Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Wayward Son ❯ Chapter Four ( Chapter 4 )

Wayward Son

 

Chapter Four

 

Dean awoke the instant her breathing changed. He stayed still, enjoying the feel of her laying next to him, his arm slung over her waist comfortably. He rarely woke up next to a woman without a thumping headache from the vodka they both had consumed the night before or without the weary scramble of trying to remember her name. He knew her name, Delilah. He knew where he was, in their hotel room. He knew why she was there, to take care of his brother.

He allowed her to slide out from under his arm, playing possum to see what she would do next, ready to leap up if she bee-lined for the door. Instead she made her way to Sam's side, reaching out to lay a small head on his forehead to check for fever.

Sam awoke with a start, grabbing her wrist with hunter`s reflexes. Dean opened his mouth to calm him, but curiosity kept him silent. He wanted to see how she would react to this new turn of events.

“It's okay, Sam. I'm Dr. Delilah Green.”

Sam relaxed his grip on her wrist, used to waking up in strange beds while doctors and nurses prodded him.

“How are you feeling today?” she asked softly in a voice Dean had not once heard her use with him.

“I little groggy, and a lot sore.”

She smiled down at him, nodding with understanding.

“You were shot, and you are going to be in pain for a while. Do you want to tell me how you were shot?”

Dean tensed, scowling at her back. She never tried to pry any details from him either. It was kind of underhanded of her to wait until her brother was awake to start her interrogation. Through his veiled lashes he watched Sam's face harden, and he almost smiled.

“No.” The word was clipped and clean. A tone that was perfected to remind people to mind their own damn business.

“I see.” Her tone was precise as well, but heavily disappointed.

“Well, the bullet hit your ribs, cracking them pretty badly. I can't wrap them because the pressure might cause your wound to bleed. I want you to be extra careful moving around. I don't want you damaging your ribs more than necessary.”

“Yes, doctor.”

She smiled down at Sam her face softening.

“You can call me Delilah, Sam. It's okay. I need to take your vitals.”

He nodded, watching her closely as she took his pulse and temperature, before checking the dressing on his wound.

“What are you doing here?”

His question was curt, catching her a little bit off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“This is a hotel room.” Sam's tone was becoming increasingly hostile, but Dean knew that it wasn't directed at Delilah, it was directed towards him. It was censure in his voice.

“That's very observant of you, Sam.” Her words were light as she tried to infuse them with levity. She didn't like the way he was looking at her so seriously. When he didn't respond, she sighed heavily.

“Your brother opted for out-patient care, rather than admitting you to a hospital.”

Sam's eyes narrowed with consideration. She had a feeling that he already had a good idea of what happened even though he was unconscious through most of it. As if he knew precisely every move his brother made, because he would have done it himself if he was in his place.

“Did he scare you too much?”

Delilah winged a brow at that. That was not the question she would have expected from him.

“Don't you mean did he hurt me?”

Sam's face became shuttered, and she knew she was dangerously close to a landmine.

“No, I asked if he scared you. I know Dean would have never hurt you, but he can come off as kind of an asshole sometimes. Especially if he thought I was dying.”

Dean had resist the urge to fidget. He didn't like where this conversation was going, but apparently he had a newly developed masochist streak that wanted to hear what she was going to say about him.

Delilah stared hard at Sam, her mind going a million miles an hour. These two men were definitely two of a kind. They didn't think like anyone else she knew. That and they were completely dependent upon each other. Almost like the one couldn't breathe without the other. Such intensity was a little scary, especially among brothers.

“Well, I agree with you. He is an asshole, but he didn't scare me.” She paused, eyes shifting away from Sam's. “Too much.”

She felt Sam's warm hand cover hers, comforting her. She stared down at it for a moment, noting his long fingers and wide palm that completely engulfed her small hand. She looked him in the eye, feeling a little bit of warmth bubble up in her chest at his understanding smile. He was still pale, but he was looking less like a hurt little boy, and more like a man who had grown up way too fast.

“He didn't mean anything by it, doctor. Try not to hold it against him too much.” She smiled back at him, but didn't respond. Sensing her disquiet, he sought a way to ease her mood.

“So Delilah huh? Is that anything like Samson and Delilah?” His smile turned goofy, tilting up at the ends until he looked like a mischievous little boy.

She chuckled at his infectious tone and she couldn't help, but to reach out and ruffle his hair.

“Your strength is safe with me, Sammy. I think you look very handsome in shaggy hair. If it makes you feel better you can call me Lilah.”

“Lilah, I like that.”

