Thank you so much Jenjoremy for the beta job and Gredelina1 for all your help and support.

You guys love Alfie too! All the reviews I got for the last chapter mentioned him, and that makes me so happy as he has a big part to play in this story, supporting Sam and Dean.

Speaking of reviews, you guys are amazing. For every multi chapter story I post I have a goal of 100 reviews as I think that's a number that will attract more readers, and all I want is for people to read and enjoy my stories. That's a achievement I usually reach well into the story, sometimes near the very end, but this time I am halfway there already. Your support means the world to me and I am so grateful to you that take a moment to share your thoughts xxx


Chapter Three

Alfie was not just a good and kind man, he was also a miracle worker. He obviously held a lot of sway at the hospital still, as Dean was allowed to sit with Sam at any time they weren't running checks or tending to him in some other way, despite the posted notices about limited visitation. He was supposed to be with Sam a total of fifteen minutes every hour, but after a short conversation with Alfie, they had told him that he could stay until they asked him to leave.

Dean had heard parts of the conversation Alfie had with them, and he'd heard words such as 'emotional support' and 'giving time when its needed' and he'd tried not to read too much into it. He chose to think he was allowed to be with Sam as a kindness, not as a mercy because he wouldn't have the chance to be with him for much longer. The problem with that belief was the evidence stacked against when he looked at Sam.

He was lying on the bed with wires and tubes coming from him. He was intubated and his breaths were delivered by a ventilator that clicked and hissed. The heart monitor beeped quietly with each beat of Sam's heart. There were two large electrode pads positioned on Sam's chest, and though Dean hadn't asked, he knew they were attached to the defibrillator connected for an instant reaction should Sam's heart fail. He had IV in each hand, delivering the replacement blood and other drugs and nutrition. Around his arm was a blood pressure cuff that inflated at regular intervals and transcribed the results onto the screen. It was always lower than Dean knew it should be. Running from beneath the bandages that wrapped around his head there were a wire and tube that fed information into a separate machine with a number displayed. A white sheet and blue blanket covered Sam to his torso, and the sheet had little less color than Sam himself. His lips, parted by the intubation tube, were tinged blue, as were his fingertips.

A kind nurse had asked if he wanted all the equipment explained to him, but he had declined. He already knew enough to be scared. He didn't need more added to that.

There was no denying when you looked at him that Sam was desperately ill. To even be in the room, Dean had to wear a gown over his clothes and had been schooled on how to scrub his hands properly before he could even touch Sam. The risk of an infection that Sam was too weak to beat was high. Dean didn't mind any of it. If it would help Sam, protect him, it was worth it.

The gown rustled as he reached across the bed to where Sam's hand lay at his side. His intent was to hold onto it, to forge a connection to Sam despite his unconsciousness, but at the first touch of the cold skin, he pulled back. It felt wrong, a visceral reaction to the loss of Sam's usual warmth. Sam had always run hot. In the very early days of their childhood on the road, when he had shared a bed with Sam to cut down motel costs, he'd struggled with the heat of Sam beside him. He was like a human furnace when he slept. Sam was cold now, and it felt wrong. He wondered about covering him higher with the sheet and blanket, but he was mindful of disturbing him at all. He didn't want to nudge the wrong tube or wire and make something go wrong.

He glanced over the bed at the window set into the wall that allowed him to look out into the hall and the doctors and nurses on duty to look in. There were people moving around out there, and one caught Dean's eye. It was Jean, the RN that had instructed Dean on washing his hands and helped him into the gown. She disappeared from the window and opened the door.

"Are you okay, Dean?" she asked, coming half into the room.

"Sam's cold," he said. "His hands. Can we get him another blanket?"

"We can," she said. "Absolutely. But it's not going to really help his hands. It's the blood loss that's making them feel cold. It has affected his circulation. We'll wrap him up a little warmer though. I'll be right back."

She slipped out and the door closed. When she came back, she had a plastic wrapped blanket in her hands. She tore open the plastic and spread out the blanket over the bed. She covered Sam's legs and lifted the sheet and other blanket a little higher up his chest.

"That'll keep him warm," she said. "Do you need anything?"

"I'm okay," Dean said.

She smiled. "I'll be in to run checks in a few minutes, so you'll have a chance to stretch your legs and maybe get some air."

Dean knew that was her kindly way of telling him he needed to leave the room.

"Thanks," he said.

