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My Fall Will Be For You by Jenn1984

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Story notes:

This is the second Supernatural story I've ever written in my life. I've written a story in this format before for the Psych fandom, and I couldn't resist doing one for Supernatural. I tend to write in this format when I'm feeling particularly emotional.

Sam's POV will come when I get my lazy butt in gear and write it.

Special thanks to JessicaRae and MusicalLuna for looking this over for me. And to Skysalla for being an awesome cheerleader.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter notes:
This takes place in Season two, between In My Time Of Dying and Croatoan.

I feel so…

Hot. Blinding pain rips across my chest as liquid fire burns it’s way down my body. An inhuman scream is ringing in my ears and seconds later I realize it’s my own.

I feel so…

Disoriented. I stumble backwards against something hard when my legs can no longer support the seemingly dead weight my body has become. I slide down and try to focus on something, anything, yet my eyes and mind continue to grow hazy.

I feel so…

Distant. Blinking slowly and heavily, I stare with blurred vision at the claws before me, glowing red and dripping with blood. I hear my name but can’t react, so I just watch as the beast raises his deadly paw, prepared to finish the job he’s started. Then, in a flash of red, he wails and turns his attention to a new target. I watch from a million miles away.

I feel so…

Panicked. With glazed eyes I turn to watch the fight unfolding before me. Savage nails tear into the arm of someone familiar, but I’m unable to figure out who. He shoots again, missing the animal and hitting the tree in front of me. The hint of silver sparkles in the wood and my mind flashes with memories of research, fights about splitting up, my brother. Fear rises in my throat and I cry out in an effort to release my suffocation.

I feel so…

Frustrated. Pain and lucidity return as I try to push myself up with strength I don’t have. I twist around slowly and see Sam groping for his gun, the furry son of a bitch standing on top of him, trying to sink his enormous teeth into my little brother’s neck. The lump in my throat grows thicker and the sense of urgency I’m feeling is pulsing through my veins with excruciating ferocity. I have to help him, I have to save him. Why can’t I move? I need to do something! He’ll be torn apart if I don’t do something!

I feel so…

Useless. Fingers twitch and brush against something hard. I glance down and notice my gun, empty of bullets, and an idea strikes me. With my remaining strength, I grab the weapon and throw it at the bastard’s head. His glowing eyes turn to pierce mine. A dizzying rush of relief that Sam is now out of harm’s way swarms my head and mingles with a wave of fear as I’m now completely vulnerable to anything this harsh animal decides to do to me. I have nothing to fend him off with. I’m completely defenseless. But Sammy’s okay, I hear my father’s voice whisper in my ear. And he’s right.

I feel so…

Heavy. The beast is advancing slowly and I brace myself for his imminent attack. He raises his lethal white paw, poised to strike when a loud crack sounds in the distance. The foul thing screams and my ears are ringing as he falls in a lifeless, bloody heap beside me. The sickly sweet smell of his blood reaches my nose and I moan; it’s over, and Sam is safe. As long as Sam is safe. My eyelids close and I feel a pair of gentle, steady hands firmly grasp my cheeks. “Protect me, Dean.” Sam. Sam needs me. The weight of my father’s words hangs heavily on my shoulders and I try to grab my brother’s arm, try to hold him. I need to feel him, I have to save him. That’s all that matters. He doesn’t know, but that’s all that matters.

I feel so…

Cold. Sam hurriedly takes off one of his shirts and wraps it tightly around the deep wounds on my chest. A hiss of pain escapes me, his hands falter, and I can see them trembling. I want to say something, to comfort him, but I can only seem to focus on my injury, on the throbbing. My chest is on fire, burning, scorching, yet I can’t stop shivering. My teeth are chattering, my bones frozen and aching. “It hurts, Dean.” Sammy. He lifts me, pulls me along, in pain. He’s in pain! I’m hurting him, God, I’m hurting him! I try to push away, to stop the suffering I‘m causing. Unfocused eyes dart around for something to grab onto, something sturdy, solid, but my cold, shaking hands can’t seem to grip anything they touch. “Dean, stop! Dean!” And I fall back into my little brother’s arms.

I feel so…

Weak. Still shivering, I allow myself to lean against Sam, his unsteady hands holding me tightly. I want to tell him everything is going to be alright, but even my mouth is too weak to function. I can feel my brother lowering me into the backseat of my baby and I don’t protest. He checks the wounds on my chest, and I lightly brush him away. He huffs, says something inaudible, and slams the door. It seems like seconds later when we pull up to the motel and my brother is quietly pulling me towards one of the beds in the room we’ve rented. I can barely keep my head up, but Sam holds it gently, guides my body down smoothly, always conscious of my wounds. I want to thank him, to tell him I‘d be lost without him, that I was lost without him, but my lips refuse to move. I’d sure as hell regret the moment of weakness later, but right now he needs to know, and I can’t tell him.

I feel so…

Alone. I’m lying on the bed shaking, moaning, cursing. Sam is apologizing and shushing as he’s poking, prodding, cleaning the wounds and it’s torture. I grit my teeth, bite my lip until the tangy, metallic taste of blood assaults my tongue. A comforting hand rests on my balmy forehead and Sam’s hot breath blows against my ear as he whispers something. “Have to leave.” My stomach knots, my chest aches, my mind protests, but his hand slides off my head and the door clicks shut. What have I done? I’ve pushed him away, I’ve lost him. Too much of a burden; a broken, bloody, worthless brother. How did this happen? How could I have let this happen? Blinking rapidly, the room is swimming even more than before and I can barely breathe. My lungs are burning, thirsty for air, yet I can’t comply, I can’t give them what they want. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move. I try to call out, “Sammy“, but I’m alone. He’s gone.

I feel so…

Sick. My stomach twists, pulls, as I roll on my side and start heaving over the edge of the bed. I can taste more blood, but I don’t care. Nothing matters anymore. I’ve let down my father, my brother. Sam. I’m a failure. Pain torments my entire frame and spots dance before me. I’ve lost. I’ve lost everything, and it’s all my fault. Stomach lurching, I gag again, tears prickling the corners of my eyes and leaking slowly down my cheeks. I roll to the other side of the bed, feeling dizzy, and lose what little balance I thought I had, but I don’t hit the floor. I can feel myself being pulled back up and into a tight embrace, familiar, soothing arms wrapping securely around my sore and aching body. “I’m here, Dean. I’m here.” Sammy. My Sammy. Instantly the shaking eases, the pain simmers, the nausea ceases. Something cool is placed on my forehead and I hear my little brother whispering more assurances beside me, never breaking contact. I grasp his hand as tightly as I can. I can still save him.

I feel so…


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