I'm a bit late with the update, I know, but hey, therefore I finished this story, and now, it'll get the FINAL TOUCH ^^ I'm so excited, because the muse kissed me, and now there's a twist, you may not will be able to figure out until it's too late … Though, I think I've left some bread-crumbs along the way ^^
Chapter 5 ~ Devil May CareThe hammer falls to the ground and makes a sickening noise when it hits the tiles and breaks them.
Dean's head over heels then.
He pushes his flat palms onto Sam's wound and pressed down hard. Not to cause any more pain, but to stop the bleeding, despite that he knows that it won't help.
Dean blows out a shuddering breath, his entire body feeling weirdly nervous all of a sudden – and not in that good way he is used to feel.
Sam's eyes fly open and he sucks in a chocked breath, when Dean pushes down even harder.
"Don't you dare die on me.", Dean grounds out and slaps Sam's face once to draw his attention. "You hear me?", it's a yelled order.
Sam doesn't as much as stare at him, his pupils dilated, filled with sheer pain and a hint of despair.
Dean doesn't like it.
He gets off of the hunter, not losing eye-contact as he does so, and pulls his upper hand away from the wound and lays it on Sam's neck. The warm slick fluid on his hands painting them dark red, does not have the effect on him he's used to, and that makes him feel even more uneasy.
Seeing the crimson smear across the hunter's neck makes him feel sick.
Whatever he feels there on Sam's neck, the hunter can see that Dean doesn't like it. And it makes him kind of sad – and though relieved. He rather die now, since he's not fond of the thought becoming one of the killer's tortured victims.
Dean scrambles to his feet, nearly slipping in the red pool of blood leaking from Sam's body and disgust rises in the depths of his aching guts. An unfamiliar sting in his eyes makes itself known, and he feels downright sick to his stomach.
Dean doesn't lose any more time, when he pulls the hunter up onto his feet.
Sam may seem to have lost his physical ability to fight, but he sure as hell isn't going to sacrifice himself to the killer, so without resistance. He is struggling against the man's hold and nearly makes the both of them slip on the slick tiles beneath them.
Dean curses and eventually manages to catch the hunter's flaying arms. He wrestles him up and despite the man's tries to fight him off, he's able to dump him onto the table of the kitchen and holds him down by his shoulders and looks at him.
Really looks at him, what's actually making Sam stop to try and get away. – But only for a moment though.
"Don't fight me.", Dean as much as growls at him and grips his wrists so tight, there may be bruises tomorrow.
But Sam does.
Because that's what he does for his life and for everything else that's worth it. He fights him. Because he won't let the man get the best of him. He won't give him the satisfaction he may thinks he'll draw from making him suffer.
"You're only makin' it worse." Dean sounds annoyed, desperation around his words edges, and downright serious. Dead-serious. "On the both of us." And he's angry. – then again, he's something else too he can't quite put his finger on.
Maybe the something he's looking for to name is called sorrow. Regret.
Dean uses his weight to push Sam onto the hard surface, to make him stop and worsen what damage has already been done. It's not as if the Winchester is aware of what he's really doing here, but he figures that it doesn't matter at the moment and so he moves.
Fast.
He lets go of Sam and shrugs off his button-down-shirt and t-shirt and balls them up into a tight bundle. Dean looks Sam square in the face and pushes down again on the bleeding wound. He takes Sam's hand and places it there instead of his, and then gets Sam's other hand and puts it on top of the other one.
Sam's stares up at him in bewilderment.
"Put pressure on it.", he orders him and holds his look a little bit longer, before he vanishes from Sam's sight.
Sam's trying hard to push down. He also tries to keep the vision at bay, which dares to take a hold of him. But he realizes that he can't. – Not anymore. Not, when the world around him begins to swim and falter and flicker and he's not in the kitchen anymore, when dark hot pain rushes through his head and swallows him whole.
~ The Black Beast ~
When Dean returns, his hands full with – what looks like – bandages and a small black bag, Sam's hands are lying limply on top of Dean's rolled up clothes, formerly pressed to the wound.
Sam's head has lolled to the side, and his face is of a chalky white. The red covering his bare hands stands out under white skin. The smell of iron and copper lies heavy in the air.
