"Fuck!" Dean rolled to his knees and prepared for a frontal attack…surprise rocking him ass-to-heels on the floor. "What the…..? Kids? They're…. kids?" he said bewildered, still looking and waiting to be pounced on.
"Here now!" dad cried out, hurrying down the hall – not to assist Dean to his feet – not to collar his rampaging off-spring – but to block their accessibility to Dean's raised fists. "Don't you dare raise a hand to my sons!"
Dean frowned, hand? No, he had fists raised to protect himself from whatever evil force had knocked him off his feet. He growled, dizziness making the ability to think impossible.
"Not having a good time of it, huh?" hands guided him to his feet, the voice unfamiliar, the touch warm and firm. "Come on, right this way. That's it. Call me Edith, dear. Pete went outside to get your brother, tell him you're awake. Step up. Right foot….No? Don't want to go back to bed? Where do you think…oh, you want to sit at the desk….okay…sure, if you want." Edith backed up a few steps as Dean lowered himself into the fragile chair, unsure it would support his weight and expecting it to send him sprawling to the floor. "You….aah, don't want to go back to bed?" she paused. "Are you hungry? I can get you something to eat. What sounds good?" she waited. "What would you like?"
"Um." Dean yawned. "Huh?" he lowered his head to rest on his folded arms crossed upon the desk. "Gimme a minute." he tried to recollect his thoughts and focus his attention on the here and now but….nope. Wasn't gonna happen. Couldn't do it.
"Sam…" Dean accepted the plastic tumbler of water Edith held out. "He's...here? Some...where, ain't he?"
"Outside."
"This chair sucks." spindles dug into his back, the seat was too short for his ass, it had arms and it creaked and groaned under his weight every time he shifted. What the hell kind of diner seated their patrons in a chair like this? He held the cup against his forehead, then one cheek, then the other. Where was the menu? Had he already ordered? He needed a plate, didn't he? And silverware, unless he'd ordered a sandwich, he hoped he hadn't, for he really wanted hot soup. He'd need a spoon…..yeah, sure, that's why he didn't have a plate, he'd ordered soup. He frowned, tongue licking the cold water. No…no….plates or dishes came with the food, it was the silverware…..that….should be here, on the table, in front of him. He set the cup down and patted the desk surface with the palms of both hands…..huh, nope, no silverware. No worry, he always carried a knife in his shirt, though he'd still require a spoon…..his palms patted his chest down then each side of his belly, fingers reaching for his belt…..
"I have…..had….." he swallowed. "Clothes? Don't I have….clothes? Where are my clothes?"
"I washed them for you, they're folded right here on the bench." Edith hesitated, maybe pointing that out hadn't been a wise idea. Maybe it was best to get him off that train of thought. "More water?"
Dean made a face. He was seated at a table, with no menu, no silverware and no pants. The service was terrible….no, it was lacking altogether. Huh. He didn't like this diner. And what the hell was Sam doing outside? Was he still in the car? Didn't matter, 'cause Dean sure as hell wasn't going in search of his wayward brother. Wasn't even going to order for the sulking prick, let him find his own silverware. He was warm and dry and cozy and even befuddled and unable to recall where he was or why, he well knew it was cold and windy and raining outside. Nope, not gonna do it.
He still felt like shit, but he was regaining his ability to concentrate and sort out recent past events. Right, bees and doctors and hospitals and ambulances and storms and the dark and whacking his head and mighty midgets running amuck. He touched the bandage, wow didn't remember that. Right, head hurts Dean, leave off, you damn dummy.
Well then, stranded in a stuck-in-a-prior-century house, in a raging storm without power, lacking running water, away from the safety of the bunker, vulnerable to attack, Kevin to protect, Sam somewhere outside – what to do, what to do? Oh right, go back to bed.
"Stay put, your brother will be along shortly." Edith watched as he gained his feet and mounted the step stool after a miss or two with his raised foot. "Still a little shaky, eh? You get some rest, the more rest you give your body, the better you'll feel each time you wake up."
"Yeah, sure." the sheets were soft and warm, flannel maybe, or fleece, whatever, he sank into their depths and succumbed to sleep; crappy-ass diner and brother and prophet forgotten.
***000***
Sam stood outside the idling Impala, ass resting against her grille, hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring straight ahead. Just staring. At the oak tree. Lying across the road. Blocking his way. Making any further progress forward in the car impossible.
