“Damn it, Dean,” Sam swore as he began to stitch the nasty gash that almost ripped his brother’s stomach open
Sunday, March 17, 2013
The Winchesters were in North Dakota, hunting a wendigo, on Dean’s twenty-first birthday. The hunt had been difficult, and all three men had been injured. They reached an abandoned farm house at sunrise. Dean checked the wiring outside and managed to break the lock mechanism and find a way to get lights on. John found an old woodpile and Sam hunted for kindling. Before long, the three men had lights, water, and a fire.
John stitched some scratches on Sam’s back and bandaged his son. Sam began to do the same for him. John had a gash on his side. They jumped when they heard a gun go off twice.
“Check on your brother, Son,” the older man told the teen.
Sam found Dean standing outside, cleaning and skinning a brace of rabbits.
“Supper, Sammy. Aren’t you hungry?”
“Yeah, Dean, but you’re injured.”
“I’ll be fine. Bobby called a while ago. He’s coming up here.”
“Not quite sure.”
Dean found some pots in the ancient kitchen. “There’s an old garden out there, Sammy? You think something might still be growing?”
“Like what? This place is old, Dean,” Sam whined a little.
“I forgot. You’re hurting,” Dean commented and walked outside, leaving his brother with their father, who had killed a half bottle of whiskey to kill the pain and get drunk. He walked around the gardens. The plants were over grown, but he dug around some and found two very large potatoes and one huge onion. Going to the car, he looked in the back seat for a bag from the fast food place they had stopped at the day before. He found ketchup, salt, and pepper. Going back into the house, the older brother put the cut up rabbits in a pot of water, added the ketchup, salt and pepper and put a lid on the pot.
At that moment, a dizzy spell hit him. Sam grabbed him and opened his jacket. The shirt beneath was covered in blood.
“Damn it, Dean,” Sam swore as he began to stitch the nasty gash that almost ripped his brother’s stomach open
Dean laid down on a sleeping bag while Sam watched the stew his brother had put on the fire.
Bobby arrived late in the afternoon and took charge. He checked the stew. The food was cooked. Checking the wounds, he noted Dean’s was the worse.
After everyone ate the stew, John and Sam both laid down and slept. Dean sat up and watched Bobby check the salt lines. The older man sat down next him. He opened up his backpack and pulled out a small bottle of Irish whiskey.
Dean’s hazel eyes stared at him in surprise, “Dad’s asleep, Bobby.”
“That’s right, Son. Happy birthday,” the old hunter spoke softly as he offered the whiskey to boy.
Dean took a small sip and coughed a little. Bobby smiled.
“Of the hard stuff? Yes, Sir.”
The two hunters split the bottle and Bobby tucked Dean into his sleeping bag. The hunter slept near the boy, knowing there would be a major hangover in the morning.
Castiel arrived from and errand for Father and frowned over the wounds, knowing he could have prevented them. He smelled the alcohol and realized what day it was, and felt grateful for Bobby.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Sam was allowed to leave the hospital in four days, but Dean had to remain. The doctors were working to kill a nasty infection in his leg. Due to this, his lung was healing slowly.
Mrs. Tran and Garth took turns staying with him. Garth always brought Sam up for a visit. Dean was irritable, feeling the hunt wasn’t finished. He was constantly asking if there was news of any other killings. The answer was always ‘No.’
After twelve days, the hunter was released. The doctor recommended rest and Sam made his brother promise to stay put for a couple of days. Dean wanted to go home and heal in his own room. The younger Winchester knew this and was working to make sure it happened.
Garth and Mrs. Tran headed out the morning the two were planning to leave. By this time, the woman had learned to forgive Dean and like him again.
Sam was checking the best route to get home when someone knocked at the door. Dean limped over and answered it.
A Native American stood there. The hunter froze for a second.
“You must have the wrong room,” Dean said as he began to close the door.
