Of Forests and the Flu
Rating: T
Word count: 2,120
The spirit had been killed in the middle of the forest; a hunting accident had gone wrong and instead of shooting the deer the buckshot had ended up in the back of Charles Darrow's head.
So that is why Dean found himself sitting in the middle of the forest, in the middle of a torrential downpour after midnight.
To say it sucked would be an understatement.
Sam had been researching this latest when he had come down with the flu. Days spent in bed, bundled under a mass of blankets while being fed tea and chicken soup had soothed the worst of the symptoms but Dean insisted that Sam sit this hunt out.
Dean remembered the conversation he had had with Sam as he left earlier in the evening as he trudged through the mud to the memorial that had been put up at the site of the accident. It consisted of flowers, cards and yatzee Charlie's favourite hunting jacket.
Sam's voice rang in baritone in his head as Dean worked his way around a mini river that had began to gather as the rain continued to fall in heavy sheets.
"Look I'm better, I can come along Dean," Sam said as he pushed the blankets aside and set his socked feet on the carpeted floor, the slight croak in his voice belaying that the flu was not completely out of his system, "Look, you said so yourself, its just a simple hunt"
Sam had been feeling like crap; runny nose, scratchy throat, one spewing case of vomiting and lethargy like you wouldn't believe. Dean had been brilliant – bringing him warm cups of tea, chicken soup with crackers and pain medication whenever he felt the others wearing off and bringing back the pounding that had settled behind his eyes.
For all the ribbing Dean did about Sam being a mother hen, he did a fine job of it himself.
"Exactly Sam, its just a simple hunt – one that I can handle myself" Dean said as he pushed Sam back down onto the pillows and his feet back onto the bed, "You still aren't 100 man – rest up a bit more; I'll be back in no time"
Sam let Dean pull the blankets back over him. Well, maybe one more nights sleep in a warm bed with the muted sounds of the television lulling him to sleep would be good.
"Fine," Sam said, trying to sound irritated even as he snuggled deeper into the covers, "But try not to get into any trouble Dean" he warned, looking straight into Dean's green gaze.
"Jeez, okay Mom, I swear" Dean shook his head in amusement. Sam could be such a mother hen sometimes.
"I'll call when I'm headed back" Dean said as he grabbed the keys to the Impala and walked out the door, shutting it softly behind him.
Dean pulled his coat tighter around himself. If he had have known the skies were going to open and flood the earth he would have waited another night and left salting and burning the memorial until tomorrow.
As it was he didn't and therefore he couldn't.
Life sucked ass sometimes.
Dean finally made it to the site of the memorial looking very much the picture of a drowned rat. His hair was flat to his head as rivets of water travelled down his face to drip off his jaw and continue to the ground. His jeans, t-shirt and over-shirt clung uncomfortably to his body – the rough denim rubbing at his legs every time he moved.
"Finally" Dean said, his head dropping forward in exhaustion at having to moving his body through the rough terrain in such terrible conditions.
Dean stalked over to the small memorial that had been set up by the local Hunting Lodge, looking at the framed photograph of Charles standing beside what was obviously a prize kill.
The flowers had wilted and fell over due to the sudden downpour creating a depressing atmosphere of gloom and grief over the death that had taken place there.
Dean walked over and looked at the jacket that was placed in a mahogany frame to keep it safe from the elements. It was a typical green camouflage jacket but it seemed weather and worn, obviously holding a place in Charles heart just like Dean new the worn leather of his jacket meant to firstly his father, John, and now him.
Dean lifted his colt 1911 from the waistband of his saturated jeans and used the butt end to smash the glass to release the jacket.
As Dean held the jacket in his hands he looked around for somewhere he could salt and burn it that was out of the rain.
Spotting a small patch that was sheltered by the tress Dean jogged over and laid the jacket on the ground, before pulling the can of salt and lighter fluid out of his jacket pockets.
Although from Sam's research they found that Charles Darrow wasn't causing any physical harm to anyone, his spirit was becoming restless and was beginning to scare people away from the area of the forest, meaning that people were less inclined to come and visit the memorial; even the family of Charles Darrow had become nervous of the antics around the memorial site.
So the obvious solution would be to salt and burn the object that was keeping him tied to the world and allow him to move on, therefore leaving the memorial site peaceful once more and allowing the family and friends of Charles Darrow to grieve and move on also.
Dean poured the salt and lighter fluid onto the jacket before pulling out a packet of matches that he had got from the motel lobby and lit them up before tossing it onto the jacket, watching as the lighter fluid reacted with the flames and ignited in a whoosh, the yellow flames dancing in the shadows that had fallen over the forest.
Dean had waited around until the jacket was no more than black ash and soot, kicking at the ashen pile with his boot to scatter it around to leave no trace of what had happen – although the rain that was only getting steadily heavier would help with that as the soot had soon congealed and mixed with the mud.
