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(no subject)

Who: Dean, Howie.
Where: Alastair's room.
When: After This conversation. Whilst Alastair's out doing his library thing.
What: Fetching Dean from torture.
Warnings: Mentions of torture, probably? Blood. Lots of blood.

Howie was more than worried that Dean was dying, or some equally terrible fate, and found out as quickly as he could where Alastair's room was. He was just as worried that Alastair would come back before he could get there, so grabbed the only weapon he had, a truncheon, and hoped it'd be enough. He was a demon, though, and hoped a cross and some Scripture might be just as effective.

So, he ran down to the second floor, found the right door, checked it, unsurprisingly finding it locked, and didn't even bother trying to pick it the fiddly way, just rammed his shoulder into it as hard as he could until the door gave way and opened. It was a lot of effort, but probably a quicker result. He called out, breathless, as he'd assumed nobody objecting to him breaking down a door meant that there was nobody in, "Dean?" before looking up and taking a step inside.

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It was just Dean’s way. Putting his life on the line for the people he cared about. He saved Sam from another relapse by doing this, but it was something that would haunt him for months to come. He had just swallowed it down, he was just now getting a good night’s rest. This plan of attack was both stupid and reckless, he’d bear the burden of both guilt and insecurity for a long while after.

Dean was hanging from an upright standing bed, wrists tied so tightly that beneath what held them they were purple, swollen, and bloody. He was also dramatically cut up, certain key points of weakness on his body paid close attention to.

Dean’s head hung downward in his naked shame, his breath shuddered and his chest was heaving. He rotated his hands in their binds and coughed, sucking snot through his nose and forcing himself to be coherent.

Edited 2010-01-26 23:14 (UTC)

Howie had expected a couple of things, perhaps expected quite a bit of blood, but he hadn't expected this. For a second, he was frozen to the spot when he saw what had been done to Dean. "Jesus Christ." He brought his hand to his mouth in shock and his stomach revolted against him for a second or two, but he gritted his teeth and forced it back down, because he had to do this quickly, and now. He dashed over to Dean and untied one hand, then put his arm around him to stop him falling before untying the other. "Still with me, Dean, yes?"

The right side of Dean's body swung forward and that knee seemed to give out beneath him, he leaned against Howie for support but didn't say anything. He breathed deeply, though, to show him he was alive. It was taking every ounce of stubbornness and strength he had within him not to collapse and writhe like he wanted to. His eyes were a little distant, lips parted because he was congested, likely from crying.

Howie took the breathing as a good sign and took a deliberate step back so he could take Dean's weight, then started to release his left side, "Good man. Stay with me until I've got you to the infirmary, okay? It's not far." He knew he was already covered in his blood, which didn't bother him too much, as it also meant he had to act quickly. He didn't want to be having to carry an entirely dead weight that far, and he wanted to keep Dean alive too. That was the most important thing.

It was hard work, holding him and untying him at the same time, and the fact the stench of the blood made him feel just a little lightheaded didn't help. At least now, he was untied and Alastair hadn't returned. That was a good sign.

Dean's deep breath wavered and his chest shook with a silent sob. "I..." he cleared his throat. "The blanket; something." He didn't want to be seen carried to the sick bay as starkly nude as he was right now. He did have some shame when certain situations called for it.

Howie nodded, he was going to do something like that anyway, "Aye, aye, nae problem." He got the blanket and handed it to him quickly, then, after a moment's thought of how difficult it had been to hold him up, "I'm going to have to get some help." He quickly made a call for help (http://kingfor-aday.livejournal.com/11369.html).

Dean pulled the blanket around his lower half and swayed a bit as he felt his knees buckle beneath him. He cursed gently and leaned against Howie again, before shutting his eyes to will away the pain.

Edited 2010-01-26 23:57 (UTC)

Peter arrived a few minutes later, his step faltering for half a second and his eyes widening when he saw all of the blood. He didn't really have a decent look at the man's injuries from where he was standing, the blanket was covering a lot of it.

"What happened?" he asked, moving towards the two of them, and practically pulling Dean away from Howie without any trouble of supporting the man's weight. Having superpowers came in handy sometimes.

"Dean, say something if you can hear me. Even grunt, I don't care."

Howie stepped back, pretty amazed that Peter could handle that on his own, but then remembered Peter had powers and it was probably a very good job he did, "Alastair tied him up and did... well, all of that. He's still conscious, I'm sure of it." It was a fair enough description.

There was then the opportunity to take in the sheer amount of Dean's blood he was covered in. "Christ." It was muttered to himself more than anything. "Anything I can do?"

Dean gave an elated breath when he was moved, still too starry eyed to notice Peter visually but he recognized the voice and gave something of a groan in a 'Great, the guy that thinks I need therapy,' kind of way.

