Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Wayward Son ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )

A/N: Guys, you're killing me. If my story is bad, let me know. If I'm doing something wrong, give me some pointers. If my characterization is off, let me know how to improve it. If you have something good to say that would be nice too, but this resounding silence is very discouraging.

Wayward Son

 

Chapter Three

He was alone, looking up at a ramshackle farmhouse. It was old and run down, the eaves drooping like shaggy brows over lazy eyes. The roof was missing shingles and most of the windows were boarded up and decorated with orange day glow graffiti. The white house paint had long since faded, leaving it a washed out gray. It rose menacingly up on the hillside, a giant, bloated corpse of a life forgotten, blending into the dark gray sky behind it. A black, skeletal tree stood sentinel next to the house, an old tire swing swaying listlessly in the breeze.

It frightened him. Even if he wasn't a hunter, he would have recognized the house as being trouble. It screamed haunted. Park a pumpkin on the porch and toss a few ghosts in the attic and it could be poster art for Halloween. And, dude, he really hated Halloween. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn't. He was rooted to the spot, forced to stand before it and absorb its horror.

A soft hand fitted inside of his, warm fingers twining with his long ones. He looked down, his heavy heart lightening when he saw Madison beside him. She smiled up at him, her bow-shaped lips curving upwards just for him.

“Hi there,” she greeted softly, her eyes glowing warmly

“Hi.” He smiled back at her, happy for the first time in a long time. He glanced back at the house, no longer afraid. “Where are we?”

“Kansas.”

One gold brow lifted at her response. Kansas? Well, Toto we are a long way from home. Not. Why did everything in life always come full circle?

“Where in Kansas?”

“Just outside of Lawrence, silly.” She nudged him in the side, as if he should have already known.

“Of course, we are,” he muttered dryly. “Why are we here?” The warm, happy feeling in his belly was starting to dissolve and he didn't like it one bit.

“You're having another premonition.”

“Why are you here?”

She exhaled a long suffering sigh, and he felt guilty all over again. “I told you that I would protect you like you protected me. No pain while I'm around, remember? Besides I have something to show you.” She began to draw him towards the house, but he dug his feet in like a reluctant two year old. She turned back to him, an amused smile on her face.

“This is a dream, silly. Nothing can hurt you in a dream.”

“That is a common misconception. There are numerous things lurking around in the dreamscape that would make Freddy look like a catholic school girl.”

She laughed, a full-bodied, lively sound that made his gut clench. At that moment he didn't think he could miss someone so much. He missed her, Jess, even his mother, whom he never heard laugh.

“I don't know about that. I've met some pretty scary school girls, but it's okay, Sammy. I'll keep the baddies away.”

His eyes narrowed as he glared at her. “You sound just like my brother.”

She flashed him a smile, barely containing her bubbly laughter behind, sharp white teeth. “Are you so sure that I'm not?”

His nose wrinkled and instead of two he was twelve. “That's just gross.”

She chuckled, tugging on his hand again, and this time he followed, refusing to be cowardly in front of her. She led him up the sagging porch and through the front door. She looked neither left nor right, but led him straight to the staircase in the main room. She obviously knew where she was going, intent on showing him something important.

“This way. And watch yourself, that third step is a duzzy.”

They continued up the stairs, hopping over the third step on their way up. Once at the top, she led him down a dark, narrow hall, through a tangle of spider webs and busted boards. Scattered throughout the house there was old furniture as if the last family had just up and left everything behind in their hurry to escape. Over the years some things had been scavenged, but for the most part much of it remained. Unused reminders of a different life, a different time.

They entered a small room, a study from decades ago that had been captured in time. An old secretary butted up against the wall, dust an inch thick piled up on the surface.

“There.” She pointed, drawing him closer. “What you are looking for is taped to the back on the inside of the desk. It will have to be broken open to be retrieved.”

“What is it that I'm looking for?”

“A ritual.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had never gone on a scavenger hunt for a spell in a haunted house before, but there was a first for everything

“What sort of ritual?”

She turned towards him, gripping both his hands in hers. She gazed at him, her dark eyes gleaming warmly, a small smile dancing on her lips.

“One that can save Dean, of course.”

His fingers tightened reflexively around hers, and his heart nearly jumped from his chest. His exhilaration was instantaneous as he looked back to the desk. Finally what he had been looking for nine months was within his grasp.

