Lies I Never Told
Chapter 12
S s S s S
This was his nightmare. He pushed his forehead into Dean's back. He had seen the clearing, seen his brother just as he was now and he had pushed it aside, and chalked it up as some kind of stupid metaphor with which his subconscious had seen fit to torture him. Why did it have to be so goddamn literal? He had also seen Jessica in these woods, and he knew that was never going to happen. Jessica was gone, burnt up by a fire that had haunted his sleep for weeks beforehand. Sam pulled away from his brother.
Dean was still here, for the moment, still in one piece. He would stop this.
Get it together Winchester.
Dean would mock him mercilessly if he caught Sam sniffling into his jacket.
Don't be such a freaking pansy.
Sam got back onto his knees and fighting against his leaden limbs, grabbed Dean and rolled him over on to his back again. As he did so, he noticed a splash of color on Dean's right hand, a glistening spot of red. It was a small cut, a scratch across the knuckles. Sam watched as a small droplet of blood rolled across the back of Dean's hand, slowly followed by another that welled up and trickled along the same path. Corpses don't bleed.
Sam wound his arms around his brother and hoisted him up, shuffling backwards on his knees he dragged his brother into the maelstrom at his back, praying that the thing hadn't grown any bigger. He kept his eyes tightly shut, if he couldn't see it, it couldn't hurt him. Logic, he decided, was pretty thin on the ground in these parts.
The wind screeched and hissed, pummeling him from all sides, it was taking longer than before. He stopped, renewing his grip around Dean's inert form and wriggled across the wet ground. It took him a while to realize that the wind was fading away. When he opened his eyes, the air was filled with leaves, fluttering to the ground, spinning lazily down and settling all around him. It was quiet and the sky was brightening, whatever it was, it had stopped. Sam let loose a shuddering sigh of relief and dropped his head onto the convenient support of Dean's shoulder. Dean twitched.
"Dean. Oh God. Thank you, thank you, thank you," Sam chanted, lowering Dean to the ground and peering hopefully into his face. At some point Dean's eyes had fallen shut and although weak and sporadic, Sam could feel the subtle beat of a pulse beneath his fingertips. He squatted back on his heels, catching his breath. How in the hell was he going to get Dean back to the house? He was considering his limited options when a muscle twitched in his back and he knew that someone was watching him. Without moving, he raised his eyes to the edge of the clearing. Near enough for Sam to see his features clearly, stood Rudy, clad in a bright yellow slicker and rubber boots, his eyes wide with apparent shock. They stared at each other for a few seconds, Sam's emotions teetering between relief and the slow twist of suspicion. The old man was supposed to be miles away.
"Oh, my goodness." Rudy hurried over, nimbly sidestepping the soggy spots of ground and kneeling down beside Dean. He reached out a hand to Dean's neck, kindly concern written across his face. Sam leaned over his brother, grasping Rudy's wrist in a tight grip before he could make contact.
"I don't want to seem ungrateful, Mr. Hawksworth, but please don't touch my brother." Sam said apologetically. Rudy stared down at his hand and then back at Sam, and nodded gently.
"It's quite alright Samuel. I understand. Really, I do, but I can promise most wholeheartedly that I only want to help. Whatever has happened, I had no part in it. Please." Rudy met Sam's gaze, his clear grey eyes mirroring the gunmetal clouds above. Sam dropped his hand, Rudy was sincere, he knew that, but he had been hanging around Dean long enough to recognize misdirection when he heard it. On the other hand, maybe he was just getting better at spotting liars.
"So you didn't see it, then. The leaves, the twister?" Sam wondered how long Rudy had been standing there. Rudy stood up, shaking his head. "No. No. I just got here. We, uh, cut our trip short, returning sooner than expected. When Lotte informed me that you were still out here. Well, I was worried. Rightly so, I see. We should get your brother back to the house."
Sam frowned. "Still out here? It's only been a couple of hours." He glanced down at his watch, it had stopped at a few minutes before ten o'clock, they had left the house at about nine. He tapped it. "What is the time?' He looked up at Rudy, who looked back at him in surprise.
"It's almost two. Millicent was expecting you for lunch. She rather insisted I came to look for you."
Sam ran a hand through his hair, frowning in disbelief. Almost four hours. No way had they been out here that long. He stared down at the pale figure of his brother, how long had Dean been out there, exposed to the elements? Too long. Sam shook himself; he would figure it out later.
"I'm going to need your help, Mr. Hawksworth. Dean's not exactly a lightweight."
Rudy gave him a small, crooked smile. "There's life in this old dog, yet, young man."
