Author's note: Sorry it took so long. Spent an entire vacation doing nothing. First day back to work and hello! Go figure. Short but sweet.

The nursing staff began to strip Dean down, exposing him, looking for other injuries.

"Shit," one of the nurses swore. "He's a user," she added, pointing to Dean's arms.

"Have the labs add tox screens to the blood work," the doctor ordered after taking a quick glance at the track marks marring Dean's skin before continuing with his exam, checking his patient's pupils. "What'd he do to himself?"

"Brother said he fell."

"Looks more like he was pushed," the doctor muttered, palpating the bruised skin of Dean's chest and abdomen. "Let's do up a full skull series and I want pictures of his chest, too."

The doctor stepped back a bit, letting the nurses move in to get blood samples, start oxygen and IV fluids and basically stabilize Dean. After a few moments he stepped out toward the waiting room and headed for Sam.

"Mr. Simmons?"

"How's Dean?" Sam asked, standing quickly.

"I'm Doctor Ward," the doctor greeted. "Your brother's pretty banged up. What did you say happened to him?"

"I think he fell. I'm not sure – I found him lying on the ground, unconscious," Sam replied, giving the doctor his most innocent puppy dog look. "Will he be all right?"

"He's probably got a concussion, maybe some cracked ribs," the doctor began. "But, Mr. Simmons, I have to believe that your brother didn't just fall down. I think he may have been assaulted."

"Assaulted?" Again, the innocent look.

"Maybe a drug deal gone bad?"

That threw Sam. "A drug deal??" he repeated, incredulous.

Ward gave Sam a sympathetic, yet knowing look. "If you could tell us what Dean's been using –"

"I don't know where you're getting your information, Doc, but Dean's not a user!" Sam cut in, a little irate now.

The doctor chose a different tactic. "Okay, then, does your brother have any such medical condition that would require daily injections?"

"What the hell are you talking about?! My brother is not some drug addict and until an hour ago was perfectly healthy!" Sam brushed a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I've spent the last three months living and traveling with him-" he continued until the doctor motioned him to follow.

Sam followed Dr. Ward back to the treatment area. He took a quick look at his big brother, noted the tubes of fluids and oxygen surrounding him, saw the bruising on his chest and the red stained bandage on his head.

"Take a look at his arms, Mr. Simmons. Tell me what you see."

Sam's lips parted, shock and confusion at what he saw evident on his face. He looked toward the doctor for help.

"We're doing tox screens on his blood to find out what he's been doing, but if you knew what he's been shooting up, that would have been helpful," Dr. Ward told him. "Judging by his injuries, he'll be here a few days. It'll help with treatment, to know what we're up against."

"I'm sorry. I didn't…" Sam started and stopped, not quite knowing what to say.

One of the nurses interrupted, announcing, "They're ready for him up in radiology," before helping the other nurses ready Dean for the trip.

Sam stood and watched them wheel Dean out of the treatment area. It took a gentle tap on his shoulder for him to realize he was in the way now, of the maintenance woman cleaning up the treatment area. He headed back to the waiting room, still stunned by what he had seen. What the hell? Dean a drug addict?? He couldn't recall any time in the last three months that Dean had had any more than a buzz from some beer or whiskey, let alone be stoned on some other drug. But he knew what he saw on Dean's arms. His time at Stanford hadn't been spent locked in his dorm room or apartment. He'd known people who shot up various things. Seen the results of their abuse. Dean didn't fit their profile. Dean knew better.

Sam looked at his watch. He knew it would be a while before Dr. Ward had any more information on Dean, or the results of any of the tests he was undergoing. He reached for the keys to the Impala and headed for the parking lot. He got into the car, started it and moved it to an isolated section of the parking lot, furthest from the hospital.

The first place he looked after parking the car was the glove box. He removed the box of fake IDs, shook out the folded maps, moved aside the empty gun magazine, Next he moved to the various storage compartments in the car – the ones not in the original vehicle specs – and moved aside the knives, ammo and handguns held within. Then he placed them all back.

He headed for the trunk next. After looking in the first, normal looking area, Sam propped open the false lid and checked through their other supplies and weapons. More ammo, gasoline, salt, hex bags, holy water, rope, knives, throwing stars… nothing any more illicit than usual. Sam closed the trunk with a sigh and thrust his hand through his hair.

When Dean started to wake up, with a wicked headache, all he could think about was getting even with whatever bartender it was that didn't cut him off. He didn't care how pretty she might have been, or where she would have taken him, this pain wasn't worth it.

Sorry, Dean. Not the pretty bartender. Not this time.

Dean groaned aloud.

"Mr. Simmons? You need to lie still for a bit." He felt a gentle push on his shoulder.

Yes, Dean. Lie still for a bit. Wouldn't want them to restrain you… then you'd be stuck with us.

"No. Please, let me up," Dean said with a groan, trying to push against the hand.

"Easy, Mr. Simmons," the woman said. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

"Not without screaming like a girl," Dean replied, realizing from the tone of the woman's voice that she must be a nurse and therefore he must be in the hospital. "I'm fine, though. Really. Tell my brother he can drive me home now."

Sorry, Dean, but little brother ain't here. We've got you all to ourselves.

Dean wasn't sure which was worse, the broken ribs or the other things torturing his insides, but the next thing he knew he was curled up on his side, hugging his middle for all it was worth.

"Didn't even have to open your eyes, huh? You've got that girl scream down pat."

He wasn't sure who said that to him, the nurse or his ghost, but he didn't care.

"Oh, God!" he groaned. "We're in a hospital, right? I'm sure you've got plenty of morphine on hand that you could spare!"

"Is that your drug of choice, Mr. Simmons?" A male voice.

Ooh, Dean. They've got you pegged! Or do they?

"Son of a bitch," Dean got out as several pairs of hands moved to straighten him out.

"You've got a concussion and some broken ribs," the male voice, Doctor Ward, told him, moving into Dean's line of sight.

"Coulda told you that on my own, Doc," Dean replied. "Didn't need to put me in all this fancy machinery.

Dr. Ward smiled easily. "Call us cautious. Besides, until a few minutes ago, you weren't talking to anyone. But you can tell me one thing, Dean. What are you using?"

Careful, Dean. Wouldn't want to tell the truth. You know where these people will put you if you tell them… Talk about detox!

"Shut up!"

"Dean?"

"Not you," Dean said absently.

The doctor and nurse looked knowingly at each other.

"Where's my brother? Is Sam okay?"

Took you long enough to ask about baby brother, Dean. Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought. Or maybe we still need to.

"Aaah!" Dean screamed, clutching the side of his head, squeezing his eyes shut.