Disclaimer: I am playing with Kripke's creations. I own nothing – well I guess in this case I own Bob…. And I know Tara. No money being made here, no infringement intended.
Dedication: This story is dedicated to sylia91 who won me in the auction organized by K H Korossy to raise money for a fellow writer and publisher. In the end due to sylia91's generosity and the generosity of a whole bunch of other authors and readers, the auction raised over $1600. We truly have a fandom to be proud of!
A/N: It took me a while to find the inspiration for this story. It is based very, very loosely on a true story which I will share at the end of the fic. sylia91 deserves huge thanks for being so patient in waiting for this. Takes place in Season 2 after Nightshifter.
A/N2: At this point, I'm not even expecting anyone to still be reading… I was trying to wait to find time to answer reviews before posting this. My life is such a mess right now, that it will be another 3 months before I get to that. So at the prompting of one very patient reader I am posting this warts and all. My sincerest thank you to those who have reviewed in the past. They were much appreciated.
"Sam! Just calm down and let me explain!" Bob's voice kicked up a notch and he reached for the gun on the table.
"Touch that gun and it'll be the last thing you do," Dean ground out from the doorway. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, clad only in his boxers and socks. He held his favourite colt 1911 in his right hand, and it was aimed at Bob. Granted Dean was squinting through one eye and his hand was shaking, but even Bob realized that at that distance, there was no way this man would miss.
Both of Bob's hands shot up like the gun in front of him was on fire. His hands went up so quickly that Dean might have found it comical if he didn't think he was about to face plant it. He tried not to focus on the fact that if he moved away from the door frame he was definitely going down. He tried not to focus on the blood that he could feel running down his leg from the injury on his hip. He tried not to focus on the fact that his entire body ached. He did try to focus on actually seeing the room in front of him. Problem was the light show. First things would tunnel down so that Bob was at the end of the tunnel and Sammy would disappear. Then there were the bright exploding fireworks. And when he could see the whole room, it was like looking under water. He went back to not focussing on how much he wanted to throw up again.
"Sam," Dean's voice sounded like the gravel he'd lately been flung through. He might have saved his breath because his brother was already moving to scoop the gun up off the desk.
"It isn't loaded," Bob stated. His voice was remarkably calm. "I got it out for you."
"Yeah. We got that." Sam said, his voice hard, hiding his disappointment.
"No. No. Not like that," Bob actually smiled. "I got it out for you to use. You didn't say what kind of trouble, but you said you were in trouble, so I thought you might need it. I've never used the damn thing. We only have it in the house because it was my wife's father's, and she inherited it when he died."
As Bob spoke, Sam examined the gun. It was old and had seen better days. Sam actually doubted the thing would even fire. It obviously hadn't been kept in working order. He glanced back at this brother. A slight shrug and raise of an eyebrow was enough for Sam to guardedly confirm Bob's story for his brother.
"Who was on the phone?" Dean's voice was hard and clipped; he bit off each word.
"Um, well," Bob looked embarrassed.
"Star 69'em, Sam."
Dean might have saved his breath as Sam was already moving to the phone. He hit the appropriate buttons.
"It's a clinic," Sam relayed the information, raising an eyebrow at Bob who was still pressed back in his seat, hands raised in the air.
"Who?" Dean pressed again.
"Did you call a doctor?" Sam asked, eyes searching Bob's face.
"Um. Well. Yes, actually. Well, kinda. Look," Bob turned from Sam to Dean, "You're hurt badly. You need some kind of help, and my little first aid kit is not going to be enough. Tara can help, and she won't say anything if I ask her not to. She's a good person."
"I'm sure she is," Sam interjected, "but there are rules that doctors have to follow…"
"Not this kind of doctor," Bob jumped in.
"What kind of doctor, we talking about here, Bob?" Dean was doing his best to keep up with the conversation, but it was getting increasingly difficult.
"Well, she's the best in this area," Bob hedged.
"Bob. Straight answer, please," Dean clipped.
"She's our vet. For the horses. 'Bout the only kind of doctor that'll make house calls – even around here," Bob smiled.
