Keep Each Other Human part two
Usual Disclaimers: Nada for me
“Sam?” Dean lifted his brother’s eyelids, seeking any sign that the seizure hadn’t done too big of a number on him.
With both hands, Sam swatted Dean’s fingers away and Dean nearly sagged with relief.
“Alright, okay. God, little brother, you scared the crap out of me.”
“Why?” Sam slurred, his eyes still closed. “What’d I do?”
The question startled Dean. “Ah, you . . . you had a seizure.” He took Sam’s hands, began working on the ropes, didn’t like how lax the fingers dangled.
Sam’s eyes slipped open, rimmed in dark shadows. “Seizure?”
“Yeah.” Dean got the first knot untied. He shook his head, trying to make light of it. “Fever- induced seizure probably . . . you’re okay now. Do you remember anything?”
Shouldn’t have asked that because Sam’s forehead creased in those half circle lines as his eyebrows angled together. “Did I . . .? Dean, I didn’t, did I? Did I drink demon blood?”
“No, no. Actually that grand mal had perfect timing. Took you out right before you made that choice.”
“Grand mal?”
“Yeah.”
“Must have been pretty bad.”
Dean didn’t say anything. It had been horrifying. He pulled the last of the rope away, grimaced at the raw skin on Sam’s flesh. “Um, Sammy. They’re not going to stop. The demons.” He felt Sam stiffen. “I want you to drink the blood.”
“No.” Sam tried to shift upward, but didn’t get far. “I’m trying so hard, Dean. I won’t let you down.”
Sam buried his face in his hands. “If I don’t drink, they’re going to beat you to death. I don’t know what to do. I can’t let you down and I can’t let them hurt you.” He was trembling again, long large shudders that Dean felt beneath his palms on Sam’s arms. This. This was breaking his brother. It had to stop.
“Just take the demon blood. You aren’t letting me down.”
But Sam wasn’t hearing him anymore, just rolling back and forth.
“Sam. Sammy. Just stop. Hey, stop.” Dean pulled Sam’s hands away, held Sam’s face between his own palms. “Look at me. We’ll figure this out. You trust me right?”
Sam quieted, looked up at Dean and nodded.
“Kay, good. First things first. You really need to get some water in you.”
Sam stiffened again.
“It’s just water. Promise.”
“You’re really here, right?”
Dean patted Sam’s shoulder. “Yeah, man. It’s me. Stay here.”
“Where, where are you going?”
“Out to the mall. Water’s across the room, Sam. Hopefully it didn’t get knocked over.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Dean slipped his knee out from under Sam, settling his brother’s head gently on the cement and went to retrieve the cup. Fortunately it hadn’t spilled during any of the scuffle. He scooped up a few blankets as well and came back over to Sam. The young hunter’s eyes were closed.
Kneeling over him, Dean shook his brother’s shoulders. “Hey, hey. Sammy.”
“Unnnn.” The eyelids wearily lifted. “Dean.”
Dean coaxed Sam’s head up. “Here drink.”
“Don’t want it.”
“Not starting that again. It’s water, Sam. Only water.”
“Sure?”
“Promise. Drink.” He tilted the cup at Sam’s lips, and the young man took a tentative sip, then another, more, until his hands clasped around the cup and he was swallowing for all he was worth. There wasn’t nearly enough. “That’s good. That’s real good.”
Energy spent, Sam sagged back. Dean rolled up one of the blankets and scooted it beneath Sam’s head. Sam merely blinked up at him before drifting off again. Dean sat beside him, his hand absently resting along Sam’s arm while he tried to come up with a way of getting the kid out of there. His chest ached like a mother from that friggin tube. A dozen scenarios ran through his head, all stupid and all with the potential to get him and Sam killed. They were so screwed.
The lock in the door clicked. Dean tensed, snapping his head up in that direction. He felt something at his leg. Sam had somehow shifted closer, his forehead pressing against the side of Dean’s thigh. Long fingers folded around a crease in his jeans.
The door squeaked open. Meg waltzed in, alone, another slice of bread and plastic cup in her hands. Dean itched to have a knife in his fist. He let his gaze roam down her body, wondering how many weapons she had on her and how fast he could get to one and ram it into her throat. Boot?
He watched those boots come steadily nearer as Meg crouched down. She was close. Dean watched, waiting for a good time to make his move. He just wished Sam wasn’t between them.
“Here.” Meg offered the cup of water. “Have you been able to get him to drink?”
What? “What’s it to you?”
“Look. Ron is about to come through that door and start on you guys again.” She pushed the water closer.
Ron? Dean was guessing that was Chatty. “Figured. Thanks for the head’s up,” Dean snarled. What the hell kind of game was she playing now?
Meg rolled her eyes. “You need to be gone by then. You need to fix your brother.” She fished a set of keys out of her jacket and dangled them over Sam like a carrot on a stick.
Dean felt his brows rise before he slammed his features back into a scowl. “Come again?”
“Don’t be an idiot. You don’t trust me. I hate you. But this whole thing has gone south.” Meg blew out an angry breath. “Look, we demons know how to cause a lot of hurt, but fixing . . . “ She flung a hand toward Sam. “Fixing someone isn’t exactly part of our skill-set. Ron doesn’t know how to back off. He has no finesse. He’s going to take it too far and kill your brother.”
Dean’s heart felt like it was going to punch straight through his chest. He didn’t want to ask the question that flew to his mind, but he had to catch Meg in her lies, discover what the bitch was really after. He hardened his voice to a throaty purr. “What’s that to you? You kill Sam, Lucifer will only bring him back.”
“Exactly. And what do you think Lucifer is going to do to any demon that went against his order not to touch his vessel? It would have been great if we could have delivered Sam broken and ready, but-“
“Since your plan took a royal U-turn, you want to cover up the mess before Lucy knows what you did.”
“Didn’t you ever hide your mistakes from your father?” Meg cocked her head and looked at Dean through lowered lashes. “You should know me pretty well by now, Dean-o.”
“I know you’re a vengeful skank.”
“I’m a survivor. I know when to cut my losses. So you take your brother out of here and you fix him. You get him well and my father never learns about this, and you get to keep Sammy away from Lucifer for . . . oh . . . just a little while longer.”
