ST19 Sadness and Sorrow

Like its passengers the Impala was battered and bruised. The Demon Scorpion had cracked several windows and smashed the rear drivers' side door.

In the drivers seat Sam eyed his brother's bloody form. Dean lay with his head resting against the seat. His injured shoulder had a bright bloom of crimson marring the ragged shirt. More than likely he had popped a few stitches. The rest of him looked almost as bad. He seemed scraped and bruised from head to toe. The Scorpion had worked him over pretty good.

Dean popped one eyelid open to catch his brother's eyes on him. He grinned wickedly hoping it would set his brother's mind at ease. It didn't really work, his baby brother raised an eyebrow and frowned at him. So Dean had only one option, tease and torture. "You look like shit!"

Sam snorted in disgust, "Only because I had to come save you ass," he snapped knowing exactly what his brother was doing, but decided he would play the game anyway.

"Hardly," Dean growled, "Stopped you from falling into the drink."

"I saved your ass first," Sam grumbled. "Demon spawn out there was about to skewer your ass."

"I was totally in control," the older hunter smirked.

Sam snorted in disgust, but a teasing smile played at the corners of his lips. "Totally," Sam chuckled.

"Do you two ever give up," a tired voice asked from the back seat.

"Never," the hunters answered together.

In the back seat, Stephen had climbed back to consciousness to the sound of the two hunters bickering like children, it made him smile. The slice along his upper back was fairly deep but he could barely feel it. The scorpions numbing venom was still at work. The rest of him felt like someone had taken a sledge hammer and pounded him into the ground. He winced and tried to find a more comfortable position, nearly impossible in the small confines on the floor of the car.

Opposite him Melisandra was doing her best to staunch the flow of blood from her deputies. She was hurting; they could hear her groan occasionally when the car hit a rough spot in the road.

Pushing himself up Stephen took over; both deputies were in pretty bad shape. The hospital in Temple was their best bet.

"Hey Sandi," he whispered when he saw her wince for the third time. "Ribs," he asked quickly his fingers gently probing her abdomen?

She snorted and grumbled, "Yeah that and ten other places. I can't seem to find a spot that doesn't hurt," she replied ruefully.

A few minutes later Sam pulled the Impala in behind the clinic. They slowly got out of the car as a nurse and several orderlies wheeled gurney's out to lift the injured deputies.

Stephen checked both men making sure they were stable.

"I've called for an ambulance doctor," the nurse told him. "They should be here in a couple of minutes."

"Perfect, the sooner they get to the hospital the better. I need you to start ringers on both of them."

"Yes doctor," she replied hurrying into the clinic.

Dean climbed out of the car swearing beneath his breath when he got his first good look at the side of the Impala. Grumbling beneath his breath, his eyes flashing angrily, if he could have resurrected the demon scorpion just to kill it again he would make damn sure it suffered the fires of hell for eternity.

Stephen had fared better than the others, except for the deep cut along his back and a few bruised he was in good shape. Ushering the rest of the battered crew into the clinic he soon had everyone lined up for x-rays and stitches.

Stephen checked each of his patients carefully doing a quick triage to see who and what needed urgent attention. Overall they were a battered and bruised lot, but nothing critical.

Melisandra fidgeted and hissed like a rattler when he wrapped her cracked ribs tightly.

"You're as bad as Dean," he warned her, "Now stay still and let me finish."

Sam lay on the bed. He already knew what the doctor was going to tell him. He had a slight concussion, bruised ribs and a myriad of cuts but only one that needed stitching.

"I want to keep you here overnight Sam, make sure all we're dealing with is a concussion."

Sam raised his head to tell him it wasn't necessary, but Stephen got there before him.

"Since that's not going to happen, I'll drop by later this evening to check on the both of you," he warned them.

A few feet away Dean lay in silence. He was hurting, but hadn't moaned, groaned or let anyone know just how much he was hurting. Sam knew sometimes Dean could be a baby about his aches and pains, that wasn't the case this time. Even Stephen couldn't get a rise out of him.

The doctor had replaced the ripped stitches but Sam was worried. His brother had hardly said a word since getting back to the clinic. He had a feeling he knew what was going on his brother's head. The gate and the scorpion had intruded for a while. But now, he had time to think about other things, other things being a wounded pixie. Sam just didn't know what to do about it or how to make it better. It was only going to get worse when they got back to their room. He could only pray that the little Pixie was still alive. Sam didn't know what his brother would do if the pixie died.

oooOOOooo

It had been a tough day and Sam was glad it was over, well almost over he amended carefully. He had managed to catch some much needed sleep and recoup some energy but from the look of his brother he hadn't fared as well. The older hunter was brooding. He didn't know if any words could make him feel better, so he remained silent.

