I've Got a Crush on You Chapter 11 An Absolute Perfect End
Taking advantage of his grandmother's brandy bottle, young Stan poured a heavy shot into both Sam's and his own coffee. He knew how worried Sam was about his brother and felt responsible for keeping Sam's mind occupied. He dished out two of his Gran's prize-winning lemon poppy seed muffins for each of them on the plates provided, and then motioned for Sam to sit down.
Sam eased into the high-backed oak chair across the table from Stan, actually looking forward to this island of calm in what had been a miserable, worrisome, tumultuous eighteen hours. Sam could smell the heat from the electric furnace as it hissed from the vents on either side of the room and the warmth relaxed him. He welcomed the opportunity to just perch on a chair eating breakfast in this wonderfully, comfortable country kitchen with its warm sunshine yellow walls and cheerful company-friendly décor. It was a normal beginning to a normal day by most people's standards, if you weren't a Winchester. Suddenly he felt guilty at his own comfort knowing Dean lay only a short distance away suffering.
Stan's voice pulled him back from his thoughts as the boy pushed a glass tray with small carafes towards him. "Sam, you want cream or sugar?"
"Oh. Oh, yeah, Stan. Both." Sam's mind had been about thirty feet away, wondering what was happening to Dean.
"Sam, don't worry. Please? My Gran is so good at what she does. She was head nurse on a big surgical team for years. And back in the '60's she was a field hospital surgery nurse in Viet Nam. Dean's in great hands!" Stan smiled reassuringly.
"I know you're right, Stan. It's just that Dean's all I have… and I can't help but worry."
Sam stirred his cream and sugar into his coffee and gazed at the boy with anxious eyes. Picking up one of the big muffins from his plate he was surprised to find it still warm from the oven. Biting into it, he was delighted at the sweet lemony flavor. "Stan, if Gran is half as good a nurse as she is a baker, you're right… Dean's in awesome hands!"
Just then Gran bustled into the kitchen, no longer in her furry pink robe but now in a set of blue surgical scrubs, looking every bit the medical professional they so desperately needed. Seeing Sam pushing to his feet she laid a small hand on his shoulder gently pushing him back onto the chair.
"We're doing just fine in there, dearie. No need to get up. A very nice young man that brother of yours. Just came out for a few supplies I needed." Her merry blue eyes twinkled in her sweet smiling face, chuckling, she added, "Quite silly when he's been drinking… and a bit shy!"
Digging around under the sink, she retrieved a fresh bottle of Ivory dish soap and then moved to a white cabinet nestled in the corner behind the big refrigerator. Taking only a few moments she stepped away with a packet wrapped in sparkling white linen. Turning to address the boys, her first question was directed at Sam. "Any more in that bottle he was sucking on earlier, Sam? Don't think we should mix 'pain killers' here."
"Yes, ma'am. In the back seat of the car, I'll go…"
Sam was interrupted as Gran switched her eyes to Stan. "Stan, go!
Don't just sit there, go fetch that bottle and be quick about it!"
As the pimply-faced teen raced through the house and out the front door, Gran turned to Sam. "He's a good boy. Always tries to do the right thing, been pretty down since my other grandson died. They were more like brothers really. Been hard on everyone but harder on Stan."
Sam could see her eyes tearing up and he moved to stand beside her a big arm cradling her shoulders. "Dean told me about his death. I'm so sorry, Gran. Listen, Dean and Stan found out Malone was making meth out at the yard. They set fire to the damned place!"
"Malone?! I never liked that man." Her sad eyes suddenly flashed with anger.
Sam smiled down at her. "Well, your Stan is quite a hero. They packed up a bunch of evidence and Stan gave it to the District Attorney right before we came here."
Stan stepped back into the kitchen, bottle of Crown Royal gripped by the neck. He looked confused as Gran suddenly threw her arms around him in a big bear hug. Then the confusion changed to a smile of pure pleasure as he relaxed into her wonderful warm embrace. "Gran, all I did was run to the car. No big deal."
