Dean's world froze. They'd left the Impala sitting on what looked like high, stable ground. The rain slammed into the ground rolling down, the weight of the car must have loosened dirt and rock enough the car now sat at an odd angle, sliding sickeningly backwards and down toward the mud and waves.
Sam, hair now stuck to his face like wet paper-Mache, scrambled gracelessly up the hillside, slipping and falling sideways more than going forward, fourteen-foot arms and legs moving faster than he was. Sheets of rain threatened to drive him back the way he'd come.
Balancing on one leg Dean stared on at Sam's attempts to gain ground, and reach their car…their home.
He jerked as if shot when thunder rolled through the air joined a few seconds later by the groan of the car slipping farther down the hill. Straight at Sam. Wind and rain hit his brother, likely keeping him from seeing the car looming ever closer. The back tires had hit a patch of the hill steeper than the rest. The car's slow slide would pick up speed once the front tires cleared the slightly more level spot they were on now.
Dean watched, fascinated, as the tires oozed inch by inch over rocks and across the soggy, rain laden sandy ground. Another groan from the car's chassis impelled him forward. "Sam! Sa-uum!" Forgetting the pain shooting up his leg, he hiked his duffel higher on his shoulder, making sure the spotting scope was secure, Dean ran with a stilted gait at his brother and his car. "Get outa there! Sam! Sammy!"
It was only the fact that Dean with injured leg was taking more care with each of his steps, and Sam in his panic and rush to get to the car had charged ahead, scrambling carelessly for his footing that allowed Dean to catch up to his brother.
Lurching forward as his steps closed in on Sam, Dean reached out, grabbed Sam's arm, yanked him back and around to face Dean. Sidestepping as fast as he was capable, he hauled Sam with him, out of the car's line of descent.
"Dean! What the hell?" Sam turned back toward the Impala.
"We got to get out of here. She's going to run us both over, it's sinking and mud is coming down."
"We're not leaving the car." Sam shouted, trying to rip out of Dean's iron grip.
Yanking on Sam's arm a few times, "Yes we are. It's not worth your life. I'll get another car. I rebuilt that one, I can do it again."
"Not if it's underwater or dragged away."
They stood facing off one another, rain pelting both of them. Sam looked beyond frantic, chest heaving, fists clenching and unclenching. His gaze skipped erratically between Dean and the Impala. The air was thick with the smell of rain and mud.
Suddenly he gripped Dean's biceps, squeezing hard. "Dean," he pleaded softly. "We can do this, we can. It's all we have, everything we own. We grew up in there. Dean?" He pointed to the car slipping backwards down an embankment.
In a rush of crystal clarity Dean understood why people refused to leave flooding or burning homes, why they sandbagged or sprayed thousand of gallons of water on a building.
"We have to at least try." Sam begged. It was plain to Dean his brother was unwilling to leave him or the car. "Dean."
Glancing down, waving at his injured leg, "Sam…I can't—"
"I can." Sam cut him off quickly. A tight nod, "I can."
Another sickening groan from the car had them both turning that way.
Latching onto Sam in part for support and in part to keep him from getting too far ahead, Dean nodded. "Get moving."
Sam took the hint, wound his fingers around Dean's arm, helping to pull him faster, make up for his injured leg. Hitting rear bumper with his full weight, Sam turned, using his back to push against the car. His feet scrambled for purchase in the slippery muck. Dean went the last few feet to the driver's side door, got it open and pushed against it. It creaked and moaned, but held fast. Reaching in, he slipped the key in the ignition, got the car out of park and into neutral.
"Now! Push Sammy!"
The car inched forward, the skidded sideways for a few feet. Biting his lip against the pain in his leg, Dean braced both feet against the wet ground, cranked on the steering wheel and pushed. Barely able to see where they were going, Dean hoped they didn't get hung up or run straight into some barrier. The car inched forward with painstakingly slow progress. For a few minutes it moved sideways more than forward, which was pushing them back down the hillside. Sam's grunts and wordless shouts reached his ears.
Then all at once everything moved. The ground went one way, the car the other. Sam landed flat on his back as the Impala pitched forward. Dean nearly lost his footing and avoided sliding under the car by a very narrow margin. Covered with mud, Sam rolled over, was up and getting a running start at the car. Crashing into the rear bumper again, shouting through clenched teeth he didn't slow down.
Plowing over low brush, rocks, and mud the Impala gained higher, and safer, ground. Once they reached a fairly level patch, Sam stopped, wilting against the back of the car, panting and gagging. He leaned down, hands against knees, obviously struggling for breath.
Pushing the car back into park and tossing the duffel into the backseat—he didn't want to lose Craven either—Dean sprinted as best he could with one leg dragging to the back of the car. "Sammy. Sam? You okay?" Pulling Sam straight by one arm, Dean ducked down so he could see into his eyes, searched for signs of serious injury. Dean knew the hit to the ground had to hurt, but he was more concerned about a cracked rib from the impact from the way Sam suddenly struggled for air.
