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Bobby clung onto Sam's shoulders, doing his best to keep Sam from getting in Jim's way. Sam continued to pull away from him, desperate to get to Dean.
"No! Dean! Dean," Sam cried out hysterically as tears streamed down his face.
Jim ignored Sam's pleas and pulled the syringe out his pocket. As Garth quickly wiped rubbing alcohol over Dean's chest, Jim looked at each of the people in the room. Time stood still as he observed Sam's hysterical bawling, Bobby's anguished face and the tears at the edge of his eyes as he tried to keep Sam from getting in the way, Garth's determination and steady hands as he tried to help Jim, Alice's fevered face as she rubbed sweat out her eyes and jumped to help Bobby hold Sam. Jim looked down at Dean's limp form, wondering if Dean's body could even function if they brought him back.
He felt for the breastplate that protected Dean's heart. He pulled the cap off of the syringe and took a deep breath, refusing to look at anything else going on in the room. He needed to focus and the commotion wasn't working.
"Garth, move back," he said. "Everyone shut up-NOW!"
Jim took another deep breath and slowly exhaled as he forcefully pushed the needle through the breast plate, when the needle was deep in his chest, Jim depressed the plunger. He didn't even have a chance to pull the needle out before Dean's eyes were open; rolling around panicked and wild. He jackknifed on the cot, his breathing deep and harsh.
Jim moved towards him, the movement startling Dean and causing him to roll off the cot and onto shaking hands and knees. Jim lurched to steady him, Sam leaping to help causing Bobby to lose his balance. Dean's breathing was fast paced and he slowly tried to look up at those holding him.
"Sam, help me hold him steady, I have to pull the needle out," Jim said slowly and calmly. The last thing they needed was Dean freaking out and hurting himself any further. "Let's try to ease him into a sitting position."
Sam nodded his understanding, his head still reeling from losing Dean. They gripped Dean under his arms and helped him to ease back; he seemed unaware of what was going on, swatting their hands weakly.
"Dean, we're trying to help you," Sam said. "We've got you, your safe. Don't fight us."
Jim slowly gripped the syringe and pulled it out of Dean's chest, before handing it to Garth to recap. Bobby stood from the floor, obviously stiff from the length of time the ordeal had taken.
"That wasn't adrenaline, was it," Bobby asked knowingly.
Jim shook his head and said with a near hysterical chuckle, "Atropine and epinephrine. One milligram of each, straight to the heart. Worked like a charm."
Bobby moved to help, seeing Jim's hands shaking from his own adrenaline rush. "Let's get him inside," Bobby said. "Sam, let's get him wrapped up in a quilt, it's freezing outside."
Dean continued to fight them weakly, while Sam spoke slowly and softly, explaining everything they were doing.
"We'll need to check him over once he's back in the house, see what condition he's in now that the Wendigo is gone," Bobby stated firmly. "Jim, you going to be up for that?"
"Sure thing," Jim mumbled from where he had slid down to the floor, in a heap of exhaustion. "Garth, just drag me back to the house."
"Come on now, princess," Bobby called out as Sam carried Dean out of the room. "You can sleep for a whole month once this is done."
"Deal," Jim called back as he pulled himself from the dirt floor.
It had indeed turned colder while they had waited for the Manitou, snow flurries drifting down as they quickly moved back to the warm house. Dean shivered and burrowed deeper into the quilts he had been wrapped in. Sam held him tighter and picked up the pace.
Sam paused when he got into the house, wondering suddenly who to toss from one of the already taken beds in the house. Alice waved for Sam to follow her. "He's taking my room; it's the biggest and has the best lighting for Jim to work with. Also has a bathroom attached with a fairly decent sized tub, you might be able to wrestling him in for bath later," Alice explained.
"Alice, what about you? Where are you going to sleep," Sam asked.
"The other panic room," Alice said with a shrug. She didn't bother to explain she had been sleeping down there nearly a week already, ever since she felt the familiar burn under her skin.
"Thanks," Sam said.
