Chapter 8

Come undone

No more gas in the rig,
can't even get started.
Nothing heard nothing said,
can't even speak about it.
Out my life, out my head,
don't wanna think about it.
Feels like I'm going insane…

Disturbia, Rhianna


December 2nd 2000

The demon watched as his special child stared off in no particular direction. The child was exhausted. It was written all over his face; the tired way his body slumped against the couch, evidence to the world. Sammy boy was weak and vulnerable, just as he liked it.

Everything that had happened so far was pure luck for the demon. At first he had been disappointed about the whole car thing. If the boy died, then there went his fun and his whole plan. But the boy had remarkably survived and lost his memories no less. Ha! It was too good to be true.

Now he could start with a clean slate, figuratively speaking. At least while the amnesia lasted. He could tell that it wasn't permanent for Sam. The hit to the head had been bad, but not that bad. He would have his memories back before he knew it. That's why he had to work fast.

When Sammy boy did get those memories back though, there would be some new ones to deal with and they wouldn't be pretty. Call it a parting gift if everything didn't go as planned: a plan B if you would. But he wasn't giving up on Plan A by any means. He just liked to have all his bases covered.

Ah, he was rambling.

It was time to get back to work. People didn't just kill themselves after all; at least not normally. He reached out and touched the boys mind.

Time to play.


"Bobby, it's me John," he said roughly. He was talking on a hospital phone.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?!" Bobby answered.

John looked down at the table. He had been waiting to make this call for hours, but he just couldn't wait any longer, no matter how early it was in the morning.

"No, I…" he paused, reorganizing his thoughts. "I need Sam's cell phone number."

He heard a sound of disbelief on the other end.

"And you're calling me for it why?" he asked irrediculously.

Bobby was a close friend of the family. He was like an uncle to the boys. Ever since they had each gotten phones, Bobby had taken it up to call the boys every once in while to see how they were doing.

"Look Bobby," John explained. "My phone is out of action and I can't remember his number off the top of my head and-"

"You don't know your own kid's number?" Bobby said critically.

"Dean programmed my phone," John replied. "You know how I am with technology. I just see a name when I dial."

There was silence for a minute.

"Is something wrong John?" Bobby finally asked.

John sighed.

"It's a long story, just give me number ok?" he said frustratedly.

"Fine, fine," Bobby replied. "Just asking."

John looked at the ceiling.

"You know I can come out where ever you are, help you out of whatever you've gotten into right?" Bobby said.

"The number?" John asked again, ignoring what Bobby had just said.

"All right you stubborn idjit," Bobby said, a hard edge to his voice. He gave John the number and hung up without saying goodbye.

John removed the phone from his ear and set it on the small table he was sitting at. He stared at the slip of paper that had Sam's phone number on it. Bobby was right. What type of father didn't know their own kid's cell phone number?

He put the phone back to his ear and dialed the number that Bobby had given him. It rang on and on. No one answered. He put the phone down and rubbed his face with both his hands. What was he to do now? Dean was in critical condition; his brother M.I.A. Things had just gone downhill all so suddenly.

His family was falling apart at the seams. He couldn't leave Dean to find Sam. What if something happened to Dean while he was gone? What if Sam didn't want to be found?

Why did that kid have to go about causing more trouble than he was worth?

He sucked in a breath of air. Had he really just thought that? Dean would kill him if he knew. He stood up, frustrated, almost knocking over the chair in his rush to stand. Running a hand through his hair, he turned away and started walking. Maybe if he walked fast enough the thoughts in his head would be left behind.


Sam woke up groggily. Opening his eyes, he looked around. Everything was dark. With a groan he stood up, almost falling twice before catching his balance. In addition to his leg, his chest hurt like crazy along with his arm. It was like he had been thrown into a wall or something. He stumbled around the couch, feeling the wall for a light switch. Once he found one, he flipped it on.

The light revealed a room in chaos. As he studied his surroundings further, he found that he was in the middle of what looked like the after math of a hurricane. Papers were strewn all over the floor, furniture upended and pillows ripped open. Pictures on the wall were hanging uneasily from their nails while other frames were lying on the floor below, glass spilled around them from the impact of hitting the ground.

Strange.

