Fic: House of Cards: The Darkness Before The Dawn, 5/12
Black dog keeps a-followin' me,
but my jailor won't ever let me go.
Black birds chatter in the trees,
what they're saying baby I don't know.
~~HoC~~
All he could do was watch in horror as his brother was dragged back, dust shrouding his frantic struggles in moments. Sam leapt forward, found his back slamming into the pillar behind him instead, pain exploding along his spine, leaving him winded, gasping and blind on the floor. He lay there, silently begging his stunned body to work, the faint ticking of his watch thunderous in his ear as it marked off the seconds passing him by. Slowly, he pulled his arm underneath his chest, splaying his hand against the pitted concrete and forcing himself to his knees. He swayed, leant heavily against the pillar, every muscle in his back screaming as he staggered unsteadily to his feet, clutching at the cracks in the wide support.
"Dean!" he croaked, still fighting for breath, peering desperately into the dust hanging thick in the air, surrounding him, choking him. Nothing answered him and he wavered, swiping absently at the blood dripping from his hair, wincing a little as his hand caught the gash on the side of his head. Torn, he stared out at the swirling clouds, down at the bags spilled at his feet.
"Dammit!" he spat at the dust, dropping to his knees, feeling the fine grains stir on a breeze as he scraped together the graveyard dirt and van van oil, bundling them back into the scraps of leather. The wind picked up, the dust stinging as it pelted him and he hunched his shoulders, twisted his back to the poltergeists fury, his mind obsessively counting off the seconds since the spirit had snatched his brother. He scrabbled at the wall beside the pillar, the old concrete crumbling away under his fingers, stubborn enough to rip his nails away and blood soon began to streak the edges of the hole. Sam stuffed the bag in, flinched down against the pillar, hissing as the bruises on his back stretched, the blinding light stunning him for a moment.
He surged to his feet his head throbbing viciously, staggering dizzily through the soft clouds that fell slowly around him.
"Dean!"
Coughing on the grit lining his throat he froze as he saw a darker shadow unveiled as the swirling motes gradually thinned, settling as his heart pounded wildly against his aching ribs.
"No, nonono..."
He stumbled, almost fell, and turned the motion into a clumsy run, barrelling towards the dim shape, not hearing the denial that spilled from his lips. He skidded to a halt, throwing his arms around his brother's legs and heaving up, taking the older man's full weight with a faint grunt of effort. His fingers scrabbled at the hem of Dean's jeans, yanked free the small silver blade from his ever present ankle sheath and he stretched up, tears streaming from his eyes as he sawed desperately at the wires that disappeared into the ceiling.
They parted with a soft twang and his knees turned to water suddenly, taking him down hard, his brother's dead weight - god, no, please no - crushing him into the floor as the knife clattered away. He rolled Dean to his back, tore at the wires around his throat, cutting deep into the soft, vulnerable flesh. He sobbed once as he saw the scratches, eyes darting to the bloody bandages on his brother's hands, yanking hard as he finally managed to slip the tip of his pinkie finger under the wires.
"No, no no no come on, man, not again, you don't get to do this again Dean, damn it you don't, you just don't."
He ripped the noose apart, hurled it away from him and pressed his trembling fingers against his brother's neck, holding his breath he waited.
"No!" he cried as he felt nothing, shoulders slumping for an instant before training took over and he tipped the older man's head back, pinching his nose shut and forcing air into his brother's lungs. He reared up, knotted his fingers into a fist that shook as he slammed it down onto Dean's sternum, again, feeling bruises start to bloom on his hand, stinging as he laced his fingers together and started compressions. Bone shifted under his hands and he gasped out pleas between counting, tears dripping from his cheeks.
"Dammit you stubborn bastard, you don't, you don't get to do this to me again. Breathe! Fucking breathe!" he yelled, voice thick and harsh, cracking on the last word.
Frantic minutes passed, his lungs burned with the effort of breathing for them both, his arms trembling; sweat trickling down his back from the frantic exertion. He couldn't help but slow down, couldn't keep the desperate pace up, his vision greying out behind a wall of sparks as he tipped his head back and screamed wordlessly at the ceiling.
His hands stilled, still wrapped so tightly together his knuckles were white, resting on his brother's chest. His head dropped forward as he panted heavily, choking on the tears burning his throat, blind and numb to everything.
