A/N: I actually got this finished sooner than expected...so yay me? LOL If I slow down a little with my chapters, folks, I lay the blame squarely at my belly...and Dean and Skye for allowing life to imitate art. Yup, that's right...the real Connor is going to have a little brother or sister. I've gotta be more careful what I write about...although no big black muscle cars have shown up on my doorstep.
Thanks to Tara and Deb as always...Deb especially needs a hug for pushing me with one scene. You helped so much there, mate. Any typos and mistakes are mine.
And now on with the story...
xxxxxXXXXXxxxxxx
The TV was simple background noise in the motel room. Sam barely even hearing it anymore as he sat beside Dean. He couldn't even hold his brother's hand, too scared of hurting him, although Sam wasn't even sure that was possible anymore. The nerve endings had to have been burnt away too, some of the burns so deep that Sam had prayed for over an hour that they would heal without scarring. He'd prayed even harder for the next hour that Dean would simply survive.
Dean was too still. Swathed in bandages and blankets now as Sam fought to keep him from suffering hyperthermia. There was a makeshift IV bag hanging haphazardly from the large stuffed moose head that was hanging over the bed. The whole room seemed to have a woodlands setting to it, ducks flying up one wall while another held a painting of a lake.
Sam hadn't moved from beside the bed for the last few hours, holding a silent vigil over his brother, looking for any signs of life at all. Dean's chest was still rising and falling, but it was the shudder through it as it did so, the whistling wheeze as he took each breath, that told Sam how much his brother was fighting. He checked the IV in Dean's left arm, noting the burns weren't so bad. The skin was blistered and peeling, but not as deep as the other burns. Second degree at best, he told himself quietly.
Was that something he should be grateful for? Sam didn't know what to think anymore. He was so tired. Bone tired. Wrapping every burn had taken time, had taken it's toll on Sam, seeing his brother so badly hurt. He was angry with himself for allowing this to happen, for not realising that the painting wouldn't be so easy to destroy. Their luck never held like that. It was like they were cursed or something.
Mom had been torn from Sam's life before he even had a chance to remember her. He'd grown up with photos, stories, anything he could glean from his brother about what Mom had been like. But it didn't fill that hole. It could never take away the pain Sam had known through his childhood, seeing other kids being picked up at school by their mom's. Seeing them at school plays or parent Teacher meetings. Dad and Dean had done their best, but it hadn't made up for the teasing Sam would get about not having a mom.
Then Sam had watched Jess burn, watched her beautiful face turn to blackened flesh before his eyes before Dean had pulled him from the apartment. It had never left him, never would. Sam could close his eyes even now and see Jess's smile. He would hear her laugh sometimes. Or pass someone wearing her perfume and for one moment, he would forget she was gone and search for her in the crowd. Elise was finally helping him past that pain, allowing him to take a chance again, open up, but there would always be the fear of losing her too.
Dad had been next. His funeral pyre had torn a wound in Sam that never healed, because how could he ever heal over the loss of his father, when he had always fought with the man, had never told him the truth of how he felt. Growing up without Mom had been thing, but losing the only parent he had left? Sam hadn't been ready for that.
Now Dean had been touched by fire…and while their father had come back from Hell itself to them, Sam didn't want Dean to do the same. The very thought that his brother was facing Hellfire, not some cushy eternity in Heaven, scared Sam more than he would ever be able to tell anyone.
"Dean…Dean, can you hear me?" Sam asked tentatively, reaching out to run his hand over Dean's hair again gently. He couldn't even hold Dean's hand to let his brother know he wasn't alone. All Sam could do was sit and wait….watch.
His fingers drummed nervously on his leg for a moment as Sam debated whether or not to call Elise. He desperately needed to talk to someone, to hear a familiar voice again. After another moment's hesitation, Sam reached out and picked up the phone beside Dean's bed, dialling Elise's cell number from memory.
"Hello?"
"Hey…it's Sam."
"Sam! Are you okay? What the bloody hell's going on? John blew out of here this morning like a shot out of gun. Skye's been ringing Dean's phone all morning and getting nothing but voicemail."
"Is she okay?" Sam asked, closing his eyes and silently cursing the fact he forgot their phones had burnt in the fire.
"Well I think it's safe to say she's majorly freaked out now with John leaving so suddenly. Sam, what the hell's happened? Why isn't Dean answering?"
"Dean's hurt. There…there was a fire, Elise. Dean's been burned."
"Jesus, Sam…is he…will he pull through?"
"He'll be fine." Sam answered, hearing the lack of conviction in his voice as he spoke. "We lost the phones, our duffel bags…everything. I'm taking care of him…but…" He got to his feet and walked across the room as far as the phone's cord would allow, glancing back towards Dean before he spoke again, his voice softer now. "I'm scared, Elise. I've never seen Dean like this. What… what if I lose him? We haven't broken the deal yet. I can't let him go to Hell, Elise."
"Hey…that's not going to happen, Sam. Dean's a fighter. Like you. If he has you watching over him, he'll pull through, okay? Just hang in there and call me if you need to talk. I just wish I was there with you."
"Yeah…me too." Sam agreed quietly. He looked over towards Dean again, his eyes catching the TV in the corner of the room. The news was playing, talking about the fire and Sam's widened as he saw what the report was saying. "Elise? I have to go. I'll call you later, okay?"
Sam hung up the phone, walking back to the side table and putting it down as he picked up the remote for the TV instead, turning up the volume.
"Police are investigating the mysterious fire that struck the Motel Nine in the early hours of the morning. Three people died in the fire that swept through the single floor motel rooms. Police are yet to formally identify the victims but it's believed that they were an elderly couple and a man in his late forties. No cause yet has been found for the fatal blaze, but this painting was found untouched in the ruins….."
