Title: The Flame Still Burns
Author: Disasteriffic Kaz
Info: With barely time to rest after the events with the shtriga, Dad sends the boys new coordinates and sets them on a seemingly simple haunting that may be more than they can handle. Tag to 1x18 "Something Wicked" hurt/comfort/awesome!Sam/Dean
Author's Note: I'm working on getting my bearings back here. Grief is a bitch, basically, lol. I know I still have a few reward stories left to write and I hope getting this going will get my writing back where it needs to be. :D And thank Janice for brainstorming the events at the end of the chapter with me. I was a little stuck, needed some mayhem to get things moving again and she came through, like she always does!
Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!
~Reviews are Love~
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I live a life that's surreal
Where all that I feel I am learning
Oh life, has been been turned on the lathe
Reshaped with a flame that's still burning
And in time, it's all a sweet mystery
When you shake the tree of temptation
Yeah and I know the fear and the cost
Of a paradise lost in frustration
~Foreigner: The Flame Still Burns
Chapter 1
Dean stood at the counter, waiting to pay the bill and turned his head enough to see his little brother still sitting at the booth. He looked like hell, though Sam was doing a good job of trying to hide it. Dean shook his head and looked away before Sam caught him watching again. Like Dean wasn't going to notice the way Sam pushed his food around and barely ate any of it or how flushed his pale face was.
"Get ya' anythin' else, sugar?"
Dean looked up at their waitress and smiled. She was short and red-haired and curvy in all the right ways, and if it weren't for the fact his brother was coming up sick, he'd do his best to get her into a motel room somewhere and rock her world. Dean sighed. "Naw, that's it." He handed over a twenty and gave her his best smile, grinning as her face flushed and her lips parted. Oh, he really wished he didn't have a damn conscience. He turned away with a sad sigh for a missed opportunity and went back to the table.
"You done pretendin' to eat so we can get back on the road?" Dean lightly punched his brother's shoulder and smirked when Sam glared up at him.
"You're not funny," Sam said as he rose and tossed his napkin over his nowhere near empty enough plate.
"Dude, I'm hilarious. You have no sense of humor." Dean gave him a gentle nudge toward the door and tossed one last wicked grin at the still-dazed waitress before he followed Sam outside with a chuckle.
Sam strode down the parking lot toward the Impala and swallowed hard several times to avoid the cough he could feel building. If Dean heard that, he'd have no peace. He rolled his eyes and ducked his head as a cold wind blew up and into his face. For someone with a rule about no chick flicks, Dean could be frustratingly smothering when it came to Sam and sickness. After the recent events with the shtriga and all the memories that had stirred up for Dean, Sam was certain that this time around his hovering would be even worse that usual. Those memories that Dean had shared with him for the first time ever during the hunt had given him some new insights into his brother that he still had not fully processed. He had always known Dean had been the one looking after him far more than their father, and Dean was the one that Sam would run to for comfort when sick or hurt, but he had not fully realized just how overwhelming that responsibility must have been for Dean, especially in light of their lifestyle and the dangers that lurked around every corner. Not to mention how completely unfair it was for his brother, still a young child himself, to have to bear that kind of responsibility.
Sam shook himself free of his reflections with a bit of effort. "Where we going?"
Dean shrugged and pulled open the driver's side door. "I was thinkin' we'd crash for the night. Gotta be a motel somewhere near..." He stopped speaking as the text alert on his phone went off. Dean pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open and glared down at it and the text from their father.
"Let me guess," Sam said as he took in the dark look on his brother's face. "Dad, and he sent us coordinates instead of a 'hey, how are you?' or 'come find me here'."
"Shuddup." Dean shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Don't start." He slid into the car as Sam did and pulled the door closed before handing the phone to Sam. "You know what he said and he's right. It's too dangerous for him to be with us."
Sam nodded but kept his mouth shut. He knew what he thought of that pronouncement. Despite all their conflicts over the years, he missed his father and wanted to be hunting the thing that had killed their mother and his girlfriend, but, as usual, Dad had made the decision for them and expected them to carry on like good little soldiers.
"I said don't start."
"What?" Sam jerked his head up in surprise. "I didn't say anything."
"Your face is shoutin' at me." Dean reached over, pulled the glove box open, and dug out the map. "Here. Find out where he's sending us."