If asked Dean would say he had tried to get some rest, but the pain in the vicinity of heart was almost too much to bear. A few hours ago he had limped into the room and walked directly to the dresser where the little yellow pixie lay.

Sam had done a great job of fixing her wing. He could barely see the tiny, neat stitches holding the flap of skin in place. Was it enough? He could see that the wound had yet to start healing. In his heart he knew it wasn't going too, that Buttercup was going to die but he didn't want to accept the glaring fact just yet.

Sadness filled his heart, bringing all the horrors and losses he had faced in his life to the fore. He wouldn't cry, he told himself. It didn't do any good. Tears had never meant anything except weakness to him. His dad had taught him that. He thought he was strong, that the emotions didn't matter, but he wasn't strong he knew that now. With each loss his life got harder to bear. He didn't know what he'd do if he ever lost Sammy.

Taking a deep breath he built the wall a little higher a little stronger and stepped behind it. Sleep would come later, but he would stand vigil for the time being, she deserved that from him. She deserved so much more, he thought silently, but he didn't know how to give it to her.

oooOOOooo

True to his word Stephen knocked on the door later that evening. "Well do I need to ask how you're doing?"

"Alive but barely kicking," Sam replies wryly.

Both of them glanced at the still silent Dean expecting some kind of answer. Dean remained silent his eyes fixed on the intricately inlaid wooden box on the top of the dresser.

"Dean, how are you feeling? Did you get some rest?"

"I'm great doc," the older hunter replied without glancing at him.

"Sleep," Stephen asked next?

Dean shrugged, he wasn't going to outright lie, he just hoped the gesture would get the doctor off his back. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to sleep.

Stephen sighed, growling silently. Sandi had told him about the pixie and the magic Buttercup had used to restore TJ's hearing. Stepping close to the dresser he looked in to the box. He knew she was there but he hadn't been part of the pixies' wish and he couldn't see her. Only three people could see and talk to her and he wasn't one of them. He wanted too, he wanted to thank her.

Sitting on the bed beside his reluctant patient Stephen went through the motions of checking Dean's injuries. He could fix the obvious ones, but he couldn't fix the bruise to Dean's heart. "You need to get some sleep," he murmured quietly.

The hunter grunted.

Stephen knew too much about his patient. The last few days had taught him one thing. Act first, ask for forgiveness later. Primed and ready he pulled a syringe from his little black bag and slid the needle into Dean's thigh. Pressing the plunger before his patient had time to react. He felt the hunter stiffen beneath his hand.

"Dammit doc, NO!" Dean nearly shouted!

"You need to rest. You can't do that if you're in pain." Stephen was afraid to tell him he had slipped him a mickie – along with the pain medication was a strong sedative that would ensure his patient slept for at least eight hours.

Dean was furious balling his fist he was ready to lash out planting the well meaning doctor a punch in the jaw when a touch on his arm stopped him. "Dean," Sam called softly.

It took a few moments to get his anger back under control. Glaring at his brother then the doctor he bared his teeth but slowly settled down. The mask dropped back into place as if the anger never existed.

Stephen caught his breath and held it. Realizing how close he'd come to driving the hunter over the edge, but Dean had given him no choice.

"Dean," he started only to be cut off by the hunters' words.

"GET OUT," Dean growled. The words were ruthless and unrepentant, harsh in the extreme.

Stephen felt lost, he wanted to help and needed to help but like Sam he didn't know what to say or do. Sighing deeply he packed his bag and stood up.

Sam stood at the door a slight shake of his head told Stephen he had done the right thing. "Thanks doc," Sam whispered quietly.

oooOOOooo

A feeling of helplessness washed over him. He fought the drug, blinking away the foggy haze that had settled over his vision. Swearing beneath his breath he called the doctor every name he could think of until the potent sedative took effect.

The drug took him quickly to a place he didn't want to go. His thoughts were of the pixie, her laughter, her sweet nature and the love she had given him so freely. Over and over her laughter played itself out in his mind. It was a song of happiness, a tale of sorrow.