Foresight
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Happy birthday to Sammygirl1963!
Sorry it's a little late, hon.
Enjoy!
AU ending to Benders, season 1.
The kidnap victim is way too much of a hero in Dean's eyes.
Limp/Hero Sam. Angry/pissed/protective Dean.
Warning: Suggestive content. Not suitable for younger readers.
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Officer Hudak trained the weapon on Abraham Bender, and nodded to Sam. "I'll watch him. Go get Dean."
Sam glanced briefly between the cop and his former captor, more than a little uncertain about the wisdom of leaving an armed grieving sister, standing guard over one of her brother's murderers with a high powered hunting rifle.
But Dean was his priority right now.
His head still ached from the vision, body a little shaky. Fighting off the Bender brothers' hadn't helped and Sam was amazed he'd managed to keep it together, when all he wanted was to get to the house.
Dean...
Shocked, wide eyes stared out sightlessly...
Blood, dark red and pulsing...
Sam had seen what would happen to his brother, and he was determined to stop it.
Leaving the barn, and his cage, behind, Sam ventured out towards the main house quiet as a panther, shivering lightly in the damp night air. It seemed just a little too still for his peace of mind, but he mounted the veranda and slid gracefully inside the house.
Hearing voices from a room nearby, Sam slunk over and listened with growing horror. He'd already seen it, knew what was happening behind the door, but the sound of his brother in pain was killing him.
"Sonofabitch!" his older brother's painful hiss stopped short of a full blown howl. The vision had been clear cut, but hearing this... it still flipped all of Sam's protective switches, and the blood boiled in his veins.
He lunged through the doorway, taking control, grasping the element of surprise. He ignored Dean tied to a chair, the scent of burnt flesh tingling his nostrils, but when he saw Dean's tormentor Sam almost hesitated. Even having seen this already, it still shocked the hell out of him.
She's just a fucking kid!
But a kid holding a knife smeared with Dean's blood.
Ain't that just the smoking gun...
"Sammy?" his brother sounded exhausted, but it didn't stop him from pointing out the obvious. "Be careful..."
"Yeah, I know..." Sam ground out, just as the girl lunged at him, the knife narrowly missing his heart as he leapt backwards. Inwardly he felt a little smug. Foresight was definitely a useful gift, even if it hurt like a bitch.
Sam had seen child ghosts go mad after centuries of being trapped on Earth, their tortured souls becoming vicious and malevolent through loneliness and fear, eventually needing a helpful nudge to set them free.
But a live human child...
Sneaking a peek at the cuts on Dean's neck, Sam felt his anger stir once again. The girl was just as fucked up as the rest of her family.
Fucked up by them.
In one swift move, he swung round, grabbed the girl and knocked the knife from her grasp. Wrapping both arms around her, pinning her hands, Sam dragged the kid out of the room. Taking no notice of the violent kicking and snapping jaws, and ignoring the animal-like snarls, Sam's eyes searched quickly for what he needed.
The cupboard under the stairs.
Very Harry Potter.
He wasted no more time, just opened the door, then gently but firmly shoved the kid inside. Slamming the door shut again, Sam grabbed a chair and wedged it under the knob, effectively locking up the little wild cat.
"Dean?" Sam strode back to his brother, knelt down and gently palmed Dean's pale face. "You ok? Are you hurt?"
Dean glared at him, eyes a little dazed. "Just peachy, no thanks to you!" he yanked at the ropes tying him the chair. "Get me out of here so I can kick your ass!"
And muttered angrily "stupid little brothers… stupid freakin' freaks...!"
Sam shook his head, smirking lightly, and began untying his angry brother. He'd been expecting this; Dean was pissed as hell because Sam got himself kidnapped.
Again. Since being back in the hunt, Sam had been taken prisoner by a Woman in White, a shapeshifter (twice on the same case), and a ghost in their old house, Lawrence, Kansas.
But it was all a front. Sam heard every word for what it really meant; a kind of Winchester code.
Thank God you're alive.