Sam was rousing. Dean took the water from Meg, inwardly cringing when their fingers touched. Pulling Sam’s head up higher, he tipped the cup to his lips. “Just water,” he whispered and Sam didn’t hesitate this time, gulping and draining the liquid. Meg stared at Sam’s throat, seeming to be fascinated by his bobbing Adam’s apple.
Dean didn’t trust her, but he believed her. Plus he had no other options. Sam couldn’t take another round with Chatty Ron. “What about the others? The hosts?”
Smiling, Meg shrugged. “What do you think I’m using as a distraction? Relax. I’m not going to hurt them, just let them out. They’ll scatter into the field and it will give the other demons something to chase.”
“No,” Sam breathed out. “Can’t u-use humans like that.”
Meg arched a brow, looking to Dean.
“Sam’s right. They’re innocent people.”
“Who won’t be harmed. They’re desired hosts. Besides, once it’s known you guys are out of this room, every demon in this hanger will stop chasing the hosts to come after you. And once Lucifer gets wind of this, no one’s coming back here. The hosts will be forgotten. It’s their best chance, better than if they went with you.”
Dean met Sam’s gaze.
Meg huffed. “Wow, every time I expect more from you muttonheads, I’m sorely disappointed.”
“All right,” Dean groused.
Sam shifted up higher, supporting himself with the help of Dean’s arm around his back. “Dean, you can’t trust her.”
“I don’t trust her. But I trust her self-preservation instincts. And I’m getting you out of here.” He held his hand out for the keys.
Meg dropped them in his palm. “Tan Pick-up. In five minutes go out the door, head left down the hallway, third door on the right is the exit. Once you leave this room, you’re on your own so I’d haul ass.”
“Right.” Dean frowned. “How many demons?”
Meg pursed her lips together. “Twenty-one. But don’t sweat it, Baby. You’ll only have to worry about sixteen.”
“Why?”
Meg grinned so impishly her dimples came out.
Shaking his head, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You are a freakin piece of work. Only five of the demons know who you are so you’re using both the hosts and our escape as a means to take them out.”
“Like I said, I know what to do to survive.” Meg shrugged. “I’m going to get right up there in Lucifer’s tight little circle, but not if he finds out about this dismal failure.”
Dean blew out a breath. He could not believe he was even having this conversation. “Well, best of luck with that.” He rolled his eyes.
“Oh, don’t worry. And, Dean-o, we’ll meet again and when we do . . . things between us . . .” She winked. “. . . back to normal.”
“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“And Sam.” She leaned down close, sliding a finger along the young hunter’s jaw that clenched at her touch. Dean locked his muscles, resisting the urge to shove her away. “Sweet cheeks, I’ll see you again real soon.”
Sam cocked his head out of her reach.
Meg’s gaze swept back up to Dean. Shifting she lifted the cuff of her jeans and pulled a knife from her boot.
He felt Sam’s flinch, matching his own jerk. Meg flipped the blade over, extending it out hilt first, then she smiled, pulling it back, obviously thinking better of it, and stood. Walking backwards toward the door, Meg set the knife down. “I’ll just leave this over here for you.”
Bitch wasn’t stupid, he’d give her that.
Her hand rested on the doorknob. “Five minutes, Dean. Then you get your brother out of here and you fix him.”
With that she sauntered out the door. Dean waited, making sure there was no click of the lock.
Sam was looking up at him expectantly.
Hiding his worry, Dean mussed his brother’s hair. “Think you can walk?”
“How far do you think it is to the truck?”
Dean shrugged. “Not far? Come on, Cupcake. Up and at ‘em.” Shoving the keys into his pocket, he hefted Sam to his feet, steadying him around the waist while a shudder ran through him.
Sam held out a hand. “It’s good. I’m good.”
Dean wasn’t convinced, but there really wasn’t any choice so he tucked himself beneath Sam’s arm and helped him over toward the door. He leaned Sam up against the wall, keeping a hand on the kid’s chest while Dean stooped to retrieve the knife. He almost wept over the feel of having a solid weapon in his palm.
Then they waited.
#
“Has it been five minutes yet?” Sam looked ready to slide down the wall.
Pulling his brother’s arm over his shoulder, Dean let Sam lean on him, taking most of his weight. “Close. I’d say a few minutes more.” His torso was killing him. Damn tube. Sam couldn’t be feeling any better.
“Kay.” Sam’s head rolled toward Dean.
“Stay with me. We got to make a long run.” Dean nudged Sam back with his own head.
“Yeah, gotta run.”
The sound of feet slapping cement, running, a group of people, clapped outside the door, then angry shouts, orders to “round them up”, more rushing footsteps. The noise grew farther and farther away.
That was their cue. “Now, Sammy.” Dean pulled open the door, stuck his head outside into the vacant hall. “Let’s go,” he whispered, and half-dragged, half-carried his sibling into the hallway. Their luck was holding. He heard a guttural shriek-had to be Meg eliminating her targets. Dean couldn’t help hoping the shriek belonged to Chatty Ron, but he didn’t stop for details, just dragged his brother who was stumbling more than walking, down that hallway.
Third door, third door. Here. Not willing to lose his grip on Sam, Dean kicked the door, relieved when it flew outward, and hauled his kid brother out into the night. His knees nearly buckled, seeing the tan truck right there. Right freaking there. With a surge of energy, he practically carried Sam the few yards over to the passenger side, wrenched it open, and shoved Sam inside. Flying around to the other side, pulling out the keys, he slid onto the bench and shouted “Hail Mary!” as the engine revved to life just as several demons slammed out of the hanger door, rushing toward them.
Shoving the gear into Reverse, Dean punched the gas and the truck sped backwards into the field. Dean hit the brakes, pushed up into Drive and fishtailed around, looking for the road. There. Heading toward it, he left the demons and the hanger in a cloud of flying grass and dust.
Dean tore down the old country road, putting as much distance as he could between them and the demons that were sure to be following. The wheels spun out, skidding and sliding across the dirt. The truck bucked up, hitting a particularly nasty bump and Sam flew off the seat, hitting his forearms on the dash.
That must have jolted him to full consciousness. “Dean!”
“You all right there, Sammy?”
