Word of warning...I am playing with the 'symptoms and treatment' of shock.
Sam not looking for Dean never happened...
FYI...Sam won't show up until chapter 4.
Sorry, I've been away for a while, blame Airwolf…I got the 'box set' as a gift and I can't stop watching the first 3 seasons...the affection between Hawke and Dom just makes me all 'fluff and fuzzy'!
It's been a long night, and I...well, I just wish I had an idea how long. Hell, I don't even know what time it is. I'm cold, I'm wet, this is mud…I'm covered in mud and it stinks. I'm tired, I hurt so much that yeah, this is pain. I wonder where I am and how I got here.
"Something is wrong."
"Eh?" Wendell jumped the red checker and added it to his growing pile. Opposite him, his opponent growled.
"He doesn't respond right."
"Right?" another jump. "King me."
"You're cheating!" his opponent accused.
"Like, you know, a normal person."
"Normal?"
Betty sighed impatiently – MEN! One hand waving circles in the air, the other slapping against the table, making the checkers bounce slightly, she leaned across the table. "WENDELL JOHNSON stop cheating that poor child at checkers and PAY attention to ME!" Betty stomped her foot for emphasis. "YES! Like a NORMAL person!"
Wendell blinked. Betty could never be labeled a normal person. "Ah…..normal…..how?" he ventured oh-so-carefully. Why was it every time ole Betty got something under her skirts, it became his problem? "Here now, you can't move that way."
"Emotional." she uttered through clenched teeth, clenched jaw, pressed lips. "He doesn't show emotion. He doesn't take comfort or respond to kindness. He's wet and cold and dirty and tired and hungry and in pain yet he doesn't accept the offer of a towel or blanket or hot coffee."
"Ahhh….who?" Wendell really wasn't giving Betty his complete attention – and certainly, history told him that was a mistake – and that simple lapse in memory cost him.
The checkerboard went airborne, red and black chips went helter-skelter and wee Wendy scrambled off her chair to start collecting them. Wise child, Wendell thought belatedly. Hiding on the floor under a table might be the wisest course of action a person could take right about now.
"Don't you dismiss me!" Betty waggled a finger and next thing poor Wendell knew, his ear was grabbed and tweaked. Really, after all the years his ears had suffered such abuse, it was a wonder beyond his comprehension how any cartilage, or whatever, remained to keep his ear attached to his head. Some angel must repair the damage while he slept – be it; glue, staples, tape, stitches, melted wax, Velcro. "Look at him!"
And Wendell looked. Because his head was forcibly turned by the iron grip on his ear. Aah, she must mean the stranger who had sauntered in some 20 minutes or so ago and taken a seat at an empty table. Oh yes, Wendell had noticed him. Who hadn't?
"Looks okay to me." he said stupidly, because after all, he was male and if he hadn't learned after his 75+ years on God's good earth, to know better, he was never going to.
She glared. Oh, but she'd get him back for that comment at a later date when he was least expecting it because by then, he would have thought she'd forgotten all about it.
"He's mobile….he walked in here. He's capable of getting anything he wants himself." he said before thinking the entire thought through. Right, when irate, Betty would attempt to shake some sense into him – even if she only rattled his head about. Uhgauhgauhga….his dentures clacked and his hand crept up to protect his other ear. As hard as she was able to shake his head all about, as much force as she used that caused him to slide about on the chair, she never lost her grip.
Nope. Never.
"Now see here Bet, you're causing a scene." Wendell attempted to lighten the tense moment. "Scared wee Wendy right out of the room." the child had fled with all her checkers and the board once she'd collected them all.
"Something is wrong." Betty stated, releasing her iron grip on Wendell's now swollen, red ear. "You drape a blanket around his shoulders and he just sits there, makes no move to hug it or pull it tight around his shoulders for added warmth. It falls to the floor and he just leaves it."
I should get up, find a bathroom, wash up. Get out of these wet clothes. There's a blanket on the floor. I should get up, find a bathroom….blanket. I'm cold.
Now, wait, say what? Wendell opened his mouth to point out they were in the isle's only public bar and usually, patrons were not offered blankets even if six-year olds ran freely about, but she warned him off with a raised finger and he closed it without uttering a sound.
