Don't own any rights to the Boys, songs, or Ridley James' Brotherhood AU.
This story steps outside the bounds of Brotherhood approval and is not approved of by the Brotherhood creators. If you do not wish to delve into a dark story of violence, rape and torture that in any way involves Brotherhood characters, then please do not read this story.
The Brotherhood creators have expressed a wish that future stories involving the Brotherhood avoid the topics found in this story.
For full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.
Rating: M. Warning. Some chapters have very mature themes of violence, torture, rape and attempted suicide. Almost all chapters have some bad language. Although I've attempted to avoid some of the more explicit details, sometimes it just can't be done and tell the tale.
My apologies for the long delay in getting this chapter up. I added a new scene and had to revise some later items. This is again another long chapter and I hope is worth the wait.
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Breaking the Wings of Dragonflies
Chapter 21
I haven't ever been so overcome with tears
that I collapsed to my knees outside your room
Your hospital room
-- Whispers of a Long Goodnight, The Lyndsay Diaries.
Then:
March 26, Deidersville, Illinois
Sam stifled another yawn. For just sitting all day with his brother and father, he was amazed by how tired he felt. It was a few minutes after nine o'clock when Jim and Bobby arrived to take him back to the Kokomo Inn and, guiltily, he was more than ready to go. A long soak in a hot bath to ease his still sore body, followed by a nice warm bed and maybe, just maybe, a nightmare-free sleep sounded really good to him.
As the three crossed the dark hospital parking lot, Jim held Sam back until Bobby gave them the all clear, confirming the car had not been tampered with, then allowed Sam to climb into the back seat. The pastor and mechanic settled in the front.
Watching the two men that he'd known all his life and loved like uncles, Sam appreciated anew their protection and support. Recalling how Pastor Jim had baked sugar cookies in their suite late last night in an attempt to offer some comfort, Sam asked Jim, "Did Joshua and Jonas eat all the cookies?"
"Nope, but I did," Bobby said grinning at Sam in the review mirror.
"No you didn't. You better not have!" Sam countered, fairly certain Jim hadn't let Bobby eat them all.
Bobby laughed at the boy's consternation.
"Robert Singer, don't tease Samuel!" Jim admonished, sighing when Bobby only laughed harder. "I saved some cookies for you, Samuel, though I nearly lost a few fingers in the process and I had to threaten them with eternal damnation if they touched yours."
Sam chuckled, imagining Jim fighting off the other hunters with a spatula as he threatened them with Heaven's wrath. "Thank you Pastor Jim."
"You're welcome," Jim said; glad to have made the young boy laugh. Extracting a smile from the youngest Winchester had been nearly impossible over the past few days, but that was really no surprise. Still, all of the hunters had tried to comfort him in their own way. Boone, surprisingly, had the most success. Jim knew Boone was quite a story teller, some of them a bit taller than others. Almost as if he had a sixth sense, Boone seemed to know exactly what tale to tell to bring forth a smile from Sam, no matter how brief. It was still a smile and Jim was grateful to the older hunter. Boone was better with kids than Jim had ever imagined. The pastor wished a few stories could sooth the older Winchester brother. Thinking of Dean, Jim asked, "Was Dean feeling all right at suppertime?"
The smile disappeared from Sam's face. "Not really," Sam replied quietly. "He was still upset and confused when he woke up." Under his breath, Sam muttered, "Stupid cops."
"He didn't stay awake long then?" Bobby asked, glancing at Sam in the rearview mirror, before returning his eyes to the salt-encrusted road. Snow had fallen earlier, and with night fall, the temperatures had dropped drastically so ice was developing any place traffic was light.
"He did stay awake for a little while. We talked and played some checkers."
"Who won?" Bobby asked slyly.
Scrunching up his face in mild annoyance, Sam said with exasperation, "We weren't playing to win. We were just playing for fun."
"So he beat you, huh?" Bobby translated with a smirk.
"No!" Sam answered defensively. "We called it a draw. It wouldn't be fair to beat him. He did stay awake for the whole game, though. The nurse brought him dinner and he ate half a bowl of soup and some Jell-O. Then he complained that he wanted applesauce too, so Nurse Anne got him some. He ate almost half of that too," Sam bragged, pleased that Dean had finally eaten some semi-solid food. He told himself that his brother would be asking for cheeseburgers with extra onions in no time, and extra crunchy French fries, and pie.
"Did he keep up his normal question routine?" Jim asked. They were all getting accustomed to Dean's constant need to confirm Sam and John were safe. Even when John and Sam were there, he would ask them half-a-dozen times if they were okay.
"Not quite as bad, but then," Sam paused, swallowing hard, "he kinda freaked out before he fell back asleep." He absently picked at the stitching of the black seat. He hated feeling so helpless when his brother got scared and upset.
"About what?" Jim prodded gently. Even if Dean had become upset, that he had eaten and stayed awake longer was a good sign. Doctor Morton, Dean's primary physician, suggested Dean might be well enough to move into a private room within a day or two. That was quite heartening to them all.
"The orderly, Greg," Sam said. "Dean got all upset just when Greg was leaving. It was kinda weird. Greg's okay. He's talked with us and even talked with Dean before. Dean didn't freak then. Dad asked me if I thought maybe Greg could be a Dementor, but he's an awful lot older than the ones I saw. After Dad got Dean calmed down, Dean fell asleep pretty fast." Sam frowned to himself. Greg had kind of given him the creeps tonight, too. Greg hadn't done anything strange, he just made Sam nervous and Sam wasn't sure why.
"You said Dean was upset and confused. Maybe it was just having a stranger in the room," Jim suggested.
Sam shrugged. "Maybe."
Turning into the parking lot of the Kokomo Inn, Bobby grimaced. The closest parking place to their rooms was a few rows out and several doors down. He pulled into it and shifted the car into park. "This is as close as we get, I guess," Bobby said, releasing his seatbelt.
