(Thank you lenail125 and Souless666. You guys will never know just how much I appreciate the reviews.)
Chapter Fourteen
If you had asked they were not moping, but Bobby wasn't blind or stupid. The damn Winchesters would go gold in moping around.
King Moper himself John Winchester loafed around the house shifting from the sitting room, the living room, to the kitchen. In the kitchen his gaze brushed against the fridge. Like it wasn't evident he was aching for a beer after his recent fall. His face would then harden and he'd move back to the sitting room and find interest in some lore book before making the same cycle.
Dean curled up with a recent Hustler magazine, but Bobby saw that not a page was turned. Not even one woman was that interesting to look at in those pages. His eyes were clouded as his mind churned violently with angry thoughts and facts that only led to more questions.
Sam ran. He only spent a small fraction of his time inside the house using his time to run or keep himself active. Despite whatever was surely cycling through the kids head Sam kept his face neutral careful to mask any emotion he may have felt.
He couldn't blame them. What was going on with their situation wasn't favorable in the least. The crazy lies, the even more overwhelming truth, the numerous questions, the traumatic feeling that all that combined left over. He was sympathetic, however after the first day Bobby was done with it. They wouldn't have the chance again.
That morning they were prepared to do the same thing they had been for the last few days. Before Sam could put his hand on the knob and before Dean picked up the magazine he'd read for the last three days Bobby smacked his hand on the table. He gave an inward chuckle at their jump.
"So you sorry princesses want to mope around, again?"
Sam wrinkled his nose. "Mope?"
"Yeah." Bobby smirked. "The second thing you Winchester's are famous for. Moping. Loafing around the house looking like your dog just got beat up." Bobby reached under the sink and pulled out the supplies he'd been collecting all that night. "Well that's not happening today. Ya'll are going to be a few Cinderella's today."
Dean's eyes bugged at the collection of spray bottles and rags. The old man was making them clean house.
"Have fun with that." John waved his hand dismissively.
"You are doing it too." Bobby shook his head firmly. "My home is a mess, no thanks to you three loafers. So we are all going to clean up." He caught Dean's petulant eyes. "Properly. None of that one wipe and done bit. My house is going to sparkle."
John frowned. "Look Singer. I may joke that we're a couple, but ease up on your female routine. My wife may be dead but I aint looking for a replacement."
"John Winchester!" Bobby growled.
"Wow, you do an amazing impression of her. I may reconsider." John rolled his eyes.
One of the rags sailed across the kitchen and landed on John's shoulder. "Smart ass. Like I said before; we are all doing it. You, you, and yes even you. Now grab a rag."
Given the boy's skill at languages Bobby had Sam pick up discarded books and put them in their respective spots, and pick up the living room. Then dust the rooms, and clean any wood surfaces. John was tasked with the kitchen cleaning piling up dishes, counters, and mopping up the floor. Dean was tasked with the bedrooms, and doing any dirty laundry found in the home. Bobby settled himself down to take care of the bathrooms. At first the jobs were met with petulant statements and stares, eventually the house was silent as the Winchesters focused on their tasks. The repetitive motions and mental checklists helping take their minds off of everything. Dean even put his headphones on and jammed to his Walkman.
It took a while but after a few hours the men all collapsed on the couch the repetitive motion of cleaning causing a slight ache in their muscles. Bobby admired his living room looking cleaner than it had in a long time, and all the books in their proper spots without a speck of dust on them. They sat in silence until Sam chuckled. His family turned to look at him.
"Dude, Dean…you should be deaf. I mean you put on your headphones but I swear I could hear the music from down here." Sam grinned wide looked over at his brother. "With the level you have your music at you won't have hearing once you make it to 40."
Dean good naturedly wrinkled his nose. "Hey, music needs to be appreciated."
"Appreciation requires to burst one's ear drum?" John twitched up an eyebrow as his face turned what one might describe as stern, and parental.
Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes up. "Right. Thanks mom and dad."
Bobby chuckled at the Winchesters new found spunk. That's all they needed was something to get their mind off of everything, at least for a few hours. He slapped the palm of his hand on the couch and stood up. "I for one am hungry, so I'll make us some late lunch."
"No." Sam stood up easily out matching Bobby's height. He gave his uncle an appreciative glance. "I got it."
Dean groaned and pushed up from the couch giving a casual shrug. "I guess I'll help, too. Sam may catch the place on fire."
Sam puffed out an unamused breath. "It was an accident, and I was seventeen."
John ticked up an eyebrow. "You caught your sleeve on fire, and by proxy your hair..."
"Seeing as I need constant observation; why don't you help?" Sam tilted his lip upward in an aggravated half smile. "I mean help from the great John Jeffrey Winchester- that's something to desire."
