Title: In Another's Eyes

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: A migraine, a vision, a mysterious killer and Dean may just lock Sam away in Bobby's cellar to keep him safe whether he likes it or not. post 2x11 "Playthings" hurt/comfort/awesome!Sam/Dean

Author's note: ok FINALLY here we are. It's finished! I hope you've all enjoyed the 8 chapter one shot. LOL Thanks for following along!

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D – Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

Do please Review once you've read. :D Every comment and vote of support helps keep me writing. Not to mention if I've pooched anything, someone can always tell me. :P


"Do our best. Here we go, Sam." Dean pulled him into a slow walk as his brother's head rolled over to rest on his shoulder, forehead against his neck. "Sam?"

"I'm good," Sam replied out of habit and managed to get his legs moving in time with his brother's.

"That's my boy," Dean nodded, relieved. He stopped at the door and looked back. "Thanks, doc."

George waved. "Get out of here already." He smiled. "I'll see you in an hour or so." He followed them to the door and got his first look at the mess in the hall. He sighed. "Maybe two hours. Good god."

"You're not gonna…get in trouble for this are you?" Sam raised his head enough to look back at George, worry creasing his brow.

"Sam, I'll be fine." George patted his arm and smiled. "Go on now. Hurry."

"Later, George." Dean got them moving again and went wide around what was left of Sergeant Gatsby's brains toward the stairs and safety.


"Dean, would you lie down already?" Sam asked tiredly from his own bed. It was making him hurt watching Dean shuffle stiffly around the room. He wasn't telling Sam something, and he knew, whatever that something was, it had scared his big brother. The moment they arrived at the motel, Dean had gotten him into bed and then set about pouring fresh salt lines, drawing protective symbols above the door and window and had spent ten minutes on the floor in front of the door and told Sam not to worry about it when he asked. "Dean?"

"Shut up, Sam." Dean turned and scowled at him. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fat chance of that with you puttering around the room."

"I'm not puttering," Dean growled but did relent enough to drop onto the side of his own bed. "How you feeling?"

Sam snorted softly. "As good as you look. Would you please let me help you with those?" He gestured to his brother. Dean was bare-chested and had made a weak effort at cleaning the blood from himself. He was covered in an impressive collection of shallow cuts, some deep enough to still be bleeding sluggishly.

"Doc'll be here soon." Dean reached across and pushed Sam back down when he tried to push himself up. "You know how much blood you lost today? Forget it or I'm gonna end up donating to you again, and I think there's a limit on how much awesome you can have in one day."

Sam chuckled and laid back. "Fine." Though the sergeant wasn't there to interfere with his visions anymore, the aftermath remained. His head was splitting, while his shoulder thrummed with its own burning pain, and he'd gratefully taken the painkillers Dean had pushed on him. Worse, though, was the weakness that made his limbs feel leaden and he knew that was the blood loss making him tired and shaky. He wanted to sleep, desperately, but was unwilling to until he saw Dean taken care of. He smirked as Dean leaned back against the headboard with a groan. If George didn't show up soon, he'd damn well do it himself whether his big brother liked it or not.


George stood in the door of his office and watched as the body of Sergeant Gatsby was lifted up onto a gurney and wheeled down the hall into his operating theater.

"Damn, George." Chief Jones ran a hand over his bald head and looked down at his coroner. "This is one hell of a mess. You're sure about this?"

"I wish I wasn't." George said sadly. "He came down here raving about his wife and how he'd killed his mistress…" He waved a hand at the mess. "Then said he couldn't live with himself anymore and just blew his brains out."

"I always knew the Sarge was a little…odd, but, my God." The chief looked over the macabre scene in the hall in distress. "I'd never have thought him capable of this." He clapped a hand onto the doctor's shoulder. "At least he didn't decide to take you down with him. You be alright?"

George nodded. "Yes. I just need to get the sergeant squared away, and then I'm going home for the night. I could use a drink."

"Good idea." Chief Jones smiled. "We'll get out of your hair and have the crime scene techs in here later."

"Thank you, Chief." George shook his hand and smiled as the Chief strode away up the hall with his men in tow. He shook his head and went down the other way and into the theater. George went to a cabinet and took out a small bag, bringing it over to the table next to the dead man's body. "You really did make a hash of things, Sergeant." George said and shook his head. He opened the bag and took out a silver bowl and short, thick blade. "Need to make a call." The doctor's eyes flashed to solid black as he dragged the athame across Gatsby's cold throat and held the bowl beneath it, letting the still warm blood trickle and flow into it. When it was half full he pulled it away, dipped his finger into the viscous liquid and swirled it while speaking an ancient incantation.

