Dean sank into the depths of the sofa and found the straw with his tongue. The thick, cold, shake felt good against his raw throat and though he wasn't hungry, he was thirsty so he decided to ignore what Sam was doing – going to do – and enjoy the creamy treat. Besides, with the way he felt, there wasn't anything he could do about Sam.
What had Sam given him again? His prescription…right…yeah…..that was it, now what the fuck was it? Sam hadn't been happy about it, that much Dean remembered. Huh….it was….he felt…..he didn't have…..oh crap. Probably an op…opi…..opry, yeah that was it. That was what Sam didn't like him to have 'cause he didn't always respond well to strong meds. He snickered, well, huh, surprise, surprise…..good ole Sammy had allowed him to have it.
Weeeee-eeeeee!
Aah,….pain meds were great, no need to fight them. He felt good, no aches, no pains, no discomfort. He was snug and warm and comfy and safe; the room was quiet, the night peaceful…..no worries, no concerns, no threats, just Sam teasing him about a bubble bath….wait, what? Memories returned and his peace shattered. Baths and compresses and sponges, no…just no. What the hell was the kid thinking? Asking him to drink that foul concoction of….…he paused mid-slurp, creamy pink milkshake bubbling on his lips and dribbling down his chin. He chased it with his tongue. Oh-Dear-God, did Sam expect him to drink more of that evil brew? What had he said? It was for the swelling? No, just no. Sorry Sammy, but no, nuh-uh…..one time deal brother-o-mine.
Swelling! Ha, where?! And what bruises? Show him one bruise…..well….he frowned. Okay, yeah, maybe his ear could be…might be….well, it looked black and blue, but bruised? Nah! You couldn't bruise your ear! Could you? And it most certainly was not swollen! Er, right?
And just where did Sam get off saying anything was swollen? Oh wait, he did have three knees, for his left leg sported two and between his pudgy toes and puffy ankle, his left foot rivaled his head for claim to largest part of his body and oh yeah…. there was his hip….he'd been taking a piss and….wow, lookit that, his fingers on his left hand…where were his knuckles? Shouldn't he have like – ten? Two on each finger and he had five fingers and huh...was his wrist wider than his hand?! And Oh! Oh, his elbow, he'd noticed that too while trying to balance on one foot and pee and oh, right….whoa…hey, it was all the left side of his body!
He sucked and sipped and swallowed more milkshake, trying to quell his rising panic and not shout like a little girl crying for her mother so his brother would come running. Yeah, he didn't succeed. Cursed? He was cursed?! Sam had said he was cursed. He spit, feet flailing.
"SAM!" he fought the couch and the couch won. He sunk lower, deeper into its depths and the fingers and arms it had sprouted wrapped around him and held him tight. "SAM!" panic, oh-good-doing, Dean. Yeah, flip out, that'll help. "SAM!"
"Hey, hey, hey." goofy-grinned Garth loomed over him. "Hey now, what's all this noise about?"
"Where's Sam?" he wavered between pouting and scowling. Dammit, he wanted Sam, not Garth. "SAM!"
"Hey, hey, pipe down. Stop yelling, he's not hear to hear you." Garth was way too happy and Dean itched to slap him sad. "He's out looking for a tree." Garth explained, attempting to help him sit up but Dean fought both him and the sofa. "Dean, hey, come on, just trying to help here."
"We have…plumbing." Dean scowled. "Try again."
"No, no….he, ah, kinda…..he…..needs a specific tree." Garth took the milkshake and set it on the table. "So, how you doing? Pain meds kicking in yet? Should be….how you feeling?"
"What'r you doin' here?" he was finally sitting up, feet on the floor. "What'm I doin' here?" he looked around. "Where the fuck are we?"
"Now, now, just calm down." Garth made a motion with his hands, palms to the floor. "Everything's good…no need to fight me. Sam'll be right back then we'll get you in the tub…."
"I ain't taking no bath and someone had better tell me what the fuck's going on or I'll start bouncing heads off walls until someone starts talking." effects and reactions to pain meds could be conquered if – when – the effort to do so was put forth.
