Expanded from my drabble Ashen, included here. Thanks to Enkidu07 for the awesome beta, any errors are mine. I've completed the story, finishing final edits on Chapter 2 – Six Weeks of Recovery, which will be posted early next week.
Thanks Kripke for the awesome world, it remains yours.
Reviews are second only to being stuck with Dean in a small motel room for six weeks.
--
CRACK. The collarbone broke beneath the demon's boot.
Luckily she, it, was distracted. Sam completed the exorcism before the next stomp fell on his brother's face.
"Dude, about time," Sweat glistened on Dean's face as he attempted vertical.
Sam moved in, grasping Dean's bicep, hoisted him up.
"Bitch hurt my shoulder, not my legs." Sam backed off on cue from a lifetime of studying Dean's boundaries.
Dean stumbled, face ashen. He was headed for a nosedive as Sam's arm came under his good shoulder, supporting him.
Crap, it would be a long six weeks of dealing with Dean in recovery.
--
Sam shuffled his wounded brother around the empty body of the demon. The woman was clearly dead, wounds from her time with the demon showing up as soon as the exorcism had been completed. One more lost. He'd have to come back for cleanup.
After a long trip out of the abandoned orphanage, filled with harshly drawn breaths and grimaces, but no complaints, they arrived at the Impala. Sam leaned Dean against the passenger rear door. Dean didn't resist or mock Sam when he reached into Dean's leather jacket for the keys. That spoke volumes about the level of his pain.
After unlocking the car and carefully settling Dean into the seat, Sam hurried around to the trunk, grabbing a threadbare, but clean, towel. After sliding into the drivers' side, Sam turned to face Dean.
"You'll need a sling, or the car ride is going to kill on these back country roads."
"Not literally, I hope," Dean was graying as the words came out low.
"Ready?"
"Do it," Sam slid the towel under Dean's left arm, holding it against his ribs. He tied a sturdy square know over Dean's right shoulder, careful to keep jostling to a minimum.
Dean let out a shaky breath, face ashen. Sam started the car, eased out of the dirt driveway and started navigating the West Virginian back roads towards Route 19. When Sam put his left blinker on at the junction Dean startled awake. Trust him to notice this part of the ride.
"Motel's to the right. Did that somehow escape that steel trap of yours?"
Sam pulled the car out, to the left, and went two miles in suspended silence before he finally let out, "Yeah, but the Harrison County hospital is this way."
Dean came to attention, "What the fuck, Sam? I'm good for the motel."
"She broke it, Dean. I know it's your left, but we're not risking your arm. We'll get it set and head out ASAP." Sam's tone broke no argument, but he shifted his eyes over to Dean's face, hoping not to have to fight it out. He'd win, but it would sap Dean's strength. They both needed to be strong for hospitals.
--
It wasn't much further before they pulled up in front of the hospital. Sam got Dean settled into the triage waiting room before heading out to park the Impala. Dean was checking in with the nurse by the time Sam got back. Dean handed the nurse an insurance card for Bob Zimmerman.
"Subtle, man," Sam whispered under his breath. Apparently Dean's grin distracted the woman enough so that she didn't ask any questions.
"Okay, it looks like this is in order. Come on back, Bob."
"I actually go by Dylan." Sam's look of incredulity made it worth the comment. Hunting had never been this much fun without his brother. Okay, the collarbone wasn't fun, but it was nice to be joking around again, especially at his brother's expense. He still laughed over the "Bikini Inspector" badge he'd forced on Sam.
"This way then, Dylan." Dean followed the nurse through the doorway and into an examining room, Sam close behind. "A doctor will be with you shortly, make yourselves comfortable."
"Thanks," Dean looked down at her name badge, "Cecilia." The nurse closed the door behind herself with a smile.
"Bob freakin' Dylan? What the fuck Dean?"
Dean considered the examining table; it would be too awkward to hoist himself up. He sat on the only chair, leaving Sam to pace restlessly. Dean leaned his head back against the hospital white wall and closed his eyes, measured his breathing to Sam's paces.
Sam would only get in two of his long strides before he had to pivot. After 20 minutes, Sam abruptly stopped. Dean lost his concentration, grunted in pain.
"Be right back."
Dean could hear Sam imploring the desk nurse about the location of the doctor. After the standard brush off it became apparent that Sam wasn't letting it go. Strange reversal to hear his brother be so protective of him. However, when Sam walked back in a minute later with the doctor, Dean found he didn't mind so much.
"I hear you've hurt your collarbone. I'm Dr. Jones."
Sam jumped in, always better to let him deal with the sincere variety, and the graying doctor was lapping it up. "Yeah, we were just practicing a little baseball. Dean was pitching and the ball came right back at him. I feel just awful."
"Well, we should be able to set this. Let me get an x-ray and we'll go from there." Dr. Jones leaned his head out the door, "Cecilia, can you grab a wheelchair and schedule an appointment with radiology?"
"No wheelchair, I'm good."
"Right, Dylan, you're good." Sam rolled his eyes. "We'll use the chair."
"Said, I'm good," Dean answered as Cecilia rolled the wheelchair into the room.
"Okay, walk to the chair. If you can make it you don't have to use it."
Dean pushed off the armrest with his right arm, and shakily moved his left leg forwards into a step. When his body kept moving, Sam had to wrap his arms about Dean's waist to prevent him from falling straight onto his hurt side.
