soncnica | Shut The Gates At Sunset 5/21 (Reply)

Title: Shut The Gates At Sunset 5/21
Author: soncnica
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: gen, h/c
Characters: Dean, Sam
Word count: cca. 2.383 this chapter, the whole story has around 48.040 words.
Summary: Shut the gates at sunset, after that you can't get out. A case finds Sam.
Spoilers: Umm S1?
Warnings: Maybe I can warn for catatonia and abuse but not Sam or Dean... and dunno, blood lose. And Sam has a lot of erm embarassing moments in this fic. Poor kiddo, I made him suffer from something kinda... odd. Let's call it... supernatural injury.
Disclaimer: I seriously only own the grammar/spelling mistakes. Everything else is not mine!
A/N: The title and well the summary come from a song called Enjoy The Ride by Morcheeba. Erm, the song has nothing to do with the story, I just thought it would be an appropriate uh name for it.

The drizzle stopped. Just like that. It just stopped. All rain stops at some point, right? All thunder loses its sound, all lightning loses its light, right? Everything loses its energy at some point, right?

The darkness stayed though. The mud stayed too. And the light in the Impala stayed. The trees stayed. The cold stayed. And while Sam was losing every ounce of energy, Dean stayed.

As soon as Sam felt the bandage being tied, he ran out of the car. His long legs slipped on the floor bringing him to his knees and that was it. That was the very last drop that sent him into surrender. He slid to the floor, his hands dug themselves into the wet ground, mud now, and grabbed fistful of it. He could feel his wrist being cut open, dividing, pulling apart, blood oozing out, soaking the newly wrapped bandage. He didn't care, it could get infected, he could bleed to death and he just couldn't care less.

A silent cry reached Dean's ears, his hands were still in midair when his eyes sought out Sam on all four beside the open door.

"Sam!"

Sam felt his knees getting wet and he shivered when a strong blow of wind curled around him. He could feel everything draining out of him, down his lap, down on the already soaked ground. Tears stung his eyes, lightly falling down his cheeks, no way of stopping it. No strength to stop it. Not even willpower. In his mind, everything just stopped.

Dean was crouching next to Sam faster than Sam could register. One hand made its way onto Sam's back, the other one going past Sam's head to his arm. He tried to pull him up from the ground but Sam wouldn't budge.

"Sam? Sammy, hey. Come on get up."

"Don't." the misery in his breathless croak made Dean twitch.

"Sam? Don't what?"

He searched Sam's face for something, anything that would give him a clue as to what was happening. After the second it took for his eyes to adjust to the faint light, he saw it. Tears that led to embarrassment and shame bathing in his eyes.

"Sammy?"

The name was a distraction to give Sam while he searched his body for any indication of where the shame came from.

Sam felt like he was swimming, thoughts in his head degraded to a buzz in his ears, Dean's voice a safeguard of his sanity. He felt Dean's hands' making their way up and down his body, searching for injuries, the voice returning only when none could be found.

"Oh…" there was a hint of surprise in his voice. He couldn't hide it and Sam figured Dean found the source of his shame.

"I'm sorry." his head fell down in plain misery, eyes lost behind his hair.

"Yeah, no, no, it's okay. I'll go find you a new pair of pants," he pressed his hands tighter around Sam's head, making him to look up, "you'll change and it'll be fine. It happens, Sam. It's fine."

His heart was braking to pieces, at the sight of his brother. Drained, loosing his will like this... it wasn't like Sam. Far from that. He gave him a reassuring smile and got up. The look of appreciation on his brothers face pulled Dean into action. He used to do this when Sam was a baby, he could do this again now, when Sam was a man.

Dragging him those few inches to lean him against the side of the Impala, took minutes in Dean's head.

"Don't slide off." he warned Sam with a soft pat on his chest.

Sam nodded and put his hands on his muddy knees, head down and just breathed. That little action had two consequences. The first one was an unbearable pain that shot from his wrist up his arm, down his spine and landed in his stomach. The second one was the stench that came from his jeans making him dizzy, a reminder of the little 'accident', he hoped Dean would never bring up again.

"Oh shit," was all Sam got to say before his knees buckled and he came to meet the floor in a whole new way. The noise the mud made when he collided with it traveled to his ears, the softness of the wet cold ground made a lovely bed to rest on.

