Temporary Heroes

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I asked for Supernatural for Christmas, but all I got was an awesome Christmas episode. I still don't own them.

Author's Note: This story is nothing like what it started out to be, but I like it better than my original idea. I hope you all had a great holiday and that you enjoy my first story of 2008. As always, I'd love to know what you think. It's pretty well finished, so updates will be fairly quick. I just have to read, reread, and obsess over the details…..

oooOOOooo

I've seen all the downfalls
Temporary heroes
Misguided direction
Longing for perfection
Love and pain
Only for the foolish
Once again
Try to hide what's there inside
I'm the same, temporary hero
Who's to blame

Temporary Heroes written by N. Trevesick and J. Clee; performed by Pat Benetar

oooOOOooo

Dean Winchester walked into the latest in a long line of shabby motel rooms carrying a plastic grocery bag and a six pack of beer. He dropped the bag on the bed closest to the door, which he kicked closed, and set the beer on the single shelf of the small refrigerator. He slipped out of his worn leather coat and tossed it onto an old recliner before going into the bathroom.

After a long, hot shower Dean felt better. While he shaved, he examined his face in the mirror and was surprised to see that his skin color was normal, not pallid, and the dark circles he'd gotten used to seeing under his eyes weren't as noticeable as usual.

He'd spent the last couple of weeks looking over his brother in the hospital, but since Sam came out of the coma a few days ago, Dean had been able to relax. He'd been able to sleep and he'd eaten almost regular meals. It was as close to normal as Dean had had been since his mother died at the hands of the yellow-eyed demon. He pushed the thought away and turned off the bathroom light as he walked through the door.

Dean slipped a clean t-shirt over his head before climbing into bed. He'd snuck a cheeseburger into the hospital and eaten with Sam earlier while they watched old sitcoms on television. Sam wasn't up to much more than soup yet, but he'd been able to keep scrambled eggs down that morning and the doctor said he would probably be released within a few days.

It was the longest either of them had ever been in a hospital, although Dean's time in the hospital after the Impala had been hit by a demon-possessed driver in a semi-truck came close. Dean knew he wouldn't truly feel complete until his younger brother was out of the hospital and with him again, but he'd been relieved when Sam came out of the coma and the tests showed there wouldn't be any lasting affects. The wrist he'd broken in a run-in with a zombie had been re-injured, but the doctor thought it would heal with no problems.

Dean fell asleep quickly and was still sleeping the next morning when his cell phone rang. Used to waking up suddenly and having to be on alert, Dean sat up and grabbed the phone from the night stand. He glanced at the caller ID display, but didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Dean, it's me."

"Sammy, what's up? What time is it?" he asked, looking toward the clock on the table.

"It's about 8:00. Can you come to the hospital?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah, but…."

"But what?" Dean asked, already out of bed and opening his duffel bag.

"I'll tell you when you get here."

"Are you all right? Did the doctor tell you someth—"

"No, it's nothing like that. I'm okay. I just….I think there's something going on here."

"Something going on? Like something supernatural?"

"Just come, okay?"

"I'll be right there, Sam."

It made sense for hospitals to be haunted; a lot of people died in them who weren't ready to go and sometimes the deaths were caused by violent acts. Dean knew he'd been distracted over the last couple of weeks, but he was sure he would have noticed something supernatural going on at the hospital. Nonetheless, he trusted his brother's instincts and dressed quickly.

---

Dean got to the hospital before visiting hours began, but the nurses on Sam's floor didn't try to stop him. He'd been coming and going pretty much as he wanted, but since Dean didn't cause problems, the nurses didn't even notice anymore.

Sam was sitting in a chair near the window when Dean walked in. One arm was wrapped around his midsection and there was a light sheen of sweat on his face.

"Sammy –"

"I'm okay, Dean," he said quickly. "You have to find –"

Sam grimaced, groaning. He gripped the edge of the table and Dean quickly crouched in front of him, reaching out for his arms. "Sammy, come on, let's get you back into bed."

"Dean…." Sam tried to protest, but in his weakened state, he was no match for his older brother. A few moments later, he was back in bed and Dean pulled the sheet up over him before going into the small private bathroom. He returned with a wet wash cloth and gently wiped Sam's forehead.

"What the hell were you doing?" Dean demanded, more concerned than angry.

"I saw something and I went to check it out."

"Sam, you spent almost two weeks in a coma –"

"I know what I saw!"

"That isn't where I was going, Sam. I was just going to say that you were in a coma, you have a couple of busted ribs….dude, you can't be running around the hospital like that."

Sam looked away, clearly irritated.

"Just tell me what you saw." Dean said as she sat on the chair next to Sam's bed.

"Last night I kept sensing things and every few minutes, I'd catch a glimpse of someone walking down the hallway. But it was more like a shadow or something nearly transparent than a real person."

