Restoring the Balance
By Floralia
SUMMARY: The brothers struggle to restore their equilibrium after Sam is injured on a hunt, but obviously something supernatural gets in the way.
DISCLAIMER: still not mine.
Now that ridiculously long sub-plot (or some might say 'actual plot') is out of the way, I'm going to return to the story I was actually trying to tell. I was always more interested in showing the effect of Sam being hurt on the way the brothers interacted and how they would adapt. That while Sam might be the physically weaker of the two he was a lot more emotionally stable (probably because he had Dean), and while Dean's focus is fixed so intently on Sam he ends up being the liability that gets them into trouble on a hunt and forces them to deal with issues. It was supposed to pretty much be that short, but I got a bit carried away. Oh well, that can't be helped now.
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Dean had been absent the last time Sam was in surgery, and it was a surprise to him to now learn that the guilt of that was nothing compared to the horror that was actually being here. Of sitting in this sterile waiting room and knowing that there was still absolutely nothing you could do to change the outcome that would greet you. The expression that would fill the doctor's face when the door finally opened.
The last day he had spent with Sam, and Dean tried everything he could to push away the belief that it had been just that, had been such a day of nothing. Besides Sam's insistence that he leave Dean could think of absolutely nothing either had said or done. He needed something to cling onto but found all he had again was so much wasted time. Hours of nothing. He had become too complacent. He had begun to take for granted that he had Sam back so no longer felt pressured to confide, to keep any of the promises he had made. He had not kept his side of the barging and now he was paying the price. Or perhaps Sam was. Giving too much to ease a debt he had never asked for. Again.
The doctor's expression was unreadable when he finally emerged, a stoic mask the likes of which Dean would have been proud of, so he was forced to wait a few seconds longer to be told who he was. The whole length of the room.
He was still a brother, but there were so many 'buts' he lost track of them. He tried to cling to the sliver of hope in the man's words, to the light that was Sam still lingering with him, but that's all he was doing now.
The surgeons had managed to get the bleeding under control, had finally re-stitched his torn and ravaged skin, but he had lost so much blood, been pushed so far, that his heart rate and blood pressure were barely registering. And those lungs that Dean had loved so much had finally grown bored with continuing their effort when nothing else would. They had finally put Sam on a ventilator, and if they removed it he would die. Soon.
The number of negative words he had heard these doctors use while describing his brother was already long beyond comprehension, but until today it had not included 'oxygen deprived', or 'coma'. It was strange but Dean found it was that last one that scared him the most. Sam had merely been unconscious before. His was the beginning of something else entirely.
It was a long wait before Dean was able to see him. Long in time anyway, but it was so full of questions and explanations and a lengthy description of what he was about to see, the machinery and monitors that were being used to keep Sam alive, that the time was more full than Dean could handle. They were words that he had never wanted to hear, but they would be with him now forever, and there was one brief, terrible moment where he fantasised about how easy it would be to walk away. To leave this hospital right now and never have to face what was waiting for him behind those doors. Never scar his eyes or his mind with that vision of Sam, not while he could still conjure the image of a gurgling baby sitting on a shag pile motel carpet. But it was the same baby his father had handed to him all those years ago. The same life he had sworn to protect, and he would not walk out on it now. Besides, he had absolutely nowhere else to go.
The doctor had escorted him to Sam's door, had supported him this far, but would leave him to take the most painful step alone. Dean closed his eyes, his hand hovering on the door that separated him from Sam, palm flat, as though trying the send or receive courage within. To communicate somehow with Sam. To prepare himself for the nightmare that was in store.
Then, after the longest, deepest breath he had ever taken, a mockery of Sam, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Pale skin. White and soft, dark brown hair invading its edges. That was the first sight that greeted Dean when he opened his eyes. His little brother's forehead. He took a moment to just study it, he already knew it by heart but he would never tire of looking at it, before he allowed his eyes to wander downwards, taking in the whole of his face.
Skin too pale and thin, gaunter than he remembered it, but defiantly Sam. Eyes closed and red-rimmed, ringed with dark circles, combining to provide an alarming band of colour. His breathing was deep and even peaceful, and it hit Dean where he lay, was perhaps even the action that had woken him, hot and sweet. But he wouldn't move. Wouldn't not feel it for the world.
He allowed his eyes to continue to roam. Motel room. Daylight. He was in bed, and Sam was asleep on the covers beside him. Filling the gap on the bed between their bodies was a second snuffling sleeping form, curled up with its back against Sam's middle, paws pressed against Dean's side. He wasn't sure quite what was going on, why he was here, and why his bed should suddenly be home to this bizarre ménage au trois, but he didn't care. It didn't matter, because this was exactly where he wanted to be. Cosy and warm and watching his brother, close and peaceful and directly within his line of sight.
