Damages, for gluisa88

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Title: Damages
Recipient: gluisa88
Rating: PG 13
Word Count: ~4500
Warnings: violence, torture, permanent injury, medical themes.

Author’s Notes: Written for the prompt: Dean is abducted and held captive/tortured. I want to see a fic set after he’s rescued (or at least half of the fic set post-rescue) I want to see permanent injury due to torture. Although, preferably no paralysis.
My muse instantly latched onto this prompt and the core idea of the story was born within minutes of receiving the email! Thanks to glouisa88 for the awesome idea and I hope this meets your expectations! And of course thanks to my beta… you know who you are!

Summary: Hunting isn't always black and white and not everything is what it seems. A long forgotten hunt comes back to haunt Dean and the consequences are dire when he is captured and tortured. Set in Season 2.



Damages

Sam moved his long limbs into a different position, trying to find the least uncomfortable spot on this atrocity of a chair. He’d always wondered why hospitals didn’t provide better chairs for visitors. Seriously, were they looking to create more patients? Cause his back was definitely complaining. He rolled his shoulders to give his tense muscles some relief and leant back. Temporary satisfied with his new position, his eyes moved back to the single bed in the room. A bed that was surrounded by more medical equipment than he ever wanted to see again. And in the middle of all the monitors, cables and tubes was his older brother, lying unnaturally still. The only sign that he was still alive was the regular beeping of the heart monitor. The sight brought back memories that were still too fresh in his mind. Of Dean almost dying. Of dad actually dying.

The young hunter took a shaky breath; this was his fault. He should have found Dean sooner, could have moved faster, maybe then…. But he didn’t and hadn’t and now his brother had to face the consequences of his failure. If he survived. The doctors still refused to commit to any kind of prognosis, even three days after they had admitted him to the trauma ICU. We need to wait and see, they said, wait how his body recovers from the trauma, see if he can fight his way back.

Dean was on a ventilator to assist him to recover from a collapsed lung that had turned into a fully blown pneumonia over the last two days. The doctors had spent several hours in the operating theater, fixing the internal damage to his chest, caused by broken, no, shattered ribs that had pierced his lungs. He was in a weakened state due to malnutrition and dehydration, and was getting fluids and antibiotics through numerous IV lines.

But the worst of all was his right hand, which was buried under a huge ball of gauze. The thought alone of what lay beneath these bandages made Sam cringe. He reached forward and grabbed Dean’s left hand, squeezing it lightly between his palms. It felt too warm; evidence of the high fever that had a tight grip on his brother’s mangled body.

“Come on Dean, you can’t leave me now. Not like this. After dad…it’s just you and me, man, I need you.”

But there was no reaction from his brother. No twitch of fingers, no change in heart rate. With a worried sigh, Sam continued his silent vigil.

“Mr. Harrison?” Sam was startled by the sudden voice. Remembering that this was their current alias, he looked up to see one of Dean’s doctors standing next to him, a thick file in his hands.

“Uhm, Dr. Stevens, right?” The other man nodded. “How is Dean? When is he going to wake up?”

“Mr. Harrison…”

“Sam, please.”

“Ok, Sam, your brother is doing better, his fever broke a few hours ago and the antibiotics appear to work. He is fighting his way back, against all odds, if I may say so. He has surprised me and most of my colleagues. You should be proud of him.” Sam felt relief flood through him and allowed himself a cautious smile. “What we need to decide now is when to start surgery on his hand. As I told you before, the damage is extensive and if left untreated, he will certainly lose all functionality. Even with reconstructive surgery, the recovery will only be partial, the damage is too great for anything more, you have to be aware of that. That being said, time is an issue, and the longer we wait, the greater the loss of functionality will be.”

Sam was dizzy. He knew that the damage to his brother’s hand was extensive, but he never expected there to be a permanent disability. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“It is a tricky decision. The surgery will pose a massive strain on his body, and until now he was not strong enough to make it through. Now, I believe he might.”

“Might?” echoed Sam. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. Dean needs to be operated on his hand, otherwise he won’t be able to use it ever again, but he might not make it through surgery because he is still very sick?”

