Author's Note: So, this one is all my fault. Kailene and I had every intention of taking the easy way out. I mean, if The Writers That Be can skip three whole weeks, we should be able to skip over the dilemma of getting a seriously concussed—and therefore horizontal—Sammy into that cabin. Right?
Apparently not. My muse has an evil sense of humor and likes to whisper little snippets of lines and dialogue in my ear. There, they take root and grow. Ironically, the little seed my muse planted didn't even make it into this chapter.
Sorry, it's taken so long to get this posted. Hopefully, it was worth the wait. A HUGE thank you to Kailene for letting me waylay her story and for helping me get it finished. Love you. Riathe Mai
Warnings for language and for gratuitous and unapologetic brotherly shmoop. What can I say? I've been watching season 4 on TNT and I needed some brotherly shmoop.
oooOOooo
"This ain't gonna work, Bobby."
Dean leaned heavily against the open back door of the van, trying to keep his weight off his broken leg, and looked with dismay at the expanse of ground between where they'd had to park and the front door of Rufus' cabin. How the hell were they going to drag Sam over that?
That was about 25 feet of rock, brambles, and uneven ground that Dean wasn't sure he was going to be able to cross with just one working leg, no crutches, and only Bobby to lean on. Hospital gurneys were awkward, un-maneuverable contraptions on smooth surfaces where the lack of friction beneath the wheels gave one some leeway in bullying the thing in the direction one needed to go. No amount of bullying was going to help them here. They'd be lucky if they didn't dump Sam in a heap on the ground: and wouldn't that just pay done to their day?
"Damn! I should have kept those friggin' crutches," he complained, cursing the circumstances that had left him no choice but to toss them aside. At the time, it had been infinitely more important that he get into the ambulance as quickly as possible, than it was that he worry about what he was going to do when he needed to get back out.
"No use restirrin' that pot, son," Bobby said. "We cut it too damn close as it was. Another thirty seconds and those sticks wouldn'a done you any good, whatsoever."
Dean didn't need the reminder of how close it had been. Too damn close was the understatement of the year. It didn't change the fact that their situation was all the more difficult because of it.
Unbidden and unwanted, Cas came to mind. There had been a time when, without any effort at all, he could have whisked Sam into the cabin stretcher and all. Now… The pain of that…loss was quick and biting; and it didn't help their situation one bit.
'Yeah, well I'm pretty freakin' useless, now, without 'em!"
Bobby gave him a look, and Dean could almost hear the implied, 'You done whinin', now?' Dean threw his hands up in the air and shut his mouth.
When they'd first arrived, Bobby had gone into the cabin to take inventory and to get things ready. It made no sense to worry about moving Sam if they had no place to put him. He'd emerged not even twenty minutes later with a grimace on his face that didn't bode well for what awaited them inside; and had been walking back and forth ever since, scouting the best possible path to take to get Sam into the cabin. He'd been at that for a while and he didn't seem any closer to finding one than when they'd first pulled onto the lot.
It was now mid-afternoon. The sun, where it poked through the trees was bright. Almost too bright. Where Dean was standing was relatively shady, but there were several feet of ground between the van and the cabin that was in full sun. The glare was hurting his eyes, driving little spikes of discomfort into his brain. Closing his eyes offered a little relief but the glare still seeped through the thin membrane of his lids.
How much worse would it be for Sam?
"You know, assuming we can even get him halfway to where you're standing, right now; that sun is going to be like jabbing an ice pick into Sam's eyes."
Bobby looked up from where he'd crouched down to dig at something Dean couldn't see from his vantage point. He said nothing, though Dean could see the wheels working. After a moment, he shrugged. "We're just gonna have to blindfold him, then."
"Blindfold him," Dean repeated. He knew Bobby was right, but that didn't mean he liked the idea. "Oh I can just see it now. Tied down, blindfolded, while the bed he's riding on is bouncing all over the place…Shit, Bobby. If that doesn't spell trouble, it'll be a freakin' miracle; and in case you haven't noticed, we haven't had too many of those, lately."
"Well, it's that or we wait a few hours until the sun goes down a bit. Unless, of course, you got a better plan."
Dean snorted. "A better plan? Hell, I'd settle for another plan."
Bobby pushed himself to his feet and brushed off his hands. "What, an' risk it bein' worse than the only one we got?"
"Oh, I think this is the worst plan we've had in a long time."
"Well, if that ain't sayin' something; I don't know what is," Bobby drawled.
