Tools of the Trade (2/2)

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Tools of the Trade (2/2)

See first part for details...



Sam was putting the final touches on his rescue plan.  He had managed to track Dean and Meg to an abandoned warehouse and had gotten there just in time to see Meg shoot his brother with the Colt.  He was about to charge at her with the wrath of God when he realized there was a better way to take care of her, a way that might not involve getting either Dean or himself killed.

There was only one entrance to the basement area where Meg held Dean, and more importantly, only one exit.  Sam got to work on a devil’s trap crudely made of chalk coupling it with a few heavy lines of salt and a puddle of holy water for good measure to ensure that Meg wouldn’t escape.  Then he shimmied up an air duct that would place him just above Meg and Dean and repeated an exorcism ritual to himself, making sure he knew all the words.  He spied Dean through the grate, his heart sinking when he realized Dean was out for the count despite the fact that Meg kept savagely punching him in the face and torso.  He shimmied closer to Meg, the movement echoing through the duct.  Meg stopped mid punch and glanced up at the grate, a huge grin on her face.

“Howdy, Sam .  So good to see you.”

Sam wasted no time and began to chant the exorcism ritual.  Meg choked against the body she was possessing and swung her arm in Sam’s direction.  Before he registered what was happening, he was falling through the grate and crashing to the floor.  He kept at the ritual though, speeding through the verses, nodding in satisfaction as Meg moaned and shook as the exorcism started to take a deeper hold on her.

“You little bastard,” she screamed, throwing Sam into the cart of weapons she had used against Dean.  He landed hard, the force knocking the air out of his lungs.  He saw the Colt and clamored anxiously for it as he tried to regain his air and his words, but Meg kicked it away with a smile.

“Nice try, Sammy.  Is this what you’re gonna do when Dean goes to hell?  Stage some kind of pathetic rescue mission?”

Sam was finally able to take a breath.  He grappled for a flask of holy water from his back as he vehemently began reciting the exorcism again.  He finally got the flask out and tossed the water at her, steam rising off of her as the vessel of the body she had chosen once again began to reject her.  She sped around the room, looking for escape, her eyes wild and murderous.  She shrieked when she came upon the devil’s trap and other goodies Sam had left for her.  She glared back at him, the demon form of Meg just barely hanging onto the body it possessed.  “Tell your brother I was just getting started.  Hell will be a million times worse for him.”  With that, she opened her mouth and poured out of the body in a long stream of black smoke.  The girl Meg was possessing collapsed bonelessly to the floor, obviously dead.  Sam took a moment to close the girl’s still open eyes with his hand and rearranged her body in a more respectful pose before heading over to his brother.

Dean was slouched forward in the chair, blood dripping from his lips, soft wheezing pants puffing out of his mouth.  Sam carefully set him back against the chair and checked the bullet wound, noting that the bleeding was slow but steady.  He pushed his hand firmly against it to momentarily staunch the blood, eliciting a soft moan from Dean.

“Dean, hey, come on, man.  Wake up.  Come on, it’s me.”

Dean groaned again, louder this time and his eyes fluttered open and then immediately shut again.  “S’mmy?”

“Yeah, Dean, it’s me.  You’re safe.  Meg’s gone.”

Sam moved around Dean and got to work on the chains that were holding his brother to the chair.  After a few moments, he managed to get them off Dean’s arms and legs.  Sam moved in front of Dean as his brother sagged forward, Dean’s left arm wrapping around Sam’s torso and his head coming to rest against Sam’s belly.

“Knew you’d come, Sammy,” mumbled Dean against Sam’s stomach.

Sam lightly wrapped his arms around Dean and they remained like that for a few moments as Dean caught his breath and Sam ensured himself that his brother was still alive and still with him.

That he’d gotten there in time.

“Dean, we gotta get you outta here.”  He felt Dean nod against his belly.  Sam eased Dean off of him so he could look him over.  He noticed the way Dean kept clenching his eyes shut.  “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

Dean tried to open his eyes wide and Sam had just enough time to see how red and irritated they appeared before his brother abruptly shut them.

“Pepper spray,” Dean murmured miserably.

“Ugh.  That’s just bitchy.”

“Tellin' me, dude.”

