Enjoy The Ride 4/6

[soncnica]

Title: Enjoy The Ride 4/6
Author: soncnica
Rating: PG-13
Genre/Pairing: Sam, Dean, gen
Wordcount: cca. 4.400 words (this part)
Summary: Dean gets cursed, because he can't keep his paws to himself, when Sam says so. But Sam finds a cure, one which Dean will definitely not enjoy the ride on. So Sam has to play dirty.
Warnings: gross, icky, disgusting imagery (the usual from me, LOL), season 2, language and if you suffer from Chaetophobia, please do not read this!
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is NOT MINE! ALL IS FICTION.
A/N: Can be found in part 1.

CHAPTER 3:

Now

"I hnow, I hhnow … dampff it."

They didn't have a lot of time here.

"Dean, Jesus … there are some napkins in the glove compartment."

"Tyeah…"

He leaned forward, trying not to bleed all over his jeans and the car and searched for the damn napkins, like his life depended on it.

When he finally managed to push them against his nose he sighed and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

This was not good. This was so bad. The dizziness, the nosebleed, and then … then other stuff would start happening that he didn't want to go through, but would just have to. Suck it up and be a man and suffer through. He just needed to get rid of his brother, because no matter what all kinds of crap they've been through during their lives, his baby brother really didn't need to see him writhe from pain and scream himself hoarse. His brother … he needed a normal life, he didn't need to watch his big brother suffer and make an ass of himself.

His brother didn't need to die.

What was his Dad thinkin'?

He sighed and swallowed down the fear - that tasted suspiciously like he'd been licking a rusty nail - that was slowly creeping up his throat. This was so gonna suck ass.

"How you doin'?"

"Fine."

He mumbled through a stretched neck and a wad of blood-soaked napkins pressed to his still leaking nostrils. This was not fun. At all.

But it was a situation he was in and he was gonna see it through. He wouldn't die, it wasn't a death sentence, but it sure would feel like it was. He sure would be wishing death would come take him away into blissed nothingness.

But he knew he wouldn't get that. Because he was never that lucky. They never were that lucky. All they got was maybe passing out, but even unconsciousness didn't – couldn't - last forever.

"Still dizzy?"

He … was. A little bit, not as much as before the river of blood spilled out of his nose, but he still felt a bit shaky. Spinning. But he could handle that. That was nothing. A little merry-go-round and a nosebleed? Easy peasy. He could handle that completely okay. It was everything else that he wasn't sure he would be able to handle.

"Yeah. A bit."

"Okay, just keep the napkins there, 'm gonna call Bobby."

He nodded, because if he'd speak, he'd choke on something. Terror, probably. So he stayed silent and listened to the sounds of the road.

There were none, because they were driving down back roads that were either used only a few times a month or not been used in a while.

But there was sun on his face, warmth and his brother's voice in his left ear.

It would be soothing and probably put him to sleep if not for that one little pesky thing …

… he didn't want to hurt. He had enough hurt in his short life to last him until the end of his days. Usually pain was just something that happened, that was, that came and then went, but this … anticipation was what was killing him. Was what was making him scared.

He was scared.

Out of his mind scared.

And he wanted his Dad and he wanted his brother, but he couldn't have them.

Dad was dead and Sam … his little brother … he looked to his left, observing Sam talk on the phone and steer the wheel, but it was okay, because the road was empty and Sam drove snail slow and looking up for a cure.

He was gonna be saved. And he would save Sam from whatever his Dad was talking about.

He would not kill Sam, because Sam would never kill him.

"Okay, thanks Bobby. Thanks." He threw the phone in his lap and gripped the steering wheel again. Tight. He didn't put pedal to the metal like he wanted to – God he wanted to drive and drive and drive so far away that the pain would never catch up to Dean, but he knew that was stupid and that if anything their Dad taught them well, was to never run away from anything. No matter what was coming at them, they should never run away, but stop and look it right in the eye. Face it. Be strong, smile and say die you son of a bitch.