"Sammy?"

The voice came from behind the car, and that was all Sam heard before the blissful emptiness took him into his embrace. Nothing was there, no cold, no water, no pain, no voices, no breaths, nothing.

"Sam, nonono, come on. Wake up. Sam!"

But Dean knew Sam was out. Out cold on the cold, cold, ground.

-:-

"De…n…"

The whispered breath of his name made Dean jump.

He was sitting next to Sam on the motel bed with the soft light as his only company while Sam was unconscious. It was a little faded, obscured with the dead flies that had found their resting place inside the bulb. It made Sam look like he was dead. He looked dead the whole ride to the motel and lying there on the bed, Dean found himself checking his pulse every few minutes to convince himself Sam was still alive. Still here. Everything 's fine. Just fine.

"Hey, Sam, hey, wake up." he tried with a soft voice.

He reached his hand to Sam's shoulder giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Sammy hey wake up, come on. Just don't move, alright? Just lay still,okay?" a quiet voice that wouldn't even wake up the dead.

"Wha…?"

He felt it then. The stinging pain around his wrist. He smelled the antiseptic. He saw Dean's eyes in full doctor mode and he raised himself from the bed as much as he could. His right hand was pinned beneath Dean's, the touch soothed some of the pain.

"Whoa Sam, hey, stop. Don't move."

With a swift motion he pinned Sam's right hand to the bed with his knee and tried to grab his flailing hands. Sam was in full blown panic.

"Dean, shit," blowing a few breaths out, "it hurts, stop, please, please," Dean's hand on his chest pushed him back on the bed, "oh fuck."

"'S alright, Sammy. 'S okay, just lay back for me, alright?" he lingered his hand on Sam's chest a second longer just to feel him alive under his touch.

The hazy look Sam wore made Dean think, hope, Sam would fall unconscious again.

"We've done this a million times before Sam, just calm down."

"Yeah, 's just..." he raised his left hand to his forehead and covered his eyes, his face contorted into a grimace, almost on the verge of crying, wiping sweat of his brow, then flopping it back on the bed: "Just give me a sec."

"I had to do it, Sam, you were bleeding all over the place, and you being unconscious…I seized the chance. I have to be careful with this, the wrist… it's a sensitive area to sew up."

"Yeah, 's fine. I just need a second."

"I have to finish, you know that, right?"

He raised his eyebrow and looked sympathetically at Sam.

The silence was a strange kind of an answer, but Dean took it. His hands were covered in Sam's blood, still oozing from the wrist. The needle and thread gripped firmly between his fingers, and he waited.

Sam's eyes were closed, his left hand resting next to his hip, the soft light made him look too young, too battered, growing up too fast. After a few slow breaths Dean had to know.

"Sam?"

"Still here."

"I have to finish."

A soft plea he wished he didn't have to make.

"I know."

No permission to go ahead and finish the job. He would never betray Sam's trust and attack him with pain, if Sam wasn't ready.

"Sam?"

"Yeeeeeaaah." A dragged breath that almost sounded like a word.

"Now would be great."

"I never thought," he opened his eyes, tears forming in the corners, and looked at Dean, "this could hurt so much. But I've had worse, right?"

"Yeah, Sammy."

Dean tried to count all the times he'd done this. Sewing up his brother. Too many, just way too many times.

"Well you've been out of commission for four years. No wonder you got soft."

"Funny."

Sam quickly assessed his body and the first thing he noticed, besides the wrist, was that he felt different. Dry.

"Did you," stumbling with the right words, his eyes grew darker and smaller, trying to hide, "change me?"

Dean looked up from Sam's wrist and saw a hint of shame in those brown orbs.

"Well, you smelled," it wasn't easy on me neither, Sam, "like the toilet and you were shivering and I…"

"Just finish it." it was said harshly as embarrassment he couldn't even define crept to his face followed by a blush, he knew wouldn't disappear soon enough.

"Sure."

And he began again. The slow familiar flow of the needle, almost mesmerizing him if it wasn't for Sam's trembling fingers fisting the bed sheet for distraction. Low moaning sounds and hisses from Sam, that just Dean couldn't take anymore, awoke a need to soothe in him.