Sam felt his blood run cold as the familiar sad face of the little boy stared back at him from the TV. How the hell had that painting ended up back in their room? Intact and unharmed? Sam wanted to take the painting again. He wanted to tear it apart with his bare hands as he looked down at Dean and watched his brother fighting for his life. They had saved Martin Donahue but at what cost? Sam knew that Dean would take the deaths of those other people hard… losing anyone was hard in this job.
"In a strange twist that Police have been unable to explain, a second fire last night, claimed the lives of a family of five in the neighbouring town of Hartsford. Police Investigators have yet to comment on the finding of a second painting in the remains of the Hartsford fire or if there is any possible link between these two fatal blazes. The painting is currently being held inside the Hartsford Police Station, awaiting further forensic investigation by the arson squad…."
A second painting? Sam couldn't believe his eyes as he watched the report and saw another painting, not of the little boy this time, but a small girl with brown hair and large brown eyes. Her face was tear-stained and her clothes while trying to look neat, still had a worn, almost grubby appearance about them. Another family had died and Sam was no closer to understanding what the hell was happening here. God, what he wouldn't give for the internet right now. Sam never realised how much easier it made research until now. He couldn't leave Dean to go to the library and even if he did, what would he be looking for?
Picking up the phone, Sam tried to remember Sarah's number but it wasn't ingrained in his memory and with his cell gone, what was he going to do? Suddenly Sam rolled his eyes in disgust with himself, realising something. "Dean? I'll be right back, okay?"
Sam went out to the Impala, digging through the glove box until with a triumphant grin, he found the card Sarah had written down Martin Donahue's address on. Flipping it over, he saw the name and address of Sarah's auction house…and her cell phone number.
Heading back into the room again, Sam checked Dean over again, trying to see if he was healing. If he was in pain at all. But there was nothing except the laboured rise and fall of Dean's chest…which was something at least.
Picking up the phone again, Sam dialled the number, his fingers drumming impatiently as he waited for an answer. The phone went through to Sarah's voicemail after a moment and with a small sigh, Sam spoke. "Hey, Sarah…it's Sam. Look, Dean and I could really use some of your art knowledge right now. Can you find out the name of the artist for me of those paintings? Thanks…get back to me soon, okay?"
He hung the phone and dropped his head into his hands, feeling lost. The room was too quiet. Sam wanted to hear Dean's voice, his awful singing…anything right now. He wanted his brother to wake up and be alright.
"Dude, you're never this quiet…do something will you? I'm going to lose my mind here." Sam reached out and placed his hand on Dean's good arm, mindful of the IV. There was a flicker of movement through the limb suddenly and Sam leaned closer, hope igniting within. "Dean?"
There it was. A flicker of Dean's eyelashes too. Barely anything but enough to catch Sam's attention and make him give out a relieved soft laugh, his voice breaking slightly. "I saw it, dude. It's okay…I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here."
xxxxXXXXxxxxx
"Sam?"
The voice made Sam's head jerk up off his chest for a moment, before it sank back down again, his eyes not even opening.
"Sam!"
This time Sam jolted awake with a start, his arms and legs snapping out as he momentarily lost his balance on the hard kitchen chair he had been asleep in, feeling a pair of strong arms grab him and stop him from falling. Wait…asleep? When the hell had that happened? Sam blinked furiously for a moment before he rubbed a hand across his eyes like he had always done as a child, trying to clear his bleary vision. "I'm up…I'm up."
"Easy, son. I didn't mean to startle you. You okay?" John Winchester was crouched in front of Sam, his eyes scouring his son for injuries before he gently pulled Sam's arm closer for inspection. "What happened here?"
"I came off second best with a collie…" Sam explained tiredly, sitting up a little more as it finally sank in that his father was in front of him. "Dad? Oh shit…how long was I out?"
"I don't know, Sam. I came in and you were asleep in the chair beside Dean. You must have needed it."
"I'm f-…" Sam stopped the instant he saw his father raise an eyebrow at him. Instead, he changed tack, turning in his seat and ignoring the way his back was aching. "How's Dean? Is…is he any better? Is he going to be okay?"
John looked over at his eldest son, reaching out and gently checking his neck for a pulse. It was good and strong, pounding a steady rhythm under his fingers. "He's still with us. How was his breathing before?"
Sam listened carefully, noting the whistling seemed to have gone now. His breathing looking a little easier. "It was laboured…he sounds stronger." The relief was evident in his voice.
John watched Sam carefully, seeing how exhausted his son was. His eyes were slightly sunken, dark circles beneath them. "Come on." He took Sam by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "I want you to take a shower and then get some more sleep."
"Dad, no. I'm okay. I need to be awake for Dean. I need to look after him."
"And just how do you plan on doing that when you're ready to pass out, Sam? You take after your brother more and more, you know that?" John shook his head in exasperation.
"Yeah, well, where do you think we learnt it from?" Sam smiled.
John chuckled softly, knowing that Sam was right. "Just humour me? Get some rest. I'll watch Dean and let you know if anything changes. That's an order, Sam."
Sam considered arguing the point, instantly bristling against the idea of being ordered. He had never taken to orders the way Dean had. He had never played the good soldier. Looking down at the dirty t-shirt and shorts he was wearing, Sam pulled at the shirt as he spoke." I can't have a shower. I don't have anything to change into. We lost our duffels in the fire."
A second later, his hunting reflexes saved Sam from catching a small backpack with his teeth, throwing his hands up in time to catch it and seeing his father laughing.
