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The Road So far:

The sound of a knife sliding out from its sheath and cutting through the air, disturbing the peaceful silence of the night.

Silver gleamed up in the spare light of the half moon, that's beams were shining through the white curtains.

And what followed was a surprised, though definitely pained cry, jolting the hunter right back into the here and now.

"Sammy," Dean Winchester gasped as he caught sight of a pair of terrified and pained huge hazel eyes staring at him in disbelief.

Fields Of Jasmine

Chapter 24 ~ Visitors

The pills fell from Sam's hand and bounced over the floor.

"Sammy," Dean gasped, his eyes wide with horror. The knife fell from his hands and hit the floor loudly. He bolted upright into a sitting position and scrambled out of bed and towards the huddled up figure.

His omega was on the floor, back pressed up against the wall under the small window.

"Sam," Dean breathed, wincing as he put too much weight on his aching leg. "Shit, Sammy." He sank to his knees before his mate and tore the curtains apart, in an attempt to get more light into the room.

It did nothing like that, though. The room was barely illuminated even with the open curtains, especially not from where they were on the floor.

Dean's hands started to search the younger man's body the very next second, looking for signs of warm stickiness.

"Talk to me." Dean's voice broke, his hands shaking.

The omega wouldn't answer. He just stared wide-eyed at Dean, holding his breath. Not that the alpha could make out anything but his omega's dark silhouette against the even darker wall.

"Are you hurt?" he demanded to know. "Sam?"

Sam blew out a shaky breath. He didn't know. Was he actually hurt? Did Dean… No… he didn't feel anything right now. There was no pain, was there?

Sam blinked up at those incredibly green circles, which he could make out easily, since a single beam of moonlight shone in Dean's face. There were freckles and lines of terror and panic around them. He opened his mouth to answer "no," but he couldn't muster a single word.

"Sammy," Dean repeated over and over again, as his hands searched him frantically. "Shit, Talk to me, baby boy."

So far he hadn't felt anything wet and warm and sticky.

Suddenly the ex-hunter's hands were in Sam's face, cupping his cheeks. "Are you okay?"

Sam gave him a shaky nod, biting his bottom lip. "I… I didn't mean to scare you… I… I brought your pills." He gazed at the floor beside of him, his blown pupils not even trying to focus. "I… I think I lost them." Sam raised his hand and stared at his open, empty palm for a very long minute. "I… I… I lost your pills." There was a hint of panic and disbelief in his voice.

"Sam. I don't care about the Vicodin. Did I hurt you?" Dean made him look him in the eyes. "Did I?" Dean's mouth went dry, when his mate's dilated pupils and narrowed iris gazed back at him.

Not that the ex-hunter could possibly SEE him. It was rather a very clear sensing he received from the younger man.

Other than that, he could also feel it. Sam's skin became clammy.

One of Dean's hands slid down to his neck, where they rested above his pulse.

Sam's heart was racing.

Typical signs of shock.

"Okay, let's get you onto the bed and laid down, okay? Legs up on a pillow." Dean stared at the dark area that had to be Sam's face.

Sam made a small sound. "I'm good… I… I'm fine, Dean. 'M not hurt." The omega sniffed and leaned forward a bit. "I… I need to find your pills… I lost them." There wasn't really any strength in his words. They were a breathless whisper at best.

"Sam. It's fine. I'm gonna look for them."

"No… no… I've… you're hurtin'."

Dean didn't answer that. He simply leaned forward and gathered the omega into his arms, holding him tight. "It's okay. It's not that bad." Of course, it was really bad, but it was even worse that he had nearly killed Sam that he had been close to hurting him. "You went to get my pills. That's pretty nice of you."

Dean tried to smile, but failed miserably. The horror of the possibility that he could've hurt Sam stuck in his bones. The shock that he could have killed him… There was no expression for this. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

Sam's gaze drifted aside for a moment. "I can get you new ones."

"I'm sorry, Sammy." He told himself to never again store a knife under his pillow. Not while he was with Sam. Not when his whole damn cabin was warded and his gun in the nightstand. He'd rather take the risk of getting jumped in his sleep, than hurting, or even killing Sam with his own hands because of a nightmare… or… just because his instincts told him to.

