I still have no medical training (psychologically or otherwise!) so please forgive me any inaccuracies.
oooOOOooo
"Damn it Sam!" Bobby shook the hunter with a desperate passion. "Wake up! Please Sam…"
Sam flopped around like a rag doll in Bobby's frantic hands. His face had paled and Bobby's heart almost stopped when Sam had gasped desperately for breath… and then stopped breathing altogether.
"No, no, no, no, no! Oh, God!" Bobby pleaded frantically. "SAM!"
For some minutes, he'd watched Sam writhing on the bed. He'd tried to rouse him, over and over, but to no avail. Bobby knew as soon as he saw the coffee mug and the sickly yellow stain of the remaining Dream-root dregs on the bed covers, just what Sam had done. Sam was trapped in Dean's dream-scape of torment. And Bobby had no delusions as to what Dean's nightmares were composed off: it was Hell, pure andsimple. Bobby feared he would loose the younger Winchester to Hell's clutches as well. He knew first hand the devastating perils of poking around in someone else's nightmare: It could really kill. Knowing that Sam could possibly die was worrying enough, however when he stopped breathing, Bobby became frantic. He was devastatingly sure that somehow Sam had met his demise in Dean's dream world.
Bobby shook the young hunter with surging panic. Instincts took over and he tilted Sam's head back, pinching his nose closed. He was about to slap his mouth over Sam's to administer CPR when Sam's eyes suddenly snapped open, andhe gasped urgently to suck breath back into his oxygen deprived lungs. Bobby staggered backwards, both startled and relieved. Sam was alive!
"DEAN!" Sam shouted urgently, barely acknowledging Bobby now standing, stunned and bewildered beside him. Sam panted uncontrollably, and groaned with residual pain. His face was insipid and waxy, and swiftly glistened with a light sheen of sweat. He clutched his arms around himself, like a child, in complete horror. His eyes bounced around the room hysterically, although it took several seconds before any real comprehension was made. His expression calmed marginally as he realized he was back in Bobby's spare bedroom.
Bobby eased himself back to Sam's side. He moved to touch Sam; however he flinched away from the contact and swiftly shoved Bobby's hand away. He was almost as frazzled as Dean, Bobby though to himself.
Sam struggled to sit upright. He continued to pant with the lingering fear still surging through his mind. He could still feel the pulsating stabbing waves of pain in his spine, as if the wound had only just been inflicted. And he grimaced as his hand moved to the stab site. The pain was still very real…
Sam's frantic gaze found Dean's still form, lying in the bed beside him. And then the horror of Dean's incarceration in Hell flooded his thoughts, followed swiftly by a deluge of guilt for having been the cause of his brother's damnation. He'd finally seen Dean's fate and the knowledge held no reassurances what so ever. How could he ever hope to save Dean from the memories of such terrors?
"Oh God…" Sam moaned. Panic and terror, mingled with pain and revulsion, exploded somewhere in his guts and he stumbled from the bed, tripping and staggering as he sprinted to the bathroom.
Bobby could hear him hurling in the toilet some minutes later.
Bobby's gaze moved to Dean. He lay silently, lifelessly, his eyes gazing blankly up at the ceiling. He was deathly still…
"Shit!" Bobby exclaimed as he rushed to Dean's side. Dean hadn't been so motionless since he was comatose. And in that instance it was the 'deathly'-ness of his pose rather than the 'still'-ness that had Bobby panicked.
Andthen Dean blinked… and Bobby sighed with relief once more. Dean was alive!
He was as pale as Sam though, his face gaunt and grey, his eyes lifeless and still devoid of any comprehension. Dean remained completely motionless. It was a change to the constant agitated writhing he'd suffered since they'd summoned him back out of Hell, only maybe not for the better; instead he seemed almost catatonic.
"What did they do to you, son?" Bobby muttered to Dean as his imagination conjured up a wealth of ghastly tortures. "Will you ever come back to us?"
For the time being Bobby was simply relieved that both Sam and Dean had returned from the dream trip, albeit not quite unscathed. Whatever Sam had seen, had had quite an effect upon him. He listened as Sam continued to puke his entire stomach contents, into the porcelain bowl. After some minutes Sam flushed the toilet, and then rinsed his mouth out.
"Do I need to point out what a complete… and utter… stupid… God-damned… idjit youare?" Bobby ground out, when Sam returned. His emotions teetered between blind anger and utter relief.
Bobby's heart continued to pound in his chest as he tried to calm his stressed nerves. Sam was alive… And right now Bobby couldn't decide if he wanted to punch the impulsive kid out, for his impetuous stunt, or hug the living daylights out of him for having survived…
The hug won. Bobby grasped his still anxious, pseudo-son, into his arms and embraced him so tight he was sure he had crushed all his fears away from his still churning emotions. Eventually he released his grip and held Sam at arm's length. Bobby was thankful that the younger had a little more color in his cheeks, although he trembled in his grasp. "What the hell do you think you were doing?" He demanded.
"I had to, Bobby. I had to try…" Sam replied quietly, still unnerved by his experience. "For Dean…"
"Did you even consider just where Dean's mind is trapped?" Bobby demanded. He didn't know what he'd do if he lost them both, they were about all the family he had.
"I know…" Sam began to reply.
"And just what the heck did you find in his head?" Bobby demanded, although he had his own horrific suspicions. And Sam should have too! He should have known better!
Sam shook his head. He didn't want to remember it, didn't ever want to recall it; never, ever again. Although he knew the experience had most certainly guaranteed that his own dreams would provide repeat showings in a nightly dose of nightmares. He still felt sick to the stomach, still trembled with horror, and he still feared Dean was no closer to coming back to them than he was before.
"Nothing…" He lied, not quite sure to whom, for neither he nor Bobby believed the deceit.
"So nothing's got ya pukin' in my john?" Bobby accused, the relief washing away to leave perturbed anger. "Don't… bullshit me… son!"
"I can't…" Sam muttered. "It was too…"
"DAMN IT SAM! TELL ME!" Bobby demanded impatiently. He had to know…
Dean startled with the sudden out burst, his head jerking back in wild fear, snapping him back into his usual restless, apprehensive state. His breath quickened and his mouth contorted into a grimace of terror. He tugged against his restraints and eventually groaned with the self inflicted stabs of pain his agitated movements caused him. Not quite catatonic…
Sam shookhis head, and his face paled again. "Hell, Bobby, it was Hell…" He replied simply, moving to Dean's side. "Dean!" He sighed as he knelt by his brother, his terrifying memories churning at his guts once more. He suddenly felt like he had to puke again!
