Disclaimer: I wish I could stake a claim to 'Supernatural'...and especially to Sam and Dean...but I can't. I gain nothing from this story other than the joys of playing with the Winchester boys for a bit. Unfortunately, I must give them back to Eric Kripke and the CW Network when I'm done.
A/N: I just wanted to remind everyone that this story is SLIGHTLY AU since my John died in the car accident at the end of the first season. Also, I thought Nicki Aycox did such a wonderfully evil job of portraying Meg, that I decided to bring her back in the last chapter...obviously ignoring the fact that she died at the end of Season One. And, as always, this story is completely un-beta'd so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.
ALL EVENTS IN THIS CHAPTER OCCUR RELATIVELY SIMULTANEOUSLY!!
From the previous chapter:
"No! No way. I'm not staying. I'll sign out AMA. Dean, help me with my clothes."
Dean started around the end of the bed towards the closet where Sam's belongings had been stowed.
Dr. McCune reached into his pocket. "I was afraid of that, actually." Withdrawing a syringe from the pocket of his lab coat, he quickly swabbed off a port on Sam's IV, plunged the needle through it and pushed the fluid into the IV tubing.
"What the hell are you doing," Dean barked as he lunged across the bed for the syringe. "What did you just give him?"
The doctor dodged Dean's grasp and began yelling. "Security! Security!"
Two burly men dressed in law enforcement-type uniforms entered the room almost instantly and began grappling with an enraged Dean.
"You need to remove this man. He attacked me and he's endangering my patient," the physician shrieked, adding a shudder or two for good effect.
"No!" Sam screamed, pulling up in bed and reaching out for his brother. "Leave him alone! Don't!"
The doctor placed his hand on Sam's arm. "This boy is very sick. He's not thinking straight." Dr. McCune pointed in Dean's direction as the guards struggled to subdue him. "He's trying to prevent the boy from getting the care he needs!"
Dean's face reddened and an explosion of veins stood out on his forehead in his frenzy to get at the physician. "You lying bastard! What did you give him?! What are you doing to him?!"
"Please, leave him alone!" Sam begged. "He's my brother!" He collapsed back onto the bed, his body feeling sluggish and his head swimming from the medication that had been injected into his IV. "Dean!"
"Sam! Sammy!" Dean continued to thrash wildly as he saw his brother's increasingly uncoordinated movements.
One of the guards grabbed Dean around the mid-section, digging his beefy fingers in deeply in an effort to gain a handhold on Dean's twisting, muscular body. Dean howled in pain as the guard's fingers grated mercilessly across the wounds Sekhmet had bestowed upon him at the veterinary clinic. He doubled over in agony at the red-hot sensation that burst across his abdomen and the second guard pounced on him, slamming Dean to the floor, his head ricocheting off the tiling. Dean could hear Sam weakly calling out for him as the shadows closed in on him and the two security officers dragged Dean's limp form from the room.
Sam stirred weakly on the bed. "Dean! Dean!" Then darkness swallowed the younger boy, as well.
Dr. McCune approached the nurse's station.
"No family members or friends are permitted into that room unless I say so. I want Security outside his door at all times. Understand?"
The nurse silently shook her head.
"Good," Dr. McCune confirmed. "I want him watched closely. He even farts wrong and I want to know about it. That boy's going to make me one very famous doctor."
One Jump Ahead of the Storm
Chapter 37: Crazed Institution
As the security guards hauled Dean's dazed and limp body from the ICU, out a private, side entrance and down a narrow alleyway, his head began to clear. Somewhere deep inside Dean knew he needed to focus, needed to clear his head enough to defend himself, and more importantly to defend Sam. The guards hauled him roughly across the pavement and deposited Dean in a heap. Brian, the taller of the two, jabbed at him with the end of his steel-toed boot.
"This jackass sure went down easy," Brian gloated, taking a second, more vicious jab at Dean's form with his boot.
Before the boot could connect, Dean lashed out with his hands and quickly forced upwards on the unsuspecting officer, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the pavement with a thud. In seconds, Dean was on top of the guard, his fists swinging wildly, splatters of Brian's blood splashing here and there as Dean's fist slammed into his face, jaw and ribs.
The momentary surprise of Dean's ambush had worn off and the other guard grabbed at Dean's shoulders and wrenched him free of his comrade. Chad's violent shove sent Dean careening into the unforgiving metal surface of a nearby dumpster, sending a plethora of multi-colored dots dancing into Dean's view. As they began to clear, he levered himself against the dumpster and pushed to his feet, swaying slightly as he tried to adopt a fighting stance.
