Chapter Seven
"You still with me?" Sam called and paused in his search through Lyle's pockets to look over his shoulder at his brother. The man's skin was already growing cold, his heart long since stopped beating. Dean sat propped against one of the assembly lines, part of Sam's shirt and his jacket holding his left arm immobilized and doing a slightly decent job of pretending to be a bandage for the gaping, bleeding wound on Dean's shoulder. He studied him for a minute, watching the slight rise and fall of his chest, the uncontrolable twitch in his fingers when small spikes of pain tore through his left side. Dean was a mess. But he was conscious and breathing.
"No, I'm half way to Burger King."
And smart mouthing.
Sam snorted and went back to searching Lyle's pockets. He was hoping for keys or something that could help them. Anything. "You wish," Sam said playfully, trying to keep his brother talking. Every once in a while, he caught Dean's sharp intakes of breath and his slow exhales. He was fighting the pain, but Sam knew it had to be agony. Broken collarbones weren't pleasant. He'd never personally had one, but he remembered the last time Dean broke his. They'd been a lot younger and Dean had been a lot less worried about hiding his pain from his family. He could still hear his brother's deep sobs all these years later. Their Dad had even been upset by the whole thing. It was probably the first, and the last, time either of them had seen Dean so out of control of his emotions. They'd waited for nearly an hour in the waiting room, since Dean hadn't been bleedng too severely, and that hour had been the longest of Sam's life. Compared to now, Dean was a fucking monk.
"Gonna get me a happy meal," Dean muttered, a long sigh following.
"That's McDonald's, man," Sam said absently, his hands running over one of Lyle's shirt pockets. His heart leapt as he felt the lump there. He'd been hoping Lyle had been the one carrying the keys and not Keith. Sam wasn't really keen on opening up the meat boiler he'd trapped Keith in minutes ago. When he pulled a key ring from Lyle's pocket, Sam's face lit up. "I got the keys," he announced and turned around to show them to Dean. But Dean wasn't paying attention. His head had fallen forward, chin resting on his chest. His eyes were drooping slowly. Sam closed his fist around the keys and scurried across the space separating him from his brother. "Hey, Dean," he said loudly, watching as his brother jerked and lifted his head a fraction. "Hey, come on, stay awake," he said, reaching Dean and pulling his head up the rest of the way.
"Get off me," Dean slurred, lifting a hand to swat Sam away, but his movements were weak.
Sam shook his head, seeing Dean's dazed eyes. "No, hey," Sam said, tapping Dean's face a little. "Dean, you have to stay awake. We're gettng out of here." He looked at the shirt that was acting as a bandage for Dean's shoulder. The blood was starting to soak through. Sam cursed. He'd hoped the bleeding would stop, or at least slow. But it was still going heavy. Pulling a meat hook from your shoudler would do that. Sam still couldn't believe his brother had done that. But Sam would praise, and lecture, him later. Right now, he just had to make sure Dean stuck around that long. "Dean," he said again, firmly.
"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled, closing his eyes for a moment. "Give a guy a minute."
Sam grunted as he wrapped an arm around his brother and hefted him to his feet, using his good shoulder and arm to help leverage him up. "We don't have a minute," he said when they were both standing. Well, more or less standing. Dean was leaning heavily on him and Sam was sure that if he didn't have a death grip on his brother, Dean would be back on the floor in a matter of seconds. He manuevered Dean so he had a good grip on him before looking towards the door. God, it looked like a million and one miles to the door. How far would they have to walk before they got to someone who could help them? Sam pushed away the thoughts that threatened to bring down his spirit. The thoughts that screamed and jeered at him, telling him his brother would never make it. Of course Dean would make it. Dean always makes it.
"Sammy?" Dean's voice was little, weak, shaky. He turned to look at his brother and saw Dean's face unusually intense. Then he figured out why. "'Mm...be sick," he choked, swallowing hard.
