Title: The Darkness Within
Summary: While Sam comes down with the flu, an old acquaintance from the past stirs up trouble of a different kind. Sick!Sam. Protective!Dean. Hurt!Boys.
Warnings: K+ for mild violence and bad language.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything related to the show.
The Darkness Within
by Titivillus
The steady rumble of the Impala's engine was calming him; a familiar lullaby that had soothed his soul for far longer than he could remember.
Dean had the radio tuned low on some country rock station so as not to wake his dozing brother and hummed along to Stevie Nicks' Landslide, fingers tapping the steering wheel in beat with the song.
The sun was tinged an unusual orange as it began to set behind the horizon, burning a bright hole into the darkening sky and Dean felt the adrenaline rush that came from a job gone well slowly ebb away into calm serenity as they left their latest hunt in the rearview mirror.
He had his baby boozed up, an empty road stretched out in front of him and a sleeping Sammy on the passenger seat.
Life was good.
Smiling softly, Dean threw his brother a fond look, watching the way Sam rested comfortably against the jacket he had bunched up against the cool glass of the car window, features smoothed out in relaxation as he succumbed to the bone-deep weariness that came from digging up graves and spending sleepless nights doing research in a lousy motel room.
At least it had been worth it, Dean reasoned with a soft smile on his lips- thinking about the 8-year-old Tom Simons they had saved during their latest salt-and-burn, the youngest member of a six-person family, who had been unfortunate enough to get targeted by the kind of restless soul that was looking for a new playmate and came pretty close to making Tommy one for eternity.
Thank god they had been there in time to prevent it.
Dean didn't want to imagine what the angry spirit would have done to the cute blue-eyed boy if they hadn't taken the time to detour to Wisconsin on nothing but a hunch.
Sometimes their job was fulfilling in a way that nothing else in the world could ever be.
Looking into the teary eyes of the Simons' faces as they embraced little Tommy, relief and gratitude for not having lost their youngest son to the vengeful spirit, had once again reinforced Dean's confidence in what he was doing,- in what they were doing.
Because even if it wasn't always easy, their lives found purpose in saving innocents from the darkness that lurked beyond every corner and in a way, that was all the reassurance Dean would ever need to know they were doing the right thing.
However, despite their successful hunt, Dean had noticed quite early on into the job, that something was a little off with his brother.
His first clue had been Sam's uncharacteristic reticence during the past couple of days; the kid had barely talked to him and even refused to question Tommy's relatives in favor of doing research in the library.
Now that alone hadn't been enough to send Dean's alarm bells ringing because while Sam usually took over the interviews of witnesses due to his girly and empathetic nature, the kid was also a notorious bookworm and never passed up an opportunity to dig his nose into old manuscripts and dusty tomes.
What had been definite reason for concern, however, was the way he had found Sam asleep over one of said tomes about 2 hours after having dropped him off at the library.
At first Dean had been annoyed by his brother's recklessness- because letting your guard down and falling asleep in public while we're in the middle of a hunt, what the hell have you been thinking, Sammy?- but that was until he noticed the ghostly pallor of his brother's skin and the fine shean of sweat that was glistening on his forehead and the puzzle pieces were finally clicking into place.
"Why haven't you told me you were getting sick?"
"I don't… I didn't think—"
Dean had snorted at his brother's muttered attempt of an excuse before gently pulling Sam's body up from his seat and dragging him out of the stuffy room, supporting him with mild exasperation at the way Sam's coltish legs wobbled with each step.
"That's right you didn't think… you don't get to go on a hunt when your head's not in the game, remember?"
It had been one of the earliest things their Dad taught them.
Never do a job when you're not feeling up to it. It would only end up getting you killed.
Well Sam had apparently forgotten all about that when he decided that a fever of 99 constituted as a well-enough condition to go up against a vengeful spirit.
In the end, Sam had pumped himself full of pills and followed Dean out to the graveyard, despite his brother's strict orders to stay in bed at their motel du jour and rest up.
Turned out it was good he did, because Dean had been in kind of a tight spot until Sam appeared with tousled hair and a murderous expression on his pallid skin, wielding a steel pipe and looking like he had just fled from the loony bin.
