CHAPTER
FOUR
Demons
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Sam didn't like it, but he had to leave Dean in the car while he went and booked another room. For one, Dean was unconscious, and Sam didn't want to wake him any sooner than necessary. Second, the state he was in would raise too many questions. Sam got the room for four days and four nights, and went back to the car, where Dean was right where he left him.
"Dean...Dean, come on, we're here."
When Dean woke up, for half a second, he didn't remember what had happened, and he didn't feel any pain. Then it engulfed him so quickly it was all he could do to keep from puking up. It helped, of course, that he was still in the Impala, and blow to the head or none, no-one was going to be sick in his car.
Sam helped him out of the car and to his feet, and he didn't resist. He didn't speak either. His chest was still hurting like hell, and he could still taste blood in his mouth. Talking might alert Sam to that fact, and Dean didn't want that. A solid night of sleep would do just fine. Not that he'd say no to half a dozen painkillers at that point.
The room Sam had obtained was two doors down from the one they had stayed in previously. Sam, bearing more of Dean's weight than he'd hoped necessary, pushed open the door and kicked it closed again once they were inside.
"Nuh...bathroom..." Dean muttered, when Sam had started to lead him to the bed.
Once they were at the bathroom door, Dean pulled away. "Dude, little privacy?"
Sam knew Dean was going to check out his injuries, and he wanted to see them for himself, but Dean was at his most stubborn when he was injured. For some reason, he wouldn't allow himself to be taken care of. Sam didn't know if it was some ridiculous macho thing, or if there was some other deep-seeded psychological reason for it. Their father had it too. Whatever it was, Sam decided to let Dean do whatever he deemed necessary. Tonight. Tomorrow, Sam was making the decisions.
"I'll get the bags, then I'll be right back," Sam told him.
Dean closed the door to the bathroom and leaned on the sink. He listened for Sammy leaving, then took the opportunity to get the noisy part of what he had to do out of the way while Sam wasn't around to hear it. He stumbled to the toilet and heaved his guts out. The act made his chest hurt even more, something Dean didn't even think was possible, given the pain he was in before. Breathing heavily, he couldn't help the tear that escaped from his eye.
Moving slowly and carefully, Dean stripped down to his boxers. He could tell he might be taking Sam up on that trip to the hospital if he saw the state he was in. His back, shoulders and most of his chest were covered in deep dark bruises. Purple, black, blue and red had all blended together to blanket the normal tone of Dean's skin. And this was only an hour after it had happened. The morning was not going to be pretty.
Then there was his beautiful face, one half covered in dried rusty blood. How many times had his skin been tainted with the crimson reminder of a hunt gone wrong? Dean turned on the tap and washed it off, every movement causing him more pain. That was when he first noticed it. He hadn't taken much notice of his arm, given that it didn't hurt as much as the rest of him, but when he saw the mark the demon had left on his wrist, he was almost sick again. It was not like a normal burn. It was a dark grey, and felt like dust to the touch. He knew that mark. He'd seen it before.
Burned onto his skin was a symbol. It was one line that started straight, then swirled back up. It looked something like a treble clef crossed with a dollar sign. But it was impossible. He'd finished it. He ended it. Nothing he'd said really mattered, because he'd iced that sucker eight-hundred freakin' days ago. Hadn't he?
"Dean, you okay in there?" Sam called.
It took a moment for Dean to register the question. "I'm fine, Sam," he replied without much belief in the statement. He carefully put his t-shirt back on. "You got the bandages?"
Sam rummaged through the bag where they kept all the first aid and found the bandages. "Yeah, here. Need some help?"
Dean opened the door only enough to take them. "No, I got it."
Sam sat on the bed and waited. He was going to do this, and he had to do it now, before he lost his nerve, before Dean had the chance to recover the strength to resolutely block all of Sam's questions. When Dean finally emerged, he'd wrapped his arm in a bandage and cleaned the blood from his face. He still looked like crap.
"We need to talk, don't you think?"
