Spitting Image

Disclaimer: See Prologue

Chapter 10: The aftermath

The hot, damp silent darkness that was keeping Dean captive loosened its grip a little. The darkness seemed to lift to a dark charcoal gray rather than black on black and it was not so all encompassing and the silence was infiltrated by the sound of distant echoing voices. The damp heat still pushed down on him pressing him down and his side onto something hard and unyielding. The darkness lifted a little more as light filtered through his closed lids and the voices became clearer and closer; he could hear and understand some of the words they were saying.

"I see the kidney and there's the tear," A note of triumph lit the vaguely familiar deep male voice.

The last fuzzy memories he had before the darkness had closed in played across his mind and behind his closed eyes. He remembered Sam he remembered leaning against Sam and Sam's strong arm supporting him as his body failed him; he remembered Sam's worried face as he saw the blood in the toilet Sam's hand clamped around his arm and then a feeling of falling. Sam's face was replaced by a round smiling face surrounded by a mass of blond curls, a voice deep and resonating, sounding like Darth Vader, the same voice he had just heard say something about a kidney. Not keen on kidneys or any kind of offal for that matter. Okay Dean you need to forget about kidneys, and concentrate… where is Sam? God I hope he's alright? His thoughts of Sam, his health and safety were interrupted by a new sensation pulling at him and beginning to override everything else, something that hadn't been there before. Pain. It centered on his side, not the side pressed against that hard surface but his other side, sharp and intense it radiated into his very core. His heartbeat sped up and pounded hard against his eardrums. He almost missed the new, unfamiliar high-pitched squeaky female voice.

"His heart rate's rising."

The pain intensified even more causing him to tense his muscles and groan into whatever that was pressed hard onto his mouth and nose. He tried to open his eyes to find out what the hell was happening to him; it hurt so God-damned much, but he had no strength not even for that small movement.

Squeaky voice must have heard his moan of pain as a cool hand was placed on his burning forehead and she sounded closer like she was leaning over him, "Oliver… I think he's awake."

The pain retreated, the man's voice sounded incredulous. "What?" His next words sounded closer as well like he too was leaning over him, "Dean… can you hear me?"

"Yeah I can hear ya', Darth," He said in his mind but not with any part of his vocal equipment. Stop whatever the hell it is you're doin' will ya, hurts. Where's Sam?

Bright light pierced his brain for a few long seconds as his eyelid was lifted and then allowed to fall closed.

The man must have sensed or seen a sign that he could hear his silent plea for him to stop; when he spoke again a note of tense anxiety laced the deep voice, "My god he is, more Fentanyl 20 ccs."

The cool hand still pressed against his forehead lifted away and he instantly missed the tiny amount of comfort it had provided; four heartbeats later he felt a ribbon of fire running up his arm; it exploded at the base of his skull, sending tendrils of fire creeping into his brain coating his senses and causing the voices to grow once more indistinct, distant and echoing; as the fire receded his tensed muscles began to relax to the point where they went limp and he fell back into the suffocating hot, damp, silent and pain free darkness.

-SI-

Sam had no idea how long he sat on the floor outside the surgery doors his hands pressed against his eyes. From beyond the surgery doors he could still hear the odd question or request from Dr. Bradstreet and the squeaky reply from Violet. Sometime later he got to his feet and like a Zombie made his way down to the end of the hall and into the lounge. The room was bright and cheery; the walls painted in lemon, two two-seater sofas' and three lounge chairs covered in a tropical print fabric looked comfortable and inviting. Against one wall was a table with a self-serve coffee machine half a dozen white mugs and in the center of the room was a low bamboo table with two neatly stacked piles of magazines and a vase of fresh flowers. Framed prints of South American birds including Macaw's and other brightly colored Parrots graced the walls.

Sam ignored the seating, coffee and the magazines. He began pacing the room between one of the sofas' and the bamboo table. How long had it been since they started the surgery? He glanced at his watch 10.47 which gave him no clue as he had no idea what time it had been when he'd left the operating room.

After twenty minutes of pacing Sam felt his strength desert him in a rush and not the pleasant welcome kind of rush. His legs were suddenly weak and shaky, he was lightheaded and dizzy, he was on the verge of collapse. He reached out a trembling hand towards the arm of the closest chair turning lazy circles in front of his eyes. He turned his failing body and half sat half fell into it catching his hip painfully on one arm, he bent forward and took several deep breaths to clear his head and calm his jangled nerves.