Dean knew that his brother was still taking some fairly powerful medications and as much as he believed in Sam's instincts and his abilities, the most likely explanation for what he'd seen was not something supernatural. He looked at Sam.

"What do you mean sensing things? You were having visions?"

Sam shook his head. "No. No visions. But I heard noises and – Dean, I know what I saw."

"I didn't say anything," the older man protested.

"I can see it on your face. You don't believe me."

"That isn't true, Sam. Tell me what you saw this morning; what did you go after?"

Sam took an obviously painful deep breath that made Dean wince in sympathy.

"It looked like a shadow. I saw it against the wall over there earlier this morning," he paused and nodded toward the far wall of his room. "It was just kind of a blob without any definition to it. When it moved out into the hall –"

"You got out of bed and followed it," Dean finished for him. "No one else saw it?"

Sam shook his head. "Didn't seem to."

"And no one stopped your weak ass from wandering around?"

"The doctor said I should be going for short walks."

"Short walks, Sam. Not recon missions."

"Can we focus here?" Sam demanded.

Dean stared at him for a moment before relenting. "So, you followed this shadow. Where did it go?"

Sam glanced away.

"Sam?"

"The stairwell."

"You went into the stairwell? You climbed stairs?"

"Technically, I only went down. I took the elevator back up."

Dean wasn't trying very hard to control his anger, but he wanted to figure out what Sam had seen. "Just tell me what happened."

"I followed it down a couple of flights. It's almost like it wanted me to because it seemed to wait for me to catch up more than once. It led me out of the stairwell on the fourth floor and to the west side of the building. It stopped right outside the door to a children's ward and then just disappeared. I didn't think I could go in inconspicuously and besides…." He looked away from his brother's stare.

"You were about to pass out?" Dean guessed.

Sam didn't respond.

"So, you think there's something going on inside that children's ward?" Dean continued.

"I know I saw that shadow, Dean. It wasn't the medication or –"

"I never said I thought it was," Dean interrupted. "I'm not so sure I can get into a children's ward, either, but I'll see what I can do. You stay here. In bed. Don't move."

Dean went toward the door, but paused when Sam called his name.

"Thanks for believing me."

Dean saw the gratitude in Sam's eyes and heard the shy tone of his voice. He nodded and gave a small wave before opening the door and walking into the hallway.

---

Dean knew from experience that it was generally not easy to get into a children's ward unnoticed. There was almost less scrutiny with people in and around the pharmacy at many hospitals. He walked toward the elevator, thinking about the best way to proceed. He could go to the Impala and retrieve any number of devices that would only prove what he already knew – the hospital was full of spirits. How did that help him?

As Dean got off the elevator on the fourth floor, still uncertain what to do next, he saw what appeared to be a group of entertainers standing at the nurses' station to the left; the west side of the building. There were a couple of clowns, people holding guitars and what looked like a magician. He did his best to look like he was with the group as they were lead into the closed doors behind the nurses' station.

Another desk stood just inside the doors and there were a few kids in chairs and on a large couch beyond. As Dean followed the entertainers, his eyes took in every detail of his surroundings. There were rooms all around the play area that held the chairs and couch. He could see children in some of the rooms, some were hooked up to machines and others were maybe just too sick to get out of bed. He tried to concentrate on the laughter the clowns were causing rather than the pain the sicker kids must be feeling. He couldn't help but notice that some of the children were bald and he was afraid he knew what that meant.

Dean didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he hadn't really expected to. A moment later he spotted a pretty young woman in scrubs and a animal print lab coat, standing along a wall and watching the children. She smiled as he approached.

"Are you looking for someone?" she asked.

"I'm with them," he said and nodded toward the entertainers.

"A roadie?" she laughed.

"Something like that," he said in his most charming tone. "So, the kids here –"

"Sick children are the worst," she said sadly. "I mean, it's never any fun to be sick, but it seems so much more unfair when it's a child. Surely you were told this is our cancer ward?"

He nodded sadly. That's what he had thought, but it was still gut-wrenching to hear it. Dean agreed with the young woman; it was unfair for kids to be sick.

"My name is Linda," Dean heard her say a moment later. "I'm a volunteer."

"Oh. I thought you were a nurse," he said and motioned toward her outfit.

"I start medical school soon, but I've been volunteering here for about four years. My little sister was a patient."

"Oh, I…."

Linda smiled again. "She was one of the lucky ones. She has leukemia, but it's been in remission for almost two years."

"That's great," Dean said, suddenly not sure of himself at all. "How old is she?"

"Almost eighteen."

He nodded and looked toward the magician for a moment as he pulled a coin from a giggling little boy's ear.

"You must know a lot about the hospital if you've been volunteering here for so long."

Linda shrugged. "I've spent most of my time in here with the cancer patients."

