WAY OUT WEST
Chapter 8
The boys begin to put their nightmare behind them, and start to discover a few answers.
xxxxx
Sam slipped an arm behind his brother's shoulders helping him sit up in the hospital bed, busily plumping and rearranging the pillows behind him. Dean winced, sucking in a tight breath as his newly stitched wound protested sharply at the change in position.
Overnight, and much to Sam's incalculable relief, Dean had drifted awake a few hours after his emergency appendectomy, and promptly wished he hadn't.
His pained moans had so concerned Sam that, as much as he wanted his brother awake, he felt compelled to press the button to deliver a welcome shot of morphine into Dean's IV, watching in relief as he stilled and quietened, slipping back into a pain-free slumber.
This afternoon, however, Dean's wakefulness was for real; he was alert - and vocal.
"Jeez Sam; feels like someone's taken a knife and fork to my friggin' belly," he groaned, chewing his lip against the stinging bite of the incision and trying wearily to position himself in a manner that didn't hurt.
"Well, I suppose, in a way, they kinda did…" Sam grinned down at his brother and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Dean's face, wearing his patented 'trapped in hospital' scowl, still hovered somewhere between queasily grey and bloodlessly white, even his smattering of freckles looked pale.
Sam had to stifle a smile; Dean's hospital gown swamped him, looking at least three sizes too big as he gradually sunk down into the mound of pillows behind him.
Dean did this every time and it amused Sam no end; he seemed somehow to physically shrink when he was in hospital. Sam never understood how he managed it, how could his six foot, 180 pound brother be lying there looking for all the world like a pissed-off sixth grader?
Sam decided to break the moody silence; "the doctor says you've got to try to get up and walk around," he explained.
"s'at mean I can leave?" Dean's eyes brightened.
Sam rolled his eyes; "No, it means you can get up and walk around."
Dean sighed melodramatically; wincing again, he reached under the bedclothes.
"Dude," Sam scolded, "knock it off with the scratchin' will you?"
"Can' help it, I friggin' itch," Dean responded sourly, "they nearly gave me the full freakin' Brazilian."
Sam grimaced, swallowing back a momentary queasiness as he desperately tried without success to unhear what Dean had just said. "Too much information, man." He groaned, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the thought.
Dean ignored him and carried on scratching enthusiastically.
xxxxx
They both turned as the door opened and Bobby marched through followed by a solemn Castiel.
"Hey kid;" Bobby's grizzled face lit up into a beaming smile at the sight of the elder Winchester sitting propped up in the bed.
"Ya look like crap, boy but it's good to see ya up an' awake."
Dean looked up Bobby with a droopy smile as the older man's calloused fingers squeezed the back of his neck.
"I might look like crap but at least I'm not an ol' relic," Dean snorted gruffly in response, his smile warming at the older man.
Castiel watched the exchange, his head canted in curiosity; "Good morning Dean," he smiled awkwardly, "I am very pleased to see that you are not dead."
Dean choked out a barking laugh, gasping as his tender undercarriage protested violently at the action.
"Ahhh, isn't that nice Dean," Sam grinned as he patted Dean's shoulder, but going no further; he was quite happy to allow Dean to take care of rubbing the painful bit.
Castiel gazed down at his friend through mournful blue eyes; "I am sorry that I was not able to retrieve you," he sighed.
Smiling back at the despondent angel, Dean replied, "s'okay Cas', Sam tol' me what happened; Bobby explained it all while I was being sliced up an' you were wrestlin' with the coffee machine."
He regarded the sorrowful face that stared down at it's feet, unable to meet his gaze.
"Hey Cas', I can't believe Bobby's soul was so old and decrepit, it couldn't heal you properly." Dean couldn't hide his grin as his eyes flickered up towards the older man standing, arms folded indignantly across his chest, beside him.
"It did not have enough energy and vigour to be able to ..." Castiel withered beneath the weight of Bobby's glare; "I will be quiet now."
xxxxx
Bobby yawned, scratching his head under his cap; "how ya doin' boy?" he asked with genuine concern in his tired eyes.