His father kept his gaze on him but the eyes darkened. Sam could see a particular psychics name mouthed angrily by his father followed by a sharp audible curse.
xxxOOOxxx
"I'd call you a little shit but I think we are quite beyond that."
Sam inhaled sharply his hands fighting.
"I mean after you turned 15 you went from little to giant, but the fact remains the same, you're still a piece of shit."
Sam felt a hand press down on his windpipe and any oxygen that trickled in his constricted throat ceased. God he wished they were sparring. That Dean had just knocked him on his ass again and for training purposes had shown just how easy it was to go straight for the throat. He wished what was on top of him was his brother. It wasn't though.
"I mean I have spent my whole LIFE, watching over you. I worked my ass off for you. Going to school, then working a job sweeping in some shop, then having to come home and brush little Samantha's hair. Make sure that Samantha was well rested for her own school. Make sure that Samantha had food when Dean- when I didn't." Not-Dean's face twisted into an ugly expression. It was hatred. Pure hatred.
In fact, Sam was somewhat surprised he could even see his not-brother's expression. What with his vision starting to gray around the edges. Sam's urge to get the hands off of his neck intensified and he fought harder.
"Then we made it to that drunk's home. Uncle Bobby I mean. He's as much a drunk as dad is." Dean relaxed his grip to allow Sam to gasp in a breath of air, only to press down again. "Then even when we get an adult figure in our lives willing to stick around, I still have to take care of your ass."
Sam felt rejuvenated with the breath. He changed his tactics to shifting his hand down and his foot up as he aimed for the knife in his boot.
Not-Dean tsked loudly and released one of his hands to grab Sam's moving wrist. "I know you have a knife in your boot." He twisted Sam's wrist and Sam gave a breathless gasp. Sam instinctively retracted his wrist to his chest as he felt his blade released from the comfort of his ankle. He didn't even wince as the blade shifted and cut against his skin. "Anyways…Let's go back to discussing just how pathetic you are."
"Or how pathetic you are…"
Not-Dean jerked his hands away as he looked for the new threat. Then he stilled. Sam watched as his not-brother's eyes darkened with death, and his mouth dropped open spilling out a small stream of blood. Despite his need for oxygen Sam couldn't help but startle when the bullet flashed through his brother's brain. Not his brother. The shapeshifter's brain.
A boot came into view as someone firmly kicked away the shifter from his straddling position over Sam. A matching boot stepped up and Sam turned his head to watch Dean- wait no- Not-Dean get kicked once more skittering across the stained carpet.
"Hey Sammy, look at me, not- not that."
Dean's voice sounded from above him. Sam's oxygen deprived brain fought to once again figure out what was happening. How could he be there when he was dead over there. Shifter…Not-Dean. Sam was going to move his head but familiar calloused hands did it for him. They were gentle as they shifted over Sam's abused neck. Yes, this was Dean. The thing dead wasn't. Sam scowled when he saw his brother though. He had blood on his face. A weeping cut sat along his hair line.
"Your hurt." Sam wheezed.
Dean let out a relieved chuckle and sat back on his haunches. If his brother was concerned for his well-being and not his own, then he was running on all cylinders. He pressed a hand to the wound that he had forgotten even existed. "Hey, I'm good. You were put through quite the ringer though."
Sam didn't fight Dean as he was rolled into the recovery position to get a better oxygen flow. After inhaling a few more breaths Sam allowed himself a breathy laugh. "I could take you any day."
"Please, I've could kick your ass in a second." Dean patted Sam's shoulder and stood up taking in the state of the motel room; blood on the comforters, the wooden chairs and small table broken, a few Sam-sized indents in the wall. "Something tells me we're not getting our deposit back."
"Sorry." Sam moaned. "You- He used me to break the table."
"Well, seeing as it is your fault, that means you need to come up with the money to pay off the damages." Dean smirked before kicking the opened motel door closed and started searching in the mess for the first aid kit.
"The police will respond to the shot." Sam pushed up from the ground ignoring the twinge of pain in his wrist, and other body parts for that matter. He sat up and inhale sharply trying to keep his breath steady and even.
Dean scoffed as he finally found the first aid and brought it over to his brother. "Please… Big city, the bad side of town, and some shady motel. Not to mention based off the number of keys still hanging up in the office there's maybe about three rooms rented. They may get a call, but they'll never peg from where. We're fine." Dean started working on the buttons from Sam's bloodied button up. He scowled when Sam smacked away his hands.
"Gotta buy me a drink first." Sam coughed.
"Don't worry Samantha." Dean chuckled. "I'll keep your dignity intact."
"Dn't call me that." Sam muttered, as he drunkenly waved off another attempt by Dean to unbutton his shirt. "That's what he called me. I didn't like that."
