The Inevitable End || Supernatural & Harry Styles

Chapter 6

He groaned, trying to keep his eyes from drifting closed. His lungs burned, needing air. Gasping only sucked in thicker smoke. Sam, I need to get him out of here. Where is Sam? His little brother was the only on his mind, the only thing battling the overwhelming sense of grogginess that swept through him. He couldn't handle much more, Dean knew that.

Even as his insides burned, his pushed himself up off the floor. With watering eyes, he looked around the room. There he was, slumped against the wall, passed out. "Sam," Dean croaked, lurching in his brother's direction. He stumbled, reaching out for the wall. "Come on, Sammy." Crouching down next to Sam, Dean grabbed at him. But Sam didn't move. Dean patted Sam's cheeks, trying to get a reaction out of him. He groaned in frustration as Sam remained limp.

He had to get them out of the house. They didn't have anymore time to spare.

Dean looked at the door and cringed. The first thought that came to mind was to break it down but he knew he was too weak at the moment. No, they wouldn't be getting out through the door. Then he looked at the large window beside it.

With the remaining energy that he had, he made his way across to room to grab the little wooden chair that he had paid no mind to before. His hand grasped the back of it and he heaved it off the ground. Faster, move faster, he thought. He repeated the words in his head like a mantra but his movements stayed at the same sluggish pace.

His limbs felt like they were filled with lead, and every step hurt, but he kept his eyes trained on the window that was now only steps away. With a strangled groan, Dean threw the chair as hard as he could at the window.

The glass shattered and feel across the floor. It crunched under Dean's shoes as he moved towards the window. The cold winter air hit his face and he gasped, finally being able to breathe. The feeling was wonderful but he didn't dwell on it for long. He busted out the rest of the glass with his elbow, to make it easier to climb through. Gasping in one more mouthful of air, he turned back for Sam.

Flames were licking the walls of the living room, and Dean could hear crashing from the back of the house. It was starting to give away. He pushed through the smoke, trying to get to Sam as fast as he could. As he reached him, he swooped down and grabbed onto him. Dean pulled him up, and tried his best to drape him across his shoulder. He only made it three steps towards the window before he fell.

Dean cried out in frustration. He couldn't do it; Sam was too big and he was too weak. He lay on the floor, and watched as the flames crept closer.

He rolled over and his shaky hands pressed against the floor. He was on his knees, and pulling Sam towards him. Then he was on his feet, and dragging Sam towards the window. "Come on, Sammy," he said, his voice wheezing. He hauled up his brother's body, pushing him through the window. He didn't bother trying to be gentle; he didn't have the time or strength for it.

Sam dropped on the ground, outside of the house. Dean followed suit.

The freezing air was a great relief and Dean reveled in it. He gulped the air, his lungs quickly expanding and contracting. He managed to stand, his legs weak, his vision hazy. He looked at Sam, who was softly breathing. He bent his knees slightly, extending his hand so that he could slap Sam's cheek.

He did this once. Twice. Until finally Sam's eyes opened. Even then, Sam was struggling to bring his head up. Dean grunted, dragging his brother down the small hill, a safe distance from the house. He stopped walking, stopped half stumbling and looked at the house behind the hill. The rooftop had collapsed, the walls next in line.

He stood there for a few minutes, as he watched Sam slowly sit up. Dean was panting, both from the lack of air and for the strain dragging Sam had brought to his body. He spent half of his life on the road. He never really exercised and it was obvious then more than ever, that it was something he needed.