What Comes After, Chapter 8B, SPN Fic
...continued from part a:
Lori heard the rumble of Dean's car outside and stopped mid-pace to hurry to the backdoor. Her apartment was really an old, two-story house with outside access to each level, the kitchen being shared with the people upstairs who never seemed to be around. Her living area took up most of the bottom floor and had a small space for parking around the back of the house where the familiar black car was currently rolling to a stop. This was a good thing since they'd be able to come and go from the house without disturbing or being disturbed.
It felt like hours since Chris had called, but it hadn't been but a matter of minutes. Chris hadn't given a lot of detail, so she wasn't sure what to expect, but she knew Dean wouldn't seek her out unless it was serious. She'd never heard Chris sound so freaked. That alone was enough to put her on alert. He was the calm one that always knew how to command a situation. She admired him for that as much as she resented his pessimism and loud mouth.
When she pulled her door open, Chris was already climbing out of the car and moving to the backseat. Running out to meet them, she felt her heart thud when she realized Dean wasn't conscious.
"Why didn't you take him to the hospital?!" she asked as Chris lifted Dean onto his shoulders with a grunt.
"Can we talk about it after we get him inside? He's heavier than he looks." Chris didn't wait for an answer before plodding toward the house.
"What happened? Is that blood?!" She realized her voice was shrill, but she couldn't grasp the calm professionalism that she normally possessed in emergency situations.
"Just get the door," Chris snapped, staggering onto the back porch.
Lori yanked the door open, trying to press her body out of the way as Chris pushed past.
"Where'm I taking him?" he asked, moving inside.
"Bedroom."
She ran around him into her room, flipping the light on as she went. Chris came through behind her and gently eased Dean down onto her bed. When he straightened back up, his shoulder was stained with Dean's blood-it blackened the front of his shirt and dried streaks smeared his jeans. Immediately, her eyes flew over Dean's body, evaluating the seriousness of the blood loss.
Crawling onto the bed next to him, she began stripping his coat and outer shirt off as she called, "Dean. Wake up." When he didn't respond, she shook him gently and called to him again. Still nothing. She raked her knuckles up and down his sternum to see if he'd respond to pain and was relieved when he grimaced a little.
"Okay, can we talk about why he's not at a hospital right now?" She questioned as she peeled back his t-shirt to check the wounds on his chest. She quickly bunched up the shirt she had removed and pressed it into the lacerations, bearing down. Wondering why she wasn't getting an answer, she shot a look over her shoulder at Chris and faltered at the expression on his face. His eyes dragged from Dean to her and then back again.
"He made me promise I wouldn't. He said it wasn't that bad, that he just needed rest-mumbled something about it not being real. He made me promise I wouldn't," he repeated, helplessly. His soiled shirt hung forgotten in his limp fingers where he'd stripped it off.
Lori shifted the bloody compress aside. The oozing blood looked to be slowing enough to begin stitching, which was a good sign. She pressed the wadded up shirt back in place, ran a shaky hand under her nose and stood part way up to lend more weight to the compression. "He's unconscious, Chris-isn't responding to anything but more pain and his breathing is too fast. How bad does it need to be?!"
Chris's face contorted and he growled, "I did what he asked. He was adamant about not going to the hospital. Now, are you just gonna stand there and freak out or are you gonna help him?"
Her open mouth snapped shut and she balled her hands into fists as she released the saturated cloth. With a glower, she strode into the bathroom and yanked towels from her cupboard, then pushed them roughly into Chris's chest.
"Use these to clear away as much blood as you can and then keep the pressure on until I get back. I've gotta go see what kind of supplies I've got with me." By the time her arms were loaded with everything she thought she might need, Chris had already discarded a soaked towel and was bearing down on the remaining towels covering Dean's wounds.
"Lucky for us, I have some supplies," she said, throwing everything onto the bed. "First thing we need to do is clean the wounds and get them stitched. Start talking while we work. Tell me everything that happened so I'll know what we're dealing with. I need to know how long he's been out, how he got his injuries, things like that."
Chris nodded once, sharply. "Just tell me what to do and I'll help."
