Psychic Mojo

Part Eight (See part one for author's notes, disclaimers etc.)

Sam carried Dean to where he had parked the Impala alongside another truck, a safe distance from the burning barn.

The driver's door of the truck was open, and Joe and Kale stood beside it, arguing. Sam caught Joe's eye and the hustler shot him a venomous look. Had he not had his arms full of unconscious brother, Sam would have punched his lights out there and then.

"Here, lay him down on this."

Sam looked up to see Tom shed his long jacket and spread it on the ground. "Thanks, Mr. McGraw."

McGraw put a hand on his shoulder. "I think it's time you starting calling me Tom."

Sam nodded and Tom squeezed his shoulder. "Take care of your brother. I need to deal with my son."

Sam set Dean down as gently as he could and took a cursory inventory of his injuries. From the cuts and bruises on his face to the many discolored areas, mostly clustered around the ribs and belly, his brother wasn't a pretty sight. Sam bit his lip as he noted the numerous burn marks from the cattle prod. An image of Dean's face, caught in an expression of agony, flashed unbidden through his mind, and he shuddered.

He shrugged out of his jacket and covered Dean with it as best he could, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the drama unfolding within the McGraw family.

Kale was trying to hold Joe back as his brother attempted to get into the truck. Joe threw him off violently, and Kale stumbled, losing his footing and sprawling to the ground.

Sam watched Tom step up and brandish Joe's gun. "Step away from the truck, Joe."

Joe froze, staring incredulously at his father. "You're pointing a gun at your own son?"

"That's right," Tom said, and his voice shook with fury. "I've put up with enough from you over the past six months. I've covered for you, and I've made excuses for you, and it's stopping right now. This time, you've gone too far."

Joe moved away from the truck and faced off against his father. "Just whose side are you on, Dad? Way you're talking, you're making me think you don't you want to get Maddy back." Joe's tone was insolent, and Tom's expression darkened even more.

"You insolent pup. I'd give my life to get Maddy back. But kidnapping and torturing a man? That's barbaric, and I'm having no part of it."

"He had it coming," Joe said defiantly.

"Right. He beat you at pool and knocked you down when you were drunk, so you hang him from a beam and torture him?"

They locked eyes for a long moment. Joe was the first to look away. "Whatever. I'm outta here."

Tom cocked the gun. His voice was icily calm. "I told you not to get in that truck."

"What are you gonna to do, shoot me?"

"If I have to."

Father and son glared at each other for a long moment. From the steely look of resolve on Tom's face, Sam had no doubt that he'd shoot if Joe disobeyed him. He wondered what it was costing Tom to point a gun at his son.

Joe seemed to sense his father's determination; he slammed the truck door shut and faced him again.

"So, you're gonna turn me in, go against your own son for the sake of a total stranger?"

Tom shook his head. "You are my son, Joe, and I love you. But right now, I'm angry and I'm disappointed, and you bet I'd turn you in. But that isn't going to happen. Not for your sake," he paused and glanced at Sam and Dean, holding Sam's eyes for a moment, "but for theirs. These boys are going to leave and there'll be no police."

Joe looked confused for a moment and then gave a cocky grin Sam wanted to punch off his face.

"Don't think you're getting off scott-free, son. I'll deal with you later."

Joe's grin faded. "Come on, Dad. I did it for Maddy."

"And you think your sister would be proud of you?" Tom asked.

Joe stared at him for a long moment, his jaw working, and then looked away. He seemed to sag, and it was clear that Tom's final comment had hit him hard.

"I just want her back, Dad."

Even though there was a note of genuine pain in Joe's voice, Sam couldn't feel a scrap of sympathy for the man – not while he was holding his battered, unconscious brother in his arms. While he'd been listening to the drama unfold, he'd been cutting carefully through the bloody cords that still bound Dean's wrists. He swallowed his anger. Joe needed to pay for this, but now wasn't the time. Now, Dean needed him.

Tom turned to his younger son. "As for you, Kale, it's about time you showed some backbone and stood up to your brother."

