7
Stacy opened the door quietly, glancing at Dean to see if he was sleeping. He wasn't. She was shocked to find him crouched tensely beside the dresser, holding his trembling hand outstretched toward her. Before she could speak, he made a motion for silence, and urgently whispered that she should get down. Bewildered, she did so. She tried to speak again, but he clamped his hand over her mouth and shook his head. He turned then and switched off the bedside lamp, throwing the room into moonlit darkness. Stacy crouched beside him, wide-eyed and fearful, worried that he'd lost his mind. He pointed to the window. A shadow passed, evidence of a figure trying to see in. Stacy glanced at him in alarm. He waited until the shadow was gone before whispering, "Find Connie; go upstairs and get the kids, and lock yourselves in the bathroom. Act normal, don't show anything's wrong!"
She mouthed the question of Who?, and he whispered, "I don't know, but I can guess, and they're trying to find a way in. Go!"
She clutched his good arm. "What about you?"
He shook his head angrily, and hissed, "Nevermind! Get everybody safe behind a locked door, now!" He shoved her toward the door and she hurried out, shaking with uncertain fear.
It was the best decision; they would be contained and out of harm's way. Dean didn't want to have to worry about them, he had to focus on meeting the threat alone, and he needed every ounce of strength he had. But it also galvanized the Sadlers to action. All they needed was to be able to get in quickly, silence him somehow and take him without alerting anyone. From their vantage point, they saw Stacy take her sister-in-law by the elbow, wearing an artificial smile, and usher her quickly out of the kitchen. A light flicked on upstairs for a moment, then a door closed and it was dark again. They waited until they saw no one for several minutes, and took the opportunity.
Dean let his eyes adjust to the darkness, and he scanned the room in desperation for anything he could use. It was a typical den, with a desk, and the futon he'd lain on, and decorated with all sorts of firefighter themed collectibles; Connie's efforts on behalf of Ryan. A bookshelf held a number of objects and a set of encyclopedias. There was something there that could be useful; an antique axe, long-handled and spike-ended. He crept forward and reached out to lift it. It was heavy, much more than he'd anticipated. The motion shot a flash of agony through his side, and he dropped to the floor with a gasp, cursing silently on his hands and knees, unable to move until it ebbed. He could hear sounds from outside, the crunch of feet in the snow by the wall. No no no no...he thought in panic, Don't do this to them, don't let them get hurt-
He vowed that he would protect them at all costs, and he steeled himself and changed position so that he could take the axe from it's place without passing out in the process. When he had it firmly in hand, he let it drop head first to the carpet and he used it as a crutch to rise.. He bit his lip to keep from groaning, and once he had gotten past the threat of blacking out, he hefted it with his left hand. While it was a formidable weapon, he still found it far too heavy in his state. Two-handed, sure- but he didn't have that luxury. But there was nothing else, with the exception of a gleaming copper fire extinguisher, which was far too bulky. He had to make the axe useful, and he wiggled the head, relieved to find it loose. He planted his heels on it and pulled, and the head pried off, shedding dusty splinters and a small brass wedge, and leaving him with a good, stout club that he could handle. He was glad to have it, but he wished his gun was under his pillow, the way it always was when they stayed in their typical roadside dives. There was no way he could get to the car now to retrieve it.
He stood up fully and stepped silently toward the door, listening. He unclipped and discarded his sling. Sweat was beading on his forehead, it trickled into his eyes, he wiped it off on his bare shoulder as he tried to breathe in silence. It was hard, he felt like roaring against the pain, but he focused on what he knew would come. There was a soft complaint from upstairs, and a muffled voice consoling the sleepy children. At least he knew that Stacy had done what he'd asked. The footsteps outside had moved off, and he strained to hear over the hiss that was building in his ears. After a tense few moments, he heard it. The soft click of the latch on the front door.
