It was the distraction the man needed to launch himself at Sam. Crippled hands or not, the man knew how to fight and once Sam regained his feet, he was engaged in a brawl. Sam could hold his own in a fight, usually come out the victor in hand-to-hand combat but he was tired, physically and emotionally exhausted and mentally, his focus was on the soaking wet, injured man off to his left. His sore, abused knuckles made it hard to make a solid fist and his thumb impeded his ability to land solid punches.
Dean bit through his bottom lip as he forced his unwilling body to pull together and obey him. Whether it was by his own ability or he was guided didn't matter. He could be tottering with one foot in his grave, the other broken and supported by a crutch yet remarkably be restored to his full strength when Sam was in danger.
He couldn't yet sit up but was able to rise up on one elbow and steady the hand holding the gun by grasping his wrist; all he needed was one shot. He didn't want to, but if he had to, he could, would shoot through his brother in order to kill the man who wanted Sam dead.
Sam was tiring, his strength waning as his reaction to the whimper from his brother diminished his rage. Concern and worry were the emotions that were driving him now and were fast overtaking his anger. He knew pain and exhaustion would allow his opponent to get the upper hand and if that happened, Dean would be vulnerable. He heard the sound of running feet and in the split second it took for him to flick his eyes sideways, Donald had a knife and was coming at him. Sam cursed; he should have remembered Donald's attachment to knives.
Next thing he knew, a shot rang out, Donald hit the ground and even as he spun around, Bobby was running past him, all over Dean as the gun fell from Dean's limp hand. He lugged Dean up from the ground, briskly frisking him all over with the blanket then hugging him close.
"Sam, get a move on, go get the car, we gotta get outta here." Bobby ordered. "We gotta get him outta this cold, get him warm before he does into shock, that water was ice cold." he resumed his brisk rubbing, fully expecting Sam to obey.
"He ok?"
"He's damn lucky he was wearing his jeans and coat. Boots shudda protected his feet. You can check him over in the car, right now we gotta go." Bobby waved him away, gesturing towards the car but Sam was unable to move, unable to obey the simple order to retrieve the car. He wobbled beside Bobby, wrestling for control of his mind which was fracturing.
"What the hell was that?" Sam exploded, having lost the match. "Jesus Christ Bobby! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"
"See that there pick-up? Got a welding gig on the bed, means a portable generator, powered up a pressure washer." Bobby was toweling at Dean's hair with the blanket. "4000 PSI's can flay skin from bone, tear through tendons like a knife through butter, separate muscle from..."
Oh God, oh dear God, not again. He couldn't do it, couldn't go through that again. Sam felt his stomach drop to meet his knees, that wanting no part of a greeting with any part of the body they identified as an internal organ, dumped him to the pavement. He went forward to the palms of his hands, ready to give in to the rising hysteria and have a good freak-out but Bobby was having none of it.
"Sam…? Sam? SAM!" Bobby reached out and shoved Sam back onto his heels with a hand to his shoulder. "Here." he dumped the shivering bundle of blanket on Sam's thighs and got to his feet. "I'll get the car; get him on him his feet."
Sam jerked a thumb towards the two bodies on the ground. "Are they...?"
"Both dead." Bobby confirmed. "As is the one I chased...now hold him." he hurried away before Sam could protest or refuse.
Sam blinked and gathered his brother as he prepared to lift them to their feet. He wouldn't be able to relax and breathe deep enough to quell his panic until he had the opportunity to strip Dean out of his wet clothes and check him over for any damage the forceful stream of water that had taken him off his feet and driven him along the pavement might have caused. Three men dead in less than five minutes, three men killed in cold blood, three deaths because of him, for him.
He felt the familiar ache begin to throb behind his eye, felt all sensibility cease to exist…
"Saaam?" Dean stirred. "Shit….I….oh-gawd, mmn…son-uva-bitch."
"Yeah, right here. You're ok." and just like that, his mind cleared. What mattered most was lying, shaking, shivering, trembling in his arms, his injuries yet to be determined.
"What the fu…damn-me...I'm caa-old." he stuttered.
"No shit." Sam hefted Dean's weight, hampered by his violent shaking. "You're just wet, water was cold, Bobby's coming with the car and we'll get out of here, get you warm, okay?"
"Duh-on? Don? Miss- ed..you...right?"
"Yeah, you missed me and he won't ever be a problem again."
"Quit hugging me." Dean squirmed in a useless attempt to break free from the embrace that entrapped him within strong arms that weren't giving. "Dude, invading my…oomph." his breath blew out in a grunt when Sam hugged him harder and then they were on their feet. "I can stand you know, get offa me." he shrugged and twisted and pushed but failed in his attempts to distance himself.
