A/N: Many thanks to Unknown, Guest, LunaRains, gracewright, and 1hotpepper for your reviews! I know it's been too long since I posted, but this chapter is huge, almost twice as long as usual. Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve

Dean felt like an idiot lying in bed in a hospital gown surrounded by people loitering nearby. Some were seated in chairs while others leaned against a wall. Bobby, Ellen, Dr. Wegener, and two anonymous doctors had serious looks on their faces while all Dean wanted was to hang out with John, sharing beers and cigarettes after a successful hunt.

He blinked when he heard the voices talking again. Oh well. He ought to pay attention. Maybe.

"The primary diagnosis is temporal lobe epilepsy. Most of the recorded activity was concentrated in that area of the brain. Tied to that is a diagnosis of abdominal epilepsy. That's why you're having difficulty eating and drinking. There's a newer drug that should help with both. You've likely had epilepsy most of your life. The prognosis is uncertain since you've gone years without treatment."

Dean gave him a weak smile. Go to hell. A tendril of hatred toward John coiled in his stomach, threatening to erupt. John had ignored the seizures, preferring to call him names when they happened. F*ck John for all the times he beat him up; f*ck him for giving him all those head injuries. Go to hell, all of you. It was good he was still connected to oxygen because he felt like his breath was stolen from him. He ran a hand over his hair and started pulling on it while his breathing became ragged.

Bobby spoke up. "So, he might still have seizures even if he's on medication? Is there anything else you can do?"

The doctor nodded. "We'll have to wait and see. Surgery is a possibility, but we'll try a drug regime first."

"The psychosis is tied to the temporal lobe," Dr. Wegener stated.

The doctor nodded. "The focus is in the left part of his brain, and he's right handed. It's more common in that case. Barring a family history of schizophrenia, that's the likely cause."

Dean stopped breathing and began choking. The room started spinning, and he was losing the fight not to pass out.

"Place your head down," Dr. Wegener said, gently pushing Dean's head between his knees. "Take in deep breaths and let them out slowly."

Ellen rubbed his back and whispered reassurances. "This is a lot to process," she said. "You'll be okay. We'll make sure."

Dean closed his eyes and fell against her, wishing the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

:::

Bobby wheeled Sam into Dean's room. Sam waved two action figure dolls at him and said, "Wanna play, Dean?"

"Can you look after Sam while Ellen and I talk some more to the doctors?"

Dean glanced at Sam, and his eyes lit up. "Sure!"

"Up or down?" Bobby asked Sam.

"UP!"

Bobby lifted Sam to Dean's bed. "You boys be good. Dean, you're older, so I'm countin' on you to watch out for Sam."

Dean met Bobby's eyes, and he could tell the older man was buttering him up, trying to help him feel like less of a loser. He didn't know how to feel about that. All he wanted right now was to burn down the hospital. As it was, the bullets in his gun had the Winchester name emblazoned on them. But, was it his name or John's? Or maybe both. He was going to kill John and then himself. That sounded about right.

"Dean?"

Dean looked up. Bobby's eyes gave away his concern, so Dean plastered a fake smile on his face. Maybe too wide of a grin? Dean adjusted his face and hoped to appear normal, like his guts weren't shards of broken glass.

When Bobby left, Sam asked him, "Superman or Batman? I got both." Sweet kid. He was letting him choose.

"Batman," Dean said. "No contest."

Sam frowned. "Why?"

Dean tapped his finger on Superman's head. "'Cause Superman's a greaser. Look at that silly hair. All those girly waves are held together by oily junk. He's too retro. He hasn't changed since the 1940s."

Sam seemed utterly confused. "What? What's that mean?"

"Oh, he's an okay superhero. He needs love, too. So, you can love on Superman." Dean stroked the bat on Batman's chest. "Batman's cool. He's rich, has a rockin' car, and his girlfriend is hotter than Lois Lane."

Sam made his doll fly through the air and smack Batman's face. "Ha," he giggled. "Take that, Battie. I am steel."

Dean made Batman point at his new nemesis. "I forbid you. Do not mock me or I shall tear your cape off of your muscle-bound shoulders."

Sam yanked Batman's arm behind his back. "Crack! Broke it."

Dean had Batman throw a wild kick that missed Superman's quick jump backwards.

Superman kicked Batman in the crotch, and Batman bent over sharply. "Uggghh," Batman shouted. "You racked me up, you prick."

Superman did a victory dance on the blankets. "Thank you, thank you," he said.

