PART 5

He checked his mirrors nervously. Speed was the catalyst of this disaster in the first place, it would be a bitter irony if he was pulled over now. He could hear Dean voicing quiet distress at the rough ride. "Dean, are you ok?"

He didn't answer. Sam turned and checked on him. He was semi aware, but his eyes were half closed, his expression one of absolute misery. Following the signs, Sam drove to the nearest town. He stopped at a pharmacy and asked where the closest medical clinic was. When he'd located it, he left Dean for a moment while he went in and explained their trouble.

"Excuse me, uh….my brother's out in the car. He was beaten, a couple of hours ago...he's really in a lot of pain. We don't have coverage, but we can pay. Please, could a doctor just take a quick look at him?"

The nurse could see that the young man was very distressed. They were preparing to close for the day, but she saw the need. "Bring him in, honey. We'll see him."

Sam nodded gratefully. He returned to the car, carefully extricated Dean, and supported him as he staggered in. The nurse took one look at him and she put aside the paperwork, and directed them to an examining room where they waited for the doc. Dean sat shivering on the edge of the table, leaning forward and resting his head on Sam's shoulder. He was in too much pain to feel any embarrassment.

"They'll be here any minute." Sam reassured him. Dean didn't say anything. He'd been nearly silent for the past hour. The usual piss & vinegar attitude was conspicuously absent and Sam hated it. A quiet Dean was a bad sign.

After an endless moment, she came in.

"I hear you had a run-in." she said. She checked the basics first, then asked a series of questions. Once they were answered, she cut to the chase. "Now, tell me what happened."

Dean raised his head with effort. "I met a guy who didn't like me much." he said softly.. "Got hit...a few times."

"Mm hmm. Where were you hit?"

"My back."

"Well, let's have a look at you."

"Wait...Sam, could you get me a clean shirt out of the car? I'm cold, make it a long sleeved one."

"Uh...sure." He left to retrieve it.

She looked at her patient shrewdly. "You prefer that your brother not see?"

Dean sighed. "It'll just upset him."

She carefully pulled the fabric of his shirt free from where it stuck to the abrasions, and drew it over his head. The bruising was revealed, and it was appalling. "Oh no.." She silently counted the welts, the frown deepening on her troubled face. This was no back-alley argument, she knew the marks made by a police-issue baton.

" A Bethel County welcome." she said grimly.

"Yeah...how did you know?"

"We're the nearest medical facility on the highway outside the border. You're not the first recipient of good Deputy Warren Jessup's twisted justice to have come through here. But so far I'd say you hold the record for bruises. What was your sin?"

"Speeding first. Then he decided we were gay. And then I mouthed off."

She sighed. " That'd do it, alright." She gently pressed and probed as Dean shuddered.

"Have you passed any blood?"

"Not yet…I threw up, though."

"Understandable. You could have suffered a bruised kidney, judging from the position of some of these marks. If you do see colour, you'd better get in to emergency to get checked out. And you have a couple of potential rib fractures, down here on the right. There's some swelling, but I don't think I feel any depression or displacement. All I can do here is wrap it. It will heal but you have to protect it." She sighed, shaking her head ruefully. "Wow...you must have really pissed him off!" She cleansed his broken skin with antiseptic and applied dressings where they were needed, and then bound his middle as he gasped and gripped the table's edge. It was all he could do not to curse out loud, and if she prodded any more she'd have to peel him off the ceiling.

"Hurts, huh?" she asked gently, her sympathy genuine. "I'm going to give you a shot of a strong painkiller, ok? You'll travel a lot easier. I know you probably want to get the hell away from crazytown, but it would be best if you found a motel for now, and rest for a couple of days."

He nodded. He didn't have a whole lot left for conversation.

She handed a him a scrip. "This is for a muscle relaxant and painkiller. You have a lot of deep contusions, you're going to stiffen up tonight and possibly experience some back spasms. But listen, this is very important—these will make you very dozy, so do not drive, and do not drink while you are taking these, understand?"

Dean acknowledged, with absolutely no intention of obeying the second order.

She gave him his shot as he closed his eyes and turned his head. She smiled to herself. The tough ones were always skittish about needles.

"Thanks doc." he mumbled.

Sam had returned with the shirt. He stayed by the door as she helped her patient into it. He knew Dean had wanted privacy, hence the shirt request. He'd respect that, but he was going to see things for himself when they stopped for the night.

The doctor reassured Sam that Dean would be alright as long as they could rest for a few days. She reiterated her warnings about the prescription, adding, "The exam's on the house...my little way of righting a wrong when I can. Just stay out of trouble for a while, ok boys?" She didn't bother suggesting that they pursue charges against the deputy. No one ever did.

