AN: Thanks to MichelleAKF, redvanessa, AJ Granger, and OldGirl-NoraArlani for the kind reviews. I appreciate all my readers. Feel free to let me know you think, good or bad.
Back at the motel, Sam pulled Dean out of the car and almost dragged him into the room. Dean was limp, and pliant, a completely unnatural state for his larger than life big brother. Sam lowered Dean onto the bed he'd last slept in 10 days ago and snapped on every light in the room. He ran back out to the car and grabbed the first aid kit, leaving their bags for now. Rushing back and setting up beside his brother, he was ready to take a closer look at Dean's back.
"So, I'm gonna have to cut off your jacket and shirts, Ok?" A muffled grunt was all Sam got, but he took it for a yes. He pulled out the scissors and gingerly slid them between the fabric and the cool skin over Dean's ribs. Slicing through three layers was difficult and Sam felt badly every time Dean hissed or moaned into the pillow. "Almost there," Sam said as he snipped through the thicker fabric of the jacket's collar. He noticed that Dean's clothes were pretty threadbare and well worn, as if he'd only had the one outfit to wear. Stopping first to get a bowl of warm water and all the hand towels from the bathroom, Sam got to his knees beside the bed and began to peel off the denim and cotton from his brother's back.
Finally getting the clothes off the older man, Sam had to suck in a breath. Dean was thin. Oh he was still muscular, but he was thinner than Sam had ever seen Dean before. He carefully wiped away as much blood as he could from the area with a damp towel. There were pieces of wood and other debris embedded in Dean's back, but luckily nothing seemed too deep, except for one ragged cut below his left ribs. That seemed to be where all the blood was coming from. He laid a hand on Dean's upper back to get his attention.
"Dean, I'm going to have to stich this one up, it's pretty deep. Do you want some pain meds before I get started?" Sam asked, in part to spare his brother and in part because Dean was very quiet. And Dean didn't do quiet unless things were bad. His brother turned his head to free his mouth from the pillow but kept his eyes squeezed shut against the lights.
"Head hurts, might have a concussion, so just get it done," Dean said roughly. Sam pulled out a suture kit, wiped the area down with some disinfectant swabs and began to sew shut the bloody wound. Dean's body was taught with tension and pain, so as he worked Sam tried to distract his brother.
"Uh, thanks for the note last week. I was pretty worried when you didn't come through the portal," said Sam in a low voice. Dean just grunted into the bedding. "So, I cleaned all our weapons including your Taurus, did our laundry and detailed the car," Sam chuckled a little. "It was pretty boring without you around. I, uh, talked to Cas earlier tonight, but I told him one of us would call him when you were back." Sam didn't bother to mention his whole plan to jump into the portal and leave Cas with the car and the responsibility to track down the Darkness.
"Maybe you can give him a call when, I've got you patched up." Dean turned his head again briefly, to nod carefully in Sam's direction. Sam's hands had been working swiftly while he talked and he finished sewing sliced skin back together. With a final wipe to clean up the gash, he put some antibiotic cream on it and then bandaged it up. Dean started to move, but Sam put a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. "Wait Dean, I need to pick the debris out of your back."
All Sam got in reply was a muffled "'kay" as Dean settled back down, so he pulled out the tweezers and began. There was a combination of wood, glass, and what gruesomely looked like bloody bone sticking out of Dean. Sam was dying to know exactly what had gone down before Dean leapt home, but right now it was more important to get this stuff out of his brother. He described what he was doing, as Dean tried not to flinch and wriggle. Blood flowed from each small cut and it was grim work extracting some of the longer and deeper pieces. He stitched a couple of the deeper cuts and tried to ignore the small moans and whimpers that Dean couldn't suppress. It took a long time and a lot of concentration for Sam to methodically pluck all the shrapnel free, but finally it was done. He gently bandaged most of Dean's lower back.