"Don't, please. Not again." he gasped out, broken and lost and his brother answered. Dean's back arched up from the concrete as his eyes flew open, mouth gaping as he sucked in a ragged breath. Sam reared back in shock, almost falling before he caught himself and grabbed at the canvas jacket, pulling Dean up against him, feeling the older man's ribs heaving frantically as he choked. He cradled his brother fiercely against his chest, murmuring reassurance to them both, shaking as he rocked slightly, back and forth.
Slowly, Dean's hand came up, found his wrist and wrapped around it, tight, trembling as the older brother fought to pull air into his lungs.
"Easy man. Easy. I gotcha," Sam whispered, his brother's desperate gasps easing as Dean sagged heavily into his arms. They knelt there in the dust, the echoes slowly fading away into the shadows around them. He held on tight, tremors crawling up his spine as he kept up a breathless stream of meaningless babble, his brother's fingers tightening painfully around his wrist every time he paused for breath.
"I'm right here, I gotcha, it's okay. It's gonna be okay. I'm not letting go. Don't you dare do that to me again, okay?"
"Sam?"
Dean's voice was wrecked, a throaty, rasping whisper that made a shudder creep down Sam's back.
"Yeah. I'm here."
"Y' ‘kay?"
Sam laughed once, bitterly, tinged with hysteria.
"No. Not really."
He felt Dean nod once against his chest.
"Me ‘either," the older man sighed. "C'n we go now?"
"Hell yeah," Sam murmured, feeling the bruises on his back from his collision with the pillar tightening in the cold garage, his knees aching and cramping, folded against the floor for too long. He levered himself up, pulling his brother with him, steadying Dean as he swayed, and almost pitched forward.
"Whoa, whoa take it easy."
Dean leant into him and he slung one of his brother's arms over his shoulders, throwing his own around the older man's waist, threading his fingers through the belt loops on his jeans. They weaved their way back through the garage, both brothers shivering. Sam listened to Dean's still raspy breathing, darting quick glances at him, wincing every time he caught sight of the livid bruise already forming around his neck. As they neared the door to the stairs Dean stumbled, feet tangling together as a coughing fit doubled him over.
"Crap," Sam muttered, staggering a little under his brother's weight, easing Dean to the floor, helpless to do anymore than rest his hand on the older man's back, hoping the contact would offer some comfort as he fought for air.
Finally, the paroxysms faded and Dean leant back exhausted into the touch on his back, sighing carefully.
"Okay?"
He nodded slowly, eyes tightly closed as he let his head hang low. He heard Sam, shift, never moving his hand as the younger man sat down next to him, their shoulders brushing, so close he felt his brother's breathing hitch a little.
"Sammy?"
For a long moment, there was no answer. When it finally came, Sam's voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear it over the ringing in his ears.
"Don't do that again Dean. Okay? Not ever, not again."
He knew his brother didn't mean the coughing fit. Third times the charm, a cold voice whispered in his head and he shivered once.
"I can't lose you again."
Somehow, Dean didn't think he was meant to hear Sam's whisper, wasn't sure the younger man even knew he'd said it aloud. He didn't know how to answer, didn't know how he could lie to his brother again and make the promise Sam wanted, so badly, to hear. He could feel the heat of his brother's hand on his back, the memory of the warmth pulling him up out of the dark swamping him for a moment, burying him in visions that faded before he could understand them, though he couldn't ever forget them. And suddenly, he couldn't bear them anymore, couldn't carry the weight of the things he'd done, alone.
"I killed him."
He felt Sam stiffen beside him, almost pulling away.
"What?"
"The kid. Sa..." he winced, couldn't force the words out past the lump in his throat. He cleared it, gasping a little as pain dragged through his nerves.
"I killed him once," he grated, bizarrely glad that, even to his ears, it didn't sound like his voice. "They'd already started to turn him and he bit me." His hand drifted to the scar on his shoulder, fell away again as the words tumbled from his lips, unstoppable now they'd finally broken free, even if he'd wanted to.
"I kicked him, broke his neck, I think. It's a little fuzzy." He gave a jagged laugh at the understatement. "They cut my back, gave him some of the blood and he..." Dean paused swallowing hard at the memory. "Well, it brought him back. Then they left us, turned the lights out and I could hear him. He was still breathing," he mused.
Strange, how that's the only thing I can remember clearly. The sound of the ragged breaths echoed in his head, pulled him back down into the cold dark unfurling up his spine.
