8
Sam felt a lot better, having slept soundly for hours. He looked down at the few stitches in his side, thinking he didn't get much to show for his experience.
Dean would say, -not even a decent scar to impress chicks. He was starting to feel hungry, and he wondered if his brother was awake, --how he was feeling.
He felt stir-crazy just lying in bed, and he sympathized with Dean's plight, trapped as he was in his plaster cocoon. If it weren't for the damned IV he'd have gotten up and checked in on him.
His mind turned again to the whole Gordon episode.
Why had he been so obsessed with hunting him?? His pursuit of Dean—well, that was just plain revenge –not forgivable, but understandable.
But why Sam?? No one understood the significance of his special abilities yet. The fact that this demon had an interest in him and others like him didn't mean he was an active part of something evil. At least that was what Dean steadfastly believed.
It's like the slab of cake that was coveted by a dieter—it wasn't evil. It was just cake. It was the dieter who gave it the capacity for harm. …
He wondered how quickly other hunters would might draw the same conclusion as Gordon. –condemn him as something to be stopped and killed.
Gordon made it his mission simply because he was convinced Sam had the potential for evil. He hadn't actually done evil. That wasn't a fine line—it was a gaping canyon. He wondered--how many others who found themselves in the crosshairs of hunters didn't deserve to be there?
He had shot another human being dead. He didn't feel any great pangs of guilt, --he didn't ask for this fight, and it was self defense,--but he felt-?--well, he didn't know what he felt.
The whole hunting concept was beginning to feel like they were playing god, and maybe they didn't have the right….
Dean would never accept that. He may grudgingly allow some exceptions to the rule, but he was wholly sold on the righteousness of the job. And Sam did have to agree, there were a lot of truly evil things out there;-- creatures, spirits, demons,-- that needed no equivocation. But the unfortunate people who were driven to do evil by some other force beyond their choice and control—how can they be categorized in the same way.?
And hell, if anyone could be condemned for a potential for evil—then you may as well damn humanity in its entirety.
The train of thought was just too heavy, too huge, for Sam to deal with at the moment. It was dizzying. He filed the argument away for later philosophical struggle.
Dean would have made the better lawyer. He was black and white. Sam was drowning in greys.
Too tired for this particular moral battle, he closed his eyes and chose to sleep.
Dean awoke alone. His visitors had left several hours ago, Ellen promising to return this evening.
His newest incision was throbbing sharply, and he was annoyed by the ache in his side where Gordon had so kindly booted him. But pride (and a healthy measure of fear) wouldn't let him call for the current attending nurse. --His charm had no effect on that dour woman at all.
He looked up at the ceiling tiles, tired of counting them—then down at his ridiculous cast, frowning. --Way to go, Winchester. This is MUCH better than the sling—he thought.
Thirsty—he tried to reach the pitcher of ice water on his left, but only managed to knock the cup off the tray. The TV wasn't hooked up. --Nothing to read.
He felt too hot—the cast made him claustrophobic, and his unsettled state was making him paranoid that they would be found out,-their real identities discovered.
Then he'd be recuperating in a jail cell.
Try as he might, he couldn't break out of the negative cycle of thought, and he was starting to feel a little panicky. He sure wished the nurse would come by with that magic needle……
He worried about Sam.
This was Sam's first experience with a bullet wound. Not exactly something you get used to, but Dean had been through it a few times. He hoped Sam didn't have nightmares about this now.
Sighing, he closed his eyes.--willing the restless squirrel in his chest to quit squirming and tap-dance at a normal speed.
A squeaky rattle caught his attention, and he looked up to see Sam shuffle into the room, IV stand in tow.
"Hey Sam—" he said—mood instantly brighter. "You allowed to be up?"
"I don't know—didn't stop to ask.." Sam grinned. He was still wearing his polka dotted hospital gown. He pulled a chair over to Dean's bed and carefully lowered himself into it with a grimace.
"Dude—I hope you at least threw on some boxers—" said Dean, pretending to shield his eyes. He pushed the bed control to raise himself up to a higher position. "seriously—are you ok--?"
"Yeah, Dean—I'm ok.--don't worry, just a knick. Better than you, I think. How long do you have to be in that??"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Three weeks. --Then, if I behave myself I get the sling back.
--Smack me in the head next time I whine about something, will you? -gotta be careful what you wish for…"
"You'd end up with a concussion from all the smacking. What'd you do to your hands?"