And that was the part of Chris she loved. He could be counted on in a pinch. Leaving him to keep the pressure on a little longer, she drew a big bowl of warm water and cleared a spot for it on her nightstand, knocking her alarm clock to the floor. Setting up her supplies and sterilizing what she'd need, she worked quickly and efficiently, letting instinct take over as she cut Dean's shredded t-shirt from his body. The bare skin was burned pink-nothing life threatening-but she wasn't sure if it was new or leftover from last time. Carefully, she removed his necklace and set it aside.
As she cleaned away the blood, she noticed Chris had become too quiet again. Turning her head to check that he wasn't about to pass out or, worse, get sick, she caught his wide-eyed stare as he gaped at Dean.
"You're not gonna pass out on me are you?" The grooves across Dean's chest were nasty looking, but not life threatening if properly treated-but she guessed it might be alarming to someone unused to so much blood.
"Uh, no, I'm okay," Chris finally spoke. "Are all those white lines scars?"
Things clicked into place, she finally understood. She remembered her own shock when she'd first seen them herself. "He's got a lot of them, doesn't he? Considering what he does, it's not really a surprise, is it?"
"I guess I hadn't really thought about it," Chris said weakly.
"I don't imagine this life's easy. It's no wonder Sam wanted out. Can't really fault him for that." She shook her head. "Okay, I'm going to start stitching these up. I need you to take that extra gauze," she pointed to the plastic wrapped bandages, "and help keep the area clear for me. Use this saline solution to keep it clean. And, Chris, you need to stay focused-talk to me, tell me what happened."
Chris climbed onto the bed and did as she asked. His hands shook a little, but at least his color seemed to be coming back. "We went back to Jess's apartment."
Her eyebrows climbed. "After what happened last time?!" Then with barely a hesitation, she said, "Sam doesn't know about this, does he?"
Chris winced. "No, Sam doesn't know-Dean promised him he'd go back to their room and sleep."
"Where exactly is Sam?"
"He's at the hospital." At her puzzled look, he asked, "Didn't you get the messages? Aaron took a turn for the worse. He's in a coma."
Lori's eyes widened and she shook her head slowly. "M-my phone died-it's probably charged now, but I haven't checked my messages yet."
"Well, you might want to get on that," Chris bit out, squeezing too hard on the bottle in his hand, squirting saline solution all over.
Guilt stung sharp and Lori chewed her lip as she watched him curse and try to clean up the mess he'd made. She blinked to clear her vision so she could keep working. A warm hand squeezed her wrist where it had paused mid-motion, needle in hand.
"Sorry. Just feeling a little tense right now." Chris gave her arm a pat. "You didn't do anything wrong… I'm just…." He shook his head, let the sentence fall incomplete as he stared at the neat row of thread she'd laid down in Dean's pale skin.
Lori resumed working, worry and questions mixing together. "Okay, so Sam's at the hospital. Aaron's in a coma… and you and Dean decided to take a stroll over to the very same apartment where Aaron was hurt?"
Chris shrugged, strained humor filling his voice as he said, "Seemed like a good idea at the time."
Lori scoffed. "You don't believe in any of this. Why would you go? We all know Dean's not your favorite person." She glanced at him briefly.
"Look, after what I just saw? I don't know what I believe." He tossed aside a saturated piece of gauze and reached for a fresh one, running it along the saline washed skin below her needle. "You should've seen it, Lori. Jess was there, I saw her. And there was something else there too-God, I don't even know. But… he saved me," he nodded at Dean. "That's how he got hurt, pulled me out of the way and, whatever that thing was, it did this to him. Would've been me." Chris shook his head again, like it was just too much to process.
"Okay. Okay," she soothed-who she was soothing, him or her, she wasn't sure. She shook her attention away from Chris. "Does he have any other injuries besides this?"
"I-I don't know. Jess threw him against the wall pretty hard when that thing showed up. Judging by the dent in the wall, he hit his head pretty hard."
Lori nodded, eager to keep him focused on what they were doing. "Okay, I'll check as soon as we finish this. What else?"
"Um," a funny look crossed Chris's face, "this is gonna sound completely insane."
Rolling her eyes, she said, "Just tell me. I'll believe you, okay?"
"Well, like I said, Jess-she threw him against the wall and then did something to banish whatever the other thing was. Then the door slammed shut. Next thing I know, Dean's sliding up the wall and onto the ceiling."
Lori looked at him incredulously, but urged him to continue.