His back ached fiercely, shoulders burning with his weight as he twisted, straining at the ropes around his wrists, the dead boy's breathing harsh and loud. Small fingers grasped his ankle and he gasped in shock, trying to pull away, shuddering as he felt a tongue drag through the blood dripping from his feet. He kicked, tried to feel some sort of satisfaction as he heard the boy fall back but all he knew was the sickening guilt churning with the fear coursing through his veins.
The boy's touch was cold as it caught at his side, icy fingers digging into his hip and he groaned as teeth nipped at the edges of the jagged wound on his back. He twisted again, managed to break the growing strength of the grip on his side and kick out again, feeling his body swing wildly, and feeling bone break under his feet. Tears choked him, salt acid in the patchwork of cuts and scrapes as they dripped steadily down his chest but he kept on kicking, pulling desperately at the ropes, gagging as the sickening crack of bones shattering rang through the room.
Then he was falling, a brief instant of weightlessness, of freedom before the ground slammed into him, turned the dark bright with stars as his head smacked hard into the unyielding concrete. Dazed, he groaned, rolled over onto his hands and retched, pushing up on trembling arms. A cold body crashed into him, knocked him down again and they rolled over as he forced a hand up against the boy's throat, his own ragged, gasping breaths the only sound now..
"You know how a revenant is made, Dean? First, the body has to die. Slowly, painfully, so that the spirit lingers for a while. Then the spirit is bound back into the body, but the spell isn't complete yet. Oh no, there's one more thing to make a revenant. He has to feed to be complete, Dean. He has to kill."
Terrified, instinct going into overdrive, his eyes widened, straining to see in the dark as he listened to the old memory and he screamed as he tightened his grip with all the strength he had left. He screamed as he twisted his hand, fast and sharp and the fingers clawing at him stopped, fell loose against the torn skin of his chest, trapped beneath the cold weight of the slight corpse as he hugged it close against him, mumbling through numb lips;
"No. God. Nonono, supposed to protect you. Look out for you. Keep you safe. Screwed it up, Sammy, I screwed it up. Let you down again. I'm sorry. God, Sammy, I'm sorry."
Thick, icy blood slipped over his skin, trickled down his side, stinging as it mingled with his own and he let go, let the dark and the cold take him away.
They sat side by side in the empty garage, the confession hanging between them. Dean could hear his brother's soft breathing, smooth, even, controlled with an effort he could feel through the scant inches that separated them. He sniffed, wiped a hand roughly across his cheeks, scrubbing it through his hair as he shivered and pulled his knees
up, resting his elbows on them.
"Bobby found his picture."
He held himself still, listened to Sam whisper to the dark.
"Soon as I saw it, I knew. I guess I forgot, what happened back then. But when I saw his picture, I knew. If I'd remembered sooner..."
There was nothing he could say to ease the guilt, bitter in his brother's voice.
"The house hadn't changed. Not really. We went in and they were... it was empty. They left you; I guess they thought he'd kill you. But you were in the cellar and you... it was like you weren't there anymore. We got you out, Bobby called Jack and he, he stitched you up but you were just gone. Empty."
"Sam - "
"Don't, Dean. Just don't, alright? I can't do that again. I can't."
Dean didn't move, didn't speak, barely even breathed as Sam shivered beside him, mirroring his posture, long legs hugged up against his chest. The silence fell between them again, heavy and cold. He coughed again, winced as it tore at his swollen throat, even breathing felt like swallowing white-hot razor blades. He rubbed at the bruise gently with one hand and turned a little to look at his brother from the corner of his eye.
"Did you call me a stubborn bastard?"
Sam laughed reluctantly, smiled a little sadly.
"Yeah. You wouldn't breathe."
"So you insult the dead guy?"
For a moment he thought his brother was going to explode, the blood draining from Sam's face, leaving just two red spots high on his cheeks, barely visible beneath the dust. Then the younger man deflated, laughing again.
"It seemed appropriate at the time. Besides, it worked, didn't it?"
Dean snorted, made a mental note to not do that again, his head joining in the vicious throbbing in his throat.
"Bitch," he muttered weakly as Sam stood with a sigh.
The younger man turned, reached down a hand to him and pulled him up gently with a "Jerk." He smiled; leant into his brother again, glad of the shared warmth as they shuffled down through the cold stairwell and out into the street. By the time they reached the Impala, he was shivering violently, barely aware of his brother's worried glances as Sam lowered him into the passenger seat. He huddled against the door, scrunching himself down into his coat, waiting impatiently for the younger man to start the engine and warm the heater up.
