Disclaimer: Don't own them. Just playing with them for a while.
Summary: While investigating the mysterious disappearances of several hikers, Sam and Dean are caught up in a town's dark secret that will leave them both struggling to survive. Set mid-season 2.
A/N—Before reading this chapter, it is important that you know that I am a medical expert…with all my knowledge gained from watching TV, reading books and the occasional google lookup. With that being said, please forgive any errors or inaccuracies you may encounter.
Thanks to firstcatfish for beta reading this chapter for me. I tinkered a little after she was done, so any remaining errors are mine…
Hope you enjoy.
Chapter 8
Dean hated waiting.
It was a character trait he had picked up from his father. John Winchester had been energy and motion, always active and never still. Even between hunts he had always been doing something, whether working on the car, tinkering with the weapons, or some other project he had set himself. When stuck in the car for long periods of time his father had never been able to simply relax, constantly drilling his sons on weapons and training or else turning the music up on the radio and tapping his hands in a steady rhythm across the top of the steering wheel.
As Dean had grown older, he had come to understand the reasoning behind his father's constant drive for action…why John could come home exhausted from a long and difficult hunt only to immediately begin searching for the next one. Part of the reason stemmed from his father's drive for justice…his obsession with tracking down and killing the thing that had killed their mom, and destroying as much evil as he could along the way. But another reason was simply because John was afraid. Afraid of the quiet and calm between hunts that left him with nothing to focus on…nothing to distract him from his memories and pain. If left too long with nothing to do, John would become increasingly broody and melancholy, drinking more and sleeping less until it was almost a relief to Dean when Pastor Jim or Caleb would call with another lead on a hunt.
As much as it had bothered him as a child, Dean knew he was much like his father in this aspect. As long as he was actively working…as long as he had something to focus his attention on…he didn't have to think about everything he had lost, everything Sam had lost, or everything they continued to lose in a quest for vengeance that he sometimes doubted would ever be over. It was too easy to numb himself in the routine of the job, to blank his mind of everything but vanquishing the next spirit or expelling the next demon. It had become more than a habit for him; it had become a way of life and, for Dean, it was the only way he really knew how to survive.
But now, stuck in the tiny guest bedroom off Annie's garage, he had nothing to do to distract himself from his increasingly dark thoughts. In the half hour since Annie had left to go and fetch the doctor, Dean had thought of over a dozen different things that could go wrong, and his worry and apprehension were steadily growing.
Scrubbing a hand back through his hair, he forced himself to stop pacing the length of the small room and instead moved over to stand next to the bed. Sam had been quiet since Annie had left, and Dean was unsure whether he should take this as a good sign or bad. He feared it was the latter. Looking down at his brother he felt as though a cold fist was gripping his heart, intensifying his pain and making it difficult to breath. Sam's skin was flushed red with fever, his lips dry and cracked, his breathing shallow and rapid. Every now and then his body would shudder beneath the light sheet Annie had placed over him before she left, his limbs jerking slightly as though he were fighting off a deep chill instead of the fire currently raging through his veins. Watching him, Dean knew his brother was fading, his ravaged body slowly giving into the infection and fever, and the terror he felt at the thought of losing Sam was enough to make him feel physically ill. He wanted to be doing something to help Sam, but knew that his brother's injuries were beyond him without the proper medical supplies…and perhaps even with them.
If Annie wasn't able to convince the doctor to return with her, Dean would have no choice but to ask her to take Sam to the nearest hospital while he stayed behind to hold off Ty and Rawly. It was a risky move, without much hope of success on Dean's part, but if that was what it took for Sam to survive, he would do it in a heartbeat.
Take care of your brother, Dean.
His father's voice echoed in his ears. It had been a running mantra growing up, and Dean had taken on the responsibility willingly. He hated seeing Sam this way…so sick and weak. It made him feel as though he had somehow failed in his duty to protect his baby brother.
"Hang in there, Sammy," he murmured softly, placing the back of his fingers against his brother's flushed cheek. "Help is on the way." He prayed it was the truth.
Grabbing the damp cloth Annie had left across Sam's brow, he moved over to the bathroom, flipping on the switch and stepping over to the sink. Turning the cold water on, he began rinsing the cloth, his eyes rising to glance at his reflection in the mirror.
He winced at the image that stared back at him, amazed that Annie hadn't run screaming when she had first seen him in the alley. He looked a wreck! His features were pale, the whiteness of his skin accentuating the dark bruising across the side of his face and the deep pools of shadow beneath his eyes. The growth of stubble across his chin gave him a rough and untidy look, and his eyes were heavy lidded and dull, reflecting his exhaustion and pain.
Quickly dropping his eyes back down to the sink, Dean noticed that his hands were trembling slightly as he turned off the water and wrung out the washcloth. He knew he was reaching the end of his endurance, but was determined to push on until he knew Sam was taken care of. If there was one thing his years as a hunter had taught him, it was how to ignore his pain until the job was done, and this time was no different.
He was careful not to raise his eyes to the mirror again as he turned and exited the bathroom.
Moving back to Sam's side he folded the cloth and lay it once more across his brother's forehead, knowing that at this point it was like trying to use spit to put out a house fire. Sam needed medicine, and until he got it, his fever was only going to continue getting worse.
A sudden noise from outside had him freezing in place, his heart-rate accelerating as he listened intently. He could hear the soft murmur of voices steadily approaching, and a moment later a sharp rap on the door had him tensing, his fingers drifting down toward his boot and the hidden knife he had stashed there.
"Dean, it's me," came Annie's muffled voice through the wood of the door. "I have the doctor. Let us in."
Breathing out a soft sigh of relief, Dean moved to unlock the door, swinging it open and stepping back to let Annie and another women step inside.
