There we go ^^ you guys know i don't do deathfics … i couldn't … not without bringing them back … so no worries. no one's gonna die as long as I'm around (and as long as myself isn't taking over again) … there we are :) ~ oh & yeah, this is a DAMN LONG chapter ...
WARNINGS: i'd suggest that you read HABITAT first. - it's the main-story and a giveaway to understand this one. You can also read it as a stand-alone, but you won't get the meaning of it properly. unrelated wincest, mentions of all kind of evil stuff (torture, abuse, rape, etc.), i'll take both of them thru hell and back in this story – though nothing too graphic. rated MA for a good reason ~ for the sensitive ones among us ;)
DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE, english ain't my mothers-language & NO BETA ~ soooo sorry about mistakes & stuff
THANK YOU to all my REVIEWERS, FOLLOWERS & FAVORITES :)
that means a lot & keeps me going … sooooo: LEAVE ME SOME BACON!
previously on bruisedbloodybroken aka THE ROAD SO FAR:
Sam swallowed. „Half a year ago … you told me, that no one owns me. Not even you. That no one has the right to beat me like THEY did. - You said you love me. You'll watch out for me … and now?", he just couldn't take it anymore. He had to get thru his Dean - somehow - he just had to, he had to try ... and even if it was wrong or if he failed ... it didn't matter now. Dean was already too far gone to get away from him without a fight. "I love you, Dean. - I love you so much it sometimes hurts. - And now? I don't know what this is what we have right now, but it's not what i want. And I'm sure it's not what you want either. - What happened to the promises you gave me, Dean?"
The older male's lips curled up into an evil grin, that took in his whole face. Deans orbs blazed in dark liquid green fire. „Surprise, surprise … i've lied.", he growled and with one fast motion he knocked Sam out with the butt of his gun.
NOW:
Chapter 4 ~ The Last Fight
He awoke on a cold hard surface. His head was pounding, his ribs stinging. His arms felt sore from the unnatural ankle they were in. Cold hard metal digged into the soft flesh of his wrists, tearing on his skin. Then – before he was able to wrap his mind around the fact that he was bound – before he was able to catch a clear thought – everything went dark again.
The past three days went by in a haze of confusion, disorientation and pain. Sometimes he had the feeling that he was back in the basement. That Dean had just been a dream, nothing but a blissful wish to escape from the hunters torture. Every time he tried to hold on a memory of the hunter who saved him from ending up as bait or puppet for demons or angels, it faded before it had a chance to get lucid and clear.
Then there were hands on him, around him. He felt them. He thought he felt Dean. Sam thought it was him. Thought he heard the hunters voice. At some point he heard a phone ring – HIS PHONE, the one Dean had given to him. Dean wasn't just an imagination. It was real, and he tried hard not to lose him all over the confusion of what was happening. Everything was too loud, too fast, too blury. Sam felt him. Felt him on him, on his bare skin, in him … and he didn't want. This wasn't Dean. This wasn't the man he had loved. - The man he still loved. The man he had to save – save from the dark forces of the object that were making him do these things.
His Dean wouldn't want this. His hunter wouldn't hurt him like this, ever. Dean would've protected him, would've killed himself before he'd have done anything of this to Sam. So Sam would do everything to save the hunter from his destiny under the possession of this thing. He had to … he couldn't let Dean kill himself … He had to stop it.
So he decided to give him what this Dean demanded. Let him do whatever he wished to do – winning time to gather some strength for a desperate try and free the both of them from the darkness they were living in.
It was when Dean loosened the handcuffs again to put them off. It was then when the older hunter had thought, that Sam wouldn't try to fight him off anymore. It was then, when Sams eyes snapped wide open and the hunter in him recaptured control over every muscle, every thought in his beaten up body and mind, to break free. Shoving a pretty surprised Winchester backwards with such force, that the man landed on his buttocks in the middle of the room. He stalled enough time to get the knife from the bedside table. Despite his injuries, his double-vision and a cracked bone in his leg (wich one he had ignored until now), he was fast. Faster as he had thought by himself he would be.
But Dean didn't sleep. He was back on his feet in an instant, but was too late to get to the younger male in time. So he drew the knife he had tugged between waistband and belt of his jeans, holding it up in a dangerous gesture.