"Good, I guess; not hurtin' like I was before; just real sore where freakin' Doctor Crippen carved me up."
Sam rolled his eyes again; "yeah, he's all slashed up real bad, Bobby, it was complete and utter butchery; must be, ooh, two inches long." He turned to grin at his sulking brother, then turned back to look at the older man; "Y'ok Bobby? You look beat."
"Bin doin' some research;" Bobby's heavy, reddened eyes and slumped shoulders were plain for all to see. It was the demeanour of a man who hadn't slept all night.
"So I see." Sam smiled.
"I've bin takin' a look into spider lore, and I came up with something interesting;" Bobby began, dropping heavily into the seat beside the bed. "What did you say the old lady's name was?" he looked up at Sam as he spoke.
Sam thought hard; he hadn't remembered too much of the conversation with the mysterious old lady; being out of your mind with grief-stricken fear will do that for you.
Eventually, he spoke; "she said she was their grandmother."
Bobby seemed to ponder for a moment before looking back up at Sam; "whose grandmother?"
Shaking his head, Sam looked across at Dean who shrugged. "She looked like a native Indian; so I guess she was talkin' about her tribe or something'."
"Did she have a name?"
He looked at Sam then across at Dean.
"Dunno;" Dean sighed, "I was too busy concentrating on the fact my guts were on fire. Don' remember much after throwin' up over that sonofabitch sherriff's boots."
Sam gestured with his hand to silence him, and a spark of memory lit in his mind; "yeah," he replied hesitantly, "yeah, she did say her name, something beginning with S … supper? … submarine? … shuffle? …"
"Subbeka'she?" Bobby suggested.
Sam's eyes widened; "That's it!; Subbeka'she; that's what she said; I'm sure of it!"
Dean's brow furrowed; "sub-a-what?"
"Subbeka'she;" Sam repeated.
Bobby nodded. "Well, it would fit; the spider is the totem of the subbeka'she Indians who originated centuries ago," he explained.
"They hold spiders sacred, their ancient legends say that the founders of their tribe were spun from spider silk."
Ice blue, soft green, and liquid hazel regarded him unblinking as he continued the story.
"They refer to the spider as the grandmother of their tribe; and their lore says that she spun the web of time, and that she is still spinning it, constantly winding outward and outward as time goes on. They say that she can move across that web, back and forth, moving through time, so she can always be there to protect her family until the end of time."
Sam squinted, pinching his furrowed brows; "But …"
"'Course, nothing's ever been proved;" Bobby added, "but there are ancient cave paintings and wood carvings within the tribe that point to a knowledge of the future; stuff that looks like rocket ships and twentieth century buildings."
Dean tried to rationalise what he was hearing; "So she …"
"She was a spider," Sam interjected; "she was a spider and she turned into this old lady."
"What you met wasn't a woman." Bobby concluded; " she was a benign spirit; the spirit totem of her tribe."
Sam looked down at his brother who was still trying to process what he was hearing. "So … that butt-fugly creepy-crawly thing we kept seeing … that's what saved us?"
"Looks like you two got yourself a guardian angel;" smiled Bobby.
Dean glanced up at the angel standing over him; "looks like you got yourself some competition;" he teased.
"But, Bobby, I don't get it;" asked Sam, a thoughtful look on his face; "why would she help us? We're not her people."
Bobby shrugged. "Sorry son, that's where I run out of ideas." he flopped back against the chair.
Xxxxx
The Winchesters' guests left after a few hours, leaving the brothers to a peaceful evening.
In between increasingly brief waking periods during which Dean snarked and complained; demanding coffee, chocolate and anything remotely alcoholic, and frustrated Sam by examining, prodding and scratching his sore spot; he drowsed peacefully, leaving Sam quietly watching over him in his restful, healing sleep as he pondered what Bobby had told them.
Sam had no idea what had gone on back there in that jail cell, but one thing he did know.
He'd make damn sure he never stomped on a spider again.
Xxxxx
tbc