“No!”
“Yeah, alright.” Dean eased up on the accelerator, glancing in the rearview mirror. So far there weren’t any headlights behind them, but that wouldn’t last. They had one little pig sticker between them and more than a dozen demons on their tail. “Sam, look around. Check out the glove box. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Without questioning, Sam dug into the glove box, throwing insurance papers and the truck manual to the floorboard. He found gloves . . .
“Huh.”
Dean took his eyes off the dark road to glance over. “What?”
“Oh, just a, a small Bible. One of those travel versions.”
“And?”
“Just ironic.” His voice was low, coated in exhaustion. “Some demon’s been driving around with a Bible and didn’t know it.”
Dean grinned at that. He needed something to grin at. “Okay. Any weapons? Guess it’d be too much to ask for a demon to be riding around with a box of salt.”
Sam shook his head. “Nothing. Well, there’s this.” He pulled a tiny silver cross, a bookmark of sorts, from between the scripture’s pages and wrapped the chain around his wrist, palming the little trinket.
“Great. That’s so not helpful. Try the floorboards.”
Sam bent over, searching around, and the engine sputtered, the truck slowing, the backend scraping sideways.
“No no no no no, Sweetheart. Don’t die on us now. Shit!” Dean slammed the steering wheel with his hands when the engine died and the truck spun out to a rapid stop.
The brothers looked at each other, how royally screwed they were passing across their features when Dean heard engines. He twisted around, seeing the dark shapes. Shit! They’d been followed the entire time by vehicles without lights on.
Dean turned to his brother. “Sam. We got to get out of the truck. You hide. I have the knife. I’ll distract them and when they get out of one of those cars, you get in.”
“No, I’m not leaving you.”
“That’s not the plan.” Dean’s tone was a whining grumble. “Drive straight toward me and I’m jumping in.”
“Oh.” Sam’s grin was quick and flashing. “That’s never going to work, but I like it.”
“Okay, then. Are you able to-Sam!”
The passenger side door yanked open and all Dean saw was his brother flying out the door. “Sam!”
Dean lunged after him, the hilt of Meg’s knife already in his palm and coming out of his belt. It flashed in the moonlight as he jammed it into the back of the demon punching his brother. The demon hissed and turned and Dean plunged the blade into him again, spinning the guy away into the darkness as he pulled the knife free.
Grabbing onto Sam’s shirt, he heaved him up and got him running, well stumbling mostly, but they were moving into a field. God, they were out in the middle of nowhere. He needed a town. Needed a phone. Needed Sam to be safe and whole.
Shouts called behind them. “They went that way.” “Over there.” “Spread out.”
Light played over shadow to their left, gleaming like a flat mirror within the tall grass. Moonlight playing over water. A pond of some sort.
Sam’s legs gave out. He dropped.
“No no, keep going, just a few more steps.”
“To where?” Pain caked Sam’s tone.
“Come on.” Dean circled his arms around Sam’s stomach, hauled him up, herded him forward until their legs were splashing in water. “Be careful, don’t know how deep it is, but get into the middle.”
The pond was small, barely a few yards across on all sides. Sam stumbled, went under, but was back up in moments, sitting on the bottom, water lapping around his chest and knees. “Dean, how is this going to help?”
Dean stood at the water’s edge, the glinting blade outstretched. He looked back over his shoulder. “Still got that cross?”
“Yeah?” Sam lifted his hand where he’d wrapped the delicate chain. “Dean . . .?” His head cocked. “God, you’re brilliant.”
“Never doubt that. Well, get to blessing.”
Sam slapped the tiny cross down into the water and began reciting the prayer to make holy water. As the first demons came at him, Dean lost the anchor of Sam’s voice. He became a flurry of motion, stab, jab, keep moving, keep the attackers off balance. When he kicked out, sending a demon tumbling into the water, and that demon screamed, skin bubbling and hissing like steam, Dean knew Sam had completed the prayer.
Another demon came at him and Dean let him come, pulling the guy with him as they fell backward into the water. The demon shrieked, thrashing as Dean held him under until the body stiffened and a roar of black smoke plumed up into the night sky. Dean shoved the floating body away.
Staying low, Dean moved to the pond’s center toward his brother. The remaining demons had smartened up, staying at the edge of the water.
Dean flinched as Sam grabbed his arm.
“Sorry,” Sam said. “Are you hurt?”
The welts on his chest hurt like a mofo. “No, I’m okay. You?”
“I’m alright.” Which was as big a load of crap as Dean had just told him. Sam had barely made it across the field, was still feverish and recovering from days worth of beatings without nourishment. Yeah, he was alright. The demons began pacing the pond, circling like hyenas. There were about nine of them. Dean wished they’d stop moving so he could get in a direct line between them and Sam. They couldn’t enter the water, but they could still throw knives. Not wanting to hit Lucifer’s vessel was probably the only thing that had kept them from that. He only hoped none of them went back for a gun. Or even a rope. If the situation was reversed, Dean would just lasso their asses out of here. He seriously hoped these lackey demons were lackeys because they didn’t have too much going on in the attic.
For now, the demons seemed ready to just wait them out. Which was a pretty awesome plan considering he and Sam had nowhere to go.
He felt Sam shiver. The kid was resting his head on his knees, long wet hair totally obscuring his face. The fact that he wasn’t keeping an eye on the demons was a clear indication of how ill Sam was.
One of the demons stopped pacing, gripped another by the shoulder. “Go get the car, drive it into that puddle and we’ll lift them out.” Dammit. There always had to be at least one demon who could think on his feet. Crap. The pond was shallow. Driving a car over them could actually work. The demon ran off into the dark.
Dean shook Sam, cautioning, be ready, get alert. Sam barely moaned, but didn’t lift his head. Craptastic.
The shrill of an engine turning over hummed through the air. Headlights snapped on, moving, then turning straight for them. Dean shifted up into a crouch. Only one thing he could do. Pull the demons out of the car into the water and hope they didn’t grab him and Sam first. They didn’t have a lot of options.
The headlights moved closer, bright in Dean’s eyes. A flapping gust of air whirled by. The car abruptly stopped. The dark silhouette of a dude in a flat-shouldered trenchcoat stood at the driver’s side door just before the demon sailed through the window to cartwheel through the air.