"Dean I'm just gonna check you out to make sure I haven't missed anything, Okay?," Sam asked. Dean didn't reply, but didn't resist as Sam felt his legs, the undamaged part of his torso and then probed long fingers through his brother's soft hair. Sam noticed that Dean's hair was longer than it had been in a while. It reminded him uncomfortably of when Dean had been a demon. Thinking of Dean with black eyes always brought a lump of anxiety to Sam's throat, but he swallowed it down for now. There was a bump near Dean's right ear which hopefully meant that he'd hit his head falling, not been concussed by the blast. Sam cleaned up the medical supplies, then turned the lights off, leaving just the weak bathroom light on and what little light filtered through the thin curtains. Returning to the bed, he carefully eased Dean's boots off his feet, hoping to make him more comfortable.
"I need you to roll over onto your side. I'll prop some pillows behind you to cushion your back, but I need to see your eyes, Okay Dean?" Sam didn't really wait for a reply, just moved the pillows from his bed into place and helped Dean roll over onto his right side. Now that the room was dark, Dean pried open his eyes slightly. Sam knelt beside the bed and pulled out a pen light. "I know, this part sucks," he commiserated as he shone the light in and away from Dean's eyes. His pupils looked good, so the concussion wasn't too severe. He handed Dean a couple of pain pills from their kit. The injured Winchester swallowed them with a few sips of water from the bottle Sam handed him, then settled back down.
Checking Dean's chest and stomach, Sam made sure he hadn't missed damaged ribs or anything. There were no new injuries, but there was a jagged, ugly scar trailing diagonally across Dean's abdomen. It hadn't been there when Sam had last seen his brother shirtless. It looked to be well healed now, and several months old.
"How'd you get this," Sam said, tracing the raised scar lightly with a finger.
"Hellhound," was the soft reply.
"Shit," Sam exclaimed softly, knowing the fear Dean harboured from his terrible death at their claws. He turned to look at Dean's face. When he'd been using the pen light, Dean's eyes had watered up but now silent tears were rolling down his brother's face. Sam expected Dean to look away, or at least wipe the evidence of his emotional state from his cheeks, but instead Dean met his eyes.
"Glad to be home, Sammy," was all Dean said, his face twitching as he tried and failed to get his emotions under control. Not used to a big brother that wasn't embarrassed by tears, Sam didn't know what to say. But he put his hand on Dean's shoulder for a long moment, squeezing it to try and comfort the older man as best he could. Dean's skin was cold under his palm, so Sam reached down and pulled the sheet and blanket up over the injured Winchester. With another pat on his brother's shoulder, Sam got to his feet and began getting ready for bed. He could feel Dean's eyes on him as he moved around the room so he made an effort to say in Dean's sight line as much as possible. Once he was ready, he returned to check on Dean. There was still moisture on his freckled face, but Dean seemed to have pulled himself together. Sam stood for a minute looking down at the bed.
"Scoot over a bit," Sam said before he had time to second guess himself. Surprisingly, Dean did as he was told, pushing back against the pillows behind him to make some room. Sam slid his legs under the covers and sat leaning against the headboard, Dean's head level with his thighs. Some conversations were easier for Dean when he could avoid making eye contact. Hell, he'd be lying if he didn't feel the same way. "So," Sam began quietly into the dark room, "how long were you there?" At first Sam thought maybe Dean was refusing to answer or had fallen asleep, but then in a low voice, Dean began to talk.
"Almost a year, Sammy," Dean said with a break in his voice. Sam repressed a curse. If he thought ten days without his brother were hard, he didn't want to think about a year, especially in the middle of an active apocalypse. No wonder his brother was emotional.
"What did they want you for?" Sam asked softly. Christopher hadn't been very specific.
"Wait," Dean said, leveraging up on one arm to look around. "Where is the guy who was supposed to be watching out for you." Sam sighed.
"Christopher uh...didn't make it. He got killed by an imp that hitchhiked it's way here before he could tell me much."
Dean hung his head briefly and then laid back down. "I knew his wife and daughter," Dean said quietly. Sam could hear regret in his brother's voice. Packed in the trunk of the car was the stuffed tiger, photo and note belonging to the dead man, but Sam kept that to himself for now.
