Chapter Eleven
Dean literally felt all the blood drain out of his limbs and into his heart, giving the muscle the liquid boost it needed to begin to beat rapidly.
"Sammy," Dean choked out, tears stinging his eyes as he gazed at his brother.
His younger sibling was almost unrecognizable beneath his injuries.
Dean felt anger swell up in his belly like a tsunami and he wanted nothing more than to beat Eli Flint to death with his bare hands. Unfortunately, the son of a bitch was already dead so Dean had to settle for being there for his brother.
The twenty-two year old smiled sadly at his sibling and moved forward slowly, giving the younger man a visual once-over.
Even before Dean had reached Sam's side, he could feel the heat coming off his brother in waves and knew without a doubt his sibling was very ill.
Sam's fever-dulled eyes followed Dean as he approached, suspicion clouding their mossy depths.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean murmured comfortingly, "Flint can't hurt you anymore."
The twenty-two year old kept the smile plastered on his face, despite the fact that he felt like crying, and knelt down beside his sibling.
Sam's eyes met Dean's for a moment and the older sibling saw a flash of that familiar love the the eighteen-year old only reserved for him crowd out the wariness before they rolled upwards and the younger man collapsed.
"Dad!" Dean snapped, "Dad! I'm going to need your help!"
"What's wrong? Is Sam down there? Is he alright?" John called back but Dean ignored him.
Rising into a crouch, the young man reached down and bundled his unconscious brother into a fireman's carry.
As he straightened to his full height, Dean was shocked at how light his sibling was. The older brother was certain that if he had attempted to lift his sibling in this manner four weeks ago he wouldn't have been able to do so easily.
Dean grimaced as the heat pouring off his brother caused sweat to bead on the back of his neck and face.
Walking slowly, the young hunter reached the bottom of the ladder and peered up through the trapdoor.
John looked down at him and Dean saw an expression of shock and guilt cross the older man's features as he caught sight of his youngest son.
"He's out cold," Dean ground out, "I'm gonna need you to pull him up once I get close enough."
John nodded silently, his dark brown eyes saddened.
Dean kept one hand on his brother to steady him and prevent Sam from falling, his free hand going to the rungs of the ladder as he began climbing.
Rung by rung, inch by inch, careful not to jostle his unconscious sibling, Dean ascended the ladder, feeling no relief when he felt John's strong arms lift Sam from his shoulders.
"Careful!" Dean snapped at his father, not ready to forget John's part in all of this as he climbed the rest of the way up the ladder, slamming the trapdoor closed after himself.
John had laid Sam out on his back on the hardwood floor of the den, his face haggard.
Dean moved to his brother's side and gently brushed Sam's bangs back from his forehead, hissing in sympathy as he once again took in the injuries on the young man's face.
The skin was red and puffy, covered with pale yellow blisters that looked painful to the touch; one of Sam's eyes was black and the other was swollen. A large gash across Sam's brow had leaked blood into his eyes but it had long since dried to a dark, rusty brown. Purple and blue bruises also marred the skin, as well as about a half-dozen small round marks that looked like burns. Sam's nose was broken and his lower lip was split open; both injuries had bled down the lower half of his face. Sam's neck, as well, was puffy red and dotted with blisters.
Dean tore his gaze away from his sibling and looked up at his father, "There's no way we can carry him all the way back to the car. We'll have to stay here until he wakes up."
John nodded and stood, "I'll see if I can find a First Aid kit."
Dean didn't answer as his father left the room, heading towards the bedroom and tiny attached bathroom.
"Oh Sammy," Dean murmured, "What did that bastard do to you?"
Carefully, Dean carded a hand through his brother's unwashed hair, noticing too late that there were blisters on Sam's scalp as well.
Tears welled up in the twenty-two year old's eyes and he clenched his hand into a fist, fighting the urge to go find John and punch him in the face.
Maybe he could still do that, but later, once he knew Sam was alright.