"You set a mug of coffee in front of him, the steam in his face and he ignores it. How is that normal? No one ignores coffee!"
Maybe the man didn't drink coffee. Any why would a patron be offered anything to drink, if he, you know, didn't ask for it? And why was Betty making this his problem?
"Maybe he doesn't have the coin to pay for it." stupid, stupid, stupid. Oh, but he was going to pay for that stupid, not-thought-through comment too. He needed to start writing this shit down and mark off each one when Betty retaliated so he'd know how many more she had to go.
Betty ignored his ear and now their noses touched. "You will go over there and you will talk to him and you will take care of this, do you understand me?"
Take care of what?!
"What do you…eh….want to me do?" he dared, no longer sure what to say or do or offer. He was too familiar with bland food, starched underwear, the washing machine stealing all the cold water when he was in the shower and Betty's sudden loss of memory when it came to needed missing objects – such as his car keys or his glasses or his teeth; and didn't she just always serve steak for dinner when his teeth couldn't be located – to doubt he wouldn't pay dearly for this latest faux pas.
He didn't want to go over there. The guy was big. And scary. And aloof. He wasn't at all approachable. He'd walked through the door all on his own, he could leave the same way. Why did women always have to meddle? Why didn't they know when to quit? Why weren't they content to leave well enough alone?
Betty threw her hands up and stomped away. She did know when to meddle, when to back off and when to leave well enough alone. Wendell had an uncanny knack of reading people; of judging a situation; of knowing what to do. He might not want to get involved, but he could handle whatever ailed the poor man sitting all alone at a table, so she'd make, erhm, let him.
Wendell rubbed his jaw, pondering the situation. He sighed and turned to study the man who indeed sat alone at a table, mug of coffee sitting in front of him untouched, blanket half off one shoulder, completely off the other. Well, she had a point. He just sat there. Staring. At nothing. His gaze unfocused.
Shock, Wendell wondered?
He was dirty. He was disheveled. He was wet. That was quite probably blood on his face and down his neck. His hands, splayed on the red and white checkered tablecloth in front of him, were mud-covered, scabbed, split, cracked, bleeding. His right hand had a hastily wrapped and tied dirty bandage around his palm and wound between thumb and finger. And he simply sat there. Doing nothing.
Wendell didn't like one thing about this guy – this stranger among them.
Not. One. Thing.
'Cause, oh he had an air, an atmosphere all about him. His posture. His stance. His expression. Said it all. It all might as well have been a blinking, flashing neon sign that said: I am dangerous. I take charge. I am in command. I expect all orders issued by me – and I'm used to issuing orders – to be instantly obeyed. I don't take disobedience well. Don't make me mad.
"Why does shit like this always happen to me?" Wendell muttered, marching across the floor. Once he got closer, he could detect a fine trembling or shivering, maybe shaking, whatever from the stranger who did not acknowledge Wendell's approach. "Cause you're a sucker for the old hens, that's why." he continued. "No one else will take their cackling."
Stay the fuck away from me.
The winter storm – blizzard really – had kicked up out of nowhere and the displaced residents had gone to the elementary school gymnasium seeking shelter from the fast moving, somewhat violent weather that had knocked out power from severe winds with multiple structures sustaining damage. They were on an isle accessible by air or by boat, so where had this fellow come from?
The bar – much like an American Legion – was safe. The loss of power was not a real hardship for them – the building as well as the school had its own natural gas fueled generator. Had to, being out here on the isle and all. Still, how had this guy managed to find the bar? Had he found the local deputy's office, he would have been directed to the school.
Leave. Me. Alone.
Hey, now! How had this guy gotten here to Betty's place? Chopper? Boat? Had he swum over from the mainland? Doubtful. Not with the bay having frozen over. In fact, they were marooned on the isle until the Coast Guard came through with their ice cutter. And that wouldn't happen until the storm subsided and daylight dawned.
Who the fuck is this asshole? What does he want? I'm in no mood dude. Back off.
"Hello there." Wendell greeted cheerfully. "Folks call me Wendell." he waited. "You got a name?" nothing. "You don't want me to call you sir or mister, do ya?" meet any and all potential death threats head-on was Wendell's motto. That this man was lethal was not in doubt.