“Oh, by the way, Sam.” Her fingers slipped away, and he turned his head to glance back at her. “Look out for the little girl.” He finished turning, but Madison was no longer beside him. He twirled further around, coming face to face with a hideous child with streaming black hair and soulless eyes. He gasped in shock, staggering back, trying bracing himself as she leapt at him with extended claws.

 

 

“Well this is cozy.” He shot Delilah a heavy-lidded look that made most woman sigh, but all he got for his trouble was a half penny sneer. Apparently, little miss candy striper was still pissed about being handcuffed to the steering wheel. Of course the fact that he had did it again, just moments ago while he signed in at the front desk may have something to do with it.

Together they had hefted Sam out of the car and carried him into their ground floor room at the Paradise Inn while no one was looking. Or so Dean hoped. He did most of the heavy lifting, but he allowed Delilah to help, mostly to make sure that she stayed close. After that, he went back outside to retrieve some clothes, a couple of weapons and their food. When he got back, he found her with Sam's IV already set up and bandaging his wound.

“How's he doing?”

“Better.” She replied, a little bit nonplussed.

Dean smiled at her, relieved for the first time in twenty-six hours. It was about time that the renowned Winchester healing started to kick in. Over the years they had their butts kicked so many times that their bodies had become machines when it came to healing. It was much easier for them to overcome shock since they experienced trauma more often than any normal human body should.

Food in hand he flung himself on the nearby bed, bouncing a little as he braced himself against the headboard. Digging through the bag he pulled out bowl of broth.

“How do you want to feed him this?”

Delilah glanced around, biting gently on her lower lip. Dean watched, absently wondering if he could somehow convince her to forgive him for his transgressions and baptize him with those lips. They were really nice lips. Full and pink, and come-fuck-me kissable.

He blinked when she moved to pull out some tubing from the bundle of supplies. She turned towards him, and he tried to wipe the horn dog look off his face before she caught him, but he must not have succeeded completely, because her Jack Daniel `s eyes narrowed just a bit.

“We can use this as a feeding tube.” She lifted the tubing to show him. “But we don't have a way to release the broth.”

Dean leapt of the bed, a wide I-can-do-anything smile on his face. “Leave it to me, doc. Just put the tube down his throat, I'll do the rest.”

She have him a look that clearly said that she thought he was full of shit, but she turned away, pulling the pillow out from under Sam so she could cock his head back. Armed with a pen light and the tube, she opened Sam's mouth and fed the shunt down his throat and into his stomach. She did it was such sweet and clean professionalism that Sammy didn't even gag. Dean was pretty damn impressed.

Once she was done, she handed him the other end of the tube, her sleek, blonde brow raised in challenge. While her back was turned he had been cutting down another smaller piece of tubing. He checked the broth, making sure that it wasn't so hot that it would burn Sam when it hit his stomach. Satisfied, he placed one end of the short tube into the broth and the other end into his mouth and sucked. As broth streamed up the tube he pulled the end out of his mouth, covering the tip with his thumb. Quickly he shoved the smaller tube into the end of the bigger tube, watching carefully as the broth continued to stream down the line and into his brother's stomach.

“Just like ciphering gas from a car,” he boasted proudly.

She rolled her eyes good naturally and he bounced back onto the bed, finally feeling like he had done something right. Delilah carefully monitored Sam, while he pulled out his burger and fries to eat. She stopped the flow of broth after it was about half gone, not wanting to upset Sam's stomach too much. Carefully she pulled the tube out of his throat, fussing a little to make sure he was comfortable.

Dean had snapped on the TV, and was mindlessly watching some chick soap, while covertly eyeing Delilah. Wordlessly she picked up the food he bought her, sinking down into the faux leather chair by Sam's bed. She grimaced as she unwrapped the greasy burger, using two fingers to pluck the patty off the bun. She put the burger back together without the meat, looking a little green when a glob of yellowish mayo dripped off the bun and onto the paper.

Sighing, Dean got up off the bed, throwing his wrapper into the small trash can by the TV stand. He walked over to his bag, pulling out some tape and handcuffs. Delilah was too engrossed, in her not so engrossing food to notice what he was doing. Stealthily he stalked up behind her, slapping the tape over her mouth before she had a chance to draw the air to scream. She dropped her yuck-o burger, trying to tear the tape from her mouth, but he was quicker. He dragged her closer to Sam's bed, cuffing her hands to the metal frame.

