Please note that this is a crossover with Boston Legal. It's mostly about Sam and Dean, but Alan Shore and Denny Crane do make an appearance.

Spoilers: To be safe, everything in seasons one and two, but especially Skin, Everybody Loves a Clown, The Usual Suspects, and Night Shifter. Spoilers also for second season Boston Legal especially the episode Truly, Madly, Deeply.

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Kripke and Co. Boston Legal belongs to ABC and David E. Kelley. No infringement intended.

Warnings: All episodes after Night Shifter are not applicable.

BIG APOLOGIES! Sorry 'bout the long wait. I do hope you enjoy this part. I'll aim to have chapter 12 up by next weekend. After that, it's only two more chapters.

Feedback would be welcome and encouraging. Thanks!

Out of the Past

Chapter 11

"What the hell? These things need to come off him, Alan. Now!" Metal clinking against metal accompanied the command. Dean felt it as well as heard it.

"Give me a moment, Sam. I'm sure the police officer out in the hall has a key."

The conversation was clear enough, but Dean couldn't see them. That worried him a bit until he realized his eyes were closed. With great effort, he willed them to open. They stubbornly stayed closed. What the hell was going on? It wasn't like his body wasn't obeying him, he'd felt them twitch. Instead, it was as if his eyelashes were tangled together, and, boy did he hate that. He was not some freaking girl. Dean grunted.

"Dean?"

Dean felt the air currents shift around him. He struggled once again to unglue his eyelashes and he was rewarded when he was able to slit his eyes open. Despite the glare of the lights, Dean could just make out Sam leaning over him.

"Dean? You with me?"

"Right here, Sammy." The words barely made it out. He yearned to lick the gumminess from his mouth, but he couldn't muster up the effort. The sticky lashes, bright light, dry mouth – this was how he usually felt after a long, difficult hunt that usually resulted in an even longer recuperative sleep. Trouble was Dean couldn't remember any hunt. What the hell had happened? Dean snorted maybe he should be asking these questions out loud. Sam was bound to have the answers. He always did. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Wha-what's going on?" Damn. That had sounded a little shaky. He really needed something to wet the ole whistle. A beer. Yeah, he could definitely use one of those.

"You don't remember?"

There was something about Sam's tone that sent a prickle of unease up Dean's spin. "Wouldn't be asking if I did, Sammy." He forced his tongue to lick at his lips. "Man, can you get me a beer? I'm parched."

Sam choked out a laugh. "No, you can't have a beer." Then, quieter. "You don't know where you are, either. Do you?"

Dean frowned. Opening his eyes fully, he turned his head. He was in a hospital. How could he have missed that? "A hospital? What the hell, Sammy?" Dean shifted and realized two things: One, he was handcuffed to the bedrail and two; every pain receptor was now working overtime. With the numbness now gone, came clarity.

"Hey, hey, take it easy, Dean. Deep breaths, man, you're starting to hyperventilate. "

"I got it, Sam," Dean responded between gasps. "Don'… worry… 'bout it." The breath continued to stutter out of him.

Sam snorted. "Just shut up and breathe." He put a hand on Dean's shoulder, brushing at Dean's neck with his thumb. "I'll worry about you if I want to and you can't stop me."

Dean wanted to laugh, but realized that it would be a bad idea, more so than moving had been.

"I know it hurts." San was saying.

Actually, he didn't know and Dean was glad of that. It hurt like a motherfucker. "'m fine," Dean managed, although there was no way he could control the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Still, he was the big brother and any pain he felt he'd have to endure silently, without care. Just another way he'd always tried to protect Sam.

"Would you fucking stop doing that?" Sam hissed at him. "I can see right through you, you know."

Dean closed his eyes, using what little strength he had to get his breathing under control. If he was using it as an excuse to ignore Sam's words for the moment, he would never admit it.

"Better?" Sam asked. He was going for light, Dean knew, but Sam still sounded pissed--pissed and worried.

"Yeah."

"Good." The hand on Dean's shoulder tightened. "You think you could open your eyes again?"

Worried and anxious.

Dean opened his eyes, unable to take any more of that tone. "See? Piece of cake."

"Right. Good." Sam's voice still trembled and Dean hated it. Hated himself for being the cause of it.

"Sam," he sighed. "I'm okay. Since when have mere bullet slowed Dean Winchester down?" It was kind of sad that he make such a statement with absolute truth.

"So you do remember?" The tone was hopeful.

