Still don't own them – what a shame…
Chapter 7
Three days ago…he had never thought that three days could feel so damn long…three days ago he had been driving this same way, just going the opposite direction. His heart had been heavy then, filled with dread and fear. Back then he hadn't thought that these feelings could get any worse. How wrong he had been then.
He pulled up in front of the motel's office, killed the engine and just sat there for a couple of minutes, just breathing. He felt like turning around right then and there, going somewhere – anywhere, to not have to be forced to face up to this anymore. He was beyond tired, his body working on it's last reserves. There was only so much one could take, after all. He couldn't push himself forever, he'd have to rest soon, get some sleep, eat something, for crying out loud.
He took a deep breath, pushed the driver's door open and folded his tall form out of the truck, his knees almost giving out on him. The lights in the front office were still on despite the fact that it was already close to 8 am and the sun was up and shining. John slammed the door shut and walked into the small room, a door on the far end opening to a small kitchen and some cramped living quarters beyond, the manager's apartment.
A small bell announced his entrance and he waited calmly until he heard the sound of feet shuffling towards the front office, Mrs. Bishop appearing through the door, expecting an early customer. Her eyes widened at the sight of the tall man standing there, giving her a weak smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Bishop. Sorry to bother you so early."
She shook her head, taking a step back into the kitchen, motioning for him to follow her.
"How is he holding up?" John asked quietly, following her invitation to sit at the table.
"He's trying to be brave, helping me out a lot. But he hasn't been sleeping too well, I'm afraid. I've put him up in my spare room, didn't want him staying in your unit all by himself."
John nodded thankfully at that. At least Sam hadn't been alone through all of this.
Mrs. Bishop placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him and he immediately latched onto it, wrapping long fingers around the too hot porcelain.
"He's taking a shower right now, should be out any minute."
Again he just nodded, too tired to do much else. He wanted to tell her thank you, tell her how grateful he was for what she had done for him, for them, but he just couldn't.
She sat down opposite him, her eyes filled with deep sympathy, searching for his eyes, holding them.
Just as he was about to open his mouth, tell her what she apparently wanted to ask but had the decency not to, Sam entered the kitchen, still unaware of his father's presence. He was dressed in jeans and a fresh shirt, towel in hand and rubbing his wet hair. At the sight of his father he stopped short, his breath catching in his throat.
The room was eerily quiet for what seemed like minutes but was in truth just a couple of seconds at the most. Sam's eyes had widened, misting over instantly until John finally broke the paralysis, getting up to take a step towards his son. Sam dropped the towel and rushed over, folded into his father's embrace, something that he had not done since…forever, not with his father, anyway. Dean would often hold him like that, when he woke from a nightmare, when he worried about dad staying away for too long…
"Shhh…Sammy, shhh, it's alright, don't…it's alright…" unconsciously he repeated almost the same words he had spoken to sooth his other son some hours earlier, trying to calm him as much as himself.
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John's exhaustion was almost palpable, seeming to suffocate Sam as they sat in the car together. His dad hadn't been persuaded to rest, take an hour or two to wind down. Not that Sam had really tried, he wanted so badly, with every sinew of his body, to get up and leave. But now, sitting in the passenger's seat of John's truck he thought that maybe it would have been better to have him rest, after all. It wouldn't help them any if he drove them straight into the next ditch when finally passing out.
Well, maybe they would let them share a room with Dean then – let them stay with him for good.
He was jumpy with excitement, chewing his nails nervously, ignoring his dad's disapproving stares at the action. His excitement wasn't all good, though, thinking about everything his dad had told him about Dean's condition made his heart skip wildly in his chest, his eyes burning with unshed tears. But this was still better than sitting around some stranger's apartment, not knowing, fear eating away at your insides, not being able to do anything at all.
He could practically feel his brother calling out to him, over all the distance and through a haze of fear and pain.
He wished his father would drive even faster.
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Dean hadn't actually woken up, that much the doctors had told John, but his body had picked up the fight against the hated machine that helped him to breathe with full force and all the Winchester stubbornness that he could muster. When John's shouting and the wild beeping of the ventilator had finally summoned a flock of nurses and doctors to his son's bedside it had soon become clear that the patient was actually trying to wake up, that his body was fighting to wake up and breathe on his own and it was only the panic that his drugged brain must have felt upon realizing that he could not breathe, could not open his eyes, that had send him into overdrive.
They had debated putting him on stronger sedation for a while, to make sure that he really was ready, but in the end Dr. Parker had voted against this option. If his body was willing to fight, against all odds, they should really give him a chance to do just that.
They had finally removed the tube, kept him under close surveillance for the next couple of hours, to make sure that the respirator could be inserted again instantly if the need arose. John had refused to leave his son's side through all of this, secretly he had been glad that Dean hadn't been awake when the tube had been removed, he remembered very clearly how terrible that felt from his own past experiences.
It hadn't been easy, that much was obvious, as the boy's breath was erratic and accompanied by terrible wheezing sounds at first, but at least he had stopped bucking and tossing and eventually his breath had evened out to a somewhat bearable rhythm. They had put an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose which was fogging over more or less steadily after a while. Pain and discomfort were still clearly written all over Dean's drawn features, but at least he was breathing on his own, at least he hadn't given up the fight.