“I am looking for the hunters who ended a reign of terror. Both of you have the feel of men who have been at war recently,” the man responded.
Sam grabbed his crutches and moved towards the door. The man turned to him. He gazed at the taller man, taking in his size and weight.
Turning back to Dean, he commented, “You are stronger than you look, Dean Winchester. You had those cuts in your leg and they were infected. Still, you carried him on a litter. You went further after almost drowning and the damage to your lung should have killed you. The old Shaman went after you more than this one. Why?”
Sam saw his brother turn red and watched him try to shake off the question and ignore it.
“All right, I irritated his ass to keep him away from you. Besides, he pissed me off."
Their visitor laughed, “I like you, Dean Winchester. The Shaman is dead. He used too many innocent spirit guides and their walkers. He deserved what they did to him. I want you to know he is gone for good and the evil with him. Thank you.” The Native American turned and walked away.
Sam shut the door and stared at his brother.
“Sooner or later, you’re gonna get yourself killed, Dean.”
“Yeah, I know, but not this time. Can we go home now?"
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Dean drove out of the motel parking lot and headed towards Lebanon, Kansas.
Dean heard their father moving around in his room and told his brother to pack their things and load them in the car. The teen knocked on his dad’s door and heard a murmur. He opened the door and entered.
“Dad, we're loading up. I figured you’d want to leave as soon as you were ready.”
John stared at his son and nodded.
“Can I make you some coffee or a bowl of cereal?”
John shook his head and finished dressing. Dean left the room, confused at his father’s attitude. Castiel stared at the man and wondered what he was up to.
John walked out of his room and found his son waiting with the med kit. His eyebrows raised and he sat down at the table and let Dean check the hand. It was badly bruised, but there were no breaks. His son wrapped the hand and made a sling for him.
“I don’t need the sling. I have to drive.”
“I can drive, Dad.”
Two pairs of eyes stared each other down.
Thirty minutes later, Dean pulled out of the parking lot of the motel. John rode shotgun. Sam and Castiel sat in the back seat. The angel had a smug look on his face.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Dean just stared at his brother after the comments Sam had made regarding John, Bobby and the law. He shook his head, ruffled his brother’s hair, and went to get some breakfast. He put on a pot of coffee for John. Sometimes it helped.
John walked out of his bedroom, holding his arm against his chest. Sam stared at him, but remained quiet.
“Morning, Sammy,” the man said softly.
“Morning, Dad,” the younger boy replied.
Dean almost dropped his bowl of cereal as he turned quickly to make sure his Dad did nothing to hurt his brother.
Turning towards the kitchen and facing his oldest son, John stopped and stared at the bruise on the boy’s face. He winced, knowing people would ask about him.
“It’s okay, Dad. I got into a fight with a couple of boys in town. There won’t be any problems.”
“Damn it, Dean!” Sam yelled.
The boys’ Dad turned on his youngest, “You be quiet and stay out of this, Sammy!”
“I’m not stupid, Dad! You can’t keep treating Dean like this! He’s a kid, Dad! You don’t beat your kids!”
John turned towards his youngest and began to push him. He was stopped by his oldest. Dean grabbed his Father and yelled at his brother to go to their room and stay there.
The older Winchester faced the teen, “You keep your damned hands off me, boy! Don’t interfere with Sam and me.!”
“Dad,” Dean spoke softly. “You have a bad hand right now. How are you gonna take me on? Let me fix the hand for you.”
“You think I can’t take you on, boy? I can kick your damn teeth down your throat,” the man roared.
“Something attacked you last night. It wasn’t me. I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe you ought to calm down. You’re still drunk from yesterday.”
Castiel stood up and walked over to stand behind the boy. ‘Father, I am sorry, but I will not let him do it again.’ There was no sound from Heaven.
John Winchester stared into his son’s eyes and turned towards his room. Dean watched the door close behind him and released the breath he was holding. He shook and sat down on the couch.