Before gathering her supplies and bustling back to her medical duties, Gran smiled at Sam. "Don't you worry about your big brother, honey. I'll take real good care of him. You'll be able to see him in about an hour and then it's serious naptime… for all THREE of you. No arguments. Plenty of beds."
Sam chuckled as she left as abruptly as she had entered. He had never felt this comfortable about seeking medical help in their whole hunting career. Gran might lack a doctorate in medicine but her motherly concern more than made up for that.
Taking a big gulp of his brandy-laced coffee, Sam relaxed into the big wooden chair cradling the hot ceramic cup in his big hands, enjoying the warmth the liquid created in his belly. Oh, today is going to be a much better day!
Back in the bedroom, Gran had placed her little linen packet, the liquor and dish soap on a TV tray she had stationed near the bed and was gently helping the drunken young hunter remove the soiled, bloodied lab coat. Dean tried to assist in the removal, but he kept getting twisted up even worse in the fabric, which did nothing more than illicit another volley of giggles from the very tipsy young man.
Gran couldn't help but chuckle as she finally instructed him to just lie still as she rotated him side to side peeling the coat from his body. He was grinning triumphantly as he was finally free of the bloodied material.
"Dean, honey, we're going to have to get a peek at your cuts, is that all right? I'll need you to roll onto your right side for a moment or two." Gran tried to keep him from feeling violated, because who wants any stranger looking at his ass.
He rolled obediently to his side and allowed her to lift the bloodied boxers' fabric without comment. He could see her face as the retired nurse did her evaluation of his injuries. Despite feeling really out of it, Dean could still recognize deep concern even through his alcohol-hazed vision. Her frown did not make this any easier.
"Dean, sweetie, I need to sit you up now. Is that okay?"
"Sure, Grannie, been sit'n up since I was little…" Placing both hands alongside his hips, Dean tried frustratingly to push upright but it wasn't happening. With Gran's hands lifting his shoulders he finally made it. She softly guided his muck-smeared, bloody legs over the side of the bed and kneeling beside him gently, efficiently removed his fabric shielded boots and socks from his feet.
"Gran, I really need s'more Crown… I hurt." Dean gestured towards the amber liquor on the little wooden tray. He accepted the bottle as she silently placed it, uncapped, into his hands.
"Not too much, son. We still have to get you to the bathroom for a nice shower. You can have all you want when we get back here." She put the cap back in place and helped the young man to his rather shaky legs. "Dean, can you hold onto the wall here for just a moment? Need to put down a fresh sheet. Want to keep everything nice and sterile for you."
Yanking the soiled sheet from the bed, she spread another with the practiced grace of a longtime caregiver, then quickly moved to his side once more, the bottle of soap in one hand. Wrapping an arm gently but securely around the young man's waist, she guided him across the narrow hall to the bathroom, thanking God as they entered that she had that freestanding shower stall added last year. Her patient's wounds would not have appreciated climbing into that old high tub of hers.
Suddenly the inebriated Dean became quite shy, looking nervously around for some kind of covering. Seeing his eyes flitting about, Gran stepped forward to ease his distress. "Honey, believe me. I've seen it all before thousands of times, if that helps any. Let's get you a nice big bath towel for after and for now you can climb in the shower and toss your shorts over the door. Okay? Door is frosted. You'll be okay."
Reeling slightly as he moved away from her, Dean caught a quick glimpse of himself in the big mirror over the sink. "Aw,… I can't shower here. I'm too dirty." He looked pleadingly at the kindly woman. "It will… make a mess."
"Sweetheart, just don't you fret. That's why they make all these great drain cleaners. You just worry about getting that 'mess' off of you. This dish soap cuts grease but it's pretty gentle. I think it'll do the trick. Here's a nice big washcloth. I'll sit right here in this chair. Let me know when you need the towel or if you need help. Shampoo's on the little shelf in the shower."
Climbing with a definite wobble into the stall, Dean tugged the door shut behind him. Gran saw him lean against the back wall as he wrestled with his boxers, trying with great difficulty not to faceplant on the shower floor. The ruined boxers fell softly to the bathroom floor, and she heard the water faucets turn on. He fumbled a bit with the soap and shampoo, but soon she could hear his happy sighs as the hot water and soap did their job.