Footsteps announced John's return. Dean looked up to see him carrying a red and white metal case and a pile of clothes.
"I thought we could change his clothes," John explained sheepishly.
Dean nodded as his father knelt down beside him and Sam, flipping the latches of the First Aid kit up and opening the lid.
Pawing through Band-Aids and rolls of gauze, John found what he needed and took out a bottle of Tylenol pills, a tube of salve and a packet of antiseptic wipes.
Dean refused to leave his brother's side so their father stood and walked into the kitchen to wet a tea towel with water to wash Sam's face with.
With all the care of a parent, Dean unbuttoned the flannel shirt his brother was wearing, gently easing Sam's arms out of the sleeves and setting the soiled garment aside.
As soon as John returned, Dean told his father to lift Sam's upper body up so he could take the younger man's t-shirt off that he had been wearing under the long-sleeved flannel. Dean was alarmed to see that Sam's grey t-shirt was stained with a yellowish fluid that wasn't completely dried. Taking hold of the hem of the shirt, Dean rolled the garment upwards and let out a startled gasp as he revealed his sibling's abdomen.
"What is it?" John asked and looked down at his youngest son, eyes widening at the blisters dotting skin reddened and swollen, all the way down to his groin.
"What the fuck did Flint do to him?" Dean asked but John didn't respond and he didn't expect his father to answer.
"Dean," John said, his voice tight, and the older son tore his gaze away from his brother to where his father was looking. Sam had blisters all along his shoulder blades and running down his back as well. They had recently broken open and were now freely weeping clear fluid.
Dean's eyes widened and he felt a pang of guilt; laying his brother on his back had caused the blisters to burst.
"Hold him up while I get his pants," Dean ground out, not wanting to lay his sibling on his back again.
Once Dean had pulled Sam's t-shirt over his head, John kept his hold on his youngest son, hands hooked beneath the teen's armpits as the twenty-two year old moved down to Sam's feet. Reaching out, Dean unbuttoned and unzipped his brother's jeans before grabbing them by the ends of the legs and slowly pulling them down.
Dean clenched his jaw in anger when Sam's legs were exposed and he saw even more blisters. He noticed that the bubbled skin seemed to be concentrated in the area of Sam's lower abdomen and upper leg areas, the blisters thinning out along his sibling's chest and lower legs.
"It…" John paused, "It looks like he's been scalded."
Dean looked up sharply at his father, "How do you know?"
"I was about five… almost six and I was trying to make some soup for dinner because my mother was working late and the babysitter was asleep on the couch. I pushed a chair to the counter and managed to open the can, dump it into a pot and turned the gas stove on. I turned it on too high and the soup started boiling over onto the stovetop. I thought I would get in trouble so I tried to pick the pot up… It was too hot and I dropped it onto the floor but I splashed my arm with the soup. My skin looked just like Sam's for a few weeks afterwards."
Dean stared hard at his father for a long moment before peering over his shoulder at the kitchen.
"Those're infected," John said, drawing Dean's attention back to his brother.
Most of the blisters on Sam's lower abdomen, close to the waistband of his boxers, had broken open and had wept yellowish pus, the skin around them red and cracked.
No wonder Sam's got a fever, Dean thought.
Without looking at John, the twenty-two year old grabbed the damp tea towel his father had brought and began gently wiping at the blood on Sam's face.
Dean moved his hand as gently as possible, afraid of hurting his brother, as he cleaned the dried blood away from the laceration across Sam's forehead.
"Is there tape in there?" Dean asked, indicating the First Aid kit and John nodded, finding a roll of medical tape and handing it to his son.
Carefully, Dean pinched the two sides of the cut together as much as he could with the thumb and forefinger of one hand and tore off a few pieces of tape with the other, placing them across the gash.
Setting the tape down, Dean picked up the towel again and continued his ministrations.
"Do you…" Dean hesitated, "Do you think the blisters will scar?"
"I don't know," John answered, "They shouldn't but…"
He left the last words unsaid and Dean nodded.
