"Sam – a little help here?"
"Sam?"
"What?"
"I need a hand getting out."
"What's the matter dude, you getting old or something?"
Sam held a lanky but solid arm out to his brother and hauled him out of the freshly dug grave, then went back to keeping watch, rock salt loaded shotgun held snug in the crook of his arm.
"Come on, light it up and let's get outta here."
"Yeah, yeah."
Dean liberally squirted lighter fuel all over the decomposed body in the grave and followed that with a lighted match, which he casually flicked into the gaping hole. Flames erupted, lighting up the faces of the brothers – Sam's determined and emotionless – Dean's sweaty and strangely bright-eyed. As the flames died down, Dean and Sam both set to work filling in the soil and firming it down with the backs of their shovels. If Sam noticed his brother's slight limp, he knew better than to mention it.
Things were different by the time they had picked up their stuff and trudged the short distance through the small graveyard and back to the sanctuary of the waiting Impala, gleaming in the moonlight.
"You drive." Dean threw the keys to his brother, who caught them easily. Years of training, honed responses and natural ability wouldn't allow dropping anything thrown to him - despite the shock he felt just then.
"Dean, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, don't fuss. Just caught a splinter in my ankle when I fell through the coffin lid – stings like a bitch."
"Fair enough. I'll take a look at it when we get back."
"It's nothing, I 'll deal with it"
"I know that Dean, but it'll be easier for me to pull it out. You'll have to turn yourself into a pretzel to reach it."
"Whatever."
Sam frowned. It wasn't like his brother to give in to being tended to so easily.
When he pulled up outside the motel room they had booked into earlier that afternoon, the extent of the pain Dean was in had become more apparent. His limp was pronounced and the sheen of sweat he'd had at the graveside was still there. Not just the exertion of digging and refilling the grave it seemed.
Sam carried both duffel bags and had to dump them on the ground as he felt in his jacket pockets for the room key. Dean leaned against the wall, next to the door, eyes half shut, and breathing heavily as though the short walk from the car had winded him.
When Sam got the door open he expected Dean to head straight for the shower, but instead, he limped heavily to the nearest bed and fell back on it with a quiet groan, arm over his eyes.
This isn't normal.
"Dean, I'm gonna take a look at that splinter, okay?"
There was a slight pause before Dean answered.
"Yeah."
Sam waited for Dean to take off his boots and socks. But Dean didn't move, just lay on the bed breathing through his nose… and sweating. Sam started to undo his brother's boots, trying hard to remember when, if ever, he had done this before. Though he could certainly recall many times when Dean had helped him undo his own as a child. It felt strange and any moment he expected Dean to suddenly wake up and shove him away. But he didn't move at all, and Sam had both boots off and was pulling off Dean's socks before there was any reaction.
"Ah!" Dean yanked his leg away. Sam held his breath, expecting a tirade; but apart from pulling his leg up, Dean said and did nothing else.
"C'mon dude, you gotta let me look at it." Sam edged up the bed and very carefully started to roll up the leg of Dean's jeans. Straight away he could see angry red welts and cuts running up from the base of his brother's foot, and on up his shin. No sign yet of a splinter, but the whole ankle was swollen, the skin shiny, taught and red. It looked painful, but nothing that Dean wouldn't have scoffed at as far as injuries went.
Sam fought a rising sense of panic as he looked for the splinter. It wasn't so much that he couldn't find one; it was the way Dean was behaving. He couldn't ever recall Dean reacting so strangely to an injury – hell, he'd broken bones and been stabbed and had bitched and shouted and sworn, but this? This was totally out of character for his tough 'nothing fazes me' big brother.
"Dean, I can't see a splinter, but your ankle is all cut up. I'm gonna clean it up okay?"
"Dean?"
"Sammy?"
"Yeah Dean?"
"Did ya find it?"
"The splinter? No, I just said. I couldn't find one but…"
"It's there Sammy… it hurts… please."
Sam was horrified to see tears spilling down his brother's face.
This is all wrong!
"Uh, Dean, I'm gonna get the first aid stuff okay – I'll be right back."
He disappeared outside and was straight on the phone to Bobby. After giving him a brief explanation of events, Bobby said he was coming. Fortunately, they were fairly close and Bobby wouldn't take more than an hour or so to get there. Meanwhile he got the first aid kit out of the trunk and returned to the room, heart thumping in fear at the inexplicable state of his brother.
Dean was writhing on the bed now, arms curled around himself and groaning into the pillow.
Sam went to him, putting a palm against Dean's forehead. Even without a thermometer, he could feel the heat coming from the sweat-slicked skin.
"Must be an infection."
Sam wasted no time and used surgical scissors to cut up the front of the jeans on the injured leg. Red striations had already moved up Dean's leg, to half way up his thigh. His ankle was now a gruesome purple and red mass, and had swollen so badly, the skin had split and was oozing blood.
"Jesus, how'd it move that fast?"
"Get it out Sammy!"
"Easy Dean!"
Sam went to the bathroom and dampened a towel. Dabbing at Dean's face he tried to reassure him, though he hardly knew what to say, since he was freaking out himself.
He used antiseptic wipes to clean Dean's ankle as best he could, and poured a little holy water on just to be on the safe side. No hissing, that's gotta be good.
Then he smoothed on some antiseptic cream as gently as he could, though Dean seemed to suffer from even the slightest touch, keening into the pillow.
"It's okay Dean. There's no splinter but you've probably got an infection. It's gonna be okay."
Dean rolled over and clutched at Sam's arm, burying his head below it, at Sam's side.
"There is."