Maybe that's why he hurt so much. Maybe he had been involved in whatever had ransacked the room. Maybe this was his apartment.

Peeking into the kitchen, he saw that the struggle hadn't only taken place in the main room. There were several dishes broken on the floor. A lone drawer stuck out beside the oven. Avoiding the broken plates, he looked into the drawer. It was a knife drawer.

He went back to the other room and down a hallway. He felt for a switch. As he stumbled onward toward an open door at the end of the hall, he couldn't help but notice a bloody hand print that was smeared across the door.

He looked at his hands. They were both free of injury. A dark thought started creeping in on his mind. He hobbled on.

The sight that met him when he finally reached the room at the end of the hall was not a sight for the faint of heart. When he had first entered the room, he had found what he thought was a sleeping person lying on top of the bed.

When the lights had come on, the sight before him completely changed. The bed was covered in red. Blood was spattered on the wall behind the bed. Laying on the bed was a horribly mutilated body. Judging by the long dark hair splayed around the head of the body, it had been a woman, but that was all he could tell. He turned away from the awful sight and assessed the rest of the room.

On the other side of the bed, he found a long knife. It looked like whoever had killed the woman had used it as the weapon of choice.

Glancing at the woman again he felt guilt rise up within. He felt sorry for the woman. No one should have to die that way. He wished he had been there to protect her. He thought back to how he had woken up. Maybe had tried, but had been knocked out before the killer went onto his heinous act.

He left the room and searched the apartment to make sure that the killer wasn't still there. When that was done, he looked for where the killer had gotten in from. A thought tugged at his mind, but he ignored it.

No one had forced their way in. The windows were all locked and closed, the door bolted shut. The thought became more persistent. As he sat down on the couch heavily, the thought became known.

Had he killed the woman?

He looked at himself again. He had no blood on himself. But he was pretty beat up. Judging by the appearance of the living room, a enormous struggle had taken place. Maybe he and the woman had fought, causing his injuries, before he had finished her off.

He shook his head. He wasn't a murder. He didn't have a murderous thought in his head. In fact, there weren't many thoughts in his head at all and the ones that were there were confused and lost. He had no clue why he was here, or what he was doing here. He didn't remember the woman at all, and worst of all, he had no clue who he was.

Just what had happened here?

While he was curious for the answers to his questions, he knew he would get nowhere by sticking around here. As quickly as he could manage, he went back to the main room, grabbed a large coat and took the boots that were next to it.

The sun had barely started to rise.


John stood by the window looking out at the city beyond. Dean had been put in a semi private room, which meant that he shared the room with another patient. Only a curtain separated the two beds.

Currently, Dean was not in the room. He had been wheeled out for some tests and an x-ray. At any moment he would return. John had taken the nurses word that Dean would be back in no more than 30 minutes to heart.

As he stared out at the busy city, his thoughts drifted to his youngest. Where was he? Was he ok? Dean would not be happy if he woke up without Sam at his side. Now that he had some quiet time to think about everything that had happened in the past few days, he couldn't deny the growing guilt he was starting to feel.

He had been hard on the kid these past few weeks. In general he always was. But to go out on a hunt without letting his son know anything about it? He put himself in Sam's place. How would he have felt watching his dad and brother head out into a brewing storm without know where they were going or when they would be back? And to be left so alone? How could he have been so callous to do that to his own son?

He needed to find him

The TV in the other half of the room suddenly caught his attention. It was the local afternoon news. He had been listening in on it partially while he organized his thoughts. The anchorwoman was talking about a murder.

"Police are investigating a tragic fire that claimed the life of a local woman. Police say that Ashley Tolman's mutilated body was discovered by her fiancé who had come to take her to work. The victim had been in Omak visiting family for the thanksgiving holiday and had just driven back to Spokane the previous night. "

"Police say that it was after the victims fiancé had discovered the body that the fire started. According to the fiancé, the victim's body somehow rose to the ceiling before flames surrounded and consumed it. The victim's fiancé was only barely able to escape the flames."

"The police are treating the case as a suspicious death due to the circumstances surrounding it. The victim's fiancé has been taken in for further questioning. He is their only suspect at this point due to his strange retelling of events."

