Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 20: Save a Prayer

[justinedelarge]

Title: Sure Got a Dirty Mouth Chapter 20: Save a Prayer

Author: justinedelarge
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean 
Rating: R
Warning: Wincest (Sam is a few months shy of legal age)
Word Count: 2000
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just for fun.
Summary: Ever wonder how Dean started talking dirty? The genesis is in the way Sam and Dean make their feelings for each other physical. This story has dirty talk, all the feels you can handle, infinite love and even a plot that develops into a nail-biting narrative, with the best kind of hurt/comfort. 
Chapter Summary: Sam isn't doing as well as anyone had hoped. Dean has harsh words for his father.

Request: Comments and encouraging feedback are really appreciated. If you read my fics and like them, please take a moment to let me know. This will encourage me to write more for you.

Entire story from the beginning can be found here:
http://archiveofourown.org/works/411362

The doctor checked Sam out thoroughly, concluding with listening to his breathing.

He set his stethoscope aside and took Dean and the adults into the kitchen.“He’s reinjured his ribs. And I’m hearing a little crepitation in his breathing.”

“What does that mean?” Dean took the lead.

“It means he’s probably developing pneumonia.”

Dean looked worried. “You said that was bad.”

“That’s very bad."

"So, we up his pain pills so he can breathe more deeply?" John interjected.

The doctor shook his head. "Clearly, it's tremendously painful for him to breathe, but I'm reluctant to keep him on such a high dose of painkillers. There's the problem of immediate addiction. And the human brain isn't fully formed until the early twenties. Heavy use of narcotics while his brain is still developing might make him susceptible to addiction years in the future."

Nobody spoke.

"What I'm saying is this: If he doesn't improve substantially by Friday, you may need to admit him to a hospital.”

The doctor handed Dean a bottle of pills. “That’s the most powerful antibiotic I have. This may buy him enough time.”

The doctor examined John’s nose and declared it to be unbroken. And didn’t ask questions.

Dean insisted on walking him to his car.

“How bad is it, if he does develop pneumonia?”

“He’ll be very sick. Very, very sick. He may need to have fluid drained from his lungs, or surgery to clear out the infection, and he could lose lung capacity permanently.”

Dean looked at the ground. “Could he die?”

The doctor removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s young and strong. But yes. That is a possibility.”

He put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I understand the resistance to bringing him to a hospital. But if you love Sam, you need to protect him. If he’s not breathing better by tomorrow night...”

Dean nodded.

“Sam’s counting on you.”

Dean stood up straight. “I know.”

Dean walked back inside and past John and Bobby without a word, busying himself heating apple cider in a saucepan and making instant mashed potatoes.

Nobody said anything for several minutes.

Dean stirred butter and salt into the mashed potatoes. John cleared his throat, and spoke. “That was wrong of me, Dean. I’m so sorry.”

Dean spoke with his back turned. “To him. You say that to him. Not to me.”

“I will. But I need to say it to you too. I… Dean, I was trying to help him. I know you don’t see that, but—“

“But what? It’s just another in a series of bad calls.” Dean poured the apple cider into a mug and turned the burner off.

John was stunned into silence.

“I’m going to take care of Sam from now on.” Dean’s voice was calm and steady. “Just so we’re clear on that.”

“Dean—“ John began.

“I’ve been doing it most of my life anyway.” He turned and looked directly at John. His green eyes were cold and utterly determined. “I’m just making it official.”

Dean left the room with the bowl of potatoes and cup of cider, and went upstairs to Sam.

John rubbed his eyes. “Jesus. I’m losing both of them.”

Bobby watched the figure of Dean walking up the stairs, careful not to spill the warm cider. “Just… leave ‘em be for a while, wouldja?” Dean shut the door to their room, and Bobby thought he could hear the sound of the door being locked. “Maybe they’ll come around.”

~

“Hey, Sammy. Brought your favorite.” Sam stirred, groggy from the pain medication.  “Got some new pills for you. Gonna make your lungs feel better. But you can’t take them on an empty stomach, ok, so I need you to get down as much of this as you can.”