Batman tried to creep behind Superman so he could strangle him. But, Superman knocked Batman flat on his back and sat on top of him.

Batman struggled underneath all of those muscles, but Superman wouldn't move. Finally, Batman lifted up, but Superman knocked him flat on his stomach.

Dean laughed so hard he ran out of breath. "Didn't know you swung that way, Superbeast. But, you cannot penetrate my Bat-tights!"

Sam frowned. "Huh?"

Dean flung down his doll to reach for Sam and hug him. "You're a trip, Sammy. I had fun. Thanks."

Sam smiled brightly, and his dimples sang out on his cheeks. "I like playing with you, too. You're my best friend."

Dean lightly punched his arm. "Ditto."

:::

"I am concerned," Dr. Wegener said, tapping his pen on his desk. "We don't have a detailed family history for Dean. He's young to be having psychosis. It could become a chronic issue."

"You're worried about schizophrenia?" Ellen asked.

"Possibly. There's an association with the type of epilepsy Dean has. It often begins after twenty years of age. He could be showing early signs of it. But, it may also be a consequence of the childhood trauma he's experienced. Sometimes he's fine and other times not. That's not the usual pattern for schizophrenia."

"So, it's wait and see," Bobby said. "What about medication? Do you recommend he go back to those anti-psychotics he was on?"

The doctor shook his head. "Not for now. The drugs for epilepsy don't play well with others. I'd rather he find a regime for his epilepsy first. If it's under control, he might not have the psychotic episodes. He does display a high level of anxiety, and who could blame him, of course. I'm writing an order for a short acting anti-anxiety drug to be given as necessary while he's in the hospital. You'll take a prescription home with you as well. We can't count on Dean to tell us when he needs it, so you'll have to be sensitive to his change in moods and decide when to administer it."

"You said Dean took some IQ tests. Are the results back yet?" Ellen asked.

"Yes. You'll be happy to know he has an overall above average score. His communication skills are lacking in some areas, but it's probably his environment rather than aptitude. I don't think he was encouraged to interact with people or maybe even punished for doing so."

Bobby sighed. "What about all of the education he's missed?"

"He can start learning program right away. He should quickly pick up how to read and write. It's not like he's five or six years old. His brain is more developed at his age."

"I have an idea," Bobby said. "Sam is always houndin' us to read to him, and it gets tiring. We could have Sam pick out one of his favorite easy reading books, and Dean could practice by reading to him?"

The doctor nodded. "Excellent. It'll show Dean that reading can be fun, not just a chore." He cleared his throat. "Have you noticed him drifting in and out of awareness when he's stressed?"

Ellen nodded "Yes, I have."

"That's the area we should focus on. It's likely how he's adapted to severe child abuse. That and the fact he reacts physically rather than talks about what bothers him."

Bobby jumped from his chair and threw his cap to the floor. His face turned red as he paced the room. "I want to find John Winchester and sic the cops on him. Put him in the same prison he lied about going to."

:::

Dean watched the nurse as she recorded his vitals and checked on his IV. "Um...hey," he said to get her attention. "I want to try eating. I'm hungry, and my stomach is growling."

The nurse looked uncertain. "Are you sure?"

Dean gave her a bright smile that didn't meet the hard expression in his eyes. "Yes."

Dean scoffed when she walked away. He'd already snatched her pen and hid it in the fold of his blanket. These people might be good at medical stuff, but manipulating them was a breeze.

A person soon brought him an entire dinner, not a bowl of soup like he'd assumed. Perfect, he thought as he accepted a packet of plastic utensils. He pricked his thumb with the tines of a spork, satisfied it was relatively sharp, maybe having the ability to draw blood. He ran the knife hard over his thigh several times and grinned at the lines of blood that seeped to the surface. If he could grab another one of these, he'd turn it into a shiv. The hospital felt like a prison, so he might as well act like it was.

He balled up the plastic and hid it. He pressed the call button, and plastered a sad look on his face. "They forgot to give me utensils" he told the nurse.

She sighed and left to find what he needed to eat. "Food's growing cold," he called after her.

While he was waiting he used the knife to saw through a few threads in his teddy bear's stomach. He spread the open seam and quickly stuffed the pen and utensils deep into it's belly. Good thing it was huge 'cause he needed to place plenty of items in it to avoid detection.

