A Multifandom Collection of Short Stories

11: Family Don't End In Blood; Part 2

I don't wake up in the basement room this time. I'm on a worn, yet soft couch. I look up and see a desk cluttered with books, faded red wallpaper, stacks of books and other things all over the floor. Castiel and Dean are not in view, but Sam and Bobby are talking over beers in the adjoining kitchen.

"Sam," I groan. He turns around and when he sees me awake, he rushes to my side.

"Jones! How are you feeling?" he asks.

"Fine, I guess." I try to sit up, but cry out as the pain in my leg becomes unbearable. "Okay, maybe not."

"Just stay down okay?" I nod in compliance, grimacing as I lay my head back down. I moan softly as the pain subsides. Sam moves to the kitchen and pours a drink and grabs a bottle of painkillers.

"Here, take these." He hands me the items. I peer at the mysterious amber liquid in the glass.

"Alcohol?" I ask.

"Whiskey. It has a...numbing quality." He offers a crooked smile and helps me open the medicine bottle. He takes two out and places them in the palm of my hand. I take them with the whiskey and then cough repeatedly. The liquid burns my throat slightly, and the coughing makes my body tense, causing ripples of pain up and down my leg. I groan as the medicine begins to take effect. I down the rest of the whiskey and lay my head back on the arm of the couch. My throat burns slightly from the alcohol, and my head starts to feel bubbly. While I sit completely still, hoping for sleep, Dean reenters without Cas. He whispers to Sam and Bobby, at least I think it's whispering; I can't hear much anymore. I try to stand, managing to sit up at an odd angle. All I feel in my leg is a slight tingle.

"Dean!" My voice slurs. I probably shouldn't have drank the rest of that whiskey. "I missed you." I stand, but fall back onto the couch.

"Really, Sam?" I barely hear Dean say. "Alcohol?"

"That's what I said," I say. I pat the spot next to me. "Come sit down, Dean. You should rest. Where's Cas?" Dean walks over to me, but doesn't sit down or answer my question. He coaxes me to lay down, and lays a blanket over me. I'm instantly out, the effect of the drugs and alcohol weighing me down into unconsciousness.

I wake up on the couch again. This time the light outside the windows is gone. I sit up and see Bobby folded over his desk, sleeping, a book open under his head. I stand and cross to the desk. Glancing at the page, I see a man with solid black eyes. I shudder at the memories coming back to me. Looking at the clock, I notice it's about dawn.

I ascend the stairs quietly, testing each one for creaks before stepping on them. I get upstairs, and walk down the hall. I crack the first door open. Sam is sprawled out on a bed, fully clothed, asleep. Light glints off the silver handle of the pistol under his pillow. His hand rests right next to it. He lets out a quiet snore and I shut the door, careful to not make any noise. I check the rest of the rooms looking to see if anyone is up. When I find Dean also asleep, I go back downstairs. Finding the first aid kit Sam used to bandage my leg, I sit in one of the kitchen chairs. I peel back the bloody bandage and throw it away. Looking at my leg, I begin to assess it.

The wound is assorted shades of red and pink, the skin puckered around the thread going in and out. I gag at the state of the wound. I treat it, biting down on my lip, drawing blood. I wrap a new, clean, white bandage around my leg, tightening it. I groan as I finally relax.