What it was saying was that the whole situation sucked, but Dean kept that to himself. He scrubbed his hand down his face. "I'm gonna wake him up," he decided. "I can't count on him sleeping through what's coming, and I can't have him waking up in the middle of it and not knowing what's going on."
He didn't wait for Bobby's reply. As Sam's big brother, he was declaring it his call. Pushing himself away from the door, Dean turned and hoisted himself up into the back of the van. Pain shot up his leg and he set his teeth against making a sound. He knew first-hand how easily sounds of pain and suffering could trigger flashbacks of Hell and the last thing he wanted to do was send Sam into another fit.
Eyes closed, he breathed through the wave of stabbing pain as it continued to build. A cold sweat broke out over his skin. He wondered if he could find his way to the bench beside Sam's stretcher before he passed out. A small part of him wondered if he really cared. At that exact moment, passing out seemed like a preferable alternative to that dagger's strike of pain.
Slowly, though, the pain eased to a more manageable throb and he opened his eyes.
Sam slept on, unmoving and unaware.
He had woken up only once since his escape attempt had knocked the stuffing out of him. He'd been more or less lucid—well, more less than more, but considering how he'd crashed, Dean had counted that as a victory. At least, when Sam had asked where they were going, Dean had been able to give him an answer. He'd also managed to get Sam to swallow a few sips of water before he'd fallen back asleep.
He hadn't stirred since, not even when the road beneath their vehicle had turned from smooth asphalt to rougher terrain. Although not nearly as jarring and treacherous as that 'service road' Bobby had taken to throw any would-be pursuers off their trail, the last several miles had jostled them around until Dean had felt every bump and bounce as a dull blade in his leg. He could only imagine how much worse it would have been for Sam had he been aware.
Dean lowered himself down on the bench and leaned forward. He hovered his hand above Sam's arm. God, he hated to do this. Sam was quiet and peaceful. His breathing was slow and steady, and there were no lines of distress on his face. There was a slight flush of color to Sam's skin, a subtle swath of pink painted across his cheekbones. The nasty bruise on the left side of his forehead seemed darker with the heat suffusing Sam's face.
Was the area more swollen, or was that just a trick of the meager light? Dean redirected his hand and lightly touched the side of Sam's face with the back of his knuckles. He was warm, but not alarmingly so. Once they got him settled, they'd address that. But first, they had to get him out of that van and into the cabin.
And, to do that, Dean was going to have to wake him up.
"Sam," he called softly, giving Sam's arm a gentle shake. Sam didn't so much as twitch. He shook him a little harder. "Sam, wake up."
The skin around Sam's eyes tightened and a small sound escaped his throat. It didn't sound distressful. It merely sounded like a deeper exhale rasping over dry and abused vocal cords. Dean called his name a third time and Sam turned his head towards the sound. His eyes cracked open.
"D'n?"
Dean couldn't help but smile in relief. "Hey, sleepy head. You ready to move to some better accommodations?"
"'m tired," Sam uttered and his eyes drifted closed.
"I know you are, Sammy, but I need you to wake up for a bit. Can you do that for me?"
"No," came Sam's reply, and yet he opened his eyes anyway. His eyes found Dean's and more or less held their focus. A small smile pulled the corner of his mouth. "Hey, D'n."
Dean's relief grew. Sam sounded calm. He sounded out of it, too; but calm and out of it was immeasurably better than panicked and out of it.
"Hey, Sam," Dean answered, matching Sam's nonchalant tone of voice. "We're at Rufus' cabin." Sam's brows pinched in confusion. Apparently, he didn't remember Dean telling him their destination. "We're gonna hole up here for a while. You know; lay low, rest up." Lick our wounds.
"'kay."
"The thing is; we have to get you from here to there and…well, you and vertical didn't play so nice the last time you tried it. That means we're pushing and you're riding." Sam blinked dazedly leaving Dean to wonder if he was following the conversation at all. "You with me so far?"
Sam swallowed, "Yeah."
Dean wasn't so sure he believed him but he continued anyway. "Good. Now, ole Rufus wasn't much for landscaping, so it's gonna be a bit of a rough ride. We're gonna have to take it slow. You wouldn't want us dumping you on the ground, right?"
"I—I think d'rather ya didn't."
"Yeah, well I'd rather I didn't, too," Dean agreed giving Sam's arm a light squeeze. "What can I say? I'm awesome like that."
