And the earth -- Chapter 4
He pushes that thought away, this is not the time, Sam needs him.
Sam might be one of them, his brother might be out there, only a few feet down the street. It’s both the worst and best feeling he’s had for a long, fucking too long time. He wants to have him back at his side, now. The two month without Sam were like hell, the not-knowing, the ever present fear. Never-ending questions (Is he still alive?), doubts (shouldn’t have done it), worst case scenarios (his brother, bloody and beaten-dead, left behind like road kill), nightmares (chased by faceless demons)… He’s been through all of that. Every fucking night, every minute of the days when his mind isn’t too occupied with surviving the mess they are all in.
He knows now it was a mistake to separate, he would never do it again. Ever. Sam will probably be mad at him. Who is he kidding, Sam is going to rip him a new one for the stunt he pulled, but it had seemed like the best thing to do back then. Now he knows it wasn’t, now he knows Sam was right, they should have stayed together. And this time they will, so help him God, this time he won’t let him go.
If they find him in time.
He scans the crowd anxiously, looking out for the familiar mop of dark hair.
Bobby opens his door and gets out of the car. “Stay here, I’ll find him.” His voice is low and Dean has to fight down his instincts to remain in the car and not follow him. He knows it’s safer this way, he knows that one of the guards could recognize him and then his throbbing shoulder would be the last of his problems. And still he can barely sit still, his leg starts twitching in distress as soon as the older hunter closes the door behind him.
He is forced to watch as Bobby, now flanked by the two huge dogs, slowly wanders toward one of the trucks, heading for what Dean can easily make out to be the driver. The two men start to talk, but Dean quickly looses interest. His worried gaze once again sweeps over the crowd. He feels helpless and that makes him feel even worse because he is, he is helpless. They all are. No more Devil’s Traps, no more exorcisms, holy water, nothing works.
He doesn’t see his brother’s face, there is some black bag covering his head, but it’s Sam; the long body that topples off one of the trucks and lands on the floor is so familiar to him that he has already opened his door before he remembers that he can’t get out there. Closing the door is one of the hardest things he has ever done, especially when he sees how the crumpled form of his brother barely moves from where he has fallen. Sam’s hands are tied behind his back and the way he slowly curls around his middle, guarding his upper torso, tells him that Sam is hurt in some way. His pain in the ass, pigheaded little brother doesn’t show any weakness unless he is hurt so badly that he no longer cares about appearances. Dean’s fist clenches at his side. He doesn’t realize he is cursing viciously under his breath, angry words that get lost in the darkness around him. His eyes briefly dart back to Bobby, but the older man is still talking to the driver, hasn’t seen Sam yet.
It’s torture, pure and simple-his own private hell. Being so close to his brother, having to watch how Sam slowly raises his covered head and tries to take in his surroundings despite the cloth. A guard walks by him and Sam shies away, shrinks into himself as if he has been hit. Dean knows how much his brother hates demons close to him, how he can’t stand to feel their joy at inflicting pain and fear and worse on their victims. His stomach churns as Sam’s voice replays in his head. Evil, I can taste how evil they are, Dean, it makes me sick.
Sam’s head turns slightly to the side, as if he is listening to something. He doesn’t even try to get to his feet. Dean’s stomach clenches painfully; he is feeling sick now and it only gets worse when a group of three guards walks over to Sam. Stop, don’t touch him! His mind is screaming, throwing insults and threats at them. Maybe he even barks them out loud.
They don’t stop.
Sam-ever the fighter-tries to resist, lashing out uncoordinatedly. But he doesn’t stand a chance, a vicious kick to his unprotected side easily subdues him. Two men drag him to his feet and the moment he is upright his head falls back and he sags heavily between them. Hands gripping the passenger’s door in a death grip Dean is forced to watch how they drag him to where Bobby and the driver are still talking.
Dean tears his gaze away from his brother and glances at Bobby. The older man is staring intently at Sam, seems to have recognized him. He says something to one of the guard and the man reaches up and removes the bag. Dean gets a first look at his brother and feels something in his chest unclench. It’s really him, it’s Sam, he is alive. He’s too far away to make out any details, but Dean feels as if he can breathe freely for the first time since he let himself get caught. Never again, he vows silently to himself. Never, ever again, people can call them ‘joined at the hip’ or ‘conjoined twins’ for all he cares, they are never going separate ways again.
