I've Got a Crush on You Chapter 10 We Meet Again!!
The red pick-up whizzed directly past the small, darkened side road, totally oblivious to the two large vehicles hidden among the trees. Stanley had shrewdly killed the tow truck headlights as soon as his tires had left the main road, and Dean had followed suit with a hunter's 'quick read' of the sudden veering off maneuver.
Stanley turned, silently staring toward the highway as Sam slipped from his seat in the Impala to stand alongside the worried teen. Hearing the driver's door creak open, Sam pushed his hip against the door surface forcing it closed.
Leaning down to look his older brother sternly in the eye, Sam hissed, "You stay right where you are, dammit! I've got this covered, Dean."
Sam stepped quietly into the copse of trees. Although the woods provided them with excellent cover from prying eyes, it also prevented them from looking out. Thankfully, with the early light from the quickly approaching dawn and the thinning leaves on the autumn-kissed trees, a less shrouded view of the road was possible at Sam's eye level.
Hearing a twig snap behind him as he crept slightly deeper into the woods, Sam spun around fists at the ready.
Behind him stood that skinny kid that had jumped from the truck, both hands popped up in a show of surrender. Judging from the still fearful look on the boy's young face, Sam guessed he'd never done a dangerous thing in his life.
Stepping toward the boy, a friendly hand extended, Sam reassured him with a gentle grin, pushing his unruly long hair from his blue-green eyes. "You must be Stan. Hey, I'm Dean's brother, Sam. I understand I owe you a debt of thanks for helping Dean, back there."
The teen actually blushed, casting his blue eyes shyly toward the forest floor as he shook Sam's hand. "Naw, I didn't do much really. Mostly just followed Dean's lead. He's awesome. Really brave."
Sam smiled at the boy's shyness, and nudged him to take some credit. "Well, all I can say is I can NEVER get him to agree to get help when he's hurt so you must have some real powers of persuasion."
Stanley chuckled, "Well, all I gotta say is he'd better listen to my Gran, 'cuz she's pretty tough on us kids when we don't. You may wanna warn Dean though: she gets after you with a wooden spoon if you don't listen up! She's a fantastic nurse, though. Patched me up more than a few times."
Sam's laughter joined Stan's on that comment. "A spoon, huh? He should be used to that. We met a lady that does the same thing."
His attention was quickly drawn to sudden activity visible through their tree shield. Catching sight of a multitude of flashing red and blue strobe lights turning off the crossroad about a quarter mile away, Sam knew they were all heading in the direction of the big junkyard.
With a huge relieved grin, Sam turned toward the much shorter teen, who, despite all his stretching and straining, could see nothing but trees and underbrush. "Looks like our little convoy can get on the road again. A whole bunch of cops and firemen will have your Mr. Malone pretty busy answering questions for at least a few hours."
Scowling, Stan shook his head in protest, "He's not my Mr. Malone anymore. I'll never go back there. Hope the only place I ever see him again is in the TV news. Going to prison…"
Sam amicably slapped the kid on the back as they ambled back toward their hidden vehicles. "So, I hear you might be the one that'll bring Malone to justice. Dean told me you've got a shitload of evidence in the truck that may put Malone in jail for a long time."
"Hell, yeah! You should see all the stuff Dean and I found!" As they reached the truck Stan swung up onto the first rung of the steps leading into the high truck cab. Yanking open the big door, he proudly pointed out the big box to Sam. "In fact, first stop's gonna be my friend Tim's house. His dad's the District Attorney."
As Stan clambered up the side of the truck and slid behind the wheel Sam headed for the newly rescued Impala. He couldn't help but admire the huge black beast. Although he'd never admit it to Dean openly, he really did care about the big vehicle-- not with Dean's obvious passion, but with a definite fondness.
Approaching the big black car Sam immediately felt a lump rising in his throat. The driver's door was still closed but… No big brother sat behind the wheel!
Sam loped to the car so quickly he only managed to stop himself by slapping his hands against the shiny roof like slamming on the brakes. No Dean in the front seat, at all.
Suddenly a strained slightly pissed off voice sounded from the depths of the shadowed back seat, "Shit, Sammy! Careful with my girl! Show a little respect, willya?"
Leaning anxiously in through the driver's window, a worried frown creasing his usually smooth brow, Sam probed gently, "Dean? You all right? What are you doing back there?"
Weakly lifting his head out of the shadows, Dean attempted a reassuring smile. "M'okay, Sammy. Just think that now that it's nearly over my body's shutting down on me. Damn! My head's thumping like one of Phil Rudd's drum solos. And my ass… well, we won't even go there... Enough to say it's really burning and throbbing. My left leg's gone numb. I tried a bit of Crown Royal as a little anesthesia but not sure it's working." Dean snickered tipsily.