Dean noticed dinner was a cheeseburger paired with french fries. He toyed with a few fries before shoving them into his mouth. He rapidly ate the entire burger, almost choking in his haste. He refused to accept the epilepsy diagnosis, so what did it matter if he ate. There was nothing wrong with him; it was mind over matter. Hell, if this ended in disaster, who cared. It'd get him out of his scheduled surgery tomorrow. No way he was going to allow them to give him another cast.

He ate a few more fries, but a nauseous, rising feeling in his stomach prevented him from swallowing. He coughed them back onto the plate and gripped his stomach as he broke out in a cold sweat. "Son of a bitch!" he yelled. He felt like he was being strangled and impaled with something deadly sharp.

His brain went fuzzy, and he squinted as his vision turned cloudy and vague. He slapped his hand over his face, unable to figure out what to do, but he was scared, real scared. He jumped out of bed, not noticing the cannula and IV ripping from him.

Dean stumbled, his leg in the brace blocking his attempts to walk forward. He turned in circles, panting and almost falling when his hand reached for the table of food. It was on wheels and shot away from him. He swayed left and right as he staggered to the doorway. He knew he needed something...or somebody? He heard talking and followed the sounds like they were a lifeline. His palm cupped the side of his head. It was threatening to explode.

He bumped into a counter and gripped the edge of it. He mumbled something incomprehensible to one of the voices. His shaking hand opened, and he felt himself falling in slow motion until he hit the hard floor.

A woman in scrubs ran around the nurse's station and knelt beside Dean. "Is this the Winchester kid? What's he doing out of bed?" Dean was out cold, and his face was dripping with blood. She checked around his head, but the only injury he seemed to have was a steady nosebleed.

The right side of Dean's body jerked and then he stopped breathing. A nurse was able to place a pillow beneath his head as his whole body stiffened. "Here we go," the woman in scrubs said as Dean began thrashing wildly on the floor. Blood spread around him as his nose and IV site leaked blood. Dean stopped after a minute and promptly lost bladder control and all of his dinner.

Someone moved him away from the mess and toweled off his face and the front of his gown. "Call the janitor. I'll round up a gurney."

Dean was still out when he was loaded onto the gurney. His arm flopped off the side, and the one with the cast rested on his belly as he was wheeled back to his room. He began waking when a new gown was placed on him. His eyes opened and rolled around before closing again. He weakly batted at a hand that held a tissue to his nose and shook his head. "Go 'way," he breathed out. He rose up on one elbow and unsuccessfully attempted to leap off the gurney.

A male nurse entered the room and brought over a wheelchair. "Here. Let's try this." He lifted Dean and seated him in the chair. "Hold your head back." When Dean's nose finally stopped bleeding, the man wheeled him toward the bathroom. "We need to clean you up a bit. How are you feeling? Hanging in there?"

Dean was barely conscious but grew restless as they entered the tiled room. His eyes widened, and he let out a terrified scream. He kept screaming as the man rapidly wheeled him out of the bathroom. "What's wrong?" Dean shook his head and gripped the armrest with white knuckled fingers.

"He has orders for a sedative," the female nurse said.

"I'll set him up on the bed," the man said. He gently lifted Dean to the bed and placed restraints around his wrists when Dean kept punching him. His eyes stared at something only he could see in his mind.

John twisted his arms behind his back and pushed him toward the bathroom. Dean dug in his heels, but when that didn't work, he turned dead weight, forcing John to pull him up from the floor by his hair and shove him into the room.

Dean stumbled against the sink and then wailed when he saw the handcuffs. John punched him hard, sending him sprawled to the tiled floor. "Shut up!" John yelled. "No talking. I'm sick of your whining."

Dean scooted to a wall with a towel rack on it and pulled himself up. He held onto it with an iron grip, his teeth clenching and muscles flexing. John finally got one arm free and fastened a cuff to it. He flung Dean to the sink, causing him to bash his face on the edge, giving him a split lip that pooled blood. He slid down to the floor and licked his lip, resigning himself to being cuffed to the sink's steel supporting leg. He made a hiccuping sound one step from a sob.

John ran a hand over his hair as he stared down at his son. Dean looked up but turned away when he caught John's stare. He shivered once, then twice when John's voice rose.

"I'm going out of town for a few days. Since I can't trust you to stop talking to people, you'll remain here!"

Dean felt his face flush. "It was only a girl. She was nice. I...I liked talking to her. I didn't tell her anything. Promise. I promise."

John ignored him and strode out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with a bag of food and threw it in Dean's direction. He set a two liter of cola on the floor and then slammed out the door without another word.