As Sam deposited Dean onto the bed, Jim walked into the room slightly unsteady on his feet. Garth walked behind him, carrying the bag of medical equipment Jim had tossed together.
"I'll need some help," Jim said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can hardly see straight."
"You alright, son? You're looking alittle puny," Bobby said, concerned.
"Yeah," Jim muttered. "Just exhausted from the ceremony and everything. My grandfather made a few notes about the aftereffects of that kind of ceremony, he wasn't kidding."
"Can anyone here do stitches," Jim asked as he held out his still shaking hands.
"Son, you're in luck," Bobby said with a laugh. "Everyone here, including Dean, can do stitches."
"Alright," Jim said with a tired smile. "I'll just tell you guys the immediate stuff. I need some sleep. Stitch and dress the cuts on his chest, be careful of the burns as well. I'd say try to get him cleaned up, if nothing more than for comfort sake. See if he'll swallow any water, if he won't we'll have to put in a hydration line."
"What about the feeding tube," Sam asked. "When can you take it out?"
"When we know he doesn't need it," Jim said with a yawn. "Bobby, take a listen to his lungs. I'd be worried about pneumonia."
"That it," Bobby asked as Garth handed him the antiseptic.
"For now," Jim said. "Wake me up if anything weird happens."
"Weird? Like what," Alice asked.
"Nightmares for one, hallucinations or hysteria," Jim explained as he headed for the door. "He might not be himself for a while; you have to remember that he's been essentially a wild animal for months. We need to make sure we didn't just bring Cujo in from the cold. Someone needs to keep an eye on him at all times until we know for sure he's…stable."
The group watched as Jim wobbled down the hallway and into his room. Bobby shook his head, as though to dislodge Jim's words. "Sam, you talk to him. Garth, you ever put in stitches," Bobby asked.
"A few times," Garth said with a shrug.
"Then you can help me," Bobby said. It was a long drawn out process, starting with everyone crowding around the bathroom sink to scrub up. Sam held one of Dean's hands and quietly explained what they were going to do while Garth laid out the materials for Bobby.
Bobby sighed as he picked up the needle and nylon thread. He couldn't remember how many stitches he had put in the Winchester boys, more than he wanted to know about for sure. He watched as Garth tried to clean the wounds out with antiseptic spray foam, he made a mental note to send a thank you note to Jim's uncle. Once Garth moved out of the way, Bobby began the task of sewing Dean back together; pinching the skin together, pushing the needle through to the other side, pulling the thread through, tying off and clipping the thread off and then starting over again. It was a long silent task.
Halfway through, Alice walked out of the room silently. Bobby motioned for Garth to take over and followed her out to the kitchen. He found her at the sink, splashing cold water on her face. Her cheeks were a little more than rosy, her eyes glossy from the fever within.
"Alice, you need to go downstairs and get in that tub," Bobby said sternly. She gave him a hard glare and nodded.
"You think I don't know that Bobby? I have a house full of hunters and John Winchester just waiting for me to spark," Alice muttered. "I'll be downstairs. I already yanked the fire alarm out of the panic room."
"I'll come check on you in a few hours," Bobby promised as she walked towards the stairs.
"You just make sure that boy stays alive," Alice said, her eyes beginning to glow like red hot coals.
Sam pulled another washcloth off the shelf and ran it under the hot water. He had decided that a bath would have to wait; Dean had continued to lay limply on the bed, not responding to anything anyone did. He hadn't flinched as they had finished his stitches or treated the burns on his chest. Sam continued to wash the grime from Dean, waiting for Bobby to say something. It didn't take long.
"You need to get some rest Sam," Bobby said.
"Bobby! I need to be here if Dean needs anything," Sam exclaimed.
"I can watch him for a bit," Bobby said. "Tell you what, let's carry one of those big armchairs in from the living room, you can try to get some sleep in here."
After Bobby was satisfied that Sam was resting in the chair, they sat silently and watched Dean. His green eyes moved around the room carefully, as though looking for something not there.
"You think he'll be okay," Sam asked aloud. "He still looks somewhat like a Wendigo."
