Fic: Vengeance (6/9)
Chapter V: Pain
Chapter VI: Rescue
Sam was petrified.
Dean could feel the fear vibrating through his brother.
Dean had resigned himself to the fact that he was going to end the day wishing he could salt and burn himself. He would never be able to resign himself to being the one who scared Sam.
They'd been fine. Sam had been responding to Dean's voice - slowly, because what the hell did Ford expect from a kid who'd been tortured to within inches of death? But he'd been responding. If Ford could have waited for a few freaking minutes, Dean would've had Sam reassured and up and moving.
But the son of a bitch had shot Sam - just a graze along his arm, thankfully, although even that was enough to make Dean fantasize about the ways in which he could kill the man. Then he'd told Dean he had exactly thirty seconds to get Sam on his feet before he got shot again.
Dean had done what he'd had to do.
Now Ford was gone, and Dean had time to walk Sam slowly to the wall, to sit them both down, and to pull Sam's head down to his shoulder.
He pulled Sam's left hand - swollen even more now, and the wrist was circled with abrasions - into his lap, and tested Sam's right arm (broken, and Dean mentally added to the list of tortures he was going to subject Ford to).
Carefully, he brushed hair off Sam's damp face.
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm sorry I scared you, kiddo. It was the only way to stop them hurting you more." Sam tried to respond, but he couldn't manage more than a soft moan. Dean stroked his head soothingly. "Yeah, I know. Don't try to talk. I'll get us out."
Sam shut his eyes. A tear leaked out between his lashes. Dean wiped it away and wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders. "Shhh… I know. I know it hurts. You were so brave, Sammy. I'm so proud of you. You know that, right? You're the bravest man I know. I'm going to get us out and get you to a doctor. I'll take care of you. You'll be fine."
Dean wasn't sure how long they stayed that way. Very soon, though the door opened. He tensed, ready to murder whoever was coming through it if they even tried to take Sam away from him.
It was Jacob.
Amy's son Jacob.
Dean tightened his grip on Sam, making Sam start and look up at him. He followed Dean's gaze to the kid standing in the doorway.
Sam smiled. A tiny smile, barely visible through the blood on his face.
But he smiled at the kid who was the reason for him being in this much pain.
Dean wrapped his other arm around Sam as well, daring the kid to try something.
Jacob stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. "I'm not going to kill you," he announced. "I hate you, but I'm not going to kill you."
"You hate us," Dean repeated flatly.
"Not 'us'. Just you. Sam's my friend." Jacob scowled. "But he said he loved you and I couldn't be his friend if I hurt you."
"That crazy son of a bitch."
Jacob snorted. "I brought water." He held out a plastic bottle. "I heard them talking. Dad's friends. They weren't going to give you any."
Dean took the bottle warily. "Thanks."
He opened it, but stopped just before putting it to Sam's lips. Sam might be Jacob's friend - Sam was freaking everybody's friend - but Dean wasn't, and Dean wasn't willing to trust the son of someone he'd killed when his baby brother's life was on the line.
He took a swallow from the bottle.
It tasted just like water.
He waited several seconds. When nothing happened, he held the bottle to Sam's mouth.
"Slowly," he warned as he tipped it. "Don't make yourself sick."
Sam didn't drink much. A few sips, and then he turned his head away a little. Dean put the bottle down.
"Thanks," he told Jacob. "So… What are you -"
"I'll get you out," Jacob said calmly. "I hate you, but Sam was Mom's friend, and they hurt Sam. I wanted to get him out earlier but he couldn't walk and he's too big for me to carry. You can help him."
"Oh." Dean felt a little disorientated. "What about those guys?"
"Dad's friends?" Jacob sounded contemptuous. "They're not even paying attention. They think you can't get out of this room so they don't need to worry."
Dean hesitated. What if it was a trap?