"Whoa, okay," Sam said and flurredly held his brother so he was facing away, bent at the waist. On cue, Dean started to heave. Deep, sick bouts that shook his entire body. Sam had a little trouble holding him, his brother's body having gone completely slack with the effort it took to expel whatever had been in his stomach. But after a little bit, Dean finished and just hung in Sam's arms, breathing. Sam bent over a bit to get a look at his face, which was pale and covered in sweat. Small beads of it dripped from various spots. "You good now?" Dean just nodded, slowly, maticulously. "Okay," Sam said and brought his brother slowly back to a full standing position, Dean's good arm wrapped around Sam's shoulder. "All right, come on," he said, watching as Dean tried his hardest to walk with him, to do what his little brother asked. God, his brother would face the devil if Sam asked. He probably already had. "That's it, Dean," Sam encouraged, seeing his brother's face scrunch in pain. "Almost there."
Dean coughed, wet and sick. "Not helping," he rasped. Sam sighed, knowing his brother didn't want to seem like he needed the encouragement, but in truth, he probably did to keep from falling asleep on his feet.
It was slow going from the back of the room to the door, but when they finally made it, Sam shouldered his brother even more, trying to balance him with one hand while he fumbled with the keys in the other. The lock wasn't exactly a normal lock. It was a heavy duty one, that probably couldn't have been picked. It took three keys to open it. And when the door finally clicked and Sam kicked it open, the light from the outside was so intense that Sam had to shield his eyes. He heard Dean groan and even though it was meant to be a protest to the sudden light, it spurred Sam into dragging his brother outside.
The air was cool and the sun was lower, which meant it was probably late afternoon. They had a good couple of hours before the sun would set. Damn, Dean had been in that slaughterhouse all day, bleeding for who knows how long. Sam pulled his brother closer at the thought. He could feel Dean shivering and realized that it was breezy and chilly out and Dean was still only in his boxer briefs and a t-shirt that was soaked with blood. Sam had used his jacket as a sling, so he couldn't put that on him. He had no way to keep Dean warm. Dammit.
"Which way?" Dean mumbled, making Sam jump slightly. He hadn't thought Dean was coherent enough to still be able to ask Sam if he knew what he was doing. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
"I'm not sure," Sam answered. "They made sure I was disoriented when they brought me in," he told him. "But we must be close to the highway, I heard it on the way in. A couple miles, maybe, but we should be able to find a gas station or something before then."
"Well," Dean gasped as a spark of pain flared inside him. Sam waited for it to pass, wanting to know, needing to know what Dean's suggestion was. He wasn't used to being the one trying to get them out of there. Even if Dean was bleeding to death, he still had the engrained need to know what his big brother thought was the best plan of action. He didn't exactly get what he wanted. "Use your sixth sense and lead the way."
Sam sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you?" he said playfully, but half serious. "It doesn't work like that."
"Whatever," Dean said and looked around, though his eyes were half closed. "Man, when do I get my super power? Yours is lame."
Sam snorted and shook his head, looking around at the outside of the building again. He kept talking to Dean, even though he was taking in the surroundings and trying to decide on a direction to go. "Oh yeah? Well what powers would you want? Super human strength? Or maybe you want to sprout wings?"
"Nah," Dean said, taking in a deep breath. Sam glanced at him to make sure he wasn't about to puke again. But he was just shifting his stance, his legs and back getting sore. "X-ray vision."
"Of course," Sam chuckled then nodded, finally spotting the truck tucked away behind some trees in the short distance. He scanned the ground and found tire tracks. Perfect. Just follow the tracks, get to the road, flag down a car, get to a hospital and they were home safe. Except that Dean would probably need a blood transfusion, Sam needed his nose reset, they had two dead locals to explain, a dead teenager to remember, and there was the little matter of the demon behind all of this that was still there. So once all of that was taken care of, then they'd be home safe, back in the Impala, looking for more fun things to get themselves involved in. More fun things to keep themselves busy with while they wondered where John was, how he was doing, if he'd found the demon bastard who killed their Mom and Jess, or even if John had made it out of Chicago. They hadn't heard from him since. He could be prisoner, or dead, somewhere and they would never know. But those were matters for later. First things first. Find a road.
