A/N I am so sorry that this story has just...kept going. It was originally going to be like three chapters, tops, and yeah...the muse caught hold when I was writing this and did not let go.
Also, thank you to everyone who has been reviewing and reading. It's like little bursts of motivation to keep going in life. :)
Chapter Five
The paramedics wasted no time hurrying on board as soon as Stanley docked the boat. After showing them below deck, Dean stood back a moment as they converged on the injured.
There were now more than ten people—counting the bodies—down below and the already small space was becoming almost claustrophobic. Stanley inched past him and back up the stairs with a grim look and a jerk of his head to indicate that Dean should follow. Dean shook his head but stayed out of the way until things calmed down a little.
Cas had stood—Sam's head was now resting on Dean's bundled-up jacket—and was directing the paramedics towards those who needed immediate attention.
One of the paramedics was kneeling next to Sam, talking quietly to him. Another paramedic was talking to Mr. Sato and Gordon. Dean waited another couple of minutes before easing his way through the crowd and coming to hover over Sam as the paramedic—Jenny, according to her nametag—slipped an oxygen mask over his face.
She looked up briefly at Dean's approach. "This must be your partner then, right, agent?" she asked cheerfully. Sam opened his eyes and smiled.
"Yeah, that's my brother—partner—partner, that's my fellow agent," he said, his voice slow and thick. Stanley must have told the tale while he was calling in the ambulances, or at least what he knew of the story. Come to think of it, Dean probably didn't know much more than him about what had happened that night.
"He's going to be okay, right?"
Jenny didn't look up at him as she finished fastening a blood pressure cuff around Sam's arm. She began to pump it up, and Sam's face tightened a little. He never had liked getting his blood pressure taken. Jenny slowly loosened the cuff, silently reading the numbers on the dial.
She wasn't frowning, so that had to be good. She glanced up at Dean, making eye contact. "We will have to wait for a more complete examination, but he's stable, and that's a start."
"Did Cas tell you that…" he gestured at Sam and Jenny raised an eyebrow.
"I was informed that he almost drowned and that CPR was performed if that was what you mean?"
"Right."
"I can't do much about that. At the moment, we are making sure that he is stable for transportation and is not in immediate distress. We'll let the ER doctors know and they'll take it from there."
He nodded, watching carefully as she began to break some chemical heating packets open, tucking them strategically under the mylar blanket that had been tucked over Sam.
Sam's eyes opened again, watching the proceedings through a hazy disconnect. Jenny must have seen Dean's frown because she said reassuringly, "Hypothermia often causes confusion and disorientation. Also, your partner has been through quite the traumatic experience tonight, so it's understandable, isn't it, Sam?"
Dean stifled a snort. Sam had been through intensely traumatic experiences, he doubted that this would even cross the top twenty.
Jenny stood. "I'll be right back, I'm going to see where we are at and when we can move out of here," she said and Dean nodded, easing into her place right next to Sam.
"He looks better." Cas had reappeared at Dean's side, his trench coat back on.
"I was just thinking the same thing. His color is better, at least," Dean said, laying a hand against Sam's cheek. His breath was fogging up the oxygen mask, his breathing easier with the additional help provided. He seemed to be resting more peacefully as well, or at least he hadn't opened his eyes in the last few minutes.
The four paramedics had converged in a small huddle in the middle of the room and were talking softly but urgently. When they broke up, Jenny returned to their side.
"We don't have enough space to take everyone in one trip, but those who are in the most critical condition will receive first access. That includes your partner, so I'm going to go ahead and get him prepped."
Dean nodded, and reluctantly returned to the sidelines with Cas when she requested space.
They got Sam up on and on the stretcher and then began to wheel him out. Dean followed them off the boat, watching as they loaded him into one of the waiting ambulances.
The other set of paramedics returned with Donnie, loading him easily in next to Sam. Dean eyed him distastefully—he didn't know for a fact that he and Fred had anything to do with what had happened, but all the evidence pointed towards them—but didn't say anything. Jenny jumped down, turning to face them.
"We're taking them to Samaritan Pacific Community hospital, but you are going to have to meet us there."