Bobby knew what Sam meant. Dean's skin was still tight and pale, but no longer had the waxy, translucent look to it. His hands and feet were back to their normal size, but his nails were broken, stained, and still claw like. His hair was thin and greasy and his eyes were still dull.
"He'll be alright. I don't doubt the Wendigo is gone; Jim managed to pull off an unheard of feat. If he turns into a hunter, he'd be a credit for everyone," Bobby said as he watched Sam's eyelids beginning to droop. He smiled as he saw Dean's head turn towards Sam, his hand slowly sliding across the blankets before reaching out tentatively towards Sam.
Bobby continued to watch as Dean stared at Sam, his face determined. Dean opened his mouth, and then closed it back slowly. Dean repeated this action several times before looking frustrated. Bobby slowly said, "Sam."
Sam opened his eyes, startled from his doze. He immediately saw Dean and leaned closer. Dean slowly reached out and touched Sam's face, before grabbing Sam's sleeve and pulling him closer.
"Sss…" Dean said, trying to form the word. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the sound, it was a word he could hear in his own head, a word he remembered screaming over and over again back in the cave; a word that mattered more to him than most.
"Ss..am," Dean shook his head in frustration. He gripped Sam's arm tighter and tried again. "Sammy."
"Dean!" Sam cried out, tears forming in his eyes again. "I thought we lost you man."
Dean smiled lazily and slumped back onto the bed. Sam and Bobby watched as his eyes slid closed, a deep sigh escaping as a small smile graced his sickly features.
Sam fell back into the chair and smiled. Bobby chuckled and patted Sam's knee as he walked past. He smiled all the way to the panic room, knocking on the door before letting himself in. He was silent as he sat on down on the stool next to the bathtub. Alice was under the water, her burning eyes staring up at him from the water. He sat quietly until she slid out of the water, only her face coming into view.
"How long is it going to take," Bobby asked. He swore he could see steam rising from her, the air in the room cold.
"It could take hours, if I'm lucky," she replied. "It depends how long it takes for the fire to burst through."
"You need any help," Bobby asked gruffly, remembering Arizona. She had needed serious help that time.
"I hope not," she said. "My notes are in my desk if you need them. I rigged the ceiling in here with sprinklers, so hopefully I won't burn down the house this time. You keep the boys upstairs if you can. I can't risk going up until this is done."
"Agreed," Bobby said. "Alright, well, I'll check on you again. I brought you something if you want to try it. I did some phoenix research not long ago."
Alice was surprised when Bobby handed her a lighter. She turned it over in her hand and looked up at him, questioningly.
"You start it, get it over with faster that way," he said apologetically as he walked to the door.
Upstairs, Bobby started to make his rounds. Garth had crashed on the couch, Jim in his bed, Sam sleeping soundly in the chair. He watched as Dean slept; his arms and legs occasionally twitching. It started out slowly and escalated until Dean was thrashing wildly and let out a yell. Sam bolted out of the chair and reached out to hold onto Dean.
"Hold him Sam! Watch his stitches," Bobby called out as he tried to grab Dean's legs. "It's alright Dean, you're alright. Shhh…"
As Dean's movements stilled and he fell back to sleep, Sam reached out placed a hand on Dean's forehead. "He's burning up," Sam said.
Bobby sighed and patted Dean's shoulder. "Never do anything easy, do you boy," he said. "Sam, get some washcloths, let's try to cool him down. We may have to wake Jim up and see about those antibiotics."
The next morning resulted in a day much like the others had been, except with everyone more rested from the lack of howling. Bobby made breakfast while Sam tried to get Dean looking more like Dean. He had gotten up early and maneuvered Dean into the bathtub, after a good scrubbing and cutting his nails, Dean did look much more like himself, albeit far too thin.
Sam slowly led Dean down the hallway and into the kitchen, everyone falling silent as Dean reluctantly allowed Sam to push him into a chair. He refused to look at anyone, only looking up from his lap to track Sam's movements around the kitchen. Sam loaded up a plate for Dean and set it before him, hoping Dean's appetite was back.
Dean leaned close to the plate, sniffing the food, before slowly pushing it away from him.
