Safe Haven 2/?
Despite his body’s exhaustion, Sam’s mind was hyper aware. The last week had been one thing after another and it wasn’t something he could just shut off. Deep down he didn’t feel entirely safe, so he salted the windows and doors. Either way, it was probably the safest place for them right now. Still, it only took the sudden sound of rain falling on the window to wake him up.
Three hours sleep. Great.
He checked on Dean.
His brother hadn’t shifted an inch, his features slack and pale. Sam had seen corpses with more color and - his heart jumped into his throat -- in the dim light he couldn’t see Dean’s chest moving at all. Sam quickly pushed himself to his knees, clumsily hitting the switch on the bedside lamp while his other hand found Dean’s shoulder. The sudden light caused Dean to wince and he moved his head away from the offending source, but he didn’t wake.
Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out the breath he had been holding in a whoosh. He watched the shallow, steady and repetitive rise and fall of Dean’s chest for a couple of minutes, long enough to slow the thud of his heart in his own chest.
He didn’t die. He won’t die. I got him. He’ll be fine.
Giving up on sleeping, Sam turned the light off again and made his way to the kitchen. He could smell the coffee before he reached the door and wasn’t surprised to find Deacon sitting at the table with a steaming mug.
“Help yourself.” Deacon gestured to the pot.
“Did you even go to bed?” Sam asked as he shuffled over to the counter and filled a mug with the strong coffee brewing in the carafe.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Touché. I got in a couple hours.”
“Same. There’s food in the cupboard if you’re hungry.”
"Thanks." Sam walked over. "And thanks for taking us in. I know--"
"Tell me about it once I've had my coffee, Sam. Not before."
Sam smiled. Dean was the same, and he’d gotten it from their dad. Never a conversation could be had before that first cup of coffee.
~~~~~~~~~~
One coffee later and Sam and Deacon had relocated to the lounge. The light brown sofas were comfortable and broken in; Sam sank down into one and stretched out his legs. He may have just had a large cup of caffeine but if he closed his eyes he’d probably fall right back asleep.
Photos were dotted about the room and a couple of car magazines rested on the coffee table, along with what must have been the remnants of Deacon’s dinner, a takeout of some sort. A photo on the bookshelf by the door caught Sam’s attention. It was Deacon with a pretty brunette woman and a kid, a boy who couldn’t have been more than nine. Beside it was another photo of a young man with a stethoscope hanging from his neck. He was grinning like he’d won the lottery and the smile was infectious, causing a small smile to tug at Sam’s own mouth. If Deacon wasn’t the young man then he was definitely a close relation.
“Your family?” Sam asked, tilting his head to the photo.
“Yeah, my wife Brenda and my son, Toby.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she was,” Deacon smiled, a sad smile that was all too familiar to Sam.
“Was?”
“She’s dead.” Deacon ducked his head and Sam almost regretted asking about the photo.
“I’m sorry,”
“It’s okay; it was a few years ago. Doesn’t get easier but…”
Sam nodded, he understood and looked for a way to change the conversation, steer it onto less painful ground.
“Is this your son Toby, too?” He indicated the picture of the young man.
“Yeah, he’s a doctor, a resident at a hospital in Denver.” Deacon smiled and there was no mistaking the pride he had for his son. “Takes after his old man I guess, I wanted to be a doctor once.”
“Yeah, I wondered about that last night, how do you go from Marine medic to prison warden?”
“It’s a long story, Sam.” Deacon sighed and rubbed his head as though he was easing a headache. “I think I’d much rather know how come you boys ended up on my doorstep at a godforsaken hour of the morning.”
“Yeah, okay.” Sam pushed himself up in the chair and leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. “I guess I should start at the beginning. That was a week ago. We’d just finished a job in Colorado. A regular salt and burn. The spirit of an old man had been terrorizing the community; nobody had paid him any attention when he was alive, it had been four days before his body was found. We were heading back to the car when we got hit with tranquilizer darts…”
One week earlier…
“Dude!”
“C’mon Sam, he had it coming.”
Sam snorted, trying and failing to repress his grin at Dean’s inappropriate comment. They were walking, side by side, shovels on shoulders, back to the car after a successful salt and burn.
Suddenly, Dean flinched as though stung.
“What the…” He turned his arm around and Sam saw a dart poking out of the upper arm of his jacket.
“Fuuuck.” Dean slurred as he staggered to his knees.
“Dean!”