As Bobby climbed out of the car his boot hit a patch of ice and he fell on his rear, swearing as he went down. He heard Sam's laughter.
"That's what you get for telling me you ate all my cookies!"
"Samuel, it's not nice to laugh at someone else's misfortune," Jim said, his eyes twinkling as he added, "even if they may have earned it. Are you all right, Robert?"
"Fine," Bobby growled as he carefully climbed to his feet, glaring at the pastor. "Smart ass," he muttered. Zipping up his coat the mechanic brushed his behind free of the salt and grit before locking and closing the car door. The parking lot, though cleared of snow, still had sheets of black ice spotting its surface, as Bobby had so painfully discovered.
Sliding carefully from the car, Sam's teeth chattered as the wind bit hard, cutting through his winter coat. Vapor from his warm breath was stolen away before it barely had time to form as the three made their way across the lot. The second time Sam slipped on the ice, Jim took hold of the boy's arm to help steady him.
"Careful Samuel. No need to rush," Jim cautioned.
"Yes, sir," Sam muttered, bothered by the tight grip on his biceps, but sternly reminded himself it was only Jim and that he was safe. Sam was so cold and tired he just wanted to hurry inside to the warm hotel room. Slipping on another patch of ice, he practically pulled Jim down with him and his sore ribs stabbed him in protest. Hearing Jim's sharp gasp, Sam's chest tightened, afraid his stumble had hurt the pastor. The next thing Sam knew, Jim picked him up and rushed them to the nearest car, crouching down by its trunk. Sam wriggled out of Jim's hands, trembling, startled by the sudden physical contact. He looked at the pastor wide-eyed as he struggled to get his pounding heart to slow down. A thin stream of blood poured down Jim's cheek, it's origin less than an inch from his eye. Sam realized with a start the sound he had attributed to a car backfiring hadn't been a car at all. It had been the report of a gun.
Out of the blue, a gun with a silencer appeared in Jim's hand, as the pastor scanned the fence line beside the inn.
"P-pastor Jim?" Sam stammered, shocked. He knew Jim was a hunter, the Guardian in the Brotherhood even, but had rarely seen the placid pastor in combat. It was such a dichotomy that Sam was amazed by the sudden transformation.
"Samuel, get ready to move to the next car when I tell you to. And stay low." Jim's voice was firm and brooked no argument.
"Yes, sir," Sam answered automatically, gathering his feet under him. Jim's command snapped him out of his shock allowing his father's training to take over.
The silenced gun gave a "whump-hiss" sound as the pastor fired. "Now!" Jim ordered.
Sam scrambled to the next car. A high pitched whistle passed near him as he heard another gunshot. Stone scattered from the impact of the bullet on the brick wall of the Kokomo Inn not far from him. Then Joshua was there, grabbing hold of Sam around the waist, shielding the boy with his own body as he dragged Sam the thirty plus feet to the open doorway of the room.
"Let go of me!" Sam yelled, struggling against the unwanted grip.
Joshua ignored Sam until they were safely in John's bedroom and out of view of the window. Releasing his hold on the wriggling youth, Joshua stepped back, to give Sam the personal space he knew the boy needed. For a moment, he truly wished Caleb was here rather than himself. He always felt awkward around the Winchester brothers in the best of times. Though in the best of times, Joshua mused, he didn't feel so much awkward as ready to throttle one or both of the boys. Joshua's eyes scanned Sam for blood, relieved when he saw none. Sam had flattened himself against the wall furthest from Joshua and was almost as pale as the wall itself.
"Sam, are you okay? Are you hurt?" Joshua asked quietly, hoping to get through to the traumatized youth. Getting no response, Joshua sighed then moved to the door of the bedroom, gun in hand, to watch the outer doorway that he'd left open for the ease of the other hunters' retreat. If they retreated, Joshua thought grimly. He knew they may well go after the punks. Joshua distractedly noted to himself he would never classify Caleb in the "punk" category again. In spite of how annoying the other man could be at times, "punk" was now permanently redefined in his mind by the Dementors. If the others went after them, Joshua sincerely hoped justice was meted out.
"Joshua, it's Jonas." A deep voice announced quietly before the hunter stepped into the suite.
"Bobby and Jim?" Joshua asked.
"Went after them," Jonas said, not quite closing the door. The hunter eyed the parking lot and the swath of shadows by the fence where the gunfire had originated.
"I do hope they considered the Dementors may have intended this as a trap to draw them out and kill them." Hearing Sam's gasp, Joshua shut his eyes as he sighed heavily. Why couldn't he remember to speak more carefully around Sam? Joshua turned and saw that Sam had regained some color. "They will be fine," he told Sam.
Sam rushed forward, trying to push passed Joshua, alarmed. "They shot Pastor Jim! They'll kill them both!"
Joshua grabbed the boy's shoulders and held Sam back.
"Let me go! They want me! Me! I can lead them away. Pastor Jim!! Bobby!!" Sam screamed, as he tried to wrench free of Joshua.
"Sam, calm down," Joshua said firmly, shaking the boy slightly. "Just calm down! Jim and Bobby will be back in a minute. They will be fine." Joshua wondered if indeed Jim had been shot. He had been completely focused on pulling Sam to safety and, with chagrin, realized he hadn't even looked to see if Bobby and Jim were okay. In his defense, that had been Jonas' job, but he did hope the other two hunters were okay.
Sam struggled violently, but couldn't shake free of the older hunter's grasp. All he managed was to strain his battered body, the sudden fierce pain in his ribs bringing tears to his eyes and stealing his breath.
"Jim and Bobby are coming back," Jonas declared abruptly from his post beside the front door. "They look fine," he added.
