A.N.: As promised there is a wee bit of action in this chapter, also some hurt/comfort and more snarky Kayla, yay! I hope you guys enjoy, this was one of my favorites to write. As previously stated all of the medical jargon and stuff is brought to you by Google and the letter B. As in BS I made up. :P Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, I can't express how much it means to me!
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Chapter 4
The ride to Hotel Clovis is quiet. Dean doesn't even risking making noise by turning his music on, although I notice with a snort he hums Metallica and when it gets to the chorus Sam joins in. God I hope everything goes right tonight, please. I send up a quick prayer and then we are there and the building looks oddly like a tomb.
Great thought to have right before going into battle…Moron.
Dean runs over what I need to do, demonstrating with his own gun. Turn off the safety, point and aim and in between him taking a breath my brain panics, spiraling into full blown terror.
I don't want to do this, why the hell do I need to this, they can do this...
"Kayla!" There is a hard shove to my shoulder, jolting my thoughts. "You go in smart or you don't go in at all."
"Okay."
"I mean it, if you can't hold your own, you'll get me and Sam killed."
More death, more life snuffed out, you still going...
"We can't afford it. And I'm sorry, I wish I had more time to get you ready but this is it, this is all we get."
"This is it? This is all we get?" I'm gesturing to the house and all of its possessions.
Bailey is crying, hard.
"Two dead parents for this?" I choke on a bitter laugh "We got jipped Bails."
And then she is hugging me, tight around the waist, giving me nowhere to retreat than into the embrace.
"You still have me Kayla." her voice is tiny, barely able to be heard over her sobbing.
I did, and it would have to be enough, because all she had left was me.
I shake my head; Bailey needs me. Pee your pants later, take the gun and prove you can do this.
My hand grasps the hilt of the weapon. "I'm ready."
Something must have changed on my face because he nods. "Yeah, you are."
He moves over to Sam, checking weapons, issuing orders, I have no problem telling who wears the pants in their relationship.
"Hey," Sam grabs his partners shoulder. "Be careful man."
A gruff "You too." is returned and then he is back at my side.
"Silver rounds, aim for the heart. Take it out first and then we look for your sister."
"Okay." Deep breath.
We round the building staring at the entrance, Sam by my side and Dean on his knees picking the lock.
"Kayla, if you get yourself in trouble hit the ground and Dean and I will cover you."
I look sideways at him with a smirk. "Who says I won't be covering you?" it's said for the sake of bravado and we both know it.
He chuckles.
"Getting saved by a girl, Dean would love that." He says dryly.
Dean is back next to us, smiling at his triumph.
"Door's open." he says as I push past him. He meets me at the door, holding it open just a crack for me.
"I'll go in first, then you and then Sam." There is a muscle working in his jaw, like he is worried about putting Sam in the rear and not being able to protect him. I feel bad suddenly for feeling the need to tag along.
There is more silent communication between the two of them and then he moves to go inside of the building.
I grab his wrist for just a second as he turns annoyed eyes on me.
"What Kayla?" he hisses under his breath.
I owe them both so much, if not for them I wouldn't have even made it this far.
I press my lips to his in a swift kiss of gratitude before I lose my nerve. He looks shocked at me.
"Thank you for everything." I murmur and he ducks his head, in response or embarrassment I can't be sure as he vanishes into the building.
With a glance back to Sam I follow him in.
It's a good thing that I'm not afraid of the dark, except that I am and my breath ratchets in my chest as we are plunged into it.
A hand is at my back, soft and the whisper of "Easy."
Thank God for Sam, I'm about to lose it. He is never more than a couple of inches away from me as I throw out a hand, in hope to be able to grab onto something solid. I bump into what I hope is Deans' shoulder.
"Watch it!" Yup, definitely Dean. He hands me something solid. Flashlight I realize.
"Not until I tell you to." Got it, you're the boss; I'll just be over here in the corner hyperventilating.
Sam is back at my side. "Try and slow your breathing."
I do, counting, 1, 2, breathe, 3, 4, breathe.
"Good, that's good."