Sam hefted his brother up a bit and they took it slow from there. One foot in front of the other, that's the way to go. Sam made sure not to jostle his brother too badly, but they had to get going quickly. The demon could move, Sam knew that. It had taken Dean out from right under his nose, so it sure had to be fast and hard to track. Didn't even leave sulfur residue behind. Sam had no doubt that he wouldn't be able to hear it sneaking up on them and he really didn't want to try and fight it. Dean wouldn't be able to fight and Sam, though he didn't want to admit it, was losing his strength as well. He had enough to keep going. As long as Dean was hurt he had enough, but there was no way he could fight a demon.
Reaching down, he grabbed onto the remainder of his shirt and wiped at the blood on his face, not liking the uncomfortable stickiness there. He felt his nose while he was at it. It was sore to the touch and swelling. He could almost feel the bruises expanding beneath both of his eyes, but fortunately his eyes weren't swelling. There had been one time he'd broken his nose and both of his eyes had been black and blue and swollen nearly shut for almost two days.
They'd made it only a couple of minutes before Dean's knees sudden went out and he fell. Sam hadn't been expecting it and Dean tugged them both down. Sam caught himself and just barely caught Dean. He cursed as his brother's head lolled, falling backwards, eyes closed. "Shit," he hissed. "No, Dean, come on," he said, holding his brother closely and tapping his cheek again. "Hey, hey," he tried when that got him no where.
Dean groaned. His eyes fluttered. "Sammy?"
"Yeah," Sam answered, watching Dean's eyes focus and unfocus. "Stay awake. I've got you. Let's find something to talk about, huh?" Dean nodded, but it ended with his head falling forward, resting on Sam's shoulder. Sam pushed his brother up, getting them both back to their feet. Dean seemed twice as heavy. "Come on, tell me why I heard you singing Fiona Apple in the shower the other day."
"What?" He shocked. Dean's voice was stronger now. His eyes focused a bit.
Sam grinned. "Thought that'd get your attention," he said, dragging his brother until Dean's feet got the rhythm of walking again. "But seriously, keep talking. You need to stay awake." Dean nodded but didn't say anything. Sam watched their feet, making sure Dean picked his up high enough to not trip. "Okay, we need something good to talk about. Something that'll keep you interested. How about Dad?"
"No," Dean said semi-sternly. Sam sighed. Okay, that was a bust. What else could they talk about? But Dean chose the topic for him. "Really wanna go back to Stanford?"
Sam swallowed. He really didn't want to talk about this, but if it would keep Dean talking, then he'd suck it up. He licked his lips and looked forward, spotting the truck's tracks to make sure they were still going the right way before he started talking. "Yeah, I do," he said simply.
"Why?" Dean asked. Sam was surprised with the tone Dean used. He wished he could have attributed it to blood loss, but he knew not to kid himself. It was a fact that Dean didn't want Sam to go back to school when this was all over. He wanted them to stick together, be a family, like they used to be. Dean had made that much clear back in Chicago, before they'd found Dad. And Sam had told him them what he thought of that idea. He'd tell him again, as many times as it took to get Dean to know that they couldn't be together forever. And that not being together wasn't a bad thing.
"Dean," Sam started. "I have to. That's the life I want. I do good there. I have friends and opportunities. That's what I want."
Dean tripped a little and Sam caught him, hissing when he felt Dean wince as his collarbone was jarred. But neither of them acknowledged the pain anymore than that. "How do you know your friends will still be there? How do you know there'll still be the opportunities you want?" Dean slurred the word 'opportunities' and Sam was sure that it hadn't been an accident.
"I don't know," Sam said. "But if they're not, there will always be new ones." He paused and sighed, picking up the pace a little. "Dean, we can't hunt forever. We have to stop sometime. When we kill the thing that killed Mom and Jess, I'm gonna be ready to start a new life. To start a normal life. You gotta be ready too, Dean. When this is over..."
"It'll never be over, Sam," Dean broke in and Sam stopped his sentence short. He looked at his brother, but Dean's eyes were drooped, looking away. "There will always be things to hunt."
"That doesn't mean you have to hunt them," Sam insisted. "There's gotta be something else out there that you want, Dean."