"Then, uh, she was there with him… and, and they were both on fire. But it wasn't a normal fire. I didn't feel any heat-nothing around them burned, not even his clothes. And Dean, he kept making these terrible noises… but he also talked to her. I don't know if she understood him, but after a while she disappeared and he fell to the bed."
Lori scanned Dean's skin. "Well, that explains the burns. Then you came directly here?"
Chris looked at her like she was the crazy one for being so calm and accepting, but nodded slowly. Finally finished with the stitches, she spread antibiotic salve on top and dressed them.
"Okay, let's check his head," she said, running her fingers through his hair, feeling his scalp for bumps. Dead center in the back was a good-sized lump. She grabbed her penlight, lifting each eyelid, then ran through the rest of his vitals.
"Well?" Chris said when she sat back.
"His heart rate and respiration are elevated, but nothing dangerous-only thing that concerns me is he isn't responding to stimuli like he should. It doesn't make sense because his concussion is mild-his pupils reacted to the light like they should. Of course, there is the blood loss and head injuries are sometimes tricky no matter how mild. I'd feel a lot better with him at a hospital."
"I promised we wouldn't. It seemed important to him." Chris didn't meet her eyes-she knew he didn't care about what Dean wanted-but she knew he was telling the truth about Dean being adamant. He pulled a hand across the back of his neck. "I mean, he's not-it's not a coma like Aaron?"
Lori laid a hand on Dean's arm, just resting her fingers lightly on his skin for the contact. "Any person who doesn't respond normally to stimuli for a prolonged period can be considered in a coma-but, no, probably not like Aaron. But, I don't really know anything about Aaron's condition."
"Well, what do we do now?"
Lori watched him fidgeting on the bed across from her, giving her pleading eyes, and then looked at Dean lying silent and pale beside her. Finally she nodded her head, reaching a decision. "Keep an eye on him. Monitor his vitals at intervals and wait. If he gets worse or if he doesn't wake up in a few hours, then I don't care what he wants, he goes to the hospital. Got it?"
Chris nodded. "Yeah, okay."
"Think we should call Sam?" She asked.
"No!" Chris exclaimed. Looking apologetic, he continued, "Let's wait -if we have to take Dean to the hospital, then definitely-but until then, let's not give the kid more to go gray over."
Ah, there we go, she thought. Chris's weakness seemed to be Sam and she had her suspicions about that.
"I don't know, Chris. Sam seems awfully protective of his brother. He finds out we didn't tell him about this, he's gonna be royally pissed."
"Better pissed than having a stroke over something he has no control over. And Becky needs someone with her; I feel better about it being Sam rather than Nathan. Besides, I promised and you know I keep my promises."
"Well, you know Sam better than I do, so your call." Lori leaned over Dean and ran a hand over his hair. "C'mon, Dean. You've gotta wake up so Sam doesn't beat Chris's face in. That'd be ugly."
Chris scowled at her. "Nice, Lori, real nice."
She shrugged, "I just know how I'd feel if this were my brother."
Chris's brow wrinkled and his gaze fell to Dean. "Yeah. I guess I just keep forgetting he's Sam's brother. It's so… weird."
"That Sam has a brother?" She said, moving to clear the mess they'd made from the bed. Even after everything, she still had a hard time wrapping her mind around all the dynamics between these brothers and her friends.
"That he and Sam are even related."
"Why's that so hard to believe? Not all siblings favor each other in looks."
"I know, but it's just… Sam's a big puppy with his heart in his eyes. Smart, genius smart, with a bright future. This guy. I don't even know what it is I see in his eyes, but he's more like a junkyard dog than a puppy. He's… not like Sam, at all."
Lori frowned. "I think you're letting your baggage color your perceptions, my friend. I get the impression there's more to Sam than that. Besides, I may not know Dean well, but even I can see he's a good guy-he cares about people. And he loves Sam. More than anything."
"Yeah?" Chris looked doubtful, anger obviously lingering. "Then why does he keep dragging Sam down? If he loves him so much, why doesn't he cut him loose, send him back to school where he belongs instead of letting him waste his life like this? It's not safe, obviously. It's reckless and irresponsible."