“Pretty much, yes. And as his only relative, the decision lays with you.”

Sam closed his eyes, fighting the panic that was rising through him. How could he make that decision? What would Dean want him to do? Well, the answer to that question was clear; he would rather die than being disabled!

After a long break, he answered in a soft voice: “Do it. My brother is a very active man; the total loss of his hand would hit him extremely hard. He would want to take any risk to regain as much movement as possible.” Sam stopped and raised his gaze to the doctor. “Please do everything you can to save him. He’s – he’s all I got left.”

xxx

Pain, or rather the absence of which, was the first thing that Dean noticed. It took him a moment to orientate himself, obviously he was no longer in the cave, the dampness was gone, as well as the hard surface. The annoying beeping sound that woke him up clued the hunter in to where exactly he was. Hospital. So he’d made it out. Dean opened his eyes, but immediately squinted them shut against the brightness that invaded his sight. He could hear voices, but they were strangely muffled and he couldn’t make out any words.

He pushed himself harder towards consciousness and suddenly the voices were a lot closer. Dean strained his ears to make sense of the noises and then he recognized the one right next to him.

“…can you hear me? We found you, you’re safe. Dean? Come on, open your eyes for me bro.”

And that did it. The concern that was so clear in his brother’s voice pulled him all the way out of the blackness. He opened his eyes and was rewarded with two frantic hazel globes starring right back at him.

“S’m.” he croaked, unable to speak any more than. Sam’s face broke into a relieved smile as his eyes softened.

“Hey. Good to have you back.” Dean responded with what he hoped was a smile. He was still far from being fully awake and simply keeping his eyes open took all his strength. His brother must have recognized this.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up again.” Dean wanted to stay awake, stay with his brother, but gravity started to pull on his heavy eyelids and he gave up his futile resistance.

He had no idea how much time had passed before he opened his eyes again, but now he felt a lot more alert. And he could also feel an unexpected weight on his bed, which on closer inspection turned out to be his not quite so little brother who rested his arms and head onto Dean’s leg, sleeping soundly.

A fond smile blossoming over his tired face, Dean took the time to take an inventory of his own body. He wasn’t in pain, and the fuzzy drugged feeling in his head told him why. Now that he was fully alert, his memory of the past events returned, the vivid pictures forever engraved into his mind. He stole a quick glance down to his right hand, afraid of what he would find, but all he saw was a large metal contraption, with several rods disappearing into white gauze that covered the entire area where he knew his hand was.

Dean winced at the sight. Deep inside, he knew that the injury was beyond repair, but up until now he had hoped that all of it had been nothing but a bad dream. That he would wake up and find his hand intact. But then, he was a Winchester, he’d never get that lucky… He sunk back into the pillows with a sense of defeat.

The motion was enough to wake up Sam, who jerked upright alarmingly fast and almost fell out of his chair when he saw Dean awake and alert.

“Hey, good to see you finally awake!”

“I could say the same thing, sleepyhead.” Dean replied cheerfully. Or at least he tried to. He wasn’t too sure how much of it actually was audible, his throat felt like sandpaper. He gratefully took the glass of water that Sam offered him.

“Better?”

“Much.” He looked around, trying to figure out what time of day - or night - it was, but the room was void of any windows. “How long was I out?”

Sam actually flinched at that question. “It’s been ten days since you disappeared.” Dean’s eyes widened. “You’ve been in a medically induced coma for almost six of those and it’s been about five hours since you first woke up. Which makes it just past 2 in the morning right now.” Well, that explained Sam’s sleepy eyes and the general look of exhaustion. Six days! He could only imagine what Sam had gone through in that time.

“You should go back to sleep.” Dean prompted, then paused and took another look at his sibling. Sam was bristling with curiosity, eager to get all the details; there was no way he would sleep now. And as expected, Sam simply shook his head.

“So, how much do you remember? About, you know…”

Dean furrowed his brows, as if pondering the question. He remembered most of it, certainly the juicy bits, but Sam didn’t need to know that. So he went for avoidance.

“The end is a bit fuzzy… how did you find me?”

