Unsure if Sam's hysteria was real or simply some sort of delusion, John nonetheless realized that he had to deal with it was as it were actually happening. Because, no matter what Sam said or did, the medical staff would assume that his terror was being fabricated entirely in his mind. That it was an unfortunate but highly-anticipated side effect of the medication he'd been given. Or that it was just another attempt to revive his buried memories of what had happened before the accident. But they certainly weren't going to believe that what Sammy was uttering might actually be the truth.

But that's what John had to believe; he just couldn't take the chance otherwise. John had to believe that someone was really after his son. And that whoever it was posed a bona fide threat. Because before Sammy had lost consciousness, he had fervently appealed for his help. And even though he hadn't had the chance to elaborate why, John was positive that Sammy knew. Because Sam had said he's coming. Not it's coming or something's coming; but he's coming. Which indicated very strongly that he knew who it was. And, in order to find out, John was going to have to awaken his son.

Which was something that the nurses weren't likely to approve of.

Regardless, he was still going to have to do it.

So John seized Sam's head in his cupped hands and snapped fiercely, "Sammy! Wake up! You can't let him get to you! You have to fight him! Fight him and come back here to me!"

But his desperate plea was ineffectual and Sam remained limp on the bed, his eyes still rolled back in his head. Determined to rouse his son, John tightened his grip on the sides of Sam's head, shaking them gently in the hope that it would help revive him.

"Fight him Sammy!" ordered John authoritatively. "You have to get away from him! Because I can't help you if you don't!"

By now, two of the three nurses on duty had arrived at Sam's bedside. One of them ran up behind John and grabbed his shoulders in an attempt to pull him away from his son while the other dashed around the bed and tried to remove John's hands from around Sam's face. But, based on his physical strength alone, John was able to maintain his position as he increased his efforts to awaken his son.

"Sam! I'm ordering you to wake up!" commanded John, "And I want you to do it now!"

The ongoing commotion around Sam's bed had finally alerted the sole remaining nurse in the unit who appeared at Sam's bedside just after the shrill drone of an alarm began resonating throughout the unit. And, no doubt, throughout the entire hospital. It had obviously been activated to alert Security to what the nurses considered a problem. And it meant that a couple of security guards were bound to come busting through the door at any time. And John knew that as soon as they arrived they'd do their best to drag him out of the unit and probably ban him from stepping inside the hospital again. So he was going to have to work fast in order to revive Sam. As well as come up with a convincing explanation for what he was doing. Facing a desperate situation John relinquished his hold on his son and did something that he really didn't want to do.

He slapped Sam brutally across the face.

"SAM! Wake up now!"

John's boisterous outcry and unprecedented assault on his son shocked all three nurses, momentarily paralyzing them as they stared at him in disbelief. But his atrocious and unorthodox method had succeeded as evidenced by the fact that Sam began to stir. His eyelids flickered for a moment before his eyes slowly fluttered open and he gazed up at the ceiling with blank, unseeing eyes and his body began to shake uncontrollably. It immediately became apparent to John that Sam was still caught up in whatever he had been envisioning so he quickly grabbed his son's shoulders and loudly barked out his name causing Sam to flinch involuntarily. Recognizing the rudimentary signs of awareness, John tightened his grip and pulled Sam closer.

"Open your eyes Sam. And look at me," he commanded more soothingly this time.

Sam turned his sightless eyes toward his father's voice and blinked a few times before his muddled gaze settled on John. In his addled stated, he stared uncertainly at his father as if he was trying to determine just how he fit into the frightening scenario playing out in his mind. But he didn't look away nor did he move; he just stared transfixed at his father as if turning away would cause him to fall into a different reality.