Bobby bit his tongue. As much as he wanted to know everything, he had to concede now probably wasn't the time to demand such recollections. Sam was still trembling from his ordeal, his face still only marginally more flesh tinted than straight out grey. But he'd needle it out of him eventually.
Unfortunately Dean had apparently returned to being hysterically trapped in his nightmarish delusions… again. Sam's reckless stunt had got them nowhere!
"Dean? God, I'm so, so sorry…" Sam whispered as he knelt by his brother's side, holding back the tears of despair. "Please Dean, you gotta hear me… It's ok… you're safe now. Please hear me Dean… you're safe!" For the first time in his life Sam had seen what Dean looked like when he was scared; really, really, scared… to the core.
It made Sam wonder why Death's latest hobby seemed to be a fascination with snatching his brother's life away and then casting him back into the land of the living… did Dean possibly have nine lives? And just how many lives had he really used up… did all the times that his soul was tortured 'to death' in Hell count? And he wondered if his mortal soul would ever find peace, in death, like every other was supposed to?
Had he known, that Dean would suffer as he did, would continue to suffer, he'd have broken the Crossroad Demon's deal in the blink of an eye. His life could never be worth what Dean had suffered, and had almost suffered for all eternity. And he apparently still suffered now.
Cautiously Sam reached for Dean's squirming arm, trying to reassuringly grasp his brother's forearm, hoping that the tentative connection he'd made with Dean, in his dream, had remained. However Dean baulked, repelling from the touch and gasping in panic. He muttered incomprehensibly to himself; hysterical garble occasionally intermingled with frantic words like 'no', 'please don't' and 'stop it'. Sam's heart sank – he'd failed. The dream-root had been his one and only hope…
"How can I help him?" Sam moaned quietly to Bobby as a tear of devastation rolled down his cheek.
"We'll figure it out." Bobby hoped to offer, but his optimism was transparently hollow.
"Dean… please Dean… I need you to come back…" Sam pleaded with his brother again. His deed had to have worked, somehow… He knew Dean had seen him, had recognized him, and acknowledged him. He had made contact with him. "I know you saw me!" He implored desperately.
Dean's terrified gaze bounced between Sam and Bobby and back again. His eyes were wide and terror-struck as he cowered away, tugging at the restraints that bound him to the bed. Fear surged through him, along with suspicions and doubts; he was most securely bound, restrained just like he had been... in Hell.
The harder he struggled the more the agony increased. One strenuous wrench at his restraints had the ensuing agony accost him like a hailstorm of bullets. Every breath sent waves of stinging pain through his ribcage. And his skull felt as if it was sure to explode from the pressure building up behind his eyes. The pulsating waves of throbbing pain surging from every limb was crushingly potent. He panted with hysteria as he glanced erratically from one hunter to the other.
"Dean!" Sam almost cried. "Dean, please… you're safe. You have to listen to me… you have to believe me. You're really safe…"
Faced with the ongoing excruciating pain, the restraints, Dean had to fight to believe his brother's words of reassurance. How could he be anywhere else but in Hell's torture dungeons? And yet, it was Sam… and Bobby… who sat so close he could almost reach out and touch them… had he not been tied down.
Dean's confused gaze bounced around the familiar bedroom. Everything was as it should be; the furniture, the faded pictures on the wall, the curtains that needed changing some decades ago, even the slightly musty smell, and the overall feel… Sam and Bobby… There was no sulfur, no brimstone, or the stench of rotting flesh, no bubbling lava pit, or rats, or torment. No torturers, no demons, no minions…
Dean panted frantically, however his mouth briefly fashioned a word, a swift syllable amongst the breathless gasps and groans. "Sam?" he seemed to grind out hoarsely.
"Dean?" Bobby muttered as sat by Dean's side, opposite Sam. "Dean, can you hear me son?" It was the first time Dean had reacted to any kind of external stimulus since they'd summoned him back out of the depths of Hell. He had finally showed them some recognition, even though he gasped breathlessly in fear, and still continued to cringe away from them.
"Yeah Dean, it's me, it's really me. You're safe now." Sam consoled, still hesitant to make physical contact again. "You've been dreaming Dean… do you remember? I took the dream-root. You saw me, didn't you… in your dream?"
Dean frowned as he contemplated Sam's admission; as if he really were remembering… "Dream?" He whispered in query.
"Meg… she made you think we were back in Cold Oak…" Sam added, enthused by Dean's apparent break through. "And I was there, in your dream."
Dean jerked back, his terror amplified by Sam's substantiation to his nightmarish fears. He shook his head as if trying to banish the memory. "No…" He softly whispered. "…Jake!"
"Please Dean. It's really me – Sam! Jake didn't kill me… you didn't let him!" Or so Sam surmised, because he certainly didn't have the strength to break Dean's fortified dream-scape himself. Dean must have somehow done it… even if it was only just in the nick of time! "I promise you: I'm safe! You're safe! We got you out… You're not in Hell anymore!" Sam ventured to state the truth in a blunt, direct statement. "They can't hurt you, anymore!"
But there was still hurting… Dean's body was still tormented by pain and agony. Dean shook his head, he still hurt! His chest hurt, hacking away at his lungs with every breath. His thigh pulsated with agonizing throbbing, his arms were heavy with a constant ache. His head was in a vice, pressure was crushing down on his skull and what could only be Hellfire still burned in his shoulder. Except… it was a consuming ache… and then Dean realized… his body ached. And he sensed the difference, between the agonies inflicted upon his soul, and the pain now surging through his body in nauseating waves. It was a pain he remembered all too well… from life!
"Sammy?" Dean eventually whispered hoarsely, however still hyperventilating in panic. His eyes blinked wearily, as his jarred and jostled body protested, as his real, physical pain, made itself fully known.
Dean moaned as he tried to raise his plastered hand up to his ravaged shoulder; however the restraints held him fast. And his doubts avalanched back upon him. The pain, the shackles… it had to be Hell!
As Dean tugged on the restraints with pure horror painted across his face Sam realized why Dean was so distrustful. Sam was reminded of his brief insight into the horrors Dean had faced. He'd been manacled by chains and had his limbs impaled by huge spikes. He'd been securely bound and tethered whilst a multitude of tortures were inflicted upon him… excruciatingly painful and agonizing torments. Hell had been filled with nothing but being chained to constant pain and agony. It had Sam leaping into action.