She twisted around, shooting fire from those beautiful brown eyes of hers. Unable to resist he smirked down at her, patting her gently on the head.

“Be a good girl, and maybe I'll bring you back a treat.”

A slew of muffled growls emanated from behind the tape and he didn't have to be a genius to know that she probably just called him every dirty name in the book. For some reason that just tickled him pink, and he began to whistle Enter Sandman as he walked out the door.

Fifteen minutes later he was back, unloading a salad, a bowel of fruit and some bottled water onto the small round table by the door. Still whistling he sauntered up to Delilah, pulling the tape from her mouth.

“I hate you,” she hissed, thoroughly pissed at him. How many times was he going to tie her up, before he got the hint that she wasn't going to bail until Sam was doing better?

He clucked his tongue at her, undoing her cuffs.

“There you go my little vegan.” He swept his arm towards the table generously.

“Vegetarian,” she corrected, rubbing her wrist while still shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

“Dude, whatever. So not an attractive trait either way.”

“Like I care,” she snapped, popping the plastic lid off the salad not bothering to say thank you. She figured she paid her dues by having to be trussed up like a Christmas goose while he was out.

They spent the rest of the day in silence. Delilah was still pretty sore about being tied up again, and Dean had no idea what to say to a woman that didn't involve pick up lines. He never had a mother growing up to tell him what girls thought about or how to treat them right. He never sister to tease into tears then apologizes to. Sam didn't count even during his worst emo moments.

He had no idea what it was like to be around a woman. Just to be in her company. He had moved around so much as a kid that high school girls all just blended together, and once he figured out that he only needed one thing from them he didn't bother to learn more than their name, which was quickly forgotten as soon as he moved on to the next town.

He never had a steady girlfriend like Sam. He never stayed in one place long enough. Cassie was more than a one night stand, but all they ever did well was fight and fuck and look how that turned out. He couldn't tell women the truth, and he couldn't take them home to meet his family. Sam maybe, but not his dad---he was a man who would only tell him not to get caught with his dick hanging out of his pants.

Throughout the day, he surreptitiously watched Delilah as she leafed through the magazines left over from the last tenant or tended to Sam. An unspoken line had been drawn down the middle of the room. He got the side with the bed and the TV and she stayed next to Sam, sitting by the window. A couple of times he opened his mouth to say something, but then he quickly closed it, realizing that whatever comment he had would more than likely piss her off. In the end, he just resigned himself to shutting his damn trap and flipping through the channels.

“I need a shower.”

Her comment, so out of the blue towards the end of the evening, caught him a little bit off guard. He gave her a wide-eyed look that said, and? She sighed gustily, clearly annoyed with him.

“I don't have a change of clothes.” You prick

He couldn't help but to smile at her tone. She sure was a pistol, he gave her that. Her clothes looked clean enough to him, but he seemed to remember that woman were particular about that sort of thing. They had the strange idea that if they wore something once that it was dirty even if it didn't smell or have any visible stains. Dean was in the way of thinking that if it couldn't stand up on its own then it was still wearable.

He got up off the bed, and picked up his duffel, digging through it until he found a somewhat clean pair of sweats and a White Snake T-shirt. He balled them up, throwing them over to her, before stalking off into the bathroom. He made a quick sweep to make sure that there weren't any windows she could squeeze out of. As he exited she swept by him, head high, without so much as a thank-you. Oh yah, she was still sore about being trussed up. Probably about the whole kidnapping thing in general. He wondered how long that would last. Probably a lot longer than it should if he kept poking her just to see that fire in her eyes.

She slammed the door, barely missing his toes. He snarled at her through the door before stomping back to the bed. He heard the pounding of the water as she turned the shower on, and he plucked up the remote, raising the volume on the Springer show so he could hear some trailer trash whore complain that her mama was fucking her boyfriend.

The bathroom door opened up, and a roll of white steam billowed out.

“Do you have any real shampoo? This five cent motel crap is going to frizz out my hair.”

Dean blinked at her, and she blinked back. She took one look at his close cropped spikes and slammed the bathroom door again.