Dean looked at them, puzzled by the bandages. " I don't know. Can't remember. They're full of cuts. I'll have to ask Ellen later. --Are you sure you're ok to be here, Sam? --Aren't you freezing? And that's a little more than a "knick" you've got there--let me see it-"
Sam lifted his gown and showed him his wound.
"Geez, Sam—can't even impress women with that little scratch."
Sam laughed, wincing. "I knew you'd say that!" He reached over and stole the blanket off the other bed and draped it over himself. "There. --now I'm good."
Dean brought the subject up…
"--So—Gordon's finally finished. …Uh—thanks, …for that- by the way." Dean said, scratching his head uncomfortably..
" I was gonna kick your ass for running out like that—but I figure it'll have to wait 'til later. --So pencil me in for three weeks from now…"
His expression softened, and he asked gently—
" Are you ok with the shooting thing Sam? It a hard thing to see yourself do, I know…."
Sam thought for a moment.
" Yeah,… I'm ok. It wasn't a hate thing--just self defense. --Defense of you, and the others. I can live with that.
Cops will be asking questions, though. —it was plausible last time—that it could have been a random thing. But this time it's obvious that he came for us. We're going to have to explain that…."
Dean grunted. " Yeah--I was starting to get a little freaked out about being stuck in here. Wonder how soon we can leave…?"
He was interrupted by the arrival of the nurse. She frowned at Sam, and monitored Dean's levels—checking her watch and injecting the IV with a scheduled med..
"Lean forward please" she said to Dean, and she nearly folded him in half before he could comply. He shuddered despite himself while she dressed the incision, which had been left uncovered in the cast. The pressure on his side made him feel queasy. She released him.
"Your temp and heart rate are up. I'll inform the doctor." Then she turned her attention to Sam.
"You shouldn't be up yet. Are you in any pain? " she demanded, taking his pulse and pressing her dry, cool hand to his forehead.
"Really, ma'am—I feel ok. " he protested. " I promise I'll head back in a little while"
She frowned with disapproval at him and left.
"Killer bedside manner." Sam griped.
"--yeah, no kidding. She's a freaking robot. I didn't dare buzz her. Piss her off and she might decide you need an
enema or something."
Dean was glad she came though. The painkiller was a relief. He was feeling a little shaky.
Sam 's stomach was growling. "Are you hungry at all, Dean?"
"Are you kidding? --I saw what they were pushing around on those meal carts—no thanks!. I feel a little off, actually. --Why?—are you planning to sneak out to a burger joint in your tie-on dress and towing your IV?"
"I would if I could get away with it. But no—I think I should probably head back. I'm getting kind of tired, and if they do come by with something they claim is food, -I might want to pick at it before it reverts to wood."
He took off the blanket and dropped it back on the bed, rising uncomfortably to his feet..
"Try to choke something down, Dean. You need it—you look kinda rough.. I'll find out the soonest I can leave here—if you see a doc, you could ask too. Ellen will want to know anyway. I'll see you later."
"Yeah., ok --And Sam…?"
"Mmm Hmm?"
"…the work-socks and dress --not a good look for you."
"Shut up-" Sam snorted.
Sam had just finished eating the plate of wax and styrofoam they called dinner when Ellen came in.
"Hello Sam. Mind some company?"
He assured her it was very welcome.
She looked at his left-overs—making a face.
"Good news. Your doctor says you can already go home tomorrow. I guess they don't keep anyone lying around for long these days. –you know;--stitch your head back onto your neck and shove you out the door with a bandaid and a handful of aspirin. --Do you feel up to that..?"
"Oh yeah" he said, smiling with relief.
"What about Dean?—did you hear anything?"
"They're going to hang onto him for a few more days. Since this is the second time around for him, and with the touch of infection he had last time--they want to make sure he'll be free of that danger before he goes."
Sam thought about that for a moment. It was a bit unusual for Dean to be off his feed for any reason…. maybe it was that antibiotic…
He hoped the doctors were on top of everything.
"He won't like that." he replied, lowering his voice-- "He's worried about the whole ID thing.—if they find out who we are he'll be hauled in to face those old charges. What are we going to say about Gordon?"
"Already handled. When you were brought in I went through your wallets and chose a couple of names that you hadn't used last time." (the wisdom and experience of a hunter's wife..)
" I wanted to make sure there was no link between the two incidents,--it helps that the first was out of state.
And when I had to make my statement to the police, I told them that Gordon had been a regular at the roadhouse—which is true-- until he started getting strange and disruptive—at which point he was no longer welcome. I had plenty of people lined up to attest to the fact that he was irrationally angry about it, that he threatened to come back armed. Which he did. And you were two innocent patrons caught in the middle.