Sam relaxed his hold, starting to let him go but when his knees buckled, Sam was there to support his weight. "No, no, no, stay on your feet Dean, car's coming…." he felt Dean give up and slump against him. Sam knew Dean wasn't allowing himself to be held nor was he seeking comfort. When in near hypothermia distress, a human body instinctively sought warmth and that was all Dean was doing but he didn't care. He would take the moment of closeness, this rare display of vulnerability no matter the reason.
"Sam?" Dean lifted his head from where it rested. "I gotta sit…..down…..I wanna….."
"No, no….not yet, stay with me….come on….." he knocked his knee against Dean's leg, making him take one shaky step, then another. "Yeah, that's it….come on, walk with me, car's here…no, no, backseat…."
"You…ain't driving." Dean got out through chattering teeth.
"Right, like you are….get in."
***000***
Bobby kept the wheel, driving in silence. The rearview mirror was angled so he could see Dean in the backseat and his eyes were strained from slanting sideways to keep an eye on Sam who dosed in the passenger seat. They'd pulled over ten minutes out of town to strip Dean out of his wet clothes. Finding no serious injury, they'd settled him with dry blankets and left him be. Bobby hadn't said a word, still hadn't. Sam wasn't ready to take words of consolation or gestures of comfort, preferring to wallow in guilt.
Dean was ok, would be uncomfortable and in some pain for the next few days, but once again, he'd dodged any serious injury. That stroke of good luck was most likely due to the heavy coat and jeans and boots he'd insisted on wearing out of the hospital.
The worst damage was to the back of his hands and fingers; the only skin exposed to the stream of water. He hadn't suffered any further damage to his jaw and he'd been able to protect his head and face. His hands might require more treatment then the cleansing they'd been given to prevent infection. That would be determined once they reached a motel, where they could properly tend to, and thoroughly clean both hands, but until then, the quick job Sam had done leaning over the back of the front seat would suffice.
"Sam, next exit has motels. I'm beat, what say we pull off the road for the night? We're far enough from Aurora, it's safe." Bobby didn't ask him to drive, knew he was beyond the ability to cope.
"K." Sam agreed sleepily.
Thirty minutes later, they were booked into one motel room consisting of two beds and a folding cot. Bobby had suggested two rooms but Sam had shaken his head, requesting the cot to be delivered to the room while checking in. He was tired and in pain and not at all ok. If he had to, he would deal with his brother and the situation they were in on his own but since Bobby was with them, he was more than willing to accept his help.
He knew he'd have to see to his brother before he could seek his own comfort but it was a price he was willing to pay for having the threat to his brother's life over and Dean with him. Bobby was exhausted and had his own minor injuries to attend to. Sam couldn't expect him to cater to Dean's whims and demands and knowing Dean, he'd be awake at dawn and demanding breakfast.
After forcing Dean into a hot shower then making him sit still while he tended to his hands, Sam decided to leave to him with Bobby and go find a store. His own shower would wait. The room had a kitchenette and if he wanted to feed Dean come morning without leaving the motel room, he'd have to go shopping now.
"Bobby? Hey, gonna run out to the store, get a few things. I'd rather he stay in the motel room for the next day or so.." he paused. "Oh." he saw the look to cross Bobby's face. "Did you plan on driving on tomorrow?"
"No, no, he could use the rest and these old bones ain't gonna complain staying put another day or so. Aah, why don't you stay here with him and I'll go get whatever you want. Gimme a list."
"I'll go. I just….an hour, I'll only be an hour. Just going to a food store, you know? Don't really wanna be the one to tell him come morning there's no breakfast and he's not allowed to go out."
"Got a point. Ok, go on….but….call me anything feels off, you hearing me?"
"Yeah. He should sleep but should he wake up and give you a hard time….."
"I can handle him. He'll sleep for hours, off with you now."
***000***
"Sam, dude, seriously, what the fuck?" Dean spluttered as an arm swooped over his head and swiped his breakfast from his hand. Sam plopped the waffles on a plate and picked up the pair of scissors he'd set next to it. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Dean, despite our screwed upbringing, we were raised to use a fork." his face flushed with irritation. "I know you aren't deaf, the doctor spoke English and yet you just think you're going to stuff an entire waffle in your mouth?"
"How else am I supposed to eat it? You didn't give me a knife!"
Sam waggled the pair of scissors in the scowling face of his cranky brother with a look that said exactly what he thought about Dean's whining.