Popping open the rear driver's side door, Sam squatted down in the opening to be eye level with his injured sibling. Extending one long arm he gently placed his hand against Dean's ashen right cheek before making a quick contact with his burning forehead as well. Dean tried to rise from his prone position, laying an icy cold hand on Sam's exposed wrist. Locking on Dean's fever-bright green eyes, Sam felt an urgency to get his brother to Stan's grandmother as quickly as possible. The combination of the amount of blood loss, the prolonged exposure to the cold October night air while way underdressed, dehydration, and extreme fatigue could prove fatal if not treated soon.
By the light of the early morning sun softly washing over them, Sam was finally able to get a good look at Dean's lab coat. The bloodstain now covered a wide three-foot circle on the rear panel and it looked very fresh, very wet. Sam could smell the blood and it terrified him.
Seeing Dean actually surrendering the Impala to him, after fighting such a valiant battle to regain possession of his baby, spoke volumes to Sam. For Dean to admit to any sign of weakness was so out of character that Sam was really beginning to panic.
Trying not to let Dean see his intense discomfort with the situation, Sam snarked, "Dean… first it was your rendition of Tom Cruise, then a mud wrestler and now the mad scientist get-up. Amazing! Thought the family rule was 'we don't do Halloween'?"
Dean chuckled softly, "Couldn't help myself, Sam. Trying to impress my girl, you know?" Pausing to look around at the interior of his beloved Impala and take another gulp from the amber liquor, he smiled gently. "I'm glad she's safe, Sam."
"Dean, not to embarrass you, but I really need to see how badly you're hurt. No way around it." Sam smiled sympathetically.
With a sigh of submission and a roll of his glassy, green eyes, Dean canted his body towards the back of the front seat exposing his bloodied left side to his younger brother's intense gaze.
Horrified to see the blood continuing to seep even as he watched, Sam gently lifted the back of the blood-soaked lab coat. The boxers beneath glistened with Dean's blood. Carefully using the rips in the wet fabric to his advantage, Sam finished shredding the bloodied material through the hem and ever so lightly peeled it back. What was revealed made his blue-green eyes cloud with tears.
Sam would never cease to be amazed by Dean's insane drive and ability to do anything and everything to protect his family with absolutely no concern for his own life and welfare. In his big brother's eyes, the big Detroit doll was as much a family member as John or even Sam himself.
The razor cuts were long and they were deep. Sam was sure there'd be no way around some serious stitches here. He grimaced at the prospect of stitching a body part that sensitive.
"So… whatya think, Sammy?" Dean's speech was a bit slurred and his voice muffled by the leather of the seat he leaned so deeply into as he maintained his awkward position for Sam.
"Don't know exactly, Dean. Can't tell really 'til we get it cleaned up. Might be okay with a bunch of butterflies," he lied. No way in hell butterfly bandages would put these gashes right!
"Butterflies?!" Dean chortled drunkenly. "Sammy, you sayin' my butt would look better with some tattoos? Butterflies?! Naw, too sissy! Not my style. What're ya thinkin'?"
Out of pure reflex reaction, Sam reached out and swatted Dean's hip for the smart-ass remark. Dean loosed a distressed groan and Sam blushed in embarrassment over his momentary stupidity.
"Oh, God, Dean! Oh, man, I wasn't thinking… Oh shit!" Sam lunged to his feet, all apologies. "I'm so sorry. Aw, shit!" Sam leaned down to straighten the lab coat and give his hurt brother a little of his dignity back.
Rotating his body back against the rear seat Dean pulled a pained, faint smile. "S'okay, Sammy. Least now we know I still have feeling in my butt."
"Yeah, Dean. Guess so. Well, we better get moving. Have another swallow or two of your liquid painkiller, but try to stay awake for me. Okay?"
Dean grinned weakly as Sam slammed the door shut, and signaled Stan to start the truck engine. Climbing behind the wheel of the Impala, Sam had to admit he would have sorely missed the feel of the big car's power and mass. Somehow this vehicle was larger than life, just like his big brother. They were a pre-packaged set, couldn't have one without having the other.
Sam twisted the key and the big motor growled comfortingly as he began to back the Impala down the little dirt road towards the edge of the highway. Reaching over he flipped on the radio and was greeted with the music and lyrics of "Rooster" by Alice in Chains. He felt relieved as he heard Dean's tired voice singing along. To Sam, that song seemed so appropriate. His brother was indeed a feisty bantam rooster, always had been. The thought made Sam smile as he glanced into the rearview mirror that he'd repositioned to keep an eye on Dean.