So far, they bought it. Haven't had any other questioning—and with Gordon's history on record as a mental case--they don't seem to need to probe further. Cross your fingers…"
"That sounds pretty solid, Ellen—it's a huge relief. --Better tell Dean asap who he's supposed to be at the moment, so there's no confusion."
He added "I'm glad they're going to watch him a bit longer. He looks –I don't know--greyish—said he felt off. You know him—he won't tell me if he feels sick., or if he hurts. --Maybe you can get more out of him…"
"I'll check him over, Sam"
Ellen reached into her bag and presented him with some fresh fruit: -grapes, an apple and some blueberries. She added crackers, some cheddar and a yogurt. She delighted in his look of appreciation. She knew he liked a healthy diet. She didn't pack any of that for Dean—figuring he was a lost cause. For him she had smarties and a chocolate flavoured Boost meal-supplement shake.
You do what you can, she thought.
"Do you feel like you're on the mend, Sam?—you look stronger." She asked. "...how are you dealing with—everything….?."
Sam was bemused that everyone was so concerned about his psyche. What was he? Some kind of six-and-a-half foot hothouse flower?
"Ellen—I'm just glad its over.--And that none of you were hurt. I have a clear conscience. I wish none of it ever happened—but Gordon was the architect of this.
And I am so ,--so grateful for your help. You're a rock. I'll do everything I can to repay your kindness.--especially because of your help with Dean. Sometimes he…" he trailed off, helplessly.
Ellen understood.
"Sam, our families will always be linked. Any time you need a buffer, or a landing pad—we are here. I know how it is between you and your brother. You and Dean --are so—beautifully, horribly, connected….."
They looked at each other in perfect understanding.
Ellen returned to the here-and-now. "I should check in on him. You're ok for the night, Sam?"
"Better now—thanks Ellen."
"Right then—I'll be back in the morning. Sleep tight."
She ruffled his hair and left.
Ellen knocked softly on Dean's door. When he didn't answer she opened it to find him retching, with a nurse attending him. She retreated hastily, apologizing.
In a few moments, the nurse called for her to enter, mopping his sweating face and filling a cup of water for him. She looked up at Ellen and smiled softly.
" Just the antibiotics. They can be rough. "
She turned back to Dean. " Ok now? "
"--yeah—think so--" he said hoarsely—completely embarrassed.
--Candy-ass, -he thought…
The nurse retreated so that he could have his privacy with Ellen.
He looked miserable. Ellen radiated sympathy. He wanted to crawl under a rock.
"Stupid question—but how are you feeling, Dean?" Ellen chanced.
" A little rough at the moment.." he admitted. " I didn't have this reaction last time."
"Last time you started out stronger. You body has limits, honey, -and you really tested them. Don't be discouraged. We'll have you home in no time."
That was the third or fourth time she used that loaded word. Home. He was comforted, but confused by it.
Ellen pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucking it around him. He was shivering.
"Sam is well enough to go home tomorrow. " she said. " They want to keep an eye on you a bit longer. Your name is Waylon Jensen, by the way— don't know how you come up with these….
I don't want you to worry about anything, Dean. The Gordon saga is over and it has been dealt with --the police have a story they seem to accept, and in it, you two are pretty much anonymous bystanders. They won't be linking you to the first attack., I did my best to make sure of that. --And he can't be arguing my version of events,--so…."
Dean leaned back into his pillow, eyes closed tightly.
"--thanks for taking care of that , Ellen. I was worried…"
"I know.--But don't be. Just relax and get better. We'll spring you as soon as we can."
Sam was right—he was too pale.
She watched him a few moments longer….. then reached out and stroked his cheek. He was so different when he was vulnerable. Just like when he laughed—took years off him.
"Sam is worried you don't feel well, Dean. Anything you want to tell me?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah I feel crappy. What does he think? I'm in a hospital bed wearing a plaster perma-salute! God—I wish he could stop being my mother for five minutes—"
Ellen smiled. "Don't be so testy. He has your best interest at heart."
She got up, preparing to leave for the night.. "Do what they tell you, Dean, -ok? They know what they're doing here. I want you back home as soon as possible, alright?"
"--ok" he whispered.
"Oh,--I brought some snacks for you—I'll just put them on the table for when you feel up to it. I'll see you in the morning. "
He nodded.
Reluctantly, she left him and headed home.
Poor Ash had been left to tend to business alone. He was so brilliant, yet completely lacking in common sense. . She hoped she wasn't coming home to mayhem.
