"Hey, sweetie." A motherly voice said. "Don't cry."
Dean looked up to the woman who offered him a tissue. It took him a moment to place her face – the waitress from the diner. He ignored the tissue and wiped the tears with the heel of his hand from his face.
"Are you hurt?" She asked with that tone adults used on toddlers. Dean shook his head and looked in the other direction. The sun was coming down and the cars and the bushes on the other side of the lot were casting long shadows. With the wind in the branches it almost looked like they were hiding something. Dean wished he could hide in there like he had done when he tried to escape his "kidnappers". Just hide till this woman was gone. But not such luck. She shifted and then sat next to him. Not quite touching but too close for his comfort.
"I'm Linda." She said and waited for him to say his name.
"I shouldn't talk to strangers." He said instead still not looking at her. Something was moving over there, a cat or a raccoon maybe. A raccoon would be cool, if it came over and this woman saw it, maybe she'd scream and run away.
"That's right, you're a smart boy." Still with that tone. As if he was a retarded three-year-old. "But I'm not a stranger, I served you breakfast this morning. You remember that, don't you?"
As if that made her less a stranger. If that qualified to become a friend he had friends all over the country. But he didn't say it loud.
"Are you staying here with your parents?" She asked and the words hurt. Dean didn't know simple words could hurt that much, sticks and stones and all that crap. New tears filled his eyes.
"I saw …" She started and her eyes swept over his arm. Dean placed his other hand on the spot where he knew the bruise was. This wasn't good. "Did your daddy did that?" She finally asked.
"No." He wanted to scream it into her face but he only managed a pathetic whisper.
She opened her mouth to say more, trying to help him and Dean wanted to laugh but the laughter stuck in his throat and he couldn't get enough air. He didn't need that kind of help.
"Dean?" Suddenly Sam was behind him. Linda scrambled to her feed and backed off a step. Finally.
"Hi, I'm Linda Adams." She hold out a hand which Sam didn't take. Awkwardly she rubbed it on her jeans. "I work at the diner down the street and I served your son breakfast this morning. And when I walked home I saw him sitting here. Crying." She folded her arms over her chest watching Sam closely. During her little speech Dean had gotten to his feet too and was now standing next to Sam. Sam's hand dropped protectively on his shoulder. How his brother managed to look like he was not close to doubling over was beyond Dean. Last time he checked Sam had needed his help to cross the room. He still looked sick and he smelled of sweat and illness. Linda sniffed audible probably searching for a hint of alcohol and her eyes lingered on Sam's hand on Dean's shoulder. Sam's big hand.
"He didn't hurt me." Dean blurred out.
"You're hurt?" Instantly Sam's full attention was on Dean. "What happened?"
Dean gave him the play-along-look little Sammy would have understood while his mind was racing for a plausible lie. The group of bullies from his last school came to mind.
"These older boys." Looking down he dragged the tip of his shoe over the porch. "You know, Ted and his gang, they got a drop on me."
Sam knelt down in front of him so they were at eye level now both hands on Dean's shoulders. From the outside it must look like he was comforting Dean but he felt Sam's tremors and Dean was sure this grip was the only thing keeping Sam upright.
"I told you to stay away from them." Apparently big Sammy still understood and played along. "Did they hurt you bad?"
Dean shook his head. "Just a bruise." He revealed his arm so Sam could get a look.
"Oh, Dean." His shock was real. Out of the corner of his eye Dean caught the expression on Linda's face. Something shifted there. She made a noise in her throat which got her Sam's attention. Carefully Sam stood up.
"Look, I'm sorry." She wrung her hands. "I saw that bruise earlier at the diner and then I found your son crying."
Glancing Dean an apologizing look Sam opened his mouth. "Actually, Dean is my brother. We're in town for our father's funeral."
Dean recognized the words for the weapon they were, clearly used for making Linda feel guilty. And it worked. Linda blushed and opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of the water. The words hurt Dean nevertheless. Sam gave him a reassuring squeeze which didn't really helped.
But they got rid of Linda. Bubbling apologies she made a quick retreat.
Sam kept up the facade till the motel door shut behind them but Dean was ready to support him when his knees buckled. With a heavy thud Sam landed on the bed.
"I'm sorry." He said. "What I said to her …"
"I know." Dean cut him off. "You had to make her feel guilty so she won't call the police on us."
A weak smile formed on Sam's lips. "Didn't remember you were such a con-artist at the age of ten."
"Because you are a doofus six-year-old." Dean rolled his eyes.
"Let me see your arm."
"It's nothing." But he let Sam examine it closer. The fingers on his skin felt sweaty and hot, Sam was still running a fever.
"I did that, didn't I?" Sam spoke in a low tone. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry."
"You were pretty out of it." Dean shifted from one foot to the other. Sam hadn't done it on purpose, so it was nothing. He felt a bit sore but he could deal with that. Besides he felt more his torso than his arm. Absently he ran his free hand over the most throbbing point.
"Is there more?" Sam had noticed and tugged now with a frown at his sweatshirt.
"Hey." He slapped the big hand but his movement was far from smooth. Even a half conscious Sam noticed that.
"Take that off." A sharp order and Dean had the shirt over his head before he noticed that it was Sam speaking and not his dad. Because his dad would never bark any orders at him ever again.
"Oh, Dean. What happened to you?" Sam didn't touch him he just stared with big eyes at his abused body. The bruises were in full color now covering his chest and belly.
"Dean?" Sam pushed when Dean didn't answer. "Who did this?"
Dean couldn't meet his eye. Why couldn't Sam just give him back his sweatshirt and leave it?
"Dean? Did I …?" Sam swallowed hard. "How?"
"The seizures." He finally answered. "You were smashing your head at the headboard."
Sam just looked at him for a minute the wheels in his head clearly turning. In his current state it took him a while to figure it out.
"So you used your body as a buffer?" His expression unreadable. Dean just shrugged. "Can you get me the first aid kit?"
Glad to have something to do besides feeling awkward Dean did as he was told. The next thing he knew was sitting next to Sam on the bed and letting Sam massage a cream into his skin. The cream felt warm and soothing and his muscles relaxed under Sam's gentle touch.
"OK. Put this back on." Sam handed him the sweatshirt. "And take one of these." Dean took the pill Sam offered him not because the pain was that bad but to comfort his brother. Sam took two himself a clear sign that he was far from being fine. The following silence was disturbed by a loud grumble.
"Are you hungry? I can microwave the leftovers from our breakfast." Dean jumped at the opportunity to get away from the guilty look on Sam's face.
"Only if we share." Sam said and Dean could live with that. They ate on the bed because Sam was too weak to get to the table. Dean didn't really noticed what he put in his mouth, everything tasted like saw dust and felt like lead in his stomach.
By the time Dean set the tray aside Sam was already fast asleep. Unsure what to do next Dean just sat there next to his brother in the increasing darkness. Maybe he should get into his own bed. But there he would be alone with nothing but his thoughts.
Carefully – he didn't want to wake Sam – he curled up next to him. In his head he could see his father like he had seen him just before this nightmare started. His dad behind the wheel of the Impala, music blasting and little Sammy next to Dean in the backseat. Little sobs escaped his lips and his eyes were burning. Little Sammy and his dad were gone and he was alone.
Suddenly Sam reached out and pulled Dean closer. His back against Sam's warm chest and Sam's arm heavy around him Dean took a deep breath. He wasn't alone.
With a sigh Dean closed his eyes and fell asleep.
