The sun was climbing up the sky. Red and orange colors tainting the morning sky. Pink, yellow. Purple and dark blue higher in the sky. They were beautiful colors to everyone, except to Dean.
The young hunter stared at the sky with gritty eyes, and frowned.
He was drained, exhausted and most of all he was edgy. He glanced at the occupied motel bed on the other side of the room. On top of it laid a heap.
Dean sighed and threw the washcloth he had been holding on the sink, before walking back to the bed.
His little brother had curled in himself and his eyes were pressed shut. Little gasps coming from his slightly parted lips.
Dean closed his eyes for a split second and sat down on Sam's bed. When he opened them again he saw one hazel eye, glassy and dull, scrutinizing him.
Sam moved his head a bit so he could watch Dean with his good eye, for the other one was swollen shut.
'D'n? Y-You d..doin'..alr..alright?' Sam whispered with a feeble voice.
Dean gave a little eye-roll.
'Dude, it ain't me you should be worried about. You on the other hand…Looks like you had a fight with Rocky Balboa, and lost…'
The corner of Sam's mouth twitched and he blinked to keep his weary eyes open.
'Sam, just close your eyes.' Dean sighed and put a warm callused hand on Sam's shoulder. He knew nothing useful would come from Sam's mouth.
'Oh well…the one that isn't closed already.'
Dean smirked before getting serious again. He watched Sam's eyes fluttering close.
He carded through Sam's long hair. The brown bangs damp from sweat. He let his hand rest on Sam's feverish brow before getting up.
Dean flopped onto his own bed and watched the sleeping form of Sam. His thoughts going back to the past events.
He remembered the ghost they had been hunting. The spirit of Amelia Eire. Cruelly murdered by her husband. She had started haunting her husband until the poor bugger had hung himself. Proves him right, Sam had said. Anyways, the husband called Peter Nash, was dead and the locals had found his body. They had dragged him out of the house with some difficulties. The locals swore that they had seen an appearance. The shade had looked like Amelia. Who had start throwing vases and other stuff at the locals.
Well, the random information wasn't important. They just needed to know where the bones had been buried so they could salt 'n burn the body and put the spirit to rest.
They had went to the house and investigated the ramshackle building. Well Sam had. Dean had been looking around in the yard. He hadn't find a tombstone or such thing so he returned back to the house to find Sam lying on the floor, bloody and battered.
His brother had been unconscious and whatever Dean tried, he couldn't rouse his brother. As quick as he could he had searched for the bones and when he had found them he had torched them without a second thought. He didn't even honor the flame, as he used to do. None of that stuff was important now, not when Sam was hurt. So he had dragged Sam back to the Impala and had drove back to Motel.
Dean had been tending for his brother as good as possible and finally after 10 long minutes Sam had stirred.
Dean could jump into the air, because he had been on tenterhooks. Sam had been slurring and garbling and Dean couldn't make up any of this, so he had been waiting for Sam to rouse completely.
And that's where they were now.
Dean arose again and paced to the window, eyeing the upcoming sun with a glare.
All those colors…the red and purple, and blue and yellow. For some, incredible crazy reason, those colors reminded him of the bruises that were marring Sam's body. For now the angry welts were a flushed red and dark where the skin was torn. But they would turn into a color palette next day.
There was nothing serious though, well as far as he could tell. And Dean had been examining Sam as good as possible. Sam's whole abdomen, chest and back was covered with large bruises. On some places the battered skin was broken. But they were only bruises. No broken ribs or ruptured organs whatsoever.
Dean scoffed.
Sam would be sore as hell as soon as he woke up and felt the pain.
However, Dean wasn't completely sure if the huge-ass bruises were the only injuries Sam suffered from. He would have to wait until Sam was lucid.
Speaking of which…
Dean turned around and shot the multi-colored sky another glare as he headed back to Sam.
The sleep had pulled his little brother into deep oblivion. Sam was still curled onto his side.
Dean sighed and outstretched Sam's long and gangly legs. Sam groaned but didn't wake up. His little brother would be thankful though. Sam would totally cramp up if he remained laying like that.
Dean checked the nasty discolored splotched on Sam's abdomen before rearranging the blanket.
He put a hand on Sam's forehead and frowned as he felt that Sam's brow was warmer than usual. It wasn't that warm so Dean let it be for what it was.
Sam needed some rest. And hells, he could use some rest too.
Dean checked if Sam didn't need anything before crashing on his bed yet once again.
They had been investigating the house the whole night and when he came back, dragging an unconscious Sam into the motel room, it was starting to dawn.
Dean emitted a sigh as his eyes drifted close.
~*~
Sam opened his eyes and cringed as the morning sun shone on his face. He turned his face away and groaned as he felt how heavy and terribly sore his body was.
'Sammy? You ready to wake up now?'
Sam's eyes flicked open as he heard the familiar voice.
'D'n?' he muttered and slowly turned back around.
The sunlight was blocked by his older brother. It was as if Dean had a halo around him.