"See?" Joshua said triumphantly, "Jim and Bobby are returning. I told you they would be okay. They are fine."
"Are you sure?" Sam gasped, looking up to meet Joshua's eyes. "The Dementors didn't get them?"
"The Dementors did not get them," Joshua confirmed. Joshua released Sam when he heard the outer door open, placing himself between the boy and whoever was entering just in case. He craned his neck and was relieved to see Pastor Jim enter the suite, Bobby on his heels. The wound on Jim's face was still seeping blood, thin rivulets cutting through the drier blood coating his cheek and soaking his shirt collar.
"Samuel?" Jim asked as soon as he reached the room, his gaze hunting worriedly for the boy. He was dismayed to see Sam obviously in pain behind Joshua.
"Pastor Jim!" Relief colored Sam's voice as he pushed around Joshua to the pastor, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, son." Jim replied gently as he placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. The pastor was pleased when Sam did not immediately pull away for once. "Where are you hurt?"
"I didn't see any new injuries on him," Joshua piped up before Sam could respond.
"Thank you, Joshua," Jim said sincerely to the younger hunter. "I appreciate how quickly you got Samuel to safety."
Giving a nod to the pastor, Joshua commented, "That is our job. To protect the Winchesters." He left the bedroom to resume his watch by the window, happy to turn Sam over to Jim and Bobby's care.
Bobby discreetly handed Jim a warm, damp cloth for his bleeding cheek then knelt by Sam and gently gripped the boy's arms to turn Sam to face him. "Hey, kiddo, let's get a look at you."
"Are you okay, Bobby?" Sam queried, his voice strained with pain.
"Yeah, I'm fine, kid," Bobby confirmed. His eyes roved over Sam, and seeing no blood or bullet torn clothes, he rocked back on his heels, slightly puzzled. "Where are you hurt, Sammy?"
Ignoring the question, Sam asked "Did you get them?"
Sighing, Bobby shook his head. "No, they got away. Now tell me, where are you hurt?"
"My ribs," Sam replied reluctantly. "I think I pulled something."
"Crap." Bobby grunted as he climbed to his feet. "Let's get your jacket and shirt off so I can take a look."
Sam shrugged carefully out of his coat then involuntarily jerked away from Bobby as the man reached for the hem of his shirt to help him out of it, gasping at the sudden spike of pain.
"Whoa! Easy, Sam." Bobby backed off. "I have to get your shirt off to check your ribs. I'm not gonna hurt you, son."
Catching his breath, Sam eyed Bobby apologetically, "I know, I'm sorry. I can get it off myself." He put his words to action, pulling the sweatshirt up, but paused as the motion strained his ribs.
"Sam," Bobby said softly, "Let me help you with that. Okay?"
With a sigh, Sam nodded, allowing the mechanic to help him. Once the shirt was off, Bobby unwrapped Sam's ribs then prodded the area carefully, checking for any displacement. Sam gritted his teeth as he held himself stiffly still. Keenly aware of Sam's discomfort, Bobby finished the exam quickly, yet thoroughly, pleased that nothing was out of place.
"Doesn't look too bad," Bobby told Sam. "I think you just moved a little too much. You wanna get a shower before I re-wrap 'em?"
Sam nodded wordlessly. As he moved toward the bathroom, Sam glanced over his shoulder at Jim and saw Jonas examining his bullet-skimmed cheek.
Jim winced as Jonas put antiseptic on the wound and bandaged it. "I'd better call John," the pastor said, "and let him know what happened here. Dean's visit by the police may have prompted this attack. I fear the Dementors merely gave us a taste of what lies ahead."
Sam made it to the privacy of the bathroom and closed the door before reaction hit him. Trembling as the adrenaline surge fled, the boy sank slowly down the wall to the floor. He drew his knees up, wrapping his arms over them and buried his face as he fought the urge to cry. Struggling to control himself, Sam inhaled deeply, grimacing at the pain in his ribs. Why couldn't those bastards just leave them alone? What had they really done to deserve this? Through the thin door he heard Pastor Jim talking on the phone with his father. Sam knew he had to get control of himself before his father returned because he did not want to further disappoint the man by showing so much weakness. Forcing himself to his feet, Sam carefully stripped and stepped into the shower, no longer in the mood for a long soak in the tub. He let the warm water flush away the tears and hopefully any evidence of his crying.
SNSNSNSNSNSNNSNSNSNSN
John jumped, startled by the sudden ringing of the phone in Dean's room. Fear twisted his guts as a thousand scenarios of possible disasters flashed through his mind. He snatched up the phone on the second ring. "Yeah?" he said gruffly.
"John? It's Jim." The pastor's voice was calm, but that did nothing to sooth John's nerves. "Sam is fine, but we had a little trouble when we arrived at the inn."
"What happened?" John demanded. He glanced up as the door to Dean's room opened to admit Boone. He nodded to the other hunter, acknowledging his presence.
Jim replied, "They took a couple of shots at us when we arrived. Bobby and I chased after them, but unfortunately they know the area much better than we do and managed to get away. As I said, Sam is fine."
John cursed under his breath. "Okay, I'll be there soon. Boone can handle these last few hours by himself." He knew full well the Dementors would anticipate his early return. That meant he was potentially making himself a target, or leaving Dean with less protection than he would like. Dean was still in ICU and its access was well controlled so leaving only one hunter for a few hours should not put Dean in particular danger.
"Be very careful, Jonathan," the pastor cautioned. "We'll keep an eye out for your arrival so we can cover you, but watch yourself."
"I will, Jim," the hunter said. He hung up the phone and turned to Boone who patiently waited to hear the news. "The Dementors took a couple shots at them when they got to the inn."
Boone gave a slow nod. "Only a matter of time before they stopped watching and started acting." He eyed John thoughtfully. "We know where they hide to watch us. Do we start giving back a little now?"
