Disclaimer: I own no part of the CW, SPN, or anything much of anything at all. But I do own my original characters, plotline, and such. Nice to have something at least!
Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter! I appreciate each of you taking the time to not only read this story but to go a further step and let me know what you think of it. Many thanks!
Also, I have a tumblr account now…I'm wifey-mcwiferson so if you can find me, FIND ME! I have no clue what I'm doing with a tumblr account so come and help me out!
Also, thanks to Winjennster for yet another wonderful chapter title!
Bobby shifted in front of Sam as he heard movement inside the bedroom, sighing in relief at the unmistakable sound of furniture scraping along the floorboards. He was surprised Gloria had given in so soon, but as long as she was willing to give over her gun he'd be happy about meeting her face to face. Bobby listened as the door unlocked, the doorknob squeaking slightly as it turned. He froze where he was, his eyes narrowing as he tried to see inside the dimly lit room.
Bloodshot eyes peered down out at him, Gloria's exhaustion evident. Bobby took half a step back, his hands held out in front of him, trying to lure her further out of the room. He watched Gloria's fear filled eyes flick to Sam and then back to him.
"It's alright Gloria," Bobby murmured softly, raising his hand toward her slowly. "Come on out."
Bobby waited patiently as Gloria looked him up and down before turning her gaze to Sam. He knew he couldn't rush it, if he startled her they'd be right back where they started; with a door and a bullet between them. He wasn't sure what he'd do with her once she came out of the room, but he knew that looking after a paranoid, sleep deprived woman who had been Army trained would be impossible to watch as he patched up Sam. He needed her safe and out of the way…and asleep, most likely.
Gloria eased the door open and motioned behind her. "He's in here."
Bobby slowly moved into the doorway, pushing the door farther open before surveying the room; he could see Dean sprawled on the bed across the room. He gave himself half a second to look at Dean before he turned his attention back to Gloria, aware of the Beretta she was still clutching tightly in her hand.
"Give me the gun," he said firmly. "I need to help Dean, Sam, and you…but I can't until you give me that gun."
Gloria took a step back, bumping into the wall behind her; shaking her head from side to side. "No…I can't…"
"I know you're scared, but I'm not going to let anything happen to you," Bobby stated. "Besides, your hands are shaking. You're not really the best one to be armed right now and the part of you that is still looking out for you and Dean knows that. Give it to me."
Gloria slid down the wall into a sitting position before sighing deeply, her heart beating loudly in her chest. She knew he was right; you never let your partner stand watch when they weren't at the top of their game. Her dad and the Army had taught her that.
Her eyes met Bobby's as she turned the gun in her hand and held it out, her hand gripping the barrel; a sure sign of good faith and standing down. Bobby grimaced as he took it and checked the safety.
Gloria smiled faintly at him before mumbling, "Take good care of him."
Bobby didn't reply as he landed a sharp blow across her jaw, Gloria instantly sliding down the wall onto the floor, unconscious. "I will," he mumbled as he looked down at her apologetically. He hated what he had done, but it was for the best. He didn't have the time to properly address her needs, she'd have to wait. Sam, followed by Dean, were the priority right now.
Bobby grabbed Gloria's arms and dragged her into the room. He glanced out the door at Sam, his own face lined with worry. Sam wasn't looking to alert and Bobby knew he was pushing his luck by not dragging Sam off to a hospital right then. Sam's eyes were glued to the doorway, a surprised look on his face.
"I've never known you to hit a woman before," Sam slurred through the pain.
"Never had much need to," Bobby snapped. "But we can't take the time to talk her down from what she's going through right now. She needs sleep and for that she'd have to be trusting enough to close her eyes around us. I did what I had to….She can sleep it off while we get something done about your shoulder."
"What about Dean," Sam called out, his grip on the shirt failing as it became slicker with his own blood. It didn't matter that Gloria had shot him, before he'd let Bobby come anywhere near him he wanted to know Dean was still in the cabin, still safe.
"Checking on him now, you stay put or I'll break your legs," Bobby snapped. "Don't need you injuring yourself any more than you already are."
Bobby moved across the room towards Dean. He pushed down his fear, fear that Dean wasn't moving, fear that maybe Gloria had put a bullet in him before letting anything take him, fear that they were too late.