Dean's eyes flickered towards the dead shifter. "What else did not-me say?"
"Nothin' important."
"Sure. Nothing important." Dean scowled, his eyes darkening as anger clearly made its way across his expression. It didn't make his motions any less gentle though. "I have to look though Sam. I need to make sure you don't have anything bleeding internally."
"I don't." Sam insisted.
"I would like to check though." Dean patiently sat back. "We can do this one of two ways little brother. You can make the smart choice and let me, or we can go with plan morphine."
Sam flinched. For being so tall, alcohol and any type of medical drug had very strong and quick reaction. They both knew that one shot of morphine and Sam would be out for the count. Sam brought his shaking hands to undo the buttons but thought better. His brother had a steady grip and could do it quicker, so he put his hands down. "Okay. You can check."
"Good." Dean stated simply.
After regrouping at the house and figuring that there would be no more answers from moping around the place they had split up. Their father had left again after hearing about mysterious deaths and coincidental "healings" done by a miracle man. After the sudden disappearance of demonic activity, he needed something to do and it was just weird enough that it had peaked his interest. Bobby was off hunting a potential rawhide. He had insisted that rawhides were dull creatures and he wouldn't need back up. So Dean had picked up a hunt for him. It was somewhat personal for Sam initially.
One of his college friends had been jailed for the murder of his wife. Weird thing was time of the murder he was filmed leaving a building downtown, time stamp and everything. Witnesses however saw him running from the home the night of the murder. He was released though after doubt was inflicted into his case. Following his there were two other men with the same story. One found on camera leaving the bank at the time of his girlfriend's death despite being seen fleeing the murder scene as well. And another out with friends while he was also in his home torturing his wife. She had gotten away and called the police, and police had shot him six times in the hostage situation only to have him run off. Nobody could account for when he showed up with his friends, gunshot free.
Theories ran amok about unknown twins, or freaks of nature who just happened to look alike. They didn't know for sure though and that had stumped the PD.
Of course while looking for clues Dean came across the creature. Well more like the tire iron came across his face. Left Dean tied up in some dank section of the sewers to come back and find his little brother.
After a few hours of struggling out of his ties and running madly towards the motel, he'd come in time to see Sam in his own dire struggle with the bastard. He'd taken the first clear shot he was able. Nothing hurt his little brother and lived.
The button up removed and the undershirt cut away with Sam's protest, Dean was able to see the bruises blooming around his brother's back and chest. There were a few cuts along his arms from what Dean assumed was his own serrated blade. It was nothing life threatening but it would be painful to his brother for the following days. He did not vocalize his findings to his little brother. "Any pain on your legs?"
"No." Sam grunted. A sharp look from Dean and his answer changed. "Maybe more bruises."
"Let me see." Dean demanded.
"One thing to get my top off, but now you want to get into my pants. I'm not that easy Dean Winchester." Sam smirked.
Dean smirked. "Oh I know. You were practically a virgin up until you found Jessica. It probably would take more than a steak and lobster to get off that chastity belt."
"Not really." Sam grinned. "Madison Wilson. Junior year. She jumped me."
Dean found a spot that was bruise free on Sam's arm and grinning, slugged his brother. "Knew it. You came home grinning wider than I'd ever seen you. The girl was sweet but I bet she was like an animal once you got her."
"I don't kiss and tell." Sam waved off Dean's curiosity.
"You're such a girl." Dean grunted. "Now pants off."
"Then we can look at your head?" Sam posed.
Dean sighed. "Yes. I finish up with you then you can look at my head." He waited patiently for Sam to slip his hands to his belt and start shimmying down the jean. It wasn't weird. The boys had tended to each other's wounds in awkward places, and even before then Dean was Sam's primary source for baths and diaper changes.
Once the jean was off, Dean inhaled a soft breath. It was simple bruising. Nothing that would kill him. The damn imposter didn't cause his little brother too much damage.
"Okay, we're cleaning you up now." Dean ordered gruffly not bothering to leave his brother's side he scooped up a canteen of holy water they kept in the kit. It was over kill for the cuts but it would do the job to wipe off the blood. He wet a small pad and ran the pad slowly down his brother's arm to wipe off the blood-
-and retracted the pad the next second. His brother was steaming. His eyes darted to his brother's face as he watched his brother massage at his temple. He may have a headache from the fight but he certainly wasn't in squirming pain. He returned his gaze back to the steaming skin. Wait- the steaming blood. His blood was the actual thing steaming from the water's touch.
Dean inhaled sharply. "How are you not feeling that, Sam?"
Holy water was used to clean out wounds usually from the demonic variety. With the amount of wounds he had to have cleaned out with it he was one-hundred percent sure that it stung and burned like a mother. Nobody not even his father could sit still for it, and there Sam was just sitting with his arm smoking with the stuff with none of the evident pain.
