Disclaimer: yadda, yadda, yadda...not mine...blah, blah, blah...legal stuff...etc, etc, etc...
A/N: This story gets its name from a great Flogging Molly song. Hope you enjoy. :D
Summary: After the events of 'Bad day at Black Rock', Dean doesn't think their luck can get any worse. Boy, was he mistaken. Hurt!Sam, Hurt!Dean.
It's Been The Worst Day Since Yesterday
Part One- Falling Down to You, Sweet Ground
Just when you think things can't get any worse is when they usually did. At least that was always Dean's philosophy. It didn't take a cursed rabbit's foot to tell him that their family had a tendency to fall into some majorly crappy luck and always would. The last name of Winchester was synonymous with misfortune and the last day had only cemented those feelings as he grabbed a pair of forceps and dug them deep into his wounded little brother's shoulder.
"Ahhhh...gahhhhhh." Sam was nearly in tears as he probed the wound that had been so generously bestowed upon Sam by that black-hearted bitch, Bela and searched for the bullet that lay hidden within the muscle. It was embedded deep and even though Sam tried to put on a brave show and not let on exactly how much it hurt to have the bullet ripped from his tender flesh, he squirmed anyway.
"Hold still, will ya?" Dean grumbled holding tight to Sam's good shoulder while his other hand worked the stainless steel tool, wincing a little himself, knowing how much it had to hurt to have the projectile removed, it almost hurt him as much to hear his little brother's grunts of pain. He promised himself that when they finally caught up to Bela that he was going to show her just how much 'just a shoulder wound' could hurt and then some.
Dean felt metal make contact with metal. "Almost got it." He assured Sam, opening the forceps up a little to get a good hold on the bullet, praying that it wouldn't slip out of their grasp. Sam screwed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, growling deep within his throat until Dean finally had the sucker and pulled.
"Breathe out, Sammy." He instructed the younger man as he held tight to the forceps and drew back the tool, the instrument and bullet sliding out of the wound.
Sam made a deep, grunting noise as the bullet and forceps made a sickening sucking sound coming out.
A deep-throated sigh of relief followed next from Sam's lips, panting heavily as Dean dropped the little trouble maker onto the table beside of him along with the forceps. Dean himself, let out a gust of breath to finally have it out.
Not finished with patching his brother up just yet, Dean reached for the cotton to pack the gushing wound and pressed firmly to staunch the flow while Sam raised the flask of whiskey he had been holding up to his lips with his shaking good hand, taking a long drink and made a face as the burning liquid made it's way down.
"Better?" He asked his still quivering sibling.
"No." Sam ground out between his clenched teeth, his anger a mask of the physical pain radiating off of him. "Promise me that when we find Bela again... that I get the first crack at her."
"No way, Bro. She's all mine." Dean countered, hoping to distract Sam from the pain as he made for the bottle of alcohol sitting next to the needle and thread that would seal up the hole.
"But she shot me." Sam came back indignantly.
"And she stole my lottery tickets."
"Excuse me." Sam came back sharply. "But I think that getting shot trumps stolen lottery tickets."
"Dude, there was almost $60,000 dollars there."
"But. She. Shot . Me!"
"Been shot for less..." Dean argued weakly only to be mowed down by the murderous look Sam sent careening his way. Dean shrugged, after being properly put in his place. "What? It's a lot of money, I' m just sayin..." He shrugged.
Now that his brother was thoroughly distracted, Dean made his move with the alcohol. He knew this was going to burn and hurt like a mother, but it had to be done, he just wished it didn't have to be him that inflicted any more pain on Sam. "You ready?" He asked, knowing that Sam knew what was coming next.
"No, but just do it." He replied as stoically as possible.
"Okay...hold tight." Dean instructed.
Dean began pouring, trying to block out the sounds that Sam made as he irrigated the wound. "Grrrrahhhholymotherof...fuuuuu" Sam's string of obscenities that followed would have made a sailor blush until Dean was satisfied that the hole was cleaned out well enough for stitches.
Sam let his head fall forward once the irrigation was done and Dean panicked for a moment, thinking that he was going to nose dive to the floor, grabbing his little brother around the waist before he fell. "Whoa, whoa...Sammy?"
"I'm okay..." Sam replied quietly, his hand curling around Dean's shirt for support before he lifted his now colorless face again and pulled himself back up with a little nod to show that he was still present and conscious, fighting the pain that he had to be pushing away in order to make such an effort.
Dean had to admit to himself that he was more than a little bit proud of Sam's ability to shrug it all off. But he was a Winchester, his father's son and he expected no less from him.