He stepped beside the bed and laid a hand over Dean's heart, a tell tail rhythm forming under his fingertips. Bobby stood there, his hand over Dean's heart, basking in the knowledge that Dean was finally right within reach. It had been to many days of not knowing where or how he was.
"Is he alive," Sam called out, panic overtaking him as silence filled the cabin. "Bobby!"
Sam's voice snapped Bobby out of his thoughts. "He's alive, Sam. Give me a minute to look him over and then get ready for me to yank that bullet out of your shoulder."
Bobby gently rolled Dean's face toward him, cursing under his breath as he stared at the large hand print shaped bruise that spanned his face. Dean didn't move or respond to Bobby's touch or voice. He was still fevered to the touch, his skin dry and hot. Bobby frowned and pulled the sheets loose that were wrapped around him. Damp bandages were wrapped around his wrists, his palms still bloody from his own fingernails digging into them. Bruises laced around his arms and legs, a large bruise in the center of his chest. Bobby prodded the bruises, watching Dean for any sign of pain. Finding none, he continued on. Rolling Dean onto his side, Bobby pulled the gauze loose from his lower back and stared the burned area. The remains of a blister covered the area. Bobby squinted at the mark, looking for any trace of the mark Gloria had described.
"How is he," Sam called out. He couldn't sit on the floor, bleeding or not, and not see for himself how Dean was doing. He slowly rolled onto his knees and fought back the wave of pain and nausea that rolled over him. He bit the inside of his cheek as he used the doorframe to pull himself onto his feet.
"Are you an idjit or just plain stupid," Bobby snapped as he rushed to Sam. He grabbed Sam's good arm and held him tightly as Sam swayed on his feet.
"Want to see Dean," Sam slurred as he nodded toward Dean's lax form.
"He's right here," Bobby exclaimed softly as he helped Sam face the bed. He watched Sam stare at Dean, the slight glisten of unshed tears filling his eyes. Bobby looked away and sighed. He didn't have time for Sam to get all emotional; they needed to address his bleeding shoulder so Bobby could figure out what was going on with Dean.
"How…," Sam began to ask as a wave of dizziness hit him.
"Let's get a move on," Bobby stated firmly, motioning towards the hallway. He knew Sam was on his way to unconsciousness and if Sam could move under his own steam to the kitchen, Bobby would have a heck of an easier time. "We've seen him worse, but he's not looking that peachy. Let's get you patched up, alright?"
Sam nodded slowly. He wanted to see Dean, to reach out and touch him for himself, but it sounded like Bobby had other plans for him.
"Let's head to the kitchen," Bobby said as he helped Sam toward the door. "We'll probably find what we need in there."
"What about Dean...," Sam slurred. "He'll get…"
"I'll take care of it," Bobby stated as he leaned Sam against the doorframe. "Don't let go."
He turned back into the bedroom and grabbed Gloria's arms and dragged her onto the bed next to Dean. They looked like quite the pair, side by side; bruised and unconscious. He didn't hesitate as he pulled the bottle from his pocket and shook two of the sleeping pills into his hand. He had brought them along for Sam, but it looked as though Gloria would be the one in need; he wanted to know that she'd stay asleep for a while and not come looking if Sam started making any noise when Bobby started digging in his shoulder. He slipped the tablets into her mouth, sighing in relief when she swallowed them and rolled toward Dean. Bobby grabbed the handcuffs from the table and slipped them in place, firmly affixing Dean to Gloria. After tucking a blanket around the two of them, he headed for Sam.
"Ready for this," Bobby asked as he directed Sam down the hallway. Rain continued to pound on the roof as thunder rolled in the distance. It was as miserable outside as it was inside the small cabin.
"Not really…," Sam muttered honestly as he stumbled along with Bobby up the narrow hallway.
Bobby grunted and motioned toward the kitchen table. "Best light will be with you on the table," he stated. "Not the most comfortable place…think you can handle it?"