What concerned the twenty-two year old were the small, round burns dotting his brother's face.
Carefully, Dean wiped dried blood away from Sam's broken nose and was surprised when his brother let out a soft groan, his eyes fluttering.
"Sam?" Dean said, lowering the towel, "Sammy? Can you hear me? Are you with me?"
The teen's eyes opened partway and Dean could see they were glassy with fever.
Glancing around, Dean instructed his father to fetch a glass of water.
The twenty-two year old reached out and slipped his hands beneath his brother's armpits as John released his youngest son and hurried into the kitchen.
"Sammy?" Dean murmured, "Hey, Sammy? You with me?"
The teen blinked sluggishly and let out another groan.
Dean looked up to see what John was doing and he spied his father throwing open cupboard doors until he found the one he wanted. Glass in hand, the eldest Winchester moved to the sink, turning the tap on full blast, letting the icy water jet into the cup.
Twisting the tap off distractedly, John returned to his sons' side and handed Dean the glass of water.
Dean reluctantly relinquished his hold on Sam back over to John so he could open the bottle of Tylenol and administer the medicine.
"Sam? Sammy," Dean said a little louder than before, "Hey, c'mon, stay with me for a moment here."
Shaking two of the round, red pills onto his palm Dean brought his hand to his brother's mouth.
Sam was still far too ill to take the medicine himself so Dean carefully pressed the Tylenol pills into his mouth, just as he used to do when his brother had been a toddler and would refuse to take any medication.
Once the pills were inside Sam's mouth, Dean quickly lifted the glass of water to his brother's lips and tilted it so that the liquid would hopefully encourage the eighteen-year old to swallow.
For a moment, nothing happened and Dean was alarmed to see water dripping out of the corners of his brother's mouth, concerned Sam would start to choke when a second later the teen began to gulp down the water eagerly.
Once the glass was empty, Dean set it down continued the car of his brother.
He finished wiping the blood from Sam's face before turning his attention to his brother's abdomen and the infected blisters.
Tearing open the packet of antiseptic wipes, Dean gently began to wipe the infected area, grimacing in sympathy. Once he'd cleaned Sam's abdomen, Dean wiped the blisters on his brother's back. Deciding against redressing his brother, Dean finished his care for the moment and addressed the eldest Winchester.
"Help me take him to the bedroom," the twenty-two year old spoke to his father curtly and John nodded, lifting Sam up by the armpits. Dean took hold of his brother's legs at the ankles and working as a team for the moment, father and son moved the youngest member of their family into the cabin's single bedroom.
Gently, John and Dean laid Sam down on top of the blankets, laying the teen down on his side.
John stood back for a moment as Dean sat down on the edge of the mattress, his back towards him.
"I… uh…" the father hesitated, feeling like an outsider, "I'm going to see if I can bring the Impala around."
Dean didn't respond so John left quietly.
SPN
John Winchester walked out of the bedroom, fraught with conflicting emotions.
His hands and heart were clenched as he entered the cabin's kitchen. He couldn't believe what Flint had done to his son; tortured him!
John had expected- erroneously and naively- Flint to talk to Sam, remind him why hunting was worthwhile, all the innocent people who could be saved… and instead the bastard had hurt him.
The eldest Winchester paused to gaze for a moment at the hunter's body, a sneer twisting his features.
John stormed out of the cabin, letting the door slam behind him as he headed back the way he and Dean had come.
On the other hand, Eli Flint had done as he had promised. In a roundabout way, he had prevented Sam from going to school. After four weeks and what may be many more to allow for recovery, Sam would probably not be going to college, just as his father had wanted.
SPN
Dean couldn't take his eyes off his brother's battered face. He knew it was foolish but all he wanted to do was hug Sam, kiss his injuries and make them better, just as he'd been able to do when his brother had been little and had a scraped knee or bruised elbow.
"I- I'm s-sorry, Sammy," Dean murmured, tears welling up in his hazel eyes once again, "I… I'm so sorry."