“I’ve got some holy water we can use to rinse it out,” said Sam as he slid Dean out of the chair and laid him out on the ground so he could address his many injuries.  He took off the plaid over shirt he was wearing and pressed it against the gunshot wound, wrapping it around Dean’s waist so it would soak up the blood from both the entry and the exit wound.

“Ah,” Dean panted, wincing hard against the pain.

“Easy, bro.”   Sam reached into his back pocket and pulled out the flask of holy water once again.  He scooted up to Dean’s head and got ready to pour.  “Try and open your eyes for me, man.”

Dean blinked his eyes open, looking slightly weary of the holy water.

“This is gonna help you, not hurt you.  Promise, man.”

“Kay, Sammy,” Dean said, noticeably struggling to keep his eyes open.

Sam poured, the water dripping into Dean’s eyes and then trickling down his cheeks and into his hair.  Sam kept pouring and pouring as Dean blinked against the constant barrage of water.  “Does it feel any better?”

Dean merely shook his head in misery, his eyes clenching shut once again.

“Damn it,” said Sam, replacing the empty flask in his back pocket.  He moved his hand over Dean’s body, looking for further injury.  The broken arm was obvious along with the knock on the head, the cuts across Dean’s chest and the bruises from the beatings.  “I missing anything, Dean?”

“Nuh uh,” Dean moaned, his face pasty and sweaty, his body trembling.

“Can you walk?”

“Mmmmmm… yeah.”

“Right,” said Sam.  He stood up and put an arm under Dean’s back and another under his knees.

Before he could lift his brother up, Dean shoved his hands away.  “I c’n walk!”  Dean made a motion to sit up and screamed in pain as his bullet wound folded in half.

“Dean, come on, man,” said Sam, reaching for Dean’s legs.

Dean pushed him off.  “I’m fine!” he insisted, his eyes clenching shut, his body shaky with exertion as he struggled to stand “Just be my eyes, Sammy.  And don’t let me bleed out.”

Sam helped Dean to his feet, taking most of his weight, pressing a hand firmly against the flannel on the bullet wound, which earned him a throaty groan from Dean.  “You know, you’re pretty demanding.”

“Respect your elders, Sam.”

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” said Sam, grabbing the Colt off the cart as he led his nearly blind and stumbling brother out of the basement .  By the time they got outside to the Impala, Dean could barely stand.

“We’re here.  We’re here, man.”  Sam held his brother against the car while he struggled to open the passenger’s side door.  Once he got it propped open, he eased Dean inside, taking care to be gentle with his injuries.  “You alright?”

Dean merely groaned and wrapped his good arm around his bleeding stomach.

Sam shut the door and dashed to the driver’s side, quickly sliding in the seat and closing the door behind him.  He glanced at Dean, who’d gone deathly pale in just the few seconds it had taken Sam to get in the car.  “Dean, you okay?”

Dean clutched his stomach and groaned.  He blinked his eyes open, revealing painful looking scarlet orbs as his breath quickened and his body quaked.  “Sammy I don’t feel good,” he admitted, listing to the side in weakness.

“Here,” said Sam, reaching around to Dean’s other arm and pulling him into his lap.  “Just lay down for awhile, okay.”

Dean all but collapsed into Sam’s lap, any pretense of being strong and resilient busted wide open by the fact that his body was struggling to hold on.  Sam felt the heat and tremors rolling off his brother’s body and the shallow way he breathed.  Sam wrapped his arm protectively around his semi-conscious brother and held his hand against Dean’s gunshot wound, relieved to see that the flannel had slowed the bleeding.

“Ooohhh,” Dean grunted.

“It’s alright.  I’m gonna take care of you.  I’m gonna get you better.”  Sam reached into his jacket for his phone with his free hand.  He dialed Bobby and then started the car, screeching onto the highway.

Bobby answered after half a ring.  “Sam, you find him?”

Sam squeezed Dean a little tighter.  “Yeah, I got him.  Bobby, it was Meg.  She did a real number on him.  Shot, stabbed, the works.  You know anyone around here who might be able to lend a hand?  Painkillers, antibiotics, stuff like that?  Our first aid kit’s pretty much bone dry when it comes to the hard stuff.”

“Yeah,” said Bobby.  “Just hold tight a few hours, alright.  Get him to a motel.  I’ll have someone there before sunset.”

“Thanks Bobby,” said Sam, relief washing over him.

“You tell that brother of yours to be more careful.  We don’t need him checking out on us early.”