They thanked her again. Sam helped Dean down and guided him out the door.

As he was leaving, the doctor called out, "Oh, but you do have to buy a chocolate bar at the desk, they're two bucks, fundraising for my son's football team." she smiled.

After getting Dean settled in the car, Sam returned and bought the whole box.

He found a place to stay a few miles up the highway. It wasn't too bad, it even had a pool. No water in it, but it was a pool nonetheless. Dean's shot had begun to take effect, the tension had left his face and he was drifting. Sam carried their gear in first, then left the door open in case he had to carry Dean in.

He shook him gently. "C'mon, Dean...got a nice bed ready for you, wake up."

Dean frowned and swatted his hand away, not caring to open his eyes. Sam sighed, lifted his brother's arm around his neck and slipped a hand behind him. But Dean froze and gasped in protest and Sam realized he couldn't lift him without putting undue pressure on his injuries, so he returned to his tactic of waking him.

"Dean! Come on now, we're here...you can't stay in the car." He continued to shake him until he got a lucid cursing and Dean reluctantly let himself be hauled out. Sam steered him directly in to a bed, easing him down onto the thin mattress.

Dean settled on his stomach, pulling his arms close with a groan. Sam tugged off his shoes and carefully replaced the blanket over him.

"Thanks, Sam." he whispered.

"No prob. I have to go out to get your meds, though...you ok til I get back?"

Dean's response was the deeper breathing of sleep.

Upon returning from his errand, Sam stowed the provisions he'd picked up, and dropped onto his own bed. He was exhausted, this day had been an ordeal for both of them. He stared at the ceiling, deeply troubled by the cruelty they'd endured, and by the reality that Dean's reckless attitude and relentless pride had once again brought harsh consequences. It was the downside to his brash strength. He sighed, and looked over at his sleeping brother. -jackass— Now was as good a time as any to check the damage for himself. He silently stood up and hovered over Dean, carefully lifting the blanket, and then the shirt.

-Jesus! He was astonished by what he saw. Dean's entire back was a deep mottled purple, broken by blanched, abraded marks left by the impact of that damned club. They'd both been kicked around in their chosen line of work, countless times...but Sam had never seen anything like this. He swore and turned his eyes away, his vision blurring for a moment, and gently replaced the covers.

"Well….there you go, Sammy. The moral is; know when to shut-up." Dean said quietly.

Sam was startled, he'd thought Dean was asleep. He knelt beside him. "God, it looks awful, Dean. How do you feel?"

"Ok at the moment…shot's working fine." But he sighed dejectedly. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

The drug Dean had been given was a strong one. It relieved his pain, but it loosened his tongue as well. "Sorry…" he sighed. "I'm really sorry. You coulda got hurt...all my fault. If I'd kept my damn mouth shut, maybe this wouldn't have happened."

-you think?- Sam had to talk about it while he could. With the drug hitting him, Dean was uncharacteristically open…it was a rare opportunity. He questioned gently. "Dean….why wouldn't you just say what he wanted? You just kept refusing, pushing him... God, it was killing me, you know? If you just gave in, it might have been ok. But you let your pride really get you hurt this time. Why?"

Dean wished he would drop it and just leave him alone, but he tried to clarify. "No! Christ, Sam, I'm not that proud. And I'm not some masochist, I'd have freaking 'repented' at one or two. But I asked for it, I opened my yap, you didn't. I couldn't let this fall on your head too. Danny Williams is dead because of Jessup. I knew he wouldn't quit 'til he got enough freaking 'atonement'. So I pushed it. I just… had to make sure he was satisfied enough, so he'd leave you alone."

"Aw jesus Dean!" Sam said miserably. He ran his hand through his hair, overcome with guilt and fury.

"I had to let him do it, Sam...he would've gone after you. You heard his speech, you know it. And it was my fault. I pissed him off… my fault-" He was starting to ramble, on the verge of drug-induced sleep. Sam leaned closer, and he saw tears slide away from Dean's closed eyes. He was still murmuring, but Sam couldn't make it out anymore.

Sam sought out the bourbon Dean always had in his gear. He wanted desperately to purge these nightmarish scenes from his mind. He checked on Dean, relieved that he was deep in merciful sleep, probably would be for hours. He downed a healthy glassful, and then another, and settled back on his lumpy bed. He closed his eyes, begging sleep to overtake his memories.

It wasn't working. When he shut his eyes, all he could see was Dean's expression changing from cocky insolence to tears of pain and defeat in ten agonizing stages. He got up and poured himself another shot, and when it started to relax some of his tension he allowed himself to drift off.