But he didn't have a choice. They didn't have a choice. Sam wasn't going to last through another round with Ford's men. He needed medical assistance. And Jacob was just a kid; if he even thoughtabout making a move on Sam, Dean could take him down before he'd even started.
"OK," he said. "What do we do?"
"Wait here. I'll see what's going on and come back when it's safe."
The kid left, bolting the door behind him.
Dean returned his attention to his kid.
There were two things that could always keep Sam anchored. One was the easy vibrating thrum of the Impala's V8 engine. The other was Dean's heartbeat.
Dean knew that, of course; and although he never admitted it, Sam knew he was secretly proud that he and his baby were the most important things in Sam's life. Sam knew, also, that right then Dean was doing his best to keep himself calm so that the thumping under Sam's cheek stayed steady and even.
Sam couldn't imagine what he'd do without Dean.
He blinked back tears - Dean would think he was in pain, and he was but not enough to cry.
Dean saw, though, and callused fingertips swiped at Sam's cheek.
"It's OK," Dean murmured. "I'm right here and we're going to blow this joint. Just as soon as the kid comes back to tell us the coast's clear. I'm getting you to Dr. Brandon - you remember him, Sam? He was the one who set Dad's arm after that Wendigo broke it. Has a clinic just a mile away."
Sam tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come. He felt Dean's arms wrap closer around him. It hurt - Dean was trying to be gentle, but there was no way he could avoid all of Sam's injuries.
Dean whispered an apology. Sam shook his head. It hurt, but he didn't want Dean to let go.
"I know, kiddo," Dean said. "I know, don't worry. I'm not going anywhere. Right here." Dean's voice was shaking. "I'm not leaving you, I promise I'm not."
Dean was upset?
Sam pushed closer to his brother.
Dean laughed a little hysterically. "No, I'm fine. Just worried about you. God, Sammy." His arms were warm and strong, but he sounded like he was crying. "You stay with me, Sam? You hear me? You stay with me."
Sam snuggled down. Where would he go?
"Yeah, well, just you remember that," Dean muttered. "You're mine. You don't get to check out without my permission."
Sam was startled. Dean got possessive of his big brother rights sometimes, yeah, but usually there was a trigger. He didn't start the tough talk unless he thought someone was muscling in on his position.
"Well, it's true," Dean said. "Mom said so. When she told me she was going to have a baby. I said, 'Why?' and she said, 'So we can give you a baby brother,' and I said, 'So he's my baby brother,' and she said, 'Yes, sweetie, he's yours.'"
Sam thought he ought to be outraged at the idea of his family members passing him around like a FedEx package, but he really couldn't muster up the energy. Besides…
Sam breathed in the scent of gunpowder and leather.
There were worse things in the world than Dean's possessiveness. Some people didn't have big brothers to reassure them and laugh at them and set their broken arms and go all caveman now and then.
"Shut up," Dean said indulgently. "I am so not a caveman. You're the caveman. Have you seen the size of you? Freaking Neanderthal."
Sam smiled. If he was going to die…
Was he going to die?
He looked up at Dean, the question in his eyes. He had to know.
"Don't be stupid," Dean snapped. "Of course you're not dying, idiot. You don't get to die on my watch." Sam didn't blink. Dean sighed. "You want the truth, huh? Fine. The truth is, I don't think you're going to die. Brandon's not that far. We'll get you to him. He's good. But it's not going to help unless you fight, Sam. You need to hold on for me. I can't live without you, little brother."
Sam didn't really believe the last part - sure, Dean liked him (at least, Sam thought he did), but Dean got on just fine without him. It seemed like he was more a hindrance than anything, these days. Who needed a crazy brother that you couldn't trust?
"Sammy, no. Please. I need you. You know that."
Sam ducked his head. He really didn't have the energy for the argument right then.
The grip Dean had on him shifted. Earlier Dean had just been supporting Sam. Now he was practically cradling him. (As much as he could, given how short Dean was.)