"Last time I checked, I wasn't a horse… though I guess you might have confused me with one…" Dean smirked as he looked down at his nearly naked body. Sam was amused by the fact that he could detect a slight blush rise to his brother's face even in the wake of his brash comment as Dean suddenly seemed to realize what he was not wearing.
"You boys aren't used to accepting help from anyone, are you?" Bob asked quietly.
"Don't get much practice," Sam replied moving surreptitiously to his brother's side.
Dean had lowered his gun and was leaning all of his weight against the doorframe. It was increasingly obvious to Sam that Dean wasn't going to remain upright for much longer. As he neared his brother, Sam watched him blink. Sam could see Dean try to clear the fog that was settling on his mind and was preventing him from focussing. Dean had started to sway slightly, even against the wall.
"Dean," Sam breathed so as not to startle his brother and slowly reached one hand out to Dean's right shoulder to steady his brother. As soon as he saw that Dean was okay with the initial contact, Sam moved in to support his brother. And just in time as Dean's eyes fluttered closed and he started to crumple to the floor.
Bob stood up and crossed the floor to come up on the other side of Dean as Sam pulled him away from the door frame. Sam stiffened, and Bob stopped. He held both his hands out to the side.
"Please trust me, Sam. I'm not the bad guy here, either." Bob pleaded.
Sam shrugged. He didn't have any choice. If Bob had turned them in, they were already screwed anyway. He let Bob help him get Dean back to the bedroom. Dean was in and out of it, but definitely came fully aware when they reached the bedroom again.
"Bathroom," Dean managed to force out.
All three of them couldn't fit in the tiny bathroom, so Bob let go of Dean at the door, and between the counter and Sam, Dean was able to keep upright enough to make it to the toilet to throw up again.
Sam turned his head away, but kept a hold on his brother. The last thing he wanted to do was force Dean onto his already injured knees on the hard tile floor. When Dean was through dry heaving, Sam helped him from the room. Bob re-took his position on Dean's other side.
"Sorry Sammy," Dean mumbled, struggling to stay conscious.
"You so owe me," Sam tried to keep his tone teasing.
"Payback for all the times that I've held your girly hair out of the way," Dean teased back.
Dean couldn't hold back a small groan as they lowered him back to the bed.
"Take it easy, ok?" Sam said sinking down beside his brother and resting a hand briefly on his chest.
Bob cleared his throat.
"Tara will be here any minute. She'll go away again if I just tell her it's a false alarm, but I meant what I said. You'll like her, and she won't say anything once I ask her not to. She's good people, and the best damn vet in the area."
Sam looked up at Bob through the hair falling over his eyes. Bob was struck by how world weary both these young men seemed to be.
"So you've already said. We have no choice but to trust you," Sam stated. Dean needed more help than they could give, and if Bob had already spilled the beans, they were screwed anyway.
As Sam reached for the cloth he had used earlier, the sound of a vehicle could be heard pulling into the drive. Sam carefully started to wipe off the blood that had trailed down Dean's legs from his hip and knee wounds.
"What do you want me to do Sam?" Bob asked quietly.
"Let her in." Sam sighed.
Bob turned to leave.
"You aren't afraid for your friend?" Sam asked suddenly before Bob left the room.
"No. Should I be?" Bob looked back over his shoulder and smiled at Sam.
"We won't do anything to harm her, but she could get into trouble for helping us. And I guess it's too late, but you could too," Sam said quietly.
"I'll take my chances," Bob said, slipping out.
"Why is he helping us?" Sam said quietly. He was startled when Dean answered him.
"I keep telling you bro, people are crazy."
"How're you doing? Up to seeing this vet of Bob's?"
"I'm fine. But do you seriously think that Bob would consider me to be much of a threat right now?" Dean regarded his brother blearily through one eye.
"I think you had him pretty worried when you showed up in his office," Sam smiled and shook his head. Only Dean could be threatening and scary even bloody, seriously concussed, and mostly naked.
Dean grunted and attempted to smirk, letting his eye flutter shut.
"Hey, hey," Sam gently patted Dean's chest. "Stay with me. You don't want to miss meeting your new doc."