Dean had been trying to rouse Sam for some time without success. The needle's effects had worn off and morning had brought with it fresh agony. As predicted, the abused muscles in his back had rebelled by tightening against each other, and he quickly learned that attempts to move were a lousy idea. He couldn't yell because the soreness in his ribs wouldn't allow him to inhale deeply enough. If he didn't get Sam's attention soon he was going to have an accident and his humiliation would come full circle. He finally shoved something off the night stand, and the noise woke Sam.

Once alert, Sam instantly looked to his brother. "You alright, Dean?"

"No—!" he grimaced, angry. "Help me get to the can, will you?"

The bathroom door was miles away and he could barely lift his head. Sam helped him through that ordeal and got him back onto the bed. "I'll get you something to eat, you can't take these on an empty stomach."

"Don't, I'll hurl."

"You will for sure if you swallow these on empty. How 'bout just some crackers to start?"

"Fine." Anything to get the damn painkiller. He squinted at a welcome shape in his view. "Is that the bourbon?"

"Yep…what's left of it, anyway."

"Hand it to me…"

"Sorry man...as much as I'd love to give it to you, it'll be a bad mix right now."

Dean swore. If he wasn't so damned weak he'd have crawled over and drained it. He took the crackers instead, and when they were safely staying put, Sam gave him his pills with some water. "You're a little warm…" he fretted, his hand on Dean's sweaty forehead.

"Uh huh." Dean kept his eyes closed, tapping his foot with agitation as he waited desperately for the drug to kick in. Until it did he didn't feel much like talking.

Sam sat with him in silence for some time, watching for the sign that it was working. Finally Dean's taut grimace softened and the tapping stopped. His clenched hands relaxed and his breathing evened out.

"Better..?"

"Yeah, thanks." Dean answered gratefully. He knew from experience that he had a short window where he could think clearly, unhindered by pain but not yet drowsy. "So now what? We have to go back, Sam. I'm sure that bastard killed Daniel, it all fits. We have to finish this."

"No Dean, you need to be still for a few days."

"I can lie still at the motel back there, Sam. And you can get back to that camp. I mean, seriously, I don't really care if those bastards are all wasted by that kid, but we can't risk other people dying." He took a deep breath, already finding it difficult to keep his train of thought. "As long as we avoid Jessup on the road back, we're better off at the other place. All our gear is there, and your computer...can't risk it getting taken…"

Sam knew he was right. "Ok Dean...in a little while, alright?"

Dean nodded. He wanted to plan, to further their investigation. But he realized then that he was already losing clarity, his thoughts were in a loop.. He gave in to the haziness and drifted off.

Sam called the camp director, explaining that his brother had had an accident and that he was helping him, and would be back at camp by the evening. He wished he had his computer, he wanted to mapquest a backroads route to the motel, but he'd just have to wing it. He figured he'd let Dean sleep for a few hours, or until he awoke on his own. Then they'd sneak back over the border to Louisiana. And there was this Sheriff McClary. Sam needed to find out about him, to meet him. They already knew that Jessup was a brute with dangerous ideas. Was McClary a man of the same ilk as his deputy? Or was he the fair lawman he was supposed to be? He may not even know anything about Jessup's activities, he had, after all—been frequently absent with the teaching stint. If he had confidently left the office in the hands of his second in command during those times, and if no one complained about him—he would have had no reason to doubt his fitness for the job. The very moral Deputy Jessup probably made a damned good impression. He glanced over at Dean. He was sleeping comfortably, thank god.

He was still frustrated and angry that Dean's temper and big mouth had escalated this, but he also realized that Jessup had an agenda already, the moment he pulled them over and made his ridiculous assumptions. One or both of them would have gotten smacked around anyway, but perhaps not quite as severely. But remembering that miserable experience, he couldn't help but be grateful for Dean's sacrifice. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to take it quite as stoically. He may not always have wisdom, but Dean had grit, to say the least.

He thought he should check the condition of his injuries, lifting the shirt enough to get a clear view. He'd hoped to see some improvement, but wasn't surprised to see that it looked worse. Bruises always looked worse before they started to fade.

-Fade— He was suddenly struck by a realization. The faded marks on the victims, they were a dead match for Dean's injuries. It was a message. Dean was right, Daniel Williams had most certainly died at the hands of Jessup. It knotted Sam's guts. Even if Daniel's death had been an unplanned result of his beating, Jessup had a taste for it now. Sam scowled in bitter anger, remembering the last blow the bastard had delivered to his brother. By then, Dean had already been beaten nearly unconscious, but he hurt him again anyway. Dean was lucky to be alive. They had to stop him.

