Pain And Confusion.
Summary. . . . . . Icy weather, pain, confusion. One man walks alone, feeling all three.
Disclaimer. . . . . Sam and Dean belong to Kripkie, the plot and mistakes are all mine.
A.N. . . . . . Well here it is the final installment, I hope that you have enjoyed the ride, and that you enjoy this last chapter, which for me is exceptionally long. Catch you later, Peanut x
Dean squinted hard in an attempt to see through the blizzard like conditions that plastered the windshield of Bobby's old junker with a coating the old wipers were struggling to remove. Not for the first time that night he wished he had taken Sam's advice and stayed in the two bit town they had passed through not two hours ago, the motel looked dodgy but at least they would have been safe, Bobby's salvage yard was calling though, or should he say the call of the Impala was beckoning. His missed his baby, missed the comfort, warmth and love the old car gave him every time he sat in the worn leather of the bench seat, every time he smelt the smell that only his car had. He had stubbornly protested taking this hunt, loathe to travel in anything that wasn't the Impala, especially after the soccer mom van, and especially with an ill Sam, his brother coming down with a cold weeks before that had stubbornly refused to let go, but Sam's insistent whining had eventually worn down his nerves, and accept it he had.
He broke out of his reverie as the conditions outside worsened, the blizzard becoming more like a complete white out, as the wind roared down the hillside in a howling cacophony of noise, austere bare branches scraping together, fragile limbs breaking and screeching against the scarred side of the car, and forcing the platinum clusters into a frenzied swirling mass of deadliness and deception. He contemplated stopping, pulling over and riding out the worst of the conditions, but he knew they were ill equipped to deal with staying out in the freezing conditions. Plus, as he took a sly glance at Sam, sleeping in the seat beside him, his head resting awkwardly against the door jam, long legs, too big for a car of this size, pulled up uncomfortably almost to his chest, a pained expression evident on his tight waxen features, a slight sheen of sweat evident on his brow, the hunt hadn't gone according to plan. Sam had gotten hurt, the tears in his side and leg demanding attention.
Turning his eyes back to the road, he fought all the more harder to keep the rusted piece of scrap going straight, the urge to get back to Bobby's now shifting from seeing his own vehicle, to getting the medical help his brother required. He blinked as something seemed to dance in front of the headlights, realizing at the last moment that a disaster was about to happen, automatically turning the wheel in an attempt to avoid the collision, but it was to no avail as with a sickening thump that had his stomach lurching, the front fender plowed into the deer, breaking fragile bones on contact and sending the beast careering towards the windshield. Dean let go of the wheel in an attempt to shield his face from the shards that splinted and shot like bullets about the cars interior, his foot instinctively pressing down on the brake. He felt a momentary sense of weightlessness before, with a grind and crunch of metal the compact landed, turning twice before slamming passenger front end against one of the many trees that littered the terrain, sending his head to meet the cool glass of his window; a brief waft of bitter cold air sending shivers pulsating throughout his body, before the darkness encroached and he gladly stepped into it's warmth.
Deep, bone chilling cold, awakened him to a world of aches and pains sometime later, it's icy tendrils creeping their way through any gaps within his clothes to run their tips across his bare skin, goose bumps rising as his body reacted to the intrusion, shivers attacking once again as he fought to minimize the damage the chill created. Leaning back from the bent over position he had landed in, he raised a numb hand to equally numb features, and attempted to remove the obstruction he could feel in his eyes. His mind not yet realizing just what had happened, his brain panicking as his digits came away sticky with congealing blood. What was going on? He licked at dry, parched lips, swallowing down saliva in attempt to clear his throat, before risking a tentative, "Sammy?"
Panic turned to fear as all he heard in return was the wind still whistling through the trees and around the smashed up interior of the car. He groaned as he turned his head, agitation rising at the lack of response from his brother, his eyes squeezing shut as his neck protested the movement and sent spikes of pain lancing through his torso. Breathing hard to bite back the discomfort and nausea that rose, he waited patiently for the feelings to abate before slowly peeling his lids open, thinking he was in some sort of a nightmare when all that was revealed was a thrust open, twisted door, footprints that were gradually filling with fresh snow, and a crystallized trail of blood wavering away into the distance. Instinctual reaction kicked in, a frantic need, urge, to make sure that Sammy was okay had him frenziedly tugging at his seatbelt, his agitation increasing as the fabric refused to budge. He yelled a cry of desperation, and grasped at the belt again his actions escalating as his worries for Sam grew.
