Tag

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Flashes of light zapped behind Sam's eyes causing them to twitch with pain as images came to him.

Colored pool balls tapped into one another, a fifty dollar bill snapped loudly, a voice yammering something about someone owing someone a beer.

Things quickly flipped from fun and friendly to scary and tense.

There was a long wooden dock, scurrying shadows, gray fog, a dead-fishy smell. He remembered loud growling and biting and the snapping of teeth and splashing water mixed with hard bits of ice.

Then he was floating again, in nothing but darkness.

Had he slipped down into a hole or a crack in some deep, damp cave?That'd suck. But, that would at least be something. This empty-nothing he was in right now…was scaring the crap out of him.

He was alone.

Where was Dean?

Sam's heart pounded, his breath trying to catch up. He gave a grunt and shifted, but his body wouldn't respond the way he wanted it to. There was a tiny campfire burning in his right arm and there was a banging in his head. He ran his tongue over his dry lips and tasted blood, tried to talk but could only groan.

As out of it as Sam felt, he registered the sound of one boot thumping swiftly across the floor and he groaned again. Who was coming for him? Or better yet…what one-legged beast?

"Shhh. It's okay." A cool hand settled softly to his forehead.

Everything was not okay. Everything was black and bubbling and whirling like an old washing machine.

His heart leapt inside him and his body jolted as he tried to sit up.

"What're you doing, Sam?" The cool hand on his forehead added a little pressure. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him down

Sam tried to reach out with his right hand, but it wouldn't obey. His left hand weakly scrabbled across scratchy material at his side, coming in contact with some kind of flimsy flexible line, fingers latching on. He yanked hard, a low whimper rising from the back of his throat as something pinched and itched and burned the crook of his arm all at the same time.

"No, damn it, don't mess with that!" Someone was sitting right next to him, the scratchy voice so loud it nearly blew out Sam's eardrums.

Sam tried to roll away but his clumsy body wouldn't respond.

"Sammy, hey, wait...wait." A trusting-warmth slid over his scrabbling hand and squeezed hard. "You couldn't move a lock of hair right now if you tried...so stop trying."

The mix of stale coffee and maple glazed donut breath strangely quieted his panicked heartbeats.

The voice. The someone. It was Dean. Dean was with him.

Sam worked his jaw. "D-Dean," he stuttered clumsily.

"I'm here," Dean gave another squeeze to Sam's hand.

Sam opened his eyes, and found his brother staring back at him - exhausted and troubled.

"About time you landed," Dean scoffed. "Didn't think that growing fever of yours would ever break." He smiled. "Hope you've enjoyed our flight, because I haven't gotten a wink."

Sam smiled, more out of habit then desire. Dean was a man who never liked to show his worry. A man who never admitted to praying, but judging by his haggard brother now…he'd been doing both at 90-miles per hour for some time.

Sam's weighted, gummy eyes quivered, struggling to stay open. His focus zooming in and out like a camera as he took in the room. "Landed?" he asked weakly, nausea slamming into him.

"Dude." Dean rolled his eyes. "Think you just took back off to circle the runway."

"T-two," Sam said with great effort. "I was..." He lifted his head and turned a little, staring at the plastic tubing coming out of his left arm. "There's...there's two." He closed his eyes, and swallowed.

"Easy, it's all over," Dean whispered, sitting forward, his cool touch on Sam's forehead easing him back to the pillow. "Trust me, Sammy."

"Dean?"

"Told you...right here, man."

Sam opened his eyes and frowned, watching Dean pinch the bridge of his own nose.

"You need time to refuel, Sam."

"You refuel," Sam slurred, sounding more like a small boy than a man. He wasn't fully awake, but he was aware enough to know he'd put Dean through the ringer.

"Little brother, you're ass backwards." Dean dropped his hand and looked up, gaze drifting to Sam's right side. "You're the one with the arm squished like a friggin banana, and I'm the one who's going to have to be your personal 'everything' maid for the next six weeks."

Sam sluggishly followed Dean's gaze.

His right arm was heavily casted from shoulder to wrist, and his fingers twitched involuntarily. Pain was intruding fast and holding on hard. He wrinkled his nose, not sure which made him more nauseous. Maid-Dean holding a pink feather duster, wearing a frilly black and white short skirt, and low cut blouse – minus the inflatable breasts –or the blood-coated gooey mess he remembered his arm being in.

Sam winced at the brain-stabbing image. "Rather have," he gasped, "Don't…no bow tie…no pants."

"You're right," Dean chuckled lightly, a cup magically appearing in his hand. "Guess skirts are more your thing. Ha!" He lifted Sam's head a little and placed a straw to his lips. "Small sip."

Sam sucked in a few tiny drops, the cool water easing the burning dryness in his throat on the way down.

"You in pain?" Dean lowered Sam's head back into the plump pillows.

"A nine," Sam sputtered, and coughed. Crap he didn't want to say that. "But...um...no...," he tried to worm his way out. "I'm fine." He gave a small nod. "Fine, Dean."

"Too late," Dean grouched, having already pressed the nurse's call button.

A nurse tiptoed in. "Everything okay?" The gray-haired woman asked kindly.

"He's a nine...needs to be rocked back to sleep," Dean said, waving a hand at Sam who'd turned pale and shaky.