"Son of a bitch," Brian screamed as he pulled his haggard body from the ground and joined Chad as he faced off with Dean. "You're gonna pay for that, asshole."
Dean knew he was at a disadvantage. He was still reeling from his go-round with these idiots back in the ICU that had resulted in the gash on his forehead that sent a steady stream of blood into his eyes and down onto his shirt. Plus, the ebb and flow of his impaired vision from the hit he took from the dumpster was toying with his balance and depth perception. Still, getting back to the ICU to protect Sam was paramount and he knew he could easily take on Dr. McCune...but only if these goons were out of the way first.
The fact that Chad and Brian were keeping him from Sam filled Dean with a visceral rage and he shot forward with a savage swing at Chad's jaw. The punch didn't land squarely and Dean plowed awkwardly into Brian, who swept his feet out from under Dean with a quick swipe of his right leg. Landing forcibly on the macadam knocked the air from Dean's lungs and he lay gasping desperately for air.
Brian's large hands clasped Dean by the upper arms and savagely hauled the shorter man to his feet. "Tough guy, huh? Let's see how tough you really are." Brian thrust Dean backwards into Chad, who pulled Dean's upper arms behind him and held him fast. An explosion of pain ripped across his abdomen as Brian's punches tore away suture after suture from Dean's healing abdominal wounds. Flashes of light crossed Dean's vision as Brian's beefy hand slammed into his nose, the crunch of shattered bone punctuating the ferocity of the blow. A merciless upper cut to Dean's jaw split his lip and brought darkness once again to Dean's world and he slumped helplessly in Chad's arms.
"That's what I thought," Brian crowed. "You're not so tough now, are you, shithead."
Chad laughed menacingly and allowed Dean's brutalized body to slowly slide to the ground. Satisfied at their handiwork, both guards turned and headed back to their posts outside Sam's door.
Nurse's Station, ICU
Bobby Singer had arrived in the ICU almost ten minutes ago and he was still not getting any answers. He'd been informed that Sam had been transferred back to the ICU when he'd dropped by room 514 on the Medical-Surgical wing for a visit. The staff there had been unable to explain why Sam had returned to his previous room and the staff in the ICU seemed to be thwarting all of his attempts at getting information there. With each reiterated non-answer to his questions, the volume of Bobby's voice crescendo'd a tiny bit more.
"What do you mean you can't tell me anything about Sam Townsend? I practically raised that boy! I want to know why he was re-admitted to the ICU and I want to know now!" Bobby had both fists tightly clenched and resting on the top of the nurse's desk as he leaned in close. He'd never hit a woman, or at least not one that wasn't possessed, but he certainly wasn't averse to using intimidating posture to get what he wanted.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't give you that information. It's confidential and Federal law prohibits me from divulging it unless we've been given prior authorization from the patient. All I can do is confirm for you that Mr. Townsend is here in room 312," the nurse explained with a sigh.
"Well, then," Bobby purred sarcastically, "why don't you take your lily white ass of a nurse's uniform for a walk, go to Sam's room and get your authorization from Sam right now."
"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse began again condescendingly, "but Mr. Townsend's condition prevents him from being able to give that authorization at this time."
Bobby felt as though the ground had dropped out from beneath him as the nurse's words registered in his head. Mr. Townsend's condition prevents him from being able to give that authorization at this time. Grabbing on to the edge of the counter, Bobby steadied himself and decided to try tugging on the nurse's heartstrings, that is, if she had a heart. At this point Bobby wasn't so sure.
"I need to see him. He and his brother are like sons to me. You have no idea the tragedy these boys have endured. They need me there to support them. They don't have anyone else."
"I'm sorry, sir..."
Holy Hell! Is that the extent of this woman's vocabulary?
"...Mr. Townsend's physician has ordered that he not have any visitors."
"What?!" Bobby's face was reddening and he turned and pointed towards the closed door of Sam's room. "You could at least go in there and have his brother come out to talk with me."
"I could," the nurse bit off condescendingly, "...if he were here, but he's not. He left just minutes after Sam was re-admitted here."
