A/N
Frostygossamer—a fantastic review yet again, thanks! I haven't watched Night of the Hunter, but the title sounds familiar. And yeah, so far the adults are pretty useless. But we can't let a Winchester not be a hero, now can we? And I'm pretty sure Bobby would be willing to kick Castiel's butt into gear for me if I asked him to…
Disclaimer: Yeah, I promised you one, didn't I? Okay, okay I give! I don't own Supernatural. Don't even wish I did—because then those boys would be so close…within grabbing distance! Yet so far away…
Dean felt immediately inclined to go bleach his mouth and disinfect every inch of his face just in case, but the notion was pushed to the back of his mind when his efforts were finally acknowledged. Dean was rewarded with movement.
Sam stirred, but only slightly. A long, low groan rumbled deep in his throat, and Dean wondered if he had accidentally awakened a sleeping beast. He hoped this man was what they called a "gentle giant" and was proved correct when Sam opened his eyes. Dean stared down into the deep, dark chocolate pools that were Sam's eyes. They were only opened to slits, and clouded with pain and confusion, but they were Sam's eyes nonetheless, and that meant that Sam was awake, and they could finally get moving again.
"Hey kid." Sam rasped slowly.
Dean flashed his high-voltage smile down at Sam. "I've got somebody who's coming to help us. But we gotta get to the next town…" he trailed off as Sam's eyes started to drift shut again.
"Oooh, no you don't!" Dean smacked Sam's jaw, effectively startling the man awake. "You don't wanna know what I had to do to wake you up last time!" Dean groaned. Sam stared at him as if he was speaking gibberish. Or from outer space, maybe. He blinked slowly, the tip of his tongue attempted to wet his fever-dry lips.
Dean huffed. "Can you at least get into the car?"
"Wha' good iz th't gonna do?" Sam slurred.
"Lazy butt Cas could drive us to the next—ow!" Dean choked on his last words as Sam grabbed his bicep in a vice grip. Come on, I'm still small, dude! Give me a break! Dean wrenched his arm free, knowing by the strength of the man's weakenedgrasp that, if it had been under any normal circumstances, Dean would have never broken free of that large steel grip.
"Don't….don't let Cas drive."
"Okaay..." Dean bit his lower lip. "We gotta get you to a hos—"
"No hospitals." Sam seemed to be gaining some lucidity; whether it was because he was finally awakening, or desperately trying to prove that he would be fine, Dean wasn't sure.
"Right. Bobby said to find a motel anyway."
"Bobby?" Sam groaned, struggling to a sitting position. "Who's that."
"Don't matter. Can you stand?"
"Not with…" Sam swallowed thickly, motioning weakly toward the knife lodged in his hip. Dean frowned.
"So, pull it out."
Sam shook his head, his wet hair flung bloody droplets of water onto Dean's hoodie. "I can't…I tried." he looked at Dean. Dean met Sam's eyes, then wished he hadn't. Sad brown eyes stared deep into Dean's own eyes, darn near seeing straight into his soul, it seemed. The pupils were dilated with pain, but a small spark of light burned in the midst of it. Hope…no, want? Need. This guy needs me to save him. Dean mentally shrugged. He's banking on the wrong guy.
"I…" Dean stopped. Was it just him, or did Sam's expression just become even more dejected? Suddenly Dean recognized the feeling of being played up to. His throat closed up a little, and he recognized that Sam was trying to silently communicate with him, to plead on his own behalf for Dean's help. And it was working.
Samantha's puppy eyes don't have ANYTHING on this guy! Dean mentally kicked himself for falling for it. But man, that guy had the "please feel sorry for me, sorry enough to help me" puppy eye look down pat. The problem was, that puppy look was always accompanied with the "now that you're wrapped around my finger, could you…" mentality that forced the eye-slave to do whatever the eye-master wanted.
"I can try." Dean said softly, making absolutely no promises. It's a knife, for crying out loud. It's not like leaving it in there until Bobby gets here will kill the guy, Dean surmised. Then again, what if it did? If Sam didn't think he could get up until the knife was out, he would end up lying here, on the dark, wet highway, for the rest of the night, or until Bobby's tracking skills led him to this spot. Or Sam would try anyway, and wind up hurting himself even more.
Looks like a lose-lose situation. Dean thought.
"What is?" Sam's quiet voice interrupted him.
Whoops. Did I really just say that out loud? Way to have tact, Dean.
"Uh…just thinking." Dean said truthfully. "But I'll try it."
He gently fisted his small hand around the hilt of Maggie's knife. He closed his eyes, counted to three in his head. Then he pulled.
The knife made a grinding sound, then squelched grotesquely. Blood spurted up to coat Dean's hand as Sam's agonized screams drowned out everything else. Dean opened his eyes, expecting to see a bloody knife in his hand, dripping Sam's life-fluid onto the asphalt. Instead, he saw Sam, panting and mumbling something—if the ringing in Dean's ears quieted within the next hour, maybe he could figure out what it was—but worst of all; Dean saw the knife still lodged in Sam's hip.
