Hi! I fully intended to get this posted this weekend...so much for that lol. Oh well, here it is. :) Special thanks to all of my guest reviewers! Appreciate your thoughtful notes and so glad you are enjoying! :)
Chapter 9: Shining like a lighthouse from the sea
Dean hated it. Hated it. Hated that waking up face down on the floor was not an uncommon experience in his life. Most people woke up once, maybe twice at best, on the floor. Maybe they fainted, maybe they passed out drunk. Maybe they got socked in the jaw by their screwed in the head brother. Anything could happen, but for most people, it wasn't something that happened very often. He hated that he wasn't surprised to find himself waking up on the floor.
Sorting out what had happened didn't even take him long this time. As ill as he felt, as fuzzy as his mind was, Dean remembered with sickening clarity his dumb move of rushing at Sam when he should have known better.
He deserved the punch.
His left arm was asleep under him and his jaw throbbed as he shifted uncomfortably and started pushing himself upright. The room was silent except for the rolling thunder outside. Dean had no idea how long he'd been out, but from how stiff and sore he felt, he figured he'd been out for more than a couple minutes. And that thought spurred him into action faster than anything else would have. He had no idea what Sam had been up to since he'd been unconscious. Given his recent state of mind in general, Dean figured it probably had been nothing good. He just hoped Sam was still in the room.
Feeling more than a little dizzy, Dean pushed himself to his knees and pressed a hand against his jaw. He was a bit surprised, but very relieved, to see Sam sitting a few feet away, his back against the bed. Wondering if Sam knew what had happened, Dean quickly decided it was probably unlikely. He had a feeling Sam didn't have a clue about much of anything right now.
Sam stared at him, head tilted back against the bed, but he looked semi-conscious at best. Dean felt nausea chewing up his throat as he stumbled to the bed. Sam watched him blankly and even by the time Dean crouched down next to him, there was only the barest hint of awareness in Sam's eyes.
"Dean?" Sam's lips moved but Dean couldn't hear his voice.
"Right here. Stay with me, ok?" Dean urged, sensing that they were rapidly reaching a turning point.
Or maybe they'd already turned the corner. Something was different, something had changed with his brother since Dean had been unconscious. Dean fumbled with shaking fingers until he could feel a pulse. It was racing much too fast for someone who was just sitting there doing nothing. Sam didn't react to his touch and Dean realized his skin was textbook cool and clammy.
Shock.
"Sam," Dean said, his head spinning. Waited too long, a terrible voice in his head accused. Should have taken him to the hospital…
Now was not the time to panic, though. Now was the time to focus. Dean knew he needed to get Sam lying down. Studying his ashen face, Dean decided it was also time to be completely honest. This was beyond him. It was time to get Sam to medical attention, regardless of the consequences. They could deal with another great escape from a hospital if they had to. He just needed to make sure Sam lived long enough to make the great escape. Searching his pockets for his phone, thankful that Sam's glazed eyes were at least still open and watching him, Dean came up empty.
"Hang on, ok?" Dean said, free hand on Sam's shoulder. Whether his brother even heard him, Dean didn't know.
He cursed when thunder shook the cabin and discovered his cell wasn't in any of his pockets. Of all the times to lose his phone. And he knew he'd had it in his pocket earlier. Although, with the headache pounding, he couldn't be completely certain. Dean decided maybe he should just get Sam flat on the floor first. Casting one final glance around the room, Dean frowned as lightning illuminated the cabin. Against the far wall lay an overturned wastebasket. A scrap of paper and his phone lay near it. Puzzling over it for a moment, Dean looked back at Sam.
He knew he wasn't going to get an answer from his brother, so he put his hand on Sam's shoulder to start to ease him to the floor. Before he could make any other move, though, there was a knock at the door and Dean's heart almost exploded in his chest.