Dad …

He looked at the road. The back road he took was all gravel with lush green bushes growing at its side. It was … peaceful. Beautiful. A place where they would normally stop, grab a beer, sit on the hood of the car and stare into the beautiful, clear blue sky. Then, they'd be too buzzed to drive and would just spend the night in the car. If everything was alright, that's what they would've done. But nothing was alright. Nothing.

"What did he say?"

Dean's voice cracked on the words. His brother's voice cracked; that hadn't happened since … dad dying.

Oh God …

He didn't take his eyes of the road, just slowed down a bit, as not to hit any big rocks, because then his brother would have a stroke and that was not the way this was supposed to go down.

"He talked to a guy named Rufus, said there's a cabin we can go to, a few more miles down the road, then left, three miles into the woods. Said it would be okay to stay there. Said it ain't much, but …"

… but you would be able to lie down. Have some rest, before … maybe have some sleep. We'd have shelter, somewhere where there would be no one to hear you.

He didn't say all that, because he was certain that Dean knew.

"Damffn it, just damffn it."

"Yeah…"

Because yeah. Damn it Dean.

He took a breath and steered the car around a big ass rock. No stroke for Dean. Not until his brother was ninety-nine and some change years old. It wasn't a realistic thought, he knew that, but it was a thought that made him sleep through some nights.

"Look man, we'll go there and we'll deal with this, alright? I asked Bobby if there's a cure for this or … or a counter spell or just anything, and he said he'll look into it, because every curse has a cure, right. But listen, in the meantime, let's just …"

… deal with this.

"Deal with this."

"Yeah."

He drove. Because there was nothing else he could do. But drive and hope that Bobby or that Rufus guy would come up with a cure or something, anything that would save Dean.

Save him or at least not make him suffer so badly.

Because every curse had to have a cure. It had to. Those were the rules.

Damn it.

A few more miles down the gravely road got them to a crossroad. Sam took the left road. It was gravel again. He hadn't seen asphalt for hours and the non-bitching from his brother about all of this was more worrisome than anything else.

"Dean?"

"'m good."

"Dizzy? Bleeding?"

"Naw, it stopped awhile back. Still a bit dizzy though."

"Okay. We're almost there."

When he looked at his brother, though … he saw a bruise on his left cheek. That wasn't there an hour ago.

"Dean?"
"What?" his brother snapped, looking straight ahead through the windshield, not moving his eyes from the road.

"You sure you're okay?"
"Yes, I am fine."

"Don't … damn it Dean," he hit the steering wheel, "don't lie to me."
"Hey! Watch it. And 'm not lying."

"You have a," he cleared his throat, "bruise on your cheek."

"What?"
He pressed his hand on his cheek and hissed.

"Sam…"

They looked at each other.

Their eyes were filled to the brim with fear. Sam for Dean and Dean for whatever the day would bring.

"Drive faster, Sam."

He didn't need to be told twice.

The road to the cabin was … narrow. And gravel again, with some dried dirt that was more dust than mud it most certainly was before the sun sucked all the moisture out of it.

There were tall trees with lush, bright green leaves on low branches caressing the roof of the car as Sam drove it to the cabin.

And then he stopped the car. It felt as if the world stopped. Because they were here. Here, where if Bobby won't find a cure or something, Dean would … suffer. He didn't want his brother to suffer. He hadn't wanted his Dad to die. He didn't want any of this. He just wanted a simple hunt. Not this. Not this; hadn't Dean suffered enough? Hadn't they both?

But this was pain … would be pain. They were used to pain. He hoped Dean was used to pain.

The cabin was … small. Just some wood – it looked more like thick, long logs actually - nailed together to make four walls. It really, really wasn't all that much and he was afraid that some strong wind would knock it over. But it probably wouldn't, because it looked old. Used. Worn down by age and the environment it was in. But it looked … inviting. Looked like the sort of place that knew how to keep something safe. Keep something a secret. Keep his brother's screams hidden.