George smiled and held the bowl up near his face. "Master, I have protected your investment. Sam Winchester is alive." He smirked. "Though perhaps not well at the moment." He paused, tilting his head as he listened to the voice breathing up from the slowly spinning blood. "Yes, his brother lives, though I still maintain you would have more power over the younger if the elder's influence were done away with." George flinched as the whispers grew in strength and rolled his eyes. "Yes, Master. Of course. I will see to it."

He set the bowl aside and sighed. "Stubborn."

George went back down the hall to the office. He quickly gathered up medical supplies and stocked the black physician's bag. Finished, he picked it up and then stopped to look in a small mirror hanging on the wall. He adjusted his tie and grinned. "One last performance, my dear doctor. Have to make sure the Winchesters are fighting fit until the time is right. I'm sure you don't mind." He looked into the reflection and chuckled, listening to the screams from the mind of his meat suit before turning and leaving.


Dean jerked awake at the sound of a knock on the door and groaned as each cut on his body ached back to life. "Crap." He sat up and looked over to see Sam blinking his eyes open.

"Door." Sam said sleepily and pushed up on an elbow as Dean stood with a moan of pain.

"About damn time. Stay." Dean aimed a finger at his brother and went around the bed to the door. He grabbed his gun from the table and held it along his leg as he cracked it open, then smiled and opened it wide. "Hey, Doc."

"Oh!" George spun from where he had been about to walk away and dropped his bag just inside the door in surprise. "Good grief." He put a hand over his heart and smiled sheepishly. "I thought maybe you'd fallen asleep."

Dean chuckled. "Sorry." He bent and picked up the bag, handing it back.

"How's Sam?" George asked, stepping into the room and across the salt line his bag had broken.

"I'm fine, George." Sam smiled at him and then stared, shocked, as the doctor lurched to a stop as if he had run into an invisible wall.

Dean spun back with Sam's gasp and his jaw dropped. "Son of a bitch."

"Dean?" Sam sat up quickly. "What the hell?"

Dean bent in front of George who was now glaring angrily at him and flipped back the corner of a cheap macramé rug to reveal a diagram drawn on the carpet. "Devil's trap. You bastard." He stood and glared at the demon.

"You're smarter than they give you credit for, Dean." George growled, and then smiled as his eyes bled to solid black. He dropped the physician's bag and put his hands up. "Congratulations. You've caught yourselves a demon."

"How long?" Dean advanced on him to the edge of the trap. "How long have you been riding him?"

"What's wrong, Dean? Worried a demon had his dirty hands all over little brother?" George smirked and looked over at Sam. "If I wanted him dead, I could have killed him a dozen times over." He looked back at Dean. "You too."

"Then what do you want?" Sam staggered as he stood, but steadied and went to his bag, rifling through it. "Why take the doctor?" He found what he wanted and turned around, opening the book in his hands to the exorcism he needed.

"That would be telling." George tsked softly and turned his disturbing gaze back to Dean. "So what now, Dean?" He laughed. "Not just going to send me back to Hell are you? That would be unimaginative."

"Oh, Sam's just got that out in case of emergency." Dean said softly. He went back to the table and picked up his knife. "First we're gonna see what you know."

"Your friendly doctor's still in here, you know." George raised his brows and tapped his chest. "Poor man's been screaming since I took him. Kill me, kill him."

"Not gonna kill you." Dean promised darkly. "Sam, get the holy water."

George's smile faded to a glare. "How long do you think you can hold me here before I escape?" He straightened and dusted invisible lint off his shoulder. "Or until help arrives," He added in an amused tone.

Dean considered that. He glanced over to Sam whose face told him what he was already thinking; there was no way they could defend themselves in a damn motel room from a potential horde of demons. He wanted…needed to know what the demons had planned for them, but not at the expense of their lives. "Do it., he said softly and stepped back from the circle.

"What? What are you doing?" George demanded, pushing at the invisible boundary that held him.

Sam nodded with a small smile of understanding and bent his head to the book. "Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus."