Stitching the hole in Sam's shoulder only took a few minutes, but when he searched for the gauze and tape needed to bandage it up, he came up with only a tiny piece of tape and only one small square of bandage barely big enough to cover the bullet hole.
"Sam? Where all of the bandages?" Dean dug around some more, pulling out a bottle of vicodin, the only painkiller they had strong enough for bullet wounds and shook it. That too was empty. "This too?"
"Oh...uh. Well..." Sam started sheepishly. "I had to use a bunch of the bandages on my knees after I fell when I used the rest when I burned my arm...and after the pounding those two morons gave me, I took some of the vicodin, but I didn't realize I had taken the last of it...Sorry."
"Great. You're a walking disaster, you know that?"
"Not anymore. Rabbit's foot is toast."
"Oh really?" Dean snorted. "If I recall right, you've always been a magnet for trouble. Remember that time in when you were in high school in Virginia?"
"I was pushed by a ghost." Sam defended himself
"No...I was there...you tripped over your big clown feet down a flight of stairs and broke your arm in three places. Then there was the time you fell down that abandoned well and got stuck halfway down...took Dad and I all night to grease you up enough to get you out..." Dean laughed at the memory of pouring bottle after bottle of vegetable oil all over his little brother.
"Okay...I get it." Sam came back irritatedly, not wanting to dwell on either one of those incidents. "I guess we need supplies." He changed the subject quickly.
"Yeah...I'll run out to the Walgreen's and restock. I'll pick us up some dinner too."
"Gotta eat, Sam."
"Right now, I'd rather just go to sleep and forget this day ever happened." Sam sighed and pulled the sleeve of his t-shirt back down over his shoulder with a wince, exhaustion marking his eyes and face. He laid back on the bed, careful not to jostle his hurting shoulder and closed his eyes wearily.
Dean couldn't agree more, Even by Winchester standards, it had been one hell of a shitty day thanks to that damned rabbit's foot, that damned thief, Bela and those two douchebags that tied Sam up and almost put a bullet in his brain. And with Sam taking the brunt of the fallout from the rabbit's foot, he needed rest and they both needed to put this craptacular day behind them and get out of New York as soon as daylight hit.
Sam was already practically asleep by the time Dean quietly closed the door and left the motel. The drugstore was only a couple of miles away and it didn't take him too long to load up a basket full of supplies. Procuring a new bottle of vicodin would be a little more problematic, but Dean thanked his forward thinking the last time he had been to the ER when he had swiped that prescription pad from his inattentive doctor. It was certainly far easier to write his own prescriptions rather than breaking into the pharmacy after hours, but the drawback of having to wait for it to be filled still remained.
So, after paying for several rolls of gauze, tape, bandages and a couple of new bottles of rubbing alcohol, he still had almost a half hour to kill. At least that gave him a little time to go and get something to eat. He was starving, having had hardly any time to eat the last couple of days and a nice juicy burger sounded extremely good right then, maybe some chili cheese fries and a big slice of cherry pie a la mode to go with it too. Oooh... and he'd have to pick up some more m&m's as well.
He made his way back to the car and froze just before he could put the key in the lock. Something tickled the hairs on the back of his neck, a pinging in his stomach telling him that something was off. He turned and looked in all directions, but saw and heard nothing. He still felt uneasy, his years of hunting had honed his gut into a fine-tuned instrument and he knew to take weird feelings seriously. He felt for the .45 he had tucked in his waistband and pulled it out, it's cool, heavy presence in his hand a comfort and a bolster to his confidence that if anything was out there, he'd be ready for it.
Chancing another look around the parking lot and still coming up empty, he continued to unlock the car door and get inside. Something telling him that it would be better to skip dinner and head back to the motel to check on Sam. Eating would just have to wait.
He slid inside and was just about to turn the key in the ignition when he felt a prick in his neck, burning fire entered his skin and seeped into his veins, immediately his vision swam, the fingers that had once gripped his handgun so tightly moments before lost feeling, letting the weapon clatter to the floor. Too late, he realized that he was not alone in the car and his limbs were too heavy to respond to the order from his brain to fight back.
As darkness flooded through him, he heard a voice saying, "Shhhh...That's it...time for a little nap, Winchester."
Though he was exhausted beyond measure, the sleep he so desired had gone bye-bye thanks to the fiery ache that went unabated in his shoulder. He tried to rest through it and stay in that twilight zone between full alertness and slumber, but the pain was becoming too much of a well...pain and he roused himself back to fully awake.
The room was utterly silent save for the leaky faucet in the bathroom and Sam stole a glance around. What he saw was disturbing. No greasy burger wrappers strewn about and no car keys thrown haphazardly into the nightstand and most worrying of all no big brother snoring away in the bed next to him.