They had salted and burned the bones together, with Dean having to stop the car twice on their way to the graveyard and Sam throwing up whatever he had been eating the previous couple of days, which had been way too little for a man his size to begin with, if you asked Dean.
Now that the hunt was finally finished, all Dean wanted to do was find a nice motel somewhere- maybe they could even afford something with half-decent mattresses for a change, despite the fact that their credit cards were stretched thin- and get Sammy back to his healthy, salad-eating, knowledge-sprouting, back-talking, bitch-facy self.
But of course, things could never be that easy with them, could they?
About 10 miles down the road, one of their old phones started buzzing in the glove compartment, causing Sam to jerk awake with a sleepy noise of confusion, heavy-lidded eyes sluggishly tracking his older brother's movements as Dean dug the vibrating phone out between some old case files and burger wrappers.
He pulled the car onto a side lane and stopped.
Sam slurred something into his jacket, only half-aware of his surrounding through his haze of pill-induced confusion and weariness.
Dean spread a comforting hand against Sam's back, wincing slightly at the hotness radiating from his brother's skin and sighed. "It's alright. Go back to sleep."
That was all the reassurance Sam needed, as his eye-lids drooped closed again and he snuggled back into his jacket, breath evening out again.
Dean shook his head before refocusing his attention onto the buzzing phone in his hand. The small display read Unknown Caller and Dean took the call without giving it a second thought.
"Yeah?"
"Dean, that you, buddy?" a dark voice croaked from the other end of the line and Dean frowned- both at the unfamiliar ring to it, as well as the weird belittlement the stranger had used- because seriously, 'buddy'?
Dean was a grown-ass, put-the-fear-of-god-into-you hunter going on forty- even when the realization sent a shiver of ice-cold fear and denial down his spine- and the times where anybody had any right to call him buddy were long over.
"And who would want to know that?" he asked suspiciously, eyebrows furrowed in mild aggravation.
The stranger snickered down the line. "It is you, isn't it? Man, it's good to hear your voice after so many years... Almost thought you didn't make it there for a while until that old good-fer-nothing mechanic gave me your new number—"
Dean's eyes narrowed at the disrespectfulness towards Bobby; he had always taken offense to anybody daring to utter a single word against his family.
But on the other hand, the stranger had just given his identity away. Dean knew there was only a couple of people who would talk like that about a fellow hunter and confederate.
"Brixon…" Dean sighed, conjuring up his last memory of the gruff-looking hunter in his mind.
Murphy Brixon was the oldest son of an old acquaintance of their dad's.
Back in the days, when Sam and him had still been teens, their fathers had sometimes taken them along on some of the hunts he did together with Brixon- probably due to the eerie resemblance between their families- with both fathers being single parents to two boys while their wives had been victims to the supernatural.
What their dad probably hadn't realized at that time, was that neither Sam nor Dean had gotten along very well with the Brixon boys, despite their shared fate and the resemblance in age.
There had just always been something off about these two- especially the older brother Murphy had set Dean's teeth on edge.
Maybe it was the way he had treated his younger brother that had rubbed Dean the wrong way- always making fun of him and calling him names- and not in a playful way either… Not like the joyous banter between him and Sam but more vicious- causing the younger boy to run off and cry on more than one occasion during their time together.
Dean still remembered that one particular incident, where Murphy had purposefully tripped his younger brother Jim and caused him to fall head-first into a ditch in the woods.
The kid had thankfully come out of the accident relatively unscathed, but Dean would never forget the way Jim had looked at his older brother with tears in his eyes afterwards- as if to silently ask why he was treated with such coldness and cruelty by someone who was supposed to love and protect him.
It was Dean who had comforted the kid then, gently examining the bloody scrapes on Jim's hands and face from where the tree branches nicked his skin.
His face grew somber at the memory, lips thinning out in dismay as he sent his own brother a brief glance and idly wondered how anybody could treat their family that way, especially knowing that they were the only constant- the only good thing in their life.
