A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter - this is the last one I have written, although I have started work on chapter twelve...Don't worry - the big confrontation between Dean and Frank Harding is in the next chapter:-D And may I assure you, when you get to the end of this chapter and feel rather confused (as I have a feeling you might!) I have not lost my marbles! There is, as always, a logical explanation;-)
Disclaimer: I don't own them...
Butterfly Effect
Chapter Eleven
By the time Dean got to the bar, it had started raining. Pulling his leather jacket over his head, he made a dash for it and succeeded in getting inside only slightly wet. Brushing the raindrops off his clothes, he made his way to the counter, where a pretty young woman in a very revealing top was serving. Smiling at her lasciviously, he placed some cash on the countertop and ordered a beer. As she busied herself with getting his order, he busied himself with admiring her rather ample assets.
"Anything else, sir?" She grinned at him and leaned forward suggestively.
Dean looked at her longingly and sighed. "Sorry, but I'm actually working tonight."
"Oh?" He noticed with a certain amount of smug satisfaction that she looked disappointed. "What do you do?"
"I'm a cop." He pulled out one of his numerous fake badges, "Officer James Page."
If possible, the information that he was a cop seemed to make her even more attracted to him. She lowered her eyes and peeked up at him through long false eyelashes.
"Well, Officer Page, what are you working on tonight? Anything I can help with?" Her voice lowered to a husky, seductive timbre.
Dean cleared his throat. "Well, maybe." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "I'm actually working on a hit and run case – a young boy was hit by a drunk driver in a black sedan last night."
She looked appropriately shocked. "Oh, that's awful. Is he OK?"
Dean contemplated his answer for a moment, then shook his head, deciding to go for effect. "No, he didn't make it; he died on the way to the hospital. I'm just trying to get some justice for his family, and seeing as this was the bar that was closest to the site of the accident, I was wondering if maybe someone here knew anything…" He let his voice trail off and looked at her expectantly.
The girl shook her head sadly. "Sorry, I'm new here so I don't really know all of the customers yet. I really hope that you catch whoever did it though." She looked sincere and Dean gave her the benefit of another of his charming smiles even as he felt his heart sink within him.
"Thanks anyway. I guess I had better be off then." He downed the rest of his beer with a gulp and turned away. As he was leaving, he felt a hand land heavily on his shoulder. Finely honed instincts kicking in, he whirled around, fists already up to defend himself.
'Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean any harm." The tall but slightly built man backed away, hands in the air. "I just couldn't help but hear what you were sayin' just now and I thought maybe I could help you."
Dean's ears pricked up. "Oh yeah? How?"
"Well, I happen to know someone who drives a black sedan."
Dean was all attention now. "Yes? And?" His words were clipped and authoritative. The man backed off a little further, looking nervous.
"His name is Frank Harding. He comes here quite often. Cheap drunk. Tends to keep to himself. Don't like him much to be honest; heard he was cheating on his wife. I wouldn't be surprised if he was the guy you were looking for."
Dean narrowed his eyes in thought. "What does this man look like?"
"Tall, big belly. Kinda balding on top."
Dean nodded. That was the guy alright. "Do you happen to know where Frank lives?"
"No. Like I said, he keeps to himself."
"Right. Thanks – that's all I need to know for now." And Dean turned on his heel and left. He had a phone call to make.
~ O ~ O ~ O ~
Bobby Singer flushed the toilet and made his way over to the ringing phone. It seemed like it never stopped ringing these days; one hunter after another wanting something from him, generally information, but sometimes more practical help. Sighing deeply, he picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Bobby?"
"This is he. Who might this be?"
"It's Dean Winchester."
"Dean?" Bobby couldn't be more surprised. "I haven't heard from you in ages, boy. Not since I chased your daddy out my back door in '99. How're you and Sammy keeping?"
"Well, that's kind of what I'm phoning about actually. I need some information."
Bobby sighed. Trust Dean not to be phoning simply for a catch-up conversation. "Yeah? What's new? What d'you need to know?"
"I need to know the address of a Frank Harding. He lives in Seattle and drives a black sedan."
