14: Let me heal you

'He's here!' Sam called up to Bobby and took the machete from the clip. He cut away the leathery, thick ivy. How Dean had been able to get in, he couldn't figure out, but he got the vegetation out of the way and pulled at the door. It was stuck, wedged into the doorframe, rusted in place after all these years. Sam stuck his head through the frame. 'Dean! Dean, can you hear me? It's me, Sam! Open your eyes, Dean! Come on!'

Dean was unresponsive. In the bleakness of Sam's flashlight, he looked bad. Pale as a sheet, dark rings under his eyes, blood streaks over his face, dark stains where dried-up blood had soaked his clothes a while ago. His arm hung in a peculiar angle over his chest. How long had he been in here? All this time?

From the rucksack Sam got a crowbar and used it to lift the door from its hinges. Finally, with a lot of screeching and squeaking and metal protesting, the door came lose and Sam got in.

'Dean! I'm here.' He touched his brother's face and gently patted it. 'Dean? Can you hear me?'

Beneath his fingers he could feel the cold in his brother's body. 'Dean... come on, please...' He searched for the jugular. Please please... Yeah! There it was, too slow and too faint for his liking, but it was good sign. 'Dean, we're gonna get you out, but you have to wake up.' Over his shoulder he cried out to Bobby: 'He's alive, but it's not looking good. Call a medivac!'

An affirmative answer came back from up top and Sam turned to Dean again. 'Come on, Dean. Wake up, buddy. We have to get you––'

A scream that could turn water into ice suddenly burst out inside the car. The next moment, Sam got thrown out of the car, through the air and then he slammed against a large rock. Something cracked. A rib. Two maybe. His head. The youngest of the two brothers let out a cry of pain. It brought stars to his vision. Blood ran down his face, into his right eye and the corner of his mouth.

'Oh my. Are you hurting? That doesn't look good,' a voice suddenly said. When Sam blinked away the fog that had momentarily clouded his vision, he saw a middle-aged woman kindly smiling at him. 'I heard something snapping. Ribs, I guess? You need a doctor. You want me to call a doctor?'

'No!' Sam grunted through gritted teeth. 'Get away from me. Let my brother go. Let me go.' Where was the salt gun? His fingers searched for it, but Molly was in the way. Her strength was incredible. Her small hand pressed his shoulder, the clavicle broke as if it was twig under his shoe. He shrieked with the sudden stab of a sharp, white hot pain. His arm was useless, he was unable to raise it. Pain made his eyes water, took his breath away.

In her hand a knife suddenly glistened. 'Ah, you're Dean's brother. My my, aren't you two the luckiest boys around? That's a bad shoulder you've got there, Sam. Let me heal you, sweetie. We might wanna take a look at that. Just let me cut away some of the fabric of your shirt and––'

A cry that went through Sam's gut like a razor blade, echoed against through the mountains. Sam blinked his eyes to see the car and the remains in it going up in flames, while Bobby dragged a lax figure out of harm's way. The female figure who was close to him, staggered backwards and with a shudder and a shrill scream she went up in flames.

'Sam? Sam, are you alright?' That was Bobby.

'Bobby... Dean, is he...'

'S-s-sammy? Are you there?'

There was only one person in the whole world who said his name like that.

'He's alive. Take it easy, Sam. You don't look that good.'

Sam let out an incredibly painful sigh and swallowed hard.

It was over.

(to be continued)