"Nice catch. I figured you and Dean might need a change of clothes." John explained before he took the chair Sam had been sitting on and turned it around. He sat down, leaning his arms across the backrest as he watched Dean, his wings folding up quietly behind him. It had been a long hard flight and John was tired himself, but he knew Sam needed it more. "Hit the showers, Sam."
"Yeah, yeah…" Sam muttered with a small smile, grateful for the company of his father. He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door, leaning against it tiredly before he stripped off his clothes and turned on the shower. He would throw away the t-shirt and shorts later. They stank of smoke and had blood on them from Dean. Sam never wanted to see them again after tonight. The shower was steaming hot and it helped to soothe his tired muscles. Pulling away the wet bandage from his arm, Sam could see the bite wounds were closing up and healing. By morning they would be gone.
Sitting beside Dean, John checked the IV Sam had set up for him and was satisfied that everything was being done for Dean. He risked a quick look at the bandages on Dean's legs and noted grimly that the burns appeared to be healing. There'd been a time when John was sure he had cursed his son by giving him demon blood, forever changing Dean from being human, but now? Now as he watched his son fighting to heal from injuries that should have killed him outright, John knew that he had done what was needed.
The bathroom door opened again and Sam wandered out in his clean sweat pants and a light grey t-shirt. He flopped down on the bed beside Dean's, lying on his back for a moment before he rolled over towards Dean and watched his brother and father. It brought back memories of when he was younger, trying to sleep while Dad watched over Dean if he was hurt on a hunt. Sometimes Dad was nursing injuries of his own, but his own health concerns took a backseat to making sure his son was alright and making sure both boys were resting.
Sleep was tugging at his eyelids more and more, Sam giving into the feeling of security he had, knowing that Dad was there now to keep them safe. Nothing would get past their father. Darkness enveloped Sam as he slipped into a deep sleep, completely relaxing at last.
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Sam turned in a circle slowly, puzzled by the sight of trees surrounding him. When had he ended up in the middle of some forest? Was he on a hunt? Looking down at his clothes, Sam was even more confused. A t-shirt and sweat pants? Not exactly the sort of clothes you wore hunting. The air had a chilly bite to it as Sam took a few steps, his hearing trying to detect any noise that would explain why he was here?
"Somebody! Somebody help me!!"
Sam went stock still, his blood turning to ice in his veins as he heard the desperate cry split the air. The voice was all too familiar.
"Sam! Dad! Anyone….please!"
Sam opened his mouth to call out to Dean before he decided against it, already breaking into a run in the direction the cry had come from. Branches whipped Sam across his bare arms and slapped him in his face as he tried to brush them aside at a run. One caught him hard across the mouth and for a moment, Sam could taste blood. But he didn't break stride, if anything he picked up speed. In the distance, another sound was reaching Sam on the night air.
The angry snarls of what sounded like a pack of dogs.
Sam came to a small clearing ahead of him, seeing the pack for the first time. Four large, slavering Hellhounds were snarling and leaping at a tree on the other side of the clearing. Clinging desperately to the tree's higher branches, was Dean. Sam could see blood running down one arm and there were deep tears in Dean's left leg. How the hell he had managed to climb the tree at all, Sam couldn't even begin to comprehend.
"Dean!" Sam called to his brother, his heart pounding as he watched one of the Hellhounds leap up at Dean. It's jaws barely missed one of his legs as Dean tried to scramble up higher.
Sam could see the sheer terror in his brother's face as he clung to the tree. Dean was breathing hard; dirty, bloodied and it wasn't hard to see his strength was starting to wane due to his injuries.
Sam felt sick to the stomach, seeing the injuries and knowing that they had been inflicted by the pack now milling around the bottom of the tree, waiting for their prey to weaken and fall. How long had his brother ran before he had been dragged down? How hard had he fought to free himself, only to be trapped in a tree while the Hellhounds waited for him below?
One of the pack turned towards Sam as he called towards his brother, curling it's lip and taking a step towards the younger Winchester with a snarl.
"Sam! Sammy…run!" Dean yelled. He tried to slip down to a lower branch, suddenly yelling and slamming an open palm against the tree trunk beside him. "Hey! Hey, you fugly bastards…I'm right here. Fresh meat! Come and get me!" Dean didn't know how Sam had found him, but there was no way he was going to let the pack turn on Sam. They were here for him. If anyone was dying…it wasn't going to be Sam.
Instead of running, Sam calmly walked out into the clearing, watching the pack cautiously.
"Sam, no! I told you to run!"
"Not gonna happen, Dean." Sam stated calmly, noting taking his eyes off the pack. He knew what was happening now. Why he was here. This was a dream. He was in Dean's dream and now, at last, Sam knew what was waking his brother in a cold sweat night after night.
Dean didn't need this right now. He was trying to heal from the fire, his body already taxed to it's limits without these nightmares wearing him down. Too injured to be able to escape by waking up. Dean was trapped here and Sam wasn't going to desert his brother.
"Sammy, please….just run. They're here for me."
"Tough. They can't have you." Sam stated coldly as he continued forward. The lead dog was stalking towards him now, black smoky saliva dripping from it's jaws as a hellish snarl left it's mouth. The eyes burned like liquid flame and all over it's body, Sam could see faces of people in torment. Was this really what a Hellhound looked like? Was Dean actually able to see them? Or was this just his brother's imagination creating what he thought they would look like?
Bracing himself as he watched the lead Hellhound break into a run towards him, he could hear Dean screaming in terror, calling his name again and again.
Sam tipped his head back slightly, fixing the Hellhound with a cold, hateful look before he unleashed his mind on the creature. It screamed in agony a second later, all but turning inside out before it collapsed at Sam's feet in a pile of steaming skin and bone.
A second hound rushed towards Sam and was flung into the trees, yelping as it was impaled between two branches.