He sagged momentarily in relief as the buckled belt finally released him from his incarceration before forcing his own door open and scrambling out into the icy weather, cursing the freezing rain that began to fall, soaking him in seconds. He stood on legs that felt newborn, hoping to quell the sickness that rose again as his balance swirled and dipped, the feeling reminding him of a roller coaster he had once ridden. He clambered around the car as the feeling subsided, new felt determination to find Sam arising. Grabbing one of their packs through the broken back window, he quickly stuffed it with the threadbare throw that was placed across the backseats, hiding the broken springs that poked through the worn vinyl, and a half drunk bottle of water, ramming a knife and gun on top just in case. Following the trail his unease multiplied as the drops increased in their frequency and size, their path zigzagging across the pristine whiteness that blanketed the floor. He fell to his knees twice as the banks of snow hid deadly traps that caught you by surprise, yet still he soldiered on following crimson blotches that spoiled an otherwise picture perfect landscape, shouting out Sam's name as he went, hoping, praying each time that he would garner some sort of response, but all he received in return was an eerie silence as the wind died down the further he ventured into the forest.
As he came to a bend in the trail and entered a small flat enclosure, Dean felt his heart stop. The foot prints were gone, the bloody trail was gone. He cried out in frustration, frantically looking each and every way he could in an attempt to find his brother, seeing nothing but the dull bark of trees, and the brilliant blanket of snow. He pulled out his cell, knowing now he needed help, and placed a call to a number that was permanently etched into his heart, relief flooding through him when reassurances of being there soon echoed down the line. Placing the cell back into his pocket, he tried to calm his breathing to silence all thoughts, to concentrate on his surroundings in an attempt to hear anything out of the ordinary, but again that eerie silence filled the air with a chill worse than any storm Dean had ever felt. His frustration began to mount as the search seemed doomed, a thought though pricked the tip of his mind, his cell! Sam had his cell on him, all he had to do was call and follow the ring. He berated himself for being so stupid to have not thought of it sooner, as he dialed the number with trembling digits and the familiar tone sounded out clear and precise, coming from a spot to his left. Trudging through the drifts he followed the noise, his heart breaking as he traversed a fallen tree and caught his first sight of his brother, all his own aches and pains vanishing at what he beheld.
Propped lackadaisically at the foot of a mighty oak, Sam looked for all intent and purposes, dead. His head rested heavily on his drawn up knee, his arms limply hung to his sides, resting in a mix of blood and melted snow. Even from this distance Dean could see the unhealthy pallor of his brother's skin, underneath the bangs that lay plastered to his head, icicles glistening off the brown locks in the last of the days light. He lurched and stumbled his way through the snowdrifts, fervently hoping, praying that he wasn't too late. The nearer he got the more despondent he became as the other side of Sam's face came into sight and he spotted the blood sluggishly dripping from his siblings features to join the congregation already gathered on the ground, and the gash renting it's way across his temple could be made out. He dropped to his knees, feeling the chill bite into his skin immediately, and tried to rouse his seriously injured sibling, his immediate concern getting him off of the bitter cold floor; yet nothing he seemed to say could provoke a reaction from the younger man. Tilting Sam's head carefully back, he began calling his brother's name, and to tap on his brother's cheek, knowing from experience that it annoyed the hell out of him, the action garnering the reaction he had expected as Sam tried feverishly to escape from the unwanted touch, pain registering on his face as he attempted to open his eyes.
Dean could only watch as Sam's confused mind perceived danger, and he began to flail weakly at his arm in an attempt to get away, making it less than five feet before crashing harshly into the trunk of yet another tree, an odd keening sound escaping his mouth, sounding extra loud in the otherwise quiet surroundings; the sound intensifying the fears in the older brother. He crawled forward again, eager to bring any kind of comfort to Sam, only to feel sadness as he watched Sam retreat inside himself, almost as if welcoming death. Stopping his tapping of Sam's cheek, he began to run his fingers through his siblings hair an action that always comforted him in the past, thanking a God he wasn't sure he believed in as Sam's hand eventually began to stretch out, the digits finding his jacket, the calloused tips brushing across the well worn leather, before recognition registered and he suddenly found his arms full with a six foot four sobbing mess; his brother's weary head wilting against his chest, his body giving up.
