The Runt of the Litter

Control Is a Precious Commodity (Part V)

Note: this one is a bit longer than the previous parts have been (5k words to the usual 3.5k) but it didn't feel right to cut it shorter than this. and this story is already split into so many parts-- i'm not used to posting this way. it feels odd.

enjoy some hospital fluff and angst!

thanks so much for reading, my sweets <3

Control Is a Precious Commodity (Part V)

"Family of Anna Campbell."

Dean and Sam are both on their in the next instant, moving toward the nurse at the door to the waiting room. "Right here," Dean says clearly. "What's goin' on? Is she okay?"

The nurse's smile is rushed and polite. She hands Dean a clipboard. "We just need a surrogate decision maker to grant informed consent so we can perform surgery on her hand."

"Surgery?" Sam repeats, his eyebrows nearly at his hairline. "It's that bad?"

"Nothing is life threatening here," the nurse assures him calmly. She points at the clipboard she's given Dean and explains, "Puncture wounds to the hand run the risk of damaging nerves and tendons. The best way to prevent permanent damage is to surgically assist the body's natural healing process. We flush out the wound, repair what we can, then stitch her up."

"It's safe," Dean assumes, "right?"

"Very low risk."

"Okay," Dean murmurs and starts scanning for places to sign.

"One more thing," the nurse adds as he's scrawling his name. She looks between him and Sam, tightening her ginger ponytail with both hands. She looks exhausted, like she's been in the ER for two whole shifts. "The biggest concern with injuries like this one is blood loss. The hands, much like the head and face, tend to bleed a lot when cut or punctured. Once the surgery is done, it will be easy to control the bleeding. But she lost a significant volume on the way in. Are either of you a match?"

Dean brushes his hand over his short hair, back and then forward. "No," he admits, feeling Sam shift on his feet beside him.

"That's okay," the nurse assures him. "We have O-Negative on site. It's the universal donor."

Dean nods, resisting the urge to snap at this lady who's just doing her job. No shit, O-Neg is the universal donor. Do I look like I just graduated Kindergarten?

"Can we see her?" Sam asks, breathless with anxiety. Dean nudges him, hopes he's communicated that Sammy needs to chill the fuck out. But Sam ignores him altogether.

"One of you." There's an apology in the woman's eyes as she accepts the clipboard back from Dean. "And just for a minute, while she's being prepped for surgery."

She looks at Dean, and he wants to say he'll go. God, he wants to. He needs to see Anna's eyes more than he's ever needed to before. But Sam's a wreck beside him, so he looks over at his brother and says, "Go, Sammy." But if the kid comes back in five minutes still on the verge of panic, Dean's gonna kick his ass.

Sam's gratitude shines vibrantly in his eyes for a second before he practically chases the nurse out of the waiting room.

Dean watches the door swing shut and latch behind them. He sighs heavily, his hand going to his hair again. He's shaking, but he doesn't know if it's nerves or hunger or the aftermath of an adrenaline high. He sits heavily beside his mother, and her hand on his arm feels like a consolation prize.

He tries not to think about how she left them. Tries not to think about how she almost chased Anna out of the friggin bunker and then she left them anyway. Because none of that matters right now. Nothing but Anna matters right now. Anna and the fucking devil on the loose, apparently still with a major hard on for Sam Winchester.