Yeah, yeah, I know...evil me for leaving the last chapter in an evil cliff hanger. Sorry; just gotta keep you guys on your toes. I still think everyone of you is awesome, and whether you are a reviewer or just a lurker I really appreciate you giving this humble author a read. Thanks a bunch - stop in a drop me a line if you have time. Enjoy...
Still don't own 'em, but if I did...
"Sammy!" Dean bolted up in bed, suddenly wide awake at the sight that confronted him. Sam hung limply from Bobby's arms, his eyelids at half-mast and his face desperately pale. Fierce shivers wracked his entire body and his legs barely moved as Bobby dragged him forward the remaining few feet to Dean's bed. The older Winchester scooted back to make room for his injured brother, grabbing the kid under his armpits and pulling him the rest of the way onto the bed. He vaguely heard Bobby's anguished cry for Missouri as he took in the image of Sam's crimson doused shirt and then he heard his own angry voice break into the tension of the room.
"What the hell happened to him?" Dean demanded, hovering over Sam's trembling form as he frantically searched for a wound and finally made contact with the deep gouge through the younger man's stomach.
"It's okay, Dean." Sam's eyes rolled lazily around in their sockets until they found purchase on his brother's frantic face. He made a valiant effort to focus, but he'd lost too much blood already and he failed miserably, his gaze losing contact as soon as it had been found.
For the first time in weeks Dean completely forgot about his own injury as he hovered over Sam and pressed down hard into the seeping wound with the edge of the comforter. Sam cried out weakly, but Dean barely heard him through the chaos and he continued to demand answers from Bobby.
"Why is he hurt? What did this to him? What the hell were you two doing all day long?"
Bobby refused to answer, instead crossing the room to where the first aid kit still lay open from when Missouri had changed Dean's bandages earlier in the night, and grabbed the supplies they would be needing. "Not now, Dean. First let's deal with your brother. Then I'll answer
your questions."
It was all he could do to keep his emotional demands at bay, but Dean recognized the diplomacy in the older man's order and managed to calm down. He forced himself to focus completely on Sam, pulling the young man into his lap as Bobby and Missouri set about cleaning and stitching the wound. Sam passed out from the pain within minutes of his arrival in the room and Dean was helpless to do anything but rock his unconscious brother and continually dab his sweating forehead with a cool cloth.
More than an hour passed before they were done with Sam, and then he was transferred to the other bed. Dean followed, cradling his baby brother as he continued to sleep, watching Missouri strip the first bed of the bloody linens. He stared in dazed silence for several minutes after that, absently stroking Sam's sweat soaked hair as his mind struggled to process the last hours events.
The bed was stripped, the bloody bedding and towels were stuffed into a large garbage bag and Missouri was finally tending to a superficial cut on the bicep of Bobby's right arm before Dean finally opened his mouth to speak. He'd been concentrating hard on the events and Missouri's reaction to them, and it had finally occurred to Dean that whatever the hell had just happened was not altogether unexpected. And now he was pissed.
"I'm going to ask you one more time, and this time I expect a God damn answer," Dean growled, locking his steely gaze on Bobby. "What the hell happened to my brother."
Bobby sighed, dropping his head in his open hand in defeat. The first words he spoke were to the ground and it wasn't until Dean screamed at him to 'look at me dammit," that Bobby finally met the younger man's gaze.
"Turns out you boys didn't exactly kill that spirit in the Algonquin woods. Sam and I went back to try and take care of it."
Dean exploded. "You did what!"
Moisture clouded the older man's eyes as he looked to Dean with the sincerest of apology. "We really thought we knew how to take care of it this time."
"By doing what," Dean snapped. "Offering yourselves up as sacrifices?"
"We were supposed to be out of the woods before the sun went down," Bobby insisted. The role reversal was blatantly obvious as Bobby's meek voice filled the room, feeling like a child answering to his father. "It was more of a search than a hunt."
"Coulda fooled me. Sam, bleeding all over my bed, pretty much tells a different story."
"We found two of them," Bobby continued. "And Sam really wanted to keep looking for the last one, so we just kept adding time. Five minutes here, ten there, and the next thing we–"
"Hold on just a minute," Dean interrupted, and the loud tone of his voice made Sam flinch in his unconsciousness. "Found two of what? What the hell are you talking about?"