Sam opened his mouth and then snapped it closed with a shake of his head. "Fine."
Dean drove with his hands tight on the wheel and tried not to resent being sent on another damn 'mission' by their father. Especially not on the heels of what had happened in Fitchburg the day before with the shtriga. That was the second time he'd had to watch that monstrous piece of shit sucking the life out of his little brother, and it wasn't any easier to deal with now than it had been as a kid. Although, knowing that he had finally killed the thing did mollify him a little. It didn't, however, absolve him of his guilt. Dean slid his eyes over to watch as Sam buried his face in his shoulder and cleared his throat before going back to study the map.
"This is in Tennessee." Sam checked his measurements and nodded. "Pulaski, Tennessee."
"That's a new one." Dean headed for the interstate and aimed them south. "Wonder what got his attention this time?"
"Nothing good." Sam folded the map up and put it back in the glove box. He stretched once and then curled over in the seat, letting his too-warm forehead rest against the cool glass of the window. "I'm gonna grab some shut-eye."
"Yeah. You do that." Dean kept driving and listened as Sam slowly drifted off into sleep. He wasn't surprised when, a little while later, Sam started coughing softly. He could hide it when he was awake, but asleep, Sam's body gave into the need and betrayed him, and Dean shook his head. "Stubborn ass," he said softly, fondly. He resolved that as soon as they reached Pulaski, he was finding them a motel, dumping Sam's ass in a bed, and not letting him move again until he looked a little less like death walking.
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"No, Jay. I want the new projections on my desk tomorrow. Don't give me any more crap about this." Matthew Dunkirk rolled his eyes up to the ceiling in a bid for patience and leaned back against the newly installed bar in his restaurant. "I know the new architecture's not cost effective but it looks awesome, so get over it. We'll make up what we're spending on this place in the first six months. Guaranteed. And I don't want to hear about how you think the deaths are going to impact the business. Shit happens during construction. No one's even going to remember once we're open. Go crunch your numbers and leave me alone. I'm gonna have another look around and head home. I want those numbers tomorrow."
Matthew cut off the call and tucked the phone back in his pocket as he looked around the restaurant again. It was coming together finally, now that the walls and ceilings had gone in and the marble floor was nearly finished as well. He smiled and tried to imagine the place filled with tables and people and lights and chuckled. "I'm gonna make a mint."
He brushed wood and marble dust from his hands and crossed the room. It had a definite Roman feel to it with the marble floors and the mosaic like-paintings he'd had done on the walls. Even the vaulted ceiling high above was decorated with artwork that helped tie the whole thing together, but the pillars were the centerpiece.
"Knew these things would look awesome in here," Matthew smiled and patted a hand on the rough, grooved side of one of seven pillars circling the perimeter of the room. He turned and headed for the front of the restaurant with a light step only to stumble to a stop as the sound of something clattering echoed in the empty room.
"Hello?" Matthew called and spun around. Only the work lights for the builders were on, and the back of the massive dining room was cloaked in shadow. "Who the hell's back there? This is private property, jackass! I'm calling the cops!" Rather than play the hero, Matthew spun and started walking quickly for the doors while he pulled out his phone. "Damn punks think they're gonna break into my restaurant and get away it."
Matthew's shoes squeaked across the marble as he turned for another look over his shoulder. The dining room was still empty behind him. He turned back and gasped. "Who..." His phone fell from his fingers and clattered over the floor as Matthew toppled to his back in fear. "What are you? What... no! No! Don't touch me!" He tried to backpedal with his feet further into the room, but he was caught and Matthew's screams echoed from the painted, vaulted ceiling above him.
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Dean parked in front of the motel, turned off the car, and looked over at Sam with a sigh. The kid hadn't woken as they traveled and had steadily worsened. Sam was sweating with fever, shivering with chills, and Dean was positive when he woke him up, Sam would have a go at coughing himself unconscious.
"Ok," Dean said softly and got out of the car. It was a testament to how crappy Sam was feeling that he didn't wake and hadn't the first time when Dean had rented the room. He grabbed their bags out of the trunk and took them into the room, giving the lime green décor a dirty look before he went back out and opened the passenger door. He snorted a laugh when Sam started to tilt out of his seat and grabbed his shoulder to steady him. "Time to wake up, Rip Van Winkle. Sammy."