Sam smiled; a big, loopy grin that showed his dimples and crinkled his eyes. "Th' awesome…est."
It was absolutely embarrassing how happy that made Dean to hear his brother say that. Embarrassing and pathetic; and he'd deny it to his grave.
"Well, ain't that just tooth decayin'," Bobby drawled sarcastically from the back bumper of the van.
Dean wiped his own goofy grin off his face and glared back at Bobby. The older hunter was smirking, clearly enjoying Dean's discomfort.
"Oh, yeah, Bobby," Dean griped. "He's like one of those big ole boxes of chocolates that don't come with a road map, lately. Ya never know if you're gonna get…gooey or…cuckoo nuts!"
Bobby snorted.
"Coc'nuts suck," Sam mumbled, sounding like a disgruntled five-year-old. Even the expression on his face was petulant and childish. "'s like lick-rish. D'sgust'n."
"Blasphemy, Sammy."
Sam's eyes had drifted closed again, and it was clear that their window of opportunity was fading really fast.
"Come on, Sammy, don't fall asleep," Dean said a little more forcefully than he'd intended, and he cursed when Sam's eyes shot open in alarm. "It's okay," he quickly assured him. "We just need you to stay awake, okay?"
Sam nodded, blinking rapidly.
"Thatta, boy." Dean unhooked the IV bag from the twisted wire hanger above Sam's head. He debated unhooking the tube from Sam's arm, but decided to let it stay, as he needed the fluids. "Here, can you hold on to this?"
He put the half-full bag on Sam's chest and Sam slowly wrapped his right hand around it. Confused, Sam looked down at the bag, then back up at Dean with a sort of dazed intensity that had Dean's happy mood seeping out through the soles of his feet.
"Sam, I need you to listen to me, okay?" he said, resting one hand on Sam's arm and the other on the side of Sam's face. He leaned in closer. "You remember how it is when you get one of your killer headaches? How bright lights hurt your eyes?" Sam nodded. "Well, it's gonna be like that once we get you out of the van. The sun is real bright out there and you're gonna be looking right up into it the whole time."
Sam let out a shaky breath. "You—you're…" He swallowed tightly. "You'll need to cover them."
Dean shook his head in amazement. Leave it to Sam to once again skew the curve. "Only until we get you inside," he assured. "Then, you should be okay."
Clearly Sam didn't like the idea any more than Dean did, and Dean almost expected him to change his mind. Once again, Sam impressed him. "Do it," he said quickly.
Dean didn't ask him if he was sure. He gave Sam's arm another quick squeeze then released him. He caught the pillowcase Bobby tossed to him, rolled it into a thick strip, and carefully placed it over Sam's eyes. He slipped his hand under Sam's head and gently lifted it just enough to feed one end of the strip under him, then tied it off. Even that small change in elevation had Sam moaning in distress.
"You okay, Sam?"
"Yeah," he answered, his voice clipped and tense. "Just..."
"I know. Don't dump you on the ground."
As Dean had hoped, the corner of Sam's mouth twitched. "Right."
Dean managed to get out of the van without dumping himself on the ground, though he muttered a few choice words through gritted teeth. There wasn't much he could do to help Bobby pull the stretcher out after him. Still he'd tried. Bobby speared him with a look, though, and Dean stepped out of the way. He could only stand off to the side and watch—and hold his breath—until the wheels cleared the edge of the van and popped down.
As soon as Sam was out, Dean hobbled over to him. Sam's left hand was wrapped around the safety rail, his knuckles white. The veins in his arm bulged with the strain. Fearing the IV in his arm, Dean carefully pried his brother's fingers off the bar and set it by his side. He kept his hand over Sam's and eventually he felt some of the tension ease.
"I—I'm...I'm good," Sam stammered. The racing pulse under Dean's fingers belied that assessment.
He looked at Bobby and shrugged. "You heard him, Alfred."
Sam made a small, chuffing sound. "Does that...make me...Batman, then?"
"Hardly," Dean teased. He patted Sam's forearm, his bicep, his shoulder; marking his labored progress around the end of the stretcher to stand at the head. There he put both hands on Sam's shoulders, near the crook of his neck. "More like Batgirl."
He met Bobby's gaze over the length of Sam's prone body and nodded. Giving Sam's shoulders one more squeeze, he released him and grabbed the bar at the head of the stretcher. Bobby did the same at the foot.
"Here we go," he said.