The door opened abruptly and Arla found herself taking an automatic step backwards. Her eyes widened when she saw Dean. And the gun in his hand. The gun he was pointing at her face; just like Tommy had said might happen. Dean looked worse than the last time she'd seen him, sicker, paler. But what scared her more at the moment was the expression on his face. If she'd met him on the street, she would have run in the other direction as fast as her legs would carry her.
Wild-eyed, Dean Winchester looked exactly like the terrifying murderer the news reports had made him and his brother out to be a few months ago. And, even though she and Tommy knew they were killers, monster killers, they had known better than to believe the news reports that claimed the Winchester brothers were ruthless serial-killers. If they hadn't spent a week with the Winchesters all those years ago, they wouldn't have known not to believe the fantastic news reports. But she'd seen enough of both brothers to know better. There was another explanation for what the news reports called a crime spree and mass murder. And, if they hadn't witnessed the unbelievable and terrifying for themselves all those years ago, they might not have been so willing to believe that monsters existed who could possess you or wear your face. But they'd seen ghosts and ghouls and nightmares come alive in their own town and had been saved by a couple of kids who had nearly lost their own lives trying to protect them. Which was why, right now, Arla Pender took a deep breath and steeled herself to talk down someone who, for all intents and purposes, looked like exactly like a serial killer.
Because she knew he wasn't one.
"Dean?" She said softly. Gently. One hand holding the strap of the backpack she had slung over her shoulder, Arla lifted her other hand non-threateningly. Otherwise, she didn't move. Even though the rain was pouring and she was getting wet despite the raincoat, Arla didn't move.
"What are you doing here?" His tone was gruff, his stance defensive and his demeanor completely suspicious. The gun didn't waver.
"I came to help you…"
"How did you find us?" Dean asked, looking past her. His eyes refocused on her and he took a step forward, speaking again before she could reply, "Who are you?"
This is worse than I thought, Arla thought unhappily. She said, "Dean, it's me. Arla."
"I know who you're supposed to be," he snapped, eyes narrowing. "I want to know who you really are and how you found us."
He seemed to be having trouble focusing, and he was wavering a bit on his feet, but that gun was rock steady, Arla noticed. She said, "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help."
"No one's here to help us."
"I am." She could tell her words weren't getting through to him. Suspicion, anger and a touch of fear were the only things she saw in his eyes. Lowering her hand, Arla tried a different direction, "Dean, Sam called me because he was worried about you."
Dean's eyes widened and he actually took a step backward, turning slightly and taking a quick glance back into the cabin. Arla couldn't see anything, and that concerned her almost as much as Dean's actions. Sam had called her because Dean wouldn't wake up. Obviously he had awakened at some point. And apparently on the very wrong side of the proverbial bed. The question now was, what had happened to him in the first place, and where was Sam now?
"Dean?"
"Stay back!" His turned back to her, voice raised. Lightning split the sky, and illuminated him and the room beyond.
Arla caught a glimpse of a slumped form up against the bed and decided she had no more time to waste. Given Dean's current state, Arla was more than a little afraid that Sam might actually be dead. If he wasn't already, he must be close. Taking a step forward and forcing herself not to flinch as the gun got that much closer, Arla said boldly, "Dean Winchester, we need to go inside right now. You need to get out of the rain and I need to take care of your brother. So move out of my way or so help me I will take that gun out of your hand!"
His eyebrows rose and the suspicious expression faded a bit to utter shock. Dean's mouth fell open, but no words came out.
Arla took another step forward and added, "I haven't been a cop's wife for all these years without learning a few things. And I earned my black belt in Krav Maga a year before I met Tommy so you better believe I can kick your butt, mister."
And then she brushed past him without another second's hesitation or another wasted word. When she crossed the threshold without getting shot, Arla finally drew an easier breath. The sense of victory or relief did not last long at all when she got a good look at Sam. He wasn't dead but, as she'd suspected, he certainly looked close.
"Dean, what happened?" Arla asked, taking one step forward.