Dean tried to ignore the way his teeth were chattering, chills racing through his arms and legs, always coming back to that cold spot unfolding from the base of his spine as he wrapped his arms as tightly as he dared around his aching ribs. He let his eyes slip almost closed as his head throbbed violently, in time with the pounding of his heart, his view of the world reduced to a thin slice of the dashboard and his knees. It shifted from dark to light to dark again, over and over and he swallowed hard, remembering the way the shadows in the cellar in the Litchfield house had swung and twisted around him. Acid burned his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, forced it down and listened to the sound of his brother beside him, felt the hot air rushing past his face, stirring his hair.
"Dean? How're you doing?"
Sam's voice made him jump, lifting his head and peering through blurry eyes.
"W-w-wher-r-e?" he stuttered, teeth chattering so hard he could barely force it out.
"We're back at the motel. Come on."
Dean suddenly realised Sam was crouched on one knee in the gravel of the parking lot, leaning one shoulder against the open door beside him. He let his brother reach in and pull him out, staggering into the taller man as his knees refused to hold his weight. Sam's hands tightened around his arms, gripping his biceps fiercely.
"Jesus Dean, you're freezing," Sam muttered, breath hot against the hunter's cheek as Dean staggered into his brother's arms.
"B-b-b-be f-f-f-in-n-ne..."
"Whatever."
They stumbled across the short expanse of gravel, and he felt Sam hesitate, lifted his head to see his brother glaring at the stairs that seemed to climb to the heavy clouds. The arm around his waist shifted, gripped tighter and together they started climbing, the metal ringing under their boots. Dean groped for the handrail, trying to help pull himself up the stairs but he snatched his hand back with a gasp - the smooth surface was so cold it burned.
"Dean?"
"'s-s-s ‘k-k-kay," he answered the panic fluttering in his name, shut his eyes and concentrated on lifting his feet, one step after another until his brother's hand tensed against his side, silent warning that there were no more steps. Sam propped him up against the wall beside the door to their room, pressing one burning hand against his shoulder as he started to slide down the grimy stucco. Dean let his head droop forward, turned his attention to the heat sinking into his skin, holding onto it as he struggled to stay awake.
Sammy, something's wrong...
He thought he'd said it aloud but Sam just hoisted him into the room, kicking the door shut behind them as he helped Dean to the bed, quickly stripping away his boots and tucking both quilts around him. He burrowed down into them, the stiff fabric of his jacket heavy and binding as he clenched his jaw against the shivers that wracked his frame, lost in the cold as it drowned him, turned the world to a distant hum that echoed strangely through his head.
Sam watched his brother curl into a ball, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly around his chest.
Something's wrong. This isn't right.
Sam shook his head a little, blinked gritty eyes and strode quickly to the tiny kitchenette on one side of the room. Flicking on the kettle he waited impatiently for it to boil, tapping a tea-spoon irregularly on the worktop. He watched the bed, shaking with the force of his brother's shivering, his stomach twisting anxiously.
The kettle clicked and he poured the boiling water into a mug, stirring in three sachets of sugar and a scant spoonful of coffee granules to counter the sweetness, squinting through the steam, trying not to slop it over the rim. His fingers tingled as he carried the hot mug back to the bed with three long strides.
"Dean, come on. Drink this."
He slipped an arm under his brother's shoulders, easing the older man onto his back and wincing as he felt the chill in his skin. Sam lifted Dean's head, holding the mug to his lips, tipping it gently as his brother gulped at the steaming liquid.
"Easy, man. Easy."
He set the empty mug aside, perching on the edge of the bed as Dean curled up in the blankets again, squirming down inside them until only his hair showed. Slowly, Dean shuffled back until he was pressed against Sam's hip and the younger man swung one leg up, lying it along his brother's back, resting one hand on his shoulder, trying not to shiver himself as the cold transferred through the blankets and his jeans.
And he prayed, for the first time in a long time, since he'd seen his brother torn apart before his eyes.
Please. Please god, don't make me do this again. Don't take him away again. Please.
He watched the light streaming through the window change, hours passing in a blur of cars rumbling past outside, headlights sweeping across him as he trudged back and forth between the kitchenette and the bed, forcing as many mugs of the hot, sugary drink he could beg, badger and cajole his brother into swallowing, trying not to see the emptiness creeping in around the edges of his eyes.
