Pain Management
Disclaimer: The boys, the car, and the concept belong to Kripke and the CW. The love belongs to us.
Beta'd: By Muffy Morrigan – thanks for catching that horrendous homophone abuse and the suggestions! And Phx, yeah, that's right; I made her help with her own story. LOL
This story is a Christmas present for Phx, a great author, wonderful friend, terrific lady.
Incidentally, I tinkered after they beta'd so any remaining errors belong to me.
Time Line: Shortly after Heaven and Hell spoilers abound for anything up to and including Season 4.
Warning: Language. Sam drops the F-bomb…sort of.
…………………………………………To Accept the Things I Cannot Change………………………………….
Dean's aim was true. The muscular haunches of the dog barely twitched as the bullet hit home. It turned its head to growl at him, Sam's arm still clenched tightly in its teeth. Dean could hear his brother's groans over the snarling beast. The hunter sighted his weapon, and the dog, apparently having had enough, took off into the woods dragging Sam along his underbelly.
"Sam!" Dean shouted, running after the canine. His flashlight bounced along the forested ground. The Black Dog may have been faster, but it left a trail a blind man could follow. The years of training his dad had subjected him to made it easy to track the dog despite the widening gap. It was taking too long to catch up though, and he pressed on, pushing himself to run faster.
The clouds rolled in, obscuring the moon, blotting out the silvery illumination. The woods were dark save for his flashlight and he stumbled over a hidden root, the rain-slicked leaves cursing his equilibrium again. He landed hard, knocking the air from his lungs. Then, he was off and running again before he had a chance to get his breath back. When he broke into a small clearing, the beam from his light glinted off the red eyes of the Black Dog. There was no need for stealth now; the animal knew he was here.
As he drew closer, Dean saw his brother, pinned to the ground on his belly, the dog's tremendous paws on his back. Sam breathed in small hitching gasps, fingers scrambling on the muddy ground for purchase. Son of a bitch, it looks bigger than before, much bigger. The canine shifted its weight forward, stilling Sam's movements completely.
Dean fired his weapon several times in rapid succession. With a howling bark, the Black Dog raced off into the woods. The hunter ran forward, dropping to his knees beside the younger man. "Sam?" He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, shaking it gently. "Sammy?"
Sam sucked in a sharp breath as his lungs resumed functioning. His eyes popped open, searching wildly around him, each breath sounded strained ending with a wheezing squeak. "Dean?" he said, weakly, his voice a fraction of its normal volume.
"Yeah, it's me," Dean said. "It's gone." Sam tried moving, falling back to the soggy ground with a groan. Instead he grasped Dean's shirt, pulling him down closer.
"Aw, fuck," Sam said, his face taut.
"Ribs?" Dean patted the hand holding his shirt.
"Yeah," Sam said with a grunt. "Well no." He shook his head. "Aufhocker."
"Gesundheit." Dean gently turned Sam onto his back, mindful of his injured arm.
"Exactly." Sam panted, the lines of his face etched in agony. "God," he whispered.
"Hey, it'll be okay," Dean said, shifting closer. He shined the light on his brother's injured arm. "I need to take a look at that."
Sam pulled his arm closer to his chest. "I'm fine, we need to move. It'll be back." He struggled to get to his feet, emitting little grunts of pain. He stopped when Dean placed his hands on the younger man's shoulders, but Sam persisted. "We need to get back to the car."
"Not until I take a look at your arm," Dean insisted. He cursed himself for not grabbing the duffel bag with their additional weapons, ammo, and first aid kit, but something about Sam needing him always overrode his clearer thinking, kicking primal instincts into gear.
Protect his family, finish the hunt, everything else could wait.
Dean's eyes trailed to Sam's arm. Patches of dark red discolored his brother's brown winter jacket. Sam hissed when Dean gently moved his injured limb to get a closer look. The sleeve was warm and damp with the younger man's blood. An iron-rich scent hit his nose.
"I'm fine," Sam repeated. "The Aufhocker is an undisputed champion tracker. The longer we stay here, the more danger we're in."