As Dean expected, Sam's eyes opened, focused blurrily on him and then he began to cough. "Easy. Take it easy. Breathe. Geez."
Sam coughed and gasped for breath against lungs that seemed to be ignoring him. He doubled over and felt Dean's arm slide across his chest to support him until finally he collapsed back into the seat exhausted and blinking to clear his vision. "Crap."
"Yeah. Come on." Dean tugged Sam's arm and got him standing. "Nope. Room." He stopped Sam when he turned toward the trunk, a lifetime ritual now thoroughly ingrained to the point of being automatic. "Bags are already in there."
Sam frowned and staggered to the open door and inside. "What'd I miss?" he asked as he went to the far bed and its downy, green blanket like it was calling to him.
Dean chuckled and closed the door. "About the last eighty miles. Dude." He caught the shoulder of his brother's jacket as Sam started to lay down and pulled him back up. "Man, you're useless when you're this sick."
"M'not sick," Sam argued, but it was half-hearted as Dean pulled his coat off and took his flannel with it. He groaned and toppled over into the pillow once Dean let him go. "Ok, maybe I feel like shit."
"You look like shit." Dean grinned at Sam's bitch-face and yanked the blanket out from under him. "You'll be fine in a few days. Shouldn't be as bad as last time."
Sam nodded absently and then frowned. He blinked his heavy eyes open and looked up. "Huh?"
Dean turned and dug the first aid kit out of his bag. "You may not remember the last time, but I do. You were dog sick for almost a week after... after Dad scared off the shtriga."
Sam's frown deepened and he made his tired body move, sitting up to stare at Dean's back. "Is that why you're going all momma bear on me?"
"Hey!" Dean turned around and glared down at Sam, not missing the little tick of his mouth as his brother tried and failed not to smirk. "Shut up and drink your juice." He shoved the bottle at Sam and walked away to salt the door and windows. Even though the kid was taller than he was now, Dean could easily see the boy Sam had been, so sick after the shtriga's first attack that every cough and moan had driven the wedge of guilt that much deeper into his heart for failing Sam. "Yeah, you got sick like this back then, too. Doctors said it was nothin', just a bad flu, but I knew better. So did Dad."
"Dean..."
"Don't tell me this ain't my fault. We've been over that." Dean forced a smile and shrugged as he turned back to Sam's concerned face. "At least this time I don't have to carry you to the bathroom." He paused. "At least I HOPE I don't have to carry you to the bathroom."
"Shuddup," Sam said and flushed. He flopped back into his pillow and closed his eyes. "Gimme a couple hours and I'll start the research. Find out why Dad wants us here."
"Uh huh." Dean finished salting the room and watched Sam drift back into sleep, having no intention of waking him up. It was late and Dean kicked off his boots, then tossed his leather at a nearby chair before rolling onto his bed with a happy groan. He'd just catch what sleep he could before Sam woke him up.
Four hours later, Dean groaned awake, blinked and realized it was the sound of someone puking his guts out that had woken him. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sat up. "Well, crap." He went quickly to the bathroom, past his brother's empty bed and eased the door open.
Sam gagged and spit and slumped back away from the toilet with a hoarse groan. He went to wipe his hand over his mouth and startled when a damp washcloth beat him to it. He opened his eyes and found Dean kneeling next to him. "Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."
Dean cringed at the rough sound of his brother's voice and held out a glass of water. "Don't worry about it. Drink."
"I'm fine," Sam insisted though he emptied the glass of cool water gratefully. "Go back to bed."
"Yeah, like that's gonna happen. Come on, Sasquatch." Dean tugged Sam up from the floor and took the empty glass, setting it on the counter. "Geez, you're like a space heater."
Sam nodded wearily and brushed a hand over his sweaty brow. His t-shirt was stuck to him and the rough denim of his jeans felt like sandpaper on his legs. He saw his duffel bag on the floor and pointed. "Sweats?"
"Yeah; just sit down before you fall down already." Dean gave Sam a gentle nudge to the bed and then went to dig out his brother's sweat pants. He knew how sensitive Sam's skin got when he had a fever and was a little comforted to find that hadn't changed in the years since he'd seen him. "Here." He handed them to Sam and glanced at the clock. "I'm gonna run out and grab some stuff. You be ok on your own for a bit?"