It was then that Bobby realized Dean knew even less about the hunt than the old hunter had assumed. Putting two and two together timewise, he finally realized that Sam must have found the first pouch about the same time Dean had been hurt, and he knew nothing about it. For the next several minutes Bobby explained about the four pouches, and the Algonquin tribe, and the summoned spirit that had lain dormant for centuries before somehow being disturbed, rising once again to avenge the tribal deaths. He explained their theory on the constantly changing forms, and how he and Sam had decided that the spirit couldn't return to a form that had been destroyed, but had several more to choose from. And the longer Bobby spoke the angrier Dean seemed to become until he was literally stewing in his own juices.
"Why didn't anyone tell me about this?" Dean screamed, letting go of his hold on Sam and sitting up in the bed to appear more threatening. "I can't believe you all went behind my back. You lied to me!"
Bobby flinched, and Missouri seemed to shrink back into her chair. "We thought it would be for the better if we didn't bring you in on this one, Dean," Bobby admitted. "There wasn't anything you could have dong, and you would have just worried–"
"You should have told me! Sam got hurt because you didn't tell me!"
"What would you have done, Dean?" Missouri's soft voice interrupted the tirade for the first time, and despite her anxiety over the situation she seemed to have a firm grasp on controlling the sound that came out.
"I would have protected my brother!"
"How?" the woman challenged, continuing to keep her tone even.
"I don't know!" Dean screamed, slamming his fist into the bed as he realized what the woman was implying. He hated her for that; and hated himself for its truth. "I would have figured something out. This never should have happened!" His arm waved wildly across Sam's prone form.
"Dean, people were continuing to die out there. There have been seven more deaths just in the time that you were in the hospital. Sam and I had to do something about it."
"You still should have told me!" he shrieked back at Bobby, his face reddening in his rage.
Bobby continued to keep his voice down as he searched for the most tactful way to silence the hunter. "You were in no shape mentally to be hearing about a hunt Sam and I had planned," Bobby began, and then held his breath to wait and find out what Dean's reaction would be. He could still see the anger and hatred filling the young man's being, but to his credit Dean stayed quiet.
"You've been all over the board with your emotions these past few weeks...and that's
perfectly acceptable, considering," the hunter was quick to add. "But we just didn't think it was wise for you to be worrying about this too. Sam and I figured we had it covered. Besides, Dean," Bobby sighed, long and drawn out as though he were hesitant to say the next part. "You're in no condition to be hunting right now; or even to be thinking about hunting right now."
There was no denying that the words stung, true as they might have been, and Dean had to swallow down a gigantic lump in his throat before he could talk again. "Way to kick a man when he's down." He finally whispered forlornly. The fight had left him as quickly as it had come and now he slumped back against the pillows in defeat.
"This is why we didn't want to tell you." All three looked over to where Sam had finally woken up enough to speak in a forced whisper, and he now struggled to pull his weak body up into a sit. When it appeared that Dean was too downtrodden to attempt to assist his little brother, Bobby crossed the room and helped Sam sit up and lean against the pillows beside Dean. His lids still drooped, dangerously close to shutting completely again, but for the time being Sam was in the conversation.
"Sam?" It was all Dean could muster, asking both 'are you okay?' and 'what the hell do you mean by that?' all in the same single word.
Sam nodded in assurance of his health, and then grabbed Dean's gaze as much as his tired body would allow. "We knew you would be upset if you knew what we were planning. And I knew you would put my welfare above the lives of those innocent people."
"You're damn straight I would."
"But if you were well, I'm sure you wouldn't have given a second thought as to whether or not we should go finish the job."
"Of course not. But it's different."
"That's just it," Sam expressed, wincing as the force in his response elicited a sharp pain in his side and he had to pause to take several breaths, wrapping his arm around the wound, before he was able to continue. "It's not different. You're implying that Bobby, who has been hunting a hell of a lot longer than you have, is less capable than you are at succeeding in a hunt. But you don't know that the exact same thing might not have happened tonight if it had been you and me out there. Hell, Dean, look what happened the last time we were out there!"
