ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2010-09-06 06:17 pm
ratherastory) wrote2010-09-06 06:17 pm
Entry tags:
Not the Demons You're Looking For (16/24)
Part 15
Part 16
It all took place in a matter of seconds. One minute Sam was running through the torrential rain toward where his brother had suicidally decided to take on a demon single-handedly and without so much as a bag of salt to his name, and the next the demon was gone, vanished seemingly into thin air, and Dean was spread-eagled on the ground next to the rising waters of the creek. With one last shout over his shoulder to Andy and Lesley to stay put, he sprinted the last hundred yards or so, came skidding to a halt on his knees.
“Dean!”
There was no response, and he could see white slits beneath Dean's eyelids where his eyes had rolled back into his head. With an expertise he often wished he didn't have —knowing where it came from— he ran his hands from Dean's head down over his whole body, feeling for lumps, for limbs out of place, checking for blood. Before he'd gotten past the shoulders Dean stirred, blinking rapidly, the green eyes a splash of colour in a face otherwise entirely drained of it. He struggled to sit up, reaching out with one hand, his expression at once anxious and expectant, searching out Sam's eyes with his own. It was obvious what he wanted, and not for the first time Sam found himself wishing that just for once Dean would worry about himself first. With a sigh he let Dean place his hand on his chest, held it there with his own larger one, fingers wrapped around his wrist.
“I'm okay, Dean. I'm fine. Never got close.”
Dean nodded once, the tension draining from his body, let himself sink back onto the ground.
“Wha' happed? Wh'r'sit?”
“It's gone. Are you hurt?”
Dean shook his head. “Jusdt winded. Thigk I twisted by agkle.” He sounded as though the demon had crushed his larynx, but he'd sounded like that before running out into the freezing rain. Once he was sure Dean hadn't broken his back or his neck or had his head beaten in, Sam let himself give into the anger that was so much easier to deal with than fear.
“What the hell, Dean? What is wrong with you? The demon shows up and your reaction is to go running after it by yourself without telling me and without even taking a weapon? What the hell?”
A fit of coughing jackknifed his brother to a seated position, and in spite of himself Sam rubbed circles on his back, still simmering with poorly-contained anger. “Wasn't... didn't plan...” Dean managed, still coughing, and Sam huffed a laugh that was part relief, part annoyance.
“Dude, if that had been planned I would be seriously worried about you.”
The coughing turned into an amused wheeze, and Dean stretched out a hand. Taking his cue, Sam pulled him to his feet, where he half-collapsed into Sam's arms, breathing hard. “You understand that now we have no hope of convincing Lesley that we're not hopelessly insane, right?”
“Sorry.” Dean wiped futilely at the rain water that was dripping down his face, still holding onto Sam with one hand. He brought up his other arm to his face almost immediately, keeping hold of Sam's arm to keep his balance. “HHEISHH! HEPTSCHUH!”
“I can't believe you. If I didn't know you better I'd swear you do this sort of stuff on purpose. Then again, if you had, you would have gone right into the creek. No sense in doing things halfway.” Sam rolled his eyes as he talked, started dragging Dean back to the house.
“Oughta kigk your ass,” Dean muttered, but didn't resist, sniffling into his sleeve. “Gettig a sbart bouth od you.”
The rational part of Sam's mind knew that this was just Dean coping the way he knew how, but he had to grit his teeth, and gripped his brother harder than he probably had to, shoving him unceremoniously up the front stairs and through the door, where Andy and Lesley had been waiting. They backed away, as much to give him some room as to get away from the look on his face. Lesley ran to the kitchen for a chair, and gently pried his fingers away from Dean's arm, pushed him to sit, dripping water in a puddle on the floor.
“C'mon, Dean, sit.” She looked up at Sam, eyes narrowed. “Can I have a word?”
He nodded, his eyes never leaving Dean, who was bent forward, forearms on his knees, head down, coughing so hard it sounded as though he might throw up, sucking in air in whooping gasps in-between bouts. He was shaking, too, his hands clenched tightly into fists so that —and Sam knew that the way he knew his own name— no one would see how badly they were trembling.
“I'll stay with him,” Andy stepped forward, and for the first time since he'd realized Dean had run after the yellow-eyed demon (without him, for God's sake), he wondered where the kid had got to. What was his name? Steven?
“He's upstairs with his brother,” Lesley supplied, catching his searching look. “I didn't want him... watching.”
