Spoilers for episodes 5.01 to 5.04.

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Crazy Train is completed and will be posted in five parts. This is the second part.

Crazy Train

Chapter 2

When Dean had declared that he wanted Sam back in the Impala, this was certainly not what he had in mind.

The trip forward had opened Dean's eyes in many ways. It also brought up a hundred more questions, the most important being, "Why did Sam say yes?" Future!Dean had said that he hadn't spoken to Sam in five years. Was their last phone call—the one where he'd told Sam they should stay in different hemispheres, essentially hanging up on his brother—really the last contact he'd had with Sam? Were his words the catalyst for his brother's eventual betrayal of mankind?

Well, that was not going to happen!

Now, after being reminded about the importance of family, Dean hovered over his unconscious brother, slivers from the Continental's shattered windshield carving souvenirs across Sam's face. For a moment, Dean was frozen, struggling at the next steps to take as he watched Sam slowly bleed out, feeling all those familiar emotions again—fear, panic. Love.

"Cas, can you do anything?" Dean implored with a hitch in his voice, knowing this whole situation could go even further south quickly. "I can't…"

The angel stood stoically by the side of the car with a look of pity at the broken family. "I am sorry, Dean. I cannot interfere."

"Damn it, Cas!"

Even as the question spilled from his lips, Dean knew that Cas would be unable to help. After all, Bobby had demanded a miracle after his bout with the dagger, and the angel was helpless then as well. Donning his Big Brother skin once again, he jumped into the back of the car to get a better look at the life-threatening knife wound, readying himself for Winchester triage.

Pulling back Sam's jacket revealed a mess. The hilt was buried deep in his side, the serrated edge of the blade slicing and shredding the tender skin. Ironic, really, that the knife that had killed so many demons was now buried in the vessel of a fallen angel; but this angel had nothing good in mind. The mystery of the blade's powers appeared to have no influence on Sam in spite of his previous extra-curricular activities. This, in itself, was a huge relief to Dean, solidifying his resolution to bring his brother back into his life. The mortal effect of the dagger, however, was a staggering blow.

And just how had Sam managed to stab himself with it in the first place? The only thing Dean could figure was that the kid had laid it on the seat next to him – in probably some place of reverence knowing the sap, he thought affectionately – and then got impaled on the ricochet when the car hit the ditch.

"I can't take him to the hospital—too many questions. And now with that car…" Dean hesitated as he turned back towards the angel who was eerily lit from the burning steel beast behind him. "My room. I got a room—"

Before Dean could complete his thought, they were there. It was clean, with two beds, just like old times and booked an hour earlier by Dean in hopeful anticipation. He hadn't even brought in his own stuff through. Just got the room and raced to meet his brother.

Sam was carefully deposited on the bed farthest from the door; a queen-sized deep red comforter and Norman Rockwell knock-offs on the walls surrounded them. The first aid kit and their duffles were centered on the other bed.

"Thanks, Cas."

Turning to get the kit, he reached first for the scissors, knowing that in order to properly treat the wound, Sam's shirt was history. Between the cutting and the crimson staining, there was no saving the cloth.

Sam, however, was a different story.

Removing the layered clothing, Dean gingerly touched the lacerated skin, noting it was already burning from the entry of the blade—raw and angry. It wasn't superficial by any means, deep into the epidermal layers, but it seemed to have missed any vital organs. Dean breathed a quick sigh of relief, looking briefly to the ceiling he still sent a thank you towards the heavens, knowing there was no one there to accept it. At least, not at the moment.

"Sit tight, Sammy. I'll be right back."

Dean ran to the bathroom, filling the ice bucket with hot water and grabbing the washcloth, dunking it inside. The rest of the towels were quickly draped over his arm as he stumbled back towards his unmoving brother.

Dean saw Cas standing silently at the foot of the bed, watching the labored breaths of the wounded man. He hurried past the angel, grabbing the kit again, finding the saline, needle and thread at his first pass through the case. Dean took a final look at the wound before deciding on his course of action.

The bucket of water was balanced on the nightstand, ready for use. Dean grabbed the face towel inside, gently wiping away the still-pooling blood from the wound to get a better look. There was always the risk that the removal would cause a gusher, but at this point, Dean didn't have much choice.