As soon as the ropes were gone, Sam eyed his brother worriedly. He was in no particular hurry; as it stood, even with the open door, the brother's were trapped in the room. Sam's wonderful foresight suggested their only exit was already being watched.
"That shoulder looks bad," he commented, awaiting the inevitable sarcasm.
"Red hot poker's will do that," Dean supplied it more than willingly, and Sam winced. The wound was still smoking and had to be hurting him something awful.
Sam gently grasped Dean's forearms and pulled him to his feet. "I'll take care of that as soon as we're out of here…" he spoke softly, and made to slide an arm round his brother, ready to take his weight should he waver.
He missed Dean's eyes widening at something over his shoulder, body tensing up.
Dean couldn't get the words out quick enough.
"S-Sam!"
Sam heard the scuffle from behind but instead of moving, he clasped his brother to him and held on tight.
A loud shot rang out a fraction of a second later.
Sam gasped, his body jerked, and listed sideways.
The only thing Dean could do for Sam was to hold him up. No way was his little brother lying on that filthy carpet. Dean wouldn't taint him like that. Instead, he sank to his knees with Sam sprawled across his lap.
Sam blinked at him a few times and frowned in bewilderment, mouth working but no sound emerged, and then his body went slack in Dean's arms, head rolling forward onto Dean's shoulder.
"Sammy!" Dean adjusted his grip to stare into Sam's face. The boy's eyes were rolling helplessly in their sockets, filled with pain and shock. Dean could feel the small puffs of air on his chin as Sam struggled to breathe. A hand at the kid's back felt warm viscous fluid soaking his tee shirt. "Sam?"
Dean pressed down on the wound to slow the bleeding, and Sam whimpered in pain, bucking weakly, trying to struggle away.
"Dammit Sam, just hold still…"
Laughter from the doorway reminded Dean of their nasty surprise.
There was one more Bender.
And the dude was just as ugly as the rest of his fucked up tribe.
He stood inside the lounge doorway, rifle trained on the brothers with a disturbing eagerness.
"Aw, ain't that sweet," he jeered, his grin a combination of yellowed rotting teeth, and a lecherous intent many sex offenders would be proud of. "Poor little brother… so sad. Ya know, we were hoping for a little fun with the boy? Mebbe you were too, huh?" his voice grew patronising. "Did I take him out too soon? Now that's a damn shame. How 'bout you and me have some fun instead?" He grabbed his crotch suggestively.
For the first time in years, Dean could actually feel his skin crawl.
"You must be the stud of the family, huh? The looker?" he managed to get passed his gag reflex. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass."
"Sam… my back pocket." he whispered in Sam's ear "just hold on for me, Sam. Stay with me…"
Sam stirred, eyes fluttering open, and just stared up at him for a long moment.
The slight nod told Dean his brother wasn't giving up.
"Good boy."
"So what now?" Dean said aloud. He could feel Sam's arm snake round his waist, shaking hand sliding into his rear jean pocket. "You shoot us both? Pull out our teeth, store the family jewels in a pickle jar? What?"
The grin never faltered. "'ventually, yeah."
The last remaining Bender – bar one; Dean remembered the girl – risked a sloppy, slouching pace forward, and Dean realised he had quite a profound limp.
That explained why he hadn't seen him before. This guy – animal – didn't hunt with the rest of the family. He was likely their butcher and chef, too slow to do much else. Probably spent his time in the basement chopping up meat for storage…
Ok. Let's not go there.
Dean felt Sam's arm move slowly back, hand slipping weakly into his before falling limp at his side, leaving behind the cool metal of Dean's Zippo.
"Good boy," Dean whispered again, and felt a little better when Sam acknowledged his soft praise with a weak smile, even if his eyes remained closed.
"But first, I'm gonna cut off your fingers, one by one, have me some boiled human hot dogs with chilli sauce…" the Butcher began a lengthy description of what he planned to cook and eat next, and Dean was grateful that the bad guy liked the sound of his own voice. It gave him time to get the lighter fluid from inside his jacket pocket.