The strain of the last twenty four hours had taken its toll on his body and soul. His nerves felt pulled tight and as taught as bow strings ready to snap at any second. For the last twelve hours his system had been running on adrenaline and worry and that adrenaline now exhausted Sam was running on empty it had been probably 24 hours since he had eaten or drank anything and his body was telling him it needed refueling and rest.

After a few minutes the shaking stilled and his head stopped spinning, he slowly sat up and his eyes fell onto the coffee machine across the room, maybe it would help, at least it was something wet, he had to do something to keep himself alert until Dr. Bradstreet came and told him the outcome he longed to hear, Dean would be okay.

He dragged himself out of the chair and across to the beckoning coffee machine, he took one of mugs, pouring himself some with hands that still shook just a little. He lifted the steaming mug to his lips the fresh coffee aroma assailing his senses.

The lip of the mug touched his bottom lip when in the corner of his eye he saw movement in the doorway.

Putting the mug back down he turned towards the blood spattered gowned figure filling the doorway.

His fatigued brain couldn't tolerate the sight of Dean's blood spread across the man's large girth, so Sam searched Dr. Bradstreet's face looking for some kind of sign as to how the surgery had gone but he couldn't tell anything from the man's inscrutable expression, so he waited for the doctor to speak.

The doctor shuffled into the room and up to Sam, he laid a large hand on Sam's shoulder and gently squeezed, then he gave a reduced version of the smile Sam had seen when he introduced himself, "He came through the surgery okay, I have repaired and stitched the kidney and I've cleaned and irrigated the wounds in his hands cleaned and applied burn dressing to the cauterized wounds."

Sam didn't realize he was holding his breath until he opened his mouth and exhaled in a hurry, "How is he, doctor?"

"He's not out of the woods yet, complications could arise but at the moment he's holding his own, he's tenacious and a fighter that brother of yours, the next twelve hours will be crucial."

Sam latched onto one word. Complications. "What kind of complications?"

"Shock, the blood loss, which both could lead to cardiac arrest and that infection which is still a major worry," The doctor eyes told Sam there was more.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Sam prompted he wanted to know everything.

Dr. Bradstreet seemed surprised that Sam picked up that he hadn't told him everything. "We had a bit of a problem during the surgery."

Sam felt his stomach drop and his mouth went dry, "What kind of a problem?"

"He umm… woke up."

"He woke up, oh God; do you think he… felt anything?" Sam searched the doctor's face looking for the truth.

"Maybe for a minute, but we administered more Fentanyl as soon as we realized what was happening."

The thought of Dean waking while they had him opened up and feeling what they were doing to him even just for a minute made Sam sick to his stomach. The doctor's face swam in and out of focus before his eyes.

Dr. Bradstreet saw the little color left in Sam's strained face drain away leaving him white and green around the mouth. He took Sam by the elbow and guided him into the nearest chair.

He felt Dr. Bradstreet's firm grip on his arm and the next thing he knew he was sitting and his head was being forced down between his knees, "Take deep breaths." His deep, calm voice penetrating Sam's foggy, spinning world. Doing as he was told he kept his head down and breathed deeply after a while he lifted his head, the doctor was crouched down in front of him his large face worried. "Better?"

Sam nodded, "Can I see him?" He asked.

"Not just yet, we have to finish up and then we're going to transfer him to a cot in the next room, give us about another ten, fifteen minutes, I'll come get you when we're ready."

Sam nodded again unable to speak.

Dr. Bradstreet patted Sam's arm and got to his feet. Sam watched the doctor's broad back as he left the room.

-SI-

The next time Dean surfaced he was no longer lying on his side, or on that hard surface, beneath his body was something soft and pliant. For the first time in recent memory, memory which was kinda vague and disjointed, he felt comfortable and warm, not that suffocating heat that had pressed down and plagued him before. A kaleidoscope of rainbow patterns swirled and blended together across the inside of his closed eyes. But there was a noise no two noises interrupting the tranquil peace and gradually working their way into his brain, one was like the constant hissing of an angry snake the other a see-saw sound up and down rising and falling and a smell a clean smell surrounded him, he knew that smell, antiseptic, hospital grade, the smell Dean always associated with well what else but hospitals. Sam must have bought him to the hospital after he had collapsed in the bathroom.