Sam fixed Dean as Dean fixed Sam with his look. Both of them were in hunter-mode and both of them were dangerous as hell. Even a hurt hunter was a dangerous hunter when it was all about his prey or about saving a life. The pain made them even more sensitive and alert, when it was mixed up with adrenaline. So was Sam.
They stood there for a while, staring at each other, assess each others skills. Sam knew he wouldn't win. He just had to try. Try and get near him, making this one single fast move, a small cut that was deep enough and if he was lucky it'd work as he had planned. It would just take a second or less. Everything that remained debilitating was his blurry double-vision. Sam tightened his grip around the knifes handle so that his knuckles turned white. He knew … if he'd fail now it was all over and both of them would die in the end.
Then it began … Dean didn't attack him right on. He wanted to make him tired, so he teased him, never letting him out of sight. The older hunter was taking him in. His movements, his speed and his weaknesses. He figured that Sams leg was hurt, that he was in pain and sore all over and that his vision wasn't the best since he blinked more often to clear and focus on his opposite.
Sam got tired and he felt his strength fading slowly … so he decided to make the first move. The plan was getting Dean under him somehow, holding him down, cutting the thing out of him. It just had to work. Somehow.
But it didn't. Dean was faster, stronger … more alert. So after a short wringing and a couple of punches later, they were where they had started from. Sam stood in front of Dean, about two yards between them, both panting and their heartbeat erratic.
They circled each other, knifes drawn, ready to attack or defend. What made them both different were their purposes. That Sam didn't want to kill Dean. He just wanted to free them both. Cutting the one thing out of Deans body that had caused it all. All of this. Burning the bone and everything would be OK again. He knew it wouldn't go over without a fight, without blood. At least not without Deans. It just would take a cut. A little gash. But the older hunter didn't let his guard down. There was no way Sam'd be able to come near the area on Deans body where the damned thing rested.
So Sam made the only decision he was capable of. Dean shouldn't have to die too. If it took to get hurt or even die to free Dean - keeping him alive … it would be worth it. He just wanted Dean to be OK again. To be him again. To – at least – look into the warm green emerald eyes for a last time. Feeling Deans gentle hands on him. One last time – talking to the man he loved from the bottom of his heart.
No, Sam didn't plan to die. - But if it'd happen it'd be OK. It'd be worth it. Dean would find someone else to like … to love. All though Sam thought he should've reacted faster, knowing it better. He should've sensed that this was something not natural that was going on. He thought that Dean might felt the way he acted now at some point. Because it had to come from somewhere didn't it? This thing in him … there had to be a base to build up on … to let it escalate that way. And maybe this Dean was right at some point … with all the things he had said before …
Anyways. There was no time to think right now. It was time to act. He had to take care of this mess. At least he had to try.
So he pushed forward, faking an attack to Deans chest, as he snapped the knife back into his left hand, flicking it forward and tearing the fabric of Deans shirt and cutting into the soft flesh on his flank. In the split of a second after this had happened Sam felt it. Deans blade digging deep into his right side below his ribs.
The knife slipped out of Sams hand, as Deans weapon drew deeper into his body and sank in until skin touched the wooden shaft. The younger man tried to ignore the pain, his buckling knees, the agony and the sudden nausea that rolled over him. He had to get it out of Dean. Out of him before it was too late. Before the object could end this for both of them.
Sam tried to focus on Dean. On the man opposite of him. He had too. Otherwise it'd be too late. To late for both of them. So he focused. On the closeness between them. The closeness he haven't felt like in a lifetime, staring with big sadness filled hazel eyes into the coldest green eyes he had ever seen.
The younger hunter swayed. He couldn't stop it. Couldn't stop the dizziness claiming his body and mind. Then he felt one of Deans hands on his lower back, steadying him, twisting the blade in his body with the other one - trying to cause as much pain as possible - as a breathless gasp left Sams lips. As his knees buckled, Dean let him sink to the floor. Slowly, so slowly, as he didn't want to hurt him, while he held the knife in it's place. Savouring every single momento of the younger males pain, the hurt and desperation in his look. Dean kneeled over him, his hand still on the weapon remaining in Sams body.