She was stopped by a firm hand around her arm that held her in place. Looking back at Dean, Arla realized the momentary stun factor of her bold move had faded and now he had the same exact expression on his face as he had earlier. His eyes seemed a little clearer, though, a little more like he was actually seeing her this time. Arla didn't pull away from him. The grip on her arm relaxed ever so slightly and, as lighting brightened the room again for a brief second, Arla held his gaze.
"Arla?" Dean's voice, ragged and hoarse, held a hint of hope now.
"It's me, Dean." Arla offered a cautious smile.
Dean released her arm and Arla fought the instinct to immediately move away from him. The gun was still in his hand, lowered by his side, but it was still there and, despite her bold words, she really did want to avoid being shot. He looked like he was close to falling over, but as bad as he looked, she knew he could probably put several holes in her on his way down. Remaining where she was, Arla waited, trying to be patient even though she wanted to be triaging both of them...and probably calling for an ambulance.
"How...how did you find us?" Dean repeated his question from earlier.
"Sam called me." Arla said slowly, sensing that he needed short sentences. "He said he couldn't wake you up."
Dean stared at her for a few seconds longer, then the light apparently dawned and his assessing eyes stole a quick glance at his brother. The suspicion and anger disappeared and the only emotion left was fear. The gun lowered. Dean looked back at her and said, "He needs help."
"Will you let me help him?" Arla asked, knowing it was vital she not make a move until she had Dean's full permission. He was still dangerously on edge.
He wanted to say no. She could see it in his eyes. Whatever his hesitation had been yesterday, it was nothing compared to the dread in his eyes right now. Wishing she knew what he was so afraid of, Arla said, "I'm only here to help, Dean. I promise you that."
"Help him." Dean said, shoulders slumping, all the defensiveness gone from his posture and expression. He pulled the door closed behind him, the gun disappeared behind his back and he looked defeated as he said, "Please."
"I will." Arla offered another slight smile before turning around and rushing to Sam's side.
His eyes were closed and he didn't respond when she touched his wrist to check his pulse. Weak and too fast. Skin chilled, breathing irregular. His eyes were sunken, darkly shaded and Dean's pallor looked positively healthy compared to how grey Sam's skin looked. She hadn't arrived a minute too soon. And twenty-four hours earlier would have been much better, she thought regretfully. Her thoughts briefly returned to the very first time she'd met the Winchester brothers. They're not having any better a time of it now then they were that Christmas.
Looking up, she found Dean at her side, his worried expression mirroring her own.
Before she could instruct him on what to do, Dean was already wrapping an arm around his brother's shoulders and easing him flat on the carpet. Sam didn't respond to the change in position. Arla straightened Sam's legs, then reached in her backpack for the blood pressure cuff. She said, "Get the cushions off the couch. Elevate his legs."
By the time she had the cuff wrapped around Sam's arm, Dean was back and elevating his legs. He had a flashlight with him which was good since that was going to be her next request. Once Dean had finished with the cushions, he held the flashlight where she needed it in order to see the blood pressure cuff. The light shook badly in his hand, but she didn't comment. There were more pressing issues.
Like a blood pressure that was way too low.
"How is it?" Dean asked once she'd taken her stethoscope out of her ears.
"Dean, he's in shock. He needs a hospital right now." Once she'd spoken, Arla realized that Sam might not be the only one who was in shock.
All the color, what little there had been of it, drained from Dean's face as he sat down heavily on the floor next to his brother. He looked like a kid again with the undisguised fear in his eyes. Arla was digging her phone out of her pocket when Dean spoke up.
"Fix him."
Nodding, she said, "We can help him, Dean, but he needs a hospital."
"No hospital."
"Dean…"
"No hospital."
"He needs a hospital." Arla said, then remembered things were more complicated in the Winchester brothers' lives than in most people's. She asked, "Is there a reason we can't take him to a hospital?"
Dean's eyes were on his brother, but he nodded. Without offering a word of explanation, Dean asked hoarsely, "What do you need? What do you need right now to take care of him?"