For a moment Dean thinks Sam's not breathing anymore. He feels remorseful.
And it's not because he wasn't able to see him fade, or because he missed watching life leave his earthly shell.
He dumps the things - he's gathered - between Sam's feet, because the man is way too big for that tiny table, and there's not enough space. He's moving his hand over Sam's neck, shaky fingertips searching patiently until they find what they are looking for.
Dean knows how to handle this.
He's patched up people before, if they were about to die before they were supposed to, and when Dean has gotten carried away with what he was doing.
So, he knows what he's supposed to do, and he does it.
Maybe with shaky hands.
Maybe with deep regret lingering heavily in his chest.
Maybe with determination to not let this one slip away.
Maybe Dean Winchester's able to change though.
And maybe, you can make a horse drink, when you get it to the water.
~ The Black Beast ~
Sam's fading fast.
Dean's trying to find the source drawing blood inside Sam's body. He's opened up the wound and tugs and props inside of him, slick fingers digging beneath his skin, blood smeared nearly everywhere on the killer's hands, arms and clothes.
Sam's lost an unpredictable amount of blood by now, and Dean can't for the hell of it find what he's punctured with the knife earlier. He feels himself growing frantic – more and more devasted.
For once he tries to really safe someone's life, and fate decides to just not let him get there? Well, fuck fate and the whole damn world. Fuck his father and all the unworthy people staring down at him from the heavens.
He's not going to give up on the hunter, and he sure as hell won't let a reaper get this one to get dragged to heaven or hell. Not yet. Because he's the one in control here. He's the one who decides who and when they are allowed to leave.
No reaper.
Not death himself.
So, Dean keeps on probing and digging. And he's so not calm about this, like he's used to be when it's about drawing death out.
It's messy, and bloody, and he dearly hopes it's not too late for the hunter.
The table's surface is covered in red. So is Sam's stomach and ripped shirt.
~ The Black Beast ~
Dean manages to stop the bleeding. He's nicked into an artery with the riffled blade.
For the professional he is, and as soon as he's found the source, he's suturing him up with a needle out of the suture-kit he's found in one of Sam's duffels in his room, like he's a damn surgeon or something.
Layer after layer, until he reaches skin and does one of his best jobs to stitch the man up. Dean would be real proud of himself, if it's not for that wary feeling in chest, that pulls him down and grounds him to the here and now.
Dean's not sure what this is supposed to mean. And if it means anything at all. – But he at least feels satisfied for now.
He knows, that having him stitched up doesn't mean that the hunter's out of the woods and that's something that makes him uneasy and mad all over again.
Dean Winchester doesn't know what's riding him right now. He doesn't know anything at the moment, and that's not something that's ever happened before to him.
For once he's not in control of what he feels. He can't tell where this is taking him, and he catches himself wondering about what it'll be like when the hunter dies.
IF he dies.
Alone even taking this into consideration is not something he wants to think about.
Dean tears himself out of his dazed mind, and dumps the bloody dressings and gauze and clothes on the floor beside the table.
He doesn't really look at Sam, because he can't deal with the outcome of their game right now. He remembers feeling all the good things about it. He remembers the unearthly arousal and bliss and satisfaction when he was chasing Sam through this building.
And now he only feels like losing something – maybe everything.
~ The Black Beast ~
Maybe Sam won't make it.
It's something that's haunting him.
So he distracts himself. Dean undresses Sam right on the kitchen-table and throws the clothes onto the heap of waste he has produced before.
He cleans the hunter up as good as possible , but the half-dried blood shows under Sam's nails, in the tender wrinkles of his skin and it lingers there.
Dean Winchester scoops the gentle giant up in his arms, as he intends to carry him bridal-style into his room. He knows it must look ridiculous, but he doesn't care.
Because the whole situation is ridiculous in Dean's eyes and he asks himself, if the things he feels right now will fade away again. – As if someone's intending to offer him a glimpse into the worlds of emotions regular people have.
A part of him is yelling at him like a mad man. Telling him to grab everything he might need, and leave before Sam's friend shows up.
