Down in the Underground Chapter 7
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CHAPTER 7
Dean heaved a sigh of relief as the sign for Singer Salvage appeared. He slowed barely and spun dust in the air as he turned into the yard and stopped in front of the house. He jumped out. "Bobby!" Dean shouted and ran to the passenger side. Sam already had the door shoved open but was still sitting with one leg on the ground. "Come on, buddy." Dean helped him out and got under his arm. "Almost there. Bobby!"
Their adoptive father appeared on the porch as they neared. "Seventeen hours. That's gotta be some kind of record." He smiled at his boys and slid into Sam's other side. "Not lookin' so good, son."
"Not feeling so good, Bobby." Sam smiled weakly.
"Well we're gonna fix that. On the couch, Dean." Bobby steered them to his living room and together they got the younger Winchester lying comfortably. "Where's this bullet hole?"
"Left thigh." Dean smirked. "Gonna have to pants him to see it."
Bobby snorted. "All yours, boy. Gonna get the first aid kit. Let's check him over then we'll talk."
"Thanks." Dean said ruefully.
"Lemme do it." Sam held out an arm. He felt so weak. It was frustrating but the lingering fever was taking it out of him. Dean took his hand and helped him stand. Sam, red faced, got his jeans undone and down to his knees before vertigo took over. "Shit. This sucks."
"I gotcha." Dean lowered him back to the couch. "This was a lot less awkward when you were a kid." He chuckled and slipped Sam's jeans over his feet. "How's that feelin'?" He gestured to the bandage on his thigh.
"Like someone shot me." Sam smirked and groaned as he lay back. "With an elephant gun." He turned slightly on his side to keep pressure of the slice on his side.
Bobby returned and dragged a chair over to the couch. He sat and flipped the first aid kit open. "Dean. Downstairs, there's a box with some Indian symbols on it. Go grab it?" Dean gave Sam a pat on the shoulder and left. "Alright, son. Let's have a look." Bobby peeled back the gauze and hissed between his teeth.
"I'm not…not gonna make it, am I?" Sam asked sadly.
"You Idjit. Of course you are." Bobby growled. "That's the poison talking, not you. If it can get you to kill yourself first, it will so you stop that crap right now."
"Sorry." Sam mumbled.
"S'alright, son. Now, this is probably gonna hurt." Bobby took a vial of holy water and poured it over the raw, angry red wound in Sam's thigh. He hunched forward on a strangled cry. Bobby caught his shoulders and held him up while he gasped.
"Sammy?" Dean sprinted into the room. "What'd you do?" He glared at Bobby who only rolled his eyes.
"Holy water, idjit." Bobby let Dean pull Sam back and took the box from him. "Hold him down. I don't know how bad this is gonna hurt him."
"That gonna cure him?" Dean asked, hoping but Bobby shook his head.
"This is temporary." Bobby opened the box and took out the poultice he'd spent all day making from careful, detailed instructions so particular one mistake would have meant starting over. He waited until Dean had pressed Sam back into the couch and then laid the poultice on the wound. It was moss and herbs, berries and bits of bone crushed and some damn old Navajo spells spoken over the thing at various points throughout the day. As it touched Sam's leg a small wisp of smoke curled up and Sam shouted in pain, his brothers' arms the only thing keeping him down.
"Easy, Sammy." Dean cringed inwardly as though he could feel the pain himself. "Breathe, buddy. Just breathe through it." Bobby had hold of his legs as Sam's body fought.
"C-can't breathe." Sam gasped. He wrapped both hands around Dean's forearm and held on. It felt like the air was being pulled from him through the unimaginable pain in his leg. "Dea…"
"Sam? Sam!" Dean laid him down as his brother suddenly went boneless, mouth gaping and eyes closed. "Bobby he aint breathing!"
"Give it a few more seconds!" Bobby pressed the poultice harder into the wound.
Dean slapped Sam's cheeks then tilted his head back. "Come on, Sam. Dammit don't you leave me too!" He blew a breath into Sam's lungs and then another. "Bobby?"
"Heart's still beatin'." Bobby had hold of Sam's wrist. "Come on, boy."
Sam took a breath finally; a gasping and short breath followed by another. Dean dropped his head to Sam's forehead. "Cryin' out loud, Sam." He breathed and leaned back to get a look at his face. "Sammy?" Bleary hazel eyes blinked up at him and both older men went weak with relief.
"Ok that's the worst of it." Bobby's hands shook a few times. Watching a boy you raised and loved like your own come that close to meeting his maker was enough to make him wanna tie both of them up in the cellar; never let them out of his sight again.