His gaze was immediately drawn to the doctor, and he couldn't help the slight widening of his eyes as he took in her appearance. The woman was tiny…barely five feet tall, with rich dark hair and fine delicate features. If it weren't for the fine lines around her eyes and the light spattering of gray at her temples, Dean might have easily mistaken her for a child. She was dressed in a dark gray pant suite with a white lab overcoat, and she had the handles of a large black medical bag gripped firmly in one hand. Her eyes were dark and intelligent as she regarded him, her expression sharp and appraising, giving Dean the distinct impression that he was being weighed and evaluated.
Her look reminded him uncomfortably of one of his fourth grade teachers, Mrs. Evans, who'd had an uncanny ability to tell when Dean had been up to no good just by looking at him, and it took a concerted effort not to shift nervously under her scrutiny.
"Dean, this is Dr. Maria Juarez," Annie introduced, closing and re-locking the door behind them. "I told her your story and she has agreed to help."
Dean returned Maria's small nod of greeting with one of his own, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "So you believe us?" he questioned softly, watching Maria's face intently.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't," Maria replied simply, her voice carrying just a hint of an accent. "Though I must admit, it was quite the story. Perhaps that is why I was inclined to believe it…it was simply too incredible to be made up."
Dean's lips turned up in a quick, wry smile. Whatever her reasons, he was just relieved she had come. Now Sam would finally get the help he so desperately needed.
"From what Annie told me, you and your brother have had quite a time of it. I'll do what I can to help," Maria continued, her gaze slipping past Dean toward the bed.
"Thanks," Dean replied, following her gaze. "Sam's in pretty bad shape. He has a cut on his arm that's infected and is running a high fever."
Maria nodded but didn't immediately move toward the bed. "What about you?" she asked, running a critical gaze over his form.
Dean arched a questioning eyebrow. "What about me?" he replied.
Maria shook her head. "I'm a doctor, Dean. I know a man in pain when I see one. How bad are your injuries."
"I'm alright," Dean replied shortly. "Sammy's the one that needs help."
Maria eyed him for a moment longer before accepting his words with a short nod. Moving past him she went to stand next to the bed, lifting her medical bag and laying it atop the small bedside table.
"How long has he been unconscious?" she asked briskly, pulling a pair of gloves from the top of the bag and snapping them into place.
"He's been in and out for the last several hours," Dean replied, moving to stand on the opposite side of the bed, recalling the nightmare journey through the wilderness to get back to Denton. Sam had started out strong, but as the night wore on, his brother had begun to falter, his fever and blood loss taking more and more out of him. Sam had fought valiantly against his failing body, but by the time the lights of the town had twinkled into view, Dean had been forced to half carry him as Sam's mind had slipped increasingly into fevered confusion. Dean still wasn't sure how they had made it, with his own body so weak and shaky, but by the time they had reached the outskirts of the town, he had known he needed help. It had been hard, leaving his brother hidden in the woods while he went in search of help, but he'd had little choice.
"And his fever?" Maria's voice pulled Dean from his thoughts. "How long has he had that?"
"Since last night at least, maybe longer," Dean replied, watching as Maria took his brother's pulse, then gently pulled aside the sheet and ran a critical eye over Sam's injuries.
"Any nausea or vomiting?" she asked, running her hands lightly over Sam's bruised side, gently probing and prodding at the ribs beneath.
Dean sighed wearily, running a hand down across his face. "He was pretty dizzy…kept losing his balance. He never threw up when he was with me, but he might have before."
Maria nodded, then turned and pulled a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff from her bag. Dean bit the inside of his cheek and watched silently as she continued her exam, his fingers drumming a nervous tattoo against the side of his leg. Maria's face was calm and focused, but Dean could see the worry in her eyes as she finished taking Sam's vitals and turned to remove the bandage wrapped around his arm. "When did this happen," she asked, peeling the last layer away from the wound and frowning down at the deep gash.
"Two mornings ago," Dean replied, feeling his stomach roll uncomfortably as his eyes fell on the deep cut running across his brother's bicep. The wound looked worse than it had when he had wrapped it in their little shelter. The skin around the gash was grotesquely swollen, with what appeared to be ridges of bumpy flesh surrounding it, peeling the edges of the wound back. The steady flow of blood from the cut was mixed with yellow puss, and the smell of infection was distinct even from his position across the bed.
"How bad is it?" Annie spoke up for the first time from her position at the foot of the bed, her hands gripping the baseboard in a white knuckled grip. Her eyes were glued to Sam's arm, her face pale and her eyes large.
Maria glanced at her, then let out a small sigh, her gaze flickering to Dean. "It's bad," she stated simply. "I've had worse before….once. A young man cut open his leg falling on a rock while out hiking. It took him two days to limp back into town, and by the time I got to him at the hospital his leg was badly infected."
"What happened to him?" Annie asked.
"He survived," Maria answered tightly, her eyes returning to the wound on Sam's forearm, "but he lost his leg."
Dean pulled in a ragged breath, the trembling he had been fighting in his limbs all morning suddenly increasing. He felt dizzy and more than a little nauseas, and was forced to lean heavily into the side of the bed in order to remain on his feet, fighting to regain control of his body.
The fear he felt must have shown on his face, because when Maria looked back up at him her eyes softened and her voice took on a calming note. "I have the medicine to help your brother, Dean," she reassured him, "but in order for it to be the most effective, I'm going to need to clean out this cut…drain away some of the infection. See this?" she pointed at the small ridges of flesh Dean had noticed earlier, "these are pockets of infection just beneath the skin, and they run all around the wound, putting pressure on it. I'm going to have to lance them and drain them before I can stitch him up."
She paused, and Dean nodded to show her he understood.
"I'm not going to lie to you, Dean," Maria continued, her gaze forceful as she watched him from across the bed. "Sam's fever is too high, his pulse too fast, and his blood pressure too low. I would feel a whole lot more comfortable if he were in a hospital right now, but seeing how your special circumstances do not allow for that, I am going to do the best I can for him here and now."
