Just want to thanks you guys again for all the lovely reviews-they are very encouraging! You guys rock:) x
Chapter 12
Sam finally settled into a restful sleep just after midnight, his fever reduced enough for his body to give in to exhaustion. Wandell sat in a far corner of the room asleep in a chair where she had eventually been forced to sit in by Bobby so he could check her over. Red hair cascaded over one side of her face obscuring the purple bruise on her cheek as well as the bandage covering a large gash on her forehead. She stirred slightly in her sleep, tossing in the rickety chair before settling down again. Her noise startled Dean from his guilty brooding for a moment.
He had sat holding Sam's hand for several hours now, bathing his forehead in cold water, ice, anything to bring down his fever. He had even coaxed him to take a few Tylenol before he had passed out from pain. He had insisted on stitching up Sam's bullet wounds himself- to Bobby's disgruntled acquiescence.
The old hunter had hovered over Dean, making sure that he was himself steady enough to work on Sam before Dean had glared at him one too many times and he eventually slumped off to tend to Wandell, who had also hovered over Dean, watching with fascinated horror, guilt. Even Bobby didn't trust him to take care of Sammy any more! But then how could he? He had failed to protect his brother again- had nearly lost him again.
God this is all my fault! I should have just talked to him when he wanted to-when he needed me to talk to him! We would never have argued and he wouldn't have gone off to the shops and been caught by Gordon and-
Dean glanced up for a moment hearing Wandell squirm in her chair, hazel eyes darkening as they settled on her sleeping form…Meg would never have gotten to Sammy.
Meg. Dean shook his head angrily. How had he let this happen? How was he supposed to find a way to fix this before his time was up? He couldn't leave Sam knowing that Meg would one day claw her way back out of Hell and find him!
Not for the first time he wished his father were still alive-he would have known what to do…
He allowed himself to be sucked inexorably back into the raging torrent of questions swirling round his fuzzy brain, the what if's and if only's taunting him with their numbers.
Bobby was in his kitchen, a phone held up to his ear as he informed Deacon of the evenings events. The dark haired officer was equally as distraught as Bobby at what had happened to John's children, especially after the help Dean and Sam had given him. They had allowed themselves to be arrested to take care of a haunting in his prison and he wanted nothing more than to return that favour, stating that he would keep an eye out for anyone wanting to harm Sam and Dean. They had enough to deal with with the supernatural without adding sadistic humans to the mix.
Bobby thanked the old friend and ended the call, going to stand by the door to observe the boys. He scrubbed a weary hand over his features as he looked at them; Dean staring at Sam's supine form, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, from tears that he had tried to hide. One look at him and Bobby paced back to the kitchen to return a few moments later with a bottle of whiskey and a coffee.
He settled down on the sofa beside Sam's feet and peered down at him in sympathy unable to stop the fleeting thought that it was odd actually looking down on the tall youngster. He should never seem so small….
Dean didn't even notice his presence: he sat gazing at Sam's pale, innocent countenance, a firm yet gentle hand resting over his unruly mop of brown hair. Bobby cleared his throat as he thrust the steaming brew beneath his nose succeeding in finally drawing his attention. A wan, grateful smile was his thanks as Dean accepted the mug and gulped down a scalding mouthful with a satisfied moan.
"How you holdin' up?" Bobby asked, resettling the cap on his head after giving it a thoughtful scratch. Dean's unfocussed eye's answered for him but if he knew one thing about Dean Winchester it was his drive to watch out for Sam. He would not allow himself sleep while his brother was so helpless. He changed tact. Get him to talk first.
"How's Sam?" This time Dean met his eyes.
Aching hazel stared back at him and for a moment Bobby wished Dean would turn back to his brother. But then the barrier was up once more, the guilt, the failure, pushed down, accepted.
"He's sleeping" Dean replied, unable to stifle a yawn that was closely followed by a hiss of pain as he stretched stiff muscles. He clutched his side unaware of the scowl Bobby wore.
"Dean you need to rest. Why don't you let me take over here huh?"