Carefully, Dean reached out and took one of Sam's hands in his own, waiting patiently for his brother to wake up.
W
A faint groan alerted Dean to the fact that his brother might be waking.
Leaning forward, the twenty-two year old gently squeezed his brother's hand.
"Sammy, hey, Sammy," Dean murmured and rubbed his sibling's knuckles with his thumb, "You with me?"
"Nuhhh," the eighteen-year old groaned quietly and his eyes fluttered open.
"Sammy," Dean called again and his brother's eyes darted around the room for a moment before landing on him.
"S-Sammy," the older brother said, his eyes welling up with tears.
"D'n…" Sam mumbled and struggled to sit up.
"Here, let me," Dean reached out and helped his brother sit.
"D'n," Sam repeated before swallowing thickly, "W-Why? W-what did I e-ever do to you?"
Dean, a moment ago so happy to see his brother awake, frowned.
"G-Get away from m-me! L-Leave m-me alone!" Sam cried out suddenly, his eyes glazed with fever, pulling away from his brother.
"Sam!" Dean exclaimed, grabbing the teen's wrists and holding them still, "Sam, it's okay! It's just me!"
"Its just me," the twenty-two year old whispered, the meaning of Sam's words hitting him like a ton of bricks.
"Sammy," Dean whispered, then spoke louder, "Look at me, Sammy."
Reluctantly the eighteen year old stopped fighting and turned his gaze to his brother.
"It wasn't me," Dean assured him, "I promise you. It wasn't me. I didn't have anything to do with Flint. I didn't even know about him until twenty-four hours ago."
Sam appeared to be listening- or at least he wasn't struggling anymore- so Dean continued, not sure how much was getting through to his brother's fever-addled brain. He hoped that the Tylenol had done its job and his brother's temperature had tone down some.
"I was so proud… so proud when you told me about Stanford," Dean continued, "Who wouldn't be happy that their little brother had gotten into one of the best schools in the country?"
"You'd been talking about college ever since junior high," Dean kept speaking, "It was your dream to go."
The twenty-two year old wiped no-so-surreptitiously at his eyes, "I'd never take that away from you."
Sam stared at him for a long moment, as though trying to gauge the truth in Dean's words. After a minute or so, the teen seemed to believe Dean's innocence and he nodded.
"And Dad?"
The hope in those two words almost broke Dean's heart. He knew what Sam wanted him to say: No, Sammy, of course, not. Dad had nothing to do with this. Flint found out about you all by himself and did those horrible things to you because he was crazy.
But Dean couldn't lie to his brother, not even to spare him to pain of knowing their father had a hand in Sam's torture, if only because he had been the one to deliver him right to his sibling's tormentor.
Sighing, Dean shook his head and looked away from his brother.
Sam pulled his hands free of Dean's slackened grip and when the twenty-two year old looked at him again, the teen's face was crumpled though he did not cry.
"Why don't you lay down and get some rest, Sammy?" Dean murmured half-heartedly.
Without responding, Sam allowed his sibling to help him onto his side and closed his eyes, his breathing quickly becoming slow and steady with sleep.
W
Hands clenched into fists so tight his nails dug into his palms; Dean stalked his way into the kitchen and turned on Flint's corpse still sitting at the table.
"You fucking bastard!" Dean shouted, grabbing the dead man by the front of his shirt, "You son of a bitch! What did you do to him? Huh? What the fuck did you do to my brother?"
Dean shook the corpse so hard that a glob of brain matter fell out from the hunter's exposed cranium and landed on the floor behind him with a wet plop.
The twenty-two year old shoved the man away and lurched to the kitchen sink, retching.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Dean trudged back towards the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed once again, leaning forward when Sam moaned in his sleep.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean murmured and gently touched his brother's hair, careful not to press down hard and risk bursting the blisters on his scalp, "It's okay. You're safe now. I'm not going to let anyone ever hurt you again."