"Why aren't you freaking out?" I mutter.
Sam places a hand on my back as he guides me up the stairs.
"Not my first rodeo."
Right, been doing this since he was little, bet he has seen all sorts of nastiness, probably worse than this...
"Honestly I'm a little nervous, this is the first time Dean and I have dealt with a Toscana."
Oh great, rookies all around.
"They are actually really rare, our Dad hunted one over in West Virginia, but usually they are one of the more dormant creatures we have seen." he says in hushed tones and I wonder if he is talking because he is nervous.
Hazel to my left, dear God he moves fast.
"Can we stow the history lesson for after we have ventilated this bitch?" More whispers.
Sam nods and goes silent.
On the second floor now, nothing other than the three of us breathing. I'm kicking up dirt with every shuffle of my tennis shoes and concentrating on not sneezing when Deans voice orders. "Now," mine and Sam's flashlights blink on at the same time.
We do a sweep of the floor, not able to find anything useful and I think at least there is some light now, the darkness was maddening. Sam casts his light up, through a worn hole in the ceiling and suddenly I catch the glint of terrible crimson that found me at my house.
There isn't time to think, just to react as the plaster comes raining down from the ceiling and suddenly we are overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of this creature. Dean rolls underneath it, popping a round into its underside and it roars the sound unlike anything I have ever heard before. The sound of hell itself. I try to keep my flashlight on it, to give the boys something to aim at, but my hand is shaking, hard.
"Dammit." I mutter and lock my hand forcing it to illuminate the beast.
I wish I hadn't. It's terrifying and glares at me with narrowed eyes.
Okay get mad, get mad, get mad...any second now would be good.
It stalks towards me and I do a circle around it, trying to get away and end up against someone's chest.
"Don't worry Kayla," It's Sam. "I got it."
He levels the barrel at its heart before clicking back the safety.
A millisecond too late.
The Tascona whirls around, enormous wings spread and slams all of its weight into me and Sam.
Before the force of the impact hits I have just enough time to seek out Deans' eyes on the opposite of side of the room. Absolute dread pours from his expression as he watches the trajectory of the wings, his eyes screaming that he wishes it was him about to take the attack. The same way I feel about Bailey.
So they are brothers, huh? That explains a lot.
That is the last thing I can think before the air is knocked out of me and the bellow of "SAM!" chases me under.
I must have only blacked out for a second; my body flies down the steps and I clip my hand on the bottom before the rest of my weight lands on my shoulder with a sickening crunch. I scream and it is drowned by the stampede of noise from above.
Dean is barely lit up by the flashlight as he dodges every swipe that curves in the air. He doesn't move from the spot he is at, his feet planted in a defensive stance. He's standing his ground. I realize with a gasp that he is standing over Sam's' crumbled form. He slices the air with one of his larger knives, gritting out curses and the creature stays just out of his reach, toying with him.
I can only see the shadow the monster casts and my God even that is daunting.
His knife connects as the Tascona lets out another yelp. Dean takes the momentary distraction of the beast to roll Sam onto his side, I can see the blood from where I lay, and hear Dean's voice shake as he says. "Sammy?"
The thing stops thrashing for a minute and catches sight of me.
It took Bailey, and now it had hurt Sam.
Okay, there it was. I was mad.
I look it straight in the eye, shaking but not from fear this time. I grab the gun that has fallen next to me with my good arm, cocked the hammer back and fired.
The Toscana doesn't have enough time to move as the bullet rips through part of its wing. Ignoring the pain in my arm, I suck in a breath and do it again, hitting it this time where I assume its ribs must be.
It shrieks and then extends its wings before tearing back up the hole it had descended from.
Don'tpassoutdon'tpassoutdon'tpassout becomes my mantra as I propel my aching body forward and plod back up the steps. Dean has Sam's' head cradled in his lap now and he mumbles something for only him to hear. He looks up at me as I sink down to the floor with him. His fingers are slick with Sam's' blood, pressed up against his brothers pulse, his other hand is pressed into his own side, damning up the cut that is bleeding there.