"Now I do," Dean said dryly. The pain was still there, radiating from his arm and thigh. He shoved it into a corner of his mind, locking it up tight to avoid any spillage into his eyes and voice. He'd take care of it later after he sent Sam back to the motel to get some sleep. The kid looked like shit.

"I can't believe he shot you. What did you say to him, Dean?"

"What?" Dean started and then gagged. "Dude, a glass of water?"

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh, man, you should have said something. Sorry." He reached for a cup on the side table. "Here." Sam angled the straw into his mouth, and Dean sucked at it gratefully. The water coated his mouth and soothed his throat.

"Thanks," Dean said. He let his head push deeper into the pillow. He was so damn tired. "Sam, you've got it all wrong. I didn't say anything. Well, other than the fact that I wasn't going to say anything without my lawyer present."

Sam's brow furrowed. "So what happened?"

There was a dull ache beginning to build behind his eyes and Dean wished his hands were free of the cuffs. Being confined just made the pain worse. "Pull up a chair," Dean said wearily. The story he was about to relate could have any manner of effect on his brother and Dean didn't think he was any shape to deal with any of them. But Sam wanted to know. He needed to know. "This might take a while."

Sam sat down in the chair parked next to the hospital bed. His hand never left Dean's shoulder as if he was using the contact to ground himself. He didn't say a word, but Sam's focus on him was intense.

Dean sighed. "I was escorted to an interrogation room where I waited for about an hour. It wasn't so bad. I mean, at least I was out of my cell. Practically would have been cozy accept for the cuffs around my wrists chained to the cuffs around my ankles."

The sarcasm seemed lost on Sam as he jumped up from his chair and began pacing. "What the fuck was he thinking, Dean, shooting an unarmed and restrained man?" Sam muttered some more, but the words were lost in the clench of his jaw.

Dean knew he should have censored that last bit, but it only would have made things worse if he'd kept it to himself. Dean didn't believe for a second that Sam wouldn't find out. "Sam," he rasped. "Get your ass back here."

Sam continued to pace and mutter. His fists were balled at his sides.

Dean took a deep breath. "Sam!" He gripped the bedrail with determination and without giving it a second thought, Dean pulled himself into a sitting position. His eyes clenched shut as a sharp pain sprang from his thigh muscle. Sweat gathered at his hairline. "Fuck!" The pain was everywhere, completely out of his control.

"Come on, Dean, let go." Sam was prying at his fingers. "Come on. Come on. You need to relax. For once would you just listen to me?" Sam had managed to loosen Dean's grip from the rail and was now trying to get him to lie back down.

"Damn it, Sam." His little brother now had one hand on his shoulder, the other on his chest, gently guiding him to rest against his pillow.

Dean lay there for a moment, breathing noisily through his mouth. There was a light touch to his knee. "Hey. Take it easy. You gotta relax, Dean. The tension is making the pain worse."

"Not that." Dean forced out, opening his eyes. "It's the pain in my ass. Will you sit down?"

Sam glared at him. "Only if you stay still. What the hell, Dean, you get off on pain or what?"

Dean managed a smirk even if he sounded a little breathless. "Aw, Sammy, you're not old enough for an NC-17 conversation."

San rolled his eyes. "Promise not to move, Dean."

Dean couldn't argue with that determination. "Fine. I promise." He grumbled. "You gonna sit down? I'd like to finish the fucking story sometime today."

Sam's exasperation seemed to melt away and was replaced by concern. "Maybe you should rest." He reached up and brushed his fingers along Dean's forehead, collecting the sweat gathered there.

Dean would have jerked his head away if he'd had the energy. "I'm fine, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes at that. "Whatever you say, Dean."

"Look," Dean said through gritted teeth. "Let me just finish telling you what happened. I'm sure there some lame ass doctor lurking around outside just waiting to take a poke at me. Then there won't be any time to tell the damn story. "

"Maybe I should so get the doctor now. Should have done it when you first woke up."

"Screw that! For fuck's sake, Sam, sit down."

"Fine." There was a mutinous expression on Sam's face as he sat down. "But I reserve the right to call him if you pull another stupid stunt like that again."

"Yeah, yeah. All right. Geez, Sam, give it a rest, will you?" Dean didn't want to tell his brother that he wouldn't have moved in the first place if Sam hadn't gotten so upset.

"Give it a rest," Sam murmured in a tone that was completely under control, almost flat.

Dean cringed and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his arm. He tried not to let it show, though. Sam didn't need any more ammunition. "Sam," he said, trying to head off the explosion brewing in his little brother's eyes.