Dean took a deep breath and met Maria's gaze steadily. "Just tell me what I need to do to help."
Maria gave a curt nod. "I'm going to start by inserting an IV…getting him started on a saline drip. Hopefully that will help with his vitals as well as help reduce his fever. When I go to lance his arm, I'll need your help holding him still. With his blood pressure so low I don't want to risk a sedative, and this isn't going to be pleasant."
Dean nodded, watching as Maria began removing supplies from her bag, her movements quick and precise. He moved back a few steps as she came around the bed to insert the IV in Sam's left arm, slipping the needle in with an ease that spoke of many years experience. She taped the IV in place, then hung a saline bag from the top of the bed's headboard, expertly connecting the maze of tubing with quick and nimble fingers.
Annie and Dean watched her silently, standing back so as not to get in her way. When Maria had finally finished with the IV she moved back around the bed. Switching out her gloves for a fresh pair, she removed a small scalpel from a small leather case and began cleaning the blade with a brown liquid that smelled strongly of antiseptic. When she had finished with the scalpel, she wet another gauze pad with the same liquid and began gently cleaning the skin all around Sam's cut, staining his flesh a lurid orange-brown color. When she finished wiping down Sam's arm, she glanced at Dean and gave a small nod to indicate she was ready.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, Dean leaned over his brother, gripping both of Sam's shoulders in his hands and pressing his brother's form back and down against the soft mattress. The angle was awkward, and he could feel the bandages across his belly rubbing against Sam's side, sending sparks of pain through his entire body, but he clenched his jaw and ignored it, giving Maria a tight nod to show that he was ready.
Maria immediately raised her scalpel and bent over the wound, bringing the blade up to lay lightly against the tight skin directly beneath Sam's wound. It seemed she had barely touched the scalpel to Sam's skin when a thick stream of yellow and red liquid began flowing from the small incision. Maria expertly caught the flow with a gauze pad in one hand while she used the other hand to press on either side of the cut, forcing the puss up and out of the wound.
Dean felt his stomach clench and quickly turned his eyes away, resting his forehead against Sam's upper chest as he breathed heavily through his mouth and fought down his nausea. A moment later he felt Sam's muscles tense beneath his hands, and his brother let out a strangled groan. Dean immediately lifted his head, staring down into Sam's face worriedly as his brother began to struggle weakly against him, his head rocking wildly from side to side, small whimpers of pain escaping from the back of his throat.
"It's okay, Sammy," he whispered soothingly, his own discomfort completely forgotten in the face of his brother's pain. "Just try to relax. It will be over soon, I promise."
Sam moaned in response, his lashes flickering as the pain drew him toward consciousness. His muscles strained beneath Dean's hands, and it was all Dean could do to keep his brother's arm still as Maria continued to work on him. "Easy, Sam, easy," Dean repeated, over and over again.
Finally, it all became too much for Sam, and his eyes snapped open as a small cry escaped from between his lips. He glanced wildly around the room, confused and frightened, and Dean was forced to press his full weight down across his brother's body in order to keep him still, the pain from his abdomen so great he nearly cried out himself.
"Look at me, Sam," he ordered, his voice coming out breathless and strained. "Just look at me. That's right, kiddo, just look into my eyes."
Sam's eyes, bright with fever and filled with pain, locked onto Dean, his expression begging his brother to make the pain stop. Dean felt a lump forming in the back of his throat and had to swallow hard to force it down.
"Hey Sammy, you remember that time you fell out of the tree and broke your wrist?" he asked softly, instinctively trying to distract his brother from the pain. He had no idea if Sam was cognizant enough to understand him or not, but he kept talking, his voice low and soothing. "You were trying to rescue old Ms. Ida's cat from the tree and the branch you were stepping on broke. I wasn't there, but Ida told me later that you never once cried…not once… despite your wrist swelling up to twice its normal size. I knew then that you were one tough little bastard."
Sam let out a groan, his eyes locked on Dean, his lips pulled tight over his teeth in a grimace of pain.
"And then there was the time I signed you up for the junior rodeo bull-riding contest while Dad was working that job at the State Fair." Dean continued, trying to keep his breathing steady and under control. "You were so scared, and I kept teasing you, but instead of running away, you went out there, rode that bull, and won the competition. I never told you, but I was really proud of you for that. You were always really good at facing your fears."
"You're doing good, Dean," Maria murmured softly from beside him, "Just keep talking to him."
Dean nodded and did just that, calling forth memory after memory from their childhood…easy memories that had nothing to do with anything supernatural or the crazy life they lived. He found that talking was helping to distract him from his own pain, and though he still did not know if Sam understood him, his brother seemed to at least be responding to the sound of his voice. He was no longer struggling against Dean's hold, his eyes shut once more, and only the tense muscles beneath Dean's grip, his brother's harsh breathing, and the occasional moan let him know that Sam was still conscious.
By the time Maria sat back with a weary sigh and declared she was finished, Dean felt limp and drained, his voice scratchy from so much use. He felt his brother's muscles slowly beginning to relax beneath his grip, his breathing evening out as he drifted toward real sleep once more.
Glancing to the side, Dean noted that Sam's arm looked much better, the swelling reduced and a neat row of stiches at last stopping the persistent flow of blood. Giving the doctor a grateful look, he peeled his fingers from their tight grip on Sam's shoulders, then used the bed to help lever himself to his feet.
He knew immediately that he was in trouble as a wave of dizziness swept over him, turning his vision dark at the same time a sharp spike of pain from his torso stole his breath and turned his legs to jelly. He staggered back away from the bed, his arms automatically coming up in an effort to balance himself, his wrist striking against the edge of the dresser. If he'd had any breath left, he would have sworn, but as it was he was too busy just trying to stay on his feet.