As rapidly as the angel appeared, he disappeared, materializing at the water’s edge, angel killing blade in one hand, other palm pressed against the smart demon’s forehead. Smoke spiraled out of the throat like a mini cyclone. Cas moved like contained lightning. One, two, three more demons were pulled one by one from their hosts.
Castiel’s fluid motion was a rare thing of beauty. Though it appeared the angel didn’t need any help, Dean ran out of the water anyway, plunging Meg’s knife into a demon coming up behind the nerd angel.
“Enjoying yourself there, Cas?”
“Actually, yes.” The angel didn’t even sound winded. “Killing demons is enjoyable.”
They fought back to back, taking all comers. And suddenly they found themselves without any new opponents. Without stopping to catch his breath, Dean ran back into the pond. He hadn’t heard a sound from Sam and that worried him. He found his brother floating on his side, face half in the water.
“Sam!” He pulled the kid up, supporting his head at the same time he shook him. “Sam, come on!” He could see his brother’s chest rising and falling, clearly still breathing.
Cas appeared right behind Dean, crouching over his shoulder to peer at Sam. “Is he well?”
“No, he’s about as far from well as you can get,” Dean ground out. “I really wish you still had your healing angel juice.”
“For what it’s worth, Dean. I wish that as well.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Wasn’t much they could do about that. “Sammy, wake up.”
Sam’s eyes slid open. “Hey, Dean.” His gaze tracked over above Dean’s shoulder. “Cas?”
“Sam.”
“How’d you get here? How’d you even find us?”
Dean frowned. “Yeah, how did you find us?”
“Text message.”
Dean’s eyes widened. “You got a text message? From who?”
Cas shook his head. “I do not know. The number was blocked.”
“Meg,” the brothers said in unison.
“What is that noise?” Cas looked around.
Dean pulled Sam closer to him, hearing it too, a faint clicking. He stared hard at his brother’s shaking length, the trembling in his chin. Ah, hell. “That’s Sam’s teeth chattering.”
“Can’t h-help it.” Sam glanced over at him, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.
“Uh, Cas,” Dean said. “Wanna get us out of here?”
“Certainly.” His arms came forward . . .
. . . and they were in the last hotel Dean had been in, Sam safely in his arms, still shaking as they bounced slightly on the bed from the landing.
“You transported us back to the hotel the demons nabbed me from?” Dean’s brow arched.
Cas cocked his head. “Well, your car’s still here.”
Dean closed his mouth, then opened it again. “Oh, good point.”
“Shall I transport us to another hotel?”
“No.” Dean waved him off, shifting off the bed to rearrange his brother more carefully. The kid was wet and still shivering, watching him through half-opened eyes. “I doubt any demons would think of coming back here to find us. Besides I gotta take care of Sammy. Listen, Cas. Can you pop into a drugstore and get me antibiotics? Gatorade or whatever you can find that hydrates .”
“Dean, it’s late, the stores are all closed.”
Straightening, Dean just looked at him.
Cas lowered his gaze. “Oh. You mean steal them.” With a flutter of air, the angel disappeared.
And reappeared by the foot of the bed with a crumpled paper bag. He pulled out the big pharmacy containers pharmacists used before they counted out the pills into separate bottles. Ciprofloxacin. Amoxicillin.
“Dude.” Dean clapped the angel on the shoulder. “You are so our pharmacy run guy from now on.”
Cas pulled out three bottles of Gatorade. Orange, Red, and Blue. “These will do? I was uncertain how the different hues would affect your brother.”
Dean grinned at that. “They’re perfect. Will you turn on the shower for me?” He thought about that. “Meaning, let the water run until the temperature is warm.”
Cas nodded and disappeared. Dean knew he was in the bathroom when he heard the water running. Would it kill the trenchcoat wonder to walk a few steps?
“Okay, kiddo, we need to get you out of these wet clothes, and in the shower.”
“No, sleep first.” Sam didn’t bother opening his eyes.
Dean worked the laces of one of Sam’s boots, drew it off. “Nope, you’re still shivering.” He left the other boot on and gripped Sam beneath his shoulders to drag him up to sit against the headboard. He held out the blue and red bottles. “Drink one of these while I wrangle these sopping jeans off you. Not a suggestion, Sam.”
Sam stared at the offered sports drinks, then finally took the blue one. Dean cringed inwardly. He hadn’t been thinking. Not wanting to make a big thing out of the freakin color of Gatorade, he went back to Sam’s other boot while Sam sipped the blue liquid.
Getting Sam to the shower took a lot of energy neither of them had to spare. Dean had stripped Sam to his boxers, and even with Castiel’s help, getting Sam clean became one of those hold him upright under the spray and scrub as gently and quickly as you can ordeals. The yellowing bruises covering the kid’s torso made Dean want to storm back to that hanger and burn it to the ground.
Once Sam was back on the bed-the room only had a single-wrapped tight beneath the comforter, antibiotic and pain pills taken, and wet boxers pulled off, Dean took a quick turn in the shower, spraying off mud and whatever other gunk had been in that pond water he didn’t really want to think about.
He came out of the bathroom to find Castiel looking slightly perplexed at the state of his dripping wet trenchcoat. “If you have matters well in hand here, I’m going to go someplace . . . arid.” With that, he blinked out in a whoosh of air.
“Yeah, you go dry off,” Dean murmured and turned off the lights, easing the curtain back to let in a soft glow from the street lamp outside. Sinking into the chair, he let his gaze drift over his sleeping brother. In the future Zachariah had dropped him into, when Dean and Sam had sat at that picnic table before going their separate ways, that’d been the last they’d been together, which turned out to be the first baby step to both of their damnations. Sam lost his hope that Dean would forgive him, trust him again, and Sam had said yes to Lucifer and Dean had become a person he didn’t recognize or admire much. In Chatty Ron’s hanger, Sam still held onto the hope that Dean would forgive him and had looked to Dean and consistently said no . . . and Dean had been humbled.
He gained something valuable from Zachariah’s warped adventure in time, and it wasn’t about hoarding toilet paper. Dean would never become that cold leader of the future as long as his brother was with him because he knew as surely as his heart knows how to beat that Sam kept him human.