A low, menacing growl emanated from behind her, and her eyes widened. Sam whipped his hand away from hers, hearing the warning loud and clear. Dean threw back the covers to the bed they had shared, and stomped off to the bathroom, slamming the door without a word.

“What was that all about?” she asked shakily.

“Dean's not a morning person,” he replied, but there was a speculative gleam in his eye as he looked at her.

She heard the toilet flush and she moved away from Sam's side, suddenly nervous to be caught there. She channeled her restlessness into straightening up the room, first by making the bed she had shared with Dean and then by folding the clothes that he had tossed into the corner last night. It was the first time in a long time that she had shared a bed with a man just to sleep. For hours after Sam had drifted back to sleep she had laid next to Dean expecting his hands to start to wander at any minute, but they hadn't. All he had done was wrap her up in his strong arms, fitting her body into his and buried his face in her newly washed hair. The steady rhythm of his breathing had eventually lulled her into a deep sleep that was blissfully absent of dreams for the first time in a year.

Dean exited the bathroom and all her energy seemed to drain out of her. She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her hands neatly folded in her lap as she watched him. His eyes scraped over her, and she realized that she probably still had bed head. She combed her fingers self-consciously through her hair, but his eyes didn't linger long, instead they focused on Sam, and for the first time since he had kidnapped her, she saw a genuine smile on his lips.

“How ya doing, Sammy?”

“Dude, I've been shot. How do you think I'm doing?” Sam replied testily, earning him a wicked smirk from Dean.

“Yah and you're being such a girl about it. You've been out for almost two days.”

Sam's eyes flickered over to Delilah for a split second. “Looks like you had someone to pass the time with.”

Dean stiffened a little, but his tone dropped an octave. “So not as fun as it could have been.” He smirked down at his brother, knowing that it would irk him. Instead he got smacked upside the head from behind for his trouble.

He spun around in time to see Delilah stomping towards the bathroom, the door slamming shut with a resounding crack. Behind him he could hear Sam's choked laughter and he felt the tips of his ears burn.

“Shut up,” he snapped, barely resisting the urge to kick the bed.

“Way to make a good impression. I think she loves you.” Sam's voice was thick with sarcasm that just pissed Dean off more.

“Whatever, dude.”

Sam rolled his eyes, wondering if he feigned weakness if his brother would stop being such a bitch.

“Did you really have to kidnap her? That's such a sucky thing to do.”

Dean turned away, scrubbing his hand across his face. He sunk down on the edge of the bed, where Delilah had been sitting only moments before.

“Yah, I know,” he said quietly while staring longingly at the bathroom door.

He heard the shower turn on, and he sighed with resignation, standing up to dig through Sam's bag. He knew that he would more than likely find what he needed in his duffel rather than his own.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sam protested from his sick bed.

“Shut up, princess.”

He found a clean T-shirt with some sort of dragon coiled on the front and a pair of shorts that would be long enough to pass as Capri's on Delilah. He walked up to the door; Sam's clothes bundled in his hands. As expected the door opened, steam billowing out to hit him in the face.

“I need…” She jolted to a stop, not expecting to see Dean right outside the door. He offered her the change of clothing to her wordlessly, relishing the surprise on her face.

“Thanks,” she said softly, taking them from him gently, and retreating back into the bathroom.

“No problem.”

Sam watched quietly from the bed, his arched brows practically buried in his hairline.

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you to shut up?” Dean growled.

“I didn't say anything.”

“I don't need the shining to read your mind.”

“Oh yah, what am I thinking right now?”

“Something that isn't any of your goddamn business,” Dean snapped while digging through Sam's duffel again. This time looking for clothes to dress his brother in. Sam was shirtless, but he still wore his bloodstained jeans and it was really bugging Dean to look at them. He pulled out some clothes, throwing them at the end of the bed, before reaching for Sam's fly.

“Whoa. I didn't think I was your type.”

“Fuck you.”

“I would rather not.”

Dean yanked Sam's pants down his legs, gentling when he heard his brother's moan of agony.

“Stop being such a girl.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

He finally wrestled Sam's feet out of his pants, the job made harder by the blood that had stiffened the jeans. He glanced back up, staring at Sam's white boxers that had a little blood spattered on them.

“Dude, don't even think about it. In fact if I die, just bury me in these.”

Dean's hazel eyes flickered up to his brother's face, narrowing a bit in disgust before he picked up a clean pair of pants with a snap. As carefully as possible, he pulled the pants up Sam's legs, pausing when it become obvious that he would going to have to lift his hips.

“Dude,” Sam gasped out, already showing signs of strain.