"Whoa, easy there." Annie's voice drifted to him from out of the darkness, and the next moment he felt her hand on his shoulder, steadying him and offering him balance. Using Annie on one side and the dresser on the other, Dean braced himself, closing his eyes tightly and breathing deeply as he fought to remain conscious.
It took a few minutes, but eventually the pain and dizziness eased enough that he felt safe opening his eyes, blinking them several times to clear away the sparkling lights still dancing around the edges of his vision. He was somewhat surprised to find that he had latched onto Annie shoulder with his left hand, his fingers digging into her upper arm in what had to be a painful grip. He quickly released her, dropping his left hand back down to his side but maintaining his steady grip on the edge of the dresser with his right. Annie kept her hand on his shoulder, her face concerned.
"I'm okay," he gasped unsteadily, casting Annie a grateful look. "Just a little dizzy."
"You had better sit down before you fall down." It was Maria who spoke, moving from around the bed to stand before him. Dean was struck again by how small the woman was, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulders.
He started to tell her again that he was okay, but Maria cut him off with a firm expression. "Don't bother trying to tell me you're fine. You look like a good sneeze would knock you over."
Dean frowned and started to shake his head, but at the motion his dizziness threatened to return and he found himself reaching out blindly for Annie's support once more.
"There is a chair at the end of the dresser." Annie's voice was gentle, her hand on his shoulder steady, helping to anchor him in a world that was suddenly tipsy turvy.
Dean knew the chair she was talking about, having steadily avoided it all morning, knowing that once he sat down, he probably wouldn't be able to rise again. Now, faced with the option of heeding Maria's advice or taking a nose dive to the hard floor, he decided the chair was probably the lesser of two evils. His stomach was doing a slow roll inside his chest, and he was dangerously close to embarrassing himself by throwing up all over Annie.
Giving in with a sigh and inwardly cursing his weakness, he allowed the two women to help support him over to the chair, sinking down gratefully into the giant upholstered seat and breathing heavily, as though he had just run a mile instead of walked three steps.
As soon as he was seated, Maria was there, leaning in and invading his space, her fingers resting against the side of his neck as she took his pulse. "Where are you hurt?" she asked briskly, one hand reaching for the zipper of his jacket.
Dean pulled away, clenching his jaw in determination. "Sam first," he insisted, forcing as much strength into the words as he could. Maria looked as if she were about to argue, so he hurried on. "I'm not bleeding and not running a fever, so please, just…just finish with Sam, ok? I'll be fine."
Maria frowned, but after a moment she dropped her hand and backed away a step. "Okay," she conceded, "but you stay in that chair. The last thing I need is for you to pass out on the floor."
"My ass is grounded," Dean assured her, raising both arms in a gesture of surrender.
Maria gave a tight nod, then turned back toward the bed. "I could use an extra pair of hands," she called back to Annie over her shoulder.
"Of course," Annie responded. She glanced down at Dean, and he tried to give her a reassuring smile. He was surprised when she lifted her hand and let the tips of her fingers drift gently down his cheek before turning and following Maria.
Dean let out a long sigh, sinking down into the large chair and letting his head drop down, his eyes sliding closed. He was weary to the bone, his body so heavy he was surprised he didn't just slide right off the chair and sink down through the floorboards. His eyes were burning, and the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders were collaborating together to give him one hell of a headache. He found himself yearning for a hot shower, a couple of strong painkillers, and a nice long nap.
He heard the soft murmur of voices across the room and tried to focus his mind on listening to what they were saying, but he found himself distracted by the swirling light show going on behind his closed lids. If he strained hard enough, he could almost make out a pattern in the tiny pinpricks of light.
"Dean?"
He jerked his head up, his eyes flying open, startled once again by Maria standing directly over him. He realized he had sunk further down in the chair, and sluggishly pushed himself upright, letting out a soft grunt of pain as his injured abdomen complained at the movement.
"It's time to let me take a look at you," Maria ordered, reaching once again for the zipper to Dean's jacket.
Dean shook his head. "After Sam," he argued, annoyed that he had to keep repeating himself.
Maria gave him a tired smile. "I've already finished with Sam. It's your turn now."
Dean wrinkled his forehead in confusion, leaning sideways to glance around Maria at the bed. Sam was lying silent and still, the sheet drawn back up to his waste, his head turned slightly away from Dean. A clean white bandage was wrapped securely around his upper right arm, and someone had taken the time to wipe away the blood and dirt that had stained his skin.
There was no sign of Annie.
Dean glanced up at Maria in surprise. He had just closed his eyes a second ago…hadn't he?
"Are you going to take off the jacket, or do you need me to do it for you?" Maria asked, her hands moving to her hips. Dean noted that she was wearing a fresh pair of gloves and had moved her medical bag over to where it rested at her feet.
"Where is Annie?" he asked, trying to delay the inevitable for just a moment longer.
"I sent her into the house to get some food and water. You'll need to eat if you want to keep up your strength."
Dean grimaced, not at all sure that his stomach was up for food just yet. "I'd settle for a couple of painkillers instead," he grumbled, rubbing at his face with his hands and pressing the pads of his fingers against his burning eyes.
"After I take a look at you," Annie replied, her hands still resting on her hips, her eyes knowing as she looked down at him.
With a small sigh, Dean reached up and pulled down the zipper to his jacket, leaning forward in the chair as he shrugged the material from his shoulders. The jacket slipped free to pool at his waist, revealing the bandages wrapped snuggly about his lower abdomen.
"How's Sam doing?" he asked, hoping to distract himself as Maria leaned forward and began carefully unwinding the bandages.
"He's holding his own," she responded smoothly, not bothering to pause in her task. "I've given him his first dose of antibiotics, but it will be a while before we start seeing the effects of the medicine. The saline drip has already helped with his blood pressure, but I still intend to head to the hospital at Rock Springs to pick him up some extra blood."