There was a pinch in Sam’s arm and without looking he knew he’d been hit too. A heaviness spread like fire through his veins, pulling his body down. He didn’t even make it the few feet to Dean before he was tasting graveyard dirt. He blinked, struggling to open his eyes again. Between heavy blinks he briefly saw the back of a man standing over his unconscious brother before his eyes slipped shut again.
And stayed shut.
~~~~~~~~~~
The sun’s warmth on his face was the first thing Sam was aware of. Next came the sound of a bird’s song, bringing with it a sledgehammer of a headache. Groaning he rolled onto his side, placing a hand flat against the ground to steady himself, and it was only then, feeling the dewy grass beneath his palm, that he put it all together and realised he was outside.
He opened his eyes, wincing at the spike in his headache it caused as his memories of the previous night came back to him in flashes.
Cemetery.
Flash
Salt and burn.
Flash
Prick of a tranquilizer dart.
Flash
Seeing Dean fall.
Dean.
Dean.
He was still in the cemetery, but there was no Dean. Not on the ground beside him where Sam had seen him fall and not anywhere in the vicinity that Sam could see.
“Dean!” Sam scrambled to his feet, staggering the first few steps. “Dean!”
He quickly searched the area where he’d woken, calling Dean’s name before returning to the Impala. Maybe Dean woke up before him? Maybe he’d been semi-conscious and had wandered off only to collapse again? Maybe Sam would find him at the car, passed out?
But Sam knew that Dean would not just leave him lying on the ground.
The Impala was exactly where they had parked her. Surprisingly untouched; tires were fine, the trunk had not been tampered with and the engine started without a fuss. There was no sign Dean had returned to the car since they’d left it the night before, which meant only one thing.
Dean was missing.
~~~~~~~~~
Despondently, Sam returned to the motel. He’d searched the cemetery thoroughly, thinking that maybe a drugged Dean had wandered off and fallen somewhere or collapsed, but ended up making a sombre trip back to the car empty handed.
As he pulled into the parking lot he noticed the girl at the check in desk, her brown ponytail swishing enthusiastically as she waved him over.
“Someone left a package for you. Must be real important because he paid me to ensure you received it. Said I had to hand it to you myself.”
She passed him a small brown package. There was no name on it, nothing to indicate where or who it could have come from.
“I’ve been real curious about what could be in it.” The girl jabbered away, hovering by Sam’s elbow. “He was insistent I make sure you got it as soon as possible, you know?” Obviously she didn’t hand out packages to her guests very often; she was just itching with curiosity.
Sam resisted the urge to rip it open right there and then. He had no doubt this was connected with Dean’s disappearance but was equally sure he should probably open it in private.
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
If it weren’t for the situation, the look of disappointment on the receptionists face would have been amusing.
Present Day
“I went back to our motel room before opening it.”
“What was it?” Deacon asked, leaning forward.
“A picture. A Polaroid of Dean. Bound, gagged and unconscious.” Sam’s hands clenched into fists as he remembered how helpless he’d felt when he’d seen the picture.
“That was it? No…instructions? Ransom note?”
“No, there was -“
Thud
It came from upstairs, a loud and solid thump, just like a body hitting the floor.
Dean.
Sam took the stairs three at a time.
I shouldn’t have left him alone.
He’s woken up disorientated, confused… scared.
I should have been there.
Relief didn’t quite cover it when Sam flung the door back and found Dean perfectly fine, although the broken lamp on the floor wasn’t. Dean was awake, his eyes open and he flinched when the door swung back, banging loudly on the wall behind.
“Dean. Thank God.”
Dean swallowed and Sam could see his glassy eyes weren’t all that focused.
“Dean, hey, it’s ok. We’re at Deacon’s. Remember? The warden at Green River jail who knew Dad? We’re safe. I made sure of it. Okay?”
Sam sat on the edge of the bed and tentatively reached a hand to Dean’s shoulder. Dean stared at Sam, then the hand, like he couldn’t believe either was really there.
“I’m here Dean. I’m really here. What did they do to you, man?”
Immediately Sam saw the shutters slamming down behind Dean’s eyes, cutting himself off from Sam and the rest of the world. Protecting himself. Dean shook his head almost imperceptibly. He looked like he was about to shatter in a million shards, and if he did, he was taking Sam’s heart along with him.
Sam understood him, even without the words.
Too soon. The memories are too raw.
“Okay. All right. Are you in pain? Do you want some painkillers?”