There was a rustle of clothing and light breathing nearby; someone was standing close. Hope it's a hot nurse, a female hot nurse not some wannabe Gaylord Focker. Something soft and warm brushed against the skin of his arm lifting it, fingertips? The fingertips gently wrapped something around his upper arm it tightened around his arm to the point of being uncomfortable before it was released with a swoosh of escaping air, the cool fingers touched him again and the thing was removed from his arm. Cool, sweet air was feeding into his mouth and nose via what could only be an oxygen mask it was that making the hissing noise; he inhaled the pure air gratefully.

A soft, cool hand was laid on his forehead; it rested there for a few moments before lifting away, the touch or the sentiment it offered seemed familiar. It was suddenly paramount he find out who that touch belonged to; he forced his reluctant and uncooperative eyes open.

An unusual pointy face swam into his vision, for a moment Dean felt as though he'd fallen through the looking glass and woken up in wonderland. He had no doubt it was a woman, thank god it's not Gaylord Focker, short brown hair graying at the front hairline framed the thin, pointy face. Her eyes were focused on something slightly above her eye level and to his left. As her eyes travelled downwards he felt the push and pull on the skin in the crook of his elbow. As if she sensed his scrutiny her brown eyes slid to his face and she smiled, "Welcome back Dean, how do you feel?" Her southern accent high-pitched and kind squeaky and just a little grating.

Dean ran his tongue across his dry lips, they felt cracked and rough. He swallowed in an attempt to encourage saliva into his mouth to answer her question, what came out through the oxygen mask was dry and raspy, "Awesome."

She smiled again, "Sure you do, you thirsty?"

Dean nodded.

"Are you in any pain?"

He considered the question assessing his current situation before giving the same answer he always gave by shaking his head.

She gave him a look that said 'I know your lying,' before walking behind him and manually lifting the back of the bed up so that he was in a semi sitting position.

The change of position and the flare of pain in his side and thigh caused the room to spin alarmingly; Dean groaned and closed his eyes waiting for it to pass. When he opened them again the little pointy faced lady was leaning over him her lean unusual face filled with concern, she was ever so gently rubbing his forearm.

"Pain and dizziness?" She asked.

Dean nodded yes; it was all he was capable of, "It should pass." She continued the soothing rubbing motion on his arm.

Damned if she wasn't right, because after a little while the room stilled and the pain subsided.

"Better?"

"Yeah err… thanks…?" He croaked.

"Violet, I'm going to give you some ice chips for that dry throat, but first I want to take your temperature, I don't want the ice to give a false reading."

Violet lifted the mask down off his face letting it rest against his throat and then pushed the thermometer under his tongue; while she waited she lifted his wrist and took his pulse sliding her fingers under the edge of the bandage wrapped around his hand.

Dean had a thousand questions running around in his foggy pain filled mind. Where's Sam? Where am I? How did I get here? What the hell happened?

lying his wrist back down against the skinny cot she retrieved a chart from the table beside her scribbled on it and then took the thermometer out of his mouth peering at the read out and before scribbling it on the chart again, "Pressures coming up, heart rates coming down and your temperatures down to 101.7."

"I take it that's… good?" He asked.

"It's most certainly a vast improvement."

She put down the chart and picked up a small plastic cup inserted a plastic spoon and fed him some ice chips, he let the ice melt on his tongue, its coolness slithered down his throat, she fed him a second spoonful, "Not too much at first, I'll give you more in a little while."

Violet repositioned the oxygen mask before Dean could ask the burning question. "Where's Sam?"

Dean took a deep lung full of oxygen, "Where's Sam; where's my brother?"

She gave a little laugh, "He said you'd ask that as soon as you woke up."

Dean didn't return her laugh, with a worried frown he asked again. "Where is he?"

She gestured to her right, "He's right here."

Dean turned his head in that direction not six feet away Sam was stretched out on an identical cot to his own; his body turned in Dean's direction his large feet hanging a half a foot over the bottom edge, the small cot not made to accommodate a man of his lofty height. The see-sawing noise he'd heard when he'd woken was emanating from his long, little brother's half open mouth. Sam was fast asleep.