I don't want to think about it! "You still should have told me," Dean pouted. It seemed to be the only response he could come up with to just about everything his brother and friends could throw at him. Because damn if they weren't right. He hated that he read like an open book, and really hated that everything they said seemed accurate. But it just wasn't fair! He should have been on that hunt tonight! He should have been there to back his brother up, and if it weren't for his damn leg...Fuck.
"Dean," Sam's voice softened when he realized just how painful it must be for Dean to know he was physically incapable of doing the only thing he knew how to do. His hand reached out, gently resting on Dean's leg as the other continued to hold tight against his tortured abdomen. "Dean, this...was unavoidable. It snuck up on us from behind; and we thought we were far enough away from its territory to be safe. And I wish to god I could have been able to save you from the torture of thinking you weren't there to protect me, but I'm going to be fine. The antler went in off to the side. It missed all the vital organs and I already feel better. I promise, you have nothing to worry about."
"Is it gone now?" Dean asked, rationality winning out over despondency, if only for the time being.
Sam immediately averted his eyes, catching a glance of Bobby's tortured image before he quickly mumbled his reply. "Isillowethere," he admitted, joining his words so that Dean couldn't really understand what he'd said.
"What?"
A long sigh. "I said it's still out there," the younger man repeated, speaking slower this time because he knew Dean would be pissed if he had to make Sam repeat it a third time. "We still have to find and destroy one more pouch before it's gone. And it doesn't seem to be losing any power just because we've destroyed three."
"Well shit, Sam, now what are you going to do?"
He shrugged, wincing again and immediately regretting the move. "More research, I guess. Try and figure out where to focus our energy. There's hundreds of acres worth of land out there and the damn thing could be anywhere."
"Uh uh," Dean exclaimed, shaking his head authoritatively. "There's no way you're going back out there again. You've been out twice and gotten hurt both times. I'm not letting you go back out there to let the damn thing finish the job. Let someone else take care of it this time."
"But Dean–" Sam began to protest, and then stopped because out of the corner of his eye he could see Bobby shaking his head. Don't push it, Sam. He's too upset to understand and you're too hurt to be putting up much of a fight. Back off. "Okay," Sam finally relented. "We'll figure something else out."
An awkward silence filled the room for several minutes after that as each realized there was nothing left to say about the topic; or, at least nothing that wouldn't lead to yet another argument. In the end it wasn't what was said, but what was done that lead to more activity as Sam flinched yet again, lifting his arm from his stomach and revealing the fresh blood seeping through his t-shirt.
"Damn, Sammy, you're bleeding again," Dean observed. His eyes searched and fell on the first aid kit, repacked and sitting on the bathroom counter again. His first instinct was to jump up and grab the kit, and he made it as far as the edge of the bed before the harsh reality smacked him in the head again. No more would he make a quick sprint across the room to grab something. There was no 'quick' anything anymore. Now everything took time, and patience and concentration; all traits that Dean lacked.
Noticing Dean's intent, Bobby immediately stood and began crossing the room to where the first aid kit sat. His hand was on it before Dean stopped him.
"No, Bobby. I've got it," Dean announced sharply, already grabbing for the crutches that had once again fallen onto the floor.
"Dean, it's fine. I'm already here."
Dean shook his head firmly and pursed his lips. "I said I've got it," he insisted. He wrestled with the dreaded poles, working faster than he should in his haste to prove himself. It took three tries before Dean was up and steady enough to move forward. He hadn't missed Sam's desperate grab for him as he wavered the first two tries, and he absolutely despised the fact that his injured little brother, who was once again bleeding through his shirt and could barely sit up by himself, still felt that he was in better shape than his amputee of a brother. It was all Dean could do to ignore the gesture, and instead made it a personal mission to prove his brother and Bobby wrong. "I don't need your help; I can do it on my own."
This was his chance. Sam had missed his triumph the night before, and it was time for Dean to show his over-protective kid brother that he wasn't as helpless and needy as it might seem. He could feel all eyes on him as he made his way, by himself, across the room. A part of Dean, the part that was still the old Dean, felt like smirking at the knowledge that he had just proven he could do the impossible - or at least that's what he was certain they must believe. But then there was new Dean; moody, broody, tormented, new Dean who really wanted nothing more than to prove his point, take care of his little brother, and then crawl under the covers and nurse his still very vulnerable emotions with a long nap. New Dean won out.