He looked at his brother who was leaning his head back to the bench seat, holding blood soaked napkins against his nose. His fingers had some dried blood on them.

It made him sick. Pain was pain, but blood was blood. It was different.

"'kay here we are. Let's get inside."

The Impala's doors creaked like always when they opened and closed. It was familiar. It was soothing.

The air was cool when it hit them, smelling of dirt and freshness; cooped up in the car for so long it was nice to smell something other than sweat, blood and anticipation of the worst.

They needed no words when they went to the trunk and grabbed a duffle of clean clothes, two shotguns, salt and two blankets. If they needed something else, Sam would go get it. Because he would be the only one who could.

"There's no key, Bobby said to just pick the lock. Said that it didn't matter, key or no when hunters could pick locks."

"Ha."

Sam thought that maybe this was the last time he'd see Dean smile for a while. He soaked it up as much as he could and then leaned on the door to nudge it open.

The first thing that hit them and made them stumble, was dust. Big particles of dust flying in the sun filled air, getting into their noses and open mouths. Into their hair and onto their clothes. Dust. Lots of it. Everywhere.

But they were used to dust. Dust, sometimes, was part of the job.

The second thing that hit them was the smell. It made them take a step back. It was … rotten something and burned … something. It made his stomach roll and when he looked at Dean, his brother was looking pale and green.

"Dean …"

"'m good, 'm good."

But he could see and hear that Dean was not good. Not fine. Not awesome. Not anything, but three seconds from puking his guts out.

"Dean, why don't you stay outside for a while, 'm gonna air this out."

"Damn it man, just … get out of my way, okay? Let's just … don't treat me like 'm gonna break."

"Fine." He snapped back, because two could play this game of push, push, push until someone punches.

"Fine."

But Dean left the door open wide when he stepped into the cabin and when Sam turned around to see if his brother was still standing on his own two feet and not bending over to kiss the floor, he was this close to saying 'do you have a tail?', but at the last second he shut his mouth. It was second nature for him to say shit like that, to take care of things when his brother couldn't or wouldn't; close the door, close them in, protect the place they were in, so that it would protect them.

When their eyes adjusted from the bright sun to the murky darkness of the room, they saw that the cabin really wasn't all that much. Just a bed on their left, well more of a cot than a bed, because it was so tiny, they didn't know how someone was able to lie on it and be comfortable enough to actually sleep.

Although with hunters … they rarely slept. And if they did, they were too drunk to notice on what they were sleeping.

The walls were made of logs, they could see very clearly where one ended and the other begun and the space between was dusty. There were spider webs in all four corners of the ceiling, big ones, all gray from the gathered dust. Spiders obviously weren't big on housecleaning.

There was a table on their right and a small, tiny kitchen – just a sink and a cupboard - right in front of them. The 'bathroom' was outside, at the back of the cabin. Luxury at its finest. But still, it was better than being in a motel room, where everyone would be able to hear Dean. Then cops would come and probably take him to jail or a psych ward and they just couldn't have that.

So this was the next best thing. Sure they could camp out, park the Impala somewhere in the middle of the woods but Dean needed some comfort … and this cabin with its tiny cot would have to do.

"Wow, talk about cozy."

"Well it's the best we could find, so … get cozy, man."

"We don't have any electricity, man."

"Go grab some candles and a flashlight. And the lamp."

"What? Someone cut off your legs?"

"Hey, 'm walking wounded here."

It was meant as a joke, like everything Dean said was, but it stung. It burned. It hurt right in his heart. Because Dean was walking wounded, it was just a wound that couldn't be seen on the outside. It was a wound in the inside, poison crashing like a wave into the wound their Dad's death left behind.

Dean was a wound. A walking, talking wound that did not bleed, like a normal wound should.

"Okay … 'm goin'."

He closed the door when he got back from the car. Shut the outside world away and made the darkness envelop them for a second, before he turned on the lamp that ran on batteries.

It glowed blue.

He set it on the table and avoided eye contact with Dean who was sitting at the table.

