Just a little case fic that takes place sometime early season 4, definitely after Are You There God… but before Wishful Thinking. You know, back in the good ol' days before the boys were really and truly screwed. g

Bleeding Out Loud

Chapter One

Ray Anderson scratched his name of the delivery ticket and flipped the manifest closed, handing it back to the deliveryman with a smile. It was the last delivery of the day, slated to go to the Aztec display in the ancient civilizations section of the museum. The new display was pretty much set up, this final artifact to be placed in a position of honor, dictated by the prestige of being on loan from the Smithsonian itself.

"There ya go, Tony. Everything signed, sealed and delivered.

He looked up into the larger man's eyes, frowning at the blank expression emanating from the normally friendly brown orbs. Tony was a large man always ready with a quick smile and even quicker one liner. Out of all the regular delivery guys, Tony had always been one of his favorites, always willing to lend a hand hauling the heavier crates wherever they needed to go inside the museum. This delivery was a small crate, easily handled by Ray himself, so he'd expected Tony to tell him a good joke, give him a patented smile and be on his way before the crush of D.C traffic made it impossible for him to make it back through midtown.

"Tony? You okay?" He stepped forward, placing a hand on the man's shoulder and squeezing in concern. "You don't look so good."

Ray's eyes widened as he felt the stab of pain in is gut, stepping back in shock, his hands dropping to the hilt of the knife protruding from his stomach. He slowly raised is head, watching in shock as Tony pulled the knife from his body and raised it above is head, blood dripping from the gleaming razor sharp edge.

"Tony" Ray's voice was hardly more than whisper as he watched the blade drop toward his chest, the look of emptiness in his friends eyes the last sight his own would see.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsns

"Huitzilpochtli was the ancient Aztec God of War. Legend says he accepted as many as 20,000 human sacrifices per year…"

Dean let the tour guide's voice drone on without really registering the words the young woman was saying. He noticed a young boy in the group who was watching him, looking as bored as he felt. Knowing he had the kid's attention, he moved his hand up behind him and tilted his head, pantomiming a hangman's noose. The silent performance earned a snicker from the child and an elbow in his side from Sam, who glared at him as the group moved forward, out of the Aztec display. He noticed the boy's mother grab the child's hand, throwing Dean a chastising scowl as she dragged the reluctant boy away.

The boy managed to sneak a look back over his shoulder as they rounded the corner, smiling broadly as he caught Dean's wink.

"Poor kid," Dean remarked. "Getting dragged around a dusty old place like this would completely suck."

"It's educational, Dean," Sam's voice held more than a hint of frustration.

"It's boring, Sam."

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but thought better of it and simply shook his head, choosing to ignore his brother's juvenile behavior. The taller man stepped to the far end of the room, stopping in front of the corded barrier that separated the main floor from the display.

Dean joined his brother, his eyes roaming across the simulated, scaled down model of an ancient Aztec pyramid. The model was surprisingly realistic from the gold hue of the stones to the fake blood staining the cracked and worn steps. The pyramid was topped with an alter that held a single skull, carved with multiple patterns complete with ornate snakes and other weird looking faces and animals. He felt a shudder roll up his spine as his eyes locked on the creepy looking skull.

"Looks like 'The Ruins'."

Sam glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. "Uh, yeah, Dean. It's a miniature version of a real Aztec temple." He spoke slowly, as if talking to a small child.

"I know that, Professor Obvious." Dean retorted. "I meant it's like 'The Ruins'… the movie."

Sam turned and looked at him in confusion.

"The horror flick? A bunch of kids go into the jungle, get knocked off one by one? Ring any bells?"

"A horror flick?"

Dean turned back to the display, nodding. "Not a bad set-up, and it had some pretty cool effects. I especially like the moving vines that wrapped around the dead people and pulled them into the jungle. Not as good as the old school slasher flicks of the '80's, but it wasn't half bad."

Sam just stared at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

Dean carefully schooled his face, keeping his eyes on the display. "You really should get out more, Sammy." Before his brother could comment, Dean moved his eyes back to the skull at the top, frowning as if he'd been concentrating on the thing the entire time. "So, cursed, huh?"

Sam took a deep breath and nodded, deciding it was better to simply move on than try to figure out how his brother's mind worked. His eyes also locked on the relic perched at the top of the pyramid. "That's what the evidence says."