Dean grunted in response.
Sam heard the door open. Funny he hadn't really heard Bob slip out. He could hear footsteps and Bob's voice.
"Thanks, Tara. They're just back here in the spare room."
Bob appeared in the doorway. He was laden down with what looked like two tool boxes and was followed by a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She was wearing the blue overalls that seemed to be the uniform of a large animal vet. She had a baseball hat over her shoulder length brown hair. She would have been about 5'5" Sam guessed and had a muscular build, well suited to her chosen profession. Sam was struck by her quick smile which lit up her face, travelling easily to her pretty blue eyes. Definitely a farm girl, and definitely a smart one. She was also carrying what looked like two large tool boxes.
"This is Tara. Tara, this is Sam, and this is his brother Dean – your latest patient." Bob did the introductions, moving into the room and aside to let Tara in.
"Hi," Tara said as she moved into the room. She put her burdens down and moved toward Sam with an outstretched hand.
Sam stood up, towering over her and took her hand.
"Thanks so much for coming. I'm assuming that Bob's filled you in…?" Sam was struck by both the warmth and the strength of her handshake.
"More or less. You do understand that I'm not a people doctor, right? I'll do what I can, but I really think you'd be better off going to a hospital," Tara's eyes had slid towards Dean.
"Can't," Dean slurred. He was watching the exchange through his good eye. He found that if he squinted with just the one eye, the room didn't seem so sickeningly in motion.
"It's a long story, but my brother's right. We can't go to a hospital without there being further… um… complications," Sam explained. "You should know that you could be in trouble for helping us."
"Yeah. Bob did offer that much information once he got me here. But if Bob's ok with helping you, then I am too. I just wanted you to be aware of what you're getting into. You could get me in a lot of trouble if you reported me for malpractice," Tara smiled as she said it.
"It's a deal, then," Sam smiled. "We don't sue you; you don't sue us."
"M' bro, the lawyer," Dean slurred quietly from the bed.
She bent and opened one of the cases she'd brought in. She pulled out a pair of latex gloves and put them on.
"Well, let's see what we're dealing with," she said moving to the bed. Sam stepped out of her way, but hovered just over her shoulder.
"So, Dean, want to tell me where you're hurting?" Tara smiled as she looked down at him. Her eyes scanned the mostly naked body in front of her, but if she was surprised by either the injuries or the scars already decorating that body, she never let it show on her face.
Dean hated being the only person lying down in a room, so he attempted to scoot back and prop himself up on the pillows. Unfortunately, his body did not want to join the game plan, and he only managed to shift a bit before a groan managed to escape.
"Hey, hey, just lie still," Tara soothed. She looked at Bob and Sam, "Jeez, I thought this would be a dawdle compared to my usual patients, but he seems just as untalkative and a bit more skittish than my usual clientele!"
Bob chuckled, and Sam couldn't suppress a snort.
"Nice, now I really feel inadequate next to a horse," Dean muttered, and that truly had them all laughing, helping to break the remaining tension in the room.
"Ok, Dean, let's try that again. Where are you hurting?"
"Head. Ribs. Hip. Knees. Um… everywhere?" Dean was still struggling to focus. His brain seemed to be on stutter mode.
"Ok. I don't deal with a lot of head injuries in my practice, but I also do a lot of penning and riding, and concussions are a pretty common occurrence at a lot of those events. Let's say I just start at your head and work my way down?"
"Sure, doc. Whatever you say," Dean agreed, letting his eyes slide shut again. It was getting too hard to keep focused.
Tara began by examining the cut above Dean's right eye. Using a pen light, she noted the difference in reaction in the pupils, which were unnaturally blown. Bad concussion. She moved down from there, checking his neck and then the ribs. Gentle fingers easily found the ribs that were broken and cracked. Wincing herself, she examined the abrasions and bruising to Dean's abdomen but concluded it was unlikely that there were any internal injuries. She examined the wound to his hip, noting that there was debris that would have to be removed but that what was left of the skin wouldn't be stitchable. Dean's knees would need the same attention as his hip. She checked Dean's arms, noting the swelling of the left wrist, and his legs, noting that except for the cuts, abrasions, and bruises, they were intact.