"Still, you must have some stories."

She looked at him with a hint of caution in her eyes.

"I'm only helping these guys for a little while," Dean said, trying to assuage her concern. "My real job is free-lance reporter. I write about mysterious places; unexplained things. Hospitals are full of that kind of thing."

He knew it was a bold lie, but he also knew he didn't have a lot of time. If something really was going on here, he had to get a lead on it soon.

"The paranormal?" Linda smiled. "I don't believe in that stuff."

"I never said I believed it; I said I write about it."

"I'm sorry, but I don't have any stories like that. I have to get to work," she said and smiled at him again. "It was nice to meet you."

A few minutes later the guitarists were performing as the magician and clowns went from room to room. Dean watched, again trying to figure out what to do next. He saw someone coming toward him from the corner of his eye and he turned. It was an older woman, possibly in her 60's, wearing a uniform similar to Linda's.

"Are you really a reporter?" she asked in a confidential tone.

"Uh, yeah."

"I heard you and Linda talking. She's a good kid, but a little naïve."

"What do you mean?"

"This is a hospital. People die here all the time," she said, smiling sadly. "It's full of ghosts."

Dean was surprised. It wasn't the first time he'd run into someone who was a true believer. It wasn't even the first time he'd met someone willing to talk about their beliefs. But it generally didn't happen within the first few moments of meeting.

"I've spent a lot of time here; heard a lot of stories," she continued. "Seen a few things myself."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

She looked around conspiratorially. "I've seen a ghost or two."

"Really," Dean realized this woman was his only source of information for the moment, but she didn't strike him as all that reliable. On the other hand, he didn't have anywhere else to turn for now. "How about we grab a cup of coffee and talk for a little while?"

"I can't right now. The volunteers are scheduled just like the nurses," she said, smiling. "I'm off at 3:00. How about a cup of coffee down the street?"

Dean nodded. "I'll be there."

---

When Dean got back to Sam's room, he was propped up in bed and his eyes were closed. Dean lifted the lid on the food tray that had been left on a table near the bed and saw it had not been touched. Sam woke up when Dean put the tray back on the plate.

"Dean –"

"I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

"What did you find out?"

Dean knew it would do no good to avoid the question. Sam wouldn't go back to sleep until he had the answer.

"Why don't you eat while I tell you?" he suggested, nodding toward the tray.

"I'm not hungry."

"Sam, you –"

"Dean, please. Just tell me."

The older man sat on the edge of the bed and told Sam about what he'd learned in the children's ward.

"I know it's not much, but –"

"So, you'll meet the old woman for coffee?" Sam asked eagerly.

"Yeah, I will, but don't count on her being reliable, Sammy."

"I'm not," he said in a tone that said just the opposite to Dean. "Is my computer in the car?"

"Yeah, but you need to rest."

"Please get it for me."

Dean knew that protesting would be useless. He sighed. "I'll get it, but you have to eat something."

"Dean…."

"One forkful of eggs or one slice of toast," Dean said as he removed the lid from the tray again. "It's still warm. Sort of."

"I'll eat lunch," Sam promised. "Please get the laptop; I can start researching the hospital and –"

Dean held up a hand. "All right. As long as you remember that you're here to recuperate."

Sam looked at him with gratitude and affection. "I know."

Dean looked at him for a moment before standing up. "I'll be back."

---

Dean didn't want to get the laptop for Sam. He didn't want there to be a case here. He had come too close to losing his brother and just wanted him to get better so he could take Sam out of the hospital and move on.

Their last job had been harder than they'd been expecting. They'd gotten a call from Bobby Singer, a friend and old contact of their father's, asking them to take care of a salting and burning in a small Midwestern town. He'd heard about it from someone he'd known for a long time and knew the brothers were in the area. It should have been a simple in and out job because Bobby's contact knew who the ghost was and where the body was buried. He would have handled it himself had he not been almost 80 and in poor health.

Unfortunately, even the simple jobs were dangerous. While the brothers were digging up the body, the ghost figured out what was going on and tried to stop them. Sam took the brunt of his anger. He managed to toss Sam around while Dean tried to repel him with rock salt, but when another ghost appeared, Dean's attention was divided. Sam was thrown into a large marble monument and hit his head, knocking him out. Dean was able to repel both of the spirits and finish the job, sustaining a few minor injuries of his own.

Hospitals were always a last resort for the Winchesters. Anyplace that required identification and created a paper trail could post a problem. But when Dean couldn't rouse Sam, he knew he had no choice. Sam's wrist was already swollen by the time Dean had filled in the grave and although he could set a broken bone, this same wrist had been injured before and Dean was afraid it might need surgery.