"Yeah, of course. We'll be right behind you."
"Alright, then we're out."
Dean watched the doors of the ambulance close, hiding Sam from view.
"C'mon." Dean began to walk away and Cas followed, heading back towards the Impala. Mr. Sato and Fred were being loaded into the second ambulance, while one of the paramedics stayed below with Gordon. Stanley had also returned to sit with and watch over him.
"This isn't going to be easy to explain," Cas said in a low voice as they reached the car.
"We will worry about it when and if the cops start asking questions. At least we look like we have some sort of authority. Trust me, we've been in worst situations." Dean unlocked the Impala, and they both got in.
"Still…it would do well for us to leave before we draw too much attention to ourselves," Cas said seriously and Dean nodded, watching as the ambulance with Sam in it pulled away.
"Yeah, that's probably smart. We'll see what the doctors have to say, but once you're good to go, then we can break Sam out. Again, this isn't the worst situation that I've ever been in. This isn't near as bad as last year when we were locked up for who knows how long."
That had been bad. That wasn't something that Dean talked about, not really, not with anyone but Sam. No one understood what it had been like but Sam…that was true for so much.
He had almost lost his greatest confidante tonight, the one person he truly felt like he could talk to about anything, even if he didn't always choose to.
All because he had strayed from Sam's side.
Pulling away from the curb, he followed the ambulance down the street.
#
The waiting room was mostly empty when Dean and Cas arrived.
That changed over the next hour as family members were notified of the accident and began to pour in. Most of them were middle-aged women—wives and girlfriends, Dean guessed—although a couple of them had brought their children in as well. The mood grew noticeably dour and moody as each new member presented themselves, and Cas and Dean didn't even try and talk with them or explain.
Cas still looked tired and pale, and Dean was feeling anxious again.
Shouldn't have someone come to get them by now?
At last, he left to get them both cups of coffee—they were likely to be horrible, but at least it would be hot—just to give himself something to do.
Dean was returning when he caught sight of a doctor approaching Cas with her hands in her pockets. Cursing, Dean hurried over.
"Hi, hello," he said awkwardly before Cas could say anything. The doctor looked over at him, quickly changing her focus.
"You must be Agent Plant," she said, holding out her hand. Dean shook it, appreciating her firm grasp. "And your…" she turned to look at Cas, but he just blinked at her and didn't elaborate.
"He's with me," Dean cut in quickly, passing both cups of coffee to Cas so that he could give his full attention to the doctor.
She didn't question it. "I'm Doctor Garcia, and I'm the one who has been treating your partner."
"And how is he? Is he doing okay?"
Dean's heart was thudding in his chest, his breath catching.
Dr. Garcia didn't answer immediately, rather pulling up a chair to face them, and Dean quickly dropped down to sit on his own, trying to keep his hands from shaking too much.
"Look, Agent Page went through quite the ordeal this evening. Considering everything—how long he was in the water, the CPR, etc.—he is actually doing remarkably well. Much, much, better than I would have guessed if I had simply heard his experience and not triaged him myself. It's amazing that he is even alive and that he doesn't seem to have suffered any brain damage."
"But…?" Dean interjected hesitantly.
"But," Dr. Garcia said with what looked like a sad smile. "We are still concerned, particularly about his oxygen levels. They are lower than I would like to see, even though we are giving him extra oxygen. Part of this is probably due to the pulmonary collusions that we've found. Basically, it means that his lungs are bruised."
"That…that doesn't sound terrible."
Sam had had more than his fair share of bruises throughout his life, bruising was something that Dean could deal with.
"Here…" Dr. Garcia opened the folder that she was holding, pulling out an x-ray. "We took the liberty of going ahead with x-rays, just to be on the safe side. As you can see here, two of his ribs on the right side are broken, probably from the blunt force trauma that he appears to have experienced rather than CPR. But, if you look here…" she pulled out a pen, tapping at a spot on the picture. "This right here, those white splotches…that's bruising, and it's across both lungs."
Dean reached out, taking the x-rays and examining them critically. Dr. Garcia watched him, waiting until he—and Cas who was peeking over his shoulder—were satisfied and had handed them back to continue.