It immediately became evident, from the screaming pain in his shoulder that Dean was going to have to break his earlier silent promise to Sam.
The carpet wasn't getting any cleaner. But it was their only shot.
Luck was on their side because the Butcher slouched a little closer, just within range.
Dean dropped Sam, the kid landing with a harsh grunt on the floor, and liberally sprayed lighter fluid in the Butcher's face. The very human monster howled in pain, scrubbed furiously at his eyes with one hand and reached out blindly with the other, trying to grab at his prey.
Before he could stagger any closer, Dean let lose with the Zippo, and the howling turned to horrifying screeching as the guy's clothes and hair caught light instantly. But still it didn't stop the bastard.
He swayed forward, lurching, cutting off the brothers' only escape, and Dean feared he and Sam were both getting crispy fried along with this freak.
Maybe it wasn't such a great idea after all…
Movement from the doorway followed by another loud retort and the burning Bender hit the carpet, a large exit hole out the side of his head.
Officer Hudak lowered the rifle, eyes hard with anger, then ripped a curtain down from a nearby window and proceeded to smother the flames before they could spread.
Dean didn't wait another second before he was down on his knees and dragging Sam back off the carpet. He idly wondered if he would turn into a neat freak just like Sam after this, or if it was just the carpet he was developing an obsessive hatred for.
"I'm gonna call it in," Hudak swung round to face the brothers. "How is he?" she gestured to Sam.
The older brother glanced up, eyes heavy with worry and fatigue. "Hurt pretty bad. Can't say for certain but I think the bullet's lodged in a lung. Least he ain't coughing up blood. Yet."
Hudak nodded. "I'll get right on it. Shouldn't take them long to get an ambulance out here."
"Sammy?" Dean patted his cheek, praying for a response. "Can ya hear me? C'mon talk to me."
Sam eyes opened to slits, his mouth moving, trying to talk but the effort was stealing too much strength from his body.
"Scratch that. No talking. Just nod if you're with me."
Sam nodded slowly.
Dean grinned.
"Ok, just try not to bleed too much, huh?" But the desperate squeeze to Sam's shoulder, the subtle shift as Dean held him tighter suggested the humour was just another front in the Winchester family code.
Ya gonna be fine… keep fighting, kiddo.
Sam's lips curled up at the corners, offering a weak smile, the only reassurance he could give. It hurt to move, to breathe; even thinking was painful.
It didn't do much to reassure Dean, however, who could still feel the warmth of his brother's blood soaking through Sam's thin shirt, even as he tried his best to halt the flow. He pressed harder on the wound, and the kid's eyes flew wide open accompanied by a loud grunt of pain, his back arching in Dean's tight hold.
"Shit!" Dean swore loudly, and tightened his arms a little more to keep him still. "Yeah I know it hurts, but I gotta stop the bleeding... and you gotta stop moving! C'mon... lay still... losing too much blood..."
Sam could barely make out the rest of Dean's words; mouth gaping, gasping for breath, he blinked a few times, wondering at the way his vision was blackening round the edges.
"Sam... Sammy... up... with me... stay...
A dark cold crept through his body, seeped into his bones, seeming to burrow its way down to the marrow like a parasite, sucking the very life out of him.
Gazing up into Dean's scared face, Sam blinked once more and slowly moved his lips.
S'ok.
Unable to stay awake but unwilling to let go, the pain soon became too much and the choice was taken from him.
Sam lost consciousness, leaving his brother frantically clinging on to him.
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Officer Hudak appeared beside Dean a short while later, producing a small first aid kit.
"Paramedics'll be here soon, but I figured sterile gauze might help prevent infection and control the bleeding, maybe encourage it to clot."
Dean nodded and placed a hand under Sam's neck, rolling his little brother until he was plastered to Dean's chest, exposing the bullet wound. Sam's arms hung down limply, his body lax and unmoving, nose buried under Dean's chin.
Ignoring his silent tears, Hudak began to wrap something soft and warm around the older brother's shoulders, then set about patching up the younger man.
