A/N: Thanks as always for the great reviews, and as I think I forgot to disclaim the Winchesters in the last chapter, I officially do so here.
xxxx
"Dean! Deean!" From somewhere in the blackness that he had fallen into, Dean could hear Sammy yelling for him. For a second, he allowed himself to stay wherever he was, the dull pain he felt a sure indicator that once he reached full consciousness he would be in a world of hurt, but Sammy needed him and he couldn't let him down.
"Sammy?" He murmured groggily, prying his eyelids open and trying not to wince. His whole body was throbbing, the aches and pains pulsing outward, his knee and side the epicenters, and Sam's distressed cries were not helping any.
"Dean, you slept in! I'm gonna be late for school!" Sam sounded on the very edge of bursting into tears, something Dean wasn't sure he could handle right now, so he forced himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his eyes, trying to force himself to be more coherent. Sammy was dressed in his favorite outfit, Batman shirt under a bright yellow blazer, with his backpack already slung over thin shoulders.
"Okay Sam, just give me a second, buddy," Dean said soothingly, trying to radiate calm and quiet to his fidgeting brother. Damn but his head was pounding. He swung his right leg over the bed then gently moved the left knee beside it, breath escaping in a quiet hiss as he did so. He took a deep breath and stood, left knee immediately trying to buckle. Dean was ready though, and grasped at the nightstand with a white-knuckled grip, forcing himself to remain upright. It was with relief that Dean noted that Sam was bouncing with anxiety, staring at the door and too busy to notice Dean's weakness.
"Dean, I'm never late! What if my teacher hates me?" Sam wailed, and Dean smiled slightly despite the situation. The better question was how the hell he was going to get himself, let alone his little brother to school.
"She won't hate you," Dean answered quietly, smiling reassuringly. "I promise, Sammy." Sam seemed to be appeased for the moment, so Dean started to limp towards the bathroom. A sudden thought struck him.
"Could you open the blinds for me, Sam?" He asked, and Sam frowned.
"We aren't s'posed to do that," the six year old responded.
"I know, Sammy," Dean answered between grit teeth. His knee was threatening collapse again, and he tried to hurry his slow steps toward the bathroom. "Just do it, would you?" Sam finally complied, and Dean sighed when his theory was confirmed. It appeared to have snowed close to half a foot overnight, and it was still coming down.
"Sammy, can you turn on the TV?" Dean asked, turning back towards the bed. It seemed so far away now…
"Dean! You're s'posed to be getting ready to take me to school!" Sam yelled, and Dean winced as his head ached even more.
"Sam," Dean said in a tone he rarely used. Sam glared at him, bottom lip sticking out, and marched to the TV, flicking it on angrily. The picture was fuzzy at first, then morphed into a news anchor.
"And due to the snow, all of the schools in this county have been cancelled for the day. Numerous schools have reported frozen pipes and other problems following this record-setting storm. In other news-"
"No!" Sammy yelled, staring open-mouthed and panicked at the television. "They cancelled school, Dean!"
"It's okay, Sam," Dean said. It was more than okay. It was a lifesaver.
"No, it isn't! Today we were going to make art with Miss Davis, and we were gonna use macaroni and glue it to the paper, and we were gonna get to use glitter!"
"Well Sammy, instead you get to stay home with your awesome big brother and watch cartoons. Okay? It'll be fun." Sam sat despondently on the floor, removing crayons and a coloring book from his backpack with a solemnity rarely seen outside of funerals. He then flung the backpack into the corner, and Dean sighed.
"Okay Sam, you can pout if you want to, but I'm gonna get dressed." Sam didn't respond, and Dean rolled his eyes. He limped to the foot of the bed and pulled the cleanest clothes he could manage from his suitcase. Back to the bathroom, and this time Dean wasn't sure he could make it. His knee had turned into a mass of pulsating agony, and his side felt slightly slick, maybe from sweat but probably from blood. Gritting his teeth, he managed to limp/stumble to the door, where he stood trembling for a second, his grip on the old doorframe the only thing preventing him from collapse. Sammy didn't say anything, so Dean guessed he probably hadn't noticed. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep that up.
Upon finally arriving at the elusive bathroom, Dean managed to haul himself inside, shutting the door quickly behind him. Collapsing onto the toilet, he breathed in heaving gasps, trembling fingers pulling his shirt gingerly over his head. He unwound the bandage with only a few hisses of pain, horrified to notice that blood had seeped all the way through. Shit! He didn't know what else to do, so he carefully got new supplies and wrapped the wound again, tighter this time than before. That would have to hold.
Stripping his pajama bottoms down, he winced at the sight of his knee. It was horribly swollen and he couldn't straighten it out completely, and it didn't seem like the ice had done much to help. He slowly managed to pull on his clothes, tears streaming down his face by the time he was finished, breath coming in harsh half-sobs.