He downed his own coffee, as strong as he could stomach it, the caffeine wearing off faster and faster even as his hands began to tremble. He sat on the edge of the bed again, Dean pressed against his side and tipped his head back, resting it on top of the headboard, the worn padding doing nothing to protect the back of his neck from the sharp edge as it dug into his skin. Despite the discomfort, despite the chill settling into him, his eyes slid closed, fluttering open one last time as he fought a losing battle to stay awake. His hand, gripping his brother's shoulder tightly, loosened and fell away as he lost the fight and his head rolled loosely along the headboard as he drifted away into the dreamless dark.
The floor brought the world crashing back in on him.
Sam scrambled up to his knees, breathless, reeling as he blinked furiously, trying to clear the sleep from his mind. He shook his head, still ringing from the hard landing, the sound of soft choking taking a long moment to register. He surged to his feet and stared at his brother in horror. Dean was convulsing, arms and legs jerking wildly, spine bowed, head thrown back so that his eyes, rolled up until only the whites showed, seemed to stare blindly at Sam as he stood, rooted to the spot.
Nonononononono...
He didn't realise he was whispering it aloud until he ran out of breath, sucking air in with a ragged gasp that shook him and he threw himself forward, grabbing frantically at his
brother's flailing arms, sitting on top of his legs. He caught Dean's wrists, locked one hand around them and jammed them into the pillows, leaning all of his weight into them as he was almost bucked off the bed.
"Dean!"
His voice was hoarse, terrified as he tried to catch his brother's head, finally managing to clamp his hand across Dean's forehead, feeling the spasms ripping through his body as he panted heavily, listening to his brother choke.
"Fuck!" he yelled, not caring if their neighbours heard, almost hoping they did as his aching muscles began to tremble with the strain of holding his brother down, fighting all the hunter's strength. He knew Dean wasn't fully recovered from the days he'd spent chained and tortured by the revenants, but his brother was still solid muscle and more than capable of overpowering him. His only advantage was leverage, with a greater reach he could pin Dean down before the hunter's struggling body could gain enough momentum to do any real damage.
"Come on," he muttered, not enough air in his burning lungs to manage any more. Sweat trickled down his spine, tickling his ribs as he panted. "Please, Dean."
Slowly, the convulsions eased, faded to violent shivers until he felt his brother suddenly relax completely, eyes fluttering closed. He felt his heart stop, panic singing through his nerves as he frantically jammed shaking fingers against Dean's throat. A sob tore up from his chest as he felt the flutter against his fingertips, the pulse weak and erratic but there. He scrambled off the bed, keeping one hand wrapped in his brother's jacket as he gathered his own coat, stuffing his wallet, phone and keys into his pockets as he shoved his arms into the sleeves.
Then he stooped, slipped his arm under Dean's back and hoisted the older man onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry, staggering a little under his brother's solid weight. He gritted his teeth, snarling with the effort as he stumbled to the door, not bothering to lock it, barely pausing to listen for the quiet click as it swung closed behind him. His breath caught as Dean moaned softly and he felt tension ripple through his brother's abdominal muscles, pressed into his broad shoulder.
"Sorry man. I'm sorry," he murmured, not sure if he should be relieved or more scared as Dean went limp and silent again, head bouncing gently against the scar in the middle of his back as Sam staggered down the stairs. The cold metal of the railing shook as he caught at it, every step on the edge of overbalancing. Gravel crunched under his feet at last and he almost broke into a run over the short distance to the car.
He fumbled with the driver's door, finally yanking it open and carefully easing his brother onto the front seat, sliding in beside him and resting Dean's head gently on his knee. Sam kept one hand twisted in his brother's jacket, needing the reassurance of the contact, feeling panic beginning to wrench at him as the older man started to shiver again and the engine roared. The sky paled with the rapidly approaching dawn as he jammed the pedal to the floor, tyres screeching as they fought for grip on the dew-slick road.
~~HoC~~
He hurt. Every muscle ached, his limbs heavy, his head sinking into soft pillows. He rolled it with an effort that left him dizzy, cranked open his eyes and stared down at the hot weight crushing his left arm.
Slowly, as his wavering focus steadied, he recognised the familiar sensation, felt the itch of long hair tickling his wrist, the stickiness of salt drying on his skin.