Sam came back out and fixed his brother some of the cereal.
“You need to eat,” the younger boy told his big brother.
Both boys sat on the couch and watched a movie on the television.
Sam blinked his eyes and kept sticking his tongue out of his mouth, making funny faces. His head cleared and he looked around him. He was in a private room and wondered where he was.
A woman walked in and stood at the foot of his bed, hands on her hips.
“It’s about time you woke up, Sam Winchester.”
The hunter stared at her for a moment. “Mrs. Tran?” was his hoarse response.
“Yes, they operated on you yesterday. They said you might be unconscious for a while due to the concussion,” Kevin’s mother answered.
“What time is it?”
“It is four in the afternoon.”
“That’s a long time. How’s Dean?”
“I don’t know. Garth sent me here and headed up to ICU,” the woman responded as she pulled a chair up to Sam’s bedside and sat down.”
“Garth? ICU!” Sam pressed the button for a nurse.
A male nurse entered the room. “Can I help you, Sir?”
Sam tried to take several deep breaths but all he could think of was Dean waking up in ICU and freaking out.
“My brother, Dean Winchester, is in ICU. I think we ought to be in the same room. He’s not gonna handle this very well. He’ll pull out the IV if he’s awake enough.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Winchester.”
Dean slowly opened his eyes and licked his lips. He felt tired, sore, and incredibly thirsty.
“Hello?” His voice was barely a whisper, “Damn it. Sammy?”
“Hey, Dean,” Garth said as he stood up from a chair near the hunter’s bed.
Garth stared into a pair of highly confused green eyes.
“Where am I? Hell, where’s Sammy? Is that bastard dead?”
“Well, you’re in the hospital. Sam is in a room two floors down, and
I don’t know who the bastard is, Dean.”
The hunter tried to sit up on the side of the bed, reaching for tubes and wires. Garth pressed an emergency button and tried to convince the man to lay back down.
A doctor and several nurses ran into the room. Dean attempted to fight them off, but he was too weak.
“No, please. Sammy!”
A few minutes passed and Dean had been given a sedative. He was not unconscious. The drug was more of an ‘I Don’t Give a Damn’ medication.
Garth was speaking to the doctor when the request from Sam was brought to the ICU.
A conference was held. Intermediate Care was on the third floor. A room was set up with the equipment needed to monitor the older brother and what Sam needed also.
Sam was resting in the new room when his brother was brought down. The younger man sat up as Dean’s bed was rolled into the room and set up closer to the door.
After all the medical equipment was hooked up, the nurse gave the older hunter a slight shot of pain medicine to work with the sedative.
Dean breathed slowly and his brother heard a slight sob.
I’m here, Dean. We’re gonna be fine.”
“Yeah? What happened to that son of a bitch? The explosion knocked me for a loop. I thought I saw him get carried away.”
“I’m sorry, but I was out cold.”
The hunter sighed. “Did anyone find my Baby?”
“We have it, Dean,” Garth answered from the door.
“Garth? What the hell?”
Sam sighed softly, “I listed him as next of kin, Dean. We couldn’t do it for each other since both of us were in here. How are you feeling?”
The green eyes looked slightly glazed over, “Like shit, Sammy. Garth?”
“Is my baby all right?”
“Yeah, she’s fine. I’m gonna let you two get some rest. You’ve been through hell and back from what the doctors told me. Get some sleep. I’ll be back later.”
Sam watched his older brother doze off and laid back down and closed his eyes. He suddenly felt exhausted.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Dean woke in a room filled with electronic equipment. The walls were painted a light gray. He felt a hard gurney-type table beneath him. A breathing machine was attached to him. The machine eased the pain of taking a deep breath. The older Winchester didn't feel need quite as bad.
The young hunter tried to talk but his voice was incredibly hoarse.
“He’s awake, Doctor,” a woman’s voice commented.
“Where’s anesthesiology? I need him under.”