The other two hounds moved together, splitting up just before Sam to try and outflank him. Sam was well aware of each hound, regarding them calmly, letting his rage at the hurt they had caused Dean, guide him. He knew exactly when each hound was about to leap, side stepping one creature as it leapt and turning to grab the other from the air. With a snarl of his own, Sam brought the animal down across one knee, snapping it's back instantly. He flung it aside a moment later as the last Hellhound leapt at him again.
"Sam, look out!" Dean screamed, already trying to climb down the tree he was in, slipping and losing his grip, falling several feet and glancing off a branch before he hit the ground. He lay on the ground winded, struggling to draw breath and roll to his side as Sam was attacked.
The Hound leapt at Sam, intent on tearing this human limb from limb. It crashed into Sam, knocking him on his back. Sam reached up and grabbed hold of the creature's muzzle, twisting in different directions as he tore it's lower jaw clean off. The creature stumbled back, shaking it's head furiously in pain before it was lifted off the ground by unseen forces and flung into a tree so hard, that it exploded in a spray of blood, steam and fire.
The forest was silent now as Sam climbed wearily to his feet and rushed over to Dean's side.
"Sam…you…shouldn't have. You…could have…been killed…" Dean ground out, shaking as shock started to sink it.
Sam knelt over his brother and closed his eyes, gently passing a hand over his brother's wounds. "Just lie still, Dean. You'll be okay."
Dean felt the wounds closing up, his strength returning. It was easier to breath and once Sam was done, he sat up, finding himself perfectly unharmed. "What? What did you do? How? Sam?" He looked up at his brother fearfully.
"Relax, dude….this is a dream, that's all. You're okay. There's no Hellhounds, there never was."
"A dream?" Dean looked around, confused.
"Yeah, Dean." Sam smiled warmly. "You're safe. Dad's with us. You're going to be okay. Get some rest, okay? Dad's got your back out there…and I'm watching out for you in here. Nothing's getting past us, okay?"
Dean nodded slowly as everything started to fade out again, the dream sliding away at last. He was safe….it was okay to rest…
John noticed Dean's eyes flicker for a moment, before he seemed to relax again, his breathing evening out. Looking over at Sam, John saw the same thing happening with his youngest son and a small smile danced across his lips. The bond his boys shared was clearly evident in that moment and John stretched his wings and stood up, needing to let the blood flow back into his legs.
It was time to make another IV for Dean and John knew while he was busy doing that, Sam would be watching Dean.
"God help anyone that tries to take your brother from you, Sam…" John whispered quietly to himself as he went into the kitchenette to make the fresh IV.
xxxxxXXXXXxxxxxx
Singer's Auto Yard, South Dakota….
Skye shoved another pair of jeans into the bag, not caring about being neat or orderly, but simply packing as fast as she could. Her heart was still pounding in her chest, her stomach rolling so much since that morning that Skye was amazed she hadn't spent the day hunched over the toilet bowl, throwing up everything she had eaten last night.
Connor sat on the bed, cuddling his favourite brown teddy bear to his chest, watching his mother pack without a word. He knew something bad must have happened for his Poppy to have left so suddenly and now his Mommy was all grumpy. He didn't understand why, but he understood that it was best to be quiet and be a good boy right now. A small backpack full of his clothes was already sitting beside him.
"Just what the hell are you doing?" The voice was soft, but the tone was authoritative.
"I can't just sit here, Bobby." Skye didn't bother looking up, shoving a blue t-shirt into the bag.
"So what, you're just going to drive half away across the country with Connor? Skye, you can barely fit behind a steering wheel."
"I'm going Bobby. That's final."
Bobby entered the room then and walked over, putting his on the bag Skye was packing in an effort to make her stop. "Skye, will you just stop and think about this? You can't go blazing off across the country the way you are."
" I'm pregnant, Bobby, not an invalid."
" I never damn well said you were." Bobby snapped. "But that don't mean I'm letting you out the damn door, either." He was furious now, determined to make Skye see sense. He knew she had been freaked ever since John left, especially since John had been his usual damn self and not said a word after the phone call from Sam. Bobby knew what had happened and he had tried to keep quiet for the most part, simply because he knew that Skye would react badly to knowing that Dean was hurt.
"Something's happened, Bobby and no one's saying anything!" Skye snapped back in reply, meeting his angry gaze with her own. "Dean's not answering his phone and I can't get a straight answer out of anyone! If…..if he's…."
The fight bled out of her quickly and Skye sank down on the bed beside her bag. Tears were brimming her eyes now, one spilling down her cheeks. She couldn't bring herself to actually voice her worst fear….that Dean had been killed. They wouldn't keep that from her…would they?
Bobby walked around the bed to where Connor was sitting, his knees drawn up to his chest, clutching his bear tightly. Crouching down, Bobby smiled at the little boy. "Hey sport, you know I just remembered?"
Connor shook his head, his face solemn.
"I've got a box of Oreo cookies downstairs on the kitchen table. How about you go and have some, huh? I bought them especially for you…." Bobby said a smile, keeping his voice light and gentle. " Go on….it's okay."
Connor looked over towards his Mommy, wanting her approval first.
" It's okay, baby. You go and help yourself." Skye managed a shaky smile as she nodded. "Save me some, okay?"
Connor leapt off the bed and rushed out of the room with an excited whoop, all smiles now at the thought of the cookie feast he had just been given downstairs.
Bobby stood up again, then walked back around the bed and took a seat beside Skye. He pushed his cap a little further back on his head before he spoke. "There was a fire."
