A/N: Okay, okay, I'll be quick … I just wanna thank starlight-winged-angel because she showed me a scene in a movie called The Boondock Saints and I was like: "Oh Jesus, I'm gonna throw up." And then: "OMG, I have to do THAT to Dean." So my twisted mind wanted to do that to Dean, but it's starlight-winged-angel's fault that I actually did it. Danke schön, H. And Darksupernatural Bobby-fied my Bobby lines. Tnx
I hope that whoever reads this will enjoy it and well IF you watched the movie you'll probably, maybe recognize the scene … if not, I hope you'll be able to imagine it. I don't own the movie, I don't own Supernatural, I only own the grammar mistakes … and I apologize for them with all my heart.
It was brown. The autumn. It made the world brown. The forest. The grass. The trees, all brown and delicate. Revealing, open to all. The leaves, the bushes … all brown. All almost frozen, but not quite yet. The winter hadn't come yet. But it would. Soon. It could be tasted in the air, in the wind. The snow could be smelled; it just wasn't really there … yet. And it was cold, a real autumn cold that chilled you to the bones, froze you from the inside out.
But Dean … Dean was on fire.
"Damn it, Bobby, man," Dean jerked when another slice of pain traveled from his thigh up, "you're butchering ME!"
Dean had a perfect view on the brownness of the forest. He tried so hard to concentrate on the swinging tree tops, but all that was really there were the soft, warm breaths Sam was blowing on the side of his neck. The tree tops were just a reminder of where he was. A forest. A cave. Bobby's knife fishing for a bullet in his thigh. Pants pulled down to his knees.
"Shut yer trap. If ya can still yell, I'm not ... am I?"
"Well," a draw of breath, "it sure feels," a grunt, "like it," Sam's breath on the side of his neck, "to me." he panted out, barely keeping his voice loud enough for Bobby to hear him.
"It'll be over in a minute. Now stop yer fidgitin', boy."
Bobby looked up at Dean's face, sweaty and pale. He really didn't want to do this, but someone had to get the bullet out. Someone had to do the dirty job … he wasn't sure that Sam'd be able to do what was necessary. He was having doubts himself.
"I'll be done soon …" offered as an apology, but it was taken with a subdued groan from Dean and a softly whispered shhhh, shhhh from Sam.
Bobby tore his gaze away from the bloody bullet wound in Dean's thigh and looked up at Sam … the kid was barely holding it together, hidden behind Dean, holding to his brother as tightly as he could. He nodded, letting Sam know that he should hold tighter. Much tighter.
When he returned to search for the bullet, Dean lost it. Lost his footing, lost his sense of reality, lost the battle with pain. His thigh, his whole body was on fire, like being sliced and diced … slowly and surly.
"Let me down, Sam! Let go of me! Sam! God … aaaahhhh!"
The scream echoed through the cave's silence, bouncing from the damp walls, going straight into Sam's ear. He swallowed all that little saliva he had in his dry mouth and just held tighter. Trying to reason with Dean the only way he knew how: "We can't risk pneumonia, Dean. I lay you down … the floor's frozen … your ass is gonna freeze, jerk." he could feel the heat coming from Dean … fever, fear, pain, those claw marks on his sides…
The back of Dean's shirt was drenched with sweat, soaking the front of Sam's hoodie. When Dean shifted, Sam felt all the muscles in Dean's back tense against his chest. Holding Dean up like that was the only way. The only way.
He sighed against Dean sweaty neck and pressed his brother even closer to him. He needed to keep Dean from moving too much, although that wasn't going so well, when Dean bucked and screamed again.
"Damn boy, you sound like you're in labor."
"It freakin'," a breath "hurtssss."
God, what did I just say?
"You had worse, boy."
"I was always," a deep breath in, "drunk when this was," a slow release, "being done. Aaaaaahhhhh son of a bitch, Bobby, stop, stop … just a sec … just one sec."
Sam's head fell boneless on Dean's shoulder, his forehead hitting the bone there: "Dean, we have to go. We can't stay here for long." whispering into Dean's shoulder, his mouth grazing the sweat drenched fabric of the shirt, he tightened his hold around his brother's waist. Dean's hands were holding his forearms in a vice grip, knuckles white with strain. He could feel every time Bobby hit a nerve or something equally painful with the knife, every time Dean gripped his arms tighter, digging his fingers into his skin.
"Can ya hold him?"