Sam arced out onto the shoulder of the highway, waiting for Stan to take the lead position. Falling in behind the big truck once it hit the asphalt, Sam prayed the side trip to the DA's house would be short-lived. Seeing no cars anywhere as they drove the four miles back into town, Sam glanced at his watch... 6:30! He hoped they could drop the evidence and run; Dean was in serious need of help and they had no time to waste.
Stan steered the tow truck down a couple of winding side streets through older tree-lined neighborhoods and after a few minutes, with a flip of his blinkers, let Sam know they'd arrived at their first destination. Stan struggled a bit to get the big box hefted into his arms and under control, but with sheer determination, he hauled it across a wide lawn and onto the wooden porch of a big old Victorian house. As he lowered his burden onto the steps, the big front door suddenly opened.
A small white ball of fur flew out the door, followed by an older man of perhaps fifty who immediately bent down to help Stan with the box. Like a bouncing ball, the little dog kept jumping for Stan's attention. He let it jump into his arms as he and the older man conversed.
Sam had parked well behind the truck and could see but not hear any of the activity. He watched as Stan pulled a few ledger books from the box, opened one and placed it in the older guy's hands. After peering through that book's pages, the man knelt beside the box and poked around before gathering several more books into his arms. Stan talked animatedly for a few more moments, pausing once to point at the big tow truck. The other fellow nodded enthusiastically and holding out his hand accepted the vehicle keys from the teenager. Stan shook the guy's hand and headed towards the Impala after saying his goodbyes.
Climbing into the front seat of the big car, Stan turned around to glance at Dean, who remained uncomfortably awake, but, judging by the no longer full bottle of booze he gripped, Stan knew his friend at least was feeling less pain. Turning to Sam they shared a smile over Dean's newfound pain medication.
"So, what did the District Attorney say? Going to pursue this?" Sam queried.
Stan's grin lit up the car, "Oh, hell yeah! Said he's always believed Malone was a crook. Thinks he can put a case together real fast with all that stuff we gave him! Said he'll call me later at Gran's."
Sam was pleased another sleazebag was going to get what he deserved, especially after the way Dean suffered. All that trouble because some greedy crooked bastard wanted to make a buck at Dean's expense.
"Hey, Sam, if I can borrow your phone I'll let Gran know we're on the way and that we'll need her skills." Stan was stunned at how quickly the phone appeared.
The conversation was short but sweet, with Stan apologizing for waking up the poor woman and then explaining that he had a hurt friend with him with some bad cuts and could she please help them out. The call ended with Stan promising that they'd drive quickly but carefully and thanking her for her kindness.
Closing the phone, Stan set it down, grinning. "Gotta love Gran. Said she's been up since six. She said 'no problem' and that she'll throw some muffins in the oven and make us a pot of coffee. We're good to go. We'll be there in about ten minutes."
"Stan, thanks so much. Man, you don't know what a great favor this is. Dean's cut up pretty badly. Guess you knew he'd been through a lot yesterday. He's had this car since he was a teenager and before that our Dad owned it."
"Sam, I thought he was crazy at first… the missing jeans… the mud and oil… talking to the car… Damn, I thought he was gonna kill me. Then he kinda explained some stuff and we found all that stuff in Malone's office and then Dean passed out. I was so scared. When he came to, he kept his promise about destroying Malone and we left. He's a great guy, will he be okay?"
Sam looked at Dean in the rearview mirror, singing along drunkenly with the Metallica tune blaring from the radio. "Yeah, Stan, he'll be fine. We always take care of each other. I'll make sure he's okay."
They drove in silence the rest of the distance to grandmother's house, pulling into her long driveway at 7:10. Stan climbed anxiously from the car and said he'd go get his grandmother prepared for their entrance. Running up to the neatly-kept little blue bungalow, Stan jumped onto the porch yanked the screen door open and disappeared.
Sam switched off the ignition and with it Ozzy's voice instantly ceased singing "Crazy Train".
"Hey! I was lissnin' to that… You don' like Ozzy, my fren' ?"
With the trouble Dean was having speaking Sam knew he would have even worse problems walking. The big door creaked open. Sam slid from behind the wheel and circled to the passenger side rear door. Pulling it open slowly, he had to move quickly to slide an arm under his brother's shoulders. Dean nearly flowed out of the car, obviously feeling no pain-- at this point his body was like soft rubber.
Sam lifted Dean into position so he could slide an arm beneath Dean's knees and another around his shoulders. Dean automatically slipped an arm around Sam's neck for support, as his head rolled limply against Sam's cheek. A bit slack-jawed Dean mustered a grin for his baby brother, "Love you sooo much, Sammeee…" he slurred.
Sam smiled, knowing that came from Dean's heart and not his conscious mouth. One of those things that a sober Dean would NEVER say, but Sam knew to be true. "Yeah, Dean, I love you too."