They were in. If it was the Sadlers, as he expected it would be, he knew they'd already seen him through his window. Their move would be predictable...they would head right to his room, and he would be waiting. He held his breath behind the door, clutching his makeshift club in his sweating hand.
Terse, angry whispers outside his door... Dean's fingers flexed and tightened on the smooth old hickory, and he blinked several times to clear his vision.
The knob on his door turned slowly. The door pushed open with all the stealth a practiced thief. When it was wide enough to pass through, a head peeked past it's edge. Dean didn't wait for an introduction. He drew a deep breath, growled and swung the axe handle as hard as he could. He felt it connect with a soggy crunch against flesh and cartilage.
Gary Sadler dropped the knife he held and stumbled against the door frame. He clutched at his face and uttered a strangled howl. Dean hauled back and hit him again, with all his desperate strength, finding the hard solidity of Gary's skull in the darkness. Gary dropped, stunned and swearing, onto the carpet. Dean kicked him in the gut for good measure and leapt over him, already concentrating on the other threats.
Len was still in the living room. Dean didn't wait to craft any element of surprise this time. Fuelled by adrenalin alone, he ran at him and bowled him over, and the two crashed heavily into the wide, fragrant balsam that twinkled with coloured lights and sparkling glass ornaments. It toppled on to them as they struggled, scattering glittering decorations and wrapped boxes. Len was older, but had the advantage of decent health, and he punched and kicked until he was free, and he staggered toward the door. Dean was beyond feeling his limits; he was in a blind rage, and he scrambled after him and grabbed his ankles, pulling him down again. Len fell hard, but he reacted like a panicked cat, clawing at Dean's hands and kicking hard at his attacker, and grinding his heel repeatedly into Dean's chest and shoulders until he had no choice but to let go. Len had had enough, he stepped back from the ruined room, panting hard, then turned and fled back out the open kitchen door.
His timing was exceptionally poor. Two vehicles had roared into the driveway, a red Solstice and a green pickup that had seen better years. The car braked hard with a spray of snow and quickly spilled two occupants. The truck didn't. Len ran straight into the path of Ryan's grill. He careened off the bumper and was thrown backwards into the snowy ridge at the side of the driveway. He sprawled there, almost comically, struggling to rise until a large and heavy body landed on him and pummeled him into stillness.
Dean fought the black wall that rushed at his senses. He crawled toward the kitchen, in grinding agony now. The car. He needed to get to the car...get his gun. He knew his keys were on the counter by the front door. He made it, and gripped the edge with a blood slicked hand and tried to pull himself up, but he slipped back down and nearly succumbed. But his panicked mind refused to let him; he'd bashed Gary Sadler good and hard, but he knew he would come to his senses any second.. He got back up to his knees, clutching his painfully shattered clavicle. He threw his elbow onto the surface and hauled himself up with a strangled cry, and resting heavily against the edge, he snatched the keys. Sucking in a breath, he pushed away and lurched toward the door.
Sam stood up from his silenced quarry and threw his wild gaze up the long driveway toward the house. "Dean?" he shouted. There was no answer. He turned to Markus. "Sit on him!" he yelled. "Keep him down!" Without waiting for an acknowledgement, he ran toward the house.
Ryan took one frantic look at Markus and the tangle of Sadler beneath him, and bolted toward his family and home. A step ahead, Sam held him back before they reached the door. "Wait!" barked.
Ryan struggled wildly. His children were in there, his wife- "No!" he ground out against the restraint. But he was held fast by the sturdy grip Sam contained him with. Sam was not about to compound any tragedy tonight; he shoved him back so hard he landed on his backside in the snow.
"Stay there!" Sam shouted. "Stay out of my way!" He turned toward the house, but the light spilling from the open door was suddenly blocked as a figure emerged.
Dean, bloodied and clad only in his tensor wrap and the pair of sweats, stumbled through the entrance. He got past the steps and collapsed onto his knees, unaware that there were others running toward him.. He heaved in painful gasps, trying to adequately draw in the frigid air. He rose again, staggered a few paces, but fell again to the snow. Before Sam could leap toward him, another man lurched through the doorway.