“I- I didn’t.” Dean turned his head sharply, a motion he immediately regretted as pain spiked in his skull and looked up at his brother. He didn’t like the look of guilt he saw.

“I’m sorry man, I tried everything to find you, but you just vanished. And then- I- Dean when the cops called me that you had been found, I was so incredibly relieved…”

“Hold up, you called the cops? Sam, we never involve the cops on hunts! Especially not since St. Louis!” He couldn’t believe it. This was one of the rules that dad had drilled into them countless times, whatever happened, never involve any official body if you don’t have to.

“Don’t worry, I gave them a fake name and a pretty vague description. We’re good.” Sam looked down, and Dean could see that he was mustering up the courage to continue. “You were gone for days! Days, and I had jack squat on who took you or where you went. I had to do something.”

Dean softened; he’d never been able to be mad at Sam for any extended period of time. The kid was his weak spot. “Hmm, guess so. But if you didn’t find me, how did I get out?”

“No one knows. No one even knows who or what took you… they just found you on a remote street, barely alive. No signs of any supernatural activity in the area, I checked. Dean, what was it? What did this to you?”

But Dean only shook his head, holding in the memories, trying to forget. “It’s dead, Sam. I killed it, that much I remember, and then somehow I must’ve made my way out. That’s all that matters. It’s dead and I’m still here.”

xxx

Dean woke up with a start. It took him only fractions of a second to realize that he was no longer on his way back to the motel where Sam was waiting. He was sitting in a chair, and as he tried to move, he noticed the sturdy bindings that held him in place. A tentative tug proved futile, so a quick escape was not in the books.

“Hello Dean. I guess you don’t remember me, my name is Milton.”

His head turned around towards the voice. A middle aged man stepped into sight, but Dean couldn’t place him. He frowned. That guy knew his name? Who was he? The name didn’t ring a bell, and anyway, since when did the monsters use names?

“Isn’t that the name of a horse?” He looked human enough, but Dean knew quite a few creatures that looked perfectly ordinary. He looked around, trying to gain some more intel from his surroundings, but all he saw was a bright light right in front of him, the rest of the space remained in dark shadows.

“Leave your sarcasm, Winchester, it won’t work on me. The guts you have to come back to this town… unbelievable. But then again, it allows me to finally get my revenge.”

“Hold up, this town?” He strained his memory, had he been here before? “Oh yeah, right, I was here a couple of years ago, few towns over, hunting a werewolf… crazy bitch...” He smiled as he remembered the fierce fight. The pack had been easy to kill, but the newest member, a young girl, had been a tough opponent.

His last comment triggered the guy. His calm demeanor was gone, instead he glared at Dean in pure hatred. “That was my daughter, my sweet little Jenny. And you killed here right in front of my eyes.” He stepped closer to the helpless hunter, taking a threatening stance right in front of Dean.

“Wow, easy there! She was a werewolf, a monster. If I hadn’t shot her, she would have attacked you. I saved your life, man! And instead of a thank you card I get this??” Dean couldn’t believe it. He remembered now. The girl was about to attack her family when he finally caught up to her and shot a silver bullet through her heart.

“My little girl would never have hurt me!”

“Listen to me, Milton, she wasn’t your girl any more. She got turned into a monster and that was neither your fault nor mine. Jenny was long gone before I even arrived. But she would have hurt you and many other people if I hadn’t done what I did!”

The guy flipped. “NO! I could have saved her. Could have found a cure for her…”

“I’m sorry you lost your daughter, I truly am, but the only cure for a werewolf is a silver bullet through the heart.”

But Milton shook his head, grief and loneliness had messed with his perception of the events, and logic was taken over by insanity. His eyes took a dangerous gleam. “You took her from me. And now I will teach you how much it hurts when the one you love the most is ripped away from you. As you don’t have anyone, I will damage the one thing that defines you, your ability to kill.”

Dean realized that the idiot thought he worked alone. He didn’t know about Sam, so there was a good chance that his brother would eventually find him. He only needed to hold on long enough. But with no idea what Milton was planning, he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Monsters he could gauge, but humans were completely unpredictable for him. He didn’t need to guess for long, his captor continued his monologue, voice now void of any emotion, and his movements had become calm, precise and strangely analytical.

