A/N: So, we're on to the comfort part. I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has put this story on alert and/or reviewed. There are still a couple of reviews I've not been able to respond to personally but every review is like gold to me so, thank you. Oh, and they're still not mine. But I can dream.
Day Seven
Bobby stands by the motel door, watching for the lights of the Impala to appear through the blackness of the night. He's got the first aid kit out and ready for action. Sam's phone call told him nothing about Dean's condition. At the time he was only relieved he'd been found. Now he's beginning to wish he'd asked for a little more information.
He's looked up the nearest hospital and he already knows how quickly he could get there if the need arises. He knows if they can't handle Dean's situation they can be in an ER within 40 minutes. Of course, he thinks, he'll need to drive. He can't expect Sam to concentrate on the road and his brother at the same time.
He's got their story in his head already. He brought insurance cards with him when he got Sam's first call, all those days ago. He doesn't like being 'dad' but it was the easiest way to get these particular cards.
The first aid kit sitting on the bed is pretty comprehensive. Bobby always comes prepared and he stopped off en route to replenish the bandages, the only item he was short of. He's got a full stock of holy water and antiseptic. If anyone found his kit they'd wonder at his methods. But nobody knows what sort of injuries he's had to deal with in his time. He glances back and nods to himself. Yep, he's got everything he's going to need. And, if all else fails, there's a pharmacy he noted in town that appears to have appalling security. He reckons he can get anything else from there with little effort.
*****
Sam can just about make out the lights of the motel in the distance. He doesn't know, or care, how fast he's been driving. He can hear Dean's breathing falter from time to time and it's all he can do not to pull over and check on his brother. He bites his lip and gives the road his full attention.
He knows Bobby will be waiting for them. He knows all he has to do now is get Dean home. But he wants to reach back and feel Dean's warmth, reassure himself he's bringing home a real, living brother and not a lifeless body. There's no way he's even going to consider that option.
The last three miles feel like crossing an ocean of custard. When he finally sees the welcoming sign of the motel up ahead he feels a weight lift from his shoulders. Dean is, and always will be, his responsibility but not a mile away is unconditional help and support. Sometimes Sam wishes Bobby was his dad, then he feels guilty for thinking that, but at the moment his head is full of Dean.
He winces as the Impala squeals to a halt in the parking lot and he can't stop himself looking back at Dean, expecting, hoping, to see his brother glaring at him for mistreating his beloved car this way. But there's nothing. Dean is still out cold, one hand trailing on the floor, the other flung above his head.
Sam sees Bobby making his way to the Impala and he thinks that he can finally relax a little, relinquish little of his burden.
*****
Bobby helps Sam get Dean settled on the bed. He's shocked at the sight of the older Winchester. Dean's skin is pale and waxy. His breathing is ragged and every so often he flinches unconsciously. Bobby wants to get his hands on the people or things that did this to Dean but Sam still hasn't shown any inclination to share on that score.
He sits back and lets Sam tend to his brother as best he can. He's there to pass wipes and dressings when required. He tries not to show his shock when Sam pulls Dean's pants up and uncovers numerous tiny wounds on his shins and ankles. If Bobby had to hazard a guess he'd say they were animal bites. Whatever they are, they've been there a while. Long enough to be red and inflamed, oozing puss. Bobby's guessing hygiene wasn't high on the list of hospitalities offered.
If it were down to him, he'd simply cut Dean's clothing away but Sam seems to have some misplaced sense of loyalty here. He's trying to tend to the wounds whilst affording Dean as much dignity as possible. Bobby can see where the boy's coming from but this is taking too long. Dean needs to be cleaned as quickly as possible. The stench coming from him isn't just unpleasant, it's unhealthy.
He tries to tell Sam they need to strip Dean down completely and wash him but Sam seems to have switched his hearing off. Eventually Bobby decides actions speak louder than words. He retrieves the sharpest knife he has and, ignoring Sam's glares, slides the blade down over Deans' shirt, slicing it away from his body.
He tries not to notice the way Dean flinches away from the cold steel which comes into contact with his skin, however much he tries not to touch the younger hunter. He focuses on the expanse of skin revealed to him. He wants to shield Sam from this sight but Sam is right there, next to his brother, hand hovering cautiously over his brow.
Bobby and Sam can both see the damage. They can see the bruises, the purples and blues mottling Dean's chest and arms, the goosebumps rising to the surface. Bobby can't help but hear Sam's shaky breath. He wants to reassure Sam, tell him it's not his fault, he couldn't have stopped this. But he knows that's not what Sam wants to hear and if Sam Winchester doesn't want to hear something, he simply shuts down that part of his brain. It's a talent he's perfected over the years.
Together they set about the task of cleaning and caring for Dean.
*****
Dean returns to consciousness slowly, cautiously. He feels odd, different somehow. Something's not right. Then he realises he's lying on something soft and clean. That's what he didn't recognise. Cleanliness. Wherever he is, it's not the last place he remembers.
He thinks he remembers Sam talking to him, touching him, rescuing him. But he doesn't want to open his eyes because he can't stand the disappointment when he's wrong. Because he will be wrong. If he feels clean it's because he's dead. That's the only explanation he can come up with and he's filled with an overwhelming grief. Not for himself, but for Sam, for all the things his brother is going to have to overcome by himself, for everything he should have said to him and for all the things he was meant to save Sam from. The grief is too much for him and the darkness at the edges of his mind seeps through his thoughts and consciousness becomes a thing of the past.
The next time Dean wakes, he forgets not to open his eyes. He wishes he'd remembered as the light is too bright, too harsh. He can't help himself and little cry escapes his lips as he screws his lids tightly shut. Then there's the sound of movement and the touch of a hand on his arm. He pulls back as far and as fast as he can. He's not in heaven, he thinks, he's in hell.
He doesn't get far before he hits a solid object and there's another hand on his shoulder, holding him down. He tries to fight it but he's so weak he might as well be trying to rip an iron girder apart with his bare hands. Then there are voices, soft and soothing. He knows that voice. It takes him too long to place it but eventually a face appears in his memory. Bobby.
And he knows he's in Hell for sure, because Sammy isn't here to help him.
*****
Sam hates holding Dean down but he's going to hurt himself, writhing around on the bed like this. He doesn't want his brother to fall off, the floor is cold and unforgiving and god knows what's embedded in the carpet.
He and Bobby made short work of dressing Dean's wounds. Sam feels lightheaded with relief that it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. Dean's wrists are torn but once they had cleaned away the dried blood caking the wounds, it became apparent the damage is superficial. Antiseptic cream and bandages are enough. His ankles and shins are dealt with and when he wakes, Sam is determined to get a broad spectrum antibiotic down his brother. Bobby brought a selection and Sam knows it's the best he could find.
No, Sam's not worried about the physical side of things. Dean's had worse injuries than this before. Hell, Sam's been worse off than this. What Sam is worried about, dreadfully worried about, is Dean's state of mind. He knows Dean like the back of his hand and he knows that trying to get Dean to open up is like nailing jelly to the wall. But he knows these last six days will be branded into his brother's brain and if he's going to get past it, he's going to have to share. Sam won't push, but he will insist, gently, that it's done.
So he sits beside Dean's bed, gratefully accepting the coffee and sandwiches Bobby supplies at regulars intervals, and waits for his brother to wake up.
*****