The door opened again and a nurse Dean didn't know the name of yet stuck her head in. "There's someone here to see you, Dean. He said his name is Garth Fitzgerald and that you called him? I've put him in the family room to wait for you."

"That's perfect," Jean said. "I can take care of Sam while you see your friend."

Dean stood and cast Sam a glance before leaving the room. He tugged off the gown and dumped it in the bin outside the door and wandered along the hall to the family room he'd been using when he'd needed to leave Sam. He opened the door and saw Garth sitting stiffly on a chair with a large brown envelope in his hands.

"Dean!" he said, dropping the envelope down and getting quickly to his feet. "I didn't know you'd come straight away. I don't mean to take you away from Sam."

"It's okay," Dean said dully. "They needed me out so they could check him over anyway."

"It's real bad?" Garth guessed. "I mean it's intensive care, so that indicates bad, but how bad is real bad?"

"He's not good," Dean said. "He had surgery last night, and now they're keeping him in some damn coma so he can heal."

"I'm sorry, man. If there's anything I can do, let me know. If you need to talk or punch something or primal scream maybe, I'm your guy. If you need a hug…" He shook his head. "Sorry. That was a bad joke. Obviously so not the time for jokes right now. But tell me what I can do."

"Did you get a car?" Dean asked.

Garth nodded eagerly. "Yeah. It's no '67 but it is an Impala. It's the 2010 model, and though it's not top of the line, even for that year, it's roadworthy. And it's black. I thought you and Sam would like that."

"Did you get a key?" Dean asked. It was probably too much to hope for, but hotwiring it would look suspicious in the parking lot of the hospital.

Garth frowned. "Of course. I got two." He picked up the brown envelope. "It's registered in my name, obviously, but we can fix that when you have time. Just try not to get too many parking tickets." He grinned and then his face fell as Dean just stared at him. "Sorry, another bad joke."

"You bought a car?" Dean asked.

"Well, yeah, how else was I going to get one?"

"By stealing one?"

Garth shook his head. "I know that's how you and Sam roll, but I'm too pretty for prison. I had the money, so I did it all legit. Now, talking money, do you have your bank details so I can transfer some over to you?"

Dean just stared at him in shock. He had bought a car and now he was talking banks. Who was this guy?

"There's some in the envelope, of course, a few hundred," Garth said. "But you're going to need more."

"I am a hunter, Garth. I don't have a bank account. I have stolen credit cards."

"Oh, wow…" He shook his head. "In that case I'll get you some more paper cash. I can leave it in the car for you, save you having to leave Sam again. Is there anything else you need?"

"Our motel room needs clearing," Dean said. "It's got our weapons duffels in it. We're paid up for the week, but if we don't show up there, they might decide to take a look. We really don't need them snooping." He pulled the keycard from his pocket and handed it to Garth. "Can you get our stuff and leave it in the car, too?"

"Sure, no problem. I'll do that now and bring the car back here for you. How much cash do you think you're going to need?"

"How much can you get?"

"Pretty much whatever you need." He shrugged as Dean looked blankly at him. "I'm on good terms with my folks, and my grandparents own a large chunk of Missouri. I can get money, no problem."

Dean frowned. Garth had never come off as someone with access to vast sums of money. He drove a crapped-out Ranchero.

"How can you have money? Your car…" he said.

"It's a classic," Garth said defensively. "The engine needs a little TLC, sure, but she's my baby. Besides, what's the point in throwing money away on something new when it can be used to help rid the world of evil instead. My folks keep me funded because I'm doing my good work."

"They know?"

"Yeah. They were there for the whole tooth fairy thing. They were disappointed when I gave up on my dentist dreams, but they agree saving the world is more important."

"Tooth fairy? Dentist?" Dean said vaguely.

"I like teeth. I might go back to it one day if I ever have to retire. Anyway, I'll get the cash and motel sorted and bring the car back for you. You need some food or a coffee before I go?" he asked.

"No thanks," Dean said.

Garth tipped the envelope and caught a set of keys in his hand then handed the envelope to Dean. "I'll be back soon," he said. He patted Dean's shoulder and then walked to the door and pulled it open. He stopped halfway out and turned back. "I'm really sorry about Bobby, Dean, and I'm sorry about Sam, too."

Dean scowled. "Sam's going to be fine."

"I know," Garth said quickly. "I'm just sorry anyway."