Sam rolled his eyes, frowning when the motion made his head swim. "I'll take a hard table and a good light over you digging a bullet out with nothing but a crappy flashlight…"
"Wise ass," Bobby snapped as he helped Sam onto the table. Sam's feet hung off the table and his head smacked the table as he tried position himself on the narrow table. "Let me grab you a pillow at least."
Sam lay on the table, staring into the bright overhead light, as his head swan from the blood loss and pain. He jumped as Bobby suddenly appeared and placed a hand on his forehead. "Balls! Not you too."
Sam wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "Me too?"
"Fevered. You're fevered, like Dean. Probably your shoulder already getting infected…"
Sam nodded slowly; he remembered Gloria saying Dean had a fever, a bad one. "Dean needs antibiotics…"
"Hate to break it to you, kid, but he's not the only one," Bobby said as he rummaged through the kitchen for supplies. "We're going to have to get our hands on some supplies; Marty should be able to help us out."
Bobby dumped out the few bags that littered the kitchen, sighing at the slim selection. "Be right back, don't move a muscle off that table," Bobby mumbled as he picked up Gloria's keys from the counter.
He slipped out the door and glanced out through the rain. The other cabins seemed dark and vacant. He headed for Gloria's car and popped open the trunk. Bobby grabbed the small first aid kit, knowing that Silas Johnson had trained his daughter well. Bobby checked the rest of the car before scouring the Impala for any stray items that may have been left behind in their hurry to empty the car out for base inspection. He sighed in relief when he found a small first aid box under the false bottom in the Impala's trunk. He opened it and spotted the small tweezers and stitch kit; it would be enough if he took his time and used it sparingly.
He traipsed back through the rain, pausing on the porch before pulling his phone out.
The phone rang three times before Marty answered the phone. "Bobby?"
"Yeah, you idjit, who'd you expect? Look, we've got ourselves a situation here and you're just about the only person in the area I know," Bobby explained. "I need you to drop whatever case you're working on…"
"What's the problem Bobby," Marty asked, the sound of rustling paper pausing.
"Well, we got on the base just fine, found Gloria Johnson and Dean…but we've run into a few problems, starting with a Beretta and ending with an understocked first aid kit," Bobby explained.
Bobby could hear the change in Marty's voice. "How bad is it?"
Bobby adjusted his cap as he clutched the phone. "Pretty damn bad. I think the bullet struck the bone… I haven't told Sam yet."
"Any chance you can wait until I get there to help," Marty asked. He and Bobby had worked together in the past; they had patched up more than one hunter and buried a few as well. They both knew pulling a bullet from the bone wasn't easy. Listening to the begging alone could drive someone into overmedicating the man under the knife.
"I don't think we can…We need IV antibiotics and fluids, a few sets of tubing and maybe some syringes, lots of saline solution, gauze, burn cream, as well as just about anything else you can get your hands on."
Marty whistled low into the phone. "Give me about an hour and a half to put everything together and get there. How do I get on base to find you?"
Bobby rattled off a few more items before giving Marty instructions for the inspection and a vague set of directions to the cabin before heading back inside. Bobby quietly latched the door behind him. With a worried glance at Sam, he set about opening up the first aid kits, adding the new supplies to the pile that Gloria had left in the kitchen. He grimaced as he realized the one thing they needed most and didn't have; a scalpel.
He moved over to Sam, wondering if they could wait it out until Marty got there. Sam continued to stare into the too bright light that hung over him, his face tight with pain. He didn't move when Bobby stepped closer and lifted the bloody shirt from overtop of the wound. Blood continued to leech out of the mangled flesh, making Bobby shake his head. He moved back to the kitchen and rechecked all of the drawers, hoping to find something he had missed. He had a knife sharpener, but the only knife in the kitchen was fairly large. He had never wanted a paring knife so badly.
"We don't have a scalpel," Bobby stated, pointedly not looking at Sam as he washed his hands. "And I don't think we can wait for Marty to get here with the supplies…So I'll make the offer once more….do you want to head for a hospital? It might be best, Sam. I can look after Dean while you're in—"
"No."
"Sam?"
He lay silent for a minute, so long that Bobby moved closer to check on him. "Sam? You with me?"