It soon became evident that John hadn't succeeded in waking him a moment too soon because, at the same time as Sam opened his eyes, two burly security guards burst into the ICU and grabbed John's arms and yanked him roughly backwards away from Sam's bed. Sam watched his father struggle with the two men, his eye's growing wide and frightened as the confrontation ensued. In his semi-aware state, Sam's perceived the fight as a last-ditch effort by his father to confront the evil that had originally come for him. But as soon it eliminated his father, it would turn its attention back to him. And he just wasn't capable of waging a battle against it. So in a despairing attempt at self-preservation, Sam drew his unbroken leg up to his chest and wrapped his arms tightly around it before he dropped his head onto his knee and rocked back and forth, muttering incoherently into his chest.

Realizing that the confrontation was distressing the patient, one of the nurses took a decisive step toward the melee, screaming out for them to stop their struggle immediately. The urgent tone of her voice abruptly halted the struggle and all three men stood frozen on the spot as they stared at the nurse who turned toward Sam and despairingly pointed out his affliction. Faced with the troubling condition of his son, John shrugged off the security guards' hold and advanced toward Sam's bed.

He reached out and grabbed Sam's shoulders, forcing him to lift his head and look at him. "Sam! It's okay! I'm okay! I'm here! Look at me!"

With a shaky breath, Sam looked timidly at John. Although his mind was still somewhat clouded and uncertain, Sam recognized his father's voice and he immediately relaxed. But his terror had not been completely dispelled and he seized his father's wrists in a panic, glancing fearfully around the room before he blurted out, "Dad? Where is he? Where did he go?"

Just then Dr. Logan ran into ICU and rushed up to Sam's bed. "What's going on here?" he demanded breathlessly.

"Nothing I can't handle,' stated John forcefully, "If you'd just tell your staff to back off and let me deal with it."

"And what exactly is it that you think you're trying to deal with?" enquired the doctor.

"Sam's nightmares," began John. "He has trouble waking up. He gets confused and…"

"And you think this is how you should deal with it?" interrupted Dr. Logan in annoyance. "Because I can tell you right now that you're wrong!"

"Is that so?" challenged John. "Because Sam happens to be my son and I've been dealing with this for almost his entire life! But you think you can just waltz in here and tell me that I don't know what I'm doing? And that you are the only one who knows how to help him? Because from what I've seen up until now, no one in this hospital seems to be doing such a bang-up job!"

"If he suffers from night terrors…" persisted the doctor, "You can't…"

"It's not night terrors," interrupted John hotly, "He just doesn't wake up completely. And he's not really asleep. He's just disoriented. And if you don't wake him up right away, there's a good chance that he'll get turn violent. Extremely violent. And I don't think that's what anyone here – yourself included – wants."

"That would be why we have him restrained," stated Dr. Logan firmly.

"Yeah?" responded John, "Because I guess you failed to notice that he's already broken your flimsy restraints."

Dr. Logan glanced down at Sam's wrists and feet and for the first time noticed that the restraints were severed and that Sam was indeed unrestrained. "How did he manage…?"

"You said it yourself. He's strong. And when he suffers this kind of episode, he unleashes the majority of his strength. And that leaves only one option to deal with him. He has to be woken up as quickly as possible! Otherwise you'll probably be facing a mountain of trouble."

"Dad?" interrupted Sam hesitantly, "Why are you arguing with him? He's not the demon. And when the demon escapes we won't be able to stop him. Not until he comes back for me. And then it will be too late!"

"Sammy," replied John calmly, hoping to dispel some of his son's anxiety long enough to get the doctor and the nurses to leave. "It's okay. I'm here. Nothing's going to happen to you. Not while I'm around. I just want you to relax and everything will be all right."

"But Dad, the demon…"

"No Sammy. There is no demon. You were just dreaming."

"It wasn't a dream, Dad! The demon's here. I know he is! He's just hiding. He's waiting for another chance to get me."

John glanced around at all the people that were still hovering around bed: Dr. Logan, the three nurses and the two security guards. He wished that they would all leave. That they'd go find something else to do and get the hell away from him and Sam. Because as long as they stayed, he couldn't speak honestly to him or properly alleviate his fears. There was no way for him to find out what Sam was going through or why the demon was stalking him.