Kale shifted from one foot to the other. His head was down and he seemed unable to meet his father's eyes. "Yeah, Dad, I know. But… Joe was so sure this guy could find Maddy for us."

"Well, he was wrong. But that isn't the point, son." Tom paused, at the burning barn and Sam followed his gaze. The fire was now raging throughout the whole building, but the area around it was clear and still damp from yesterday's rain. It was unlikely that the flames would spread. "We'll talk about this later," Tom went on. "Kale, call the fire service. Joe, when they come, you'll tell them you were doing some work in the barn and kicked the lamp over by accident. You hear me?"

"Yeah, Dad."

Satisfied that Joe no longer posed an immediate threat, Sam finished removing the rope, wincing at the bruised and bloody contusions around Dean's wrists. He looked down anxiously at Dean's pale features, stroking a hand through his hair and quickly finding a blood-sticky lump on the back of his head. Dean groaned at the touch and his eyelids flickered.

"Dean? You with me?"

Dean grunted something incoherent.

"Come on, Dean," Sam coaxed. "Open your eyes, let me know you're with me."

Dean's eyelids flickered again and finally opened fully. He fixed his gaze on Sam, and Sam was relieved to see recognition.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah, I'm here, Dean."

Dean's eyes widened and he started to pull himself up. "Sammy! You … Joe--"

Sam put his hands on his brother's shoulders, holding him down as gently as possible, scared at how easy it was to restrain him. "Don't try to move, Dean. It's over. You're safe now."

"No, Sam … wants you…"

"It's over, Dean," Sam repeated firmly. "I'm fine, okay, so just relax."

Dean's eyes ranged anxiously over his body, seeking reassurance, and after a moment taut muscles began to relax and his eyes closed again.

"That's it," Sam said softly. "Just take it easy."

He looked up as Tom appeared at his side. "How is he?"

"He's pretty beat up. Your son's done a real number on him."

Tom flinched at that, but Sam wasn't in the mood to worry about anyone's sensibilities. "There's a bottle of water in the front seat of the Impala. Could you get it for me?"

When Tom returned, he handed the water bottle to Sam, then crouched down, supporting Dean's head while Sam coaxed him to swallow a few mouthfuls.

When Dean had taken all the water he could, Tom lowered his head gently back to the ground and stood. "I'll get some blankets from the truck. We need to keep him warm."

Sam fished in his pocket for a handkerchief, soaked it in water, and began gently wiping the dried blood from Dean's face. Dean muttered something incomprehensible and then opened his eyes, looking anxiously at Sam. "You… sure you're okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Man, who's the one who's been beaten and tortured?"

Dean gave a small chuckle that turned into a groan.

"Right. So you don't need to worry about me. I'm fine. We'll be out of here soon, get you to a hospital."

"No!" Once more Dean tried to sit up and fell back with a moan. He shot his hand out from under the jacket to grasp Sam's forearm. "No …'spitals."

"Dean, don't be stupid," Sam said patiently. "We need to get you checked out."

"Too … risky."

"You're badly hurt…"

"No! P … promise me."

Sam watched him anxiously, gnawing on his lower lip. He knew Dean would push himself to the limits, brushing off injuries as if they were nothing. But he also knew that on occasions when his brother was seriously injured, he accepted a hospital as the only option. Sam hoped fervently that this time he was making the right call.

"Sammy?"

He didn't like it, but Dean was right. It would be difficult to explain the injuries, particularly the burns, as nothing more than the result of a fist fight in a bar.

"Okay. No hospital for now. We'll find a motel."

Dean relaxed visibly and his eyes drifted shut.

Tom returned with an armful of blankets and a bundle of clothes. "Dean's clothes," he explained. "Found them as I was leaving the barn."

"Thanks." Sam felt a lump rise in his throat and the prick of tears at the back of his eyes as he took hold of Dean's worn leather jacket. That jacket was one of Dean's most treasured possessions, and he would be devastated to lose it.

Together, Sam and Tom wrapped Dean in a couple of blankets and lifted him carefully onto the back seat of the Impala, laying him in as comfortable a position as possible. Dean floated in and out of consciousness, not alert enough to really be aware of what was going on. Which was just as well, Sam mused, as he wrapped another blanket securely around Dean's feet. His brother would object strongly to being enveloped in a tartan car blanket.