"They got away from Jim and Bobby tonight because we still don't know the lay of the land well enough. We need to step up our scouting. I'm going to head back to the inn and check on Sam. This had to have shaken him."
"They will be expecting that," Boone pointed out.
John gave a curt nod to the hunter. "I know that Boone." He winced at the bite to his words.
Boone couldn't help his soft laugh. "I'm sure you do, just don't let them make you jumpy."
John snorted. "Too late for that. I'll send Jonas and Joshua over a little early. We need to start shuffling our patterns."
Boone nodded. "I'll be here."
John slipped into his leather jacket as he stepped over to Dean's bedside. Running a hand gently over his son's short cropped hair, he whispered in his ear, "Sleep well, Ace. I'll be back later." John straightened, gave Boone a final nod then left.
As he pulled into the parking lot of the Kokomo Inn, John scanned the area critically, looking for any hint of snipers. Not finding anything amiss, he parked the Impala next to Bobby's car and quickly made his way to the suite without incident. The door was pulled open by Jim just as John reached for the knob. The hunter stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
"Where's Sammy?" John asked immediately.
"He's in the bathroom," Jim replied. "The shower just turned off, so I'm sure he'll be out soon."
Pointing to the bandage on the pastor's cheek, John questioned, "You ok?"
"Yes," Jim answered, gingerly touching the wound. "It's just a crease."
"Anyone else hurt," John queried as he shrugged out of his coat and tossed it onto one of the chairs at the kitchenette table.
"No."
John nodded, then sighed deeply as he sank into a chair. He leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, as he fingered his wedding band. Softly he told the pastor, "I think it's time to get Sammy out of here."
"He's not going to take that well."
"I know." The tired father stared at gold band as he twisted it around his finger. "Doesn't matter though. I need to have him some place safe. As soon as Dean can be moved, I'll get him out of here too. Until then, I can at least get Sammy out of this damned town."
Jim nodded in agreement. "Bobby and I can take him back to the farm in the morning."
Exhausted brown eyes looked up at the pastor. "No, I want you to stay a few days. If you don't mind, I'd like Jonas and Bobby to go to the farm"
Looking curiously at him, Jim asked, "Why?"
"You'll think I'm being paranoid," John responded wryly, "and maybe I am. When Sam up and disappears, the Dementors are going to assume, since you were the first here, that Sam went with you. Your plates list the county in Kentucky, and it wouldn't be all that hard to track down a pastor. I don't know to what lengths the Dementors are willing to go to remove Sam as a threat. They're ready to try to kill him. They may be willing to hunt him down, even out of state."
Jim considered John's words and gave a slow nod. "I'd be surprised if they did, but I can see your point. I'll wait a few days."
His voice filled with gratitude, John said, "Thank you."
Stepping over to his friend, Jim laid a hand on the other man's shoulder trying to convey some comfort, "You're welcome, Jonathon."
"Would you be all right with us staying with you? When Dean gets out of the hospital? I imagine he'll be in a wheel chair for a couple of weeks at least."
Jim smiled. "Of course you're welcome to stay. We can install ramps for Dean and move things around to accommodate the wheel chair."
John gave a relieved nod.
The bathroom door opened and Jim gave a squeeze to John's shoulder as he made his way to the adjoining suite to give the father and son some privacy. He halted at the doorway, turning back to remind John, "Sam's ribs need to be re-wrapped and he should probably take a pain pill so he can sleep."
John nodded. He shifted his attention to watch his son walk stiffly out of the bathroom. "Hey Sammy."
Sam's head snapped up in surprise at his father's voice since he hadn't heard him return. "Dad. When did you get here?"
"Just a couple minutes ago. How're you doing, kiddo?"
"Fine," Sam replied automatically. He had donned a pair of sweat pants, but not a shirt yet, so the bruises on his torso stood out in stark relief. He held a fresh ace bandage in one hand. Quietly, he asked, "Could you help me with my ribs, please? Bobby was gonna help me…"
"Sure thing, Sammy. Come here." John stood as Sam approached him and he took the bandage from the boy's hands. As gently as he could, he wrapped the ribs, barely keeping the grimace from his face at the contusions on his son's skin. Quietly John told Sam while he worked, "Tomorrow Jonas and Bobby are taking you to Jim's."
"No!" Sam tried to jerk away from his father, but John held him firmly. Sam tried to hide the wince of pain. Determinedly he stated, "I'm not leaving Dean."
"Sammy," John said sternly, "I'm not going to argue with you about this. My decision is final. I need you someplace safe, so you're leaving tomorrow with Jonas and Bobby."
"But Dad," Sam pleaded, "Dean needs me. He'll freak if I'm not here."
John secured the bandage, then cupped the back of Sam's neck with his hand. "Listen to me, Sammy. I'll make sure Dean knows you're safe, but I need you out of here. I need to know that you, at least, are safe, so I can concentrate on keeping Dean safe. As soon as Dean can travel, I'll bring him to the hospital in New Haven, okay? But for now, I want you to go to Jim's." He squeezed Sam's neck affectionately, adding a word he rarely used with his sons, "Please?"
Surprise lit Sam's hazel eyes. Looking up at his father, he was abruptly taken aback by how weary the man appeared and suddenly felt the fight drain out of him. Sam bit his lip, then nodded. "Could I come back every couple days maybe? Jim's is only a few hours away."