But before John had a chance to say anything else, Dr. Logan stepped forward and addressed Sam, "Sam. Do you remember me? I'm Dr. Logan. You're in the hospital in Willow Springs. And there isn't any demon. Your mind is just playing tricks on you."

"No! It's not! " challenged Sam before he turned to look at his father, "Tell him, Dad! Tell him about the demon! The one that killed Mom!"

John tried his best not to look disconcerted by Sam's outburst even though it really didn't matter how he looked. Not to anyone but Sam. Because everyone else would assume that Sam was still simply verbalizing his continuing delirium. But John knew better. And Sammy did too. The only problem was that in his current mental state Sammy didn't seem to realize that he really shouldn't be announcing it to everyone within earshot. Which was something that had been instilled in him since he was a child. But its importance seemed to be eluding him now and John knew he had to quickly find some way to placate him enough that he would stop ranting about the demon.

"Sammy, you have to calm down because I can't help you if you don't. You're not rational enough right now for me to talk to you. You need to take a deep breath and relax. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here to make sure everything is okay. And once Dr. Logan finishes checking you out, we'll be able to talk. All right?"

"But Dad, the demon…"

"Sam! Listen to me! You can't talk about demons anymore! Or anything to do with them! Do you understand me?" decreed John forcefully.

"Yes, Sir," responded Sam apprehensively as he cast his father a panic-stricken look.

John knew that his son's obedience had only been elicited through years of psychological conditioning and not because Sam actually believed or even understood the reasoning behind his order. But it had been successful in halting his rambling narrative. And that was the most important thing for now. At least until the hospital personnel was satisfied that Sammy was going to be okay and they moved on to other things. Only then could John talk honestly to his son about the demon. But until they were alone, Sam really needed to keep quiet and if this was the only way John could get him to do that, then it had to be done this way.

Dr. Logan took advantage of the impasse to begin a cursory examination of his patient. One of the nurses recorded Sam's temperature and blood pressure while the doctor monitored Sam's breathing and heartbeat along with his vision and reflexes. Satisfied that, for the moment, Sam was physically sound, the doctor turned his attention to evaluating his mental status. He asked him a few standard questions including his name, his age, what day it was, where he was and if he could tell him how many fingers he was holding up. Sam answered most of the questions satisfactorily, correctly stating his name and age and that Dr. Logan had held up three fingers. He said that he thought that he was in a hospital in Willow Creek or some place like that. The only question that Sam had trouble with was the date because he said that he had no idea how long he had actually been in the hospital.

Based on the clarity of Sam's answers Dr. Logan determined that, on a fundamental level at least, his brain was functioning properly. But it didn't give him any sort of indication of the severity of Sam's delusions or how fast his memory was progressing. Going by the tumultuous incident he had just witnessed, he did know that Sam was still having hallucinations and that his mind wasn't completely stable. He had made excellent headway for someone who had emerged from a coma just hours ago but he still had a long recovery period ahead of him. And unless he could figure out some way to stop his father from interfering, Dr. Logan feared that he faced an uphill battle.

Then again, maybe the man was really onto something. He had managed to wake Sam up and even get him to calm down. And other than a few broken restraints there hadn't been any other damage done. And he'd been right; Sam had woken up in a violent frenzy until his father had been able to pacify him. So maybe keeping him away from his son wasn't the answer either. But Dr. Logan still believed that it would be preferable if Sam was kept medicated and he made a mental note to continue working on John to obtain his permission for that. In the meantime, he'd just make sure the nurses kept a close eye on both Sam and his father.