Cutting carefully up the back of Sam's shirt, the cop swore softly when she caught sight of the wound.
The skin around the entry wound was badly torn up, and a stomach churning glimpse of shredded muscle gleamed red in the dim light of the room.
Little wonder he passed out. Poor kid.
Hudak hated to think just what state the kid's lung and ribcage were in, and frankly, now she'd seen the extent of the damage, it was a miracle Sam had survived at all. Given the large calibre of the round, how he'd escaped from having his chest blown out completely was a bit of a mystery, how the bullet hadn't passed right through and taken Dean with it...
Biting down on her trembling bottom lip, she ripped open a gauze pack and pressed it down hard on the wound, doing her best to ignore the sharp gasp and the rasping cough muffled by Dean's neck.
Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment when he felt something warm splatter against his skin. He really didn't need to look but he did so anyhow. Pulling back a little, Dean despaired at the blood staining Sam's mouth and chin.
"Uh... ok, now he's coughing up blood..." Dean didn't even bother trying to steady his shaking voice now, not with Sam still out cold. Any pretence just wasn't worth the effort. And besides, he'd seen the look on the cop's face when she examined the wound.
Dean was scared. His brother was dying.
What was the point in lying to himself?
That's almost poetic Dean thought miserably, his hand stroking through Sam's soft, tangled locks.
"Hold here," Hudak pressed his other hand over the many layers of gauze she'd plastered to Sam's back, then tucked the blanket round the two brothers just as Sam began trembling. "He's going into shock. Try to keep him warm and calm."
Sirens wailed, red lights flashed and lit up the room, growing brighter, fiercer the closer they got to the house.
The cop glanced up at the lounge windows from where she was kneeling on the floor.
"I'll be right back."
"Hey," Dean called softly. "What are you gonna tell them?"
"Don't worry. I can bullshit with the best of 'em," Hudak nodded and smiled grimly. "'cept I'm better at it 'cos I have the system on my side."
Dean inclined his head a little in acknowledgement.
Touché.
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Dean hurried alongside the gurney, clasping Sam's hand tightly, uncaring of the frozen mud kicked up by his feet. Some kind soul had tried to tend to Dean's shoulder, but he'd shrugged them off as tactfully as he could in favour of staying close to his brother.
Sleet fell, making the already damp and cold conditions even more unbearable, though Dean hardly noticed. He was shivering for an entirely different reason.
Sam hadn't yet regained consciousness, his body lying motionless beneath the warm blankets. Black fabric straps stretched over his shoulders, hips and knees kept him secure and safe should the journey turn bumpy, as was likely the way the weather was going.
Whilst settling the injured Winchesters inside the ambulance a blond EMT held a transparent mask over Sam's mouth and nose, at the same time keeping an eye on his blood pressure.
Frightening though it all looked, Dean was relieved to see the mask fogging up with every tentative breath Sam took, even if it seemed a little too shallow and weak for his peace of mind.
Over all, his little brother looked heartbreakingly helpless, his pale face framed by sweat drenched bangs, brows pinched, and though the blood had been wiped away from his mouth the stains left behind made it all too clear the danger Sam was in.
Dean had watched the EMT insert a drain tube in the side of Sam's chest, and felt too preoccupied for the nausea spiking deep in his gut to really snag his attention. It was quickly squashed under the rising tide of fear when Sam let out a muffled whimper.
"I thought you anaesthetized him?" Dean growled angrily, clutching Sam's hand tighter and brushing his finger's along the poor kid's wrist. "Why's he still in pain?"
"It was only a local shot," the medic answered calmly. He must have been in his late thirties, with a crooked but gentle smile, friendly demeanour, and wasn't in the least bit put out by Dean's over-protective attitude. "He's bound to feel something, but it's most likely discomfort rather than actual pain. Once it's settled down a little, he'll be fine."
Dean nodded, eyes narrowed, the momma bear in him pacified for now.