Dean set the bowl in Sam’s lap and put the cider on the table next to him. “I could totally spoon-feed you. If you’re into that.”

Sam’s mouth curved into a little smile.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Sam picked up the spoon, and shook his head no.

“Too bad. I kinda liked it.”

Sam took a big bite, smacking his lips deliberately.

“Gross.”

Sam paused, closing his eyes.

“That good, huh?” Dean’s face fell a little.

“It’s good. Just feel kind of sick.” Sam’s voice came in a whisper.

“Hey. Hey. It’s ok. You don’t have to talk.”

“Want to.”

Dean handed Sam the warm cider. “This might help.”

Sam took a drink and sighed, soothed by the warm liquid. He eyed the bowl of potatoes warily.

“I’m serious, dude. I’ll spoon feed you. I don’t mind.”

“I’m not a baby.”

Dean was silent for a moment. “No. You’re not a kid.”

Sam took another bite.

“Sam, I’m sorry.”

Sam looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot, eyelids heavy with fatigue and pain.

“I treated you like a little kid. And you’re so much… I mean, you just…”

Sam laid his hand on Dean’s leg. “Not now,” he rasped.

“Sam. You’re more mature than I am.”

Sam gave Dean a sweet, sad grin. “Finally got that, huh?” His voice, what little of it there was, was already fading into grit and shadow.

“Yeah.” Dean didn’t even accept the invitation to banter. “I finally got it.”

Sam forced himself to swallow another spoonful of mashed potatoes. “When I’m better. Let you make it up to me.” His breathing was shallow. So shallow.

Dean ran his fingers through Sam’s hair, unable to stop touching him. “When you’re better, Sammy, I’ll give you anything you want.”

Sam lowered the spoon to the bowl, tilted his head to the side like a quizzical puppy.

“Not gonna hold anything back, Sammy. Whatever you want. All of it.”

“You promise.” Sam trailed his fingertip along Dean’s thigh.

“Yeah.”

Sam made a little circle with his fingertip, and peered into Dean’s face with a hint of mischievousness. “You swear on pie?”

Dean laughed and took Sam’s hand in his. “Yeah. I swear on pie.”

Sam looked down for a second, then back up, eyes searching Dean’s face. “Can I—“

“Yes. Whatever it is, yes.”

“Don’t you even want to know?” Sam’s voice was a mere whisper now. He took another sip of cider.

“Sure.”

“What if I want to… um, be inside you?” Sam’s face turned bright red, but he met Dean’s glance without squirming away.

“Holy fucking hell, Sam.” Dean blew out a breath. “Dude, you better get well fast.”

Sam blinked slowly, and took another bite of potato. “’S that a yes?”

“Yes. That’s a yes. That’s a huge yes. And would you shut up already? You’re killing your voice.”

Sam mouthed, “Yessir.”

Dean groaned. “Don’t even do that to me, Sammy. I can’t even..”

Sam picked up the notepad, scrawled, “like it when I call you sir, huh”

Dean shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

Sam wrote, “Duly noted. Call Dean sir, watch him get all hot and bothered. Check.”

“Are the pain meds kicking in or something?”

Sam giggled.

“We’re totally saving a couple of these for when you’re all healed up, Sammy.”

Sam grinned.

“Now finish your potatoes, so you can take the antibiotics and get better.”

“Yessir,” Sam whispered.

“You’re in so much trouble.”

Sam ate all his food, and swallowed the large pill Dean gave him.

Without even being asked, Dean ripped off the piece of notepaper and flushed it down the toilet.

~

Dean set the recliner at the right angle for Sam to sleep, set a pillow up for himself, and climbed in next to him, pulling the flannel sheet and thick comforter over both of them. Sam shivered.

He kissed Sam’s forehead. It was shockingly hot.

He kissed Sam’s mouth. It was warm and dry.

“You gotta get better fast, Sammy.”

Sam mouthed “Ok,” and tried to settle in. Even in the recliner, even full of pain pills, he was still quite uncomfortable.

