Explanations And Escape - Not Necessarily In That Order (Warnings for language, blood)

"Sammy." Just a breath of air through abused lips - the word a talisman to hold away the hurts of the world.

"God Dean! What the hell?"

Sam was pissed - it was pouring off him like sweat on a hot day, he was practically vibrating with it.

Hurt that Sam would -could- be that angry with him after finding him so badly injured and in such a perilous situation, Dean did what he always did.

Masked his hurts with bravado and not a little anger of his own, born of the shame and frustration of being so helpless.

"You didn't have to come Sammy, sorry to put such a kink in your night," he managed to growl, though it sent twin white-hot stabs of pain through his head and stomach. It stole his breath away and his head slid back down to the concrete floor as his arm tightened weakly against his abdomen. He fought the urge to clench his eyes closed, knowing that would just make it hurt more.

Sam was too stunned to speak for a moment. His mind raced as he knelt beside his (dying-no-not-dying-because-I'm-here-now) brother. He made a quick circuit of the room with the flashlight. He then set it on the floor so that it shone down his brother's long body, careful not to shine it in his eyes yet. He tried to ignore the blood that covered Dean's pale face, his shirt, jeans and boots. Sam took a deep breath to steady himself, and then it clicked and he could have kicked himself. Dammit.

His take-a-bullet-and-keep-on-going brother sometimes had the thinnest skin of anyone he'd ever met.

"Dean," his tone softened, his voice gentle as he reached a hand out to his brother's shoulder, "hey, Dean, listen to me, please." He could feel the tension in his brother's shoulder, knew it was more than just the pain of his injuries that he felt there. Green eyes cracked open a sliver, "Dean, I'm not angry with you. I was an ass at the hotel, and I am sorry. I am pissed that these back-woods assholes decided to use you as bait, not because I had to come find you. I've got to get you out of here before - nevermind, I will explain once we get you out to your baby. But you've gotta know that nobody could drag you far enough, fast enough for me to not find you somehow man. No matter what."

"Because nobody can lay a hand on my brother but me?" Dean was trying for teasing, a forgive-forget-and-let's-move-on sort of thing, but Sam could still hear the undercurrent of hurt feelings his brother would never admit to. He was so going to force a chick-flick moment on his brother later when they were safe again. He was relieved when some of the tension slid out of the shoulder he was holding onto though.

Sam's eyes flicked back to the window he had come in through as he dug in the small bag he had brought with him. He may be taller than Dean, but Dean definitely had the breadth of shoulders and depth of chest on him. He was not entirely sure his brother could squeeze out through there and, even if he could, he was pretty positive the instant Dean's stomach dragged across that sill he would pass out from the pain. His fingers closed around the smallish plastic pouch and he dragged it out of his bag, opening the military surplus field dressing quickly.

"Sorry Dean, this is gonna suck but I've got to do it quickly." He moved Dean's arm away and quickly lifted the front of his blue t-shirt, wincing when he saw the dark bruises along the ribs and across his stomach. It was not hard to see where the blood was coming from and he desperately wanted to clean it off then and there so he could see how bad it really was but there was no time.

Looking at his brother lying there in his own blood, covered in deep bruises he felt tendrils of rage start to slither out of his belly.

There was no response from Dean about being manhandled. Sam was getting worried and trying to calculate whether he could do a fireman's carry without doing further damage to his brother's wounds.

When he pressed the dressing to the stomach wound, though, Dean jerked and clenched his teeth together with a pained grunt. Relief and guilt struggled in Sam's gut, "Sorry, I'm sorry, can you hold it? I've got to tie it off so we can get out of here." He was hoping the "get out of here" part would be easier than this.

Dean put one of his big hands over the dressing to hold it in place. Sam grabbed the flashlight and checked the wound on his head and his eyes before moving on. The pupils were uneven, not surprisingly.

"You're definitely concussed. Here's how we're gonna do this: I'm going to get you sitting up so I can tie the field dressing. You are not going to help, understand?" He almost grinned when Dean bristled at him, but he needed his brother to take him seriously on this. He needed to not put any tension on the wound if it could be avoided.

"Mmkay." His voice was breathy, weak and it pissed him off.

Sam flashed the light around the room again before laying it back on the floor facing between them. He reached his left arm under Dean's head and upper back, his right arm he wrapped under Dean's left elbow where it was bent and holding the field dressing. As gently as he could, he levered his brother into a sitting position. The change in altitude turned Dean's face a bit green and he wondered for a second whether it was a wasted effort. If he was going to throw up, he was going to wrench himself open anyway.

"You okay? Are you going to be sick?" Sam asked softly, conscious of the close proximity to his brother's undoubtedly pounding head. He leaned Dean against his shoulder to steady him while he reached down and quickly knotted the tails on the field dressing.

A few shallow breaths later, "No, 'mgood." His gravelly voice rumbled deep in his chest and made his own head hurt. Maybe weak and breathy wasn't so bad after all.

"Alright, I'm gonna lean you up against the wall and see if I can't get that door open."

Dean opened his mouth to object, to tell Sam he wasn't an old woman and didn't need his damn help sitting, leaning or anything else. What came out was, "Mmkay."

Sam slid him back against the wall with a hiss and a grunt. A mumbled, " 'm okay," and a push sent him on his way to check out the door. The hook and eye latch was easily wrenched from its moorings on the other side of the door and he was back at Dean's side.

Crouching down he slid Dean's arm around his shoulders and his arm behind his brother's back. Trying to avoid the spectacular array of bruising he aimed for the waist, below the abused ribs. "You ready for this?"

"Born ready," came the anticipated response, spawned from years of habit and repetition.

The trip to standing was done in too-rapid increments and by the time they were both upright, Sam was bearing the brunt of Dean's weight. Though not surprised by this, he had certainly hoped for a better scenario.

"Dean, you still with me?"

"Ngh-" Not exactly.

He hated what he was about to do, hated even more that he knew it would work. In an urgent tone he clipped out, "Dean, I need your help."

Green eyes snapped open with a breathy, "Sammy! You okay?" He flinched hard against the pain that shot through him, nausea roiled through his gut and his breath hitched in his chest.

The rage that had been coiling through Sam's veins towards the redneck fuckwits who did this to Dean was suddenly, irrationally increased tenfold after having to pull such a low blow just to get his brother semi-coherent.

"I'm okay," he soothed instantly, tightening his grip on his brother's unsteady form. "I'm okay but I need your help. I can't hold you, the flashlight and the gun all at once. I need you to stay awake, take the flashlight and shine it ahead of us okay?" Of course he also was not sure how bad the concussion was and wanted Dean conscious as much as he could possibly manage it.

Ten minutes later, Sam deposited a semi-conscious Dean in the passenger seat of the Impala and hauled ass towards the nearest hospital.

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A/N - Leaving it up for reader input: End there? More info on the stagger to the car? Or move on to hospital and beyond? Because honestly if left unsupervised I could go on and on and on and...