"Cas, can you put pressure here?" Dean grabbed the angel's hand, placing a dry towel in it and guiding it to the wound. When he was comfortable with the placement of pressure, he moved to the next phase of the removal. Letting out a quick, steadying breath, Dean grabbed the hilt with a shake in his hand. Knowing the jagged edge would cause more damage as it was removed, he pulled the flat end towards him, slicing more of the skin. With a horrid slurp, he began removing the dagger with as much care as possible.

The dual-edged knife sliced along the entire width of the wound increasing the likelihood something vital would be damaged. If he'd misjudged the depth or the severity, Sam would bleed out in minutes. As the dagger slipped free, Dean adjusted Castiel's hand. "Keep pressure on it, Cas."

The angel nodded, his face the picture of serene detachment. Dean fumbled for the saline to flush the wound as well as needle and thread for stitching. Sam groaned low in his throat, his eyes moving rapidly behind closed lids. "Not yet, Sammy, please."

Castiel sat back, releasing his hold. Red stained the angel's fingers.

"Damn it, keep the pressure here! We need to get the bleeding under control."

"We are hurting him," Castiel said, his tone neutral, but his eyebrows creased with concern.

"I know." Dean opened fresh gauze pads to dress the wound. Grabbing a clean towel and guiding the angel's hand back to Sam's side, he kept his hand there for a minute, showing Castiel how much pressure to apply. "We don't have a choice."

Momentary panic tightened his chest. This was too big. He should have taken Sam to the hospital. He should have—called Bobby. Speed dial two and three rings later, a gruff voice came over the line.

"Dean, you'd better be calling to tell me you know where Sam is."

Dean frowned; he'd follow up on the why of Bobby's question later. Right now, he needed the older man's help. "As a matter of fact, he's here with me." He ignored the snort of approval from the other end of the phone. "I'll explain later, but Sam was stabbed, Bobby, with the demon knife. I got it out, but I'm not sure I can do this!"

"Son of a bitch."

Dean heard Bobby slam something down hard on the wooden desk in South Dakota and it ratcheted up his panic. If the older hunter couldn't help, Dean needed to call for an ambulance now. "Bobby, please?"

"Well, first thing you've got to do is breathe."

"Bobby," Dean growled.

"I'm serious, Dean. It's not like you to panic and I understand, but you need to tell me exactly what you see."

"Yeah, okay." He edged closer to Sam, elbowing Castiel aside.

"Can you see subcutaneous, fatty tissue?"

Dean carefully lifted the towel, bending low to examine the injury. "Yeah, it's deep. Full length of the blade at least."

"Is it seeping or is the blood flowing freely?"

"I don't think it nicked anything like a vein or an organ. It was low."

"No chance it perforated his intestine?"

He hadn't even considered the intestines. Dean pressed the towel firmly against his brother's side, wincing when Sam groaned again.

"Dean?"

"I don't know, Bobby."

"Okay, we'll keep an eye on him. You can do this, Dean. Just irrigate the wound and stitch it up when the bleeding is under control."

Dean took a deep breath. "I got it, Bobby, just stay on the phone, okay?"

"It ain't like I'm going anywhere."

He kept Bobby on the phone while he pressed the towel against Sam's side, whispering encouragement in the form of smart ass remarks and fondness disguised as name-calling. Sam didn't so much as flinch when he flushed the deep wound with the saline solution, but Dean was only half-way through stitching when glassy hazel eyes popped open and a strong hand gripped his arm.

Dean froze, speaking calmly to his brother. "Sam, easy."

"Dean?" Sam frowned, his face contorting in pain. "Stop."

"Just a few more stitches." He pressed a hand to Sam's head, gently pushing him back against the bed. "Almost done."

Sam's eyes fluttered shut with a whispered okay. The rest of the stitches were finished in record time. Dean taped the gauze pads over the artificially sealed wound and sat back, scrubbing a shaky hand down his face.

"Dean, you still there?"

"Yeah, thanks, Bobby." He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Sam's chest, mesmerized by the reassuring sign of life. "Stay on the line while I check his head, okay?"

"'Course."

Dean dipped the washcloth in water, carefully cleaning the blood from Sam's face. Most of it had come from a single laceration on his brother's forehead, accompanied by a swelling goose egg. Antibacterial ointment and butterfly strips completed the job.

He caught a glimpse of Castiel, standing quietly in the corner. "Hey, Bobby, can you send someone out to tow the Impala?" Dean caught the angel's eye, waiting for a nod of approval. "Castiel will be waiting at the car."

TBC