Sam was lost in keeping his grip tight enough so that Dean wouldn't hit the ground and light enough so that he wouldn't suffocate him. The way he was wiggling in pain … one wrong move, one misplaced grip and Dean would fall on the cold, frozen floor of the cave.
Not gonna happen...
"Sam?" Sam looked at the direction of the voice, "Can ya hold him?" Bobby's strong eyes met his and he nodded again. How could Bobby even think about him not being able to hold his brother up? The situation was getting the better of them all, and if Bobby wouldn't find the bullet soon … they'd be in a whole new world of trouble.
Sam felt sweat running down his back, the air in the cave hot and cold at the same time, Dean a solid pressure against his chest, losing his breaths in Dean's, trying so hard to not let his brother fall or wiggle too much … a scream from Dean and a breath from Bobby … and the bloody bullet was out.
Sam could feel Dean sliding down, sliding out of his grip, his head pressed hard on a spot right below his neck, Dean's short hair like needles on his skin.
"Got it, the son of a bitch … and 's a small bitch, too."
"Well," a breath through his nose, "it felt like a bigger bitch," another breath, "when it was in my thigh." He smirked right at the moment when Bobby looked up from the position he was in, crouching before Dean and Sam.
"Okay, okay," slow breath, to get his bearings back, "just stitch me up, doc, and we can go."
"Ah…" Bobby scratched his chin, running his fingers through his beard.
A look coming from Sam stopped Bobby in his track, and closing his mouth he stood up. His old knees gave a silent pop that sliced through the cave's silent interior.
"I'll just go…" prepare everything, was left unsaid.
"Bobby?" Dean could see Bobby stand up and walk away to the fire that was burning just a few feet away.
Nothing was said, nothing was done and his heart dropped when he saw the fire flashing on Bobby's knife. Little sparks of red-orange flames on a clean silver mirror of Bobby's knife and Dean knew.
Oh boy, not good.
Sam could feel Dean sag a bit in his arms and once again he hauled him up, gripping him tight by the waist. He could feel the breaths Dean was trying to pull in, his stomach and chest working top speed to acquire enough air … to not pass out.
Dean's hands never left Sam's forearms, his tight grip never wayward, never deteriorated in strength. And Sam was fine with that … it hurt, sure, but that was nothing compared to the pain his brother was in.
"S-ssam … wanna share?" He pinched the skin on Sam's arm, making his brother yelp. It was getting harder to talk, think. The hole in his thigh was on fire … ice cold fire that spread throughout his body.
"Dean … we have to. We don't have anything. The thing took everything we had." No need in denying, no need to play it nice … Dean had the right to know. He'd be feeling it soon anyway.
Dean pinched harder, drawing another yelp from Sam: "Argh, stop doing that, you ass."
"Suck it up, bitch." Dean smirked, trying to keep his voice steady.
The fire was dancing, casting weirdly shaped shadows all along the walls, the ceiling, the floor. It was a big cave, enough for a bear to go hide in it, or some other creature of 'unnatural origins'. Like those shadows dancing before his eyes, like that reflection of the flames on Bobby's knife that was heating itself in them, like those bright, shiny spots on the walls … crystals, coal, water, the trees bending outside, the wind blowing, the echoing screams, the smell of burning wood, Sam's breaths on the side of his neck, Sam's strong hands around his waist … it all blended together in Dean's mind.
"'kay, 'kay … let me go."
"Let me go, Sam!"
He started to struggle, the pain in his thigh forgotten, the blood still dripping down his skin … tickling … as he tried to struggle out of Sam's tight grip. But Sam was stronger. Determent to never let go of his brother, not now.
"Dean, calm down!"
He really didn't want to yell, especially not with his mouth so close to Dean's ear, but his jerk of a brother left him no choice.
"Sammy I swear to God if you don't let me go, I'm gonna kill ya!"
Sam griped Dean tighter, pushed his elbows beneath Dean's ribs, putting pressure on the shirt they were using to stop the flow of blood from Dean's side.
"You son of a bitch, Sam, let me go!"
"Can't … you know that." he whispered into Dean's ear, leaning closer, so that only Dean would hear.
The shadows on the wall were coming nearer, the sweat that was dripping into his eyes was burning, he blinked a few times, wanting to wipe it away, wanting to run away, but he didn't want to let go of Sam's hands. He could feel the veins in them, blood running in them, the same kind of blood that was running down his thigh … brothers.
