Chapter 11

"Sam, we can't help him if you won't let go of him. Can we at least get him off the bathroom floor and onto the bed?

Sam's mind was racing. After everything that had happened, the relief he felt at finally having his brother back with him was ominously overshadowed by the uncertainty of who he may actually be holding onto for dear life right now. He did love his father, but he needed his brother. He needed him as much as he needed the air he breathed.

"Sam?"

"I know Bobby. You get his legs."

They picked Dean up together, carrying him to his bed. Sam lowered him slowly, and sat behind him, still cradling him in his lap. He was so still, so lifeless.

Bobby took the trashcan next to the bed, tossed the bag away, and filled it with lukewarm water. He grabbed the last two washcloths left in the room and soaked them. Wringing out one, he handed it to Sam, then wrung out the other for himself. He took Dean's mangled hand, and attempted to clean it.

His hand was caked in bloody mud, and as Bobby tried to clean it, quickly realized it would take more then just some tiny rag to do the job. Holding the wastebasket up to the edge of the bed, he submerged the whole mess into the water, and gently tried loosening the clumps of dirt embedded in it. Sam couldn't help laugh as a memory from long ago crept into his head.

"You know Bobby, Dean used to do that to me when we were kids. It used to make me wet the bed. It really pissed Dad off when he did it too, no pun intended."

As Sam spoke, he tried to wipe the grime from Dean's face, afraid to rub too hard against the burnt, raw flesh. He knew it had to hurt, and knew what Bobby was doing had to be excruciating, yet neither action elicited any type of response, except fear in both Sam and Bobby. He continued to lay there, totally motionless, his breathing the only indication he wasn't dead.

The water in the can now a dirty shade of brown, Dean's hand was finally clean enough for Bobby to take a good look at. It was red, warm, and swollen. It was the three things he didn't want to see. There was a light sheen of sweat across his forehead, and yeah, it didn't escape Bobby that the hand in the water trick didn't do a damn thing to Dean.

"Sam, I know you said no hospital, but he's dehydrated, he running a fever, and his hand's infected. We can't do anything for him if we can't bring him around. What I just did would be enough to wake the dead, but I got nothing. I don't think we have much of a choice. Get some clothes on him, we need to go, and we need to go now."

Sam knew Bobby was right. Dean, or whoever it was he was cradling, needed more help then they could give. He slid out from under his brother's body, laying his head down on a pillow. Digging through Dean's bag, he pulled out boxers and a pair of sweat pants. He didn't bother with a shirt, knowing they'd just cut it off him when they got there anyway. He dressed him quickly while Bobby grabbed the keys to Dean's car. No way they were all fitting into the cab of his truck.

Grabbing the knob, he tried turning it to open the door. It didn't move. He tried forcing it harder, but it just wouldn't give. He looked at Sam, knowing it wasn't over yet.

"Sam, I think we have a problem."

No sooner then the words escaped his lips, the bathroom door slammed shut. The eerie glow gave way to a brilliant burst of light, then it was gone, and all was quiet again. The door to the motel unlatched itself, and drifted open, ever so slightly. The windows were once again clear glass, allowed the light from the moon to cascade in. The little clock on the nightstand reading the exact same time it had when this all began, Sam realized that for all intents and purposes, time had stopped.

Bobby and Sam eyed each other, then the door. They held their breath, waiting for something, anything, to emerge. It was dead silent inside. Bobby crossed the room first, slowly opening the door to peer inside. For the umpteenth time since this all began, he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Sam, you may want to come and see this. You're not gonna believe it. You may want to grab a blanket too."

The tone in Bobby's voice made Sam's curiosity jump to the forefront of his brain, and grabbing the comforter off his bed, he opened the bathroom door fully. What he saw really didn't surprise him, he almost sensed it from Bobby's tone of voice. He covered the body on the floor with the bloodstained blanket that had been his, as he and Bobby once again moved more dead weight off the floor and onto a bed.

"I thought she said she couldn't do it. She said she had no body. What's going on Bobby?"

"She lied Sam. That's what they do. She had the power all along, she just wanted to break him, and she did."

With eyes now open, the voice was unmistakable.

"Sam? Bobby? Am I really here?"

Turning and facing the bed, Sam swallowed hard before answering, remembering the last time they were in this situation. That hadn't ended very well. Sitting on the edge, he looked hard into the eyes in front of him before answering.

"Dad, it that you? Really you?"

"Yeah Sam, it's me."

Sam couldn't help himself, and wrapped his arm around the man hard and tight, holding on for dear life, not wanting to let go. His father held him back, not quite believing he was really here right now. He was sure this had to be some kind of trick. Grabbing hold of Sam's arms, he pushed him back enough to look into his deeply saddened eyes.

"What happened? Where are we? Where's your brother?" The last question came out slightly panicked.

"He's here Dad. He needs help, we gotta get him to the hospital."

"That bad?"

Sitting up and seeing the lifeless body of his eldest son in the bed next to him made him feel sick. He'd heard everything she'd said to him. He'd also heard him sacrifice himself for him, and John could only pray that Dean was even in that body still. He feared it may be nothing but an empty shell.