George's eyes opened wide. "That's it? You're not going to keep me around? Ask me questions?" He glared at Dean. "What? No impromptu baths with holy water? I'm disappointed in you, Winchester."

"Bite me," Dean growled, while Sam continued the exorcism. "Oh, and say hello to your boss for me." He turned to glance back at the black eyes. "Tell him I'm gonna enjoy ganking his ass one of these days."

George's face contorted in pain. He stumbled back from the edge of the trap and then grinned up at Dean. "Sorry. I still have work to do up here." He dove for the black bag still at his feet and hastily yanked out a bottle. "Catch you later, boys."

"Shit!" Dean lurched toward the demon, intent on stopping him somehow but was too late.

George opened the bottle and spilled its contents onto the carpet and over the writing of the devil's trap. Whatever it was ate into the circle as Dean watched and erased part of it. George reared back and screamed as black smoke erupted from his mouth to pour out into the air and swirled out the open door behind him into the night.

Dean ran for the door, and Sam dashed forward to catch the doctor's body as he fell forward. "Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled and slammed the door shut.

"Dean, he's still alive." Sam eased George back so he was sitting against the side of the bed and squeezed a hand to his shoulder below the wound, trying to ease the fresh pain. He watched George panting for air; his eyes opened too wide in shock. "Dr. Rescal?"

Dean knelt beside them and studied the man. "Doc, you in there?"

George's eyes finally looked up and met Dean's. "Oh, my God." He stared between the two men, slowly shaking his head. "I…I don't…"

"It's ok." Sam put a hand on his arm and smiled. "It's gone. You're free."

"George." Dean waited for the man's gaze to meet his again. "Do you know how long?"

"A…a day. I think." George looked back to Sam. "After your nosebleed, when you passed out. It was just after you both left that first time. I was…I was walking back to do Marie's autopsy and…" He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. "I tried to run…all that black smoke pouring after me…God!" He lowered his hands and stared up at them. "Demons are real."

Dean nodded. "Yeah." He put a hand under the man's shoulder. "Let's get you on your feet. You hurt anywhere?"

"N-no. No, I don't think so." George stood shakily with Dean's help. "I could…see and hear…everything." He closed his eyes again. "It wanted me to."

Sam stood and groaned, swaying as the bullet wound in his shoulder protested all the movement. "Damn," He said breathlessly.

Dean caught hold of his arm. "Well, you're going back to bed."

"The gunshot. I remember." George raised a shaking hand to Sam's shoulder and gently touched the now blood-spotted bandage as if testing that it were real. He shook himself and looked over at Dean and his myriad wounds. He nodded to himself. "I'm still a doctor and…and you boys need help. Sit. Please. You lay down." He poked Sam, and then went to retrieve his medical bag from where the demon had left it. He picked up the now empty bottle and looked at the label. "Hydrogen Peroxide." He ran a finger through the broken area of the devil's trap. "Is this permanent marker?"

"Yeah." Dean eased Sam down onto his bed and looked back.

"It oxidized the inorganic ions in the dye, effectively erasing it." George stood and came around the beds to sit beside Sam. "Can't imagine why he added that to the kit."

"Insurance." Dean gave Sam's neck a squeeze while he panted with pain. "Easy, kiddo."

Sam nodded, feeling a sweat break out on his skin. "Demons aren't…aren't stupid." He opened his eyes as the doctor pulled a chair over to sit next to his bed. "Probably brought it just in case this happened."

George shook his head and started taking supplies out of the bag. "You two…you talk about these things like it's…normal."

"For us, it is." Dean smiled gently and moved back so the doctor could reach Sam's shoulder. He ignored the twinge of paranoia that made him want to keep the doctor away from Sam. The demon was gone. He did however decide from now on to start carrying a flask of holy water with him and splash anyone they came in contact with. He smirked, thinking how Sam would react to that.

"This looks alright, Sam." George nodded as he peeled the bandages back and looked at the bullet wound on the front of his shoulder. "No pulled stitches here, just some blood seeping through. I need to check the back. Can you sit up for me?"

"Yeah." Sam stretched his good arm out and felt it taken in a firm grasp as Dean pulled him upright. He let his head drop forward wearily as George moved behind him. He flinched as the tape pulled at the skin around the wound and smiled as Dean's hand found his neck again. "I'm good."

"I know," Dean assured him and kept his hand in place.