Sam stopped in the process of pulling his jeans off and glared up at his big brother. "Dude. I'm not a kid. I think I can handle it."
"Whatever, bitch." Dean smirked and pulled his jacket back on, then his boots. "Try not to puke everywhere before I get back."
"I puke anywhere, s'gonna be your bed," Sam warned as he stood long enough to tug his sweats on. He sighed as the soft cotton settled against his skin and dropped back to his bed. "Go away, jerk." He waved at the middle finger Dean flipped him and then sighed in relief when the motel room door closed. He waited to hear the sound of the Impala's engine moving away before he quickly sat back up, bent over and began coughing in earnest.
By the time he was done, his eyes were streaming tears and he was gasping for breath. "Shit," Sam groaned softly and found the half-full bottle of juice on the nightstand. He quickly drained it, trying to soothe his sore throat and shook his head. "No way I'm going back to sleep." He stood and found his laptop bag, pulling the computer out and set it up on the little table. He sat and booted it then shivered. Sam reached over and caught the edge of the soft blanket on his bed, pulling it to him and wrapped it around his shoulders.
"Hate being sick," he muttered and hunched over the laptop to start his research. He'd talk Dean into taking him to a library later in the day, like once the sun was actually up. He lost himself in the research in an attempt to ignore his ever more pounding headache, so much so that he didn't even hear the Impala return or the door open.
"Sam! What the hell?"
Sam jerked up from the laptop and blinked owlishly up at his big brother. "Uh... research?" He smiled.
Dean rolled his eyes and set his bags on his bed. "You know the bags under your eyes got bags of their own. You idiot, get back to bed."
"Knock it off. I'm fine." Sam coughed and leaned his head down into his blanket until it passed. When he looked up again, Dean was glaring at him as if to say 'told you so,' but Sam ignored it. "It's a cough, dude. Chill out. Found our job." Rather than risk an argument, Sam rose and wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself as he went over to his bed. He nodded to the table. "Local business owner is building a new restaurant just outside town and there've been deaths."
"Uh huh." Dean shook his head and sat down at the laptop to see what his brother had found.
Sam shoved his pillows together and leaned back, making an effective burrito of himself with the blanket. "Three dead and two injured." He coughed again and cleared his throat. "All with burns they couldn't explain."
"This is a fire thing?" Dean sent a sharp glance to his brother for that.
"No fires; that's the thing." Sam pushed himself up a couple inches and pulled a hand out of his nest of blanket to shove his hair out of his eyes. "Just burns. Could be spontaneous combustion, but I'm not even sure that's a real thing."
"Witch, maybe." Dean pushed back from the laptop and went to his bed, pulling bottles out of the bags. "Or a ghost. What was that page about reservation land?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. The land used to belong to the Chickasaw Indians at the turn of the century. Might be a burial ground or something under the building."
"We'll hit up the library tomor... er, later today." Dean snorted with a glance at the clock and saw it was only a couple hours until dawn. "Meantime, here."
Sam rolled his eyes but took the bottle of cough medicine Dean handed him. He took a healthy swig of the stuff with a grimace for the taste and gave it back, trading it for the orange juice bottle his brother was holding. "Stuff tastes like ass."
"And I don't wanna know how my little brother knows what ass tastes like." Dean grinned at Sam's disgusted face and held up a thermometer.
"No way, dude. I'm fine." Sam batted his brother's hand away. "You're not putting that in my mouth! I just drank something. Wouldn't be accurate anyway."
"It's for your ear, idiot." Dean cheerfully jabbed the thermometer in Sam's ear and held it there while his brother snarled at him. He pulled it away when it beeped and danced back from the punch Sam tossed at his hip to look at it. "One-oh-three. Take these too." He tossed a bottle of Tylenol into Sam's lap and dropped the thermometer on the night stand.
"It's just a cold, Dean. You know that, right?" Sam swallowed a couple of the Tylenol and slid down in the bed while he watched his brother.
"No. A cold is when the waitress sneezes in your face and you get sick. This is leftover supernatural, bullshit fallout from the shtriga, and I'm not takin' chances with it." Dean turned a stern glare to his little brother. "Go back to sleep already."
Sam wanted to argue but, knowing what their father had already put Dean through because of the shtriga, he just couldn't add to it. "Alright," he said quietly and got comfortable in the blanket. He closed his eyes on Dean's surprised face with a smirk.