He heaved a sigh of relief as he took in the dark smudges shading his eyes his face drawn and pale.

Violet was also looking at Sam, "The poor boy was exhausted; but Oliver had to practically force him to lie down and rest; he only agreed if he was allowed to be in the same room with you. He made me promise to wake him when you did."

"No, let him sleep, he looks like he needs it," Dean dragged his eyes away from Sam and back to the little lady.

"I promised him," She said.

"Please don't." Dean's green eyes pleaded.

She searched his face for a moment or two, "Alright."

Dean gave a smile, a reduced version of the Dean Winchester lady killer megawatt smile and then he glanced around the room. A soft light seemed to be coming from slightly behind him it didn't look like a typical hospital room, although it smelled like one. His hand felt heavy as lead as he lifted it examining the bandaging, "What is this place, it's not a hospital?"

"No it's a clinic, my husband's clinic."

"Your husband's a doctor?"

"Yes Oliver Bradstreet." Violet said.

Dean's eyebrows drew together in thought, "Bradstreet… I've heard that name before?"

Violet was bustling around straightening the cotton blanket covering him from the waist down. Dean frowned down at the numerous scars peppering his bare chest and torso; he would have fresh ones to add to the collection. "Oliver said he didn't think you'd remember but you met him yesterday."

A vague picture of a round face and blond curls and a deep voice popped into his head.

A moment later he enquired, "How did I get here?"

"Sam brought you in your car."

"And how long have I been here?"

"Since last evening," Violet replied.

"What time is it?"

"Three am."

Dean became aware that the dull pain in his side that was growing with every breath he took. Something was nagging at the back of his mind the pain felt… familiar. He also remembered a high, squeaky voice he now knew belonged to Violet, "Oliver… I think he's awake." He mentally shook himself to dispel the audio playback, going back to his previous train of thought, "How did Sam know to bring me here?"

"Matthew called Oliver and asked him to come see you at the motel," Violet said.

"Matthew… Matthew Archer?"

"Yes. Oliver told Sam to bring you to the clinic so he could better treat you."

"I don't remember any of that," Dean closed his eyes concentrating to try to block out the pain pulsing through his side and the pain in his left thigh.

"I'm not surprised you were running a very high fever and unconscious, Sam and Oliver had to drag you in here."

Dean opened his eyes, Violet was at the bottom of the cot she was inspecting a clear bag filled half way pale yellow streaked with red and pink, a tube protruded from the bag snaking it's way under the blanket at Dean's feet. Realization hit Dean he knew what that tube was connected to; he had a catheter up in there. I hate those freakin' things. He felt a sudden unreasonable embarrassment, somehow he knew that Violet had been the one that had inserted it, had handled and was intimately familiar with that particular body part.

She picked up the chart again and scribbled on it again.

Dean tried to cover his embarrassment, "So you and Oliver are friends of Matthew?"

"Friends and family by marriage, Lilia, Matthew's wife is my second cousin." Dean was having trouble concentrating on the conversation as the pain grew it was starting to overwhelm him; and the older wound in his shoulder had decided to was stand up to be counted. He closed his eyes again, not realizing the pain was showing on his face.

He felt her small soft hand on his forehead, "It's okay to admit you're in pain." He dragged his eyes open and saw the kindness and caring in her brown eyes.

In pain was an understatement, he felt as though his side was going to burst open and his innards were going to splatter out all over Violet, the cot, the blanket, Sam and anything else within a half mile radius. She lifted her hand away from his forehead gently patted his stubbled cheek, "I'll give you something."

Dean glanced across at Sam who was still snoring loudly, dead to the world.

Violet came back with a syringe, Dean dragged his eyes away from Sam and watched as she injected it directly into the IV line. "It's Morphine so it will work quickly. She wasn't kidding almost instantly he felt his senses dull along with the pain, then his eyes grew heavy and even if he'd wanted too he couldn't keep them open, he decided he didn't want too and he let them slide closed, feeling the pain melt away, the last thing he knew was Violet's cool hand was back smoothing the hair away from his forehead.