Garth gulped, took a step back and swallowed repeatedly. It was no use; the lump remained lodged in this throat. How come Dean had been all dopey/mopey with Sam but with Garth, he was all lucid and coherent and full of threats? It wouldn't be Sam's head being bounced off a wall. Oh no, Mr. My-nose-bleeds-and-I-pass-out-on-little-old-ladies was still strong enough to take on Dean. Sure, let Sam be around and the elder Winchester would succumb to the effects of curses and pain killers and be manhandled and manipulated but lordy-lo, let him be alone and waa-laa! He was all bright-eyed and clear-headed, ready to take on anyone who stood in his way of getting answers.
Garth sighed.
"Okay, chill out big guy." Garth began, prepared to flee should Dean gain his feet and be able to remain standing. "See….we were on a hunt and you fell down the steps, remember? We went to the ER and you passed out or something 'cause they – someone at the hospital – called Sam, who and I dunno why, was already in Lemay but you'd left by the time he got to the ER but then you went back, cause you'd left your phone there and they called Sam again and when he found you, you were hopped up on whatever they shot you up with so he put you in the car and started to drive back to…..your aah, hideout in Kansas, but you…asked to stop…..there was a detour 'cause of the rain and we're like in the middle of nowhere and the motel was booked so Sam rented this cabin. We…found a town about fifty miles away….see it's ten to the motel and then twenty some more to the town….I know, I know…it's not really fifty miles but…..ok…okay, right….you're losing patience, I can tell…just wipe that look off your face." Garth said quickly. "And so while we were in town…..we got the ingredients we need to break or fight or counteract the curse except – only – I couldn't get the exact ingredients for some of the things the cure calls for….well not, really a cure but…..right, right, straying again….okay, so anyway…Sam… he said everything will work except the store in town…tiny little ma and pa…and you don't care….okay well, see….."
"Garth…..just spit out where Sam is and why."
"I told you…he went to find a tree….see I got everything needed for the swelling and the bruising but the fever….well..."
"What fever?"
"Yours."
"I'm not running a fever!" Dean put his palm to his forehead. "Am I?"
"Yeah, dude…you are."
"Why would Sam need a…?" Dean frowned, trying to think. "NO! Oh no. nononononono…oh hell no! I hate that fucking tea!"
"See, the talisman cure calls for specific…"
"No."
"We gotta keep your fever down…."
"Yeah, and it's called Tylenol." Dean pushed to his feet, swayed on two feet, lifted his left from the floor and promptly planted his ass on the sofa. "DAMMIT!"
"You're good Dean." Garth assured him. "Sam's taking care of….."
"I'm not drinking any willow bark tea." Dean stated flatly. Garth was impressed Dean knew what Sam searching for a specific tree without it being named meant. "Or taking a fucking bubble bath or being sponged down with vinegar and covered with compresses." he was once again on his feet – foot – this time supporting his weight by holding onto the back of the sofa. Where he thought he could go unaided or what he thought he was going to do was something Garth hadn't figured out.
"Yeah, you are." neither had heard Sam come in but there he was, reaching for his brother who extended an arm to ward him off. "What the hell is he doing up Garth? I told you to keep him quiet and on the sofa." he smacked Dean's hand down, shooting Garth a look that spoke volumes of what he thought about Garth allowing Dean to get up. "Bath isn't ready yet, water's still heating."
Right, Garth snorted, like he had any control over Dean's thoughts and/or movements. Right back atcha Sammy ole boy! You went out and left him with me – not that Garth could identify a willow tree or know how much bark was needed or how to retrieve it – and, I don't see you having much success putting him where you want him either.
Dean protested Sam's attempts to grab him and a feminine slap-fight ensued. Garth stood, watching and grinning, bets on Sam. The slap-fest lasted longer than Garth would have thought; Dean one-handed, Sam taking most of the slaps to avoid hitting his brother anywhere on his left side. It ended when Dean lost his balance, put weight on his left leg without thinking about the consequences and ended up in Sam's arms who none-to-gently deposited him back on the sofa.
"No use fighting me Dean, curse isn't going to let you win." Sam told him. "Stop fighting the pain meds and go with it….I don't need you awake to toss you in the tub or to get you outta it."
