Chapter Nine
Whether it was pain from the needle punching into his leg, or the chelating drug surging into his system, Sam's eyes shot open, and he let out the sort of snarl that no human should be able to produce.
Andrew made another whuffing sound, then Sam's body began to jerk, like a cross between a seizure and a bid to escape.
"Jesus, Sam..." unable to help himself, Dean got too close, and got a boot in his midriff for his trouble. Ronnie pulled him out of the way, and grabbed at Sam's knees.
"Hold him!" she snarled at Andrew, who was struggling to hang on to Sam, and try to calm him. "He'll hurt himself!"
"I am!" Andrew growled back, "Hey, hey, hang on, youngster, hang on, hang on..."
Dean could only watch as his baby brother convulsed while the other werewolves hung on to him, trying to restrain and soothe him, and the feeling of desperate uselessness he'd experienced too many times washed over him. "Sam..." he whispered. That's my job.
His brother threw back his head and let out a stuttering howl; Dean watched in horror as two long canine fangs extruded, followed by the corresponding pair from Sam's bottom jaw.
"Oh, God..."
Sam whimpered, and Dean felt like doing the same thing.
Another wracking spasm hit Sam, and he snarled again, then turned his head and sank his wolf teeth into Andrew's arm.
The older wolf just pulled Sam into a crushing embrace, holding him tight, and continuing the soothing noises.
It lasted for several minutes, but it seemed like an eternity that Dean could only stand and watch his baby brother writhing in pain, alternating between squeaking like a frightened puppy and snarling like a wounded animal. He felt Jimi push his head under his hand, clearly frightened by what was going on, and patted him absently, unable to tear his attention away from his brother.
"Sam..." Looking after my brother is my job.
Finally, Sam's struggles weakened, slowed, then stopped, abating to shivering. Andrew let out a long breath, and let him go. Dean pushed past him to get to his brother.
"Sam," his voice was thick with worry, "Sam, look at me, look at me..."
Unfocused hazel eyes cracked open. "D'n?"
"Right here, buddy," Dean found a smile, "Right here, you're gonna be just fine, okay, we'll fix this, you just... "
Sam found a small smile for his brother, then his eyes slid shut again.
Dean shot a worried look at Ronnie, but the relief in her face reassured him.
"I'd say that's the worst of it," she sighed. "He's not dead, ergo, he must be on the mend."
Andrew groaned, and stood up, inspecting his arm. "Ow," he found a chuckle from somewhere, "Remind me to get the pup a chew toy, I think he's teething."
"You'll live," Ronnie decided, "Right now you get second priority. Come on," she waved her arms like somebody herding chickens together, "Home. Now." She reached down to stroke some of Sam's hair out of his face. "Oh, you idiot," she chided gently, "What did you think you were doing?"
Dean and Andrew transferred Sam's unresisting form to Andrew's truck while Ronnie locked up, and they headed back to Casa Jaeger, Sam's head resting on Dean's leg in the back seat while the older Winchester beat himself up for failing his baby brother again.
"Knock it off," grunted Andrew as he drove at ten over the limit.
"Hmmmm?" Dean broke out of his thoughts. "What?"
"The angsting," Andrew clarified, "I can hear it from here. I can smell you giving yourself a hard time over it. Knock it off. It wasn't your fault."
"I know," Dean replied automatically, "But..."
I'm supposed to look after Sam. He's my brother. It's my job.
His eyes strayed to the bite wound on Andrew's arm. If it had happened to Dean, it would've meant a trip to Emergency.
And this time, I couldn't.
"He was warned," Andrew went on reasonably, "He was told. We'll find out what happened, but this is not your fault. He's gonna be okay." The older man gave him a wan smile in the rear view mirror. "I promise, Dean, he will be okay."
Dean looked down into Sam's pale, drawn face.
I'm supposed to look after Sam. It's my job.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Under other circumstances, it would've been funny: Ronnie fussed like the mother of a picky toddler, declaring that Sam would be put to bed immediately, then went into a frenzy of arranging and fluffing pillows and blankets. When Andrew hauled Sam out of the truck to carry him indoors in his arms, Sam roused enough to complain at being carried like a kid.
Dean took over once Sam was in the guest room they'd been using.
