Sorry for the delay, had computer issues. But we're good now. Sooo, it turned out everybody liked naked Dean. Yeah I totally did that just for a reaction. So far, I'm loving it! You guys are really funny! Well, here it is. The final installment to this very short piece. Cheers!
For sure Sam thought he was dead. Nothing else made sense. He'd been dead before. Besides being entirely numb, it was dark. It was silent. And he felt like he was floating adrift. What else was there to be concluded?
He wasn't going to lie. Being dead wasn't totally a bad thing, and it was a state he welcomed. He was almost convinced that truly witnessing daylight again wasn't an option. Until like a spark, one by one, his senses began to come back in full throttle, and then he knew it was a trick. A mere ploy his mind played to think he achieved his desire. Awkwardly awareness seeped in plunging him back into reality. Back to the pain; the noise. Back into the very existence he dreaded.
Hearing a monotonous beep sound off repeatedly, it invoked a groan on his part, alerting whomever—or whatever— in the current surroundings he was waking up.
At first opening his eyes was an arduous task as his lids felt like he was lifting a ton of bricks. But soon the task became easier once he was fully awake. He opened them to complete white. Or it was white until everything else in focus dimmed, and it was then he realized he was staring at a tiled ceiling.
A very clean ceiling, with plastic trimwork.
That invoked another groan. The absent patches and/or missing stains from water damage from the typical motel setting only meant one thing. The annoying beeping in the backdrop also helped led to his conjecture. He was in some type of medical facility, or God-forbid a hospital.
"About damn time you woke up," a hard voice said.
A small smile was brought to Sam's lips upon recognizing the familiar rough tone. Slowly his head inched to the side and there he saw his brother sitting in a plastic chair with a dozen or so magazines piled on the small bedside table. And knowing his brother, they probably were mostly adult oriented. Sam said nothing, but returned a vivid stare giving Dean the 'I'm beat, but I'm okay' signal.
Dean took the hint. "Seriously dude. Nearly going stir-crazy here. I was about to make a split personality so I can have someone to talk to."
That comment forced yet another smile to cross Sam's lips. He took a deep breath, working his over-dried throat muscles. "Hey," he croaked.
"Hey yourself. How ya feeling?" Dean asked, leaning closer to the bedside.
Sam half shrugged, "Should you ask? I feel like roadkill."
"Eh well…you came pretty close to it."
"Don't remind me." Sam wheezed, lifting his hands, noting the weighed pin-like feeling tingling in his fingers. "I'm tired," he replied, squeezing and flexing his fists, "My hands hurt."
"Hmmm yeah, that's not all that's going to be hurting," Dean forewarned. "Docs say after the several pints they had to fill ya back up on, a lot of things are going to be hurting. So keep flexing, that'll help," he said with a grin.
"Where are we?"
"A clinic close to Bobby's. He just went home a few hours ago."
"How long have I been here?"
"About five or six days. You just love scaring me to death, don't cha? Cass and I found ya and we brought you here. You developed a fever a few days back and it only just broke last night," Dean explained messaging the back of his head, "But you know, you're cool now so…we're all good!"
Sam huffed, understanding what this carefree, optimistic attitude was all about. Apparently at some point the medical authorities weren't too optimistic about his chances and Dean had suffered a great deal from the threat of loss. Sam was slightly glad he was asleep during the supposed ordeal. Nobody within a two-mile radius would have been safe at that time. Only until things began to start looking up did the "Everything's bright and sunny on the outside, and dark and scared on the inside" act take the stage. He remembered all too well when he went through it during Dean's stay in the hospital after their wreck with the Semi.
"So what's our story?" Sam asked, barely able to produce more than a loud whisper.
Dean partly laughed. "A pack of wild dogs," he laughed again at Sam's puzzled look, "I know. For a while I didn't think the docs were going to buy it…but they did. But then you weren't too far off from looking like a piece of beef jerky. They gave you the whole-nine treatment and everything. Rabies included." He chuckled some more.
"Rabies? Ugh…" Sam moaned, "…wonderful. Explains the nausea." He closed his eyes briefly after a tire spell befell him. Then he heard a long-winded exhale and knew what was coming.
"Uh Sammy, what exactly happened with you?" Dean barely whispered. From the edge that came with it, it was obvious he was eager for some intel.
Sam took another deep breath before answering. "Vamps got the jump on me. A whole nest. They came out of nowhere. I almost had em'—"
"—but then someone showed up!"
