Fic: If I Have Freedom (11/15)

[jedisapphire]

Chapter X: A Child that Has Cried All Night

Chapter XI: As the Gentle Rain from Heaven
Dean had the hang of it by now: one arm holding Sam, Colt in his free hand. He went through the house to the front of it, because he had a thing or two to say to Samuel.

Bobby and Castiel had him cornered between a broken-down wardrobe and the fireplace. He was looking from one to the other of them with an expression that said he understood things they didn't. Dean's jaw clenched: there was only one thing that needed to be understood here, and that was what the son of a bitch had done to his own grandson.

If Dean had been in any doubt about who was to blame, the way Sammy stiffened in his grip got rid of it.

"It's OK," he soothed. "It's OK, Sammy. He's not going to hurt you anymore." He stepped up between Bobby and Cas, facing his - God, it hurt to think the word - grandfather.

"You want to explain yourself?" Dean asked evenly.

"I don't have to explain anything to you."

"Really? Because you started out by coming to Bobby's house and upsetting Sam, and then you kidnapped him and had him tortured by some supernatural things. You want me to not kill you, you'd better start talking."

"I want my daughter back. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"Hey, I have an idea. Let's get her back for you. Cas knows how to bring her back. We can bring her back right now, show her what you've done to Sam, and ask her if she thinks you're even human anymore."

"I told them not to kill him."

"What, I'm supposed to be grateful to you for that? You tortured a child."

"He's twenty-eight."

"That makes it better? He's your grandson, you sick son of a bitch." Sam was shaking, and Dean didn't have time for this. He cocked the Colt and aimed. "Fine. If that's all you have to say, we're done talking."

"You're going to shoot your grandfather?"

"I'm going to shoot whatever the hell you are."

Dean pulled back the safety, just to hear it click. His finger tightened on the trigger.

And he felt tiny hands tugging at his collar.

Dean sighed. He knew what that meant.

"Don't be an idiot, Sam. After what he's done to you? There is no way I'm letting him live."

The tugging became more insistent. Dean looked away from Samuel long enough to meet Sam's eyes - and he knew the instant he did that he had lost. It didn't matter what Samuel deserved or didn't deserve. What Sammy needed was to be comforted, not to have to watch his big brother kill his grandfather, no matter how much of a bastard he'd turned out to be.

"Have it your way, kiddo." He tossed Bobby the Colt. "Deal with him."

Then he wrapped his other arm around Sam as well and walked out the front door.

As soon as Dean was outside in the early morning air he realized that Sam was shirtless and shivering. The last thing they needed was pneumonia on top of everything else, so he took off his jacket and wrapped it around Sam ("'Mnot a puppy, Dean!").

"You want to let Cas clean you up?" Dean asked.

"No." Sam pulled away a little to look at Dean apologetically. "'Msorry, Dean… can't… another angel… I can't… not so soon after…"

"After Michael and Lucifer," Dean finished. "I understand, kiddo. Come on, then. We'll get to a motel and I'll patch you up."

Dean took the walk back to the Impala as quickly as he could. Sam's injuries were painful, but they weren't life-threatening yet. That might change if he lost too much blood. He didn't dare run and risk jolting Sam too much or, worse, tripping on something and dropping him, but he hurried.

He put Sam down in the front seat long enough to get him a spare blanket out of the trunk. Then he drove hell for leather to the nearest town. Sam, head pillowed on Dean's leg, just about managed to stay half-awake until they pulled into a motel.

There was no way Dean was leaving his brother alone even for the time it took to go in and get them a room, not after what had just happened. He picked Sam up, blanket and all, and carried him into the building.

The woman at the front desk looked at him suspiciously.

"Is that your son? What's wrong with him?"

"He had an accident on the jungle gym. I need a room."

"Do you want a doctor?"

"I need a room."

"There's a hospital just a mile down. Maybe you should take him to the emergency room."

"I can handle it," Dean growled. "I need a room!"

Evidently the don't-mess-with-me-when-Sammy's-in-trouble tone got through to her, because she jerked her head sharply and said, "Two singles, I'm guessing? Or would you rather have a double?"

"Do I look like I give a damn?"

The woman frowned. Dean could tell that he was an inch from having Child Protective Services called on him. He drew several deep breaths and said, as calmly as he could, "I'm sorry. Sammy's scared of hospitals. I'm a surgeon, so whenever he gets hurt - he tends to get into a lot of trouble - I try to fix him up myself when I can. We were on a road trip and we stopped at a playground.Please. I don't care what you've got. I need a room."

Sam, proving once again that he was capable of deliberately using the eyes to get his way, turned his head without lifting it from Dean's shoulder and gave the woman the look of entreaty that Dean knew and dreaded.

Two minutes later, Dean was laying Sam gently down. He sent Bobby a text telling him where they were and then opened the first aid kit.

She'd given them two singles, which was good. It meant he could put Sam on one bed, the first aid kit on the other, and kneel in the space between the beds.

"Let's take a look at you, Sammy," Dean murmured.