"It's bad enough I had to let you cut up my food when you tied shoe-horns to my wrists, but man, come on! And dude, not broken, no longer dislocated, I can eat whatever the hell I want, how I want. Not three you know. And what's with the scissors? Christ, we have a dozen knifes between us." he glanced down at the white bandages wrapped around his hands and wiggled his fingers. "SEE! They move Sam."
Sam finished snipping the waffle into small bite size pieces and began cutting up the second one. "You know Dean, can you once, just once, be thankful for something I do for you? Your mouth, your teeth, your jaw are going to be sore and swollen for a week. Keep running your mouth, go ahead and I'll stabilize it by bandaging your jaw to keep you from opening your mouth too widely. Your fingers might work, but let's see how fast you can untie a knot with the way your hands are hurting. The doctor told you, you should open your mouth wide enough to insert a fork, not bite, for at least six weeks. He also told you, you should support your jaw with one or both hands when yawning and sneezing and to eat soft foods and take small bites."
"Yeah, well, didn't hear him say I should thank you for cutting up a waffle with scissors." he retorted. "Christ Sam, waffles?"
"Soft foods Dean, keep whining and I'll take away your ice cream and make you eat yogurt."
"What the hell does ice cream have to do with waffles?"
"What part of 'soft foods' do you not understand?" he squeezed the bottle of maple syrup, glancing up when Dean cleared his throat and waggled his eyebrows. "What? More? For someone who's complaining about having waffles for breakfast you sure are picky about how they're served." he slapped the plate down in front of Dean. "And there are no kitchen knives. No matter, I don't want you holding one anyway. Until the skin on your hands has a chance to heal, you won't be holding anything sharp."
"That'd be the back of my hands Sam, and they're fine."
"Humor me."
"We gonna talk the other night?" Dean asked. He was content to let it go for the time being. If Sam chose to focus on his jaw and not what went down that night, he was ok with that for now. "Sooner or later….the headaches, the fits of rage…your loss of control…"
"I know." he avoided making eye contact but Dean noticed the tick in his chin begin to quiver. "Just...does it have to be now? Dean…."
Not wanting tears or an emotional scene Dean decided to let the entire subject go and sought of a way to divert his brother's attention. He still wasn't up to snuff and he saw no harm in letting that show. Better to give Sam something trivial to fuss over then to allow him to continue on his current destructive course.
"Didn't you buy butter? Hey, are these like, whole grain waffles or something? I mean, they're brown. Why are they brown? Aren't waffles yellow? And how come this syrup is, like watery? Why's its color so light?" he raised horrified eyes to Sam. "Dude, did you buy me lite syrup? It better not be some sugar-free, low-calorie crap, I'll wash your hair in it if it is."
"Eat-Your-Damn-Waffles!"
"Is this how it's gonna be then? Another month of you having to have your own way? I'm tired of that route Sam. It gets old, real quick." he scowled at the straw in a glass of milk. "Dude! Seriously? Milk? HEY-YO! Where's my Krazy Kurly straw? If you're gonna make me use a straw, then I want MY straw and how come you didn't get chocolate milk? Did you at least get chocolate syrup? I'll need a spoon. And how the hell is cutting food with a knife gonna do me harm? You two are like old nannies, nag, nag, nag."
"God Dean, do you always have to do this?" man, maybe a broken jaw wouldn't have been so horrible after all. At least then Dean wouldn't have diarrhea of the mouth. "Just give me this, please?" his eyes went misty and the annoying tick in his chin knocked up from quiver to twitch. Dean stared him down, finally nodding and picking up a fork.
"Okay, fine. Again, Burger King, have it your way." he stabbed a soggy piece of waffle and opened his mouth to insert the fork. He barely stifled the whimper of pain caused by the simple act of opening his mouth. He raised a hand to cuddle his jaw, caught Sam's smug smirk and flipped him off. "How'm I suppose to bite into a cheeseburger?" he got 'that look', again and sighed in childlike frustration. "I know, I know, keep my mouth closed, eat soft foods and take small bites. Fine, whatever, but it ends here, you hearing me?"
"You'll feel better in a couple of weeks, can you honestly tell me you feel up to a greasy burger now? We'll head to the cabin til you can eat without pain, okay?"
Dean wanted to argue but he was exhausted, body really feeling the effects of being knocked down and pushed around from the pressure washer in the latest skirmish and all he could do was nod.
"Don't go trying to remember anything more your…dickless, er, alter-self did. Can you give me that Sam? Let the rest remain in the past. Remembering is killing you, it's tearing you apart and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. You need to let it go."
Sam nodded, for his brother's sake, he would try. Some things really were best left in the past. "Okay."
***END***