Gran smiled as she heard the hunter begin to hum softly to himself, a song she recognized from years of listening to music with the kids and grandkids. Metallica had been a favorite band in her household and "The Unforgiven" was one of their best. She prayed that between the blood loss and booze Dean would be able to stand long enough to finish the shower. Once he was back on the bed he'd be fine. A thought came to her as she sat thinking about the young man's endearing shyness, getting up she pulled some scissors from the vanity and cut into one of her best white towels.
Inside the stall, Dean willed himself to stay on his feet, knowing Sam was nearby brought some comfort at least. He grimaced distastefully looking down at the nasty coating that spread across his muscled body and ran nearly chin to shin. He scrubbed some rather pleasant but girlie-smelling shampoo roughly through his short blond hair and stepped beneath the comforting hot spray of the shower. Pouring copious amounts of Ivory onto the big thick washcloth he began to lather and scrub at the vile oily stuff. Humming thoughtlessly as he tried to clean the remnants of the previous night from his body, if not from his memory. Glancing at the stall floor he could see the sludge going down the drain. Shit! That stuff was nasty. Hope it doesn't ruin her shower…
Once his thick torso, arms, and legs looked decent, he automatically reached behind him and started scrubbing his flanks. Despite all the Crown Royal, he felt a rush of pain and fire that sucked the breath out of him. He groaned painfully, gasping for air. Winchester, you stupid friggin' moron! Owww!!! Think for God's sake!! You dumbass! How could you forget?
In an instant the door was torn open and his worried nurse stood pensively in the opening! Horrified, Dean instantly bent forward, lightning-quick arms over his privates, painfully banging his head on the faucets in the process. Gran was even more red-faced and quickly slammed the door shut.
"Dean, I'm soooo sorry. I wasn't thinking! Well… I was… but I thought you fell. I'm sorry." Gran's voice was halting and muffled as it filtered through the closed door and water spray. Dean smiled appreciating that they were both embarrassed.
Dean then proceeded to carefully finish the shower, looking forward to drowning not only his pain but also his embarrassment in the remnants of the Crown Royal. The hot water had helped him relax but the scrubbing had definitely reactivated the pain, increasing its intensity.
Shutting off the water, he called through the door to Gran. "Okay, Gran. I'm ready for that towel now." In response, a large dark green bath towel was handed over the top of the door. He quickly dried the water from his hair and body, this time being cautious about his injured flanks. Wrapping the towel around his hips, he stepped out of the stall.
"Dean, I'm really sorry. I…" she started. As Gran wrapped her arm once again around his waist for the trip across the hall, she couldn't meet his gaze or he might read what she was thinking. Why the hell didn't they make guys that looked like this when I was young!! MMM!! Good thing I'm not a young chick. I could NEVER do this. Lord, give me strength!
"Nah, no problem. I shouldn't have cried out like that."
Gran helped him to the bed and handed him the liquor bottle once again. "Dean, I have to warn you this may be pretty painful. There's no way around stitching up those gashes. Judging by your scars and bruises I'm guessing you're pretty used to pain. I just hate to be the cause of more of it, honey. I'm so sorry."
Dean gulped down several mouthfuls of the alcohol and allowed the burn in his stomach to surge through him. Grinning his patented Winchester devil-may-care grin, he patted her hand in reassurance. "Gran, enough of this stuff and you could run me through a damned Singer sewing machine; I'd never know the difference!"
They both laughed and she helped him swing his legs up onto the mattress. Grabbing a couple more swigs as he watched her open the packet on the table, he smiled. Professional stitches, no fear! Hell, I remember having to use dental floss one time after a hunt! This should be a cakewalk!
When Dean started chortling and giddily babbling to himself, with a silly shit-faced grin, she knew her patient was ready to begin. Holding up a thick white towel with a hole cut in the center, Gran announced, "Look, Dean, I made you a modesty shield. That will cover you and just let the area I have to stitch show through."