The other part is whispering softly into his ear, telling him that that's the right thing to do. That he can't go and leave the hunter to himself. That he is supposed to deal with whatever outcome bears in the future.
Dean doesn't want to listen to any of it right now.
Though, he has to admit, that he CAN'T leave as long as it's uncertain if the hunter is going to survive. Even when he had felt all wound up and head over heels to torture and kill the hunter in the past, now he doesn't anymore.
Something happened to Dean Winchester and it's utterly strange that he even considers to take care and make sure Sam is going to be alright. It feels like he has some sort of connection to the man. And he thinks, that if Sam dies, he'd lose a part of himself too.
That's something that's never been there before.
Dean decides to go with his newest desire to not keep a person alive because he wants to see it suffer and lose its life. It's the desire to take care of someone, to make sure about someone's wellbeing.
Sam's head rests in the crook of Dean's neck, when he's carrying him down the corridor. The killer can feel the cool skin of Sam's forehead and shallow exhales ghost over his bare skin. It makes him feel good – in an eerie kind of way – to have the man this close to him because of other reasons than to see him die.
When they reach Sam's room, Dean hesitates for a moment and shifts the weight in his arms, before he steps over the threshold and walks over to the bed, where he lies the man down.
He's gentle and careful, when he arranges Sam in what looks like a comfortable position to rest, and covers him with the comforter and the blanket, before he steps back and scrutinizes the outcome of his actions.
Dean knows about the infirmary and he thinks he's seen some items that come in handy now. So – despite that he has the urge to not leave the hunter alone – he goes there and searches the cupboards and drawers for useful things.
The bunker is perfectly equipped for close to every situation that could probably come up, and Dean's relieved, when he finds saline drips, morphine, syringes and everything he will need to keep the hunter's body functioning.
When he returns to Sam's room, he goes straight for the bed and checks his pulse and listens attentively to his labored breaths.
He curses. The man's pulse is barely there.
His breaths - if you can call it that – are shallow ghosts of what they are supposed to be.
He dumps the bag from his shoulder onto the floor and rummages around until he finds the device he's looking for. Dean hurries up to place the blood-pressure-cuff around Sam's bicep and tightens it there. Despite Dean's worries that the old hemodynamometer may be defect since it looks like he's seen better days, he's positively surprised when it works after switching in on.
Dean's not waiting for the device to show him Sam's stats. Instead, he goes back to rummage around in the bag and pulls out saline drips (way due with their expiration date, like all the other items he's gathered), syringes and vials. He realizes, that there's no space to put them, somewhere where there'd be enough room to lay them out properly.
So, he moves to pull the desk over towards the end of the bed and places everything from the duffel there.
While arranging everything, he checks on the hemodynamometer's results. He's not surprised, when it shows him an error. He has figured that much anyway.
There are vials with ingredients only a doctor would know – except for Dean Winchester. He's not a doctor, but he knows what and when and how much to use, when it's about to draw out someone's life.
Only the purpose is a different now.
He plugs one of the syringes into three different vials and pulls the equally clear liquids into it. Dean checks the scale each time, making sure he's got the right dose.
Once he's sure everything's prepared, Dean starts to work on the saline drip and a vein catheter he is about to insert into Sam's lower arm. Once that's done and it starts to drip, he plugs the syringe into one of the ports on the vein catheter and injects its ingredients into Sam's bloodstream.
Dean looks at the clock on the wall and gives it thirty seconds before he takes Sam's blood-pressure again.
The device still shows an error, when it peeps, and Dean fills another syringe with adrenaline and injects it.
Then he speeds up the drip, so it'll be empty in less than twenty-five minutes.
Half due, he takes Sam's blood-pressure again and gives him some more medications.
And then he waits, his finger's on Sam's neck in case the hemodynamometer is defect. It probably isn't, Sam's blood-pressure may's too low to be assessed by it.
Dean would've liked to put Sam on oxygen too, but that's something that's not available, so they have to go without. And he hopes it will work out.
He'll do it the old-fashioned way.
Sam's life is hanging by a thread, and Dean knows that. He wishes he could do more, but there's nothing. At least nothing that would not get the authorities involved.