Gary Sadler could hardly see through the veil of red that obscured his vision. It clouded his reason even more. He was enraged, and he wanted only one thing, and that was Dean Winchester's blood on his hands. He reached Dean first. He flattened him, and yanked his head up by a handful of hair, growling incoherent sounds of fury. He had a knife gripped in his hand, it shone briefly in the silver light as he pressed it under Dean's adam's apple, oblivious to his audience and blind to the consequences. The blade touched Dean's throat for a mere second.
Sam was a streak of motion that defied physics. He threw himself at the hulking body that threatened his brother, and rode him sideways and away from Dean where he lay. Gary barely had a chance to perceive the threat, let alone react to it. The knife skittered away, and Sam was instantly on him. Gary threw up his arms in defense, but it was useless. Sam was a tiger; he laid into him, his fists a blur. He pounded his opponent over and over and over, in a raging fury, until the snow around them was spattered red, and someone managed finally to pull him off.
Markus did his best to drag Sam back to reason. He yelled at him repeatedly to stop; he took a serious risk to his own person and held his wild-eyed friend's arms to his sides to pin him. Sam growled and struggled fiercely, he was a frantic animal, thinking only of destroying the threat that had laid his brother out. But Markus held fast, and talked him down. Markus did what he promised; he controlled the situation. Gary was already finished, and he lay still and groaning.
Dean was simply still.
Ryan had gotten up and raced into his house. He saw the chaotic livingroom, the bloody smeared handprints on the counter. "Connie!" he yelled, frantically running from room to room. He found his wife and sister and his children frightened but unharmed in the bathroom. As soon as he had ascertained that they were alright, he radio'd for help. "You're ok for a minute?" he demanded.
Connie answered, shaken but in control. Her eyes were brimming but her voice was steady. "Yes, go and see to Dean! I'll put the kids down again, they shouldn't see this-"
He nodded, beyond relief, and planted a hurried kiss on her cheek before returning to the driveway with his kit. Stacy was right behind him. When he reached the place where Dean lay, he had to use force to push his brother out of the way. But Sam moved aside and let him attend to him, and the hunter concentrated on securing the Sadlers before they thought to try to attempt to flee. He asked Stacy for duct tape, and she ran up the driveway to retrieve it from the garage. When she handed it to him, he and Markus trussed the battered men as securely and uncomfortably as they could, finishing with a band of tape over each of their mouths. Sam stood up and wiped his bruised and bloody hands on the snow.
"Got your phone on you?" Markus asked, nursing what felt like a broken hand after he'd had to convince Len Sadler to stay put.
Still heaving from the exertion and emotion, Sam asked why.
"Take picture of them tied, together. For Dean."
Sam nodded, smiling as he caught his breath. He dragged the junior Sadler over and dumped him beside his brother in the snowbank, and took a very unflattering shot. He smiled grimly at Markus and both returned to where Dean lay.
Ryan and his sister had moved him off the snow and onto an emergency blanket. Another covered him against the cold. Ryan tried to keep him immobile until the ambulance arrived, but Dean was writhing weakly, and moaning with pain. His throat was bloody; the knife had cut him, but only slightly, and Stacy held a cotton pad against it as she talked to him through her tears in a gentle, calming tone. Ryan could guess at what was hurting him now; his wrap was pulled and torn, and his chest and collar bone had received some serious abuse from Len Sadler's boot heel.
"He's inside!" Dean coughed, trying to raise himself. "In the house...go get the kids, the girls!"
Ryan held him still. "Easy, buddy...they're tied up now, Dean.. It's ok, the kids are fine. Everybody's safe, thanks to you."
Dean heard the words. They floated down from a distance, muffled and distorted. Relief washed over him. It's all under control. He let go then. The approaching sirens and the reassuring voices blended into white noise, as light melted into a velvety black. After several moments, the cold and pain faded away.