Pete and Kevin approached on foot from behind. Kevin, focused on finding Sam, had walked around the house numerous times, diverting over to the barn more than once. It had been Pete, who, once joining Kevin in the backyard had pointed out the Impala was gone and suggested Sam had likely driven off to look at the bridge. Kevin hadn't objected to Pete's suggestion he jump in the passenger side of the truck and ride along to trail after Sam.
"Holy cow!" Kevin exclaimed, throwing open the truck door and leaping from the seat. "Look at the size of that tree!"
Sam didn't move or acknowledge their arrival. Just stared ahead at the offending tree.
"Gonna need a chain saw." Pete commented, coming up to stand next to Sam. "Gonna take a while."
"Big one." Sam replied, thinking, a while? Gonna take all fucking day.
"Gonna need more than one." Kevin darted around Sam and went to stand in front the fallen oak tree. His shoulder just topped its height. "Can you both not see the SIZE of this thing?" there was no way around it either. "It's lying down and hey!" his arms waved wildly. "It's taller than me." and its girth couldn't be breached. No matter how high Kevin jumped, he couldn't throw himself atop it or reach across it.
"Any other road out?" Sam asked, watching Kevin's antics. Really, what had the kid so excited? It was just a tree! One he was eager to begin taking his frustration and anger out on.
"Nope."
Sam sighed, shifting his weight to his other foot. Sure, he could walk to the bridge, walk or swim across to the car he'd left on the other side but could Dean? He'd really like his brother to wake up and hold a conversation with him.
"…..to leave." Pete was saying. "What with this weather….no telling how the other roads….."
"Beg your pardon?" Sam said. "Sorry, wasn't listening." was thinking perhaps the storm wasn't due to natural occurrences. Anyone or anything could be searching, circling, waiting; held off by Kevin's wards and hex bags but eventually, they wouldn't be enough, the charms would fail and whatever - if anything even was - was the cause of the weather would get through.
"I was saying there's no need to leave. You're safe here. Plenty of food, heat and water and shelter…..you can stay as long as you need too. We won't turn you out."
"We need to go home."
"Why?" Pete asked bluntly. "Your brother's gonna be fine. He's awake, got up on his own. He ain't in no danger of dying. You got medication for him for a week, don't you?"
"Yeah….what? No….I mean….." Sam pushed his hair back, a fruitless gesture against the wind. "I….it's hard to protect him here. I can…..I will, but there are too many people here and I can't protect everyone and take care of Dean the way I need to." need to for me, he added silently, the way I want to, for my sanity.
"We mean him no harm." Pete objected. "Safest place 'til this storm goes away is right here. No trees are coming down on the house. Out on those roads though, it's another story and that's assuming the bridge is crossable."
"No…I mean….it's…..I'd just feel better if we were home. He's...they...I mean, we...my brother is safe there. Out here should anyone hear he's down and vulnerable, well…I…can't...and there's Kevin…..and those...kids. If it comes down to choosing...who to protect...I can't let it come to that. No, we need to go home. We're all safe there." he repeated. "And you're all safer if we aren't here. How much further to the bridge from here?"
"Mile or so, bit less. Look, I understand the feeling of safety. Everyone feels more secure at home, but…"
"Everything I got, my gut…..my instinct, the voice in my head, tells me to take him home…so…..I gotta. I have to get him there…..before….before anyone gets hurt." he paused, mind rewinding. "Wait, did you say…..? He's awake?"
"OH!" Kevin's attention was diverted from calculating the dimensions of the fallen tree. "RIGHT! Yeah, he woke up. It's why we came to find you."
"And you're just telling me now?" Sam exclaimed. "What the hell Kevin?"
"Sorry….just….this tree!" he waved his hands. "AAh….right….right….Dean." Kevin backpedaled hastily at the look to consume Sam's face. "Yeah, no see, he woke up, all right and okay, you know? Knew me, said he had to piss but wasn't hungry."
"So, you just left him alone to come get me?"
"No." Kevin scowled. "I told Edith and Pete he was awake then came to get you."
"I helped him to the bathroom and told him to stay put until you came to get him." Pete added. "By the time I found Kevin, he'd looked for you, noticed the car was missing and we came in my truck to find you."
"Ke…..vin." Sam groaned. "Have you learned nothing? He never does what you want him to, never obeys anything he's asked to do, never listens to a word anyone says and never stays where you leave him."
"Oh."
"We gotta go back for chainsaws, axes and Earl." Pete said. "You want to walk to the bridge and meet us back here?"