He could easily kick and punch Sam, easy like Sam was made of feathers, but … he couldn't hurt Sam … couldn't make him hurt … his mind … the pain … the shadows … blood lose … shock …
The pleading started when he saw Bobby heating the knife in the fire that was obliviously giving away heat looking as if it was laughing at him … I took away you Mom, your brother's girlfriend, your Dad, and now, now I'm here to torture you and your brother is gonna hold you while I do it.
He didn't want to sound like a baby, but the pain made everything more menacing and fuzzier. And being cauterized was … not gonna happen if he had anything to say about it.
"Sam, 's not that bad, 's not that bad … I'll be fine, let's just pack up our things and go."
He was sounding like a five year old, but the pain had a mouth of its own.
"Dean," he tightened his hold around Dean's waist, feeling the strain in his brother's stomach muscles, "'s the only way. We have nothin'," he huffed and let his lips turn up into a smile, "or you know, I could just knock you out."
"You do that," a breath, "and you'll be picking," a quick breath, "your teeth from the floor."
But the words hit him hard … he wanted to retreat into himself, find a cozy little spot in his mind just the way his Dad taught him, just like he taught Sam … but Sam's arms sliding up his ribs, settling down underneath his armpits, that touch combined with Sam's soft breaths on the side of his neck were keeping him right there … in the cave, with damp walls enclosing on him, with floor too cold for him to lay down, how could Bobby even start the freaking fire?, and he thanked the Lord that Sam had so much common sense to turn him facing the cavern's entrance. The dancing tree tops were a distraction whenever Sam wasn't talking.
A cold breeze came from the entrance of the cave and brought the smell of sun with it … it overpowered the stench of blood and heating steel.
Sam's arms were doing something that he couldn't see but he could smell it, when something was trying to be pushed into his mouth.
"What?" he whined.
Whatever Sam was trying to push into his mouth was gray and smelling real funny. He closed his mouth shut, like a baby not wanting to eat its food.
"Dean, open up and bite." they were soft words, gentle words whispered into his ear, always the same ear. There was no menace in them, just sadness and pain. Sam would never hurt him intentionally, that much he knew.
"Whisky, alcohol, somethin' … anythin'." His mind was on replay … Whisky, alcohol, something…anything… over and over again. He needed something, something to dull this pain.
Sam let his head fell on Dean's nape. That one simple request, one little tiny request for some kind of relief and he had nothing to offer.
"We don't have any, I already told ya." He shook his head no against Dean's sweat cold nape and physically felt the moment Dean's heart stopped and began to beat again.
"We don't have any … the thing … it took everything. Bobby had a flask on him, he cleaned your wound with it. 'm sorry."
It was as if the pain made Dean loose some time, memory, words … and Sam had to repeat things to him, things that hurt him more than they did Dean.
There was no air in the cave, the walls were crashing down on him, the floor was coming nearer and nearer and he couldn't…
He raised his head from Dean's nape and tried to see what his brother was doing, thinking, but all he could see were his brother's ears and cheek. And that long vein on the side of his neck, bulged out from strain … Sam felt Dean's heartbeat whenever he leaned his cheek there.
"Dean? Ya with me, man?"
There was no answer and in the flickering light of the fire, Sam saw his brother panic. It was subtle, the panic, just a quick hitch in breathing … the pain was getting to Dean … he never acted like this. Panic … panic was bad.
"Dean … you're strong … it'll just take a few seconds."
A few seconds too long, Dean thought when his brother's words finally slipped inside of his mind.
"Dean … please."
He knew Sam was right; he had to bite into something, or else off goes his tongue.
Sucking it up … the situation … wasn't gonna break him: "What is it?" his voice was gruff, deep and almost too soft.
Sam smiled behind him: "My T-shirt, okay? Now bite."
He didn't want to. He didn't want to be silenced, he wanted to scream, he wanted to bite off his tongue, he wanted to be heard, but … he didn't want to hurt Sam. Not like this. He opened up his mouth and Sam slid the T-shirt into his mouth.
The taste was … disgusting. Sweat and dirt and a little blood, was Sam hurt? all mixed up with the undercurrent of something that was pure Sam … something that Sam carried with him ever since he was a baby. He tried to swallow around the cloth but found himself unable to. And that freaked him out. He could choke with his own saliva.
"Dean … relax."
One simple word wrapped into his brother's voice. One simple word … and he couldn't do it. He just couldn't.