Rain dripped from Sam's nose and hair, little drops scattered when he bobbed his head up and down a few times. One hand reaching for Dean, grasping his forearm weakly. His other arm wrapped around his middle.
"Talk. Can you breath?"
Sam coughed out a, "Yeah." He gagged, then coughed some more. "Mud…isn't so…soft. Winded." He was shaking, his teeth chattered.
Dean ruffled his brother's wet hair, then wiped one hand across Sam's forehead, purposely pushing his bangs in his eyes. Sam grinned up at him, using Dean's shoulder as a brace to straighten to his full height. "Come on." One arm wrapped securely around Sam's middle, Dean pulled him close enough to lean on and lend Sam some support. "Get in before you catch pneumonia. You'll be sneezing and blowing snot everywhere if you don't get dry soon."
He shepherded Sam around to the passenger side, opened the door and shoved him inside.
"You'd still love me."
Dean snorted as he slid behind the wheel. "That's not getting you out of cleaning the upholstery. I think we can drive out from here." He paused, gripping the steering wheel tightly for a few seconds, drawing in a few deep breaths, trying to calm the shaking of his hands. Firing up the engine, rocking the car back and forth a few minutes worked them forward far enough the tires hit drier ground, found purchase. Just before gunning the engine and getting them to a safer road, Dean reached out, squeezed Sam's shoulder for a few beats. "You did good Sammy. You did real good."
Shivering, teeth chattering, dripping mud and rainwater Sam looked over at him and absolutely beamed.
"Deeeean." Sam went for the indignant little brother whine. He'd spent years perfecting it; he figured he might as well get use out of it. Slapping Dean's hands away, "I can get my own clothes off." He started peeling jacket, shirts and jeans off.
"Put a move on then."
"I'm not one of your cheap dates." Sam ducked away. With Dean's injured leg he was slowed down just enough to allow Sam escape to the far side of their motel room. Finding a room closer to the orphanage hadn't been a problem, most people were heading away. If they were lucky they'd have a day or two before they were forced to evacuate this room, and find somewhere to wait out the storm.
"You need to get out of those wet clothes, and get into a hot shower."
"You need to get in a hot shower and get that leg scrubbed before it gets infected." Sam shot back. He might have had more impact if he wasn't hopping on one foot trying to get soggy socks off his feet.
"Dude, you are shaking so bad you can barely stand, no way are you touching this wound to clean it up until you've got steady hands."
Sam hated when Dean used logic, and good logic at that, on him.
Dean's voice softened. "Go on. I'll lay some salt lines, put down the wards."
Sam bit his lip, looked around the room, saw the realization spread over Dean's face.
"I'm not wasting hard earned pool game cash on cold medicine, so put a move on." Dean turned away long enough to check the load on his pistol, one of their shot guns, and lay them on the table between the beds. "I'll be right here."
"Okay." Sam grabbed some clean clothes, headed for the bathroom.
"Don't take forever. My leg is starting to really hurt."
Leaving the bathroom door cracked open, Sam heard Dean moving about the room, mumbling a few incantations. Good to his word he was warding and protecting the room. Even in the shower the sound of rain banging the small window and outer wall reached him. Every half minute or so the winds escalated, things crashed and bumped the ground and wall outside. The hot water felt good, even if a musky smell clung to the bathroom walls. The warm, soft sweatpants and sweatshirt he pulled on felt better. His back ached with every inhale, but he could breath freely, the rattle and cough had vanished within a few minutes of being in the car. He was battered and bruised, but not terribly damaged.
Dean left warm, thick socks on his bed.
He got the back of his head smacked when Dean walked by on his way to the bathroom.
Rummaging in their first aid kit for a few seconds, Sam pulled out a container of antiseptic soap. The bathroom door was cracked open, Sam heard the shower running. Opening the door far enough he could lob the container over the shower curtain, snickering when he heard a meaty thunk followed by Dean's cursing.
"Use that, not the crap these motels have, that stuff probably promotes infection."
Dean grumbled out, "Thank you Sam."
By the time Dean hobbled from the shower, Sam had everything he'd need to make sure the cut along Dean's calf didn't get any nastier than it was spread out on Dean's bed.
"It's not deep, more like the skin got scraped off." Sam dabbed a chunk of cotton soaked in peroxide along the length of the cut, wincing when Dean sucked in a quick breath. It wasn't bleeding much, but Sam knew it had to hurt by the way Dean had just stretched out on his bed, leaned back against the headboard and not put up a fuss when Sam wanted to clean the wound.