"You don't get it, do you, Sam?" Dean said softly. "You and my baby, you're all that's mine. Everything else I got by cheating at poker or hustling pool or perpetrating credit card fraud. But the Impala's mine. Dad gave her to me. And you… Well, Mom didgive you to me - yeah, she did, Sam, suck it up - but that isn't the point. You're mine because you're willing to be. I earned your trust when we were kids, and - God, I know I've been hard to live with lately. And I don't know if -" Dean broke off, breathing hard. After a moment he started again. "You are the most important thing in my life, Sammy. No exceptions. You knew that once, and I'm sorry I ever made you doubt it. I'm going to prove it to you again, no matter what it takes."
Sam relaxed. It didn't make a lot of sense, but he was tired and he was hurting, and Dean, for whatever reason, seemed willing to hold him. For now, that was enough.
"That's it, kiddo," Dean murmured. "Easy, now. I've got you. Let me take care of you. That's all you need to do, OK?"
Much to Dean's relief, Jacob showed up again very soon carrying a small sack. He glanced at Sam, who was barely holding on to consciousness, before turning his attention to Dean.
"They're gone now but they'll be back soon. I have your weapons. We have to go."
Dean nodded and tapped Sam's cheek. "Come on, Sammy. Time to get moving." Sam looked up at him, bewildered and disorientated. Dean swallowed a sigh - he didn't want to cause Sam any more distress, but there was no alternative. "We have to go, kiddo. And I can't put you over my shoulder when you're this badly hurt, so you'll have to walk. Just to the car. I'll help you. Come on."
It took far longer than Dean would have liked to get outside, even with him practically carrying Sam. And then two guys, who had apparently been left behind to guard the prisoners, tried to stop them.
One of them was Steve.
Dean felt a flicker of blind fury. This was the man who'd tortured his baby brother, who'd made him scream and sob. He'd hurt a kid who had done absolutely nothing to him just because Owen Ford said so. This was the man who'd almost killed Sammy. And now he was right there.
Dean grinned.
He lowered Sam carefully to the ground and handed him the gun. Dean wasn't going to need a gun to deal with this.
He turned to the approaching men.
Steve tried to point his gun at Sam.
Dean disarmed him, broke his arm, dislocated his shoulder, disarmed the other guy, and shattered his kneecap with a well-placed kick. He was about to shoot both of them with one of their own guns when Sam said quietly, "Dean."
Dean sighed. Right. Sam still hadn't grasped the idea that people who hurt Dean's little brother didn't actually count as people, making the don't-kill-humans rule invalid.
But there was no sense upsetting Sam, so Dean took a step back and eyed the men. They were both groaning on the ground.
"Here's the thing," Dean said conversationally. "Never point your gun at my brother. Never dislocate my brother's fingers. Never breathe too loudly around my brother. In fact, just never come near my brother again. If I see you so much as look in his direction, I will open your veins with a blunt knife and stand by and laugh while you bleed to death. Are we on the same page here?" Steve nodded frantically. "Good."
He helped Sam to his feet again.
"Get in the back," Dean told Jacob when they got to the car. "You can't stay here. If they figure out you helped us, they're going to be very pissed."
"OK," Jacob said, obeying without question. Totally unlike Sam, this kid. "But I still hate you."
Yeah, totally unlike Sam.
Sam, by this time, was struggling for breath. The brief exertion had taken everything out of him. Dean pulled him in, supporting Sam against his chest with one arm and opening the door with his free hand.
He manoeuvred Sam into the car - it was an old routine. Get Sam's ass on the seat, push his head down to keep him from banging it as he folded his body into the car, lean him against the seat back and shut the door.
Dean went around to the driver's side, got in, and tugged Sam towards him. This wasn't the Impala, and Dean knew Sam wouldn't be comfortable in some strange car when he was hurt and bleeding. Not unless he could feel Dean next to him.
Sam snuggled close.
"Girl," Dean muttered, amused. "OK, kids, time to go see Doc Brandon."
Chapter VII: Hope