Sam shuddered, nodded in agreement. He laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. “Be right back. I'll be just in the next room, okay?”
Dean nodded, couldn't answer, and reluctantly Sam followed Lesley into the kitchen. Before she could open her mouth to ask him questions to which he had no answer, he headed her off at the pass. “Is there anywhere you can go for the next couple of days?”
She gaped. “What?”
“Tomorrow is Dylan's six-month birthday. That's when the demon usually strikes. Is there somewhere you and your family can go?” He wasn't even sure that it would work, that the demon wouldn't be able to find them anyway, but it was worth a shot.
She shook her head. “No. I mean, there's my sister, but she's got kids too, and I don't want... I don't want to put anyone else in danger. Oh God, it was right here...” She was starting to lose it, not that he could blame her, but he had to keep her calm, keep her focussed before she freaked out.
“Where's your husband?”
“Business trip,” she wrung her hands, visibly betraying anxiety for the first time. “I should call him, tell him what's happening.”
He reached out, put a warning hand on her arm. “No.”
“What? What are you talking about? They're his children. He needs to know what's going on, he needs to come back home!”
Sam sighed, put both hands on her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze, ducking his head so he could look her in the eyes. “I know it's hard. But if you call him and start going on about demons over the phone to him, what good do you think it'll do? Either he won't believe you and he'll call the cops to come get you for your own good, or else he will believe you and he'll come running back because, like you said, it's his kids we're talking about. That just means one more person to worry about, one more person who's going to need protecting.”
She passed a trembling hand over her face. “Oh, God, you're right. I hate that you're right, but you are.” She took a deep breath, found her composure. “You said you could help me protect the house. How do I do that?”
“Salt,” he said immediately. “Do you have rock salt?”
“I have a few bags left over from the winter. Why?”
“You need to spread lines of salt in front of your doors and windows. It keeps most things out.”
“Most things?”
“Umm... how attached are you to your floors?”
“Oh my God, I cannot believe this is happening.”
Sam winced. “Sorry. Look... put down the salt lines today. Have Steven help you —it helps if you pretend it's a game,” he cringed as he said it, remembering a childhood spent playing the salt-the-doorstep-game. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry about all this. This isn't usually how these things go. Look, I have to get Dean back, get him fixed up, but we'll come back as soon as we can. I'll give you my cell number, just in case.” He found a pad and pen by her telephone, printed the number neatly along with his name.
Lesley gave him a rueful look. “He's a mess,” she agreed. “Does he always act like that?”
“Uh, like a jackass or like a suicidal nutjob? 'Cause that's a yes to the first and a definite no to the second. I don't know exactly what that was. He's never done anything like that before...” He rubbed the back of his neck, knowing that he was broadcasting his anxiety but too anxious to actually do anything about it. With an apologetic smile he went back to the hallway, not waiting for her answer, but he heard her follow him anyway.
Dean was still shivering, his eyes glassy, and Andy turned a vaguely helpless look in Sam's direction. “Uh... I think we might have a problem.”
Sam bit back a sigh, crouched next to his brother. “You okay?”
“Fide.”
“Uh-huh.” He reached up to check for fever, but Dean swatted at him.
“Sab, hadds!” He managed, before starting to cough again. “D-do I h-hab to... HAISHH! hab to explaid p-pers... hih... ISHOO! persodal space agaid?”
“Dean, come on. Let's just get you home.”
“I'b fide.” Dean scrubbed at his forehead with his sleeve, swaying slightly in his seat. “Debod's cobig bagk.”
“Dean, you can't even sit up.”
“Sabby, we h-hab b-bi... HEPTSHUH! bigger problebs thad a cold.”
Sam resisted the impulse to pull at his hair in frustration. “Dean. Could you please be reasonable about this?”
“Sam?” Andy edged closer. “Let me try?”
He rolled his eyes. “Be my guest. It's like talking to a wall.” He stepped aside, and realized too late what he'd just done. “Uh... Andy?”
Andy laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. “Sorry,” he whispered, then raised his voice. “Come home with us, and don't argue.”
Even Sam could feel the change in Andy's voice, subtle but unmistakeable. Dean was on his feet in a split-second, glaring at both of them and wincing as he put his weight on his bad ankle, but he offered no resistance as Sam grabbed him by the elbow and steered him back through the front door while Andy said a hurried goodbye to Lesley, who was staring, wide-eyed with shock.
