Standing Outside the Fire

61

[I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here]

In the Impala, Dean was driving, Sam was passenger, and Francesca was sitting in the back.

Sam frowned. "This makes no sense. I mean, how many angels fell -- hundreds, thousands? And nobody says anything. This is... Look at this. They're calling it a meteor shower. Seriously? What's going on with you, man? Frankie? You guys okay?"

"Me?" Dean asked. "Us? Yes. We're fine. It's just-"

"It's just we got a major freakin' crap fest on our hands. Yeah, tell me about it. Thousands of superpowered dicks touching down, and we got no idea where to start."

Francesca shook her head. "Angels ain't our problem right now, okay? Or demons, or Metatron, or whatever the hell happened to Cas."

Sam glanced between his brother and sister-in-law. "Why? Because we hugged it out in that church and -- and now we're gonna go to Disneyland? Dean, you said it yourself -- we're not gonna sleep till this is done."

"I know," Dean said.

"So, what's the problem?"

"You are. Look, there's no easy way to say this. But, um, something happened back in that church. And we don't know what. We don't know why. You're dying, Sammy."

A heartbeat sounded loudly and Sam retorted, "Shut up."

HOSPITAL ROOM

Sam laid with his eyes closed in a hospital bed. There was a tube in his nose and his arm was strapped to a beeping monitor. Dean and Francesca were seated on either side of his bedside, the latter holding her husband's hand. Dean turned to look at the TV, which showed pictures of the angels falling. The headline read 'Global Meteor Shower'.

Dean and Francesca were looking at medical scans.

The doctor said, "The MRI shows massive internal burns affecting many of the major organs. Oxygen to the brain has been severely deprived. The coma is the result of the body doing everything in its limited power to protect itself from further harm."

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Dean muttered.

"If your brother continues on this trajectory, the machines might keep him alive, but-"

"He'll be dead," Francesca finished.

"Technically, yes. I'm afraid so."

She looked at doctor. "So, there's no chance of recovery? No bounce-back, no nothing?"

"I'm afraid that's in God's hands now."

"You're a doctor," Dean retorted. "You're a medical professional. You're trying to tell us that my brother's life is in God's hands? What, is that supposed to be a-a comfort?"

"Mr. Dougherty-"

"No. God's got nothing to do with this equation."

"I didn't mean-"

"That's not good enough." Dean left the room

Francesca ran after him into the corridor. "Dean?"

"Stay with Sammy. I need some time alone, okay?"

"Okay. I'll let you know if there's any change. Dee, are you okay?"

Dean stared at her with a sad smile. Francesca nodded, understanding and walked back into Sam's room. After a moment, Dean noticed a sign pointing to the hospital's chapel.

He entered and sat down. "Cas, are you there? Sammy's hurt. He's hurt, uh -- he's hurt pretty bad. And, um... I know you think that I'm pissed at you, okay? But I don't care that the angels fell. So whatever you did or didn't do, it doesn't matter, okay? We'll work it out. Please, man, I need you here. We need you here." He looked around and saw six other people, sitting quietly. "Screw it. Okay, listen up. This one goes out to any angel with their ears on. This is Dean Winchester... And I need your help."