A small smile tugged at John's lips. A few hours. The farm was five hours away. Well, he mused, he had taught his boys that concept of miles and time. A short drive to the Winchesters was anything under eight hours. "Let's see how this goes." John saw the argument rising in Sam and squeezed Sam's neck again. "I'm not saying 'no', I'm saying let's give it a few days. So long as it calms down, then yeah, you can come back for a day, maybe two. I do have an important job for you to do at Jim's place, Sammy. I need you, Bobby, and Jonas to get the farm ready for when Dean's well enough to leave the hospital. He'll be in a wheel chair for awhile. We're going to need ramps put in, furniture moved. Dean likes that garden of Jim's, for the strawberries if nothing else. I want you to see if you can get it smoothed out so we can wheel him around out there. Maybe even work on grading a path out to the pond, too. Keeping him cooped up inside at Jim's isn't going to be any better for him than keeping him cooped up in the hospital."
Sam knew that in part it was something to keep him busy and distracted from worrying about Dean, but it was work that needed to be done and it would help Dean. "When do I have to go?" His voice was filled with misery.
Letting his hand drop from Sam's neck, John told him, "They're doing another reconstructive surgery on his hand and arm tomorrow morning and he'll be moved into a regular room for recovery. Dean should be awake by the afternoon. You can head out after he's fallen asleep again, okay?"
Hesitantly, Sam nodded.
John was glad for his son's capitulation, having anticipated it would be a longer and louder battle. He walked into the bathroom to retrieve Sam's sweatshirt and returned with it to his son. Holding the garment out, John helped Sam shrug into it. "I want you to take a pain pill. Then do you think you can get some sleep?"
"Will you be here?" Sam asked softly.
"Yeah, Sammy," John smiled reassuringly at his son, "I'll be here all night."
Timidly Sam returned his smile, "Okay."
John motioned towards the kitchen table, "Looks like there are some cookies left. You want a couple of those and a glass of milk with your pills?"
Sam nodded as he followed his father to the table, obediently taking the medicine that was offered along with the snack. He didn't like the idea of leaving Dean, but watching his father's fatigued movements, suddenly realized he did not want to add to the man's burden. If going to the farm would help ease his dad's load, then Sam supposed he could suck it up and do that for him. Taking a seat at the table, he looked up at his father, "Hey Dad?"
"Yeah, Sammy?"
"Will you call me every day and let me know how Dean's doing?"
"Sure thing, kiddo," John agreed. "But how about I do you one better. Why don't I have Dean call you? I know he'll want to talk with you."
Sam's smile broadened. "That would be great."
John gave a quick squeeze to Sam's shoulder, pleased that the boy barely flinched at his touch. "Eat up, then I want you to go to bed."
Sam nodded his concurrence as John took a seat across from him and snagged a cookie.
"Hmm. These aren't half bad." John murmured around the mouthful with a wink at Sam.
SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN
Dean winced as consciousness dribbled in. His right arm and hand ached fiercely. Slowly he opened his eyes and blinked a few times, struggling to put snatches of memory into a comprehensible order. If his brain felt any fuller of cobwebs he'd start spitting spiders any minute.
When Dean realized Sam sat beside him, holding his left hand, he managed to rasp out a, "Hey."
Sam looked up from the book he was reading and grinned. "Heya, Big Brother. How do you feel?" Sam asked, sliding the paperclip he was using as a bookmark into place before setting the book aside.
"My arm hurts," Dean mumbled.
"Duh. They just did another reconstructive surgery on it."
"Another?" Dean asked, wondering just how badly his arm was messed up. He twisted his head to look at his brother. Though Sam sounded cheerful, Sam's eyes spoke another story, one of exhaustion and fright. A kid Sam's age shouldn't have dark circles under his eyes. It was just wrong, and Dean was sure it was his fault. He needed to reassure his brother he was okay and the best way he could think of to do that was to give his kid brother shit. "What's with the hand holding, Dude?" he asked teasingly.
Sam sat up straighter. No first question of whether or not he or John was okay and no terrified concern in Dean's eyes? Sam broke into a smile, that lack of questions comforting him. His smile disappeared just as quickly though and he bit his lip. He really didn't want to know the answer to his question but knew he had to ask. "Yeah. It's your second. Do you… remember anything?"
"Sure. One plus one is two. I remember my ABCs, too," Dean said sarcastically. Looking at the arm cast, he saw a handful of colorful drawings and quips on the bright white surface, almost all in Sam's careful script or style. The effort to move his fingers made him hiss with pain.
Sam huffed. "I mean about how you got in here. About what happened to you."
Chuckling a little at his brother's annoyance, Dean thought for a minute but the pain and drugs clouded his memories. "Nah. Nothing but fuzzies in my brain. What the hell happened, anyhow? And can I get something for my arm?"
"They've already got you maxed out on painkillers," Sam said regretfully. Dr. Morton had said Dean's reconstructive surgeries were going well and that Dean ought to recover some use of his hand and arm. He wondered if "some use" was going to be good enough for Dean not to feel like a cripple.
Scowling, Dean muttered, "Swell," as he glared at the offending arm. Reconstructive surgery. That just sucked out loud. Sweeping his gaze over the room, he realized his father was there too. His father looked even worse than Sam. Crap. Whatever happened, he did a bang up job of it. His gaze drifted between his family members as he asked, "So are you going to tell me what happened or do I have to guess?"
Sam glanced back at his father. Climbing to his feet, John approached his sons. "You ran into some trouble at school. You got jumped."
Taking stock of his injuries, Dean looked at his father. "Jumped? You sure they didn't run me over with a truck or something? How many jumped me?"
"Thirteen, maybe more," Sam said. "The Dementors. They're still after you. And me. Dad's making me go to Pastor Jim's," Sam said, his voice a mix of anger and anguish. As the time grew closer to when he had to leave he got more and more upset. He wanted to be with Dean no matter the risk to himself, but Pastor Jim had almost been shot because of him. Sam had to leave to protect Jim, Bobby, and the others if nothing else. He really wished Caleb and Mac were with them, though. "I'll be back every couple days and Dad said he'll make sure you call me at least once or twice every day."