Sam knew now, that he wouldn't make it. - Not in time at least … maybe … if he was able to draw it out … maybe he'd be able to save at least Deans life. Maybe Bobby had noticed something – anything maybe. He didn't know how much time had passed, what day it was … but he prayed … he prayed that their friend would come, and if he at least get a hold of Dean. To save him. Save him from what the thing would probably put him thru. Letting him regret what he had done, letting him suffer about it, taking the anger and rage away so that he was just Dean again. All Dean. A Dean who wouldn't be able to take this. Who wouldn't be able to get over this … That was what this thing did. That was what the other victims made kill themselves. Sam knew it now – he didn't know how, he didn't know why … but he knew it.
Dean should just know that he loved him. No matter what. That he'd forgive him, that he knew it wasn't the older male's fault. Nothing of that. That it all had happened because of the thing inside of him. Because of this small hell-bound bone …
„Love you … Dean." Sam whispered quietly. „I know this isn't you. - I just … wished … i'd … i'd could've got you back in time." Sams voice was shaking.
An evil grin spread over Deans face and he yanked the knife out of the mans body below him. Blood soaked instantly through the thin fabric of Sams shirt. Blood dripping from the knife above.
„This IS me, Sammy." Deans grin went wider as he raised the knife high above the younger mans chest.
Right above the place where Sams heart slowed down with every beat that pumped more blood out of his wound.
Bobby held the phone in his hands, dialing Sams number again, but he didn't pick up. So he laid it on the passenger's seat and gripped the steering wheel of his Pick-Up-Truck tighter, pushing the gas pedal down.
He should've known that something was wrong when Sam didn't arrive, didn't pick up his phone since their last talk. He already had waited too long. He had called Dean before he had left the salvage, trying to find out what was going on. If Sam had even left, or if he just didn't reach the salvage. Dean sounded like usual … the normal bad ass comments and things … it was actually a pretty fine talk … wouldn't there have been Bobby, knowing that the hunter on the other line wasn't himself anymore. Was kind of possessed. As he wanted to talk to Sam, Dean had just said that he was fast asleep already. That he didn't want to wake him …
The next two hours went over slow. Too damn slow. Bobby made it in one hour and thirty minutes instead of two hours and forty-five minutes after he had tracked down Deans phone in a small motel three states over.
Bobby pulled down on the parking lot, slamming in the breaks and jumped out of his car. A silver blade reflected suspiciously the pale light of the street lamp, as he pushed forward. Targeting the room farthest from the office. He didn't knock, he didn't call – he pushed the door handle down and slammed the door open and there they were. Dean kneeled over Sam, his knife raised above the younger hunters chest, ready to end what the demonic object had started.
This was when he heard the motel-door bang open and recognized a blurry, furious Bobby storming into the room, pushing forward and throwing himself on Dean, off of Sam. And with a targeted cut the bearded man sliced another hole in Deans shirt - right where Sam had cut him - just deeper … not trying to be too careful, without hesitation. And he had placed it right. Right were the bone sat under Deans skin. Bobby held his friend down, the grip on his throat strong but not strangling, unless the man beneath him wasn't struggling against it.
The old man ignored Deans moaning, gasping and struggling, sliding a finger into the wound and feeling for the thing – the thing that had destroyed so many lives before … and now tried to take the both closest friends of him away. The ones he loved most … the both of them who became something like sons.
Bobby sat on Deans waist, as he finally felt it, squeezing it out with one smooth motion and tipping it aside, while he kept his position on the hunter. Waiting for Dean to get to himself again … if that was even possible after such a long time.
Deans eyes started to clear and anger shunned confusing, followed by realization. He gulped down whatever had let rise the lump in his throat and stared at Bobby. Then at the man on the floor a couple of feet away from him.
„No", he breathed as he lay there, trying to take in what just had happened … what had happened to him … trying to control the fading anger and rage. „Sammy?", his voice carried all the emotions that seemed to be lost in a world of darkness.
Bobby got off of him and with one single stride he was beside Sam, kneeling, praying that he wasn't too late. That he wasn't dead.