Although he'd be happier if Sam's eyes were open. He liked Sam better with his eyes open these days. Once upon a time it had been the other way around. Once a sleeping Sam had been much cuter and more restful than a waking Sam, because awake had meant hungry and crying, but sleeping now came with a whole new fear. That what if this time he didn't wake.
Nine days. That was how long he had waited the last time. Nine days of not knowing if he would be leaving the hospital alone. For the doctors and Sam waking up had been the beginning of the story. Of being weaned off the ventilator and learning to breathe again. Of rounds of medication and physiotherapy and not being dragged down by your own fragility and depression. But for Dean it was the end. All the indecision and lack of purpose ended the instant Sammy opened his eyes and the rest was just another battle they had to face, one they continued to face, together.
And all because of a vision.
His body had been on the mend until his mind had interfered. Sam had not had one since but Dean wasn't naive, he knew it would merely be a matter of time, but the thought of it paralysed him with dread. He had attributed the seizure that had followed to Sam's physical weakness at the time, perhaps even the medication he was taking. He didn't want to believe that it was another development of Sam's abilities, but he didn't want to be unprepared and ever have to find out that had been the case. He knew that the next vision he witnessed would be the worst form of torture, because he didn't know if Sam would even come out of it.
When they were able to help, when they got there in time and the visions made a difference, then they were almost worth while, but that last one had benefited no-one.
Dean sighed, suddenly needing contact, brushing a stray clump of fringe from Sam's eyes that had been obstructing Dean's view. He was surprised to find his hand ached, and that it was bandaged, but he also found that it didn't matter right now.
"What did you see?" he whispered, but he was long past the point of expecting an answer. They had only discussed it once, and Dean couldn't bear to dwell on it further, despite the fact that was all he did. Sam had these visions and there was nothing he could do to relieve him of that burden. He saw how badly they affected him, how much they left him drained. This last one had taken that to whole new extremes, and if they had actually managed to save someone then maybe Dean could live with it. But they hadn't. The fact Sam had had the vision at all implied a death had occurred somewhere, that the demon was gaining ground. They knew something had happened, they just didn't know what. It had almost killed him, and Sam didn't even remember what he had seen.
It never even occurred to Dean that he might be lying.
He was incredibly tired and the rhythm of Sam's breathing was beginning to lull him back into sleep. He could almost hear something. A distant rumble, a scraping and a clattering that was just out of earshot but the hunter in him was taking time of and the brother was still in control, and the brother was too tired and contented to figure it out.
There was a sudden astounding crash that caused two of the sleeping forms on the bed to bolt their heads up in confusion. Someone had just broken in to their motel room, and with a considerable amount of anxiety and repressed violence. The door flew open so far that it hit the wall, rattling the windows, but that didn't stop the figure from stumbling on his entrance, arms flailing for balance, the momentum sending him running a few paces into the room and almost colliding into a chair that had been left pulled out from the table. Wild and dishevelled and breathing hard through a veil of ill contained panic, and totally unexpected:
"Bobby?" Dean was at a complete loss. The two just stared at each other for a moment, and the older man seemed to visibly relax, almost wilting into himself and losing several inches as he did so, taking in the sight in front of him. Both brothers huddled together on the bed, sleeping and calm and apparently out of danger.
The puppy had also raised its head at Bobby's entrance and was glancing sleepily between the newcomer and Dean as though trying to determine whether the energy would be required to start barking. Dean didn't seem worried however, so with a groaning sigh it flopped back down onto the bed and closed its eyes.
"Some guard dog you are." Dean grouched.
Sam shifted lazily in the bed beside him, an incredibly delayed reaction to Bobby's loud entrance. "Whatsamatter? Are we under attack?" he mumbled sleepily, rubbing his hands over his eyes in a way that really didn't tally with his twenty three years.
"No Sammy it's okay. Bobby's just a little over excited, that's all."
"Bobby?" Sam murmured, brow wrinkled but eyes still firmly shut. "Remind me to call him when you wake up." Shifting slightly before falling still in sleep.
"No... You don't have to ring him. He's here. Sam..? Well, that made a beautiful level of sense." Dean sighed with some trepidation before turning his attention back to Bobby, who had closed the door quietly and was now looking slightly sheepish that his loud and dramatic entrance had not been called for.
"I'm guessing I missed something?"
"What do you remember?" Bobby looked suspiciously like he didn't want to be the one to have this conversation, but Sam was still snoozing gently and Dean had the look of a protective lioness about him so Bobby didn't suggest they wake him.
"Honestly? Not this." Dean held up his hand, glaring at Bobby accusingly.