Dementors. Snatches of avoiding the gang at school and other less clear images flashed through Dean's head. He knew the Dementors were dangerous. Obviously Einstein, Dean thought. They had wanted his hide practically from day one and something to do that girl, Isabelle, had made it worse. Whatever their twisted reasoning, he understood that they wanted to nail him, but what did they want with Sam? Probably just because Sam was his kid brother, he decided.
Dean gave his brother a half-smile. "If they're still after us, then Dad's right. You need to get out of town. I'll join you as soon as they'll let me, okay, Runt?" He reached up and tousled his brother's hair. Rather than slapping Dean's hand away, Sam hung his head.
Frowning, Dean glanced worriedly at his father. John shrugged, mouthing, "He doesn't want to go."
Dean refocused on his brother. Putting a finger under Sam's chin, he lifted it until they were eye to eye. "Look, I know being away from my sparkling personality and handsome face is almost cruel…" Sam's sad look did not change and Dean sighed. A chick-flick moment was going to be required to get his brother through this.
"Knowing you're safe is more important than anything to me, Sammy," Dean said softly. "I'm in no shape to look out for you." He saw Sam's protest begin to build and quickly added, "I know you can take care of yourself." He grinned at his brother. "You are almost a teenager. Hey, you know I can take care of myself and look how they handed my ass to me and then some. Please Sam. Follow Dad's orders. I'll feel better knowing you're safe and I'll call you a couple times a day. I bet I'll be bored out of my skull in nothing flat, so you can read to me, or tell me jokes or something over the phone. I'm probably going to have a lot of homework to catch up on. You can help me with that, too."
Sam shrugged, wrapping his hands around the lowered bed rail, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were almost white. His gaze dropped away from his brother's once again, studying the IV tubing taped to Dean's arm. "Dad pulled us out of school and next week is Spring Break anyhow. No homework."
"Spring break? But that's like a week away…I've been in here that long?" Dean asked slowly, trying to wrap his brain around the lost time. Hell, no wonder his dad and brother looked like basket cases, especially if he'd been out cold all that time.
"You were in ICU for a little over a week. You were just moved into a regular room today. You don't remember waking up before?"
Paling a little Dean asked, "That bad, huh?" He'd woken up before? News to him. He couldn't even recall the last thing before all this happened, not with much assurance anyhow. Holding and soothing that girl Isabelle, packing up to leave…and that was about it. There were other bits and pieces floating around the edges of his mind, but it was just too much effort to reel them in and sort them out.
"You almost died," Sam said, his voice small and frightened. The words rushed out of him, filled with apology. "It was my fault. I should have let the paramedics take you. But you didn't want to go with them. You insisted I take you back to the motel. Pastor Jim came and we brought you in. By then, you wouldn't wake up."
Almost died? Dean's attention snapped back to his little brother. His fault? Paramedics? Dean's head was hurting just trying to sort it all out. Most importantly, he needed to keep Sam from blaming himself for whatever happened. Dean was pretty certain he managed to piss off the Dementors all by himself and his smart mouth. Sam must have found him and …huh, if the paramedics saw him, Sam wouldn't have been able to keep them from bringing him in if he were in this bad of shape. He shrugged off the confusion. Whatever happened, he wasn't surprised he wouldn't let Sam take him to the hospital, not if Dad wasn't back yet. Dean gripped Sam's arm, "Hey Dude, don't blame yourself. If I wouldn't let you, I wouldn't let you. With Pastor Jim, there wouldn't be any questions from Social Services, right? You did good, Sammy. Besides, Captain One Helluva Big Brother won't just kick off. You know that."
Sam threw his arms around Dean as best he could. Wincing, Dean bit back the pain in his ribs Sam's weight caused. Sobs shook his brother's small frame and Dean rubbed Sam's back in an effort to soothe him. "I'm okay, little bro'. Really."
A questioning look passed to his father resulted in a half-nod from John and John's weary eyes conveyed he'd explain everything later. Dean returned the slight nod and gave Sam a one-armed hug. "C'mon, Runt. You're being a drama queen. I'm going to be fine. A few broken bones can't keep me down long. I'll be tossing you in the back seat so I get to ride shotgun in no time at all."
Sam finally released his hold. His face still wet with tears, he sniffled. "You can have shotgun from now on. I don't mind."
Dean wiped at Sam's tears. "Aw, now what fun would that be if you just give it to me?" He smiled at his brother tiredly. "So when are you headed out of town?"
"Tonight."
"Then we can get in a few games of cards before you leave. But go easy on me. Fuzzies in the brain, remember?" Dean said, beginning to struggle to stay awake. There must be some strong sedatives in the IV. For as much as his arm hurt, he wasn't going to complain even though he wanted to try to stay awake a little longer, to ease Sam's worry if nothing else.
Retrieving the deck of cards from his half-finished game of solitaire, John handed them to Sam. When Sam turned back to Dean, Dean's eyes were only half-open.
"You sleep," Sam told him. "We can play when you wake up." New tears dribbled down Sam's face, knowing he would already be halfway or more to Jim's farm by then.
"No, deal the cards," Dean mumbled but his eyelids only flickered open briefly before shutting again. "I'll still beat you…" Dean said, his words trailing off as sleep reclaimed him.
Sam looked back at his father. "He still doesn't remember anything we tell him. Will he," Sam swallowed back his fear, "will he ever?"
A small smile touched John's lips. He couldn't let Sam know he was as upset as Sam that Sam was leaving for the farm. John gently squeezed the back of Sam's neck and pulled him a little closer to his side. "He made more sense this time than he has so far, don't you think? And he didn't ask once if we were okay. When they start lowering his pain medication and cutting back on his sedatives, I'm sure he'll start remembering what we tell him. His nightmares have eased and he doesn't wake up as panicked as he has been. He's going to be fine."