Dean frowned. "It's that bad?" he asked, unable to keep the worry out of his voice
Maria paused in un-wrapping the bandage to give Dean a level look. "Your brother lost a lot of blood," she stated softly. "His body could probably eventually make up for it on its own, but it would take a while and he'd be very weak. The transfusion will help speed up his recovery time, and with all that he's been through, I figured he could use the boost."
Dean nodded reluctantly, seeing the wisdom behind her words. The sooner Sam was up and functioning again, the sooner they could take care of Ty and Rawly and leave this town in their dust. "Will you have any trouble getting the blood?" he asked.
Maria shook her head, resuming her unwinding. "I work at the hospital and so have complete access to our inventory. I'll have to account for it in a report, but I can worry about that later."
Dean gave her an appreciative look, understanding how much she was putting on the line in order to help him and his brother. He opened his mouth to thank her, but at that moment Maria pulled the last layer of bandaging away from his chest, the cloth sticking slightly to his skin, and the word's died in a harsh hiss of pain. Maria cast him a sympathetic look, but she didn't pause in pulling the bandage free, revealing the long slash across Dean's lower ribs.
Almost against his will Dean found himself eyeing the wound, his lower lip pulled between his teeth and his stomach doing a slow churn at the sight of his burnt and blackened flesh. Maria made a small clucking sound and leaned in for a closer look, and with an effort Dean tore his eyes away, clenching his jaw and letting his head fall back against the back of the chair.
Maria's fingers were feather light as she gently prodded around the edges of the wound…presumably looking for any sign of hidden pockets of infection…but Dean still couldn't completely hold back a small moan at the fiery pain her touch ignited. By the time she pulled away, he was breathing heavily, his hands clasped into tight fists against his sides, his eyes clenched closed against the pain.
He heard Maria sigh softly. "Believe it or not, this doesn't look half bad," she informed him. "Cauterizing a wound is never my first choice, but at least whoever did this knew what they were doing."
Dean's eyes popped open, and he gave her an incredulous look. "He was drunk!" he growled fiercely.
Maria shrugged. "Well, drunk or not, he did a decent job. There's a little redness and swelling around the edges, but no more than is to be expected, all things considered. It's not bleeding at all, and so far looks clear of infection. Burns can be tricky, though. You will need to be careful to keep it clean and moist…I have a burn cream with an antimicrobial in it back at the office that will help. With a little time and rest, you should be fine. Just no more wandering around in the wilderness carrying your brother, okay?"
"Sounds good to me," Dean mumbled.
Maria gave him a small smile. "I'll re-bandage it for now to help protect it until I can bring back the cream."
Dean let out a weary sigh of agreement as Maria pulled a roll of clean bandages from her medical bag and began loosely re-wrapping his torso. His early exhaustion was returning full force, and he was having trouble keeping his lids to stay open.
"Do you want these now, or do you want to wait for Annie to bring some water," Maria asked a moment later, holding out two large white pills. "They'll help with the pain."
Dean didn't bother responding but simply reached out and took the offered pills, tossing them into the back of his throat and swallowing them dry, his eyes sliding closed as soon as he was done.
"Just rest," he heard Maria murmur, pushing his shoulders lightly back until they rested against the back of the chair.
Dean wanted to resist…wanted to force himself to stay awake until he'd had a chance to check on Sam…to see for himself that his brother was okay, but the weight of his exhaustion was simply too great. Sleep claimed him before his head even fully came to rest against the back of the chair.
When Annie returned to the small guestroom carrying a tray with some water and sandwiches, she found Maria silently cleaning up and replacing her supplies in her black medical bag. A glance toward the chair showed her Dean was finally out, slunk down in the chair, his chest bare but for white bandages wrapped around his torso. Maria had managed to bunch the bed's coverlet between the chair and the dresser, and Dean was leaning heavily against the soft material, his breathing soft and deep.
Moving over to the dresser, Annie placed the tray on the wood surface then glanced down at Dean's sleeping form. She was amazed at the transformation sleep had brought to the young man's face. Gone were the lines of worry, pain and fatigue, replaced by a peaceful expression that had him looking years younger.
"Should I wake him up?" she asked softly, glancing at Maria and indicating the tray of food.
The doctor shook her head without ever looking up from her bag. "No, he needs rest now more than food. He can eat when he wakes up."
Annie pushed the tray of food to the back of the dresser, glad she had wrapped the sandwiches so they would stay fresh for at least a while. She turned to watch Maria work, feeling at a sudden loss as to what to do next. In the space of a few hours her world had been turned upside down, and she still wasn't quite sure how to process everything that had happened. She couldn't help the feeling that ever since she had first laid eyes on Dean in the bar and grill, fate had grabbed hold of her and was dragging her along a path leading who knew where. She felt excited and overwhelmed all at once, driven along by instinct and adrenaline, unsure where it would all end.
"Thanks for helping us," she told Maria, keeping her voice low.
Maria glanced up, her gaze sweeping across the two sleeping men. "I'm still not entirely sure what I've gotten myself into," she admitted with a small smile. "I'm a doctor, and I consider it my duty to help those in need, but I'm still not sure it wouldn't have been better to turn all this over to the state police and let them deal with it. Then at least Sam could be in a hospital where he belongs."
Annie shook her head. "Dean seemed to think it would be dangerous to contact the authorities," she reminded the doctor. "Ty has people in high places who may try to silence us if we speak out against him."
Maria met her gaze and gave a small shrug. "I'll admit his reasoning is sound, but I'm a little worried about his motive."
"What do you mean?" Annie asked.
"Think about it, Annie," Maria replied, snapping her bag closed and taking a step closer. "If Dean claims it's too dangerous to contact the police, who do you think is going to take care of this whole mess?"
Annie frowned, her gaze drifting to Dean's slumbering form. "You think he plans on taking on Ty and Rawly on his own?" she asked slowly, concerned with the idea.
Maria shrugged. "I certainly wouldn't put it past him."