"Awwww, Gran, didn' hafta wreck a towel fer me. Not the firs' pretty girl to see my hansom' ass!" He melted into a puddle of giggles as he sunk into the pillow she slid beneath his head. "Nope. Not the firs'. Unh-unh… "
"Well, let's see if we can keep it handsome, dearie. Now, I'll try to be gentle but you have to hold very still for me. Okay, let's have you roll onto your right side… No, Dean… your other right side. That's my boy."
She had to smile at his macho silliness. What a wonderful young man, his parents must be so proud of him. The younger brother seems so similar. Nice to see young ones caring for each other like this!
As Gran readied the sutures she found herself humming "TheUnforgiven," unable to get the tune out of her head. Glancing at Dean, she couldn't help but notice him relaxing further with the sound. Well, as long as it didn't disturb him, she thought, and she continued the soft drone. Suddenly feeling eyes on her, she looked toward the hall.
Tall, handsome Sam stood quietly outside the bedroom, smiling gently. "He hums you know. It focuses him. Gives him a kind of peace. Ever since we were kids he'd hum or sing for me when I was sick or hurt. Is he okay, Gran? Do you need any help?"
She smiled at the bond between these brothers, this determination to care for one another. "We're doing okay, Sam. This will take about fifteen maybe twenty minutes and then you can sit with him but only for a few moments. I want to give him some antibiotics, not the best thing with the whiskey but we needed the anesthetic quality of it. I also want your promise that you'll stay at least today and tomorrow night. We need to watch the cuts for infection and watch this fever closely."
"Gran, thanks so much. Not many would help strangers like this." Sam's warm smile lit up the room better than sunshine, she observed.
"Honey, you boys aren't strangers. Knew that when we shared that ride yesterday. We're supposed to help each other." She turned, hearing Dean moan softly through his snoring. "Well, I guess he won't feel this now. Is he always like this drunk? He's a bit of a flirt, hmm?"
Sam chuckled as he moved backed toward the kitchen. "Yeah, he is."
Nearly ten hours had passed since the medical ministrations had been completed and Sam and Stan sat at the kitchen table eating huge plates of homemade spaghetti and meatballs with Gran. They had both slept a solid eight hours and Dean was still asleep.
At nearly six the phone rang and Stan ran to answer it. Sam and Gran could hear his excited voice as he had a short animated conversation. Coming back into the kitchen, that grin couldn't have been any wider. "We're supposed to watch the Six O'clock News."
Suddenly a cough and a plaintive voice sounded from down the hallway. "Hey, I wanna watch TV!"
Laughing, Sam and Gran followed Stan down the hall. Dean looked much better. Using a thermometer, Gran was pleased to see his temperature had dropped to a very workable 99.3 and his bandages appeared to be fine as well. Stepping to the bed table, Gran returned with an armful of clothes, which she handed to Sam.
"Dean, honey, these were my grandson, Kip's, clothes. He was about your size. He liked those soft flannel pants and t-shirts for around the house."
Grabbing Stan's arm she guided him from the room. "Sam will help you change, dear. Sitting may be a bit difficult yet but I have a little bar with high stools you could perch on so we can eat and watch the news. Okay?" With that she turned and was gone, leaving the two young hunters looking amazed in her wake.
"Wow! What a lady!" Sam just stared after her.
"Sammy, where's that rotten Winchester luck? Man, she shoulda worn an angel outfit last night. How do we deserve her?" Dean pushed himself into a painful, stiff sitting position and Sam helped him slide his lower legs into the flannel pants. Turning his back to Dean, Sam stood close enough for Dean to grab onto his belt for assistance in getting to his feet. Dean tossed his towel onto the bed and yanked the green plaid pants up onto his naked hips. Tying them quickly, he grabbed at the gray t-shirt Sam held. "Damn, I almost feel human again."
Sam helped him struggle into the shirt and grasping Dean's elbow for support, escorted him to the kitchen. Gran had already fixed Dean a big plate of steaming spaghetti with extra meatballs and with a wave of her hand shooed the boys ahead of her into the living room.