Defensiveness curdled in her gut and she clipped, "Oh, and now you're an expert about where Sam belongs and how best to keep him safe? Did it ever occur to you that Sam is an adult capable of making his own decisions? Maybe this is where Sam belongs. What could possibly be more worthwhile than fighting evil no one else knows about? They keep other people safe. I'd say it's downright heroic what they do."
Chris jumped up and walked over to the window, turning his back. "Well, I don't like it. He's my friend. He deserves better. He deserves to be happy…safe."
"And Dean doesn't?" she countered. "I don't get what your deal with him is. He saved your life. What is it about him that gets you so wound up?"
"Because," Chris turned, bitterness glimmering in his eyes, "I know guys like him. I know how they tear down the people they love. Selfish and conceited."
Lori crossed her arms and stared Chris right in the eyes. "Are we talking about Dean… or you?"
His face paled, then red crept up his neck and infused his ears and cheeks. Chris clenched his jaw and stared back for a tense moment. "I think I need some air," he finally said, turning on his heel to storm out the door, backdoor slamming behind him a few seconds later.
Feeling bad for what she'd said, Lori's anger cooled instantly. The adrenaline hadn't had time to recede, though, and left her jittery and anxious. She dropped weakly next to Dean, her hand automatically sifting through his hair.
"I really shouldn't have gone there. But he's so quick to judge. He has issues, you know." Dean didn't respond to anything she'd said and she let her eyes roam over his face, wondering what was happening behind his closed eyes. "C'mon, Dean. Come back from wherever you are. Please. No matter what that idiot thinks, I know Sam needs you, even if it doesn't always show. And I've made my own promises. You have to be okay. Okay?"
As she watched him, his eyes moved rapidly under his closed lids. She shook her head and frowned. If Dean was actively dreaming, this was no common unconsciousness. She brushed a thumb over the freckles littering his eyelid. "What are you seeing? Why won't you wake up?"
Freckles, like mushrooms, seemed to pop up in the oddest places across his face. She smiled to herself. "How can someone so bullheaded have so many freckles? I'm sorry to bring it to your attention, buddy, but it really puts a dent in your tough-guy image." At the lack of response, she muttered. "Well, guess I'd better get comfy. Looks like you're gonna be stubborn."
With a final pat to his cheek, she said, "You be good while I go make coffee." Then she got up and, with one last look, left him to rest while she made her way into the kitchen.
Cold, it's all Dean knew. He exhaled, fully expecting to see a cloud of frozen vapor appear-but it didn't. Instead, the coldness was deep in the center of him-his insides frozen. Confusion at finding himself still stuck to the ceiling made him reevaluate what he remembered happening. He thought it was over, he thought she'd let him go-but here he was, pinned like a butterfly. Only now, he was alone in pitch black-bizarre given how the room was always gray-washed by some kind of ambient light source. Searching the inky darkness below, he tried to pick out the bed that should be right under him-but there wasn't even enough light to do that.
A sickening burn sliced through the layers of his abdomen and it throbbed the moment air hit it. His skin tingled, pinched all over with a growing intensity that transitioned into agony. As it began to torment, he began to ignite. His incandescence illuminated the bed below and the person stretched across it. Dean's chest panged as panic tripped through him. Sam. It was Sam lying beneath him, red drops of blood dotting his forehead. Sam's eyes opened to look up and Dean's body burst into flames.
A desperate "No!" ripped from Dean's throat, his eyes locked on the horror twisting his little brother's face. How was it possible to hear Sam's cries over sizzling skin and the roaring fire consuming him? The wretched stench of burning hair, the sharp smell of ash floating all around him, filled his nostrils-the pain indescribable. Below him, Sam was catching fire from the sloughing of Dean's clothing and skin, his screams joining Dean's though he made no move to get away. There was no one to rescue him this time.
Sam shouted, "No! No! Please, no!" Over and over again until Dean ached with please, no. His brother was dying horrifically beneath him as he burned without end and he just couldn't pass out, could not escape. He wished for it to be over quick, for Sam and then for himself. He prayed that if God was listening, he'd give them that mercy. And then Jessica materialized beneath him. She whispered, "You see, Dean? Do you see?"
He wanted to ask, "See what?" but was unable to stretch his lips around the words. Her sad eyes plead with him to understand, but he could only scream hoarsely from the back of his throat.
To be continued...