"I feel siiiiiick," Sam's mumbled complaint turned into a whine as Dean wrangled him down to tee and shorts.
"Well, you managed to get yourself poisoned with silver, bitch," Dean told him, pushing until Sam lay down.
"Ngggggggh," went Sam as Dean pulled the bedclothes up. "Deeeean, 's cold."
"He'll be feverish," Ronnie said from behind them, "Reaction to the silver. Here." She pushed a bowl of water and a washcloth into Dean's hands. "Use this, it might make him a bit more comfortable."
'Geez, you're burnin' up, Sammy," muttered Dean, wiping at his brother's face.
Sam let out another whine, batting ineffectually at Dean's hands then giving up as if the effort was too much, as Jimi echoed the sound then jumped onto the bed to lie down next to his Second.
Ronnie returned with a mug, and sat on the side of Sam's bed. "How you doing, pup?" she asked in a low rumbling voice. Sam just whined. "I have something that will help."
Sam peered blearily at her. " 'm tired," he slurred.
"I know," she went on, "But this will help you feel better. Just try a bit." She took some of the liquid on a spoon, and offered it to him with a soft whuff.
Sam sniffed suspiciously at it, like Jimi being offered a supposedly 'palatable liver flavour' worming tablet, then took a small sip. He swallowed, then smiled a little. " 'S good."
"Have some more," Ronnie instructed, as Sam slurped at the spoon again. He whined, and she gave him another spoonful.
"You think you could drink some?" she asked. Sam whined again, and she whuffed back, putting a hand under his head to help him; holding the mug carefully, she tipped it so he could sip at the contents. Whatever was in it, he liked it, because his own hand clumsily came up to paw at the mug as he started to drink greedily.
"Hey, ease up!" she chided with a small laugh, "Don't make yourself sick!"
Sam finished the drink more slowly, then sighed. "More?" he asked plaintively.
"When you've had some rest," she promised, "Why don't you try to get some sleep now, let yourself recover. You'll feel better if you have some sleep."
Dean watched Ronnie tuck the bedclothes around Sam's shoulders and drape the damp washcloth over his forehead, making the same crooning sound Andrew had used, whilst Sam whined in protest.
"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?" she went on, carding a hand through his hair, "I think you just wanted a closer look at what I was doing, which didn't turn out to be a very good idea, did it, not when I had a pot of that stuff dissolving, I'm surprised you don't recall the details of acid reclamation of silver from your chemistry classes, it's basic oxidation-reduction stuff..."
The monologue continued as Sam's wordless protests trailed off, then his drooping eyelids slid closed, and he let out a gentle snore.
Ronnie sat back and let out a long groaning sigh. "Fuck me, that's enough excitement for one day," she griped. "Next time, I think I'll just shove the big lunk into a box and nail it shut..."
"I'll sit with him," Dean said a little more vehemently than he'd intended, feeling a stab of resentment. Taking care of Sam is my job.
If she even noticed, Ronnie let it slide. "Good," she nodded, "Somebody should. I'll brew some more of this. If he wakes up, give him some more."
"What is it?" Dean asked, not taking his eyes off his brother.
"Houndswort tea," Ronnie replied, "With a few little extras to help with the poisoning. Think of it as Gatorade for sick werewolves. Good for whatever ails ya. Bugger me, I think I could do with some."
"Yeah?" Dean sniffed at the empty mug, and pulled a face. "Oh, gross! It smells like ass!"
"Is this the point where I should ask you how you know what arse smells like?" Ronnie smiled, "Or are you saying you think it smells like donkey, in which case, should I be asking how you know what donkey smells like? Oh yeah, you rode a farty donkey once..."
"Cow," Dean mumbled.
"I'm told that to humans, it smells really disgusting, and tastes even worse," she explained. "But for us, it's a delicious pick-me-up, or a calm-me-down, or a soothing bedtime drink, or just an I'll-drink-it-because-I-like-it." She contemplated the cup. "Not exactly wolfnip, but maybe not far off. One day, I will figure out a way to blend this stuff with coffee, and I will experience Nirvana."
"Well, I aint one to frown on ambition, but I don't see Starbucks beatin' a path to your door for the recipe any time soon," he said, sitting back in his chair and scrubbing a hand over his face. "He really gonna be okay?"