"I'm not leaving Dean," Sam ground out angrily, his face ashen. "If we can't wait…let's just get it over with, Bobby. I've seen you work without a scalpel before…"
Bobby moved over Sam, catching his eye and holding it as he spoke. "The shoulder is vascular, Sam. You know that. It's amazing you've not bled out already. Aside from the vascular system, you've got nerves, tendons and muscle in there. You don't need me digging around in there with a goddamn grapefruit spoon, you need a surgeon."
Sam frowned, his face pale. "You're the best we've got right now. I trust you, Bobby."
Bobby sighed angrily and shook his head. "Idjit," he grumbled as he grabbed the knife sharpener from the kitchen drawer and started to work the knife over it, doing his best to ignore the look of pain and fear on Sam's face. He knew it was mean to scare the kid but he needed Sam to understand that even by hunting standards, this was going to be brutal. He wanted to give Sam time to rethink his choice.
Sam listened as Bobby continued to sharpen the blade in his hand, the rasping sound sending shivers down his spine. He hated this part. The prep was worse than usual, fear building in his chest. Sam squinted up at the blaring light, wanting Bobby to just give him the same treatment he had given Gloria, a strong right cross and the easy way out. He listened as Bobby washed down the knife and tweezers before stepping near his shoulder, cutting into his line of sight. He squinted up at Bobby, his vision blurring and fading around the edges.
"You ready for this?"
Sam's hands trembled as Bobby removed the blood soaked shirt from his shoulder, sweat instantly beading over his forehead. "…Never wished more for whiskey..."
"Me neither, kid."
Sam hissed in pain as the cool air hit the open tissue, sending painful shivers though him.
Bobby grunted as he stared at the oozing hole in Sam's shoulder. "You need something for the pain?"
"Haven't got anything…do we," Sam asked hopefully.
Bobby shrugged and glanced down at Sam. "I got a belt you can bite on…you decide you need it, you let me know… Once I get to digging in there, we're at it until the bullet is out…"
Sam nodded slowly, his vision swimming once more. "Just get it done, Bobby. Don't have all day…."
Bobby picked up the small tweezers and began the tedious job of pulling splinters from the mangled flesh. His hands were steady, as they had been through the years of patching up the Winchesters, of coaxing engines to turn over for him, and of carrying survivors to safety.
Several minutes passed, only Sam's hitched breathing and the storm disturbing the silence. "Done yet, Bobby?"
"You got a hot date waiting on you Sam," Bobby asked derisively as he picked up the knife and slowly slid the tip into the gaping hole, testing slightly as he felt through the damage. Sam howled and bucked against the table as Bobby nudged the tip of the bullet, his breathing dissolving into a series of short bursts.
Bobby's jaw tightened as he felt the placement. "It's lodged in the bone."
Sam's eyes flew open in panic. "Bobby…wait…."
"I'm gonna have to pry it out," Bobby stated firmly as he set the tweezers down. He knew what was coming; he had heard it before from more than one hunter. He had steeled himself against pleading and begging years ago, but hearing the boys do it never got any easier.
"Bobby…," Sam pleaded, his hands gripping into fists. "Please…"
Bobby moved and stood over Sam, their faces inches apart. "Sam, we can't wait…I said we had to keep going…It can't wait any longer…It'll go septic and we're already risking a lot by not going to the hospital. If you'd rather go to the hospital for this, I'll have us there in fifteen minutes."
Sam shook his head. "I'm staying here with Dean."
Sam gritted his teeth as Bobby positioned the knife over his wound. "I can pry it loose with the knife; first I'm going to have to open it up a little more to see what direction to best come at it from."
Bobby kept his eyes on the knife, using a clean kitchen towel to wipe blood out of the way as it rose from the jagged hole in Sam's shoulder. His hands paused as tremors ran through Sam, his body shaking uncontrollably as he closed his eyes, pain saturating every nerve in his body.
"Sam, how you doing," Bobby asked softly, the knife poised over the wound.
Sam nodded curtly, his lips pursed as he breathed raggedly. "I'm…fine…okay."
"You're shaking like a leaf," Bobby stated. "You gotta hold still."
"…I'm trying, Bobby," Sam rasped out. "Hurts like hell…and the thought of you doing that again…"
Bobby set the knife down. "Take a breather, I'll be right back."