Sam gulped, the statement hitting him in the gut.  “Yeah, I will,” he choked out.

“It’ll be okay, Sam.  We’re gonna find him a way out of this.

Sam nodded, fighting back tears.  “I know.”

“Look, I gotta get on the horn.  Let me know where you land.”

“Will do, Bobby.  Thanks.”

Sam hung up the phone and glanced down at Dean, who had begun shivering like it was below zero outside.  Sam grappled for a blanket in the backseat and spread it over Dean, tucking it around him and squeezing him closer.  “Hang on, man.  Please just hang on.”

Sam sped along the highway for several miles, searching desperately for an out of the way motel they could hole up in for a few days while Dean recovered.  When he saw an inviting sign advertising the Sun Inn just a mile up the road, Sam pushed the pedal to the floor in relief.  He reached the inn’s parking lot a second later and threw the car into park.  He eased himself out from under his brother and then took a minute to settle Dean’s head comfortably against the seat.  “Be right back, man.”

He checked into the motel for five nights, requesting a quiet room at the end of the line.  He came back to the car and drove the Impala down to a parking space right in front of the room so he wouldn’t have to haul Dean far.  He once again eased Dean off his lap, rousing his brother in the process.

“Sam?”

“Hey, it’s okay.  I just checked us into a motel for a few days.  I’m gonna get you fixed up and Bobby’s gotta guy coming with some meds.”

Dean moaned and burrowed his head against the seat like he trying to go back to sleep.

Sam let him be for the time being.  He placed his hand on Dean’s back.  “Be right back.”

He shut the driver’s side door and went to the trunk, collecting their duffels, the first aid kit and a few weapons for good measure.  Then he unlocked the motel door and took a few minutes getting everything settled in the room and gave Bobby a quick call, letting him know their location before going back out to collect Dean.  He opened the passenger’s side door and eased Dean upward until he was sitting up.  Dean’s eyes clenched and unclenched, his face nearly translucent.

“Let’s get you inside, kiddo,” said Sam.  Before he could give Den a chance to argue, he clasped one arm under his brother’s knees and another across his back and hefted him out of the car cradle-style.

“Nghhhh, Sam.  Stop it,” Dean complained, trying to escape the hold Sam had on him.

“Shut up and go with it,” said Sam.  He knocked the passenger’s door shut with his foot and carried Dean into the room, laying him out on the bed farthest from the door.  He closed and then locked the motel door and then picked up the room’s ice bucket, filling it with water.

“I’m gonna flush some more of that crap out of your eyes,” said Sam as he sat down on Dean’s bed.  He pulled his brother to him and positioned him so Dean’s head was hanging off the bed.  Sam supported it with one hand and grabbed the bucket of water with the other, getting ready once again to pour. “Open your eyes, man.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut.  “You suck.”

“Come on, this’ll help.  Just do it.  Don’t be a wimp.”

Dean grumbled and then blinked his eyes fully open with a wince.  “There,” he said, his red eyes brimming with tears.

Sam wasted no time and poured the water into Dean’s eyes.  Dean blinked and sputtered as the water did its job to flush out the pepper spray.  Sam poured about half the water of the bucket before stopping to give Dean a break.  “You good?”

Dean shut his eyes again and then blinked rapidly, the redness in his eyes clearing just the slightest.  “Yeah.”

“Here comes the rest,” said Sam as he tilted the bucket over Dean’s eyes again and poured the rest of the water over them.  When all the water was gone, Sam settled Dean back on the bed, resting him comfortably against the pillows.  He grabbed a towel and wiped Dean’s face and hair where the water had soaked him through and then tossed the towel over the puddle he’d created on the floor.

“How do you feel?”

Dean opened his eyes and kept them open even though Sam could see it was a struggle for him to do so.  “Better,” he said, forcing a smile.

“Good.  Let’s get the rest of you patched up.  Bobby’s friend should be here soon with more supplies.”

Dean’s smile changed from forced to genuine.  “You’re just taking care of everything, man.  Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”  Sam reached into the first aid kit.  “This is all gonna hurt like a bitch.  Especially without any painkillers.”

“Hit me with your best shot, Sammy,” answered Dean.  “Speaking of which…”

“No can do, Dean. There’s nothing here and besides, you don’t need to be mixing that with the pain pills when they get here. That could send you downstairs in a matter of minutes.”