Annie remembered the coldness in Dean's voice when he had assured her that Ty and Rawly would not escape their crimes, and she couldn't help the small shudder that crept up her spine.
"What are we going to do?" she asked softly. She barely knew Dean, but somehow the thought of him getting himself killed going after Ty and Rawly on his own terrified her.
Maria sighed. "Nothing for now. I doubt he'll be up to trying anything anytime soon…we'll have time to make a decision later. But in the end, I don't think we're going to have much choice but to go to the authorities…risky or not."
"It's hard to believe that something like this is happening in Denton," Annie sighed, shaking her head. "I feel like this is all some horrible nightmare that I'm going to wake up from any moment."
Maria gave her a sympathetic look. "It has been my experience that evil will show up in any place at any time…Denton being no exception. It just makes it harder when it involves people you know."
Annie nodded, thinking of the number of times she had served Ty at the bar and grill. He had always been polite and courteous to her, and yet she couldn't deny that there had always been something about him that had felt slightly off. Perhaps that was why it had been so easy for her to believe Dean's story.
"I'm going to head back to the clinic to pick up some more supplies," Maria informed her, turning and heading for the door.
"Need any help?" Annie asked quickly, causing the doctor to pause with her hand on the door knob. She wasn't quite sure why she had asked, only that being around the two brothers was stirring up old memories that she had thought long buried, and she wasn't quite ready to be alone in the silence to face them.
She thought at first that Maria was going to turn her down, but after a moment the doctor gave a small shrug. "Sure. We shouldn't be gone too long, and they both will likely be out for a while. We'll take my van."
Annie gave her a grateful smile and they left the room quietly, Maria flipping off the overhead light as they went.
The drive to the clinic was a short one, and as soon as they arrived, Maria pointed Annie to the small storage closet located off the main lobby, directing her to look for an old camp cot she had stowed away there. "Dean's going to need something better to sleep on than that old chair," she commented, heading back toward her office. "I'm going to just grab a few things and make a couple of phone calls, and then I'll be right out."
Annie nodded, then headed into the storage room, relieved to find the small room neat and organized. She had little difficulty locating the old camp cot, and was surprised to find it rather light, the frame made out of hollow aluminum. Hoisting it under one arm, she headed back out to the van.
She had just finished maneuvering the cot into place across the back seat when the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind her. Expecting Maria, she turned and opened her mouth, planning on asking the doctor if she had any spare blankets or pillows to go with the old cot.
The words died in her mouth, however, when instead of Maria, she found herself face to face with Ty Gallups.
Her gasp of surprise was pure reflex, and she stumbled back a step, her eyes widening of their own accord.
"Good morning, Annie," Ty drawled in his deep voice, peering at her from beneath the brim of his Stetson.
"M…morning," Annie stammered back in an automatic reply, her hands fluttering nervously at her side, her heart pounding in her ears. She felt her cheeks flood with color and quickly dropped her gaze to the sidewalk, fighting off the sudden desire to run away…to put as much distance between herself and Ty as possible.
Get ahold of yourself, girl! she thought desperately, trying to calm her breathing and slow the wild beating of her heart.
"I'm kinda surprised to see you here," he commented lightly, the question obvious in the tone of his voice.
Annie risked a quick peek up at him, trying frantically to come up with a good explanation for her presence at the clinic. Her brother had always told her she was a horrible liar, and yet to remain silent would be even worse. The last thing she wanted to do was raise Ty's suspicions.
She was saved from having to come up with an answer, however, by Maria's sudden arrival, the doctor sweeping up to them smoothly, her features calm and relaxed. "Good morning, Ty," she greeted politely. "I hope you haven't come to see me…I'm afraid the clinic is closed for the afternoon. There's been an emergency, and the hospital has called me in to work."
Annie breathed out a small sigh of relief as Ty's gaze shifted from her to the doctor.
"Good morning, Dr. Juarez," he replied smoothly. "I actually was coming to see you, but not for an appointment. Do you have a moment to talk?"
Maria gave him an apologetic shrug. "Only if you make it fast," she answered. "Like I said, there's been an emergency and I really need to be going."
Ty's smile looked slightly strained. "I'm looking for two men," he stated without preamble. "One of them is tall with long, dark brown hair, and the other is shorter, with lighter hair and green eyes. You haven't happened to see anyone matching that description around here lately, have you?"
Maria appeared to consider for a moment before shaking her head. "I don't believe so," she answered slowly. "Why are you looking for them?"
Ty gave a small shrug. "Sheriff Rawly believes they may be a couple of guys on the run from the FBI," he explained. "They've been spotted in the area and are considered highly dangerous."
"Oh my," Maria replied, her eyebrows arching. "That certainly sounds ominous. I'll be sure to keep an eye out and let the sheriff know if I see anything suspicious. Now, if you'll excuse me…" she made to move past Ty, but he put out a quick hand to stop her
"One other thing," he stated. "At least one of the men is believed to be injured. If they are in the area, there's a chance they may try to break into the clinic for supplies."
Maria raised one eyebrow. "I keep it locked up when I'm gone," she assured him.
Ty shook his head. "That may not be enough. With your permission, we would like to keep a watch on it while you're away."
"Be my guest," Maria answered. "And be sure to tell the sheriff how much I appreciate how well he looks after this town."
Annie almost choked with this last statement, but quickly turned the sound into a cough. Maria turned to her with a smile. "Annie, dear, thanks so much for volunteering your day off to help me organize my storage room. Let me give you a lift home before I head to the hospital."
Annie nodded, and stumbled toward the passenger door of the van, mumbling a quick goodbye to Ty as she slipped past. She could sense his eyes following her, but didn't look up. Only when she was safely inside the van and Maria was pulling away from the clinic did she allow herself to breathe out a deep sigh of relief, her eyes flashing to the side-view mirror. Ty was still standing in front of the clinic watching them, but even as she looked he turned and began walking away down the street.