"Sam?" he croaked, wincing as his voice dragged broken glass through his throat. He could have laughed as the younger man bolted upright, hair plastered against one
cheek, blinking at him. But he could see the tearstains on Sam's face as he felt the bones in his hand shift in his brother's grip.
"Dean?"
"Y' soun' worse'n me."
"God, Dean."
Dean watched wearily as Sam reached out with his free hand, grabbing a plastic cup from the small table beside the bed, holding the straw poking from the top for him to sip at the cool water. He shivered as he swallowed it, feeling the chill uncurl in his back again and race through his veins.
"What happened?"
He glanced around the room as Sam hesitated, taking in the bland, beige paint peeling from the walls, the ruthlessly scrubbed bland white tiles on the floor, faint rays of sunlight shining through the bland, thin curtains and he sighed. His fingers found the tubes taped to the IV in the crook of his elbow and fiddled restlessly with it as he turned back to his brother, staring down at his hand where it still gripped Dean's tightly.
"Sam?"
Sam jumped a little, looked up at him and paused for a moment longer, dark eyes unreadable.
"What do you remember?"
Dean shrugged, fought down the wince as the dull burn in his muscles flared.
"Not much. The poltergeist grabbed me, tried to lynch me. I... you get it?" he waited for Sam's nod, the younger man's gaze kept sliding away from his. "Good. You got me back to the car." He didn't mention the concrete, cold and hard beneath him, pressed down into it by the weight of their confessions, the echo of ragged breathing fading under the guilt in his brother's voice; ‘You were just gone. Empty.' "That's about it," he finished, trying to catch Sam's wandering eyes.
The younger man sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face.
"You were so cold...not just cold, freezing. It got worse all the way back to the motel. By the time we got there, you could barely stand. Then I..." he trailed off and Dean frowned as he blushed a little. "I fell asleep."
Oh.
"Sammy, you were tired, okay? Don't worry about it."
"Dean, you started seizing. Knocked me off the bed, I guess. I woke up on the floor, anyway and you were..." This time, Sam's face turned distinctly green, pale beneath the sickly tint to his cheeks and his voice was thick and strained as he continued. "Soon as it ended, I brought you here. Lincoln Community Hospital, in Hugo. That was about eleven hours ago. You've been out ever since."
Whatever Dean had been expecting, it wasn't the savage glint that suddenly shone in his brother's eyes as Sam leant closer, the same harsh, clogged tone in his whisper lightened by anger he was shakily glad wasn't directed at him.
"What the hell's going on, Dean?"
"I don't know Sammy. But we'll figure it out, alright?"
Sam took a deep breath, heated stare glittering and Dean almost shrank back from the imminent explosion, heaving out a sigh of relief instead as the door opened. It caught in his throat and he coughed, trying to clear it, tears springing to his eyes as the razorblades lining his throat twisted savagely. He grabbed at Sam's wrist as his brother held the plastic cup in front of him, barely hearing him mumble anxiously through the roaring in his ears as he tried to catch his breath, fighting the panic that threatened to overtake him. The cool water slid over his tongue like ice, calming him, soothing the burning itch enough to let him breathe again and he sank back into the pillows, eyes tight shut, gasping carefully.
He jumped when a hand nudged gently under his jaw, lifting his chin and lightly probing the bruises encircling his throat. Cracking one eye open a fraction, he peered blearily at the doctor leaning over him, a young, olive-dark face glancing down at him.
"Hey there. Good to meet you at last."
"Yeah. Hi," he whispered, even the faint breath of sound making him tense as the itch in his throat re-ignited. Flinching from the questing fingers, he groaned.
"Don't try and talk. I'll get one of the nurses to bring you some ice chips. They should help."
Dean nodded, let his eyes slide shut again and squeezed lightly at Sam's hand as the younger man stood by the bed, a silent, worried presence. Sam squeezed back, fiercely enough to make him wince.
"Sorry."
"Sorry."
He grinned weakly wryly raising an eyebrow as the doctor and his brother both apologised simultaneously.
"'S okay."
"What did I just tell you, Mr. Hammett?"
He shrugged one shoulder in mute apology, felt Sam roll his eyes.
"Well, there's some fairly extensive bruising with associated swelling to his throat." Dean peeked through one eye again to see the young man straighten and address his brother. "It'll take a few days to start to fade, and it'll probably look a lot worse before it gets better, but there shouldn't be any lasting damage. At this point, I'm more worried about the seizures and your brother's temperature."
