Unsupervised Minor – Pre-series. John's on a job, but when 18 yr. old Dean has to leave on a rescue mission, he is forced to leave 14 yr. old Sam by himself. When a drunk driver brings Sam to the attention of child services, the family's worst nightmare occurs.

Chapter 2 - The Inquisition

Dean stopped by the house, grabbed his supplies, and was on his way in less than 30 minutes. As he gunned the Impala on the road out of town, he got that unpleasant feeling again. He knew that the faster he got there, the faster he could get back, and then that disturbing thorny creepy feeling he got in the pit of his stomach every time Sam was left alone, would go away as well.

The ride home was entertaining. The home team had won, and though Sam couldn't get too excited about it, the guys in the car were elated. Their high spirits were contagious and it had been too long since he'd simply hung out with guys around his own age. Sports, girls, classes … the conversation was predictable, but with a pleasant normality to it that Sam truly enjoyed. He couldn't add much to the conversation, not knowing most of the girls they were talking about, and not being familiar with the old teachers or events they described. He was happy to be just sitting in the back seat absorbing it all.

When one of the guys mentioned Mike's younger sister, describing in detail how he'd rather be alone with her instead, Mike jumped to her defense in a way that reminded Sam of Dean's protective streak, in albeit a completely different way. Dean had never tried to defend Sam's honor that way, in fact quite the opposite. Sam grinned, knowing that if Dean had met Mike's sister, he'd probably be trying to get alone with her right now – or pushing Sammy to do so instead.

Sam leaned peacefully against the window and watched the trees rushing by. It was dark by now, and starting to rain. Since the area was rural, there weren't many cars on the road when they got this far out of town. Mike slowed at the crossroads, and then made a smooth left onto the dirt road where his childhood friends lived. It was a windy, narrow road with trees close in on both sides. It could have looked sinister if Sam was thinking that way. As it was, Sam was relaxed as he watched a large produce truck lumbering toward them in the oncoming lane.

An extra set of lights suddenly pierced the darkness as a large vehicle with brights that sat high off the ground gunned its engine and pulled out to pass the truck. The vehicle was swerving as it pulled forward and just as Sam and Mike recognized the danger, Mike hit the brakes and tried to maneuver around the oncoming vehicles. The dirt road was not accommodating to quick tight turns, and as the Mustang began to slide over the gravel, the sounds were penetrating. The squeal of brakes, the truck's horn, the flying gravel, the rendering of metal and shattering glass, voices cursing, and only one sound ran through Sam's mind … Dean!

As Sam came to, his senses seemed to come online one at a time. He could smell wet leaves, gasoline, brakes, a coppery smell. Sounds gradually were added; people yelling, a man with a slurred voice shouting at someone, a lady's voice above him, but he couldn't quite make out what she was saying, and somewhere in the distance a siren was screaming. Taste; yep, he could definitely taste blood, which helped place the coppery smell. Sight; not quite yet, but as he cautiously pried open his eyes, he could put an out-of-focus face to the voice hovering over him. "Son, take it easy. Try to relax and breathe slowly. We've got an oxygen mask on you right now to help, and I.."

Touch: yep, that was usually the last, and definitely the worst. Pain shot up from his ankle and throughout his left leg, and his chest was pounding. He tried to pull his leg away from whatever was causing so much pain, but it just made it worse. As his breathing sped up, his chest started to compete with his leg for the most attention. Something was definitely wrong there.

"Easy, kid. Settle down and don't move. Breathe slowly. You'll be okay, we just have to get you out of here and to the hospital. Take some deep breaths."

Sam's awareness continued to expand as he cataloged his limbs. His left arm was pinned tightly to his body. His hand was wet and sore, probably cuts, but not broken. His right hand and arm were being held by someone, but were not in any pain. His right leg was pinned as well. It was sore, but other than not being able to move it, it felt okay. As his memory started to come back, he realized that that would make sense, his left side was on the side that was hit. Suddenly he remembered what happened and struggled to move.

"Mike! … Tom … Asher, .."

"Relax," responded the paramedic. "Everyone's alive and we're taking care of each of you right now. Two of your friends are already on the way to the hospital and they'll be fine, and as soon as we finish getting you and Mike, here, out of the car, you'll both be following them."

"Mike! Mike, you okay?" Sam tried to focus on his location, but couldn't make out much in the twisted shapes around him. Every word he spoke caused his chest to tighten and his ribs to grind. He tried to relax and breathe.

"Calm down, Winchester. I'm fine, it looks like you took the brunt of that bastard's truck. How are you doing?" came a strong voice a few feet ahead of him.

Sam was relieved. Considering the force of the collision, it was a miracle that everyone had survived. "I'm … I'm fine." Sam tried to hold in a cough. He gasped again; it was hard pulling in air through his damaged chest. He had been wearing a seat belt, but whatever had hit him hurt like a son of a bitch.