“Wrap your arm over my shoulders and I'll lift you,” Dean ordered, and Sam obeyed without hesitation.

Together they levered Sam's ass off the bed, just high enough for Dean to slip his pants all the way up. Deciding that was enough for now, he left them unbuttoned, figuring that his brother could do it himself once he caught his breath.

They had been concentrating so hard that they hadn't heard the shower stop, but they both heard the outraged gasp that emanated from behind Dean.

“What did you do to him?” Delilah spat through tightly clenched teeth.

Sam was lying back on the bed, panting heavily while sweat streamed out of his pores. The healthy glow that he had awoken with had dimmed to a gray pallor and she could see brackets of strain around his mouth.

She brushed passed Dean, quickly evaluating Sam's condition. She checked his bandage, her anger rocketing from pissy to pissed when she saw the red stain of blood spreading.

“I just helped him change his pants.”

She spun away from the bed, intent on retrieving her supplies so she could redress Sam's wound, but Dean was right behind her, blocking her way. Without thinking of the consequences she shoved him hard in the stomach. She was pretty sure the only reason he stepped back was because he was so surprised that she did it, not that she caught him off balance.

“Are you stupid? Don't you realize that he's been seriously wounded?”

Over her head, Dean could see Sam's shit-eating, hah your getting your ass kicked by a girl, grin that only served to piss him off more. Combined with Delilah's words he was nearly livid. And when he was livid, he got quiet, controlled---predatory. He leaned in close to her, towering over her intimidatingly.

“Yah, right. `Cause that's what I want to do. Kill my brother.”

Delilah felt cold all the way done to her bones. Dean's eyes had shifted from soft hazel to jade green, his lips thinning into an angry line. She swallowed nervously, realizing once again for the billionth time that she wasn't a guest here or even remotely in charge. She was a kidnap victim, right smack in the middle of a dangerous game that no one had bothered to hand her a rule book for.

“I didn't say that,” she whispered quietly, her body twitching ever so slightly.

“Yah, whatever, doctor.”

He snapped his mouth shut and shifted out of her way. He watched as she moved around the room, gathering up her supplies before returning to Sam. Her movements were subdued, her eyes down cast. He ignored the dirty look that Sammy cast his way, ignored the way that his brother tried to smooth things over with Delilah, but mostly he ignored the way her hands brushed gently over Sam's chest.

“He didn't mean anything about it, Delilah. I asked him to help me. They were blood-soaked and uncomfortable.”

She shushed him, continuing to work, her back and shoulders tense with awareness. Realizing that he wouldn't be able to smooth over this newest development, Sam opted for distraction instead.

“We need to go to Kansas.”

Dean's heavy eyes snapped away from Delilah's back to meet Sam's gaze.

“Not this again. You need to rest. Doctor's orders.” Every time he said doctor he spat it out between his teeth like it had a vile taste. Delilah's mouth tightened, but she didn't make any effort to respond.

“I can rest in the car,” Sam spat back, more than a little tired of all the attitude in the room.

Dean stared at him levelly, cataloging Sam's color, the brightness of his eyes, the severity of his wounds. He was also absorbing the need that he saw in his brother. It was raw and aching, vibrating through every cell. Whatever was in Kansas, Sam seemed to think it was damned important.

“Where?”

“Lawrence.”

“Awww, man.” Dean threw himself backwards on the bed, bouncing a little as he stared up at the ceiling. Why couldn't his brother ever get a spooky ookie vibe to go to South Beach were the girls were hot and needed to be oiled down?

“We can get there tonight if we go now,” Sam rushed on, unwilling to let his brother worm out of his promise that he made last night. Dean turned his head, knowing that it was already a lost cause.

“Maybe not so long as that. We moved a little closer to the Kansas state line while you were zonked out.” Sam raised a brow, but didn't ask any questions, figuring his brother would fill him in later. “Besides it's up to the doc. She's the know-it-all.”

Delilah had remained silent up until know, but she almost lost it listening to Dean. Slowly she counted to ten, while wondering if she had a teenager if he would be as mouthy and immature as the full grown man who was glaring daggers into her back.

“You are very ill, Sam. It may not seem like it right now, but you got shot. That isn't something to be taken lightly.”

“It doesn't matter where I'm resting as long as I'm resting, right? So I can do that in the backseat of the Impala.”

“That monster doesn't nearly have enough leg room for you. You are going to have to scrunch up, and that's going to be very uncomfortable with cracked ribs.”