A loud screaming and cat-like hissing noise caught his attention through the open doors of the ambulance, and Dean spotted the Bender girl being transported on another gurney to the other waiting ambulance. Even from that distance, he could see the eyes wild with fear and anger, and perhaps just a little of the insanity he'd had the misfortune to witness whilst tied to a chair under her guard.
She was shaking her head violently from side to side; her body restrained in a similar fashion to Sam, though, from the added wrist and ankle straps, Dean imagined it was only partly for the same reason.
A dark haired EMT pulled out a syringe and injected something into the flesh of her upper arm. Within seconds the child began to quieten down, her angry screams reduced to sobs that tore at Dean's heart.
"Da-ddy! Da-ddy… wan' ma' Da-ddy…"
Poor kid never stood a chance with that freaky family of hers.
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Dean sat on the exam table, fingers gripping the edge, eyes never leaving the swinging doors just by the nurses' station. He'd insisted on keeping the cubicle curtains open, waiting impatiently for his brother's surgeon to make an appearance.
Hudak had been by some time ago, personally taking Dean's statement and keeping her colleagues at bay.
"So?" Dean asked.
The woman smiled, but this time it was soft and sympathetic.
"What's to tell? You reported your cousin missing, together we traced his kidnappers and rescued him. He got hurt. End of story."
Dean wasn't so sure about that. The lady was one tough cookie but she wasn't telling him everything.
They had both fallen silent for a long moment before Officer Hudak spoke up again.
"I f-found my brother's car…" a small sniff escaped and she ducked her head briefly.
"I'm sorry," and Dean meant it. He eyed her carefully. "What happened back there in the barn? Sam didn't get a chance to tell me. Why did you stay behind?"
It was a lucky guess on Dean's part, and he was more than surprised when he got an answer.
"I arrested…" and she seemed to choke on that word a little "Papa Bender."
Dean's eyebrow rose slowly. "Oh yeah? Something tells me he ain't locked up nice and safe in a cell somewhere."
Hudak met his steady gaze without so much as a waver. "He got shot trying to escape."
Dean merely nodded. It was hardly his place to judge.
The shoulder burn had been carefully cleaned and bandaged hours ago, and sleep taunted him, but Dean refused the kind offer of pain meds.
The pain kept him awake. He couldn't afford to sleep.
Sam needed him.
And he needed to kick Sam's scrawny ass!
Dean didn't think he'd ever forget the moment he spotted the armed Bender over his little brother's shoulder. Sam had stiffened and held Dean close, shielding and protecting, even as Dean tried to pull away.
The little shit knew! He fucking KNEW what he was doing!
Dean remembered all too well the crack of the rifle, loud in such close quarters, how Sam slumped with a strained gasp, the struggle to keep him from falling, the feel of Sam's warm blood oozing between his fingers…
"Shit!" Dean stood abruptly, eyes wide and brimming with tears, one hand clamped over his mouth. He wasn't stupid. That bullet should have gone clean through his brother and ploughed unmercifully into Dean.
Last month at the Miller house, the psychic kid Max… if Dean hadn't believed in Sam's brief emergence of TK skills before, then he sure did now.
In fact, there was no doubt in Dean's mind.
"Dammit Sammy…" he broke off a sob when the swinging doors crashed open, revealing a tired and bedraggle looking guy in green scrubs.
Dean tried not to look too closely at the blood stains streaked up his garments, or the way his dark red surgical gloves went sailing into a clinical waste bin.
The guy looked over at the open cubicle, recognising Sam's 'cousin' immediately from their earlier hurried introductions.
Dean stood still, gazing at him, almost afraid to hope.
"I'm not going to sugar coat it," though the doctor raised an eyebrow asking for permission anyhow.
Dean nodded, unable to speak, heart jammed in his mouth.
"His chest cavity is pretty messed up, several shattered ribs, punctured right lung, and he's lost a lot of blood," the doc watched him warily, noting the blood drain away from the younger man's face. "Perhaps you should sit down…"
"I'm fine," Dean's voice was hoarse but the doctor heard well enough.