Despite the gentle tone Bobby used Dean could not help the flare of angry fear that pulsed through him. "NO! No…I don't wanna leave him…I promised…" he trailed off, ducking his head down with a shake as he murmured an apology for being so short. A reassuring hand on his shoulder told him Bobby understood and he looked up at the older man again, a sheepish smile so unlike his usual cocky grin playing over his tired face.
Bobby was shaking his head now, amusement evident in his voice. "Stubborn jackass…at least let me take a look at you." He didn't wait for a reply before he began prodding at the obstinate younger man.
Dean reluctantly released his brother's hand and allowed Bobby to check him over. He sat on the floor next to Sam, refusing to part any further than necessary, staring ineffectually at the storm outside through a rain drenched window. All he could really see was his own battered reflection gazing back at him…his brother lying so unusually still, broken…
A hiss of pain escaped him as Bobby found what was likely a few broken ribs that he had managed to ignore. That sounded about right given his luck…or lack thereof. He squeezed his eyes shut as a curse flew from his mouth, hands fisting into balls at his side.
"'m gonna need to wrap these Dean…for once I think you managed not to break 'em though-looks like mostly bruising…"
"Doesn't feel like mostly bruising." Dean grumbled, taking the proffered bottle of whiskey and slugging down a few mouthfuls. He gave a sigh as the fiery warmth flowed through him, settling in the pit of his stomach, trying to ignore the chuckle that escape the older hunter. A few minutes later and Bobby had forcefully wrapped a bandage around him as well having cleaned out the deep gash on Dean's hairline.
"You really need to work on your bedside manner," Dean snarked, jerking back hastily before Bobby could start stitching him. A stern look came over the older man at which Dean shifted closer reluctantly, turning at the last second with a hand held up.
"Use the butterfly stitches!" he demanded. Bobby's brow raised in challenge. Hazel eyes flicked to Sam and Dean smirked trying to change tactic and act like Sammy. His eyes became orbs, his voice now imploring.
A hoot of laughter escape from under the red cap. Moments later Bobby's face turned up again to meet Dean's glare, tears of mirth in his eyes as he shook his head, suddenly all seriousness.
"Not a chance in Hell…quit being such a girl!" came the reprimand.
"Worth a try…" Dean muttered, swilling more hot amber liquid in preparation for the pain to come.
"Now that wasn't so bad was it?" Bobby asked a while later in a patronising voice, dabbing a large plaster in place over the stitches to prevent infection. An indistinct grumble came from the young man on the floor as he watched Bobby limp into the kitchen.
Sam groaned, shifting. Dean's hand was instantly holding his again, rubbing small circles on the back of his hand, as much a comfort for himself as his brother. He placed his other hand on Sam's forehead, pleased to feel his fever was somewhat abated. He was, however, still hot so Dean picked up the washcloth beside him and began moping over Sam's forehead, down his face, neck, and back again.
"Here-to keep you awake" Bobby handed over a huge mug-more of a tankard really, Dean surmised- of thick coffee.
"Thanks man" He said, his voice deep, husky, from both the whiskey and lack of sleep.
Bobby nodded, a mug held in his own hands as he cleared aside the first aid kits. He went off for a shower smiling when he returned to see Dean slumped on the floor beside the sofa, hand still in Sam's, sound asleep. His empty coffee mug sat discarded on the floor behind him.
"Stubborn jackass…" he muttered fondly. Moments later a woollen blanket found its way over Dean's slumbering form.
Bobby looked at his watch. It was 2:30am. He mused over his dilemma: Wake Dean to watch over Sam whilst he went to torch Gordon's remains or watch over them all himself and wait till morning. He knew Dean didn't want to be sleeping-that he wanted to watch over his brother but reasoned that he would wake Dean in an hour anyway to check on his concussion. Besides he needed the rest. The seasoned hunter went off into the kitchen this time returning with coffee for himself, decision made.
He would wake Dean in an hour and ask him what he wanted to do.
Bobby decided that either way it was going to be a very long night.
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So a change of pace in this chapter-thought the mood needed lightened a bit towards the end lol, much as I love angst. Possibly a few more chapters to go in this but I'm not sure- namely cause I can't decide whether to add in an extra bit that floating about my head so if you want me to keep going let me know lol! If not it will be wrapped up in maybe 2 chapters. Hope you're enjoying it anyway :) x