His question overwhelmed her for a moment as she tried to think of everything she might need. Shaking her head, Arla said, "Dean, this isn't something we can take care of easily. I don't have a car full of medical supplies for a mission trip out there this time! He needs fluids right now. And that's just to get started; I don't even know what's wrong with him…"
"Make a list," Dean said, ignoring everything she said. He hadn't taken his eyes off his brother yet.
"A list?" Arla shook her head, gaze going from an unconscious brother to an anxious one. "Dean, please listen to me. He is in shock. Sam needs help now. We don't have time to go find supplies; not that you can just run to Walgreens for some IV fluids anyway!"
His expression was unreadable as he finally looked at her and said, "I know someone who can get us whatever we need."
"It will take too long! Sam needs medical attention right now."
"It won't take long," Dean insisted, devastation giving way to iron-clad determination. "If you want to help, make a list."
Sensing any further argument would be useless, Arla nodded. She left her phone in her pocket and said, "Paper?"
"On the table," Dean answered, his eyes back on Sam.
Arla got to her feet and crossed to the table, pulling the blinds open as soon as she was able to. It was still dark in the cabin, but a little better with the blinds open. The table was a mess of grocery bags and a hodgepodge of supplies. She found the standard notepad and cheap pen under one of the bags and said over her shoulder, "Get a blanket over him. We need to keep him warm."
There was movement behind her, but she didn't bother verifying that Dean was doing as she'd told him to; she knew he was. Scribbling notes on the paper, Arla tried to cover the bases and think of all the things that she usually had within arm's reach in the ER. Things that were so standard to a case of shock that usually she didn't even need to think about them. Her hand shook as she wrote. Who was it that Dean knew who could get them these sort of supplies? How could it possibly be faster or easier than simply calling for an ambulance? Why was he so adamant they not go to a hospital?
She didn't like it at all, but Arla knew her options were limited. And there was no time to ask all the questions she wanted to. If Dean said there was a reason they couldn't go to a hospital, she believed him. If he said he knew someone who could get them what they needed, she believed him. Finishing the list, she handed it to him and just hoped he knew what he was doing.
Dean hoped he knew what he was doing. The way his head felt, he wouldn't have bet money on himself. Ever since he'd heard the knock at the door, it seemed that his heart had been pounding at three times its normal rate. Between the headache, the pain in his jaw and the overall way he felt like utter crap, Dean really wanted to sit down and sleep. But that wasn't going to happen any time soon.
He looked over the list Arla handed him and frowned. He asked, "This is it?"
"It's what we need to get him stabilized." Arla said, "But I don't even know what's wrong with him, Dean, so I don't know what else we might need. You have to give me more information. Is he sick or was he injured? Is there any chance he's bleeding internally?"
Already overwhelmed, Dean felt jittery in the face of Arla's obvious concern. When the doctor looked worried, it was a pretty clear indication of how serious the situation was. Trying to organize his spiraling thoughts, Dean said, "He's been sick. For a long time."
"I need more than that."
"Let me make this call first," Dean said, crossing the room. "Get you what you need to start with and then we can figure out the rest of it."
He snagged his phone off the floor and saw that the piece of paper laying next to it had been the one Arla had given him with her phone number. It helped reassure the endlessly suspicious side of him that was still shouting for him not to trust her. When he'd heard the knock at the door, when he'd opened it to see her standing there, Dean had been almost convinced she was a Leviathan. It had been ridiculous to think such a thing, but he hadn't been able to stop the thought.
Letting her in the door had been a struggle, but something about the way she'd spoken to him, the things she'd said, had shaken some of the mistrust out of him. It had been years since they'd seen each other. Before Leviathans, before Dick Roman, before demons and angels and everything else. Watching her kneel back down beside Sam, Dean realized that Tommy and Arla Pender might be a couple of the only people on the planet that the nightmares of their life had not touched.