"Hey, don't look at me. I just got here remember. I have a feeling I'm almost as out of date as you are."
"Do you have any idea what's going on." He whispered quietly to Sam. "Why's Bobby here?"
"I always know what's going on. That's why you keep me."
"I knew there must be a reason" he muttered, with barely a hitch. Bobby was still staring at him as though willing him to make some sense out of what was going on before he had to tell him. The puppy shuffled and Sam subconsciously reached for it, snuggling closer. Dean shook his head at the pair of them. He would be getting no help there. But actually, the sight of the dog did bring back some vague memories…
"We went back to the alley" he said, more to himself. Perhaps it was unnerving that he didn't have a clue at all why he was here. "We took the… and someone came… and then." Several things seemed to click all at once. He remembered charging the figure, Sam calling out a warning, being thrown to the ground. He was suddenly also sure somehow that he had set the cloth they had been researching in motion, and he instantly remembered something of his dreams. But that didn't matter because the other thing he remembered was…
He propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring how dizzy moving suddenly made him feel, because that wasn't important now. Gently he pried up the edge of Sam's t-shirt, needing to see for himself the damage that Kane had inflicted during perhaps the last genuine memory he had.
Sam pulled away at the movement but Dean held him still. The cut was shallow and smooth but the skin around it was raw and still stained with flakes of dried blood, and the shirt Sam was wearing was stiff with it. Dean's dizziness increased but he pushed it away, tried to ignore the images and memories the wound conjured up, to concentrate on the Sam that was with him here and now.
The sun was up. This wound had been inflicted hours ago. "Didn't it occur to you that maybe you should clean it?" he chided the two bleary eyes that were glaring at him, prodded awake by Dean's less than gentle hands.
"I was kinda busy." He protested incredulously. No. It had honestly never occurred to him to check it out, and now Dean had pointed it out to him it was starting to really sting.
"You tell him." Bobby growled in approval. "You save his ass and this is the gratitude you get. Although perhaps you could have rang and told me you were back here instead of leaving me wondering what the hell was going on."
"Someone should probably ring Ash too." Sam said in place of an apology.
"Ash?" Dean was getting increasingly confused.
"He was the one who told me how to reverse it." Sam stated simply. Dean was sitting up now, trying to drag together the energy to be off the bed and alert now that Bobby was here, but Sam didn't seem to care about that and had merely flopped over onto his back, half watching them half the ceiling, but at least it got his cut out of his brother's reach.
"And you?" Dean asked, still not exactly sure what Bobby had hoped to achieve by breaking in to their motel room, or even how he knew where to find them.
"He told me where to go. Who Kane was."
"Kane?"
"The merchant."
"The…"
"Look, why don't we save the story swapping until later." Bobby interrupted, sensing Sam was still not awake enough to give a coherent picture, and he didn't have enough information to provide one himself. He honestly had no idea how Sam had pulled this whole thing off. When the whole night had passed without a return call Bobby had been convinced he had lost them both. "Let's just say you were in a lot of trouble, and now you're not. And the cavalry arrived way to late to be of any use to anyone." He added ruefully.
"You were a lot of help." Sam supplied sincerely, as though slightly taken aback by the ideas Bobby could have possibly thought otherwise.
"Thank you." Dean offered meaningfully. He had a feeling it wasn't just his own emotions Bobby had helped to salvage.
"Don't mention it."
"No. We own you. Big time. Thanks."
"Wow. From Dean Winchester that's all the gratitude I need."
"I'll let you have Dean." Sam offered, inspiration suddenly striking.
"What?!" the two older men turned to stare at him in confusion, and in response Sam held up the still sleepy puppy for Bobby to see, as though it had been painfully obvious what he had been talking about. He shrugged, "Although if you want the other one…"
Bobby looked only minorly relieved, but Dean chuckled at the pleading look on his brother's face, grateful for once that those eyes were not aimed at him. Sam had been trying to find a good home fro the dog since he'd found it, one that preferably didn't involve having to part with it or take it to the shelter, and Dean had to secretly agree he couldn't fault his brother's choice.
"Would I have to call him Dean?"
"Call him what you want. But... You just… you have to take care of him, it's just for some of the time. We'll stop by and see him all the time. To help out."
"Oh god this just keeps getting better."
"I'll take care of him I promise. You'll hardly know he'd there."
"Like you promised to take care of the rabbit you left with Caleb?"
"Yeah, it'll be exactly like that." Sam said, pleased that Bobby seemed to be catching on.
"Don't worry." Dean interjected, noting Bobby's look of concern, "I think the dog will be a bit more vocal if you forget to feed it."
"Poor Muppet." Sam sighed wistfully, but before he could grow too despondent the puppy in his arms yawned sleepily.