He couldn't … his brother's skin glowed blue, as if he was frozen. As if he had suffocated.

Sam found some sheets in a wooden case that was hiding under the little table. They were yellowish from age and who knows what else with their edges torn, probably someone used pieces of them for bandages. God knows they ruined a lot of sheets in their time too. They smelled of mold, but they were still usable and far better than just have Dean lay on the exposed mattress – with a very suspicious stain right in the middle.

He put the sheets – two of them, just in case – over the thin mattress and looked at his handiwork. It would have to do. Dean taught him how to do a bed properly, so … if Dean wouldn't be satisfied by this … his fault, not Sam's.

"Niiiice…"

"Yeah well, either this or lying on the stain, man."

"Yeah, I'll always take moldy sheets over a piss stain."

"Ugh, did you have to say that out loud?"

"What? Piss stain? 's what it is, man. Just call it like I see it."

"Well don't."

Dean smirked, shook his head and walked away towards the table and the only chair there. They only had one chair. One bed.

A hunter's life was lonely.

But not theirs.

They always had each other. And Dad. But Dad was gone now. They were all there was.

Sam hoped that a day when one of them would only need one chair, one bed, would never come.

It was always two or nothing.

Or nothing.

There was literally nowhere for Dean to hide in this small room, when things would get bad. When the aches and pains would start devouring his insides. There was nowhere he would be able to run to, to get away from his little brother and scream himself hoarse. There was nowhere for him to go and hide and wail out his pain and cry and scream and punch at the walls.

He could go outside to the 'bathroom', that was actually just four really tall planks nailed together for privacy and a hole in the ground when one stepped inside. He could go there. Maybe.

He was so screwed. Just so, so screwed.

And Sam … Sam would have to watch him suffer, have to see him get overpowered by pain, watch him struggle to breathe and watch him howl with pain.

Damn it.

"Sam …" you really can just leave me here.

"Dude, shut up. Just shut up."

Sam's eyes were full of 'suck it, brother you're stuck with me' attitude. It made Dean step back a little, because the sheer determination on his brother's face was a bit too much.

"Well okay then," he clasped his hands together, "we have any beers in this joint?"

"No booze for you, man. If Bobby finds the cure …"

He sighed: "Yeah, alcohol and girly flower concoctions don't mix well, I know."

"Yup, so just … maybe you should get some sleep. Before…"

Before shit hits the fan and gets crap all over the place. In about, Sam looked at his watch, an hour.

"Okay, sure. Not a bad idea."

He didn't know if he could sleep, but maybe he could just close his eyes. No harm in that. There was absolutely nothing he could do about this anyway, so … better to just get ready to roll with the punches.

He pulled the dry, bloodied napkin out of his nostrils and threw it in the sink. Maybe Sam would get a kick out of that. Probably not, knowing the little bitch, the kid would scream and call him a disgusting jerk, but … a big brother gets satisfaction in all forms and sizes.

He was sitting on the only chair in the room, the wood biting his ass, his elbows on the table and head in his hands. He was tired … the waiting game was slowly starting to get to him and he knew it had to be even worse for Dean.

Dean was never keen on waiting, waiting for him was like a stop sign, it made him twitchy and annoyed, because all he wanted to do was step on the gas and go, go, go.

But this … this was the worst kind of a waiting game. Because when it would end, it would hurt. Tear. And there would be nowhere to hide.

He knew Dean wanted him gone. Wanted to be alone. Didn't want for him to see him hurt like this, but tough … Sam wasn't going anywhere. Because Dean wouldn't go anywhere either.

The sound of his phone ringing in the dead silence of the small room made him jump up from the chair and he fumbled for the phone, the slippery little thing and managed to answer before the crappy ring tone could wake his brother up. He hadn't expected Dean to actually fall asleep, but he did. Started snoring lightly five minutes after his back hit the cot.

"Yeah?"

"Aha."

"Okay."

"Yeah? That simple."

"You sure there's no catch?