The driveway was strobing with flashing red and blue lights. Police had been on call as soon as Ryan had squealed from the station, and Ryan's radio'd request to emergency services had brought out his colleagues as well. Dean would know nothing of it.
Ryan was describing the evening's events to all the uniforms present. Sam had left his brother's side to add whatever statement was necessary, while well-trained personnel looked after Dean where he lay. Stacy quickly added her input, and when they had her words she retreated to her champion's side. She crouched in the snow, stroking his hair and talking softly. She was having great difficulty keeping her voice from breaking, as the tension of her experience began to take a toll. When they wouldn't allow her to accompany Dean in the ambulance, she lost it.
Connie hugged her until she stopped sobbing. They watched, shivering in the cold, as Ryan and the other medics prepared Dean for transport. Stacy couldn't watch it any longer; he was so silent and still with paramedics busily working over him. She went inside to check on the sleeping children. Ryan moved to go with them, but they dissuaded him. His partner Matt patted his shoulder. "We'll take good care of your buddy. Stay here with your family, Ryan. Connie's shaking like a leaf. We'll stay on the radio and keep you posted."
Ryan relented, and in a few moments the ambulance and its entourage left them standing alone in the silent driveway.
The night was absolutely still. Snow was falling softly through the trees, the flakes twinkling with the reflections of the strands of lights that were hung in the bushes along the lane. Neither he nor Connie spoke, they were mute with the shock of the evening, and the sudden and enveloping peace. Finally Ryan sighed and summed it up. "Well. That was a new one."
Connie nodded. They turned toward the house. He stopped and scooped the impala keys from the snow, and dazedly dropped them into his pocket as they headed back in. When Connie surveyed the state of the livingroom, and the bloody smears and handprints on the floor tiles and counter, it hit her hard. Her stoicism fled and she dissolved in well-earned tears.
At the hospital, Sam paced anxiously for hours as he waited for word. Markus had gone to have his hand x-rayed at the advice of the paramedics. He returned a while later, waving his short cast with a wry smile. "My mother will freak." he laughed. "I'll get so much mileage out of this." He sat down beside Sam. "Any word yet?"
Sam shook his head. He held a cup of cold, bitter coffee in his hands; he turned it and turned it absent-mindedly. Markus relieved him of it. "How you holding up?"
Sam shrugged. None of this was new. But it never got easier.
Markus squeezed his shoulder awkwardly. While he was waiting for his cast to be done, he'd spent considerable time thinking about everything that had happened. And about everything Sam had told him about his brother. He needed to say some things. "Sam..?"
"Mmm?"
Markus paused and cleared his throat. "Listen, about Dean-"
Sam groaned. "Not now, Markus."
"No, now's perfect. Look, I just wanted to say that...I had it all wrong. I never figured it out, with Dean. All I saw was how different he was from you, or from us. I thought he was just a rough-edged loser who was dragging you down. And I heard everything you told me, but it never hit home until now. Jesus christ, your brother's a ballsy, and...brave sonofabitch. He didn't give a shit how he felt, or what would happen to him; he just took on the safety and protection of those people...those kids. I don't know if I would have had the guts in that position..." He paused, and struggled to say it right. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry I ever tried to get between you two. You guys are brothers, but it's more than that. I didn't realize...I mean..." He swore and shook his head. "Holy crap! The guy's like freaking comic-book hero!"
Sam smiled and raised his head. "He ain't easy. But yeah. I think that says it pretty well."
The conversation was cut short by the arrival of the surgeon. "Sam Winchester?"
Sam bolted to his feet. "That's me. How is he?"