"Uhhh. How am I the only one who finds that adorable? Don't you mind them." Sam turned the dog around to face him so it no longer had to stare at the hunters that were too hard hearted to see how cute he was.
Dean smiled and shook his head, looking almost as wistful as Sam and Bobby smiled because he knew it wasn't the puppy Dean found adorable. But he also knew Dean would kill him before admitting it, so he instantly put a serious face back in place.
The puppy housing situation sorted Sam seemed to think his work here was done, and as subtly as he could manage he gave up on sitting and flopped back down onto the bed, eyes sliding closed.
Dean had only just got his wobbly legs to support him, and he used this as the excuse to sit down again, shifting over to his brother's side, hand hovering over Sam's forehead.
"You're getting a little warm there kiddo." He noted with concern.
"Am I?" Sam asked in a tone that somehow managed to be both surprised and completely disinterested. Dean's hand was still hovering and Sam scowled, actually made a move to bat it away before catching himself.
"I'm fine." He promised, "Just tired. How about you?"
"Me? I'm fine."
"Dean" stern and slightly warning, and accompanied by the effort to sit upright again. The no nonsense expression on his face would have been a lot more intimidating if Dean hadn't actually had to help him up and prop him back against the pillows, or if it hadn't been interrupted by a sigh and a roll of his eyes, but Dean seemed to sense it required answering anyway.
"I think I'm okay. I mean, I feel a little groggy, but I think I'm good to go."
"Really?" hopeful, but aware Dean would probably lie to him about this anyway.
"Here." Sam had reached gingerly over to the kit he had left on the bed side table, trying hard not to wince as he did so, handing Dean the thermometer.
"Okaaay… But you couldn't just do it yourself? Open wide."
"Not me you moron. Jesus, you see what I have to work with here? A few hours ago you had a fever that was out of control. Just humour me, okay."
"I did?" Dean was starting to feel slightly less sure of himself now.
"Yeah. We cut it fine. Seriously, it was like your whole body was shutting down. And it sounded like you had some serious fluid on your lung man. Which reminds me, if the old man asks you've got the flu. And you apologise if your loud nightmares last night disturbed any of his other guests. Not that I think there are any."
"Wow." Dean suddenly felt justified in feeling a little wobbly. Now that Sam mentioned it he did feel like he was recovering from a serious bout of the flu. He felt weak enough. He'd had some pretty horrific nightmares, relived some stuff he had been trying desperately to put behind him, but he'd had no idea there had been physical side effects, which was stupid when he thought about it. How did he think those other people had died? He'd been oblivious to the physical effects trapped in the mental, but Sam had seen them, and he knew they had freaked him out.
He handed the thermometer back to Sam without looking at either of them, suddenly not wanting to know what it said or see the effects of what he must have put his brother through. He'd lost well over ten hours of his life, and the last thing he'd known they'd had no idea who was behind these deaths or how to stop them. Sam had obviously been busy, and the last he remembered Sam had been too tired to concentrate on what was going on around them. Either he'd underestimated his brother's resilience, or Sam was in the midst of a serious mental and physical crash right now. Possibly both.
"It looks okay." But Sam was staring at the thermometer mistrustfully, and Dean almost got the impression that Sam wanted there to be something wrong with him so he could take his turn at playing nurse maid for a while, because they both knew he would not be able to get Dean to rest and take it east without physical proof that he needed to.
"Well, that's a good thing." He said gently, sitting back down besides Sam so that he was leaning against the headboard. He really didn't want to have to go through the effort of standing, and he knew from experience how exhausting it was to be worried about someone who didn't seem to be worrying about themselves. If it would make Sam feel better to see him off his feet for a while then he would humour him for the sake of Sam's own health.
And on the issue of Sam's health, as if it was somehow aware Dean was thinking about it, Sam let out an enormous sneeze, the force of which actually shook the bed, making Dean even more light-headed.
Sam sneezed, and two realisations hit him at once. One, that he hadn't thought to change out of his wet clothes before going to sleep either, and two, that it really really hurt to do that, and hopefully he wouldn't ever again.
No such luck, and after the second sneeze he couldn't muffle the gasp of pain which turned into three rib shaking coughs. But if he held his breath he physically didn't have the ability to cough any more.
"Cut it out before you turn blue."
"If you've given me your fake flu…" Sam griped, suddenly aware that his jeans were actually still damp and feeling the need to get his legs off the bed and out of his brothers reach in case he noticed and Sam was never left unsupervised again. Although after last night he perhaps wouldn't mind that.
"Okay, I'm gonna…" he pointed to the bloodstained shirt he was still wearing, suddenly not having the energy to finish the sentence with the head rush of swinging his legs off the bed and sitting upright.