Dean squeezed him a bit tighter.

"You think you can lie down on the bed for me? Let's get your legs up on a pillow or something and I'll get the both of us something to drink and myself a Vicodin?"

Sam seemed coherent enough to understand and nodded.

"Good." Dean smiled at him. "Let's get up. The floor's not comfy."

He nodded into his alpha's shoulder and put his hands to his left and right on the floor. There was something warm and slick under his right palm as he did so.

Dean let go of him and pulled back, sitting back on his haunches before he got to his feet with a grunt.

Sam raised his right hand in front of himself, into the beam of moonlight, to see what made it wet. Curiously, he stared at the scarlet wetness covering his palm and fingers.

Dean's smile faltered the very moment he followed Sam's motion with his gaze and a cold, dark pit started to grow deep down in his guts at the sight of blood.

Sam's blood.

The omega looked up with a questioning gaze and blinked.

Dean limped to the bedside table and switched the light on. When he turned back around, a gasped "fuck" fell from his lips. He was back at Sam's side and on his knees in an instant. Not caring about the pinch in his hip and the violent protest of his knee and calf.

The omega's face was pale. His pupils dilated and irises clouded.

The alpha took Sam's hand in his and turned it around, revealing an ugly looking cut along Sam's lower arm, right along the ulna.

Damn, he got him good with the fucking knife. It was a deep gash, parting skin and flesh, good five inches long.

It was still bleeding.

Sam stared at the wound, completely surprised himself. Only now that the omega saw it, he started to feel the slight throb and sting and the burn as cool air hit the wound.

"Shit. Sammy. I'm so fuckin' sorry." Dean's eyes were tearing up, his lower lip quivering, his voice raw with emotion.

"It's not that bad." The younger man tore his gaze away from the wound. He barely felt it anyway. So why the fuss?

"It damn well is," Dean hissed through gritted teeth. "I hurt you." … I could've killed you.

As good as the alpha tried to push his own pain aside, it didn't work. His damn leg wouldn't stop hurting and instead of just shutting the fuck up so that he could concentrate on Sam's injury, his body decided to work against him.

"It wasn't your fault," Sam mumbled. He'd never seen the ex-hunter like that ever, not since he was with him.

The omega decided that he didn't like the way Dean looked when his eyes got all shiny with unshed tears, the way his face contorted in emotional agony and the waves of self-hate and guilt which radiated from the older man.

"We need to stop the bleeding," the ex-hunter mumbled to himself.

He avoided Sam's eyes, not able to look him in the eyes, when he turned around to reach for the sheet covering their bed.

"I can do it myself." Sam was about to pull his arm away so he'd be able to stand up and head into the bathroom where he'd take care of it.

But Dean held his arm tight and shook his head. "You stay put. Your mind hasn't recognized that your body's actually in shock. And when it does, you're going to pass out."

Sam tilted his head to the side, pondering this. He didn't feel any different than before. Okay, he might felt fuzzy and… weird… but he sure didn't feel like passing out. It didn't even hurt.

"It doesn't even hurt, Dean. It's okay." Sam smiled a bit now.

The ex-hunter shook his head again, his forehead creased in deep lines of worry. "I said you stay here." He gave him a pointed look. He then pulled the sheet off of the bed and covered the little pool of blood on the floor with it. Then he ripped his tee shirt over his head and wrapped it around Sam's lower arm.

"Put pressure on it," he said. He sounded stern and not in the mood for discussion. So Sam didn't tell him that he could handle this himself.

Instead Sam nodded and watched Dean getting to his feet with creases of pain and guilt riding his features. His Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed a grunt. "I'll be right back. Don't move."

Sam watched him leave and hurry into the kitchen. He knew it was his fault. If it wasn't for his stupidity, Dean wouldn't feel guilty, and he wouldn't be sitting bleeding on the floor.

It was all his fault.

Minutes later, Dean came back with a first aid kit and a glass of water. He still wouldn't look Sam in the eyes, though. Instead he pushed Sam's hand away from the shirt and started to unwrap his arm.