Poison talons...no fun. He blinks slowly and I have a terrifying thought that maybe the bitch nicked an artery.
"Kayla," his voice is thick. Are things really that bad?
"We have to get him to a hospital," I say as I reach around and try to take half of Sam's weight under my good side.
Dean moves to shove me off. I can't tell if it for my sake or his.
"Your shoulder is dislocated." he says flatly.
Hmm...so it is.
He is up and around me before I can process it grabbing me from behind.
"This is gonna hurt."
He's not lying as white flashes from behind my eyes with a loud pop coupling it.
"There it's back in place. Help me lift him," his voice is underneath me now as he tries to heave Sam up.
We manage to get him down the steps and into the car by grace alone. He has a gash on his forehead and blood oozes freely from it, but there is no other damage that I can see. He sure is pale though. Dean lays him in the front seat at first wanting to keep an eye on him I'm sure, before he realizes Sam's' face pulls in discomfort and he drapes him in my lap in the back seat. I strip my tank top as I press it into the cut to try to slow the blood as Dean moves to go back around to the front seat.
The ride to the hospital is silent other than Dean barking out 'how's he doing?' and wondering out loud if they need a hospital or if it is something he can handle himself. I stroke Sam's' hair, murmuring things that I hope are reassuring and at some point he mumbles. "Jess?" still only half conscious. My brows knit together in confusion as Sam fumbles for a hold onto my arm. "Jess?" he inquires again his voice so saturated with affection and concern that my heart breaks a little. I don't know who Jess is, but the love Sam has for her is obvious. I curl my own digits in his. "It's okay Sam." And before I even finish my statement his head lolls unconscious into my stomach. Dean pretends not hear, just meets my eyes in the rear view mirror. He doesn't say anything about my wardrobe choice just strips his over shirt and tosses it in the back seat. Good, my tank top is soaked.
Everything passes by in a blur after we get to the hospital, Dean looks frantic and pale under the fluorescent lights as he hands them an insurance card that has Donny Milton on it and answers all of the admitting nurse's questions. I listen in a daze in case I have to validate the story down the road.
We sit in silence side by side, waiting for news. At some point, without really thinking about it, I slip my hand into his, giving his clammy digits a reassuring squeeze. He doesn't respond, doesn't do anything other than breathe until the doctor comes back down the long corridor. He is up in a flash with me trailing behind him, more than a little lost. Bobby (bobby?) Milton had stabilized, they are going to keep him overnight for observation. He took a nasty crack to the head, sprained two of his ribs when he landed wrong and has a concussion but was awake and alert before they had given him something for the pain.
"Can I see him?" Dean's voice is rough and the doctor carts him down the hallway with a nod to me.
I stay behind, sinking down into the hard backed chair, and then there is a police officer and I recite the story just like Dean told it. He would be so proud.
When Dean makes the journey back down the hallway he looks like a man haunted, pasting on a fake smile for my benefit.
"How is he?" I asked, concern flooding my voice.
"Sammy? He's good, a little doped up, but he'll be fine." Fake cheer.
"Are you going to stay?" I would too if that was the case.
"Yeah."
So that was settled. "Okay. So tell them I'm your guys' sister or something, because I'm staying too."
"Kayla, just go home, we'll be there in the morning after they discharge him." He says tiredly.
I think of Sam guiding me through the dark building, washing dishes at my house, lying in my lap bleeding.
"No way. I'm staying." Hazel vs. Hazel round four. He gives, too tired, too worried, too something to fight me on it and leads the way back towards the room.
Sam looks inexplicably young against the white sheets of the hospital bed. The gauge across his forehead has a crisscross of sutures against it.
But...there is a flutter of his chest as it rises and falls, and all I can think is thank God he's alive.
"Sam, don't drool when you have company. It's rude." Dean is making jokes in spite of the unconscious male.
I laugh softly, stating "He's your brother."
He doesn't ask how I know this, doesn't turn on me in anger just says quietly. "He's my brother."
Another hour and he looks me over, almost as if he is seeing me for the first time since the attack, raking my form with his eyes. "How's the shoulder?"
