A/N: This is for Rebecca (Lost in a Forest) who wanted a fic where Dean had to cut Sam's hair due to some type of head injury. Happy Birthday hun!
They walked through the darkness of the abandoned warehouse. A few candles glowed from a table at the back of the room. The witch that had been hiding down in the dank building lay on the cold concrete of the floor. Her eyes remained open, but blood slowly seeped through her dress to pool around her. Despite ganking her, Sam and Dean were not out of the woods yet.
Shadows danced in the candles' flames, sending shivers down the hunters' backs. Noises echoed softly from every corner, but the dimness prevented them from seeing the cause. The fight with the witch had broken their flashlight, and the flickering light from the candles only offered so much help.
A scratching sound came from somewhere off to the side, and was soon followed by a thunderous crash.
"Sammy?" Dean called.
"Damn it…" Dean looked around, but he couldn't see a thing. But he could hear. And he could hear that his brother was in trouble. Dean could make out the sounds of flesh tearing and concrete being scrape by something sharp. What the hell are we dealing with?
"Sam," Dean responded. "I need you to tell me what we're facin' buddy! Come on!"
After a few silent and terrifying minutes, Dean finally heard a soft reply from his brother. "Shadows…"
"Damn it…I know there are shadows Sam!"
Dem? Son of bitch…Shadow Demons!
"Hold on Sammy!"
Dean blindly ran towards the back of the warehouse. The flames from the candles still flickered dully, allowing Dean to find the table. It had to be the witch's alter. Dean hoped that destroying it would get the demons to back off. The witch's various materials were all laid out before Dean in the dim light. Without a second thought, he heaved the table onto its side, sending everything flying.
Dean held his breath as he waited for the shadows to recede. He saw them falter, but they still moved in the same direction, towards his brother.
"Damn it!" he cursed loudly.
"Workin' on it Sammy!"
Dean realized that nothing but bright light was going to work. He scrambled for his duffle bag, praying that the bastards hadn't knocked it from where he had left it. He slid against the witch's blood, but quickly regained his footing.
Amazingly, the bag was still lying next to the door they had came through earlier in the night. After rummaging for a few seconds, Dean's hand victoriously grabbed the flare gun his brother had left in there. He couldn't remember the last time they had needed one on a hunt, but he was grateful for whatever reason Sam's head had concocted.
Dean fired the gun, barely remembering to move his eyes from the weapon as the bright light flared from its muzzle. The room lit up with the white light and screeches echoed from the corner Dean had assumed Sam had moved towards.
"Sam!" Dean's shouts were lost in the sounds coming from the shadow demons…at least he hoped it was from the demons and not Sam…
Dean caught a glimpse of the shadows fleeing away from basement of the warehouse. They slunk out in pain. Dean knew he should have found a way to end them permanently, but right now all he cared about was getting to his brother.
The lights had not completely died down yet, and they made it hard to make out Sam's prone form. But once Dean's eyes finally settled on him, he took off towards him. He knees hit the cement of the floor hard, but he took no notice. His hands roamed and carefully shook his baby brother. "Come on Sam…."
"Hey kiddo…that's it. Come on buddy."
Pain filled hazel eyes opened then quickly closed when the still burning light pierced his sensitive pupils.
"Yea, Sammy. I'm here. We're gonna getcha outta here now. Ok? Let me do the work."
Sam nodded his head and Dean gently tugged him into a sitting position. Sam groaned but allowed his brother to do what was needed.
"Hey! You boys in here?"
"Dean! What the hell happened in here?" Bobby asked as he took in the warehouse scene in front of him. In the light of the burning flare gun he saw a bloody Sam supported by Dean.
"Um…" Dean grunted softly as Sam's weight shifted harder into him. "Found the witch," Dean said as he pointed towards doorway. "She just had some unexpected friends waiting with her…"
"So what got him?" Bobby moved closer to Dean and helped take up some of Sam's weight.
"Her friends just happened to be shadow demons…"
"Damn," Bobby grumbled.
"Yeah….how the hell did you know where we'd be anyway?"
"Can thank Ellen for that. Called askin' if I'd heard any from you boys. Told me 'bout this hunt she gave ya while ya were at the Road House. Said it should've been easy, but since ya weren't answerin' your phones…figured somethin' had happened."
"Was supposed to be a simple witch hunt. The witch didn't give us too much trouble. Was the rest of it that did."
Bobby nodded and helped Dean guide Sam out to the Impala. "You ok to drive back to my place?"
"I'm not the one hurt, Bobby. Sam stepped in their path, not me. Warehouse was dark so we split up to make sure the hag didn't have anyone workin' with her."
