Fic: With Empty Hands Extended 5/5
Ellen finds a crate of warm Corona buried under the First-Aid supplies.
“Only the necessities?” She asks Bobby with a quirked eyebrow. The man shrugs.
“Can’t think of a better time for a drink than the end of the world.”
No one can argue with that.
Jo’s trying to sneak one of the beers out from under her mom’s watchful eye when Bobby leads a freakishly tall black man into the shelter. His face is hard and angry in the washed out light of the bare bulbs and if he wasn’t carrying about a dozen different knives Adam has the feeling he’d still know the man is a hunter.
“Jefferson,” Ellen greets the man with familiarity that keeps Adam from shuffling away from him and thinking about how easy it is for strangers to carry something evil inside without giving off a clue.
There’s a scar across the newcomer’s left cheek, long and spilt open like something clawed at him. It winks at Ellen as he smiles wryly. “Ellen.”
He says it with an accent Adam can’t place, his voice big and booming. It only reminds him that they’re stuck in a glorified hole in the ground. He shivers in the warmth of the shelter.
“You are well stocked for the End of Days, my friend.” Jefferson says calmly, looking around with a sharp gaze. His eyes linger on Adam’s face for a moment but he doesn’t ask.
Jo lifts two beers from the crate with a small grin, offering Adam one with a raised eyebrow. He declines. He can’t remember the last time he ate and beer on an empty stomach sucks.
Adam looks down at the scars on his wrists, touching them briefly. He remembers how Dean saved him from the crypt and wonders if he’ll be around to do it again.
“What’re those?”
Adam looks up at Jo in surprise, then embarrassment. He looks like a suicide attempt gone wrong- or right depending on how you look at it. He thinks about the matching set Sam has and almost grins. “Battle scars.”
She blinks at that, looking him over in surprise. “Are you a hunter?”
Adam remembers the only hunt he’s ever been on with a shake of his head. “More like a victim of very bad circumstance.”
“Oh.”
He can tell she doesn’t get it but Adam doesn’t want to rehash the whole experience again when he’s stuck down in a steel hole with people he only knows the names of and their limited association with his brothers.
Jo pops the tops off both of the beers with a practiced ease, wrapping her fingers around the neck. Ellen sends her a warning look but doesn’t ruin her fun.
“This is the newer model,” Bobby boasts of his hideaway. “The original’s down in my basement but it’s little more than a pup tent compared to this beauty.”
“You really think salt, iron and devil’s traps will keep the devil himself out of your hair?” Ellen asks sardonically, tapping the wall with her nail.
Bobby snorts, rubbing his beard wearily. “I’m hopeful. I ain’t stupid. Lucifer isn’t the demon I’m hoping to out run at the moment.”
“The one who started this all?” Jefferson asks, his voice low and gravelly reminding Adam of the guard dogs old Mr. Fletcher used to breed.
Thunder rolls over head as Bobby looks down, thinking hard on something no one seems privy to. He takes a beer of his own and pops the top with a hiss. It’s not hard to see he’s a practiced drinker.
“Lilith’s one she-bitch of a demon,” Bobby remarks quietly, “I’m not sure the boys can stop this one.”
“Lilith….” Jefferson says slowly, like he’s trying out the name. “What kind of black-eyed devilry is she?”
Jo passes him the bottle and Adam doesn’t refuse this time. It feels like he’s crawling out of his skin, a little liquid courage might go a long way. He misses Bobby’s reply as his pounding heart sounds in his ears like a drum.
He doesn’t want to think about the possibility of Sam and Dean losing this fight.
“Nothing more scary than black eyes” Jo murmurs to herself, taking another sip.
Adam shakes his head and makes to stand, remembering sightless, milky eyes of his Professor as he gunned down Isaac. He’s not quite sure he agrees but Jo doesn’t ask for his opinion, just takes another sip.
&&&
It’s been quiet outside- too quiet- for nearly twelve hours when Jefferson sits up straight.
“Listen.”
Everyone freezes, their heads cocked towards the re-enforced doorway as the faint shouts of, “Bobby!” echo around them.
“That’s Dean!” Adam says, shooting to his feet.
“We hope,” Jo responds. She’s pale, her eyes bruised with exhaustion.
Bobby yanks a shotgun from the rack on the wall and digs around for the cartridges full of salt. “Ellen, Jo, grab a gun. Me and Jeff are gonna go check him out.”