After a moment, the teen quieted down once again into a peaceful sleep and Dean relaxed.
SPN
It was almost dark by time John pulled the Impala in beside Flint's silver T-Bird. He didn't immediately get out of the vehicle but sat in the driver's seat, wondering if Sam had woken up yet.
Slowly, John exited the Chevy and climbed the porch steps.
He opened the door quietly and stood still for a moment before his gaze lit upon Flint's body.
Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, John knew that they couldn't stay for much longer with a corpse only a few feet away from them.
SPN
Dean's body tensed with anticipation when he heard the familiar growl of the Impala's engine- even from the back bedroom- and the cabin door slam shut after his father.
The twenty-two year old kept his eyes on his brother, afraid of what he might do if John decided to show his face at that moment.
Instead, it seemed as though their father had other plans and Dean heard the sound of John moving a heavy object around in the front of the cabin.
Sam groaned again in his sleep and Dean quickly soothed him, assuring his brother that he was safe.
The older sibling listened intently as the sounds faded from the front of the cabin and he knew that once again they were alone.
Dean knew that Sam's reunion with John was not going to be a happy one- at all- and he wanted to prevent that eventual meeting for as long as possible. He was torn between letting John and Sam interact- he knew that their father did feel guilty about what had happened- and taking the Impala and getting his brother the hell away from the man.
Sighing, Dean raked a hand through his short-cropped hair. He decided he would wait and see what Sam wanted.
W
"Dean."
The twenty-two year groaned but did not wake.
"Dean."
John's older son blinked and sat up, realizing that he had fallen asleep, slumped where he sat.
Gaze instantly falling on his brother; Dean saw that Sam wasn't looking at him but behind him.
Peering over his shoulder, Dean saw that their father was standing in the bedroom doorway.
Dean's hackles rose instantly but John ignored him as he stepped forward.
"Sam," John said quietly.
Turning back to his sibling, Dean saw a hurt look on his brother's face.
"Sammy-" Dean began but John interrupted.
"I'm glad you're awake."
The teen made no response.
"What do you want?" Dean snapped angrily.
John's expression darkened, "I have a right to see Sam if I want to, Dean! I'm his father, not you!"
The twenty-two year old stood up quickly, hands forming into fists.
"You lost that right when you decided to hand him over to some nutjob because you didn't want him to have a different life than what you saw fit!"
John moved forward and Dean made to rush forward to meet him when he felt a hot, clammy hand clamp in a vice-like grip around his arm.
The twenty-two year old peered over his shoulder at his brother and stared right into Sam's large, damp eyes.
Despite the fact that he wanted to punch John's lights out, Dean didn't want to upset his brother.
Slowly, the twenty-two year old unclenched his hands and sat back down on the mattress.
He watched warily as John approached and stood at the foot of the bed.
"How are you feeling?" their father asked quietly, hesitantly.
Sam didn't answer so Dean spoke for him.
"Better. His fever's gone down a bit."
John nodded, "Son, I… I just want you to know that… whatever Flint did… I didn't know he would do that-"
"What did he do, Sam? Why don't you tell Dad?" Dean asked, his anger at his father making him short with his brother.
Sam gazed at his brother, his puppy-eyes in full force.
Dean turned away from his brother and back to their father, glaring at the man.
"Tell him, Sammy," the twenty-two year old insisted, "Tell Dad what he helped Flint do."
Author's Note:
Thanks to Icyfox West, Mistycat, BranchSuper, Colby's girl, babyreaper, Luv2FigureSkate8, pryde23, FIGHTTHEFAIRIES, mcddeSHeno, scootersmom, SamDeanLover28, jo1966, StyxxsOmega, SPN Mum, whatnosheep, ktdog1, Sad-Blue-Eyed-Angel 2010, Kas3y, Wholocked221, Trucklady53, Jenjoremy, reannablue, WRATH77 and Guests for reviewing.
Sorry for yet another cliffhanger. At least now we know Sam's status. Please leave a review and I will try and update as soon as possible.