The hunters made it outside and eased Sam into the backseat of the Impala. Now that they were out of the bright flare's light, Dean could better assess his brother. Cuts seemed to zigzag up and down his body. The brunt of the damage was located around his arms and torso. Blood also seeped down from his head and soaked through the collar of his flannel.
Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder, which the demons had amazingly left untouched. "You hangin' in there kiddo?"
Sam's eyes remained closed, but he nodded his head yes to his brother's question.
"I'm gonna put some pressure bandages around the worst of your cuts. I'll take care of the rest once we get back to Bobby's."
Dean could tell Sam was in pain and his energy was drained. He skillfully applied the bandages. A cut at the back of Sam's head seemed to be pouring blood. One on his forehead at his hairline looked pretty nasty too.
"Ok buddy…why don't you lay back and get some rest." Dean shrugged off his jacket and balled it up for Sam to use as a pillow. Once he got his brother situated in the back, he shut the doors and turned back to Bobby. "You care to take care of the witch's body for us?"
"Yeah, I'll take care of it and meet ya back at the house."
"Thanks Bobby," Dean smiled. He then turned back to the car and began to make his way back to Bobby's.
Dragging a groggy Sam inside the house was not an easy feat, but it was one Dean did without a second thought. He wasn't sure how long it would take Bobby to salt and burn the witch's body. The cool night air had settled in, and he knew Sam shouldn't stay out in it for too long. All this led to Dean practically carrying Sam into the house.
Once inside, he carefully deposited Sam on the couch and ran to grab Bobby's extensive first aid kit from the bathroom. By the time he walked back into the living room, Sam had awoken enough to begin shrugging off his blood soaked clothes.
"Take it easy, Sam," Dean scolded softly as he saw Sam wince from the movements.
"I'm fine," Sam mumbled.
"Sure ya are…you just look like you went a couple rounds with Edward Scissorhands." Sam turned pain filled puppy dog eyes on Dean, and his brother's sarcasm melted away. "Let's get ya fixed up ok?"
Dean took the bottle of peroxide and began to apply it to all the wounds. About half way through, Dean could tell the pain was starting to get to Sam. Dean reached for a bottle of painkillers and shoved a few at Sam. "Take 'em."
"I'm fine D'n..."
"Sure ya are," Dean rolled his eyes. "Even if you are, you won't be soon. A lot of your cuts are deep. They'll need stitches, so…"
Sam sighed but didn't argue. He took the pills and dry swallowed them before Dean could move to get him a glass of water. He went back to cleaning up the lacerations. It wasn't long before Sam succumbed to the drugs and pain; he was out cold before Dean had even grabbed the materials to do the stitches.
Dean started with Sam's arms. Lots of little scratches gave way to a big gash on his left arm. Dean was very glad that his brother had passed out before he had gotten to it. Sighing, he set about taking care of it.
Just as he was wrapping gauze around the limb to help keep it clean, the front door swung open. Before Dean could even grab his weapon from the coffee table Bobby walked into the room.
"How's he doin'?"
"Alright. Drugs knocked him out a few minutes ago. I just started stitching him up. Do you care to grab the scissors for me?"
"Don't you have a pair there to cut the thread with?"
"Yeah but these are sterile. I need to cut some of his hair away from the gashes on his head."
Bobby walked out of the room and returned seconds later with a pair of scissors. "He won't like that much will he now…"
Dean took them and began to cut away the long locks around the cuts. "He's not as bad as he used to be…"
"Come on Sam…it won't be that bad. You don't want this to get infected. Huh? You don't want to be sick do ya?"
Sam shook his aching head. Tears and blood smeared down his little red cheeks.
"Ok," John said distractedly. His mind replayed the events of the night over and over. He had been so sure Sam was going to be safe in the Impala. It had been hard lately. Dean was reaching an age where he wanted to and was capable of going on more hunts. But Sam was still too young. At ten he may be capable of handling himself in some situations, but there was no way he was going to be able to handle a Wendigo. Hell, John really hadn't loved the idea of bringing Dean along for it. But it was his only option, thus forcing Sam to come along and stay in the backseat of the car.
It would have been perfectly fine. Sam had extra blankets and flashlights. He had even stockpiled the backseat with a couple of books. It wasn't the first time Sam had done this…but as far as John was concerned it was going to be the last. The Wendigo had been much more cunning than John had expected. It ran circles around them, twisting around the trees while snow fell down to cover its tracks. Both him and Dean had sworn that the creature had headed farther into the woods towards his caves. After spending hours freezing their asses off in the woods, Dean and John headed back to the car and Sammy. Neither expected the sight that awaited them there.