Sam was impressed; beyond impressed at Dean's accomplishment after having witnessed the man practically land flat on his stubborn ass just a day earlier while attempting the same task. His lips turned up into a smile, but that's as far as he allowed his emotions to go as he noted Dean's fixed determination. No words were spoken, because praising his brother might as well have been damning him to hell. Dean didn't do praise. Dean didn't do acknowledged accomplishments. And now, watching his brother make his way across the room to come help him, Sam accepted that the best way to encourage Dean was to keep his damn mouth shut. No praise was good praise.
Dean finished his task; returning to Sam's side and re-dressing his wounds. Bobby's stitches were still in tact, but further inspection revealed that there weren't enough, and Dean quickly popped two more onto the wound as Sam recoiled in pain.
"Sorry, Sammy. It's gotta be done."
"It's fine, Dean. Just hurts. I'll heal."
And that made Sam's guilt return in full force, right then and there. He would heal. He would ultimately be fine. The pain he felt would go away, and with it the wound. All that would be left was a small scar and the faint memory of yet another injury added to his tally of hundreds. But Dean didn't have that luxury, and he kicked himself mentally, angrily berating himself for being so insensitive.
It didn't help when Dean visibly flinched at Sam's announcement, drawing back and looking at the wall, looking away from everyone else as he recovered his composure. Sam saw Dean drop his hand unconsciously to the shortened leg, rubbing it in firm circles as he tried hard to hide a grimace on his turned face, and Sam didn't know if the motion was in response to his words or if it was indicative of something else. But as soon as the motion had begun, Dean stopped, turning back to Sam.
"I think we should all try to get some sleep," he announced with no inflection in his voice.
Missouri and Bobby were quick to respond, jumping from their seats and quickly escaping the awkward situation. Sam could only nod, staring hard at his brother and trying desperately to read his suddenly blank expression. Dean's mask was back up in full force.
Dean waited until it was just the two of them before he fully removed himself from Sam's bedside and made his way over to his freshly made bed. His movements were slow and deliberate, as though he were lost deep in concentration trying to ensure his safety from one location to the next. Accompanying those thoughts as he slid under the covers were thoughts once again of his failure. Failure to protect Sam. Failure to get rid of the spirit the first time. Failure to be the man he once was.
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They stayed two more days at the motel; just long enough for Sam to recover and for Dean to become more stir crazy and moody than before. And in addition to his constant mood swings, Dean also suddenly became increasingly obstinate.
Obstinance, apparently, was another side effect of Dean's disability. But unlike all the other unfavorable side effects that had Sam cringing and holding his breath and tearing his hair out in the privacy of the bathroom, this side effect Sam would take. Because obstinate Dean liked to do exactly the opposite of what people suggested he do. And seeing how the majority of said suggestions came from an extensive list of don'ts that Dr. Hurley had sent home with them on a final check-up before releasing Dean from the hospital, and considering that Sam felt the majority of those don'ts were oppressive and hindering, the younger brother was more than willing to allow Dean to fight the rules. And Dean had plenty of time to perfect his obstinance while they waited around the motel for Sam to heal.
After having lost his balance several times in the hospital while trying to stand up and pee, Dr. Hurley had suggested Dean learn to sit while he perform that task, at least until he had learned to balance his weight differently. And for the first day or so, Dean listened to that advice. But it was demeaning and difficult, and Dean was certain he felt his manhood withering away as he squatted like a chick. So instead of following the suggestion, Dean learned that planting a palm against the wall behind the toilet gave him enough balance to remain standing, to maintain his manhood.
And then the good doctor had recommended that Dean wear sweats and shorts to minimize the amount of rub on the still healing stump. He really hadn't even gotten out of his pajamas prior to that suggestion, but the fact that it now glared at him from a bright yellow piece of paper only encouraged Dean to get out of his pajamas everyday, and began sporting a pair of rugged jeans each time. Dean Winchester didn't do sweats, and he sure as hell didn't do shorts. Then there was the shower. The first day at the motel, with Missouri, was the first and last time that Dean allowed his fears to get the better of him in the slippery death trap. Slipping in the shower posed a big risk, and taking a bath instead was listed high up on the scorned list. So instead of taking the advice, Dean took to tying a towel to the curtain rod every time he got in. He clung to it pretty heavily, but it allowed the stubborn hunter to remain standing, and that was enough for him. No sissy baths for him; no way.