He draped Dean's jacket over the top, both for added warmth and because he hoped Dean would be reassured by the familiar smell of leather and gunpowder. As he did so, something fell out of the pocket. Dean's amulet. He picked it up, closing his fist around the small object, and choked up again. He'd been so busy worrying about Dean's injuries that he hadn't even noticed it was missing. He carefully re-knotted the broken thong and slipped it over Dean's head, tucking it safely inside the blankets where Dean could feel it against his skin.

He started the engine and put the heater on, then fished the first aid kit out of the trunk. After rummaging around, he found some Advil. A couple of pills would have to do for now – he'd save the heavy duty stuff for later.

He leaned in through the open rear door and put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Dean, I need you to wake up for a minute."

Dean grunted and his eyes opened to half-mast.

"That's it. Just take these pills for me; they'll help the pain."

He held the pills to Dean's lips and his brother obediently opened his mouth, then took a couple sips of water to wash them down. Usually recalcitrant, Dean was being awfully cooperative, and Sam was sure he'd reached the end of his strength and was barely holding on. He squeezed Dean's shoulder. "Go back to sleep. We'll be out of here soon, but there's something I have to do first."

He waited until Dean's eyes drifted shut and then walked purposefully to where Joe was still standing beside the truck, ignoring Tom's questioning glance.

Joe's eyes were fixed on the burning building, and Kale was nearby, watching his brother. Judging by his determined expression, it looked as if he'd taken to heart his father's warning about his lack of backbone and was determined to stop Joe should his brother try to run.

Sam felt the burning rage well up as he glared at the man who had systematically and sadistically tortured his brother. He grabbed Joe by his collar and threw him against the side of the car.

"You should be put away for the rest of your miserable life for what you did to my brother. But you and I know that isn't going to happen. So I'll have to trust that your father'll do what he knows is right and make your life a living hell. In the meantime…"

He let go of Joe, stepped back and hit him in the face as hard as he could. Joe's head snapped back, and Sam felt the red-hot rage take over. Before Joe could recover from the first blow, he hit him again and then again. Joe was a few inches shorter, but broader and heavier, yet he had no defense against the ferocity of the attack. He cowered, arms held protectively over his head.

Somewhere in the distance Sam heard shouting and then felt strong arms grab him from behind, pulling him away.

"That's enough, son," Tom said sternly.

"Enough? After what he did to Dean?" Sam struggled to free himself, but the older man held on tightly.

"Listen to me. I'm not saying Joe doesn't deserve it, but don't do something you'll regret. Your brother's more important right now. He needs you."

Dean. As quickly as it had come, the rage subsided. Joe wasn't important. Only Dean mattered.

He relaxed against Tom's grip, and after a moment, Tom let him go. Sam turned to face him, panting from exertion, vaguely aware of the pain in his knuckles.

"You two need to get out of here before the fire department arrives," Tom said. "Sam, I know you don't feel you've had justice for your brother. But I promise you, I'll make sure Joe pays for what he's done. You have to trust me."

Sam glanced once more at Joe, who had slumped to his knees. Kale was trying to examine his face, but Joe brushed him off irritably. Sam turned away. He didn't want to look at Joe's face a moment longer.

He jogged back to the Impala and found Dean in the same position he'd left him. When Sam whispered his name, he opened his eyes a crack.

"How you doing, big brother?"

"'m okay."

"Yeah, right. We're getting out of here now. We'll get you to a motel and fix you up, okay?"

Dean didn't answer, and his eyes closed again. Sam pulled the blanket a little more tightly around him, and then got into the driver's seat. He leaned out the window as Tom approached.

"Sam, give me a call when you can, let me know how Dean's doing."

"I will." He hesitated. "Look, Tom, I want to thank you. I know this wasn't your doing, and I guess I trust you to do what's right. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I couldn't help. I hope you find Maddy."

Remembering something, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the dog-eared teddy bear, handing it through the window. Tom took it silently, nodded once and walked away.