Following the trail back the way he came was just as taxing as it had been the first time around. The rain had made his clothes heavy, the soil squidgy which meant Dean's boots were sinking into the ground with each step meaning that he had to tug it lose, ergo making what should be a simple stroll back to the Impala anything but simple.
By the time Dean made it back to the car he was shivering violently, his nose turning a shade of crimson as he had to keep sniffing to stop the snot running down his face because, Dude, that's gross…
After grabbing a towel out of the trunk of the Impala and setting it carefully across the front bench seat, Dean climbed in behind the wheel.
Just as promised Dean pulled out his cell phone and dialed Sam's number letting him know that the spirit was done and dusted and the Eagle was flying back to the nest.
Turning the heater up full force Dean floored it – thoughts of a hot shower, clean clothes and a warm bed making him want to get back as soon as possible.
Sam had been dozing on and off the entire time Dean had been gone. There had been nothing much worth watching on TV so Sam took the free time to catch up on some much needed Z's.
Sam had been slightly worried after getting Dean's phone call telling him that he would be back soon. He hadn't sounded hurt but he hadn't sounded exactly 100% either.
Sam was just about to start his nervous pacing when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pulling up outside. Walking over to the door he unlocked it before treading over to the table and chairs that sat in the corner of the room and sitting down, waiting for Dean to come inside.
A few minutes later Dean entered the room, kicking the door closed behind him, leaving a muddy foot print on the base of the door.
Sam's eyes widened as he took in his brothers appearance. He was drenched. From head to foot he was dripping with water, small puddles forming wherever he walked. He was always shivering, his teeth chattering creating a clacking noise to resonate around the small room.
"Jeez Dean, did you fall in the river or something?" Sam asked, genuine concern in his voice as he moved to stand by Dean who was gingerly sitting on the bottom of his bed, pulling off his boots.
Dean glared up at Sam and was ready to give him an earful when he was interrupted by a round of powerful sneezing that threatened to steal his balance and send him toppling to the floor.
Sam grabbed Dean's shoulder's when the sneezing started, keeping a safe distance, cos' no way am I getting the flu again, and holding him steady as Dean sneezed about a dozen times before they stopped, leaving him panting and his nose red.
Sam couldn't hold the smirk off his face. All the jokes that he had to endure from Dean while he was sick and now Dean was sick – the universe did have a God!
"What are you laughing at?" Dean grumbled out, trying to sound angry and firm but losing the effect when the congestion that was starting in his chest made him speak through his nose, giving his voice a nasally quality.
"Sorry man, but you gotta admit its pretty funny – all the crap you gave me for being sick and now you get the flu?"
The look Dean was sending him made it quite clear that, No Sam; I do not find this the least bit funny!
Sam's expression softened. Dean had taken care of him so now it was his turn to return the favor.
"Okay, we've gotta get you outta these wet clothes," Sam stated as he began tugging on Dean's saturated jacket only to be shoved away by Dean's freezing cold hands.
"No 'we' Sam, 'me' – I will get me outta these wet clothes" Dean said before he proceeded to pull off item of clothing after item of clothing until he was left in only his boxer shorts and his amulet, the clothes a wet pile in the corner of the room.
Sam shook his head at his brother's antics. He was such a stubborn mule sometimes.
Grabbing Dean by the shoulders from behind, he shepherded him into the bathroom before pointing at the shower.
"Shower. Now. I'll bring in some clothes in a minute" Sam said before walking out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him.
Fifteen minutes later Dean returned to the room in a cloud of steam, dressed in the black sweatpants, socks and grey Henley Sam had left for him. The warm shower perking him up but his skin had somehow managed to leak of its healthy tanned colour and was a sickly shade of pale. All except for his red nose of course, courtesy of the hand he kept rubbing it with to stop it running onto his face.
"Guh" Dean said as he walked over to his bed and flopped down, landing on his stomach on top of the covers, his hands beneath the pillow around the hilt of his knife.
Sam let out a small smile. Dean was such a child when he was sick.
Walking over to the bed he shook Dean's ankle on the way to the top,
"Come on you need to take some medicine," Sam said as he held out the antibiotics and pain pills that Dean had stuffed into him the past week.
Dean rolled over onto his back and pushed himself up onto his elbows, holding out a hand and accepting the pills with a small smile before washing them down with the water that Sam held out to him.
After swallowing the piles down Sam helped him get under the covers, draping an extra one over it as well, how did he know I was cold?, before going to his own bed and sitting on the edge.
"You need anything else?" Sam asked, wanting to get Dean anything he needed to make him more comfortable.
"No, I'm good Sam" Dean said with a smile, his eyes dropping shut as he fell into an exhausted sleep.
Sam gave a smile. Dean had looked after him all week. Now it was his turn.
Fin
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