The meaning behind the nurse's words hit Bobby like a punch to the gut and a sudden sensation of nausea welled up in him. He knew from a lifetime of experiences that Dean would never leave Sam's side, especially if he'd taken a turn for the worse. Then again, Bobby remembered his growing sense of alarm at just how close Dean had come a few days back to falling apart because of Sam's condition. If Sam had taken a turn for the worse, it might just be enough to push Dean over the edge. In that case, there was no telling just what Dean might do. The feelings of unease that had been growing inside Bobby had now turned into a full-blown paranoia. Bobby decided the time for being nice had passed.
"God damn it, just tell me what the hell is going on! Better yet," Bobby growled as he pushed passed the nurse towards room 312, "I'll find out for myself!"
The nurse stepped into Bobby's path and waved the burly guards that were still stationed outside Sam's door towards her. "Chad, Brian...I need help over here!" Turning her attention once again towards Bobby she chastised, "Sir, you're going to have to leave. There are critically ill patients here and your outburst is endangering their recoveries. If you won't leave peacefully, Chad and Brian will make you leave and you'll not be permitted to return."
The uniformed guards reached out and roughly grasped Bobby by each bicep and pushed towards the exit. Bobby jerked his arms free from their grasps with a hostile tug and a malevolent glare. Holding his hands up as if in surrender, he slowly backed towards the ICU doors. "Fine," he spit out, his voice imbued with a venomous tone. "I'm not getting any answers here, anyway."
Bobby quickly turned on his heels and hurried from the ICU. He scanned the waiting area and up and down each of the connecting hallways hoping that Dean would show himself. After several minutes without any sign of Dean, Bobby flipped open his cell phone and dialed Dean's number. Five long rings later Dean's phone picked up, "Hey, this is Dean. You know what to do at the tone...beep."
Bobby sighed when he reached the voicemail. Somehow he knew that would happen, that Dean would be in no mood to talk, but he'd hoped that, just this once, Dean would go against his incredibly predictable routines. "Dean, this is Bobby. I don't know what went down with Sam or why he's back in ICU, but they aren't letting me in to see him and they tell me you took off. I need you to call me before you go doing something stupid. So, please...just call me." Hanging up the call, Bobby made his way towards the hospital's parking lot.
Standing at the edge of the curb in front of the hospital entrance, Bobby scoured the parking area for the Impala. It didn't take long for him to locate the shining, black, classic muscle car sticking out like a sore thumb in a lot of otherwise mundane "Mom-mobiles" and farm-battered pick-up trucks. Well, if the car's here at least I know he didn't go far.
Bobby ran a hand over his face as he desperately tried to think where Dean would have run. Coming up empty, he flipped his phone open once again and dialed. "Hey, Joshua...it's Bobby. Have you heard from Dean today? No, no...I don't know...I hope he's OK. Sam's back in ICU, they're not letting me in to see him, they won't give me any information on him and they said Dean took off...Yeah, I know that's strange...Josh, if you hear from Dean, give me a call, OK? Thanks, buddy."
Snapping the phone shut again, and not having any other leads as to where to start his search, Bobby settled on making a sweep of the hospital first. With the car in the lot, it was probably a long shot that Dean had left the hospital grounds, not an impossibility, but certainly not likely. Heading back into the medical facility, Bobby turned toward the ICU. He'd start nosing around in the areas surrounding that unit and then fan out in a circular manner from there.
ICU, Room 312
Dr. McCune eyed the nurse critically. "I don't care what you hear or what you see, but you're going to follow orders and shut up about it or I'll be forced to alert the administration. You wouldn't want them to find out that Mrs. Kunkle's death was a direct result of a medication error you made and so deftly covered up, now would you?"
The nurse sheepishly shook her head. "Please don't," she pleaded. "They'll take my nursing license. I'm a single mom and I need my job."
"Then do as I ask," Dr. McCune barked. "I'm going to get what I want from this boy and I'll do whatever it takes to get it, even if it means pushing him to the brink. I want that EEG monitoring his brain wave activity continuously. Got it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Alright, then. Let's get started."
Sam's eyes snapped open with a start. An acrid, ammonia smell filled his nostrils and burned at his sinuses until he gagged and coughed uncontrollably.
Dr. McCune moved the ammonia capsule smelling salts from under Sam's nose and leaned back. "Mr. Townsend...Mr. Townsend. Can you hear me? You passed out again."
