When Sam came to again the pounding in his head had reached a new level. Sam tried to remember why his head hurt but all he could come up with were vague images of snow and red. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain in his head, attempting to take deep breaths. It wasn't until he head his name being called that he realized the pounding wasn't just in his head. Someone was knocking on the door. Sam sat up as fast as his aching head would allow and reached for the knife under his pillow. The youngest Winchester shakily grabbed the hilt and stood, shivering when his bare feet touched the cool floor.
On the way to the door he grabbed one of the rickety chairs from the small motel table. At eight years old, Sam was still too short to see through the peephole without help but he knew better than to open the door blind.
Climbing on his makeshift step-stool, Sam peered out of the hole in the door and gripped his knife tighter. The boy almost fell off when he saw the person on the other side. Pastor Jim. Everything suddenly came back to him and Sam found himself having trouble breathing.
"Sam?!" Pastor Jim called again through the door. "Son, are you okay?"
Sam struggled down from the chair, knocking it over and dropping his knife in the process, and unlocked the door tears streaming down his face. His dream. Dean. Pastor Jim's call. Your brother has been injured. It was all too much and the tears continued to fall despite Sam's recent mantra that crying was for babies.
Pastor Jim opened the door and was barely inside when he gasped, "My God Sam, what has happened?" Sam was shocked to hear those words from the pastor, having been ready to ask him the same question. At Sam's lack of answer Pastor Jim continued, "Your shirt is covered in blood."
Sam looked down at himself as Pastor Jim closed and locked the door before approaching him. He was in fact covered in blood. The dark red stain ran down the front of his shirt and Sam, noticed for the first time that his hands were flaked with it as well. When he lifted them to his face in shock the boy could feel half dried flakes there as well, dripping down his chin and leading up to his –
"Did you have a nosebleed?" Jim asked, now kneeling in front of him, concern written on his face.
Sam stared at him then his hands before shrugging and shaking his head, wincing as the movement sent an extra spike of pain through his skull.
"Sam?" The pastor asked again, his voice softer.
"I-I don't remember." Sam croaked surprised at how rough his throat felt. Jim raised his eyebrows and the youngest Winchester elaborated. "I had a nightmare, and my head hurt, and then you called and I guess I kind of … passed out?" He finished.
Jim's eyes widened in concern and he moved to set Sam's chair back on its feet before gently pushing Sam towards it. "Come here, sit down."
Sam sat in the chair as Pastor Jim walked towards the room's small bathroom, calling over his shoulder, "Let's get you cleaned up and in some fresh clothes, then we'll pack and be on our way."
At the pastor's words Sam again looked at the blood staining his brother's hoodie. His breath caught in his throat. Blood. Dean's hoodie. Dean lying in the snow covered in blood.
Sam's breathing began to pick up again and the motel room blurred out of focus around him. The youngest Winchester blinked the spots from his eyes at the sound of Jim's worried voice in front of him. Slowly his senses returned to him and Sam felt the man's hands on his shoulders, saw his face bent to look at Sam's, the worry in his voice reflected in his eyes.
"How bad?" Sam gasped, realizing he still didn't know what condition his brother was in.
"What?" Pastor Jim asked, not following the jump in Sam's thought process.
"Dean. How-how bad is he hurt? Is he …?" Sam trailed off, needing Jim to say something, anything, to fill the silence and cover up the word that was floating through Sam's head paired with an image of Dean lying in snow the color of blood. "Pastor Jim." Sam pleaded through his teeth, not caring how desperate and childish and scared he sounded because right now he was all of those things and he just needed to know that his big brother was okay.
"I don't know."
Sam opened his mouth to say – he didn't know what, but he needed a better answer than that. But before he came up with anything Jim continued, "Sam, I don't know. You know how your father is. All he said was that Dean was hurt, he was hightailing it to the hospital, and to go pick you up and bring you. That's all I know. Now, I need you to try to calm down for me okay? I know this is scary but the sooner we get there the better. Can you take a deep breath?" Jim paused, waiting for some sign of understanding from Sam. The youngest Winchester nodded and then winced at the movement before taking a deep, though shaky, breath. "Good. Good, Sam. Now, let's get you cleaned up and then we can go okay?"
Sam frantically shook his head, the pain there increasing with each violent movement. "No! You said the sooner we get there the better. We have to go now!" He argued.
"Sam, I can't take you into a hospital looking like this, they will want to check you out and that will only delay us getting to Dean." Jim tried to reason.
Sam started breathing hard again, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to block out the images of Dean bleeding out in the snow that greeted him behind his eyelids. Finally he managed to gasp out, "I can't – Dean's hoodie – I saw him, the blood. Can – can we just go?" He opened his eyes and saw that the pastor was again readying to refuse his plea. "Please, Pastor Jim. I-I need to see him, please don't make me change."
The family friend looked at Sam with sympathy in his eyes before answering, "Sam, I've at least got to get the blood off your face. It'll do us no good to show up at the hospital with your face covered in blood. That won't get us to Dean faster." He reasoned again, hoping the repetition would get his point across to the frantic boy.
Jim saw that his logic was working on Sam and gave him a few minutes to process what he had said before continuing. "Tell you what, you don't have to change clothes the hoodie is dark enough that the blood isn't really noticeable. Let's clean your face, pack up the room, and then we'll hightail it out of here. What do you say?" The pastor knew how stubborn Sam was, he was a Winchester after all, so he knew how important it was to allow the boy a say in their plan of action.
After a moment Sam nodded then held his hand out, motioning for Jim to give his the wet washcloth he had brought to wipe Sam's face. "Alright, But I can get cleaned up while you pack up the room. Gets us out faster." Jim smiled at the boy, already a gifted problem-solver, and passed him the cloth.
Sam stood and nearly ran to the bathroom and Jim hurried to start packing. He knew better than to make a Winchester wait for him, especially when the health of another Winchester was involved.
Sam scrubbed his face as fast as he could, not caring that his rough movements caused his skin to sting and turn red. The youngest Winchester focused on getting cleans and getting on the road as fast as possible, fighting to keep images of Dean hurt, dying, and calling for him out of his head. He was finished in under two minutes.
When Sam stepped out of the bathroom he found Pastor Jim pulling the zipper of his duffle bag closed. Jim looked up and asked, "Did I miss anything?"
Sam gave a quick glance around the room before shaking his head, not really caring if Jim had or not. Stuff was just stuff, Sam wanted to get to Dean.
Jim hefted the duffle onto his shoulder and the two of them marched to the door and out into the cold. Sam tried to take deep breaths and remind himself that he was on the way to Dean. "Dad would call if something happened." He murmured to himself as Pastor Jim walking into the office to check them out of the motel. "He would call." Sam repeated and pretended that his voice didn't shake.
Another minute and the two hunters were pulling away from the motel and speeding toward the hospital.
They didn't look back so neither of them noticed the figure who came out of the room and stood in the doorway watching them and holding Sam's knife.