“I already got pretty close there today, man.”

“I know,” said Sam as he pulled out a knife and cut Dean’s T-shirt off of him. “But everything’s okay now.” He shut his mind off to the possibility as he pulled out some gauze wipes and alcohol to clean out the bullet wound. “Ready for this?”

Dean took a deep breath and nodded, letting his eyes close. “Just get it done.”

Sam nodded and went to work. He poured the alcohol over the entry wound and Dean screamed, his body arching off the bed. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” soothed Sam, stopping for a minute to rub the middle of Dean’s belly in comfort, giving the sting of the antiseptic a minute to wear off. “Just breathe. Breathe Dean,” he said, giving Dean’s heaving stomach one last pat before running the gauze pads over the wound, mopping up blood and dirt. He used a tweezers and a small flashlight to examine the wound closer and check for stray pieces of T-shirt and other bits, probing as carefully as he could as to not cause Dean any more pain.

Dean gasped and broke out into a sweat, his skin flushing, his body shaking.

“Almost done,” said Sam, taking one last look. When he was satisfied it was as clean as it was going to get, he placed a gauze pad over the wound and taped it in place against Dean’s skin. “One down, one to go,” he said, glancing up at Dean.

His brother was panting, his body slick and shiny with sweat, his face etched tight in pain. Sam stood up and wet a wash cloth from the bathroom. He returned to Dean’s side and ran it over his brother’s face and neck, trying to cool him down and soothe his pain.

“M’kay, Sammy,” Dean murmured in a slur. “Keep going.”

Sam patted Dean’s chest and then rolled him on his side so he could take a look at the exit wound on his back. The wound was jagged and angry looking, bigger than the one on Dean’s side. Sam went to work picking at the stray fibers and dirt he saw inside before pouring the alcohol over the wound.

“Ahhhh ha,” Dean yelped. “Son of a bitch, Sam!”

“Sorry, sorry,” said Sam as he mopped up the bloody mess. Then he smoothed a bandage over that side as well before rolling Dean back over. “You gonna make it?” he asked, taking in the fevered way Dean breathed, hearing the bitten off groans and moans that punctuated each of his breaths.

“Do I have a choice?” Dean grunted.

Sam glanced at Dean’s mangled arm with a grimace, knowing it would be a bitch to set.  Maybe they’d try and holdout for the painkillers to arrive before he attempted it.  He glanced at the bruises forming over Dean’s ribs.  He tapped at them lightly causing Dean to groan and shrink away from his touch.  “They broken?”

“No,” muttered Dean breathlessly.  “Just bruised to hell.”

“What about your head?  You concussed?” Sam asked as he ran a finger across the bruised cut above Dean’s eye, feeling a lump underneath.

“Naw.  Would’ve thrown up on you by now if I was.”

“Jerk,” kidded Sam as his eyes drifted to the salt-crusted cuts crisscrossing Dean’s chest.  “I don’t think these cuts need stitching.  Just gonna clean em’ out a little.”

“Goody,” Dean deadpanned.

Sam dipped some more gauze in alcohol and began wiping away at the cuts, doing his best to get rid of the stinging salt and other dirt that had managed to get trapped in the wounds.  Dean shivered as Sam worked, clearly reaching the end of his pain tolerance and desperately needing something to take the edge off.  After a few tense minutes, Sam finished his ministrations and bandaged the deepest areas of the cuts while he let the shallow parts breathe.  He set down the gauze and alcohol and eyed Dean’s arm.

“We should really take you to the E.R. for that arm, man.  Or a clinic.”

“Yeah right,” whispered Dean.  “Along with my gsw.  No can do, Sammy.  You know that.”

“It looks bad, Dean.  They’re might be a couple of bones effected.  I don’t wanna…”

“Just do it, Sam.  If you mess it up, at least it’s my left arm not my right.  We don’t got a lot of choices here.  Besides, the longer it stays all jacked up, the better chance I have of turning into a Captain Hook.”

Sam sighed, hating the look of agony in his brother’s eyes, hating that he was going to put more there.

“Sammy,” said Dean, his eyes wide and still red from the pepper spray.  “Please, just do it.  I just want to get this over with and get healed.  Get back out there.”

“Fine,” Sam replied.  “I’ll do my best.  If I mess it up, I don’t wanna hear about it.”

“I swear.  Not a word.”

