oOoOo
Against all odds, all the men of the Winchester extended family slept soundly that night. The demons remained surprisingly true to their word and did not once disturb the infirmary's inhabitants. Dean awoke wonderfully refreshed and with renewed strength to face the day ahead.
"Glad you woke up."
Dean jumped, but it was only Sam grinning down at him. "Right back at you," Dean responded. "You feelin' okay?"
"A bit better. You're one heck of a doctor."
"Glad you think so." Dean stretched and got up. "You should go back to sleep."
"How come?"
He didn't answer. He was thinking of the demons' imminent return. Though he didn't plan on opening that door, he feared what they might say to convince him otherwise. He had no doubt that they would get to him eventually.
Dean set to work on breakfast while the others roused themselves. He distributed plates and took requests regarding general aid. Bobby adamantly refused help changing his bandages and Sam only required another strong dose of medicine, so Dean quickly moved on to Cas.
"Whatcha need, Cas?" he asked with more pep than he felt.
The angel looked up at him with a storm in his blue eyes. "I need to recover immediately so I can help you fight these demons," he muttered.
"Hey, you've saved my ass more times than I can count. It's time I return the favor. Seriously," Dean insisted when Cas's dark expression didn't change. "I know how to get along without angel dust. It'll be fine."
"So you won't go out there alone?"
"Not planning on it."
"That is not a reassuring answer."
"I know, I'm the king of 'em. Now let's have a look at those bandages."
It was heartening that only the largest wounds required redressing. Dean silently praised the innate ability of angels to heal more quickly than humans. Perhaps, he thought, he wouldn't be alone in the fight for much longer.
That thin glass shield of hope shattered when knocks cracked on the door. Dean winced. He'd almost forgotten. Contrary to whatever he previously claimed, he knew it was only going to be a matter of time before he caved. He therefore checked his guns, secured the knife, and filled a flask with holy water.
"I thought you weren't going out there!" Sam bristled immediately when he realized what his brother was doing.
"'M not," Dean replied tensely, absently. He stood in front of the door, waiting for what he knew was coming...
"Good morning," Jen trilled. "You in a better mood, Dean?"
"I was," Dean muttered. "What chance is there that you guys would just walk away?"
"Maybe a look at your pretty face could convince us."
Dean barely suppressed an irritated groan.
"Yeah, c'mon, Dean," a man's voice chimed in tauntingly. "We're all gonna be here for a while. Let's have a chat. Maybe we could get the details about your trip downstairs?"
"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled immediately. Lava coursed through his veins and red clouded his vision. It was half rage at the subject being dredged up, half heart-stopping panic; it was not an option to let anyone in the room hear even a whisper of his activities in the pit.
"Dean, don't-!" Cas began, but it was too late.
Dean threw open the door with a vengeance. Four demons jeered and snarled just outside, still repelled by the intact salt line. Dean hesitated only a split second when he realized that fact. They couldn't get in, meaning he could still turn away. He could choose not to fight.
But when did he ever choose the smart path?
Ignoring the panicked, dissuading cries of his charges, he jumped the line and unleashed his hell.
It would not have been a fair fight even with Dean at his full capacity. He battled as honorably and bravely as he always did, but his drained efforts only netted one enemy. He sunk the knife into the thing's heart, gleaning a bit of savage pleasure at the way its skin reflected an internal lethal crackle of orange lightning.
Iron hands seized his tired arms and he was thrown into a wall. It hurt much more than it should have; he did not move instantly and was subsequently pinned there by a demon on each side.
"Pretty impressive," Jen applauded him. She drew the knife from the sheath it found in her comrade's chest. "You got one of us. That's much more than I expected."
"You can go to hell," Dean panted, not forgetting to throw in a measure of venom. "Let me go and I'll kill all of you by myself."
Jen disregarded him and examined the knife with cool interest. "This little thing has earned quite a reputation," she said thoughtfully. "Only known knife that can kill a demon. That's something. And you've killed a lot of demons, haven't you, Dean? You've killed a lot of us."
Dean didn't respond. His mind was presently elsewhere. He thought he'd heard a noise from the bedroom. The notion quickened his pulse. As much as he hated the idea of anyone joining the scuffle, he couldn't deny that a hand right about now would be most appreciated.
Jen continued, not noticing her captive's disengagement. "And that's pretty nifty, what it does. That light from inside. It's almost poetic. Don't you agree, Dean?"
"Are you still talking?"
She smiled. "I wonder if it works the same way for humans."
Dean had only the time to draw breath for his next retort when the blade that slew perhaps a hundred demons was wedged deeply in his ribcage. It was a searing agony that choked off the end of his instinctive shout of pain. His eyes closed and he shook his head, hoping to escape some of the fire rolling in waves from ground zero.
He wasn't completely aware of being released. There were thuds and grunts and a few yelps, and suddenly Sam's pale, worried face was swimming in his line of sight.
"Did they hit anything?" he asked, strained. "Do we need to go to the hospital?"
"How'm...I s'posed to know 'f they hit somethin'?" Dean responded with hazy irritation. "Jus' sew it up. Sooner rather th'n later, Sammy..."
"Okay-can you walk?"
"Yeah, I can freakin' walk..."
Dean would have been less sarcastic had his body not been in the process of shutting down for major repairs. His reeling dragged Sam into a wall with him, but Sam somehow managed to bring his brother back on track and guide him to a bed. "You got 'em?" Sam called to Bobby.
"They're done," Bobby reported with dark triumph. "Damn things. Is he okay?"
Sam glanced down. Dean lay very still on the unmade bed, his eyes resolutely closed. "He's out. Man, Bobby, he's too quiet..."
"Then patch him up! Don't let him bleed all over the place!"
"Right, yeah..."
Sam was sure to sterilize absolutely everything before setting to work on Dean's wound. Dean seemed to be breathing normally, and the blood was a regular crimson color instead of the darker red of a lethal injury. Somehow the blade had missed any important landmarks. Sam exhaled in relief. For the first time in a long time, something was going right.
Sam tended the cut professionally and set Dean up in his old bed. It made him smile to see the elder Winchester finally asleep and at peace. Sam didn't plan on waking him any time soon. Dean had done more than enough-too much-lately. He'd over earned his rest.