"If that's just a freakin' band-aid Bobby, what the hell's the cure gonna do to him?" Dean held Sam protectively. He couldn't help it. It was just too soon. All he had left now was taking care of Sam. It was the only meaning he could find anymore and he'd be damned if he was going to let some ghost version of the damn plague take Sam from him. "He's gotta be ok, Bobby." He said softly.
Bobby's heart broke a little at the quiet desperation in Dean's voice. "He will be, son. We just gotta keep him fightin' til Bob gets here."
"Bob who?" Dean asked.
"Navajo shaman I know." Bobby wrapped a bandage around Sam's leg to hold the poultice in place. "He's gonna work some spell or other and lay that damn cursed idol you found to rest."
"Bob the Shaman." Dean said and smirked in spite of the dire circumstances. "That'll save Sam?"
"Bob says since it was the idol that gave the spirit the juice to shoot him, defusing the thing will send the ghost on and set Sam free." Bobby frowned, looking at the new blood stains on Sam's shirt at side and neck. "What's this?"
"She bitch was carving him up." Dean put Sam's head at a more natural angle. He'd drifted off again.
"Damn. Well let's have a look." Bobby tugged Sam's shirt up and peeled back the bandage at his side. He gave a nod of approval after a quick look and the same to the puncture at the base of his throat. "You did good patching these up. No signs of infection."
Sam stirred. "How long til he gets here?" Sam asked wearily from the circle of Dean's arms. The conversation had filtered into his half-conscious mind. Dean loosened his grip and let Sam sit back on his own.
"Hey sunshine." Bobby smirked. "He'll be here in two days. There's no way to get him here faster." Bobby said to the concerned look on Dean's face. "I swear. Takes two days to perform the ritual then he has to get here and destroy the idol. He's been at it for a day now. I called him right after you told me about this."
"Dammit. Ok." Dean sat forward. "Two days is easy. You can do this, Sam."
Sam nodded. "No problem." He didn't actually feel that sure but he understood; the ghost sickness was playing with his mind. "Not that…this isn't fun…laying around in my shorts on the couch but how about…bed?" His chest was tight and breathing difficult.
"Good idea. Come on, boy." Bobby stood and took one arm, Dean the other and they got Sam standing between them. Once they got him settled in his bed, Bobby sat beside him. "Few things you need to know about this sickness." He motioned for Dean to sit on the other bed. "Both of ya'.
Dean sat tensely, not looking forward to more bad news. "Spill it, Bobby." He said and smiled to take the sting out of it.
"Watch your tone, boy." Bobby warned but there was understanding in his voice. "This sickness messes with your head as much as your body. Bob says that spirit's tryin' to pull you down with him, Sam." Bobby patted his leg. "So, hallucinations, nightmares, loss of appetite…"
"Like we'd even notice that one." Dean grumbled and grinned when Sam flipped him off.
"Idjits. Gets better. You've also got feelin' like you're suffocating to look forward too and uh, well, Bob called it 'pervasive terror'."
"What's that?" Sam asked, wide eyed. "Bet I don't want to know."
"Just what it sounds like. Terror with no rhyme or reason." Bobby sighed and looked at them both. "We'll have to keep a close on ya, Sam. Bob also said it's not uncommon for people to hurt themselves and not even know they're doin' it."
"Great." Dean groaned then clapped his hands together. "Ok, so sasquatch here aint getting' any alone time for a couple days."
"Fabulous." Sam rolled his eyes with a smile. "Somebody get a…deck of cards."
"Hey, you breathing alright?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.
"It's ok…just…chest's tight."
"That'll be the sickness screwin' with ya." Bobby nodded. "Got some of the tea you like down in the kitchen, son." Bobby smiled and stood. "I'll go make you some."
"Get him some soup too." Dean said.
"Not hungry." Sam argued. Even the thought of the tea was turning his stomach.
"Fine. Get me some soup and he can watch me eat it." Dean grinned, determined Sam was not going two days without food.
"Jerk" Sam muttered.
"Bitch." Dean gave him his cock-eyed smile and settled in to play nursemaid.
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Dean woke from a light sleep. None of them had really gotten any since they'd arrived twenty four hours ago. Sam was dealing as best he could but between the waking and sleeping nightmares, fear, pain and the suffocation attacks he was pretty much a miserable mess barely holding it together. Dean looked over at him now. Sam was twitching, working his way up to thrashing out of yet another fever induced nightmare. Dean stood, stretched and sat beside him.