The doctor smiled wearily. "Well, your brother experienced some serious trauma over the past few days. But he's strong, and I see from his x-rays that he's been through similar things before, and apparently heals well. The issues he has now are a comminuted fracture of his collarbone, which required fixation with a plate. I don't expect he will have any trouble with that. He has several fractured ribs, some deep contusions. Mild concussion. The bigger issue is his left kidney. He apparently took a hard blow earlier, causing some laceration. I don't know how he could have ignored it; the pain would have been severe. His BP was down a little as a result of bleeding internally, but the scans show that the tear is small enough that we don't think surgery is required, it should heal on its own. But to do that he'll have to stay flat on his back for two weeks minimum."
Sam was both relieved and worried. Two weeks. Two weeks of trying to pin down Dean Winchester, who was never an easy patient. It would be easier to keep an angry tiger confined to a bed.
"So that's good news, then? Sort of..?" Markus asked.
"Yes... with time, he should recover completely. We'll keep him here for monitoring, for several days at least. He's still passing some blood, and I won't release him until that clears. But after that, he'll just have to stay in bed when he gets home. He can't put any pressure on the damaged organ while it's healing. Any other questions, boys?"
Sam shrugged off his exhausted stupor, and shook the surgeon's hand. "No, thanks, Doc. Thanks for everything. So when can I see him?"
"He's in PACU now. You can go in for a few minutes.. In about an hour he'll be transfered to a regular bed. At that point it will be standard visiting hours, which will mean tomorrow. You'll probably see me there later." The doc hurried off then, there were other more pressing crises waiting.
Sam sighed heavily. It was laden with weary relief. He looked at his watch. It was post midnight, and he turned to his friend. "Thanks, man, for...everything. "
Markus shrugged and grinned. "No prob. Wasn't exactly a Norman Rockwell cover, but it sure as hell was exciting."
Sam looked at him fondly for a moment. Markus had, despite all of his disapproval, despite his misgivings and judgements regarding Dean, proved himself to be a true friend. It was an incalculably precious thing. But he knew that Markus had other obligations. "Well, since it's officially tomorrow; Merry Christmas, dude."
Markus wished him likewise.
"But being that, Markus; you really need to take off. Your own family is going to be worried by now. They all need you to be there, and you shouldn't stay here with me any longer. Dean's going to be ok, and all it is now is a long wait. C'mon, I am seriously terrified of your mom."
"You should be." Markus snorted. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. It had been a busy day. "What about your stuff? It's still at my place."
"I can swing by and get it, after Dean is doing better. Are you ok to drive with the cast? Did they load you up with anything?"
"Just a slip for a prescription, if I need it. It just aches, nothing to panic over, so I'm good." He got up and stretched, and paused, assessing whether it was really kosher to leave Sam now.
Sam read his mind. "Go, Markus. Have a great Christmas. I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything you did for me. I know Dean would say the same."
Markus laughed. "No he wouldn't. He'd call me a douchebag for leaving you, and probably insult my car or something." He thought for a moment. Judging from Dean's usual demeanour, he had an idea of what Sam was in for. "Two weeks of bedrest. Yikes. You're stuck with the assignment from hell...man, I feel for you. Where will you stay?"
Sam shrugged. "We'll find some cheap dive. Part of that will be here in the hospital at first. I'll just grab naps here and there. After that I'll get someplace not too far, since he won't be allowed to sit in the car for long."
"Look, why don't you come and stay with my folks? They have plenty of room. My parents will lay off on the school thing, I promise. I'll be telling them what happened here, and what Dean did. When my mom hears about it, she'll knock herself out fussing over you both. C'mon, think about it, it'll be way better than laying low in some fleabag and eating cold, lousy local take-out and watching cable. And you have to come out for your stuff anyway."
Sam smiled. He could just imagine what Dean would say to that offer. That alone was worth it. "I'll think about it. Really, I will...but you seriously don't know what you're volunteering for, believe me."
"Sure I do. And he'll pretty much have to behave himself around my folks. Better for you, better for him. And you can make up for Christmas by doing New Years with me. How about it?"
Sam knew he was cornered. Markus wasn't going to take a no. He rose too. "Ok. We can do that. I'll have to duct tape him into a cocoon to get him to go, but yeah, thanks, Markus. It does sound better."
