/comment if you can find the time. 💛 Alex

Chapter 2

Chapter Notes

This is my second-to-last entry for Whumptober 2020! Prompts filled is a bit of two #20 prompts, "Lost" and "Field Medicine."

I must disclaim that I'm so down to the wire on completing Whumptober that I barely did any medical research here. All I can say is that I was trained as an emergency responder in Kenya like ten years ago where everybody was like "if you have a defibrillator, that thing's gold. Always break that bad boy out if you got it and just follow its instructions." I watched an AED's youtube video to get the prompt language right, checked to make sure an AED could sometimes shock a conscious person, and then I just took off from there, lol. This disclaimer continues with spoilers in the endnotes...

Happy readings (hopefully)! ❤️️🤞

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Sadly, Sam wasn’t asleep for long. He cracked his eyes open at the road, Dean beside him. It was just a normal town at night, streets wet and reflecting the traffic lights’ glare. Everything was fine except for how Sam’s heart was pounding inside his chest. At first it was surreal, Sam just experiencing this sensation, his heart wildly glitching inside him. Then his breathing got shallow, his whole body broke into a sweat, and Sam flailed, slapped Dean’s arm to get his attention.

“Holy shit, Sam? Sammy? What the-”

Sam clutched his chest and gasped, eyes wide and terrified as Dean pulled into a random strip mall parking lot.

“Sam!” Dean shouted as he turned, hands all over Sam trying to get a gauge on what was happening.

“S’my… heart,” Sam gasped.

“What the hell,” Dean murmured almost to himself as he ducked down, pulled Sam’s hands away and pressed an ear to his brother’s chest. The beat was erratic, weak. “Okay, down, lie down Sammy,” Dean ordered, helping Sam recline along the bench seat. “You gotta relax. It’s gonna be okay. Did they dose you with anything?”

Sam’s eyes were tearing again and he shook his head. “Don’t… know,” he panted.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Dean rubbed Sam’s chest over his heart like he could get an easy rhythm going. Sam was twitching and trembling, all color that’d returned to him earlier disappearing again. Dean swore under his breath, panicked, and looked out past the windshield at the small stores he’d parked in front of. “Sammy,” he leaned over and tapped a palm against Sam’s cheek to get him to look into his eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

Without getting Sam’s approval, he pulled back and launched out of the car from the driver’s seat and sprinted into a small tobacconist shop. The brass bell clanged on the glass door overhead and the cashier, an older portly gentleman, jumped out of his skin. “Have you got a defibrillator in here?” Dean demanded, hoping they did because they’d considered how their clientele were high risk.

Still shocked the gentleman just nodded and pointed. Dean followed the direction to a small defibrillator mounted on the wall next to an employees only door. He ripped it off and nearly broke the glass of the door on its stupid brass bell as he left the store with it in his arms.

He ran back up to the driver’s door of the Impala that he’d left open. Sam was still wheezing. He’d turned on his side and pulled his knees up, his hands covering his chest. A bright sheen of sweat on his face highlighted agonized features. Dean was trying to figure out how to do this with the space they had though and coming up empty. He needed Sam lying down but he couldn’t get in there and apply the AED pads without sitting him up.

“Sammy, I’m so sorry but we gotta move,” he decided as he said it. He rushed to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. He swore as he realized the parking lot ground was wet; he’d have to get Sam up to the sidewalk that connected the strip mall entrances where their overhangs had protected the cement from rainwater.

Sam gagged as Dean hauled him up and made him stumble to sidewalk. Once there, he let his brother collapse to his knees, then guided him down to the ground.

The tobacconist rushed out. “You want me to call 9-1-1?”

Dean opened the AED. There were a couple beeps and a woman’s even automated voice said, “Call for help now.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dean replied, resigned. Sam grabbed his hand and Dean leaned forward. “It’s okay, Sam,” he lied. He pushed Sam’s hair back.

“Remove all clothing from patient’s chest,” the AED instructed. Sam fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

“Pull red handle to open bag.” Dean ripped it open and found small clothing scissors.

“I got it, I got it, Sammy,” Dean muttered, drawing Sam’s hands away so he could unbutton the last ones and then cut through Sam’s white undershirt. Sam pulled fisted hands up against his shoulders and shivered as Dean pulled the shirt away. “I know it’s cold. It’s okay, we got this,” he coached as he glanced at the pictures on the pads before peeling one off its blue plastic and applying it ‘exactly as shown in the picture’ just as the AED directed. He got the other one on too.

“Sammy?”

“Here,” Sam gasped.

“Good boy,” Dean praised, carding a hand through Sam’s hair. Sam pressed his lips together, eyes tight with strain but relying on Dean. The AED announced, “Evaluating heart rhythm.” Dean lifted away but hovered his hands over Sam, knowing he couldn’t touch during this part. Sam’s hitching, shallow breaths were loud as they waited, eyes still fixed on Dean.

“It’s okay. I’m right here.” Sam’s eyes fell to half-mast, mouth fell open to gulp air.

“Standby. Preparing to shock.”

Sam’s eyes closed then, all conscious tension sifting out of him. His arms fell limp to his sides.

“Sam!”

“Everyone clear. Do not touch patient.” Dean gritted his teeth, helpless. “Delivering shock.” The AED beeped loudly several times in warning before a muted thunk sound and Sam’s chest quivered under the pads. “Shock delivered. Provide chest compressions and rescue breaths.”