"Do you think he suspects anything," she asked breathlessly, glancing over at Maria. She was impressed with how calm and collected the doctor had remained through the entire encounter, and couldn't help but feel a little ashamed at her own poor performance.
Maria didn't answer right away, her gaze flickering to the rearview mirror. "I don't think so," she finally replied, but Annie noticed that her hands were trembling slightly as she gripped the steering wheel.
Somehow the knowledge that Maria was not as unshakable as she had seemed brought little comfort to her, and she spent the remainder of the trip back to the house with her eyes glued to the rearview mirror.
Sam woke with no memory of where he was or how he had gotten there.
His transfer from sleep to wakefulness was abrupt, leaving him feeling disoriented and confused, his head rolling against the soft pillow beneath him as he blinked blearily about him. The room where he was lying was heavily shadowed, lit only by a dim lamp on a dresser near the bed, and there was a quiet stillness to the air that reminded him of the deep hours of night.
He lay quietly for a moment, listening to the silence around him…trying to piece together the hazy shards of his memory. Eventually he tried to push himself upright in the bed, but found that he was simply too weak, his body weighed down, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. His lack of ability to move left him feeling helpless and vulnerable, and the beginnings of panic gripped the edges of his mind.
"Dean?"
His whispered call was instinctual, a reaction he had developed when he was younger and had woken to countless unfamiliar rooms with the need for something familiar to help reassure and comfort him. He wasn't a child anymore, but he couldn't deny that at that moment he needed his brother's familiar presence.
He heard a soft grunt from somewhere to his side and rolled his head in that direction, watching as his brother's shadowy form rose up from a narrow cot in the corner of the room. Casting aside his blankets, Dean rose and reached the edge of the bed in three steps, his hair disheveled and his face heavy with sleep.
"Sammy?" Dean's voice was deep and rough, the way he sounded each morning before he'd had his shower and cup of coffee.
"Hey," Sam replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over him at the sight of his brother. Dean looked ragged and unkempt, his eyes sunken and exhausted, the rough growth of a beard shadowing his chin, but at that moment he was one of the most beautiful sights Sam had ever seen. He felt Dean's hand come to rest on his shoulder, and he couldn't help but lean slightly into the comfort of the familiar touch.
"How are you feeling?" Dean's voice was full of concern.
Sam considered his brother's question. Besides being as weak as a newborn, his body ached fiercely, the pain bone deep and pervasive. His right shoulder throbbed in time with each heartbeat, and he could feel the beginnings of a headache forming directly behind his eyes.
He settled on the customary Winchester response. "I'm okay…just a little thirsty."
Dean grunted, and a moment later the weight of his hand left Sam's shoulder as he straightened and maneuvered around the end of the bed toward the dresser. Sam watched him, noticing for the first time that Dean was shirtless, his lower chest wrapped in heavy white bandages, his movements stiff and careful. He frowned, trying once again to remember exactly what had happened to them, frustrated at the fogginess in his brain that left it hard to think.
Dean grabbed a glass of water from the end of the dresser, then turned back to the bed, his gaze sweeping over Sam's prone form. "Think you can sit up?" he asked.
Sam nodded. "Give me a hand?" he requested, and Dean quickly set the cup back down on the bedside table and moved to his side. Together they managed to maneuver Sam into a sitting position against the headboard, the effort taking Sam's breath away and leaving him shaky and in pain, but relieved to be off his back and upright.
Dean gave him a moment to collect himself before holding out the glass of water. As Sam reached for it, he became aware of the IV needle taped halfway down his forearm. Following the tube protruding from his arm with his eyes, he noted the two empty drip bags hanging from the top of headboard, one of them stained red around the edges. Blood? His confusion grew, and his gaze flew to Dean's face.
"What the hell happened, Dean," he blurted. "Where are we, anyway?"
"We're at Annie's house," Dean replied wearily, turning and quickly rooting around on the bedside table. "Or more specifically…in the guestroom attached to her garage."
"Annie?" Sam repeated, his forehead wrinkling slightly as he tried to recall if he should know who that was.
"She's a waitress I met at the bar and grill," Dean explained, turning back to the bed with two large white pills in his hand. "Take these," he ordered, thrusting the pills in Sam's direction.
Sam frowned suspiciously at the pills, and Dean let out a sigh, shaking his hand impatiently. "They're painkillers, Sam," he grumbled.
Despite the heavy ache in his body, Sam still hesitated. "Will they make me loopy?" he asked.
Dean shook his head, his features breaking out into a tired smile. "What's the matter, Sammy? No 'elephants on parade' for you tonight?"
"It's 'pink elephants on parade'," Sam muttered, reaching out for the pills, rolling his eyes at his brother's reference to one of his favorite childhood movies. Dean had always made fun of him for watching Dumbo, but Sam had liked the movie because he found it was easy to relate to. He had always thought of himself as an outcast…a freak, and there had been times when he wished he could just sprout wings and fly away from it all.
"Yeah, whatever," Dean replied, watching as Sam downed the pills then handed him the empty cup. Replacing it on the bedside table, Dean sank wearily down on the edge of the bed, glancing at Sam from the corner of his eyes. "How much do you remember?" He asked.
Sam frowned at the question. He remembered escaping the camp with Dean, sheltering in a small alcove while they waited for the worst of the storm to pass, heading out in the drizzling rain to head toward Denton…It was then that his memories became a little hazy. He could vaguely remember stumbling through the trees, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, and then nothing but a murky collage of lights, sounds and sensations…of heat and weakness and burning pain. And through it all, he could remember his brother's voice, the familiar timbre and smooth cadence offering Sam a desperately needed lifeline to cling to as he drifted through the darkness and agony.
"Not much after we left the alcove," he admitted, staring at his brother's profile. "I take it I checked out on you again?"
Dean shrugged. "Not fully…I mean, you were still walking on your own, for the most part, but you weren't really there, if you know what I mean."