Dean walked over to his bed. "I need to sleep, Sam," he stated.
"This can't wait," Sam replied, resolutely.
Dean sighed. He'd been afraid of this.
"Who was that demon? Why did it want you? What the hell happened eight-hundred days ago and why won't you tell me about it?" Sam asked, the questions falling out of his mouth in a steady stream.
"Sam, I'm tired, okay?" Dean said, wearily. He was taking a risk, playing on Sam's concerns about his health, but it was the only defence he could think of in his weakened state. "I didn't sleep earlier and I just got propelled through ahouse. We'll talk in the morning."
"More like I'll talk and you'll avoid answering my questions," Sam corrected.
Dean could feel himself getting angrier. The pain, the fatigue, the fact that he'd just found out he was in serious shit, it was all mounting, and now Sam was topping it off by pushing him. "Just leave it alone. I mean it," he warned.
"No. You're keeping things from me and I'm sick of it. I don't care if you don't want to talk about the fight we had, or what you're so pissed about lately. But when I have a vision of you facing a demon, I need to know what's going on. How am I supposed to protect you if I don't know what I'm dealing with?"
"I don't know who or what that demon was, and I don't need your protection from anything," Dean lied, although he wasn't sure about which part.
"I don't believe you," Sam said, shaking his head. "I want answers, now."
"I don't owe you a goddamn thing." Dean regretted the scathing of his tone of his voice, but it was too late to take it back. Sam had pushed him too far. "You got no right to act like you give a rat's ass about me after what you did."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, confused but still holding onto his anger. Was this just another trick to avoid the subject or something else?
Dean closed his eyes. He really hadn't wanted to do this, but Sam was getting under his skin. If he really wanted to know, then Dean would tell him. He'd asked for it. "You left me, Sam. Again," he said, sitting up with his back to Sam.
"In Burkitsville? I thought we talked about that." Dean's words had shaken him. He hadn't been expecting them. "You said we were okay."
"Yeah, well I lied," Dean replied, turning. "You abandoned me. Do you have any idea what it felt like the first time you did that? And did you honestly think you could do it again, then come back, and make it all better with some Hallmark crap about sticking together? Are you shitting me?"
"I...I'm sorry... I had no idea you felt that way." It was the truth. Damn, Dean was good at keeping his feelings under lock and key. The fight had been weeks ago. After Sam had told him that they should carry on together, Dean had just made some joke about it and got back in the car. This felt like it was totally out of the blue.
Dean laughed bitterly. "Of course you didn't. You're so wrapped up in your own little world. You know I was starting to think that maybe it didn't matter that dad didn't want me anymore. I mean, I had you. Then in the Roosevelt Asylum I started thinking maybe I was wrong about that too." He wanted to stop talking, but it was like he'd reached his limit and now the floodgates were open.
"Dean..." Sam uttered, but he didn't know what else to say. Dean's words were cutting him deep. He had never heard his brother talk like this. Sam had felt guilty about all the things he'd said in the asylum, but he'd apologised for them... Damn it, why hadn't he seen this coming, that things weren't okay?
"How do you expect me to talk to you again when you act like you give a shit about me one minute, then fuck off and leave me the next? So help me God, Sam, I would die for you, but I can't trust you. You screwed that up when you took off for California."
"I just wanted to find dad," Sam told him, but the anger had washed away in his voice. Now he was desperately trying to remember why it never occurred to him the effect his leaving would have had on Dean. "It was why you came and got me from Stanford. I guess I didn't expect you to stop wanting it."
"I didn't stop. I still want to find dad," Dean said quietly.
"Then why..."
"Because he didn't want me to find him. That phone call..." Dean began, the anger faded from his voice as well. He sat back down on the bed, facing away from Sam. "It felt like he abandoned me all over again. You know, I called him from Lawrence."
"You did?" Sam asked. Any evidence of his own anger had faded completely. Now his voice was filled with sadness and regret.
