Funny How Life Goes [SPOILERS for 7x09]
Nov. 19th, 2011 04:14 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ohsamTitle: Funny How Life Goes
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
princess_aleera
Word count: ~ 760
Spoilers: 7x10, so beware.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: angst, spoilery as fuck, partially a fix-it fic. Abuse of medical terms?
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own SPN, or any of that.
Characters: Dean, Sam, OMC, mentions of Bobby
Pairings: Gen
A/N: My initial response to this week’s episode, and a way to fix. Written forcutloosemcgoose, because I was mean to her. Hope it helps, bb.
The doctor walks out of the room, towards the two of them, and Dean stops his frantic pacing in favor of glaring at the guy like this is all his fault. He doesn't say anything, but Sam still winces at the 'WELL?' that lies in the air.
"Well," the doctor says, and Sam has a brief thought that he really hopes this isn't another Leviathan-doctor, because it had been Bobby to bust them out the other time. Bobby... "He's not okay," the doctor continues, "as you should imagine. But the bullet is out."
"He's still alive?" Sam manages to croak out, because Dean looks about two seconds away from spontaneous combustion with sheer worry.
"For now," the doctor nods solemnly. "I can't make any promises; he's no teenager, and even though the bullet was only lodged in the parietal bone and didn't crack it, thus entering the brain, there is still a chance of intracranial bleeding or pressure." He sighs a little.
"What?" Dean growls.
"He means there's still a chance of brain damage, but that he's out of immediate danger," Sam says before the doctor can respond. "Right?" Please, please, please.
The doctor nods. "We're going to keep Mister Harold under observation for the next couple of days, see how it goes. But for now, he's as close to okay as he can be." He offers them both a nod and a smile, before he leaves.
Sam exhales softly. He's going to be fine. "He's okay, Dean," he says.
Dean still looks like he's about to implode. "He's not okay, Sammy," he hisses, "the guy said his head could fucking explode!"
"I know," Sam tries, "believe me, Dean. I know. But he's alive. And considering what happened, that's more luck than we usually get." Bobby's caps is still in the back of the van, a small hole in the front of it. Sam doesn't dare to move it until he knows Bobby will want it back. Is around to want it back.
Dean rubs a hand over his tired face. "I need a drink," he snaps and turns on his heel.
Sam lets him go, and watches Lucifer follow Dean's exit with mild interest. They know Dean will be back in a couple of hours; there's no way he can stay away until he's heard Bobby grunt 'idjit' at him from the hospital bed. Not even the prospect of drowning himself in alcohol can do that to Dean. Family comes first.
"This seems familiar," Lucifer muses, "doesn't it, Sammy? Although last time, I believe it was your brother lying in the bed and your dad drinking himself into a stupor. Funny how life goes." He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans (Sam's jeans, although they seem to fit the Devil perfectly- how is that even possible? Oh, right. Hallucination.) "Maybe you could try whipping out the old Oujia board again."
"He's going to be fine," Sam says quietly.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Lucifer says lightly. "Most of your friends in precarious situations usually are, aren't they?"
Sam swallows. He doesn't need yet another reminder that Bobby's the only one they have left. Mom, Dad, Ash, Jo, Ellen, Gabriel, Rufus, Pamela, Cas- no one has lasted as long as Bobby has.
Sam slumps down in a chair, and Lucifer slides down in the one next to him. He puts an arm on Sam's. "Want to talk about it, Sammyboy?" he asks with his puppy-eye look.
"Bite me," Sam mutters under his breath without looking at him. He withdraws his arm slowly, so the people in the hospital won't think he's crazy. Although he is, on a rational scale.
Lucifer doesn't say anything more, just sighs softly and settles in his chair. It's strangely comforting to have him around right now, Sam finds; now that Dean's out somewhere beating the crap out of himself mentally.
"Billy Harold?" a nurse asks after what seems like forever, but is no more than two hours, and Sam practically jumps out of his chair.
"Yes! Yes?"
"Your father is awake," she says with a smile, and Sam is once again hit with the similarities of five years before. He needs to mentally remind himself that it's not John in there, it's Bobby (because John's dead now, and Bobby's not), before he beams back at her.
"Thank you."