FIN
“Sam?” Dean lifted his brother’s eyelids, seeking any sign that the seizure hadn’t done too big of a number on him.
With both hands, Sam swatted Dean’s fingers away and Dean nearly sagged with relief.
“Alright, okay. God, little brother, you scared the crap out of me.”
“Why?” Sam slurred, his eyes still closed. “What’d I do?”
The question startled Dean. “Ah, you . . . you had a seizure.” He took Sam’s hands, began working on the ropes, didn’t like how lax the fingers dangled.
Sam’s eyes slipped open, rimmed in dark shadows. “Seizure?”
“Yeah.” Dean got the first knot untied. He shook his head, trying to make light of it. “Fever- induced seizure probably . . . you’re okay now. Do you remember anything?”
Shouldn’t have asked that because Sam’s forehead creased in those half circle lines as his eyebrows angled together. “Did I . . .? Dean, I didn’t, did I? Did I drink demon blood?”
“No, no. Actually that grand mal had perfect timing. Took you out right before you made that choice.”
“Grand mal?”
“Yeah.”
“Must have been pretty bad.”
Dean didn’t say anything. It had been horrifying. He pulled the last of the rope away, grimaced at the raw skin on Sam’s flesh. “Um, Sammy. They’re not going to stop. The demons.” He felt Sam stiffen. “I want you to drink the blood.”
“No.” Sam tried to shift upward, but didn’t get far. “I’m trying so hard, Dean. I won’t let you down.”
Sam buried his face in his hands. “If I don’t drink, they’re going to beat you to death. I don’t know what to do. I can’t let you down and I can’t let them hurt you.” He was trembling again, long large shudders that Dean felt beneath his palms on Sam’s arms. This. This was breaking his brother. It had to stop.
“Just take the demon blood. You aren’t letting me down.”
But Sam wasn’t hearing him anymore, just rolling back and forth.
“Sam. Sammy. Just stop. Hey, stop.” Dean pulled Sam’s hands away, held Sam’s face between his own palms. “Look at me. We’ll figure this out. You trust me right?”
Sam quieted, looked up at Dean and nodded.
“Kay, good. First things first. You really need to get some water in you.”
Sam stiffened again.
“It’s just water. Promise.”
“You’re really here, right?”
Dean patted Sam’s shoulder. “Yeah, man. It’s me. Stay here.”
“Where, where are you going?”
“Out to the mall. Water’s across the room, Sam. Hopefully it didn’t get knocked over.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Dean slipped his knee out from under Sam, settling his brother’s head gently on the cement and went to retrieve the cup. Fortunately it hadn’t spilled during any of the scuffle. He scooped up a few blankets as well and came back over to Sam. The young hunter’s eyes were closed.
Kneeling over him, Dean shook his brother’s shoulders. “Hey, hey. Sammy.”
“Unnnn.” The eyelids wearily lifted. “Dean.”
Dean coaxed Sam’s head up. “Here drink.”
“Don’t want it.”
“Not starting that again. It’s water, Sam. Only water.”
“Sure?”
“Promise. Drink.” He tilted the cup at Sam’s lips, and the young man took a tentative sip, then another, more, until his hands clasped around the cup and he was swallowing for all he was worth. There wasn’t nearly enough. “That’s good. That’s real good.”
Energy spent, Sam sagged back. Dean rolled up one of the blankets and scooted it beneath Sam’s head. Sam merely blinked up at him before drifting off again. Dean sat beside him, his hand absently resting along Sam’s arm while he tried to come up with a way of getting the kid out of there. His chest ached like a mother from that friggin tube. A dozen scenarios ran through his head, all stupid and all with the potential to get him and Sam killed. They were so screwed.
The lock in the door clicked. Dean tensed, snapping his head up in that direction. He felt something at his leg. Sam had somehow shifted closer, his forehead pressing against the side of Dean’s thigh. Long fingers folded around a crease in his jeans.
The door squeaked open. Meg waltzed in, alone, another slice of bread and plastic cup in her hands. Dean itched to have a knife in his fist. He let his gaze roam down her body, wondering how many weapons she had on her and how fast he could get to one and ram it into her throat. Boot?
He watched those boots come steadily nearer as Meg crouched down. She was close. Dean watched, waiting for a good time to make his move. He just wished Sam wasn’t between them.
“Here.” Meg offered the cup of water. “Have you been able to get him to drink?”
What? “What’s it to you?”
“Look. Ron is about to come through that door and start on you guys again.” She pushed the water closer.
Ron? Dean was guessing that was Chatty. “Figured. Thanks for the head’s up,” Dean snarled. What the hell kind of game was she playing now?
Meg rolled her eyes. “You need to be gone by then. You need to fix your brother.” She fished a set of keys out of her jacket and dangled them over Sam like a carrot on a stick.
Dean felt his brows rise before he slammed his features back into a scowl. “Come again?”
“Don’t be an idiot. You don’t trust me. I hate you. But this whole thing has gone south.” Meg blew out an angry breath. “Look, we demons know how to cause a lot of hurt, but fixing . . . “ She flung a hand toward Sam. “Fixing someone isn’t exactly part of our skill-set. Ron doesn’t know how to back off. He has no finesse. He’s going to take it too far and kill your brother.”
Dean’s heart felt like it was going to punch straight through his chest. He didn’t want to ask the question that flew to his mind, but he had to catch Meg in her lies, discover what the bitch was really after. He hardened his voice to a throaty purr. “What’s that to you? You kill Sam, Lucifer will only bring him back.”
“Exactly. And what do you think Lucifer is going to do to any demon that went against his order not to touch his vessel? It would have been great if we could have delivered Sam broken and ready, but-“
“Since your plan took a royal U-turn, you want to cover up the mess before Lucy knows what you did.”
“Didn’t you ever hide your mistakes from your father?” Meg cocked her head and looked at Dean through lowered lashes. “You should know me pretty well by now, Dean-o.”
“I know you’re a vengeful skank.”
“I’m a survivor. I know when to cut my losses. So you take your brother out of here and you fix him. You get him well and my father never learns about this, and you get to keep Sammy away from Lucifer for . . . oh . . . just a little while longer.”