The sharp inhalation of breath was what Bobby was expecting from Skye and he knew there was nothing more to do than just push on and let her know everything he knew before she started to panic again. "Dean's been hurt, pretty badly from what I hear. But that boy's tough…you know that as well as I do, Skye. He's got that demonic blood in him from his father and I never damn well thought I was be saying this, but I'm glad he has. It's keeping him alive and with Sam watching over him? He'll be just fine."
"But why didn't anyone tell me, Bobby? Why didn't Sam answer Dean's phone? I didn't know what the hell was happening?" Skye asked, her voice quivering with tears.
"They didn't want you to panic, Skye." Bobby shrugged. He saw the argument forming on her lips and put up a hand to silence her. " I ain't saying it was a good move, but know that you know…do you feel any better for it?"
"No." Skye admitted, shaking her head as tears slid down her cheeks. " I should be there with him."
"Doing what?" Bobby asked softly. "You go up there and you put yourself right in line of fire. Whatever their hunting is damn dangerous, girl and Dean's right to keep you as far away from it as he can. You and the baby? Connor? Are what that boy holds onto these days. Every damn day that deal ticks closer, I see it in his eyes. He's scared, but you're keeping him grounded, Skye. He needs to know your safe. And as soon as he can? I know you'll hear from him. But you gotta stay calm. You can't go stressing out that baby. It's not good for you or for it. So just try and stay calm, okay? Let me and Elise look out for you."
Skye nodded, knowing that Bobby was making sense, even if she felt utterly helpless right now.
Bobby slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, planting a quick kiss on the top of her head. " Go0d girl. Now how about we go see if there's any of those cookies left to have with my coffee?"
Skye sat quietly for a moment as Bobby stood up. "I'll be there in a minute. I just need to wash my face and freshen up."
Bobby hesitated in the doorway for a moment, before he shrugged. " Sure…take your time."
The Chevelle was parked around the side of the house as Skye threw her bag into the trunk along with Connor's. She closed the lid and turned to head back into the house, seeing Bobby standing nearby, sipping a mug of coffee.
"You take the keys from my jacket, or were you planning on hotwiring her?"
Skye lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushing pink. " I took your keys. How the hell did you know?"
"Do I look like I came down in the last shower? If it was Elizabeth that had been hurt, wild horses wouldn't have kept me from going to her." Bobby drawled after another mouthful of coffee.
"Then you know why I have to do this…"
"No, I understand why you feel you need to do this. I'm still not about to let you do it."
"Dammit, Bobby! I can't sit on my ass while Dean's hurt!"
"So what are you going to do? Drive all the way up there, put yourself and Connor in danger so you can sit there and hold his hand? Mighty noble of you, Skye. But he doesn't need you there. He needs you safe. He needs to know he can finish this hunt and come home to you. That's all."
"That's not all!" Skye yelled, her fists clenching. "He needs….he needs…"
"Needs what? To worry about you? To second guess every move because he has to factor in you and Connor?" Bobby pressed, seeing that he was making Skye think now. " Dammit, Skye, will you just think about this for one minute? You think you're the only one hurting here? You think Elise wouldn't give anything to be there with Sam right now? Or that I don't want to be up there? Those boys are kin to me in all but blood and it's tearing at me to know one of them is hurt right now. But I have a job to do and that's keeping you and that boy of yours safe. So that's what I'm doing. And there's no way in hell I'm letting you go anywhere. So stop being so damn pigheaded and get inside this house before your tea gets cold."
Skye stood there for a moment, stunned by Bobby's outburst. She took a step forward, raising an eyebrow. " You done?"
"Depends." Bobby snorted. "Are you?"
Skye looked towards the car, rubbing a hand over her swollen belly and silently cursing the fact he was right. Again.
With a sigh, she headed for the house. "When did you get so bad tempered?"
"I reckon 'bout the time you decided to get so pigheaded." Bobby grinned, walking with her. "You must be rubbing off on me." He chuckled at the glare he received from Skye, inwardly thanking the heavens for finally making her see sense. There were times Bobby was sure Skye was a stubborn as Dean. It was definitely never going to be a boring relationship….
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Frederickstown, Upstate New York.
John rubbed a weary hand over his face and glanced at his watch before he got up from his chair and went to refill his coffee cup. It had been one hell of a long night, thin orange fingers starting to climb across the sky as dawn grew closer by the minute. John was beyond exhausted, his eyes feeling like sand paper, his stomach like an acid pool from the amount of coffee he had consumed throughout the night. But in the soft light of the bedside lamp, John could see that Dean's skin was looking better. There was more colour to his face. The burns that John had risked a look at a little while before, were healing well. Dean would be in pain for a few days, but John knew for certain now that his boy was going to recover.
Pouring what was left of the coffee pot into his cup, John heard a soft sound behind him. He turned to see Dean's eyes flickering for a moment before they slowly opened.
His tongue slid slowly across his dry lips as Dean looked around the room, trying to take in his surroundings. Where the hell was he? All he could recall was that freaky kid lying beside him on the bed and then he was on fire. What the hell? How had that happened? The kid should have been ashes along with the painting…and instead, it was Dean that was feeling as though he'd been deep fried. Wait…where was Sam? The fire had taken hold so quickly…had Sam been hurt? Was he okay? Where the hell was his brother?
Dean tried to sit up, a harsh, strangled gasp of pain escaping him before he slumped back against the pillows again.
That sound was all it took for Sam's eyes to fly open on the neighbouring bed. He was upright in an instant, stumbling to his feet and rushing over to his brother's side. "Hey…hey, easy, Dean. Take it easy…"
" 'Am?" Dean croaked, his throat dry and aching, feeling red raw still. His eyes washed over Sam in seconds, looking for injuries and burns. The fire was sketchy in his mind still. How had he gotten out? Had Sam saved him? Wasn't that ironic? Dean licked his lips again, trying to form a sentence when he noticed movement on the other side of the bed and turned slightly to see his father taking a seat beside him.