"What do you want, Murphy?" Dean asked in a low voice, trying to keep his tone down for Sam's sake, even when he wanted to scream at the bastard for being so heartless.
"Why so cold, Dean?" Brixon asked on an inhale of air and Dean figured the guy still hadn't dropped his nasty habit of chain-smoking. "Gotta say, I expected you to be a little more welcoming after our last gig together… Saved your scrawny ass back then, you remember that?"
Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes before releasing it.
Oh he remembered alright.
About six or seven years ago, during the time Sam spent at Stanford, Dean had worked another case with Murphy for lack of a better substitute. It was a two-guy job; no way around that and after having called every name in the book in his unsuccessful search for a hunting partner, Murphy had been the only one to agree to help him out.
Long story short, Dean had messed up.
He had been in a really dark place at that time, with his dad doing solo-hunts and being even more absent from his life than ever before and Sammy having left for California, supposedly never coming back.
And to be truthful, Dean hadn't really cared if he made it out of the hunt alive or not, figuring he had nothing to lose.
If it hadn't been for Murphy on that fateful night, Dean would be dead. So much was for freaking sure.
And that meant Dean owed Murphy, even if he didn't like the guy.
It was part of the hunter's code. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours and all that… Never leaving things untied.
"I take it you wanna call in a favor?" Dean hazarded.
"Quick on the uptake, aren't you? Always knew you were sharp as a knife, Dean-o," Murphy's smoky voice cackled into the phone and Dean's free hand tightened around the steering wheel in annoyance.
They had only just finished a job and Sam was sick as a dog. Another hunt was about the last thing they needed right now. But maybe, if it was something manageable he could finish up in a couple of days and get this over with quickly.
"What kind of job are we talking here?"
"Does it matter?" Murphy asked snidely. "I saved your ass and you'll return the favor. If the reputation you and that brother of yours built up over the years is anything to go by, you pretty much hacked and slayed your way through all evil sons of bitches out there anyways… Shouldn't really matter which one we're up against now, right?"
Dean's features twisted uncomfortably at the derision in Murphy's tone. He wouldn't let that bastard blackmail him into help. "Alright, listen up Brixon. You helped me out when nobody else did and I appreciate that, man, I do. But if there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I only ever work on my own terms. So you're gonna tell me what we're up against or you can go screw yourself."
There was a second filled with tense silence and Dean could almost feel Murphy bristling over the line.
"Fine. It's a fucking vamp nest, east of Milwaukee. I'll send you the coordinates right after the call is ended," the guy hissed, breathing heavily into the phone. "And if you're half the man your father used to be, you'll get your ass there and show that you have some spine."
Then as in afterthought, he added "Oh and don't forget to bring Sammy along. Me and the princess haven't seen each other in way too long, seems to me we got some catchin'-up to do. What do ye' say?"
Dean's blood started to boil at the mention of his brother and the teasing way the hunter had talked about him. Because while it was hard enough to see Murphy treat his own brother degradingly, Dean certainly wouldn't let the bastard do the same to his brother.
"I'll be there, asshole. But the second those vamps are iced, I want you to lose my number, you got that?"
"Loud and clear."
The line went dead and Dean shut the phone closed with a stormy look on his face, heart thundering uncomfortably in his chest.
Sam murmured something in his sleep, looking all but four-years old with the way his auburn tufts were glued to his sweaty forehead and the way his cheeks were flushed with fever.
Dean pulled out of his jacket, spreading it carefully over his brother's shoulders and cranked up the heat before he steered the Impala back onto the oncoming lane, heading for Milwaukee.
"Dean you can't be serious…" Sam protested softly from where he was leaning against the head board of the motel bed, propped up on two pillows and swathed in three blankets and looking for all intents and purposes like hell warmed over.
Dean barely spared him a glance, as he methodically packed his duffle with a machete and two ampules filled with dead-man's blood.
"I owe him my life, Sam…"
"So what?" Sam challenged angrily and then grimaced when raising his voice turned out to be not such a good idea with the way his throat was all sensitive and swollen. "The guy is nuts… I don't want you going off to help him by yourself, Dean."