He moved quickly as he headed for the bedroom. He glanced at Dean and Gloria, both still motionless on the bed, before grabbing a discarded bed sheet from the floor and heading back to Sam. His eyes were closed as he lay on the table, the fluorescent light burning brightly overhead.
Without a word, Bobby draped the sheet over Sam's torso and legs, grabbing the corners and tying them to the table legs. Sam's eyes flew open as he felt the sheet tighten over his chest, pinning him to the table. Only his head remained out from under the sheet.
"Bobby," Sam asked fearfully.
Bobby didn't say anything as he ripped the sheet, revealing Sam's shoulder. Other than his exposed shoulder he was complete pinned to the table, unable to move. He took a shaky breath and looked for Bobby above him as a sense of claustrophobia overtook him.
"Bobby," Sam repeated, trying to shift against sheet.
"Can't have you moving around; your shoulder is a mess and the more you move…the worse it's gonna get," Bobby explained. "Sam, I'm not stopping again. It's this until you pass out, sooner the better if you can manage it."
"Bobby…can't you just…," Sam murmured, his eyes begging Bobby to give him what he wanted.
Bobby shook his head apologetically. "Don't think I haven't thought of that already, Sam…but you just had one hell of a bad concussion. I can't put you down like that, not this soon."
Sam nodded his understanding, trying to quell the sudden claustrophobia of being tied to the narrow table while Bobby cut into his shoulder, knowing he'd have to endure to the end without any sort of relief.
Without another word, Bobby carefully cut into the flesh, widening the wound. He wiped the blood out of the way and maneuvered the flashlight over the wound, peering into the mess. He could see the small offending piece of metal and a flash of white bone.
"I can see it," Bobby said, narrating his movements. He slowly slid the tip of the knife along the edge of the mangled bullet, maneuvering the tip of the knife between the bone and the metal. He rocked the blade slightly testing its position, pulling a strangled cry from Sam.
"Bobby….stop…please…"
Bobby ignored Sam's cry. He knew that the pain would only end when the job was finished. He slid the tweezers into the wound and gripped the mangled metal. He gripped Sam's shoulder to hold it down as he pulled the bullet. A muffled cry came from deep within Sam, the sound making Bobby glance up at Sam's face. His face was covered in sweat and tears, a small bit of blood on his lips from having bitten them.
"Nearly there, Sam, just hang on," Bobby said reassuringly as he continued to pull with the tweezers. He wished he had needle nose pliers for a job like this, but the tweezers would have to do. Blood rushed out of the wound, Bobby wondering just how much Sam had already lost.
Tears ran down Sam's face, his panic at being unable to move away from the pain rising in his chest, his pounding heart making it hard to hear Bobby's words. His shoulder was on fire as the sensation of Bobby pulling his arm off overwhelmed him.
Bobby sighed in relief as he finally felt the bullet let loose from the bone. "Got it, boy. Take a breather."
"…Bobby….," Sam slurred, bright spots filling his vision. His vision swam as his lightheadedness increased. He felt his stomach flip flop and his heart skip a beat. He knew this feeling. It wasn't pleasant but he knew it well.
Bobby was busy inspecting the bullet; frowning when he realized it wasn't all there. Somewhere in Sam's shoulder, another piece was going to have to be found and removed. Hearing the change in Sam's voice, Bobby turned his attention from the mangled bullet to Sam. He frowned at Sam's pale, slightly gray color. He could see the kid starting to stare into nothingness, a sure sign that he was losing his grip on consciousness. "Sam, talk to me."
"…Spots…," Sam mumbled, closing his eyes as the spots danced in front of his face, making him dizzy.
Bobby knew Sam was teetering on the edge of consciousness. "Go on, Sam. This isn't over yet…better if you just go on and pass out…"
"...Check on Dean…."
Bobby chuckled warmly at Sam's words as the young man passed out as his brother's name slipped from his lips. After checking that the bleeding had slowed, Bobby grabbed a cup of warm, soapy water from the sink and poured it into the wound, irrigating it as best he could without better supplies. He scrubbed down his hands again before picking the tweezers and knife up again.