Sams head was turned away from both of them towards the busted door, until Bobby straightened his head, trying to make eye contact. Sams eyes remained unfocused and hazy … so unbelievable sad hazel-orbs trying to regain the force of life, trying to hold on.
„You got it?", Sam asked, one hand applying pressure on his wound, the other one raising, laying it on Bobby's bicep.
Then … there was a hand … not Bobby's hand. It felt rough, but still soft, caring. The hand covered his, putting more pressure on the wound at his side.
„Yeah, we got it Sam."; Bobby tried to smile, as he laid a hand on the tall mans shoulder.
„Thanks." Sam nodded gratefully, and took in another forced breath. „He's OK?"
The old hunter nodded. „Dean'll be alright, Son. - Don't you worry about it right now."
Sam smiled and made a small happy sound, nearly a lough.
The hand on his pushed down more firmly. „Sam?"
It was Dean. - Deans voice. His voice and all the meanings in the warm spoken name he had missed for so damn long. It was his Dean. His Dean. He was back. It was Deans hand on his, trying to stop the bleeding. Trying to help him, saving him. Caring about him. This wasn't the best situation to feel released and happy about it probably, but Sam couldn't help it. He had to smile. A wide happy smile, brightening his eyes like the one of a kid on Christmas.
A strong smile, a happy chuckle. Sam couldn't believe they had made it. Bobby had made it. „Got you 'ack." Sams voice broke. „Oh god. - c't believe it."
Dean smiled. Tears filling his eyes as Sam tried to focus on him, tried to focus on his gaze. All this love, the warmth in those hazel-orbs. All this love, that he didn't deserve. The brightness glistening as he managed to focus on him, trying to hold eye contact, trying to stay with Dean, despite of all that had happened.
And Dean remembered it. Every damn thing. And he remembered the joy. The joy and satisfaction in everything he did. And he wanted more … always more. Hurting him more, causing mental pain until it wasn't enough anymore. But he felt it … he needed it … the urge to hurt Sam and killing him. Freeing himself from Sam for good. Freeing himself from the deep bounding love he felt for the man whose life he had saved once.
A silent sob came over Deans lips. „I'm here Sammy. - Don't move. - Just talk to me, ok?"
Sam still smiled. So satisfied, so happy … so grateful. „Love you.", he mouthed, his vocal cords and throat already too weak to form something.
„God … Sammy, i'm so sorry. So sorry. I didn't want that. - I would've never … Sam … you've to believe me, please.", his voice hitched and broke while he stuttered away.
Bobby dialed 911 in the meantime, picking up towels from the bathroom and handing them to Dean. The younger hunter immediately lifted Sams hand up and put one of the clean towels on the wound. Sams and his own hand slippery from the enormous amount of blood that had soaked thru the shirt already. Dean applied pressure again and Sam gasped in pain, trying to breathe thru it over and over again.
„I'm gonna make it up to you – I'll try Sammy. - just give me a chance … just one chance." His eyes locked with fading green hazel-orbs, slowly loosing their brightness … and liveliness.
Deans hands were covered in blood. Sams blood. Everywhere. On Sams shirt, the towels, Sams neck, face, jeans … on the floor. Just everywhere, even on Dean and he couldn't tell how it had come there. On his own shirt, his own jeans, even his face.
The younger mans face turned pale, his skin covered in a thin layer of cold sweat and his breaths came out in small shallow gasps. He tried to lift his hand, touching Dean, feeling his warmth, wiping away the tears and telling him that it wasn't his fault. That he wasn't mad at him, that there was nothing to worry about. That he loved him. He still loved him.
„Should be here any minute.", Bobby took a deep inhale, as he laid two more towels beside Dean and got on his knees beside them.
„You hear me sunshine?", Dean tried to smile, not daring to break eye contact with the man under him.
„Yes Sir.", Sam mouthed carried on an exhale before he took another shallow breath. Sam closed his eyes for a second.
„No, don't you dare."; Dean squeezed his hand and sam obeyed.
He wasn't going to give up. He didn't plan to die. He was just too tired. Too sleepy. He just wanted to rest. Closing his eyes for a minute or two ...
Dean swallowed, as Bobby glanced at his watch. „Fife minutes."