Sam was rousing. Dean took the water from Meg, inwardly cringing when their fingers touched. Pulling Sam’s head up higher, he tipped the cup to his lips. “Just water,” he whispered and Sam didn’t hesitate this time, gulping and draining the liquid. Meg stared at Sam’s throat, seeming to be fascinated by his bobbing Adam’s apple.
Dean didn’t trust her, but he believed her. Plus he had no other options. Sam couldn’t take another round with Chatty Ron. “What about the others? The hosts?”
Smiling, Meg shrugged. “What do you think I’m using as a distraction? Relax. I’m not going to hurt them, just let them out. They’ll scatter into the field and it will give the other demons something to chase.”
“No,” Sam breathed out. “Can’t u-use humans like that.”
Meg arched a brow, looking to Dean.
“Sam’s right. They’re innocent people.”
“Who won’t be harmed. They’re desired hosts. Besides, once it’s known you guys are out of this room, every demon in this hanger will stop chasing the hosts to come after you. And once Lucifer gets wind of this, no one’s coming back here. The hosts will be forgotten. It’s their best chance, better than if they went with you.”
Dean met Sam’s gaze.
Meg huffed. “Wow, every time I expect more from you muttonheads, I’m sorely disappointed.”
“All right,” Dean groused.
Sam shifted up higher, supporting himself with the help of Dean’s arm around his back. “Dean, you can’t trust her.”
“I don’t trust her. But I trust her self-preservation instincts. And I’m getting you out of here.” He held his hand out for the keys.
Meg dropped them in his palm. “Tan Pick-up. In five minutes go out the door, head left down the hallway, third door on the right is the exit. Once you leave this room, you’re on your own so I’d haul ass.”
“Right.” Dean frowned. “How many demons?”
Meg pursed her lips together. “Twenty-one. But don’t sweat it, Baby. You’ll only have to worry about sixteen.”
“Why?”
Meg grinned so impishly her dimples came out.
Shaking his head, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You are a freakin piece of work. Only five of the demons know who you are so you’re using both the hosts and our escape as a means to take them out.”
“Like I said, I know what to do to survive.” Meg shrugged. “I’m going to get right up there in Lucifer’s tight little circle, but not if he finds out about this dismal failure.”
Dean blew out a breath. He could not believe he was even having this conversation. “Well, best of luck with that.” He rolled his eyes.
“Oh, don’t worry. And, Dean-o, we’ll meet again and when we do . . . things between us . . .” She winked. “. . . back to normal.”
“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“And Sam.” She leaned down close, sliding a finger along the young hunter’s jaw that clenched at her touch. Dean locked his muscles, resisting the urge to shove her away. “Sweet cheeks, I’ll see you again real soon.”
Sam cocked his head out of her reach.
Meg’s gaze swept back up to Dean. Shifting she lifted the cuff of her jeans and pulled a knife from her boot.
He felt Sam’s flinch, matching his own jerk. Meg flipped the blade over, extending it out hilt first, then she smiled, pulling it back, obviously thinking better of it, and stood. Walking backwards toward the door, Meg set the knife down. “I’ll just leave this over here for you.”
Bitch wasn’t stupid, he’d give her that.
Her hand rested on the doorknob. “Five minutes, Dean. Then you get your brother out of here and you fix him.”
With that she sauntered out the door. Dean waited, making sure there was no click of the lock.
Sam was looking up at him expectantly.
Hiding his worry, Dean mussed his brother’s hair. “Think you can walk?”
“How far do you think it is to the truck?”
Dean shrugged. “Not far? Come on, Cupcake. Up and at ‘em.” Shoving the keys into his pocket, he hefted Sam to his feet, steadying him around the waist while a shudder ran through him.
Sam held out a hand. “It’s good. I’m good.”
Dean wasn’t convinced, but there really wasn’t any choice so he tucked himself beneath Sam’s arm and helped him over toward the door. He leaned Sam up against the wall, keeping a hand on the kid’s chest while Dean stooped to retrieve the knife. He almost wept over the feel of having a solid weapon in his palm.
Then they waited.
#
“Has it been five minutes yet?” Sam looked ready to slide down the wall.
Pulling his brother’s arm over his shoulder, Dean let Sam lean on him, taking most of his weight. “Close. I’d say a few minutes more.” His torso was killing him. Damn tube. Sam couldn’t be feeling any better.
“Kay.” Sam’s head rolled toward Dean.
“Stay with me. We got to make a long run.” Dean nudged Sam back with his own head.
“Yeah, gotta run.”
The sound of feet slapping cement, running, a group of people, clapped outside the door, then angry shouts, orders to “round them up”, more rushing footsteps. The noise grew farther and farther away.
That was their cue. “Now, Sammy.” Dean pulled open the door, stuck his head outside into the vacant hall. “Let’s go,” he whispered, and half-dragged, half-carried his sibling into the hallway. Their luck was holding. He heard a guttural shriek-had to be Meg eliminating her targets. Dean couldn’t help hoping the shriek belonged to Chatty Ron, but he didn’t stop for details, just dragged his brother who was stumbling more than walking, down that hallway.
Third door, third door. Here. Not willing to lose his grip on Sam, Dean kicked the door, relieved when it flew outward, and hauled his kid brother out into the night. His knees nearly buckled, seeing the tan truck right there. Right freaking there. With a surge of energy, he practically carried Sam the few yards over to the passenger side, wrenched it open, and shoved Sam inside. Flying around to the other side, pulling out the keys, he slid onto the bench and shouted “Hail Mary!” as the engine revved to life just as several demons slammed out of the hanger door, rushing toward them.
Shoving the gear into Reverse, Dean punched the gas and the truck sped backwards into the field. Dean hit the brakes, pushed up into Drive and fishtailed around, looking for the road. There. Heading toward it, he left the demons and the hanger in a cloud of flying grass and dust.
Dean tore down the old country road, putting as much distance as he could between them and the demons that were sure to be following. The wheels spun out, skidding and sliding across the dirt. The truck bucked up, hitting a particularly nasty bump and Sam flew off the seat, hitting his forearms on the dash.
That must have jolted him to full consciousness. “Dean!”
“You all right there, Sammy?”
“No!”