He thought about the two dead counselors. Both died in the vicinity of the trail, both in the same general area. Maybe Daniel's power to harm was limited to the spot where he lay buried….it explained why he didn't go after the counselors in the camp, or anywhere else. Sam realized he'd better warn them to stop doing the hikes for a while. He'd have to make up some reason, wasps, or skunks, –whatever. He was definitely going to EMF that trail asap.

Sam realized he was still weary. He decided to cat-nap himself for an hour or so. He didn't know what he'd be up to that night, or how late it would get.

By the time 3 o'clock rolled around, Sam was up and fixing them something to eat. Dean had awakened, hurting. He was feverish, and he growled that he wasn't hungry, but Sam wasn't letting him get away with it this time. He forced him to eat a sandwich and drink something, and rewarded him with another dose.

It was time to take their chances on the road. "Where do you want to sit, front or back?"

"Depends...barf cleaned out?"

"Of course. I told you I would."

Dean grunted his thanks for that. He decided on the front seat anyway. He hated feeling like an invalid lying there in the backseat while Sam drove. He already felt humiliated enough. Sam helped him to the car and Dean arranged himself in such a way that he could drape his left arm over the seat and face Sam. At least then, nothing touched his tender back. They spent a tense hour and a half in the car, in mortal fear that they'd come across the deputy on the road, but thankfully he was doing his good works elsewhere. Sam heaved a heavy sigh of relief when he pulled into the motel parking lot. He untangled himself from Dean, who predictably had fallen asleep and slumped heavily against Sam's shoulder, and headed in. It looked to be in a state that Dean would have left it. Nothing seemed amiss. He returned to the car and gently shook Dean awake.

Dean rubbed his eyes and looked around blankly, slow to comprehend that they were already back in Louisiana. "Man...when did I fall asleep?"

Sam smiled. "Dude, you've been drooling on my collar for an hour. C'mon, let's get you in."

Dean was comfortably drugged and compliant. He let Sam help him right into his bed again.

"Dean, are you ok by yourself for a bit? I wanna go out to get some dinner."

"I'm fine, Sam. Go ahead, just leave my phone within reach."

Sam left to grab some suitable fast food.

Dean was reasonably comfortable but awake. It suddenly struck him, he'd missed his rendezvous with Maggie! That was supposed to be, what, yesterday? He hoped she wasn't too angry. He concentrated hard to remember the number and called Harry's. Well, he called somebody, who didn't appreciate it, but the second time around he got it right. It was busy.

Shit. Dean worried she'd be hurt by his no-show. He'd try again later. But he fell asleep again, waiting for the pizza, or chicken, or possum—whatever it was that Sam brought.

"Roadkill special?' he asked when Sam had returned.

"Uh huh. Skunk for you. Partridge for me." He placed the McD's extravaganza in front of him. "If you're a good boy you can have a chocolate bar for dessert."

-good—Dean thought. Chocolate was always good, no matter the circumstance.

They devoured the food. Sam was relieved to see his stubborn brother had regained a normal appetite.

"You going back to Camp ?" Dean asked through a mouthful.

Sam nodded. "I'll EMF the trail first. If we can locate Dan's burial place we're way ahead. They won't be expecting me back for duties til next morning." He peered closely at Dean. "Are you clear enough to discuss this?"

Dean felt a little high, but he was still firmly in the present. "Yeah, why?"

"I want to do that trail tonight. We need to know if Dan Williams is there, buried somewhere. It means I'd have to leave you alone, are you ok with that? I mean, I'm expected to sleep at the cabin. And I want to talk to a specific guy about this, another counselor. He seems decent, you know, sort of accidentally caught up in this shit. I think he could shed some light on it all, but I'm scared of leaving you alone."

"What? Why? I'm not going anywhere, Sam. Don't worry about me. I'll be here for a while. The most dangerous thing I'll try is getting to the can by myself. If you want to check that shit out, great. Just call in...a lot. Leave me with my phone, …and that bottle over there, and some chips, and the remote...and those chocolate bars. I'll be fine…"

Sam was both buoyed and fearful. Dean was recovering some of his attitude, which was good. Not easy, but good nonetheless. But he was still uncomfortable leaving him just the same. But the job required it.

When both were filled, Sam made moves to go back to the camp. "You're sure you'll be ok?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah, for the tenth time. Just check in. I'll be here—" Dean snorted.

"Ok. I'll do the trail and call you, and you stay put."

They agreed to the terms, and Sam left in the impala, leaving Dean to continue his recovery.