"Might be better if you were unconscious." Garth added helpfully. "And I'm here to help Sam."
Identical looks of doom were thrown his way and he made the motion of zipping his lips, turning the key and tossing it away. Yeah sure, the brothers fought one another until they had a reason to unite and face an opponent together, then whoever had taken sides prior, had better run for their very life. Sam went to pour water into the tub from the boiling pots, set Garth to pumping more water to boil, and added a couple buckets of cold water.
Having been left on the sofa, dazed in a haze of fighting being under the influence, his emotions masked and guiding his actions, Dean allowed himself to be lifted from the sofa when they came for him. Using Garth and Sam as crutches, he limped and hopped and was finally carried to the bathroom where they attempted to deposit him in a tub of barely warm water and…what the hell – JESUS CHRIST - yes-indeedy sweetie, foamy, frilly, smelly…..bubbles.
Oh hell, no! There was no way in hell Sam was going to give him a bubble bath! No, no, no….just let him try….oh, he might succeed in getting Dean in the tub but there was no way, no way in hell, Sam would get him to remain there! Soon as Sam's back was turned, he'd crawl out on his belly if he had to….and aww, crap, Sam wasn't leaving! Sam wasn't letting go of him, going down on his knees next to the tub and maneuvering one limb at a time until at some point every inch of Dean was submerged under water, his head included – his lips sputtered and bubbles fluttered.
No amount of coughing, choking, sputtering, cursing, threatening or pleading diverted Sam from his task, even his hair was scrubbed with bubbles. Sam patiently continued his quest, his hands gentle as he held, moved and positioned Dean as he wanted him. Either Sam had grown four arms or Garth wielded the wash cloth. But….? Dean squirmed and a hand rested against his chest and a soft voice told him to put, they were almost done.
The movements and holds and grips were secure and steady, sure in their chore…..no fumbling or shaking - neither rough nor harsh – and overly familiar. When Dean was allowed to pop his head above water after what had better be his final dunking, he managed to open his eyes and once the soap running down his face was wiped away, only Sam's face hovered about his. Something to be thankful for - no Garth.
The grip was firm yet gentle as the cloth see-sawed between his toes – ever-so-gently-on his left foot, stopping when he jerked or muffled a curse or cry, waiting until he'd relaxed before starting again. The worst over, the cloth moved on: over his hands, between his fingers, up his arms, behind his ears, down his neck, across his shoulders, down his back, under the back of his knees, the crease of elbows and arm pits - gingerly and with a slight degree of difficulty on his left but with dogged determination, nonetheless – his forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, chin, throat before coming to his clavicle and finally stopping.
He forced his eyes opened and glared. If that touchy-feely jerk dared to go any lower or slide one finger under the elastic of Dean's briefs, he'd never again regain proper use of that hand. Not even Sam was brave or stupid enough, depending on how you chose to look at it, to challenge those bright, hard green eyes that held an edge and conveyed a clear message. Sam chewed on his lip, contemplating life with a crippled hand and acquiesced without reprimand.
"Aah….here." the cloth was pressed into his hand. No further words needed to be said, intent and directions were conveyed with the transfer of the wash cloth. "Start where I stopped." he was ordered. "Every bit of you Dean. If you don't do it…I will." Dean growled and splashed water in Sam's face. He took the hint and got to his feet, backing off and though Dean kept his eyes closed, he was pretty damn sure Sam didn't leave the bathroom.
Finally, the humiliating bath was over. Dean was lifted out of the tub, set on his feet – foot – told to stand still – like that was possible – toweled off and ordered to raise his right arm over his head and not move. Not gonna happen. He didn't fight the hands that settled on either side of his ribcage to help give him balance or offer a protest until his left arm was taken and carefully, gently, pulled away from his side. Shushing followed by a symphony of sorry, sorry, sorry, in a gentle, patient tone was enough for him to allow the manipulation.
He thought he voiced a question as to what was being spritzed all over him, but if he did, he went ignored. He heard murmuring, muffled voices; right, Garth had joined them. His nose twitched at the scent enveloping him, face scrunching up as he fought not to sneeze. A sneeze would likely knock him off his feet – foot, Garth would never be able to hold him up.