'Is the sunlight too sharp for your eyes? You want me to close the curtains?' Dean asked, masking his concern with mock.
Sam swallowed and nodded, a little smile flashing over his bruised and battered face. He closed his eyes as the sun beams threatened to flash into his eyes yet again.
Dean was in mother-hen mode. Like always when he was hurt.
Ah. That explained why he was feeling so sore. His brain didn't initialize all the pain until now.
The room darkened as Dean closed the blinds. Sam reopened his eyes and saw Dean approaching him.
His older brother sat down on a chair and put his elbows on his knees, hands hanging in the middle, a worried look in those green eyes.
'You okay now?' he asked.
Sam nodded and smiled slightly, assessing Dean's face with his one good eye. The other one, he had noticed, was shut for some reason.
He was still wondering why he felt like a piece of roadkill, but slowly the past events from yesterday were coming back.
He remembered the old mansion and the ghost they were looking for. Dean had went outside and he had searched in the house. He remembered that he had heard something before he was pushed off the stairs. Not just once, but five times. He must have passed out the fifth time. Sam frowned as he couldn't completely understand what had happened.
Dean must have seen the frown and bent forwards.
'What's wrong, Sam? Are you in pain?' he queried and was getting up to grab some painkillers.
'No it's okay, nothing I can't handle.' Sam muttered.
His back was killing him however and he had to take a leak. Urgently.
So he propped himself upright; well he tried.
A sharp pain shot through his abdomen and ribs. He hissed loudly as tears sprang in his eyes.
'Sonuvabitch.' He cursed through clenched teeth.
Dean saw Sam moving and immediately slumping back in pain.
'Sam? You okay?' he asked worried as he got up and held Sam's shoulders.
'Dude, I'm awesome.' Sam retorted, eyes still closed.
Dean arched his eyebrows. Sam was bitchy, so he must be in a lot of pain.
'Sam, why the sudden need to get up?' Dean asked as he placed a hand on Sam's forehead to check if his brother didn't have a fever.
Stupid, he thought, you don't get fever when having bruises. Dean rolled his eyes and removed his hand.
'Nature calls.' Sam huffed and eyed Dean.
'Oh.'
Sam smirked and tried again to get up.
'Dude, hold your horses for a minute. Let me help you, okay?' Dean pulled the blanket off of Sam's legs and looked at Sam.
'We're gonna do this nice and slowly. Just tell me when it hurts.'
Sam laughed humorless as he propped himself up yet again. Dean helped him sitting upright. Sam closed his eyes for a split second.
'Dude what has happened?' he asked through clenched teeth.
Dean grinned and eyed Sam.
'I thought maybe you could tell me.'
Sam stopped for a moment to take a breath and glanced at Dean. He wanted to say something but shook his head. He started to get up on his feet.
Dean held Sam by his elbow and waist. He frowned as his little brother swayed heavily.
'You good?'
Sam nodded as perspiration formed on his forehead. He took one shaky step and another one and another one…
He was completely drained by the time they entered the bathroom. Dean sat Sam on the toilet and looked at him.
'You need help?' he asked concerned as he saw Sam's pale face.
Sam's head shot up.
'Dude?' he snapped.
Dean held his hands in surrender.
'Don't bite my head off, kiddo!' he said and walked outside. 'Call me when you have finished your business.' He closed the door but let it ajar.
'Whatever.' He heard Sam grumbling.
~*~
Dean supported Sam as they walked back to the bed. Sam's whole body was shivering and sweat was trickling down his face. Little pants escaped from his pale lips.
Dean was worried. The trip to the bathroom had been a real exertion for Sam, and now his little brother was far beyond exhausted. Dean hauled his injured brother back to the cot and carefully lowered Sam onto it.
Sam groaned and his head rolled to the side. He was completely drained, that was for sure.
Dean walked back to the bathroom to retrieve a wet washcloth. He rubbed it over Sam's face as soon as he came back.
'You doing okay, bro?' he asked concerned.
Sam's eyes flicked open and a little smile curled around his lips.
'I'm good.' He muttered and locked his eyes for a second with Dean's before they slid close once again.
Dean sighed and carded through Sam's too long, sweaty bangs. He looked up and glared at the morning sky that shone through the bathroom window. The blue and purple and red…he hated those colors because they reminded him of the bruises and injuries Sam have had. And the ones he had now. It wasn't correct. Sam wasn't supposed to be so hurt. No, he was supposed to be hanging out with his law school-friends instead of being ass-kicked by a stupid ghost.
Dean got up and looked back at his sleeping baby brother. He shook his head and closed the bathroom door. He didn't wanted to see them now. He would be reminded often enough soon, when he needed to tend Sam's injuries.
Red and orange colors were tainting the morning sky. Pink, yellow. Purple and dark blue higher in the sky. They were beautiful colors to everyone, except to Dean. Because those colors reminded him too much of the injuries Sam have had. If only he could take the pain from Sam. He would take them all.