"And if we don't stop now to control the bleeding and you can't make it back to the car?" Dean's tone took on the note of annoyed big brother. "I'm not dragging your heavy ass the rest of the way."
Sam's jaw muscles bunched, a clear sign he was holding back a retort, but he didn't say anything. He shrugged out of his coat; good arm first, allowing Dean to ease the material from his injured arm. Dean took a good look at the puncture wounds, surprised to find the flesh itself in relatively one piece, despite all the blood. However, from the oddly swelling shape, it was obvious Sam's arm was broken.
"The aufhocker kills its victims by ripping out their throats or by crushing them," Sam said.
Dean looked up, recognizing his brother's need to distract himself from his injuries. "So, when he couldn't manage the first, he tried to turn you into a Sammy-pancake?" he asked. He removed his leather jacket and outer shirt, then carefully wrapped the younger man's arm tightly in green and black flannel.
Sam twitched his arm, pulling his lips back in a grimace. "Something like that," he replied, staring intently at Dean.
The hunter slipped back into his jacket, but all the while he could feel his brother's appraising gaze. "What?" he asked, finally.
The chestnut mop shook in the negative. "Nothing." Sam searched the ground, found his coat and after a bit of struggling, got it on, zipping it up tight to his neck.
"Sam, what?" He placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. It was enough to keep Sam from being able stand.
Hazel eyes met his, pain barely masked behind the shuttered depths. "It's nothing really, Dean," Sam said, his voice thinly laced with an air of embarrassment. Dean raised an eyebrow, daring his brother to deny it again. He hadn't lost his touch, because the younger man ducked his head and mumbled a barely audible response. "You just haven't called me Sammy in awhile and I was trying to figure out why you were tonight, that's all."
Wet snowflakes mixed with rain drifted down from the night sky. The white crystals clung to the brothers' hair, decorated their eyelashes and dampened their clothing. Dean didn't feel the chill of the night breeze as it gained intensity. His heart dropped. Had he really denied his brother something so small? He opened his mouth to ask, but a low moan interrupted his thought process. "Sam?"
"Sorry," Sam apologized. "I think I'm going to need some help."
A cry was torn from the younger man's lips when Dean hoisted him to his feet. Sam stood, hunched over, his hand clasping Dean's arm in a painful grip. He panted through the pain, slowly straightening to a standing position. "It's your back, isn't it?" Dean asked, lifting his brother's shirt.
"It's pretty much everything," Sam said, his voice tight with pain. "It felt like an elephant was crushing me."
"Close," Dean said, his light flicking over the reddening bruises the size of dinner plates. "It kept getting bigger."
Sam slowly turned to face him, eyes wide, eyebrows lifted in surprise. "It changes size?"
Dean dropped the shirt-tail, smoothing the material back in place. "It must have been the size of a horse when I caught up to you, only bulkier, heavier."
"Felt like it," Sam said. His fingers loosened their grip on Dean's arm, but didn't pull completely away. "I can do this, let's go."
He nodded, watching as Sam took a small step forward. They wouldn't be going anywhere fast. "Nice and easy," Dean said. "Remember, slow and steady wins the race."
Sam stopped mid-stride, turning his head carefully to look at him. The corners of his tightly-pressed mouth twitched in amusement. "Not the way you ever told the story."
Dean laughed, his brother joining in. It was short-lived and ended with a coughing fit that left Sam bent in half and gasping for air. Dean hovered a hand over his brother's back, not entirely sure what to do. The old Sammy would have taken comfort from his touch, this new, hunter-Sam, he wasn't as sure. Deciding that when it came down to it, he was still the big brother and his will prevailed, he rubbed gentle circles on Sam's back until the coughing subsided.
Hazel eyes flooded with gratitude and something else Dean couldn't quite pinpoint. "You ready?"
"Yeah," Sam rasped, walking carefully beside his brother.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The hunters walked slowly, but everything seemed to cause Sam to stumble. The slick leaves hiding beneath a thin blanket of wet snow, a partially obscured fallen branch, or the latest, a large stone. Sam fell forward and would have connected with the ground had Dean not held him upright. The movement jarred his back; he felt a pinch and his knees gave out. "Oomph," Dean grunted, following Sam to the snow. "You okay?"