Their research into a string of mutilations had led them to the link with the skull. The killings would last for a short time in various cities, bodies discovered torn apart at knife-point, the hearts cut out and taken. Their first thought had been werewolf, but the locations and lunar cycles precluded that theory. As they tracked the progression of homicides, Sam stumbled across a parallel pattern of an ancient Aztec exhibit that had been showing up in the same cities. When they'd looked closer, they discovered the exhibit had arrived in every city on or around the same day the dead bodies had begun piling up. As soon as the exhibit moved on to its next destination, the deaths stopped, only to start up again in the new location.

Checking into the exhibit, they'd found it contained an artifact that according to rumor, was cursed. The skull that sat before them was ancient. A quick call to Bobby had informed them that the Skull of Huitzilpochtli had been thought to be destroyed over a hundred years ago. Unfortunately, word of its demise had been premature. From what they could surmise, the skull had been found packed away in the basement of the Smithsonian a little over a year ago. Since then, it had been traveling from museum to museum, it's curse apparently still in tact and spreading it's own brand of evil over the unsuspecting patrons of the arts.

"Sure it's not a werewolf?"

Sam shook his head, having gone over this many times already. "Nope. Not unless it's decided to blend in with society and hang out at museums."

"Crazed, blood thirsty, Indiana Jones wannabe?" Dean asked hopefully.

Sam tilted his head, conceding the possibility on principal. "Indy doesn't steal hearts."

"We've seen stranger things," Dan offered. When there was no response, he took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow sigh. "Okay, then, Alex. I'll take Ancient Aztec curses for five hundred." He turned slightly toward his brother. "Now what?"

Sam mimicked his brother's sigh. "According to Bobby, we have two options." He held up a hand, index finger extended. "One, we can steal the skull and put it in a curse box, store it away in Dad's storage shed along with the others, or," he held up a second finger, "two, we can steal the skull and salt and burn it, therefore destroying it completely."

"Either way we have to break into a locked, alarmed, guarded museum and steal the damn skull."

"Yahtzee." Sam responded, grinning at the chance to steal his brother's line.

Dean ignored him. "Awesome."

Snsnsnsnsnsnsn

Sam soon discovered that not only did his brother consider museums dry and boring, he also found any and all research concerning said museum just as dry and boring. After a few hours of trying to get the layout and schematics of the building despite his brother's constant interruptions and complaints, Sam was becoming increasingly annoyed.

Normally, Dean would dive right into the planning of a break-in, the thrill of the execution something he could really sink his teeth into. But ever since his return from… ever since he'd returned, the older man had obviously found it harder to concentrate on the simple things like breaking and entering. If course, Sam could hardly blame him. When you'd been dragged out of Hell by and angel of the Lord, it was probably a little more difficult to focus on the more austere trappings of a hunt.

It's not like he expected Dean to go postal or anything – even though he had a better excuse than pretty much anyone… ever. To be fair, Sam knew what had happened was weighing heavily on his brother, and although Dean insisted he didn't remember what had happened to him in Hell, Sam was convinced he was holding back. What or how much, the younger hunter couldn't be sure, but whatever it was, Sam knew his brother would divulge what he did remember in his own sweet time. Pushing would only cause him to clam up even more about the last four months and Sam knew he would have to let some of the pain out sometime, if only to make room for more. Besides, Sam was keeping his own secrets, not entirely sure how to tell his brother about his time alone.

He was more than a little afraid of what Dean would think if he told him the truth about Ruby. Hell, Sam wasn't even sure what to think. He'd allowed himself to consider her… maybe not a friend, but an ally.

A Winchester in bed with a demon! Wouldn't Dad be proud.

He cringed at how literal that statement was, the thought of what he'd done still making his skin crawl. At the time he'd been too far gone to rationalize his actions. He was at rock bottom. In pain… alone. He needed something, anything to make him feel alive, and so he had let down his guard and she had given him what he needed. He'd chastised himself countless times since for his weakness, but it had given him something. He'd turned a corner that night. He'd finally realized that what he'd become wasn't good enough. Dean had died so that he could live, and that night with Ruby awakened something and showed him that he needed to keep fighting in order to honor his brother's sacrifice.

But did he truly trust her? No. He wasn't that far gone. He owed her. She'd helped him, but he knew his brother wouldn't see it that way. He knew Dean would look at him with disdain, unable to comprehend how he could've sunk so low.

At least the old Dean would have. This new Dean, so close to the brother he remembered, was still, in many ways, a complete mystery to him… a blank page in a well read book that could possibly change the entire story into one he had little hope of understanding. At times he'd look at his brother and instead of seeing the man who'd raised him, who'd been there for him his whole life, he'd see a stranger. Someone who was unpredictable, someone who wasn't… Dean.

It kind of scared him, if he was being honest.