Dean closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep. And then Sam coughed. A deep, wet cough  followed by a wheeze, and another series of coughs.

He clutched at his ribs and made a low, terrible sound.

Dean wasn’t the type, but he held on to Sammy, closed his eyes tight and began to pray.

Sam coughed a few more times, an utterly agonizing experience for both of them, but finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Dean watched him breathe, shallow quick breaths. Not at all the kind of breath he was supposed to make. Using the spirometer every hour hadn’t helped, apparently. Not enough.

Dean spoke out loud to the empty darkness. “So, I know I’ve not been on your radar or anything. God. Or whoever’s out there that does nice things for good people who really need a few nice things to happen. But… I need help. Sam needs help. So, if there is a happy bearded guy on a throne watching out for all us good little girls and boys, could you throw me a bone here?”

Dean laid his hand on Sam’s chest. “He’s really messed up. And… I can’t take it. Seeing him hurt like this. Sick. So, please. I’m asking. Please make him better, God. I’ll… I’ll owe you one.”

And that was the first time Dean Winchester had ever prayed to a benevolent higher power.

~

Dean tried to keep his eyes open to watch over Sam, but eventually even he couldn’t resist the lure of sleep, and his eyes fluttered closed.

A shadow emerged from the corner of the room. Solidified into the figure of a man with curious yellow eyes.

“Poor Dean. Pray all you want. God won’t answer. He left the building a long, long time ago.” Azazel stood over the boys, a grin stretching across his face. “Good thing for you I’m here. Good thing for you I’ve taken an interest.”

Azazel leaned over Sam, pressed his mouth almost to Sam’s lips, and inhaled. “Oh, that’s not good.” He closed his eyes, palm touching Sam’s sternum. “Not good at all.”

He dropped into a crouch. “Don’t worry, Samuel. I’ll take care of you. Not all the way. Can’t make ‘em suspicious. Pry too much. Find out our little secret. But I’ll get you almost all the way there.” He ran his fingers through Sam’s hair. Sam stirred but did not waken. “I can’t have you dying on me, now, can I?”

Azazel laid his hands on Sam’s ribs, and muttered something incomprehensible. Sam gasped, but did not wake up.

Azazel pressed his lips to Sam’s and exhaled. Sam breathed in, lungs filling fully, and exhaled as the demon inhaled. He spat something viscous onto the floor.

He ran his fingers through Dean’s short hair. “And you. You’re almost as precious to me as Sam is. Because you’re a good little bulldog, aren’t you? You’re going to keep him nice and safe for me, just like you’ve been doing. With this one little lapse.” He patted Dean’s head softly. “But I forgive you. Just keep my boy safe. I have such high hopes for him.”

He turned his yellow eyes back to Sam, sprawled on the recliner, one foot hanging off the end. “Sleep well, Sam. See you again real soon.”

Azazel was there in the room—and suddenly he wasn’t. He was standing over John, asleep on the couch, a half-empty bottle of Scotch in his hand.

“Johnny boy. I have to say, we’re all getting such a kick out of you. Your parenting skills alone… such a source of amusement. You’re the talk of the Union Meeting House.”

He cocked his head. “You’ve been trying to find me for a long time. Oh, my, you got so angry with me when I burned up Sammy’s momma.” Azazel suddenly lunged, hovering over John, one hand braced on the couch on either side of him, faces almost touching. “So close. And yet so far away.” He stayed like that for a long moment, lips curled, teeth exposed.

“Too soon.” He stood up. “I can wait. You know what they say about me, John. I have the patience of a saint.”

And like that, he was simply not there anymore.

~

Dean awoke with a cry, shaking violently. This time, it was Sam who rubbed his sleepy eyes, reached out for his brother to soothe him awake.

He wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him tight to his chest. “Bad dream?” he whispered.

“Horrible.” Dean shook his head, trying to clear away the images, the feelings, so vivid, so real. “Horrible.”

“S’ok. I got you.” Sam turned onto his side and held Dean closer. Dean finally stopped shaking.
“What did you dream about?”

Dean let his head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. “Fire.”