"How you doing, dude?" John asked quietly. "Think you can handle having a drink?"
Dean nodded slowly, desperate for something cool and wet on his lips. Sam helped him to lift his head enough to sip from a straw that John had slipped into a bottle of Gatorade. It was pure heaven at that moment, taking a few small sips before the bottle was withdrawn again. Dean couldn't stop the whimper that left him as the drink was taken away. He wanted to bathe in the stuff right now.
"Small amounts, Dean, you know that." John admonished gently.
"Thirsty.." Dean whispered, looking longingly at the bottle again. His eyes lit up as the straw was brought back to his lips for a few small sips again, quenching the burning in his throat. This time when the straw was removed he sank back down into the pillow, closing his eyes again for a moment. They flashed open again as Dean looked at his father, grasping the fact he was conscious and his father was beside him. "Dad? How?…When?"
John smiled at Dean. "Sam called me. You gave us a hell of a scare, son."
"'S…orry…" Dean managed, wincing a little at the pain he was feeling. It must have been bad for Dad to have left Bobby's. Looking at his father, he could see now just how exhausted he looked. How long had he been sat there? Just how long had Dean been out of it?
"Hey, there's nothing to be sorry for, Dean." Sam assured him, seeing that his hands no longer looked as badly burned. Fresh pink skin was growing, the old dead skin slowly flaking off. Sam rested his hand on Dean's bare shoulder where he was unburnt. "Do you remember what happened?"
"Not really." Dean admitted, shaking his head, then groaning at it felt like the Fourth Of July had suddenly started in his head. All over his body, he was itching in places where the skin was healing and flaking, but in others the skin felt hot and tight. Dean was careful not to twist the wrong way or move too much. He didn't need his skin to crack and bleed, he was already uncomfortable enough.
Sam gave Dean's shoulder a quick pat before he was up and disappearing into the bathroom. He was back a moment later with a couple of small white tablets in his hand. "Dean, here. I brought you some pain killers."
Dean grunted softly as he was helped to sit up enough to take the tablets, washing them down with another sip of Gatorade. He gulped another mouthful down greedily before the straw was pulled away, Dean scowling slightly at his father.
"I can see you're on the path to recovery." John smirked, sitting the Gatorade down on the small bedside table. He scrubbed his hand over his face and through the bristle of stubble that covered his chin.
"Dad, I've got this. Go get some sleep, yourself." Sam suggested, feeling more refreshed than he had in the last few days. Even the connection he had shared with Dean, hadn't been able to sap his energy.
" You sure, dude?" John quirked an eyebrow. It wasn't that he thought Sam wasn't up to the task, it was more John's need to watch his boys. He was their father, their protector. It didn't matter that they were grown men and seasoned hunters, John would always worry about them and want to watch over them.
"I can handle the English Patient here." Sam smirked, watching Dean frown in indignation.
John got up, clapping Sam gently on the shoulder as he passed him. He dropped down on the bed Sam had been sleeping on, kicking off his boots before he sprawled out on his stomach. His eyes slid shut not long after and John's breathing evened out as his wings relaxed and unfurled to almost touch the floor on either side.
Both boys watched him for a moment before their conversation started up again, albeit a little softer, now that their father was sleeping only a few feet away.
"Dude, you did not just call me that boring ass movie?" Dean demanded, his voice raspy, yet still full of disgust that he could mentioned in the same sentence as what he considered a total chick flick. Only chicks would sit through something that boring. He'd caught ten minutes of it one night on late night TV and it had been enough to put him to sleep.
"A few more bandages and I'd be calling you Darkman….or maybe the Mummy Returns?" Sam teased quietly.
"Hey those movies are cool." Dean rasped again, allowing a smile. The pain killers were starting to kick in, gently smoothing away the pain and allowing Dean to enjoy lying on the bed, instead of feeling like he was lying on broken glass everywhere his body actually touched the mattress. He sank in a little deeper with a quiet sigh, his eyes slowly drifting to half mast before he realised he was tired again. Forcing them open, Dean looked at Sam. "Wh…what did you…give me?"
"Just some Tramadol. It'll help with the pain, Dean. It's okay. I'm gonna be right here." Sam assured his brother. "You're not alone…"
Dean nodded gently, feeling the drugs pulling him under again, the blanket of sleep slipping over him. His eyes slid shut….then with a brief fight, opened again as Dean looked at Sam again. "Saaaammy?" The word slurred now as Dean tried to keep the fuzz from his mind.
" Right here, Dean."
"Thanks…before…jus'…thanks…" Dean managed before his eyes closed again and he lapsed into a completely relaxed sleep again.
Sam felt his throat close up a little. He knew what Dean was talking about and even though Dean was asleep, he spoke quietly. "I've got your back, Dean. I promise."
xxxxXXXXxxxx
An hour passed of Sam watching the TV quietly, trying not to let his father's snoring annoy him, even if it occasionally overrode Dr. Phil's advice on how to be a better partner…or whatever it was he was actually talking about. Sam was only half heartedly watching, knowing that if Dean woke up? The teasing would be merciless….and welcomed, because Sam hated seeing Dean so quiet, even though he knew his brother was recovering.
It was amusing in a way, seeing how the TV stations had scrambled in the last few months to get back on the air. As if it was an essential part of society to give them back their game shows, talk shows and soap operas. A sign of life returning to normal….although Sam knew better. It was no better than smearing Vaseline over the lens to hide any blemishes. The world wasn't the same anymore and was never going to be….but no one wanted to admit that.