The nurse took one look at Sam and whipped out a syringe like the town sheriff drawing down on an outlaw. "This will make him feel groggy and disoriented."

"That's what we want, right, Sammy?" Dean asked watching the nurse go to work, quickly delivering the medication to Sam's IV.

Sam moaned.

"There you go, doll," she said to Sam, then muttered a few quiet words to Dean, gave Sam a sweet smile vowing to come back in a few hours, then left the room.

Dean tiredly slammed his ass in the chair next to Sam's bed. "Just rest some more, Sam. Bobby will be here soon to break us out."

"Bobby?" Sam slurred, eyes growing heavier. "He...he...go...I mean two...if Noah's arch didn't rain..."

"You know Bobby. He figured it out." Dean gave a chuckle, easily deciphering drugged-Sammy-speak. "Nothing left to chance. It's taken care of, Sam," he said sprawling fully in the chair and pulling off his one boot.

Sam scowled at Dean's bare foot and heavily wrapped ankle. "Broken?"

"Told you before, bro, twisted."

Sam nodded. "And Bobby?"

Dean huffed, "Last time I'm telling you, Dopey. Bobby took care of our baggage." Dean paused waiting to see if Sam was following the bouncing ball.

Sam gave a curt nod.

"He called a bit ago," Dean continued. "Said he piled the twins up, ran over them ten times with his truck, soaked them in hooch, lit them on fire, and put their ashes in an empty oil can," Dean chuckled.

"Why he do that?" Sam asked, slowly scooting further down in the bed.

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean grouched, just wanting his brother to get a little more rest. "Maybe he's planning on-"

"Mixing their ashes with dog shit," Bobby grumbled, stepping into the room.

"What?" Sam and Dean stared at Bobby, who stood dripping wet in the doorway.

"Hell boys." Bobby sighed in disbelief, digging in his pocket and bringing out an old cloth, wiping it across his face. "After what they did to Sam. Tried to do to you, Dean..." he walked over to an empty chair near the window, and sunk tiredly down into the seat, stuffing the cloth back in a pocket. "I'm planning on mixing their ashes with dog shit and spreading them about like fertilizer in my backyard…when they grow into trees," he said waiving a forceful hand in the air. "I'm going to cut them suckers down and throw them in the wood chipper and burn the mother's all over again...for fun," he added with triumph.

"Nice," Dean chirped excitedly. "Can I man the chipper?"

"Worry about manning your brother, ya idgit." Bobby tipped his head toward Sam.

Dean turned to see Sam silently sliding down the bed, and half-leaning over to hang off the side.

"Aw shit." Dean shot up out of his chair, hobbling unsteadly on his good foot while grasping Sam by the shoulders. "Where you think you're going, bro?"

"You always get to man the chipper...my turn," Sam drunkenly garbled, staring glassy-eyed up at Dean.

"Dude, take it easy, you're going to hurt yourself." He assisted Sam back onto the bed.

"You hurt yourself." Sam shifted trying to sit back up. "I should…I should…I should…my arm is itchy," he slurred, eyeing a spot on his good arm and struggling to reach over to scratch.

"Got it, little brother." Dean scratched the spot Sam was oogling. "Better?"

Sam nodded and sighed deeply. "Butt itches too," he added, squirming about under the covers.

"What the?" Dean's eyes popped wide.

"It itches bad, Dean," Sam whined, pleading puppy eyes blinking up at Dean.

"No. Uh-uh. I….just…oh, no, nope, nope, nope." Dean shook his head hard. "I'll do a lot of things for you, Sammy. Let you drive the Impala, put the soft rock music on for you to help you sleep, hell...I'll even share my pie...but you scratch your own... can scratch your own...your own...your own," Dean bit into his lip at a loss.

"Badonkadonk," Bobby smirked.

Dean flashed Bobby an evil glare.

"Dean," Sam whimpered.

Dean's evil glare turned to pleading. Little help with him Bobby?

"He's your brother, Dean" Bobby sniggered. "Told you to man him."

"How the hell am I supposed to man his...badonk-whatever?" Dean spat at Bobby.

"Very carefully," Bobby snorted, getting up out of the chair and coming to stand behind Dean.

"Ha, ha," Dean deadpanned, staring down at Sam.

"Ha, ha," Sam parroted, eyes slipping shut.

"So listen up, you two, here's what's going to happen," Bobby instructed seriously. "I'm going to clear you a pathway, before someone finds out your insurance ain't insurance. Dean," he said the name seriously. "Can you and that sprained ankle of yours get your drug- induced brother dressed and sneak his itchy ass to the back of the hospital, north side of the parking lot."

"Yes, sir," Dean assured, easing Sam slowly up to sitting.

Sam leaned against Dean heavily, watching as Dean began to disconnect his IV line .

"Good," Bobby snipped. "Then you idgits can follow me in the Impala back to my place for the duration of Sam's recovery." Bobby rolled his eyes at the two of them and left the room.

"You get all that, Mile High?" Dean asked Sam, now trying to manhandle the kid's hospital gown off his shoulders.

"No plane." Sam nodded, eyes still closed. "Vroom-vroom to Bobby's," he did his best impersonation of the Impala.

"Close enough, little brother. Close enough."

The end