"Leave it…leave…it…oh God, don't…touch…it…" Sam was mumbling over and over, the mantra finally reaching Dean's hurting ears.
"I think it's…"
"Stuck in the bone." Sam panted through clenched teeth.
Oh. Dean had been thinking that the knife was just stuck, plain stuck. Not stuck in. Because that made things so much worse.
"We have to get to a motel so Bobby can find us."
Sam nodded. "Get…in the car."
"You need some help?"
Sam shook his head forcefully, then winced as his headache made him regret the motion. "Just…uh, give me a sec."
Dean nodded, recognizing the look in Sam's eyes. It was the look he had seen in John's eyes on so many of the nights that the gruff hunter had come home late; tired, dirty, sore…hurt. It was the look that said Leave me alone. It's not your fault…I just don't want you to see me like this. It was a look that Dean knew too well; saw too often, wished he didn't. Wished not for the first time in his young life that he could be a normal kid. Not a hunter's son, not a Winchester son…just a normal kid with normal parents and a normal life. A life that didn't see pain, sorrow, and blood more often than not. Blood that was always flowing out of the people who tried to help him. But he wasn't normal. He'd spent his whole life being the opposite of normal, unimportant to everyone but Samantha, because he usually just got in the way. And apparently he was in the way right now. He recognized Sam's need to be left alone—but that didn't mean that he liked it. Just when he had thought that someone needed him…he'd failed again.
"Hey." A hand on his shoulder made him start. Pained eyes met his. "Hey, you okay?"
Dean nodded, slightly taken aback. Sam is hurting…and he's asking if I am alright? Well, that was new. Sam squeezed Dean's shoulder lightly.
"Our job is to make sure you and Samantha are safe, 'kay? I always do my job. I know you don't know that—don't know me…" Sam looked away, an air of regret passing through him. "I wish you could have…" The last part had been spoken so softly that Dean wondered if it had even been meant for him to hear.
"I'm gonna make this okay." Sam finished steadily, though there was a detectable tremor in his voice. Dean realized that Sam had misinterpreted his silence as doubt, and betrayal; instead of the failure and self-pity that Dean had been angst-ing about. It made Dean realize that it wasn't his place to be moping about right now. He was currently the best off out of their entire, pitiful little group; he was best off. He wasn't wounded, wasn't a toddler, and wasn't socially awkward, or whatever it was that seemed to plague Cas. He was Dean Winchester, the most awesome, intelligent, not too bad-looking son and protégé of the great hunter John Winchester. He was going to grow up to save people from the evil that warred in this world.
And he was going to start with Samantha. He remembered Bobby's words from the phone call "just be safe and take care of your sister". Right now—Dean looked at the panting, sweating wreck of a man sitting next to him—right now, taking care of Samantha meant taking care of her protector as well. His blood nearly boiled as he realized that this was all Maggie's fault. John, Dean, Samantha—they'd all been fine, just fine until Maggie rocked their universe.
After Maggie, John changed. After Chester, John changed even more. It was like the newest additions to his life gave him something to live for—something other than the family he'd already had; something other than the family that was living for him. The family that had caused him nothing but sorrow and grief. The family that reminded him of his losses. The family that reminded him of Mary. Mary had been John's one and only love, Dean and Samantha were just additional miracles that had captivated John for a while; but without Mary, those miracles seemed less intriguing. Maggie was second to Mary—but Chester…Chesterwas another of those intriguing little miracles that John could share with a woman he loved. Chester reminded him of Maggie, who despite all her faults, was still alive, could still love and be loved. Not so for Dean and Samantha. Not anymore.
Dean's small fists clenched subconsciously. Someday, he was going to kill Maggie. He'd kill Maggie—not only for what she'd done to Sam, because if you messed with Samantha's protector, you messed with Samantha, which meant you messed with Dean—but for what she had done to John, to the entire Winchester family. She had ruined their lives. And for that, she would pay.
In those moments of contemplation, Dean made a conscious decision. He would treat this man—this Sam—like family. But not like the family that John had so readily thrown away, even if it wasn't a conscious decision on his part. He would treat Sam, and even Castiel (as useless as he was!) like a family that deserved to be family. Because if they had done what no one else had ever done for the young Winchesters…if they would sacrifice their lives to save his little sister and himself…they deserved more than a pat on the back for a job well done.
On that dark night, on the wet, bloody highway, something bigger than Dean or Sam happened. In the silence that stretched between Sam and Dean, where Sam's eyes searched Dean's thoroughly, imploring the boy to just trust him…a connection was made that went deeper, and wove stronger, than the muscular arm that connected them bodily.
A/N
So it's not exactly a cliff hanger here. But I thought you guys might like to know a little bit of what's going on in Dean's mind. Because we all know Dean Winchester doesn't let anyone tell him what to do—he has to have come up with idea himself (even if someone else DID give it to him).