Dean could have done the whole process himself, just like the majority of Sam's minor hurts he could care for without help. This was just something they did, had always done. They'd averted disaster yet again, and this was a way to give comfort, get reassurance. They never talked about it, it never seemed necessary and as tough and blustery as Dean often appeared to be, this was something he never fought, in fact the opposite, he seemed to appreciate Sam's efforts, like the attention. If anything it was Sam who was many times being told to sit still and let Dean take care of his wounds.
Twisting around to grab two tubes of antibiotic cream, Sam held up one in each hand, "Gotta preference?"
"That one." Dean's chin jerked at Sam's right hand. "That other stuff smells funny."
"Dean, everything we own smells funny."
Dean sort of gave him a half nod and a bit of a grimace, taking the offered tube of cream. Catching Sam's wrist with his other hand, he pulled gently. "Sit down."
Sam sat.
Dean was hurt, although very minimally, but it was a rule, if the hurt guy asked for something, the other guy complied. Dean was clearly enacting that rule. Sam watched his brother, waited patiently for him to say whatever it was he was working through his head to get out his mouth.
"Sam, I'm sorry." Dean finally got done smearing antibiotic cream down his leg, and looked up at him.
Drawing in a breath, Sam opened his mouth to ask why, but Dean's hand resting on his forearm again silenced him.
"I told you, promised you, that thing wouldn't, couldn't take either of us, and it did."
"I'm not five Dean. It wasn't your fault, and I sure don't blame you. You said you wouldn't let it take me, and it didn't. I fell through the floor. You can't control other people or other things, and I get that. The fact you say those things and mean it, that's what's really important to me." Sam turned away long enough to repack the first aid kit. Facing Dean once more, he ran one hand through his hair before continuing. "I think that building is important. Has something to do with it somehow."
"Like some kind of energy well?" Dean gave his shoulder a poke. "How'd you get out anyway?"
"This is going to sound a little weird."
Dean quirked one eyebrow and offered up one of his most dramatic long-suffering sighs.
Sam looked down at his knees, rubbed the back of his neck and blew out a half laugh. "Remember the little boy in that article I was reading in the car on the way down here?" Dean nodded. Sam continued. "I think it was his ghost. Following him through the walls was…an experience. I'm not exactly built for that."
Dean burst out laughing.
When Sam shifted his weight, intending to move to his own bed, Dean's fingers once again pressed against his wrist, keeping him in place. "I tried to hang on. I tried not to let you go, to let it take you." He confessed in a small voice.
"Sammy, the only thing it was able to do was throw me out the back door. I think it has less physical power, and more emotional power, that's where it does its damage, how it works."
"It showed me things about you and me, like before."
"We've kept it at bay this far, we can keep on doing that. I think we need to get back into that building, but not until the hurricane passes."
"Those hunters, they saw it too. They wanted to use me as bait."
"I know." Dean said softly. "I heard them talking. That's not going to happen either." He gave Sam's wrist a gentle, reassuring squeeze, then let his fingers slide from Sam's arm.
"I meant what I said back there, about you and Dad."
"Sam."
As much as he feared another blow up between them, Sam needed to get this out, to make Dean understand. Ignoring his brother Sam pressed on. "I was reading those files and I realized how freaking lucky I was. When I was a kid you never ditched me, I never felt unwanted, or unloved. I always knew no matter where we moved you'd be there. I'd fit in with you. Even when I went to Stanford I knew you'd be there if I called. You raised me. Dad wasn't even a close second to you." He took a deep breath. "All those kids living in that orphanage, no one wanted them. I have no concept of what that feels like, and not because of Dad."
Sam stood, wiping his palms against his jeans, needing to get out and knowing he couldn't go anywhere. Dean sat there, watching him fidget. "We need our other stuff. I'm going to go get the weapons bag, salt lines and wards won't stop those hunters."
Dean nodded. By the time Sam was back in the room, Dean had the TV on, though they expected the power here to be gone before morning.
"Keep everything packed up in case we get evacuated or something." Dean said. "We might have to find somewhere to hold up that's not public if the cops decide to do a forced evacuation. Somewhere abandoned, but we're going for high ground. None of this riding out the hurricane on the beach crap."
"Okay." Sam picked at his sweatshirt, watching Dean with sideways glances.
"Sammy."
Sam was up, moving across the space between the beds, "Is your leg all right, you need anything?"
"Yeah, I do. I need you to believe me when I say we'll beat this thing, you and me, just like always. We've always been in this together Sammy, always. That's never going to change."
His head felt empty and dizzy as he backed up to his own bed, dropping on it when the back of his legs hit the mattress. "Okay." Sam managed to rasp out.
"Good." Dean grinned, wicked and sly. "Now why don't you find me some snacks before the power goes out and the microwave is useless? And we'll figure our next move."
Sam grinned, that was the best idea he'd heard yet today.