"The bad news is that just like a normal bruise, there will be swelling and pain, only this time—"
"It's on his lungs, and that will make it hard to breathe," Dean finished for her in sudden understanding. He rubbed at his mouth, thinking.
"Right." Dr. Garcia tucked the pictures back into the folder. "The next twenty-four hours should be the most critical, and then the swelling will go down. The worst-case scenario is that Agent Page will be unable to breathe on his own, and then we would have to intubate, but we are hopeful that it won't come to that. Just to be sure, though, we would like to keep him under observation until those twenty-four hours are up."
"That's fine," Dean said without hesitation, sitting straight again. "Is there anything else?"
"Nothing else that is critical as of right now. He has a bad cut on his head, but we glued it and he doesn't appear to have a concussion, probably just one hell of a headache. Agent Page also had some first-degree burns on his legs; we're guessing from the explosion…?" She trailed off, but Dean could only shrug. He didn't have anything else to offer. "But they also were not as bad as I was expecting. He must have gotten lucky. The hypothermia we are still treating, but I'm happy with how his temperature is rising. Overall, there is no reason that he shouldn't make a full recovery. I am very optimistic."
Dean nodded, swallowing thickly. Sam was fine, Sam was going to be fine. Everything was fine. He had known it, but there was nothing like hearing it said out loud by someone else, especially by a medical professional, to be reassured.
Dr. Garcia shifted, distractedly tucking her hair behind her ears. "We were looking on his file for family members to be notified but there was only you. Would you know of anyone else who needs to be contacted?"
"Sam's kinda married to his job, I can answer for him," Dean said without hesitation, and Dr. Garcia nodded, apparently not surprised.
"So…is that all? Can we see him now?"
Dr. Garcia smiled at the enthusiasm. "For just a moment. We are moving him to a room soon, but you can sit with him until then."
"Wait, we can't spend the night?" Dean asked, his concern rising a notch.
"Well…," Dr. Garcia hedged, "strictly speaking, that's not allowed. He needs his rest and will probably be sleeping most of the night. He's also not a minor, nor are you family. It's just hospital rules."
That was an unforeseen and rather ironic twist.
"Dean," Cas leaned over, giving him a knowing look that plainly said not to wreak havoc in the waiting room. Dean opened his mouth to rebuff that notion, but…Cas still looked pale. He needed to be back at the motel room to do… whatever it was that angels did to rejuvenate.
Sam would be fine…but the last time he had left Sam alone it hadn't ended well.
Dr. Garcia correctly read his reluctance. "I'm sorry, I wish I could let you stay. It's just hospital rules. If it makes you feel better, however, I can make a note in his file that you would like to be alerted should his condition change."
"If you are sure that I can't stay, that would be great" Dean admitted slowly, still not liking the situation. Dr. Garcia smiled.
"Consider it done. Besides, I would feel better if you went home and got some rest. I understand that you were in and out of the water all night as well?" Dean nodded, unsure of what that had to do with anything, but Dr. Garcia kept talking. "Then you should take it easy. Go home, eat a good meal, and warm up. We don't want to see you here for any other reason except to visit your partner."
Dean just barely resisted rolling his eyes.
"Well, if that's it…" Dr. Garcia stood, tugging her scrubs straight before gesturing for them to follow.
"Dean, I will stay here," Cas said abruptly, catching Dean's arm briefly and Dean's frown deepened. Cas waved away his concern. "I will be fine. Take your time with Sam, I will just rest here."
"You sure…?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm sure. Go see Sam."
Dean nodded hesitantly, but Cas gave him a pointed look and Dean turned, hurrying to catch back up with Dr. Garcia. They walked back into the ER, heading towards the curtained cubicles.
Dr. Garcia shot him a look out of the corner of her eye, before saying suddenly, "I should warn you that we gave Agent Page some pretty strong painkillers along with some other medication, and…well, either that or the hypothermia has made him a little emotional. I don't know if that's how he normally reacts to drugs, or if he's just had a long night, but I wanted to give you a heads up."
"Thanks…" Dean didn't know what to think about that. He teased Sam mercilessly for being a girl sometimes, but that—that wasn't really Sam. Sam could hide his emotions easily enough—hell, he did it to Dean all the time—and it wasn't like him to break down in front of a random stranger.
A red flag went up, and the unease from the night came in stronger waves. Sam was supposed to be fine, there weren't supposed to be any more complications.
"Here we go…" Dr. Garcia stopped next to a curtain, smiling as she pushed it open. "An orderly will be in soon to take Sam up."
"Thank you."
"Of course." Dr. Garcia gave him one last smile and then left, hurrying away and towards her next patient.
Dean turned and slipped through the curtain.
The head of the bed had been raised into a reclined, almost sitting, position, allowing him to see Sam clearly. He looked to be sleeping and Dean studied him critically for a moment.
Sam was still pale and dark shadows were under his eyes. Hard lines had etched themselves into his face, making him look older than he actually was. Several leads attached to various machines disappeared underneath the thin hospital gown and Dean turned his attention to the numbers flashing next to Sam's head.
His heartbeat was steady, but his temperature was still too low. It wasn't as low as his oxygen levels, however, which were hovering in the eighties despite the additional oxygen that was being provided.
"Hey," Dean said in a tone just above a whisper, just in case Sam was sleeping. Sam's head rolled to the side, his eyelids working on opening.
"Dean…" The one word came out slurred, and Dean smirked as he sat down on the bed next to Sam's hip and lightly slapped his knee.
"Drugs working well, then?"
"Mmhmm…"
"That's good, enjoy 'em while you got 'em." Dean paused and dropped his voice slightly as he said, "Look, they're kicking me out in a couple of minutes. You gonna be okay? If not, I can muscle my way in, or we can break you out." Dean regretted the last bit the instant that it left his mouth. Cas wasn't up to healing Sam yet, and Dean wasn't comfortable enough with how low Sam's oxygen levels were to completely take over his care.
In true Sam Winchester fashion, that was the part that Sam latched onto.
"I can…we can leave. I wanna get out of here." Sam shifted again. He still hadn't fully opened his eyes, the task seemingly beyond him at the moment.
"I spoke too soon. Let's see how the next few hours go, and then we'll bust you out," Dean revised, watching as Sam's forehead furrowed into a frown. "Hey, don't blame me. I'm not the sissy that's letting a couple of bruises bench me. Did the doc explain…"
"Yeah. Yeah, she told me I messed up my lungs. I'm fine."
"Those two sentences don't go together, dude, like at all."
"I don't want to stay here," Sam repeated, his words still slurring together. He said it almost desperately, and Dean was taken back to the boat, to Sam telling him that he didn't want to be alone.
"Yeah, I know." Dean patted Sam's knee again, leaving his hand there this time as he continued to watch the numbers on the monitors.
"Hey, Dean…" Sam forced his eyes to open more fully, rolling his head to better face him. He was silent for a moment, and Dean opened his mouth to ask 'what?' when Sam spoke again. "Hey, do you know how Gordon is? He's alive, right? I didn't make that up?" Fear was shining bright in his eyes, and even as Dean watched they began to glisten and redden.
"You're not crazy, Gordon's alive," Dean said carefully, watching Sam's response. "I haven't talked to his doctor or anything, but he should be just fine."
"Are you sure?" Sam asked again, blinking against the still-forming tears.
"Yes. I am one hundred percent sure that he is alive."
"I didn't—you said before that he was dead? He was never dead?" It came out as more of a question than a fact and Dean shifted closer, his grip tightening.
"I know I said that, but I was wrong that time. This time I'm not wrong, Cas took care of him. Cas healed him."
To Dean's surprise, this didn't seem to soothe Sam, if anything it made it worse as Sam bit at his lip, turning his head away. His hands were clenching the thick blanket tightly and Dean could see him attempting to take deeper breaths, trying to ward off the emotions.