Bobby pulled. Dean pushed. The stretcher lurched forward about a foot and Dean hopped forward to meet it. Sam tensed, both hands seizing the safety rails on either side of the stretcher. The IV bag on his chest slid to the side and Dean grabbed it before it could fall to the ground.
"Come on. That wasn't so bad," he remarked facetiously, tucking the bag between the bottom sheet and the mattress. Giving Sam's shoulder another quick squeeze, he returned his hands to the bar and nodded to Bobby.
Push, pull. Lurch, hop. Push, pull. Lurch, hop.
It was slow going and exhausting. The ground was soft in places, the wheels were thin, and Sam was no light weight. When the wheels sunk into the ground they had to be lifted back out.
Bobby had the lion's share of the work. With only one leg weight-bearing, Dean had little to no leverage, and he was using what little he did have just to stay vertical. Bobby's face was deeply flushed with the exertion, ratcheting up Dean's concern.
For all that Sam had the easiest task of the three of them—just lie still and enjoy the ride—it was clear to Dean that he was not doing so well. He was breathing as hard as they were, his chest heaving with each shaky inhale. He had such a death grip on the rails; Dean wouldn't have been surprised it they ended up bent out of shape.
"Hey." He gave Sam's shoulder another quick squeeze, hoping to ease his rising panic. "Take it easy, Barbara. We're almost there."
Push, pull. Lurch, hop. Push, pull. Lurch, hop.
Dean's foot came down on something hard and it rolled out from underneath him. Without thinking, he tried to take his weight onto his right leg. His foot caught on a higher rut and he went sprawling forward. He made a desperate grab for the stretcher, but he was too slow. He went down with a yell.
"Dean!"
He heard Bobby yell out to him as he hit the ground. Hard. Pain shot up his leg, sharp and grinding. Excruciating. He cried out again as his vision grayed.
"Dean? What—Dean!"
He heard Sam call out his name, but the sound seem to come from far away. He couldn't answer him. He could hardly draw his breath, the pain was so bad.
"Dean! Get these off!"
He tried to curl around the injury, as though that would lessen it, as though that would stop that sharp, pulsing agony. He couldn't move.
"Get off me! No! No! Let me—"
"Calm down or you're gonna tip the damn thing over."
There were the sounds of a struggle, but they sounded strange; echoing as if he were lying in a deep tunnel. He knew he needed to get up. They needed his help. He pushed himself over onto his stomach. He tried to draw his legs under him. Pain speared his leg.
"Sonuvabitch!" he cried out and crashed back down. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
"Leave him alone, you bastard!"
"Balls! Not now. Come on, Sam. Snap out of it, boy!"
"Dean!"
Dean forced himself to take a deep breath, to breathe through the pain. He needed to get up!
"You gotta keep 'em covered, son. Ya hear me?"
"No!"
There was the sound of impact; of flesh hitting flesh followed by a grunt of pain.
"Godammit, Sam!" Bobby snapped anger and desperation clear in his voice. "It's me, ya damn idjit!"
"Wha—? B—Bobby? No. No. No. No!"
That last cry choked off with a sob and Dean's eyes snapped open. He hadn't even realized he'd closed them. He was lying in a tangled sprawl, his right arm pinned under his body. His casted leg seemed nailed to the ground, heavy and trapped. The pain was sharp; a steady pulse that seemed to match his racing heartbeat. It was easing, though; becoming more and more manageable.
He could hear Sam right above him, his broken cries a continuous jumble of pleas, apologies, and Dean's name. Great gasping breaths punctuated the fractured words, each one coming quick on the heels of the one before.
"Sam, ya gotta calm down," Bobby was saying. Dean could hear the urgency in the older hunter's voice. "I can't go help your brother and take care o' you, too."
Dean flashed back to the two of them in the ambulance on the way to Sioux Falls General. Sam had gone from dazed to agitated in the blink of a glazed eye, until suddenly he'd started convulsing on the gurney.
He sounded far more upset now than he'd sounded then. How much longer could he carry on before he seized again?
"Sammy!" he called out, hoping the sound of his voice would penetrate Sam's hysteria. All that came out was a weak, croak of a sound. He took a deep breath and pushed the sound out with all he had. "SAMMY, DON'T MOVE!"
He heard a sharp gasp and then all went still above him.
Closing his eyes against a wave of dizziness, Dean drew in slow, deep breaths until he felt a little more clear. He opened his eyes. Slowly he rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his hands. He managed to get his left leg underneath him and then pushed himself back onto the ball of his left foot.