Sam's head was reeling, desperate to comprehend the world around him and yet still drugged enough to make him feel as though he'd been on an all night bender with Jim, Jack, Jose and some freaky-dressed dude with the last name of Morgan. He was having trouble remembering where he was, but by the look of things through his heavy eyelids, he figured he was in a hospital somewhere. That assumption was further strengthened by the feel of wires snaking across his chest and the rhythmic beep, beep, beep of what he knew was the sound of a heart monitor.
Sam tried focusing his half-drunk eyes around the room, searching for the source of the voice. He was still feeling doped enough that the voice really wouldn't have mattered to him all that much except for its insistent tone. He attempted to clear his vision by rubbing at his eyes when he realized he was unable to get his hand more than a few inches off the bed. He tried again with the same results and then tried with the other arm. The sudden realization that he was bound, literally shackled to the bed, caused him to buck wildly at the restraints that encircled his wrists and ankles. A flash of pain along his left side and another in his left thigh from his still healing injuries caused him to wince badly and yelp in pain.
"Mr. Townsend, fighting is only going to make matters worse," the grey-haired physician consoled.
"Where am I? Why do you have me restrained?" Lifting his still swirling head from the pillow, Sam looked frantically around the room, feeling the tug of many small wires on his scalp. "Where's my brother?!"
"Now, Sam," Dr. McCune cooed as though he were talking to a young child. "We've been through all of this before. You're in the hospital. This isn't the first time you've awoken and been physically combative. We've had to restrain you to prevent you from hurting yourself further. You're still recovering from the injuries you sustained in a brawl."
"What?! What brawl?" Sam wished he could clear his whirling brain, wished he could remember, but try as he might, he couldn't seem to get his mind around what the man, who was obviously a physician, was telling him. "I don't remember any fight."
"'You're recovering from life-threatening injuries, Sam. Your memories are going to be jumbled, at best. You may never recover some of them. You were brought to this hospital and we've been caring for you ever since."
Ever since? Ever since?
"What do you mean 'ever since'? How long have I been here?"
"You've been in a coma for three weeks now, Sam. We've had you on these machines, monitoring your heart rate, your breathing and your brain activity. You gave us quite a scare."
"Three weeks?! Wh-where's Dean? I want my brother."
Dr. McCune glanced quickly at his patient's astounding brain wave activity, but he wanted more, and he knew he could get more, if only he pushed his patient far enough. He grasped Sam's left hand tenderly. "Sam...Sam, I'm sorry..."
Sam's eyes widened in fear. He'd had plenty of experience in hospitals throughout his life, not only for himself, his Dad and for Dean, but also waiting for news of friends, other hunters, when they'd been injured on jobs. Sam knew that tone, that tender embrace and those words could mean only one thing.
"I'm sorry, Sam, but Dean's...well, his injuries were just too severe. I'm sorry, but we just weren't able to save him."
Tears sprung to Sam's eyes and a lump the size of Texas took up residence in his throat. When he spoke next, his voice crackled with emotion. "Tell me what happened. I've got to know what happened."
"We'll go through all that later, Sam. I think it would be best for you to rest now," the aging doctor soothed.
"No! I don't want to rest," Sam screamed as he pushed his body forward and strained against the thick leather restraints that bound him securely to his bed. "I can't rest...I need to know what happened to my brother."
Dr. McCune sighed forlornly. "OK, Sam...but this is against my better judgment."
Sam stopped fighting against the restraints and settled his battered body back against the bed, the pull on his left side causing a low groan to escape his lips. Sam's eyes held the gaze of the medic with a fierce intensity while he paused, gathering himself to convincingly lie to the injured man before him. He had seen the results of Sam's first EEG done under traditional, standard procedure and they were unusual and amazing enough in their own right. If he was going to push the young man's mind to the brink, if he was going to get the results that he just knew he could get, the results that would rock the scientific world, set it on its ear and make a name for himself, he would have to be cruel, cunning and, most of all, convincing.
Dr. McCune sighed for effect. In order to keep the boy's trust and have him believe the lies he was about to tell him, Sam Townsend had to have no reason to doubt the doctor's compassion and honesty. "Now keep in mind, Sam, I can only tell you what we've managed to piece together from what the paramedics on the scene have said and from what little you were able to tell us when they brought you in."
Sam swallowed hard, nodding his head slightly but not saying a word.