"Lie still." Sam whispered as he quickly began unbuckling the wrist restraint closest to him. Bobby, following Sam's lead, did the same with Dean's other wrist. "You're safe… you're really free… see, you're free!"
Dean moaned as he shifted his weight, his limbs sore and stiff, and pulsating with pain. He had an uncontrolled urge to move, to run and to fight if he had to… to escape the continuing torment.
Dean forced his ailing, weary body to shift, grunting with the hurt that resulted. As Bobby tried to grasp Dean's shoulder, the traumatized hunter lashed out with a now expected plastered wrist. Bobby's hand caught Dean's injured limb in his firm grasp, whilst his other hand swiftly moved to his shoulder in tender restraint.
"No Dean…" Bobby's hand was firm, but gentle as he urged Dean to lie back down. "You've taken a beating son." He informed him as he cautiously tried to restrain the injured hunter; however Dean's insecurities and doubts remained fast. Even though it pained him, Dean flinched from Bobby's touch.
Without a doubt he still expected Hell to reveal this as some twisted measure of its latest method of torture. Andif it did, Dean knew, this was most certainly Hell's ultimate 'pièce derésistance' in its long list of mental torment. Dean's gaze bounced around the room, jumping from Sam to Bobby chaotically as his harassed mind sought a means to process the landslide of thoughts and emotions that suddenly accosted him. He searched for a method to sort and assemble all his suspicions and uncertainties, and to some way reliably assess his present reality.
"Its ok, Dean, please let us help you." Sam cooed, with his trademark expression of pleading. "You need to lie still…"
Dean wanted to believe Sam's words, however Hell had already shown him it's most savage and devious methods of torture. A never ending tirade of torments, that left his mind numbed to any proper thought or contemplation, except for the awareness of perpetual agony and the on going panic of what was to come. His entire eternity had been leveled to that one sensation alone… pain and the certain expectation of it. And Dean had no delusions, he was sure there were an infinite number of torments still to come. He still waited for a demon, or creature, or the like, somewhere in the shadows of the room, to jump out of its box…
Only now he wasn't entirely beleaguered by the same blinding, all-consuming pain and torment. His mind was free to actually reflect… to contemplate and consider his surroundings, and the sensation was startlingly unnerving. And he had time to actually think.
"I promise you, you're safe." Sam repeated. "Look at me Dean… and you'll know; it's really me." Because Sam knew, without a doubt, Dean would know it was really him. Dean always could, he knew him better than anybody else… he'd always known when he was angry or sad, had a crush on some chick, when he was happy or pissed off… and even when he was possessed. Dean would know he was his brother. Sam just knew: Dean would know it was really him.
Dean's weary gaze found Sam's face: It was tired, and alittle haggard, paler than it should be. A furrow of concern was etched into his brow, beneath his distinctive brown bangs. But there was a sparkle in his hazel eyes, a glimmer of relief and hope… Sam's likable, sincere, earnest spark was there. Sam's trademark grin appeared as he realized Dean really did see him. And just like when they were no more than kids, Dean's heart melted. Nobody could ever make him succumb like Sam could.
"Sam?" Cautiously Dean nodded his head and with lingering uncertainty he allowed his brother to ease him back down into bed. However, Dean continued to tremble with fear and uncertainty.
Sam pulled the blankets back over his savaged brother and sighed softly with cautious relief.
"I'm here Dean… I'm really here." Sam reassured him. "Right here…"
"It's really you?" Dean moaned. "Sammy?"
"Yeah, it's really me." Sam smiled again. He'd actually succeeded! He'd broken through Dean's fortified prison of nightmares. "…Sam!" He grinned a little wider, hoping Dean would recognize his usual retort at being called 'Sammy', instead of his preferred 'Sam'.
Dean tried to grin back in response; however his mouth pulled back into a grimace of pain instead. As his body tried to relax, tried to findsome comfort on the lumpy mattress and too hard bed, Dean moaned again. Flashes of white flickered at the corners of his eyes and his head felt strangely heavy and cumbersome. Every agonizing breath sent shock waves of blinding pain through his torso, stealing his consciousness away, little by little. He blinked the disturbing sensation from his mind, hoping to regain some measure of clarity in his thoughts. And then he realized: His painwas definitely different to Hell's pain filled torments. Hell never gave him a reprieve; there was never unconsciousness, never death! His present pain remained firmly steadfast, this paindidn't subside as his wounds swiftly healed, only to have new pain inflicted upon him. This pain was real, and on going. This pain was like the familiar aches of old; the pain of the tribulations of life… and unconsciousness was ready to claim him!
"It's ok, Dean… you're at Bobby's." Sam reassured him, as best he could. "You're safe now."
"I'm… free?" Dean queried suspiciously, his voice hoarse and strained, and more than a little breathless.
"Yeah. You're free." Sam confirmed. "Really, really free."
"How?" Dean sighed.
"Well that's a long story…" Sam grinned. "Let's just say it wasn't easy, but Bobby found a way. When you're up to it we'll share a six pack and I'll fill you in with all the details... Right now, just rest, ok… we've got plenty of time for talking, later."
Dean's eyes squinted closed as he moaned through the lingering agony of speech. Breathing hurt, speaking was excruciating. However a slight grin managed to curl the corners of his mouth upwards. Then he moaned again, a long agonized groan, as his body's suffering flooded every thought.
"I'll get you something for the pain." Bobby grinned with encouragement.
He cast the brothers a solemn gaze as he reached the door. Dean had allowed Sam to place his hand soothingly over his arm, although Dean's agitated, confused expression revealed the still overwhelming fears and horrors racing through his mind. It would take a long time before he could securely lock this experience away into his Fort Knox lock-box of emotions and painful memories.
Even so, Bobby thought, Dean may actually survive this after all…
~~~oooOOOooo~~~
To say that Dean had returned to them would have been a vast overestimation of his improvement. He was awake and aware, but his recovery pretty much stopped there. He remained agitated and edgy, every noise and touch had him jumping out of his skin; a situation that made Fred's task of caring for the still injured hunter a near impossibility. Even Sam had to approach cautiously and then calmly negotiate his way to his brother's side, without Dean attempting to leap from his bed and flee. But he at least warily allowed Sam to approach.