“You know that I am a plastic surgeon? I used to specialize on reconstructive surgery. The human hand is one of our most delicate and at the same time most used limbs. And if you know how, it is surprisingly easy to cause severe damage with just a tiny scalpel and a few other selected tools...”

Dean remained stoic, but he felt panic rise and doubled his efforts on loosening the ropes around his arms. Milton may be crazy, but he had no doubt that the guy knew exactly what he was doing. He needed to get out of here, and fast! The hunter watched as Milton took two shiny metal tools, remotely resembling a hammer and chisel, and moved them to his restrained right hand. Without warning the chisel rammed into his thump, breaking the last bone in the digit clear into two, without even breaking the skin.

Dean gritted his teeth in anticipation, but nothing could have prepared him for the agony that shot up through his immobile limb and he could not stop himself from screaming: “Son of a bitch!”


He woke up with a gasp, looking into the worried face of his baby brother. Just a dream, he told himself, get a grip Winchester, it was just a bad memory. Breathing heavily, he wrestled his emotions down and locked them deep inside his own mind. Instead he put up the mask of the fearless hunter that he liked to show to everyone around him. The one that clearly read as: I’m fine, just leave me alone.

But this was Sam standing in front of him, and his annoying brother knew him too well to believe the lie. He also was a big believer in all of this ‘talk about your feelings’ crap. Dean had enough of it. After all, it was his life that was ruined, so according to him, everyone else should just give him a break. This was his third day in the hospital that he was awake, and that was about the maximum he could take before going nuts.

“Hey… bad dream?”

“Nah, no more than usual. S’all good, Sammy.”

“Come on Dean, don’t shut me out, you gotta…”

“Gotta do what, Sam? Huh? Lean on your shoulder and cry? Be a good boy and pretend that somehow everything is going to be ok? That this isn’t the end of my life as a hunter? Well, newsflash, genius, it is over! So why don’t you just go back to Stanford, like you always wanted, and forget about all this shit! I don’t need your help and I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“Dean…”

“Get out Sam, I want to be alone!”

Dean collapsed against the pillows and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to push Sam away, but he couldn’t talk about what had happened to him. The pictures in his mind…there were no words to describe how he had felt when Milton slowly and deliberately broke every single bone in his hand. No words for the white hot pain that shot through his arm as the tendons were severed, one by one, slowly. Accompanied by endless lectures of how each cut would impact the mobility of his fingers. By the time this task was complete, Dean had barely been conscious, still he had somehow managed to slip his mangled hand through the bindings, and free himself.

Dean felt hot tears stream down his cheeks, as the vivid memories played in his mind. The slow and deliberate torture had done something to him that he could not put in words. He’d been broken, and not just in a physical way. Unbeknownst to him, his tears were mirrored by Sam, who sat alone in the hallway, feeling utterly exhausted and helpless.

xxx

It was several hours before Sam finally returned, but it was obvious that he was still upset. But he wasn’t pushing any more, which Dean appreciated. He knew that his brother deserved the truth, but talking about it was not something he was comfortable with. However, the silent treatment he received from Sam began to grate on his nerves in no time. It wasn’t so much that his brother had stopped talking; it was the indifference with which Sam treated him. Almost like a stranger. And even though he knew that this was simply one of his baby brother’s tactics, it wore him down pretty damn quick. Eventually,
Dean caved.

“It wasn’t a monster.” He said softly, almost to himself.

“What?” Sam replied, startled at the sudden words that broke the heavy silence.

“It wasn’t a monster.” Dean repeated. “It was just a guy. While you were at Stanford I had a solo hunt here. Werewolves. Turns out, one of them was freshly turned and had family around here. I remember her, she was barely seventeen. But I had to put her down. Her father never forgave me for killing her. So when he saw me back in town, he figured he could finally get his revenge. Of course, it’s just my luck that the guy happens to be a plastic surgeon – and a psychopath. He grabbed me when I was on my way back from the diner, I should’ve been more vigilant, but he just snuck up on me. Woke up in a cave, cold and damp and tied to a damn chair.”