Seizures? As in more than one?
He tried to make his voice work but a shiver crept out from his spine, slipped through his nerves and he let the effort of forcing it down, not letting it show distract him from the voices echoing oddly above him as he drifted away into the dark.
"Can I speak to you outside, Sam? He'll be drowsy for a while yet."
The taller man hesitated, glanced down at his brother, frowning and quiet. The hollow pit below his heart sucked at him as he took in the deep shadows below Dean's eyes, his eyes flicking down to the bruises on the older man's wrists, his own fingerprints joined by strangers', scattered up his brother's arms and down his legs. His muscles still ached wearily from the effort of holding the hunter down through the seizures, the caffeine that had kept him upright through his long vigil at Dean's bedside humming through his nerves.
He let his brother's hand go, setting it gently on the pale blankets at Dean's side and turned, followed the doctor from the room.
"What's going on, doctor?"
"Sam, at this point, I honestly don't know."
He shut his eyes, willed the world to turn back five seconds and change what he'd just heard.
"Dean's symptoms don't match any illness or toxin I can think of. Is there anything, anything at all he might have been exposed to? Any narcotic - "
"He doesn't do drugs!"
"Intentional or otherwise," the doctor continued, raising one stern eyebrow at him as Sam subsided again, shaking his head, forcing himself to look up at the young doctor. Against the white lab coat, the shorter man looked as tired as he was, as worn by the long hours of desperate, fruitless searching for answers.
"Your shift must have finished hours ago."
The doctor smiled and shrugged, ducking his head.
"Well, I couldn't leave Dr. Carmichael with a case as tricky as this."
Sam laughed, wearily, too exhausted to do anything else. The doctor turned to a nurse, bustling past and caught her arm.
"Marie, would you mind getting us coffee?"
She smiled patiently at the two men.
"Of course. White, two sugars, right?"
Sam nodded, turning to sag back against the wall. The doctor joined him, both men silent for a moment. The hunter sighed, dropped his head into his hands, visions of the long, long night playing out in the dark behind his eyes.
Bodily carrying his brother through the ER doors, calling for help as another seizure took them both down, hands grabbing at them, helping him hold Dean down. He looked up as blunt fingers wrapped carefully under his brother's head, met a pair of clear blue eyes that offered concern and reassurance, suddenly widening into alarm and Sam didn't think, just ducked and caught the wild blow on his shoulder.
His arm went numb but his hand flashed up and grabbed his brother's wrist, slipping a little on the sweat that slicked the older man's skin, dragging Dean's arm down and locking it across the other, pinning both with all his strength... sitting in the dark beside the bed, his brother's hand pressed against his head, staring at their joined hands, intertwined fingers, trying to shake off the déjà vu that was all too real... a blow slipping past him, knocking a nurse from her feet with a startled cry, the doctor opposite him cursing furiously, breathlessly as the wild bucking of Dean's body stopped suddenly and he lay utterly, terribly still, the nurse scrambling back to her feet and pushing him aside.
He'd staggered back, watched helplessly as they clamped an oxygen mask over his brother's slack face, sliding down the wall as the doctor cursed again and tipped Dean's head back, pulling open his jaw, slipping the tube into his brother's throat with quick, practised motions... huddling in the chair, listening to the clock tick, measuring off the spaces between his brother's pulse, beating sluggishly against his fingertips as he caged Dean's wrist in his hand, trying to drown out the whooshing sound of the respirator with the music he played in his head, his brother's music on endless repeat, echoing inside his skull as he waited and waited...
"Here."
He looked up, sniffed and wiped self-consciously at his eyes before taking the cup held patiently before him.
"How you holding up?"
"Just peachy," he muttered, an inappropriate laugh bubbling up inside. He squashed it down, hid it in a long gulp of the tepid coffee.
"Sam, what happened to your brother?"
He looked up at the doctor, wariness slipping tight across his shoulders.
"I saw the scar on his back, the bite mark on his shoulder. It's human Sam, you know that, right?"
Sam nodded slowly, didn't say anything as he watched the young doctor.
"And Dean's underweight. Not drastically, but more than he should be. He looks like he normally takes pretty good care of himself."
The hunter wanted to laugh again. Yeah, if you can call jumping between me and anyone else out there and whatever freakin' creature feature wants to eat us next
‘taking care of himself, he whispered in his head.