Sam nodded. "So, you managed to haul both of us back to town. Then what? You just decided to find this waitress you had only met once and ask her to help us? Whatever happened to 'trust no one'?"
Dean looked at him, the light from the small lamp revealing half his face while casting the other half in heavy shadow. "Didn't have much choice, Sammy," he answered softly. "Things got pretty rough there for a while."
There was something hidden in his brother's voice…a haunted tone that left Sam wondering exactly how close he had come to not waking up. He glanced down at the bandage around his right arm, then over to the IV sticking from his left. "You do this?" he asked quietly.
Dean shook his head. "Nah. You actually got a real doctor for a change. Maria Juarez. Annie told her our story and she's agreed to help us. Already has helped us. She stitched you up and even drove to the hospital to pick up some blood for you."
Sam shook his head, somehow not at all surprised that even ragged and worn his brother had managed to pick up not one, but two women willing to throw their lot in with him. "So where are they now?" Sam asked, glancing around the small room. "Your lady friends, I mean."
"Maria left as soon as your fever broke and your vitals were stable." Dean replied. "She'll be back in the morning. Annie went to bed around midnight."
"What time is it now?"
Dean twisted on the bed to glance toward the dresser, wincing slightly, his hand coming up to circle his waist. "Almost four AM," he replied, turning back to face Sam. "You always were an early riser, Sammy."
"How're you feeling?" Sam asked, eyeing the arm his brother had wrapped around his bandaged torso.
Dean shook his head, dropping the arm down into his lap. "I'm fine, Sam" he replied simply. "Tired…but then, I didn't spend almost twenty-four hours napping, either." He cast Sam a sly look.
Sam nodded slowly. "Just answer me one question, Dean," he asked, causing his brother to turn and face him, arching a questioning eyebrow. "Do I look as bad as you do?"
Dean blinked, then his face split into a wide grin. "Ten times worse, Sammy…as always."
Sam sighed. "That's what I was afraid of. Just make sure you don't let me near any mirrors anytime soon."
"Will do, kiddo," Dean replied, and Sam returned his smile with one of his own.
A moment later though he felt the smile slip from his face to be replaced with a serious expression. "What are we going to do now?" he asked, reaching up carefully with his left hand to rub at his burning eyes.
Dean shrugged. "I wouldn't be opposed to going back to bed for a few hours," he replied, eying Sam critically. "Despite your extended siesta, you look like you could use some more rest yourself."
Sam shook his head. "That's not what I meant, Dean. I was talking about Ty and Rawly."
Dean sighed. "I honestly haven't had a lot of time to think about it, Sam. I know we need to take care of them, I just haven't figured out the how yet."
"And by 'take care of them' you mean…?" Sam prompted.
Dean turned to face him, his face expressionless, his eyes shining dully in the dim light. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to…Sam already knew exactly what his brother was thinking.
"They're human, Dean," he pointed out quietly, studying his brother's face intently.
"They're monsters," Dean retorted immediately, his voice hard. "Just because they're not what we normally deal with doesn't make them any less evil. Who knows how much blood they have on their hands…how many lives they've taken. It has to stop…we have to stop it!"
"I agree," Sam said quickly, shifting forward slightly on the bed, grimacing in discomfort. "But we don't kill humans, Dean." He tried to make his voice forceful, frustrated by his weakness.
"Sometimes we don't have a choice," Dean answered softly, dropping his gaze to his lap, hiding his face, but not before Sam caught a glimpse of sadness and regret in his brother's expression.
Sam closed his eyes, feeling his weariness drag at him. "Maybe," he murmured, "but we have to draw the line somewhere, Dean, or we'll just end up as bad as them. There has to be another way."
Dean shook his head. "Sure there is," he replied, raising his gaze to Sam once more. "We can always call the police like Annie and Maria have been trying to convince me to do all night. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to come out here and investigate, especially after we give them our names. Hell, why don't we just skip right to it and call Agent Hendrickson directly…it should make his day. Of course, then we have to deal with the whole "credible witnesses" thing, and being thrown into jail for the rest of our lives, but I'm sure that will all turn out okay…"
"Okay, okay," Sam broke in, interrupting his brother's tirade. "I'm not suggesting we call the police, Dean. But there has to be something we can do. Ty has to keep some form of records…information on his clients and the people he's paid off. Maybe we can just…you know…break into his house …try to find it. We get that info into the right hands and there's no way he wiggles his way out of this. We just can't…
Dean cut him off by raising one hand sharply, his head snapping up to face the doorway, his whole body going instantly taut.
Sam was taken aback by Dean's sudden reaction, and his gaze followed his brother's to the door, his muscles tightening slightly in response to Dean's apprehension. "What is it?" he breathed, his voice whisper soft.
Dean shook his head and didn't immediately answer, his head tilted slightly to one side as he listened intently. A minute passed, then another one, and still Dean sat frozen, his gaze locked on the door, the air around him positively crackling with silent tension.
Just when Sam thought he could take the silence no longer, his brother suddenly relaxed, his shoulders slumping slightly in weary relief. He cast Sam an apologetic look. "Sorry," he muttered. "I thought I heard something. I guess I'm feeling a little…"
Whatever he was going to say was drowned out by the sudden sound of shattering wood as the door to the small room exploded inward. Dean swore and leapt to his feet, but before he could take even a single step forward, a dark figure stepped through the broken fragments of the door and into the room.
Sam had only an instant to recognize the tall form of Ty Gallups before the man raised his hand, the lamplight glinting from the black muzzle of a revolver, the gun aimed directly at Dean's chest, pulling his brother up short.
Time seemed to slow even as Sam felt his heartbeat pick up pace, his hands balled helplessly in the sheets of the bed. Ty took a single step forward, the snap of his booted feet sounding loud in the suddenly silence.
"Hello Dean," he drawled softly. "Did you miss me?"