Dean watched the door swing closed behind him and then a surge of anger rushed through him. To hear Sam grouped with Bobby, as if he was already dead, was wrong. He threw the envelope across the room and bills spilled out. He punched the wall and felt the raw pain cross his knuckles.

"He's going to be fine!" he snapped at the empty room. "He's a fighter!"


Dean was guided out of the room again while Sam was given checks, and he used the time to go to the family room to get himself some coffee. He was running on a day and a half without sleep, and while that was never usually a problem, the emotional stress he'd been through had exhausted him. He drank his first cup down quickly, barely feeling it touching his throat, and then sipped a second. With Garth's money, he had plenty to keep himself caffeinated and fed, though he hadn't eaten yet, certain anything he did eat was going to make him sick. At some point he would need to, and he'd need to sleep, but he wasn't ready yet. He wondered if they'd let him bed down in the family room. He would sleep in the chair next to Sam, but he'd never be able to rest with the constant comings and goings and the sounds of the room.

He drank down the last of his coffee and crumped the cup before tossing it into the trash. His eyes burned with tiredness and he blinked to relieve them as he walked back into the hall, heading to Sam's room. There was someone already outside though, tying the back of his thin gown.

"There you are," Alfie said. "They told me they thought you'd gone for food, but I thought that was a bit optimistic."

"You came back," Dean said.

"Of course, I did. I got a little sleep, had a talk with Elsie, and then headed straight back. I thought you might need a little support." He looked Dean up and down, his eyes resting on Dean's reddened knuckles. "I see you do."

Dean turned his hand to hide the evidence of his anger. "It's nothing."

"Did it help?" he asked.

"Not even a little."

"Then I guess you won't be doing it again," he said. "Now, get yourself gowned up and we'll go in to see Sam."

He held out a plastic wrapped gown and Dean tore it open and pulled it on. Alfie tied the back for him and then, with a nod to Jean, opened the door and gestured Dean inside. Dean knew that there was only supposed to be one visitor in the room at a time, even within usual restricted visiting times, and he thought Alfie must have used his influence and charm to lift the restriction for himself, too. Dean really didn't know what he would have done without him.

Dean went straight to the chair beside the bed and sat down while Alfie pulled one from against the wall to place beside Dean. He didn't sit though. He walked to the monitors beside the bed and examined them with his hands held behind his back.

"How's he looking?" Dean asked.

"He's stable," Alfie said.

"His blood pressure is low," Dean pointed out.

Alfie nodded. "And his ICP high and heartrate a little fast. It's all to be expected though." He went to the end of the bed and picked up the clipboard chart there. He flipped it open with a practiced movement and turned the pages. "They're doing all the right things. They have him on mannitol and dobutamine. The transfusions are making a difference and his CBC is coming up. His GCS is low, but you would expect that with his sedated state. It's all as I would expect." He flipped the clipboard closed and set it back in the holder at the end of the bed before taking a seat.

Dean didn't even try to make sense of what he had heard; he just watched Sam's chest rise and fall with the rhythm of the ventilator.

"Did you understand much of that?" Alfie asked.

Dean shook his head without looking at him.

"Do you want to understand?"

"I guess," Dean said. "I probably should know so I can keep a better eye on him. I know wound treatment better than any other medicine really. The rest I know comes from TV."

Alfie scoffed. "Let me guess, that Doctor Sexy show. People watch too much of that and think they're magically a doctor. They get a headache and think it's a tumor. They have a stomachache and its cancer."

Dean nodded agreement, not really listening.

"Well then, let's educate you," Alfie said. "Sam's ICP—intercranial pressure—is running at twenty-five. Ideally, it would be between five and fifteen. He's had a head injury though, so I imagine it's coming down from what it was before. That's what the mannitol is doing. The low blood pressure is being treated with bolus fluid and dobutamine, and that should help the heart rate, too. The GCS…"

"I've heard of that one," Dean said.

"It stands for the Glasgow Coma Scale. It scores between three and fifteen, with fifteen being you or I right now. Sam is scoring three, which sounds bad, I know, but it's what I would expect with the medically induced coma. We don't know how much of that is sedation and how much his injuries, but it's not a concern right now. When he's ready, they will taper off the sedation and then it will be very important. As for the liver, they've done the repair, and he's not showing signs of further complications."