"Okay Bobby, okay. Good. That's really, really good."

He whispered even though he wanted to scream from joy. And horror.

"Thanks. No, I have that. We have all kinds of stuff in the trunk."

"Will call. Thanks."

He wanted to collapse on the floor and weep like a baby. The freakin' boulder that had been sitting on his chest rolled away and allowed him to take a deep breath. The warlock was smart, but they were smarter. They had Bobby. And Bobby had connections and knowledge and the warlock with his hundreds of years' worth of magic had nothing. Nothing.

Even if Dean wouldn't like it one little bit.

The trunk of the Impala was like a vault of crazy stuff stuffed in it. It held so many things; sometimes Sam thought it held the entire world of obscure in it. Everything. Just everything. Even dead, dried flowers. And dead, dried animal parts. And bones. And holy water.

And a cure for Dean. Well partial cure, the one that would delete all the horrible pain, but would not delete all the horrible nastiness Dean would still have to endure.

But it was better no pain than pain, so Dean would just have to deal with the nasty, gross part of his stupid, stupid stunt of touching that damn stick.

He shook Dean's shoulder – it was warm, hot even under the shirt - and smiled when his brother opened his eyes just a crack.

"Have coffee. Want some?"

It was a low trick, he knew, but still better than telling Dean about what his plan was.

"Coffee…"

It was like listening to a zombie call out for brains.

"Yummy coffee, come on."

He went to the table that held two cups; one black coffee and one black coffee with a kick of fizzy girly dead flowery concoction.

"How much time do we have?" Dean mumbled while fisting his eyes, trying to get rid of the sleep and the fuzziness. He was shuffling his feet all the way to the table and plopped down on the chair like it was a magnet and his ass was made of metal.

"Fifteen."

Dean whistled: "Damn time flies when you're not having fun."

"Hmm, yeah. Drink up."

Sam felt like an ass. But it really was for his brother's own good. Otherwise he'd never have done it.

"How did you make coffee, dude?"

"'m a wizard."

Dean's eyes went huge.

"Dude, thermos. It's awesome and keeps stuff warm."

"Uhh… yeah…"

"Drink up, that's the last of it. No more hot drinks until …"

He felt like he belonged to Hell.

Dean put the coffee cup on the table, the black liquid sloshing over the top and sighed: "Sammy, you know what?"

"What?"

He slurred and blinked, trying to keep Sam in focus. "I think this coffee ain't just coffee."

He slammed his hands, palms down on the little, cracked wooden table making the coffee cup sway left and right, more coffee spilling out, making a hot puddle around his fingers.

"Dean?"

He could hear his brother's voice, deep and concerned somewhere in the space of the room, but he couldn't grab hold of it and use it as a focus point, like he usually did.

He blinked, trying to get rid of the fogginess that was eating up the edges of his vision, but it wasn't helping. There was fog; thick whiteness around the edges of what he could see ... it was coming closer, blurring everything.

He tried to stand up from the chair, leaning on his splayed hands and kicking the chair away to crash against the wall. He was swaying, wavering, gravity - or something else - pulling his ass down to the floor.

"Ssss'mmyyyh..." he slurred and blinked again, but the fogginess was still there and it was moving now. One second the table was a blur, the next he could see it clearly again ... the changes were so rapid, it was making him dizzy, stomach rolling and he gagged.

He was going to die. Whatever was in that coffee, he was going to die.

"Dean, hey, hey, Dean!"

He was by Dean's side as soon as the ratty chair shattered at the impact with the wall. His brother was a strong son of a bitch even when compromised.

He took two long steps towards his brother and grabbed him by the hand that was reaching out into space. The other hand, he had to unglue its palm from the pooling coffee.

"Dean, 'm sorry, but you're gonna be okay. Alright? You're gonna be just fine, I promise. Okay?"

"Sss'mmm?"

Dean's eyes were unfocused, pupils blown wide, all black, no green left. Little drops of sweat were starting to appear above his upper lip and at his temples, but sweat was okay. Sweat would help the poison move out of his brother's system.