Adam sends him what he hopes is a less than thrilled expression but both hunters are gone before anyone can appreciate the joke of leaving Adam to be guarded by Ellen and Jo.
He grabs a gun himself anyway, awkwardly loading it. He hopes no one’s sitting on a hair-trigger. Adam’s none too keen to be practicing his first aid on wounds full of salt.
They’re standing in a half circle, guns pointed at the door when Jefferson and Dean stumble in through the door, Sam staggering between them. Two strange men follow them in, one in a bloodstained beige trench coat and the other in what looks like a ratty old bathrobe. He’s missing a slipper.
Bobby slams the door behind them all, his gun clutched tightly in a white-knuckled fist.
“What in the blazes happened to the two of you? One minute you‘re in my God damn living room and the next you‘re up and vanished!”
“Got angel-napped. Turns out no one wanted to stop the freaking Apocalypse- except for you know, us. Help me with Sam.” Dean eases their brother down on a chair. Sam’s pale and sweaty from pain and blood loss. Adam can see a piece of what looks like old wood sticking out of his shoulder.
Dean’s hair is a complete mess, his face covered in soot and dust. Besides a few shallow scratches, it looks like Sam took the brunt of whatever mess they were caught in.
Ellen’s already grabbed the first aid supplies. She runs a hand through Sam’s sweat-soaked hair, her eyes pinched with worry. “What happened?”
“The freaking church blew up.” Dean snaps grabbing gauze and the iodine with a lost look.
“You blew up a church?” Adam vaguely wonders about the Karmic repercussions of that. It really can’t be any worse than Hell on Earth. Dean nearly drops the bottle of iodine as he grasps Adam’s elbow tightly.
“Damn glad to see you here, Doctor Boy.”
Adam’s already got his hands up in protest, reading his brother’s train of thought easily. “We’ve had this conversation before. I’m just a pre-med.”
“That’s a hell of a lot more than anyone here,” Bobby says holding Sam up from behind. “Unless you’ve got an undisclosed skill or two, Jeff?”
The big hunter shakes his head, wiggling the hand with three and a half fingers on it. “I’m not exactly a picture of perfect health, my friend.”
Adam feels the urge to tear out his hair. It’s a familiar urge when it comes to dealing with his brothers. “Just… let me take a look.”
Sam’s skin feels cold and clammy under his hands, his pulse weak and fast. Adam grabs a pair of scissors and gently cuts away the blood soaked jacket and shirt. Sam hisses, turning a bit green.
“You’re not going to throw up on me are you?” He tries to joke, gently probing the skin on his brother’s back. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him as he works, but this, this is what Adam loves. He’s not helping just anyone, he’s helping family.
“No,” Sam’s voice is like gravel and bar smoke. “s’just uncomfortable.”
“Of course.” Adam mutters, hearing Ellen and Bobby snort to his left. He’s not the only person to have dealt with the Winchester method of pain management then.
“Can’t you just…pull it out slowly?” Jo asks, holding the First-Aid kit for him. Adam shakes his head, reaching down to press in on Sam’s fingernails. The color returns to them far less quickly than he likes.
“Without proper medical equipment I can’t tell if he’s severed his axillary artery or just compressed it. If it’s compressed than it’s just a matter of removing the foreign object without causing further damage. If it’s severed…we’re going to have a big bloody mess if I just pull it out.”
“Can’t Castiel just…?” Bobby makes a motion with his hand, almost like he’s waxing a car. Dean turns to the silent man near in the door in question.
“Cas?”
Castiel- Adam’s not sure if that’s an awesome name or a totally freakish one- lowers his head in denial. “My ability to heal is only available in aid of my host.” He intones, his voice deep and ringing. “Even if I could, I am not sure it would be a wise course of action.”
“His blood isn’t clotting properly,” Adam says with a frown, trying to distract everyone from the strange man’s ominous words as Sam tenses under his hands. He gets the feeling this is not something his brother wants the world to know.
Adam sits back on his heels, frowning up at Bobby. “You don’t happen to have a stash of O negative anywhere, do you? Sam may need a bag if the artery‘s been damaged…” He decides to ask the source- stubborn or not, his brothers have always known when things are bad enough for hospital visits and blood transfusions.
“Sam?” He asks quietly, “Do you need blood?”
Whatever answer Adam had been expecting isn’t the one he receives. The remaining color in Sam’s cheeks drains away as he doubles over and with a pained, “No!”