Dean kept his chin down though, and lurched a little in his grasp.

Sveta was not far behind Peter, her hands in her hair, pulling it back tightly. The sight of all the blood stopped her short and she had to take a few breaths before she could continue on again.

She thought it had been a surprise to see Howie in the state he had been before...but this was on an entirely new level. Catching Howie's words, Sveta shook her head. Dean was still...conscious? Unbelievable.

"What happened, Neil?" She was only half paying attention to him, though. Her eyes were on Dean. Hearing the groan made her heart stop. He had to be in agony...

Well, that groan was a better sign than nothing.

"He just needs to get to the Infirmary," Peter said as calmly as he could, trying not to cause anyone to panic. Dean was still conscious, that was a good sign in itself.

"Just lean on me, Dean, I got you." And with that, he started more or less dragging Dean out of there, really uncaring as to whether or not Sveta and Howie followed.

Howie nodded, and trusted that Peter had got it under control, but was still going to follow on, because it was the only thing he could or should do. "Alright... I'll explain in a bit, Sveta." Howie was still a little taken aback at everything he'd just seen and done, and wasn't really in the mood to explain things again. "I'll make sure Alastair... that that's all sorted out."

The Russian woman gave Howie only a nod. The story didn't matter so much at the moment. The only thing that mattered was Dean.

Sveta fell into step beside Peter then, though she did not touch Dean. Peter seemed to have that part under control and she was taking a back seat at the moment. She knew that he worked in the infirmary, and that he would know more about the place than she would. However, she was still a doctor and she would do whatever she could to save him.

She really wasn't comfortable with the decision to move him so far when it wasn't clear if he was stable or not- even if it was to the infirmary. There was just so much blood...that was not a good sign in any place.

Dean half stumbled and half slid along. The walls were rocking back and forth and slipping up and down and he couldn't help but to shut his fleetingly every few moments to regain some of the strength he'd been building and trying to gather while Alastair was actually doing this to him.

"Pete..." Dean croaked and licked his lips. "I'm sorry."

And with that he leaned forward somewhat and spilled the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

Peter stopped dragging Dean down the hall when he threw up, waiting until the man was finished with that. It was pretty disgusting but it wasn't like this was the first, and probably not the last either, time that someone had thrown up on him. He did work in a hospital for a few years and after that, he did hospice care which should really speak for itself.

"Don't worry about it," Peter said, running a soothing hand down Dean's back as he sidestepped the pool of vomit. "We're almost there. Then I'll get you a trashcan to throw up in if you need to."

When he threw up, Sveta paused as they did, shaking her head. She had been around this enough that it didn't faze her in the slightest, but she was worried about him. If he was purging now, then there had to be a reason.

She had enough drunken men stumbling into her clinic or calling her for a home visit only to have them throw up on her, or any other kinds of bodily fluids. She was not an old doctor, but she had seen her share of vomit.

"We should hurry," she whispered softly, more as a general statement than an order.

Howie realised he was probably more useful doing other things, it had just taken him a good few minutes to get his head around it. It was still taking him a good few minutes to get his head around the fact he was covered in blood and just saved his friend from torture.

"I'll go sort Alastair out. I'll come down later." And with that, Howie went to try and make sure someone could go and make sure Alastair got what he deserved, and put the door back, because he wasn't quite sure he could at this minute.

Dean stood up when he was finished and leaned against Peter again when he was finished. "God Dammit just gimme drugs."

"I'm fresh out of drugs that I carry around," Peter muttered, rolling his eyes slightly as he finally got Dean to the Infirmary, and settled one of the beds. He was pretty sure that he'd bumped something in the process but it was better than bleeding out on the ground. So. He'd deal.

"Are you medically trained?" he asked Sveta as he turned from Dean's bedside to go fetch supplies from one of the cabinets.

"Yes. I was a doctor in Moscow for several years." She was young, yes, but it did not take her long to go through school. When he left to get supplies, she gave Dean a cursory look, trying to gauge his injuries.

The same question kept popping into her mind- who would do such a thing to him?

"But this is a new facility and I have not done much in a year, so I will just follow your lead for now." She was calm, at least, as she pushed the sleeves of her shirt up.

Dean was thankful to be lying down and somewhere somewhat comfortable. His eyes fluttered and rolled up into his skull and he gave another groan, clutching what he could of the blanket tighter to his frame.

Peter looked at her curiously, since she didn't work in the Infirmary and to be honest, they needed all of the help they could get really. It was easier with four wardens running it than it had been with two, that was for sure, but five would be even better.

"Well, grab a pair of gloves," Peter said as he returned to Dean's bedside, drawing a syringe of pain killer that had a mild sedative effect and injecting Dean with it.

"And you can help me stitch him up."

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