"Sam? Can I get you to help your brother sit up so that I can check his back? I don't want to try rolling him on those ribs or that hip," Tara explained.
Sam moved quickly to his brother's side. Dean had faded to black as Tara examined him, so Sam placed a hand on his chest, pressing softly.
"Dean? I'm just going to lift you up, so Tara can get a good look at your back."
Dean grunted. It was an obvious sign to Sam of how badly hurt his brother was that he didn't come around more, more quickly, and more violently. Dean grunted again as Sam got him up and more or less leaning into him, chest to chest.
"See, Sammy? Chicks always want to see me from every angle," Dean muttered into his brother's shoulder.
Tara just snorted and chuckled.
"Oops. Did I say that with my outside voice?" Dean slurred.
Dean winced as her gentle touch somehow still managed to press a little too hard on the gash at the back of his head.
Tara moved from the lump and contusion on the back of his head to the deep bruising on his back. That was going to be sore for quite a while.
"That's good for now," she directed at Sam.
Sam eased Dean back to the bed.
"Well, looks like I've got my work cut out for me. Sam do you want to help? And Bob? How about some of your world class coffee?" Tara was used to taking charge, and both men did as they were instructed.
Tara carefully went through the supplies she had brought in, and with Sam's help, carefully laid out what she would need.
Dean, meanwhile, had finally succumbed to the lure of unconsciousness and fallen into a fitful sleep.
"I have some local anaesthetic that I can use, but I don't want to give your brother anything that will put him right out. It would be a really bad idea with his concussion. I expect he's going to feel nauseous and disoriented for a few days from it. It's a nasty one. I've also got the xray machine in my truck – you're just lucky that I was on my way to do a pre-purchase for another client. We only have the one mobile unit at the clinic, so it's your dumb luck that I had it today," Tara smiled up at Sam.
"Oh yeah," Sam returned, "that's us. Luck just follows us around." It's just all bad, he continued the thought.
Tara drew some clear liquid into a syringe and sat down beside Dean.
"Why don't you sit on the other side to steady him again, Sam. I'll need you to hold him forward so that I can stitch that gash on the back of his head. I'm just going to freeze the cut over his eye first. That should only take a couple of stitches." She paused to get Sam's agreement.
Sam nodded in understanding and moved to the other side of the bed.
"Dean," Sam said quietly, laying his hand on his brother's chest. "Dean, we need you to wake up for a second." Sam figured that the chances of Dean waking up quietly again were slim and that if Tara just gave Dean the needle or tried to wake him up, his brother's hunter instincts would be in full force. He really didn't want her to be on the receiving end of that.
Even knowing what was coming, Sam startled a bit and Tara jumped back off the bed when Dean's eyes flew open, or at least the left one, and he took a swing at his brother.
Sam easily dodged the slower than normal arc of his brother's fist, but it moved him enough that Dean was able to shoot up into a sitting position. The change in altitude did not agree with him.
Dean groaned and slumped forward, clutching his head and groaning louder at the abuse to his damaged ribs.
"What the hell, Sammy," he ground out.
"Tara's actually gonna freeze your head before she stitches you up, bro," Sam said as he placed a comforting and supporting hand on Dean's back. Sam was almost relieved to see Dean's "normal" responses back on line.
"Tara?" Dean squinted against the light that was drilling through his head.
"The doc who's going to fix you up," Sam said and frowned in worry at Tara. Sam moved so that he was in front of his brother and Dean could lean against his chest.
"Huh. 'K," Dean slurred.
Tara returned Sam's look of concern.
"Dean? I'm just going to freeze both your head wounds before I stitch them up," she explained.
Dean grunted an acknowledgement.
The vet tackled the larger head wound first, placing 15 neat stitches in the back of Dean's head before making short work of the three needed to close the cut over Dean's right eye.
Dean seemed a little more lucid and aware, recognizing Bob when he brought the coffee in. In fact, the coffee had Dean almost perking right up.
Sam insisted that Dean settle for a few sips of the water that Bob had thought to bring for the patient.