Sam shot up, regretting the sudden motion, but pushing the soreness and instant dizziness aside, reaching for the cell phone in front of the clock, taking note of the time and realizing that Dean had been gone for over two hours, definitely far longer than it should have taken him to get to the drug store and back.
Flipping open the cell hurriedly, he speed dialed Dean's phone, cursing when it rang and rand and finally switched over to voice mail. Worry blossomed into frantic panic through Sam's chest. Possible scenarios for his brother's absence flickered through his brain like a strobe light. Dean hurt, lying in a ditch or attacked by werewolves or worse yet, him picking up a chick in some seedy bar and just not bothering to pick up his phone (which would be totally unlike Dean...he always loved to rub his sexual exploits in Sam's face).
Sam tried a second time. "C'mon...pick up the damn phone, Dean." He muttered, but again no sarcastic answer from his brother came across the line.
Dean would only not answer his phone if he was a). pissed as hell at him or b.) in serious trouble and since Sam couldn't recall making his brother angry besides using up almost all of the medical supplies in the last day and a half, he could only come to the cold conclusion that Dean was surely in some deep shit.
Dean had said he was going to Walgreen's and Sam recalled that the nearest one was only a mile or two away, he would start his search there, praying that Dean had merely run into car trouble and hadn't heard his phone.
Beating down the anxiety rising in his gut, he quickly found a pair of jeans and tugged them on, tucked his 9mm into the waistband then grabbed his flannel shirt, wincing as he stretched it over his injured shoulder. He would have grabbed a jacket too, but he simply did not have one left anymore. his favorite Carhardt had bit it thanks to that damn air-conditioner fire and his back up one had been tossed out as well after he had been shot. It would be chilly, but he'd live.
Just as he thought that, he stepped out of the door and was met with a blast of cold air and a loud clap of thunder, the first fat drops of rain, hitting him in the face. He buttoned up his shirt as well as he could to protect himself from the elements and took off in the direction Dean would have taken, the rain gaining in intensity with each step he took.
He kept to the shoulder of the road as there was no sidewalk present as cars rushed past him. The more he thought about it and the more it rained and slowed him down, the more he decided that he should have jacked a car. But Sam hated doing that, it was risky for one and it was kinda a dick move to the guy he stole the car from, especially if it turned out that Dean was alright. So he ran along the rocky path of the two-lane highway towards the little town they had been staying in the outskirts of, rain matting his hair and trickling into his eyes.
He was thoroughly soaked by the time the small downtown area came into eye shot and his head was a jumble of worried thoughts as he kept up the pace of his long-legged run. So focused was he on his goal, that he failed to truly take in his surroundings such as the steep drop-off beside the road that lead directly into a rain-swollen creek, nor the large tree root jutting out of the ground which his foot suddenly snagged and sent him sprawling and then falling. Sliding down the slope, unable to stop the pull of gravity and his momentum, he felt every downed tree limb, every rock and every bramble in his way. It felt like he would fall forever until he finally made splash-down into the freezing, muddy water.
Though he was falling no longer, he was still in motion as he struggled against the cold, raging current. The usually tranquil stream was now a river and a torrent of rapids. Just keeping his head above the water was exhausting as he was carried further along. Detritus and fallen branches floated along beside of him and one nasty branch in particular seemed to have it in for him as it smashed none to gently directly into his already injured shoulder. The pain was enough for him to see spots dance before his eyes and yell out, making holding his head above the surface that much more difficult.
Though the water wasn't deep and his feet dragged along the slick bottom, the current had become too powerful for him to stop himself and just breathing was becoming a chore as several times his head was pulled under, causing him to gasp as soon as he surfaced. Fighting panic, he knew he was in serious trouble, besides the flashes of lightning, it was pitch black out and who would see him? He was on his own for rescuing himself, but the likelihood of that dwindled fast as his muscles tired and he floated further and further away.
Another large tree branch slammed into his head from behind, bringing a flash of pain and stars across his eyes. Stunned, he could feel the attempt of darkness to sweep over him, but passing out now would most assuredly be a death sentence and he knew his only hope lay in grabbing hold of the wayward timber before he did just that and drowned. So, with one last ditch effort, he flung his uninjured arm up, using what was left of his strength to pull himself up as much as possible over the log. Clinging to the wood as though it was a life preserver, he tried to pull up his other arm as well, but it had gone cold , numb and unresponsive. Instead, his weary body began to succumb to the cold and the fatigue, unable to fight it any longer, his head fell against the rough surface of the branch as the river carried his unconscious body further and further downstream.
