Disclaimer: No money being made, purely for enjoyment of fans, etc.
ROLLING STONES
Chapter 3
Ow! Something hard whacked him right on the tip of his nose-
"Sammy! C'mon, please!"
Dean?
Vaguely realising that the deep groaning like an arthritic 80-year-old was coming from him, he struggled to sit upright; the nose assaulting culprit had been Dean's charm necklace, since he was kneeling beside Sam, helping him slowly sit up with reassuringly solid arms.
His head was killing him…and he had goose-bumps…why had he taken his hoodie off…and why did he have…panty elastic? tied around his arm…and uck why did his mouth taste like…ew, because he obviously had, over there. Yuck.
"Uuuh…" a bright light was shone in his eyes by…Bobby…needing to take the mouthwash to the next level dude…
"Pupil reaction's fine. He's just got a mild concussion. What did you do, boy?"
"How many mild concussions does it take to get a fatal haematoma?" Dean shot back at Bobby. "Sam? Don't make any sudden moves, okay. You're concussed."
News from the file marked 'duh'. "Dean…" he leaned his forehead against Dean's shoulder as Dean instinctively moved his arm further around Sam's back to support him; for a moment Sam just let himself relax and enjoy the feeling of safety engendered by being able to let Dean take care of him…
"Sam," the urgency and sharpness of Bobby's tone indicated he'd repeated his name more than once. "What happened? What did you do?"
Nothing. Finding his headache to be excruciating but barely bearable Sam reluctantly moved his head back from Dean's harbouring shoulder, confused. Why had he got – elastic, some sort of rubber band? around his arm…there was a big bruise just below his elbow…trying to push aside the fog he peered at Bobby's sunken fearful eyes and managed to inwardly translate 'what did you do?'as Bobby's self-recriminating 'I shouldn't have said you didn't need another go-round in the panic room'.
But he didn't. Oh sure, he still felt like crap – constantly aching, weary, cold, sore-eyed – but that was it. Ruby's admission that her blood wasn't mystical crack cocaine but actually the demonic version of a sports energy drink had sent him reeling, but after Dean got him back to Bobby's after Lucifer had tripped the light fantastic and fandago'd who-knew-where, Sam had not suffered the terrible, searing withdrawal complete with not-fun aural and visual hallucinations that he had been enduring back when – apparently - Castiel had let him out on Zachariah's express orders; Sam had been sitting on that titbit of knowledge for a while, and the angel seemed as oblivious as Dean and Bobby.
Bobby had told him and Dean – and Castiel, who had been doing his now-comes-as-standard loitering in a corner of the room, making like an umbrella stand routine – that it was because everybody concentrated on the solid and tangible, when really the mind was far more powerful than pretty much anything.
He'd reminded them of when they'd taken out Mordecai the Tulpa, and how Sam had been smart enough to wonder 'how many o'the things we hunt only exist 'cause folks believed in 'em, or believed in 'em enough. Y'went through cold turkey hell 'cause your mind believed that the demon blood was the mystic version o' heroin or crack, but then your brain learned it was n'worse than knockin' back mugs o' double espressos, just like yah had no trouble usin' your powers like a pro' when you thought it was the blood not you. Now what passes fuh that brain o' yours knows the truth you don't need the blood and you ain't goin' through no nightmare withdrawal.'
But the look on Bobby's face showed clearly he was rethinking that theory, and given the fact that he had a blinding headache, had hurled, and been found drooling on the carpet in a skeezy motel room with – a bit of rubber tubing? What was this thing and it was starting to dig into his bicep? tied around his arm, Sam couldn't blame Bobby for not trusting Sam further than he could throw –
Not trusting me, period. But all his focus had been on -
Dean!
"Are you crazy!" he yelled at the errant angel. "I told you to protect Dean!"
"I am unable to detect any danger to Dean." Castiel responded.
"Oh yeah, like Zachariah was no danger to him!" yelled Sam, ignoring his agonising head. "This could be a trap to lure Dean out! All of you need to get out of here now!"
"Sam, put a sock in it!" Dean could out-bellow Sam any day of the week, technically bigger lungs or not. "I'm not going anywhere and Cas isn't stupid enough to try and make me. Bobby said you set off on a quick round trip to check out a lead on our 'L' of a problem, and you should have been back way before me and Cas, next thing Cas does the whole beam me up Scotty routine and reappears to tell us that you're out of it in some skeevy motel yelling about how I'm about to be massacred. What happened?"
"She blindsided me is what happened." Sam retorted. "One sawn off nightstick to the head is what happened. A maid delivering towels, how could I have been so dumb…"
"Some motel maid I've never met is out to gank me?" Dean looked as though he were about to haul Sam down to the ER for an MRI.
"She wasn't the maid…" Sam looked at Dean fearfully. "Dean…it was Bela."
Continued in Chapter 4© The Cat's Whiskers
Author's Note – Jensen and Jared have both confirmed they have signed a six-year contract to play the characters, though Eric Kripke has only signed for five; however, I am still going to work on the premise that the Season 5 premiere plot will be as I suppose, with Lucifer out loose in the world and Dean and Sam on the back foot playing catch up. I am also going to presume there will be Season 6. On the one hand, I love the show, on the other I don't want it end up like Lost, dragging on three seasons after it should have finished and gone out at the top of its game.