"Sam's surgery was complicated by a blood clot; he arrested twice and let me tell you we had a damn hard time getting him back."
That did it. Dean sank back down onto the exam bed, breathing heavily through his nose.
There wasn't much more news. The bullet had been located and removed; Sam was on a ventilator and already being moved to the ICU; his chances of a full recovery were average to good.
"You're cousin's a real fighter," the doc concluded. "Not many people could have come through so much and survived."
"C-can I see him?" Dean just fell short of outright begging, though he wasn't too proud if it was needed. And if actual begging didn't help then Dean wasn't beyond threats of violence either.
Fortunately, it didn't come to that.
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Dean hovered in the doorway to Sam's room, watching the ICU nurse worriedly. He'd been asked to wait outside a while longer whilst his brother was made as comfortable as possible, and his nerves felt stretched to breaking point. The kindly nurse had left the door open as a concession once she found herself on the receiving end of Dean's pale and shocked face.
Speaking of pale, Sam looked far worse. Head tilted back, mouth slack around the vent, chest criss-crossed with bandages, tubes and various other scary looking devices protruding from his arms, fingers and upper torso.
"Jesus Sammy…" Dean finally approached the bed once the nurse had left, quietly closing the door behind her. He struggled to contain his anger, even in light of Sam's helpless state. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean reached out and gently grasped a limp hand, intertwining their fingers.
"You're cold," he used the observation as a distraction for the time being. Dean rubbed both hands gently, trying to warm them up. "S'been a crazy few days, huh? You get yaself kidnapped by a bunch of freaks, shot, and undergo major surgery…" the anger finally bubbled forth, Dean unable to stop it. "I know what you did, Sam!" he suddenly hissed in Sam's ear. "And no matter what you saw, you had no right!"
This time there were no interruptions. The sob broke free and echoed round the room briefly, before being swallowed up by the whoosh and click of the vent.
"S'not your job, Sammy. You're not supposed to risk your life to protect me," Dean sniffed loudly, mouth trembling and tears spilling down his face. "It's my job to protect you. That's what I live for. S'what I've always lived for."
He leaned forward again.
"Now you listen to me, little brother. You're gonna get pass this, and you're gonna wake up, and you're gonna get better. You wanna know why?" Dean gazed down at him, eyes fierce with love and fear. "'Cos I so owe you a beat down for this. And the next time I go take a leak, you will not leave the bar alone."
Sam refused to comment, just stayed silent and still.
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Dean woke up from a surprisingly deep slumber some hours later, to find Sam's doctor checking over the kid's chart.
Pinching the bridge of his nose and clearing his throat, Dean sat up.
"How's he doin'?"
The doc smiled.
"I don't want to raise false hope, but I'd have to say he's doing just fine," he winked, suddenly. "Like I said; Kid's a fighter."
Dean nodded. "When's he likely to wake up?"
The doc frowned slightly, before returning to his task. "Let's just take this slow, huh? Sam's body needs to recover, so he's been heavily sedated."
Dean made an angry noise deep in his throat. "What?"
The doc glanced up from the chart. "It is standard procedure to sedate patients on life support. You wouldn't want Sam to be uncomfortable, right? Last thing he needs is to wake up before he's ready."
Dean grudgingly accepted the argument.
But that didn't mean he had to like it.
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By the time Sam was weaned off the vent, Dean's vocal cords were shot to hell. He'd spent day after day talking to his little brother, reading from magazines, encouraging, sometimes downright threatening, in between coffee runs and the thousandth phone conversation he'd had with their father's voicemail.
But he figured Sam had to be hurting far more after spending all that time with what looked like a vacuum cleaner hose stuffed down his throat. Not to mention the nicely healing bullet wound in his chest.
Sam stirred and rolled his head slowly towards Dean, mumbling incoherently, the sedatives finally working their way out of his system.
"Sam?" Dean whispered, giving the kid's hand a gentle squeeze. "You ready to come back now?"
A small snuffle and Sam wiggled his nose, the oxygen tube hooked under it clearly irritating him, then slowly his eyelids lifted. Blue green slits gazed wearily up at Dean.