Sam turned away from the TV and looked up at Dean's IV bag, noting that it was almost empty. Should he make another? Dean was able to drink now when he was awake and Sam could see that his skin was regaining more and more colour with each passing hour. He carefully and gently removed the IV from Dean's hand and unhooked the bag from the moose head above them. Sam carried it to the small kitchenette and dumped it in the sink, reaching into the fridge for a Gatorade for himself. The six pack he had bought on the way to the motel would be enough for now. Sam would keep an eye on Dean for the next few days and make sure his brother didn't do anything that would inhibit his healing.
As much as Dean was likely to allow anyway. He would hover and fuss over Sam, but would never allow Sam to do it for him return. Always putting on that tough guy act.
Slamming back half the bottle of Gatorade, Sam let out a small sigh afterwards, feeling like a sponge that had finally found water to absorb, his body no longer so dry and hot.
Sam needed to do something, talk to someone. It was too quiet, even with his father's snoring.
Picking up the phone from beside Dean's bed, Sam slipped into the bathroom with it, careful to make sure the cord slid under the door okay so that he could close the door. He didn't want to disturb Dean or Dad. The edge of the bath wasn't exactly the most comfortable looking place to sit, so Sam put the lid down on the toilet and sat down on there, perching the phone on one knee as he dialled the number.
"Singer's Auto Yard…"
"Hey, Bobby, it's Sam."
"Is everything alright, Sam? Your Dad get to you okay?"
"Yeah, Dad's just fine, he's getting some sleep right now."
"What about your brother? Dean going to be okay?"
Sam was about answer when he heard a strange sound over the receiver…as if there was a struggle happening. "Bobby?" Down the line, the sound was muffled for a moment, Sam picking up swearing and raised voices before he heard a familiar voice again.
"Sam? Where's Dean? How is he? Is he okay? Sam!"
"Skye…hey, calm down." Sam's voice was light, amusement twitching his lips as he heard Bobby in the background muttering about Skye losing her mind and elbowing an old man in the ribs just for a phone.
"Don't tell me to calm down, Sam. I haven't heard anything…just tell me…is he okay?"
"Dean's going to be fine, Skye. I promise. He's asleep right now but I'll make sure he calls you when he's able to, okay? Just calm down for me. If Dean heard you right now he'd freak. You're not going to do the baby any good getting all worked up." Sam spoke calmly, trying to get through to her. He heard Skye make a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob, her voice shaking with emotion as she spoke again.
"Dean's really going to be okay?"
"I promise." Sam reiterated, kicking himself for not calling her sooner. What the hell had it been like for Skye, knowing Dean was hurt? Sam put himself in her shoes, thinking about how he would feel if it had been Elise and his stomach knotted up at the mere thought of it.
"Thanks, Sam." Skye said quietly, relief flooding her voice. After a moment, she brightened again. " Hey, I know someone here that's been dying to speak to you…"
Sam waited for a moment, expecting to hear Connor's small voice over the line, but instead as the phone was handed over, he heard Elise and his lips broke open into a huge grin. It was as if the world had just become warmer and full of light, just hearing her voice.
"Hey handsome…you looking after yourself, or am I going to be kicking your arse?"
Sam laughed, leaning back a little, his whole body relaxing. "That's one hell of a bedside manner there…"
"Hey, do I look like Florence Nightingale, mate? I don't bloody think so. You only get tough love from this nurse…" Her voice lowered then, for Sam's ears only. " And maybe some of those massages you like so much…"
Sam groaned, his mind flooding with memories of Elise's hands on his back, his shoulders. He would have given anything to feel that right now. "That's not fair…"
"Fair?" Elise laughed, "Who ever said anything about fair? Now talk to me…I'm bloody well missing you far too much…"
xxxxXXXXxxxx
Dean slowly clawed his way towards the sounds of life, leaving the darkness and it's wonderful pain free existence behind. He hadn't even dreamt at all…why was that? Oh yeah, Sam had slipped him those pills. Normally Dean would kick his brother's ass for pulling a stunt like that, but the sleep had been needed and if that came without nightmares for once? Then Dean was going to take that as a bonus. He let his eyes flicker open, noting the amount of sunlight in the room now. It had been night before…just how long had he slept?
Turning towards the sound of his father's gentle snoring, he saw him asleep on the bed beside him. Okay…so that wasn't a dream. Dad really was here. Dean smiled slightly, finding that reassuring in a way that it always had been since he was a kid. Maybe even more so now because he knew his father was alive.
"Sammy?" Dean tried to sit up a little, shuffling back in the bed until he was higher on his pillow and able to get his elbows under him for support. Sam was no where to be seen. What the hell? The room wasn't that big, how did someone that tall disappear? Annoyance flashed through him. Where the hell would Sam go? Alone for fucks sake. He should know better.
Dean twisted with a small grunt of pain, trying to see if his brother was in the bathroom, but the door was open…so that was a no.
"Sammy?" Dean raised his voice more, causing his father to instantly sit up, his wings snapping out fully with the sudden shock, almost hitting Dean. "Hey, Birdman of Alcatraz…you mind?"
John pulled his wings in, scowling at Dean as he stood up and stretched. "Watch your mouth…"
"Watch those freaking wings of yours.." Dean threw back, glaring.
"What's wrong? Why'd you wake me?" John demanded, looking around the room. "Where's your brother?"
"That's what I want to know. I woke up and he was gone." Dean explained, trying to sit up more. "Sam, you'd better fucking answer me!"
As if on command, the motel room door opened and Sam entered with a tray of drinks in his arms and a brown paper bag tucked under his chin. He nudged the door shut with his hip, quickly shuffled over to the small table in the room and put down the food and drink. Sam turned to see both his father and Dean glaring at him. "What?"