Silence. The stranger didn't move. Didn't blink an eye. Didn't twitch.
Yes, I have a name! Just…..not sure what it is.
"I see the ladies have brought you some coffee."
Aah, so that's what this is. Eh, what am I supposed to do with it? Duh Dean, drink it probably.
No response.
"Would you rather have tea?"
Tee? Tee what? Tee-ball? Tee-shirt? What the fuck do you want me to do with the letter tee?
No response.
"So, is there someone maybe I can call for you? Are you visiting someone on the isle?"
Yeah, yeah guess there is. Kinda. Maybe. Somewhere. Not here though.
Nothing.
"Well, alrighty then." Wendell rubbed his palms together. "I'll just go notify the, ah, medics then. Yeah, that's them. They're marine volunteers but they're on the isle and know a bit about injury." now that got a response. Wendell took a step back as Dean raised his head just enough he could look up without doing much more than raise his eyebrows. "More so maybe fins and gills, but an injury is…."
"NO!" came a raspy forceful croak.
"Ah, then." Wendell pulled out a chair across the table from the man and took a seat. "Got a name?"
Uh-huh. It's….it's…god-dammit…it's…..son-of-a-bitch, I know this!
"Dean." was the reply after a lengthy moment. That was it. One syllable. Nothing more.
HA! Take that! I do know it.
Wendell was quiet. Should he poke and prod and push at this guy? Or go back and mind his own business? This Dean sure was a big fella and Wendell took his time judging how to best handle the situation. He didn't want to rush it and make stupid mistakes but he didn't have all the time he would like to have either. Ole Betty would be content to keep her nose out of Dean's business for only so long. And he didn't need her waddling over here waggling fingers and grabbing ears. Nuh-uh. He eyed Dean…most likely, this here stranger named Dean would slap fingers and break wrists then ask questions – if he spoke at all.
What the hell you looking at? I got spinach in my teeth or something?
Well then, what to do? What to do? Mysterious, dark strangers emitting dangerous vibes and oozing intrigue like Dean was didn't appear on their isolated fishing isle every day – or at all. Huhmmum, Wendell mused, well-ell, despite the potential for sudden violence, Dean didn't appear to be a threat, so might as well push at him a bit.
No, no, I don't eat spinach unless Sammy brings home hoagies, then I eat so many veggies and greens and leafs I can't taste what a man is supposed to eat. Meat.
"Well Dean, mighty curious to know how you got here to our little isle. Don't get many strangers here. Never in this kind of weather." he paused but Dean showed no acknowledgement. "You come here to see someone mebbe?"
Huh, ummm…aaahhhh…think dammit….my head hurts!
But Dean didn't respond. He didn't attempt to make eye contact or engage in following Wendell's attempt at small talk. He didn't stop shivering nor did he try to blink his eyes into focus. Hmmm….so again, what….shock? Now Wendell was no expert in medical diagnoses or in treatment of injury, but he knew a cold, wet, tired man in pain when he saw one.
"Murtha." Dean shuddered, hunching his shoulders up to his ears in discomfort when beads of water melted from his ice-capped hair and trickled down his cheek. He made no attempt to raise a hand and wipe it away.
"Aah….I see." and Wendell did. He would address that issue in a bit, but first…."Say now, let's go get you cleaned up." decision made, Wendell stood up and cautiously reached to lay a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean immediately shrugged free of the touch but made no other move. Wendell gently took hold of Dean's elbow and guided him to his feet. Dean didn't resist, easily rising to stand but he did pull his elbow away.
Go? Go where? I don't want to go anywhere. I just got here. And it's warm and dry. So, I'm good, you can go away and lemme be.
"So you don't like to be touched." Wendell observed. "No mind, I'll just lead, you follow."
Good plan, right? Right. No. Didn't happen. Dean just stood there, flinching and shrugging away from any attempt by Wendell to lay a hand on him – if only to guide him.
I told you, ain't goin' nowhere. Like it fine right here.
"From behind." wee Wendy spoke up. "You're spooking him Uncle Wendell."
