Lying uncomfortably on his makeshift bed Dean woke disorientated his brain puzzling over where he was until he opened his eyes to see Sam dishevelled and awkwardly hunched against the dilapidated wall next to him.
It made him angry all over again seeing Sam's sleeping face outlined against
the dark of his hair, a maze of small cuts criss-crossing his skin. The kid had to be hurting and exhausted especially after what that freaking creature had put him through and Dean was glad he'd managed to kick the goddamned racoon to hell. Except that he hadn't, it had come back and thrown him around like a puppet and he hadn't been able to do a damned thing about it.
Gingerly he put his fingers up grazing over, feeling the dried crust of blood at his temple. His head was throbbing pounding agonisingly in his skull making him feel sick but at least he wasn't still bleeding. Dean swallowed against the nausea the last thing he wanted to do was hurl he knew from experience that it would only make him feel crappier than he already did.
Instead, altering his position Dean tried to ease the tension in his neck, he wanted to keep watch over Sam but the pain was escalating. Carefully he changed his aching body into a different attitude but only made things worse and the pulsing stab behind his eyes turned into red-hot needles. Groaning he tried twisting his head, this time the painful beat resonated down his spine and spread round his ribcage adding its bite to his struggle for breath.
Distracted from his own troubles by a soft moan escaping from Sam as he stirred, Dean shifted again until he could see his brother without straining. Sam looked awful, skin grey with dark circles under his eyes. Visually he checked his sibling over watching him carefully, reassuring himself that Sam was only asleep before closing his eyes in the faint hope that if he kept still his head might actually stay on his shoulders and not explode.
He must have slept or passed out because the next time Dean opened his eyes the grey dawn light had coloured in the world around him. It only made the bruises on Sam's face look worse and Dean choked back the tears that welled up and threatened to spill down his face. "Stop it Dean." He censured himself crying was not gonna help it only showed weakness; his father's voice overlaid his own in his head 'You don't have time for this self-pitying crap when you're hunting.'
He'd been six and it had been the first time he'd fired a shotgun. The recoil had slammed into his shoulder and laid him out flat. He'd cried but instead of pulling him up and comforting him his Dad had ripped into him and made him fire four more rounds. Each cartridge setting him on his butt and bruising his shoulder further but he had not cried again and John had patted him on his back at the end.
Throat constricting at the memory Dean wished that Sam would wake up. He knew that his brother didn't have a magic wand or that his being awake would make the situation any better but maybe it would dispel his morbid thoughts and the feeling of helplessness that was creeping over him. Partly he knew these 'girly feelings' were because his resistance was low. Being injured, stuck in a sh*thole in the middle of a forest with a demented raccoon after you will do that every time but unfortunately that didn't stop him feeling them.
Forgetting his 'don't move' rule he moved. Sharp pain sliced though his chest causing him to jerk involuntarily, he held his breath but that only made his head thud more. Man he could do with some of those painkillers Sam had dished out earlier. He glanced at his brother but there was no sign of him waking. Taking a few moments he decided that it would be worth enduring a little more hurting to get the pills and the relief they offered.
The idea had been a bad one. The second Dean moved he was swept with a wave excruciating pain followed uncompromising nausea. He nearly lost it all over his brother and despite his misery Dean couldn't help the slight smirk as he imagined his Sam's reaction to being woken by Dean puking all over him. Then disgusted at himself for such a thought he nearly lost it all over again. Slowly, head swimming with a dizzying vertigo to add to the thudding pain he reached around Sam for the backpack.
Finger tips brushed the rough canvas and Dean had to force himself to push the last couple of inches that allowed him to grip and pull the bag towards him. Desperately he fumbled the clasps, pinching skin as he slid them open.
"Sonofa..."
He sucked at the blood blister filling on the fleshy part of his index finger before reapplying himself to getting into the GODDAMNED BAG! Frustration made him clumsier but eventually he found the inner pocket that contained the medical kit.
The water felt good as it slid down his throat washing away the chalky taste of the pills. How long till they kicked in? Dean squinted at his watch only to find a crazy lattice of cracks covering the face. Damn it he must have got smashed when he fell. This set his brain wondering irrelevantly as to how he'd come this far without noticing it was broken. Had he not checked the time since he'd gone over the cliff? How much time had passed, how many days? He searched the pathways of his brain but the answers eluded him getting lost in the thudding, throbbing cadence in his head.
Eventually he made the decision to give up thinking, closed his eyes and rested back doing his best to ignore the scraping bracken under him; gradually and without meaning to he drifted into an unsettled sleep.
XXxxxxxxxxxx
It was the sun on his face that woke Sam. The warmth seeping in with the light from the planking's knotholes, encroaching on his sleep, coaxing him from the dream world with its gentle heat. Still tired he resisted but slowly his muscles demanded attention protesting at his frame's slumped attitude. He stretched, yawning, easing his lean form from its stiffness and unfolding his limbs.
Cramp gripped his side shooting up from his hip to his chest. "S**t." Rolling, extending the right side of his torso, arm over his head he arched backwards, holding the extension until the pain eased.
Carefully Sam allowed himself to straighten, testing the sore muscles allowing them to relax gradually all the while waiting for the griping pain to start again. He was not in good shape he'd been driving himself hard pushing beyond tiredness, sleeping but not resting and he felt weary to the bone. On top of this the racoon had hurt him profoundly, sending spasms of racking pain through his body and even though there had been no actual physical trauma it had drained him further leaving a deep aching weakness in his muscles.
Inhaling, filling his lungs, he forced away the pain dragging at him and leant over to check on Dean, lightly placing a hand on his brother's forehead.
"I'm fine!" Dean's voice was stable and mildly pissed. "You can stop groping me now." Sam withdrew his hand and grinned to himself it was good to hear Dean's drollness he'd missed its dry presence. Dean always had some stupid comment or sarcastic quip for these moments and although mostly cringeworthy and didn't lessen the actual danger they always made Sam feel less overwhelmed, like they had a choice, a chance.
"How's the head?"
"Peachy."
Dean was tough and used to injury but you couldn't mess with head wounds. Sam was pretty sure that his brother was suffering from concussion. There was no way anyone could hit their head that hard, twice, and not be. He'd been almost certain the first time around that there'd been no internal bleeding. However, the second trauma had compounded the previous damage and earlier Dean had definitely not been on the right page.
"You wanna try sitting up?"
"What's with the twenty questions?" Dean shifted, curling further and Sam didn't miss the sound of his brother's breath being sucked in. He was obviously still in a considerable amount of pain.
Raking his teeth on his bottom lip Sam realised he was going to have to re-evaluate his brother's physical condition. He would rather have done it with his sibling's full co-operation but Dean being Dean Sam knew he was going to have to read between the lines or rather the stoic silences and witticisms to get a true picture.
Years of experience told Sam not to relax his vigilance over his sibling. Dean might sound better but that didn't mean he was fit enough for the rigors of a mountain hike but at least, judging by his brother's last utterance, Dean was beginning to regain some of his gritty acumen.
Scanning the hut Sam thought over the events of the previous night. Clearly Dean hadn't killed the thing or even hurt it and he felt a surge of healthy hatred well up inside him. He quashed it reminding himself that he needed to keep a cool head. However it set his mind thinking. Sam wasn't sure how the shapechanging worked with a deity; whether the creature was corporeal and had a physical presence or if it was an illusion or caused an illusory state in the observer. Whatever it certainly smelt! He wrinkled his nose as the damp fur aroma suddenly seemed stronger.
He checked around the hut but everything seemed as it had been. The door was still shut tight. He contemplated going over and giving it another try but as the last forty eight times had proved fruitless he decided it could wait.
"Dean?"
"I'm asleep, Sammy."
"Why a racoon?"
"I dunno maybe it was the only fur coat left in the shop."
"No," Sam paused, "I think there's more to it."
It certainly wasn't the most pleasing form the deity could have chosen. That was assuming the lore was correct and it could take on any visage it desired. The owl he could understand; a swift, deadly killer with amazing night vision but a racoon?
Recalling some of his research on a previous hunt Sam remembered that the name racoon came from a Algonquin Indian word 'arkunem' meaning hand scratcher. Not that knowing the etymology of the word helped the situation any.
He scrunched his brow trying to connect the threads of information in his brain. Racoons were certainly resourceful and adaptable with amazingly dextrous paws and an insatiable curiosity but they also had the reputation for bad tempered ferocity. All the attributes the creature had displayed. Sam was beginning to realise that perhaps that it wasn't such a strange choice. Either the deity had acquired the characteristics of a racoon or the creature fitted the deity's own personality perfectly.
Dredging through his knowledge of animal lore he recalled that the racoon's black band mask represented secrecy and disguise coupled with transformation, yeah the more he thought about the more the racoon ticked a lot of this particular forest spirit's boxes.
Sighing Sam shook his head Dean had been right when he'd called him a walking encyclopaedia of weird. He gazed unfocused and sifted through his mind turning over, firing the synapses to dig something up, anything that they could use against their captor. He had so much information but none of it helped them kill the thing; unless, Sam worried at his lip again mulling over…
XXXxxxxxxx
If he could stay still he'd be fine. He breathed and it hurt. Stay still, stay still he berated himself. He blinked and it hurt. He stayed stiller, holding his breath and blinking as little as possible but his mind wandered. Crap, thinking hurt.
"Dean? You with me?"
"Where else would I be." For information to anyone who gave a damn talking hurt too.
Dean felt more wretchedly sick than he'd swear he'd ever felt in his life. Not only the puking sort but the deep down shivering kind that made you realise how fragile and sensitive the human form was but he wasn't going to say anything to Sam. What good would it do? Didn't improve their chances of survival or make things easier or less dangerous or …
"Do you think you can sit up."
F**k no. "Yeah."
There was silence and Dean heard the scrape of Sam's boots.
"Well?"
Dean realised he hadn't moved and although he didn't look up he knew his brother was leaning over him expectantly.
"Who made you Dorm Monitor?"
"I appointed myself. I have a badge an' everything." Drawing closer Sam squatted and placed a hand on Dean's upper arm. "Let me help."
Shrugging Sam off Dean rolled and hissed it felt like the jagged end of one broken rib was grated on the other. He attempted to move more slowly giving his body time to adjust to each new position but it didn't stop the shafts of pain in his head and side as he twisted sideways to lever his torso from the floor.
He grunted with the effort and Sam hovered but didn't help it was unspoken between them; Dean needed to do this by himself. Minutes later panting, eyes tight shut he was leaning against the wooden wall sweat sheening on his forehead.
"There'd better be a damned good reason that I have to be sitting up." He opened his eyes to glare at his brother and caught the smirk before Sam had time to remove it from his features. "What the hell's made you so happy?"
The smile returned but Sam shook his head. "Nothing." Dean held his siblings gaze utterly unconvinced of his brother's sincerity. "You've found a way haven't you? You've found a way to kill the goddamned racoon." Hope surged through Dean and he shifted once again to ease the ache.
"No not kill it. Not sure you can kill a deity but…"
"But? But what…" Dean leaned forward eager for the information and instantly regretted it. His back went into spasm. "S**t…Ow! Hell, Goddamnit…" Pause. "Sonofabitch."
"Is there any other profanity you wanna try?"
"F**k."
"Make you feel better."
"No." There was a beat and then a grin spread across Dean's face. Sam joined in with one of his own as he scooted an arm around to support his brother.
"Come on you need to be standing for this."
Dean held his protest in and let Sam help him to his feet.
Totally upright was not a good experience a whirling dizziness hit him and frightened that he was going to collapse he hung onto Sam in a most unmanly-like way before swallowing, deliberately separating himself, balancing and letting go. "Okay shoot, if we can't kill it what are we going to do."
"Strip."
"What!" Of all the things his brother might have said that was the last thing he expected, in fact, he couldn't have expected it because it was so far past weird in the sway of things Sam could have said and Sam had said some pretty strange things, that it so floored him he couldn't think of anything more original to say himself than his startled exclamation.
"Strip. Boxers, everything."
Dean recovered some of his surety. "Sam I am not putting on a floor show for that thing…" He stopped because Sam was toeing off his boots and socks while popping open the button on own his jeans and sliding them down his thighs.
"Sammy!"
"I mean it Dean." Sam stepped out of the denim leaving it crumpled on the floor, shrugged off his jacket and over-shirt and pulled his T-shirt over his head.
"Do you need any help." Sam attired now in only his boxers took a pace towards him. Dean tried to back up but as he was leaning on the wall; he had nowhere to go. It wasn't that seeing Sam in his underwear was unusual, living together as they did it was unavoidable but it was – in this situation – a little disconcerting.
He put up a hand to stop Sam, "Its okay…" contacted skin to skin, hand to bare chest, almost yelped and withdrew as if he' been electrocuted. "…I can manage…" He cleared his throat deepening his voice again, "Thanks."
"'k." Sam stood back but didn't turn away.
"I'm taking this on blind faith, right."
Sam didn't answer as Dean slowly and awkwardly stripped off his T-shirt being careful to avoid his bandaged ribs and then put his hands down to flick open the button on his jeans. Reluctantly he slid the zipper down then stopped.
"You sure about this?"
"Well…" Sam hesitated. Instantly Dean zipped up again. "Dean."
"No Sammy I am not going to disrobe…"
Sam burst out laughing. "Disrobe?"
"…take my clothes off for a freaking racoon to get its kicks and if this is some kind of getting back to nature thing then…"
"No, no…" Sam was still grinning. "The Lore says that if you put your clothes on…"
"I'm putting them back on? Then why the frig am I…" Dean was now thoroughly bewildered. First Sam tells him to strip off and now his brother was saying get dressed. Dean was beginning to get the feeling he was the butt of some huge joke that no one had let him in on.
"You have to put them on inside out and back to front it disarms the spirit, confuses it … kind of…" Sam trailed off.
"Confuses it?… Kind of…"
"Yeah. Should do."
"Should?"
Dean regarded his brother as Sam shrugged and totally looked ridiculous stood in the middle of the hut in his worn boxers.
"Should." Dean repeated raising his eyebrows. "…And this works?"
