Struggling to get up, my head throbbing, I could see Dean already on his feet, blood dripping from the back of his head in a disconcertingly thick wave. Staggering, he moved towards the door, leaning against the doorframe for a moment to try to steady himself. "Dean, you…you should sit down," I said, wincing as I got up, holding the back of my head. There was no blood, just a bump. They had definitely hit Dean a hell of a lot harder.
"They're hunting him," Dean forced out, all his horror and anger and anguish coming out in those three words. Forcing himself upright, Dean lurched out the door, and I followed close on his heels. Together we headed out into the woods.
A scream tore from somewhere to our right. "Sammy!" Dean yelled, summoning up enough of his strength to tear towards the sound of the cry. "Sammy! I'm coming!"
We suddenly came upon a nightmarish scene, one of the men holding Sam's arms spread-eagled from his body while the other man gestured with a bayonet at Sam's exposed stomach, both men laughing hysterically at Sam's struggles and screams.
"Sammy!" Dean called, and Sam's eyes instantly lit on his brother. I could tell Sam was still frightened, but I could also tell he wasn't quite so scared any more. "Get your hands off-"
And suddenly Dean's words halted, and as I heard Sam scream, a wordless anguished cry, I saw why. A bayonet now extended from Dean's stomach, through one side and out the other, held by the last cackling man as he watched the scene with great joy.
Dean's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. "Sammy…" he managed to gasp out, and then his body went still, blood pouring from his torn stomach in rivers. The man yanked the bayonet out ruthlessly, kicking Dean's body, accompanied by the sound of Sam's endless screams.
And then suddenly it happened, right there before my eyes, so fast I almost couldn't believe it. There Sam was, an elbow thrown into his captor's jaw, a kick to the stomach, a shove, a push, a flip, and he was standing over his brother's body, the warrior I had trained and the brother Dean had raised, fists clenched in readiness as the men came forward again.
I moved forward instantly to help, but Sam didn't need me. He slammed the heel of his hand into the first man's face, sending the nose twisting into a grotesque pattern of blood and flesh. Grabbing a rock from the ground, Sam crashed it down onto the man's head, a crack resounding through the trees as the man dropped to the ground hard.
The other men backed away, releasing far too late what they had unleashed with their one simple action. But Sam was already on them, taking one out with a solid punch to the jaw, pinning the other one against the tree with his arm against his throat. Grabbing the man's head by his hair, Sam slammed him back into the tree, watching silently as the man slid down to the ground, unconscious.
Without a word, just a choked back sob, Sam slid down next to Dean's still form, his fingers fumbling to get a hold on the side of Dean's neck. I could tell when Sam found a pulse, as his shoulders slid down just a little bit and his breath became a little less frantic.
Sliding his hands under Dean, Sam gently lifted him into his arms, practically flying with him back to the car. I followed behind, getting to the car just in time to see Sam settle into the backseat, Dean's pale head resting on Sam's lap. Sam was stroking Dean's hair back from his face with one hand, while he held his jacket onto Dean's blood-soaked stomach with the other.
Sliding into the driver's seat, I called the police on my cell phone while speeding to the nearest hospital, telling the cops only that I was an anonymous tipster who had screaming coming from a cabin in the woods. I figured once they found those pictures, they would arrest the whole family.
But right now my concern was my sons, Dean's physical state and Sam's emotional one. I could hear Sam murmuring to Dean desperately, and the anguished silence of Dean's non-response. "Hey Dean, I'm right here, ok?" Sam said, his voice shaking so hard I could barely make out his words. "I'm right here, so you need to hold on. I need you to hold on."
Staring straight ahead, out the windshield, I felt like an intruder, an eavesdropper on a very private conversation. I quickly realized how erroneously I had assumed that that so tight bond Dean and Sam had had when they were children would have dissipated once Sam left for college. I had expected to find them barely speaking, at best, when I realized they were hunting together again, thought it only a necessity on a search for a demon that had ripped away so many people they loved.
But as my eyes wandered to the rearview mirror, the reflection showing Sam's tear-stained face as he rested his hand gently on his brother's cheek, I knew how wrong I had been. When Sam left for Stanford, he'd left me behind, but not Dean. I should have known the minute I got that voicemail from Sam about Dean being so sick, should have read into the shaky voice and the halted breathing and the choked back sobs. But I was so stuck in my ways, my ideas, my vision of the boys as fighting machines, my vision of Sam as someone who'd left us behind forever, that I hadn't thought enough about the fact that I knew, really knew deep down, that while Sam could step miles away from me he would never be more than a step away from Dean.
We pulled into the hospital and Sam was out the door like a shot, Dean cradled gently in his arms. By the time I got inside, Dean was on a gurney, being wheeled urgently into a room, Sam right there beside him. Standing in the doorway of Room 19, I felt like such a helpless observer as nurses and doctors rushed around, trying to stop the bleeding, trying to force Dean back into consciousness. I couldn't do a thing. But Sam seemed determined that he could, and he clutched Dean's hand so tightly I couldn't tell their fingers apart.
After the doctors and nurses had left, the bleeding stopped, Dean still so unconscious, Sam still remained there, his hand wrapped around Dean's, his tears flowing freely. "Sam," I said gently, realizing how unsure I now was of how to speak to my youngest son. "Sam, why don't you go get a cup of coffee? Or at least a doughnut, something. You need to eat."
Sam shook his head vehemently, as I'd known he would, but I pushed on. "Sam, Dean would want you to take care of yourself." Looking down at Dean's pale face, Sam nodded once, slowly, then reluctantly untangling his fingers from Dean's, Sam slowly walked out into the hall.
As I prepared to pull up a chair next to Dean's bed, the monitors suddenly went wild, a terrifying straight line showing on the heart monitor. What seemed to be millions of doctors and nurses came rushing in, trying frantically to resuscitate Dean, and as the monitors blared and the doctors yelled orders and I grabbed Dean's hand, nothing got a response.
TBC….