Dean hesitated briefly, then nodded halting suddenly as his head reminded him of his very recent head injury.
While it worried Sam that Dean agreed to painkillers so readily, as it said a lot about the amount of pain he had to be in, Dean’s slight hesitation filled him with hope. Usually his brother resisted taking anything stronger than Tylenol, claiming it clouded his judgement too much. The hesitation proved that Dean was still in there, somewhere.
Sam shook out two Vicodin from a bottle in their kit, leftover from a previous emergency room visit. He supported Dean’s head while he took the pills and it earned him a glare, albeit one that was nowhere near its usual intensity.
Sam waited for the I can do it myself, bitch but it never came. Dean’s hand was shaking too much to hold the glass of water himself, so like it or not Sam helped him, promising to find a straw for next time.
Once the glass of water was gone, Dean curled in on himself, weakly pushing his legs to his chest and rocking to the side slightly. Sam quickly caught on and helped Dean ease over to his uninjured side.
Dean’s eyes were cloudy with pain and exhaustion but there was something else there. Dean looked…defeated. It reminded Sam of those times after their father’s death when he’d catch Dean staring at Dad’s journal or his phone, looking completely and utterly lost.
“It’s gonna be okay, Dean. I know you’re feeling pretty shitty right now, but you’re safe. We’re both safe and we’re gonna be okay.”
Sam pulled the blanket up over Dean’s shoulders as his eyes dropped closed, then sprang open a couple of times.
“It’s alright, Dean. I’ll stay until you fall asleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Dean’s hand crept out from underneath the blankets and wrapped itself around Sam’s wrist.
Sam was tempted to tell Dean that this was possibly one of the most chick flick acts he’d committed…well, ever. Even their rare hugs were manly and brief. But he didn’t want to break the security that Dean so obviously needed. And, well, maybe Sam needed it a little himself too.
Sam rested his free hand on top of Dean’s and sighed, feeling the weight on his shoulders lighten. This was the first time Dean had been awake and coherent in two days. He was far from okay, but it was a relief to Sam to know that he wasn’t on his own in this anymore.
Dean's breaths evened out as he sank back into sleep but it was another five minutes before the lines of pain eased around Dean’s eyes. It was only then that it hit Sam.
Dean had not said a single word.
To Chapter Three
Reviews are greatly appreciated, good or bad. They also work wonders at motivation so while I am already working on chapter 3 a little extra motivation won’t go amiss!
Three hours sleep. Great.
He checked on Dean.
His brother hadn’t shifted an inch, his features slack and pale. Sam had seen corpses with more color and - his heart jumped into his throat -- in the dim light he couldn’t see Dean’s chest moving at all. Sam quickly pushed himself to his knees, clumsily hitting the switch on the bedside lamp while his other hand found Dean’s shoulder. The sudden light caused Dean to wince and he moved his head away from the offending source, but he didn’t wake.
Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out the breath he had been holding in a whoosh. He watched the shallow, steady and repetitive rise and fall of Dean’s chest for a couple of minutes, long enough to slow the thud of his heart in his own chest.
He didn’t die. He won’t die. I got him. He’ll be fine.
Giving up on sleeping, Sam turned the light off again and made his way to the kitchen. He could smell the coffee before he reached the door and wasn’t surprised to find Deacon sitting at the table with a steaming mug.
“Help yourself.” Deacon gestured to the pot.
“Did you even go to bed?” Sam asked as he shuffled over to the counter and filled a mug with the strong coffee brewing in the carafe.
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Touché. I got in a couple hours.”
“Same. There’s food in the cupboard if you’re hungry.”
"Thanks." Sam walked over. "And thanks for taking us in. I know--"
"Tell me about it once I've had my coffee, Sam. Not before."
Sam smiled. Dean was the same, and he’d gotten it from their dad. Never a conversation could be had before that first cup of coffee.
~~~~~~~~~~
One coffee later and Sam and Deacon had relocated to the lounge. The light brown sofas were comfortable and broken in; Sam sank down into one and stretched out his legs. He may have just had a large cup of caffeine but if he closed his eyes he’d probably fall right back asleep.
Photos were dotted about the room and a couple of car magazines rested on the coffee table, along with what must have been the remnants of Deacon’s dinner, a takeout of some sort. A photo on the bookshelf by the door caught Sam’s attention. It was Deacon with a pretty brunette woman and a kid, a boy who couldn’t have been more than nine. Beside it was another photo of a young man with a stethoscope hanging from his neck. He was grinning like he’d won the lottery and the smile was infectious, causing a small smile to tug at Sam’s own mouth. If Deacon wasn’t the young man then he was definitely a close relation.