Dean was quiet. Sam watched the side of his face for a moment, making sure that he hadn't lost consciousness again. But Dean was still moving, still staring, still breathing. His face looked pained, but Sam wasn't sure if it was all pain from his broken collarbone. Sam had seen the way Dean had looked at him back in Chicago when they'd had a similar conversation. He'd seen the way Dean struggled with himself, opened himself up and told Sam exactly what he'd always known but never acknowledged. He was sure he was about to hear it again. And he didn't have a clue what to do about it.
"I want my family," Dean whispered. "I want you, Sammy. I want things to be the way they were."
Sam sighed knowingly. "I know," he whispered. "But things change, Dean. People change. We're still a family even if we aren't together. You're my brother, nothing's going to change that. But I want to start my own family. I want my own life. You're a part of it, and yeah, it won't ever be the same, but that's not a bad thing. We'll always be a family."
More silence for a bit. Dean was huffing, his energy reaching its end, Sam could tell by the way his feet were dragging more than walking. But Dean managed to smile and Sam waited with hope in his eyes for what Dean had to say. "Whatever, Dr. Phil," he muttered. Sam laughed softly but stopped when Dean's feet stopped moving altogether. He wrapped his arm tighter around his brother, watching his face go through a million different emotions. "I'm just tired."
"I know," Sam said. "You've lost a lot of blood..."
"No," Dean shook his head, which turned out to be a bad thing as the world spun and Sam had to help him to the ground. But Dean kept talking through it. "I'm tired. I'm tired of waiting for Dad to call. Of waiting for this demon to show his face. Of waiting for Sam to leave again." Sam frowned at that.
"What?" he asked, but Dean kept his eyes closed, his head shaking slightly, his whole body giving into the shivers and the tremors that wracked his body. "Dean? Hey, I'm not leaving," he tried, rubbing Dean's arm and trying to hold his head up and get Dean to look at him. But Dean's eyes didn't open and he continued to shake, his teeth chattering now. Shit.
"Of being scared..." Dean whispered and Sam stared hard at his brother's face. His brother was talking about more than just this whole slaughterhouse incident. He was rambling now, but it was probably the deepest, most truthful revelation Sam had ever had about his brother. Dean was scared? Scared. Not the kind of scared where you keep a knife under a pillow. But the kind of scared where you wake up and make sure your little brother is still sleeping in the bed next to you. The kind of scared where you pretend not to hear your little brother talk about college and leaving and wives and kids and lives without you in them 24/7.
Sam bit his lower lip and leaned in, resting his forehead against Dean. It confirmed his fear that Dean was out of it now when he didn't resist the motion. Sam closed his eyes for a moment. He'd have to carry him. That's all there was to it. No way was he going to leave his brother here and no way were they just going to sit here and wait to get caught again. Sam kept rubbing Dean's good arm, trying to get warmth back into him. Dean's breath was shaky, his skin cool and clammy. He was losing him. In more ways than one.
"You'll always be my brother, Dean," he whispered, eyes still closed. "No matter what." He gave the promise, knowing Dean probably wasn't listening, probably wouldn't remember Sam ever saying it, but that didn't matter. Sam would remember, Sam would know, Sam would make sure that promise held true. Because it was a promise he'd never forget, not again. Not like the two years he'd spent trying to forget he had family, forget he had Dean. Because the truth of the matter was, he'd always had Dean. Dean had always been there for him, even when they hadn't been together, even during those years he'd spent at Stanford. Sam would always be there for Dean, no matter what. Even if he had a wife and kids and a dog, if Dean needed him, he was there. They were brothers.
Now, he just had to get Dean out of here. Sam opened his eyes and stood up, taking a deep breath, looking down at his brother. He tried to think of a way to carry him. Over the shoulder would be easiest, but that would be hell on Dean's broken collarbone. He could try to carry him in his arms, but he'd probably only make it a short distance before his arms were jelly. He could try to stand Dean upright and drag him like he had been doing. That was probably his best bet.
And as Sam turned to follow the tire tracks with his eyes, he was met with something quite different.
Lyle stood behind him. Hook in his eye. Grin on his face. Fist clenched. Sam only had half a second to panic before Lyle swung that fist at Sam's head, striking him across the temple. Dark stars exploded behind Sam's eyes and he was unconscious before he even hit the ground.
His last thought was a calm realization: the last time he checked, Lyle hadn't had a heartbeat.