Dean exited the thick of the trees first, Sam's name falling from his lips in a scream. He quickened his pace and ran towards the car. John followed right behind him. By the time he had made it out of the trees, Dean had already reached the car. He had Sammy in his arms, holding the smaller boy tight against his chest. Broken glass lay shattered all over the red spotted snow. Ashes sat off to the side, blackening the pristine ground. A flare gun sat in Sam's lax grip….
"Dad?" Dean's gruff voice broke John out of his thoughts.
"Sorry boys," John quickly apologized. He went back to his task. With scissors raised, he inched towards Sam. Blood made the long locks stick to Sam's forehead where the glass had sliced into him. From what John could gather, the Wendigo had picked up on his scent and gone after Sam. The bastard must have broken the glass and drug Sam out of the Impala. It just hadn't counted on Sam having a flare gun on him…
"No!" Sam's tired voice shouted.
John gently pushed aside the piece of hair he was about to cut. "What is it Sam?"
"Don't!" Sam swatted weakly at his dad's hands. "Please…"
"Sam," John sighed, "I know you don't want your hair cut, but I have to buddy. I can't even tell if all the glass is out with it in the way like it is now." John moved to cut the hair once again, but he was hit with his baby's pain filled puppy dog eyes. "Sammy…"
"Hey Sam," Dean spoke up for the first time since arriving at the motel. "You know, my hair is getting too long. Why don't you cut it for me?"
Sam looked up skeptically at his big brother, but nodded his head nonetheless. His hand shook as he reached for the scissors from his dad. John handed them over, trusting Dean with whatever it was he was doing.
"That's my boy, Sammy," Dean coaxed. "Cut some from the front for me. Just like Dad was wanting to do to you, buddy."
Dean leaned forward so Sam could reach him better. Small hands wove through fine hair and sleek metal sliced. A modest amount of hair fell onto the motel's carpet. "Like that?" Sam questioned.
"You're doing great little brother."
Sam smiled weakly at Dean as he cut away a few more strands.
"Sammy, will you let me cut a little of yours now? I won't take much buddy. Just the parts that are around the gash. Please?"
Tears filled Sam's expressive eyes as he reluctantly handed over the scissors. Dean smiled and gently removed the pieces of hair. Sam remained calm under his brother's touch and the tears soon stopped. John smiled down at his boys as he grabbed the rest of the supplies from the first aid kit.
Brown hair lay scattered around the rug. Dean moved the scissors carefully through Sam's hair. The shadow demons had clawed up the back of his head down to his neck worse than Dean had first thought. He knew Sam was not going to be thrilled about the amount of hair gone from the back of his head, but he had little choice. In some areas Dean had been forced to remove most of the hair just so he could see where the cut began. In the end, he was pretty sure the longer hair surrounding the area would cover it, but it was still going to be noticeable at first.
With his work finally done, Dean threaded the needle and moved on to the stitches.
"How ya doin'?"
Dean looked up to see Bobby gathering up the rug to throw away the hair. "I'm fine." Dean finished the stitches and cut the thread. "Just finished. While you're in the kitchen, do you care to grab some ice for him? I'm going to go lay him out in the bedroom so he can rest better."
"Be right there with it, son."
Dean then set about carrying Sam into the back bedroom of the house. He quickly pulled sweats and a clean t-shirt onto his brother while discarding the bloody clothes. Dean had just covered Sam with the blankets when Bobby came in with the ice packs. "Don't forget to get some sleep yourself boy," Bobby instructed as he handed them over to Dean.
"Thanks…see ya in the morning."
The door clicked shut behind Bobby, and Dean turned back to Sam. He gently set the ice packs down on the head wounds. Sam stirred under the cold touch. Seconds later his eyes fluttered open.
"It's Sam," he moaned. Dean couldn't tell whether it was from the pain or the nickname. "Still look like I got in a fight with Edward Scissorhands?"
Dean chuckled. "Well, your hair now looks like it was cut by him."
"Let me see…" Sam tried to push himself in the bed, but Dean pushed him back down.
"Hold on," Dean ordered before running into the bathroom. He came back with a hand mirror and promptly gave it to his brother.
Sam twisted as best as he could to see what Dean had done. After looking for a minute, he sagged into the pillows and handed dean the mirror. "Thanks for not butchering it."
Dean smiled, grateful his brother wasn't too upset about the loss of his long locks. "Well," Dean smirked, "how can you tell with the way that mop looks anyway?"
The bitch face Sam sent his way had Dean laughing his ass off. At least he did until a pillow hit him square in the face and knocked him off the bed.
"Shut up! If I'm Edward Scissorhands that makes you Winona Ryder dumbass!"