For the love of all that was holy, how long did they intend to spray him? How big was the fucking bottle? Were they going to use it all?
His chin was held, his fact tilted, a thumb held his eyelashes against his cheek and his eyelids, his freaking eyelids, were sprayed, first one, then the other. First sprayed, then massaged; nose, lips, ears, his left caressed at his whimper of distress….again at his toes and fingers and back of his knees…..one arm pit. It'd been easy to slide a hand with a wash cloth under his arm but he simply wasn't capable of raising his left arm over his head to allow spritzing...and that had better be a fucking q-tip in his ear!
Now a hand was sliding between his side and his arm. It tickled, and something was dripping down his side. His arm was carefully moved away from his body - again - and held while whatever they were spritzing him with was dabbed and rubbed in. Oh Christ, this was beyond embarrassing, it was humiliating! It went on…his legs, his feet, his back, his neck, shoulders, chest, belly…belly button…..
He shuddered…..whoa….his hand snagged the wrist holding the bottle and he forcefully gained possession – there were something's he was still capable of doing himself. Every bit on him indeed! God, he was beyond mortified. Finally, Sam was satisfied and he was pushed onto the tub side and handed a pair of dry briefs. He was offered water but when he declined with a shake of his head, the cup was withdrawn and he was alone, given several minutes to dress and regroup.
Several minutes? Not nearly long enough. His breath still hadn't been caught and he'd yet to work through just what he'd been subjected to when they came to get him. Now he was being told to lie down, right side against the back of the sofa and ordered to hold still while a sponge ghosted every inch of skin that was bruised and/or swollen. The water was warm, the sponge soft, the touch gentle and though the sponge bath didn't cause him any pain, it did at times tickle, making him squirm. All he could do was wonder if perhaps it wasn't washing off all the bubble bath and spray they'd seemed determined to drown him in.
Finally, Sam appeared to tire of repeatedly holding the sponge against his toes, ankle, knee, hip, wrist, fingers, elbow, shoulder and ear and Dean sighed in relief, muscles relaxing as tension eased off. He expected his nice warm fuzzy fleece to be tossed over him, was looking forward to pulling it over his shoulders, letting his eyes close and…..son-of-a-bitch! He jerked, attention snapping front and center – lo and behold – he was being spritzed again! This time though, it was only where the sponge had touched him. His grumbling, groaning, grousing and moaning about his misery was pooh-poohed and shushed and he was offered crushed ice. Ha, as if!
That had to be it, right? Nothing else to do to him, he was bathed, dressed, tucked up all safe and sound on the sofa, just give him his blanket and he'd….and oh hell…what now? More whispers, more grabby hands, the schnick of a cap, he sniffed….yeah, like he could smell anything after being drowned in women's bubble bath and body spray. A hand on his shoulder, fingers on his ear…..some kind of lotion…cool, gel-like…..oh what the hell…..he gave in, gave up, quit, whatever…..he'd had enough.
Let Sam do whatever the fuck he wanted.
The aloe lotion rubbed in, more spray spritzed, and comfrey compresses applied, Sam covered his slumbering sibling, who had finally stopped fighting and succumbed to the pain meds, with a blanket. Garth was cleaning up, putting more water on to heat and waiting to pour the tea at Sam's command.
"Sam, hey…." Garth came out of the bathroom. Sam sat on the coffee table. "I added fresh water in the tub….take a bath…..while he's asleep…I'll watch him."
"I'm good."
"I know you don't like me very much right now and you're kinda mad at me for Dean getting hurt and his shoulder being messed up and maybe even for him being cursed….but you gotta let me help."
"Garth…."
"You ain't well Sam. I don't know what your problem is, and I ain't askin' but you're shaking and short of breath and you keep getting nose bleeds…..if it's stress, it's doing a number on you buddy."
"The tea ready?"
"Uh, guess." Garth frowned, Sam had made the tea, all Garth was going to do was add hot water. "Want me to add the honey or…..?"