When the soaked fabric was gone, Dean laid the items of the first aid kit out on the floor beside him with shaky fingers. He took gauze from it and soaked it in antiseptic fluid. Then he started to clean the gash.

Sam watched him in wonder.

It still didn't hurt, which surprised the omega massively. Then he remembered that it mostly didn't hurt in the beginning. Shock was what Dean had called it.

Dean tilted his head to the side and stole a concerned glance at the younger man. Sam was supposed to… to at least whimper. That cut had to hurt like a damn bitch.

But he didn't.

Sam started to feel dizzy and felt his hands tremble slightly. The longer he watched Dean's ministrations, the less comfortable he felt. It was a weird feeling, as if slowly but surely, his mind became dislocated from his body and holding onto it was getting harder each passing second.

"Dean," Sam croaked out, he himself not understanding why his voice broke and why his voice sounded so faint. "... I think I don't feel so good..."

Dean's hands were shaky, too. His breaths came out in short, pained puffs through his nose. By all that was holy, he couldn't concentrate on the task at hand. He'd need to sew the gash closed, but with the way his hands shook it wouldn't be possible.

"Hospital" was the next thing he thought.

He'd need to take Sam to the hospital and get the wound looked at there. After all, there could be more damage than noticeable at first glance. Okay, Sam could move his fingers and hand, but that didn't mean that he didn't get hurt worse. People walked around with broken legs when in shock.

As if on cue, the front door to the cabin opened and hurried footfalls were heard.

"Dean!" Bobby's gruff voice echoed through the living room. He seemed to have it urgent with whatever pressing matter made him come over in the middle of the night in his pajamas and sandals. "You guys need to turn on the TV! Jody called me!"

As bad as Dean wanted to obey the indirect order of his surrogate father, he actually didn't care.

"Bobby! Bedroom!", he hollered back. Bobby would be capable of stitching his mate up too. The man was better than any doctor could ever be. Given the constant and frequent use of his suture kit.

"Holy shit, boys," the gruff hunter gasped as he stopped dead in his tracks right in the doorway. "What the hell happened?"

Eventually, Bobby managed to get his butt moving again and kneeled down beside Sam's other side, gazing at Sam and then at Dean.

Both men looked like shit. To be honest, he wasn't sure which one looked worse right now and which of them he was supposed to help first.

Okay, not quite though.

He noticed just now that there was blood smeared over the ex-hunter's hands, Sam's pajama pants, and lower arm.

"Is that blood?" Of course it was blood, he knew it, but he also had to hear it from either Dean or the omega. When he bowed forward, he got a glimpse of what seemed to be an angry gash along the omega's forearm.

Bobby also noticed Dean Winchester's shaky hands, as he wiped a wet gauze pad over it, tainting it red.

Sam's eyes found the gruff hunter's face and he tilted his head to the side. The lines of his face soft and with a hint of fear.

"It was an accident," Sam spoke up, his voice hoarse. "He didn't mean it Bobby. It was my fault; mine. Dean didn't mean to," he started to babble. "It was an accident."

The older hunter swallowed and gazed at Dean, who didn't dare to look up at him at all. Of course it had been an accident. There was no way Dean could hurt the omega, he was sure of that. Besides… he knew what kind of accidents could happen, if you lived with an hunter – and shared a bed with him.

That had been why he had abandoned the gun-under-the-pillow idea after he had been close to shooting Karen one night.

He had felt terrible after that. Had slept in the living room for two weeks straight, instead of the same bed as his wife. Hell, if it hadn't been for Karen giving him shit for it one day, their relationship might not have made it.

So yes. Bobby Singer understood.

"I know, kiddo." Bobby kneeled down beside him and laid his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Let me have a look." He took Sam's arm from Dean's grasp and turned it slightly to take in the damage.

Dean backed away instantly, holding his breath, his hands still shaking.

Sam was searching the older hunter's face for any signs that he was mad at either of them, or that he thought that Sam had been lying. He wouldn't want Bobby to be mad at Dean, or give him hell.

"It's okay, right?" Sam sniffed, still staring at the old man. "It's not bad."

"Nah. Nothing we can't fix." The gruff hunter gave him a small wrinkled smile.

