After a hunt goes wrong, Sam tries to escape with a bit of liquor and a game of pool … and learns that demons just don't take defeat easily! Limp!Sam and Overprotective!Dean!
Ok, so I gave up going to Canada and ebayed the boys … and ended up with two blow-up dolls that I paid 59.99 a piece plus shipping!
What's even sadder? This is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine! Mine I tell you, all mine!
Reviews are the best drugs alive! They give you a good high, leave you begging for more, and have no side effects! And many thanks to those of you that have reviewed thus far, you guys rock!
"I warned you, Dean."
Dean had known before he entered the store that there was a demon within. Al had told him. Well, not in so many words, but the moment he said Sam kept spouting gibberish, Dean had pretty much guessed.
Frank damn near imploding in front of him had confirmed his suspicion.
But nothing had prepared him for watching Sam fly across that room, the sickening thud he made as he hit first plaster (leaving a Sam sized dent) and then hit the floor. Dean had inwardly winced before he raced for his brother … only to hit an unseen force that kept him from doing his job.
It wasn't the saving people; hunting things job … it was protecting Sam. The Winchester family mantra. The thing his father had drilled into his head before the whole might have to kill him thing. Even Bobby said it a few times with his Look after yer brother, you idjit.
It was their bible and Dean wasn't about to start sinning now.
Fists beat at the force keeping him from his brother, his yells damn near deafening to his own ears. Though it hardly drowned out the laugh of the rodent looking man as black eyes turned to him with a feral grin.
"Don't look so upset, Dean, you have front row seats to your brother's demise."
"I swear if you hurt him you son of a bitch, I'll …"
Brett grinned, a finger flicked and the creak drew Dean's gaze from the demon possessed man to Sam, who was currently scrambling down the aisle to escape the shelves toppling on him.
Somewhere amidst the dust as the creak turned to a deafening roar when the shelves crashed into each other, Dean heard his name being called, the twitch of his lips at Sam's escape didn't pass Brett's notice as he glowered at the eldest Winchester.
"Oh I don't plan on hurting him, Dean."
The meaning was all too clear, and as Sam was air born once more, Dean's voice rang out, though it wasn't the tone that made Brett twitch, but the words.
"Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciæ, hostis humanæ salutis."
Oh it didn't take a genius to figure out that a demon resided within Brett, he'd guessed that before he stepped foot in the door … but as cans started flying at Sam at a speed that was beyond uncomfortable, Dean realized one thing … he wasn't going to exorcise the demon from within in time.
Dean's jaw twitched, set in clear determination as a hand eased slowly behind his back. Brett, however, noticed the movement and turned a black gaze to the hunter, a grin tugging at his lips.
"Now that is just rude, Dean…."
"Oh my God, Frankie!"
Later, Dean Winchester might think an angel smiled down on him in the form of that redhead that emerged from the back room; her scream turning the demon's head before a darkening of his gaze had her slamming into a shelf and slumping to the floor.
It was only a split second that he needed as his hand came around bearing the colt. Brett turned his head just as the shot rang out, the smile on his face fading just before the body hit the floor.
The man he just killed was ignored, the woman that he had no idea if she was dead or not was ignored … all in lieu of closing that gap that had been barred moments ago to get to his brother.
"We gotta get out of here…"
Awareness faded in, Dean's voice faded in, and Sam, despite feeling like he was run over by a truck (twice for good measure) cracked a grin. Dean was here … nothing else mattered.
"You with me, Sammy?"
The hum of the Impala was unmistakable, and Sam had to wonder, if for a split second as his head pressed against the cool glass, how he got here in the first place.
The words were low and murmured just before Sam was out again. They had both known he was lying anyway.
"Come on Sam, I got ya…"
He could feel Dean's presence under one arm, his weight leaning into that comfort zone that was his brother. His feet sort of fumbled beneath him in his beaten up attempt at walking, but only for a minute before he was falling, though that too was short lived as he pressed to one of the motel beds. He knew because while he could smell the cheap laundry detergent, underneath the cleanliness they tried to present he could smell sweat.
But he didn't have time to analyze how that very thought grossed him out before the blackness swam in and lulled him into that world where demons did not exist. Into a place that no matter what, his big brother always showed up in time.