He trusted no-one.
And he feared everything.
When Dean slept, his nightmares plagued him with far too much reality. And he perhaps feared sleeping more than anything else…
Sam was the only person Dean would tentatively allow any proximity to him. Even so Sam could do no more than watch, and pray for some solace for his brother, when Dean was racked by the memories of Hell's reoccurring torments. And the pain meds Fred had at first given him, made him groggy and drowsy and only seemed to encourage the nightmares.
So Dean refused to take his medication, and he fervently fought sleep. He fought the notion of allowing his mind to replay his torments over and over in his dreams. Nevertheless, Dean's mind couldn't fight his body's overwhelming need for respite. He was in pain, severely sleep deprived, completely exhausted, and could no longer fight the plummet into a fatigued, half-sleep state where his mind had the freedom to wander, into territories Dean couldn't circumvent. Hallucinations and delusions of Hell had begun to mingle with reality.
Dean's waking hours were drawn out marathons of sheer will power on his own behalf. Even though his fears and anxieties ran through his mind at full velocity whilst awake, it was obviously his preferred state of consciousness. His nightmares denied him any such control. In the depths of sleep his thoughts were unbridled and his worst torments returned. Even Sam was worried that Dean could once again be consumed by Hell's cancerous claim on his mind and lost to them once more.
"Hey Dean…" Sam whispered softly as he moved slowly to Dean's side. "How're you feeling?"
Dean cowered away, teetering almost on the opposite edge of the bed as something akin to Hellfire exploded behind the image of his brother, and flickered in his eyes. Shadows lurked somewhere in his peripheral vision, and he knew they were there, but only just out of his sight: Shadows of evil and vengeance, seeking to drag him back into the pit. And he could hear something breathing, and scratching in the wardrobe in the corner of the room.
Seeing Dean squinting into the hazy light of the sunset outside, Sam pulled the blind down on the window behind him. "That better?" He queried softly as he eased himself into the rickety, uncomfortable chair by Dean's side.
'Sam, it's really Sam.'Dean told himself. He blinked the horrifying haze from his thoughts as he gulped nervously, nodding slightly in response. He didn't speak much, and Sam had long since stopped expecting any real response to his queries. He used the banter more as a means of distracting Dean whilst he inched his way to his side.
"You in any pain?" Sam queried.
Dean's hesitation, a brief scowl and silence was response enough. 'Yes.'
Sam already knew he was in pain. His old Dean could mask the pain, like a Renaissance master artist, but with his mind so consumed by fears and anxieties, Dean's stoic fortifications were more than a little battered. And his jumpy, startled reactions to any change in his environment aggravated his injuries, beyond his means of concealment.
"Dean, you need to take these…" He suggested with hopeful authority. Sam uncurled his palm and showed Dean the two, yellow tablets he'd come prepared with. He held the pills up for Dean to see. "I know why you don't want to take them Dean, why you don't want to sleep, I do… but you have to."
It had been two days since Dean had willingly taken any kind of medication that made him sleep. He preferred to tough out the marathon hours of pain, fighting the onslaught of sleep and the nightmares that came bound with it. Apparently even old practices remained, for Dean never liked to be drugged or out of control. Dean still resisted anything that stole his consciousness. He resisted sleep tooth and nail, and Sam knew exactly why... he'd been the same himself, when he'd feared his own nightmares, of Jess's death. And he knew that Dean could only go on for so long before his body would eventually collapse to his waning will and give out with the exhaustion of fighting sleep.
"Fred says you won't dream with these…" Sam added with hope. Fred had reassured Sam that the almost horse-like-sedatives would allow Dean to sleep; deeply and restfully… without his usual nightmares. Not to mention pain free, at least for a few hours. "NO dreams… at all."
Fred would have willingly injected whatever drugs he thought necessary, intravenously, even if it meant Dean attempting an act of acrobatics and terror in trying to flee from him. Fred had even schooled Sam in the art of injecting the medication into Dean's drip. But it was Sam who had refused such tactics. Sam defiantly believed that the only way he could help Dean was to rebuild the bridges of trust. And any methods of deception were a sure-fire means of shattering such tentative connections. Sam had fought his case with solid resolve. Dean needed to know he was in control, that he had a choice. That was Dean's way.
Sam knew Dean could always handle the pain… their father had taught him that! But his body couldn't handle the exhaustion. Dean had to rest, and he had to sleep!
"Please, Dean, you have to let your body rest." But Sam also needed to know that Dean still had some inkling of trust in him… "I promise you, no dreams!"
Dean frowned slightly. There was no flat out refusal, so he was at least contemplating it, Sam realized. "Please Dean…" Sam pleaded with his big hazel eyes at their maximum beseeching intensity.
Dean nodded eventually. Too weary and pain racked to lift himself up, he cautiously allowed Sam the luxury of sliding his hand behind his shoulders to help him sit up enough to swallow the tablets. Dean still flinched with the close contact, both from panic and pain; although Sam knew he fought the spontaneous fears with every last effort. Dean didn't want to be so terrified, he simply couldn't restrain his shattered emotions enough to quell the explosion of trepidation and anxiety that every noise, movement and presence caused him. And even allowing Sam such close proximity was a battle in itself.
Swallowing the tablets was still a chore. Dean's weary body lacked much of his fine motor control, and his ability to perform even the simple task of swallowing was difficult. Sam slowly and carefully placed the tablets on the tip of Dean's tongue, and then gently raised a glass of water to his lips.
"Ok?" Sam queried softly. Past attempts had proved clumsy at best. Even drinking was still occasionally a challenge. The task had to be performed slowly and with Sam's reassuring guidance. He waited for Dean to lower his eyes in an affirmative indication.
"Just take a small sip…" Slowly he raised the glass, allowing a small dribble of water to flow into Dean's mouth. Dean swallowed the tablets back with an accompanying cough that sent shock waves of pain through his chest. Dean scowled with the agony, panting his way through the worst of the pain, until his weary body relinquished its grip on the ache. Eventually, after a few minutes, his moans and grimace of pain slowly subsided.
Sam remained by Dean's side until the elder's eyes grew weary and slowly slid closed. Sam went to shift, simply to place the remaining glass of water on the bedside table behind him, however his basic movement had Dean jerk back to consciousness.