Stan had turned on the big 36 inch TV, arranging four barstools facing the big screen. Sam and Stan moved the little Formica-topped bar to the middle of the room in front of the stools while Gran set up Dean's place and then went to the kitchen with Stan to fetch the other plates and drinks. Dean awkwardly eased his uninjured right buttock onto the edge of a barstool, grimacing as he tried to get positioned to eat. Soon the great home-cooked meal happily eased the pain.
As they were waiting for the news to start, Gran turned to Dean. "If you don't mind my asking, Dean, what size boots do you wear?'
"Tens, ma'am. Why? I'm so sorry I tracked blood and mud all over your nice house, didn't I?"
"Will you boys quit worrying about such things? You've been NO trouble at all! The reason I asked was because I'd bought a nice pair of Doc Martens to give Kip for Christmas. They'll just sit and collect dust if you don't take them." She held up her hand to quell any argument Dean might attempt. "And… before we go any further, you are put on notice that you have to stay 'til at least the day after tomorrow. I don't take kindly to people arguing with me in my own home. Not open to discussion…"
Dean's mouth snapped shut, a pleased smile slid over his handsome face.
As if on cue, the TV News was suddenly blaring, "And tonight breaking news from our District Attorney and the Sheriff's office…"
The camera broke away to a LIVE broadcast filming in front of the Sheriff's office. The serious face of a young, blond female reporter filled the screen. "And tonight, the District Attorney's office, in conjunction with our Sheriff, will address us momentarily on the arrests. Just minutes ago, of the owner of one of our most successful local businesses, a local police officer and his wife, who held a high position in city government, along with five others, possibly employed at this same business... Wait! Here comes the DA and Sheriff now….
The camera then swung to a podium hastily set up in a parking lot. Behind it stood a distinguished looking, mustachioed man in a sheriff's uniform and the man they had seen on Tim's porch that morning. The DA was the first to speak… "Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Lake City, we are here to announce the arrests today of members of a major drug ring and auto theft mob who had preyed on our fair city for years. Ralph Malone, owner of a local junkyard, his sister, Wanda Sanders, our city clerk, and her husband, James, a local police officer are now behind bars and shall remain there thanks to evidence brought to our attention by a local good citizen. Numerous others involved in obtaining and distributing these illegal materials have also been arrested. I'm turning the microphone over to Sheriff Thompkins for further questions."
Stan, Sam, Dean and Gran had ceased eating, since food doesn't stay in your mouth very well when you're grinning from ear-to-ear. They had sat quietly through the entire announcement but now were moved to cheering and 'high-fives' as they heard the sheriff read the lengthy list of charges.
Gran joyfully hugged each of the boys in turn, proclaiming, "I'm so proud of all my boys."
Stan's grin wouldn't come off with a jackhammer, standing with his arm around his grandmother, he faced Dean, "Now, you guys hafta stay. We got some heavy duty celebrating to do!"
Shoveling the last food off his plate, Dean grinned, despite a face full of spaghetti and meatballs, nodding his head. "You bet your ass…" he chuckled, rewinding a bit. "You bet MY ass we will! As long as Gran keeps cooking like this! Might have to get us evicted at some point."
Gran was the one grinning now. "Naw! I'll just get my wooden spoon!"
At that both hunters burst out laughing. Dean slid an arm around Gran's shoulders as they moved toward the kitchen for a second helping. Leaning his head down on top of hers, he shared, "Actually, I think your spoon is in my backseat and a wonderful spoon it is. Let me tell you about some additional uses I found for those things."
Turning with an afterthought, he asked Sam, "If we're staying for the next few days, Sasquatch, you are so going to need a shower! While you're fetching your clothes, would you grab that Percocet out of the box? Butt's really going to need them!"
Gran suddenly perked up, seeing Sam grab his jacket off the chair by the door, "Sam, honey, while you're out there, grab Dean's jacket too, will you? I seem to remember the baby getting greasepaint on it…"
As Sam moved toward the door, he heard Dean ask with seemingly casual offhandedness, "So… uh… Gran, did you really make my ass pretty again?"
Gran gave a soft chuckle. "Rest assured, honey, it's been restored to its original glory like the fine work of art that it is."
Only Dean! What an ass, sometimes!!