“Cracked isn't broke, doc.” Dean had heard enough. Sammy could rest in the car, and she would just have to do her best to make him comfortable. Besides he was keen to put more distance between him and five-o. He rolled off the bed, and silently began packing up their stuff. He didn't expect another word on the subject, having given his consent to Sam that they could go. He passed Delilah noticing her tight jaw, but he ignored her as he went.

Delilah didn't speak the entire time that it took to pack up the car or when they gingerly settled Sam into the back seat. Three hours later, she still wasn't speaking, and Dean was on the edge. Sam had asked for some books and was in full research mode, only speaking to ask Dean some questions here and there, other than that the only sound in the Impala was Nirvana pounding through the speakers.

“How's Sam doing, Doctor?” Sam's head jerked up at the rudeness in his brother's tone. Since they woke up this morning, Dean hadn't once used Delilah's name, instead choosing to spit out her title like it was an insult.

“I told you my name is Delilah. De-Li-Lah,” she spat back, clearly fed up. Sam had to give her points for spunk. Most women didn't have the balls to stand up to his brother, instinctively sensing his innate predatory nature. Much less a woman that had been kidnapped less than forty-eight hours before.

Dean's green eyes narrowed. Delilah. That was the root of all his pissyness since that morning. As soon as Sam had awoke, he managed to worm a smile, a laugh and worst of all, a nickname out of her. She told Sammy that he could call her Lilah, while all he got was a cold grimace and a snappiness. Granted he was the one who kidnapped her, but he thought they had gotten past that last night.

“Dude, overreact much?” Always on the defensive, he sought to turn the entire situation around on her.

“It's 2007, you know? The word dude went out of style with mullets, and heavy metal ballads.” She kicked the box of tapes on the floor to emphasis her point. She knew she was being a bitch, but there was something about him that dragged it out of her. A year of being self-sacrificing, and martyr like had worn her down. She couldn't do it anymore. There was no forgiveness for her no matter how many people she helped so why should she forgive the man who dragged her away from her life without a thought to the consequences.

His knuckles tightened on the wheel. He just about had enough! Kicking his collection of tapes was the last straw.

“It's a good thing that you are a Doctor, `cause you would need medical training to pull out that stick that's shoved up your ass. I never in my life met such a spoiled, selfish, self righteous---“

Because of his cracked ribs, and the way he was slumped across the seat, Sam couldn't sit up to reach his brother, so he settled for stretching out his ridiculously long leg and kicking him in the back of the head instead. The car swerved sharply to the right, while Dean struggled for control.

“What the fuck, Sam!”

The Impala hit the gravel and fishtailed wildly, Dean jerked on the wheel, his concentration shattered when Delilah let out an ear-piercing scream of terror. He hit the break, skidding along the side of the road, before coming to a body-jerking stop. He slammed the car into park, shutting it off and turned his entire body towards Delilah who was screaming bloody murder with her hands over her eyes.

“It's okay. We're okay. We're safe.” He reached for her, trying to pull her hands away so she could see for her own eyes. Instead of collapsing into his arms in relief like he expected, she started to swing furiously, slamming her small ineffectual fists into his hard chest.

“Calm down! Dammit, Delilah. Calm down.” He tried to enfold her into his embrace, but she pushed him away, sweeping her hair from her eyes so she could shot fire at him.

“What is the matter with you two?” She screeched, tears forming in her eyes. “Do you know how many people I've had to try to put together after a stupid car accident that could have been prevented if they just used a fraction of their brain to think? Better yet, do you know how many people I couldn't put back together because they were missing something vital? Like their head!”

Dean sat back in his seat his mouth drawn into a firm line. Sam was silent in the back seat, thoroughly chastised. Knowing that she couldn't communicate with them when she was raving, and unwilling to stay in the car a second longer she reached down to fumble with the lap belt. It was the old fashioned kind that you had to squeeze the metal tabs on the sides to release it, and her fingers were too numb with fear to apply the pressure needed to free herself.

Seeing her distress, Dean leaned over to help. Sam jerked when a crack resounded in the cab as loud as a gunshot. Stillness descended with dangerous intensity. Delilah stared wide-eyed at Dean and the handprint that was fire-hydrant red on his cheek. She curled her stinging fingers in her lap, wondering if she was going to die now. She his jaw clench and it galvanized her into action. She fumbled with the belt latch, finally getting it undone. She practically fell out of the car, scraping her hand on the gravel as she leaned on the heavy door to escape. She scrambled away, running behind the car, and stopping a after a few feet to get her bearings.

“Dean, what in the hell are you doing?”

Dean broke out of his paralysis, punching the steering wheel to release his fury. When that didn't work he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to regain the focus he had lost that morning when Delilah had left his bed.