"Stiff."
He winces. "Sorry, I didn't have time to do it gently."
"It's okay. How are you?"
He brushes off my question and comes to sit on the bench that I have parked myself on. He grabs my hand as I hiss out in pain.
"Clipped that damn thing on the bottom of the stairs, be careful." I grunt out.
His fingers move along the bone. "It's just sprained, you'll be okay."
"Thanks Florence Nightingale." I grumble as I roll my eyes at him.
He smirks at that.
He leaves about an hour later to move the Impala, a secondary thought when in crisis mode and when he comes back Sam's shifts his body towards him, even in drugged out sleep he is aware where Dean is.
Dean pats the mop of hair fondly and checks his pulse again before sitting next to me.
"You want me to set your hand?"
My eyebrows rise at his question.
"You know how to do that?"
His answering grin manages to be both sad and amused as he says. "We learn a lot in our line of work."
I hold out the swollen appendage and bite my lip as he gets to work; it hurts a lot, but feels much better when he is done.
"Thank you." I mutter and he genuinely smiles at that.
"You gonna kiss me again?" I flush and he looks unsure that he has said the right thing. He has no reason to look that way... I wonder if that is something grief has taken away from him.
I lean over and touch my lips to his stubbly cheek.
When I wake up Dean is sitting at Sam's' bedside, talking in hushed tones to him. I can hear "everything is okay bro." and "you know how much I hate these chick flick moments." he sounds broken and I can't bring myself to look him in the face.
I understand all about the bonds between siblings.
After Dean has stopped his steady stream of conversation, I let out an exaggerated yawn and stretch out into the bench hoping that I have given him enough time to compose himself. He swipes at his eyes and watches me as I approach the bed.
"Any change?"
"No, kids still sound asleep."
"Must be nice." I huff.
Dean dips his head in agreement.
"Why don't you get some shut eye? I can watch him for a little bit." The clock above the bed is glares 4am at us.
His head snaps up in defiance.
"No I'm fine." Fierce loyalty, no trust lent to outsiders. I can relate.
"Dean, you're not going to be any good to your brother or the case if you don't get at least a couple of hours."
He knows I'm right so he tries a different tactic. "You are wiped too, you should get some sleep."
I flew my neck back and forth. "Got my standard four hours. I'm good."
His back bows with the weight of the world and I place a hand softly in between the blades.
"I won't let anything happen Dean, I promise. I'll take watch." It sounds like something Sam would say, from what little I know of him.
His shoulders sink. I feel my heart stutter in my chest. What burden is this man carrying?
"Just a couple of hours." he grumbles, pulling himself out of the chair. "Wake me up if anything, and I mean anything, happens."
"I will."
He is already lying down on the bench bundling his jacket up as a pillow.
"Dean?"
One eye cracks open. "What?"
"You got scratched; we need to take care of that."
"In the morning, when we get back to the house." I know that tone having used it on Bailey before so I drop it.
I pick up one of the books by the coffee table before taking my place in Deans' chair and flip open to the first chapter. It's a suspense and I think at least it will keep me awake. I've barely gotten two pages in when Dean says "Kayla," and it's barely more than a sigh.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks." Earnest, so opposite of what I have seen from him.
I duck my head back into the book and mean it with my whole heart when I say. "You're welcome."
Reading relaxes me. And the boys I notice with a snort. Dean is full on snoring; a trail of drool on his arm, and Sam has sunk even deeper into his pillows, creating a crater effect his face turned towards his brother. When they shiver at the exact same time it should surprise me, but it doesn't. I just get up from the creaky chair, battered body protesting and tuck the blanket up higher on Sam and grab the extra blanket to drape over Dean. He wakes up enough to see that it is me approaching him, and even in the dim light I can see he is tensed and ready if he should need to protect himself.
"It's just me Dean." I crouch down to his eye level in case he needs more validation that we are in no immediate danger.
"Sam?" he grunts.
"He's fine, just sleeping."
"Good, that's good" he is already well back on his way to sleep as I move away from him.