„Damnit.", Dean cursed as he looked up at his older friend. „Where the hell are they?"
Sam opened his mouth tho say something. He had so much to say … so much he needed to tell Dean. He just wanted to let him know that it was okay.
Five long minutes later there were still no lights, no sirens, no ambulance.
„Bobby?", Dean asked.
Bobby pulled his phone out and called 911 again. The ambulance was involved in a car crash two blocks away, unable to get there … so they had sent another one … That was when they heard the sirens. Bobby jumped up and hurried outside, leading them to the right motel-room.
Seconds later the paramedics streamed into the room, surrounded the injured man on the floor, a gurney was brought in. Someone shoved Dean backwards … it were Bobby's hands. Bobby's arms that held him back, not letting him there. Letting him to Sam.
„Son, you can't help him … let them work … let them take care of Sam." Bobby said quietly, watching the fast actions of the paramedics.
They put him on a machine to mirror his vitals. They were weak. So damn weak. One of the paramedics was talking to Dean, but he didn't realize him. He didn't answer … he couldn't. He was too focused on Sam. Too focused on looking into empty big hazel-orbs and dilated pupils.
„We'll follow them.", He just heard Bobby's soft voice behind him.
And then … they shoved Sam out on the gurney. Leaving syringes, papers and other biohazard waste in the room. Including a pool of blood on the carpet. Tears running down Deans cheeks. He was shameless crying into his hands. His blood covered hands. Sams blood. Sams blood mixing with his tears.
How didn't he recognize? How didn't he see that this wasn't him? How could he had let this happen? Why didn't Sam do anything against it? Why didn't he go away? Just leave him? … Dean knew it wouldn't have mattered. He'd found him. Dean would've found him, the object would've made him find him, killing him … His look fell on the small bloody thing that Bobby had skipped aside. It lay there, as it was some innocent piece of waste. Not worth picking up and though … it had destroyed so much in his time being.
And it would end now. He and Bobby would take care of it. As soon as Sam would be back on his feet. Maybe earlier … they would find a way to destroy it and find the one who was responsible for all this mess – all this pain that dared to rip Dean apart.
„Son?", Bobby asked, standing beside the Winchester who stared shocked at the mess before him.
He looked up at the older man and then down on the blood on his hands – Sams blood on his hands.
„Better hurry up – gotta follow them.", Bobby mumbled.
Dean just nodded and continued to stare at the dried rusty colored moisture on his hands for a moment.
„Go and get a shower, then I'll stitch you up.", Bobby's voice was at least as broken and filled with worry as Deans mind was.
The younger male caught Bobby's look. His eyes red rimmed and tear-filled. „She was a demon.", Dean whispered to himself.
Bobby closed his eyes for a moment and nodded. „We can talk about it later."
After another moment of planless staring, he let Bobby help him to his feet. Then he hurried to get cleaned up and bitched at his friend for being too slow as he sewed up the gash on his side.
As they arrived at the hospital half an hour later, Sam was already in the surgery. One of the nurses stayed with the both hunters in the middle of the corridor in front of the nurses station and explained Sams state when he arrived. That they had lost him once on their way to the hospital, but brought his heartbeat back into a barely regular rhythm. That there were evidences of a intracranial-trauma, a couple of bruises, cracked ribs, a broken leg and signs of something she didn't want to explain closer – something doctor Burton would do later.
Dean squeezed his eyes shut and inched back to the wall, leaning against it. Bobby continued to ask questions Dean wasn't able to ask. Answers he didn't want to listen to. Not yet. Not now. But he knew, sooner or later he had to face it. Face Sam. Face what had happened, what he had done.
So – he stood there, not listening, shutting the world around him out. Just he and his memories and thoughts. The things he didn't want to remember. Memories that felt like they didn't belong to him.
He felt the satisfaction of Sams cries as he took him, the sobs that made him cheer. The bliss as he heard bones crack and break. The look and fear-filled hazel-orbs looking at him, pleading him to stop. That would haunting him for eternity.
Dean swallowed and opened his eyes as he felt a hand on his shoulder and stayed there. An old, rucked hand.
„Bobby ..."