"Yeah," she reassured him, "He's really gonna be okay. Although..." she took a deep breath; with a start, he realised that her hands were shaking. "I gotta tell you, he scared the shit out of me." She peered down into Sam's sleeping face. "As soon as he's better, I want to kill him."
"Welcome to my world," Dean chortled with a sigh.
Ronnie left again, then returned a few minutes later with a flask of the tea for Dean to feed to Sam if he woke up. She also brought a tall mug of coffee, and a plate piled with chocolate brownies.
"No houndswort in the coffee, scout's honour," she told him as he fell upon the chocolatey goodness. "And no liver brownies hidden in there. At least, I'm pretty sure there aren't..."
She dodged the boot Dean threw at her as she left him alone to watch over his brother.
...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo... ...oooooOOOOOooooo...
Darkness fell before Sam woke again. His movement roused Dean, and he peered sleepily up at his big brother. "Dean?"
"Yeah, me," Dean felt relief flood through him, "Just like there and bask in my awesomeness."
"Jerk," Sam said listlessly out of habit, and let his head roll on the pillow. "I feel like crap."
"For the record, you look like crap, too," Dean informed him brightly. "Although the whole fever-flushed, bed hair thing, some women find that very attractive..." Sam let out a very Samesque huff, which made Dean smile. "Hey, you're supposed to drink some of this when you wake up," he reached for the flask. "Think you can sit up, or should I ask Ronnie if she's got a puppy nursing bottle somewhere?"
Sam scowled eloquently, then Dean helped him to roll upright on one elbow. "What is that?" he asked, nose twitching as Dean poured.
"Gatorade for werewolves," Dean informed him, "And just so you know, to humans, it smells like ass."
Sam sniffed, then tasted, then drained the mug. "Ohhhh," he hummed, "That's really good."
"Just great," humphed Dean, "My little brother likes the taste of ass."
"Jerk," muttered Sam again, "More."
Dean fed his brother two more mugs of the tea; just the effort of drinking seemed to exhaust him again. Sam winced, and Dean helped him to lie back down. "Thanks," he muttered. "I feel like I've been hit by that truck again. What happened?" he asked.
"You didn't follow orders," Dean replied, trying not to let anger leak into his voice as he wiped at Sam's face with the washcloth again, "You were supposed to stay in the office, but you went around to the back door of Ronnie's work space..."
Recall of the events showed on Sam's face. "Oh, yeah," he mumbled.
" 'Oh, yeah'?" repeated Dean. " 'Oh, yeah', that's all you've got to say? Sam, you were told it wasn't safe..."
"She wasn't casting!" Sam retorted, "She said to stay out of the workshop when she was casting, and she wasn't!"
"No," humphed Dean, "She was doin' something worse. Dissolvin' the stuff in acid, or something."
"Is that what it was?" Sam blinked. "I wondered about that. I just wanted to ask her to move one of the cameras a bit, so I could see better."
"Well, you nearly got yourself killed," Dean told him. "You got poisoned, Sam! You could've died!"
"Well, I didn't," replied Sam sheepishly, seeing the anguish he'd caused his big brother. "Dean, I'm... well, I feel like crap, but I'm not dead. I'm really sorry."
"The point is, you could've been," Dean insisted. "You're not... you gotta take other things into consideration, just now, okay? Goin' stir crazy, I get that, I really do, an' I know you hate bein' told what to do, but, just for now, you gotta be careful, Sam. If Ronnie or Andrew tells you to do or not do something, you gotta listen, bro, because they're..."
your pack now
He stumbled over the words, "They've been there and done that, and they just want you safe, too."
"Okay," Sam agreed, "You're right. Again. Jerk."
"Good," Dean's anger, which was often how worry about his baby brother found its way out, dispersed. "You just hold that thought." He sat down again. "So, how are you feeling?" he asked. "Really?"
Sam's eyes closed again. "Sore. Tired. Hungry."
"I'm detectin' a recurring theme here," Dean grumbled, relieved because 'hungry' seemed to indicate normality for a werewolf. "I'll go see if we can get you something to eat."
"Thanks, bro," Sam gave his big brother a smile.
Dean stretched out his back, gave Jimi orders to keep an eye on Sam, then headed out of the room.
"Hey, Ronnie," he called, "He's awake, and he-OOF!"