“Cad't believe you let hib whabby be, Sab,” Dean said accusingly as Sam folded him into the passenger seat of the Impala and fished the car keys out of his pocket. “Oughdta kigk both your asses.” He folded his arms protectively over his chest, let his head rest against the window, eyes slipping closed.
“I'm sorry,” Sam didn't think it would help matters if he admitted he hadn't realized what Andy was going to do. “Maybe if you weren't such a stubborn jackass this might have gone differently,” he said gently.
They drove back in almost complete silence. His brother seemed too out of it to make more than a token protest, and if he hadn't been shivering and coughing miserably Sam would have thought he'd fallen asleep. Andy hovered as he pulled his brother from the car, hoisting Dean's arm over his shoulders, half-dragging him inside and sitting next to him on the sofa. This time Dean didn't so much as make a sound when he laid a hand on his forehead, just made a small sighing sound and leaned against him, ever so slightly. Sam propped him up, started pulling awkwardly at his soaking-wet jacket, working it off one arm at a time. He glanced up to find Andy still hovering, wringing his hands.
“Is he going be mad?”
Sam shrugged. “Probably.”
“Dude, I'b righd here.” Dean's eyes fluttered open, then closed again, and he pulled away from Sam to sneeze convulsively into the crook of his elbow. “HHEISH! Hih... HGGFFHH! HHKSCHH-uh! Uh, Jesus... HEKSCHUH! HAISHOO!”
“Gesundheit.”
Dean didn't move, breath still hitching. Sam could feel his ribcage expanding with each breath. “Huh... hih... heh-EKSH-uh! HEPTSCHUH! Nngh...” he moaned softly. “Sud of a bitch, Sab. This sugks so hard...”
Sam rubbed his back. “Yeah, I know. Come on, lean on me, we're going to get you sorted out, okay?” Dean just nodded. “Okay, let's get you up. On three. One!” He hoisted him up without warning, and was rewarded with another groan of pain.
“Uh...” Andy shuffled back, still wringing his hands, and Dean turned a baleful stare on him.
“We are dot dode, you ad be.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, tough guy, but before you try to kick Andy's ass, let's get you out of your wet clothes. You can kick his ass later.”
Andy's voice followed them up the stairs. “Uh, I'd really prefer it if you didn't!”
Part 17
Part 16
It all took place in a matter of seconds. One minute Sam was running through the torrential rain toward where his brother had suicidally decided to take on a demon single-handedly and without so much as a bag of salt to his name, and the next the demon was gone, vanished seemingly into thin air, and Dean was spread-eagled on the ground next to the rising waters of the creek. With one last shout over his shoulder to Andy and Lesley to stay put, he sprinted the last hundred yards or so, came skidding to a halt on his knees.
“Dean!”
There was no response, and he could see white slits beneath Dean's eyelids where his eyes had rolled back into his head. With an expertise he often wished he didn't have —knowing where it came from— he ran his hands from Dean's head down over his whole body, feeling for lumps, for limbs out of place, checking for blood. Before he'd gotten past the shoulders Dean stirred, blinking rapidly, the green eyes a splash of colour in a face otherwise entirely drained of it. He struggled to sit up, reaching out with one hand, his expression at once anxious and expectant, searching out Sam's eyes with his own. It was obvious what he wanted, and not for the first time Sam found himself wishing that just for once Dean would worry about himself first. With a sigh he let Dean place his hand on his chest, held it there with his own larger one, fingers wrapped around his wrist.
“I'm okay, Dean. I'm fine. Never got close.”
Dean nodded once, the tension draining from his body, let himself sink back onto the ground.
“Wha' happed? Wh'r'sit?”
“It's gone. Are you hurt?”
Dean shook his head. “Jusdt winded. Thigk I twisted by agkle.” He sounded as though the demon had crushed his larynx, but he'd sounded like that before running out into the freezing rain. Once he was sure Dean hadn't broken his back or his neck or had his head beaten in, Sam let himself give into the anger that was so much easier to deal with than fear.
“What the hell, Dean? What is wrong with you? The demon shows up and your reaction is to go running after it by yourself without telling me and without even taking a weapon? What the hell?”
A fit of coughing jackknifed his brother to a seated position, and in spite of himself Sam rubbed circles on his back, still simmering with poorly-contained anger. “Wasn't... didn't plan...” Dean managed, still coughing, and Sam huffed a laugh that was part relief, part annoyance.