Watching the horror in Sam’s eyes almost made Dean stop halfway through his tale. But he knew he would never open his mouth about these events again, so he pushed himself to finish it. At least then Sam would leave him alone.

“He taunted me, Sam, gloated about what he was going to do and how he wouldn’t kill me, how I deserved to be punished. I let him talk, but once he started breaking bones… Sammy, I lost it… I begged him to stop, but he just laughed in my face. In the end, he was so far gone that he forgot to restrain the broken hand and I managed to get free. Almost made it out but he caught me. Started to thrash me with a crowbar. I used his own scalpel and drove it through his heart. Then I just ran. Woke up here.” A lonely tear made it down his cheek before he could rein in his emotions.

“Dean, I – god, I’m sorry. I should have found you earlier, maybe then…”

“Cut it Sam, it’s done. Better think of what you do now, you know, go back to college, live your life...”

“No. It’s not over. I won’t just stand here and watch you drown in self-pity. You’re not useless! Why do you think dad insisted we learn how to shoot with both hands? Dean, you are almost as good with a gun in your left than in your right, don’t you think you can learn the rest as well? You survived, you’re healing, and you may even regain partial use of your right hand, enough to manage life without anyone ever noticing that something is not right. And for everything else you have the left hand. Sure, it’ll take some time, but if anyone is stubborn enough to manage it, then it’s you!”

Dean was impressed by his little brother’s outburst. The words were painful, especially out of Sam’s mouth. He closed his eyes and shut out the world. He didn’t deserve this. But something deep inside of him had been stirred by Sam’s harsh words, even though his conscious mind was not ready to admit it.

It would take him several days and a few more nudges and tantrums from his brother to really comprehend and accept it, but the unspoken challenge had woken his fighting spirit. And once he explored his options, instead of just burrowing his head, he realized that maybe there was a way to live with this.

xxx

Several weeks later, Dean went for his final checkup. To the surprise of the entire medical staff, he’d archived a grade 3 on the MRC grading scale, which basically meant that he could move his hand with almost complete range of motion, although he did not have any strength in it. Holding things, even a light pen, was impossible. According to Dr. Stevens, that in itself was already a miracle, as the original prognosis had been only a limited range of motion. What bothered him most was the numbness. He had some feeling, but it always felt as if his hand was inside a thick glove, even though it really wasn’t.

But he was slowly getting used to it. And he was beyond eager to get back to hunting. Sam had been right, the weapons training and sparring had been the easiest to adapt to, as his dad had always insisted that they learn every single move with both sides. And the knowledge that he could hold his own in a fight had given him the confidence to work on the more difficult skills, like writing.

In the end, it had been Sam’s never-wavering support that had helped him through the rough months of rehab. And with the positive final report, he was officially released from the claws of the healthcare system. As he stepped out of the facility, his eyes fell onto his baby, sitting all polished and shiny in the parking lot. Obviously Sam had been taking good care of her, and Dean realized with a pang, that it would mainly be his brother who did the driving now. Sure, some remote country roads with no traffic should be safe for him, but there was no way he would risk his baby by driving when he was incapacitated. So, with a sad look, he walked towards the passenger door.

And promptly collided with Sam. Looking up at his oversized brother, Dean furrowed his brows in confusion. Sam simply grinned and dangled the keys in front of his nose.

“Present from Bobby and me. Check it out.”

Still puzzled, he moved over to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel. And then he saw it. The Impala had been retrofitted for one hand operation, the gear shift was now a lever next to the wheel, and there was a knob on the lower right side of the steering wheel, which would allow him to hold the wheel steady with his weak right hand. His hands fluttered lovingly over the new additions in his car, appreciating the way they fit unconstructively into the classic interior.

And suddenly he realized that he could really pull this off. Sure, he had some limitations now, but nothing that would really stop him from continuing with his chosen lifestyle. He looked at Sam, who was watching him apprehensively and then a big grin spread over his face. Sam shook his head in amusement and simply enjoyed his brother’s good mood. Dean started the engine, reveling in the familiar purr, pushed one of his favorite cassette tapes into the radio and hit the accelerator.

“Let’s get out of this miserable place, Sammy. We got work to do!”