"OK. Why do you need to find this guy so desperately? He a werewolf or somethin'? I heard your daddy's on a werewolf hunt at the moment."
"He's not a werewolf. He hit Sam with his car and drove off." Dean's voice thrummed with barely-contained fury over the line, and Bobby felt shock and anger flood his own veins. Sammy Winchester was just a kid and someone would do that to him?
"Is Sammy OK?" He had to know that first, before he could do anything else.
"He's pretty banged up, but he'll be OK. Frank Harding won't be though. Not after I find him." The cold certainty in Dean's voice sent a chill down Bobby's spine, even though it wasn't directed at him.
"Well, I can't say I pity the bastard. I'll get digging and get back to you the moment I find something." And he hung up with a click. Never had he felt so personally motivated in his research before.
~ O ~ O ~ O ~
Sam groaned as he tried to move into a more comfortable position so he could sleep. The unexpected arrival of his school friends and Dean's constant company had helped to distract him thus far, but with Dean and Dad both gone, he had nothing left to take his mind off the gnawing ache that seemed to penetrate his very bones. Staying still hurt, moving hurt, hell, breathing hurt. Lying there, he could not decide which pain was worse: from his right leg came a sharp stabbing agony, as though a piece of glass was wedged in his shin, his right shoulder ached dully, sending cramping tendrils down his arm, and every time he breathed his lungs were pierced with shooting jabs of pain. Moaning lowly in his throat, he tried to shift himself again.
"Sam? Are you OK?" Sam stopped his efforts to cast his eyes in the direction of the soft voice. That nurse, Sylvie?, was standing there, a look of concern on her face.
"Everything hurts." He hated to complain, but maybe she would be able to do something to help. She frowned and came over to his bedside, picking up the folder at the foot of his bed as she did.
"Hmm. Well, I'm not surprised. Ever since your hematoma, they've had you on more low-grade pain meds, so we can monitor your consciousness and awareness level. However, I should think enough time has passed now for it to be safe for you to have something more powerful again. Let me go and check with the doctor on duty. I'll be back just now."
Sam nodded slightly as she left. Hopefully relief would be coming soon.
~ O ~ O ~ O ~
Six hours later, Sam awoke with a start, heart pounding and sweat pouring off him. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw that it was four in the morning. Vaguely, he noticed that the pain was gone, but frankly in that moment he couldn't care less. Struggling to sit up, he began to fumble with the IV coming out of his left arm, but his fingers were clumsy and his right arm was incapacitated by a sling of sorts.
"Sam? What are you doing?"
Sam started, and looked up to see the night nurse looking at him in confusion. Feeling his heart rate increase still further, he backed away as much as he could, feeling the headboard hard and unresisting against his spine.
"Stay away from me."
The nurse's expression changed from confusion to concern and she began to approach the bed.
"I said stay away from me." Sam looked around him for something to protect himself with and grabbed the chair by the bed, pulling it towards himself. The nurse continued to approach the bed slowly.
"Sam. It's OK. I'm not going to hurt you. You need to calm down."
"No, I'm not going to calm down. Who are you? What am I doing here?"
As the nurse said nothing but continued to steadily come closer, Sam hauled himself from the bed, landing heavily on his uninjured leg, which buckled beneath him. Pulling himself up, he grabbed the chair and held it in front of him like a shield.
"I'm not going anywhere with you, you bitch."
The nurse looked shocked, which didn't make sense. "What have you done with my brother?"
"I haven't done anything with your brother. He went home for the night. Don't you remember, Sam?"
"Don't lie to me. I know you've got him somewhere. Where is he? DEAN!"
Sam's sudden shout broke the relative quiet of the hospital as voices echoed down the corridor outside and footsteps came running.
"Sam. You have to calm down." The nurse was still trying to placate him, talking to him in a soft, reasonable voice even as she edged ever closer.
"Stay away from me! I want my brother! DEAN!"
To be continued…
A/N: *laughs evilly* So, what did you think? And I would LOVE to hear your theories on what's up with Sam!:-D