~ The Black Beast ~
An hour after setting Sam up and monitoring his breaths only by staring at him, he's pretty sure the hunter's going to die. About twenty minutes ago, his breaths had been labored, but frequent. Now there were long pauses in between them.
He's counting the amount of time it takes in between his breaths, which are becoming insanely longer each time and Dean's tempted to yell at him for some reason. He wants to rant about how he is supposed to fight, and that Dean won't allow him to die.
But he doesn't.
Because he's not sure his voice wouldn't betray him and break, or the unfamiliar sting in his eyes would return.
Dean Winchester feels helpless for the very first time since he can remember, and it's wrecking him to the core and shattering the icy bubble that's been built up around his heart over years.
~ The Black Beast ~
Two hours later, Sam stops breathing at all.
Then the barely-there thumps against his fingers on Sam's neck are gone too, moments later.
Dean waits a couple of seconds, before he drags him off of the bed onto the hard floor and starts to reanimate him. He's pushing down hard on the man's ribcage – maybe too hard – and cracks a rib or two.
He curses and rants along, as he's pushing down, counting them, checking if Sam's starting to breathe again, checking for a pulse.
This time, Dean forgets to check on the clock, so he doesn't know how long it takes until he can feel a pulse.
But Sam's eventually back among the living – barely. And that's all that counts.
Dean leaves him on the floor in case he has to resuscitate him again.
The killer can't think about a time where he's tried to keep someone alive that intently. Not like he's ever been in a situation like that anyway.
Usually, he has everything under control. He knows when they're about to pass out, to go into shock or whatever. He's the one deciding whenever to let them fade, or to allow himself having some much more "fun" with the victims.
~ The Black Beast ~
Somewhen during the night, Sam seems to become stable enough, so, Dean can leave him on his own for a short amount of time.
Dean stays with him some time longer, until he's absolutely certain there won't be another incident causing him to have to resuscitate the man.
He allows himself to brew coffee and make sandwiches in the kitchen. He's hungry, but he doesn't feel like eating at all. Not with the sharp stench of blood lingering in the air. Not with all the blood on the table and all over the floor due to shoeprints he's left behind.
It makes him actually feel nauseous all over again.
Since he doesn't feel like staying in the kitchen, where shit got real, he moves to Sam's room with coffee and food. Realizing, that there's no other comfortable surface to sit down on except for the bed, he drags one of the recliners from the library through the bunker and into Room 21.
He pulls the recliner right up beside Sam's bed, so that he has fast access to the vein catheter, prepared syringes on the nightstand and the device to monitor Sam's blood pressure.
~ The Black Beast ~
Dean falls asleep, with his hand on Sam's wrist, his pointing- and middle finger resting on the space where soft thumps bump against his fingertips.
When he wakes up, nothing has changed.
He groans and stretches and feels Sam's pulse. It stronger now, but not quite acceptable yet. He monitors it for a couple of minutes, before he let go and rises. Dean assesses the man's breathing – still not strong enough.
Then he strolls through the bunker and to the infirmary, where he gets two more saline drips to take them with him.
When he returns, he exchanges the empty one and inserts two of the syringes into the new one; medication that should keep Sam stable enough to get him through the worst and his body back on track.
~ The Black Beast ~
Dean makes himself a home at the bunker in the room where he had woken up after being captured.
Once that's done and after checking on Sam for the fifth time this morning, he finds himself a laptop.
He researches where he is, and how far it is from where they have taken him.
It's not like he really cares that much where he is, but he needs to get his precious car. His baby. His one and only constant in his life.
Besides that, it's also about his gear, which is stored in Baby's trunk. There are quite some things that shouldn't get into the hands of others, or are supposed to be found by the authorities.
He also looks up Sam Campbell, but can't find anything.
He's searching through the hunter's files on the laptop and finds quite some interesting things, telling him more about Samuel himself, instead of the things he's looked up and saved away.
It's a digital version of a hunter's journal.
He also finds a calendar, where Sam has noted the frequency and intensity of his visions, with notes what he's seen.
The notes reach quite some time back – actually since the death of Dean's father.