By the time he'd disentangled Sam from the blanket and the jacket, he felt his fury building again. His baby brother was covered in blood and bruises, and Dean had a feeling there was at least one cracked rib in there too.

"Dean?"

Now that they were alone and safe, Sam wasn't bothering to keep the open pleading from his voice. He was in pain and he wanted his big brother to make it stop.

"Yeah, I know," Dean soothed. "I got it. I'm going to patch you up. You're just going to need a few stitches. Then you'll be fine." He paused. "No whiskey, though, dude."

"Dean."

"Don't make this harder, Sammy. I don't care how old your mind is. Your body is four." Dean gave Sam's hand a light squeeze to take the sting out of his words. "Going to clean you up first, Sammy. The ice machine is in the hall, so we'll wait till Bobby's here to get it and then we can ice the bruises. Let's get the blood off you to begin with, OK? It's freaking me out a bit."

Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. Dean opened it cautiously.

"Cas?" He opened the door fully and went back to Sam. "You're done, huh? Where's Bobby?"

"Driving. He didn't want me to bring him here. He'll be here soon. Should I…"

"No," Dean said, picking up the basin of water and towel he'd been using to sponge the blood off Sam. "We'll do this the old-fashioned way. 'Sides, is the healing mojo child safe?"

"That's a good question. It should be, but it's true that children's bodies can be more fragile. I've never actually tried it on a child."

"Then you're not starting now," Dean said firmly. Even if Sam had been OK with Cas healing him, he wouldn't have let the angel start experimenting with something he wasn't totally sure wouldn't have unpleasant side effects. "Can you get me some ice?"

Cas picked up an empty basin and went to the bathroom. Dean heard water running. A few seconds later, Cas was back with a basin full of perfectly shaped ice cubes.

"I like doing this," he explained in answer to Dean's raised eyebrow. "It's enjoyable. We used to do it with the oceans. But we got a little carried away once and there was - I think you call it the Ice Age? Michael wouldn't let any of us do it after that."

That got a tiny laugh from Sam. Cas gave him a faint smile.

"How are you, Sam?"

"Peachy," Sam gasped.

"Shut up and save your strength," Dean told him. He wrapped some of the ice in a towel and put it over Sam's jaw. "Hold that there, Cas… OK, kiddo, going to start the stitches now. Going to sting a bit. Stay still."

As though his words were the cue, Sam went rigid, eyes widening in horror that Dean knew all too well.

Crap.

"Not now," he breathed. "Come on, not now. Hasn't he been through enough?" Sam started to curl in on himself. Dean put one hand on his shoulder and one on his knee to hold him straight. "Don't do that, Sam. You'll hurt yourself."

"Dean."

Dean swallowed thickly, considering his options. If Sam started thrashing…

"Trust me, Sammy?" he asked, bending to murmur in Sam's ear. Sam didn't say anything, but the adoring-baby-brother look he got in response said it all. Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Cas, put him out."

"Are you -"

"Now."

As soon as Sam had gone limp, Dean heaved a sigh of relief. It would give Sam some rest from remembering the Cage and it would let him sleep through Dean's ministrations. That was all Dean dared to hope for right then.

Bobby showed up a few minutes later. Between him and Dean they got Sam stitched and bandaged and lying as comfortably as possible on his back. They moved him to the other bed. Dean, after some difficulty, managed to find a position that suited him: sitting next to Sam with his legs up on the bed and one hand splayed over Sam's ribs so that he'd know right away if there was any change in his brother's breathing or heartbeat.

"What'd you do with Samuel?"

"He's been doing some dangerous stuff, trying to get your mom back," Bobby said grimly. "Binding demons looks like being the least of it."

"So did you…"

"No. Let him go."

"You what? Bobby, are you crazy?"

"Listen to me, boy -"

"He almost killed Sammy!"

"You going to lower yourself to his level? Let it go, Dean."

"No, you don't understand, Bobby. This is Sammy we're talking about. My brother. That son of a bitch tortured my brother."

"He's suffering enough for it, Dean. He's not going to be able to bring your mother back, and even if he somehow does, odds are she'll hate him for everything he's done. He's got to sort out whatever screwed-up mess he's gotten himself into with those demons and he's got to live with himself. You have your brother. He's got no one. Let it go." A pause, and then the final shot, "It's what Sam would want."

Dean glanced at Sam, peacefully asleep under his hand. Bobby was right. He had more than Samuel ever would.

"Fine," he heard himself say. "But if he comes near Sam again I'll kill him."

"You'll have to be quick to beat me to it."

They didn't talk much after that. Bobby went to get a room for himself. He said he wanted to be able to sleep in peace without being kept up by Dean fussing over Sam, but Dean knew he was doing it to give them some time to themselves and he was grateful for the understanding. Cas, after hanging around purposelessly for a few minutes, disappeared with the promise to return later in the day.

Left alone, Dean settled himself down next to Sam and let the steady thumping of his brother's heart under his fingers lull him to sleep.

Chapter XII: Beauty Is Truth