More Than a Feeling

Chapter 9

"Sam?"

"Dean!"

In one stride, Sam was inside, hugging his brother. While they embraced, Ruthie put her hand to her mouth and tried to swallow the hard lump in her throat.

She'd known it was Sam, of course. She would never have told some random person about Dean. She wasn't an idiot, even though he seemed to assume she was. Sam had come into the pharmacy while she was talking with the pharmacist. He looked exhausted, shaggy and stiff, baggy eyes and scruffy whiskers. Like someone who'd been up all night, worrying. He'd set off all her Spidey senses. She'd gone right up to him and asked if his name was Sam. The sudden rush of color that had flushed his drawn face when she'd told him Dean was okay, the spark that lit his eyes from inside...she wouldn't forget it any time soon.

She probably should have put Dean out of his misery immediately, but she just couldn't help teasing him. He made it so easy.

Besides, it felt like so long since she'd had anyone to tease. Or talk to at all, for that matter.

Sam released Dean and shut the door. "So where were you? What happened?"

Ruthie grabbed the bag of supplies she'd bought at the pharmacy. "You can interrogate him while I patch him up, okay? Dean, sit down." She punctuated the order with a jab of her finger toward the nearest bed.

Sam's eyebrows arched high on his forehead, and he watched for Dean's response.

"Bossy, isn't she?" Dean said. But he obeyed.

Ruthie helped Dean out of the flannel and then, more carefully, the black t-shirt. He winced as the fabric grazed his chest. Ruthie stripped off his clumsy tape and pulled away the bloodied gauze.

Sam stepped forward, his forehead creased now. "Oh my God, Dean." His eyes snapped from the five red furrows to his brother's face. "Did it—?"

"Bite me? No."

Ruthie used a cotton pad to soak up the blood oozing from four ripped stitches, trying to keep her fascination from showing on her face. These guys were werewolf hunters. Oh, and vampire and zombie hunters. A shiver shook through her, and Dean looked up questioningly. "Chilly," she lied.

"Tell me you got it," Sam said.

"I got it. About an hour ago."

Sam frowned.

Dean started at the beginning, and for the first time, Ruthie heard how he'd ended up unconscious in her back yard. While he spoke, she cleaned the dried blood off him again. Stitched his laceration again—this time with unwaxed dental floss. She couldn't recall any other patient with such a high tolerance for pain. He seemed barely to notice the in and out of her needle, the floss drawing his torn skin tight over the deep slashes. The constellation of scars scattered across his arms and torso suggested that pain was a regular part of his life. He'd have impressive new ones added to the collection now.

"By the time I woke up in her cabin, the storm was over. I was stuck there."

Ruthie glanced up from positioning fresh gauze over Dean's chest. Sam was looking at her.

"Yeah," he told Dean. "I bet you were miserable."

"Hey, all I wanted the whole time was to find you." Dean jerked his head at Ruthie. "Tell him."

"It's true," she said, and Dean gave his brother a smug look. She smoothed on the last of the tape, took a seat on the edge of the bed, and gave Sam a smirk of her own. "Although it didn't seem to affect his appetite."