"Dean," Sam's voice called through the door, the whining tone clear. Dean didn't want to know what was coming. "Dean, I'm hungry." Dean barely had time to lurch to his feet and flip on the fan before bursting into tears, bawling as he remembered that all he had left was a jar of peanut butter and no money.
"Dean?" Dean forced himself to quit crying, wiping quickly at his cheeks and trying to take deep breaths.
"Just a sec, Sammy," he answered, and forced himself up to his feet. Walking slowly, he limped to the door, his knee feeling on the verge of giving out the entire time.
"Dean, all I could find was peanut butter," Sammy whined, and Dean nodded painfully.
"I know, Sammy. I'm gonna go get some more food, okay?"
"You got more food yesterday, Dean."
"I guess I forgot some stuff, Sammy. It's okay, though, I'll just go get some more." The thought of going out into the snow and walking all the way to the market was the last thing he wanted to do, but Dean honestly couldn't think of another solution.
"Am I coming?" The way he asked it made it clear that he didn't want to go, and Dean suspected that it had as much to do with Sam still being upset with him as it did the weather.
"No Sammy, just me."He didn't want Sam out in the cold, and he didn't want Sam seeing what he was going to do. Sam nodded and turned the TV on, flipping through channels like a seasoned pro. "My turn to pick password, right?" Sam nodded.
"Starscream," Dean said, and Sammy glared at him.
"Starscream is a bad guy! He's a De-Decectipon!"
"Decepticon, Sammy, and he's the coolest Transformer even if he is a bad guy."
"No he isn't! I'm not saying that, Dean."
"Good, cause you don't have to. I do. I'll be back soon, okay? You know how it works, don't let anyone in."
"I know, Dean." Dean paused at the door, trying not to be disappointed when Sam remained silent, and headed out into the cold.
Two blocks and close to an hour later, Dean limped painfully into the store, finding an empty aisle and allowing himself to slide to the floor. Five minutes of deep breaths and a few errant tears and Dean pushed himself up to his feet. His knee gave way immediately, and he nearly took an entire display over with him when he struggled to regain some balance, but he finally made it, limping painfully towards the bread. He didn't think he could hide it very well, but he'd seen a few other people in the store and was hoping he could walk out with them without the cashier noticing.
Making his way painfully towards the front of the store, he stopped dead in his tracks when he recognized the cashier.
"Hey little guy, weren't you just in here?" The man asked, and Dean nodded slowly. "You don't look so good. Are you okay?" Again, Dean nodded, staring at the floor. "You going to buy that?" Dean hung his head, toe scuffing on the floor. He mumbled something unintelligible and put the bread up on the counter, turning to leave.
"Hey. Hang on, kid." Dean didn't stop, face burning and head pounding. "Are you okay?" Dean shrugged, trying to stop the tears from falling even as his bottom lip started trembling. "You can't pay for this can you?" Dean remained silent.
"Stay here. You leave, I call the cops, got it?" Dean's eyes widened. He knew that he couldn't outrun the cashier in his condition, and he was essentially stuck. His side was hurting even worse than it had been and his leg was starting to shake as he struggled to remain standing, and it finally gave out, sending him ungracefully to the floor.
"Oh, buddy," the cashier said suddenly, squatting in front of Dean. He had two bags full of groceries and set them down on the floor, gently lifting Dean up. "You need help. Let me call an ambulance for you, okay?" Dean shook his head. "Please, kid."
"Why are you helping m-me?" Dean whispered, his voice trembling.
"I have three little boys at home, and if one of them needed help, I hope someone would. I don't know your story, but you need help, kid, and I can do that. Are you okay to get home?" He cast a suspicious look at Dean, who tried to straighten himself.
"Yes, sir. Th-Thank you, sir." He collected the bags of food in his arms and limped out the door.
"Hey kid?" The cashier called, and Dean paused. "Be careful." Dean could feel the tears coming to his eyes and wondered vaguely when he'd turned into such a girl.
It was biting cold outside. Dean's jacket was too small, and his fingers ached. His face stung with the wind, and the groceries seemed to weigh down his arms. One block, six short rests, and forty five minutes into his trek home, Dean could feel a cough building in his chest, and once the first one erupted, more seemed to follow without pause. He managed to keep stumbling forward, but he was growing light-headed and his leg was giving out with every step now.
Another hour and he somehow found himself at the motel door. He had little recollection of walking the last block, his head was swimming, and his chest ached from coughing and from bruises. He could feel warm blood trickling down his back.
"Password!" Sammy yelled from inside.
"S-S-Starscream," Dean managed before another coughing fit overtook him.
"Dean?" Sam asked, eyes wide as he swung the door open.
"Here ya g-go, S-Sammy," Dean muttered, setting the bags on the table.
"Dean? Dean!" Sam's voice was panicked and high-pitched and Dean wanted to tell him that it was okay, but the room was spinning and darkness seemed to be crowding his vision, and as he felt his knee give way yet again, Dean felt himself surrendering entirely into the black.