"Yeah, man, 's me, come on, it's okay, trust me. Come on."

He gripped his brother's hand, fingers intertwined and hissed when Dean squeezed, grinding the bones in their fingers together. But that was okay.

He pulled and pushed his brother the three stumbling steps towards the cot in the room. He threw him on it: "Stay here, okay. Don't move." and grabbed his phone.

Bobby's number was on speed dial. And the man was probably waiting with his finger on the answer button.

"It's done. He's ... he drank it." he threw the phone on the table and sat down beside his brother.

Dean was so going to kick his ass to next year, when he would come back to himself.

He let his head fall between his shoulders and sighed.

It was gonna be a long night.

And the one chair in the entire place was broken.

It was broken.

But his brother wouldn't break.

He'd made sure of that.

TBC...

CHAPTER 2b _II_CHAPTER 4

A/N: This chapter finally has The Line that 'inspired' this story in the first place. LOL took me awhile to get here, oops.

Comments

[soncnica.livejournal.com]

Sorry that you had to reread the fic ... I know it's been awhile since I updated this and it can be a bit annoying to go back and refresh your memory...

In S2, (well and now too)the boys were still .. the boys and they would do anything for each other and I see Sam do anything to help his brother .... no matter what. :) And he knows, because while Dean is a master of hiding things, he can't hide from Sam ... Sam doesn't know for sure what is making Dean so weird, but he knows it's something ...

Oh for sure Dean would save Sam .. with his life, which he does in the end ... but he can't be alone, he can't let Sam die ... that's not in Dean... and his Dad's words haunt him!

ooooo LOL, my evil plan is working ... sweetie, you disappoint me ... of course I'd NEVER get rid of Dean's pain THAT easily ... that's idk, bad writing LOL ... if just one potion would heal all wounds! ya know!? bad, bad, lazy writing:)) *evil, evil laughter*

there will be more suffering Dean in the next chapter! *giggles*

Thank you! )

S.

[one-d-mouse.livejournal.com]

Yum yum! I love this! I love the anticipation of whatever agony Dean with have to endure. I love drugged!Dean collapsing! I love the classic "coffee ain't coffee" line!

I can't wait till the next part.

[soncnica.livejournal.com]

Hey :)
Thank you so much for reading :) 'm so happy you're loving this :) whooot :)
I love writing stories where the tension builds and builds and the anticipation is so strong, it feels like it'll snap at any moment... love doing that and so happy you enjoyed reading it :)

there will be more drugged!Dean and more collapsing and more pain and, uh, stuff :)

Thank you so much! :)

S.

[ferrous-wheeler.livejournal.com]

Dean may not be happy with being drugged, but it sounds better than going through the whole bleeding/pain/curse thing. Sam is awesome... and sneaky ;)
Great update!

[soncnica.livejournal.com]

Hahah yeah, Dean will not be happy ... because it was done without his permission and well, if he knew what the potion Sam gave him would do to him, he would say no. So Sam had to be sneaky, for Dean's own good! :-) and poor Dean, he is not out of the woods yet! :-) still more to come!

Thank you for reading! :-):-)

S.

I want more!

[(Anonymous)]

Hi,

I am so loving this story, and I just got to the part where things would get nasty for Dean but I cannot open the next chapter. There is a chapter 4 with a stripe through it an I don't understand because you said the story was complete. Please tell me what to do so I can read the other chapters I so looking forward to reading them!!!

Love Patricia

Re: I want more!

[soncnica.livejournal.com]

hi! :)

thank you so much for being interested in more :) awesome, thank you! :))
And I promise you, things will get plenty nasty for Dean in the next chapter, which will be up AFTER May 1st!
I'm writing my spn_j2 big bang, and drafts are in May 1st, so after that date, I'll finish this story up - the story is complete, I just have to edit/fix grammar mistakes in the last 2 chapters :) :)

thank you!!! hope to see you back sometime in May :)

hugs
S.