The doctor had just been back to check on his patient again, John sitting by and watching every move the man made, when Dean had started to get restless again, his throat working fiercely, fingers searching for grip on the sheets. Both men had been on high alert instantly, thinking that the boy might be crashing again, his lungs not up to the task of providing enough oxygen for his battered body. But again, Dean had surprised them both when his lips had kept working on just what they had wanted to do all along, unconsciously forming the one word that had occupied his mind through all of this:
"Sam…"
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His voice had been raspy at best, barely above a whisper, further muffled by the mask that covered his mouth, but the word still rang loud and clear in the small room.
One word enough to tell them all that mattered to him right now, even though out cold and unconscious, the one person he needed to have by his side.
John didn't bother asking permission after that. He had been grateful for the doctor to have been there and witness his son asking for his brother, but in reality he couldn't have cared less, because there was absolutely no question in his mind as to whether or not to bring Sam to his brother's side anymore.
Dean needed him, and he would be there.
Dr. Parker had been too impressed still to raise any objections, had only assured John that Dean would not wake up for another couple of hours, at least until the last IV of pain medication and sedation ran out. Plenty of time to go and get Sam, have him at his brother's side in time for him to wake up.
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Sam thought he had been prepared, had been given a good enough impression of what to expect. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen Dean hurt before, hell, he had plenty experience in that departement. Way too much experience, come to think of it, considering that his brother was only 16 years old. Sam himself had, on more than one occasion, tended to an injured Dean, stiched him up a couple of times, sat by him through almost every single recovery.
Still, he doubted he would never get used to the sight of his brother lying in a hospital bed and this sight right now was just about more than he could take. He gulped down the lump that had formed in his throat, felt his father's presence behind him.
John didn't push his son, let him go at his own pace.
Slowly, Sam went over to Dean's bed, circled it until he was at his brother's left side. This side of his face looked slightly better than the other one, which was disfigured badly by not only the swelling around the eye but also a dark, purple bruise than ran from the top of his temple down to his chin. There were several pads of gauze that hid the open gashes and cuts right above his eyebrow and along the jawline. They had taken away the cooling cloth covering his eyes for now, and Sam was shocked to realize that he had trouble recognizing his own brother's face.
Dean's short brown hair, usually sticking out ever which way, no doubt carefully crafted to look like that, now lay flat against his head, some strands sticking to his sweat-covered forehead. His usually strong and imposing form was basically smothered by all the equipment he was surrounded with, the tubes and needles and bandages shrinking the form of his big brother and giving him an almost childlike appearance, so fragile and young. Those were two adjectives that Sam had never thought to associate with Dean ever before.
His fever had gone down only a little and while he lay relatively still compared to what John had witnessed before, he was still slightly restless, his throat working noiselessly while his eyes rolled around wildly behind puffed up lids. The fingers of his left hand, scraped and bloody as they were, held a firm grip on a pice of crumpled up linens.
His skin was still far too hot and Sam could basically feel the heat that surrounded Dean's body as he leant over, slipping his hand through the railings of the bed just to stop mere inches before actually touching him. He looked up at his father and the doctor who stood on the opposite side of the bed.
"Is it OK…can I touch him?"
Dr. Parker nodded in agreement.
Very cautiously, Sam slid his fingers over Dean's, careful not to touch the heavily wrapped wrists and avoid the needle sticking out of the back of his hand. He laced his fingers through his brother's, added no pressure, just letting their skin touch so Dean would know that he was there.
God, he was burning up…
And then, mere seconds after Sam made contact with his still unconcsious brother, Dean let out an almost inaudible sigh. His fingers relaxed, ever so slightly, making space for his little brother's to slip between them and hold onto them, making sure he would not leave his side again any time soon.
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Someone or something was there, next to him, he could feel the pressure and warmth against his left arm. He knew that this should make him nervous, should scare him because only god knew what would be curling up next to a beaten and bloody body right in the middle of nowhere.
The different prospects chased through his head at high speed but for some reason he couldn't get himself to panic, there was something so very familiar about the touch, something comforting even though he didn't know where exactly to put it.
Once again, just for the sake of it, he tried prying his eyes open – maybe somehow the tape had gotten loose after all, but of course, no such luck. What did strike him as odd, though, was the fact that he knew that he should be a whole lot of pain right now. The last thing he remembered was white hot pain, all over and throughout his entire body. Yet, surprisingly, not anymore. Not that he felt comfortable, mind you, but somehow he felt numb all over and while there was an underlying pressure pushing him down, the real, deep pain was somehow kept at bay.
Huh…now how about that…
Maybe this was what dying felt like, he reasoned with himself. No more pain, just peace of mind and body. Just letting go…
NO – no, not giving up, not yet!
He had to get back, had to make sure Sam was alright, that they hadn't gotten to him somehow. His fogged mind conjured up pictures of those punks finding him gone upon returning to the shack they'd held him in, then turning on his little brother for revenge.