"Son, you need to relax and keep breathing. You've hurt your ribs and it's making it harder for you to breathe. Your friends are doing fairly well – nothing that can't be patched up. But we need to get you stabilized before the fireman can cut you out of this car."

"Cut my car?!!" An agonized voice came from the front seat, "Isn't there any other way to get us out of here? Man, you don't understand, … it's a classic." The familiar sentiment did more to ease Sam's mind than anything else at this point could. "Can't you just pull us out?" Mike's voice continued to plead.

"I'm sorry, Mike, but there's no way we can get either of you out of here without cutting the vehicle. Can you slide your foot out from under the dash?" Some struggling was followed by some curses. "I didn't think so, and if you keep talking that way, I'll have a long chat with your dad when we get you out of here." The words were spoken with affection, and Sam realized that they probably all knew each other, having grown up together in the small town. "And your friend certainly won't be able to pull his leg out from under your seat until we get you out of there."

Relieved that Mike was doing well enough to be concerned about protecting his baby, Sam's attention drifted back to what the paramedic had said. The pain in his ankle and lower leg stabbed deep. His leg was trapped; broken and from what he could feel from below, his ankle wasn't in a normal position either. The throbbing in his chest probably meant a couple of cracked or broken ribs, he recognized that feeling. His blurry vision and nausea weren't a good sign either, but that didn't necessarily mean a concussion. It would just make things more difficult when he had to leave. The other two he could cover up, but the broken leg and ankle were going to be a problem, and Sam knew he couldn't go to the hospital.

A man in a blue police uniform shone a light on him. "Son, what's your name?"

A normal question for anyone else, but Sam couldn't think how to answer. Then from the front seat, he heard Mike's voice again, "Sam. His name's Sam Winchester. Tommy, he just moved here a month or two ago."

"Thanks, Mike." Obviously the young officer knew Mike. "Sam," he turned kindly back to the young Winchester, "how can we get hold of your folks. They'll want to meet you at the hospital."

The pain was making it hard for Sam to think. He closed his eyes and let his head drop back. Dad's out of town and unreachable. Dean's already well on his way to help Pastor Jim. Bobby was with Dad, and Pastor Jim was … unavailable. He squeezed his eyes shut as he felt despair welling up. As far as a viable adult caregiver, he was out of options. What could he tell the officer that wouldn't eventually end up causing even more problems for him and his family?

"Sam, can you hear me? I just need a phone number."

Another voice, this time an older man spoke up. "Let him rest for a minute, Tommy. Once he catches his breath, you'll get an answer. Meanwhile, let's see if he has a cell phone on him. Most kids do these days." Sam felt the paramedic pull his cell from his jacket pocket, but wasn't sure how he felt when it came out in pieces.

"This phone is in about the same condition as his leg. You won't get anything out of this. Even the card is busted."

Sam struggled to pull himself together. He'd been hurt before, he'd just have to deal with the pain. He'd seen Dean and Dad hurt pretty badly – worse than this. He'd helped patch them up. He knew he needed to find some way to go home, not to some hospital.

Sam forced open his eyes, and gave his best effort at a smile,. "Thanks, sir, but," he tried to move himself again, which just resulted in more painful synapses firing, "Urgh" Breathe slowly, Sam demanded of himself. He willed the spots in his vision to go away and his hearing to return. He wasn't going to pass out now.. "…so, once I can get ... get out of the car, if I could just … be taken home … I'll be fine."

Apparently, Sam's smile was lacking its usual finesse. Pale, sweaty, and shaky, he didn't look like he would stay conscious, let alone go home by himself. The paramedics glanced at each other. The older one looked down at the teen. "Sam, you may be worried that you'll get in trouble if your parents find out that you were in this car, possibly without their permission, but believe me, they'll want to be there for you when they hear what that drunk did to you and your friends. We can't in good conscience allow you to go anywhere but to the hospital right now, so you might as well give Tommy those numbers."

Since Sam knew he didn't have the strength or the resources to get away on his own, he resorted to damage control. The longer he avoided giving them the phone numbers, the longer it would take them to realize that nobody was going to come to meet him at the hospital or anywhere else for that matter for quite a while.

This was the worst case scenario, a situation that was never supposed to happen. And now what if child services were brought in. Shit, he was so screwed! His dad and Dean going to be so royally pissed at him. Still fighting the moisture that threatened his eyes, Sam was furious with himself. He was supposed to stay under the radar, not be the center of attention at the worst possible time. Sick with the thought and miserable from fighting the pain, Sam finally stopped fighting. And when they finally started cutting his leg out from under the seat, he found he couldn't do anything except push back into the seat behind him, grit his teeth, and simply pass out.

Dean, who was by now well into the rural area of the Red Hills, and who, for the last hour had felt an uncomfortable clenching in the pit of his stomach, decided to pull over and get a Coke to settle it down. He wasn't sure what was worrying him more, Pastor Jim's situation, or leaving Sam alone at home for a few days.