Once Dr. Logan had completed filling out Sam's chart he asked John if he could speak to him privately. John nodded but before he moved away from the bed, he glanced at Sam and asked him quietly if he would be okay for a few minutes. Sam's eyes instantly filled with terror at the thought of being left alone but he nevertheless nodded hesitantly in response to his father's question. John gave his forearm a slight squeeze to try to reassure him as he mentioned that he would only be a few feet away and that he should yell for him if he needed him. That seemed to appease Sam slightly so John winked at him before he wandered over to the nurses' station where the doctor was waiting for him.

"I would really like you to reconsider having him medicated," stated Dr. Logan as soon as John approached. "At least for the next few hours. I believe it will subdue his hallucinations and help put an end to the mental turmoil he's experiencing. It could prevent a repeat performance of what just happened."

John took a deep breath. He had known this was coming. But he still didn't know how to deal with it. He couldn't tell the doctor about Sam's visions or the telekinesis. And forget mentioning anything about the demon. So with reality a no-go, that left outright lying and subterfuge. And even with his years of experience in that area, he was still slightly uncomfortable falling back to it now.

"I'm sorry, but I still don't think it's a good idea," replied John, "Not based on what's happened in his past. Sam has never responded well to any kind of drug and if there's the slightest possibility that these drugs could invade his thoughts, I'd be willing to bet that they will. And if keeping him medicated might actually invoke more hallucinations, I tend to think that he'll only get worse and not better."

"I understand where your hesitation comes from," admitted the doctor, "But based on the recent trauma your son's gone through, I still believe that keeping him sedated is the best course of action. His mind is working overtime right now and if we can administer the right combination of drugs, I think we'd be able to suppress most of the delusions ."

"But there's still the risk that he could slip into another the coma?" asked John matter-of-factly.

"Unfortunately, yes. But I tend to think that the medication will only eradicate his most active thought patterns. And those are the ones that are causing his hallucinations."

"But you don't know for sure if that's all that will happen?"

"No, I don't," sighed Dr. Logan knowing that his admission had probably just cost him another round. "But based on other cases…"

"Then, I'm sorry but my answer still has to be no."

"Well, I hope that you'll think about it. And if you do change your mind, just ask one of the nurses to page me," responded Dr. Logan before he abruptly turned away.

John watched him walk away. He knew it was only a matter of time before the doctor won this battle. Because he would only wait until he thought that Sam was mentally capable of making his own decisions. Then he'd talk to him about it. And he'd present a very persuasive argument. And Sammy would ultimately agree. Because that's the kind of kid he was. He trusted people. And he didn't like to rock the boat. Not with anyone other than John anyway. So Dr. Logan would eventually get his permission and that would be that. And God knows what would happen after that. So in order to prevent it from happening John was going to have to get Sammy out of the hospital a lot sooner than he had originally anticipated.

Actually, now would be a good time. If he could just figure out how to avoid being seen. Because the primary purpose of any intensive care unit was to be able to provide constant observation and medical care to high-priority patients; so the units were always compact and simplistic by design. All the beds were arranged so that they could be easily seen and observed from the main desk and that was going to make it next to impossible for John to sneak Sam out. But John knew he had to. He'd just have to come up with some sort of diversion; one that appeared to be serious enough that it would attract the attention of everyone in ICU. Something like what had happened with Sammy. Only with different patients.

As John walked slowly back to Sam's bed he noticed that the curtain still encircled the bed and that gave him an idea. Because the only time the nurses couldn't see a bed was when the curtain was pulled around it. And that's what was going to provide him with the opportunity to look in on a few of the other patients. Then he would be able to decide how he could use them to create a diversion. So John casually walked through the curtain and was relieved to see that Sam was resting quietly on the bed. His agitation seemed to have dissipated and John thought he might have gone back to sleep. But Sam must have sensed someone's presence because he immediately opened his eyes and stared suspiciously at John.

"Dad?" he asked hesitantly.

John nodded slowly but didn't speak.

"Am I losing my mind?"

"Why would you ask that, Sammy?"