„Not here. Not yet. - I've the bone and need some things for the ritual to destroy it. I'd like to get rid of it yesterday.". Bobby said, not knowing if Dean noticed him. Was able to notice him right now.
„Yeah – go – I'll stay here … may place's here -", he whispered, understanding Bobby's urge to destroy the thing.
Bobby nodded. „You'll be OK?"
Dean nodded again. „Sure." … as OK as he possibly could.
The older hunter took in the pale face of the younger man towards him, his guilty look, watery eyes. His bowed form. „You call me when they know somethin'? - You both are Sam and Dean Savenger. - Brothers by the way. - Should make sure that they let you to him."
Dean nodded gratefully. The lump in his throat growing. „Brothers, yeah.", he stated to show Bobby that he had listened.
So he waited … and waited. Head buried in his hands, thinking, crying, sobbing, sneezing, a coffee in his hand that wouldn't taste. Wouldn't smell like the black pure liquid it was.
Hours gone by. Bobby had called three times. And Sam still wasn't out of surgery. It took two more hours until the doctor came for Dean to inform him and fill him in about Sams condition. The one moment Dean was waiting for, hoping for, fearing.
He stood up as the doctor tabbed on his shoulder and his lips curled up into a friendly smile. A smile that didn't reach his tired, exhausted eyes.
„So", Dean cleared his throat. „How's he?"
The doctors face fell but he held eye contact. „He's stable – at the moment. - Mister Savenger suffers from an intracranial trauma and lost a lot of blood. - He's in a bad condition at the moment.", The doctor sighed and rubbed over his furrowed forehead. „Look – Your brother … he might not survive this night. - He had to take pretty much. And to be honest: it's surprising that he survived the transport ..."
Dean stared at him in disbelieve. „No – no it can't be. Don't say that. - No." Dean swayed. He knew he had to be strong now. Had to try and keep it together. For Sam, for himself. If he wanted to make it up to him in the future, he had to keep going, keep functioning.
„Sir?" Doc Burton laid a hand on his shoulder.
Dean swallowed, tears filling his eyes all over gain.
„Usually i don't let relatives in the ICU. - Not that short after a surgery … but in this case – Sir, if there's anything … anything you want to try and tell your brother … if you want to stay, i'll let the nurses know."
This was it? Sam – his Sam was going to die? He was going to lose … no he couldn't. Sam was strong. Stronger than this. Stronger as anyone he knew. He'd fight this. He had to. Dean had to make it up to him. Had to make him whole again. He had promised to look after him, promised to protect him and now he was dying?
Dean nodded and followed the doctor, deep sunken in thoughts. Lost between now and tomorrow, when he could've lost the one thing – the one person – he loved, who meant everything to him. He loved Sam so much it sometimes hurt … and now … he didn't want to live if Sam wouldn't.
The doctor stopped in front of a door with a glass window and turned around to face the hunter. „If you have to call someone i'd please you to do it now. - and … before you go in there … you have to know … the view … Sam's attached to a couple of machines. We had to take him on a vent since he wasn't able to breathe for himself … It might -"
Dean raised a hand to stop the doctor. He had seen people like this before, he knew that for some humans out there it was a shock to see their loved once like this. And it would be for Dean too. But he didn't want to waste time. He could imagine what he'd see in there … what he'd find in there … „I know. - Just. - I'll make a phone call and then .. then ..." He took a deep breath, his heart racing.
„It's allright. Just take your time.", The doctor took Deans features in and added: „if you need something – just call for a nurse."
Dean nodded eagerly. „Yeah." He took a deep breath as doctor Burton disappeared around the corner. Dean refused to take a look thru the window … didn't want to see what he had caused.
The next thing he knew was that he was holding a phone to his ear and that he was talking to Bobby, telling him what the doctor had told him. And Bobby said he'd come. Just like that … nothing more and nothing less.
The hunter put the phone back in the pocket of his leather-jacked and laid a hand on the door handle. Taking another deep breath, he pushed it down and stepped in. This time he looked up, his gaze glued to the bed in the middle of the dim lightened room. He stopped and took the figure on the bed in. Trying to shove the remaining anger and rage aside that'd hopefully fade within the next couple of hours.