“Yeah, alright.” Dean eased up on the accelerator, glancing in the rearview mirror. So far there weren’t any headlights behind them, but that wouldn’t last. They had one little pig sticker between them and more than a dozen demons on their tail. “Sam, look around. Check out the glove box. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Without questioning, Sam dug into the glove box, throwing insurance papers and the truck manual to the floorboard. He found gloves . . .
“Huh.”
Dean took his eyes off the dark road to glance over. “What?”
“Oh, just a, a small Bible. One of those travel versions.”
“And?”
“Just ironic.” His voice was low, coated in exhaustion. “Some demon’s been driving around with a Bible and didn’t know it.”
Dean grinned at that. He needed something to grin at. “Okay. Any weapons? Guess it’d be too much to ask for a demon to be riding around with a box of salt.”
Sam shook his head. “Nothing. Well, there’s this.” He pulled a tiny silver cross, a bookmark of sorts, from between the scripture’s pages and wrapped the chain around his wrist, palming the little trinket.
“Great. That’s so not helpful. Try the floorboards.”
Sam bent over, searching around, and the engine sputtered, the truck slowing, the backend scraping sideways.
“No no no no no, Sweetheart. Don’t die on us now. Shit!” Dean slammed the steering wheel with his hands when the engine died and the truck spun out to a rapid stop.
The brothers looked at each other, how royally screwed they were passing across their features when Dean heard engines. He twisted around, seeing the dark shapes. Shit! They’d been followed the entire time by vehicles without lights on.
Dean turned to his brother. “Sam. We got to get out of the truck. You hide. I have the knife. I’ll distract them and when they get out of one of those cars, you get in.”
“No, I’m not leaving you.”
“That’s not the plan.” Dean’s tone was a whining grumble. “Drive straight toward me and I’m jumping in.”
“Oh.” Sam’s grin was quick and flashing. “That’s never going to work, but I like it.”
“Okay, then. Are you able to-Sam!”
The passenger side door yanked open and all Dean saw was his brother flying out the door. “Sam!”
Dean lunged after him, the hilt of Meg’s knife already in his palm and coming out of his belt. It flashed in the moonlight as he jammed it into the back of the demon punching his brother. The demon hissed and turned and Dean plunged the blade into him again, spinning the guy away into the darkness as he pulled the knife free.
Grabbing onto Sam’s shirt, he heaved him up and got him running, well stumbling mostly, but they were moving into a field. God, they were out in the middle of nowhere. He needed a town. Needed a phone. Needed Sam to be safe and whole.
Shouts called behind them. “They went that way.” “Over there.” “Spread out.”
Light played over shadow to their left, gleaming like a flat mirror within the tall grass. Moonlight playing over water. A pond of some sort.
Sam’s legs gave out. He dropped.
“No no, keep going, just a few more steps.”
“To where?” Pain caked Sam’s tone.
“Come on.” Dean circled his arms around Sam’s stomach, hauled him up, herded him forward until their legs were splashing in water. “Be careful, don’t know how deep it is, but get into the middle.”
The pond was small, barely a few yards across on all sides. Sam stumbled, went under, but was back up in moments, sitting on the bottom, water lapping around his chest and knees. “Dean, how is this going to help?”
Dean stood at the water’s edge, the glinting blade outstretched. He looked back over his shoulder. “Still got that cross?”
“Yeah?” Sam lifted his hand where he’d wrapped the delicate chain. “Dean . . .?” His head cocked. “God, you’re brilliant.”
“Never doubt that. Well, get to blessing.”
Sam slapped the tiny cross down into the water and began reciting the prayer to make holy water. As the first demons came at him, Dean lost the anchor of Sam’s voice. He became a flurry of motion, stab, jab, keep moving, keep the attackers off balance. When he kicked out, sending a demon tumbling into the water, and that demon screamed, skin bubbling and hissing like steam, Dean knew Sam had completed the prayer.
Another demon came at him and Dean let him come, pulling the guy with him as they fell backward into the water. The demon shrieked, thrashing as Dean held him under until the body stiffened and a roar of black smoke plumed up into the night sky. Dean shoved the floating body away.
Staying low, Dean moved to the pond’s center toward his brother. The remaining demons had smartened up, staying at the edge of the water.
Dean flinched as Sam grabbed his arm.
“Sorry,” Sam said. “Are you hurt?”
The welts on his chest hurt like a mofo. “No, I’m okay. You?”
“I’m alright.” Which was as big a load of crap as Dean had just told him. Sam had barely made it across the field, was still feverish and recovering from days worth of beatings without nourishment. Yeah, he was alright. The demons began pacing the pond, circling like hyenas. There were about nine of them. Dean wished they’d stop moving so he could get in a direct line between them and Sam. They couldn’t enter the water, but they could still throw knives. Not wanting to hit Lucifer’s vessel was probably the only thing that had kept them from that. He only hoped none of them went back for a gun. Or even a rope. If the situation was reversed, Dean would just lasso their asses out of here. He seriously hoped these lackey demons were lackeys because they didn’t have too much going on in the attic.
For now, the demons seemed ready to just wait them out. Which was a pretty awesome plan considering he and Sam had nowhere to go.
He felt Sam shiver. The kid was resting his head on his knees, long wet hair totally obscuring his face. The fact that he wasn’t keeping an eye on the demons was a clear indication of how ill Sam was.
One of the demons stopped pacing, gripped another by the shoulder. “Go get the car, drive it into that puddle and we’ll lift them out.” Dammit. There always had to be at least one demon who could think on his feet. Crap. The pond was shallow. Driving a car over them could actually work. The demon ran off into the dark.
Dean shook Sam, cautioning, be ready, get alert. Sam barely moaned, but didn’t lift his head. Craptastic.
The shrill of an engine turning over hummed through the air. Headlights snapped on, moving, then turning straight for them. Dean shifted up into a crouch. Only one thing he could do. Pull the demons out of the car into the water and hope they didn’t grab him and Sam first. They didn’t have a lot of options.
The headlights moved closer, bright in Dean’s eyes. A flapping gust of air whirled by. The car abruptly stopped. The dark silhouette of a dude in a flat-shouldered trenchcoat stood at the driver’s side door just before the demon sailed through the window to cartwheel through the air.