Dean had managed to modify the majority of the items on the list, and Sam maintained a constant streamline of thank you's for every time Dean made some kind of improvement in his recovery just from his utter recalcitrance.
It wasn't until they were back on the road, Sam and Dean in Missouri's car and Bobby following in his tow truck with the Impala hitched securely to the back, that Sam discovered that there was a downside to Dean's constantly opposing everything on the list. Because Dr. Hurley's list of don'ts continued on the other side with a pretty extensive stream of items that could make one a recluse if done. Item one, in big bold letters: don't allow the public eye to frighten you away. And because Dean had made it a point to do absolutely everything opposite of what the list said, that meant he wouldn't get out at the rest stops, and he sure as hell wasn't about to enter any restaurants where someone could stare.
Looking back, Sam realized that Dean had had some kind of excuse every time Bobby or Missouri had suggested he come with them to go grab some takeout while they waited for Sam to recover in the motel. He hadn't left the place, hadn't even stepped out the door, since the day Sam had broken the stubborn bastard out of the hospital. Dean had brushed off the last two rest stop opportunities, but Sam could now see the man squirming uncomfortably in the front seat. And for lunch, Dean had eagerly suggested they do a drive through, and now that Sam thought about it, it was the most animation he'd heard in Dean's voice since before the accident.
Now they sat in the crowded parking lot of a Denny's halfway between Canada and Kansas with Dean stubbornly crossing his arms against his chest in a stalwart refusal to go inside. Missouri and Bobby huddled awkwardly off to the side of the car, unsure as to whether they would be helping matters or hurting them if they spoke up, as Sam crouched in the open doorway, appealing to Dean.
"They're not going to be staring at you," Sam insisted in response to Dean's mumbled fear to the contrary. The older Winchester's head hung low, staring forlornly at the object of his
despair, shooting fiery daggers at the stump he scorned more than the yellow-eyed demon itself. "Come on, Dean, they'll barely notice."
"That's easy for you to say," Dean muttered. "You don't have to live like this."
Sam winced, knowing his brother was absolutely right, and fearing he had no words to say that could make the situation any better. "You can't stay in hiding forever," Sam sighed.
"Watch me."
"Dean, come on! This isn't the end of the world. You're going to have to get used to stuff like this; it's how we live. You can't stay in the car for the rest of your life."
"I can, and I will. Please, Sam, just leave me alone."
Sam ran a hand through his long locks, wincing as the move pulled at his still tender stomach. His mind reeled. Do I play hardball, or do I let this go? And the question was no longer being asked to determine what Dean wanted, so much as what was in Dean's best interest. How long was Sam to coddle him and give in to his every misguided whim before enough became enough. And Sam finally determined that it was time.
"Dean, if you don't come in with us, you're going hungry." Sam's throat tightened as he said it, and he barely squeaked out the words. It seemed so cruel, and yet so completely necessary.
He waited, holding his breath, for Dean to react. But if Dean did react he managed to internalize it, because the man barely moved, barely blinked, barely breathed. "Fine, Sam. If that's the way it's going to be then I guess I just won't eat."
And it killed Sam to do it, but he allowed Bobby to lead him away from Dean and into the restaurant. He ate the food that Missouri forced on him, all the while thinking about Dean starving in the front seat of Missouri's Powder Blue Ford Taurus. He debated over ordering 'just a little something' for Dean before they left, and ended up resenting Missouri and Bobby when they chose that threat to ensure Sam followed through. 'It's the right thing to do,' Bobby had insisted as he steered the hesitant young man back out the door. 'He may fight us in the beginning, but he'll thank you one day.'
So Dean went hungry that night, and spent the entire day with a full bladder. He was miserable, and Sam was miserable, but in the end it would be worth it. The fight for Dean's life had begun.