One of the men moves and Sam’s head wobbles unsteadily before it falls forward, hanging limply on his neck as he hangs between the guards. Dean starts and his hands go for the door again. Bobby says something to the driver and both of them nod, then he gestures at the men holding Sam, points at his truck. Dean sinks further into his seat, watching with bated breath as they haul Sam over toward him. He lets his body go slack and pretends to be asleep, head turned away from the window. He watches through squinted eyes as they pass the truck and the vehicle starts rocking slightly. Something heavy is dumped into the bed of the truck. Dean stays where he is, doesn’t move or give any indication that he is awake. Finally the steps move away from the truck and everything goes silent.
He waits for a moment, and then turns in his seat, trying to catch a glimpse at the back of the truck.
“Sam?”
There is a slight movement, something scraping across the plastic tarp on the back, a faint groan.
“Sammy!”
More rustling.
“Dean?”
It’s a breathless gasp for air that carries his name, but it’s the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. It takes everything Dean has to stay in the car and not crawl through the shattered rear window. He doesn’t know who might be watching them and he really doesn’t want to risk everything. He settles for turning in his seat and craning his neck to peer through the window.
“You okay?”
He can see most of Sam’s body, including his head, gets a glimpse of pale skin and dark bruises around his brother’s throat, on his jaw, beneath his left eye. Sam’s eyes are closed and his brows drawn together in a pained frown but there is a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, even if it is a faint one.
“Just peachy…” he groans out, stealing one of Dean’s favorite lines.
Dean can’t stop staring. Even though Sam can’t see it, he returns the smile, silently thanking a God he doesn’t believe in for this moment. He’s overwhelmed, doesn’t know what to say, to think. He’s spent so many nights picturing this, has thought up so many things he wants to say, to apologize, to tell his brother what a fucking idiot he has been for doing this, that he has never been so wrong about something and god, how can Sam ever forgive him- and… what the hell?
Sam is looking at him, watching him through squinting, glazed eyes. He knows that look, he fucking knows what his brother is doing and please just kill him now.
“I know.” Sam’s voice is soft, rough around the edges and it sounds as if he has to concentrate on getting the words out.
The little shit is reading him. His relief (guilt) is instantly replaced with an-oh-so familiar sense of shame, only to jump right back to worry when he realizes what kind of risk Sam is taking. Using his powers with so many demons around-
“Sam, stop it.”
Tired eyes slide closed and Sam gives a weak nod. “Had to make sure ‘t’s you…” Despite his obvious exhaustion the smile never leaves his lips.
He wants to stay mad at him, needs to make Sam realize how dangerous stunts like this are right now but, for the life of him he can’t, he just can’t.
This is so screwed.
Movement out of the corner of his eyes has his head snap up and his hand goes for the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans before he can stop himself.
Bobby and the dogs are walking toward the car. The older hunter doesn’t stop at the driver’s door but goes to the back of the truck. He grumbles something under his breath, then calls out, “Wake up and get your ass out here, I need the friggin’ place for the dogs.”
Dean blinks, confused, then realizes he is putting up a show for possible eavesdroppers. He curses and climbs out of the car, joining Bobby at the back.
“He’s driving with us in the front, help me get him up.”
For the first time in days Dean doesn’t notice the pain from his wounded shoulder as he reaches down and helps Bobby pull their precious cargo from the back. Sam tenses as they touch him, does his best to help them but doesn’t seem to have enough energy left. He ends up hanging between the two of them with barely enough control over his body to lift his head. His skin is too warm to the touch and he’s trembling ever so slightly. Sam blinks groggily at them, offering neither help nor resistance as they try to get him to his feet. His eyes never leave Dean’s face and the older brother feels his throat close up at the utter relief in them.
Next to him Bobby tightens his grip on the younger hunter. “Boy, you look terrible, you doin’ okay?” Sam blinks at him blearily, a confused frown appearing on his brow.
“Bobby?” he breathes weakly and Dean feels himself wince. Yeah, there was that-
“Let’s get out of here, okay, Sam? We need to get you someplace else…” Sam’s head slowly turns back to look at him and after a moment he simply nods.
“’kay.”
When they start moving toward the passenger’s door Sam suddenly tenses between them, groaning miserably.
“You gonna hurl?” Bobby’s voice is gruff as ever, but Dean can hear the underlying worry. Maybe because his own is screaming at him to finally get his brother some place safe.
