Dean…who was in ICU…on the 3rd floor of this hospital…unconscious and just barely clinging to life…had called and left a message requesting him to phone him back.
How was that even possible?
John mulled over the events of the last few days, trying to find some version of reality amongst all the chaos. But, try as he may, there were just too many unknowns and he realized that he was lacking too many pieces of the puzzle to complete the picture.
But he did know that, for some reason Sam and Dean had decided to confront the demon on their own, without calling him, letting him know or even requesting his help. And when the demon headed to Lincoln, the boys had gone after it.
Bobby had told him that they had contacted him and asked for help because they thought that the demon was holding him captive. They thought that John had gone after it because it was slowly killing all their friends. But, they had managed to entice that girl from Chicago in a protective circle at Bobby's and before she died, she had told the three of them that the demon had taken him to Jefferson. So that's where the boys had headed after they left Bobby's, thinking that they were going to rescue their father.
But John didn't have any idea what had transpired after they left Bobby's up until he had ventured upon the accident scene and found both boys half-dead in the Impala. And ever since then, they had been fighting for their lives in hospital beds just a few floors above him. And they were still there.
Or were they?
John had just left the Intensive Care Unit, where he had seen both Sam and Dean with his own eyes. But the message on his phone indicated that Dean had called just over thirty minutes ago which was approximately the same time that he had awoken from his fitful sleep and wandered back into ICU. He had seen both of his sons lying in their beds, still hooked up to various medical machines and gadgets - and still unconscious. And, judging from his physical condition, there was absolutely no way that Dean could have called him during that time.
So how had he?
John thought back to when the policeman had taken Dean's fingerprints and it didn't appear that he even had any. Now that he thought about it, John didn't think that it was possible to obliterate your fingerprints – no matter what you did. They could be altered or obscured with scars or other disfigurements, but they couldn't be wiped out completely. And from what he had observed, Dean didn't seem to have any discernible fingerprints at all. And that was impossible. For a human being anyway.
Maybe whatever was lying in that hospital bed wasn't really Dean. Maybe it was the same type of entity that John had observed in the Impala before it had disintegrated before his eyes. Maybe it was some sort of supernatural imposter. Only, unlike the replica John had witnessed of himself, this one wasn't dead yet, which was why it still existed.
But it had died. It had gone into cardiac arrest twice in the last two days. And the hospital staff had revived it. So, if it wasn't Dean, why hadn't it dissolved into ashes when its host's body had died and the nurses had used the defibrillator to resuscitate it – just like the one in the car had disintegrated when he touched it?
Or maybe, the 'Dean' that had left the message on his phone was the fake. Maybe it thought that Dean had actually died in the car accident and now it was trying to pass itself off as his son. And this just might be the trap that the demon had planned for him.
Either way, John knew he was going to have to proceed with caution.
So, without bothering to return the phone call to 'Dean', John turned around and headed back into the hospital. He wanted to check on the 'original Dean' and make sure he was still unconscious in ICU. And, if he was, John was going to do a tertiary inspection to see if he could find anything to prove one way or another if this one was his son or not.
As John exited the elevator, he was more than a little relieved to see that the police officer was still located outside ICU. At least that meant that as far as the law was concerned, Dean was still in ICU and hadn't gone anywhere. As he slowly approached the entranceway to the unit, John paused and glanced through the small window in the door. He could see both Sam and Dean lying in their beds. As he placed his hand on the door to push it open, John was suddenly hit with another terrifying thought.
What about Sammy? Where did he fit into all of this? And how could he be sure that the person – or thing - lying on the bed was really Sammy?
John walked silently up to Sammy's bed but he didn't try to touch his youngest son. Instead, he gripped the bedrail and just stood there and looked at him for a moment. Then he quickly glanced over at Dean lying in the bed opposite him. They both sure looked like his sons. If only one of them would wake up. Then maybe he'd be able to figure out for sure if they were actually his boys.
Once again, John stared down at Sam. The doctors thought that there was a good chance he would emerge from his coma soon. And while he had prayed for the doctors to be right, now John found he was having second thoughts. What if this wasn't really Sammy? What if it was actually a demon and the drugs were just keeping it sedated – and harmless – at the moment? What if, once it woke up, it tried to kill him? Or Dean? Or wreck havoc of some other sort on a bunch of totally unsuspecting people?
Or what if it was simply biding its time until the other one had recovered enough from its injuries and woke up too? Were they both some sort of demonic entities that had been sent to inflict some horrible bane on mankind? Or seek revenge on him and his family?
John was developing a really severe headache.
John shook his head to clear his thoughts. As he continued to watch his youngest son, he realized that he had let his imagination go too far. The young man lying in front of him had to be his son. There was nothing to indicate otherwise. His injuries were pretty much consistent with those that would have been incurred in a car crash – except for all the bruising on his face. John hadn't paid too much attention to them until now, but now he was sure that they must be the result of a severe beating. And John didn't know of any demonic beings that would willing undergo an assault like that without killing its tormentor first. Still, John chose to be careful and he cautiously grabbed Sammy's hand, turned it over and inspected it.
At least he could see that this one definitely had fingerprints.
John slowly walked over to Dean's bed and stared down at him. He looked so normal; so much like his oldest son that John found himself disbelieving every thought and fear that had entered his mind during the past twenty minutes. This had to be Dean and the phone message just had to be a mistake. Maybe it had actually been recorded a few days ago and for some unknown reason it hadn't registered on his phone until right now.
John rolled his eyes at himself as he realized just how stupid that last thought was. Even more stupid than thinking that there were demonic entities walking around impersonating his children.
John took hold of Dean's wrist. As he lifted it toward him, he was struck with how hot it was. It felt like he was burning up from fever. But the monitor that was recording his vital signs showed that Dean's temperature was normal – 98.6F – and there was no way in hell that his skin could be this hot if that was an accurate reading. And John knew from experience that most supernatural creatures either had no body temperatures or, if they had originated directly from hell, they were often too hot to touch for long.
John turned his son's palm over and, even though he was becoming more and more convinced that this wasn't really Dean, he was still shocked at what he saw. There were no prints, no marks, absolutely no signs of fingerprints or other indentations that always encompass a person's hand. The skin on the entire hand was immaculate - unblemished and perfect. It looked like the hand on an extremely expensive porcelain doll.
Satisfied for the moment that this couldn't possibly be Dean, John gently placed the arm back down on the bed and hesitantly glanced over the thing's decimated body. As his gaze wondered up to its face, John took a frightening step backwards.
The creature's eyes were open and it was staring at him with a malevolent grin on its face.