"Because I don't think I know what's real and what's not."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, the accident, for one thing. I remember that you were there. In the car. Both you and Dean were. I was taking you both to the hospital. But something broadsided us. Hit us really hard. Smashed right into the passenger door. Where you were sitting. And if that really happened you'd have been hurt really bad. Or maybe even killed. But you don't look like you were even in an accident. You don't have scratch on you. You're not even limping. And that can't be. Not if my memory is correct."

"Why should I be limping, Sammy?" asked John guardedly.

Sam swallowed before he answered, "Because I shot you. In the leg."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because," admitted Sam reluctantly, "You were possessed. By the demon. You told me to kill you. But I couldn't do it. So I shot you in the leg instead."

John stared back at Sam. He knew that he must be telling him some of the things that happened prior to the accident. But not much of it made any sense to him and he didn't know what to say or even how to proceed with this conversation. So instead, he changed the subject, "How badly was Dean hurt?"

Sam looked apprehensively at his father, "He was hurt real bad. Before the accident. He may actually have been dying."

"Why? What happened to him?"

"Well, you…or the demon that had possessed you…tortured him. Drained a lot of blood out of him. And he was really weak. He could hardly stand. He looked like he was probably gonna die. And that was before the accident." Sam paused. Then he timidly ventured, "But Dad?...None of this really happened, did it?"

John quickly glanced through the bed-curtains to ascertain that they were still alone before he stepped closer to the bed and leaned toward Sam. "Sam, I honestly don't know what happened to you before the accident. But the things you're remembering probably did happen. I just don't…We don't have time to figure it all out right now. And we can't discuss it here. So we're going to have to get you outta here. It's the only way we can talk. And the only way I can project you."

"But my leg? It's broken. And I don't think I can walk on it."

"Do you think you'll be able to put any weight on it?"

"Probably a little. But not enough to get myself outta here."

"I'll help support you. But you're gonna have make sure you're ready to go as soon as I set things into motion."

With that John walked to the foot of the bed and peered out the curtains one last time. There were only two nurses sitting behind the desk, which meant that the other one was either with a patient or gone on her break. But he was still going to have to cause enough of a distraction to occupy the other two nurses so he could get Sam out of ICU. But first he had to help Sammy get into some clothes. And because they were in ICU, there were no lockers for the patient's belongings; they just put them into bags and stuffed them inside the patient's bedside table. John went to the table, opened the drawer and tossed the bag onto Sam's bed. Then he pulled out Sam's jeans and tore a slit down the entire length of the leg so that Sam would be able to slip them around his cast. When he had finished, John dropped the jeans onto Sam's lap and told him to put them on as best he could and to remove the hospital gown he was wearing.

As Sam clumsily tried to get dressed, fighting against the pain emanating from his fractured ribs, John took a closer look at the machine that was monitoring his son's vital signs. He was hoping to find a way to turn the machine off or to at least conceal the sounds it would make as soon as he disconnected the electrodes from Sam's chest. And as he carefully scrutinized the monitor, he found a volume button at the very bottom of the machine and he could just barely refrain from laughing. Because he couldn't understand why this vital piece of medical equipment would have such an easily accessible volume control button. Something anyone could turn off. And wasn't that just courting disaster?

Regardless, he had to admit that it was extremely convenient for him and he just reached over and turned off the volume. Then he waited anxiously for a few seconds to make sure that it wasn't going to emit some sort of warning signal. But, thankfully, nothing happened and John spun the machine around so he could look at the back. It didn't take him long to locate a power switch which he also clicked off. And then, as a final precaution he pulled the cord from the wall. With the monitor successfully shut down John turned around to check on Sam's progress. And Sam was sitting with his eyes screwed tightly shut and his arms wrapped tightly around his torso. He had strained his already injured ribs trying to put on his jeans. Without saying a word John walked over to Sam and gently began removing the electrodes from his body. Once they were all removed, he grabbed Sam's jacket from the bag and helped him put it on, carefully trying not to cause Sam any more discomfort.