"It seems you and your brother visited one of our local bars and...how should I put this? You...fell in with the wrong crowd. One thing lead to another until a full-scale barroom brawl ensued and eventually tumbled into the alley behind the bar. From what we can tell, you were up against a pretty sizable number of guys and they'd pummeled you pretty badly by the time your brother got to you. When he attempted to give you aid, you mistook him for one of your attackers and..."
"And what?" Sam questioned angrily. Why can't this guy just spit out the story? Why is he being so evasive? What could be so bad that he keeps starting and stopping like that?
"Sam, I really don't think you should hear this right now," Dr. McCune purred with false sincerity.
"Just tell me! I need to know what happened to my brother." Sam's turbulent emotions caused his voice to falter and crack as tears glistened at the corners of his eyes.
"You were beaten so badly you weren't thinking straight. It really wasn't your fault, Sam."
What wasn't my fault? Damn it, just tell me!" Sam strained against his bonds again, his fear and anger rushing adrenalin throughout his system.
"You didn't realize it was Dean...you thought he was one of the thugs that was beating you and you...you..." Dr. McCune took a large, I-wish-I-didn't-have-to-tell-you-this breath and continued. "You thought you were defending yourself against your attackers and you stabbed Dean in the chest." Dr. McCune's words came out in a rush, as though he really hadn't wanted Sam to hear them and he stood silently watching Sam for any hint that he wasn't believing the lies that were being told to him. Any fears he had of being exposed were quickly washed away as he watched the color drain from his young patient's face.
The air around Sam suddenly became thick and an intense feeling of heat washed over Sam's body. He gulped in giant, heaving breaths of air as the uncontrollable swell of emotions crashed down on him. Tears tracked down his cheeks in torrents as he tried desperately to remember the events that Dr. McCune was telling him about. No matter how hard he tried, he was still unable to get his reeling, disoriented mind to cooperate.
A sudden, fiery, pounding throb pulsed behind Sam's eyes as the world around him begin to flicker and dance. As the undulating scenes slowed and focused, Sam stared into a narrow alleyway. Several battered dumpsters lined the red brick walls of the building, many adorned with graffiti images painted in multi-colored hues. A few of the lids stood partially open as the contents of the overflowing dumpsters threatened to spill out onto the ground. The single security light illuminating the alley glinted weakly off the puddles scattered across the pock-marked pavement.
Straining his eyes into his dimly lit surroundings, Sam caught the gleam of a metallic object twenty or thirty feet from him. Upon reaching the object, Sam bent to inspect it more closely and immediately recognized it as the talisman that Dean wore on a black leather cord around his neck. As he straightened, his eyes caught site of Dean's crumpled figure, silent and unmoving, partially obscured from view by a dumpster and a large pile of shipping pallets. Stark rivulets flowed across Dean's pale face from a gash on Dean's forehead, from his nose and from his lower lip. A broad swathe of crimson soaked the front of his T-shirt.
The scene before him began to blink and shudder as the vision ebbed and the world around Sam slowly began to come into focus again. A feeling of crushing guilt and desolation overtook Sam as he gazed up at the physician with empty, soulless eyes. Sam's lips parted in a whisper he didn't even realize he made, "I killed him. I killed my brother."
Dr. McCune stepped back and looked over the brainwave tracings. The expression that played across his face as he stared at the shocking results quickly turned into a menacing glare. He leaned close to the nurse and intentionally kept his voice low. "I want him sedated twenty-four, seven, just the way you've been doing. I'm not done with him yet." He held up the EEG results for the nurse to see. "I'm telling you, that boy's gonna earn me the Pulitzer Prize for Medicine."
To be continued…
Secondary A/N: I know this chapter might have been a bit confusing so I'll sum up the action. We've got Bobby not sure why Sam's back in ICU and unable to gain access to him; Dr. McCune, who's drugging and lying to Sam in order that he can push him far enough to get earth-shattering EEG results, fame and fortune; Dean who gets the doo-doo stomped out of him by the guards in an alleyway behind the hospital; and Sam, who has a vision of Dean beaten and with a large bloodstain on his shirt. Worst of all...because he's drugged, and doesn't know it, the poor boy believes what Dr. McCune has told him and thinks his vision is a confirmation that he killed his own brother by stabbing him in the chest. Don't ya just HATE that Dr. McCune??
About the chapter title: I chose "Crazed Institution" from the 1976 Jethro Tull album, "Too Old to Rock 'N' Roll: Too Young to Die!" because I thought it pretty much described the crazy, whacked-out behaviors of this hospital's doctors, nurses and guards.