"Damn. One torn stitch back here." George patted Sam's good shoulder. "Just stay there. Won't take me more than a minute to fix this."

"How bad is it?" Dean leaned over and looked at the back of Sam's shoulder, frowning at the fresh trickle of blood coming from the wound.

"Dean, it's nothing. Really," George assured him with a smile. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth and sighed. "He uh…the demon, he didn't pack any anesthetic. I'm sorry, Sam. This is going to be painful."

"Bastard." Dean growled and hoped he'd someday have the chance to kill the demon.

"It's alright, George." Sam nodded and inched forward so his head rested on Dean's chest, suddenly not ashamed to need the contact.

"Ok, here we go." George steadied his hand and hated himself a little for having to cause the man more pain on top of what he already suffered.

Sam fought not to flinch as he felt the torn stitch being cut away or the bite of the needle and thread pulling his skin. He concentrated on the steady pressure of Dean's hand instead, drawing strength and comfort from the contact.

"Sam?" George sat back from the clean fresh bandage taped to his shoulder and moved back to the chair. He took Sam's good shoulder and gave him a shake. He was resting with his head against his brother's chest. "Lay him back."

"Yeah. Sammy?" Dean tipped Sam's head back, smirking as he saw he was half-asleep. " Blood loss does it every time."

George watched Dean expertly ease his brother to the bed, careful of his shoulder and frowned. "How often are you boys in this kind of…position? Wounded and…and demons?"

"Doc, I promise," Dean leaned back once Sam was settled and met his eyes. "If you still wanna know the answer to the question tomorrow, you call me." He smiled. "Don't think you will though."

George nodded slowly and rubbed his hands on his pants. He sniffed around a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, and got himself under control. "One crisis at a time. Your turn."

"Naw, it's cool, Doc. You can probably go home." Dean smiled and startled as a hand clamped on to his arm.

"Dean." Sam cracked tired eyes open to glare up at him. "Shut…up."

In spite of everything that had happened, George was startled into a laugh. He rubbed his hands over his face and smiled. "You should listen to him."

Dean rolled his eyes, peeled Sam's hand off his arm and moved to sit on his own bed where the doctor could see him. "Doesn't even hurt anymore."

"That's adrenaline talking," George informed him with a smirk. "You'll change your tune once it wears off."

Dean sat stoically through the doctor cleaning the wounds on his chest, bandaging some. He was wincing by the time George got to his back and arms and was flat out sweating in pain once they reached his legs. He'd balked at stripping down to his boxers, but one amused chuckle from George and his brother both had had him blushing furiously and giving in with a curse.

"Sam, would you go to sleep already?" Dean glared over as he caught Sam watching from half-closed lids again.

"You both need to rest for a few days." George tied off a last stitch on Dean's outer thigh and taped a bandage over it. He sat back and smirked at the young man's mummified appearance.

"Can't." Dean shook his head. "Not yet. Once you're done we need to shag ass out of here." He knew that was why Sam was hanging on to consciousness. "The demons know where we are now. We have to move before they come looking."

George nodded and started packing his things back into his bag. He took out a bottle and handed it to Dean. "Two every six hours for pain, for both of you." He smiled as he handed them over. "Can I help you do…anything?" He huffed out a breath and stood. "I feel like I should be doing more. You saved me." He ran a hand through his hair and threw his arms out, looking at the two exhausted, battered young men in front of him. "You saved the whole damn town for all I know and no one even knows. It feels wrong to just walk away from you."

Dean grinned and got to his feet. "I appreciate that, doc. We both do. Believe me." He looked over and saw Sam's tired nod and smile. "You're safer if you just go now. Being around us…it ain't safe on a good day." He went to his bag and pulled out a flannel, easing it on over his multitude of bandages, grimacing with pain. "Sam, you good for a minute?"


"Come on, Doc." Dean smiled again and headed for the door.

George picked up his bag and turned to Sam. "Be easy on that shoulder for a while, Sam. Please."

"I will." Sam gave him a shadow of a smile. "Thank you for everything."

George shook his head, bemused. "No. Thank you." He patted the young man's shoulder and followed Dean outside and to the back of the sleek, black Impala in front of the room.