"Say what little one?" Wendell asked mildly. "Hey now, watch it. Don't get so close. Back up a bit there, munchkin."
"Like a horse. You cover his eyes." Wendy rolled her eyes. Adults so liked to overcomplicate things. "Like this." she played peek-a-boo. "See?"
"You want me to cover his eyes?" Wendell said doubtfully. "He's a bit old to play peek-a-boo and really I don't think he's feeling up to trying it. Not a good idea anyway. He needs to see to walk. He's shaky enough."
Try it and you'll die where you stand!
"No!" she waved her hand impatiently – a darned good imitation of Betty if Wendell ever did see one. "Push him from behind. Gently. Like this." she was behind Dean before Wendell could blink, let alone make a move to stop her. With her palms pushing against the small of Dean's back, she pushed him forward. "See?"
And darn it all if Dean didn't stumble a step, then another until wee Wendy was 'steering' him across the floor.
"Kitchen?" Wendy called, glancing over her shoulder to catch Wendell's nod. "And to the right we go!" she informed Dean who turned to his right and kept his shuffling pace. "That's it. Keep going. Almost there,"
Shaking his head, Wendell pushed in the chair Dean had vacated and ambled off after the duo. Now, wasn't that just a sight to see – wee Wendy pushing a big, possibly dangerous man who offered no resistance other than a shuffling step, across the room with both hands wedged against his lower back, her head bent with the effort of her task. So, was Wendy correct Dean was willing to go anywhere as long as he led? Or was it merely because the only person touching him was a harmless child?
"Here you go Aunt Betty!" Wendy announced. "He's got some boo-boos for you to make all better."
"WENDELL MATTHEW JOHNSON!" Betty bellowed. "How DARE you?!"
And the kitchen hens all started a-squawking.
"Lorda Mercy!"
"He's got WENDY!"
"Someone do something!"
How dare I what, Wendell thought, all I did was what you ordered me to do. I took care of the situation.
"What AILS you?" Betty continued to rant, whapping at Wendell with a dish towel.
And all the other hens continued to cackle:
"Wendy! Dear child, step away from him right this very moment!"
"Wendy! Whatever are you doing? Come here right this minute!"
"Goodness child, beware!"
"You let her go, you behemoth!"
"How dare you!?"
AACK! What the…? What the fuck was this? The hell did I walk into?
Wendell held his hands up for a call of peace and pulled a folding chair out from a side counter. He patted the seat and after a good moment's hesitation, Dean plopped down. And did nothing. Just sat there. Shivering so violently, his feet jounced on the floor and made the chair rattle.
Aw, fuck, I don't feel good.
"Ladies, ladies, ladies!" Wendell clapped his hands. "Simmer down!"
But the kitchen ladies continued to cluck and flutter, causing loud commotion in the kitchen and Betty came at him, snapping her towel. Wendell didn't attempt to avoid it. It was a dish towel and even when she landed it against his skin, it caused no harm and certainly no pain, but whoa, oh whoa…Wendell paused, eyes narrowing at the very slight, almost unnoticeable – in fact, no one but he even noticed it! – reaction of the man sitting seemingly immobile on the stool.
Dean blinked. Once. Just once. Only once.
Wendell frowned, oh but, Dean did not like that. Wendell held up a hand up for silence and waved it for all commotion to cease. Of course, he was ignored.
Betty was still nattering on, multiple hands had hold of Wendy and were literally picking her up to move her away from the chair upon which Dean sat. The towel snapped again, then again. Wendell asked for Betty to stop. The towel whapped his elbow.
Dean's hands, which hung loosely between his knees, his elbows supported on his thighs, didn't move – they did not move – yet Wendell knew, he knew, that those ten fingers, despite the bandage and scabbed knuckles, flexed and tensed. Almost as if this stranger amongst them was fighting himself not to make a fist and react in some way.
No…no…no….nooooo…. come on, fight it, you can do it, keep control, fight for it, don't let go…..don't…..keep it steady.
"Betty, stop that." Wendell said sharply yet without bite, not taking his eyes off Dean. He didn't want to startle Dean by barking. "Betty stop." did Dean just tighten the muscles on his left leg? Was that tension? Was he poised to launch from the chair and attack? "BETTY LOU! I SAID STOP!" Wendell finally barked. "Enough!"