Sam was so pale – purple bruises on his face, jaw and forehead. A bruised and swollen eye and he could imagine the rest of his body. He didn't have to see it – he knew it. Because he had done this to him. His left leg was casted and rested on a pillow. Dean fought back tears and sniffed before he went slowly towards the bed, following the tube of the vent from Sams mouth to the machine to the monitors he was attached to with his gaze. He could tell that nothing on the monitors looked good. None of the mirrored vitals were normal.
Deans thigh brushed over the side of the bed and the mattress as he stood in front of it and he lifted his hand to lay it on Sams … but stopped the move, thinking if Sam would like to have him here right now, if he had the right to be here … but he did it. He laid his hand on Sams. Dean had to be here, this was his place, this was his home. Wherever Sam was … he was all Dean needed.
He couldn't fight back the tears anymore. He was going to lose him. Oh god … he couldn't. Couldn't do THIS. He couldn't watch him die. It hurt so much it tore him apart. There was nothing he could do, nothing to save him. He could do nothing but watch and wait. Waiting and watching him die … or survive …
„Sammy?", Deans voice was soaked in desperation and fear, wet from tears and hoarseness. „Can you … you have to survive this. OK? I've to make it up to you, Sunshine. - You hear me? I … i can't survive this knowing that you're damned to die. I can't. I -" Deans voice broke. „Please. - I'll do everything. EVERYTHING." He sobbed, wiping away the tears. „If you want me to leave … i'll understand. - I won't hold you back. - Just … just live, Sammy. Just survive. I just want you to survive ..." He blinked and squeezed Sams hand again. Waiting … hoping … praying … but no one heard his prayers .. not even Castiel.
He held Sams hand and guided it to his cheek, leaning into the younger mans soft palm, closing his eyes as the cold softness of Sams skin soaked into him. And he held it there for a long time. Warming the younger mans skin with his, trying to feel him again.
A weak movement against his cheek. Another one and Sams fingers pressed weakly against him, fingers moving and a single move of his thumb over Deans cheekbone caught a single tear and let the hunter look up.
His gaze got caught by tired small , sparkling and glistening.
„Sam?", he asked softly.
The young male blinked, his fingers jerked.
„You hear me?"
Sam blinked again – slowly.
Dean buried his cheek deeper into the soft palm on his face and Sams fingers shifted – just a little bit, hard to notice … but it was there.
„I – I ..." Dean stuttered and swallowed a sob.
Sam started to struggle, his chest heaved, fighting the vent, the tube down his throat. Fighting the oxygen that got forced into his lungs as a silent tear ran over his cheek. He wanted to talk, to say something, but he couldn't.
„No Sammy. Don't. It's OK. - Don't fight it. - Please don't."
The younger male blinked, his lids seemed heavier, his eyes pleading, fighting to stay. Staying with Dean, here and now.
„I won't go, Sam. I'm staying here if you want me to."
Sam blinked, his eyes on half-mast now. His fingers shifting in Deans hand, breaking free of the gentle grip, gliding down his jaw and neck, pulling further downwards until he felt the small bulge under Deans shirt, tangling his fingers around it with the little strength he had left.
„You want me to stay?" Dean asked a little confused and Sam blinked once more.
His grip loosened moments later and his eyes closed. Taken by darkness, not noticing Deans silent cries of grief, sobbing, holding on his limp hand.
Soon after the door opened and Bobby stepped in hesitantly. He moved to the bed beside Dean, who sat in a chair now. The older hunter laid his hand on the mans shoulder, his gaze touching the monitors and the blood transfusion before it landed on the young man on the bed.
„How's he holding up?", he asked low, since the room was dominated by the steady sounds of the machines around them.
Dean shuddered under the gentle touch, squeezing Sams hand. „Bobby's here." Deans voice shivered on the verge of exhaustion. He looked up at the older hunter. Red rimmed wet eyes catching his gaze as he shook his head meaningfully. „He wasn't even mad, Bobby."
Bobby looked down and smiled sadly. „He's a fighter, Son. - He's going to make it thru the night." He sighed. „Sam won't give up that easy. You'll see – he's going to fight."