"I can't promise they won't come after you again," Dean went to the trunk and popped it open. "I can give you a few tips to protect yourself though." He took a sack from the corner of the trunk and picked up a can of salt. He held it up. "Salt. Put a line and doors and windows and nothing supernatural can get in." He held up a small jar of water next. "Holy water. Splash someone with it, spike their drink with it. It's like battery acid for demons." George was nodding in a sort of distracted way as he tried process everything. "Here." Dean handed him a rosary. "You know the Lord's prayer?" He smiled when George nodded. "Good man. Say that, drop the Rosary into any container of water and you have instant anti-demon juice."

"I…thank you." George took the bag Dean handed him and felt a little breathless with terror as he began to realize how fundamentally his world had changed in the space of a day.

Dean clapped a hand to his shoulder as he shut the trunk. "I know it's scary. I wish I could give you something more concrete to protect yourself but…" He shrugged.

"You work with what you have." George took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. "I understand. Thank you." He took Dean's hand and shook it firmly. "You should get out of here."

"We are." Dean assured him. "There's a card in there, too, with my number. You think they're coming back for you, call."

"I will." George went to his own car, barely remembering the drive with the demon controlling him, and got in.

Dean watched him pull away with a sad smile and went back into the room. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He yelled, seeing Sam up and moving around. Sam jerked in surprise and teetered on wobbly legs. "Dammit." Dean jumped forward and caught his arm, pulling him back up as his knees buckled until Sam got them locked under him again.

"Packing," Sam said breathlessly. "We need to get out of Dodge, now."

"I can do it, idiot." Dean grumbled.

"Right, cause you're not hurt." Sam rolled his eyes and slapped a hand to Dean's chest, making him hiss and hunch over. He chuckled. "How about...you let me help?"

"Pain in my ass, Sammy." Dean groaned and rubbed a careful hand over his chest, feeling all the bandages under his shirt. "Fine. Move it then and stop hitting me."

Sam chuckled and went back to shoving books and clothes into his bag with one arm. Like his brother, he pulled only a flannel on, having to grit his teeth to get it up over his left shoulder and dropped heavily into the chair for a moment. He cradled his shoulder in his good hand and watched Dean as he tried to pick up his bag without moving his back, failed and hunched with a pained groan.

Sam laughed softly. "Dude, we're a mess."

Dean looked around to him and snorted. "Speak for yourself. I still look awesome." He sucked it up and ignored the pain, grabbed his bag. He took Sam's as well on his way past the table and went out to the car, tossing both in the trunk. He turned, expecting to see his stubborn brother already in the door and frowned when he didn't. A moment of panic threaded through his thoughts until he reached the room door and saw that Sam simply had yet to stir from the chair. He heaved out a soft breath in relief and smiled. Sam sat with his forehead resting on the table, right arm holding his left across his chest.

"I'm getting up," Sam said as he saw Dean's feet appear next to his chair. "In a minute."

"Up you go, Sasquatch." Dean put a hand under his shoulder and slid an arm across his back. "Doc gave us some of the good stuff. Get in the car and you can get high and go to sleep."

Sam laughed but cut it off in a soft gasp of pain and nodded. "No argument."

Dean smirked out to the car. "Now I know it's bad. You, accepting drugs without argument?" He laughed and eased Sam down into the passenger seat.

"Shut up, jerk." Sam rolled slightly to his right as Dean pushed the door closed and let his head thump into the window as his left shoulder throbbed and pounded.

"Bitch." Dean chuckled and went around the car, sliding into the driver's seat. He took the pill bottle from his pocket, shook two out and held them out. "Here." Sam fumbled his good hand out for them and swallowed them dry, too exhausted to bother hunting for a bottle of water.

"Thanks," Sam said softly and closed his eyes. Instantly, the vision of his brother's dead eyes flashed in his mind and he shivered with remembered fear as the wound in his shoulder burned more brightly, like a reminder of how close he had come to losing him for good.

"Hey." Dean saw Sam shudder as he drove and scowled. He twisted, stifling a gasp of pain, and pulled his leather jacket out of the backseat.

Sam snapped his eyes open as something heavy settled over his chest and looked down to see his brother's jacket. He smiled. "Thanks, Dean." He shifted lower in the seat and sniffed in, breathing in the familiar smells of gun oil and leather and letting it wipe away the fear and ease him down into sleep.

Dean grinned and put his eyes back on the road. No damn demon was ever going to come between him and his brother. He wouldn't allow it. He would save Sam or die trying.


The End.