"Let's get these sores cleaned up before I xray that wrist," Tara suggested.
Dean was shivering slightly, so Sam covered his chest and abdomen with an extra blanket that Bob had brought back with the coffee.
"I'll use a bit of local again," Tara explained, freezing Dean's hip and both his knees.
"Feels weird," Dean slurred. His eyes had pretty much shut of their own accord and he was obviously drifting off again. Tara hoped that he would make it all the way because even with the local, it was going to hurt when she dug in to remove the deeply embedded bits of gravel.
Dean hissed at the first contact of the betadine that Tara used to wash the wounds, but he didn't quite wake up. He remained out of it for the first few extractions, but when Tara started digging for the deeper pieces, Dean couldn't stop the grunt that escaped. His flinching increased to the point that Tara was considering getting Sam to hold him down. Sweat beaded on Dean's face and then drops began to run down it.
Tara worked as quickly as she could, but Dean's shivering had increased to the point where his teeth were almost chattering by the time she was spreading antiseptic cream and fixing a piece of gauze over the wound on Dean's hip.
Bob appeared with another blanket and handed it to Sam. Sam positioned both blankets over Dean, covering all but his knees as Tara worked.
"So Sam? Can you at least tell me how your brother ended up in this state?" Tara was a master at distracting the "owner" from the patient while she worked. Some "owners" would get so freaked out it would set the "patient" off when otherwise the horse would have remained reasonably calm. Horses had an uncanny sense for when you were trying to help them.
"We stopped to help some guy who was broken down on the highway. Turns out he wasn't so broken down, and he and a few friends car-jacked us," Sam explained bitterly and his face flushed in anger and embarrassment at the memory.
"Damn. I'm sorry. They aren't the first, are they Bob?" Tara glanced up at their host.
"No. I'd heard a couple of other stories from some of the surrounding towns," Bob confirmed.
"Well that's just great," Sam was starting to get agitated. "Are the cops even doing anything about it?"
"We don't have a very big force out here. They're spread pretty thin," Bob explained.
"Hey," Dean's voice broke in, capturing Sam's attention instantly.
"Take it easy…. Not like we….we were able to stop 'em," Dean's voice was weak. "Calm down Sammy…"
"Dean? How are you doing?" Tara asked.
"Peachy," Dean tried for a smirk even as his eyes fluttered shut again.
Sam moved to wake him back up, but Tara stopped his hand.
"It's ok Sam. Let him sleep for the time being. I really don't have any painkillers I'm comfortable giving him. Bute is hard enough on an animal's stomach and banamine is a narcotic…"
Sam snorted. "Yeah. Dean'd enjoy that too much! At least he seems to remember what happened now…"
"He didn't before?" Tara looked concerned.
"No. Well and yes. He's been in and out of it. Just confused." Sam tried to explain.
"Just let him sleep. We'll wake him after I do the xray and see how he's doing. I do have antibiotics that I can leave. They're exactly the same as what your doctor would prescribe."
Turning to Dean's knees, Tara continued her conversation with Sam, careful to keep her voice soothing and neutral.
"What kind of car do you drive?"
"It's Dean's car. He hardly ever lets me drive," Sam said with fondness in his voice.
"Well, what kind of car does Dean have?" Tara was struck by how often Sam deflected a question.
"A '67 Chev. Impala. Black. It's Dean's baby." Sam said softly.
"Nice," Tara stated. "Hey… you guys were staying with the Jangers over in Sidney weren't you? Shame about old Mrs. Smithers, but probably a blessing in some ways. She was a strange old duck and then with the Alzeimer's… she'd become quite a lot for them to deal with."
"How'd you know that," Sam tried for nonchalant.
"You know small towns! And our practice is actually pretty widespread. I think I saw your car when you were at the Jangers. She's a beauty." Tara didn't even look up as she worked on Dean, and Sam's suspicions and concerns were dispelled. He was disappointed that Dean had missed Tara's admiration for his baby – and the fact that she'd called her a "her".