John froze as he heard the part about the woman having burned on the ceiling while the fiancé watched. It couldn't be, could it? How did he know where they were?

Things had changed now. Sam would understand. This was his chance to finally rid the world of the demon that had taken his Mary.

Within minutes a doctor and nurse came into the room, wheeling a still unconscious Dean between them. While the nurse got Dean settled, the doctor updated John on Dean's condition.

"His system is very weak right now due to his organs partially shutting down yesterday," the doctor started. "But we've managed to stop that. He has a mild case of pneumonia right now; we've started him on antibiotics. With everything that has happened to him, we're pretty lucky that we don't have to have him on a ventilator."

John nodded, grateful.

"So he's getting better?" he asked hopefully.

The doctor nodded.

"Barring any complications, he should be fine in no time," the doctor answered, "It will take a while though before he's back at the top of his game."

"How long will it be before he wakes up?" John asked.

The doctor looked at Dean then back at John.

"He was in a light coma when he arrived. We put him in a deeper medically induced coma to make sure he gets the rest he needs without having any stress on his body," the doctor explained.

John sighed.

"How long will he stay that way?"

"For next few days at least," he answered. "Once we have his pneumonia under control and if his body keeps improving like it has," he paused to think, "Probably on Sunday or Monday we'll take him out of the coma."

John nodded.

"Thanks doc."

The doctor nodded and left the room with the nurse.

Now alone with his son, John stood and stared. Dean looked so young just lying there with all the tubes and wires surrounding him. He thought of the demon. He had to get it for all their sakes.

But he couldn't do it alone. He would need backup, experienced backup.

Another phone call was in order.


Sam walked listlessly down the street as he had been doing since the morning. He couldn't get the image of the dead woman out of his head. He feared, though he couldn't remember doing anything of the like, that he had killed that woman. Call it a gut feeling.

He didn't have any clue where he was. He supposed he was walking on one of the main streets though, judging by the amount of cars that passed him by.

In his efforts to distance himself from the dead woman's house, he had crossed a highway and walked a maze of small roads to get to where he was now. The whole place seemed to be made up of quaint houses and Christmas trees. Snow covered every front lawn he had seen so far.

Thankfully, the sidewalks were relatively free of snow and ice. He didn't know if he would have been able to make it as far as he did with his body the way it was if he had had to deal with those hazards..

Right now, what he really needed was a good rest. He reexamined his surroundings. To his left there was a parking lot. It was change in scenery. He was so used to seeing nothing but rows and rows of houses. On the other side of the parking lot, was an open field filled with huge Christmas tree look-a-like trees. Further in, there was a set of playground equipment. He concluded that it must be a park.

He pushed onward, stepping off the sidewalk and into the parking lot. Once in the park, he looked around for a nice spot to sit that wouldn't be too visible from the road.

A short walk around the trees later, he found a nice thick tree that didn't have too much snow around its trunk. Sitting himself down, he leaned against the tree and laid his head back. He closed his eyes.

Sleep sounded so good right now.


John put the phone down. It was second time he had tried to call the man. Either he was busy on some new hunt or he just didn't want to talk to him. Putting it back to his ear, he dialed again and left a short message, before putting the phone down for the last time.

He was itching to get out and find the demon, but he knew it would be suicide to go up against it just by himself. If it was only himself, he would go in a heartbeat, but he had Dean and Sam to think about.

He walked down the hall wearily.

Just as he was about to turn into Dean's room, there was a commotion in the room across the hall. A person ran out screaming for a doctor. Suddenly, a group of nurses and a doctor appeared down the hall.

John turned away from the commotion. It was too close to home for him to stomach watching. If things had been different, and there was no guarantee that Dean was out of the woods yet, he could've been the one facing that scene, all alone. He suddenly felt very lonely.

Where ever Sam was, he hoped he was ok.


Sam woke to the feeling that someone was shaking him. Suddenly he was waving his arms about, trying to fight off whomever it was that had invaded his personal space.

"Whoa!" a voice exclaimed. "Calm down! I'm not gonna hurt you!"

Sam finally opened his eyes and froze. It was a police officer. He sucked in a breath of air.

"Look kid," the officer started. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't dead, ok?"

Sam nodded, still cautious.