Dean, Bobby and Adam catch him, mindful of the injury. Dean leans in close, whispering something Adam only half catches as they try to straighten Sam up again.
“Sam, stop it. It’s- he didn’t mean it like that.” Dean’s tone is rough and hard as he straightens Sam up. He gives Adam an almost stern look. “We can’t just leave it in there.”
Adam’s not entirely sure they’re talking about the same thing but he nods anyway. He digs through the First-Aid kit, which is really more like a miniature hospital now that he’s gotten a good look at it, and finds something to deaden the area.
“I’ll need you guys to hold him down while I pull this thing out,” Adam explains as he gingerly pokes a needle full of local anesthetic around the wood piece.
They maneuver Sam onto his back on the closest bed. Ellen takes off his shoes for some reason Adam can’t seem to understand.
Sam reaches out his good hand and wraps his long, shaking fingers around Dean’s wrist. “Gimme your belt. I don’t want to accidentally bite off my tongue.”
Dean and Bobby trade a pair of the heaviest looks Adam’s ever seen before. Dean bobs his head in something resembling a nod as he tugs his belt out of the loops of his jeans and helps Sam bite down on the worn leather.
Adam looks around at the group; Jefferson and Ellen are at Sam’s legs while Bobby and Dean are at his right shoulder and middle, respectively. “Alright, on the count of three I’m going to try and pull out the foreign object. What I need from you all is to keep Sam as still as possible. Got it?”
Everyone, even Sam, nods.
It’s horribly anti-climatic the way the huge stake pops out of Sam’s shoulder. Two and a half inches of wood slide out, blood stained and brittle. Adam lets out an explosive sigh of relief as the wound wells with blood. It’s not arterial, thank God.
Sam’s already spit out the belt, his face shiny and too white for anyone’s peace of mind. Dean and Jo help clean him up as Adam prods the new hole in his brother’s shoulder, gently flushing it out with water.
“It looks like a clean wound, in and out. I could stitch it up quickly while the area’s still numb?” Adam whispers to Sam. His brother clears his throat tiredly.
“Whatever you want,” he mutters sadly, drifting into an uncomfortable sleep.
Adam’s taping a square of gauze over the neat line of stitches when he remembers the man in the bathrobe. Jefferson and Ellen are shooting him suspicious, perplexed looks before Bobby rolls his eyes and asks, “Who’s the nut over there?”
“That’s Chuck,” Dean tells them absently, his eyes sharp and still on Sam. “He’s the Holy Scribe.”
Chuck’s sitting in the corner in his ratty bathrobe, his hands covering his face as he mutters to himself. He looks like he needs a good, stiff drink. Jo hands him a Corona and Adam watches, impressed, as he downs it in one breath.
“Um, tastes like shit.” He says shakily. “You got anymore?”
Castiel looks to the ceiling, his electric blue eyes intent. “There is unrest in the garrisons of Heaven. My brethren have learned of Zachariah’s deceit and the rebirth of the Morningstar.”
“Lucifer is free then?” Jefferson demands, his mouth slack with shock.
Dean wipes his hands a bit more viciously. “Yes. The demon breaking the seals turned out the be the last one too. Lucifer’s First or something.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bobby hisses and Dean barks out a bitter laugh.
“Yeah I’d like to know where that son of a bitch is too. Apparently God‘s left us on our own.”
The man in the trench coat turns to give Dean a sharp look. He hasn’t said a word of sense since they arrived, standing near the doorway with an eerily blank expression. Dean shrugs casually, obviously not concerned about stomping on anyone’s feelings.
“This was set up from the damn near beginning then,” Bobby goes on, his eyes wide. “All that ‘Stop Lilith’ bullcrap was just a ruse-”
“Yeah,” Dean cuts him off with a dark look. “Everything was a God damn lie.”
Adam can’t figure out why that sounds so ominous.
&&&
“Do you need anything?” Adam asks Castiel hesitantly, when Sam’s beginning to settle down. The man looks worse off than Sam, but he walks and moves without pain.
It’s unsettling.
Blue eyes stare at him intently, reminding Adam of a doll or a marionette. Whoever this guy is, he’s fucking intense.
“I am in no need of your assistance.” He turns back to watching the door before adding a stilted, belated “Thank you.”
Dean steers Adam away from the guy with a weary, reassuring grin. “Don’t mind Cas, he’s having a hard time coming to grips with the idea that this will power thing might not be so bad after all. Angels aren’t really ones for questioning things, you know?”