Slowly but surely, the wound started to throb and sting a bit more and there was this weird kind of burn. Sam hissed, when Bobby turned his arm a bit more.

"We're gonna have to stitch that up." Bobby bit his lip as he gazed at Dean, who stared at the gaping wound, which was still oozing blood. "I'll go and get something to numb the area around the gash so it won't hurt too much while I sew you up." His gaze fell on the shirt in Sam's lap. Okay, it was already soaked in blood, but that didn't matter. They'd have to sterilize and wash the wound out once more before stitching it up anyway. So he took it and wrapped it back around Sam's lower arm.

"C'mon, son. Put pressure on that. I'm gonna get the Xylocaine shots. I think I might still have some in the house." He winked at Dean, who obeyed instantly. Bobby noticed the ex-hunter's dampened mood, but now wasn't the time to talk about it.

First they needed to stitch Sam up, and then Dean needed his Vicodin. And in the morning, they'd talk about this, in peace and when the worst shock was over, when Dean had time to think about it himself.

"It was an accident, Bobby." Sam's gaze drifted from Dean – who wrapped his strong fingers around Sam's lower arm – and then up at the older hunter, asking him without words to say something too.

"Of course it was. Dean wouldn't wanna hurt you." There was the faintest of brushes down Dean's back by a calloused hand and a slight squeeze of his shoulder, a motion that told the alpha that Bobby meant it.

Though, Dean refused to look at his old friend or his mate, so ashamed was he.

When Bobby was gone, Sam trained his gaze at Dean for a long while, thinking about saying something. But he didn't know what. Obviously, his mate was terrified by what had happened.

So instead of opening his mouth and risking saying shit, he extended his good hand and laid it on Dean's cheek.

The older man's eyes fluttered shut and leaned instinctively into the touch. Though, Sam had the feeling that if it weren't for the fact that he had to put pressure on Sam's wound, he would have turned away from the touch again.

"I'm not mad," Sam whispered.

"You should be," the alpha whispered back.

"I love you." It was the first time either of them was saying it out loud. "I can't be mad at you, Dean. Because I think I really love you. I don't want you to feel sad. It wasn't your fault."

"Don't say that," The ex-hunter swallowed a sob, his eyes were tearing up again, and he bit his lower lip to stop it from quivering. "You shouldn't say things like that."

"I say what I mean. And I know what mates are and that some just won't feel like this. But I do. Even if you don't believe me. I love you. I want you to know that." Sam raised both eyebrows. His hand slid from Dean's cheek and landed on top of those who were putting pressure on the wound. "I …"

"Sammy. Stop," Dean's voice broke. "Not now, okay?"

The omega only nodded and leaned back against the wall. He let his hand slip from Dean's and rested it in his lap, blowing out a shuddering breath.

"You're doin' okay?" Another shuddering breath, and the slight tremble of Sam's arm made him look up and fix Sam with his gaze for the first time since they sat on the floor.

"Jus' … jus' feelin' a bit funny. 's all." Sam's eyes were on half-mast. "Bit dizzy."

"Maybe we should try to get you on the bed, huh? Get your legs up in the air." Dean was utterly serious.

But on Sam's face, a mischievous grin bloomed. "Dirty little hunter." He chuckled.

The alpha didn't think that it was funny. At all. Not in this situation. "Stupid idiotic omega," he grumbled in response.

Sam's forehead furrowed. His gaze sharpened for a millisecond and a flash of hurt crossed his face. As soon as the words were over his lips, he could've bit off his own tongue. That was definitely the wrong call to make.

He could feel Sam's hurt. See how deep his words cut into the omega's soul without actually looking at him.

~ 67' Chevrolet Impala ~

An hour later, Sam's arm was stitched up and he was in bed. Dean had two Vicodin in his system and was sitting on the edge of the bed, back turned at Sam, who was barely awake anymore. Though he held onto consciousness, not wanting to fall asleep with a mad Dean at his side, because he had no idea what the alpha would do.

The pain in his arm was dulled by the Xylocaine shots around the stitched up area, but the layers of flesh beyond hurt pretty bad. What hurt even more than the cut, were Dean's words, burning deep down in his soul.