"'s ok, Dean. I'm just putting the glass over here. It's ok, really." Sam comforted. "You're safe now." It was his standard verse of reassurance…
Dean frowned briefly, still fighting the sedative's effects. His eyes blinked heavily as he tried to comprehend. Then slight desperation showed on his face as he fought to whisper something of dire value to Sam. Sam recognized his need to speak, and leaned in close to his brother to listen.
"You'll… stay?" He managed to shift his plastered hand a few inches closer to Sam's as he made his plea, his fingers brushing his brother's in search of assurance.
"Sure Dean. You know I'll be right here." Sam tentatively placed his fingers over Dean's and squeezed softly. "I'll always be right by your side…"
Dean nodded, with a slight grin of comfort. His eyes, too weary to remain open, slid closed once more and gradually his breathing evened out as the sedative took hold.
Sam smiled with confidence and hope. Hope that they'd get through this new round of trials and tribulations on the Winchester calendar of events. Slowly, together, they were taking small steps in the right direction. Somehow their brotherly bonds had survived the tortures of Hell, even if only just.
~~~oooOOOooo~~~
With gentle coaxing and a ton of patience on Sam, Bobby and Fred's part, Dean began his long and bumpy road to recovery. Even so, his dreams, when they managed to surface upon the tail end of a drug enforced slumber, remained fraught with nightmares, and his waking interludes still held a world of apprehension and nervousness. However, gradually he accepted, not just Sam, into his self-built bastion of seclusion, but Bobby as well. Fred, however, was only ever allowed contact with a mass of reassurances from Sam or Bobby in preparation; he was, after all, still a stranger in Dean's eyes.
With his regained awareness they were able to try and have him eat, although Dean's appetite was almost non-existent. His carers still pretty much had to force feed him. After a week, when Dean had regained an inkling of strength back he was able to stand, and hobble, with Sam and Bobby's help and could be aided to the toilet and back. After a fortnight he was allowed down stairs, although he was still reliant on the help of both Sam and Bobby to get around. However Fred was satisfied Dean was on the mend, physically at least, he still warned Sam and Bobby that it could take a very long time before the torment and horrors of his incarceration in Hell would allow his consciousness any peace.
After a month, Dean remained skittish and easily frightened. He was still plagued by nightmares; however his stoic nature began to return, slowly at first, but distinctly there. Unexpected noises and touches would still startle him, only now he began to show signs of frustration at not having hid the emotion from his vigilant carers. But he'd also defiantly vowed that his wounds no longer pained him, although they all knew it was a lie. It was strangely reassuring to Sam and Bobby both, that Dean's incessant need to hide his fears, emotions and pain away had resurfaced with a vengeance. That wasn't to say that Dean's concrete stoicism wasn't a concern before everything went to Hell… or more precisely, he, went to Hell… Even so it relieved all three that his stoic nature had resurfaced; it was a sure sign their old Dean was on his way back.
Dean, if nothing else, could at least put up a solid façade of his former self, even if he left all those about him doubtful. Sam knew it was Dean's way, and that alone gave him solace that his brother was on the road to recovery. He'd have been more concerned if Dean hadn't tried to conceal his every emotion, every stab of residual pain and every lingering fear. Sam fought the urge to crack Dean open, to have him spill every terror and doubt that continued to lurk beneath every 'I'm ok' or 'I'm fine, really…' At some point, Sam knew, Dean would have to let it all go! Just like when their father died… the impending emotional fallout was approaching as the pressure was building and gaining momentum.
His body was well on the road to recovery; his lacerations were almost completely healed, with scars on the mend to becoming lost and intermingled with so many others beneath them. And Fred had reassured them all that his fractures had knitted as well could be expected. The redeemed hunter even began moving about unaided. He still managed to give himself grief, especially when he dreamt of the horrors he had faced, and unwittingly jostled and jerked his still fragile ribcage and tender flesh ravaged by painful scar tissue. But if it hadn't been for Sam's light sleep and observations, they would probably have been none the wiser. And that pain would probably only cease once his fractures and lacerations had fully healed, because it didn't seem that his subconscious would allow him any peace, any time soon.
When it came to healing, physically and mentally, he'd always been solitary in nature, needing to deal with the devastating mementos of the ordeal in his own time and space. Dean wasn't ever the type to need pity or pampering… not from Sam, or their dad, or Bobby for that matter. (Although, there were times, Sam knew, when Dean would use his injuries, post hunt, to his advantage to woo one woman or another… then he lapped the attentions up like a five year old!)
Like so many times before, Dean found his refuge in the car. The Chevy had been the closest thing, in his life, that Dean could actually call home. And she'd always been his salvation and refuge: The one constant that signified sanctuary. No matter his injuries, or state, he knew he was safe, once he was within her protective confines.
So it wasn't surprising that he'd taken to either tinkering with the Impala, or sitting, for as long as his weary body allowed, in the comfortable embrace of her driver's seat, soaking in the tranquil warmth of the sun in the afternoons and listening to his cherished mullet rock. Although both Sam and Bobby noticed that many of the titles now made him uncomfortable, those with any reference to death, or Hell or torment. Of the limited selection he seemed to favor AC/DC's 'Back in Black'. Perhaps because it reminded him that he really was back; he'd been 'let loose, from the noose… never die… got nine lives' even if he was now a little tainted. And although not exactly a Cadillac, he was 'back in black' – back in his Black Baby!
~~~oooOOOooo~~~
Something about loosing himself under the bonnet of the Impala had a soothing effect upon the convalescing hunter. Nothing was actually wrong with the Chevy, and she probably didn't really need an oil change or a tune up either… but working on the Impala had helped him work through the grief and despair of his father's death; even if she'd born the brunt of his anger and frustrations as well! And the grim reminders of Hell seemed to drift away when he had his arms elbow deep in grease and grime.
Except that Bobby made a point of checking on him every few minutes or so.
"You want a soda?" Bobby queried, some ten minutes after enquiring if he was hungry.
"No thanks, Bobby." Dean nodded towards the half full cola can by his side. "I'm good."
Bobby lingered for a while, watching Dean's every move with the intensity of a laser beam. Bobby could see Dean was getting tired, but he knew better than to query it directly. "Sam was thinkin' we could hire a movie later…" He muttered instead.
"Yeah, if you want." Dean wrestled with an obstinate nut. Before… before Hell… it would have been a cinch to loosen, but if his wrist wasn't complaining with the task, his shoulder did if he switched hands… Feeling Bobby's need to intervene he grimaced as he put more muscle into it.