“Angels?” Adam turns to look at Castiel again, expecting fluffy white wings and halos, maybe even a heavenly light show. Castiel blinks his gaze away from the door and simply stares back at him.
It’s kind of disappointing to be honest.
“Yeah the novelty wears off of that one fast,” Dean murmurs bitterly, tugging Adam farther away.
Sam’s sleeping comfortably when Castiel turns his eyes skyward and says, “I must leave. The armies of Heaven are gathering.”
Chuck groans, reaching for another beer. Dean ignores him, stalking after his angel friend instead.
Angels, even after ghouls and demons and the Apocalypse, Adam’s having a hard time believing that one.
“You’re just going to leave? What in the hell are we supposed to do now?”
“Stay here,” Castiel orders. His voice firm. “As long as you are in the presence of the prophet no demon will attempt to harm you. The Arch Angel will watch him now more than ever.”
He hesitates at the door, looking far more human than anyone is comfortable with. “I will return when I can.”
No one says a word, the silence heavy in the air after Castiel’s departure.
&&&
Adam doesn’t remember falling asleep.
He startles awake when Jo flicks him on the tip of his nose, glaring up at her blearily. She doesn’t crack a grin, her dark eyes flickering over to where Dean and Sam are steadily avoiding eye contact.
“This isn’t how they are,” She whispers sadly, “I’ve never seen things so bad between them.”
Adam remembers Easter and how things were never quite the same after they left him the first time.
Chuck is scribbling away in a small beaten up book, still sitting on the floor. Adam rubs his face as he asks, “What’s that guy doing?”
Jo sighs heavily. “I don’t even know. He just woke up and started going on about paper and pens until Dean found him half of an old journal to write in.”
Adam doesn’t really want to know. He stands, groaning as his knees crack and his stiff back muscles protest the movement. It feels like he’s been asleep for weeks.
“Hey Sam,” He says, smiling,” How’re you feeling?”
“I’m fine.” Sam answers keeping his head down. Adam can see the scar line in his hair where he stitched his brother up just a few months ago.
“I should check the-”
“I said I’m fine- or don’t you trust me?” Sam snaps and Adam jumps back at the sight of his brother’s enlarged pupils.
Dean’s on his feet in a flash, his fists clenched as he steps in front of Adam. “Sam…” He says almost warningly. No one says a word, as Sam’s whole body seems to uncoil like a spring. His hands shake slightly as he curls them into the sleeping bag, breathing slow and even.
“I’m going to get some air- you coming or what?” Dean says and it doesn’t sound like a request. No one says a word as the two hunters leave the shelter, too caught up in something no one else can really understand.
“Holy shit,” Ellen breathes as the echo of the main door sliding open reaches them. She sends Bobby a hard, dangerous look. “I ain’t ever seen those boys-”
She breaks off as Jo moves to follow them. Bobby grabs her arm with a stern expression. “It ain’t your place to be there, Joanna.”
Chuck catches Adam’s eye as he looks up from the journal in his ink-dotted hands and nods once. No one tries to stop him as he heads for the door.
“What the- why does he get to go?”
Adam doesn’t stop to hear Bobby’s muffled response. He’s got bigger things to worry about.
&&&
Sam and Dean are at the entrance to the shelter, standing like battle-weary guards as they watch the sky turn to fire. Sam looks smaller than before, diminished somehow, like Dean’s hand on his shoulder the only thing keeping him up.
They stop talking as he slides up beside them, keeping secrets Adam doesn’t want to know. He looks around instead, his heart pounding at the idea that Hell is rising as they stand there.
“The air smells like sulfur,” He says slowly, recognizing the stench from his early morning Lab classes. The idea that Hell literally smells like sulfur almost makes him laugh, until Sam’s mouth tightens and he whispers, “I’m so sorry,” like maybe this thing was all his fault.
The grin hovering around his mouth dies in the confusion as Dean grips Sam’s shoulder tighter and tries not to frown. There’s something broken here between his brothers but Adam can’t help but think this is better than the angry, bitter mess during Easter break. Sam grips the hand on his shoulder like it means something again, leaning on a Dean who’s strong enough to take both of their burdens, until Sam can steady himself.
“Maybe we should hole up until the angel guy comes back?” he suggests, swallowing down his unease at being trapped again. Dean nods, tugging gently on Sam’s elbow. Adam closes the door with a dull thud, locking it in place.
“Come on,” Dean says, turning back to make sure Adam is following them, “We’ve got work to do.”