Sam sat back on the bed next to Dean, grasping his brother’s arm, trying to feel how the bones fit back together.

“Ohhhh,” Dean yelped, mashing his head to the side against his pillow.

“Here,” said Sam, grabbing a clean washcloth and putting it in Dean’s mouth.  “Bite down on this.”

Dean grunted and bit down, nodding his head,

Sam went back to work, continuing to feel the bones in Dean’s swollen arm.  To his relief, he only felt one break and thought he might be able to snap it back into place fairly easily.  Hopefully any infection that could develop would be taken care of by the antibiotics he hoped to have in his possession any minute.

“Okay, Dean, I’ve got it.  You ready?”

Dean nodded without hesitation.

“Okay.” Sam firmly grasping the bones, ignoring Dean’s pained breaths. “One, two, three.”  He pulled and then pushed the bone with all his might, causing Dean to wail in agony.  Sam was unrelenting and after a few anxious moments, he felt the bone snap back into their rightful place.  He glanced up at Dean’s face and saw it had gone snow white.

“Dean, you alright?”

Dean’s face turned green and he gagged, spitting out the cloth onto his chest.  “Gonna…”  Dean couldn’t finish.  He struggled to sit up, moaning as he began to heave out bile and spit.

“Whoa, whoa,” said Sam, swiftly easing him up and supporting him so he could puke off the side  of the bed and not choke or injure himself further.  “It’s okay, you’re okay, get it out, it’s fine, it’s fine,” he whispered in a soothing loop, holding his brother in a bear hug while Dean’s body continued to sputter.  When Dean was finally finished hurling, he sagged forward and would’ve fallen off the bed if Sam wasn’t there to support him. “It’s over,” he said, easing Dean back into a horizontal position.  He grabbed a wet cloth and mopped up the sweat covering Dean’s face and chest.

Dean could barely keep his eyes open, his body quivering against the onslaught of pain.

“Helps on the way, man,” said Sam, praying that he was right.  He rested his hand on Dean’s chest and then grabbed a splint out of their first aid kit, securing it around Dean’s broken arm.  “That’s it, kiddo.  You did good.”  Sam removed Dean’s blood and sweat-soaked jeans and then pulled the blankets up to cover his shaking brother.  He climbed in bed next to him, resting his arm next to Dean’s.  “Anytime now.  Anytime.”

Dean took a couple of deep breaths and opened his eyes, trying to fight against the pain.  “Sammy,” he panted, his voice a broken whisper.  “How am I gonna… I mean what am I gonna …without you… you know… down there… I mean, not down there, like perv stuff… but down there… in the pit?”

“Dean,” Sam began.

Dean continued. “What if I… what if I can’t…”

“You’re not gonna have to find out, Dean,” Sam interrupted.  “I’m gonna make sure of it.”  He said it with such conviction that he not only believed it, but could tell from the easing of tension on Dean’s face that his brother believed it as well.

There was a pounding on the door.

“Saved by the bell, man,” said Sam, noting the look of relief on Dean’s face.

“Hmmmm… Kelly Kapowski was hot.”

“I always liked Jessie Spano myself.”

“A little showgirl action, huh Sammy?  I’m impressed.”

“Shut up,” said Sam before opening the door.  A tall man in big glasses and overalls stood outside holding a paper bag.

“Marshall Tucker?” the man asked.

“Gordon Lightfoot?” Sam responded.

The man thrust the bag at Sam.  “That’s all I could get on such short notice.  I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything for Bobby Singer.  I owe him like six lives.”

The man took off and Sam closed the door, locking it behind them once again.  He tore open the bag and found a few vials of antibiotics and painkillers along with some syringes.   He quickly popped a needle in the antibiotics and another in the painkillers and went back over to Dean.

“Ahhh, Dr. Feelgood,” said Dean.

Sam dabbed the crook of Dean’s uninjured arm with alcohol and injected him with the antibiotics followed by the painkillers.  Then he sat back on the bed with his brother, sighing in relief.  “Try and get some sleep.  I’m here.  You don’t have to worry about a thing,” he said, squeezing Dean’s hand.  “I’m gonna take care of everything.”

Dean glanced up at Sam, his face calm and sure.  Trusting.  “I know you will, Sammy.  Know you will.”  Then Dean’s head sagged to the side in unconsciousness.

That’s All Folks!