There were some drawings too, saved separately in another folder. – They mostly show Dean and his victims. Some of them show a pair of yellow eyes staring right at him.
Of course, the killer had lied back then when he told the hunter, that he doesn't know about a yellow eyed demon.
Of course, he knows about him. – His father had been possessed by that THING. The THING that had taught him how to satisfy the needs he had felt back in the day the proper way.
Anyway.
He's browsing some more through the man's personal life and finds quite some interesting things. Like: NO PORN. No porn at all. No kinky stuff. Nothing that would let on, that's something off about the guy except for having visions and being a hunter.
Except for being a geeky nerd, Samuel Campbell is quite boring, Dean thinks.
Though, he's quite interesting too. For who he is and how he is, Dean muses to himself. Besides of being one sexy son of a bitch, there's the things he does to the Winchester.
Like, not wanting to kill him.
When there's nothing else to explore on the hunter's laptop, he returns to his journal and starts reading through it.
Every now and then he skips paragraphs, when he figures they're not relevant – like the ones which include a girl named Jessica. Despite the fact that she burnt on the ceiling of their dorm, she was quite as boring as Sam anyways.
After the girl, there don't seem to have been any other relationships.
Sure, someone called Madison was mentioned, but she's obviously been a werewolf and that's all except for a note that read, that turned humans sometimes don't know that they're actually monsters.
The hunter probably killed her/it, Dean figures and moves on reading after a short break to check on Sam's vitals and his condition in general.
It doesn't surprise Dean to find a file named Angels on the laptop. There are quite some useful things to read about them, and he's tempted to try and summon one, only to see if it's true.
Then again – if it's for real what Sam's writing – his friend is one of them. The friend he's mentioned in his digital journal a couple of times.
Dean scrolls down to his last entry from about two weeks and a half ago, where he writes that they're taking off to Ravenna, Nebraska.
~ The Black Beast ~
Two long boring days pass, in which Sam wouldn't move, nor even seem to attempt to wake up. Which may is that way because Dean keeps him high on meds. So Dean's pretty sure he should get his car now, before he'd start to wean him off from with what he's keeping him under.
The hunter would do better soon and eventually recover enough for another round of fetch through the bunker.
Dean's not sure, if he is supposed to stay and wait it out. Look what will happen. Or if he should take off as soon as the guy opens his eyes for the first time and is able to call out to his friend.
Then again, he could paint those sigils on the doors and walls, which are supposed to hold Angels – and therefore his friend Castiel – away. Which would provide him from running into the guy unexpectedly, when he should return while he's gone.
~ The Black Beast ~
Dean chooses one of the Bentleys in the garage for his ride to Ravenna. To his surprise the engine starts just fine, only the tank's low on gasoline, but as he has looked up beforehand, there's a gas-station not far away.
So he does, what he has to do and takes off to get his black Beauty back.
Two hours later he's in Ravenna at the motel he has been taken from, and feels his heart skip a beat in anticipation when his car appears in his line of sight as soon as he pulls up on the parking lot.
Dean rounds her, his fingertips gliding along the sleek cool black metal as he checks her over for eventual damage. When he's satisfied with no one having messed around with his Baby while he was gone, he pats her hood and moves to the driver's side.
~ The Black Beast ~
He's barely crossed the city-lines of Ravenna, when the Impala starts to sound miserable. A clanking noise makes itself noticeable over the rumble of the engine, so Dean pulls up at the side of the road to have a look under her hood.
Of course he's not a mechanic, but he sure knows something about how to take care of his car and about most issues she could have.
It'd not be the first time to fix her at the side of the road, out in the open. But it's a rather bad timing for her to leave him hanging when he's so – he wouldn't call it desperate – but fixed on returning to the bunker within five hours from when he's taken off.
Dean's hoovering under the car's hood and is cursing loudly, when he spots the problem. He can't continue the drive with the issue at hand, or else she will give up on him in a few miles and there'd be more damage done, than fixing her right away.
~ The Black Beast ~
A/N: THANK YOU for reading & sticking around ?THANK YOU to all the silent readers, kudo-button-pushers, commenters, reviewers, followers & bookmarkers. I LOVE ALL OF YOU XD