"Can you pass me that bag please?" Bobby lifted Sam's bag onto the other bed and he staggered the distance between them, leaning heavily on the bed for support before changing his mind and sitting on it instead. He ferreted around in silence pulling out a clean t-shirt, then holding up a fresh pair of jeans, half in half out of the bag, staring at them in confusion. Bobby had a clear view of Sam's face, and figured it was probably a good job that Dean was still leaning against the headboard and only had a view of Sam's back, because the thoughts he could see flitting across it would have set Dean's worry into overdrive. Sam's head seemed to follow his train of thought, moving first to stare at the fresh jeans in his hands, the damp ones he was wearing, the boots on his feet, and the new jeans again, looking slightly more resigned to his fate with each new glance. Then he stuffed the pants back into the bag with a slightly guilty expression and a hope no-one had noticed he'd even been considering it. He could think of no conceivable way of getting his laces untied, shoes and jeans off and a new pair on, only to have to reapply the shoes while remaining determinedly upright and not bending his stomach in any way.
He sighed. He was almost dry anyway.
Would it freak Dean out more if he passed out attempting to reach the bathroom or if he stayed here and changed his shirt, putting the numerous bruises he had no doubt managed to accumulate on display? Why did such a simple task as changing out of wet and bloodstained clothes suddenly require such extensive thought and strategising? He suddenly wasn't sure he could even be bothered anymore anyway. He was fairly sure he was going to be asleep again in a few minutes time, and he could do that just as well dressed as he was.
He sighed again, flashing Dean a 'not one word' glance and gingerly pulled the shirt over his head, trying not to pull at his wounded side as he did so. It was slow going and he momentarily smothered himself while doing so, almost gagging on the scent of hours old sweat, blood, tears, dirt and damp. And something in his head seemed to click.
"We need to leave." He said, eyes locked with Bobby's, now actually willing that Dean be paying too much attention to the knife wound he had put on display to notice his words, or the sudden shift in the atmosphere of the room.
Bobby wasn't a hunter for nothing. One minute he had been standing feeling slightly unnecessary and bemused, but he instantly picked up on Sam's concern, and his wish to conceal it for as long as possible from Dean.
"I want to get you both out of here and to a hospital." He stated firmly, moving over to Sam on the pretence of checking out his injured side. Sam nodded vaguely. It was as good a reason to leave as any, and they probably should get checked out. He needed professional reassurance that Dean had suffered no lasting physical effects from his experience, ones slightly more trustworthy than Deans 'don't bug me I'm fine'. He was also very much aware that his entire body hurt, and the nausea from moving was yet to fade. Perhaps he needed some reassurances too; that his insistence they come here hadn't set them both back more unnecessary weeks.
Dean was mid protesting scoff when Bobby cut him off with a stern call of his name, the same fatherly yet demanding voice that had almost caused Sam to wilt over the phone the night before. "We don't know what effect, if any, this thing has on you. And Sam could probably use some stitches, so put some clothes on." He ordered, throwing some at him from the other bag at his side, praying they were actually Dean's because this speech would be a whole lot less effective if they weren't "and quit arguing with me."
Dean fiddled with the clothes in his hands, and was just about to open his mouth to protest when a pleading look from Sam shut him up. And Dean knew he'd been caught. He wanted Sam checked out, and Sam knew it, and the sneaky bastard would only submit to it if Dean did, and even as he realised this he cursed that Sam had ever been born with such insanely expressive eyes.
With a huffiness that was now purely for show Dean took the clothing and marched into the bathroom, ruining the effect by the way he had to support himself on the doorframe on the way in.
The door clicked closed and Sam was instantly on his unsteady feet, shirt on, stuffing what belongings that were within his reach into the bag beside him. Bobby had so many questions he didn't know where to start, but something about Sam's sudden desire to leave got his mind whirling.
"Kane's buyer. He show up?"
"Yeah." Bobby had never known Sam to give such curt, clipped responses. That had been Dean. Sam liked to babble.
"Who…?"
"Vampire." Sam interrupted before he could finish.
And Bobby knew where this was going.
"He get your scent?"
"Yeah." The laptop was back in its case but everything else was on the floor out of his reach.
"And Kane?"
"I don't know?"
"What do you mean..?"
"They were going at it pretty violently when I left. I didn't stick around. I don't know if…"
"You think Kane will come after you? It he…"
"Yeah." A finality and conviction that Bobby didn't expect. That by the looks of Sam he shouldn't have been able to produce. And Bobby knew there was a story there. One he wouldn't be hearing.
"Then we deal." It was hard to be reassuring when you didn't know what was going on. When you'd gone practically your whole life without ever feeling the need to be.