With a grunt from Sam and a drunken groan from Dean, they pushed off from the car and moved toward the house. Sam was staggering a bit beneath Dean's solid weight but knew he'd make it in one piece. As he slowly maneuvered their way up the three front steps something he caught in his peripheral vision gave him reason to pause.
Under the huge spreading oak tree in the side yard sat a familiar vehicle, a dark blue metallic minivan with greasepaint smears on the side door. Sam broke into a grin. Our chauffeur… 'Gran' is our nice old lady! Feeling a lot more comfortable, he headed into the house.
The living room suited the lady, photos of family members, lots of them, graced the walls. All the furniture was kid friendly and comfy-looking. Boosting Dean a bit higher into his long arms, Sam smiled knowing they'd found a friendly support group. Hearing voices through the door on the far right, he headed in that direction.
Sam shuffled quietly into the kitchen in time to see Gran, her robed back to the door, place a bottle of brandy on the table. "Stanley, maybe your friend will need some of this in his coffee, before we fix him up.'
Clearing his throat, Sam stood in the doorway holding Dean in a not so secure 'fireman's carry'. Dean's head lolled drunkenly in the direction of Stan and the old lady.
Suddenly a huge shitfaced grin swallowed Dean's face, "Hey! I… I know you guys… the kid… from the garage… and the nice old lady with the little monsters! …Nice to see youse agin!" he giggled.
Now it was Gran's turn to grin, "Well, your young friend apparently brought his own, dear. How nice!" She smiled at Sam. "Nice to see both of you boys again as well. I take it he already found some pain relief."
Stanley looked confused. "You all know each other?"
Gran patted Stanley's shoulder, "Later, Stan, let's get those cuts looked at first."
Moving gracefully past Sam and his armful she led the way down a short hall and pointed out a cheery little room with a big bed covered in white sheets. "Just lay him down there, sweetie. Don't mind the sheets. Bleach can get nearly everything out of muslin."
Sam did a quick introduction. "I'm Sam and this is my brother, Dean. He's hurt pretty badly, bleeding a lot, ma'am."
"Just call me Gran, honey. Everybody else does. Dean looks like he's had a bad night since I last saw you boys." She frowned at the blood soaked white coat. "Sam, you're not looking any too good yourself. You better put him down and go grab a wee bit of breakfast. If I need help, I promise I'll call you."
Sam leaned over to place Dean on the bed and as he did so momentarily lost his footing shooting an arm out to quickly brace himself against the wall. As he straightened out and removed his hand from the wall, he was chagrined to see the huge bloody handprint he's deposited on the dear old lady's bedroom wall.
"I'm so sorry, Gran. I'll wash it off right away if you tell me where the cleaning supplies are." Sam pleaded, hanging his head.
"Pshaw, Sam. No problem. Been looking for an excuse to paint these old walls anyway." She immediately moved to Dean's side, carefully unbuttoning the soiled lab coat. Seeing the coating of dirt and oil beneath it, she turned to Sam. "Guess he'll need to shower before we start. Think he can handle that, Sam? You probably know him better than anyone."
"Yeah, he loves hot showers. He'd walk through fire to get to one. As long as he has a wall to lean on he'll be fine, Gran." Perching quietly on the edge of the bed on Dean's other side, Sam leaned in close touching his brother's cheek. Sam was rewarded by Dean's rolling his head in Sam's direction, his feverish, drunken green eyes blinking repeatedly as he tried to bring things into focus.
Speaking to his sibling, Sam tried to sound upbeat. "Dean... Dean. You gotta try to stay awake for awhile now. I'll be close by, I promise. Gran wants you to take a shower so she can fix you up. Think you can handle that? Need me to stay with you in case you're too woozy?"
Dean wrapped his hand around Sam's, grinning a silly drunken grin. "Naw, Sammeee… Don't need help… M'fine. Just get me on my feet… M'fine." He patted Sam's hand patronizingly. "S'okay… been showerin' by m'self f'years!" Frowning he added, "You better eat sumthin'. You'll be sick."
With a shrug of his shoulders and a slight questioning look on his face, Sam turned towards Gran. "He usually means what he says. He's big though. Sure you can handle him?" Sam gave the older lady's five-foot-two form an appraising glance.
"Believe me, Sam. I've handled far bigger. Now you go eat. I'll call you if necessary." She smiled that kind grandmotherly smile she'd worn on the ride to the junkyard. "Dean will be fine, dear. I'll take good care of him. I was a surgical nurse for 36 years."
Sam smiled at her gentle reassurances and with a final glance at Dean's smirking, relaxed face stood up once more and moved thru the doorway. Heading back down the hallway, he turned back to see the woman gently mopping at Dean's torn face and could hear her murmuring softly to his injured brother.