Calling him stupid. Idiotic. The way he had said the words, as if he was disgusted by Sam… He couldn't quite wrap his mind around that.

Dean had never called him names so far. And he hadn't talked since back then to his mate. The Vicodin barely did anything to dull the pain. It was agonizing. He wasn't sure if it was his leg hurting more, or the way he had treated Sam …

Eventually, Sam lost his fight against fatigue and his eyes fell closed.

Dean continued sitting on the bed, head in hands.

Bobby watched the young ex-hunter sitting there, looking miserable. He stole a glance at the sleeping omega in the bed, before he went over there and touched Dean's shoulder. The alpha squinted up at his friend.

Maybe they'd have the talk tonight, though.

"Go get a shirt and meet me in the kitchen, son," he said calmly. "I think we need to talk."

Dean only nodded. "Give me ten."

He did.

The alpha got a fresh shirt and limped into the kitchen. At least it didn't feel like someone wanted to rip his leg off anymore.

He sat down at the kitchen at the table, right across from Bobby and two glasses of whiskey.

Bobby opened his mouth to say something, but Dean raised his hand to stop him.

"Listen, boy. Whatever you think. DON'T," he said anyway. Because he was the older one, he was the one with more experience – in most of everyday life's aspects. So he talked. He told Dean how he nearly shot his wife, back in the day. He talked about how it had felt. It wasn't his favorite piece of cake, either, since he was a damn hunter and sure as hell not into that touchy-feely stuff.

But he did it anyway.

And Dean listened, not disturbing Bobby's tale once because he saw the importance behind it. Even when he wouldn't admit it, listening to Bobby's story helped. Maybe it wouldn't be now, or tomorrow, but he'd see – what happened tonight – differently.

"I could've killed him," Dean mumbled, turning the tumbler between his fingers.

"But you didn't, son. He seems to have forgiven you." Bobby leaned back with a sigh. "You should forgive yourself, too. I know you can't do that now. But in a week or two maybe."

"I've called him a stupid idiot," Dean added.

"Explain it to him; he'll understand. I can promise you that." The older man rubbed over his face. "You're an idiot sometimes, you know that?"

Dean gave him a dark look. Of course he knew that. Otherwise he wouldn't be sitting in the kitchen at two in the morning and talking with Bobby about that shit. "I know."

"Good. Would've been worse if you didn't." The man clapped on his own knees and got to his feet with a groan. "Time to go back to sleep. The Salvage doesn't run herself."

Dean gave him a thankful nod.

"Get rid of that knife of yours. Put it somewhere – and not under your pillow. And go to sleep dammit. You look like a lovesick girl. All red eyed and..." That maybe was too much. The older hunter knew that Dean loved him and that he'd go to hell and back for him. And he loved him, too, like a son. Only telling him wasn't that easy. So he did it the best way he could possibly manage… by just being there and listening and telling him that he looked like a girl. Dean would get it anyway. He was sure about that.

"And you look like the bearded lady you are," Dean snapped back, telling Bobby that he was glad to have Bobby to talk about stuff like that.

Dean Winchester pondered the thought of heading back to bed, but he didn't.

Instead he drank another tumbler, filled to the brim with whiskey, and then lay down on the couch, staring through the darkness onto the ceiling and thinking about how he was supposed to make this good again.

Obviously he was the best at hurting people just in the right way to drive them away from him. Well, he might not drive Sam away, but he sure as hell had hurt him emotionally.

…to be continued

Soon ...

It was everything, but not his mate. It couldn't be. First off, his son had hated that gender ever since that night, when his mother and little Adam had died. Second, John couldn't imagine that his son's hate was vanishing just like that. Not after all those years. And third: He was pretty certain, that this bastard of a freak was controlling Dean somehow. After all it wouldn't be the first time to meet a psychic with that kind of abilities.

He only had to figure out how to come close to him and that THING in the cabin, without setting his son off. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Dean physically.

HIS Dean would've understood why he left him in that hospital. HIS Son would've seen the importance of following the trail.

But this one? This Dean was definitely a different man.

Not that John Winchester thought only once about the possibility, that that incident in the woods could've changed his son in any kind. He was a Winchester. Winchester's were following their road of destination without questioning it.