The clock reads 5:37am and I lament that soon the nurse will be in to check on things. I'm feeling unusually comfortable with these two and don't want the time together to end. Sam lulls his head in my direction as he casts murky eyes at me.
"Hey," I stop mid-sentence and lay the book on its side. "How are you feeling?"
He doesn't answer, just reaches a hand out to pat the metal railing almost as if he is looking for something. "D'n?"
"What?" I lean in to hear him better.
"D'n?' he groans again.
Oh Dean! I should have known.
"Dean? He's fine Sam, he's" standing by the bed, how does he DO that?
"I'm here Sam" A pat to the uninjured side of his head.
Sam eyes him with concern. "You okay?" He mumbles. He's taken note of the way Dean is favoring one side of his body.
"Oh yeah, I'm fine." He smirks.
Sam looks skeptical. "Dean,"
Dean places a hand to his shoulder. "Dude, you are the one laid up in a hospital bed. I'm good, I'm golden."
Exit stage Mckayla, those two have something I have never seen before.
"Coffee?" I ask, cracking my back and brushing Deans shirt over my chest. I'd forgotten I had it on.
Dean looks up with a nod of his head. "Coffee."
Sam (Bobby Milton) gets discharged around seven after being checked over. He's groggy and in pain, but no worse for wear. Dean has an arm hooked under his shoulders, careful to avoid the ribs as he fishes his keys out of his jacket and tosses them to me.
"Don't mess her up. Meet me out front in five."
I'm being trusted to handle Dean's second best treasure.
He folds into the car without a noise as I move into the backseat once more. Dean eyes scan his brother and then the road, looking to me like he is gauging the road that will jostle his brother the least. The car ride is tense and when we hit a speed bump Sam grunts out in pain. "Sorry Sammy," Dean mutters and it's for so much more than the bump in the road.
"Upstairs or downstairs?" I ask as Dean shifts the sleeper on his shoulder. After the third hitch in the road on the way over that Sam had winced against, Dean had dug the painkillers out of his pocket and handed him an almost empty water bottle. Sam was back to dozing within minutes, making maneuvering his lanky form out of the car an adventure.
Dean looks at the stairs, pales a little and then back to the couch.
"It folds into a bed, if you want me to,"
He shakes his head. "Yeah, thanks."
I hurry over to the couch and get it set up in record time, rushing upstairs to collect as many pillows as I can gather in both arms. Dean looks like he is about ready to drop as I race back to his side. Between the two of us we get Sam lying comfortably and Dean lays his head against his chest for a minute before reporting. "No congested breathing, his lungs sound clean so we can rule internal bleeding out."
Who are these guys?
"That's good."
"Yeah it is." He sinks into the loveseat adjacent to the couch watching Sam.
"We need to get you looked at." I place a hand on his shoulder.
"In a little bit, I'm fine."
Fine? Right. He looks like he is caving in on himself, face ashen, chest heaving.
"You look like a less attractive version of a geisha girl."
He's dumbfounded at that.
"Doors are locked; Sam is healing, it's okay."
"You aren't going to let this go are you?"
I can be just as stubborn as he is.
"Nope."
A loud sigh. "Fine. You win." he begins the trek upstairs. "Pain in the ass."
Yeah, I am growing pretty fond of him too.
I snag his and Sam's duffel bag from the car, bringing them both in before locking his baby back up. The sight that greets my eyes in the bathroom is Dean sitting on the edge of the tub shirtless. It would be sexy as hell if he didn't look like death warmed over.
I hold out the duffel out at arm's length and he looks up slowly at it. Oh yeah the poison is definitely effecting his reflexes.
"I don't know what we need," I start even as he begins to dig out the silver flask and worn journal.
"You have to sprinkle holy water over the wound, start the incantation and then during the last three lines of the ritual douse it."
"Okay," I reach for the journal and Dean has a moment of hesitation, one where he stares at me so intently I'm surprised that two holes haven't been burnt into the back of my head, before he hands it over with some reluctance.
The message is loud and clear, he doesn't have the luxury of being picky, but that doesn't mean he's happy with me touching it. I lay down two towels on the floor and two on the tub as he leans over. The gash pulls open where it has scabbed over, drawing blood again around the red, angry skin.