He spent the next hour carefully dissecting Sam's shoulder, removing splinters and several small bone shards as well as the other chunk of bullet from the wound. He took a minute to scrub the dried blood from his hands before finally picking up the sterile stitch kit. He had sewn more Winchester flesh in his life than he wanted to remember. He frowned thoughtfully as he did his best to reassemble Sam's muscle and tissue, making carefully stitches as he closed Sam up from the inside out, thankful for having stocked the boy's first aid kit with dissolving stitches last time they had stopped through. He hadn't thought they would have gotten used so quickly but he was grateful none the less. He knew Sam would have permanent nerve damage, but even with a hospital and surgeon it would have been unavoidable.
Sometimes, Winchester luck was just that way.
Bobby finished washing the blood from his hands, the knife and tweezers boiling in a pot on the stove. He gathered the small packet of antibiotic cream and remaining gauze before turning back to Sam. He frowned as he stared at Sam's shoulder. The tissue was red and inflamed; he ran a finger around the wound and felt the unusual warmth in the skin, a sure sign of infection setting in.
"Dammit, Sam," he muttered as he smeared the ointment over the black stitches and inflamed tissue. "You're as bad as Dean."
He wrung out a kitchen towel and began the tedious job of wiping the dried blood and sweat from Sam's torso and neck. Satisfied that Sam was as cleaned up as possible, Bobby re-tied the sheet over Sam, wanting to ensure that when Sam woke he wouldn't try to leave the table on his own. Bobby had seen the boys rip out plenty of stitches in their hastiness to jump up and check on each other and Bobby was in no mood to attempt to reassemble Sam's shoulder again.
Bobby wandered the cabin restlessly, standing guard over the group of injured and sick. He chuckled when he stepped into the bedroom to check on Gloria and Dean and found that Dean had rolled toward her, his head tucked low and his body curled as small as he could make himself. Gloria had slung an arm over him, her own body curved protectively around him. Dean usually didn't allow himself that sort of physical comfort and it was almost comical, yet worrisome, to Bobby. Regardless of trying to kill her just the day before, Dean seemed to have finally relaxed in the presence of his substitute protector.
Bobby laid a hand on Dean's forehead, remembering how Dean would usually dodge the familiar move or make an excuse to head in the opposite direction from anyone's ministrations toward his own good health. Dean didn't move under his hand; not even murmuring at his touch. Bobby grunted unhappily as he felt the heat wave coming off the young man. He knew that Dean mostly like had some sort of infection, but the source wasn't evident. He'd have to search him over once he could be un-cuffed from Gloria; something had been missed. Bobby was laying a wet sheet over Dean when he heard a the unmistakable sound of a car.
A loud knock at the door pulled Bobby away from Dean. He glanced at the clock, hoping it was Marty outside. If it was the military police…they'd be split up and hauled off to the clink until the base officials sorted them out. He glanced back at Sam's form on the table, wondering how much longer he'd be out for as he pulled the front door open and smiled in relief.
"About time," he said to Marty, grabbing one of the large duffel bags from his hands.
Marty shook his head and walked past Bobby. "That inspection was something," he replied. "They didn't look in the bags, not that a carload of medical supplies is a crime."
"These narcs would be without names on the bottles," Bobby said as he pulled a small plastic bottle out of the bag, the liquid inside making him smile in relief. "You get everything on the list?"
"And more, but it looks like you started the party without me," Marty said as he moved closer to Sam.
"Couldn't wait," Bobby said almost apologetically.
Marty looked around the small kitchen counter, surveying the supplies that littered the surface. "I thought you didn't have a scalpel…"
"I didn't."
"What the hell did you use," Marty asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. He had seen some rather gruesome home medicine in the past and he was surprised Bobby would have given in to its use, especially when it came to the Winchester brothers.
"Kitchen knife…all I could find," Bobby said gruffly.
Marty moved to Sam, peeling the gauze out of the way as he angled the light and scrutinized Bobby's work. "How long has he been out for?"
"Since about the time I got the first chunk of bullet pulled loose…nearly two hours, but he's been pretty worn out lately, and now with the blood loss…not really sure how much waiting to do before I start to worry," Bobby admitted.