“Dude, if that had been planned I would be seriously worried about you.”
The coughing turned into an amused wheeze, and Dean stretched out a hand. Taking his cue, Sam pulled him to his feet, where he half-collapsed into Sam's arms, breathing hard. “You understand that now we have no hope of convincing Lesley that we're not hopelessly insane, right?”
“Sorry.” Dean wiped futilely at the rain water that was dripping down his face, still holding onto Sam with one hand. He brought up his other arm to his face almost immediately, keeping hold of Sam's arm to keep his balance. “HHEISHH! HEPTSCHUH!”
“I can't believe you. If I didn't know you better I'd swear you do this sort of stuff on purpose. Then again, if you had, you would have gone right into the creek. No sense in doing things halfway.” Sam rolled his eyes as he talked, started dragging Dean back to the house.
“Oughta kigk your ass,” Dean muttered, but didn't resist, sniffling into his sleeve. “Gettig a sbart bouth od you.”
The rational part of Sam's mind knew that this was just Dean coping the way he knew how, but he had to grit his teeth, and gripped his brother harder than he probably had to, shoving him unceremoniously up the front stairs and through the door, where Andy and Lesley had been waiting. They backed away, as much to give him some room as to get away from the look on his face. Lesley ran to the kitchen for a chair, and gently pried his fingers away from Dean's arm, pushed him to sit, dripping water in a puddle on the floor.
“C'mon, Dean, sit.” She looked up at Sam, eyes narrowed. “Can I have a word?”
He nodded, his eyes never leaving Dean, who was bent forward, forearms on his knees, head down, coughing so hard it sounded as though he might throw up, sucking in air in whooping gasps in-between bouts. He was shaking, too, his hands clenched tightly into fists so that —and Sam knew that the way he knew his own name— no one would see how badly they were trembling.
“I'll stay with him,” Andy stepped forward, and for the first time since he'd realized Dean had run after the yellow-eyed demon (without him, for God's sake), he wondered where the kid had got to. What was his name? Steven?
“He's upstairs with his brother,” Lesley supplied, catching his searching look. “I didn't want him... watching.”
Sam shuddered, nodded in agreement. He laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. “Be right back. I'll be just in the next room, okay?”
Dean nodded, couldn't answer, and reluctantly Sam followed Lesley into the kitchen. Before she could open her mouth to ask him questions to which he had no answer, he headed her off at the pass. “Is there anywhere you can go for the next couple of days?”
She gaped. “What?”
“Tomorrow is Dylan's six-month birthday. That's when the demon usually strikes. Is there somewhere you and your family can go?” He wasn't even sure that it would work, that the demon wouldn't be able to find them anyway, but it was worth a shot.
She shook her head. “No. I mean, there's my sister, but she's got kids too, and I don't want... I don't want to put anyone else in danger. Oh God, it was right here...” She was starting to lose it, not that he could blame her, but he had to keep her calm, keep her focussed before she freaked out.
“Where's your husband?”
“Business trip,” she wrung her hands, visibly betraying anxiety for the first time. “I should call him, tell him what's happening.”
He reached out, put a warning hand on her arm. “No.”
“What? What are you talking about? They're his children. He needs to know what's going on, he needs to come back home!”
Sam sighed, put both hands on her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze, ducking his head so he could look her in the eyes. “I know it's hard. But if you call him and start going on about demons over the phone to him, what good do you think it'll do? Either he won't believe you and he'll call the cops to come get you for your own good, or else he will believe you and he'll come running back because, like you said, it's his kids we're talking about. That just means one more person to worry about, one more person who's going to need protecting.”
She passed a trembling hand over her face. “Oh, God, you're right. I hate that you're right, but you are.” She took a deep breath, found her composure. “You said you could help me protect the house. How do I do that?”
“Salt,” he said immediately. “Do you have rock salt?”
“I have a few bags left over from the winter. Why?”
“You need to spread lines of salt in front of your doors and windows. It keeps most things out.”
“Most things?”
“Umm... how attached are you to your floors?”
“Oh my God, I cannot believe this is happening.”
Sam winced. “Sorry. Look... put down the salt lines today. Have Steven help you —it helps if you pretend it's a game,” he cringed as he said it, remembering a childhood spent playing the salt-the-doorstep-game. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry about all this. This isn't usually how these things go. Look, I have to get Dean back, get him fixed up, but we'll come back as soon as we can. I'll give you my cell number, just in case.” He found a pad and pen by her telephone, printed the number neatly along with his name.