I pop the lid to the flask and take a shallow breath. I remember what this feels like and really don't envy Dean. When I look over at him he has braced his hands against the side of the tub, body pulled taut.
I guess he remembers too.
The Latin isn't that hard to read, it's the hitch in breath of the man next to me that makes me want to reach out to him with every passing word. Every verse his hands lose a little bit of their grip and when I get to the line before the last three lines of the ritual his hands fall to the side and his body lies limp up against the cool tile. I snake one of my hands into his, giving him something to hold onto.
Dousing time, here goes nothing.
The rest of the flask is upended onto his side as I finish the last three lines. All he does is groan, low in his throat sounding like a wounded animal, but his hand tightens painfully in mine.
And then, just like with me, it's over and he slumps into the tub, barely breathing. Anxiety grips me tight, did I do it wrong? Another few seconds drag on and he still hasn't lifted his head.
I move into the tub with him muttering "Oh God, I did it wrong, oh God."
I cup one hand around his jaw and lift up, relieved more than words can say that he smiles shakily at me.
"You didn't do it wrong." he breathes and I lean my forehead down into his neck just to feel the pulse thrum there.
He keeps slipping and trying to hide it, when he attempts to get out of the tub. Between the holy water and sweat everything is slick and Dean looks a bit wobbly as he finally gets halfway up. I move to his side just in case he should happen to need my help getting the rest of the way vertical. But I can see with one look to his pain cleared eyes that the stubborn, prideful Dean is back in business. So I don't even say anything when he slips the second he is upright, I just place a shoulder under his arm so he has something solid to ground him. It's just a minute that he lets himself rest, held fast between me and the wall…. just a minute and then he pushes off of me gently.
Sam dozes, Dean watches, I pace. It seems to be the only thing to do for some time; hours pass with no movement or sound other than the soft rise and fall of chest proving signs of life. Dean sighs; a long draw out exhale and Sam cranes his head towards him and opens one eye.
"Sammy?" he is at the bed in a flash.
"Dean?"
"Hey, yeah it's me. How are you feeling?"
Sam coughs as he tries to sit up and is stopped by a palm to his shoulder.
"You probably aren't going to want to do that Sam, you sprained some ribs,"
"Sprained ribs suck." he concludes before settling back onto the pillows.
"Almost as much as bullet wounds."
A laugh passes between them.
"Did we get it?"
Dean furrows his brow and shakes his head.
"No we didn't, but tomb raider over here," a nod in my direction. "Shot it twice."
Sam's eyebrows lift into his hairline. "Wow, really," he looks over at me. "Nice."
I smile shyly and move a little bit closer to the bed. Sam looks me over his eyes pausing on my purpled hand.
"Are you okay?"
"Me?" I question, running my good hand through my hair. "Not going to be challenging either of you to an arm wrestling match any time soon, but yeah I'm good. Thanks. Are you?"
"Tired." he answers honestly.
"We got time, and good drugs, if you need some more sleep, get it."
"You're just saying that because you think it's funny when I'm all doped up." Sam grumbles.
Dean turns towards me with a smile. "It's true. I do. This one time he thought his nurse had snakes for hair, cause she had those braids and ho boy, Sammy flipped out," he is interrupted by an elbow to his gut from a perturbed Sam.
"Shut up, jerk!"
Dean ruffles the top of his head. "Bitch."
After Sam's third try to push himself up to a sitting position produces nothing more than a string of curse words and a frustrated older brother Sam finally takes the pills and glass of milk with a grateful look. I can tell he hates the weakness of being laid up, but he also knows his limits and that his ribs are not very happy with him. His face pinches as he chats with Dean; I wonder what they are talking about...
Once Sam has tapered off into sleep, face smoothing out and granting him innocence once more Dean gets to his feet with purpose. He grabs his keys and is at the door before I have a chance to ask where he is going. He turns back towards me and orders "Take care of Sam." and then he is gone, leaving me to ponder in his absence.