He looked over at Sam, a pithy comment about girls and their primping habits on his lips, when he noticed Sam's nice, shiny hair curling around his face. His brother was such a girl. With that in mind he trotted out to the Impala to retrieve Sam's bag. Digging through it, sure enough, he found some chick shampoo and bonus, conditioner as well.

He sauntered over to the bathroom door, a shit-eating grin on his face. Oh yeah, I'm the man. He knocked loudly, his grin spreading when he heard her curse behind the door.

“I'm naked!”

The shit-eating grin got bigger.

“That's generally how I like my girls.”

“I'm a woman, not some wide-eyed, little eighteen year old whose going to be suckered in by that I'm-sex-on-a-stick grin and that wanna-be James Dean ride you got parked out front. And I swear to God if you try to bust your way in here while I'm in the shower, I will scream so fucking loud you'll think you're in a reenactment of Psycho.”

Dean scowled, his eyes narrowing into dangerous, green slits. Like he would actually do what she was accusing him of. Just because he didn't know how to talk to a woman didn't mean he went around hurting them. Granted, he had fucked up royally with her, but he needed her, and not once had he laid a violent hand on her. And that James Dean comment was just low, way low.

“I have real shampoo and conditioner.” You bitch. Two could play that game.

There was silence for a moment, then the tell tale scrape of the shower curtain being dragged along the metal rod. Another moment of silence then the door cracked open, just wide enough for him to pass her the bottles, before it snapped shut again.

“You're welcome,” he bitched through he door, not really expecting a reply and not getting one.

Twenty minutes, and one empty hot water tank later, so much for my shower, Delilah turned off the water. It took her another ten minutes to actually exit the bathroom. Scowling, Dean had given up his stake on the bed, figuring that she was going to want to go to sleep soon. Instead he had commandeered her padded seat by Sam and was telling him about everything that he missed while being out cold.

Of course, Sam didn't so much as flicker, but it made him feel better to talk to his brother. He was really starting to miss him. He tried not to think what it was going to be like for Sam when he was gone in three months. If Sam felt this strongly about him or not. It didn't really matter. Sam had proven in the past that he was able to live life on his own without needing his family as a crutch. Who knew, maybe he would go on and get that law degree after all, now that old yellow eyes was out of the picture.

Still drying her hair with a towel she sunk down on the side of the bed, silently noticing that Dean had straightened out the rumpled covers for her. She mentally kicked herself for being such a bitch and decided to make the best of a very bad scene.

“How is he?” she asked softly. Dean was hunched over his in chair, his elbows braced on his knees. She knew that he had been talking to his brother before she came out. She had seen it many times in the hospital. Relatives talking quietly to their loved ones, trying to convince them that the worse was over and that it would okay to open their eyes.

Something about her careful tone must have tipped him off because he straightened in his chair. He gave her a hard look, before his whole face melted into his, aren't I just the sexist damn thing you ever did see, expression that she was becoming familiar with. He leaned back into the chair, one arm swinging over the back.

“My pansy-ass brother is doing just fine. Although if he lays around much longer, acting like a damn prima donna princess, I'm gonna have to start calling him Samantha.”

She blinked. As an only child she didn't have much experience with siblings. Much less brothers. She was pretty sure that bagging on his brother was his way of reassuring himself that he was going to be alright. Either that or he was just a prick.

“Riight.” She folded her up her wet towel, carrying it back to the bathroom to flip it over the shower rod to dry. With her back turned she didn't see Dean's; I'm such a dumbass, look that came over his face, or the way he scrubbed his hand through his hair.

She walked back out, and this time Dean took note of her clothing. He didn't know how she did it but she made his dark gray sweats and oversized T-shit look as sexy as bunny-eared lingerie. The pants were too big for her, so she had to roll them up around the waist, and the shirt fell down below her hips. Her strawberry hair, loose from its bun for the first time in days fell down over her shoulders in a tangle that just about begged him to reach out and run his fingers through.

He suspected that her sexiness had less to do with how she was wearing the clothes, but who was wearing the clothes. His clothes. He felt something hot and possessive shimmer through his chest and into his belly.

To compensate he scratched his stomach, warning bells going off in his head. It was one thing to nail a hot chick at a bar in a town they were passing through, but it was another to make a pass at a woman he just kidnapped. That was just wrong, wasn't it?

“Are these blood stains?” She had the hem of his shirt pulled away from her body and was studying some obscure stains smeared on the bottom.