"Dean, aren't you hungry," Sam asked, concerned. Dean needed to eat or the feeding tube would have to stay.
Dean reluctantly shook his head and slumped down into his chair, scooting his chair away from the table, away from the food. Sam scooped up a piece of sausage with a spoon and held it out to Dean, "Open up, Dean."
Dean lurched from the chair, causing it to fall to the floor behind him, he unsteadily fell to his hands and knees, gagging and dry heaving. Sam moved towards him, the spoon still in his hand; causing Dean to crawl away from him.
"Sam," Bobby said with a shake of his head. "Go get Jim up. Now."
Fifteen minutes later, Jim was waving them out of the room, trying to give Dean some privacy. "But he's my brother," Sam argued. Jim didn't say anything as he slammed the door shut, causing Dean to wince. Jim turned and looked at Dean, who was standing in the corner of the room, his back to the wall; staring at Jim hesitantly. Jim sighed when he saw the feeding tube in Dean's hand, he hadn't been surprised when Sam told him Dean had pulled it out.
Jim slowly held his hands out and sat down on the chair. "I'm assuming this is all overwhelming. Your body is betraying you, you're suddenly weak, and tired. Your senses are still working in overdrive, your sense of smell intense; the food must have been…a bit much."
Dean relaxed slightly. "I remember," Dean said, his voice gravelly from misuse.
"What do you remember," Jim asked curiously.
"Hunger," Dean ground out.
Jim sat back and considered his next words. "Do you feel it now," Jim asked. "The desire to eat flesh."
When Dean didn't respond, Jim tried a different tactic. "I'm sure you don't want me to put that tube back in," Jim said. "I don't want to either. But you have to eat to get better, to help your body heal."
"I didn't want to eat them," Dean said, his voice breaking.
Jim winced at Dean's words. He could tell from Dean's shivering and glassy eyes he was fevered. "Dean, would you like to sit in the chair," Jim asked.
"No," Dean said as he backed up to the wall again.
"I need you to take some medicine," Jim said. "Can you swallow them for me?"
Jim opened the door and waved for Sam to come back in. He handed Sam two pills and motioned at Dean. Sam slowly walked to Dean and held them out. Three minutes later, Dean was doubled over and dry heaving again, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"We have to put another central line in," Jim stated. "He needs fluids and antibiotics."
Thirty minutes later and Dean was fast asleep again, an IV bag hanging on a nail over the bed.
"We have to put the tube back in," Jim said apologetically to Sam.
"Why? Because he didn't eat breakfast," Sam asked angrily. "Give him a chance."
"His body needs nutrition Sam, to heal," Jim explained. "Either get him to eat by tonight, or the tube goes back in."
Meanwhile, downstairs Alice was toying with the lighter. She grimaced and finally gave herself a short nod. "Gotta do, what you gotta do," Alice said aloud. She stripped down to her bare skin, not even feeling the icy cold air in the room. She stuffed her clothes into a metal bucket full of water for safekeeping and moved back to the tub. She threw in another handful of the tea leaves and lowered herself into the water. She flicked the lighter, bring up a hypnotic flame. She gazed into it, feeling the flames inside intensify. She reached with her other hand and touched the flame, it caressed her skin and traveled from the lighter onto her hand. She dropped the lighter into the water and watched as the flame grew bigger. She bit back a scream as the flames moved to envelop her, she plunged into the water, but the flames continued to burn causing steam to rise from the tub.
Alice felt the flames move over her body, the water in the tub evaporating quickly. She felt the flames inside begin to burn intensely, leaving no part of her unscathed. Her screams seemed to echo through the room; the overhead sprinklers finally kicking in.
Bobby was sipping a cup of coffee in the kitchen when he felt the heat wave underfoot.
"Ah, hell," he muttered as he flipped through his notes looking for the phoenix.
Well, he's ALIVE! And he'll stay that way for now. Anyone for more? Just what are YOU expecting during his recovery? LET ME KNOW! Please leave a review! They are what fuel this writing machine! Oh by the way, any guesses on the item John stole?