Marty whistled as he dug a box of syringes out of the bag. "Let's get this job done then, before he wakes up. Who else is down for the count? Everybody?"
"Each and every one of them," Bobby exclaimed as he filled a syringe from a small bottle Marty tossed him. He handed the syringe off to Marty as he picked up a second bottle and filled another syringe. "Let's get a head start in the antibiotics."
Without a word, Marty plunged the needle into Sam's shoulder, pushing the antibiotics into the inflamed flesh. He traded syringes with Bobby and injected the morphine next. "Hit bone, huh?"
"Yep," Bobby said as he fiddled with the IV tubing, tossing the central line kit to Marty as he added the antibiotic solution to the bag of saline. "These boys have the worst luck I've ever seen."
Wordlessly, Marty affixed the central IV line to the back of Sam's hand before grabbing the tubing from Bobby's outstretched hand. Once the liquid was dripping at a good rate, Bobby hung the bag from the light fixture overhead.
"We could move him to the couch," Marty offered. "That table has got to be as hard as a rock."
"That kind of jostling and pain might bring him out of it; I'd rather wait until the morphine has kicked in. I say we wait," Bobby explained as he motioned for Marty to follow him down the hallway. "Let's get Dean out here and see what we're in for. He's the worst of the two, aside from Sam's bullet wound."
As they stepped into the room, Marty glanced at Gloria. "Looks like her mom. Hopefully, not quite as scary when she's angry though…"
"She looked pretty scary holding that Beretta earlier…scary and determined," Bobby said as he pulled the sheet away from Dean. "Better hold him tight, he's been fighting everyone."
"Bobby, the kid's not conscious."
"Never stopped him before," Bobby chuckled. "You do what you want but don't complain to me if he hits you."
Moving with caution, Marty held Dean's wrists firmly in his large hands as Bobby removed the handcuffs, each watching for any sign that he was waking up. Bobby could tell that Dean was far from well, but the last few calls from Gloria had made him leery of Dean's sudden wakefulness and violence. Marty and Bobby exchanged a solemn glance before Marty picked Dean up and walked out of the room with him.
Bobby stayed behind and rolled Gloria over, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he looked her over. A puffy bruise marred her face; Bobby's feelings of guilt returning over his decision to hit her. He followed the blood stains that marked her clothing, making sure the blood on her clothing wasn't her own. He placed the blankets back over her as she moved closer to the warm spot Dean had left behind. "We've got him from here," Bobby said softly. "Just sleep it off."
Bobby walked to the small couch where Marty was already checking Dean over. "He's pretty damn lightweight. And got enough bruises here to cause some worry," Marty muttered. "He have all these last you saw him?"
"It's been awhile since I've seen him, Marty. Been awhile since anyone's seen him," Bobby answered as he grabbed a bottle of saline solution. "I can account for a lot of them, particularly the ones where he was restrained in our attempts to keep him from vanishing. I'm going to guess some of them might be from fighting whatever was after him."
Bobby watched as Marty probed the mass of bruises that wrapped around Dean's torso. "Might have a cracked rib or three," Marty muttered with a sigh. "Nothing we can do about those. Looks like his wrists are torn up as well. Have you un-wrapped these yet?"
"Nope. Gloria wrapped them. She told me he was fighting the restraints," Bobby explained as Marty unwound the gauze. "We had used handcuffs but those bruises look like they're from rope or vines, maybe."
Marty grunted his agreement as he looked up at Bobby. "Where you want to start on this mess?"
They stood side by side and looked down at the eldest Winchester, each surveying the damage.
"Might as well start at the top and work our way down," Bobby said as he pulled another syringe out of the box. "We might get lucky and find another clue on him…You bring what I asked you to?"
Marty pulled a small plastic bottle from his pocket and silently handed it to Bobby. "He's not even moving, Bobby. You really think it's necessary?"
"I'm hope it's not," Bobby replied with a grimace as he loaded the small syringe and set it on the table next to the narrow couch. "But Dean—he's a handful when he's sick, worse now that he can't tell what's real and what's not. It's just in case he gets out of hand. Can't have him making things worse."