"Yeah," he nodded. "Shot me too…I think it might have been a hunter Dean."
Then the serious dark expression Sam knew so well flourished across his brother's face. Sam also knew that he was about to hear something he really didn't want to. "He wasn't a hunter," Dean informed.
"Then what was he? How do you know?" Sam asked, his scratchy voice climbing up an octave.
Dean shook his head. "It was some guy. Some random guy." A shiny glint lit up in his eye. Sam silently held his breath knowing that look. It meant that Dean tracked the man down.
"There's more to it, isn't there Dean? You went after him didn't you?"
Now the big brother looked away, clearly meaning 'yes'. Sam wasn't entirely surprised. Hell, if the situation had been in reverse, he'd had done the same thing. Dean turned back to face him.
"I hate it when you know me so well. Yeah, we went after him. Me and Cass," he sighed. "The docs found the bullethole under your left shoulderblade. That's kinda when I knew there was another player. We got back and that's when I heard the gunshot go off…"
"Whoa…what do you mean 'got back'? I thought you were in the bar. Where were you?"
"Yeah," Dean laughed again, "I was held up somewhere. You don't want to know. Let's just say Zach had something to do with it. But luckily Cass showed up, and hauled my ass back to you. We got there just in time."
Sam fell silent again, listening more to what Dean had to say.
"Anyway, some of the vamps that got away, Cass and I tracked them down and eventually we got a name of the guy who led them to you," Dean looked away to the side, tears beginning to well up. "I'm sorry Sammy, but the docs weren't giving too much hope for you…and I…and I…I had to know why. So yeah, we hunted him down."
"It's okay Dean," Sam consoled. "What happened?"
Dean smirked. "Well we found him. Cass helped a lot. Did one of his Jedi mind tricks on the unlucky bastard and we got an answer out of him. And…he was just a regular guy. He made a deal with Zach, and I'm guessing the bastard set him up with some vampires and he came after you. So…we gave him a basic ass-whooping and called it a day."
Sam stayed silent, and merely nodded in response. He didn't have to be the little brother to know from the sarcastic grin that there was more to the tale. But knowing his brother, Dean would keep the gruesome parts all to himself. So he didn't press.
Little did Sam know that while he was holed up in the small clinic with Bobby taking watch, Cass and Dean had tracked down the hired assassin. With the information strangled out of one of the surviving bloodsuckers, it led them to a Gary Hunley. Ex-con, and repeat offender, Hunley was recently incarcerated for child molestation. Having broken out of prison as he put it "from divine assistance", the man came clean stating he was doing God's work based on the voices in his head instructing him to do so.
It didn't take long for Dean and Cass to find the bastard and put him through their own interrogation and treatment. The molester spilled the beans about a man coming to him—
stating he was a messenger from God—and that he would help keep the cops off his trail, if he agreed to kill a Sam Winchester. Dean felt no pity in beating the snot to a pulp after catching him spying and trying to break into a house that later he found out where a nine and five-year old lived. Cass showed a little more of his humane side in helping to punish the man. Afterwards, only God and Cass knew what had happened to Hunley. Dean gave the order to the angel to take care of the trash, to which Cass obliged willingly.
"This just goes to show dude, we got to be more careful," Dean continued. "We can't survive another hit like that."
"Yeah you're telling me," Sam breathed, clenching his fist again. He wanted to move, but the acute sensitivity from all the bites made it hard. "But what are we going to do? They're getting desperate Dean. All the signs are in place. Everything is coming to the head, and they don't have their generals. And now they're taking action to make sure either side doesn't get em'."
"No need to say it. But…" Dean sighed again, trying to think of something good and uplifting, "But they're not pulling us down…not yet anyway."
Sam huffed, settling more into his pillow. "Yeah."
"You know stuff like this makes me wonder what other low-life scum are they going to pitch after us?"
Sam laughed. "I'm surprised they didn't up their game. I'm surprised it was just…this."
"But one thing is for sure," Dean grounded out, "the next one that comes, we're not going to have any other choice but to kill them."
Sam bucked back at that. "No. We're not going to kill them."
"No? Why not?" Dean raised an eyebrow, eying his sick brother with intrigue. "The last one served you to a group of hungry vampires. Hello? Who knows what the next one will come up with? We won't have a choice in the matter Sam, because—"
"Because we don't kill people Dean," Sam said sternly. His brother fell silent, his gaze widening, eager for an elaboration. "We don't. I mean, sure we threaten a lot, but we don't do it."