"You want me to…?" Bobby dared to query.
"I got it!" Dean snapped back defiantly, forcing his right forearm to comply with his wishes. He was almost sure his wrist was about to shatter before the nut finally succumbed to his force of will.
Bobby backed away, silently making his way back to the house as Dean continued to dismantle the finer workings of the Impala's engine.
"Want that sandwich yet?" Bobby pressed fifteen minutes later.
"No thanks, Bobby." Dean snapped back. His wrist was throbbing and his head had started to pound in the heat of the afternoon sun.
"I got roast beef…" Bobby added.
"No, Bobby, REALLY, I'M FINE!" He tried not to let his voice retort as angrily as the accompanying reaction that burst forth in his mind, however his words were precise and clear.
He hadn't been hungry, or thirsty, ten minutes ago, and he hadn't needed a hand twenty minutes before that, or needed a cap for the sun before that… He knew Bobby was just concerned, even Sam was, but at least Sam had the sense to stay clear after the first few angry rebuttals.
Bobby just didn't get that Dean needed time to himself. Didn't get that although he wasn't exactly, 100 percent, A-Ok, that he wasn't an incapacitated invalid either! Sure dogs barking had him on edge, as did pretty much any loud, sudden noise. He kept his distance from Bobby's gas stove, or more precisely the flame, and the clang of metal upon metal made his hackles rise. And his nightmares, when they fought their way into his drugged slumber, still had him startle back to consciousness with pure terror racing through his mindthat made his heart pound so hard he was sure it would smash its way out of his ribcage! Bobby obviously didn't get that no matter how much pain he was in, or how exhausted he was, he was still ok! Really, after literally having been to Hell and back, and lived, how could he now be anything else but ok? He just had to be ok… didn't he?
Even so, he only had about two hour's worth of endurance at the best of times, to hobble about, lifting and pulling, bending and stretching, before the aches etched themselves back into his scarred muscles and weary bones: When he just couldn't fight his body's need for rest, and the need for something to tame the retaliation of pain that his body punished him with. And the clock was already working over-time!
"You sure? You're lookin' a bit tired there Dean." Bobby reflected, taking note of the fine sheen of sweet upon his brow, and his ragged breaths. "Maybe its time to take a break… I can finish this off for you. Won't take me long to put her back together…" no where near as long as it would Dean, at any rate. Bobby knew his words were a mistake before he'd even let the last syllable slip from his lips in nothing but a regretful whisper. Dean was pigheaded about accepting help at the best of times… but Heaven help anyone thinking to tamper with his Baby!
"No, its ok. I'm almost done." Dean replied with a steady voice, leashing the urge to snap back again.
"Your hands are shakin' Dean…" Bobby regrettably made the observation out loud, but he was worried about Dean pushing himself too far, simply to make a stupid macho point. Sometimes the kid just had to be told, in no uncertain terms!
"I'm fine!" Dean gritted his teeth.
"Dean, you don't gotta prove anything…" Bobby began to rationalize his concerns, figuring somebody had to make the kid see sense.
"I'm not, Bobby!" Dean finally let his irritation seep into his leveled words. "I'm just… workin'… on… my… car!"
"Dean, there's nothin' wrong with the car!" Bobby retorted, imagining replacing the restraints on Dean's bed, if need be, just to make him rest.
Dean glared back at Bobby. "And there won't be! Not… so… long… as I… look after… her!" He ground out. And maybe if he could keep a forty year old Impala in good working order he could eventually fix himself as well…
Only right now, the world seemed to swoon a little with his anger, and his growing lethargy. The growing pain and exhaustion was making him clumsy and awkward. He blinked the uncomfortable sensation away, chastising himself for letting his broken body have such control over him. Dean staggered forward, catching himself on the Impala's fender to keep from pitching face first into the dirt beneath his feet.
"See Dean…" Bobby frowned with concern. "You're not… ok!" His hand went to Dean's shoulder in support. It was swiftly deflected with an angry frown that screamed 'Back off, or else!'
"I would be, if you'd just… leave… me… the… hell… alone!" Dean regretted his spiraling anger and the resulting outburst, as soon as the dormant stabs of pain in his chest awoke. His fatigued body was failing fast; he had to escape Bobby's vigilant eye before he crumpled into a trembling mass of pain and exhaustion. He couldn't Bobby see him succumb!
He slammed the bonnet shut with such force his whole shoulder was jarred with agony. Instinctually heclutched at the offending joint as a groan escaped his tightly clenched teeth. He was sinking fast, into a blurry haze of dizziness and swamping pain! Bobby's concerns had stirred up the waves of agony and exhaustion, and Deanwas at risk of drowning any second!
"Dean?" Bobby sprang to his side, his hand clasping itself around Dean's arm in apprehension.
"I'm ok!" Dean ground out as he shook himself free of Bobby's grip. 'Never show weakness!' John had drummed that into him since before he could remember…
"Ya gotta take it easy Dean!" Bobby replied with genuine concern.
"No, I don't! I'm fine, Bobby, just fine!" Dean snapped, unfortunately it was accompanied by an obvious grimace of pain.
"No you ain't!" Bobby snapped back. Dean had been pushing himself, far too hard. Bobby could see it, even if Sam refused to acknowledge it, and Fred apparently didn't see any harm in Dean's obstinate need for something to do.
"Damn it, Bobby!" Dean ground out. "Just… Just leave me the freaking hell alone!" He pushed past Bobby, who had to fight the overwhelming urge to wrap his arm around the obstinate hunter and assist him on his intrepid trek back inside. "I'M OK!" Dean repeated with irritation, forcing one foot in front of the other as he stormed off.
All the fussing and babying over him, just made everything so much harder to deal with! What with everyone thinking they knew how he felt, or should feel, with all their sappy sympathetic attempts to empathize: How the hell could anyone ever hope to know what he'd been through? How could they even dare to think they knew what he should do to 'get over it all'! How could they possibly know what he should and shouldn't do, or, more precisely, what he can and can't do! All he needed was the time to actually figure it out for himself, for pity's sake!