Once Tara finished picking the gravel from Dean's knees, covering those wounds with antibiotic cream and gauze, Tara grabbed Bob and headed to her truck for the xray equipment.
Sam covered Dean up completely. His brother looked like Hell. His one eye was swollen almost entirely shut now. He had bruises all over his face and a split lip. He was shaking and sweating. Sam laid a comforting hand on his brother's cheek. A gesture that conscious Dean would likely never allow but that unconscious, hurting Dean leaned into.
Bob and Tara came back in the room. Bob was carrying some large blue aprons and gloves and what looked like a square of wood. Tara had two large containers which she set about opening and unpacking. One contained a computer and the other the portable xray machine. Quickly fixing everyone up with a protective apron, including Dean, Tara positioned the wood under Dean's swollen wrist. Carefully holding the xray machine over Dean's wrist, she snapped a shot and then called up an amazingly clear image on the computer.
Dean slept through the entire procedure, only grunting a bit as Tara positioned his injured arm.
Sam couldn't help it. He was fascinated. He moved in close beside Tara as she studied the xray. She glanced sideways at Sam and a small smile tugged at her lips.
"Only the best for our four-footed friends," she said.
"It's just so clear," Sam breathed. "I don't think I've seen xrays at a hospital look this good."
"Yeah. It was worth every penny when we got it. And it's easy to store the data pretty much forever without taking up a lot of storage space or worrying about the images degrading."
"Um," Bob brought them back to the present. "So, how does Dean's wrist look?"
"Oh, right," Tara was all business again. "There is definitely a bit more than a sprain here." She pointed at what looked like a fine line on Dean's ulna.
"He's lucky. There is no chipping or displacement. It's really just a fine crack – not even technically a fracture. I can immobilize it for you, and he should be completely healed in a couple of weeks. I'd say it will take his ribs longer, so you can use those as a guideline. I get the feeling you know how to deal with most of these injuries, so I'm sure you know that it is important to get Dean up and moving around. He needs to keep breathing deeply to avoid pneumonia. Nobody wraps ribs anymore, so I won't do that."
Tara began packing up the xray equipment, and she and Bob took it back to her truck. Once again, Tara returned with further supplies.
"Can you get me some hot water?" Tara asked Bob, who nodded and moved into the bathroom, returning with a shallow basin.
Meanwhile Tara had unpacked the new supplies.
"This will act like a cast," she explained as she kneaded a silver package and then removed a cream coloured mesh material and dipped it in the hot water. "There's plaster in the material that is activated by the water."
Tara worked quickly and soon had Dean's hand and forearm coated in the material. As she waited for it to dry, she packed up the rest of her things. As soon as it was dry, she wrapped it in black vet wrap – a stretchy, water-resistant bandage that moulded to the "cast" to protect it. Then she turned to Sam and handed him a bottle of pills.
"This is apo-sulfatrim. An antibiotic. We get it from the same supplier as your doctor. He should have one pill every 12 hours for the next ten days. If he seems to be getting worse or anything still looks infected, you should see your regular vet," Tara laughed but turned sober again as she returned her attention to Dean.
Dean had remained unconscious throughout the splinting of his arm, but he was growing restless. His pale face made the fever flush on his cheeks stand out even more. He'd stopped shaking but sweat still beaded on his forehead.
"Keep giving him ibuprofen to bring down the fever and start him on the antibiotic as soon as possible. You should see an improvement in a few hours at most," Tara assured Sam softly as she turned back to him and smiled.
"Why are you helping us?" Sam couldn't stop himself. He knew that Tara could be in trouble on any number of levels and yet she showed no concern for herself, taking her time and focusing on making Dean as comfortable as possible and reassuring Sam.
"Shouldn't I?" She smiled and added, "Bob trusts you. That's good enough for me. Bob is an excellent judge of character. Horses not so much. But that's just because he's got such a big heart, he loves them all, even the good for nothing ones." Tara smiled at Bob as she spoke, obviously teasing.
Bob grunted and looked embarrassed.
"No horse is good for nothing," Bob asserted. "They're all good for something. Sometimes you just have to try a little harder to figure out what it is."