“Your family?” Sam asked, tilting his head to the photo.
“Yeah, my wife Brenda and my son, Toby.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Yes, she was,” Deacon smiled, a sad smile that was all too familiar to Sam.
“Was?”
“She’s dead.” Deacon ducked his head and Sam almost regretted asking about the photo.
“I’m sorry,”
“It’s okay; it was a few years ago. Doesn’t get easier but…”
Sam nodded, he understood and looked for a way to change the conversation, steer it onto less painful ground.
“Is this your son Toby, too?” He indicated the picture of the young man.
“Yeah, he’s a doctor, a resident at a hospital in Denver.” Deacon smiled and there was no mistaking the pride he had for his son. “Takes after his old man I guess, I wanted to be a doctor once.”
“Yeah, I wondered about that last night, how do you go from Marine medic to prison warden?”
“It’s a long story, Sam.” Deacon sighed and rubbed his head as though he was easing a headache. “I think I’d much rather know how come you boys ended up on my doorstep at a godforsaken hour of the morning.”
“Yeah, okay.” Sam pushed himself up in the chair and leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees. “I guess I should start at the beginning. That was a week ago. We’d just finished a job in Colorado. A regular salt and burn. The spirit of an old man had been terrorizing the community; nobody had paid him any attention when he was alive, it had been four days before his body was found. We were heading back to the car when we got hit with tranquilizer darts…”
One week earlier…
“Dude!”
“C’mon Sam, he had it coming.”
Sam snorted, trying and failing to repress his grin at Dean’s inappropriate comment. They were walking, side by side, shovels on shoulders, back to the car after a successful salt and burn.
Suddenly, Dean flinched as though stung.
“What the…” He turned his arm around and Sam saw a dart poking out of the upper arm of his jacket.
“Fuuuck.” Dean slurred as he staggered to his knees.
“Dean!”
There was a pinch in Sam’s arm and without looking he knew he’d been hit too. A heaviness spread like fire through his veins, pulling his body down. He didn’t even make it the few feet to Dean before he was tasting graveyard dirt. He blinked, struggling to open his eyes again. Between heavy blinks he briefly saw the back of a man standing over his unconscious brother before his eyes slipped shut again.
And stayed shut.
~~~~~~~~~~
The sun’s warmth on his face was the first thing Sam was aware of. Next came the sound of a bird’s song, bringing with it a sledgehammer of a headache. Groaning he rolled onto his side, placing a hand flat against the ground to steady himself, and it was only then, feeling the dewy grass beneath his palm, that he put it all together and realised he was outside.
He opened his eyes, wincing at the spike in his headache it caused as his memories of the previous night came back to him in flashes.
Cemetery.
Flash
Salt and burn.
Flash
Prick of a tranquilizer dart.
Flash
Seeing Dean fall.
Dean.
Dean.
He was still in the cemetery, but there was no Dean. Not on the ground beside him where Sam had seen him fall and not anywhere in the vicinity that Sam could see.
“Dean!” Sam scrambled to his feet, staggering the first few steps. “Dean!”
He quickly searched the area where he’d woken, calling Dean’s name before returning to the Impala. Maybe Dean woke up before him? Maybe he’d been semi-conscious and had wandered off only to collapse again? Maybe Sam would find him at the car, passed out?
But Sam knew that Dean would not just leave him lying on the ground.
The Impala was exactly where they had parked her. Surprisingly untouched; tires were fine, the trunk had not been tampered with and the engine started without a fuss. There was no sign Dean had returned to the car since they’d left it the night before, which meant only one thing.
Dean was missing.
~~~~~~~~~
Despondently, Sam returned to the motel. He’d searched the cemetery thoroughly, thinking that maybe a drugged Dean had wandered off and fallen somewhere or collapsed, but ended up making a sombre trip back to the car empty handed.
As he pulled into the parking lot he noticed the girl at the check in desk, her brown ponytail swishing enthusiastically as she waved him over.
“Someone left a package for you. Must be real important because he paid me to ensure you received it. Said I had to hand it to you myself.”
She passed him a small brown package. There was no name on it, nothing to indicate where or who it could have come from.
“I’ve been real curious about what could be in it.” The girl jabbered away, hovering by Sam’s elbow. “He was insistent I make sure you got it as soon as possible, you know?” Obviously she didn’t hand out packages to her guests very often; she was just itching with curiosity.