His whole life had been ripped from him, at the jaws of Hell's hounds, and replaced with every conceivable, and indescribable torture and torment Hell could unleash upon him… and now he was back with the living.Like nothing had ever happened? The entire concept was unimaginable! All he was left with was a shattered body and a huge gapping hole in his guts, like he'd drunk Draino. It all reminded him that everything was different, wrong even. He felt like he'd crawled his way through a battlefield and found himself having afternoon tea at a garden party. The extremes were at polar opposites… and should never meet! And yet here he was… trying to step back into 'normal', like it was where he was supposed to be, where he belonged. Only he didn't. He didn't really belong anywhere anymore…
Dean pushed past the powerless hunter and limped thankfully towards the porch balustrade to lean on as his shoulder screamed out in retaliation. His body was healing; however the lingering aches and pains could still be aggravated!
"The Hell you are!" Bobby was angry now too. If there was one family trait that he could attribute to the Winchesters it was stubbornness! As mules! And Dean had it in spades! He just wanted Dean to give himself the time to rest, like his body needed…
Dean paused, he knew he wasn't ok… but admitting it, wasn't something that came easy. Wouldn't change anything anyway. He had to do this, and explaining that to his over-protective warden was something he just couldn't put into words. He had to find his own path back to normal… Winchester normal at any rate!
Sam came tumbling out of the porch door with apprehension. "What's up?" He queried cautiously. Both hunters were obviously riled up over something.
"Nothing!" Dean snapped at him as he hobbled into the house, his concentration focused solely on keeping himself upright.
"Damned idjit!" Bobby mumbled under his breath as he stalked in after him.
Bobby hovered over the recuperating hunter like a vigilant mother-hen. And even Sam knew, on occasions, he hovered too close…
Sam hadn't actually allowed the concern of Dean's perplexed mental-state erode away the unashamed thrill, of him actually being alive. He knew Dean would deal with it… eventually. Dean always did! His emotions came locked in a solid suit of armor, pretty much impervious to every conceivable psychological or physical means of damage. Sam just hoped that once the dust settled and Dean had recovered physically, that his fragile emotional state would go away of its own accord. If Bobby could just allow Dean the time and space he needed…
~~~oooOOOooo~~~
"You're going?" Bobby queried as Sam brought the Impala up beside the age-weary hunter. He knew it was on the horizon; even so, it didn't sit well with him.
Bobby leaned down to peer into the Impala. Two months had passed, and yet Dean was still suffering from his ordeal, and having taken a number of sleeping tablets, he must have slipped straight back into unconsciousness as soon as he was seated in the car. He lay slumped against the car door, and with his arms wrapped protectively across his waist he seemed painfully incapacitated. With the wounds to his thigh still tender, his leg was thrust out before him, as far as the cramped confines of the car would allow. The gory laceration across his brow, although faded, was the only visible wound to lay noticeable claim to his ordeal. It was hard to believe he'd come so far, in such a short time. His wounds would soon fade away, to mere scars, just like so many injuries before them. However the damage to his subconscious, to his soul, still plagued him. And that had captured Bobby's greatest apprehensions.
As Bobby gazed at the slumbering hunter he couldn't help but ponder upon the rising concerns he felt at the number of sleeping tablets the hunter had begun to take on a regular basis, for they seemed to be the only thing to put him into such a deep sleep they kept the nightmares at bay. He was sure Fred hadn't recommended anything close to the quantities Dean was taking! Bobby wasn't even sure Sam had noticed the number of prescriptions he'd already filled for the dream-a-phobic hunter. Even so, Bobby had to admit, it was good to see him like this, with his face still and serene, with a child-like innocence and peacefulness about him. And he also had to concede that Dean whacked out on sleeping tablets had to be better than the torment and terror his nightmares inspired! Bobby couldn't help but recall the first time he'd ever laid eyes on Dean; slouched in a similar manner in the same seat in the Impala, fast asleep by John's side, some twenty-something years ago… he was barely more than a babe himself, but already he'd been thrust into the vicious world of living nightmares.
And now Sam had decided to take him away.
Sam knew it was the right thing to do. Even the mention of moving on had given Dean a certain glimmer of hope, even if it was also mingled with trepidation. Sam knew, without a doubt, that if Dean was ever to return to his old self, he had to first return to what was always a constant in their lives: an open road and the Impala. The hunt could wait a while longer… something Dean could ease into once everything else had fallen pretty much back into place. Because, really, what else would Dean ever be comfortable doing? He was a hunter, through and through. Even though he wished Dean could possibly find some kind of normal that he could settle down to, Sam just couldn't imagine Dean ever doing anything else but hunt.
With all his good intentions, Bobby's soul topic of conversation revolved around Dean, and hedged clumsily around the topic of Hell and everything Dean simply didn't want to discuss! Both Sam and Dean knew it was only his best intentions that spurred his obsessive need to cosset and protect the battle-weary hunter. But Sam had decided that the Bobby, unfortunately, was precisely what Dean had to get away from. That and Bobby's suffocating need to hover and molly-coddle the obstinately independent hunter to distraction!
Sam knew Bobby wouldn't approve of them leaving so he'd waited until the elder hunter had made a trip into town for groceries and the like. He'd run his plan through with Fred first, in a length and detailed discussion on the phone. Fred had been confident enough that medically he'd done all he could for the redeemed hunter, so much so, that he'd returned home the week before. He reassured Sam that time and patience would have to take over now, although to keep a close eye on him as a precaution. Sam had his number, and Fred had emphatically assured him that he could call him any time he felt need to. So Sam figured, medically, he had that base covered.
Sam packed all their belongings up for their departure with well honed talent, and Dean eagerly followed his lead, albeit a lot slower. By the time the Impala was packed and ready to go Dean was visibly exhausted, again! And with his exhaustion came the growing aches and pains that still plagued his healing body. It was the subsequent wait for Bobby's return that had worn Dean down. The reoccurring pounding had begun in his head, to accompany the general throbbing of pain that pulsed through his weary body with a vengeance His emotions and fears began to churn as he contemplated leaving the sanctuary of Bobby's home. Not that he'd miss the smothering concern and aid that accompanied it, but because he had only just begun to feel safe there…
As their wait drew out longer than Sam had planned, he eventually urged Dean to take his overdue meds whilst they waited in the Impala. So when Bobby returned, the brothers were ready to go; because the Winchesters liked their 'Good-byes' short and sweet. If Dean fell asleep in the house Sam knew Bobby would in some way prevent them from leaving. Sam hoped it wouldn't be too long a wait; Bobby didn't usually like to leave either of them alone for any great length of time.
"Just away." Sam replied with a half smile of confidence, squirming a little under Bobby's intense glare of disagreement.