He lifted his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug, not really know what the deal was. “They don't show when I wear another shirt over it.”

She looked up at him, her brown eyes unreadable. A small crease formed between her brows and he knew that she was started to think a little too hard about him and his situation.

Delilah had noticed that Sam seemed to have a lot of scars on his body. Most were old, probably dating back to childhood, but a few more were recent, barely healed and still pink. She had yet to see Dean without his shirt on, but she suspected that he would have just as many scars if not more. It made her wonder yet again, about what kind of man she was dealing with. An image of a Roman centurion flashed through her mind, but she shook it away.

She pulled down the covers on the bed, and pounded on the pancake flat hotel pillows in a useless attempt to fluff them.

“Going to bed now?”

“Yah,” she murmured, keeping her back to him.

Dean looked down at his little brother, wondering what he would say if knew what he was about to do. Sam was always such a good guy. A goddamn humanitarian. He would have handled everything with Delilah just right, and wouldn't have shoved his foot down his throat multiple times like he had.

Silently he watched Delilah crawl into bed, waiting as she made herself comfortable. As she settled in he stood up, making his way between the two beds.

“Would you like me to turn out the light?”

“Sure,” she said, looking up at him nervously.

He clicked off the lamp; standing over her while he waited for his eyes adjusted. As usual everything swam into focus within seconds. An entire life spent in the dark sharpened his senses into almost preternatural precision. He could see Delilah curled up in the bed before him, her eyes squinting into the darkness. Her instincts were screaming danger, but her eyes had yet to focus in the shadows.

While she was still blinded he reached out, snatching up her wrist before she could yank it away. Once again he handcuffed her to the bed, stepping out of the reach of her feet as they swung out to kick him in the knees.

“Goddamn it! I told you that I'm not going to run away. You don't have to do this.” She yanked on the chain harder than necessary and he knew from experience that the metal more than likely bit sharply into the soft flesh of her wrist. If she kept up her flailing she was going to end up hurting herself pretty bad, and that was something that he couldn't let happen.

“Knock it off!” he snapped, and for a minute he thought it was his dad that spoke, instead of himself. She instantly stilled with the same wariness that he and Sam would adopt when their dad growled at them to stop wrestling around.

“If you don't shut up and go to sleep then I'm going to cuff up your other hand and get the tape out.”

She whimpered a little in the dark, and he knew that all the progress that they made that day was lost. She was back to thinking he was a homicidal manic that would kill her when her usefulness was done, and he was back to thinking that he was the world's biggest asshole.

“Look, Delilah. I'm sorry. I just don't want you to hurt yourself. I know that you said that you are in it for the long haul, but I need to be sure. I can't have you deciding in the middle of the night that calling the cops on us is the best thing for Sam. `Cause nothing and I mean nothing is going to stop me from making sure that Sammy doesn't end up in butt-fuck prison. Now, could you just play nice about this one thing? I left your other wrist free, and I haven't gagged you. I just want to make sure that you aren't going anywhere. Lets compromise on this.”

“A compromise is deciding to watch Spiderman instead of Steel Magnolias because your boyfriend doesn't want to watch another chick flick.” Her voice was downright frosty, and he was relieved that he didn't hear any sign of fear.

“Please.”

The plea was soft and even in the darkness she knew that his eyes had turned hazel. She felt like she was on an emotional rollercoaster. One minute she wanted to throttle him, and the next she was terrified that he was going to do the same to her. Maybe she was truly a kidnap victim and she was just kidding herself by thinking she was on this ride by her own free will. All she knew was at the moment she wanted off, and the best way to do that was to fall into unconsciousness.

“Whatever.” She rolled over, dismissing Dean and his asshole behavior.

She could hear the rustling of his clothes as he moved away, and when it stopped she knew that he had reseated himself next to Sam.

“You know, you have to learn to trust someone, sometime,” she whispered into the dark, feeling safer under the cover of darkness.

“I do trust someone, doc.”

Just not you.

She pressed her lips together, trying to ignore the little bubble of hurt that gurgled up in her stomach at his unspoken words.

She tried to tuck the pillow beneath her, but her arm was in the way. The handcuffs jangled against the rod iron headboard, echoed by a lisping sigh. Dean shifted in his seat as he listened to the sounds around him. He could hear Sammy breathing, and he counted the breaths, making sure that they were even and clear. He listened to Delilah twist around in the bed, and the metal scrape of her handcuffs. The hours stretched on and Sam's breathing remained steady, but sleep remained elusive for Dean. Mostly because sleep remained elusive for Delilah. She moved restlessly, caught up like a dog on a chain.