"Wakey, wakey, Sunshine." Dean heard a voice say to him just before a hand began to slap his face. He let out a groan and pulled his resisting eyelids open, attempting to focus his blurry vision on the shape in front of him. He made out a face, but who's it was was unclear until he shook his heavy head to clear the fuzzy cotton that felt stuffed into his skull.
"There you are, Dean. Open those eyes, we got a lot to discuss, you and I." Dean's vision sharpened and the two faces before him pulled into one recognizable form. Two blue eyes staring into his with a bright, white butterfly bandage sealing the cut on his nose Dean had given the man only hours ago with a television remote. Hatred burned in Dean's veins, he didn't even know the man's name, but he had tried to kill his little brother and if it hadn't been for Dean's incredible luck thanks to that rabbit's foot, he might have succeeded. But now he had to wonder if the damned thing had lingering effects as he found himself within the confines of a...Where was he? In an RV?
"You..." He muttered in contempt, seeing who it was then looking down at his bound hands and feet, tugging on the restraints, finding them impossibly tight. "Son of a bitch."
Dean shot a deadly look at his captor, who just smiled like he had won the grand prize at the carnival. The younger man didn't know the other hunter very well, but given the crazed look in his eyes, he knew the guy was a few bricks short of a load. "Not so lucky now, are you?"
"How the hell did you find me?" Dean demanded to know.
"God led me to you."
"God?" Dean tried to keep a straight face and failed.
"How else would you explain it? We just happen to pass by on our way through town and low and behold, who's car should I see parked at a Walgreen's just as we pass by? If that's not God leading us straight to you, then I don't know what else it could be. Maybe you should think about driving a car that's not so inconspicuous."
"I think you mean conspicuous." Dean's correction was rewarded with a sharp backhand to the face that left him seeing stars.
"You're a real smartass, aren't you."
"And you're an asshole, your point?"
The older man's face leaned in close enough for Dean to smell the stale coffee on his breath. "I'd watch it if I were you, kid. Sarcasm isn't going to get you anywhere with me. I don't appreciate your jokes."
"Well, that's just me-Jokey McJokerson. But, if you don't like it, you could always just let me go."
"Ha ha. Nice try." The man shook his finger in his face.
"You said 'we'...so where's that partner of yours?" Dean asked undeterred.
"Oh...He's out fetching your brother. We figured since there's only two motels in this town that he has to be near-by and this time you won't be able to interrupt what I need to do."
"Go to hell." Dean's blood ran ice cold
"I'm not too worried about that. Ya see, I've been saved. You could be too. All you need to do is let Jesus into your heart, repent your sins..."
"Okay...ya know. I'm gonna stop your Sunday School lecture right there. Don't you think it's a little hypocritical to go about telling people they need to repent, when you were two seconds away from blowing my brother's brains out earlier?"
The man just shook his head and laughed. "You don't get it, do you? That brother of yours is working on Hell's side. He's evil and God has directed me to remove him from the Earth- for the good of mankind. Why else would he have you land in my lap, not once, but twice? The first time you got away was a test for me...I see that now...to see if I would follow through. But this time around, I won't make the same mistakes. This time, I'll finish the job God had laid at my feet."
"You are one sick, crazy, twisted, delusional mother, aren't you?"
A hand reared up again, ready to strike and Dean braced himself for the blow he new was to come, but it was at that moment that the door opened and in stepped the man that he recognized as Crazy Dude's partner.
"Cready...what took you so long? You've been gone for almost two hours." Crazy dude asked. Seeing that that man was alone, a deep frown crept across his face. "Where's the boy?"
"Sorry, Kubrick...I went to both of the motels in town. First one was a bust, then I blew a tire out and had to stop and change it. I went to the other motel and I found their room, but the kid wasn't there. So I drove around trying to find him, but it's like he just up and vanished."
Kubrick turned to Dean, a fire erupting in his eyes. "You tipped him off somehow, didn't you?"
"How? I've kinda been tied up." Dean countered only to find the back of Kubrick's hand making sharp contact with his face once again.
"Where is he?" Kubrick's spittle landed on Dean's face as he shouted the question.
"I don't know and if I did I wouldn't tell you." Dean spat back.
"You lie." This time the slap turned into a close-fisted punch and Dean felt his jaw alight in flaming and throbbing pain. "Sooner or later you're going to tell me where he's hiding." Kubrick turned to his partner. "Cready...go outside to the storage compartment. I have a spare car battery out there that I think'll come in handy getting our friend here to talk."
Dun Dun Dun!...TBC...