"He didn't even mention it," Dean told him, laughing bitterly. "No 'how did it go', no 'are you okay'. And then when you..." he trailed off and did not pick up his sentence, leaving the room in a profound silence.
"I don't know what to say. I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to say. Get some sleep," Dean said quietly. It had been building up for some time, but he didn't feel much better getting the rant off his chest. He wiped away the small amount of blood that had trickled from the corner of his mouth and lay back, reaching an arm over to turn off the light.
After a minute, Sam laid back on his own bed. "Dean...were you lying to me about the demon?"
Dean didn't reply for a few moments, and Sam thought he might have fallen asleep already. Until he heard; "Goodnight, Sam."
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Dean was trapped in the throes of a nightmare, except this bitch was real. It was a memory. John Winchester was talking to a bald man in his forties, and Dean was with him.
"We lost our daughter recently. She was...she was hit by a car. The driver was never caught. Julie just fell apart. Do you think...do you think that's why this thing is attacking her?"
"It could be. Sometimes demons like to prey on the emotionally vulnerable. Souls weighed down by trauma."
"Can you stop it?"
"Yes, but we're going to need your help. And Julie's."
Then the dream skipped forward, and Dean was screaming in pure perfect terror.
"NO! Get away from him you son of a bitch!"
Before it went any further, Dean woke up, still screaming. It took a moment to realise he was actually awake.
"Dean! Dean, it's okay, it was a nightmare!" Sam was on the side of the bed, holding his shoulders.
Dean was breathless, but he finally calmed down. He wiped his hand across his forehead and found he was practically dripping with sweat. His t-shirt was soaked with it. His eyes rested on Sam, whose lip was freshly cut and slightly swollen.
"Did I do that?" Dean asked.
"Yeah," Sam told him, but did so with a smile to show there were no hard feelings. "You can still pack a punch even when you're asleep."
"Sorry."
"Don't worry about it. What were you dreaming about?" Sam asked. He was usually the ones with nightmares, not Dean. When he'd woken to the sounds of Dean screaming his head off, he thought something was in the room, attacking him. It was disconcerting, seeing his brother so scared, even if it was while he was asleep.
Dean groaned and laid back on the bed when everything came back to him. The argument, the demon, the mark, the dream, and oh yes, that lovely pain, couldn't forget that. He had a feeling life was going to suck a little louder than usual today. He felt stupid for spilling his guts like he had. It wasn't in his nature, and Dean found himself wondering what John would have said if he'd seen the display of emotion.
"Where's the aspirin?" Dean asked. Maybe if he pretended it never happened, it would go away. Yeah, 'cause that's always worked fantastically in the past.
Sam had prepared a couple and a glass of water and handed them over. "How are you feeling?" he asked, reluctantly accepting that Dean had ignored his previous question.
Dean opened his eyes fully when he remembered the hospital trip Sam had threatened him with. After last night, it was possible that Sam would cut him some slack and go back on the little deal, but Dean didn't want to take that chance. He still didn't want to go to the hospital. In fact, all he wanted to do was get in the car and drive. Fast.
"Better. Good. I feel good," he replied, getting up and trying to make it look like doing so didn't inspire a wave of nausea. "So we should get out of here."
Dean's sudden movement and desire to leave momentarily swayed Sam. "Woah, we're not going anywhere. I booked the motel for four days and nights, we can rest up here until you're better."
"I told you, I am better," Dean insisted, packing up his things. "Get your stuff, we gotta book."
Sam shook his head in confusion and didn't move from where he was standing. "Why?"
Dean stopped packing. "There's...you know, people to save. Good to be done, evil to...smite. Ringing any bells?"
"That stuff can wait. I don't think you'll be doing any 'smiting' in your state. It's either the hospital, or we're staying right here."
Dean grimaced. Neither option sounded particularly appealing, but how could he convince Sam of that? What was he supposed to say? The truth? Yeah, that would go down well. After all, how did you tell your baby brother that you sold your soul to the devil and it was on its was to collect?
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End
of Chapter Four
Next
Chapter: But No-One Said It'd Be This Hard