The pounding in his head announced he was alive long before Sam Winchester wanted to be. In fact, as he shifted and that pound turned into a full out, really crappy rock band, one not even Dean would like, he wished he was dead … or that at least unconsciousness would take him away. Kind of like that old commercial, except his would be oblivion. Unconsciousness … take me away.
But he was a Winchester, and there was no such luck in that.
Not to mention the fact that something was being pressed into his hand; something small so he had to close his hand back to keep them from falling out.
He could feel the condensation of the bottle as it was pressed into his other hand next, and then the comfort of his brother as a strong hand was splayed at his back to help him up enough to swallow the pills.
Hopefully it was the good shit that would take him to la-la land for a few more hours.
"Sorry Sammy, it's not the good shit, I need you awake for a little while to recheck your head."
Sam would have rolled his eyes if it hadn't hurt so damn bad. And how did his brother do that anyway? It was almost like Dean was the psychic and could read his thoughts, like the time he'd snuck out to see Abby Baxter. She had been …
And fingers were snapping annoyingly in front of his face as Dean leaned over to stare into his eyes.
"You with me?"
That time he did roll his eyes in little brother fashion as he pushed up to stand … too fast and the world tilted and wavered as Sam reached out for something, anything to steady himself. But before he could crumble (because his knees actually buckled at that one! And wouldn't Dean have a heyday later, saying how Wittle Sammy fainted!) Dean was there, pushing him back to a stance.
"Easy Sammy, your head got bounced around worse than any ball."
"Thanks, Dean, I've … got it…"
And he pushed off to head for the bathroom, though he could feel it … the hard stare of Dean's gaze as he watched every move he made like a hawk. Luckily for Sam he actually made it in the bathroom and got the door closed before his stomach totally went Benedict Arnold on his ass and spewed up whatever had been in his stomach.
Beer. He could taste it, and to Sam the worst puke in the world was alcohol coming up for a second time to say "Hey, remember me, asshole? Thought you could handle me, didn't you dipshit?"
God he hated puking. But not as much as he hated demons!
But one thing was predictable in all of this. Even as Sam prayed to the porcelain God in one more heave, he could almost count out the minutes before….
The pound on the door was unmistakably Dean, and had Sam pushing up to flush the toilet and then lean over the sink to rinse the nasties out of his mouth.
He felt like he raked his tongue in a cat pan!
"Sam?! You okay in there?"
He jerked the door open just as Dean's fist was rising to pound the door again … and damn near got pounded again.
"What's taking you so long?"
Sam sighed and pushed past Dean to stumble toward the bed. It might have an underlying smell of sweat (and God he didn't even want to know from what!) but it would suit the purpose of lulling him back to sleep, not to mention…
"No sleeping, Princess."
Sam sighed and flopped on the bed to give his brother that little brother, petulant look causing a grin from Dean.
"We have to get moving, too many people saw your ass get dragged out by Weasel Black Eyes and his rowdy bunch of idiots."
"What were you doing there anyway, Sam?"
"You could have been killed! You almost were killed!"
"What were you thinking anyway?"
"That I killed a girl, Dean!"
That statement paused his brother's tirade and had him leveling that hard gaze at him … a gaze that softened almost instantly as Sam's voice lowered from that exasperated tone to one of resignation.
"That demon almost killed you. And I … I didn't hesitate, I just aimed and fired and …"
Sam swallowed and looked down as he picked at an imaginary piece of lint from the jeans he'd been put to bed in, the jeans he'd worn at the bar.
But Sam cut him off; not with harsh words, but with the resigned tone of defeat.
"I'd do it again. Shoot anyone or anything just to save you."
And that's what bothered him, didn't it? That he could so callously shoot someone without hesitation, without thought. That, while it might bother him later, in the heat of the moment he just squeezed the trigger and …
"Yeah … me too."
Sam pulled from his thoughts to stare at Dean, hazels narrowing slightly in thought as the sound of a gunshot echoed from memory.
For a moment, Sam had thought he was alone in the world, had thought no one else understood him and how he was feeling. But as the memory of that blast reverberated through his mind he was reminded that no matter what, they were in this together. That no matter what, Dean understood him better than anyone else in the world.
And for just a moment, the world didn't seem so damn bad.
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