The fire was slowly eating the knife, turning it into the hot steel, Dean knew would soon burn his flesh. He breathed fast and deep, wanting to pass out right now. The Hell with everything … pass out … the sooner the better.
The trees were still swaying left and right, the birds were singing, the thing was still after them and he knew that the second this was over, they needed to leave. Run and never look back. Motel room, hospital whatever, and then he'd come back and slaughter the thing with his bare hands.
Thoughts in his head were mingling together, everything that was slightly coherent was dead in his head, the walls were coming nearer, the sweat running down his body was hot, cold, tickling, making him tremble and shiver … the pain … the pain … Sam's arms, holding him up … strong, not going anywhere. He leaned on Sam, felt his heart through his back, felt Sam breathing, nice and slow.
The kid's doing that on purpose. Breathing … yeah, nice and slow. Okay, two can play that game.
As Sam held Dean up, with his hands beneath Dean's armpits feeling Dean sweat, he could feel Dean relaxing a bit … leaning back, breathing evening out, slowly.
The grip Sam had on the ends of the cloth was fierce … one wrong move and off went Dean's tongue.
"'s gonna be okay, Dean. It ain't gonna hurt that bad."
Dean nodded and could almost cry at how both of them were lying to each other. Anything for comfort, right?
He held his brother up … with sorrow. The way Dean was wiggling and bucking and pushing away from him was slowly starting to kill him. And when Bobby came near them, the knife held up high, Dean pushed back at his chest, nearly making them both fall down on the cold, hard ground.
Dean wanted to run and hide … but he settled with leaning back onto Sam's chest again. Breathing with him, sharing heat, sharing some sort of comfort they both needed.
Stay strong, Dean … for Sam. Okay, this is gonna hurt … son of a bitch.
Bobby gently grabbed Dean's leg and put it on a tree log he found lying around. Dean hissed in a breath and tried to grab Sam's hands or his hoodie or just something to focus on, instead of Bobby's red hot knife. But all he could grab was the cold/hot stinky damp air that ruled the cave.
"Easier this way, 's all." Bobby mumbled but he was pretty sure none of the boys heard him.
Dean was breathing fast and furious, his chest heaving, his hands flailing in the air, trying to find something to hold on to, his eyes clenched tight, tears in their corners and Bobby was sure the boy would never let them fall. Because of Sam … show no weakness.
Sam was leaning his head to Dean's left ear, whispering words that helped keep that tear from falling. Words that were for Dean's ears only: "I gotcha, Bobby's gotcha, we gotcha. I gotcha, 's okay."…words like balsam dripping into Dean's mind.
Sam allowed himself those words because he knew Dean was way too deep in the pain to ever tease him about it. And when he felt Dean relax: "I gotcha."
Bobby waited for a sign to do this. The knife was hot, the wound was clean, the Whisky was gone and he was pretty sure that Dean asked for it at some point. The poor boy … boys.
Sam was the one who managed to tear his eyes away from looking at Dean and nodded. He could do this, for Dean.
"Three deep breaths, Dean." was whispered into his ear and he did it. Long, quick and deep.
And then the world exploded into tiny little dots and the orange light of the sun turned into white flashes and then into dark ones and the fire from his thigh spread all over him.
The only thing he could still hang on to was Sam's: "Bite down, I gotcha, alright … Dean, I gotcha."
He felt something soft and smooth slide between his fingers. The pain was gone if he concentrated enough on the silky feeling enveloping his fingers. And it was wet and wavy. It curled around his fingers … and his knuckles brushed something hot, clammy, skin. Sam's skin, Sam's hair … he had handful of them. When did that happen?
Sam saw Dean's right hand rise up, up, up, until his fingers found his nape and the hair there. He felt Dean's fingers searching and finally gripping the hair there and he really wished that Dean hadn't had found them: "Ease up, man, God. 's okay, Dean, ease up!" Dean's blunt nails were scraping Sam's skin with every spasm of pain Bobby was putting him through.
The smell of burning flesh crawled up and into his nose … Dean's flesh.
"'s okay, Dean, 's okay, 's alright, 's okay, breathe man."
Dean was pushing away from Sam one minute, then pushing back at him the next. A slow dance they were dancing, Sam moving behind Dean, moving his body with Dean, holding the cloth, holding Dean as still as possible, but … the mere thought that he was helping in hurting his brother was by far the winner of it all and Sam just let his body roll with Dean's. Shuffling their feet on the pebbly ground, Sam tried his best to hold Dean as steady as possible, and Dean tried his best not to scream louder.