"It looks... well, to be honest Sam, it looks like he was tortured. And if I had to guess, I'd say neither of you have slept much for a few weeks."
The doctor didn't look up at him, giving him the space he needed to come to a decision.
"Four weeks. Nearly five."
It was the shorter man's turn to nod slowly, wearily, saying nothing, waiting.
"They took him from a bar. I don't know why, but when we found him h-he..." his chest hitched, the air suddenly turning cold and solid as he tried to drag it into his lungs.
"You saw what they did. He was... broken, I guess. Took him two days to come round."
"Nightmares?"
"Yeah." Both of us.
"And his throat? That's not a month old."
Sam frowned into his coffee, wondering if he was paranoid or if he really did hear an edge of suspicion in the doctor's voice.
"He, uh...he..."
His mind went blank.
"Look, doctor - "
"Tom. Doctor makes me look for grey hairs every morning."
Sam laughed shakily.
"With what we do, we make enemies. We get into nasty situations."
"What do you do, exactly?"
"We're kind of like private investigators. We try and find victims the police can't help, for whatever reason and we do what we can."
Tom turned to him, one brow quirked in something like surprise.
"Last night, we got caught up in a drug deal." Sam's mind churned feverishly, creating and discarding scenarios as his heart thumped away behind his ribs. "We were trying to find a kid who'd run away, got mixed up with the wrong crowd. One of them got a hold of Dean, he wasn't fully recovered from...before, or they'd never have taken him. He wanted to get back to work, to try and forget what had happened. They tried to strangle him."
Lying, believing in the story enough to make it convincing made it almost bearable to say, made it almost possible to see the doctor through the image of his brother hanging limply from the wires in the shadows of the cold, dust laden air.
"Damn near succeeded by the looks of it."
"He wasn't breathing," Sam whispered, surprised to hear the words slip between his own lips. "When I got to him, he wasn't breathing."
It hung there in the silence crowding them from the open door beside him and he shivered, slouching down the wall a little more, wrapping long fingers around the hot cup, trying to pull its warmth into him, as if it could dispel the remembered chill of his brother's skin.
"He's lucky."
"Lucky?"
"You saved his life, Sam. Twice in one night, which is a pretty good record."
"I guess. It never feels like luck."
He felt Tom's eyes on him, weighing him but he couldn't tear his own away from the black stare of his reflection in the coffee.
"Sam, I'm going to order another round of tests, get Dean in for an MRI, a few other things. His temperature's still dropping, and that's making his body shut down. It's possible the convulsions are a result of toxins building up in his blood stream, we might have to put him on dialysis as a temporary measure, but we've got to figure out what's going on." The doctor paused; shaking his head as he idly studied the peeling paintwork. "With the bruising to his throat, I really don't want to have to intubate him again, but it's a real possibility if he has another seizure. I've never seen anything like this before, hell; at this point I'd accept voodoo as a cause!"
The joke fell flat, sharp edged between them as Sam's head snapped up to stare at the doctor, his mind racing.
"Well. The tests will take a while. Why don't you go back to your motel, catch a couple of hours sleep if you can. A shower, maybe?" Tom smiled wryly at him, a hint of apology for the implied insult and Sam nodded absently, thoughts churning through his head at light speed. "I'll call you when we're ready to bring Dean back down to his room."
Sam pushed away from the wall.
"Just gimme a couple of minutes, okay? Let me talk to him." he asked and Tom nodded, reaching out to clap him on the shoulder.
"Sure. We'll figure it out Sam. I promise."
It rang hollow as he slipped out from under the doctor's hand, shutting the door softly, firmly behind him. He crossed to the bed, brushing his hand across his brother's cold brow, his heart clenching hard inside his ribs as Dean shivered and turned into the touch.
"Hey," he called quietly. "You awake?"
"No."
Sam laughed but it was hollow against the hoarse, ragged whisper of his brother's drowsy denial.
"They're taking you for some tests, Dean. I'm gonna head back to the motel, see if I can find anything."
"'k."
"Take it easy, okay?"
"Yeah."
He turned, footsteps heavy as he crossed the room again.
"Sammy..."
Sam paused, looking back over his shoulder, his fingers clutching at the door handle.
"Be careful, ‘k?"
"Yeah. You too, Dean."
He opened it, stepping back into the too-bright corridor, feeling lost and out of time with the world as the nurses bustled past him and he trudged slowly through the hospital, fingers locked tight around the car keys in his pocket as he left his brother behind.
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