His balance was precarious, his arms shaking from the strain. He shot his hand out and caught the leg of the gurney. He reached up with his other hand and grabbed the bar at the head of the gurney, and pulled himself up.
"Nice o' you t' join us," Bobby said gruffly.
The tone was annoyed and flustered, but the look on his face was pure relief. The older hunter stood at Sam's side. He had both of Sam's arms firmly in hand and it was all he could do to hold them still at Sam's side.
Sam was fighting him. His hands were fisted and his arms were straining against Bobby's hold. His whole body was rigid, his back arched. His head was tipped back, pressed into the pillow.
Dean stood frozen. It was the ambulance all over again, Sam seizing and Dean helpless to do anything about it.
"Don't just stand there," Bobby yelled.
Dean blinked, coming back to himself. Sam needed him. Without thinking, he put his hand on Sam's shoulder and said, "Sam, I'm—"
As soon as Dean's hand touched him, though, Sam yelled out. It was as if his breath had been trapped, and it suddenly tore out of him with his cry. He surged up in the bed, fighting the straps, fighting Bobby's hands pinning his to his side.
Dean caught him, forcing his shoulders down. "Sammy, don't," he shouted. "It's okay. You're safe. Calm down."
"No!" Sam sobbed. His head thrashed from side to side. "Not you."
The words were like a shot to the chest. Desperate to break through whatever Hell Sam was reliving, Dean threw his arm around Sam's chest and cupped his other hand over Sam's forehead. He lowered his head so his check rested against Sam's sweat-soaked head.
"Sammy, please," he said into Sam's ear. "You're okay. You're safe. I'm here. It's really me. I'm okay. You hear me, Sammy? I'm okay."
He didn't know how long he stood like that, hunched over his brother, whispering in his ear. He wasn't even sure what he was saying, specifically. He just kept talking, hoping the sound of his voice would draw Sam back. Eventually, Dean felt some of the tension leave Sam. His breathing was still too fast, but he was no longer struggling.
Still speaking that steady litany of assurances, he looked up at Bobby and gave him a subtle nod of his head. Reluctantly, Bobby released Sam's arms.
As soon as his hands were free, Sam's right hand flew up and grabbed hold of Dean's arm. His fingers fisted in the material of Dean's shirt, desperate; holding him tight as though he feared Dean would disappear if he let go.
"It's okay, Sammy. I gotcha. I gotcha. Sshh. Just calm down. It's okay."
Sam's heart pounded under Dean's hand. His breathing had worsened to short, sharp gasps.
"Just breathe slow. Come on. You know the drill. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Nice and slow, Sammy. That's right. In…and…out. "
Sam lifted his left hand seeking Dean's, and Dean grabbed it; letting his thumb press into the center of Sam's palm. "It's okay. There's no one here but us. I promise. It's just us."
"St—stone one?" Sam uttered weakly; like he still wasn't quite sure.
Dean stroked his thumb over the bandage, applying gentle pressure to the injury underneath. "Stone one, Sammy," he answered. "Don't you doubt it."
The last of the tension faded and Sam's desperate grip on Dean's sleeve grew lax. His breathing had slowed to a less worrying pace. Dean started to pull away, but Sam jerked. His hand tightened on Dean's sleeve again.
"Dean?"
Sam sounded like he had when he'd first woken up and Dean felt his heart sink.
"You back with us, Sammy?" Dean asked lightly. He felt anything but.
"Where are we?" Sam asked. Bobby uttered a curse under his breath.
Dean just sighed. He let his head drop lightly onto Sam's shoulder, suddenly too exhausted and discouraged to speak.
"Dean?"
"Yeah, Sam?" he roused himself to reply.
"You okay?"
He couldn't help the small, bitter laugh. "Just tired."
"Where are we?" Sam asked again.
Dean lifted his head from Sam's shoulder and met Bobby's gaze. The concern he saw there was nearly his undoing. "We're at Rufus' cabin," he told him as though it was the first time he'd done so.
"Oh, yeah," Sam said hesitantly. There was a pause, and when he spoke again, it was with more conviction. "Yeah, I—I remember. I… Wait. Dude, did…did you…did you call me Barbara?"
Author's Note: The plan is to add more scenes to this arc as the ideas take us. There are three weeks to play with, after all; and we're pretty sure we weren't the only ones who felt deprived at the gap. Instead of stand-alone stories, we'll just continue to add them as chapters. We hope you will continue to follow along.