Welcome back, sorry for the delay, many a block this week courtesy of real life. Sigh. Um, just a heads up, this is kind of a dull chapter compared to previous ones but it is also a lead up to the next, hopefully much more riveting one ;)
I hope to be much quicker with the next update. As always, I appreciate all of you who have continued to stay with me on this journey.
"Dean? Dean, can you hear me?"
His body spasms as he is all too soon brought back from the relatively peaceful darkness and thrust into the pulsating light, the one that strums a brilliant chord of agony under his closed lids.
Pain. That's the only thing he knows as he flits his way back into semi-consciousness. Why he feels like he lost a battle with a damn semi escapes his miniscule brain power, plus he figures if he tries to actually think, that would be the last straw and his head would explode. Then again, maybe it already has.
And why is he fricken freezing his nads off? He moans softly as his body shudders against the onslaught that makes him feel like he's been dunked in a bucket of ice, naked.
"That's it bro, you're okay. Just gotta check you out quick, then you can rest, alright?"
He groans at the intrusion and grimaces as his efforts serve to rocket another flash of white hot pain to stab through his already throbbing skull. Jesus, turn down the damn volume Sammy.
"Dean? C'mon man."
He just wants Sam to go away and leave him alone. It's ass backwards is what it is. He wants him to wake up just so he can let him go back to sleep? Is that the kind of logic you learn in college?
"St..stop yellin'. M'good.. f..five m'minutes tired…"
He tries to move his head, aching to bury it away from the blaring bells and whistles of his brother's voice into the fabric of the pillow and end the relentless glare that only seems to intensify as he lays there. His head just kind of rolls on its own accord, straight into the cold, hard surface of... um...
"Where'm I?"
He hears laughter then. It sounds familiar and it's not the nice kind of laughter either, more like the evil, I'm enjoying the pain your in kind. It wriggles around at the periphery, just out of reach to figure out exactly why it's there in the first place. It's volume is ever increasing, filling him with a sudden feeling of dread.
"Who's 'ere?"
"It's me Dean. Sam."
"Ah, aren't you the cutest little thing when you're concussed."
Who the frick is the bitch rattling around in his head? Concussed? Well, ain't that peachy. He scrambles through images in his head but comes up with a big fat helping of nothing, zilch, and zero. It's a hollow shell, his skull, and provides not one damn clue to explain what led him here.
"Sam's gone Dean"
"Sh..shuddup..."
"But me? I'm not going anywhere."
No. Sam's… he… he heard him. He was right there, his voice in his ear. Right?
"Dean? Let's get you out of the tub. Cracked your head pretty good."
The giggle subsides slightly as he hones in on his brother's words.
Right. Concussed. Okay, yeah, that would explain the voice in his head.
Wait. The tub? What the hell is he... and why does Sam sound worried? Oh right, dumbass, probably cuz he hit his damn head again... on... shit, he's nowhere near lucid enough to figure that one out yet. But okay, why would Sam be in the bathroom with him while he's in the tub? That is just wrong on so many levels.
He shivers again. Damn, he feels like a friggin icicle. Cold. Empty. Thirsty.
Something is draped over his now quivering form. It's all he can do to put one plus one together to come up with the word towel. Damn it, what the hell?
Is that a hand on his face?
"Time to get up."
Yeah, it's a hand alright. He should send some kind of death glare his brother's way, maybe, but as hard as he tries he can't move and his eyeballs have decided to go on strike. Plus, it stands to reason that opening his peepers would be a very bad idea. So, it's settled then. Not gonna move. Not gonna as much as twitch one damn muscle.
He kinda zones out for a minute he thinks. It's weird really, he can't tell whether he's alive or dead, conscious or sleeping. His rambling cuts off as he is indeed moved but not under his own steam. Okay then, that's settled, definitely still alive. Cut it out Sam, that shit hurts.
"Leave.. me... here..."
"Not gonna happen man."
His skull is pounding by the time the shift in his body tells him he's now standing upright. The bass line keeps an irregular tempo and it makes him feel nauseous. He stumbles awkwardly and juts an arm out to grab his brother, or the wall, or fricken anything to stop their advance into the other room. Sickness crawls along the length of his throat and either he actually managed to say something or he's turned an unhealthy shade of green cuz all he hears is an intake of breath from Sam and the feel of his brother's hands quickly leaning his against the surface of what he assumes is the sink.
He coughs up nothing but liquid and the heaving leaves him even more weakened that he was two damn seconds ago. God, he hates this shit.
Sam keeps a hand on his back, doing that girly circle motion thing he always does when he's trying to keep himself and his older brother calm. He should tell him to stop but he has a strange feeling that it is the only thing that's keeping him in the here and now. Huh, that's a weird thought.
"Done?"
Just a minute Sam. Just need one more minute.
"Done?"
His brother's voice seems urgent now, strained. Like he's had one hell of a night and just wants to get him out of the confined space their in and get his concussed ass into bed. That sounds pretty freaking fantastic actually but he can't quite move yet, his stomach is still riding along on some kind of out of control rollercoaster.
"Dean?"
His voice is thick with worry. Okay already, jeez.
Alright, time for him to suck it up and play his big brother role. Time to put Sam's mind at ease. He breathes in, deep and slow and cautiously opens his eyes, and looks straight into the mirror.
Big. Mistake.
It's a blur, what happens next. He can feel the impact of his hand against the glass, it's shards raining down on him as he tries to erase the images of blood and gore, and more blood... and the skanky bitch that stares at him through the reflection. He cringes as her laughter makes a triumphant return to ring louder and louder through his head.
His arms are grabbed and held behind him but he is in fight or flight mode, his head thrusts back and he smirks when it connects with something solid. The arms release him but his victory is shortlived as a new crescendo of pain envelops his already aching skull. He struggles and gasps for air. He can feel and see the approach of a figure from his current vantage point of being bent over with his hands on his knees. Hell, whatever, he'll still go out swinging.
He lands a few good punches before his brain registers the fact that his hand is cut to ribbons and his equilibrium is shot to hell from the effects of a concussion and blood loss. By the time he regains his focus long enough to straighten up and face his foe head on, it's just in time to see the flash of a fist and feel the connection is makes to his chest. Shit. That hurt like a bitch. Winded, with his body suddenly too heavy to fight the pull of gravity, his legs fold and he is placed gently on the floor, his back against the wall.
He fights feebly as hands worm their way around his frame and he's lifted from his sunken position.
"I've got you Dean."
Sam?
TBC...