His legs felt numb, sluggish to respond. Sam shifted and his back sang in agony, his arm pounding a percussive accompaniment. "M'fine, gimme a minute."
Dean frowned, obviously not pleased. "You're not fine, so why do you keep pretending?"
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?" He wanted to chuckle, amused at his brother's confusion when denying pain was the Dean Winchester way, but he didn't dare. Last time it hadn't worked out too well for him, his ribs still ached from the coughing.
His big brother rewarded him with an eye roll. "Oh come on, you can't blame all your bad habits on me." Sam's eyebrow climbed higher. Dean snorted, the diversion technique obviously worked. "Dad's gotta take some of the blame."
Sam nodded. "Yeah, okay, I'll agree to that," he said, unable to keep a pained laugh from escaping. "Help me up."
Dean stood behind Sam, encircling his chest in a strong grip. The younger man braced himself just before he was pulled almost to standing. Fire shot down Sam's spine, a cry wrenched from him. The world blackened, flipped, he rested his head on bent knees. He could feel Dean softly rubbing his back again, the muscles twitching in response to the recent trauma. The sound of ragged breathing filled his ears followed by a low murmur.
"It's okay," Dean said. "Just breathe through it."
"Dean?" He shivered. The cold, the blood loss, it was all catching up to him.
"I gotcha," Dean said, reassuringly.
Sam folded inside. The familiar words from his brother, something he'd honestly thought he'd never hear again only a few short months ago, comforted him, soothed the ever-present ache more than he could say. Dean struggled with his own scars and demons, but he was still Dean. Something he wasn't always certain he could say about himself.
"I gotcha, Sammy," Dean repeated, his warm presence surrounding Sam. "Just breathe through it."
"Sorry," Sam wheezed. He tapped Dean on the knee. "Try again?"
The snow squeaked as Dean shifted in front of him. Concerned green eyes roamed over him. "I don't know," Dean said, brushing snow out of Sam's hair. "You're beat to hell, Sam. I could be making things worse having you walk out of here."
Sam furrowed his brow at his brother's choice of words. "We have to walk out of here. That thing'll be back, and it takes consecrated iron to get rid of it. I only have silver bullets."
The older man looked over his shoulder, then back to Sam, a frown on his face. "It's another mile, maybe two. Think you can make it?"
"I can make it," Sam said, his tone firm. "Just help me up." Dean pursed his lips, obviously not as certain as Sam was about his ability to walk. The truth was he knew he could. He'd had to push through pain and exhaustion before when Dean was gone and he had no one else. It didn't mean it would be easy, or that he was looking forward to it, but he was capable. "I'm sure," he said, answering his brother's unspoken question.
Strong arms under his armpits lifted him to standing, stayed on his back until he got his balance. His entire body screamed to lie down, but Sam ignored it. "Just take it slow," Dean said. "Like before."
He nodded, taking a tentative step forward. His knee shook, but didn't buckle. He felt Dean shift beside him and he reached out, fisting his brother's jacket tightly in his hand. "Like before?"
"Yep," Dean said. He wrapped an arm around Sam's back. "We're almost there."
Sam snorted lightly, easing his grip on the other man's jacket. "It's a little late to lie to me after you already told me how far it is."
"Since when?" Dean grinned briefly, before pulling Sam's uninjured arm over his shoulders and taking a step forward.
The younger Winchester grunted as he followed. "This sucks," he moaned. The arm around his back trembled and Sam frowned. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm good," Dean replied. He looked behind them, tightening his grip until there was a squeak of protest from Sam and he eased up.
"It's following us, isn't it?" Sam didn't attempt to turn around for a look; fairly certain it would have landed him on his backside.
"Yeah," Dean said, guiding him to the right. "Not sure why it hasn't made a move yet."
"The silver hurt it," Sam said, his voice tight. "Not enough to stop it, but it would have been…annoying."