"Yeah…" Sam said, softer this time, grateful even, "But not here."
"What about the car? Either of them see it? Recognise it?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I.."
"Now what the hell is this?" Dean emerged from the bathroom fully dressed, holding out his bandaged hand for all to see, looking extremely indignant about it. "I didn't graze it or sprain it or anything, this," he said, pointing extravagantly, "Is a friggin' knife wound."
"Yeah." Sheepish this time, with a vague touch of apology.
"You wanna fill me in?"
"Well… you remember how the bottom line said something about 'blood', only I wasn't too sure what it meant?" Dean nodded patiently, not cottoning on. "Well, it turned out it had to be…" Sam trailed off, pointing feebly in Dean's direction, wincing at the look of dawning comprehension that crossed his brother's face.
"You...?" he didn't seem to be able to find any more words.
"I'm really sorry." Sam gushed, "But I didn't have any choice…and…" it was obvious that Sam was carrying some serious guilt about it, and Dean wasn't really in any position to gripe at him seen as his only recollection of the last ten hours was how desperately he needed Sam to be with him and alive, but still…
"You couldn't have found a less annoying spot? I mean, the hand dude. My right hand. It's not like I never use it."
Sam blanched slightly and Dean felt bad, but seriously… and Sam would be worried about his strength and awareness if he didn't make a fuss about this, and he didn't want Sam worrying, so…
"Okay, enough. I think we can talk about this later, don't you." Bobby interjected, suddenly having a newfound respect for John Winchester and his ability to stay relatively sane during their adolescent years. "We may as well clear out now. Get the rest of your stuff together and I'll go check you out." Bobby had left before Dean could protest, so he fixed his enquiring gaze on Sam instead.
"Just do it Dean. Please." He knew he owed Dean an explanation, but suddenly he was too exhausted to give one. Somehow the presence of an authority figure had wiped away any resolve Sam might have had to remain strong and in control, a marked contrast to the effect they'd had on him for the rest of his life. Dean obeyed in uncharacteristic silence, shooting furtive glances at Sam where he sat, elbows on the table and head in his hands looking suddenly a million miles away, and Dean had to fight the urge to go over and touch him just to reassure himself that Sam really was still here.
Sam had already covered and hidden away the artefact that had caused them so much trouble, knowing they would need the time to destroy it properly and not wanting Dean to have to go through having to even look at it right now. They hadn't been in the room long enough for their possessions to spread. They hadn't even unpacked anything in the bathroom, so it was really only the trail of clothes and research material Sam had left scattered on the floor.
Dean picked up Sam's jacket, fingering the tear the knife had caused almost shyly, somehow needing it feel its physical presence but knowing that if he probed it too hard it would hurt him. He sensed Sam watching him so he cleared his throat guiltily and carried on his way, feeling the need to somehow keep the jacket clutched to himself as he worker. The thick material was still damp and Dean's jaw tightened slightly. He knew it wasn't just blood, and Sam's shaking and sneezing suddenly made a lot more sense. It took a superhuman effort of will but he wouldn't mention it right now. Sam had saved his life, again, and had exhausted himself and possibly made himself sick in the process. He probably didn't need to hear him bitch about it right now. But if Sam just let him die on occasion maybe he wouldn't keep getting hurt at all.
His own clothes from the night before were hiding under the discarded bed sheet and they were tossed into the waiting bag. A flash of colour on his t-shirt attracted his attention and he straightened the material out, gasping at the sight that greeted him. A hand print. Distorted slightly but unbearably clear. An impression made in blood. Sam's. Both of them. The sight both sickened and oddly fascinated him; it was at the same time horrifically painful and strangely beautiful. Sam's presence touching his chest, staining him permanently with his own blood as though determined to make a lasting mark. To not be ignored. He wanted to both instantly burn it and hide it away to contemplate in private, his own secret link to Sam, a bizarre gesture of solidarity and love that couldn't be denied, so instead he tucked it away at the bottom of his bag away from prying eyes, away from the contents that would be immediately washed whenever they got to wherever the hell it was they were going.
"All done." He announced, causing Sam to jump slightly from his spot nodding off at the table. Dean sighed and stretched his shoulders, flexing out the kinks and tension caused by who knew what. He rubbed his hand absently across his neck and shoulders, through the back of his hair, wincing as he did so. He rubbed at a patch of dirt there, and as well as a surprising sudden throbbing pain his hand came back coated in tiny flecks of dried blood.
He was more awake and feeling slightly less sentimental now. The door opened and Bobby re-entered just in time for Dean to round on his brother once more.
"Okay, why exactly do I have what feels like a million tiny cuts on the back of my shoulders?" he asked.
