-a'ight, NO SLASH intended between Dean and Patrick, 'kay? 'Kay.-

16

Red Sky at Morning

"Shh, I know, I know, it's okay. Shh…It'll be over soon," Dean assured, setting another piece of bloodied tile on the paper plate next to him.

Patrick was biting down on a rag from the break-room; his eyes shut tight, stinging tears leaking from under them. He relaxed a little when the piece was pulled out, but tensed almost immediately after when he realized there was more left.

He sobbed a little when the pliers closed around yet another piece of porcelain.

"It's alright," Dean assured, squeezing his hand. "Just a little longer." He pulled carefully; Patrick's hand closed around his as tightly as it could, his face red, hissing, muscles rigid. "Almost done, almost done," Dean swore.

True to his word, he took the last piece out, setting it with the other bloody pieces. Patrick relaxed, sobbing.

Dean looked at him, his eyes pained, and eased the kitchen towel out of his mouth. Patrick sniffed and looked up at him, totally shattered from the inside out.

A few of his ribs were cracked, not only from his daughter, but from whatever had been in the closet with him. New bruises had formed on his face, awful looking in both color and size. Someone beat the hell out of him.

Dean took the bottle of whiskey from next to the plate on the small table, lifting Patrick's head.

"Alright, you're gonna wanna drink more than last time, okay?" He said gently. Patrick nodded. He drank a few mouthfuls, grimacing at the burn in his already hoarse throat. "I know, I know, it's okay," Dean assured, taking the bottle away. He poured some on his mangled shoulder. Patrick cried out in pain, biting his already split lip, giving a dry sob.

"Sorry! Sorry!" He took the bottle away. "I know, I know it hurts, but it'll numb it a little, alright?" He nodded again, sniffling. "It'll be alright, it's okay. Shh…"

He stitched up the deeper cuts and wrapped the entire shoulder once he was done. Now he had not only the cuts from earlier to stitch up, but new ones as well.

"Okay, this is gonna hurt, alright?" He warned. Patrick shut his eyes, lips shaking, as a response.

Dean stitched up the cuts as quickly and carefully as he knew how before wrapping his injured torso.

Lisbon came up behind him, holding dry clothes. "I ran to his house," she said quietly. "I, uh, think that you, um, you should…" She was getting redder and redder as she spoke. He nodded, taking them from her, smiling a little.

"Yeah, I got it. I'm a dude, he's a dude. That'd be awkward, yeah, I get it." She smiled, embarrassed and walked away.

Dean sat back down next to Patrick, running his hand over his face. "Alright, Patrick, this is gonna be really awkward for the both of us, so just bear with me, alright?"

Dean got him dressed and lied him back down, tucking the blankets tightly around him. He gave him some Tylenol and water to soothe his pain and hopefully prevent a fever.

"I-I'm so tired," he whimpered, the first words he had spoken since they'd left the storage closet.

"I know, I know," Dean said, his eyes pained. "Just sleep, Patrick. It's alright, just go to sleep. Shh…"

"Wh-what if th-they come back?" He trembled.

"It's okay," Dean put his hand on his forehead. "They won't hurt you anymore, I promise. It's alright, just sleep."

"P-please, m-my father-"

"Shh, don't worry about it, Patrick. He can't hurt you either. Did he die too?" He asked softly. He blanched when Patrick shook his head.

"I-I don't know w-where he is," he choked. "I h-haven't seen him i-in years…" Dean's brow was creased.

"Did he hurt you? Is that why you haven't seen him?" He asked, hoping he wasn't asking too much. Patrick nodded, shrinking into himself a little, crying again.

"Shh, hey, hey, it's alright. Don't cry, don't cry, shh…it's okay. He can't hurt you anymore, I promise. It's alright. Shh… Go to sleep, Patrick. It'll be okay."

Patrick nodded, closing his eyes, shaking in fear.

Dean sighed, waiting for his breathing to even out and his features to smooth. He rested his face in his hands when it happened, elbows on his knees.

"Is he alright?" He jumped, reflexively grabbing the shotgun in between his legs.

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Lisbon said, putting her hands up. "It's me, relax!"

"Sorry," he said, putting it down and standing.

"Is he okay?" She repeated. He sighed.

"I don't think so," He admitted. She pursed her lips, looking at Patrick sadly. "He's pretty messed up." She sighed, running her hand through her hair.

"You and Sam can get rid of this thing, right?" She said softly. He nodded.

"We'll do whatever we can to kill this thing," he said firmly. She nodded. "I'm gonna go talk to Sam," he said, but he didn't move. She looked up at him, not moving either. "We need to figure out how to take this thing out."

"Yeah, that's a good idea," she said, still not moving either. They stood still for a moment longer before leaning toward each other, eyes closing.

Lisbon's heart was racing at the thought of who she was about to kiss, anticipation rising fast in her stomach.

"Dean." He stopped, so close to her lips he could almost feel them. He turned, taking a breath, angry, before he did.

"Yeah, Sam?" He growled.

"I need to talk to you," he said. Lisbon's face was red as she sat down, taking Patrick's hand, stroking his curls.

"What, Sam?" Dean spat irritably. Sam looked over his shoulder at Lisbon.

"Seriously? I don't think this is the time," he scolded.

"Yeah, thanks Mom. Now what's wrong?"

"Bobby called. Apparently if this stuff's happening and the building's sealed off with salt then…then the demon's here, Dean. It's in here with us."

"So, that means one of us is possessed?" He asked, incredulous that they had gone this long without noticing something was wrong with one of the agents.

"I already gave them all holy water, they're fine."

"So…there's someone else here."

-More soon!-