"What would complications look like?" Dean asked. Now he was told this stuff, scary as some of it was, he wanted to know more so he could really help Sam. If there were things to look out for, he wanted to know them.

"Jaundice would be a big one," Alfie said. "That's yellowing of his eyes and skin. Swelling is another. If his hands or feet start looking puffy, I'd be concerned." He lifted Sam's right hand from the bed and manipulated his fingers. "They look fine though. I know the cyanosis looks bad, but that's the blood loss. As soon as his CBC is back to normal, that will be gone."

"This is a lot…" Dean said.

"A lot to handle, yes. But it seems to me that you're just as strong as you say Sam is. As long as you take care of yourself while you're taking care of him, you'll be able to handle it. And on that note, I have a message from Elsie—You need to rest, too, so you're going to come home with me and get some sleep. We have a guest room that the grandchildren use when they're visiting, and the room's yours for however long you need it." He nodded to himself as he finished. "Message delivered. I'm sure you've got your own place to stay, but the fact you're here alone makes me think you'd be going back to an empty house. You don't need to be alone as well as scared, so come to us. Elsie is making a pot-roast, and she's a wonderful cook, so that'd be a treat for you." He took a breath then said, "Now it's your turn. Tell me why you can't come sample my wife's delicious cooking."

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Alfie, and tell Elsie I am, too, but I can't leave Sam like this. I need to be here when he wakes up."

"He's not waking up yet, Dean. They've got him under sedation."

"I know, but…" He still couldn't leave. Sam might need him. He had to watch him now he knew what to look for. He had to keep him safe.

"You still can't leave," Alfie said, sounding disappointed but resigned. "I will explain to Elsie. You're going to have to meet her sometime though, you know. She's tickled that you're called Sam and Dean, and she's a natural caretaker."

"So are you," Dean said. "Why are you helping me so much, Alfie? It's not that I don't appreciate it, I really do, but I'm a stranger to you. I tried to steal your car even. You're here with me now though, and you've made them let me stay in the room with him. Why would you?"

Alfie considered his words for a few moments before answering. "I told you I'm still a doctor, and I am. I became one because I wanted to help people, and you, Dean, need help. Right now, you're my patient, and I am going to treat you. I prescribe rest and food. You can't come home with me, and I understand that, but you can eat the food I bring you, and you can catch some rest in the family room. Even I wouldn't be able to persuade them to let you sleep in here. Let me visit with you both a while, and then I'll go home and see how Elsie is doing with dinner. When it's ready, I'll bring you some and then you can eat that and rest. We can make sure they know to wake you if anything changes. I can even get hold of something to help you sleep if you need it."

Dean held up his hands. "No. I can't be drugged if he needs me."

"Then we'll count on your exhaustion to do it." He hesitated. "Is there really no one else, Dean? No one I can call to help you?"

Dean shook his head. "There was someone that I already called, but I don't know if I'd even call him a friend. I only met him once before. He helped me out though, but he's not the kind of person I would want here now. Everyone else is gone."

"You've lost a lot, haven't you?" Alfie said.

"Yes," Dean said, seeing the faces of the many people that had lost and how much he needed some of them there right now, thinking of how scared he was that Sam's face would join theirs.

"I'm sorry," Alfie said. "I don't who they were or what happened, but I know they would want to be here with you now if they could."

"I don't know about that. I'm the reason some of them aren't here."

Alfie shook his head sternly. "I don't believe that for a minute. Maybe things happened around you, but that doesn't make them your fault. You're a good man, Dean."

"How do you know?" Dean asked.

"Because I can see how much you love your brother and how scared for him you are. No one that can feel like that can be a bad man. I told Elsie about you, and she said you sound just like the Dean in her books. He did everything he could for his brother, and I know you would, too. You are a good person."

Dean shook his head. Alfie was a good person, a great one, but he didn't understand Dean. He didn't know how many people Dean had let down in his life: Sam included. It was the Lucifer thing that had made Sam crash the car, he was sure, and if he had been a good man he would have done something about it sooner. He would have fixed Sam before something so terrible could happen.

He had failed Sam, again, and as he looked at Sam lying supine on the bed, he knew he couldn't let it happen again. He couldn't lose him as he was all Dean had left.


So… Sam's still sleeping and Dean's slipping. It was great to write Garth though. I rarely have a chance to explore his character. I thought the idea of him coming from money but choosing to use it to hunt suited him. What do you think?

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx