The Aspen Spirit
Chapter Three
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When the light woke him, for that first miniscule sliver of time, Dean forgot that he was sick.
Then he moved.
It wasn't much of a movement, just a tiny shift in position, but it was enough to twist a knife of pain in his abdomen. He froze, fighting to control his breathing; a light gloss of sweat forming on his forehead and upper lip as an angry drumbeat started up in his lower back.
Sonofabitch! It took a while but eventually, by sheer strength of will, he forced the pain in his abdomen into a small corner of his mind, made the aching pulse from his back become almost expected, an extension of his heartbeat.
Keeping everything carefully under control, Dean rolled up slowly to a sitting position. He ran a palm over his face, wiped the moisture on the old blanket and noted without any feeling of surprise that he seemed to be running a fever.
Sam was folded in an awkward position on a hard chair next to the bunk, a chair much too small for the excessively long limbs he had sprouted over the last year or so. Dean grimaced in sympathy and prodded Sam's shoulder with a finger.
"Hey, Sammy!"
His brother shot upright with a snort, shaggy bangs dropping over his eyes.
Dean grinned at him, giving him another poke. "Hey Chewbacca! Time to get movin'."
Sam pushed his bangs aside with an offended huff. "Jeez, Dean!" He focussed properly on his brother. "You're meant to be in bed!"
"I'm okay dude." Dean waved him off. "Dad's gonna be back soon."
Sam was already on his feet, almost falling over himself as he rushed forwards and slapped a hand on Dean's forehead before he could protest.
"You're still hot. You've got a fever! Dad isn't here! Why isn't Dad here? It's light already."
Dean reeled under the onslaught, feebly trying to bat away Sam's intrusive hand without moving too much. Right now, movement equalled pain.
"Dad'll be here. I'm fine! Stop mother-henning! Dude!"
Sam retreated, scowling.
"You're sick. I'm gonna call Dad right now."
"You can't." Dean pointed out. "His cell won't be turned on."
"Well I'm gonna leave him a message. This isn't right Dean, you're sick and Dad isn't here! You shouldn't be left to deal with this by yourself. He doesn't even know you're sick, does he?"
"Sam, calm down man. I'm 20 years of age dude! I've got it, okay?"
"That's great Dean, you're a few MONTHS older than a teenager."
Dean pushed himself up slowly onto his feet, unconsciously fisting a hand against his flank. Sam's anger was gone instantly as belligerent teenager morphed into caring sibling. He reached out and took hold of Dean's arm, steadying him.
"Dean? What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
"Nah." The gloss of sweat was back on Dean's upper lip. "Yeah. Just still sore, that's all."
"When did you get hurt?" Sam frowned at him as his mind worked overtime trying to pin down a possible injury.
"Not here." Dean waved a dismissive hand. "Coupla weeks ago. Got in a bar fight, took a boot to the kidneys." He shifted miserably, wincing. "It was gettin' better. Not like I haven't had bruised kidneys before. Then after all that trekking around with Dad… I dunno…"
"Let me see." Sam was already easing the jacket sleeves down his arms. He dropped the jacket on the bunk and lifted up Dean's shirts.
"This was two weeks ago? That's one hell of a bruise." Sam's fingers ghosted over the skin, his face scrunching up in sympathy. "You can still see the boot tread." His eyes measured the length and number of the marks. "That was a big guy. He kicked you more than once, huh?"
"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes, swallowed. There'd been a moment when he'd been on his side on the dirty wooden floor, with the man's boot thudding into his back and he'd wondered if he was going to be able to get up or if this was it, the moment he bought it, in some meaningless bar fight in a hick town in the middle of nowhere.
Sam yanked open the medical kit, hissing in surprised annoyance at the number of empty packets of anti-inflammatories and painkillers. "It was getting better. Right."
"It was. I would've told Dad if it wasn't."
"If he was here to tell." Sam moved around him, checking his side and abdomen with a frown. He pressed gently. "This is still swollen."
Dean didn't answer, only his slow blink showing how much that had hurt. Sam watched him with narrowed eyes, then carefully, deliberately, pressed a finger into the shuddering skin between Dean's hip bone and his ribs. Dean went white, his nostrils pinching as his breath huffed out in a gasp.
"Sam! Don't do…" The protest was cut off. Dean swallowed hard and lurched the short distance to the cabin door. He threw it open, taking just a couple of steps before he bent over and vomited helplessly onto the floor, little coming up but strings of bile and drool.
He stayed there for a while, supporting himself with his hands on his knees and spitting. Behind him the sharp tones of Sam's angry message to John's answerphone reached a crescendo and then ceased abruptly. His brother's knees appeared alongside his face.
"You done?" Dean's voice was gruff. He spat again.
"Are YOU done?" Sam laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah." I'm so done.
"Dad needs to get up here. You need a clinic."
"I'm okay." Think I might need the hospital Sammy.
Dean straightened with difficulty, leaning back against the wall and hoping Sam couldn't see that his legs were shaking. He was expecting some over-enthusiastic mother-henning and was mildly surprised when Sam didn't deliver. His brother was staring at the trees.
"Dean? Someone's coming."
A small figure came into view against the aspens. A woman, pale hair bright against her dark coat. She waved at them, the gestures frantic, her voice made reedy by the distance.
"Help! Please! Help!"
Dean crowded Sam back through the doorway and grabbed his shotgun.
"You stay here; I've got this."
"What!" Sam slid a machete under his canvas jacket. "Are you kiddin' me! You can barely stand up!"
"Dude! Stay here! I'm in charge 'til Dad gets back." Dean brushed past his outraged brother and set off towards the trees, running on pure adrenaline and knowing already that if he stopped, if it turned out to be nothing serious, the dump of that same adrenaline through his kidneys would probably put him on the floor.
Sam hovered outside the cabin, indecisive, torn between obeying and needing to support his ailing brother. In the end, his stubborn nature prevailed and he started after Dean's jogging figure. His brother had a good head start and had reached the woman by the time Sam covered half the distance. He could see her talking in an animated fashion, gesturing to the trees, although it was too far away to hear the words.
Dean looked back at him, his expression unreadable from that distance, just the pale gleam of his face standing out against the bright backdrop of golden aspen. He held up his hand, palm towards Sam.
Sam slowed, coming to an uncertain halt as his brother suddenly backed away from the woman. He was saying something and Sam strained his ears, his hand closing on the handle of the machete.
The woman laughed, a sharp noise that travelled. Dean raised his shotgun, shaking his head. She rushed towards him. Dean fired, the shotgun blast echoing in the open space. She disappeared.
"Shit!" Sam was already running, his long legs eating up the ground.
Dean kept the shotgun up, head turning as he scanned warily around. When she reappeared, the woman was right next to him. Sam saw her smile as she wrestled the shotgun away from his brother with superhuman strength and tossed it away. He leaped forwards over the tussocks of grass, oddly aware of the slow arc of the shotgun through the air. It fell out of sight into the grasses as Dean swung with his iron knife and the spirit vanished with a shriek.
Sam felt the icy air behind him and was up-ended, mid-stride, onto his face as she slammed into him from the rear. He got his head up in time to see her materialise again behind his brother. She struck out, the thud of the blow clearly audible as it connected with the small of Dean's back. Dean dropped to his knees, teeth bared in agony, then toppled slowly forwards onto his face.
Sam staggered to his feet, shouting something as he ran. It was too late. The spirit dropped her knees onto Dean's back; Sam heard him scream into the wet ground and then she was gone, dragging his brother away into trees.
"Dean! DEAN!"
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Thanks so much for reading this new fic! And thanks for the reviews, it's always great to know what you're think of the story so far.
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Duxe, Minion79, celinenaville, mckydstarlight, iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife, waitingforAslan, ngregory763, onanickle, Beakers47, babyreaper, lenail125, MicheleChadwick, Kathy, DearHart, and Irreality.