Shaking his head, he wondered if he'd ever accept that Sam was old enough to take care of himself. His dad's most urgent words, 'Take care of your brother, Dean.' flitted through his mind, but the more rational side of him knew that Sam would be insulted to think Dean thought so little of him that he couldn't even take care of himself at home. Dean took a few sips of his Coke, and felt his hand straying to the cell phone in his pocket.

One quick call wouldn't hurt. He'd just be making sure Sam got home okay – same as if he was still there. Or he could just be calling to say goodnight. Yeah, right, now who's the princess. As he glanced at his cell, he knew the point was moot. He was already out of cell phone range. He'd have to trust that Sammy was okay and working on that test he had coming up the next morning. That image calmed him somewhat and he put the Impala in drive and roared off down the winding mountain road.

The next time Sam came around, someone was shaking his arm. Sam tried to ignore it, he would rather be asleep, but the voice was being more insistent. "Sam. Sam Winchester… you need to wake up. Please, Sam, we need to talk to you for a minute, and then you can go back to sleep. Sam!" The sounds and the smells were different now, and the voice was new, but it wouldn't go away. "Come on, Sam. I know you're hurting, but you need to wake up."

Suddenly his leg and chest came to life in a spectacularly excruciating way. Sam couldn't help cringing from the pain and regretted it instantly when the voice obviously realized that Sam was back with them. "That's it Sam. We can make you feel much better as soon as we can get hold of your parents. Can you give me their phone number so we can help you."

Another voice spoke up. "Come on Sam, none of the other boys has your folks number." The hand on his arm became a gentle squeeze. "Please, Sam, I don't like to see you in pain, and your leg and ankle are already swelling. We'd really like to speak to someone who can approve the needed medical treatment for you right now." There was a slight pause, then, "Sam, if you can't remember, we can send the police out to your house, but it would be faster if we could call at least one of your parents so we can get started now."

Sam groaned. He was so angry he'd let this happen. Dean or his dad were going to kill him. And now the hospital, which he had clearly ended up at despite his best intentions, would not be able to contact either of them. Damn it! The small family always went out of their way to stay under the radar and make sure the schools and especially social services were never aware of their unique life style. The local authorities certainly wouldn't understand their father's quest, or Dean and Sam's frequent autonomy, and unquestionably not their injuries from the hunts they did go on with their dad.

He squinted through half-closed eyes and finally responded. "My mom's dead, I live with my dad and older brother. But, I … I just want to go home now … please."

"Listen, Sam," a middle-aged man with slightly graying hair and a neatly trimmed beard moved directly in front of him. "My name is Dr. Daniel Phillips, and I'll be your doctor. I can't simply let you go home in the condition you're in. I know you can feel your injuries. Moving will exacerbate them and could even cause a life-threatening situation. So, no, you can't leave."

Sam remembered a recent situation where his dad had signed himself out of the hospital days before the doctors felt he'd be ready. "But I can… I can sign papers that say you have to let me go."

"Sam, I'm sorry, you just can't leave yet. I know you're extremely uncomfortable, but you certainly wouldn't feel any better at home until we can treat you here." He looked sadly at his suffering patient. He really needed a parent here. "And in any case, Sam, you're a minor and don't have the legal right to sign yourself out of the hospital."

Damn it! He hadn't though about that. Why did he always have to be too small or too young to do what needed to be done? He always seemed to be the family liability.

"Now if you can remember a phone number that we can use to call your dad, or your brother, I'll have someone call both of them right away." The doctor waited for Sam's response, and failing to get one, he sighed and continued. "Sam, are you listening?"

At a tight nod, he went on. "You don't seem too anxious to have your dad come to the hospital. Can you tell me why?" This didn't seem right. Most kids wanted their family as soon as possible in this kind of situation. "Are you afraid he'll be angry with you for something? Are you … worried he'll be mad, that he might hurt you?"

"No, no .. he's great." Sam blurted, and then took a few more shallow breaths. "We get along great, and Dean already knew I'd be with Mike. It was okay with him. I just know Dad's busy and out of town, and I …"

"Sam, I'm sure he'll want to come home as soon as he hears what happened. Give Gina his number and she'll be right back. He's not going to want you to be in pain any longer than absolutely necessary. Sam, ...please."

Sam finally relented when he realized that it wasn't helping his case to put if off anymore. "Home is 555-704-3826." He'd try to stretch out the facts and maybe by then Dean might be back. They couldn't fault him in this situation for forgetting that his dad was on a business trip. He moved slightly and the pain shot up his leg again making breathing difficult, and with the injuries in his chest, it just added to the fun.

"Okay, Sam, thanks. Hang in their kid, we'll call your house and see how quickly your dad can get out here."

Sam just sighed. This just kept getting better and better. He laid stiffly immobile on his back trying not to move anything that would awaken the spiking pain from earlier. Now how long would it take for them to find out that his dad would not be calling back?