He walked into a fur rug that somebody had hung from the ceiling.
Upon stepping back, he realised that he'd actually walked into Andrew.
"Whoa! Dude!" he stepped back; even knowing that Andrew was friend and not foe, the Hunter in him was not comfortable about being so close to a werewolf. Especially one, he could see, who seemed to be somewhat agitated. "Hey, what's up?"
Andrew let out a short gruff, then moved past him, silently pacing the hallway.
Dean headed for the kitchen where he could hear and smell the noises and scents of food preparation underway (Dean being able to detect a sausage at fifty paces even with a bad head cold). "Uh, I don't know if anybody's told you," he began, "But you got a werewolf in your hall."
Ronnie's smile was fond. "He can't help it," she said, "Just leave him to it."
"Is he stuck again?" Dean asked, poking a finger into bowl of fruit filling of some sort and getting a sharp snarl for his trouble, "Mmmmm, that's good."
"Don't think that by contaminating it, you get the entire pie to yourself," she sniffed disdainfully. "I'm not afraid of boy germs..."
Andrew stalked past the kitchen door, thrusting his head through to sniff the air suspiciously. Ronnie gruffed to him, and he resumed his pacing.
"I can get him some beer..." Dean offered.
"He's not stuck as such," Ronnie said, "Well, yeah, he is, but it's for a reason this time. He's patrolling."
"Patrolling?" Dean echoed. "What for?"
"He's... on guard against any threat," Ronnie replied, "It's... it's an instinct thing. Truth be told, I'm having some trouble staying on two legs myself. But then the latticing would be hard to do with paws." She started cutting the pastry in front of her into strips. "To say nothing of trying to use a pastry brush. We get enough dog hair in everything in this house without me adding to it."
"What sort of threat?" pressed Dean, instantly alert. "Is something a danger to Sam?"
"No," Ronnie reassured him, "Unless there's a Hunter lurking in the bushes, and we'd smell him a mile away. It's..." she paused. "It's what happens when a member of the pack is wounded, or sick, or incapacitated. We feel... compelled to protect him." She jerked a thumb towards where Andrew had been. "And instinct says, you can do that more effectively on four legs."
Dean dropped into a chair. "This is... " he ran out of words. "I just wanted Sam to be not dead. I didn't expect... this."
"If it makes you feel better, neither did I," she gave him a rueful grin. "But he's alive, and pretty much healed up. Well he was, until he decided not to do what he was told..."
"Like I said, welcome to my world," Dean muttered. "I came to tell you he's awake. And hungry."
Roonie beamed as she trimmed the edges of the pastry. "I'll make him something easy to eat, comfort food, then dish up dinner for the humanoids," she said. "You want the pastry trimmings?" She pushed the leftover strips of pastry towards Dean.
"Don't you dare put a dick on it this time," he insisted, shoving a piece of pastry into his mouth.
"Oh, while you're here, could you feed the canines?" she asked. "There could be a bowl of pie filling to be licked out in it for you."
"I'm on it," he trilled, heading for the cupboard to fetch dog bowls, and dole out meat and kibble.
Jimi wouldn't leave Sam, so he ate in their room. Joni insisted on staying outside to watch the yard, so she ate outside.
"Okay, so do I get my... " Ronnie handed him a large meaty marrow bone from the refrigerator, and nodded to the hallway.
Andrew ate his dinner squatting in the hall outside the Winchesters' room.
"If that woman ever takes me to task over my table manners, ever again," Dean said, watching the werewolf crunch into the bone like a child crunching a candy cane, "I am gonna tell her where to shove it."
There we go, hurt!Sam, awesomeangstingbigbrother!Dean, just how the Denizens like 'em, plus, as a special bonus, mothering!('damming!'?)Ronnie and stuckinwolfformagain!Andrew.
Go Mavgang! Feed him/her* reviews, because they are the Delicious Puffy Pastry Lattices On The Pies Of Life!
*I really need a pronoun to refer to Mavgang, our gender-undecided plot bunny. Hasn't FaceSpace done something about extending the range of gender descriptions and pronouns recently? What's a suitable one for a bunny who is either male, or female, or both, or a combination, or somewhere in between, depending on how many sequins are present? Ve? Xe? Thon? Parsnip?