Dean laughed a little nervously, trying to follow Sam's train of thought. "Dude…Cas saved him. Gordon's alive, I swear." Sam nodded, but his face was still screwed up and Dean tried a different tactic. "You know, the doctor told me that you were getting a little emotional, but I didn't believe her…"
It was an open invitation for Sam to share, or at least as much of an invitation as Dean was able to give. Sam's lips thinned as he pressed them together, trying desperately to regain control.
"Sorry, it's dumb. I'm fine, I really am, I just…I tried, Dean, but I failed him. Dean, I—"
"Woah, woah, woah, hold up. You haven't failed anybody," Dean interrupted but Sam just kept talking, not paying any attention to what Dean had to say.
"I failed him, and I—I messed up, I failed you. I let you down, I didn't mean to, but I—"
"Sammy, hold up a second. You haven't failed me," Dean moved his hand up to Sam's forearm, squeezing tightly. "Not at all, and especially not tonight." Dean was freakin' proud of Sam, of what he had done. No, if there was anyone who had failed someone tonight, that award went to Dean.
Sam was still refusing to meet his gaze, his face now wet with tears.
"I did. I—I let go, I didn't hold on, I just…I was so tired, I didn't care, I let go." Sam's breath sobbed in and out, his chest heaving in his anguish, and Dean glanced once again at the oxygen stats. They had already dropped a percent, and would only continue to if Sam kept this up."
"Sam, hey, stop this, okay? Haven't you tasted enough salt tonight to last you a lifetime? How about we talk about this tomorrow when you feel better and aren't on the good stuff?"
Sam shook his head, clumsily wiping at his eyes. It didn't do much good as fresh tears formed. Finally, he looked up at him, and Dean was startled by the emotion and exhaustion that was laid bare in his eyes. "Dean, I can't—I'm so tired, I don't think I can do this. I can't keep doing this. I can't keep going, not like how we've been doing it. I can't."
"Yes, yes, you can," Dean insisted, his own stomach dropping and his grip becoming painfully tight. "Sam, you're just tired. It's been a hella long night, I know that. Everything is going to be better in the morning after you get some sleep. You're the one who taught me that, right?"
"No, no, it won't. It hasn't been, it's been so hard, it's not…" Sam trailed off, swiping uncoordinatedly at his face again. This time, Dean grabbed his hand, pulling it away before he could upset the oxygen mask.
"Hey, shh, take it easy. It's all going to be okay, it's all good," he began, forcing his voice to soothe rather than agitate. "You haven't failed anyone, most definitely not me. And we are going to fix whatever's going on, we always do, man. I'm looking out for you, okay? I've got your back."
Sam nodded thickly and returned Dean's grip, holding on almost painfully tight. Dean let him, rubbing his thumb lightly against the inside of Sam's arm.
"Don't leave me," Sam muttered softly, even as the drugs did their work and his eyelids fluttered shut. He had to work to open them again, a stray tear slipping down his cheek.
"I won't, not yet," Dean promised quietly, trying to soothe Sam back to sleep, to get some rest. Leaning over, he slid a hand down over Sam's eyes, making him blink lethargically. When they popped open again a couple of minutes later, Dean slid his palm over them again, this time keeping them covered. He could feel Sam's lashes tickle his palm as he blinked.
"You always were a big girl. It makes sense that being high makes you sad instead of happy…" he teased to break the silence, to bring some normality back to the situation.
Sam didn't respond, and Dean waited a moment longer before removing his hand. Sam's eyes remained closed, and his hand drifted up to rest on top of his brother's head—carefully avoiding the injury there—to offer comfort the best way that he knew how. He began to comb through Sam's hair, smoothing it away from the bandages. His hair was filthy, and in dire need of a good wash after all the time spent in the ocean but it didn't bug Dean.
Sam flinched a little at the touch, his breath hitching, but he didn't open his eyes. He took in a shuddering breath, another tear slipping down his face. Dean absently brushed it away before continuing to comb through Sam's hair.
He would never admit it out loud, but it was calming just as much for him as it was to Sam. It was proof that he had Sam, that he was okay and alive, that Dean hadn't accidentally killed his brother…He was more shaken up by what had happened than he realized, but he supposed that performing CPR on his brother would hit home just how close to death Sam had come.
Dean didn't want to think about that, not right now. Probably not ever. Right now, he just wanted to focus on the fact that Sam was alive, that Cas was alive, that things were better than they had been in a long time.
The curtain was peeled aside and Dean turned to see a nurse smiling at him.
"I've come to take Agent Page up to his room."
"Oh…oh, that's…" Dean wouldn't use the word great. He wasn't exactly thrilled to have Sam away from his watchful eye, not when Sam seemed so out of it. Not when Sam kept requesting for him to stay. "Can I say goodbye? It'll be quick."
"Of course." The nurse smiled brightly at him before retreating, but she didn't go far. Dean could see her sneakers just outside of their curtain.
"Hey…hey, Sammy…"
Sam made a small noise, his nose twitching. Dean smoothed his hair into place one last time and then gripped his shoulder. "Sammy," he demanded a little louder. He probably should have just let him sleep, but he knew that he would want to be woken and told that Sam was leaving if he was in his brother's shoes.
Sam's eyes fluttered open and Dean plastered on a reassuring smile.
"I've got to go. They're kicking me out, but I'll be back as soon as visiting hours start, okay? But until then you get some sleep and rest up. Everything's okay and I'll have you out of here as soon as we can."
Sam searched his eyes and Dean could almost see him fortifying, and then nodded deeply. "Be here," he mumbled and Dean patted his shoulder again.
"Jerk."
Dean almost missed it through the oxygen mask and a voice still thick from tears. He scoffed but didn't bother to hide the smile on his face.
"Bitch," he fired back and saw Sam take a deeper, calming, breath.
Dean hesitated a moment longer before finally pushing his way through the curtain. The nurse exchanged places with him. "Just follow the exit signs to get out of the ER and tomorrow you can check in with the front desk to get a room number."
"Thank you," Dean said.
He watched them wheel Sam away and then followed the directions back to the waiting room and Cas.
Cas caught his eye and hastily stood. He swayed a little but steadied himself quickly. Dean didn't say anything, Cas wouldn't want him to.
"How is Sam?" Cas asked, handing Dean back the coffee that he had long ago forgotten about as they began to make their way to the car. "I'm sorry that I didn't go back, I just thought that it would be better that way."
Dean huffed a sardonic laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, it probably was. Sam was well…Dr. Garcia warned me that he was being emotional, and she wasn't wrong. Sam was kinda having a moment." It had been a little unnerving, actually, how Sam hadn't seemed to be able to stop crying.
Cas frowned. "What was he upset about?"
Dean heaved a sigh, rubbing at his forehead. His own head was starting to ache after the long night, and if he couldn't stay with Sam then all he wanted to do was go home and get some sleep so that he could be ready to go again once visiting hours started. "Sam was pretty upset. I think the medication hit him hard, he just kept going on about failing people, about failing Gordon and me, about letting…" Dean trailed off and stopped walking abruptly a couple of feet away from the Impala. His mouth dropped open and Cas turned to look at him in concern even as he braced himself against the roof of the Impala.
"Son of a bitch."
"What? Dean, what's going on?"
Dean shook himself, and half-turned. "I just…Sam was telling me stuff and I just now realized what he was talking about…sonofabitch. That—I should go back and talk to him, I need to—"
"Dean, what did Sam say?" Cas demanded sharply.
"I—he told me that…" and Dean knew exactly what Sam had said, but suddenly it was hard to vocalize it, to make the notion real. Sam had let go, out in the water and on the boat, he had purposefully let go and let himself slip into the ocean's deadly embrace. He had been planning on leaving Dean all alone, he was going to leave just like he always did. Dean couldn't deal with that.
"Dean—" Cas reprimanded, catching his arm, and Dean hadn't even realized that he had been moving back to the hospital, his stride purposeful and angry. It was better than the terror threatening just below.
"He let go, Cas! He didn't hold on, he let go! I told him that I would be right back, that I was coming for him, and he…Sam almost died tonight, he's still in the freakin' hospital and it was all because he didn't wait and he could have. He just about got himself killed tonight!"
Cas's eyebrows rose. "Do you even realize how hypocritical you are being right now?" he asked bluntly.
The words stopped Dean in his tracks and he looked over at the angel, his mouth dropping open. That wasn't what he had been expecting.
"Hypocritical?! I'm not—"
"Did you not just try and do the same thing, right before I came back from the Empty? Were you not the one who almost let go, despite Sam urging you to not give up? Only Sam, I doubt, really knew what he was doing due to hypothermia and exhaustion. You, on the other hand, went and baited Death, threatening to leave your brother just like Sam almost did tonight."
"I didn't—"
"Yes. Yes, you did."
Dean snapped his mouth shut and turned, striding back to the Impala, guilt now mixing in with all the other emotions threatening to rip him apart.
They didn't speak for the trip back to the motel nor when they arrived.
Dean simply dropped down onto his bed and shoved the half-full pizza box that they had been saving for Sam away.
The light and happiness that had come from finding Sam, of him being alive, had been doused. Sam had tried to let go, and sure, hypothermia had played a part in that, but Sam had sounded so desperate and despairing back in the hospital…
It hurt. It made his chest ache with both worry and sadness.
Dean just wanted Sam to be fine, or as fine as they got. He wanted for them to stop hurting, to not have to fight so hard. The mere thought of Sam letting go, of him giving up…Dean couldn't. He couldn't deal with that.
Sleep was a welcomed oblivion.
#
Fred Jones did not live a happy life.
He didn't have much money, and what little he made, his wife kept using to buy pointless toys for kids that screamed all day long. He only found peace out at sea or getting drunk at the bar. Only, even that small peace was destroyed when his wife would nag for him to spend less money, to be home more, to not get drunk, to not flirt with other women…the list went on.
As unhappy as his life was, however, it would be pure bliss compared to spending the rest of his life in prison. And he knew that that was where he was headed just as soon as the damned FBI agent or Sato squealed on what exactly had happened that night.
He would be taken to court for destruction of property and attempted murder. Hell, he might go down for manslaughter, because Rob and Henry were dead.
That wasn't how things were supposed to turn out. Sato was supposed to be the one hurting—just like he had been hurting Fred—but once again Fred was the one getting the short end of the stick.
It was always him.
He was going to prison, there was no way around it now.
His life was shot to hell.
It was all that Agent Page's fault. If he hadn't shown up, then Sato wouldn't have been on the boat. Then he would haven't been tempted to blow the damn thing up with Sato and Page on board.
Fred pulled his blanket closer around him and turned over onto his side. The oxygen tubes and IV pulled uncomfortably and Fred growled, turning back over. He was spending the night at the hospital, just to be on the safe side, and, from listening to hushed conversations between the nurses, he knew that the others—Donnie, both Sato's and Page—had been moved up to the same ward as well.
Apparently, spending even an hour in the ocean in the middle of the night in November was cause for concern and watchfulness.
But Fred felt remarkably all right. His leg didn't even hurt anymore, and the doctors had given him blank looks when he asked if they were going to have to do surgery or worse.
The burns were simply gone as well.
Perhaps the cold had affected his thinking more than he had realized because he could still remember the absolute agony of flames crawling up his side. The pain had been worse than anything he had ever felt before. It was impossible for it to heal that fast, right? He couldn't have imagined the pain, like that other freakin' weird doctor or agent—Fred had never gotten a sure answer of which one he was—had kept assuring him must be the case when he had woken up briefly on the boat.
Fred shivered again. There was something going on, something he didn't like. He didn't know what, but it made him uncomfortable. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Agent Page, he was sure, had something to do with it. He also had seemed odd. Different. Not to mention, what was an FBI agent doing talking to Sato in the first place? That also didn't make a lot of sense. All roads just kept leading back to Page, he was the reason for all of Fred's current problems.
The curtain offering him a little privacy from the room's other occupant was pushed aside as a young nurse—she had startling pretty eyes and a decent figure, Fred wouldn't mind hitting that— entered with a smile. She chatted with him for a moment as she checked the various monitors and then left.
Fred watched her go, checking out her ass as she went, and saw her slip through the privacy curtain to visit with the room's other inhabitant and strike up a conversation.