Oh, that did it. The hens instantly settled and went quiet. No one clucked. No one moved. Someone had frozen the room. Wendell had used Betty's entire first name, and everyone gaped in stunned awe, waiting for her reaction. Seconds passed and soon, heads bobbled and swung in unison, back and forth, as if watching a tennis volley, from Betty to Wendell and back.
"We don't know anything about him." Wendell said more calmly. "It's best to proceed with caution around him and you don't want to do anything to make him feel cornered or feel he needs to protect himself."
"Protect himself against who? ME?!" Betty put her hand to her puffed-out chest in offense. "Why I never!"
And the hens puffed-up in outrage with her – and again, all went a-flutter.
"Wendell's right!"
"Oh my God!"
"He's evil."
"He could be a violent rapist!"
"A murderer!"
"A criminal!"
"He's a dangerous killer!"
And on and on and on and so on.
I have a knife. A big one. I know how to use it. It will take your head off in one swing. No chopping required.
"Ladies! Simmer down." Wendell motioned with his hands, palms to the floor, patting the air. "Now, how about some hot water and a towel….." Betty waved hers. Wendell eyed it dubiously. "….a soft towel…."
She stuck her tongue out at him and turned away to bang pots out of a cupboard that she filled with water from the sink and put on the stove to boil. Wendell thought it best not to ask what was wrong with water out of the hot spigot.
"Say Wendy, why don't you go get the first aid kit out of the ladies room?" Wendell suggested with a patient smile and Wendy shrugged and went off on her merry-old way. "Good girl." he called after her. "Okay then, let's see what we got here."
"You just sent that child off on a useless errand." Betty tutted. "You well know the first aid kit is right here in this kitchen." her foot tapped, the towel swished. "Sometimes, I swear, what good sense the Lord gave you…."
"She'll hunt it down." Wendell replied absently. "Gives her something to do for a bit."
"Aah." Betty nodded, understanding. "You wanted her out of the room."
"Well, duh!" Wendell uttered unwisely. Oh….that look. Yup, he was gonna pay for that comment one time when he was least expecting it. He really needed to start making that list. What was he up to? Three? "Look at him Bet…" he lowered his voice to a whisper, not wanting to spook the flock again. "Tread carefully around him until he responds to us in some way."
"You think he would hurt a child?" she whispered back, aghast. "Just let him try! I have my rolling pin! And it's not one of those cheap pretty things from the stores today! No Sir! Solid wood mine is. Even the handles! Ring his bell good, it will. Why, I'll just…."
"Bet…" Wendell sighed. "I don't even know he won't hurt us!"
"Oh." Betty fell silent and turned to eyeball the man sitting so still on the chair. "Well." she began grudgingly. "He is big." Wendell was not a stupid man and despite all she said and did, Betty both admired and trusted Wendell's instincts and intellect. If he was cautious around the stranger, there was good reason to proceed with extreme care. "Do you think he is violent?"
Big. Dark. Dangerous. Mysterious. But violent? Ruthless? Brutal? Vicious? Fierce? Savage? The potential was there, Wendell decided, yet he felt no immediate threat from him.
"Best we not scare him." Wendell spoke slowly. "We don't give him a reason where he feels threatened or cornered I doubt he'll come out swinging at us."
"Humph." was that supposed to be reassuring? "We could send him over to the shelter at the school." she suggested. "Deputy Roger is there."
Wendell remembered Dean saying 'Murtha' when he'd asked if Dean had come to the isle seeking someone but he wasn't willing to share that tidbit of information with Betty just yet. "Best we keep him here." Wendell decided. "Mostly women and kids over at the school. All the noise might unsettle him a bit."
Uh, yeah! I'd say so! I don't do people.
"You think you can handle him?" Betty inquired doubtfully. "I don't see how."
"Carefully and with your help."
Yeah, that's it, play on her ego Wendell, you sly old man. I'm fine staying right here.
"So then Dean." Wendell said quietly. "We'll go at a pace you feel okay with, how about that? For starters, how about we get you out of this wet coat? Hmm?"