Then John crept to the head of Sam's bed and carefully moved the curtain back so he could see the bed next to Sam's. The man in the bed was asleep so John slunk quietly around his bed and peered cautiously through the curtain at the next patient. The woman was also asleep so John slipped silently into her room and stood beside her bed. She didn't seem to be in any sort of medical distress. And that was a good thing because John was going to make it look like she was. John tiptoed over to her monitor and placed the blade of his pocketknife against one of the electrode cords where it attached to the machine. He carefully popped the top of the wire out, severing the connection and making it impossible for the machine to receive data from that electrode. As expected the monitor began beeping loudly to draw attention to the problem and John quickly slipped back through the curtain and into the other patient's room.

After waiting a moment to ensure that no one came to check on this patient, John walked up to his monitor and repeated the same procedure on his monitor. And as soon as the alarm sounded, John stole back into Sam's chamber and waited anxiously for the remaining nurse to respond. And while the nurses were busy trying to figure out what was causing the monitors to go off John went over to Sam and put his arm around him. Once Sam had placed his arm around his father's shoulder, John helped him up off the bed and together they walked slowly to the foot of the bed. Before they ventured out, John took another look out the curtain to make sure no one was around. Assured that the coast was clear, he hurriedly assisted Sam across the remainder of room and out the door.

Although it required a fair bit of effort John managed to guide Sam down the hallway to the stairwell. He placed his back against the door to open it without relinquishing his hold on Sam and they spun around to face the stairs as soon as they were through. With little time to waste John maneuvered Sam over to the stairs so he could grip the handrail with his free hand while he helped ease him down the stairs. It was a cumbersome journey with Sam almost hopping down each step. And it was easy to see that the jerky movements were causing more irritation to his fractured ribs. But Sam didn't complain and John wasn't about to baby him. When they finally reached the main floor, John slowly eased Sam down onto one of the stairs to let him rest for a moment. John scoped out the hallway and was both surprised and relieved to see that someone had left a wheelchair on the other side of the door. He hastily opened the door, grabbed the wheelchair and wheeled it into the small alcove.

John swung the wheelchair around to face Sam before he helped him off the stairs and into the seat. Then without hesitation he reached behind him and swung the door open, holding it with his foot so he could glide the wheelchair through. John steered the wheelchair down the hall and rushed out the front door. He rolled the wheelchair over to the truck and quickly opened the passenger door so Sam could get in. And as soon as Sam lifted himself off the wheelchair, John shoved it onto the grass. Then he dashed over to the driver's side and jumped in, hastily inserting the key into the ignition and tearing onto the road.

They had driven about two blocks when the unmistakable glare of flashing roof-lights reflected brightly in John's rear-view mirror. Hoping that the squad car only wanted to go around him John veered the truck closer to the curb but kept driving as he carefully watched the cruiser in the mirror. But he was more than a little dismayed to see it mimic the truck's movements, driving right up behind him before its siren resonated briefly as a final warning for him to pull over. So with a roll of his eyes and a heavy sigh, John slowly eased the truck to the curb and stopped. He sat silently in the driver's seat waiting for the police officer to approach, not even bothering to look over at Sam. And Sam, for his part, stared out the side window, wishing he could simply disappear from sight.

"John Winchester?" asked the officer as he converged on the driver's door and shone his flashlight into the cab.

"That's right," answered John bluntly without turning his head to look at the officer.

"Please step out of the truck, Mr. Winchester."

"Why?" inquired John bitterly.

"I'm sorry Mr. Winchester," sighed the patrolman as he holstered his flashlight and placed his hand on the grip of his gun, "But I have orders to bring you into the station."

"For what?"

"For something we discovered in your motel room."

"You were in my motel room?" queried John incredulously, "Without a warrant?"

"We didn't need a warrant, Sir."

"Why the hell not?"

"We had sufficient reason to believe you were harboring a fugitive."