Dean curled up on the floor when he heard the Impala roar to life and leave the parking lot. He knew he should have ignored her when she said hi in the motel lobby. He was buying John some snacks in the machine. He met her a couple more times, and they'd shared her comic books. He was in the middle of telling her a joke when John had stormed toward them cursing and scaring the girl away for good. He kept trying not to speak to people, but he couldn't stop it. He was lonely. He couldn't help it.

He traced his finger over the tiles. Counting them would probably be his only entertainment for days. He tired of singing songs. The sun set and then rose again. He'd run out of energy from refusing to eat the food and accidentally kicking away the bottle of cola John had left him. John had cuffed him so close to the sink he couldn't rise to get a drink of water. Streams of blood ran down his wrist from the hours he'd spent yanking and pulling it to try and free himself. He'd scream for help, but his throat was too dry, and he was too weary to manage it. All he could do was mutter lemmego...lemmego over and over as his eyes lost focus and he lost himself in the rising and falling tones of the words.

The sun began setting again. He'd been locked up plenty of times but never this long. He was going to die if he didn't get some water. His bleary eyes cast on the toilet beside him. Something gave him the strength to lift the lid. He grimaced as he stretched his arm to the water. His fingers could barely tap it. He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked hard on them. Over and over again he repeated the motion until his arm began to shake and cramp. He huddled on the cold floor, resting his head on his arm and feeling so sleepy he wasn't sure he'd wake if he fell asleep.

He heard the word, "Damn," and felt a hand on his face. There was a sound of metal hitting the tiled floor and an odd feeling on his wrist. "Dean? Dean," the deep voice said. He couldn't open his eyes or respond. "I should have come back earlier, but there was this real fine broad I met in the bar." A shoe toed him, and Dean let out a weak exhale. "At least you're breathing. Come on." Callused hands took hold of his arms and yanked up. His head flopped back, and he was dumped into the shower. "You reek. You been peeing yourself again?" Cold water splashed over his head and body, and he moaned softly. His wet clothes were stripped off and a rough towel ran over his body. He was carried and dumped on a bed. "God. What did I do to deserve this? You're as retarded as your brother."

Sweat was dripping down Dean's forehead when the woman returned to the room with a syringe. His eyes were closed, and he was screaming, "Lemme go!" over and over.

"Roll him for me," she said to the man. Dean was turned on his side and injected in the hip. "Hey," she said to him softly as she stroked his hair. "You're okay. You can calm down now."

Dean's breathing slowed down, and he whimpered as he turned his head and fell asleep.

:::

Doctor Wegener drummed his fingers on the doorway as Dean looked up. "Hey," the doctor said. "We sure threw a lot of medical nonsense at you yesterday. I think we overwhelmed you, and I apologize for that. But, we didn't want to talk about you behind your back. You have a right to know what your medical condition is."

Dean looked away as his knuckles gripped his blankets. He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. They're wrong anyway."

"How's that?"

"I don't have epilepsy."

"Then what happened to you last night?"

Dean sighed. "Just a strange nosebleed. Made me loopy."

"Loopy huh? Is that why you were screaming nonstop?"

"They're exaggerating."

Dr. Wegener pulled up a chair and studied him. "They're professionals. They get paid to notice behavior. You were out of control, enough to require an injection to calm down. You were terrified of the bathroom. Now, what's this really about?"

Dean looked defiant. "I'm a hunter. I'm not scared of anything."

"I'm sure you're a good hunter, but if something disturbing happened to you, it helps to talk about it. You won't get in trouble if you discuss it with me."

Dean scoffed, but he grew pensive. "Um...I don't need to talk about anything. But what...what if someone else did? How's that help?"

"Discussing problems helps diffuse them so they don't have a hold on your life. You're free to make choices, to move forward instead of being stuck in the past. If you keep all of those emotions inside it's like believing nothing will get better. It's all negative energy. It makes people sick. It's better to decide how you feel about things, rather than let others control you. Make sense?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I guess so." He paused. "I'll let you know if I ever have a problem."

The doctor chuckled. "Oh, I didn't realize I was talking to Mr. Wonderful. You're the first perfect person I've met."

"Well, if you're not perfect, how come you don't have to talk?"

The doctor stroked his goatee. "That's a good question. Everyone in this profession does have to go through counseling while we're students at university. It's part of the training."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Oh. It's doubtful, but I'll let you know if I ever need to talk."