"Huh." Dean watched Sam for a moment in surprise and then smiled. He nodded to himself and rolled onto his own bed. If Sam was actually going to grab more sleep, he'd just get a few hours himself. "Night, Sammy."
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"This isn't much of a library," Dean muttered and smiled as the librarian walked past them yet again. She was older, in her fifties, at least, and with that stern sort of face that said she terrorized small children for fun. Dean hated her on sight, especially when she gave his little brother a dirty look for asking about the town land records.
"It's not that bad." Sam chuckled and pushed one of the books toward his brother. "Look at that one."
Dean tugged the book over and squinted at the faded map on the pages. He leaned down for a closer look and frowned. "Is that a graveyard?"
Sam nodded and then raised his brows. "According to this, the Chickasaw remains were moved, like, fifty years ago, but they did used to be under the site of the new restaurant."
"Maybe they forgot a few and that's who's knocking off the builders now." Dean pushed the map away and stretched. "Lunch time?" He looked over at Sam and watched his brother clear his throat several times before running a hand down his face. He nodded, satisfied that, while Sam still felt like crap, he wasn't as bad off as he'd been as a kid.
"Yeah. I could eat, surprisingly." Sam snorted a laugh and closed the books. He made a neat stack of them and carried them back to the desk, smiling at the librarian who failed to return it. "Thank you very much."
"I find even one fingerprint or torn page in there, I'll find your ass and break it." The librarian glared up at him, smiled and waved a hand toward the door. "Have a nice day."
"Wow." Dean laughed as they left and shook his head. "That woman is some piece of work."
"I think she likes me." Sam smirked at the look of disbelief on his brother's face and started down the sidewalk back toward the car.
"Hey, there's a diner this way." Dean caught the elbow of Sam's jacket and tugged him around. "Saw a sign for homemade pie in the window."
Sam groaned and followed along. "You make yourself sick on pie and I will laugh. Fair warning."
"Not possible." Dean opened his mouth to say more and then stopped when he heard a woman's voice raised in panic from the alley to their left. "You hear that?"
"Yeah." Sam didn't wait. He started for the alley and wasn't surprised Dean took long steps to go ahead of him. A big, green dumpster sat against the left-hand wall blocking their view of the alley, and they could hear voices coming from behind it. "Back there."
Dean nodded and quickened his stride. He moved around the dumpster and felt anger curl in his gut at the sight that met him. Five men were gathered around a woman. She wore an apron, and Dean recognized the logo as belonging to the diner just up the street. Two of the men had her pinned to the wall while a third grabbed hold of her skirt and tugged on it.
"Hey!" Dean bellowed and felt Sam draw up at his back as the men spun to stare at them in surprise. "How 'bout you good ole' boys back the hell off the lady right now?"
"Hey. It's alright." Sam locked eyes with the woman and smiled tightly. He eased past Dean and toward her. "Let her go," he ordered the two men holding her.
"What the hell are you two pricks gonna do about it?" The tallest of the men sneered at them and pulled a knife from the coat at his back. "You be smart and get outta here before we give you a lesson in mindin' your own business."
"Not gonna happen," Dean snarled.
Sam sighed, rolling his eyes and knowing exactly where this was going to go. He trusted Dean to handle the three men now moving toward them and put his attention on the two still holding the woman. He flicked a glance to his brother and Dean gave him a short nod of understanding that Sam was going to get the girl out of harm's way first.
"Your funeral," the first man said.
Dean grinned as the man's fist came flying for his head. The adrenaline rushed through him and he ducked under the swing, catching the man's wrist in his hand. He twisted his attacker's arm and pulled him off balance while he sent a kick to the leg of the man next to him that sent him crumpling to the ground with a short cry.
Sam went wide around the fight and turned on the two remaining men and the woman. "You should have let her go." He sent a foot flying at the chest of the nearest man and Sam grinned when he doubled over as all the air whooshed out of him. He caught the arm of the other man, turned and flipped him over his shoulder and into the side of the dumpster with a hollow thud. "Hey." Sam took the woman's arm and looked into her wide eyes. "I want you to run now, ok? Just go. Go!" He gave her a push past the melee and watched as she sprinted down the alley and out of sight to safety.