"Dean, I can't find a splinter."
"Splinter." Dean barely whispered, before he passed out, legs drawn up and hunched on his side against Sam. The hand that had gripped Sam's arm so tightly, now fell limply across his stomach.
Sam eased himself gently away and off the bed. He opened up his laptop and went back to the research they had done on the job. Something was very badly off and he wasn't sure that a visit to hospital was going to fix this, though he had every intention of calling 911 before much more time passed.
Why was Dean so insistent about a splinter? Sure, his leg had been scraped and cut falling through the coffin lid. It wasn't all that surprising it had got infected, though the speed it was progressing through Dean's system was pretty alarming. But there was no sign of a splinter. Unless it was so small he just hadn't been able to see it with all the swelling. Still seemed odd though.
Sam checked his watch. It was just about an hour since he had called Bobby. Then he went to check on Dean. He was bathed in sweat and breathing rapidly. Looking at his leg, Sam saw that the red lines had now progressed all the way up Dean's thigh and beyond.
"Shit!"
He dialled 911. Minutes later there was a knock on the door. Amazed at the speed of their response, Sam opened the door… to Bobby.
"Oh damn."
"Hi to you too Sam."
"God, sorry Bobby, it's just Dean, he's .. uh, he's bad."
"Doesn't matter. Lemme see him."
"I called for an ambulance."
Bobby was already at Dean's side, fingers at his neck.
"You did the right thing Sam, though I'm guessing Dean won't thank ya for it."
"He keeps talking about a splinter in his ankle, but I couldn't find one."
"A splinter? You were salting and burning?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Let's get Dean to the hospital, and then you and I are going back to the grave."
"You know what's wrong?"
"Yeah, I think so. Only seen it a couple of times before."
A siren and flashing lights announced the arrival of the ambulance. Dean was checked over by the paramedics and Bobby and Sam followed the ambulance to the hospital. After an age, and countless coffees, the two were allowed in to Dean's room.
At the door, Sam took in a rapid breath at the sight of his brother, hardly visible under the array of tubes and wires. Bobby gave him a reassuring nudge.
"Go on."
Sam advanced nervously and sat on the edge of a single chair. Up close Dean looked even worse – paler than he had ever seen him, but worse than that – so still. Dean was never still, or pale, or weak or...
Bobby plucked a tissue from a box next to Dean's bed and offered it to the silently weeping young man, barely able to contain his own tears. He loved these two boys like they were his own.
Sam took the tissue without a word and continued to gaze at the only family he had left.
"He's in good hands Sam."
"Bobby, what if he dies?" Sam lifted a tear-streaked face to his and Bobby nearly unravelled.
"Sam, he isn't gonna die. I swear to you, he won't."
"How do you know? What makes you the expert! You don't know!"
Bobby weathered the outburst. He understood the anguish Sam was feeling. Knew the anger was not directed at him. He wanted to give Sam some time but they really didn't have that luxury.
"Sam, we need to go."
"No! I have to stay here!"
"Sam, if you want to save your brother, you need to help me, I can't do this alone."
"I can't do this alone either – not without him."
"Yeah well, sometimes you'd be surprised what you can do alone."
"What?"
"Nothin. Come on."
Sam cast a look at Dean, lying small, pale and vulnerable on the sterile sheets; almost incidental amidst the machinery keeping tabs on his breathing, his heart rate; his life.
"Don't worry, I'll get that splinter out Dean." Quickly squeezing his brother's hand, he left with Bobby. No one else could have dragged him away from his brother's side.
Dean was on fire. His blood was literally boiling as it raced around his body. In his mind, he could see the lit match arcing into the air before dropping into the grave. And then burning.. burning, god would it ever stop? Please make it stop. Sammy!! But Sammy was leaving. Sammy was walking away – again. Please Sammy! Don't go!
The machines that monitored Dean's life, whirred and beeped into action and a crew of medical staff arrived. Fortunately, Sam knew nothing about it.
"What are we doing Bobby?"
"Sam, are you with me? I mean fully with me?"
Forcing images of his brother back temporarily; Sam took in a breath and focussed.
"Ah, yeah."
"Good. I think this is a transference."
"A what?"
"Something of Dean has transferred – ya know, like swapped, with something from the corpse."
"But we salted and burned, so it's dead."
"No. Sam, some part of it is alive - in Dean. And…"
"The splinter."
"Sam, it's a transference; some part of Dean is keeping the corpse's spirit alive too."
"Two splinters?"
"No. It's nothing tangible, it's likely to be something they both have in common."
"Oh great! Wait till I tell Dean he has something in common with a murderous ghost. He'll love that."
"If the idiot gives you any grief, I'll knock his block off Sam. But right now? We need to sever that tie, okay?"
The medical team left the room. Their patient was stabilised – breathing and brain function was intact. The machines were reset and order was restored.
Sammy! Where are you? Burning! Please Sam. Please. Help me.
Bobby watched, match held ready to light, as Sam read the words over the grave. As soon as he finished Bobby lit the match and tossed it into the now re-dug grave.
"Is that it?"
"Should be."
"So Dean'll be okay now?"
"Think so."
"Bobby?"
"He'll be okay now Sam."
Bobby cast a glance back at the graveyard as he got back into the passenger side of the Impala. He knew it was going to be a short drive back to the hospital – and he was glad. All he had to do was stop Sam speeding and getting them caught by the local cops… and wonder what had swapped between Dean and the corpse.
"Hey Dean."
"Dude, what the hell am I doing here?"
Sam's smile just about split the room.
Bobby was glad Dean was back, but he had a hard time smiling.