"Wake up, Sam." Dean gave him a gentle shake. It was enough. Sam lurched up, gripped Dean's arms tightly, eyes wide in fear. "Hey, hey, hey. It's ok, little brother."
"No. No." Sam was gasping and he looked at his arm, eyes widening even more. "Oh god, Dean!" Sam surprised him, reaching behind Dean's back and drew his knife. "Gotta get them out!"
"Shit!" Dean barely managed to take hold of Sam's hand before he could filet his own arm open. "Bobby!" Dean twisted the blade from Sam's grip and tossed it on the other bed.
"Sammy you gotta pull it together here." Dean pinned his arms and held him down.
"Dean…they're under my skin!" Sam panted, heaving at him. "Get them out!"
"They're not real, Sammy I swear!" Dean pleaded. Bobby came in at a run. "He's hallucinating!"
"Balls." Bobby grabbed Sam's kicking legs, holding them down.
"Can't we give him anything? Make him sleep?" Dean asked.
"Sorry son. It's too risky." Bobby wished they could but it was too dangerous, he could suffocate or just plain give up and they'd never know until it was too late. He dropped his head as Sam finally stopped fighting them.
"Dean." Sam's soft, exhausted voice sounded more like himself. "Crap. I'm here."
"You sure about that?" Dean had yet to move his weight from Sam's chest or release his arms.
"Yeah, Dean…can't breathe."
"Shit." Dean let him go and slid behind Sam, levering him up so he was leaning against his chest. "How's that?"
"Better." Sam concentrated on breathing, closing his eyes for a moment. "How much longer Bobby?"
"Half a day, son." Bobby wiped a hand over his face. Sam nodded, resigned.
"I need a shower." Sam said and pushed himself up, Dean helping at his back.
"Can you stand that long?" Dean could feel the fever still cooking his brother and knew it was turning his limbs to jelly.
"I'll manage." Sam swung his legs off the bed. "Please?"
"I'll go get it running." Bobby smiled and left Dean to get his brother up and down the hall.
"Dude you're gonna owe me so much pie for this." Dean smirked, letting Sam pull himself up with Dean's arm.
Sam chuckled and landed a weak punch on his arm. He did owe Dean, so many times over. It was humiliating being trapped in the sickness as he was. When the terrors came he couldn't think or even function enough to realize they weren't real and Dean stood by him through each one. He made sure Sam had something real to hold on to and, completely out of character, hadn't teased him even once about it. Sam was sure he was saving it all up for down the road but he'd take it with a smile. Dean got him down the hall and to the bathroom where Sam gave him a red face.
"Dude, I can do this." Sam assured him. "Seriously, I can handle it."
"Sam…" Dean opened his mouth but Sam raised a hand.
"I promise. I get dizzy I'll sit down." Sam smirked. "I don't show my head for too long then you can come get me." And he sincerely hoped that wouldn't happen. He was way over his comfort zone, having spent days now practically helpless and mostly naked. He needed some alone time, even if it was just in the shower.
"Ok." Dean nodded, unhappy but he understood. If it were him, he knew he'd be a grumpy bastard long before now.
"Thanks." Sam wobbled into the bathroom and shut the door with a relieved sigh.
"You call me when you're done, Sammy!" Dean called through the door and headed downstairs for a much needed beer. He'd just grab one and sit on the stairs where he could hear Sam if his head started screwing with him again. He found Bobby in the kitchen, beer already open and half gone. He reached into the fridge and handed another to Dean.
"How's he doin?" Bobby nodded toward the stairs.
"Embarrassed as hell." Dean chuckled. "The whole helpless thing aint workin' for him."
Bobby smirked and clinked his beer against Dean's. "Don't work for any of you Winchesters. Never did." He sat at the table and nodded to the other chair.
"Just for a minute." Dean sat but tilted his head toward the stairs, listening.
"He'll be ok, son." Bobby reassured him.
"He just tried to cut his own damn arm open, Bobby." Dean scowled. "I'm not trusting him on his own for more than five minutes until he's cured." He took a healthy swallow of the beer, savoring it. "Should get back up there." Dean stood and then stopped. He sniffed the air. "You smell that?"
"Smell what?" Bobby frowned. "That is yer first beer right?" He sniffed when Dean growled at him and stood quickly. "What the hell is that?"
"Lilacs." Dean said softly. His eyes widened, jaw opening. "Oh crap." Dean bolted for the stairs and his little brother. "She was dead Bobby! She was Dead! Sam!"
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