"What happens when he starts to remember…them?" Sam asked, his voice trembling. He didn't want Dean to remember any of it. Not what happened to him, and definitely not what happened to Sam.
John had asked himself that same question a dozen times every day. "Then we'll help him get through it. Maybe by then he'll be ready to leave the hospital and we can get him out to Jim's place. When Caleb and Mac get back, they'll be able to help him if he needs it. You know that."
Sam took Dean's hand again. He knew he'd have to leave as soon as Jonas and Bobby got there and he wanted Dean to know he was there for as long as he could.
SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN
They were beating him. They were laughing as they tortured him. Isabelle's guts bulged from her abdomen, blood pouring out of her and pooling around her in a growing puddle of crimson. Refocusing on him, they continued to beat him or touch and…invade…him in terrible ways. Then Sam was there. They tortured Dean more, Sam watching on, until they turned to Sam and touched Sam the way they had touched Dean, touched him in ways a child should never be touched.
Dean jumped awake, a silent cry on his lips.
It was all crystal clear in his mind, every last horrible detail. His gaze darted desperately around the room. Where was he? Did they still have him? Did they still have Sam? He saw his father playing a game of solitaire beside him. The TV was on, but it was muted. Relief filled him that he was apparently safe. He didn't want to face his father, his guilt and humiliation overwhelming, but he had to know where Sam was. If Sam was safe. Maybe it was all a terrible nightmare. Maybe Sam hadn't been there. What he remembered just couldn't have happened to his baby brother. No. It couldn't have.
"Dad?" Dean asked softly.
Looking over at his son, John smiled. "Hey Ace. How you feeling today? They've cut back a little on the sedatives. You doing okay?" He didn't like the pallor to his boy's face and the fright shadowing his eyes. A glance at the monitor showed John that Dean's heart rate had sky-rocketed as had his blood pressure. With a critical eye, he watched to make certain Dean wasn't going to hyperventilate. He knew what was coming next and felt his hope dry up.
"Where's Sammy? Is he okay?" Dean asked, trying not to sound as frantic as he felt. He saw his broken leg was elevated in a sling and started to reach for the handle that would lower it only to discover his right arm was casted as well and it hurt his ribs to even try to move his arm. He had to get out of bed and get his father to take him to Sam. He needed to see Sam.
John sighed inwardly. Back to the same questions. The doctor had warned him there would be some teeter-tottering between clarity and confusion for Dean. It looked like today was going to be one of his bad days. "Calm down, Ace, or you're going to hyperventilate. Just slow your breathing down. Sam's fine. He's out at Pastor Jim's. He'll be in to visit you tomorrow afternoon."
"Yeah?" Dean asked, trying to tell if his father might be lying to him to assuage his worries.
"Yes. Look at your casts. Sammy's drawn on them and made you a slew of get well cards." John pointed to all the cards taped up on the walls and handed Dean a couple that seemed to be his favorite, invariably making him chuckle even on his worst days. "You want to call him?"
Not trusting himself to speak, Dean nodded, barely glancing at the cards his father handed him. After John speed dialed the farm, he handed Dean the phone. Dean jerked back at his father's sudden movement toward him.
Grinding his teeth, John reminded himself to move slower around his son. Dean must have had some bad nightmares. With the sedatives, Dean didn't necessarily telegraph his dreams, but he hadn't been this jumpy in a long time so they must have been worse than normal.
"Big brother?" Sam asked hopefully. It was almost two in the afternoon and this was the first call he had gotten. Dean usually called about ten AM, then again about seven or so. His level of coherence varied greatly from call to call and Sam never really knew what to expect. He did hope it was Dean and not his father, but only because if it was John it meant Dean was too out of it to talk to him.
"You okay?" Dean asked fearfully.
"Yeah, of course. How are you feeling?" Sam sank into the chair at the kitchen table. He eyed the bowl of apples sitting on a lacy doily in the middle of the table that he knew Pastor Jim's late wife had made.
Dean's concerned tone told Sam immediately that is was one of Dean's bad days and readied himself for the reassurances he knew he'd have to give his brother. He stretched out his hand and snagged one of the apples from the bowl. He'd be glad when the apples from Jim's trees came in season. They were so much better than the store bought ones.
"I'm," Dean forced out the lie, "I'm doing fine. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
Keeping his tone light, Sam said, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just been working on getting things ready for you to come to the farm. We've about got the wheelchair ramp along the front steps done. But we did a lot of Palm Sunday stuff today, so we didn't get too much done on it. We'll be in to see you tomorrow. Then when we get back, we're going to get the garden all set up so we can wheel you around out there. Getting you to the angel garden is going to be a bitch," Sam winced, hoping Jim hadn't heard him. "We've got to fill in all those low areas that get muddy."
"O-okay." Dean tried to swallow back his fear. "You're sure you're okay?"
Sam huffed in mild frustration. This was why he wished he could stay with Dean. "I'm fine."
Dean was silent for a minute, chewing on his lip while he tried to decide if Sam was lying to him. Sam could be three rooms away, hurt worse than Dean was and Dean would never know the difference. "Then I'll see you tomorrow," Dean said. "Right?"
"Yep. We're going to eat breakfast and then head in. Jim promised me blueberry muffins. I'll bring you one if I can keep Bobby from eating them all. We should be there in time for your lunch. Want us to stop and get you take out somewhere? I could sneak it in to you so you don't have to eat more hospital food."
"I'm not really feeling up to eating much," Dean said softly, Isabelle's spewing guts flashing into his mind. The taste of bile flavored his mouth sourly.
"Oh, okay. Not even a shake?" Sam asked, a little disappointed. Dean's hunger came in fits and starts. He would be glad when Dean was eating like a horse again.