"Where the hell did you go?" Dean demanded. His voice was still carrying a slight huskiness to it and felt scratchy, but nothing Dean couldn't cope with.
"Breakfast?" Sam answered simply, one eyebrow lifting as if he couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. "I brought back coffee, donuts, some burgers and even some soup for you, Dean."
"Soup? You're fucking kidding me?" Dean tried to fold his arms across his chest, hissing in pain as it pulled the skin on his back. He stopped instantly, huffing out a frustrated breath of air. "I want some real food, Sam."
"You'll take the soup, Dean. Once we know you can keep that down and swallow okay? You can go back on solids." John ordered, his whole demeanour indicating the matter was not open for negotiation.
"Aw come on…" Dean groaned, before he sighed and rolled his eyes. "What sort of soup is it?"
"Chicken noodle." Sam told him. "Homemade too, the waitress reckons they sell a lot of it this time of the year."
Dean mused over that. It didn't sound so bad and he had to admit, it would be nice to not have anything scraping his throat…even if his mouth was watering at the smell of the coffee and donuts. " Alright, alright…I'll eat your stupid soup. Soon as I get back from the bathroom."
Sam was on the move as Dean threw the blankets aside. "Whoa, whoa, whoa…what are you doing?"
Had someone dropped Sam on his head? Because at that moment? Dean wasn't seeing any of those college brains his brother had in action. He gave Sam a look that indicated he thought he was talking to a simpleton. "Uhhh, I'm gonna to take a leak? What do you think, Sam?"
"No way. You shouldn't be moving yet, Dean…I'll find you something to use."
Dean took a moment to catch on. "Something to…oh no…no freaking way, Sam!"
"What? Dean…you shouldn't be moving around yet."
"I'm not some ninety year old guy, Sam. I'm not peeing in some bottle in front of you and Dad. It's not happening. Now give me a hand up and help me to the bathroom or you'll be changing the sheets…" Two IV's and Gatorade? Dean felt like he was going to explode. He grunted in pain as Sam helped him to his feet and the walk to the bathroom was slow. The bandages were rubbing in some places and Dean wanted to rip them off, hating the feel of them against his newly healing skin. Maybe later he could convince Dad and Sam to let him have a shower? Dean was more than willing to submerse himself in water now that he could still recall the heat his body had known before.
Getting into the bathroom, Dean gently pushed Sam away. " I'm good…I'm fine. Get out of here, man, you've already seen more of me than I'm comfortable with…"
Sam grinned as he left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He'd gotten barely five feet from the door when both John and Sam heard Dean's voice again. " Uhh…I look like a freaking mummy from the waist down…a little help here? Someone?"
xxxxXXXXXxxxxx
Dean was alone in the room for the moment. Well….the bathroom. It had been several hours since his embarrassing need to take a pee, with Sam's help no less and god, if he never had to go through something like that again? He would die a happy man. Not even Hell could conjure up something as bad as that…
In the other room, Dean could hear Sam and Dad discussing the case, working out strategies as they ate lunch. He had food waiting for him out there too, but right now, he needed to do something more important.
The phone was sat on the edge of the bath beside him, the number already dialled from memory, because if there was a number Dean had made sure was locked in his mind…it was Skye's cell number.
"Hello?"
Dean's eyes closed, emotion welling up inside him in tidal proportions as he heard Skye's voice and thought of home, of safety…of being in her arms and knowing that he was loved and warm. " Hey…it's me." His voice was rough, both with emotion and the damage his throat had taken.
"Oh god, Dean…" Skye's voice instantly broke and he could hear the tears that would be filling her eyes.
"I'm okay. I…I just needed to hear your voice. Are you alright? Connor? The baby?"
"We're fine, Dean. We're all fine. I've been so worried. I thought…I thought…" Skye couldn't say it.
"I know. I'm sorry, Skye. I screwed up. Made a stupid mistake. It's not going to happen again, I promise." Dean was determined to take care of whatever spirit had burnt him, nearly killed him. He didn't want anyone else dying. "I'm going to take care of this and come home."
There was the sound of an sudden excited voice in the background and Dean smiled, his heart all but swelling at the sound of it. "Hey, is that Connor?"
"Yeah, he's asking to talk to you…"
"Put him on." Dean replied, waiting as he heard the phone exchange hands.
"Daddy, you okay?"
"Never better now I'm talking to you, little dude." Dean smiled. He heard Connor giggle over the phone and a tear welled up, sliding down one cheek. "You taking good care of your mom for me?"
"Yup!" Connor stated instantly, before he went quiet for a moment. "Daddy?"
"Yeah, little dude?"
"You come home soon?"
"Soon as I can, Connor. And I'll bring you home something…okay?" Dean promised, keeping his voice light and positive.
There was another scuffle with the phone before Dean heard Skye again.
"He's gone…I swear that kid has too much energy. He's wearing me out."
Dean chuckled and leaned back as much as he could, resting his head against the wall behind him. "So how's the baby? Still kicking as always? I miss that, you know…maybe I need to get Sam to kick me to help me sleep."
Skye laughed, the sound soft and warm. "Oh trust me, there'll be plenty for you when you get home, babe. This kid can kick a bar of soap off my belly and out of the bath now."
"Might have a career in football huh?"
"Or marital arts…" Skye teased.
Dean laughed, feeling relaxed, even though he was homesick. "Just don't let Bobby try and convince them to be a grease monkey…." He laughed again with Skye, letting the conversation ease into simple talk that made them both feel connected again. Once he felt ready, he would hang up and turn his mind back to the case.
But not yet. Dean wanted to touch home…just for a little while.
xxxxXXXXXxxxx