"Just a few more. You'll be fine and then we'll figure this out. Just breathe through it, yeah?"

"Oh God." was his only response to his brothers suggestion.

It hurt to breathe, it hurt to lie down, it throbbed and it stung and it burned. His wrist, his bladder, his head, everything.

Dean concentrated on the thread making its way in and out of Sam's skin. In and out in harmony with Sam's squeezing of the sheet. In, squeeze, out, release, in, squeeze, out, release, in, squeeze, out, release.

The skin was thin, the veins too visible, like rivers of blood making his job of sewing his brother back together way to difficult. He could feel Sam's heartbeat under his fingers where he held Sam's hand down. Te coppery smell of blood filled his nostrils and he tried hard not to gag.

The kid blended with the bed. If Sam hadn't been wearing his green shirt, which collided with the whiteness of the bed, he would have thought Sam was the bed. Lost too much fluid, too much blood.

"You have to breathe Sam." he chuckled a little, but it was no matter to laugh about. In went another stitch.

"Mhm."

"Do you have to go to the bathroom?"

He really hoped not.

"Yeah." he was sore, tired, hurt, smelly, sleepy, bloody, muddy, and he really needed to pee. No need in hiding the fact.

"Can you hang on? I have 4 stitches to do, maybe 5 because of your little rise and shine episode back there."

"Mhm." he put his hand to his forehead again, running his fingers through his hair and trying not to think about the stinging pain on his wrist and the pain in his bladder.

"Just a little more." he stuck out his tongue and made another stitch.

"Dean, now!" he could feel his bladder about to explode, urine already making his appearance.

The scream shook him, and the needle fell from his trembling fingers.

"You can't go to the bathroom with your wrist half stitched and bleeding, Sam."

Knocking on Sam's logical side softly, Dean grabbed the needle again and resumed his task.

Sam tried to stand up slowly but Dean's hand on his chest stopped him.

"I have to get up."

Breathless words made their way out of his mouth, his eyes fixed on Dean, pleading to let him up, job finished or not.

"It hurts if I lay down." he sucked it in, not wanting to pee his pants again. Ever.

"Sam, just one more stitch and… here. See? That wasn't so bad."

The eyeroll Sam gave him was the only answer he got.

Leaving the wrist unbandaged he ran towards the bathroom. He could feel his bladder emptying and he let out a sigh of relief. He knew it would last for only a few minutes but he would even take seconds right now.

"You really need to learn how to pee in a bottle, man," were the first words that came out of Dean's mouth when Sam stepped out of the bathroom.

"Shut up."

"Washed your hands?"

"Bite me."

"Fine."

Dean had already stored away the sewing kit and had a new bandage ready for the wrist, whose owner stood in the middle of the room looking lost and unsure of what to do next.

"Come here." he patted the bed with his hand and waved the bandage in front of his face.

Sam dropped on the bed and breathed out loud.

"Give me your hand."

"Yeah." he gave his hand into Deans and waited for him to begin.

"So what's the plan?" he tried to hide the pain behind a stern voice but failed miserably.

"Well, tomorrow... ehh... I mean today, we'll go there and we'll see if anyone knows this Ryan guy and we'll take it from there." he pretended not to hear the pain bathing in Sam's voice.

"What if they won't let us see him, Dean?" he looked at his brother with eyes behind his hair, trying to hide the embarrassment so evidently in them.

"We'll improvise." Dean looked at Sam and saw what Sam was trying to hide.

"Here you go, nice, fresh and clean." he released Sam's hand.

Sam ran his hand through his hair, dividing the muddy locks and sighed in frustration.

"You need a shower man."

Sam was covered in mud that was slowly drying on his face.

"I need sleep more."

Well I never thought you'll admit that.

"I know, but you really smell, dude, you have mud all over your face and unless you want me to take another room…" he was roughly interrupted by Sam's: "Well there's a thought.", but that didn't put him off stream, "you're taking that shower and nice try," a smile tugged his lips upwards, "but no." He dropped Sam's hand on the bed and got up.

"Here," he shoved a plastic bag in Sam's lap, "put this on your hand and go or I swear I'll use all the hot water next time."

TBC...

CHAPTER 6: http://soncnica.livejournal.com/6050.html#cutid1