"I can't be certain…never tried it before." Sam looked sheepish and again Dean, again, was struck how young he looked.
"Okay…" Hands once again on his fly Dean using a lot of faith slowly opened his jeans and let them fall and then s**t, he realised that he couldn't bend to untie his boots, not without causing himself considerable pain and the possibility of blacking out.
"Sam…" He didn't have to say anymore his brother immediately saw his predicament and knelt untying the laces, easing the boots and socks from Dean's extremities, then helped him step out the jeans.
It was then that Dean saw Sam's feet. He frowned, "Geeze Sam what happened?"
"Oh it's nothing."
Dean couldn't pull his eyes away from the cuts and bruises that covered his brother's feet. One particularly red and sore looking contusion went the full length from ankle to toe.
"Sam that's not nothing."
"You took the American Airlines route down the cliff I had to climb. The rock was wet and…"
Dean understood completely. He'd had exactly the same lesson from his Dad but had never had to put it into practice in the field.
"Sammy, That's gotta hurt." He was full of concern his own pain forgotten temporarily in the face of Sam's injuries.
"S'not too bad," Sam became uncomfortable under Dean's scrutiny. "They're fine. Just shallow scrapes" Sam brushed off the attention. "D'you need some help with your boxers?"
That snapped Dean out of his shock and he clamped his hands over the thin material covering his hips, "I think I can manage that one myself thanks."
Both Winchesters then stood waiting.
"What?" Sam was puzzled at Dean's inactivity.
"Dude turn around."
Sighing and rolling his eyes Sam turned leaving Dean to manoeuvre the shorts down his legs while he attended to his own.
"So inside out."
"Yeah."
"And back to front."
"Yeah."
Dean dropped his boxers and then paused.
"What happens if I want to piss."
"Tie a knot in it."
That brought an abrupt snort from Dean and he suddenly had to slam his hand against the wood behind him as he overbalanced. He glanced up at his brother's slim naked form and was relieved that his sibling still had his back to him, this was embarrassing enough without an audience.
Leaning down Dean tried to ignore the jabbing needles of pain as he manoeuvred the material from around his ankles and turned it so the seams were visible. Then he bent and attempted to push his foot through the open gap. The boxers slipped from his grasp.
"Sonofabitch."
Wiggling his toes under the heap of cotton he lifted his foot until he could hook his fingertips into his boxers. Snagging the waistband he dragged the flimsy shorts awkwardly up his legs and snapped the elastic back into place around his hips.
He let out his breath in a sigh and relaxed his clamped jaw. "You can turn around now."
Without waiting for Sam and shivering slightly in the cool air Dean attempted the second step in what he'd named 'Operation Back to Front'. Bending his knees he leant sideways trying to retrieve his jeans from the floor. He felt foolish and hoped to hell that he didn't look as stupid as he felt. He missed by a mile, fingers grasping the air a good foot away from the pile of material.
"I'll get them."
Annoyance blasted through Dean "Goddamnit Sammy I can pick up my own pants." He tried again, failing miserably as the pain escalated to such a pitch that he had to close his eyes and hold his breath.
Silently Sam closed the gap between them picked up the offending article and turned the legs inside out. He then held the waistband low and open deliberately not looking up.
Dean thought about refusing but then the reality of trekking through bug infested forest with bare legs reared up and meekly he stepped into each leg allowing Sam to pull them up. Dean was then faced with the fact that the zip was behind him the metal tag imprinting on the fleshy part of his left butt cheek. Goddamnit, a heated flush blushed on Dean's neck and face. He couldn't … twist; he turned the other way. "S**t!"
With only momentary hesitation Sam stepped forward sliding his hand between denim and cotton. Then pinching the toggle between thumb and forefinger he tugged the zip upward in one swift movement finishing by slipping the button through the buttonhole.
Dean limped away as soon as he could and gave Sam a 'If-you-ever-mention-this-again-your-life-will-be-forfeit look. However it was wasted because Sam was head down turning Dean's worn Zepplin T-shirt inside out.
"Here."
Sam held the faded cotton out. Dean snatched it glaring but then relented and gave a grudgingly mumbled, "thanks," as he dragged it over his head. Swivelling the garment so the label was under his chin he stretched the fabric until he could get his arms in the armholes without bending or twisting his muscles too much and pulled it down to cover his bruised and bound chest.
It itched, the lettering and picture now at his back stuck to the skin and prickled where the logo and pithy saying had degraded to a cracked, pealing confusion of colour. Dean wriggled then resorted to rubbing against the wall trying to offset the discomfort without alerting Sam. Having to ask for help in dressing had been humiliating enough so there was no way he was gonna ask Sam to scratch his back. He swallowed and tried to gain back some of his swagger.
"Okay backwards boy…now what?"