He swallowed convulsively and it actually did hurt to do that, only a little bit though and he decided could live with that for now. His lips felt dry and raw and he ran his tongue over the chapped skin, succeeding only in making both his lips and tongue starting to sting as the dry surfaces scraped against each other. He wondered briefly about why the hell he was lying on his back, how that was even possible with both his arms tied behind him, and that's when it hit him…
Again he parted his lips, ever so slightly, moving his tongue, which felt hideously swollen by the way, to the corner of his mouth.
HUH…now again…how in hell…
The gag was gone!
He was actually able to open his mouth!
Almost dizzy with relief he took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to savour the feeling of fresh air in his lungs, the panic of choking gone, not caring how this had happened just now. He would worry about that later. While the initial thought had sounded kind of like a good idea to him, the actual act didn't, much.
The pain that hit him square in the chest barely halfway through the motion was blinding, white hot waves of agony washing over him, engulfing his whole body. Within just a split second, everything was back to square one – all the relative peace and numbness gone as every single injury he sustained came bounding back to remind him of it's presence.
He groaned, deeply, through open lips. GOD, this had to stop!
And just when he thought that he was going to pass out – not unwillingly – the presence he had felt before huddled close to him moved ever so slightly, the grip at his hand intensifying and within the blink of an eye, he knew…
"S…'my…"
It came out more like a croak and he thought he tasted blood in his mouth from the sheer effort it took to form this one, simple word, his lungs burning and ribs jarring against each other, but to hell with it...
"Sammy…" he tried again and this time he thought it might have been audible.
When the figure next to him didn't seem to move he got a little frantic, fear building up as he tried to get a better grip on what he assumed must be a hand grabbing onto his own, fingers applying slight pressure while he scrambled to form the word once again, louder this time.
"Sammy…better…be…you…?!"
The shift in weight was so sudden it made whatever surface he was lying on shift and even this slight movement made him want to throw up, it hurt so bad. When the drumming in his ears stopped, or rather, died down to a somewhat bearable level, he heard a voice, desperate and far too close to his ear, but the familiarity of it made up for all of that.
"Dean, oh god, you're awake! Hey, bro, come on, calm down. It's all right. It's me, Sam, I'm right here. Everything is going to be alright."
Dean didn't let go of that small hand he had gotten a hold of, pinned it down with all the strenght he could muster. Not that that amounted to much, but it seemed to be enough because Sam didn't try to pull away but instead put his other hand up to his brothers's cheek, finding a spot there to make contact.
Dean struggled to get his bearings, so many things he wanted to ask, where the hell he was, for example, or why in god's name he still couldn't see. If Sammy was here it had to mean that he had made it out…unless…
He wrenched his arm free to bring it up to his face, ignoring the pain in his elbow and shoulder at the movement. He just had to see, had to make sure that they were not back there, Sam taken too. His clumsy, numb fingers groped at his eyes, feeling something puffy and hot, not knowing what it was exactly, but it sure wasn't the duct tape he'd expected to find. He tried to pry it off and was surprised to find that he couldn't, that it hurt to touch whatever was apparently still covering his eyes. He wasn't aware of the fact that it was his own skin he was feeling, hot and throbbing with fever.
Just as he was starting to try peeling this "thing" off with a little more fervor he felt his hand being grabbed and pulled away and while he knew it had to be Sam doing that it actually surprised him that he would be able to do so with such little effort.
"Dean, please…don't. You are safe now, we are in a hospital. Please…just stop. You are hurting yourself. Just take it easy, take it easy…"
Breathing hurt like a bitch and it didn't help that he was beginning to panic once again so he concentrated everything he had left onto his little brother's voice, willing himself to be soothed by the sound of Sammy practically chanting "easy, easy, easy,…" over and over and over again.
A sudden image sprang to his mind, of himself, about 4 or 5 years old, carrying his crying baby-brother in his arms, walking circles in some small, dark room that appeared to be their bedroom, chanting those same words to him in an endless song, lulling him softly to sleep.
Dean choked out a deep, heartfelt groan, holding onto Sam's hand once again, squeezing as hard as he could.
"What…my eyes…can't…"
"Shhh, it's ok, I know. You can't see but it's going to be alright. Your eyes are just swollen real bad, but it will get better, I promise…You got to trust me and calm down OK?"
Sammy apparently tried to sound strong and confident for his sake and Dean wanted to believe him, he really did. So he just resigned himself to the fact that for now, he had to take his brother's word for it, that he trusted Sammy with his life, so why not believe that everything would turn out alright in the end.
He faintly realized that someone else had entered the room, there was a flurry of activity all around him. He thought he recognized another voice, too, but then someone else took hold of his left arm and there was sudden warmth spreading out from his left hand and up the entire limb, his whole body.
He felt himself slipping away again but this time the darkness didn't seem quite as deep as before.
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tbc
AN:
Ok, so it took a little longer to update, but I added another page or two to the chapter, it just seemed to go a littler smoother this way – I hope you agree.
Thanks again for every single review – I can't mention every single person and I really should start answering all of those wonderful reviews – but I really was swept away by all the nice things you said!
Again, please let me know what you think…thanks for reading and reviewing!