Sam shakes his head slightly. “No, hands…”
Belatedly Dean realizes that his brother’s hands are still tied behind his back. The way Sam’s hanging between them has to be putting a lot of pressure on them. He shifts his brother’s weight and Sam rests his chin on Bobby’s shoulder, too weak to hold it up for long. Dean twists to get a good look at the bound hands and barely catches himself in time to avoid spitting out a heartfelt curse. Sam’s wrists are a mess. Three different plastic bands dig into his skin, at least one of them tight enough to cut off any blood circulation. Sam must have been fighting against the bonds, his wrists are torn and bloody, though most of the blood has dried. Dean isn’t sure if it’s really bone he can see in one of the deeper cuts.
“Jesus, Sam, what did they do, tie you to the truck or something?” A wave of helplessness threatens to overcome him and he almost goes under when he hears Sam whisper breathlessly.
“Or something…”
Dean looks up at Bobby, mouth tightened in worry. “I can’t get them off here, we need something to stop the bleeding.”
Bobby shakes his head before Dean can ask for the first aid kit.
“We gotta leave, Dean, now.” His tone is urgent, there’s something he is not telling him. Dean doesn’t like that but, of course, he trusts him, with both their lives. When Bobby tells you to leave you better get out as fast as you can. Dean tightens his hold on his brother, ignores the pained gasp that sounds in his ear and looks over at the truck cab. There’s only enough room for them to sit thigh-to-thigh next to each other, which will be hell on Sam’s wrists. But there is no other choice.
“Sorry, Sammy…” Giving the dirty, shaggy hair an apologetic pat, he adjusts Sam between them and together they drag him to the passenger door. It takes them a few tries but they finally manage to get the stiff body onto the seat. Sam barely makes a sound-only when his hands are moved does he lose the fight against his stubbornness and let out a pained groan. Dean slides in next to him, twisting as far to the right as he can to make as much room as possible. Sam finally ends up sprawling awkwardly against Dean’s uninjured side, his head resting heavily against his brother’s shoulder in an attempt to take some of the pressure off his wrists. Dean supports him as best as he can, wrinkling his nose at the smell of blood, sweat and other things so close to him.
“Dude, you stink…” he murmurs into Sam’s neck, barely able to hide the relief about having him back, finally having him close again. His brother’s response is nothing more than a half-hearted, half-asleep mumble that doesn’t contain any actual words at all. Sam is fading fast, Bobby hasn’t even started the truck when the tired eyes flutter closed and don’t open again. Sam becomes a dead weight against Dean, and Dean isn’t really sure if he has fallen asleep or passed out at that point, but he is still breathing and that’s all that counts for now.
chapter 5
Sam might be one of them, his brother might be out there, only a few feet down the street. It’s both the worst and best feeling he’s had for a long, fucking too long time. He wants to have him back at his side, now. The two month without Sam were like hell, the not-knowing, the ever present fear. Never-ending questions (Is he still alive?), doubts (shouldn’t have done it), worst case scenarios (his brother, bloody and beaten-dead, left behind like road kill), nightmares (chased by faceless demons)… He’s been through all of that. Every fucking night, every minute of the days when his mind isn’t too occupied with surviving the mess they are all in.
He knows now it was a mistake to separate, he would never do it again. Ever. Sam will probably be mad at him. Who is he kidding, Sam is going to rip him a new one for the stunt he pulled, but it had seemed like the best thing to do back then. Now he knows it wasn’t, now he knows Sam was right, they should have stayed together. And this time they will, so help him God, this time he won’t let him go.
If they find him in time.
He scans the crowd anxiously, looking out for the familiar mop of dark hair.
Bobby opens his door and gets out of the car. “Stay here, I’ll find him.” His voice is low and Dean has to fight down his instincts to remain in the car and not follow him. He knows it’s safer this way, he knows that one of the guards could recognize him and then his throbbing shoulder would be the last of his problems. And still he can barely sit still, his leg starts twitching in distress as soon as the older hunter closes the door behind him.
He is forced to watch as Bobby, now flanked by the two huge dogs, slowly wanders toward one of the trucks, heading for what Dean can easily make out to be the driver. The two men start to talk, but Dean quickly looses interest. His worried gaze once again sweeps over the crowd. He feels helpless and that makes him feel even worse because he is, he is helpless. They all are. No more Devil’s Traps, no more exorcisms, holy water, nothing works.
He doesn’t see his brother’s face, there is some black bag covering his head, but it’s Sam; the long body that topples off one of the trucks and lands on the floor is so familiar to him that he has already opened his door before he remembers that he can’t get out there. Closing the door is one of the hardest things he has ever done, especially when he sees how the crumpled form of his brother barely moves from where he has fallen. Sam’s hands are tied behind his back and the way he slowly curls around his middle, guarding his upper torso, tells him that Sam is hurt in some way. His pain in the ass, pigheaded little brother doesn’t show any weakness unless he is hurt so badly that he no longer cares about appearances. Dean’s fist clenches at his side. He doesn’t realize he is cursing viciously under his breath, angry words that get lost in the darkness around him. His eyes briefly dart back to Bobby, but the older man is still talking to the driver, hasn’t seen Sam yet.