"Yeah." he sighed. He wanted to go back to the house with them, wanted to see with his own eyes, Dean awake and talking and suffering no ill effects of his most recent head injury, but why waste the time? Cutting up that tree was going to take hours, and he could walk to the bridge while they were gone and Dean would likely blow him off or curse him out for bothering him, yet…..
"Let's go back and have lunch before we tackle this here tree." Pete gave Sam a way out of admitting to his weakness – Dean – by giving him a reason to return to the house. Now he could see his brother and judge for himself just how all right and okay he was.
"Sure, yeah, okay. Some coffee maybe?" Sam opened the car door. "Thermos to go?"
"You betcha."
Kevin hopped into the passenger seat of the Impala, all smiles and bright-eyed. He was going to get to wield a chainsaw and an axe and chop up a tree! Woo-Hoo!
***000***
To Sam's annoyance and frustration; Dean didn't wake up when Sam popped in to say hi. He didn't awaken when Sam called to him and shook him and cat-called either. He slept through Sam's not-so-gentle examination as well but since Sam still found no evidence of a concussion, he reluctantly let Dean sleep. He didn't get a chance to speak to Edith either.
To Kevin's annoyance and frustration; wielding an axe and handling a chain saw was fun for ten minutes, then it became work, hard work. And despite four men, it was slow going, progress made but gained with sweat and sore backs and aching arms and tight shoulders. Yeah, he wasn't cut out to be Paul Bunyan Jr.
To Dean's annoyance and frustration; the mighty midgets were loud and noisy and roamed everywhere, thumping and clumping and hooting and hollering. Their parents were inconsiderate and indulging, ignoring Edith's gentle hints and out right suggestions to mind their children.
To everyone's annoyance and frustration; the rain returned, the wind came with it and lightning soon joined the party.
***000***
"DEAN?" Sam burst through the door. They'd returned to the house for supper and he'd finally been told by Edith about Dean's earlier fall in the hallway and disrupted afternoon. "Dean? Jesus man, you ok?"
"Mmm?" nearly asleep, he roused, alerted by the frantic repeated calling of his name that something wasn't quite right. "S'up?"
"What the hell Dean? Stop getting out of bed on your own! Don't you remember what happened last time you tried that?"
"Nooooo. I didn't." he winced, the shouting timbre of Sam's normally masculine tones sounding like nails being scratched down a chalk-board. "I did? When? Not out….or in…..alone. Head…hurts, Sammy….no…..shout."
"Why do you do this to me? Last week, the bees, cracking your damn head, this…!"
"Not my….." he paused, tongue thick, mouth dry. "Do what?" he swallowed, now nauseated. "N'm'ault."
"Not your fault?" Sam repeated. "What wasn't your fault? Dean? Hey! Dean….."
"Wh….I….fell." he forced himself to quell the overwhelming need to retch and focused on Sam's panic. Or was it anger?
"Fell? You fell? AGAIN!? Damn you…..!"
Dean squinted. Flaring nostrils, flushed cheeks, wide eyes, and fisted hands – definitely anger. "Ran me over." he panted, sheen of sweat coating his cheeks and forehead. Gawd, why did he feel like this?
"Ran…..? You were…..? SON-OF-A-BITCH!" he whirled and bolted from the room.
"SAM!" Dean bellowed – actually a hoarse cough that went unheard – Sam was descending the stairs by the time Dean threw the blankets from his shoulders and kicked them to the foot of the bed. "WAIT A DAMN MIN…SAM!" he managed to get out of bed without falling on his ass or crashing his head into the nightstand but dizziness and weak knees made his progress dashing after Sam a mite slower than he would have preferred. In fact, it forced him to become one with the wall and Sam got away.
Not that it mattered. Sam had a one-track mind and no one and nothing – not even Dean passing out and falling head over heels down the stairs – would prevent him from accomplishing his goal. Boy, did Dean ever know that from past experience. He navigated the wall, the doorway, the hallway wall, then finally the stairs, one foot, one step, second foot, next step, one hand over the next on the railing. He could see the bottom but doubted he'd ever reach it via his feet. He shrugged with a sigh, nowhere to go but down. What was a bruise or two on his ass anyway?
"Sam?" Kevin looked up from his perusal of Edith's bookcase, reading the titles by the soft glow of a lantern, aided by firelight. The family of four occupied a card table set up to host a game of rummy. Oh-oh…was he ever familiar with the look on the younger Winchesters face. The look. That look that warned anyone with an ounce of intelligence that he was on the warpath and whoever was responsible for 'the look' should flee. Run Kevin. Run, run away. Far away. Far, far, away. Run and never look back. Just go. Go now. Go while you can. Go while the getting is good. You can swim, so go.