Sam continued as if Dean hadn't spoken. His voice was still calm. Every word loaded with rage. "You telling me I shouldn't care, Dean? I'm not supposed to worry about you, is that it? Maybe I should also forget the fact that some asshole FBI agent shot my brother twice while he was defenseless." He looked Dean in the eye. "Is that what you would do, Dean?"

Dean may have gone a bit too far. He hadn't realized how close to the edge Sam was. For the first time, he wondered how long he'd been in the hospital. "I couldn't do that, Sam. You know that." He hoped the quiet tone would assuage Sam's mounting anger.

"Yet you expect me to do it." Bitterness and hurt echoed the words. "What the hell is that all about, Dean?"

Dean was quiet as he tried to organize his thoughts. In his head it was simple. He worried about things and Sam didn't. Big brothers shouldered that responsibility, not little brothers. Sam wouldn't see it like that, though. "It's just the way things are."

"Bullshit!" Sam gripped the rail surrounding Dean's bed and leaned forward. "It's the way you want things to be. Well, tough, Dean. I get to care, too. That's the way it is and you can't change it."

"I'm not saying you can't care, Sam," Dean said softly. "You just shouldn't have to worry, that's all."

Sam's smile was tinged with sadness. "You don't get it. They go together. There's no way to separate them. Maybe it's time you realized that."

Dean got the point. He really did. Didn't change anything. His head might agree, but his heart didn't. "Yeah, okay." It was time to end this argument. They'd be having it again soon enough anyway, if their track record was any indication.

Sam narrowed his eyes and Dean spoke again before his brother could utter a word. "So, anyway, I'm sitting there when Hendrickson walks in. He starts asking me all sorts of questions. I tell him I can't answer anything without my lawyer present."

"I'm sure he liked that." Sam shook his head. The anger was still there, but subsiding and Dean quietly sighed in relief.

"Honestly, I stopped paying attention." Dean looked at Sam. "I was wondering how things were going with you. Alan told me that you were meeting with the DA."

Sam must have seen the question in his eyes. "I'll tell you all about it later, Dean. What happened next?"

Dean smirked. "My mind wandered, I guess. Next thing I know he's in my face, yelling about what an evil bastard I am, trying to get a rise out of me, but I've heard worse." He swallowed. "Can I have some more water?"

Sam nodded and grabbed the cup. Dean took a minute to sip at the cool liquid, gathering his thoughts. This last part was a little difficult to tell and he didn't know the ending either. He'd passed out by then. "Then he started talking about dad, Sam. At first it was just some crap about him being a crazy survivalist who raised his sons to be serial killers, but then…" The words were sharp like acid in his head. It's your fault your daddy died, isn't it boy? What's dead should stay dead, right, Deano? Your family didn't need you and now one of them is dead. Sam gonna have to die for you, too? You so pathetic you need that kind of attention?

"Then what?" Sam prompted, tone gentle.

Dean mentally shook himself, trying to erase the fear and loathing of those moments in the interrogation room. "He pulled a gun." He remembered standing, holding his cuffed hands out in surrender, knowing it was useless. "He fired, caught me in the arm as I tried to turn away. I started to…with the Latin when I heard the second shot." The pain in his leg had been unbearable and he'd crumpled to the ground. "Thought he was gonna fire again. I tried, Sammy, I tried, but I couldn't remember the words. I just…couldn't think." His blood had pulsed from his wounds with each beat of his heart. His hands had fluttered uselessly above his thigh as his energy had waned. And then his eyes had closed and it was over. "Then I woke up here."

"Dean?" Sam's face had paled. "Hendrickson—"

"Didn't shoot me." Dean finished for him. "Not technically. He was possessed."

Sam sat stunned. Dean could see him mulling over his words, thinking about the possibilities, examining, analyzing. "Shit."

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Dean said with a trace of humor in his voice. "You gonna fill me in on what happened next?"

"Uh…"

The door opened and Alan came in followed by a police officer.

Sam jumped to his feet. "What took so long? Take the cuffs off him."

"Take it easy, Sam. I just had to untangle some red tape. Good to see you awake, Dean." Alan gestured to the policeman. "Please proceed."

"Hey, Alan," Dean said as the officer unlocked the cuffs from around his wrists.

"I'll be stationed outside so don't try anything funny," the officer glared at him.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You do know that your boss shot me in the leg, right?"

The officer scowled. "Right outside. You understand?"

"Maybe you should get to your post then. That way you'll be ready when I sprint passed you." Dean rolled his eyes.

"Dean," Sam said in warning.

The officer threw Dean another glare before marching out the door.

"What an idiot," Dean muttered.

"Yes, he is," Alan agreed.