-SI-

He'd fallen asleep. Opening his eyes he blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling above him taking a few seconds to orient himself to his surroundings. The clinic, The Bradstreet's clinic… Dean!

Turning his head his eyes went straight to the cot across the room now lit with daylight. He sighed Dean was still there he hadn't been spirited away by a hoard of demons or monsters while he slept.

Sam was surprised he had slept while his brother lay desperately ill not six feet away, but he's slept deep and dreamless, the sleep of pure physical and mental exhaustion.

Throwing back the cotton blanket that Violet must have pulled around him during the night he went to stand beside Dean, assessing his brother's current condition; Dean's face was pale his freckles standing out across cheeks no longer stained with the unnatural flush of fever, long eyelashes lay against the indigo colored bruised looking skin under his eyes, he looked ill, but at least peaceful and comfortable.

Sam's assessment was interrupted, "You're up, feel better now?" Violet said moving across the room to stand on the other side of the cot looking at Sam much the same way he had just looked at Dean.

He felt his cheeks flare with embarrassment remembering his childish behavior last night or was it early this morning; objecting and kicking up a fuss when the Bradstreet's had told him to go upstairs to their spare bedroom and get some sleep. The kindly couple had already fed him insisting he eat. He'd come close to stamping his foot like a five year old in the throes of a tantrum insisting that he was not going to leave Dean and he had to be in the same room as his brother, he had to be near him if he awoke.

The Bradstreet's had seen beneath the childish tantrum at how distraught he was so they agreed and brought another cot into the room. Sam had lay down turning towards his brother and fell asleep almost instantly.

"I… I apologize for last night I behaved childishly, I'm sorry," Sam said head lowered unable to look Violet in the eye.

She reached across Dean and patted his arm, "No need Sam I understand."

Sam lifted his head and smiled at her gratefully before looking back down at Dean, "How's he doing?"

"At this point… as well as can be expected, he woke up briefly in the early hours."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Sam asked.

"I was going to but Dean insisted I let you sleep, he said you looked like you needed it," Violet answered.

Sam shook his head, "Typical Dean always puts me and everybody else before himself." Sam said more to himself than Violet.

"I gathered as much," Violet said glancing down at Dean's pale, handsome face.

Sam sighed and ran his hands through his sleep tussled hair.

Violet saw the frustration in the quick movement, "Sam I had to give Dean a shot of Morphine for the pain so he'll be out for hours yet, why don't you go upstairs and get cleaned up? She suggested, "I'll have a nice breakfast ready when you get done?"

"Thanks but I think I'll go back to the motel to shower and change, besides I don't want you to go to any more trouble you and the Dr. Bradstreet have done so much already."

"Okay but be back here in an hour for breakfast," Violet said.

"Please it's not necessary," Sam objected.

"I insist," She said waving him away. "Now go on scram and I'll see you in an hour."

Sam reached out and gave Dean's arm a quick squeeze, "I'll be back soon bro." He smiled at Violet and headed for the front door pulling the keys to the Impala out of his pocket where he'd put them before dragging Dean into the clinic.

-SI-

When Dean next fought his way out of the Morphine induced stupor, the room was light and bright sunshine peeped in around the edges of the half closed vertical blinds adorning the window opposite where he lay. The day was well under way, but he had no idea what time it was or how long the Morphine had held the pain and his consciousness at bay. He felt no pain at the present time, a kind of heavy lethargy seemed to be keeping him in its grip. He rolled his weighted head to the left expecting to see Sam still stretched out on the cot across the room but the cot was empty the covers discarded in a lumpy pile.

He rolled his head back and gazed at the white ceiling, remembering the conversation he had with the kindly Ferret faced Violet sometime early this morning. Matthew Archer had sent a doctor to him, a doctor who's clinic Dean was now lying in. How had Matthew known that he… they needed help? Where is Sam? I need to talk to him need to fill in the gaps and find out what the hell happened after the motel bathroom.

Sensing movement in the doorway to his right he rolled his head in that direction. Sam stood there as if Dean's mind had conjured him; he was leaning a shoulder against the door frame and smiling. Dean gave him the once over he was dressed in different clothes to what he had on when he'd been sleeping on the too small cot. His hair was brushed away from his forehead the damp wavy ends brushing the collar of his plaid shirt. The dark circles Dean had noted under his eyes were less pronounced and his face had lost that drawn look, he had a spot of color in each cheek a legacy of the hot shower he had obviously not that long ago gotten out of.

