Cas & Sam examining Dean after a hunt gone wrong, one listening & feeling his heart, the other taking his pulse please?
Dean’s chest is heaving, sweat glistening on his bare skin under the firm touch of the stethoscope. Cas frowns, moves it to a new spot, and exchanges a worried look with Sam. Dean’s heart is too weak. Cas knows Sam can feel it where he has his fingertips pressed to Dean’s wrist, his pulse thready, faint.
When hunts go this badly wrong that even Cas’ grace can’t provide instant healing, it’s really a bitch.
Dean moans again, the cut on his thigh an angry red surrounded by black veins where the poison has spread. The antidote they’ve given him will help, but it’s going to be a long night for all of them.
Sam dabs another cool towel on his brother’s forehead, soothing a feverish convulsion as Dean’s fingers claw at the bedsheets. His heart flutters under Cas’ hand, pulse quivering at his throat. “Hush, Dean,” the angel murmurs. “It’s going to be alright.”
When Sam takes hold of Dean’s slick-sweat hand, skin burning, and gives it a comforting squeeze, he hopes that’s true.