It’s torture, pure and simple-his own private hell. Being so close to his brother, having to watch how Sam slowly raises his covered head and tries to take in his surroundings despite the cloth. A guard walks by him and Sam shies away, shrinks into himself as if he has been hit. Dean knows how much his brother hates demons close to him, how he can’t stand to feel their joy at inflicting pain and fear and worse on their victims. His stomach churns as Sam’s voice replays in his head. Evil, I can taste how evil they are, Dean, it makes me sick.
Sam’s head turns slightly to the side, as if he is listening to something. He doesn’t even try to get to his feet. Dean’s stomach clenches painfully; he is feeling sick now and it only gets worse when a group of three guards walks over to Sam. Stop, don’t touch him! His mind is screaming, throwing insults and threats at them. Maybe he even barks them out loud.
They don’t stop.
Sam-ever the fighter-tries to resist, lashing out uncoordinatedly. But he doesn’t stand a chance, a vicious kick to his unprotected side easily subdues him. Two men drag him to his feet and the moment he is upright his head falls back and he sags heavily between them. Hands gripping the passenger’s door in a death grip Dean is forced to watch how they drag him to where Bobby and the driver are still talking.
Dean tears his gaze away from his brother and glances at Bobby. The older man is staring intently at Sam, seems to have recognized him. He says something to one of the guard and the man reaches up and removes the bag. Dean gets a first look at his brother and feels something in his chest unclench. It’s really him, it’s Sam, he is alive. He’s too far away to make out any details, but Dean feels as if he can breathe freely for the first time since he let himself get caught. Never again, he vows silently to himself. Never, ever again, people can call them ‘joined at the hip’ or ‘conjoined twins’ for all he cares, they are never going separate ways again.
One of the men moves and Sam’s head wobbles unsteadily before it falls forward, hanging limply on his neck as he hangs between the guards. Dean starts and his hands go for the door again. Bobby says something to the driver and both of them nod, then he gestures at the men holding Sam, points at his truck. Dean sinks further into his seat, watching with bated breath as they haul Sam over toward him. He lets his body go slack and pretends to be asleep, head turned away from the window. He watches through squinted eyes as they pass the truck and the vehicle starts rocking slightly. Something heavy is dumped into the bed of the truck. Dean stays where he is, doesn’t move or give any indication that he is awake. Finally the steps move away from the truck and everything goes silent.
He waits for a moment, and then turns in his seat, trying to catch a glimpse at the back of the truck.
“Sam?”
There is a slight movement, something scraping across the plastic tarp on the back, a faint groan.
“Sammy!”
More rustling.
“Dean?”
It’s a breathless gasp for air that carries his name, but it’s the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. It takes everything Dean has to stay in the car and not crawl through the shattered rear window. He doesn’t know who might be watching them and he really doesn’t want to risk everything. He settles for turning in his seat and craning his neck to peer through the window.
“You okay?”
He can see most of Sam’s body, including his head, gets a glimpse of pale skin and dark bruises around his brother’s throat, on his jaw, beneath his left eye. Sam’s eyes are closed and his brows drawn together in a pained frown but there is a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, even if it is a faint one.
“Just peachy…” he groans out, stealing one of Dean’s favorite lines.
Dean can’t stop staring. Even though Sam can’t see it, he returns the smile, silently thanking a God he doesn’t believe in for this moment. He’s overwhelmed, doesn’t know what to say, to think. He’s spent so many nights picturing this, has thought up so many things he wants to say, to apologize, to tell his brother what a fucking idiot he has been for doing this, that he has never been so wrong about something and god, how can Sam ever forgive him- and… what the hell?
Sam is looking at him, watching him through squinting, glazed eyes. He knows that look, he fucking knows what his brother is doing and please just kill him now.
“I know.” Sam’s voice is soft, rough around the edges and it sounds as if he has to concentrate on getting the words out.
The little shit is reading him. His relief (guilt) is instantly replaced with an-oh-so familiar sense of shame, only to jump right back to worry when he realizes what kind of risk Sam is taking. Using his powers with so many demons around-
“Sam, stop it.”
Tired eyes slide closed and Sam gives a weak nod. “Had to make sure ‘t’s you…” Despite his obvious exhaustion the smile never leaves his lips.