"Well tough," Dean sighed and dropped the sawed-off he was holding to the pile of weapons before looking up to shoot Sam a look over his shoulder. "Cause there's no way you can make it through that hunt in the condition you're in and I don't want a repeat of last night with you throwing up every two meters and barely able to hold yourself up on your feet."
A flicker of hurt and embarrassment rushed over Sam's features and Dean felt a pang of guilt for his harsh words. It wasn't his little brother's fault that he was sick.
"You didn't complain about me being there when I saved your ass from that spirit."
The look of hurt on Sam's face quickly morphed into a bitchy pout and Dean cursed under his breath before turning to sit down on the edge of his own bed, right across from his sick brother.
"Look," he exhaled slowly, wanting to make his brother understand. "I'm not trying to start a fight here, Sam. Am I glad you saved my bacon? Sure, hell yeah, I am. But the chances that you can pull the same stunt twice, being sick like that- they're low, even with me watching your back. So if you come along, I'll be too distracted to take care of myself and one of us will end up getting hurt."
Sam pouted some more, clearly unwilling to be rational about this and Dean rolled his eyes before pushing up from the bed and grabbing his jacket from the wooden hat stand next to the door. "Besides…" he added with his trademark smile, crouching down to lace his boots. "It's just a vamp nest. Nothing we haven't done before, right?"
Sam didn't look appeased. Sniffing miserably, Sam toyed with a loose thread on one of the blankets he was covered up with and pursed his lips. "And what if I'm getting worse and you're not here?"
Dean frowned at that, immediately recognizing his brother's ploy for what it was. Because while Sam loved to point out that he was Mr. Independent and a grown-up who deserved to be treated like an equal, he always seemed to revert to his twelve-year-old self when he got sick and became unbearably clingy.
Add to that the fact, that his brother knew which buttons to press to get Dean to do something and voila…
"Don't play that freaking card on me, Sam," Dean scolded, causing Sam's cheeks to flare bright red with more than just fever. "You know I wouldn't leave you alone like this, if this wasn't important. I owe the guy my life, dude. That's gotta be worth something, right?"
Sam still looked reluctant, but eventually he nodded in response to the question, still not looking up from the blanket to meet Dean's gaze.
"Alright so…" Dean sighed, grabbing his duffle from the kitchen table. "I put some Vicodin on your nightstand next to the glass of water, but you gotta wait about two more hours before the other one wears off enough for you to take it. There's some chicken broth on the counter, if you want any and…some cough drops for your throat."
Sam nodded along dutifully with Dean's motherhenning, looking more miserable with each second that passed.
God, but it was hard to leave the kid like that…
Twenty something years and Dean still felt that same heart-wrenching fear every single time something was wrong with the kid. He wondered if that would ever change and then shook his head at the stupidity of the thought- because deep down Dean knew he could be 90-years old and sitting in a wheelchair, while still fussing over how Sam's wrinkled 86-year old self looked a little too pale for his liking…
Biting his lip, Dean hoisted the duffle bag a little higher on his shoulder and pocketed his fully-charged phone with a last meaningful look at Sam. "You call me if something happens, okay?"
Sam nodded.
"Sammy, I mean it. You coughing up blood or breaking down in the bathroom or something else… you better be calling me or I'm gonna kick your scrawny ass when I come back, got me?"
Because his kid brother's safety was way more important than getting all quid pro quo with an asshole like Brixon. And Sam had to know that Dean would be dropping everything and hightailing it back to that motel if his little brother needed him by his side.
"Yeah," Sam breathed with a barely-there smile, pulling the blankets higher around his shivering shoulder as he settled back against the pillows. "I got you, Dean. Just… promise to be careful out there, okay? I don't trust Brixon."
Dean bit back his response, not wanting to let on that yeah, in fact he didn't trust the guy either… because Sam really didn't need that extra agitation.
"Be back in a few hours, Sammy. Get some rest, alright?"
He was out the door before Sam got a chance to answer.
TBC...
Guys, this is gonna be a short one... probably two-shot. I got it all sketched out already- so it hopefully won't take me too long to finish. Please tell me what you thought! Reviews make me happy :)