Dean ignored the last order and instead pressed his ear against Sam’s chest. It still wasn’t strong but the rhythm was good. “Sam? Sammy?” Dean prompted, gently slapping his brother’s face. “C’mon, wake up.”

Finally, Sam’s eyelids fluttered.

“Yes! Yeah Sam, come on, not gonna lose you.” Dean brushed Sam’s hair, thumbed tears off Sam’s cheeks. “Come on.”

“Hey,” Sam rasped. His eyes rolled back and Dean jerked him calling his name. Sam gasped and opened his eyes back up wide this time. “Okay. Here,” he huffed.

“Evaluating heart rhythm,” the AED suddenly announced. “No shock advised. Stop CPR.”

“What the fuck was that,” Dean muttered angrily, now that he could afford anger. He peeled the pads off Sam’s chest. Sam hunched over into Dean, reached around Dean’s back to hold himself up. Dean got his arm around Sam’s waist and together they got him up and stumbling back into the car.

Sirens wailed, lights flashed, an ambulance pulling into the parking lot and Dean hit the gas, speeding their way out, the defibrillator’s detritus left on the sidewalk in front of the tobacconist’s place.

“That’s not when you should really be using an AED, y’know,” Sam said coarsely, worn out beyond belief now.

“Well it was either that or a shot of adrenaline.”

“That would’ve killed me,” Sam pitched and Dean suppressed a laugh.

“Well I guess they had a defibrillator instead then.” Dean shrugged. His eyes glinted and Sam realized he was pulling his leg. “Whatever they did, we’ll keep an eye on it. If you have any issues with your heart again Sammy, we’re going to the hospital, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed readily. Dean bit his lip, not liking how willing they both were about this as they both despised hospitals but… that had really freaked them both out just now.

They stopped off at a bodega to get orange juice and nuts and some Halloween-themed Oreos to make Sam laugh.

They checked into a slightly more up-scale motel than their usual, again because they were both a little unsettled and Dean wanted to bed down first chance they got.

The first aid on Sam’s arms was daunting with Dean justifiably nauseous at the sight of Sam’s skinned flesh. Most of it would scar ripples and maybe keloids. Sam didn’t care though. Dean insisted that chicks dug scars and got Sam to smile.

Once that was done, Dean left to get dinner. Sam, on orders to relax but not move or strain his heart, decided on a slow easy walk into the bathroom for a warm bath. The tub was clean porcelain, big and deep and felicitously proportionate to Sam’s body. They didn’t get these in the low-priced motels where they normally lodged. Sam was going to take full advantage and appreciate it.

He was careful to keep his newly bandaged arms away from the water. He leaned his back against the tub and heaved a deep breath of relief, inhaling the soft steam wafting from the surface, letting the heat penetrate his muscles. The soak was bliss.

Half an hour later Dean came in carrying Panera and, concerned when Sam didn’t respond to him when he announced he was home, found Sam fast asleep in the tub.

Tempted, Dean’s better judgment prevailed. He backed out of the bathroom and rapped his knuckles lightly against the door until he heard startled splashing. He chuckled. “Sammy?”

“Uh, yeah, hey.”

“I got a broccoli cheddar soup and a Mediterranean veggie sandwich waiting for you out here.”

“Oh wow okay. Thank you, I’ll be right out.” Sam’s voice was bleary but delighted. Dean grinned as he turned back to the bed. He'd never stop getting a little thrill out of making Sam sound so happy like that, especially so soon after what he’d been through.

Sam was groggy but pulled himself out of the bath easily, dried himself off, and found himself actually excited for the considerate meal Dean had gotten him, as he doubted he’d be able to stomach anything with meat. He came out in a towel and smiled at Dean who’d already started chowing down on his own sandwich. Sam threw on a soft, thick cotton long-sleeved shirt and the appetizing smells got to him. He stopped looking for sweatpants, instead opting to just wear his towel for awhile longer and moved over to sit next to Dean on his bed where he’d spread the food out. Dean pointed at the cartons for him and Sam snatched them up, reiterating a sincere thank you. 

Dean nodded, accepting Sam's gratitude. “No problems while I was gone?” Dean garbled, mouth full. He was trying for casual but his eyes were intent, the shadow of worry not far behind.

“Everything’s been good. No heart palpitations, no symptoms of infection,” Sam lifted his arms to show the untouched bandages.

Dean swallowed. “That’s awesome,” he replied, low-key and so genuine that Sam grinned, eyes shining.

Dean turned and grabbed the TV remote off the nightstand, angled so his legs could spread out towards the foot of the bed. Sam settled next to his brother similarly, prepared to watch whatever Dean chose unless something really caught his eye. He wasn’t sure when this had become pure contentment for him, but here he was.

Chapter End Notes

Disclaimer continuation: maybe one day I'll stealth edit this to give a researched explanation as to how/why Sam would randomly fall into either ventricular fibrillation and ventricular tachycardia (the only shockable heart rhythms for AEDs) after being concussed, anemic, possibly drugged, and having his arm flesh stripped and eaten... or maybe all those things are so compromising they can jumpstart some these arrhythmias? Maybe Sam had a pre-existing condition I didn't mention. I have no idea. Let's say yes to anything/everything that makes this a lil more plausible. 😅😅😅

Okay now back to your normally confident author: Thank you so much for reading! Please kudos + comment if you liked it and you've got the time. 💛🤗 ~ Alex

Afterword

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