“I don't know, Sammy. I just don't know!”

He punched the wheel again for good measure, before opening the Impala's door to slide out. Wide-eyed Sam watched as his brother circled around the back of the car to approach Delilah. They were too far away from him to hear what they were saying so all he could do was watch.

“Look, Delilah. I'm sorry.”

She had her back to him, her arms crossed as she stared out into the woods. She had briefly contemplated running away, but the realization that she had nowhere to go stopped her. She could no more survive in the woods than she could live without air, and it would be no use running down the middle of the road like a mad woman.

“For what?” Some of the spunk had died from her voice, and he found that he liked that less than when she was riled up and ready to go toe to toe with him.

“For what I said.” He paused, unsure if he should admit it all. “For being such an ass all day. I was just mad.”

She looked behind her, her eyes flickering over him for a moment before she faced forward again.

“Mad about what?”

He sighed deeply, rubbing his hand across his face. He wondered why he never seemed to have trouble expressing himself before meeting her. Perhaps because no one asked him too. Well, besides Sam, and he was easy to distract with smart ass quips and a smack on the back of the head.

“You told Sam that he could call you Lilah.” Now that the confession was said out loud, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. There was a moment of silence and he started to fidget nervously.

“You're a dumbass.” Her words were clipped and cold, and he felt some of his anger seep back into him.

“You didn't tell me that was your nickname,” he spat in self defense, shuddering to a stop when she whipped around, her rekindled fury burning in her deep brown eyes.

“How about being sorry for kidnapping me?” she snapped, and he stiffened. “Did you give any thought to the consequences of your actions? What if I had family at home waiting for me? A husband. A child. A damn dog that needed to be let out to piss?” She was hissing now, advancing towards him.

And maybe that was why she was so mad. Because she didn't have any of those things. Not even a dog. Nor was she likely too. It would be selfish of her to own an animal when all she thought about every day since the accident was running a bath, lying back and slitting the inside of her arm from wrist to elbow.

Dean backed up, hands raised in front of him. He felt something twist in the bottom of his stomach. He felt her anger billow off of her in a wave, and he couldn't really blame her. He had snatched her up in the middle of the night, with no thought to what or who he was taking her from. All he could think about was Sam, and how much he needed her to save his brother's life. About how he couldn't go through losing Sam again, and being left alone. He couldn't stand the thought that he would die in three months, his soul bartered to hell for a life ended too soon. That his genius brother wouldn't live the life he was meant to live, because he couldn't stand to be alone and had to drag him away from Stanford.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered softly and all the fight seemed to drain out of her. Her body slumped and her misery was etched across her face. “I'm sorry that I'm doing this to you. I'm sorry that I frightened you, and that I can't seem to stop being an asshole. I'm sorry for all these things, but I can't be sorry that you saved my brother's life. For that all I can say is thank you.”

His hazel eyes were bright with sincerity, and for some reason it hurt her deep inside. How many times had someone came to her to thank her for saving their loved ones? How many times had she let her ego get the best of her? How many mistakes had she made because of it? How many lives saved paid for the one life lost, or was it two now, out of pride and hubris?

Her head dropped, and she turned away from him again, wiping her hands across her eyes to clear the tears that had started to form.

“I know Dean. It's hard for me to understand, but I'm trying.”

Seeing her sadness, and barely able to stand it, he stepped closer to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Just think if was your family. What would you do?”

She placed her small hand over his, but maintained her distance, staring sightlessly out into the woods.

“There's only my mother.”

“There you go. What would you do to save her?”

Her sadness seemed to seep deeper into her bones and her body began to fold over a bit. She pushed his hand away, crossing her arms protectively over her stomach.

“Not much. We aren't that close. She didn't even bother to raise me.” She brushed passed him without another word, returning to the Impala. She slid into the front seat, shutting the door as softly as the heavy metal monster would allow her.

“Are you okay, Delilah?”

“Fine, Sam. Just fine.”

Dean slid behind the wheel and started up the Impala again, pulling back onto the road. They traveled the rest of the way to Lawrence in silence, and this time no one was willing to disturb the peace.

 

A/N: Someone asked me if this is a love story, and I can see where it would be pinned as such. Of course this is a story of the Winchester boys all too familiar power struggle to save each other from their own destructive natures, but it also a story of a woman trying to redefine herself. Delilah is seeking absolution, but she will find that she is the only one who can grant forgiveness.

If I had to define this story I would say that it is a tragedy, because the hardest thing we can do in this life is to forgive.