It had been hard for Dean to accept that he'd truly been saved by an angel and that the man upstairs had 'plans' for him. It wasn't that he didn't want to believe, it was simply that he'd never had a chance to believe in anything except his family. The evil that had permeated their lives had stolen whatever innocence Dean may have had and left a dark legacy to which no Winchester was immune. Dean had done what was needed to survive his whole life. Sam was sure that had been no different in Hell. Whatever God's plans were for Dean, Sam hoped his brother would take the chance of believing that something good could actually come of this. He hoped that Dean could find a way to believe that something good could happen for him.

Although right now, Sam was pretty sure something bad was going to happen to his brother soon if he didn't stop annoying him.

"Dean."

The clicking of the pen continued unabated in time with the low hum that was emanating from the older hunter's throat.

"Dean!"

"What?"

Sam sighed as the background noise that had been surrounding him suddenly ceased.

"Could you possibly be quiet for a few minutes?"

Dean threw his brother a look of confusion. "I am being quiet."

"No, you're not," Sam started, then with a quick shake of his head, changed tactics. "Look, it's almost dark. Why don't you run out and get us something to eat. By the time you get back I should have the layout of the museum drawn up and we can figure out the best route in and out."

Dean shrugged and tossed the pen and pad of paper he'd been doodling on down onto the bed, hopping off the mattress and grabbing his jacket in one motion. "I could eat," he agreed enthusiastically. "Burger?"

"Yeah. And onion rings. I think I saw a Burger King down the road."

"Have it your way, Sammy," Dean quipped as he snatched the keys from the table and opened the door. "Back in a few."

Sam sighed in relief as he listened to the sound of the Impala's engine rev and then fade and the big black Chevy pulled out of the parking lot. He stared at the computer for a few minutes, relishing the silence until his eyes wandered back to the bed his brother had been perched on only a few minutes ago. The sight of the rumpled, empty bed made his breath catch as his mind swarmed with the hundreds of times his eyes had found that exact site in those four months replaying in vivid Technicolor.

Swallowing hard, he shook himself from the unwelcome memories, suddenly not so content with the heavy silence that had settled over the room. With a shaking breath he realized that the peace and quiet he'd achieved was entirely over-rated.

snsnsnsnsnsnsnsns

Sam looked up from the laptop as the jiggling sound of the door lock made him sigh in relief. Anger quickly replaced that emotion as he watched his brother stagger through the door, his green eyes searching until they found Sam.

"Since when does a food run take two hours, Dean…." Sam paused at the look of utter shock on his brother's face as the older man looked him up and down silently. Sam had seen that look before – when Dean was afraid that something had hurt him or he was in some sort of danger. The look registered with Sam, even though he knew there was nothing to warrant such a reaction. He frowned, suddenly noting the way Dean was swaying and the glassy look in his wide eyes. "Dean?" He rose from the chair and took a step forward, watching his brother relax somewhat as the older man seemed to conclude that everything inside the small motel room was as it should be. "Dean?" Sam repeated, inching closer, "You okay?"

Sam's eyes were drawn to a reflection in his brother's hand and his breath hitched at the sight of a ornate, very sharp looking dagger in Dean's limp grasp. The blade was dark with blood and Sam swallowed hard. He held up a hand and spoke softly yet firmly. "Dean, give me the knife."

Dean had been pretty quiet after the whole ordeal with Jack Montgomery, and Sam had chalked that up more to the raw tension that still flowed between them than the head wound the older hunter had received at the hand of the rugaru. Although Dean hadn't complained, Sam knew he'd been suffering from headaches off and on since leaving Montgomery's. Maybe he should've paid closer attention… maybe what had happened had knocked loose something, some memory from Hell that his brother hadn't been able to handle. Maybe…

Dean's eyes dropped to his hand as he slowly raised the dagger, his face scrunching into a look the Sam could only identify as confusion. The movement caused the older man's jacket to gape open and Sam's eyes widened at what he saw.

Blood.

A lot of it.

The lower left side of Dean's t-shirt, as well as some of the checkered overshirt and faded jeans were stained, the viscous liquid shining under the dim lights on the motel room. Sam allowed himself a small sigh, relieved to know his fears had been for naught and that his brother hadn't hurt anyone. This wasn't some stranger that had finally snapped due to the inhuman stress he'd been subjected to. This was Dean. His brother. The man who'd died to save him. How he could've ever thought anything different….

Sam took another step forward, stopping short as the knife dropped to the floor and Dean raised his head slowly, brow furrowing further as his glassy eyes caught his brother's.

"Sammy…"

Sam dashed forward as Dean's eyes rolled back into his head and his body began to collapse toward the floor.