"You ok?" the officer asked at the silence from Sam.

Sam knew that a nod wouldn't cut it this time.

"Yeah," he said hesitantly.

"Cause if you're not, I could take you some place," the officer offered. "Someplace warm and-"

"I'm fine," Sam said interrupting. It was time to improvise. "Really, I just was tired of class. Needed someplace quiet to think."

The cop nodded.

"Don't let me catch you like this again?" the cop finally said. "Almost gave this old officer a heart attack thinking I found a dead body."

Sam looked at his feet.

"Sorry."

The officer stood up.

"Take care of yourself son," he smiled and then walked away.

Sam frowned as he watched the man disappear out of view. Those words; he had heard them before; it was just on the edge of his memory. If he tried hard enough, he could remember another man, one who meant a lot to him, saying those words; only it had been said differently.

He shook his head. He was getting a headache trying to remember. He pushed himself up off the ground, using the tree for support. He had to get out of here. No way would that cop let him go so easily if he saw him again.

He started walking.

As he wove through the trees on his way to the street he thought of what his future had in store. How could he move forward when he had no clue what lay in his past?

He kept walking.

After all, if you didn't know where you were going, it didn't much matter what path you took did it?


He got up from the chair he had been sitting in for the past few hours. He had just woken up from a nap that he had told himself would only last an hour. It had lasted much more.

He stretched his arms over his head and looked at Dean. Nothing had changed.

He walked to the TV in the corner of the room and turned it on. Their neighbors had long ago turned off their TV. He changed channels until he found something at least a little bit worthwhile then went back to his chair and sat down. He had barely gotten into the movie he was watching when a nurse pulled the curtain back.

"We have someone on the phone who wants to talk to you Mr. Winchester," the nurse informed.

Curious, John got up and followed her out the room and down the hall to where the phone was. As soon as she left him, he picked up the phone. He answered hesitantly.

"Who is this?" he started.

A grunt on the other end, told him all he needed to know.

"Bobby?" he asked. "Where have you been?"

"Where have I been?" Bobby replied affronted. "I would ask the same of you."

John was confused.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"John, I talked to Pastor Jim," Bobby said.

"Pastor Jim?" John said confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you have been treating Sam horribly the past few weeks and then you call me asking for his number," Bobby explained. "John, where is Sam right now?"

John paused shocked.

"John," Bobby pressed. "Where is Sam?"

"You called Pastor Jim because I called you for Sam's number?" John said, avoiding the question.

There was a moment of silence.

"I heard it in your voice," Bobby said."I knew something was wrong with Sam. You wouldn't tell me, so I figured Jim would know. Apparently, Sam has called him more than enough times in the past few weeks just so he talk to someone who would listen."

John was silently fuming. How dare Bobby go behind his back in such a manner.

"I know what you're thinking John," Bobby said, "But Sam is like family to me, I just worry about him sometimes."

John sighed. He couldn't fault the man for that, but at the same time, he couldn't let the conversation stay on its current path.

"The demon is here Bobby," John said changing the subject abruptly, "In Spokane."

There was a pause.

"The demon," Bobby responded, "You mean the demon, yellow eyes himself?"

John nodded even though he knew Bobby wouldn't be able to see it.

"It looks like it," he answered.

"And you want my help," Bobby stated.

"I've been calling you since this afternoon," John said.

He heard a sigh on the other end.

"Where in Spokane are you?" he asked finally.

John sighed. This would go over well.

"I'm at Spokane Valley hospital," he answered.

"Hospital?" Bobby asked right away then he paused seeming to put things together. "Its Dean isn't it?" he finally said. "And Sam's not with you is he?"

He could never fool Bobby.

"How long do you think you'll take?" John asked.

He waited while Bobby thought for a minute.

"I'll be there by lunch time tomorrow," Bobby finally answered.

"See you then," John replied.


His eyes were void of all emotion as he entered the house. Walking stealthily into the kitchen, he searched the drawers until he found a suitable knife. Then he went down the hall into the bedroom to wait.

Whoever entered the bedroom next would not be leaving it alive; or dead for that matter. Sam sat on the bed patiently, knife at the ready. He already did this once. That was for practice.

This was for fun.