"Feel what Dean?" Sam shifted his face towards him, and Dean could see his little brother's face paled further and Dean finally thought that whatever trace was in the wound (if there was a bit in the wound) was finally affecting him. Sam's eyes opened from their hazy slits though as he spotted something his brother didn't. "Oh shit! Dean, move!"
"Huh?" Dean turned to look behind him, but Sam just growled and grabbed the collar of his button up and fell backwards, taking his big brother to the ground with him. Dean landed partially on top of his brother until he rolled off. In time to watch his serrated blade fly overhead and embed in the wall. About the height that his neck would have been. Both Sam and Dean scrambled up to a sitting position and their eyes went to the shapeshifter. But he was still very dead a hole on the side of his head.
"What the fuck? Who threw that?" Dean went on edge as he eyed the room, but there was no one.
Sam's mind spun as he swiped his arm at the blood trickling from his nose. "No sudden drop in temperature." He reasoned aloud and Dean caught his understanding, racing for the EMF that had fallen off his bed in the fight. "It just wiggled on the ground next to him and flew at you." Sam sounded surprised. The blood from his nose didn't stop. "God my headache is getting worse."
Dean noted the last comment but right now a headache was second to making sure no one, or thing, in the room was trying to kill them. He flicked on the EMF and the little engine ran but didn't light up or wail. "It's not picking anything up. If something threw that it's gone now."
Not thinking Dean whipped up the soaked pad of holy water and handed it to his brother who pressed the clean side to the underside of his nose; and freaked out. His blood started to sizzle and steam just like it had on his arm. Sam looked more shocked than in pain. "What the-"
"Put it down, Sam!" Dean smacked the pad away from Sam's hands and flinched himself when the bulb on the bedside table flickered before the bulb shattered. Sam despite the pounding pain in his head turned with his brother to look at the EMF that had stayed on, and not once cried out or lit up.
"Dean seriously- what the hell?" Sam stared at the noiseless meter. What was going on?
"I don't know!" Dean was freaked but he reigned in his panic. "I wiped at your arm and it started- steaming. Holy water only affects wounds that have been caused by a small variety of creatures. Shifter's shouldn't cause that kind of affect though. Did he fight you with anything weird or-"
"No, just your blade…" Sam grimaced and moved his hand away from his nose. He studied the dissipating steam from his blood. "I have no clue why this is happening. Do you have any clue as to why? I mean I may have book smarts but you- you've seen more than me. I mean I've been on what- this makes five hunts. You-"
Dean grunted and Sam stopped talking. "I know- a lot more, but I don't know what to say. I've never seen anything like that before. Then again. You're doing all kinds of weird things." He patted Sam's shoulder and stood up heading to the bathroom.
"Exactly." Sam sounded very bothered by this revelation. "First the vision, then the mind attacks."
Dean wet the hotels hand towels under the faucet and allowed his face to fall for a second. Everything was kind of happening to Sam. Next thing you knew they would find out that Sam was the one throwing around knives and busting light bulbs. The thought was initially dramatic but Dean nearly dropped the towel. No. The universe wouldn't do that. There was no way it was that unfair. Sam already thought himself a freak, he didn't need this added to his plate.
He wrung out the towel and went back to his brother his face not reflecting his thoughts. He knelt next to Sam. With the regular tap water there was no ill reaction. Which only created more questions. If the shifter wasn't the cause, why had Sam's blood reacted to the holy water? Sam had only been on five hunts and in all he had never once needed to be touched with the stuff, this would be the first time and it was on accident. Why his blood?
"You're thinking too hard." Sam broke him from his thoughts. "I'd suggest you'd stop or something will blow."
"Bite me." Dean quipped back. "I'm friggin' brilliant and you know it. Had I actually tried I could have graduated with top honors, you bitch."
Sam smirked. "With a shit ton of luck." He waved his arm that wasn't being wrapped.
"Luck my ass." Dean grinned. "Who tutored you when you were clueless about something on your homework?"
"Me clueless about something?" Sam scoffed. "Please, I know everything."
"I'll have to check you for a concussion too it seems."
"I'm not the one with my head leaking." Sam grinned. His stray hand went up to his brother's head wound.
Once again concern wasn't geared towards himself. It was concern for his big brother. Dean loved him. NO matter what he would take care of his little brother. Even if he found out the worst he would always be there for the giant kid. They'd get through this together. "Shut up, Sam."
(Enjoyed it please leave a review. It's getting to feel like I have two people who appreciate this story. And honestly If I'm dragging out something that isn't interesting then please inform me via review or PM. I have always said I am up for suggestions or concerns.)