"I don't… Oh." The confusion vanished as he remembered the pile of broken glass he had accidentally dragged his brother through, and the guilt returned.
"What did you…?" he didn't know it he was angry, exasperated or amused, or just desperately happy that he still had the opportunity to make his brother squirm, but it didn't matter which because Bobby didn't let him finish.
"In the car. Now." Sam couldn't hide the smirk at Dean's look of incredulity, but it worried Dean slightly that he seemed to lack the energy to comment on it out loud.
If Dean hadn't staggered on the way to the door Bobby might have let him drive.
"Perhaps we should take your car" Sam voiced innocently, but suspiciously pointedly.
"No, I think we need to get the Impala out of the area as soon as we can."
"Then I'm going to have to drive." Dean said in triumph. He wasn't stupid, he knew something serious was going down, but if it spared him from having to endure someone else driving his baby then he would grin and bare it. Emphasis on the grin.
"I'll leave my car here. Fetch it when I've got you to the hospital and you've reassured me I can leave the two of you alone to watch out for yourselves, without killing each other."
"What are you planning on doing with that while we're at the hospital?" Dean said, pointing in anguish at the puppy Bobby was collecting from its post at Sam's ankles. "There not going to let him inside, and no way are you leaving it in my car unsupervised. No… stop. What…"
Sam just laughed, and for once Dean hoped the action really hurt him as Bobby scooped up the dog and deliberately ignored him, carrying the dog over to the car with determined steps.
"Okay, fine. How do you plan on driving without…" he was patting his pockets and coming up empty. Bobby turned and flashed him a triumphant grin, keys dangling lazily from his fingertips.
"How… You little traitor." he turned on Sam, but he had been upright too long now and his balance was becoming too questionable for him to be able to follow through on the threat in his voice.
"Hey, when you can walk in a straight line or put any pressure on your hand then you can drive all you want, but until then…"
Dean just stormed unsteadily away to the passenger seat. He knew Sam was right, he was still feeling dazed and unsteady, but he didn't have to admit it, and if he couldn't drive no way was he riding in the back. He didn't care how long Sam's legs were.
It took a frustrating amount of time to get the boys on the road. The old motel owner had come out to see them off, startled that they were leaving so soon, and Molly had to give a tearful farewell to the dog. She clung to it so hard Bobby was half tempted to tell her to keep the damn thing, but he knew the extent of the arsenal stashed in the boot and didn't want to risk Sam's wrath if he passed over his 'gift'. Sam was all gentleness and smiles unless his family was threatened, and Bobby got the impression he would be almost as protective of the puppy as he was of Dean.
"Can anyone else hear that?" Dean asked anxiously as Bobby finally pulled the Impala out of the car park and onto the road out of town.
"No." Sam said a little too quickly. The car gave a rattling lurch as it made the turn and Dean visibly blanched. "She's just a little damp; give her time to get warmed up." Sam muttered. Bobby suddenly thought he understood where Sam's reluctance to take the Impala stemmed from.
Dean was feeling dizzy again. He stared determinedly out of the window so he didn't have to hear the engine or his companions' false reassuring excuses.
They drove a few miles in relative silence – the humans at least were quiet – with Bobby not pushing as hard on the accelerator as he would normally have done, or his desire to get the two non fighting fit Winchesters away from retributions range dictated, but he sensed that if he pushed the car further Dean would have a heart attack and die before they got anywhere close to the hospital.
"Hey look at that." Dean commented as the passed a vicious set of skid marks on the side of the road. "Someone had some fun in the rain last night at least." He said settling back, not seeing Sam's guilty squirming in the back seat, and Bobby thought his own ribs would crack from suppressing his amusement.
It was over an hour's ride to the nearest hospital and it would be a pain to get back to the motel relying on his wits and public transport alone, and with a puppy in tow, but Bobby felt justified in his decision to ferry the brothers there by the fact they were both asleep within minutes of leaving the town behind them. He knew that Dean was feeling at lot more drained and confused than he was willing to show, and that Sam had pushed himself past the point of endurance. If Sam's fears were founded and they potentially had Kane and/or a vampire in the immediate vicinity with a grudge against them, there was no way Bobby would be leaving them alone until he was sure they could handle themselves, or at least run and hide effectively. Perhaps in a crowded hospital he would feel safe leaving them. He'd have to do it at some point, because he wasn't taking either of them back to the motel with him, and he couldn't afford to lose another car.