"Right then, chair." Sam eased Dean into the wheelchair and started pushing him out into the hallway. When Cecilia held her hands out to take over Dean heard Sam's "I've got him."
Weird how reassuring that was. Somehow not as bad that he wasn't in control if he was just handing it off to Sam.
--
After an x-ray showed a clean break in Dean's left collarbone they transferred him onto an exam bed, gave him two Vicodin, and prepared to set his shoulder.
"This is going to hurt."
"Thanks Doc. Nice bedside manner, definitely feel better."
Dr. Jones smiled at Dean's sarcasm, "Well good, you didn't seem the type to believe the standard lie. Are you sure about the painkillers?"
"I'm sure." Dean had refused anything that would knock him out. He'd insisted to Sam that he had to get out of the hospital as soon as they were done. They both knew that they would never release Dean if he was unconscious, and it was easier not to sneak him out. So no anesthesia.
The doctor moved into position over Dean. Cecilia held his chest in place.
"You may want to hold onto something."
Sam clasped Dean's hand, right palm to right palm, and held tight. "One, two, three." As the bone shifted back into place Dean bellowed a string of not quite comprehensible words. Sam caught "demon bitch" among the expletives. Hopefully it would just pass as colorful language.
Dean eased back onto the table as they wrapped his arm close to his chest, stabilizing it. Trust him to stay awake during the whole thing. Any normal person would have passed out by now. Too stubborn for his own good.
Sam kept holding onto Dean, squeezed his hand. Cecilia began explaining to Sam how the healing and rehab would work. He kept studious mental notes:
6-8 week recovery
After one week, try an arm sling
Work on range of motion as pain allows
Most important, or worrisome 'cause this was Dean, if you went too fast and used the arm before full recovery, there could be permanent injury.
Small motel rooms, limited physical exercise, no hunting. Yeah, he could totally handle Dean. No problem. Sam let out an audible mocking laugh as Cecilia looked at him with confusion.
"Oh, don't worry ma'am. I'll make sure Dylan takes care of himself and sees his personal doctor to schedule rehab and for checkups. Thank you so much. Do you know when we might be able to check out?"
"That shouldn't be a problem. We'll just need some more personal information and the doctor will get you a prescription for painkillers. Right this way."
Sam looked over to confirm that Dean was okay. After a moment of holding his gaze, Sam broke his grip on his brother and slipped out the doorway after Cecilia to get them on the road.
--
Sam settled Dean onto the motel bed. They'd traveled two hours west. Far enough to avoid immediate concern over the faulty insurance and stolen credit card.
"Dean, are you with me? Dean. Wake up." Sam lightly tapped Dean's cheek.
"Yeah man," Dean fell back into sleep, at the next tap his eyes jerked open. "What?"
"I have to go take care of the girl, clean up our fingerprints. I'll be gone awhile." Sam set a glass of water on the nightstand, handed another to Dean. "Here's another Vicodin, drink the whole glass of water. Here's a trashcan if you need to puke. My cell is next to the bed, just hold down to call button if you need me. If you wake up drink the other glass of water. Don't leave the room."
"Nnngh, 'kay."
"Repeat it back, Dean."
"You leavin', y'll be back. Puke in can. Drink water. Call you. Where's my knife?"
"Under your pillow. I set the alarm. If it rings and you haven't heard from me, I'm not back yet, call Bobby."
"Check. Alarm. Bobby. I'm good Sammy." Dean rolled to his right side, protecting his shoulder, grasped the knife in his good hand, and promptly fell asleep.
--
Sam pushed the Impala to its limits on the drive back into West Virginia. Vicodin shouldn't knock Dean too far out, but he didn't like leaving his brother alone incapacitated.
The orphanage was nestled on a run down road near the outskirts of town. They had come to investigate several deaths of small children lulled into the old building. The kids had run around the playground and hallways until they had died from exhaustion.
Apparently the children at the orphanage had been left alone when the caretaker had died. They had been unable to leave, locked in their rooms, and died onsite of dehydration. Their spirits called nearby children for playmates and wouldn't let them go.
It had seemed a routine salt and burn, until the demon showed up. Apparently Meg had made friends in hell, and one crawled out to stop in on the Winchesters.
Luckily no one had discovered the body yet. Sam wrapped her in plastic and moved her to the grave he'd dug around back.
He always felt regret at the nameless, wasted bodies demons left behind. No identification. No one to explain the loss to. And what could he possibly say to them if he found her family. One more missing persons.
Sam did a quick run through for fingerprints and bullet shells, wiped up a bit of blood from a flesh wound to his forearm. There might be something left behind, but he was in a hurry to get back, and no one had any reason to come looking. Let alone a reason to come looking for two Winchester brothers who had no cause to be here. Still, after St. Louis, better to be careful.
--
Sam was halfway back when his cell phone rang, "Dean?"
"Woke up. I drank the water. I'm good. You?"
"On my way back. I should be there in an hour."
"OK, just makin' sure you weren't endangering my baby driving too fast."
Sam huffed. Right, Dean was worried about his car. Okay, maybe Dean was a little worried about his car, but he'd called so Sam wouldn't worry.
"I'll take care of it."
"Her, Sammy. Take care of her."
"Right, her. Go back to sleep."
"G'night." The cell phone cut off. Sam eased up on the gas a bit, bringing it down to within fifteen of the speed limit.
--End Chapter One of Two--