:::

"Who's this?" Dean said with a wide grin at the approach of Sam and his parents. He pointed at the big 'S' on Sam's teeshirt. "Does that stand for Sam?"

Sam crossed his arms and shook his head. "No. Guess!"

"Silly?"

Sam's lower lip stuck out.

"Could it be...Superman?"

Sam waved his arms. "Yes! That's me. Superman!" He thrust a bag at Dean. "Here."

Dean opened the bag and smiled. "For me?" He pulled out a Batman teeshirt.

"You Batman!"

Dean glanced shyly at Ellen. "Thanks."

Ellen beamed. "I had to guess at the size, but it looks like it'll fit."

"We have a surprise for you," Bobby said. "It's a beautiful day today. Sunny but cool for once. Thought ya might wanna go outside for a bit." He pointed at Dean's medical equipment. "Doc said it's okay to remove all that junk for awhile. Fresh air will do ya good."

"Oh man, that's...excellent! Yeah, I really wanna go. I'm so tired of lying in bed."

"I bought you some sweatpants and slippers, too," Ellen said.

Dean snorted. "I'm not sure I'll recognize clothes. Damn hospital gowns."

"Let's give Dean some privacy to change," Ellen said. "We'll find a wheelchair for you, Dean. See you in a minute."

After Ellen left them in one of the gardens, Bobby said, "Boys, I have a some phone calls to make. Dean, will you two be okay by yourselves for a few minutes?"

Dean nodded. "Sure. We'll be over there," he said, pointing toward one of the hospital entrances nearby. There's shade if we need it."

Bobby looked pleased. "Holler if you need anything."

"Wanna learn something?" Dean asked Sam. "Yeah? Well, we're going to beg."

"What is a beg?"

"You ask people for money. Should be a breeze since we're in wheelchairs. You just have to look real sad. Makes people feel sorry for you. That helps." Dean made a downturned face. "Think you can do it?"

Sam nodded. "I do it good."

"Now yawn a bunch. Watch me." Dean rapidly yawned until his eyes filled with tears and a few ran down his cheeks. "Go ahead."

Sam yawned so fast Dean had to stop him. "Don't break your jaw. Now, look. There's an older woman with gray hair. Pay attention to what I say." Dean held his hand out to the woman. "Ma'am? Excuse me for bothering you, but can you help us?"

The woman approached them looking serious. "Young man, you seem upset. Where are your parents?"

"See? That's the thing. My dad dropped us off for our appointments here, but he was called to work for an emergency. He works in electricity. The whole city will lose power without him. And, he forgot to leave us enough cash to call a cab. Will you help us?"

Sammy hiccuped and let the tears pour.

Dean wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder. "My little brother is scared. I need to get him home soon."

"Can I offer you a ride?"

Dean sadly shook his head no. "We're not allowed to ride with strangers, ma'am. That's rule number one."

The woman opened her big purse. "Well, just this once I guess." She handed him a twenty, and Dean smiled. "You're too kind. Thank you so much."

Sam continued to release tears.

Dean gave him an affection tap on the head. "You are good, Sam. Real good. Now look. Here comes another lady. Man, the pickings are good."

After a few more encounters, Dean tucked a wad of bills into the pocket of his sweatpants. He handed Sam a twenty. "Here. This is your take. You were a pro, kid."

Sam imitated Dean and hid the bill in his jeans.

"You buy yourself a book and tell your parents you earned it. But, don't tell 'em how."

Sam smiled. "I keep secret. But, Dean. Why did we beg?"

"I need the cash," Dean said. "John left me. I gotta start earning a living. I need this stake to begin a new business."

"Don't understand."

"That's okay. You don't have to."

"How you learn to beg?"

Dean shrugged. "I was hungry all the time. I had to beg if I wanted to eat. Didn't have any food in the house."

"Mommy always feeds me."

"I know, and you're real lucky to have your mom. She's a nice lady."

"So is your mommy."

"What?"

"I met your mommy. She is so like sunshine and pretty. Said be good to Dean."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Sam? I don't want to talk about her. She's dead, and it makes me sad."

"But I talked to her. She not dead."

Dean nodded. "You can speak to dead people sometimes."

"Oh. She wants you happy, not sad."

Dean's eyes filled with tears, and he coughed them away. "That's nice to know."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I wish you were my brother."

Dean stared at him, searching his face for clues. "Why? Nobody wants me."

"'Cause you are the best. Best in the whole world."