Dean was aware enough to wake when he sensed the car slow, but it wasn't until they'd stopped and he'd been prodded that Sam was willing to re-open his eyes. The dog was curled up on the seat beside him, which was not part of their deal. Dean had only let it in on the condition it at no point came into contact with the car itself. It could do what it wanted to Sam as long as the upholstery was safe, but Sam was looking so spaced Dean didn't waste the effort berating him about it. He didn't think Sam had a clue where he was, much less the ability to understand human speech right now, and truth be told he was starting to get a little bit anxious. He wished someone would tell him what had happened. He needed to know what he had forced Sam to endure, but the only person who could tell him that was Sam himself, and it didn't look like that was going to happen any time soon.
"We'll be really quick. Don't pee in the car." Sam warned the little dog, who had unfortunately also woken on arrival. "Otherwise you'll be longing for your days in a cardboard box, okay." He gave it a reassuring pat, harder than planned because his limbs were lacking in co-ordination, before turning heavily for the door.
Dean began to feel floaty light as soon as he found his feet. He wouldn't mind knowing exactly what had happened to himself either. To have something tangible to focus on other than the jumbled assortment of emotions and memories that assaulted him. That were even now still too close to the surface so that even breathing hurt, but he had to keep it up, calm and even, if only to stifle down the sob he could feel rising in his throat every time he thought of Sam. Which lets face it, was more frequent than the breathing.
Dean felt slightly dizzy on standing, but Sam's knees buckled completely. He grabbed onto the door for support but didn't have the strength left to keep himself upright and began the slow agonising slide to the ground. Dean lurched to his brother's side as though struggling through thick treacle, battling against the paralysis that wanted to kick in at the sight of his little brother again in that much pain. He did his best to prop him upright but Sam couldn't look at him. His face was beyond pale and his eyes were closed, and Dean knew he was fighting the urge to vomit. It would have gone all over the car if he had, but Dean couldn't have cared less. That was his level of concern right now.
"I got him." Gentle hands pushed him kindly but firmly away. Bobby rapped one of Sam's arms across his shoulder and held it there; his other hand on Sam's hip to support him without putting any force on his wounded side. Sam seemed at lest willing to try and support some of his own weight now that the initial shock of being vertical had passed, but Bobby was taking no chances and practically carried him a few uncertain steps away from the car.
Dean swallowed hard to suppress the moan of anguish he could feel forcing itself from his chest upwards. There was a huge empty space in his stomach that was expanding with every step that Bobby took Sam away from him. That was his job. One he needed to be able to do. If you took that away from him then Dean was nothing.
No sound had escaped him but Sam's beacon for pathetic creatures in distress was obviously tingling again. His head turned searching for Dean, not caring that he almost unbalanced Bobby as it did so, and their eyes locked with a small reassuring smile. Twitching fingers were held out towards him from across the car park, and Dean didn't even think Sam was aware of the gesture, seeking that instinctive touch of reassurance that had somehow become the norm.
Dean smiled back and nodded, levering himself away from the car, trying to ignore the steadily fading yipping from behind him as much as the heavy feeling of inadequacy. He was still feeling unaccountably wobbly himself, there was no way he could have supported Sam's weight all the way inside, but he didn't have to be happy about that fact, even if he knew it.
There were more people in this hospital than Dean had seen so far in the entire state, but that didn't count for much and it was still quiet enough for them to be seen almost straight away. Sam was starting to look pretty alarming however, at least to Dean, so that was perhaps only natural.
The brother's were separated as soon as they got through the swinging partition doors leading out of the waiting room, and an epic conversation and battle of wills ensued in complete silence. One glance from Sam told Dean to shut up and get himself checked out, while somehow expressing concern for Dean at the thought of him having to be alone in a hospital and away from Sam again. Dean needed no words to tell Bobby not to even think about leaving Sam, but at the same time to give him an update as soon as was humanly possible because he was only going to be able to stand being here for a limited period of time before his need to know what was going on with his brother caused him to get violent.
It was hard for Sam to watch Dean led away from him after all he had endured to keep them together, but he didn't physically have the strength to follow, and he knew it was only a temporary parting so he let himself be pushed down into a wheelchair, grateful beyond reason that he was no longer being asked to stand, and to be wheeled in the opposite direction. It was a good job Dean had insisted that Bobby accompany him, because he didn't possess the mental faculties necessary to provide a reasonable explanation for his current condition, or why he had so flagrantly flouted every instruction he had been given the last time he had been in a hospital.
Trusting that Bobby would be able to fill his silence Sam allowed his eyes to continue to drift closed.
TBC
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I know there reunion wasn't as touching as it perhaps could have been, but perhaps they need time to process things first. Give Dean some time alone and maybe he'll be more aware of what he experienced, and Sam was too tired to really realise he had Dean back or how close he came to losing him. And it felt a bit odd to do it with Bobby in the room. So maybe later…
Sorry, feeling the need to justify myself again. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and thanks for the continued support.