"Hmmm?" Sam managed to convey many questions in that gaze, all of which Dean fully intended to answer.
Like now.
"You're in the hospital. You got kidnapped and shot by a bunch of crazy hillbillies," came the blunt answer to at least two of Sam's queries.
Sam blinked tiredly and nodded.
Dean took that as a sign to continue.
"You're an ass."
Sam frowned a little, pretty sure that wasn't an answer to any other questions he had lined up, but Dean appeared to think it was more than appropriate.
"You're a stupid, stubborn sonofabitch," his older brother announced, voice rough and tight with anger, "and you ever put me through this again? I'll kill you myself… don't you dare smile at me, you little… Sam!"
Sam drifted off again, feeling more than content hearing the love and affection not so well hidden beneath Dean's rant.
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His chest felt stiff, bound tightly by heavy bandages, but the pain killers filtering through his IV seemed to be doing a great job.
Sam had woken up briefly a few hours ago and panicked until his eyes came to rest on Dean's slumped form in the chair by his bed. Face softening with relief; he regarded his brother for a long while, noting the dark, haunting shadows under his eyes that signified many sleepless nights, and the bandage just peaking out from under his tee-shirt.
Sam blinked back tears. He'd meant to take care of that for Dean. His brother had come for him, just as Sam knew he would, and he hadn't needed the heads up from a vision to confirm it either.
Thank God he's ok!
Though Sam wasn't stupid, and despite the exhaustion and drugs, he'd remembered his brother's anger shortly before dropping back off to sleep.
Oh yeah. I'm well and truly in the shit for this. Pretty sure he guessed what happened…
Dean hated it when Sam put his life on the line for him, like it was Dean's God given right alone. Well, the older brother was gonna have to get used to it.
A light squeeze on his hand made Sam glance down. Seeing his hand engulfed in Dean's made him smile fondly, settle back in his pillows and doze off again.
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Sam and Dean stared at each other, but in the end it was Sam who broke eye contact.
"I'd do it again, Dean."
"That's exactly what I'm talkin' about, Sam!"
Sam sighed in frustration, wincing a little as he did so. "What did you expect me to do? Just stand aside and let you get shot?"
"That's exactly what I expected you to do!" Dean growled, and narrowed his eyes. He hadn't missed the flash of pain across his little brother's face, but these things needed to be said. "I'm the oldest; ergo the whole Kevin Costner routine belongs to me! Ya hearing me, Sammy? ME!"
Dean leaned back in his chair, confident his point had been made and there was no way Sam could possibly argue.
He was wrong.
"Ok, for the record? I ain't Whitney Houston," Sam grimaced, realising he'd just opened himself up to a whole new category of brotherly abuse, and the rapidly growing smile on Dean's face confirmed it. Before the snarky comment could emerge, Sam hurriedly added "I can't sing and I sure as hell can't dance either…"
"Got that damn straight…" Dean just managed to sneak in before Sam took centre stage again.
"We're supposed to be a team, right?" Sam brought out the greatest weapon in his arsenal when it came to his big brother. Gazing imploringly at Dean, the puppy dog eyes working over time, he spoke softly "Protective instincts ain't a one way street, dude. Whether you like it or not, I feel it just as strongly as you," he smiled sadly, shaking his head, never taking his eyes from Dean's. "And I wouldn't change that, even if I could."
Dean stared at him for a long moment before asking. "What did you see?"
Swallowing hard, Sam fiddled aimlessly with the dark blue sling supporting his arm across his chest, and nodded.
"Not long before the cop was locked up in the cage, I had a vision you'd found me. Next, I saw you tied to a chair. Some kid was about to cut you with a knife, so I took care of her, then set about untying you." The next part was obviously difficult for him to talk about, because he faltered then cleared his throat, nervously. "I stood to the side to help you up, and… uh… that's when the other guy shot you… thr-through the h-heart." Sam's eyes filled with tears. "The bullet went clean through and buried itself in the wall behind us. You were stunned, shaking, blood just pumping out of your chest… th-then you… your eyes… there was nothing there. Just… blank. And I couldn't let it happen, couldn't just let you die, s-so d-don't ever ask me to!"