"Away?" Bobby scoffed with surprise as he examined Sam's face for answers. "Why?"
"Its just time, Bobby." Sam tried to explain, but how do you tell the likes of Bobby Singer that his over-protective molly-coddling was a strange and disturbing presence? That Dean just needed to work through his ordeal in his own way, in his own time?
"Where the…" Bobby bit his tongue. He'd curbed his use of the word 'hell' somewhat… "where, you plannin' on goin'?"
"I don't really know… just away." Sam smiled lightheartedly.
"You must have some idea where?" Bobby grunted. Even he knew the Winchesters were getting toey, hanging around the house. 'Hanging' was something no Winchester could apparently do for too long.
"No, just away..." Sam sighed. "Far away from… 'everything'. I nearly lost him Bobby, from now on it's me that's gonna put him first for a change."
"And you think Dean's gonna let you?" Bobby frowned.
"Probably not." Sam conceded with a grin. It didn't really concern Sam, he'd try and that'd be enough. Right now Dean could ask Sam to eat nails for him and Sam would happily oblige. "But for now, he's so beat outta shape, he won't be able to do anything about it!" Sam smirked at his brother's sleeping form with relief. He'd try, at least, to give him some sort of reprieve from the life that had so many times almost claimed him. Maybe he'd even head for the Grand Canyon…
"And how long do you think you can stay away from 'everything'?" Bobby mused. "Or more precisely, how long do you think 'everything' will stay away from you?"
"Don't matter… a year, a month, a day… I don't care; I'll take what I can get." Sam admitted. "But he's gonna need some time… to really get back on his feet. Even Dean doesn't get mauled by Hell Hounds and dragged out of Hell every day... I think he's earned a reprieve…"
"Ain't wrong there Sam, he's faced things no good man should ever have to." Bobby declared. "I gotta admit, though Sam, I'm still worried; we still don't know for sure what all this has done to him. He's still pretty confused and disorientated, not to mention spooked by mere shadows, and..."
"Yeah… I know." Sam sighed, Bobby didn't have to go into details. And Sam also knew that Dean always managed to deal with the horrors their lives had thrown at them in the past. He'd eventually deal with this, however traumatic, in his own way. And he knew that's exactly how Dean would want to handle it. He'd want to be left alone to deal with it on his own terms, in his own time. "I just think he needs some time to find his feet again. I can't expect him to brush all this off with his usual cocky cynicism."
"No… I guess this may take a little more time." Bobby conceded. "You make sure you keep an eye on him, there's no telling what repercussions may still arise. Who knows what all this could have done to him. And once he gets to being himself again, don't let him try an' play superman like usual, he'll only hurt himself again!" Bobby muttered. If he ever returns to true Dean Winchester style.
"You know I will. Fred set me up with a pharmaceutical stock pile of some really great stuff before he left." Sam replied mischievously, trying to lighten the mood. "If I have to knock him out…"
Bobby tried to feign a chuckle in response. "Well, its… umm… It's damned good to see the both of you boys back together again!" Bobby's voice cracked with emotion. And it was true, seeing the Winchester brothers, back in the Impala, back on the road… it was just right.
"Thanks Bobby…" Sam grasped Bobby's forearm affectionately. "You know… I couldn't have done it without you. You know Dean's grateful…"
"You know I'd do it again, if'n I had to… just don't go gettin' me to, ok?" Bobby frowned with seriousness. "And, besides, I think Ruby deserves most of that accolade." Bobby humbled. "She got in contact with you at all?"
"No, I still haven't heard from her… you don't think she could have, you know… died… been exorcised… again?" Sam hadn't allowed himself time to really speculate on what happened to Ruby. He'd been too caught up with Dean's fate to give her much more than a fleeting thought. It was only now that he'd pondered her fate, and her unusual disappearance.
"I ain't got a clue Sam." Bobby replied. "My guess is that she's living it up some place, enjoying her own escape from Hell. I guess if she's ok, she'll show up again… if not, maybe she realizes the Winchester boys ain't as gullible as she'd thought..."
"You think, she though we were gullible?" Sam queried.
"I think, she though she could play you…" Bobby clarified. When Sam's brow furrowed with a degree of offense Bobby added… "But she was obviously wrong!"
"Yeah, maybe." Sam remained ambiguous, without having to discuss the gory details. "You'll let me know if she contacts you, or shows up?" Sam asked as he started the car. The Impala obediently rumbled to life.
"Yeah, of course!" Bobby nodded. "You just look after your brother." Bobby added, giving Dean one last glance as he continued to sleep.
"I will." Sam replied, also giving his sleeping brother a cursory glance. "He tried to fight the meds…" Sam explained. "He wanted to say his good byes, but…"
"Its ok, Sam, I know." Bobby grinned. Gratitude and farewells usually weren't verbalized by any of the hunters, it was usually just understood, and so Bobby really didn't begrudge either brother the lack of such.
"Anyway… Thanks Bobby." Sam managed to put it into words. "I'll keep in touch. We better make tracks…" He smiled. "It's a long drive to 'Far Away'."
"I guess it is. You let me know when you get there." Bobby tried to smile confidently, however it was clear the Winchesters' departure was breaking his heart. "You know where to find me… when its time to come back… home." Bobby smiled.
Sam bit back a sudden gush of sentiment; however he failed to leash a broad grin. "You know we do!" The words tumbled out in a sudden rush of emotion.
Bobby Singer's house really had become something like a home… but not quite like the Impala of course!
Bobby fought to quell the welling tears as he watched the Winchester brothers drive away, like so many times before. The Impala slowly disappeared behind the row of trees that lined the roadside, and his heart sank. He knew the Winchesters were gone, he just hoped they would be back his way some time soon.
"Take care boys…" He muttered after them.
…End…
~~~oooOOOooo~~~
So there it is, both Winchester brothers returned; mostly intact, mostly healthy and almost safely.
And as I've mentioned before…
'Please feel free to imagine the brothers driving off into the sunset, headed for Miami, the Grand Canyon, or the like, for some well deserved R&R, with plenty of sun, beer, women and lazy afternoons on the beach, or the like…
Yeah right! I couldn't quite visualise that myself! Let's face it; they'd hardly make it over the state line before something would either be on their asses, or lurking at the back of their wardrobe in their next sleazy motel!
Or sitting in the seat right next to them as they cruise down the 'Highway'…'
I can only hope that you enjoyed my fic.
chrissymi