Sam cleared his throat, taking yet another deep breath. A headache brewed, but he was determined to say what he meant. This was important. He had to say something, because it sounded like his brother was rapidly losing faith. And once that happened, then there wouldn't be any hope left…for either of them.
"I guarantee you that he's not the only one whose hit-list we're at the top of. Are we going to go out and seek all the hunters and people who want us dead and kill em? If we do that, then we might as well give in. It wouldn't make us any better than the dicks out there that want this battle. If we do that, then we loose ourselves…loose who we truly are. And that…that is the only thing we have left…our identity." He lost his breath. In his current condition, an emotional speech was not beneficial.
Dean developed a blank stare. "You and you're emo crap."
Sam laughed. "Whatever man."
"I'm just saying, you can write a sonnet with that. That was sweet."
That called for another roll of the eyes. Sam then forced out, "Bite me."
The smile slowly died. A serious, scornful, but other wisely very comical glare marred Dean's face. "Dude. That's so not funny."
"Oh come on, it's a little funny," Sam chuckled a little.
"No, it's not." His brother laughed as well. "I know. You're right. I hate it. But you're absolutely right…but that still doesn't change the fact we gotta be more careful."
"Okay," Dean stood up. "You need to rest. Docs say you'll hopefully be fine in a week or so. Just keep taking your B12 and Iron pills and you'll be good as new."
Sam fidgeted some more, kicking up his feet. "We can leave now? If you help carry me outta here, I'm sure I'll be fine."
That received the patented Big Brother Mother-Hen stare. Sam almost rolled his eyes again, already annoyed at the oncoming bluster. But it was worth a shot. He absolutely dreaded hospitals. The only time he ever enjoyed coming into one was when he wore a suit and posed as a detective. His brother, however, felt differently.
Dean stared incredulously at the man in the bed. His brother looked as though he was dunked in a bucket of white paint. Reddish patches shown through the myriad of bandages and bandaids covering his entire body. And he appeared as though he wouldn't be able to stand up, much less walk out of there. And he wanted to leave?
"Sam, you were just chowed on by an entire nest of vampires. They had to give you over several pints of blood just to fill you back up again. You look like one of Bobby's dogs' chewtoys. You had a badass fever for the last few days. You can barely move, and now you want to leave? I don't think so," Dean stammered vehemently.
"But I don't want to be here anymore," Sam whined, glancing around at the bland walls, and half-pulled back curtain.
"Well tough. You just woke up and you still look beat to hell. Not to mention all the crap these docs got ya on. Besides, we gotta lot going for us, and we ain't do anything until you're one hundred percent. So you might as well get over it," Dean started walking away, "Get to sleep Sammy, I'll be back. Need to get some caffeine."
"Hey Dean," Sam called, watching Dean whirl in his tracks. Something niggled and wormed its way in his head ever since he woke up, and it became bothersome to the point where he thought he better ask. And it was now, better than never before he forgot. Who else better to share with than the only family member he had in the room. "Do you think since…I don't know, you know?"
Sam took a deep breath. "Since practically the vamps nearly sucked me dry. Do you think…that maybe…they got rid of the demon blood?"
"Oh," Dean took a step back. Apparently that hadn't crossed his mind, and the implication of it brought on a whole new perspective. "Uh honestly I don't know. Do you feel any different?"
"It's hard to say right now. I'm still nauseous."
"Oh, well then…I don't know what to tell you about that. Maybe," Dean gave a half-smile, "That would be nice, wouldn't it?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah."
"Okay. I'll be right back. You go back to sleep. I'll see ya when you wake up," Dean said before making his way out the door.
As his brother eagerly left the room in search for coffee, Sam wondered intensely about what he just asked. He looked over deeply pondering if possibly he could've been freed from his fate. Seeing a half glass of water next to the magazines on the bedside table, he concentrated. The glass teetered for a split second, then moved a good distance across the surface. He shrunk back in on himself in disappointment. Guess there was still a little bit of his old blood left.
Guess he was still cursed.
And there you have it. Not a lot going on with the epilogue, but I hope it covered some of the loose ends. I could've delved more into the details behind the storyline, but I thought it would be better to leave it up to your imagination. Or unless someone else wants to do something more to this story, I wouldn't mind. Make it better, I challenge ya!