Sam stood, pulled an arm over his shoulder and grabbing Dean tightly around his waist hauled him upright. Rudy wound Dean's other arm over his shoulder. He was considerably shorter than Sam, who was forced to hunch over and with Dean hanging between them like a lopsided rag doll, they stumbled towards the trees. Rudy had to be close to seventy, but his voluminous yellow coat hid a wiry frame. Sam was impressed despite his misgivings about Rudy's convenient appearance in the wood.
Sam let Rudy guide them. The old man led them to a narrow but distinct trail between the trees. Sam wondered how he and Dean had managed to miss it. That they had was no real surprise.
"You must know your way around here, Mr. Hawksworth, but how did you know to come to the clearing. I mean how did you know where to find us?" Sam asked his voice strained with the task of supporting his brother's body.
"I," Rudy huffed, "have gone over these," he took a large breath "trails many times. And don't forget the clearing is where I first encountered the apparition that you," Rudy renewed his grip on the arm over his shoulders, "dealt with last time. I thought it would be prudent to check there." His face was red from the exertion and Sam decided it was probably best to leave cross-examinations and small talk until later.
"Oh, right. Makes sense," he said lamely and they slogged on in labored silence, Dean's boots dragging behind them.
By the time, they reached the back gate Rudy was starting to stagger under the uncooperative weight of his burden and Sam was puffing hard. A familiar shriek heralded their arrival.
"Rudy my dear, what's wrong. Is Mr. Winchester all right? Oh dear Lord." Mrs. Hawksworth, also clad in a yellow raincoat, rushed to the gate.
"Calm down, Millie," Rudy paused for breath, "he's not injured that we can see, but he's been out for a long time. We should call Dr Browne." Rudy turned to Sam. "Unless you think we should take him to the hospital."
Sam hesitated, hospitals brought with them their own set of unique problems, but then it looked like Dean was in serious trouble. Blaine was dead and Dean had come way too close for comfort. Shit, Sam winced, painfully aware that the elderly couple anxiously awaiting his answer had no idea that their nephew was dead.
He rolled his shoulders, tugging at Dean's arm. The late Mr. Blaine could wait, his brother came first.
"Let's get him inside and yes, please call the doctor, Mrs. Hawksworth. I don't know exactly what happened, if it looks bad, I'll make the decision then." Sam hedged and started forward, trying not to think about how quickly the situation might deteriorate once he told them about Blaine.
They were struggling up the stairs, Mrs. Hawksworth with a supportive hand on her husband's back, when a sharp pain flared across Sam's temples, he stopped for a moment, and looking up he saw Agatha standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at them.
"Oh Agatha, my dear, there you are. How's your migraine? If you're feeling better perhaps you could get Dr Browne on the phone for me." Mrs. Hawksworth voice was uncomfortably loud. Sam glanced across at Rudy, who was staring at his sister; with a subtle incline of his head, he motioned her downstairs. Her grey eyes flickered across his face, her only acknowledgement to him.
"Of course, Millie. I do hope young Mr. Winchester is not grievously injured, I knew those woods were too dangerous," she replied quietly as she started down the stairs. Sam could feel the weight of her gaze as she passed him on the stairs. It made his skin crawl. Her sharp, bright eyes in vivid contrast to her aging features and softly spoken demeanor. He pulled Dean tighter against him.
S s S s S
Sam dropped Dean onto the pink comforter, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a soft groan as his muscles protested in relief. He checked for a pulse, it was definitely stronger now, but Dean's skin was sallow and his eyes dark and sunken. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
The Hawksworths had left him alone with Dean and had gone downstairs, to await the arrival of the doctor.
Sam pulled off Dean's boots and with gently efficiency extracted Dean from his jacket and jeans. His brother's skin was dry, and to Sam's careful touch, almost brittle. He could not help but think of the dried taut skin covering all that was left of Alan Blaine. Sucked dry, his life pulled into the earth around him. Damn, Sam sighed glumly, was such a thing possible?
Sam tucked the covers up around Dean's chin. He backed up a few step and sank down onto his own bed, surrendering to exhaustion. The ribbon wrapped charm still sat by the bedside lamp; he scooped it up angrily, turning it over in his hand. For a protection charm, it had done a lousy job; he tossed it back onto the nightstand. He hung his head, hating how ineffectual he felt; carelessly he ran a nail over the dried dirt on his jeans, brushing the small flakes to the floor. He tried not to think about what would happen if Dean never awoke. He was scratching so intently at a particularly stubborn splotch that he almost didn't hear the ragged whisper.
"Sammy."