"Good. I'm gonna fly then. Last thing he wants to wake up to is my face anyway. Tell him...christ, I don't know, ...tell him I wish him well."
"I will. Thanks, dude."
Markus turned to leave. "Oh, and FYI-when I tell my story, that bastard will be at least a foot taller and 50 lbs heavier. Maybe he'll be two guys. Yeah, it was definitely two." he grinned.
"Markus, it can be whatever you want, you earned it. But only if you tell your mom that our stay was your idea."
"Deal."
"Hey, Dean."
Dean stirred and groaned at being awakened. It took him a moment to focus, and when his mind registered what he was seeing, it still made no sense and he blinked in confusion. He tried to sit up, but grimaced and stopped. He didn't trust that this was real, after the way he'd been dreaming. "...Sammy?"
"Easy Dean; don't try to move. Yeah, it's me." he smiled. "You're not hallucinating."
Dean rubbed his eyes and peered at him. "Why...why aren't you in Palo?"
"Well..." Sam said, "I read somewhere that you're supposed to spend Christmas with family."
Dean squinted hard, making sure this wasn't illusion. When he was satisfied, he slipped back into his role. "I thought we had this figured out. I thought you were staying for a while with Richie Rich.."
"Plans change. I'm here for Christmas. Connie and Ryan said so; so shut up. Merry Christmas, dude."
Dean stared at him for a moment. He was groggy, and still reeling from the stress of what he'd been through. His eyes widened in remembered fear. "Shit; the kids, Stacy-!"
Sam pressed him back gently. "Everybody's fine. The Sadlers are in custody, and Ryan and the others are back at the house, safe and sound."
Dean nodded, processing that. But it still didn't add up. "When did you get here? How long have I been here..?"
Sam gave him the abreviated version for now. "I was worried, I couldn't get a hold of you. Markus drove me out, and we found your phone in the restaurant parking lot. It's a long story, but we ended up at Ryan Anderson's place. Do you remember what happened?"
Dean shut his eyes, dry-mouthed and dizzy. It was an effort to concentrate. "They tried to get into the house, I sent everybody upstairs. I brained Gary Sadler and...the other one, in the livingroom, he got away. Ryan was..." He didn't know what happened after that.
"Ryan was with me at the police station. We were talking to the third guy who got caught. You were asleep when I first got there, so I didn't wake you."
"..oh." He grimaced then and moved to touch his shoulder. His clumsy fingers brushed the bandage and pressed against his fresh row of sutures, and he whispered a curse. "..So why am I in here?"
Sam took his hand and gently moved it away. He could see that Dean was at his limit and was fading. "You got a little banged up. You'll be ok, but they had to screw your collarbone back together. But you apparently took a shot to your kidney the other night, and that's the bigger problem. You should have got that seen to right away; Dean. You took a big risk, you were bleeding internally, for god's sake! Why didn't you tell anybody what was going on?"
Dean blinked a few times, trying to focus. Normally he would have kept the reason to himself, but his drugged state lowered his usual walls. "I wanted to see it."
"See what, Dean?"
Dean yawned and answered wearily. "..Christmas. Just once, like normal people have. I wanted to see the kids, with all the Santa presents...their excitement. Like we never had, Sammy..."
It bit deep. "Aw, Dean.."
"I would have gotten checked out later. I just...didn't want to miss that. Guess I did anyway, though. Sucks..." His eyes fluttered and stayed closed, but he spoke again before drifting off. "..Thanks for coming, Sam."
Sam watched him fall asleep. The knot in his chest threatened to choke him, and he rubbed his eyes. He heard a sound behind him, and he turned and met the teary gaze of Stacy Anderson. "Thank you." she whispered. She had to leave then, her composure hopelessly crumbling.
Sam turned back to see the peace transform his brother's features as he left the pain behind for now. He smiled to himself. -Well, dude, at least you got the girl.