He wants to stay mad at him, needs to make Sam realize how dangerous stunts like this are right now but, for the life of him he can’t, he just can’t.
This is so screwed.
Movement out of the corner of his eyes has his head snap up and his hand goes for the gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans before he can stop himself.
Bobby and the dogs are walking toward the car. The older hunter doesn’t stop at the driver’s door but goes to the back of the truck. He grumbles something under his breath, then calls out, “Wake up and get your ass out here, I need the friggin’ place for the dogs.”
Dean blinks, confused, then realizes he is putting up a show for possible eavesdroppers. He curses and climbs out of the car, joining Bobby at the back.
“He’s driving with us in the front, help me get him up.”
For the first time in days Dean doesn’t notice the pain from his wounded shoulder as he reaches down and helps Bobby pull their precious cargo from the back. Sam tenses as they touch him, does his best to help them but doesn’t seem to have enough energy left. He ends up hanging between the two of them with barely enough control over his body to lift his head. His skin is too warm to the touch and he’s trembling ever so slightly. Sam blinks groggily at them, offering neither help nor resistance as they try to get him to his feet. His eyes never leave Dean’s face and the older brother feels his throat close up at the utter relief in them.
Next to him Bobby tightens his grip on the younger hunter. “Boy, you look terrible, you doin’ okay?” Sam blinks at him blearily, a confused frown appearing on his brow.
“Bobby?” he breathes weakly and Dean feels himself wince. Yeah, there was that-
“Let’s get out of here, okay, Sam? We need to get you someplace else…” Sam’s head slowly turns back to look at him and after a moment he simply nods.
“’kay.”
When they start moving toward the passenger’s door Sam suddenly tenses between them, groaning miserably.
“You gonna hurl?” Bobby’s voice is gruff as ever, but Dean can hear the underlying worry. Maybe because his own is screaming at him to finally get his brother some place safe.
Sam shakes his head slightly. “No, hands…”
Belatedly Dean realizes that his brother’s hands are still tied behind his back. The way Sam’s hanging between them has to be putting a lot of pressure on them. He shifts his brother’s weight and Sam rests his chin on Bobby’s shoulder, too weak to hold it up for long. Dean twists to get a good look at the bound hands and barely catches himself in time to avoid spitting out a heartfelt curse. Sam’s wrists are a mess. Three different plastic bands dig into his skin, at least one of them tight enough to cut off any blood circulation. Sam must have been fighting against the bonds, his wrists are torn and bloody, though most of the blood has dried. Dean isn’t sure if it’s really bone he can see in one of the deeper cuts.
“Jesus, Sam, what did they do, tie you to the truck or something?” A wave of helplessness threatens to overcome him and he almost goes under when he hears Sam whisper breathlessly.
“Or something…”
Dean looks up at Bobby, mouth tightened in worry. “I can’t get them off here, we need something to stop the bleeding.”
Bobby shakes his head before Dean can ask for the first aid kit.
“We gotta leave, Dean, now.” His tone is urgent, there’s something he is not telling him. Dean doesn’t like that but, of course, he trusts him, with both their lives. When Bobby tells you to leave you better get out as fast as you can. Dean tightens his hold on his brother, ignores the pained gasp that sounds in his ear and looks over at the truck cab. There’s only enough room for them to sit thigh-to-thigh next to each other, which will be hell on Sam’s wrists. But there is no other choice.
“Sorry, Sammy…” Giving the dirty, shaggy hair an apologetic pat, he adjusts Sam between them and together they drag him to the passenger door. It takes them a few tries but they finally manage to get the stiff body onto the seat. Sam barely makes a sound-only when his hands are moved does he lose the fight against his stubbornness and let out a pained groan. Dean slides in next to him, twisting as far to the right as he can to make as much room as possible. Sam finally ends up sprawling awkwardly against Dean’s uninjured side, his head resting heavily against his brother’s shoulder in an attempt to take some of the pressure off his wrists. Dean supports him as best as he can, wrinkling his nose at the smell of blood, sweat and other things so close to him.
“Dude, you stink…” he murmurs into Sam’s neck, barely able to hide the relief about having him back, finally having him close again. His brother’s response is nothing more than a half-hearted, half-asleep mumble that doesn’t contain any actual words at all. Sam is fading fast, Bobby hasn’t even started the truck when the tired eyes flutter closed and don’t open again. Sam becomes a dead weight against Dean, and Dean isn’t really sure if he has fallen asleep or passed out at that point, but he is still breathing and that’s all that counts for now.
chapter 5