Dean felt as if he was dying. Burning up, slowly … from the inside out. He screamed a muted scream and pushed his head further down on Sam's shoulder, further against Sam's cheek. He gripped Sam's sweat soaked hair, tangled his fingers in it and squeezed.
Sam heard the Sammy in the screams, muffled by his T-shirt sure, but he would recognize his name anywhere, anytime.
"Hold him, boy!"
Hot … it was just so hot, scorching hot, white furious pain going up his spine, like rose thorns stuck in his nerves, scraping them with every move he made.
"Easy, shhhhh … bite down." a litany of words, a litany of whispered words around the smell of burning flesh … words mixed with Dean's muffled screams, words mixed with the sizzling noise of burning flesh.
He bit down on what used to be Sam's T-shirt and he thought he was gonna push his teeth out straight through his jaw. He heard Sam's words; he heard every one of them, clinging to them with as much strength as he was clinging to Sam's hair.
His other hand finally found a way to Sam's hoodie … he fisted the material, tugging down, making Sam bend forward a little. Making Sam envelop him even more … making Sam loose him … and he didn't really wanted to be found.
"Okay, I think that's it."
Bobby's voice was shaking. He got up from his knees and walked away to put out the fire. They needed to move, leave … right now.
"Okay, okay, it's over. 's over…" Sam straightened himself up, slowly bringing his brother up with him. Dean's hand lost its grip in his hair and he was sure, Dean pulled some out by the roots … the other hand lost its grip on his hoodie.
He was breathless and drenched in sweat and he really needed to see in what state Dean was.
As quickly and gently as he could he removed the cloth from Dean's mouth dragging a line of saliva with it. Dean's lips were dry, mouth dry, tears mixing with sweat, making everything glister in the dying light of the fire.
There was no noise, just the echo of Dean's scream that would forever live among these walls. And in Sam's mind.
"Dean?" he whispered again to the deadly silence that lived in the cave.
He let his hands fall down to hold Dean up by his waist again and Dean made a protesting sound that could only be described as a part groan and a part whimper.
"Dean, you gotta breathe, man."
He could feel how shallow Dean's breaths were, when he put his hand palm down in the middle of Dean's chest, the side of his palm grazing the amulet. He could feel Dean's heart beating with as much speed as he could feel his own but his breaths were…
"Dean, man … just breathe … come on. We need to get out of here, so come on!"
"Dean!" he yelled, startling Bobby in his work; putting out the fire and gathering their things.
"Sammy." It was slurred and breathless, but it was good enough.
"Dean, hey man, 's okay. 'm just gonna pull your pants up and then we're gone. Understand?"
The look Dean held when Sam finally stepped in front of him, told him that his brother was barely holding on.
Dean clenched his jaw as tight as it would go and nodded. The truth was he wanted to lay down and die. How Sam and Bobby thought that he was gonna be able to walk to the car, was beyond him.
"Lean on me, come on."
"Yeah, yeah okay … gonna wrap the …"
"Bobby already did."
"Oh, oh …'kay."
Sam pulled Dean's pants back on, trying hard not to touch the wound, trying to ignore the blood and the smell, trying to ignore the strong grip Dean had on his shoulders, trying to ignore Dean's whispered son of a bitch, when he closed the zipper, buttoned the button and Dean swayed in the cave's air … silent and lost.
He felt every touch, every slight movement in the air, every breeze that touched his heated, oversensitive skin and that was enough to black out … again.
Sam caught him mid fall, caught him by his shoulders, by his waist.
No response made Sam call out for Bobby.
"He passed out, Bobby … give me a hand."
The autumn was brown. It was all brown … the leaves, the forest, the trees, the sky … the only thing different was the red on the cave's floor.
…happened in a few agonizingly slow minutes.
Just a little side note: I'm really kind of nervous right now, so IF you review, pleeeeeeeeeeease be nice?
A/N MADE 17.12.2014: Wow I'm absolutely blown away with how many favorites & reviews this story has, just wow. So I took some time to fix all the grammar and spelling mistakes, because no one deserves to read a story that has sooooo many mistakes of all kinds. So thank you for reading and perhaps me fixing mistakes butchered the story even more, but oh well … I think it's definitely better than it was before. LOL thank you!