"Sam calm down," Dean murmured softly, hearing the steady bleeps of the cardiac monitor picking up speed. "It's ok, buddy… I understand… you know I understand. I was there when it happened to you, so I know what it feels like to shit a house brick, ok?"
Sam nodded again, a small amused smile breaking up his mournful gaze.
"Just…" Dean sighed and ran a hand through his spiky hair, remembering this was supposed to be a big brother bawls out stupid little brother discussion, not big brother comforts sad little brother. "Maybe next time? How 'bout we just drop and roll, huh?"
"Deal," Sam shook his head, feeling tired but a little happier.
"Great." Dean grinned, broadly. This was the big brother stuff he could manage without getting too sidetracked. "Now get some sleep, bitch."
"Jerk," Sam responded automatically, and snuggled down under the blankets.
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"Put that down!"
"I can carry my own bags, Dean!"
"Don't care what you think you can do, Sam. The doc was quite specific. No lifting until the sling comes off. Period."
Sam sighed but couldn't help a fond grin when his brother snatched the duffle bag from his good arm. It would be several weeks before he could permanently lose the sling, and until then he was being mother henned to death by Dean.
Admittedly, it still hurt too much to cut up his own food, but having his brother do it for him, in public places no less, hurt all the more, especially when Dean made little cooing and clucking noises, and tried to feed him like a baby.
It inevitably ended with Dean sporting a faceful of whatever Sam had ordered at the time, and the threat of wearing a fork in a pretty inconvenient place.
Dean grinned and hefted Sam's duffle onto his shoulder.
"C'mon. Let's see what delightful décor awaits us this time."
The brothers paused at the door to the motel room, and both took a deep breath before Dean turned the key in the lock.
"Here goes," Sam murmured and braced himself for the worst.
A few seconds later, Sam and Dean glanced around the room, nodding their heads like experts in the minefield of interior decoration.
"Yep, perfect fake oak coving, complete with purple and green flowered curtains," Dean smacked his lips decidedly. "Very cheeky."
"I find it particularly cunning how the wall paper completely clashes with the bed spreads, and bears absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to the borders," Sam indicated the peeling self-adhesives running along where the walls met the ceiling. "And stick on, too. Tasteful."
Dean nodded, giving the room one more appraising look.
"I'd have to say it takes a lot of talent to actually be this bad," dropping the duffles on the bed nearest the door; he pulled a couple of cold beers from the mini bar - one of the few redeeming features of the room, along with satellite TV. "A few more of these and we won't even notice."
Sam chuckled and accepted his beer. "Or we throw up and improve on it."
"That's the spirit, dude." Dean clinked his bottle against Sam's. "It always pays to be optimistic."
His grin faded a little when he realised there was something he'd forgotten to say, and it was long over due.
"Hey, Sam?" Dean attempted to sound nonchalant, but he didn't fool his brother for a second.
"Yup?" Sam raised an eyebrow.
"I, uh… never thanked you," Dean muttered awkwardly and shifted on the bed.
The other eyebrow rose. "For what?" Sam genuinely had no clue what he was talking about.
Dean finally turned to meet his gaze. "You saved my life, and I never thanked you."
Sam thought about Dean's anger in the hospital, his fear and worry, the mother henning ever since.
"Sure you did," he answered, softly, and reached for the TV remote. But his brother was watching him with a sad smile. "Dean?"
Dean blinked and shook his head. "Yuh!"
Sam winked. "What's it to be? Die Hard 4? Or Debbie Does Dallas?"
The sad smile grew into an obscenely wide grin.
"Dude! You even need to ask?"
The End.
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Author's notes:
This is especially for Sammygirl1963.
Hope you had a wonderful birthday darling.
Many thanks to Phx for the beta. Great job as always hon.
Kind regards,
ST xxx