~*~
Author:
princess_aleeraWord count: ~ 760
Spoilers: 7x10, so beware.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: angst, spoilery as fuck, partially a fix-it fic. Abuse of medical terms?
Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own SPN, or any of that.
Characters: Dean, Sam, OMC, mentions of Bobby
Pairings: Gen
A/N: My initial response to this week’s episode, and a way to fix. Written for
cutloosemcgoose, because I was mean to her. Hope it helps, bb.The doctor walks out of the room, towards the two of them, and Dean stops his frantic pacing in favor of glaring at the guy like this is all his fault. He doesn't say anything, but Sam still winces at the 'WELL?' that lies in the air.
"Well," the doctor says, and Sam has a brief thought that he really hopes this isn't another Leviathan-doctor, because it had been Bobby to bust them out the other time. Bobby... "He's not okay," the doctor continues, "as you should imagine. But the bullet is out."
"He's still alive?" Sam manages to croak out, because Dean looks about two seconds away from spontaneous combustion with sheer worry.
"For now," the doctor nods solemnly. "I can't make any promises; he's no teenager, and even though the bullet was only lodged in the parietal bone and didn't crack it, thus entering the brain, there is still a chance of intracranial bleeding or pressure." He sighs a little.
"What?" Dean growls.
"He means there's still a chance of brain damage, but that he's out of immediate danger," Sam says before the doctor can respond. "Right?" Please, please, please.
The doctor nods. "We're going to keep Mister Harold under observation for the next couple of days, see how it goes. But for now, he's as close to okay as he can be." He offers them both a nod and a smile, before he leaves.
Sam exhales softly. He's going to be fine. "He's okay, Dean," he says.
Dean still looks like he's about to implode. "He's not okay, Sammy," he hisses, "the guy said his head could fucking explode!"
"I know," Sam tries, "believe me, Dean. I know. But he's alive. And considering what happened, that's more luck than we usually get." Bobby's caps is still in the back of the van, a small hole in the front of it. Sam doesn't dare to move it until he knows Bobby will want it back. Is around to want it back.
Dean rubs a hand over his tired face. "I need a drink," he snaps and turns on his heel.
Sam lets him go, and watches Lucifer follow Dean's exit with mild interest. They know Dean will be back in a couple of hours; there's no way he can stay away until he's heard Bobby grunt 'idjit' at him from the hospital bed. Not even the prospect of drowning himself in alcohol can do that to Dean. Family comes first.
"This seems familiar," Lucifer muses, "doesn't it, Sammy? Although last time, I believe it was your brother lying in the bed and your dad drinking himself into a stupor. Funny how life goes." He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans (Sam's jeans, although they seem to fit the Devil perfectly- how is that even possible? Oh, right. Hallucination.) "Maybe you could try whipping out the old Oujia board again."
"He's going to be fine," Sam says quietly.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Lucifer says lightly. "Most of your friends in precarious situations usually are, aren't they?"
Sam swallows. He doesn't need yet another reminder that Bobby's the only one they have left. Mom, Dad, Ash, Jo, Ellen, Gabriel, Rufus, Pamela, Cas- no one has lasted as long as Bobby has.
Sam slumps down in a chair, and Lucifer slides down in the one next to him. He puts an arm on Sam's. "Want to talk about it, Sammyboy?" he asks with his puppy-eye look.
"Bite me," Sam mutters under his breath without looking at him. He withdraws his arm slowly, so the people in the hospital won't think he's crazy. Although he is, on a rational scale.
Lucifer doesn't say anything more, just sighs softly and settles in his chair. It's strangely comforting to have him around right now, Sam finds; now that Dean's out somewhere beating the crap out of himself mentally.
"Billy Harold?" a nurse asks after what seems like forever, but is no more than two hours, and Sam practically jumps out of his chair.
"Yes! Yes?"
"Your father is awake," she says with a smile, and Sam is once again hit with the similarities of five years before. He needs to mentally remind himself that it's not John in there, it's Bobby (because John's dead now, and Bobby's not), before he beams back at her.
"Thank you."
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Date: 2011-11-19 04:30 am (UTC)Nice post.
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Date: 2011-11-19 05:09 am (UTC)<3
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Date: 2011-11-19 11:55 am (UTC)