And, speaking of nightmares, Dean grimaced in distaste as he dialed a number he hated himself for even having in his contacts list. The phone rang and he took half a step sideways until he could sit on the edge of the bed because he really needed to sit down now. He almost made it look like a graceful descent. Not perfectly convincing, he knew, seeing the concern flash in Arla's eyes from where she knelt on the floor next to Sam. Dean looked away, back at the window. He didn't want to see her concern. She didn't need to be worrying about him right now.
He rubbed at his jaw while he waited for an answer on the other end of the line. His whole face smarted and Dean felt incredibly stupid for letting the punch take him down. On a good day, a punch like that wouldn't have even thrown him off balance. But today wasn't even close to a good day and he had to give his brother credit; even sleep-deprived and half-dead, Sam knew how to pack a lot of power into a punch.
All thought about himself vanished the second his call was answered. Mentally cringing at Meg's sickly sweet voice, Dean looked back at Sam for visual confirmation of why he was calling her in the first place.
They didn't have a choice.
"Shut up and listen." Dean didn't bother with a greeting; more interested in cutting her greeting off. "I don't care about what Cas is or isn't doing. I need you to get me some supplies."
Dean felt Arla's curious gaze, but didn't look at her. If he'd felt even a little more steady, he would have left the room to make the phone call. But he wasn't steady; not at all. Of course, there was more to it than that. He wasn't about to leave Sam alone with Arla...or vice versa. Because as much as he was struggling to accept that she was who she said she was and that she meant them no harm, the last thing he wanted was for Sam to wake up and take a swing at her.
Not that it looked like Sam was going to be waking up anytime soon.
He read off Arla's list and asked, "You can get all of that, right?" A bit of tension eased when Meg said she could. He listened to her for a moment longer, then his voice dropped and he growled, "You know what? This doesn't mean that I owe you a favor. Not at all. The only favor you're gonna get, you black eyed..." he broke off, shooting a quick glance at Arla who only raised an eyebrow. Changing what he'd planned to say, Dean went on, "The only favor you get is me not shoving Ruby's blade between your ribs, got it?"
Once he heard the affirmative he was waiting for he told her where to bring the supplies. "And leave them on the porch. One step inside and I will kill you. I see you again without inviting you, I kill you. You hear me?"
"Yeah, Deano," Meg answered, "Hear you loud and clear. You're such a sweet talker."
The line went dead and Dean felt sick. He'd just given a demon their address! For all his threats, he knew that he wasn't up to defending himself against a horde of demons. If Meg wanted his head on a platter and brought friends, he would have literally just signed their own death warrant. He wasn't even sure he could find Ruby's blade. The past few weeks had been filled with confusion, desperation and chaos. Between the search for Dick Roman, dodging Leviathans, trying to do their job, and trying to hold Sam together as the hallucinations worsened almost hourly, Dean wasn't sure where they'd tucked it last. Not even being able to have the Impala and its familiar weapons cache, their organization had been thrown for a loop. Which frustrated him beyond words. If nothing else, they'd always been organized. In their own way, maybe, but they'd always had a system and it worked. But nothing had been working the past year and he found himself rubbing at his chest as the sheer anxiety of it all stabbed through him like that stupid blade he needed to find.
"Dean?" A soft voice interrupted his inner turmoil.
"What?" he asked, looking down at Arla; his heart rate seemed to quadruple. "What's wrong?"
"Calm down. Nothing's changed." Arla settled a little more comfortably on the carpet, one hand resting on Sam's chest. Her voice remained calm, gentle as she said, "While we wait for your friend, why don't you tell me what happened. Why is Sam so sick?"
"He's...he's been through...hell," Dean said, the word sticking like a knife in his throat. Noticing her perceptive gaze, he made a conscious effort to stop rubbing at his chest. His mouth was dry as he tried to figure out what to tell her, how to tell her. Struggling, he said, "He's been sick...for a long time, but...this, this has been really bad the past couple days."
"Ok." Arla nodded, but pressed, "What symptoms? I need to know what's wrong with him if you want me to help him. Especially if you won't let me get him to a hospital."