"Dean!"

He caught the shorter man before he hit the ground, deftly turning and swinging him onto the nearby bed. He swore softly as he pulled the soaked T-shirt up, revealing the puncture wound lying beneath.

"What the hell…" he muttered, his hand hovering over the bleeding gash. He stared for a moment, trying to understand how a simple food run could've resulted in this. Shaking himself from his shock, he dashed to the bathroom, collecting every available towel, turning on the tap and tossing one into the sink under the stream of warm water. Quickly returning to the main room, he pressed a second towel firmly against the seeping wound, wincing in sympathy as the action caused his semi-conscious brother to moan in protest.

"Dean?" he called, leaning forward to get a better look at his sibling's face. "Dean? You with me?"

The older man slowly moved his head from side to side, his face contorted into a grimace of pain. "Sammy?"

Sam sighed in relief at the soft whisper, content for the moment to know his brother was still lucid. "Man, what the hell? That creepy Burger King catch you stealing ketchup packets again?"

Dean chuckled, wincing as Sam pressed down harder on his stomach. "Ain't… messin' with that fugly dude – AH!!"

"Sorry," Sam quickly apologized, easing off the pressure slightly. He pulled back the towel, inspecting the gaping wound with thin set lips. "Doesn't look too deep. What the hell happened?"

"Stabbed."

"Yeah, got that. Who the hell stabbed you?"

Dean shook his head again, lazily letting it roll against the mattress. "Chick."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "You let a girl take you down?" He placed the towel back across his brother's stomach, lifting Dean's left hand and placing it on top. "Hold that," he ordered as he crossed back to the small bathroom and retrieved the towel in the sink. Dripping a trail of water, he returned to the bed, and removed the blood soaked towel, replacing it with the soaked one. He deftly used the edges to clear the dried blood from Dean's skin, carefully pressing down around the wound to clean it.

Sam took a shaking breath as he lifted the towel and carefully inspected the still seeping injury. He shook his head. "Dean, I think you need a hospital."

Dean frowned, obviously considering the option. "Nah, you can handle it. Sammy."

Sam shook his head more adamantly. "There could be internal bleeding, Dean. It could've nicked an organ or something. I can't –" He looked down as he felt Dean's cold hand encircle his wrist.

"You can Sam." Dean's eyes were pain filled, but clear and Sam found himself nodding slowly. "Didn't go too deep. Just stitch me up, bro. I'll be fine."

Sam took a deep breath then steeled himself for what he was about to do. He crossed back to the bathroom, finding another towel over the edge of the tub and brought it back to the room, snagging the first aid kit from the duffle as he passed. Placing both items on a nearby chair, Sam placed his hands on his hips and surveyed the man on the bed.

"If we're gonna do this, I'm gonna have to move you, Dean."

He shrugged when he received a glare in response.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, swallowing hard at the thought. "And I was so comfy right here."

Sam grinned and held out a hand. "Come on. Let's get this done."

It took a lot of coaxing on Sam's part and a lot of painful grunting on Dean's, but they were finally able to get the injured man out of his bloody coat and shirts and positioned on the edge of the bed. Sam worked as quickly and carefully as possible, keeping the sutures small and neat as he skillfully closed the wound, grateful that Dean had succumbed to unconsciousness soon after the first stitch.

He cleaned the remaining blood, spread a layer of antibiotic ointment over the puckered gash and carefully bandaged it. Tossing the towels and Dean's shirts into the tub to soak, he quickly cleaned the rest of the mess.

The glint of metal from the floor caught his attention and he bent to examine the dagger that had been dropped and forgotten during triage. The thing looked old – not Grandma's china cabinet old, but ancient civilization museum old. The blade itself was a copper color, probably stained dark from centuries of exposure to who knows what. The hilt was bone, Sam surmised, with gold bands wrapped in a twisting pattern up and down each side. It looked Egyptian, Sam guessed, but he couldn't be sure.

He grabbed the open laptop from the table and dropped down onto the opposite bed, suddenly too exhausted to move. His eyes moved toward his brother's face, relieved to see that the lines of pain had disappeared as he succumbed to sleep. As long as they could avoid infection, Sam was pretty sure Dean would be okay. The wound had been shallow, and Sam knew it would hurt like a bitch, but wasn't life threatening. There was no sign the blade had damaged anything internal, so maybe they'd managed to dodge a bullet this time.

He placed a few Tylenol and a bottle of water on the nightstand for when Dean woke and leaned back against the backboard. Taking a last look at his brother, he settled in and focused his attention on the computer screen, resolved to the long, sleepless night ahead.

TBC