Bobby slowly began his search, covering every inch of Dean. Dean didn't move as Bobby moved him this way and that, not even a sound passing his lips much less his typical 'touch me and I'll kill you' routine. Bobby slid open one of Dean's eyelids and flinched at the milky white coloring that enveloped his usually green eyes. He shook his head, wondering the cause of his eyes changing color. Silently, he mapped out the bruises before shaking his head. "Not sure we'd even be able to spot another one of those marks on him with this amount of bruising. I can't find any major wound that would be causing his fever either."
"Speaking of which," Marty said as he handed Bobby a thermometer for Dean's ear.
Bobby waited impatiently for the thermometer to tell him what he already knew. He had seen enough fevers to know when one was dangerously high and he knew that Dean was dehydrated by his lack of sweating. He held it up for Marty to read when it beeped.
Marty whistled lowly. "Impressive. You want to toss him in the tub or fry an egg on his forehead?"
Bobby stared at the thermometer. "Wonder how he's not seizing at this point…"
"Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth," Marty said as he gathered Dean back into his arms. "Let's get him cooled down."
Bobby helped maneuver Dean through the doorways and into the tub before turning the water on. He expected Dean to react to the cool water and frowned when Dean didn't as much as twitch. He was left to hold Dean's head above the water as Marty headed back to the couch for the IV lines. Bobby watched Dean's face, void of any expression. He was lost in worry when Marty walked back into the room with an armload of IV tubing and supplies.
"Any change yet," Marty asked as he picked up Dean's hand and wiped the back of it with an alcohol pad. He had spent years patching up hunters, fighting fevers, and brewing up home remedies for curses, hexes, and magical maladies. He adjusted the flow rate and watched the solution begin to trickle down the line. "These are broad spectrum antibiotics. Who knows, maybe it's something simple."
"Could be, I suppose," Bobby said gruffly as he let Dean slide further down into the water. He draped Dean's hand over the side of the tub, keeping the IV line out of the tub. "Would surprise me though; these boys can't ever do anything simple."
Marty chuckled. "They do seem to have a reputation."
"Whatever you've heard, it's twice as bad," Bobby said with a shake of his head.
They traded off sitting by the tub for the first thirty minutes, until the first shiver passed through Dean. Bobby and Marty slowly carried him back to the couch, rubbing him dry with the last of the kitchen towels.
"Let's get him cleaned up and bandage what needs bandaging," Bobby said as he pulled the coffee table closer to the couch. "We can lay a cold sheet over him afterwards."
The two older men moved in time, Marty handing Bobby the supplies as they were needed. Saline solution, burn cream, and gauze were handed back and forth until Dean was finally as fixed as they could make him. It had been years since Marty and Bobby had worked side by side, but when you had patching up to do, Marty was the best at getting supplies and putting them to use. Marty hung the IV bag over the couch as Bobby used a roll of gauze on Dean's torn up wrists.
"Sam's not going to like the look of this," Bobby muttered as he looked at his handiwork.
"Can't help it," Marty said aloud as he walked back in with a wet bed sheet. He carefully tucked it around Dean, trying to avoid as many bandages as he could. "You gotta go where the wound is…not where the bandages won't be seen."
Bobby was checked on Gloria when Marty walked in with another duffel bag. He pulled a small tub of wood putty and a flat knife from the bag as well as a bottle of whiskey. "What the hell are you doing now," Bobby asked as Marty stepped into the hallway.
"If the military police find this cabin shot to hell, they'll have one hell of an investigation. I did some time in prison a few years back…took some carpentry classes…a little bit of wood putty, some sanding and paint and no one will be the wiser," Marty said with a wink. "Can't let Silas' daughter take any heat from this, his widow will hunt us down…She's kinda scary for an older woman…"
"And the whiskey," Bobby asked with a chuckle as he grabbed two glasses from kitchen counter.
"Not sure about you, Singer, but I'm getting to old for this shit," Marty called out. "The whiskey is for us old men."
Alright, I hope you're still enjoying this story. Dean will be more at the forefront of the next chapter and honestly I didn't intend for this chapter to be this involved, but Gloria surprised me a bit with shooting Sam. Had to fix him up, right? Leave no Winchester behind and all that…
If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave me a review! Alright, I'm off to start the next chapter! Gotta love naptime…