Dean made up a plausible story that kept the police out of things and he knew the phony insurance card would work. But when Sam slipped into a coma, all he could think about was losing his brother and that was just unacceptable. He'd been in a panic until Sam regained consciousness several days later and the thought of rushing right back into a job was not at all appealing.

Sam was driven, though, and Dean knew that. Dean also knew if the tables were turned and it was him in the hospital, he'd be every bit as eager to get to the bottom of things. That didn't change the way he felt right now, though. But not helping Sam would only push him to do more than he should, so Dean had no choice but to give in. He realized that there might be nothing going on in the hospital; it could all be part of Sam's head injury, but he owed it to his brother to check it out.

---

"You said you'd eat lunch," Dean pointed out later. He'd left Sam alone to research for a while, but came back to make sure his brother was still following orders. Dean had done a little more digging on his own, but hadn't come up with anything helpful.

Sam only glanced at the food tray, quickly turning his attention back to the laptop and rubbing his forehead.

"Sam," Dean put the car magazine aside and stood up.

"I'm not hungry, Dean," he said, his tone plaintive.

Dean suddenly remembered a much younger Sam, studying for a test and foregoing meals. That's what he did when he got focused on something. Even when he wasn't in the hospital, Dean often had to urge him to eat.

"You have to eat, Sam. You need to get your strength back."

Sam glanced at Dean and then sighed. He put the laptop aside and pulled the rolling table toward the bed before removing the lid from the tray. Dean saw his brother scowl at the broth as he picked up half of an unappealing turkey sandwich.

"You gonna keep staring at me?" Sam asked.

"I might."

"I'm okay, you know."

"You're not okay until the doctor signs the release papers."

Sam took a few bites from the sandwich. "I'm sorry I ended up in the hospital."

"It's not your fault," Dean said quietly.

"I know the whole coma thing freaked you out."

"That's not your fault, either," Dean looked at him. "You feeling better than this morning?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I probably shouldn't have followed that shadow, but I had to, Dean."

Dean sighed. "I know ya did. Just…."

"What?" Sam prompted.

"Just take care of yourself, okay? I want to take you out of here soon."

Sam took another bite of the sandwich and nodded at his brother.

---

Dean walked into the coffee shop just after 3:00. He didn't see the woman from the hospital, but figured it would take her at least a few minutes to get there. He ordered a cup of coffee and settled at a table near the windows. He had just about lost hope that she would show up when he saw her coming from the parking lot next door. She waved to him as she walked past and after ordering coffee, she joined him at the table.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she smiled. "I was helping with one of the children."

"Not a problem."

"My name is Marcy, by the way. Marcy Jenkins."

"Dean Rollins," he responded.

"What kinds of places do you write for?" she asked after taking a sip from her cup.

Dean was confused at first, but quickly remembered his cover story of being a freelance reporter. "Anything that will have me. So, you said you had seen ghosts…."

"I imagine there are a lot of them in a hospital," she said sadly. "All those deaths."

Dean nodded. "I suppose so."

Marcy looked thoughtful. "They sometimes have volunteers come in the evenings. It's not often because things are quieter then, but sometimes if there are a lot of patients or not enough nurses, they'll have senior volunteers come in. That's when I've seen the ghosts."

"Tell me about them."

"I don't spend much time elsewhere in the hospital. I'm almost always at the ward or on my way there. I've seen things out of the corner of my eye and I've full-on run into a ghost before. Usually it's a little thing, like the children in the ward."

"Children have died in the ward?"

"Usually when they're at that point, they're in ICU or somewhere else, but it's happened in the ward before. It's not good for the other children to see it, you understand."

Dean nodded. He knew that it didn't matter if the person had died in the ward or not; the ghosts would have free rein of the entire hospital.

"Have you ever seen a shadow?" he asked, wanting to cut to the chase.

The old woman nodded. "I haven't seen them myself, but I've heard others talk about them."

"What have you heard?"

"They or it – I'm not sure if there's more than one show up on the walls or anywhere else that has a flat surface. Sometimes there's whispering when they're around. Once in a while it's like they try to get someone's attention."

"Do you know anyone who has seen it who would be willing to talk to me about these shadows?"

"Maybe. I can't promise anything until I've talked to them first."

"Sure." Dean still wasn't sure how he felt about this woman, but thought she might a least lead him to useful information.

She smiled slyly. "Are you sure you aren't just making an old woman feel good by pretending to believe her?"

"Not at all," Dean promised. "But I'd like to speak to someone as soon as possible."

She opened her purse and pulled out a small ring bound binder. After flipping through a few pages, she paused to write something down and tore out the page. "Give me a call tomorrow. That's my home number."

Dean wrote down his cell phone number for her and a few minutes later they parted ways. Before leaving the coffee shop, Dean bought a slice of pound cake for Sam. The doctor might not approve and it wasn't exactly healthy, but it was something he knew his brother would eat.

TBC