amberdreams | Coping Strategies - A Season 7 one shot (Reply)

A short one shot Sammy fic fill for a prompt by

Word count: c800
Warnings: Spoilers for Season 7

Prompt:

Any time between 7.3 and 7.16. Think the poker through Bobby's chest hallucination scene in 7.2. Then think that kind of stuff is happening to Dean, all the time, in Sam's head. He's gotten really used to applying the scar test, figuring out what's real, keeping functioning around the hallucinations. But what if Dean really does get hurt? Sam's trying to patch him up, but he has to figure out which injuries are the real ones and which are the hallucinations and it's hard to press on his hand when he's trying to keep Dean from bleeding out and if he gets it wrong Dean will die and Dean's out of it so Sam has to be the one to talk himself down and try to keep himself grounded.

Coping Strategies

Sam had been having a relatively quiet day until it all went belly up so fast it left him dizzy.

Hallucifer had only morphed into Dean twice earlier that morning; the faked shooting had made Sam’s heart race for a moment or two before he’d gotten a grip on reality, but that beheading had been so over the top gory Sam hadn’t thought it was true for a second. He hadn’t even had to use the hand trick to see though that one.

Since then, Sam thought maybe Hallucifer was sulking at not having gotten a rise out of him, so when Dean went down to the black dog they were hunting, he was taken totally by surprise. The dog managed to tear into Dean with teeth and claws for several horrible seconds before Sam filled it full of iron bullets, causing it to vanish as quickly as it had appeared.

Instinct carried him straight to his fallen brother, and he was turning Dean onto his back to deal with the injuries before cool intellect kicked in. Sam sat back on his heels to try and assess the situation rationally.

Which was easier said than done when it appeared that Dean was bleeding out from multiple wounds, his torso slashed to ribbons just like it was after Lilith’s hellhounds - and that was enough to make Sam hyperventilate on the one hand, while part of his brain was telling him this was too much the same and therefore it must be an illusion.

Sam jumped when he felt a hand fall onto his shoulder, shuddered when Lucifer’s warm breath tickled his ear.

“Mmm doesn’t look so good there, does he?”

Sam ignored Lucifer but smiled in relief. With an effort of will he slowed his breathing, felt his heart rate even out. If Hallucifer was on his shoulder, that meant Dean was Dean. Now all he had to do was sort out which of Dean’s wounds were real and he was good to go.

“Sm?” Dean’s eyes were unfocussed but open, his pale skin even whiter than usual, lit as it was by the unforgiving moonlight, both their flashlights lost somewhere in the undergrowth. He had one hand pressed tight to his stomach, dark blood oozing sluggishly between his fingers. Sam took that as his clue to where the real injuries were located, and resolutely turned his gaze from the gaping, gushing gashes that appeared to be above and below Dean’s hand. He gently tugged at Dean’s fingers, exposing shredded t shirt and glistening blood to the pale light.

Yeah, that was it.

Sam drew out his knife and carefully cut the ruined fabric away from the wounds, reaching for the kit bag. There were puncture wounds (teeth) and three diagonal slashes across the soft flesh of Dean’s stomach, but none of them looked too deep. Sam was just concluding that he could clean and stitch them here when Dean moaned. His eyes rolled back in his head, just the whites showing, and his back arched as he went into convulsions, arms and legs thrashing wildly.

Shitshitshit! Lucifer’s laughter was shrill inside Sam’s head and the panic was back, full blown and threatening to overwhelm him. There must be something else, something he couldn’t see because Hallucifer was clouding his mind and fuck! Get a grip Sam, get a fucking grip!

He watched helplessly, waiting for the convulsions to ease off, knowing that trying to restrain Dean now would cause more damage than good, but it was amongst the hardest things he’d ever done. He pressed his thumb into his scarred palm, biting his lip raw at the pain, and waited.

After what felt like an age, Dean finally subsided, his body melting into the earth in a tangle of sweaty and bloody limbs and dead leaves and debris stirred up by his struggles. His head was tilted back at an awkward angle, and Sam quickly made sure his brother’s airways were clear, wincing at the fresh blood trickling from his lips, swollen where he’d bitten them through.

Sam gave his palm one last hard squeeze, then closed his eyes. If Hallucifer was messing with his head, maybe he was better off doing this blind. He took a moment to centre himself and breathe deeply of the cool night air, then began again to assess the extent of Dean’s injuries, starting with the head.

Hallucifer was talking, but Sam tuned the voice out, concentrating on the passage of his hands over his brother’s skin. Mapping Dean’s body was soothing, calming him like nothing else could. So that even when he found the lump on Dean’s skull, and the deep wide cut in his side, Sam’s breathing stayed even, his mind quiet. Confident in his own competence at triage. This was familiar, safe. Home.