"Ss-mmy?" Dean slurred, capturing everyone's attention again as he struggled back to the land of the conscious.
"Hey, Dean. You with me buddy?" Sam eased himself down to perch on the side of the bed by his brother.
"Hmmm. Weird dream… You…k?" Dean was still struggling to open his good eye. It wasn't cooperating.
"I'm fine, Dean. As usual, you're the one who's not. Do you remember where we are?"
"Don't you?"
"Don't be a brat. Be serious, dude. You've got a pretty good concussion going on."
"That I believe. You wouldn't believe the party going on in here," Dean managed to wave his right hand weakly at his head and his left eye managed to crack open.
"Do you know where you are, Dean?" Tara asked.
"Hey Doc. Bob. At Bob's," Dean managed to move his gaze around the room. His stomach thought that a less than wise choice, however, and flipped alarmingly. Dean swallowed and closed his eye again.
"Dude! Stay with us for a minute or two ok?" Sam touched Dean's chest gently to ground him and prevent him from falling back to sleep.
Dean blinked and looked for his brother, needing to make sure he really was alright. Dean immediately noticed the blood that had dried under Sam's bangs – really only visible from Dean's angle.
"Hey Doc?"
"Yeah, Dean?"
"Do me a favour?"
"Another one?" Tara laughed.
"Check out my stubborn brother's head," Dean asked.
"What? I'm fine!" Sam sputtered.
"Fine heads don't bleed. Or so I'm told," Dean smirked.
Tara had already moved in for the kill, however, especially as sitting on the bed, Sam was within easy reach. She quickly reached out and brushed his bangs off his face, closely scrutinizing the gash on his head.
"It might have taken a stitch or two at the time, but at this point, you might as well just let me clean it up and let it heal on its own. Your hair will hide any potential scar."
Tara made short work of reaching back into her things and taking care of Sam's head.
"I'd better hit the road. I'm so late for that pre-purchase now, the client is going to string me up."
"Thank you for helping us," Sam offered, feeling how little it seemed like.
"Just another day at the office," Tara smiled.
"Thanks Doc," Dean managed from the bed.
"Take it easy, Dean. Call me if you think you need me," Tara said to Sam as she and Bob gathered up her equipment and headed out to her car.
Sam shook out one of the antibiotics and grabbed two more ibuprofen.
"Dean? I need you to take these."
"Doubt they'll stay down."
"Try?" Sam sighed.
"'K," Dean huffed.
Giving the pills to Dean who popped them in his mouth, Sam grabbed the water glass and raised Dean's shoulders enough to be able to drink without choking.
He almost choked anyway because he tried to reach for the glass with his left hand and suddenly discovered his new cast.
"Dude? What the hell?" Dean sputtered.
"Hairline fracture. You're just gonna have to deal for a few weeks…"
Dean just groaned softly and sank back into the bed.
Sam sank back down beside him, running his hand over his face and through his hair.
"Do you think we can trust them?" Sam asked.
"Not like we have a lot of options at the moment," Dean sighed as his eyes slid shut again.
"Yeah."
"Sorry Sammy."
"For what?" Sam turned his gaze to his brother's face. Even with the bruising and swelling, Sam was dismayed to see guilt and shame flicker across his brother's face.
"'s my fault. Let 'em get the car 'n now 'm laid up…" Dean was fading.
"Dean, this is so not your fault," Sam hissed.
Dean grunted back and turned his head away from Sam.
"Get some rest, bro," Sam directed. He hoped that most of Dean's misplaced feelings were a result of the concussion.
Sam acknowledged to himself that Dean was right about one thing. They were going to have to place their lives in Bob's hands. For the time being anyway, they were out of options.
A/N3: I hope this isn't too disappointing. My life sucks so bad right now, I'd trade with Dean – before Castiel saved him…. All the vet/horse stuff is true and based on my own personal experiences… should be one or possibly two more chapters…. No promises to when I will be able to get to them. Again my thanks to those who have reviewed, alerted and read. My apologies for not posting sooner. I know that I suck. And no. I'm not fine with that, but I've decided to at least acknowledge that I am a lame loser... posting now before I get too maudlin...