"No…." Sam got up and walked over to the kitchen where he added powdered vanilla creamer to the cup of hot tea. Dean didn't like 'frothy', girly flavoring added to his coffee but perhaps he wouldn't resist quite so much over drinking the tea if it had added flavor. Sam snorted, right, who was he kidding?
"Hey, you…sit down." Garth kicked a chair out with his foot. "You hungry? I got soup and subs at the store."
"No." he rubbed his forehead with his palm, sitting down with a tired sigh.
"When did you last eat?"
Sam shrugged, it didn't matter. He sat until his head cleared, then got to his feet, picked up the mug of tea and approached the sofa. Dean refused the offer but Sam was persistent and forceful and once again, Dean drank something he did not want. By the time Sam was done wrangling Dean into a position he could drink the tea without choking on it, Sam was sweating and splashed with the first two mugs of tea. Dean, in his drug-induced, slightly feverish state, couldn't be reasoned with and this time, Sam had to use out-right dominant force to get the tea down his brother's throat.
"He moves…..sit on him." Sam said tiredly, straightening up and cracking his back. "I'm gonna go wash up in the lake…" he held a hand up to ward off Garth's protests. "Just to get off most of the dirt. I've still got mud in places…" he shook his head. "Then I'll come in and take a hot bath."
"And eat."
"Sure…sure….."
"You said we gotta do all this again in twelve hours?" Garth asked morosely.
"Yup, until the swelling comes down." Sam tucked Dean's left foot under the blanket. "The severe swelling anyway."
"How will we know the difference?"
"Between swelling from the fall and swelling from the curse?" Sam clarified, Garth nodded. "I'll know." he added quietly. "The swelling shouldn't get any worse…if the sandalwood works…uh…thanks for lighting the incense….and the candles were a good thought."
Garth beamed. Now this was teamwork. Sam wasn't such a bad dude after all. He might be all gruff and tuff and he might bite, but his teeth didn't break skin.
"You watch him." Sam ordered, finger poking Garth's chest. "You let him fall off that sofa and I will shoot both your knee caps."
So much for a relationship with Sam.
***000***
Sam sat on the coffee table, watching his brother go through the various stages of his body fighting the talisman's charm as the cure/antidote counteracted its affects. He kept Dean on his back, left foot elevated with ice, heat packs or hot towels on his hip and shoulder.
First to hit him were chills, and he shook with shivers until his teeth chattered and his arms and chest remained dotted with goose bumps. Next were the hot flashes that caused him to break out in a heavy sweat. Sam patiently toweled him down and what bothered him the most was, this time Dean allowed it. Following those nerve-wracking hours came muscle cramps, spasms and apparently, itching. Huh, was Dean allergic to sandalwood or aloe or some ingredient in the bubble bath and spray? Well, no need to panic. They had some generic Benadryl and a couple of tablets would not only help the itchiness, it might also aid him with a deeper sleep.
No position was comfortable, none offered him relief and after an hour of listening to his brother's whines and whimpers and muffled cries, Sam cracked and went back on his word. Despite the risks of too many meds too soon; racing heart, drumming pulse, breathing learned in Lamaze class, he fed his brother more Dilaudid.
Dawn came and Dean was finally quiet, breathing normally and by all appearances asleep. No chills, slight fever, no panting, no restless movements and Sam was forced to get him up and start the bathing process all over again. By the time Sam once again had Dean settled on the sofa, bathed and sprayed and doused and compressed, he was so exhausted, he was stumbling, eyes burning with fatigue.
Stressed and sick with guilt, Sam couldn't bring himself to go some five to seven steps from the sofa and lay down on the bed. He resumed his vigil in the arm-chair near the fire, Garth having retired to the bedroom after quilt-tripping him into eating some toast. Dean was quiet and, for the time-being, sleeping peacefully so Sam felt it safe to succumb to the fatigue pulling at every muscle and nerve in his body. He built up the fire, pulled a blanket across his lap, laid his head back against the chair and…..passed out. Dean wouldn't remain quiet and still for long and Sam would take advantage while he could and nap. His last thought before darkness took over was he hoped when he awoke, Dean showed signs of having the swelling subside.