"Annoying is good," Dean said, prodding him further to the right.
"The car is that way," Sam protested, attempting to push back against his brother, regretting it instantly. His back hurt worse than it did after the demon-witch had pressed him into a wall hard enough to leave a dent nearly a year ago.
"But the weapons bag, isn't," Dean said, not stopping. "And it's closer."
"Good plan."
"Hey, all my plans are good." The older hunter urged Sam to walk faster.
Sam didn't waste the breath responding to Dean's attempts at humor and distraction. He concentrated instead on putting one foot in front of the other, struggling to keep up with Dean.
Snow fell silently around the brothers, bringing false peace to the woods surrounding them. Dean set a pace just under a brisk walk and yet it could have been a jog for all the trouble Sam was having in spite of his brother's help. He recognized the warning signs this time, but it was too late. One minute he was walking beside Dean, the next he was sprawled out on the wet ground.
"Sam," Dean said, crouching down next to him and shaking his shoulder. "Hey, are you okay?"
"Stop," Sam protested, groaning low in his throat. He rocked, cradling his arm. "Please." A low growl from the black trees answered. He lifted his head, trying to see the dog's eyes in the darkness surrounding them. Sam was hefted to his feet without warning and bodily man-handled at a demanding pace.
The landscape blurred past until he landed in the snow again, this time, a controlled fall to the ground assisted by his brother. Dean rummaged through the duffel pulling out his sawed off shotgun. Sam could feel the rumble as the canine lumbered towards them. Vibrations shook the earth beneath him, and he tensed, preparing for the impact. "Dean," he barely got the warning word out when he was knocked the rest of the way to the ground. "Aaaggghhh!"
His cry faded out as air was squeezed out of his lungs. His injured arm was pinned under his belly. The hot breath of the aufhocker hit his neck accompanied by a deep growl. The weight on his back grew heavier, pressing him into the ground. He felt a rib break, his insides shift. The sharp agony in his arm screamed for attention. Distantly he heard Dean shouting, the sound of gunfire and suddenly he could breathe again.
Sam panted in shallow, ragged breaths, each one cutting through his lungs like fire. He twisted his head, watching size eleven boots charge across the snowy ground towards the dog that had retreated to a point midway between them and heavy underbrush. The canine twisted, snapping at Dean before turning tail and running back into the woods.
Dean crouched low next to him, concern etched clearly in ever line on his face. "Sam, you okay?"
The younger man nodded, attempting to push off the ground. "Aah, God, I…I can't." He shivered, the violent shaking tortured bruised muscle.
"It's alright, take it easy." Dean rolled him from his stomach into a semi-reclined position on his back.
Every movement seared from his back, down his legs, burning a path out the top of his toes. There was no way he could make it back to the Impala. "Leave me, Dean." Sam spoke low, his voice barely above a stage whisper.
"What in our history makes you think I'm going to leave you?" Dean asked, angrily. "I wouldn't do that, Sam."
Sam clutched at Dean's t-shirt, his brow furrowing. "I know," he said, surety rang throughout his tone. "That's why I'm telling you, just leave me a gun and go."
Dean shook his head. "No."
"Yes, Dean, you have to. The iron rounds are in the trunk and I'll just slow you down." Sam drew in a ragged breath. "Our best chance is if you leave me here. We need to stop this thing."
Dean curled around Sam, offering body heat to still the shivering. "And I need my brother," he whispered into the shaggy hair. "Don't give up, Sammy. I sure as hell haven't."
Sam's fingers tightened in his brother's t-shirt before falling boneless to the damp earth. "I'm sorry," he sighed as his eyes fluttered closed.
………….……………………………………………….Supernatural…………………………………………………………
AN: Thanks to everyone who has been reading!
While I hate to put a little plug at the bottom of Phx's story, I know I'm going to get well-deserved poking, so…I took today off work and I am working away at Vampires (as well as one scene for the next chapter for this story)!
It's actually sunny here today though, so a walk may be on the agenda as well. Blue sky, sunshine, and crisp air – beautiful.