As rapidly as the angel appeared, he disappeared, materializing at the water’s edge, angel killing blade in one hand, other palm pressed against the smart demon’s forehead. Smoke spiraled out of the throat like a mini cyclone. Cas moved like contained lightning. One, two, three more demons were pulled one by one from their hosts.
Castiel’s fluid motion was a rare thing of beauty. Though it appeared the angel didn’t need any help, Dean ran out of the water anyway, plunging Meg’s knife into a demon coming up behind the nerd angel.
“Enjoying yourself there, Cas?”
“Actually, yes.” The angel didn’t even sound winded. “Killing demons is enjoyable.”
They fought back to back, taking all comers. And suddenly they found themselves without any new opponents. Without stopping to catch his breath, Dean ran back into the pond. He hadn’t heard a sound from Sam and that worried him. He found his brother floating on his side, face half in the water.
“Sam!” He pulled the kid up, supporting his head at the same time he shook him. “Sam, come on!” He could see his brother’s chest rising and falling, clearly still breathing.
Cas appeared right behind Dean, crouching over his shoulder to peer at Sam. “Is he well?”
“No, he’s about as far from well as you can get,” Dean ground out. “I really wish you still had your healing angel juice.”
“For what it’s worth, Dean. I wish that as well.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Wasn’t much they could do about that. “Sammy, wake up.”
Sam’s eyes slid open. “Hey, Dean.” His gaze tracked over above Dean’s shoulder. “Cas?”
“Sam.”
“How’d you get here? How’d you even find us?”
Dean frowned. “Yeah, how did you find us?”
“Text message.”
Dean’s eyes widened. “You got a text message? From who?”
Cas shook his head. “I do not know. The number was blocked.”
“Meg,” the brothers said in unison.
“What is that noise?” Cas looked around.
Dean pulled Sam closer to him, hearing it too, a faint clicking. He stared hard at his brother’s shaking length, the trembling in his chin. Ah, hell. “That’s Sam’s teeth chattering.”
“Can’t h-help it.” Sam glanced over at him, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.
“Uh, Cas,” Dean said. “Wanna get us out of here?”
“Certainly.” His arms came forward . . .
. . . and they were in the last hotel Dean had been in, Sam safely in his arms, still shaking as they bounced slightly on the bed from the landing.
“You transported us back to the hotel the demons nabbed me from?” Dean’s brow arched.
Cas cocked his head. “Well, your car’s still here.”
Dean closed his mouth, then opened it again. “Oh, good point.”
“Shall I transport us to another hotel?”
“No.” Dean waved him off, shifting off the bed to rearrange his brother more carefully. The kid was wet and still shivering, watching him through half-opened eyes. “I doubt any demons would think of coming back here to find us. Besides I gotta take care of Sammy. Listen, Cas. Can you pop into a drugstore and get me antibiotics? Gatorade or whatever you can find that hydrates .”
“Dean, it’s late, the stores are all closed.”
Straightening, Dean just looked at him.
Cas lowered his gaze. “Oh. You mean steal them.” With a flutter of air, the angel disappeared.
And reappeared by the foot of the bed with a crumpled paper bag. He pulled out the big pharmacy containers pharmacists used before they counted out the pills into separate bottles. Ciprofloxacin. Amoxicillin.
“Dude.” Dean clapped the angel on the shoulder. “You are so our pharmacy run guy from now on.”
Cas pulled out three bottles of Gatorade. Orange, Red, and Blue. “These will do? I was uncertain how the different hues would affect your brother.”
Dean grinned at that. “They’re perfect. Will you turn on the shower for me?” He thought about that. “Meaning, let the water run until the temperature is warm.”
Cas nodded and disappeared. Dean knew he was in the bathroom when he heard the water running. Would it kill the trenchcoat wonder to walk a few steps?
“Okay, kiddo, we need to get you out of these wet clothes, and in the shower.”
“No, sleep first.” Sam didn’t bother opening his eyes.
Dean worked the laces of one of Sam’s boots, drew it off. “Nope, you’re still shivering.” He left the other boot on and gripped Sam beneath his shoulders to drag him up to sit against the headboard. He held out the blue and red bottles. “Drink one of these while I wrangle these sopping jeans off you. Not a suggestion, Sam.”
Sam stared at the offered sports drinks, then finally took the blue one. Dean cringed inwardly. He hadn’t been thinking. Not wanting to make a big thing out of the freakin color of Gatorade, he went back to Sam’s other boot while Sam sipped the blue liquid.
Getting Sam to the shower took a lot of energy neither of them had to spare. Dean had stripped Sam to his boxers, and even with Castiel’s help, getting Sam clean became one of those hold him upright under the spray and scrub as gently and quickly as you can ordeals. The yellowing bruises covering the kid’s torso made Dean want to storm back to that hanger and burn it to the ground.
Once Sam was back on the bed-the room only had a single-wrapped tight beneath the comforter, antibiotic and pain pills taken, and wet boxers pulled off, Dean took a quick turn in the shower, spraying off mud and whatever other gunk had been in that pond water he didn’t really want to think about.
He came out of the bathroom to find Castiel looking slightly perplexed at the state of his dripping wet trenchcoat. “If you have matters well in hand here, I’m going to go someplace . . . arid.” With that, he blinked out in a whoosh of air.
“Yeah, you go dry off,” Dean murmured and turned off the lights, easing the curtain back to let in a soft glow from the street lamp outside. Sinking into the chair, he let his gaze drift over his sleeping brother. In the future Zachariah had dropped him into, when Dean and Sam had sat at that picnic table before going their separate ways, that’d been the last they’d been together, which turned out to be the first baby step to both of their damnations. Sam lost his hope that Dean would forgive him, trust him again, and Sam had said yes to Lucifer and Dean had become a person he didn’t recognize or admire much. In Chatty Ron’s hanger, Sam still held onto the hope that Dean would forgive him and had looked to Dean and consistently said no . . . and Dean had been humbled.
He gained something valuable from Zachariah’s warped adventure in time, and it wasn’t about hoarding toilet paper. Dean would never become that cold leader of the future as long as his brother was with him because he knew as surely as his heart knows how to beat that Sam kept him human.
FIN