"Hey," Dean's voice was dry and raspy.

"Hey," Sam answered as he pushed away from the door frame jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he came slowly into the room.

Dean swallowed against the dryness in his throat, a leftover of the Morphine.

Sam saw it, "Thirsty? You want some water?"

Dean nodded; He was doing a lot of that lately.

Sam picked up a plastic carafe from the table beside the cot and poured water into a small cup with a straw in it, he held the straw against Dean's lips and let him drink, the water tasting like the sweetest thing ever, nectar of the gods. It coated his mouth and tongue and traced a soothing path down his parched throat.

After Dean had drunk his full Sam took the cup away he pulled up a chair next to the cot and sat down.

Dean rolled his tongue over the inside of his mouth before he spoke, "So, you alright?" He asked.

Sam gave a familiar lopsided smile, "I'm good, what about you?"

"Me, I'm super," Dean said with wry humor.

"You look like crap," Sam said as his hazel eyes scanning Dean's face.

"Bet I'm still better looking than you."

"Yeah right, you've got dark circles under your eyes large enough to fit our weapons stash and then some inside."

Dean gave a snort of laughter and then winced as pain shoot through his side.

All traces of humor fled from Sam's face, "You know you nearly died yesterday Dean?"

"That bad huh? Care to fill me in? I can only remember bits and pieces, what happened after the bathroom?"

"I was going to call an ambulance when Matthew Archer rang. He knew some of what had gone on at the church," Sam began. "Said he had a friend, a doctor who could help and be discreet with no questions asked."

Dean opened his mouth to say something but before he could get out a word Sam continued.

"Which meant not taking the risk of going to the hospital and getting the police involved, so he sent his friend, Dr. Bradstreet to the motel and then I brought you here to his clinic and Dr. Bradstreet and his wife Violet operated on your kidney and repaired the damage done by the knife."

"Violet, I met her earlier, when you were asleep."

"Why'd you tell her not to wake me?" Sam said annoyed.

"Why do you think? Because you needed the sleep and you looked done in."

Sam's eyes glistened with emotion, "I was so scared Dean I thought I was gonna lose you… and I… I'm not ready… I haven't found a way to save you."

"Sam-"

"No Dean don't say it okay… just don't… I will find a way and I'm not going to lose you not now and not when…" Sam voice now barely a whisper.

"We will find a way… together we will… Sam you're not going to lose me and it'll take more than a few knives the do the job," Dean finished in an attempt to ease his brother's anxiety.

"Well thank God for Oliver Bradstreet because those few knives did plenty of damage enough to cause internal bleeding and a raging infection."

Dean cleared his throat trying to dispel the emotion lodged there, "This Dr. Bradstreet does he look like Chewbacca and sound like Darth Vader?"

Sam couldn't help himself he smiled, "Yeah that's him, you remember him?"

"How could I forget a blond Wookie that sounds like James Earl Jones?" Dean said. "It is useless to resist young Skywalker." He added with a bad imitation of Darth Vader. Unbidden that voice was in his head. "My god he is, more Fentanyl 20 cc's." He gasped the memory slamming him with pain it expanded swamping him.

Sam must have seen the sudden change. He felt his hand on his arm anchoring him, "Do you want me to get Violet?" Sam asked quietly.

"Umm… maybe… Yeah," Dean whispered.

Sam hurried from the room and Dean concentrated on breathing hoping for some relief, but it grew until all he could do was pant.

A minute later with Violet preceded Sam into the room; he towered over the tiny lady.

She crossed to the cot cupping his cheek with one hand and rubbing his arm with the other, "Has the morphine worn off do you need another shot?"

Dean nodded into the comforting caress of her small hand, again with the nodding. Without another word Violet prepared another syringe as Sam stood back looking anxiously at his big brother's pained expression. Dean wanted to assure him he was okay and everything would be fine, but another wave of pain rocked him leaving him speechless.

Violet injected the Morphine into the IV line and as last time the pain along with his senses dulled almost instantly. He closed his eyes shutting out Sam's worried face. His little brother would be here beside him next time he woke.

Continued in Chapter 11