Dean continued talking again, answering Sam's original question. "In that world, our family was different. We had a sister named Lynn." With that Dean's voice cracked a little again, and he had to clear his throat. "That Dean and Sam weren't close. Lynn raised that version of you and her Dean hunted with Dad. When push came to shove, that Sam chose Lucifer over his family. He seemed to get caught up in the power that came with the Devil and was eager to indulge in his dark side. Apparently Lucifer let that Sam go on a mini killing spree and payback everyone who had pissed Sam off. Starting with their Dad. Then Sam killed his brother in the confrontation at Stull, so they snatched me to try and reach their version of you."
Sam was trying to absorb what Dean was telling him. He could vividly remember the horrible feeling of his brother's face breaking under his fist. He shuddered. It was hard to get past the fact that some version of him had killed his family, much less been happy and willing to share skin with the devil. Sam's deepest nightmares revolved around the real Lucifer, the one hidden by whatever vessel the sick son of a bitch was wearing, the one that had tortured Sam for a couple of centuries. Tearing his thoughts back to Dean, Sam took a calming breath then prodded his brother to continue. "So you confronted Lucifer? What happened?"
"Nothing really. The witches had a protection spell that kept us safe from him for a short time. Lynn and I begged Sam to take control and cast out Lucifer, but he just laughed at us. Told us that Sam was enjoying being best buddies and that Sam looked forward to killing me again." Dean grew quiet again, obviously lost in memories. Dean's hand was on Sam's leg, his fingers slightly twisting the soft fabric of his sleep pants. Sam just let Dean draw whatever comfort he could from him. His brother obviously needed it, and Sam couldn't deny that despite the frightening content of their conversation, having his brother so close was doing a lot to heal the parts of him that had been panicked and raw while Dean was gone. He always felt safer with Dean around.
"So, then what. Did you and uh, Lynn kill Lucifer?" Sam really didn't want to think about Dean having to kill someone who looked like Sam. It was just too messed up.
"No, Michael and Castiel and the rest of their God squad showed up. We got whooshed back to headquarters before the angel/demon rumble." Dean sounded bitter and angry. Sam knew that his brother probably felt guilty too. He would consider it his responsibility to take out Lucifer.
"Wow. So, what was that Cas like?," Sam asked.
"Just another dick halo Sam. Nothing like our version. Speaking of which, how is Cas doing?," Dean asked. Sam recognized a intentional change of subject when he heard it. And he probably should contact Cas to let him know that Dean was back.
"He's still healing, but getting better. I'd better call him." Sam picked up his phone that he'd put on the night table and dialed. Cas picked up before the first ring was over.
"Is Dean back, Sam?," the angel asked with no preamble.
"Yeah, Cas. He's here and he's Ok." Sam tried to reassure him. Dean waved his hand, motioning for the phone. "Dean wants to say hi." He handed the phone to his brother.
"Hey Cas, it's me," Dean said. Sam listened to his brother's half of the brief conversation, feeling calm enough for sleep for the first time since Dean was snatched. "Uh, huh…yeah,...me too...Ok, here's Sam back." Dean shoved the phone in his direction and nestled deeper into the pillows. With a silent chuckle Sam took the phone back.
"I'm glad that Dean is back, Sam," Cas said in his understated way.
"Yeah, me too," the younger Winchester agreed fervently. "Hey, are you still at the bunker, Cas?" Sam was a little puzzled when the angel confirmed that he hadn't left yet. He'd figured that Cas would have been halfway to them by now. Shrugging, Sam figured that Cas had maybe been more confident than he was that Dean would be coming back. Anyway, it was good to know that Cas was safe. "Well, we'll see you tomorrow or the next day, depending on how Dean's feeling. Bye Cas." Sam ended the call and put the phone back down. Dean appeared to have fallen asleep while Sam talked, his breathing low and slow. Sam was glad that Dean was resting and wasn't in a lot of pain. The older man's fingers were still curled loosely around his leg, so Sam stayed where he was. He tentatively brushed Dean's hair away from his face. It was good to have his brother home. Despite the less than comfortable position, Sam was exhausted so he just leaned back against the headboard and let sleep drag him under.