Hunter silent he glided across the room, peering down at her in the dark. She didn't notice him, her eyes closed in an attempt to capture sleep. Her restlessness had tangled up the blankets, and her trapped wrist made it impossible for her to settle them back over her.

Fully dressed he slid into the bed next to her, his arms wrapping around her before she realized what was going on.

“What the fuck!” she screeched in outrage.

“Settle down, I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Yah, right. And angel's lie!”

“Seriously, we both need to get some sleep. You aren't going to until the cuffs are off, and I'm not going to sleep until you do.” He reached around, unlocking her handcuffs and sliding them from her wrist, absently massaging her tender flesh. “The only way I'm going to let you sleep with those cuffs off is if I'm right here next to you.”

“Then put them back on. I would rather sleep with venomous snakes in my bed.”

“We are both adults, we can do this,” he stated calmly.

“Nothing I've seen so far about your behavior towards the opposite sex could be called adult-like.”

“Give me a chance, I might surprise you.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his hard chest in a tight embrace. In a different place or time she might have been excited by such a thing. It had been such a long time since someone had touched her, caressed her. Not since before the accident.

“I can't,” she claimed between clenched teeth, her voice a tad softer than it was before. There was something comforting about being held so tightly, like he would never let her go, never let anyone snatch her away. She could feel him nuzzle his face into her freshly washed hair, inhaling deeply. Already she could feel the tension that had been building in his body since she met him drain away.

“Just try,” he muttered, and she knew that he wasn't far from sleep. She breathed deeply, trying not to let her body melt into his, but it was hard. He was so warm and comfortable, and she really was tired. She hadn't slept a wink the night before, fear and discomfort keeping her awake.

Gradually she began to relax and sleep overtook her. She was just drifting away, when she heard a soft voice whispering in her ear.

“See, that wasn't so hard, was it?” To tired reply she fell into unconsciousness.

 

“DEAN!”

The comfortable little bubble she was encased in burst in a wash of painful confusion. Dean leapt over her, landing on the floor between her and Sam. Never in her life had she met someone who moved like him. He was fast, even coming out of a dead sleep. She didn't think he was ever caught off guard.

The lamp snapped on and the room was flooded with light. She blinked her eyes furiously, trying to wedge herself up on one elbow so she could see what was going on.

“Dean!”

“I'm here, Sammy. I'm here.”

Dean was leaning over Sam's bed, wrapping his strong arms around his brother who was struggling to sit up. Sam was panic-stricken, his clawed hands grasping for purchase on his brother's shirt. His face was white, but it wasn't from blood loss this time, but from fear.

“You mustn't let him sit up,” she commanded while trying to escape from the blankets that were tangled around her feet.

Sam focused and pulled Dean closer to him, the grip on his brother's shirt tightening.

“Dean, we have to go to Kansas.”

She finally escaped from the blankets, and she circled around the bed in time to see the confusion etched on Dean's face at his brother's words.

“What? Now?”

“As soon as possible. We have to go. I had a dream.”

She watched as the confusion on Dean's face drained away and was replaced with closed off intensity. In a blink of an eye he changed from concerned brother to the dangerous warrior she had first met. Sam was staring up at him with wide-eyed need, his entire body shaking.

“Okay, Sam. Okay.” Dean muttered softly, trying lay his brother back into the bed.

“Dean, we have to go. Do you hear me?” Sam was desperate; refusing to lay back down even though she knew that every inch of his body must be burning with pain.

“I hear you, but it's the middle of the night. Lay down and rest for me. Just rest.”

Sam let himself be pushed back onto the bed, his eyes still desperate, but clouding over with exhaustion.

“Tomorrow. Promise me that we will go tomorrow.”

“Sure, Sammy. Tomorrow. I promise”

With those words, Sam lost the tenuous grip he had on consciousness and slipped away. Dean brushed his brother's sandy hair from his face, smoothing it back like a mother would a child's. Reluctant to disturb him, but needing to check Sam's bandages she leaned over, relieved when he moved back to the other bed.

Silently she redressed Sam's wounds, questions that would never be answered laying heavily between them.