Dean grunted when a fist hit him in the ribs and he turned with a snarl. He threw his elbow back and heard the satisfying sound of bone crunching as blood gushed from the man's nose and he staggered away from the hunter. "Amateur," he said with a dark laugh and turned to take on the other two.
Sam backed up a step as the man he'd kicked regained his feet and raised his fists. "Stay down," Sam warned him, but the man shook his head and came at him. Sam easily sidestepped a badly aimed kick and delivered a hard hit to the side of his head. He turned and saw a glint of steel in the corner of his eye. "Dean!" Sam called out a warning and spun to try and catch the man with the knife going for his brother's exposed back.
Dean knocked away a fist aiming for him and drove his own into the side of the man's head as Sam's voice called out. He turned while his attacker dropped and swept an arm up in surprise to catch the hand wielding the knife toward his back. "Asshole!" He twisted hard until the man cried out and the knife clattered to the pavement and then a gasp pulled Dean's eyes over his shoulders. "Sammy?"
Sam reared his head back from the blade suddenly sliding under his jaw and yelped as one of his knees was kicked out from behind and he went down to the ground in a rush. He felt the blade bite into the tender skin under his jaw and tried to avoid being sliced open. Fingers curled roughly in his hair and forced his head back.
"Stop!"
Dean kicked out the knee of the man who'd tried to knife him and felt cold fury settle into his bones when he saw Sam taken to his knees by a man behind him. "Sam?"
Sam swallowed and nodded once. "M'ok."
"What the hell, dude?" Dean asked his brother, but his eyes were on the men around them as the balance of power shifted.
Sam snorted. "I was watching your back. Moron."
"Hey! I'm the one with the damn knife here! Talk to me!" The man holding Sam gave the man's head a hard jerk with his hair and didn't miss the way it darkened the other man's face. "You two assholes should'a walked the hell away!"
"Let him go." Dean took a step toward Sam and snarled when his arms were grabbed. He jerked one free and planted an elbow in the asshole's stomach. He turned to the other and stopped when he heard Sam's voice raised in pain.
Sam gasped as the knife bit into his throat. He tried to move his head away, but the grip in his hair was rock solid. It hurt enough that it brought tears to his eyes and he blinked them furiously away while Dean focused on him again. He brought a hand up to grab the knife and wasn't surprised when the blade sank deeper into his flesh and he felt warm blood running down his neck into his shirt.
"You hold still or I'm gonna give you a permanent smile, asshole."
Sam stilled and lowered his hand. It was a bizarre commentary on their lives that they had been in far worse situations, but he knew this one, which should have been an easy take-down of some local trash, could go really bad really fast at this point. And he was pissed as hell at himself for getting himself taken down so easily. He looked up to his big brother with the question in his eyes: "What now?"
With years of practice in silent communication behind them, Dean knew that Sam was ready to follow his lead and move into action at the slightest signal from him, but that knife was already pressed way too hard against his brother's exposed neck. It was too risky. Dean shook his head slightly, unwilling to risk Sam's life and sent his brother a warning glare to stay put and not try anything. "So what happens now?"
The man holding Sam smiled and nodded to his friends. "You get a lesson."
Dean grunted as fists began to rain down on his chest and ribs. An arm slid under his jaw and yanked his head back as another fist struck the side of his throat and he coughed out a curse. He heard his brother's voice calling his name angrily, and then above that, the wail of sirens. 'About damn time' he thought to himself and slammed his eyes closed as he was released and tumbled to the ground on his knees.
"Shit! That bitch called the cops!" The man holding Sam looked down at him and frowned. "You assholes are getting off lucky." He pulled the knife away and slammed the hilt into the back of Sam's head, letting him fall sideways before he ran with his friends.
"Sammy?" Dean groaned and got his eyes open enough to see his little brother lying on his side a few feet away. Blood covered his neck, his eyes were closed, and Dean couldn't even tell if he was alive at that point. "No. No." He hissed in a breath as he forced his body to move and crawled to Sam. He pulled him into his arms and put shaking fingers to the blood-slick skin under Sam's jaw. Dean blew out a ragged breath when he felt the steady beat of Sam's heart and he dropped his head into his brother's hair.
"Son of a bitch, Sammy," Dean whispered and pulled him in tighter. "That was too damn close." He held on to his brother and listened to the sirens growing closer. "Hang on, buddy. Hang on."
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To Be Continued...