Yeah, Kevin glanced around the room, if only he ever listened to himself. Still, despite knowledge of 'the look', Kevin never expected Sam to upend the card table, grab dad by the front lapels of his shirt, drag him to his feet and hit him so hard in the jaw, he flew – flew – backwards. Flew off his feet, over a chair and, had the wall not been made of sturdy plaster, would have flown through it as well rather than crumpling against it.
"I TOLD you to keep those KIDS away from him!"
Chaos erupted over the cracked dad-shaped silhouette in the walls plaster.
The kids, for once, were shell-shocked into silence. They were ignored by their mother who was useless against a raging mad man in the room. Well, unless of course, you counted her screaming as a weapon; her high-pitched screeching screams. Kevin winced, convinced his ears were bleeding. Her flailing hands covered her mouth, then her eyes, then clasped together, clutching her heaving bosom.
Kevin giggled, the book in his hands – a romance/mystery novel – giving way to his over-active, bored imagination. Bosom! Hee-hee. Despite its tawdriness, he was eager to start reading, it'd been a hard long day of heavy labor. Good Golly Molly, her bosom was still heaving due to her no-end-in-sight screaming. Good Lord, did she never run out of breath?
The thud of body hitting resistance – again – caused Kevin to set the book down and step around the sofa. While he had no fondness for any member of the family, he did have both a soft spot for Edith who had been nothing but kind to him since his arrival and morals, instilled in him since birth by his mother. Ignoring his inner voice telling him to leave well enough alone, he stupidly thought to interfere in Sam's attempted murder of dear old dad.
"SAM! Hey! What are you doing?" Kevin tried to grab his arm and though Sam allowed the touch, he in no way succumbed to the attempts to make him let go of dumbass flopping about like a landed fish. Or maybe a rag doll. Once, years, and years, and years ago, Kevin had fondly played with a Raggedy Andy doll….right….never admit that Kev – never. "Sam! What the hell? Come on man, leave off!"
Shake-shake-shake, Sam shouting about unruly kids and inconsiderate parents; shake, rattle and roll, the sound of teeth clacking, shake-shake-shake, Sam shouting about consequences, and then – a second punch; bone cracked and blood spurted, so much for that nose. Mom hiccupped, moaned and Kevin waited, casting a hopeful look that she'd faint but no…..she found more breath and resumed screaming. Despite her racket Kevin heard the thud of footsteps and knew Pete and/or Earl were on their way. He gulped, if they tried to prevent Sam from furthering his attack on dumbass, they'd only find themselves on the receiving end of the 'fist of fury'.
"Sam, stop." Kevin flung his weight against Sam's side, hip-checking him hard enough Sam side-stepped to keep his balance. "Stop it. Stop! STOP! Hey! Come on!" he tried to wedge himself between Sam and his target but Sam shoved him aside, knocking him over the same chair dumbass had sailed over. He was just righting himself, separating arms from legs and feet from armpits when Pete and Earl entered the room. He wanted to remain hidden behind the overturned chair but Pete was old and Earl had held a gun on Sam – something the irate hunter wasn't likely to forget – so if anyone had a chance of reaching Sam verbally, it sure as hell wasn't either of them.
"STAY BACK!" Kevin shouted frantically, fingers gripping the arm, tuft of hair visible over the stuffing, he was just peeping over the arm when Miss-on-everyone's-nerves abruptly stopped screaming. Kevin frowned, biting his lip as he turned his head to see what had finally shut her up. Aah…shock apparently. For there, standing – okay – weaving in the doorway, hand on either side of the doorframe to keep him on his feet was an unshaven, unwashed, uncombed, underwear-only wearing Dean.
"Does he not own clothes?" she was pale, hands still clasped to her chest, no attention paid to her squabbling offspring or being-beaten-to-a-pulp spouse.
Kevin gaped open-mouthed; momentarily stunned into a motionless, silent stupor. The dumb dingbat finally stopped screaming and that's what she came up with to say? Seriously? Really? No fucking way.
"That's what you say?" Kevin exclaimed. And just beyond his realm of being able to comprehend what he was hearing, Sam still ranted. "What the hell is wrong with you lady?"