Sam resisted the urge to rip it open right there and then. He had no doubt this was connected with Dean’s disappearance but was equally sure he should probably open it in private.
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
If it weren’t for the situation, the look of disappointment on the receptionists face would have been amusing.
Present Day
“I went back to our motel room before opening it.”
“What was it?” Deacon asked, leaning forward.
“A picture. A Polaroid of Dean. Bound, gagged and unconscious.” Sam’s hands clenched into fists as he remembered how helpless he’d felt when he’d seen the picture.
“That was it? No…instructions? Ransom note?”
“No, there was -“
Thud
It came from upstairs, a loud and solid thump, just like a body hitting the floor.
Dean.
Sam took the stairs three at a time.
I shouldn’t have left him alone.
He’s woken up disorientated, confused… scared.
I should have been there.
Relief didn’t quite cover it when Sam flung the door back and found Dean perfectly fine, although the broken lamp on the floor wasn’t. Dean was awake, his eyes open and he flinched when the door swung back, banging loudly on the wall behind.
“Dean. Thank God.”
Dean swallowed and Sam could see his glassy eyes weren’t all that focused.
“Dean, hey, it’s ok. We’re at Deacon’s. Remember? The warden at Green River jail who knew Dad? We’re safe. I made sure of it. Okay?”
Sam sat on the edge of the bed and tentatively reached a hand to Dean’s shoulder. Dean stared at Sam, then the hand, like he couldn’t believe either was really there.
“I’m here Dean. I’m really here. What did they do to you, man?”
Immediately Sam saw the shutters slamming down behind Dean’s eyes, cutting himself off from Sam and the rest of the world. Protecting himself. Dean shook his head almost imperceptibly. He looked like he was about to shatter in a million shards, and if he did, he was taking Sam’s heart along with him.
Sam understood him, even without the words.
Too soon. The memories are too raw.
“Okay. All right. Are you in pain? Do you want some painkillers?”
Dean hesitated briefly, then nodded halting suddenly as his head reminded him of his very recent head injury.
While it worried Sam that Dean agreed to painkillers so readily, as it said a lot about the amount of pain he had to be in, Dean’s slight hesitation filled him with hope. Usually his brother resisted taking anything stronger than Tylenol, claiming it clouded his judgement too much. The hesitation proved that Dean was still in there, somewhere.
Sam shook out two Vicodin from a bottle in their kit, leftover from a previous emergency room visit. He supported Dean’s head while he took the pills and it earned him a glare, albeit one that was nowhere near its usual intensity.
Sam waited for the I can do it myself, bitch but it never came. Dean’s hand was shaking too much to hold the glass of water himself, so like it or not Sam helped him, promising to find a straw for next time.
Once the glass of water was gone, Dean curled in on himself, weakly pushing his legs to his chest and rocking to the side slightly. Sam quickly caught on and helped Dean ease over to his uninjured side.
Dean’s eyes were cloudy with pain and exhaustion but there was something else there. Dean looked…defeated. It reminded Sam of those times after their father’s death when he’d catch Dean staring at Dad’s journal or his phone, looking completely and utterly lost.
“It’s gonna be okay, Dean. I know you’re feeling pretty shitty right now, but you’re safe. We’re both safe and we’re gonna be okay.”
Sam pulled the blanket up over Dean’s shoulders as his eyes dropped closed, then sprang open a couple of times.
“It’s alright, Dean. I’ll stay until you fall asleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Dean’s hand crept out from underneath the blankets and wrapped itself around Sam’s wrist.
Sam was tempted to tell Dean that this was possibly one of the most chick flick acts he’d committed…well, ever. Even their rare hugs were manly and brief. But he didn’t want to break the security that Dean so obviously needed. And, well, maybe Sam needed it a little himself too.
Sam rested his free hand on top of Dean’s and sighed, feeling the weight on his shoulders lighten. This was the first time Dean had been awake and coherent in two days. He was far from okay, but it was a relief to Sam to know that he wasn’t on his own in this anymore.
Dean's breaths evened out as he sank back into sleep but it was another five minutes before the lines of pain eased around Dean’s eyes. It was only then that it hit Sam.
Dean had not said a single word.
To Chapter Three
Reviews are greatly appreciated, good or bad. They also work wonders at motivation so while I am already working on chapter 3 a little extra motivation won’t go amiss!