Dean tightened his grip on the phone and met her eye as he said firmly, "No hospital. He...I can't do that to him right now."
"Alright. So tell me, how has he been sick? The flu? Something like that?"
"No, not exactly. It's a long story. He's...had some problems lately...and he's," Dean swallowed, trying to figure out how to present all of this without coming right out and saying that his brother had basically been out of his mind for the better part of a year. Struggling forward, Dean said, "It's been a long time since he got any sleep. A really long time. He hasn't been eating much. And...the past few days, he hasn't been keeping any water down."
"Is there any chance he's bleeding? I can give him fluids, but, Dean, if there's something else...something deeper...I can't do surgery here."
"I know. He doesn't need surgery. He's got a busted rib, but that's it."
"Give me the flashlight." Arla said sharply, immediately pulling the blanket back. "When did that happen?"
Dean held the flashlight for her and said, "It happened a little over a week ago, I think." He frowned, trying to remember. A week sounded about right. In some ways it felt like a lot longer, in other ways, it seemed like yesterday. Trying to keep his muddled mind on track, Dean nodded, "Yeah, maybe a little over a week ago."
"What happened?" Arla asked as she carefully inspected and palpated Sam's bruised chest and stomach.
"He got hit by a car."
Arla's eyes widened as she briefly glanced up at him. She didn't say anything, though, just put her stethoscope back on and listened to Sam's chest for a few minutes. Straightening, she tugged his shirt down and said, "He sounds ok. And I didn't feel anything out of place. No obvious tenderness or firmness to his abdomen."
"So not bleeding?" Dean asked, the sudden realization hitting him that if he had been wrong about that, Sam could have already been dead.
"Not that I can see. X-rays and some other tests would be better to know for sure," Arla explained, "but from what I can tell, I don't think that's our biggest worry."
Dean let out a heavy sigh of relief and nodded, the flashlight coming to rest on his knee when he realized how badly his hand was shaking.
Arla opened her mouth to say something else, but, for the second time that day, Dean felt his heart explode at a knock on the door. Handing Arla the flashlight, he put a finger to his lips and she nodded her understanding, even if she looked confused. He pulled out his gun, worthless as it would be against a demon, and crossed to the door wishing yet again that he remembered where he'd stashed Ruby's blade. Carefully, he opened the door and the relief washed over him again at the sight that met him on the rain-soaked porch.
A plastic tote sat alone on the porch. A rapid glance revealed there was no one hanging around. Dean almost felt like he should give Meg a thank-you call. Almost. Shoving the gun back in his jeans, he grabbed the tote and dragged it into the room. Arla was digging through it before he even had the door closed and locked again.
Dean picked the flashlight back up, but the power flickered on at the same moment. Something finally goes right, he thought, detouring and turning on all the lights in the room. Arla was setting up supplies and Dean went to his brother when he saw his eyes were open.
"Sam?" Dean asked, kneeling next to him and settling his hand on Sam's forehead. He pushed back sweat-damp bangs and asked, "You with me?"
Sam rolled his bleary eyes toward Dean, but didn't respond. After another second, his eyes closed again. Dean hadn't really expected anything more, but it was still disturbing.
"Dean, I need you to move aside," Arla said, turning around, her supplies laid out neatly on the upturned lid of the tote. "I need to get this IV started."
Nodding, Dean shifted, but didn't move aside. Instead, he carefully pulled Sam a bit further away from the bed so there was room on both sides. Arla didn't comment, just rearranged and took up post on Sam's other side. The room fell silent as she worked. Dean half expected Sam to wake up fighting as she started the IV; he kept one hand on Sam's chest just in case. But Sam didn't so much as flinch when Arla inserted the IV.
Dean didn't flinch either.
He passed out cold.
Poor Dean. He isn't having a very good time of it the last two chapters, is he? I left him on the ground again. oops. :) Oh yeah and then there's Sam lol! haha. Well, Arla is there now so they've got nowhere to go but up now right? ...right? hm... we shall have to wait and see...
