Disclaimer: If I actually owned Sam and Dean, let's just say... I would not be sitting here on a computer.
Summary: Hurt!ProtectiveSam, Hurt!Unconscious!Dean, Protective!Bobby. Little plot.
A/N: Um yeah...So I realize I should have been finishing 'Picking Up The Pieces' considering it was like 90% done, but the final chapter that I had all but written disappeared with my last laptop and I just can't seem to bring myself to pick it up again. I will eventually, I promise.
In the meantime, this popped up and thought I'd share. Comments and criticism always welcome.
A/N part II: This story can be set anytime during season 1 or 2 as long as you pretend that Rumsfeld made it through Devil's Trap unscathed.
The air inside the house was stifling, even with the multitude of box fans placed strategically throughout each room.
With the heat index, the temp had been up near 110 the past week, leaving Bobby drained though he'd barely moved from the couch all day.
He pushed away the heavy book on Norse myths and shot a glance at Rumsfeld. The large hound lay sprawled in front of a fan, his head on his paws. The mutt managed to look even more miserable than Bobby felt.
Bobby pulled at his sweaty T-shirt and sighed.
Rumsfeld blinked up at him, but didn't move, as if even the effort of lifting his head was too much in the ungodly heat.
"Yeah, yeah. I know." Bobby muttered, rising with a groan. He moved toward the kitchen, stopping to scratch the dog's head as he passed and grabbed a beer from the fridge. The blast of chilled air was refreshing and he and stood for a moment in front of the door, letting the coolness flow over his flushed skin.
Maybe it was finally he got that damn air conditioner Dean had been hammering him about.
Flipping the cap off his beer, Bobby took a long swig of the ice cold liquid, relishing the relief on his parched throat. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth and was just about to return to his research on nature spirits when he heard the growl of an engine.
It was faint but he'd know that sound anywhere.
Books forgotten, he moved towards the window and frowned as a big, black car pulled up the drive. The sight of the Impala wasn't unwelcome, but it was unexpected, and when you were a hunter, surprises were never good.
Bobby placed his beer on the counter. The last time he'd heard from either Sam or Dean had been back at the beginning of the month, during that banshee case in Missouri. It wasn't unusual for the boys to go awhile without checking in, especially if they were caught up in a hunt.
It was unusual, however, for them to just show up at his door without so much as a phone call.
Rumsfeld raised his head off his paws. Casting a look at the hound, Bobby reached instinctively for the flask of holy water in his back pocket and opened the door.
The blast of heat hit him as soon as he stepped onto the porch. As he gazed out into the yard, Bobby saw Sam was pulling himself from the driver's seat . Even from a distance, Bobby could see that he was moving stiffly, one hand pressed to his side, bracing his ribs. Their eyes met and Sam gave a small smile.
"Sam." Bobby greeted cautiously, making his way down the steps. He took in the bruises and scratches which marred the young hunter's usually smooth face. "Let me guess," he said, "Walked into a door?"
Sam huffed. "Somethin' like that." He was leaning against the Impala, but the casual stance was probably more to keep him upright than anything else. His T-shirt was soaked through with a mixture of dirt, sweat and dark stains that were probably blood, though Bobby didn't think it was all his. One sleeve was shredded, the skin underneath raw and scraped. There was a nasty bruise just above his eye and angry scratches trailed along one cheek.
"Must've been one hell of a door." Bobby replied. "Where's Dean?"
He squinted at the windshield. Shielding his eyes against the sun's glare, he could just make out a huddled form in the front seat.
Sam followed his gaze.
"He alright?" Bobby asked casually.
"Actually..." Sam sighed. "No. That's kinda why we're here. I was hoping we could stay for awhile," Sam said uncomfortably. He muttered something about 'should've called' and "fucked up cellphones," then looked up at the older man. "We could really use a place to crash....let Dean rest up. "
Bobby nodded. " Course." He didn't add that Sam looked like he could use a little resting up himself, just tilted his head towards the house. "'s all yours."
Sam blew out a small breath. "Thanks, man."
"Happy to help," Bobby said as he moved toward the Impala. He motioned towards Dean. "We wakin' Sleeping Beauty here or just escortin' him inside?"
Sam scratched unconsciously at the bandage on his arm. "Gave him a shot of morphine before we left. Don't think he's gonna be gettin' up anytime soon."
Bobby adjusted his cap.
Okay, Dean was beat to hell, that much was obvious, but Sam seemed more resigned than panicked, so Bobby concluded neither was gonna bleed out in the next ten minutes. Best to just get them inside so he could check them over and see exactly what they were dealing with.
"Royal treatment it is then."
Slowly, Bobby opened the passenger door, making sure Dean wasn't going to come spilling out as he did so. His eyes flicked to the hand Sam still held protectively over his ribs. "You up for this?" He asked tentatively, as Sam came around the car. "Your brother ain't exactly what I'd call dainty."
"Uh huh." Bobby raised an eyebrow. The kid was a couple continents away from 'good' but no use arguing about that now. One fucked-up Winchester at a time. Reaching into the car, he gently tipped Dean forward so he could snake an arm behind his back. He shifted a little, trying to maneuver into a position that would aggravate Dean's injuries the least. "Alright...," he said once he'd gotten a reasonably good grip. "On three."
Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's legs and on Bobby's command, the two hoisted the unconscious hunter out of the car. Dean was shorter than Sam, but stockier and all muscle. Bobby noticed how Sam's jaw clenched as he took on the weight, but the young hunter just gripped his brother tighter.
That was the thing about Winchesters...stubborn asses, all of em.
Together, they managed to get Dean inside and settle him carefully on the couch. By the time they'd finished, Sam's face was practically gray, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead. He stood staring at Dean as if he thought his brother might vanish if he blinked too long.
"I'm gonna get my kit," Bobby said. He tilted his head towards the armchair. "Sit down before you fall down. "
For second, Sam looked like he was going to argue. Instead, he simply nodded. He sank gingerly down into the faded cushions, eyes never leaving his brother.
Bobby returned a moment later, a large, metal box tucked under his arm. He held out a glass of water to Sam, who took it in both hands.
Sam's mouth quirked in a smile. "Holy water?" He ventured.
"Better than Evian." Bobby replied, watching as Sam drained the cup.
Satisfied, Bobby took back the glass and refilled it from the tap. "Here," Bobby said, handing him water with one hand and holding out two pills with the other. "You don't look much better than Dean."
Sam took the glass but ignored the capsules. "I'm fine, Bobby."
"And I'm Paris Hilton. Now take the damn pills so I can get a look at your brother."
Reluctantly, Sam swallowed the painkillers and Bobby turned his attention back to the motionless form on the couch.
First thing was first.
That shirt had to go. Wasn't much of a loss, really...the fabric of Dean's tee was pretty much done for, the once blue cotton now stained dark with blood. Bobby extracted the small knife from his boot and sliced the ruined cloth up the middle.
He kept his face impassive as he surveyed the damage, but inwardly cringed at the sight. The range of bruising was pretty spectacular, a myriad of darkly colored spots that decorated Dean's torso in painful-looking patterns. A large square of gauze over Dean's chest was dotted through with blood, though it didn't appear to be actively bleeding anymore. Bobby slowly peeled away the dressing and saw the gash had already been stitched, Sam's handiwork no doubt, but it was still raw and swollen.
Not to mention, fucking huge.
He'd need to get his hands on some heavy duty antibiotics. A saline IV probably wouldn't hurt either. Make sure they didn't add infection and dehydration to the list of worries. Another thing about Winchesters...they never did anything halfway.
"So," Bobby prompted, opening the first aid kit and beginning to set out supplies to redress the wound. "You gonna fill me in on how this happened?" He could feel Sam's eyes on him as he worked.
Sam shifted in the chair, silently grateful for the pills Bobby had forced on him. His ribs were agony and his shoulder was pulsing in time to his heartbeat.
Bobby paused in his ministrations and glanced up. "A javelin-snake? Thought they were extinct."
"Turns out...they're not."
"Shit. You get it?"
"Yeah," Sam said, rubbing his shoulder. "Just not soon enough." The memory of the 6' long winged snake launching itself at Dean made Sam's stomach turn. He grimaced.
"Nothing you could have done, Sam," Bobby said gently. "Look, Jaculi are mean sons o'bitches. That tail of theirs can do some damage, but at least there's no venom to worry about. Dean got banged up pretty good but he'll be fine."
Sam looked unconvinced. He stared at Dean's chest. At the wound Bobby was rebandaging.
Bobby smoothed down the last strip of medical tape. He patted Dean's leg and turned to Sam.
"Alright. Your turn."
Sam looked startled. "What?"
"Think I didn't notice you shufflin' around like a grandma? Let's see those ribs."
Sam sighed. Too tired to argue, he lifted up one side of his shirt. Bobby winced at the purples and blacks that covered the young hunter's left side.
"Jaculus, huh?" He said sympathetically, as he started winding gauze around Sam's middle.
When he'd finished taping him up, and after being satisfied that the kid wasn't hiding any other injuries, Bobby stood and started packing up the kit.
"You want an icepack for that shoulder?"
"Nah, it's okay. Just a little sore."
Bobby nodded. "Look, I gotta run out and pick up a few things," he said, putting the First Aid kit back in the closet. "Dean's not goin' anywhere for the moment so why don't you sack out upstairs? Guest bed's a lot more comfortable than that chair."
Sam shrugged but didn't move. "Thanks. But think I'm just gonna stay here for awhile."
Bobby shook his head.
He took the glass from beside the chair and refilled it once more, pushing it on Sam. "Well, while you're on guard duty, don't forget to drink, huh? Been hotter'n'hell out and the last thing I need is you passin' out on me."
Sam smiled tiredly. "Yes, sir."
Bobby grabbed his keys from the table and started toward the door. "You need anything, you call. Got it?" He said, nodding towards the phone in the kitchen.
"Got it....hey Bobby?"
Bobby grunted a reply but smiled as he shut the door slowly behind him. He just caught a glimpse of Sam taking his brother's hand in his own as the latch clicked shut.
Bobby shook his head.