He didn't want to tell Sam it wasn't possible. That you had to have the same mother and father. But, the words left his lips, too. And, it felt right. "I wish you were my brother." His heart hurt, though. "I...I think...um. I think I had a brother. A long time ago." Dean rubbed his forehead. His head hurt so bad when he tried to remember, like he was bashing his head against a huge, thick door, and the secrets were pounding on the other side. He rocked his wheelchair forwards and back, afraid he was being punished for something he couldn't recall. This...this hurtful thing existed somewhere far away from him, and he was filled with confusion and regret. He rubbed his arm, the one that had the prominent burn scar.

Sam placed a hand over Dean's. His giant, puppy dog eyes stared intently into his soul.

Dean looked away. His stomach was tied in knots, but he warmed at Sam's gesture. It's like they could talk without speaking.

Goosebumps sprang out on Dean's arm, and he shivered as his vision lost focus.

Dean woke up at the footsteps entering the room and the sound of a deep voice. His heart leaped, hoping it was Daddy. He coughed for a long time. Everything smelled like smoke; he was buried in it. His eyes burned, and it hurt to breathe. He reached for the plastic thing over his face and trembled at the arguing voices.

"He's been crying nonstop, asking for you," the woman wearing white said. Her face frowned, and it sounded like she was angry.

"I was making arrangements for my wife. She's dead!"

"But, your son. He needs..."

"Just leave. I can handle my son."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't like it when Daddy was mad. It was better to be quiet and pretend he wasn't there.

A large hand shook him. "Open your eyes."

Dean reached for Daddy, grasping his sooty, ashy jeans, but Daddy smacked his hand away.

Dean stared into Daddy's eyes. They glinted like an endless pool of anger.

"Your mother died tonight in the fire. She's never coming back."

"I want Mommy."

I told you. She's gone; you'll never talk to her again."

Dean's lower lip trembled. "Where's Sammy? I wanna see him."

"He died tonight. It's all your fault. I wish you'd died instead. I liked Sammy better than you. You're a pussy, a momma's boy."

Dean's heart broke. "Daddy, no. No! It's not true. You're making it up."

Daddy snorted. He shook his finger at his face. "So, now I'm a liar. Well, you murdered your brother. Stop asking for Sammy. I'll kill you myself if you ever mention his name again." He held his hand over Dean's throat and squeezed.

Dean's eyes popped. He couldn't breathe! Help, Daddy. Help.

Daddy stepped back and said under his breath, "I hate you."

Dean watched Daddy stomp from the room. He pressed his fingernails into the fresh stitches in his scalp, relishing the pain. He pulled hard on them, feeling a few of them pop. A thick, wet line ran down his face and into his eyes. And then he felt dead, too.

Dean snapped to attention at the pain of Sam punching his arm.

"What? What?" Dean breathed out. He blinked his eyes and held a hand to his forehead. There was a lot of noise in his head, almost deafening. He was desperate to escape. Sammy...Sammy...

"Your eyes are weird," Sam said. "Like you not here. You stopped talking."

Dean frowned as he craned his neck, staring at the parking lot in the distance with the cars coming and going. "I'm leaving," he told the boy. He hugged Sam, clinging to him as if he were a life preserver.

"I can't breathe," Sam mumbled into his chest.

Dean let him go and tried but failed to smile. "I'll be back, Squirt. I promise. I just gotta go now. I can't help it. I have to."

"Dean! Don't!"

Dean gave him a salute and wheeled away. "I promise, Superman."

Dean headed down to the street and held out his thumb as the cars passed him. He could hardly see through his tears. Come on, come on, he thought, banging his skull with his cast. I gotta leave. I'm gonna die. Can't...can't stay here one more second.

A long, black car like a hearse stopped, and Dean leaned into the driver's side window to talk to a man who exited and placed Dean's wheelchair into the trunk. He assisted Dean into the back of the car. Dean went to reach for his fallen teddy bear, but the door was slammed in his face.

"Dean!" Sam screamed. "Stranger danger, stranger danger!"

Bobby ran to Sam at the sound of his son's frantic cries. "Sam! Are you okay?" He looked around. "Where's Dean? Sam, where is he?!"

Sam pointed to the street. "The man in the car. He took Dean!"

Bobby's heart threatened to leap from his chest when he saw Dean pounding his fist on the rear window, looking totally freaked out. He could see Dean mouthing, "Help! Help me!" as the car sped away.