"Damn it, Dean, why can't you keep your mouth shut for once. We've got enough trouble to deal with." It was Sam's turn to glare at him.

Dean decided to ignore him. It was pretty evident that Sam needed a nap. He looked at their lawyer. "Alan, Sam was just about to tell me what happened to Hendrickson."

Alan crossed his arms behind his back. "Hendrickson was shot and killed by his fellow officers. It's generally considered a bad idea to shoot a suspect in custody."

"What?" Dean shot up in bed. He grabbed his leg as the pain immediately blossomed. The moan of agony couldn't be stopped. His stomach cramped and he clenched his teeth, willing it to settle. He felt cold and clammy. Curling forward, he gripped his leg and tried to ignore the pain radiating from his arm. The arm wound wasn't so bad, and normally he'd be able to disregard it, but there was too much pain and he thought that all the moving around just made things worse.

"Damn it, Dean! You promised." Hands curled around his shoulders and started to ease him down onto the mattress. He grunted and tried to pull away.

"Stop fighting me, Dean." Sam pulled at one of his wrists, trying to get him to let go of his leg. "Come on. Please let go. Come on." Words tumbled out of Sam's mouth as he tugged harder at Dean's wrist.

Dean was curled on his side now and he was panting. He wanted to do what Sam was telling him, but his body wouldn't obey him. "S—sorry, Sammy."

"Shh. It's okay. Take a deep breath." Sam rubbed at his arm. "Another."

The tension began to leave him and slowly he uncurled. Sam gripped him at the knee and carefully eased his leg down, stopping before his leg fully extended.

"Another breath, Dean. That's it. We're almost there." Sam rubbed his leg from calf to knee.

With a sigh, Dean slumped completely into the bed.

"Alan," Sam said, voice tight. "Can you get the doctor for me, please?"

"I'll be right back."

"You with me?" The question was soft and Dean opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed.

"Thought I already answered that question," he rasped.

"I didn't think I'd have to ask it again!" Sam's fingers dug into his shoulder. Dean didn't say anything. What was a little more pain?

"I'm right here."

"What the hell were you thinking?" Sam gave him a little shake.

Dean's stomach roiled again and he whimpered. Shit, next he'd be crying over a broken nail.

"Dean?"

"Can you…not shake me?" Dean asked with effort.

Sam pulled his hands back as if touching a hot stove. Dean immediately felt the loss. It might have been his imagination, but without his brother's warmth, the pain seemed to intensify. "It wasn't Hendrickson's fault, Sammy," Dean said as he clamped down on the nausea. He would not compound his embarrassment by being sick.

"Yeah, I know," Sam whispered.

"He was just as innocent as any other possessed victim." Dean was tired, but he found the strength to reach up a grasp the sleeve of Sam's suit jacket. "I didn't save him."

"Dean," Sam said, covering the fingers tangled in his sleeve. He rubbed at a knuckle. "It's not your fault. The demon knew what he was doing with that gun. He never even gave you a chance. Put the blame where it belongs. You survived and that has to be good enough," he paused. "It is for me."

The words you can't save everyone played in Dean's head. He hated those words. Didn't make them any less true. "Next time, Sammy, we'll get it next time."

"You bet your ass we will," Sam vowed.

"Let's not," Dean murmured. The ache in his body was a steady thrum and he felt the tug of darkness. Despite all of that, he tried to smile. "It's one of my best features."

"If you say so," Sam replied, amusement in his voice.

"Sammy." Dean's lids began to close. "What happened at the DA's office?"

Dean felt a hand brush across the top of his head. "Don't go to sleep, man. The doctor will be here any minute and he's going to want to talk to you."

"Not asleep," Dean protested.

"Not yet anyway." Sam untangled Dean's fingers from his sleeve and gently laid the hand down on the mattress. "I know you're tired and you just want to rest, but hang on for a little while longer. Okay?"

"Tell me then." Dean weakly thumped the bed.

"If I tell you do you promise not to try to get up?"

Dean couldn't move even if he wanted to, even if he needed to. "No moving. Promise."

Sam's next words were edged with wonder. "I don't know how Alan did it, but I'm free and clear. All the charges have been dropped."

Despite Dean's earlier thought that he couldn't move, the relief and elation he felt needed to be expressed. Sam must have sensed his impending desire to move because there were hands at his shoulder and knee again.

"No, Dean," Sam murmured. "You promised."

"That's great news, Sam," Dean smiled, his voice filled with happiness. He wouldn't be moving anytime soon. "You can still have the normal life you've always wanted."

Sam frowned.

TBC