Chapter Text
Dean secured his oxygen mask and then placed his helmet on his head. He got a thump on the back from a colleague indicating his oxygen tank and other equipment were in place. He glanced to his left and made eye contact through the thick plastic of his mask with Victor. The man nodded and they headed into the burning apartment building together. Dean carried an ax and Victor had the cordless circular saw to get through deadbolts.
The lights in the lobby were still on, but the smoke was thick enough to obscure almost everything. The fire was more or less contained on the west side of the building, and the other companies on the scene were doing their best to keep it from spreading to the east side or to other nearby buildings. Someone reported they had seen a person on the eighteenth floor on the east end of the building. The cherry picker ladder on their truck could only reach the thirteenth floor, so they had to go up through the building. In theory they should only have smoke to worry about in that wing, so they used their fire key to activate the elevator and ride it up to the eighteenth floor.
Dean nodded to the left side of the long corridor. Victor nodded in understanding and went right. He signed for Dean to stay in eye contact and did a radio check with him after they'd walked five feet away. They banged doors as they walked down the corridor, listening for voices from within. Dean turned knobs and was aggravated that most were locked. He supposed if a fire had to breakout, the middle of a weekday was the best time since most people were out. However, that meant a lot of locked doors behind which he didn't know if they were empty or somebody was trapped inside.
"Winchester," his name crackled in his ear.
"Yeah, go ahead, Vic."
"I've got scratching coming from number 1821. I'm gonna check it out."
"Ten-four. I'm almost done with this hall. I'll come your way and back you up."
Dean pounded on the last door in the hallway on the left, no response. He whacked the one on the right and the door swung inward as it hadn't been closed all the way.
"FDNY," Dean called out loudly. "Is there anyone in here?"
"Over," cough, "over here." The person coughed loudly again.
Dean hustled into the apartment, his adrenaline surging with the surprise at hearing a voice when he had expected none. He quickly managed to tamp down the response and found the man on the floor in the bedroom. He was partially under the bed and Dean dropped his ax and grabbed his legs to pull him out. He squawked and coughed and turned partially over.
"What are you doing?" he demanded, blue eyes flashing and voice raw from the smoke.
"Saving your ass?" Dean snapped. "What are you doing?!" he shouted in dismay as the guy tried to wiggle back under the bed.
"My cat!"
"For fuck's sake," Dean muttered under his breath. He pulled the guy out again and dragged him far enough away that he could drop down to look under the bed. He saw an orange tabby cat bunched in a tight ball against the wall. Its pupils dilated in abject terror when it saw him in his equipment. He reached a hand out and managed to grab its tail as it bolted. It screamed and struggled to get away, but Dean kept his hold. He gave it a tug and it turned around to attack him. His thick coat and gloves prevented him from feeling anything and it enabled him to wiggle backwards and drag the screeching feline with him. He got to his feet and thrust the wild thing into the man's arms. He was coughing nonstop now and Dean made him bend over as they made their way back to the exit.
"Winchester!" Victor yelled in his earpiece. "Where are you?"
"Apartment at the end of the hallway. On my way out now with a breather. And his fucking cat," he muttered.
"Are you at the end of the hall?"
"Yeah." Dean felt the guy lean heavily on him, barely able to keep his feet, but he kept his hold on the panicking tabby.
"Go out the stairs," Victor said as Dean pulled the man through the door and into the smoky hallway.
"There are no stairs at this end. What's up?"
"The fire started in the basement. It made its way up the west side—"
"Yeah, saw that," Dean grunted as he hustled down the long corridor, slowed by the near dead weight of the barely conscious man. But he kept a hold of that fucking cat.
"But the entire basement is engulfed. It went up a duct line on your side and they think the interstitials are compromised."
"It's fine I'm almost—"
Dean felt the floor move before he heard the crack. Then the noise was deafening, his stomach dropped out from under him, his heart leapt to his throat, and heat washed over him. He fell—way too far he fell. He hit something, but kept falling. He had no idea if he was still holding the man and his cat or not. He hit something else and pain exploded across the back of his head. He landed with a crunch and more pain. Something was broken. Something was definitely broken. He couldn't feel anything. His mask was askew and thick smoke was clogging his throat and lungs. Fire burned hot a few yards to his left. There were more deafening noises and he could sense that heavy objects were falling around him. He thought something landed on his legs. But he didn't feel it. Through the fog of pain, he did register that he couldn't feel his legs. He couldn't see anything anymore, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the smoke or if he had his eyes closed—or because he couldn't see anything anymore. The pain, mercifully, started to fade, but it was replaced with nausea. He wanted to throw up, but he couldn't turn over. He gave up. And passed out.