Hearing Sam's worry, he added, "Uh, some M&Ms maybe?" They didn't sound good at all, but he knew it would make Sam feel better to hear that he wanted them.
"You bet!" Sam said enthusiastically. "We get you a big bag of 'em!"
"Then I'll see you tomorrow," Dean said and cut the connection without a goodbye. He started to set the phone down next to him when John reached out for it. Dean stared at John's expectant hand and reluctantly gave him the phone.
"Are you thirsty or hungry, Ace?" John asked as he slid the cell phone into his pocket.
Dean shook his head minutely. He could still taste the drain cleaner. He could still smell her perfume.
Concern washed over John's face. Dean was having a really bad day. "Ace, you okay?"
Although he nodded, John saw a new and different fear in Dean and his heart lurched at the terror he saw in his boy's eyes. Oh, God.
"You remember," John said softly, not wanting to hear the answer he knew he would.
"Remember what?" Dean whispered, feeling a tremor run through him. His green eyes were wide, his pupils dilated.
"What happened to you."
Denying those horrible memories, Dean shook his head violently. No, it was just a bad dream he told himself. Just a bad dream. He felt the bile rise suddenly and managed to push himself up enough so that he puked over the side of the bed. His ribs scream agony and he doubled over in pain.
"Dean!" John said, reaching to help his son, in his concern momentarily forgetting what he'd drilled into everyone else about using Dean's name.
Dean whimpered and curled in on himself. No, please no! he thought desperately. He already hurt. What would they do to him this time? The battery again? The pipe? Punch him in his broken ribs? Seek pleasure as they humiliated him? He felt the hand on his shoulder and pulled away, struggling to climb out of the bed.
"Ace!" John said, kicking himself for using Dean's name. "You're safe. Calm down."
Dean clutched the cold bedrail to his chest and tried to get his leg free but it was tied down. He couldn't get it loose. He yanked again, but they'd tied it too well and he could hardly move it. Worse, they were behind him. He knew what they'd do. What they'd done over and over and over. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the laughter, for them to say his name, and then …then… He dry heaved this time and whimpered as the pain raked him. Just let him die. Just let the pain end. He wanted them to finish him. Put a gun to the back of his head and just do it. But if he begged for death, they'd drag it out longer. He had to be strong. He had to show them what a Winchester could endure. "Just get it over with, you mother-fuckers," Dean snarled. He tensed, waiting for it.
John came around to the other side of the bed. "Ace, it's Dad. You're okay. You're in the hospital. You're safe."
Dean trembled as he waited, lost in his own nightmare.
John laid a hand on Dean's arm hoping to get through to his frightened son. Dean back fisted him and then cried out as pain shot through his hand. Somebody had stabbed his hand with something. He looked, afraid he'd see his own knife sticking out the back of his hand. His brow furrowed and he saw an IV nearly torn out of his hand. He saw his father a few feet away, his hand on his cheek, a startled look on his face.
"Dad?" Dean asked, confused. He was certain he'd been in the warehouse just moments before. Where was he now? Where was Sam?
"Ace," John said and cautiously moved forward. "You back with me?"
"Where am I?" He looked around but the room was unfamiliar. He catalogued his surroundings but just couldn't make the connection.
"You're in a hospital," John said slowly. "You've been here a little over two weeks now. Sam will be in to see you tomorrow. He's doing okay; he's out at Jim's place."
"They hurt him," Dean whispered.
John acknowledged that painful truth. "Yes, but he's mostly healed up. He's out at Jim's to make sure he's safe from that gang. He comes into town every couple days to visit you. He'll be in tomorrow," John reiterated, knowing when Dean was this confused, his mind just couldn't hold on to anything for very long.
A hospital his father said. Dean's gaze took in the room. That seemed right. His arm and leg were casted and he felt the tight wrap around his ribs. He ached everywhere. The taste of bile was strong in his mouth and the smell of it nauseating. Looking down, he saw the puddle of bile on the tiled floor. Still trembling, he slowly pushed himself away from the bed rail and on to his back. The head of the cot was elevated enough he could see his father, elevated enough that he didn't feel completely vulnerable.
Dean gave a slight nod. Sam would be in tomorrow. Sam, who'd come after him. Sam who'd been attacked like he had. Sam who'd…carried him out? That part was a little vague. They'd given him drugs. To keep him docile while they went out for food. Not enough to overdose him, Juarez had promised. He stared at his father, trying to reassure himself that he wasn't dreaming that he was safe, but that he really was safe. He looked at the crook of his arm. No needle marks. He looked at the IV and then around the room, his gaze coming back to rest on his father. John had moved closer and Dean tried to sink further in the cot. He didn't want to be touched.
"Stay away," Dean hissed, no longer seeing his father before him, but merely a looming figure ready to hurt him. Frantically he searched for a weapon, for something to protect himself. He found a plastic cup full of liquid but as soon as he picked it up, he dropped it. He could smell the drain cleaner in it. He could feel his mouth burning. No. He wasn't safe. He was having delusions that he was safe. The drugs Juarez had given him were making him imagine his desires as real. Wailing in anger and frustration, he folded in on himself, pulling his mind back and away from the terrors he no longer wanted to face. He buried his consciousness as deeply as he could. He'd done it before, when his mother went away and his house burned. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd done it, but he'd find a way now.
John watched helplessly as his son panicked, started to pick up a cup as if to throw it at him, then dropped it as if it had burned him. Dean cried out in agony then his body relaxed suddenly, his eyes glassy and empty. The heart monitor assured him his son was still alive, still breathing. John had seen that glassy look in his son's eyes before. It had taken Mac and Caleb months to coax him back out. Tears slid down John's face as he gripped his son's arm, sobbing at Dean's bedside. "No, Ace, don't do this. Please don't do this. Come back to me, Ace, please come back to me…"