Deans look went back to Sam, then to the monitors as another pair of tears dried on his cheeks.
Hours went by. Dean didn't dare to leave him. Didn't dare to close his eyes. Didn't dare to lose physical contact to his loves body. He anchored him, wanted to show him his way back, keeping him here. Showing him that he was there, with him. For him.
The morning was dawning already as Bobby emerged with 2 hot cups of steaming coffee from the nurses station. One for himself, and one for Dean who was still holding Sams hand, rubbing gentle circles over his skin.
Another hour went by until the doctor Burton and a nurse entered. Taking Sams vitals, checking on the bandages … All the doctor had for Dean was a sorrow filled look and reassuring words that it was a good sign that Sam had made it thru the night.
Dean sat in the chair. As close as possible to the bed where Sam rested. His head and forearms laid on the bed, curled around the younger mans arm while he was fast asleep. Sleep had overwhelmed him as exhaustion and tiredness were taking their tall on the hunter. He had fought it as long as possible, though the last twenty-four hours didn't went over without a price on him.
It was then, when he felt motion under him. Fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin of his wrist, trying to unwind from the heavy weight on them. Dean blinked his eyes open, not knowing what had woken him. It took the hunter a couple of moments to realize that it was Sams hand and fingers that moved slightly, caressing the areas of his skin he had access to.
Dean raised his head and looked up at the man whose arm he had captured, noticing open searching eyes. With one strike he was high awake and alert, though his mind didn't find a way to decide what to do. What to say.
So he raised from the chair and bowed over the bed to catch Sams gaze, tangling his fingers in the younger man ones. „Hey Sunshine." Dean smiled released, trying to hold down the emotions that dared to overwhelm him.
Sam caught his look and took dark green orbs in, filled with warmth, love … and regret – sorrow? His mind was still a mess of confusion and pure distress. Sam wasn't able to find a single useful memory or thought. He just felt him. Felt Dean. Saw Dean. Knew that he was there with him. And something … something like fear overcame him for a moment as he suddenly heard his voice again. Soothing and gentle.
„Everything's gonna be OK, Sammy. - I swear. - I … i am so sorry.", he whispered, as he bowed down to the younger mans ear. „I remember everything. - Everything. I wish … i wish nothin' of this would've ever happened … you gotta believe me, Sam. - I would've ended myself rather than let this anyone doing to you." His lips ghosted over Sams jaw as he spoke, drawing a warm exhale over his skin.
Sam blinked, trying to understand what this all meant. - What had turned Dean into the sobbing mess that he was now … he tried to remember, to catch an evidence in his mind for what had happened, but he was tired. So tired. And he couldn't stop it.
Dean withdrew to look into a pair of confused hazel-eyes. He saw it all in Sams eyes. The younger man didn't remember. At least not right now … the confusion, the questioning look, the not understanding what was going on. And Dean didn't know what was worse. That Sam didn't seem to remember, or the confusion and fear about what was going on.
Sam squeezed Deans hand weakly, his eyes bright and filled with love towards the older hunter. He wanted to pull him down again, wanted to be close to him, as he felt the darkness coming back. Darker, deeper… an endless cold valley with monsters that lunged for him, trying to bury their claws into his flesh.
Dean heard the noises of the monitors slowing down as Sams eyes fluttered shut, before they went stir crazy. Loud alarming signals and the steady endless long beep from the ECG as the spikes vanished and a flatline took their place, echoing thru the room and into the corridor.
In an instant there were nurses and doctors. A defibrillator got shoved into the room, someone pushed him back, away from the bed and somehow Dean ended up in the corner of the room and watched them … all of them trying desperately saving a humans life. They shouted, called for medications over the alarming signals of the machines.
And Dean just stood there. Unable to move, unable to say something,. Unable to think. He didn't realize that he had caught his breath ever since the alarm had started … and he wasn't sure if he wanted to breath ever again if they weren't able to bring Sam back ….
…... to be continued
cliffhanger … i know ^^ but it had to be this way :P ~ WHAT ABOUT SOME BACON? :P you guys know i'm addicted to it ... sooo ... let me know what you think ^^ :)
next one: Chapter 5 ~ Heartbeat