"Sam, get me some clothes, let's get out of here."

Sam tore through Dean's bag once again, tossing his father clean boxers, jeans, a t-shirt, and socks. He would need to wear Dean's jacket and shoes. He wouldn't need them right now, anyway. Sam had put the silver ring back in it's proper place, and draped Dean's pendant back around his neck before they'd wrapped him in the scratchy motel comforter and stowed him in the back seat while John dressed. Sam gathered up the rest of their things, tossed them in the trunk, and waited for his father and Bobby, who were both still inside.

"Bobby."

"John, good to see you."

"Thanks for taking care of my boys."

"They do a fine job on their own, I just help them out once in a while."

John extended his hand, and Bobby took it, any animosity between them long in the past. They had more important things to worry about right now. They both headed out the door, closing it behind them. Bobby had never been happier to be out of one room in his entire life. He did feel a little guilty leaving all those bloodstained towels everywhere, though.

John climbed in the drivers seat, hands held out to Sam for they keys. He handed them over with no argument, and climbed in the back, next to his brother. Sam had a sick feeling of déjà vu come over him, remembering the last time they were all in this car together. He silently prayed this time, it would end better. Bobby climbed in his truck, shouting from the window.

"I'll follow you, where you going?"

"Lincoln, Nebraska. About three hours. Can't go to the hospitals here, not if Dean's still wanted by the state police. Just keep up, we'll be there by sunrise."

John started the engine and peeled out, pushing the car as hard as he dared to. Sam sat in silence in the back seat, not really sure what to say. How do you ask the questions that were all swimming around in his head? He decided to stay quiet, knowing he'd be able to find out in good time.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The three hour trip was made in a little over two, John pushing the car up over 100 mph when they were on open stretches of back roads. Hitting Lincoln, they'd found one of many hospitals just as they entered town. They'd pulled up to the emergency room doors, Sam out of the car before it had stopped, and hollering for someone, anyone, to help him. It was an obviously slow night, and two orderlies and a nurse were with him at the car in a matter of seconds, pulling Dean out, and racing him inside. Sam and John both meant to follow, but just like clockwork, a burly looking nurse stopped them before the could get to the doors.

"We need a little information, please." She shoved paperwork at John, it being obvious he was the one in charge of this little group.

Knowing the routine all too well, Sam took them, sat in one of the chairs at the desk, and filled them out in about all of thirty seconds. He'd done it so many times, he almost had hospital forms memorized. Shoving them back to the chubby woman, he looked her straight in the eyes, his voice hard and firm.

"There are your papers, now where's my brother."

Raising her brows, she was not intimidated by the man towering over her by at least a foot. "You seem to be an old pro at emergency rooms. Guess that means you also know that you'll be waiting here until the doctor comes for you. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to pass this information along to the people that are trying to save your brother's life. Why don't you have a seat, and let them do their job." She shot him a dirty look, and just walked away.

Knowing he wasn't going to get anywhere, but trying anyway, he resolved himself to waiting. Taking the seat next to his father, the silence between them was almost unbearable. Sam didn't know what to say, and apparently, neither did John. Sam just decided to start with the obvious.

"How do you feel Dad?"

Startled slightly by the break in the thick silence, he thought about Sam's question for just a second before answering.

"I feel alive Sam, and I really don't think I believe it. I have no idea what just happened, and I think the only one that can fill me in is unable to right now. All I know is I'm here, and I can only pray it's to stay."

That pretty much summed it up, and they settled back into their silent waiting. They didn't have to wait very long, as the young man they only assumed was a doctor approached them. He looked all of about sixteen, with wild blonde hair and freckles covering his face. Sam could almost see the surfboard strapped to the top of his car, if they hadn't been in Nebraska, that is.

"Mr. Johnson?"

"Yeah, that's me." John answered.

"I'm Dr. Simon Garfield. Can you answer a few questions for me?"

"How's my boy, doc?"

"He's stable. Can you tell me what happened to him? His injuries seem a little extreme."

Sam broke in, knowing his father had no idea what had happened to Dean.

"We were camping, and we got separated. He's been missing for two days. We searched everywhere for him, but couldn't find him. We were getting ready to call the police, when he stumbled into the campsite, and just collapsed. We got him in the car, and brought him here. Sorry, we just don't know anything else."

"He's extremely dehydrated, and seems to have a mild case of sun poisoning. His face is pretty burnt. Interesting, since it's been raining here for the last three days. Anyway, we've started him on fluids. He's got a pretty high fever, either from the sun poisoning, or the infection in the wound in his hand. You really have no idea how that happened? It has mud embedded inside. We're going to have to open it and flush it out. A good dose of IV antibiotics should clear that up pretty quick. I expect he'll be as good as new in a couple of days. We'll be keeping him here, at least overnight."

"Has he woke up yet?" Sam prayed he'd get the answer he wanted to hear.

"No, not yet, but he seems to have been through a lot. I wouldn't worry, I'm sure he's going to be just fine."

Not if he's not in there anymore, John thought. "Can we see him?"

"Sure, follow me."