Lesley gave him a rueful look. “He's a mess,” she agreed. “Does he always act like that?”
“Uh, like a jackass or like a suicidal nutjob? 'Cause that's a yes to the first and a definite no to the second. I don't know exactly what that was. He's never done anything like that before...” He rubbed the back of his neck, knowing that he was broadcasting his anxiety but too anxious to actually do anything about it. With an apologetic smile he went back to the hallway, not waiting for her answer, but he heard her follow him anyway.
Dean was still shivering, his eyes glassy, and Andy turned a vaguely helpless look in Sam's direction. “Uh... I think we might have a problem.”
Sam bit back a sigh, crouched next to his brother. “You okay?”
“Fide.”
“Uh-huh.” He reached up to check for fever, but Dean swatted at him.
“Sab, hadds!” He managed, before starting to cough again. “D-do I h-hab to... HAISHH! hab to explaid p-pers... hih... ISHOO! persodal space agaid?”
“Dean, come on. Let's just get you home.”
“I'b fide.” Dean scrubbed at his forehead with his sleeve, swaying slightly in his seat. “Debod's cobig bagk.”
“Dean, you can't even sit up.”
“Sabby, we h-hab b-bi... HEPTSHUH! bigger problebs thad a cold.”
Sam resisted the impulse to pull at his hair in frustration. “Dean. Could you please be reasonable about this?”
“Sam?” Andy edged closer. “Let me try?”
He rolled his eyes. “Be my guest. It's like talking to a wall.” He stepped aside, and realized too late what he'd just done. “Uh... Andy?”
Andy laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. “Sorry,” he whispered, then raised his voice. “Come home with us, and don't argue.”
Even Sam could feel the change in Andy's voice, subtle but unmistakeable. Dean was on his feet in a split-second, glaring at both of them and wincing as he put his weight on his bad ankle, but he offered no resistance as Sam grabbed him by the elbow and steered him back through the front door while Andy said a hurried goodbye to Lesley, who was staring, wide-eyed with shock.
“Cad't believe you let hib whabby be, Sab,” Dean said accusingly as Sam folded him into the passenger seat of the Impala and fished the car keys out of his pocket. “Oughdta kigk both your asses.” He folded his arms protectively over his chest, let his head rest against the window, eyes slipping closed.
“I'm sorry,” Sam didn't think it would help matters if he admitted he hadn't realized what Andy was going to do. “Maybe if you weren't such a stubborn jackass this might have gone differently,” he said gently.
They drove back in almost complete silence. His brother seemed too out of it to make more than a token protest, and if he hadn't been shivering and coughing miserably Sam would have thought he'd fallen asleep. Andy hovered as he pulled his brother from the car, hoisting Dean's arm over his shoulders, half-dragging him inside and sitting next to him on the sofa. This time Dean didn't so much as make a sound when he laid a hand on his forehead, just made a small sighing sound and leaned against him, ever so slightly. Sam propped him up, started pulling awkwardly at his soaking-wet jacket, working it off one arm at a time. He glanced up to find Andy still hovering, wringing his hands.
“Is he going be mad?”
Sam shrugged. “Probably.”
“Dude, I'b righd here.” Dean's eyes fluttered open, then closed again, and he pulled away from Sam to sneeze convulsively into the crook of his elbow. “HHEISH! Hih... HGGFFHH! HHKSCHH-uh! Uh, Jesus... HEKSCHUH! HAISHOO!”
“Gesundheit.”
Dean didn't move, breath still hitching. Sam could feel his ribcage expanding with each breath. “Huh... hih... heh-EKSH-uh! HEPTSCHUH! Nngh...” he moaned softly. “Sud of a bitch, Sab. This sugks so hard...”
Sam rubbed his back. “Yeah, I know. Come on, lean on me, we're going to get you sorted out, okay?” Dean just nodded. “Okay, let's get you up. On three. One!” He hoisted him up without warning, and was rewarded with another groan of pain.
“Uh...” Andy shuffled back, still wringing his hands, and Dean turned a baleful stare on him.
“We are dot dode, you ad be.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Okay, tough guy, but before you try to kick Andy's ass, let's get you out of your wet clothes. You can kick his ass later.”
Andy's voice followed them up the stairs. “Uh, I'd really prefer it if you didn't!”
Part 17