Their voices were quiet and muffled, but Fred's heart leaped in his chest. That was Agent Page's voice, or he was crazy.
Using the bed's remote to sit up straighter, Fred tried to listen in.
He couldn't quite make it out, but Page didn't sound good, his voice hoarse and weak. The nurse seemed to agree because she left, and returned with the doctor a short time later.
Fred strained his hearing, trying to make out what was being said. Their voices were too quiet to really hear much, but for the next hour, there was an increase in traffic to Page's bed. He didn't feel bad for Page at all. It was the man's own fault that he was there in the first place.
It did get the wheels turning in Fred's head, however.
It was also Page's fault that Fred's life was about to become even more miserable than it already was. Unless, of course, there was some way to silence the agent.
Fred had bullied Sato into not testifying before, he could do so again. A few well-placed threats to his family and Sato would be singing Fred's song to the police officers, telling them that it had all been a tragic accident. He might even be able to get him to go down for accidental manslaughter, it was his boat that had exploded, after all.
That wouldn't work with Agent Page, though. He didn't think that he could bully him into much of anything, but, if he just happened to die in the night, before the police had a chance to take down his statement…Page's health wasn't exactly great, and if Fred could do it subtly enough then he might just be able to pull it off.
Fred sat on the idea for a while, his heart beating faster in his chest and his palms going moist as he worked his way through several different plans.
It would have to be quick if he was going to do it, and he couldn't leave behind a trace. The doctors had to believe that Page had succumbed to his injuries. If they so much as suspected foul play…
They were also in a crowded and very public location, with doctors and nurses going in and out of Page's half of the room.
It would be hard to pull off, but not impossible.
Besides, Fred didn't have any other choice; he was backed into a corner. It was do this, or give up his own life.
Waiting until the flow of nurses and doctors to Sam's room slowed for the moment, Fred worked himself out of the bed, wincing against stiff and sore muscles, and leaned against his IV pole to shuffle towards the curtain.
Inching it back just enough to see what was on the other side, he peeked through.
Fred flinched violently, his heart leaping. There was someone in there with the agent, but it wasn't a doctor or a nurse. It was a kid—or perhaps a young adult. No one had been allowed to spend the night, not that Fred had requested his wife, but how the hell did Page get special permission for that?
It wasn't fair.
Fred peeked through the curtain again. Page seemed to be sleeping, and the kid was just sitting straight with his hands on his knees, calmly watching over the agent.
Neither of them moved for over ten minutes.
Footsteps came down the hallway and Fred turned around to look, making sure that the nurse wasn't going to enter his half of the room. When it became clear that they were moving past the room in general, he turned back and blinked in surprise, rubbing at his eyes.
The kid was gone. He had vanished into thin air because there was no way in hell that he would have been able to leave that quick, Fred had only been looking over his shoulder for a second, that was not enough time to sneak out.
The chill went down his spine again. Something was wrong here; something was not how it should be.
Right then and there, Fred decided to go through with his plan. There was something…unnatural about all this, and he intended to put a stop to it.
Fred waited until the nurse and doctor checked in on Page one last time.
They woke him and, to Fred's delight, began to talk with him about what sounded like intubation, explaining various options for to stop his apparently rapid decline. Page didn't seem to care too much either way, sounding just as life weary as he had had on the boat.
Finally, they settled on waiting twenty minutes until the other agent—it started with a P as well, but Fred didn't remember it—could come and talk it over.
Once Page's partner was present, there would be no way for Fred to do anything. The man scared him, for one. He was far too willing to cause bodily harm and Fred doubted that he would leave Page's side once he got there.
If Fred was going to do something, it would have to be now and it would have to be quick.
The nurse left, and Fred waited a moment longer to make sure that she had truly gone before pulling his IV out and laying it gently on the table. He would figure out how to put it back in later, or make up some excuse for it being gone.
Taking a deep breath to still his nerves, Fred pushed through the curtain.
Page's head rose, turning to see who had entered.
Fred smirked as his lingering fears faded into control and calm. He wasn't going to prison. Not today, not ever.