Dean desperately attempted to wake his sibling again, wanting to assess the extent of his injuries, needing to know if he could make it out of there under his own steam, or if they needed to wait for Bobby's help; the reaction he received shaking him to his very core, as Sam began to fight and push his arms away, and mumbled words he couldn't hear. He cringed as Sam bucked from pain beside him, became concerned as he spoke again, the words audible, yet confusing only making sense when he asked his brother to repeat them. His brother thought something supernatural was out there, and was beginning to work himself into a frenzy at the thought of Dean getting hurt. Biting down his anger at his siblings lack of concern for himself, he spoke words he hoped would bring comfort to him. Once settled Dean inquired as to Sam's ability to walk out of there, pride and concern battling each other as the usual response of "I'm okay" fell from his brothers lips and a shaky arm was held out for a boost up. Placing the ratty blanket around his brothers shoulders, he steadied an undulating Sam as the sudden change in altitude unbalanced him, before beginning the trek back towards the road and Bobby, not knowing whether to laugh or cry as Sam inquired as to the well being of the beast.
Within minutes Dean realized the enormity of the task ahead as Sam's weakening by the second body began to lean all the more heavily against his side making the walk back through the drifts all the more harder, each step fraught with danger as the whiteness hid from sight the uneven ground beneath; both men tripping frequently as their feet became entangled in the undergrowth, Dean beginning to think it would be better to wait for Bobby before continuing, but loathe to lower his brother back down to the frozen terrain. As the rain began to turn to snow again, cutting visibility down to mere feet, Dean's heart sank. He knew to stay out here would result in disaster, but with poor visibility the chances of them getting lost, of missing Bobby completely rose exponentially. With a heavy heart he made the decision to stop, to try and wait out the storm, to share each others heat until the conditions improves. Halting Sam, he told his sibling of his plan, not surprised when his brother disapproved, willing Dean to continue on with out him, to leave him there and get help, but as stubborn as Sam was, at times Dean was worse, pulling his reluctant sibling down he placed his arms around him hoping to offer as much warmth as he could spare and prepared to wait it out. He must have fallen asleep, tired from the accident and the trekking, because he forced open frozen eyelashes to the sight better than any supermodel he had ever seen, Bobby's concerned grizzled features, and the older man's raspy voice sounding out.
"C'mon son lets get you out of here."
Dean went to oblige only to stop as remembrance struck like a well hit home run. Sam. "Take Sam first." He whispered out.
"He's already on his way." Bobby replied, his concern mounting, if Dean hadn't realized Sam was gone things truly were bad. "I took him first, he's in the truck. C'mon lets get ya back to him."
The rest of the journey back to Bobby's flittered in and out of his memory, warmth, pain, motion, nausea, the feel of Sam's cold frame resting against him. As they pulled to a stop though, all hurt, confusion and agony vanished to be replaced by renewed vigor and an unquenchable need to make sure Sam was okay, that his brothers needs were met. He relented control when Bobby insisted that he carry Sam inside, knowing that he wasn't strong enough to do so, but when it came to fixing his brothers injuries nothing the older hunter could say, or do, would sway Dean from the task of fixing them. With a strength pulled from deep within Dean shouldered the burden; cleaning wounds with holy water and peroxide; stitching tears, wincing with every pull through of the thread; setting broken fingers, splinting them after doing so; strapping his brother's damaged ankle; washing away the blood, sweat and grime that covered his face and body; setting up stolen I V's of warmed up fluids in an attempt to bring Sam's core temperature up, bundling his brother up in a mound of blankets, replacing them each and every time they were restlessly thrown off a body that radiated heat, yet shook with an intensity that rattled the bed frame.
By the time the dawn's early light blossomed over the hunks of rusted, battered metal columns that littered Singer Salvage's yard, Dean's last reserves were all but diminished, his eyes barely able to remain open, but still he refused to give in to the rest his body craved, a need to be sure Sam was recovering refusing to allow him to sleep. He argued, fought and battled any attempt Bobby made at reassuring him Sam would be fine, needing to hear Sam's voice, or at least see his eyes twitch open, to ease the worries that consumed him. As they fought again though, a soft voice could be heard, a voice that muttered for them to stop, that muttered for Dean to rest, that muttered that everything was fine, and to Bobby's relief Dean relented, climbing into his own bed and resting peacefully, secure in the knowledge that his brother was recovering.
A.N. . . . . . Well we've arrived at the end, how was it? Did I miss anything out? For what started out as a rough piece of drabble, I'm amazed at how this one turned out, and the response it has garnered. I'd like to take one last opportunity to thank each and everyone of you who has read this, reviewed, or added to fav's, you guys are the best. Will be back soon with new work, catch you later, Peanut x