The older Winchester’s mind was foggy but he understood the word, “under.”
“Good, there you are. We need to go in, stat.”
The green eyes almost crossed as the injured man tried to focus on the mask someone behind him was placing over his face. He made an attempt to stop the mask from reaching his face, but his hands wouldn’t move. They were strapped down.
A confused mumble of “What the hell?” could be heard erupting from the patient
“Breathe deeply, Sir. It’s important they take care of you right now”
“Wha…?” Dean was asleep.
Sam lay on a gurney in the emergency room, waiting for an orthopedic doctor to arrive and look at the x-rays. His leg was throbbing and his head hurt. The doctors had informed him he had a concussion. They planned to keep him for a few days to monitor the injuries, but weren’t sure if he needed surgery for his leg.
He kept asking questions about Dean and was getting no answers. Frustration was not helping him. When asked about next of kin, the nurse wanted someone besides Dean. Sam finally gave her Garth’s number and said he was a step brother.
The orthopedic surgeon suggesedt surgery to keep the bone strong and allow it to heal. Sam was not happy but agreed and signed the papers. He’d already signed Dean’s.
The younger brother asked about Dean one more time and was told he had regained consciousness before the anesthesiologist put him under. Sam was moved to a gurney and taken to the surgical area.
“We are going to prep you, Mr. Winchester. Blood work was done and an IV was inserted. Soon, he was moved into an operating room and someone told him to breathe.
Sam held his brother for over an hour when an idea came to him. Laying Dean on the sand, he covered his face lightly, keeping the hot rays from burning the man’s face more than they already had.
Forcing himself to rise and walk, he felt a slight movement of the bone in his leg and hoped it would not break more and come through the muscle and skin. He found the old river bed and began to look for wood that would have washed out of the canyon. It took the man several hours to find enough wood to build a bonfire. Opening his backpack, he removed a small can of starter fluid and some matches. In the bottom of the pack, he spotted on bottle of water. Grateful to the powers that be, he opened the water and drank a small amount. Lifting Dean, he raised his brother’s head and gave him some of the water.
“Not too much, Dean. I found this one in the bottom of my backpack. The taller hunter helped the smaller one sit up. Dean squinted in the bright light and saw the wood pile.
“What the hell is that?”
“I remembered that the border patrol goes over this area because illegal aliens come this way to avoid being caught. They use helicopters, Dean. Remember the ones we saw in the town we drove through on the way to the reservation? They’re gonna be loud enough to be heard. I’ll set fire to this and draw their attention. We’ll get help.”
The older man stared at his brother, “Okay, Sammy.”
After the sun went down, the Shaman appeared and stood between the brothers. Sam raised the shotgun and watched.
“You should not be alive. The Spirits cannot want this. It would seem my skin walkers are not strong enough to handle you.”
Dean almost smirked, and the old man was irritated by it.
“How are you even alive? I know how sick you are.”
“Somebody likes me,” the injured man commented.
At that point, the Shaman turned into a large eagle and attacked Sam. The shotgun flew into the air. The bird flew at a fast speed, talons stretched out and aimed at the younger man.
“Sam,” Dean shouted with what voice he had left. He managed to rise and put all of his strength into reaching the younger man. Sam held his arm out at an angle, blocking the large bird from reaching his face and neck. He didn’t see his brother until the man was on top of him.
Dean pinned the eagle between himself and his younger brother. He grabbed the silver knife he still carried and stabbed into the eagle’s back, severing the spinal cord, and sliding the blade up into the heart. The force of the attack cause a small explosion. Dean was thrown back. Sam lost consciousness.
At the moment the blast occurred, older hunter saw animals grab the Shaman and drag him away. The man was screaming.
Dean heard a different noise. The blast attracted the Border Patrol. He crawled to the pile of wood, poured the lighter fluid over it and lit it off. The hunter felt the high winds of chopper blades and it was all he remembered.