"I won't lay a hand on a kid, no matter how ill-mannered and poorly behaved he is. A kid is the product of his parent, so if I can't hit him, I'll hit you." Sam's words were raspy breaths. Poor guy was tired, slinging an axe all day wore down the strength of even the most fit man. Even so, Kevin was able to fill in the gaps and string together what Sam was saying.
Wow, just wow. If everyone cowered thinking Momma Bear Sammy was a fearful sight, they'd yet to encounter enraged Papa Bear Dean. Was that right? Weren't Momma's of any species ferocious when defending their young? Not that Sam was Dean's young but when he felt Dean was in anyway threatened, he went berserk. No, wait…that was backwards. Well, both were protective of the other but…
"SAM!" Dean barked, coughed, choked. "What the fuck are you doing? That's enough!" he didn't go over to Sam, didn't try to interfere, didn't attempt to physically pull his enraged brother off dumbass. He didn't need to; words were enough, were all he needed to call off the attack.
Sam held dumbass with a hand on his collarbone, his right hand fisted and ready to throw another punch. How many had it been? Three? Four? "Now? You get up now? Go back to bed." he didn't even turn around, just issued his command with every expectation of being obeyed. "I mean it Dean….take your ass back to bed."
Dean knew one way and one way only to derail freight train Sammy. Lies and manipulation. "Can't." he sighed. "Can't….fall up the steps, you know? Can fall down 'em, I think I did….but not….not up."
"Don't fuck with me Dean. I'm not in the mood.
"And I'm not up to this." Dean bitched. "Sam, come on, don't make me deal with your shit."
"Don't." Sam warned, then paused. "My…..my shit?" he puffed up, shoulders back, chest out. "Stop being a fucking prick."
"Dammit Sam, my god-damn head hurts." he didn't bother to keep the whine from his tone. "I itch everywhere and I can't breathe and my skin feels like fire and did I mention my fucking head fucking hurts?"
The screams were replaced with gasps and noises of moral outrage over the use of such language in front of impressionable young children. Uh…..what? Kevin frowned, what about her broken, bleeding husband?
Sam deflated. His shoulders sagged, then drooped. Dumbass became too heavy to hold and was dropped to the floor where he landed in a crumpled heap. "Stop whining." Sam ordered, turning to face his wobbly brother. "What are you even doing out of bed anyway?"
"Aah…fainting." and he collapsed in the arms of his brother who'd sprung forward to catch him, taking them both to the floor with an undignified plop.
Kevin kicked his heels against the floor. Sure….sure….just his luck. The screaming banshee didn't faint, no… Dean did. Kevin rubbed his forehead, migraines, definitely migraines…did they cause strokes? Or blood clots? Or cerebral bleeding? He warily climbed to his feet, stepping around the chair. No one paid him any attention; Pete and Earl were attending dumbass, Edith was soothing the banshee and the kids…well, they were still sitting in their chairs, finally subdued.
Kevin expected Sam to push Dean off his lap or shake him awake, but Sam repositioned himself and sat where he was, and while he couldn't possibly be comfortable, he allowed the dead weight that was Dean to remain sprawled across his legs. Kevin snorted, yeah, that was Sam; see to Dean's comfort and needs before his own. Sam wouldn't do well on an airplane that was preparing to crash. The flight attendants instructions to secure your own oxygen mask before attempting to help those around you would never be obeyed if Sam were responsible for securing Dean's.
"Really Dean? I mean, come on!" Sam sighed. "Don't you dare pass out again." every muscle leapt to attention and urged him to gather his brother, gain his feet and carry him to bed but even when his limbs and joints joined the fight and wanted to take flight, he forced himself to remain seated.
"Ow." Dean moaned pitifully, shifting uneasily. "Naw." his hands went to his head and he rolled one way, then the other, then back. Sam moved one leg to give Dean more floor space and with his other, used his knee to prod Dean over to his left hip. Sam wanted to help him sit up, but knew Dean would rebuff any offer of aid and Sam wasn't emotionally strong enough to handle rejection. Outwardly, he remained calm and detached, privately, his heart was leaping and his pulse was dancing and his blood was singing.
"You ok?" he asked after several minutes, oblivious to the room's other occupants. "Dean?"
"Bugger off." he squirmed, slithering his complete way to the floor, willing his stomach to settle. Where the hell was he anyway? He lay upon something hard but against something soft and warm. He wasn't comfortable but….but he felt safe. Gaining control of his rebelling stomach, he concentrated on focusing his eyes and squinted up into the upside down face of hazel eyes brown with emotion and unkempt tangled hair.
Oh shit.
