AN: I know, I know, I hated putting the Impala in storage. That car is AMAZING: big block V8 SS, downward facing dual exhaust…let's just say I drool over it every week. But realistically, there's no way it could possibly be road-worthy after suffering the frame damage caused by that semi. Don't worry, it will make an explosive return at some point, I couldn't just write it out of the story. Anyway, the show must go on…
Chapter 5: Escape Plans
After careful consideration, Dean had decided that the hospital's biggest downfall was definitely the lack of cable television. Never mind the food, although that green jell-o had quite a kick to it, and forget about the fact that the sheets felt like sandpaper; it was the limited channel selection that encouraged a rapid recovery.
He aimed the remote at the tiny, wall-mounted set and fired, flipping from The Young and the Restless to Days of Our Lives and groaned inwardly. Soaps were the last things he wanted to watch considering he felt like absolute shit. He hurt everywhere; his muscles having been strained to the limit, and apparently his head had been bumped around during the crash because he had a monster head-ache. Not to mention the sixty odd staples that held his midsection together. Not only did the flesh throb where the surgical metal pierced and sealed the wound, his insides were raw and frightfully sore as well. It felt as if he'd swallowed an entire box of razor blades and chased it with a shot of Drain-o. He'd tried so hard to look tough and non-chalant the day before when he'd talked to Sam, but it had taken every last scrap of self-control not to flinch with each breath.
Dean sighed, immediately regretting the action and the ripples of pain it sent through his core. Good God, if he couldn't even breathe deeply, how the hell was he going to get up and walk down the hall to the bathroom? He didn't know the answer to that question, but he did know that he'd insisted the nurses take out the catheter, an experience he never, ever wanted to relive, and was now faced with no other option.
Gritting his teeth and taking a deep breath, Dean lurched forward into a sitting position, the pain nearly bringing up the lunch he'd barely managed to choke down earlier. He sat hunched over in his bed, breathing shallowly and waiting for his severed abdominal muscles to stop seizuring. At last, the stabbing sensations dulled to a throb and he raised his head, feeling the perspiration slide down his face.
"Don't do that again," he scolded himself, peeling the rough sheets down. Slowly and gingerly he untangled his feet from the fabric and rotated on the bed to swing his legs over the side. He found that if he moved his torso as a unit without twisting in the slightest, he could turn without crying out in pain.
Dean sat there for a moment, sweaty palms gripping the mattress as he stared down at his toes. Not for the first time he asked himself if it was worth it; rushing through the healing process. In all his twenty seven years he'd never been able to rest up for a week or two, sipping chicken soup and catching up on primetime re-runs every time he caught the sniffles. The job had always beckoned; classic rock and candy bars serving as salve for the Winchesters' wounds.
But this was different, this was heavy stuff. Dean didn't have a scratchy throat or a couple of scrapes and bruises; he had just barely evaded death, and not for the first time in his life. He also suspected it wouldn't be the last time, and with that thought, he lowered his bare feet to the tile floor without so much as a twitch.
-O-
Sam navigated the Silverado through the hospital's visitor lot and slid into a one-dinger at the end of the row. He killed the engine and the thrum of the dual tailpipes echoed into oblivion, leaving the youngest Winchester alone with his thoughts.
He hated what he was about to do, but it had to be done. No way were Dean and John road-ready, but Sam couldn't wait around for the alternative. It wouldn't be long before local authorities started nosing around the hospital, searching for answers as to why one of the town's resident truckers had ended up dead on the side of the road with a bullet hole between his eyes. Sam guessed the cops wouldn't buy his story that old Lester had been possessed by an other- worldly demon and had run them off the road because they had a "magic gun".
As if on cue, the black and white cruiser and unmarked Crown Vic came prowling through the lot in Sam's rearview and wound their way up to the entrance of the building.
"Oh shit."
-O-
Dean found it to be quite difficult to roll his IV stand with one arm and hold the back of his gown closed with the other as he eased down the hall. The task seemed to be pulling at his staples, so he eventually gave up and released his grasp on the gown, affording any passing hospital staff the view of a lifetime. He didn't care really, he figured all women admired his ass and besides, he was only feet away from his destination. He was almost there; he could see the little male stick figure on the door of the bathroom…
Ding! The elevator doors burst open at the end of the hall to emit a rather frazzled looking Sam.
"Dean!" Sam huffed, jogging up to his brother with a bundle clutched tightly to his chest.
Dean halted and slumped up against the wall for support, finding the scene hilarious despite the sharp pangs radiating through his body. "Whoa there, Sport. Where's the fire?" he asked with a weak grin as he waited for Sam to catch his breath.
"Cops…downstairs…we…" Sam panted, holding a hand to his heart.
"Well Jesus, Sam! Why didn't you say so?" Dean struggled to twist his pale face into a scowl.
Sam gave the barest hint of a grin, actually delighted to see his brother react in typical fashion, before wetting his lips nervously. He shoved the bundle at Dean and yanked open the bathroom door. "Here, come on," he urged waving his hand dramatically.
Dean accepted the bundle, recognizing it as his favorite pair of jeans and a t-shirt wrapped around his scuffed biker boots. He hurried into the bathroom as best as he could, relieved to find it empty, and felt the air stir as the door swung shut behind them.
"How much time do we have?" Dean asked, carefully removing the IV needle from the back of his hand and handing it to Sam.
Sam wrinkled his nose as he chucked the needle and wad of attached tape into the trash beside the sink. "Maybe five or ten minutes. They pulled in right behind me; a patrol and a detective."
Dean nodded wordlessly and stepped into his jeans, focusing all of his attention on keeping his balance. He zipped the fly and shrugged out of his gown, reaching for the faded green shirt. "We've gotta get Dad," he said pointedly, pulling the collar over his head with a grimace.
Sam sighed, trying not to focus on the double row of silver staples running across his brother's stomach. "We will," he assured, but Dean raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"I'm serious, Sam," Dean tugged on his left boot. "I can tell you two had some hell of an argument," he frowned when Sam crinkled up his face in a look that said he knew he'd been caught. "…But I'm not skipping out on him," Dean stomped into his other boot for emphasis.
"I never suggested you should skip out on him, okay?" Sam raised his hands defensively. "I'll take care of it while you slip out of here."
Sam growled low in his throat when Dean started to protest. "Damn it, Dean! You're in no shape to help." He scowled darkly as he lifted his shirttail and pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans. "Here," he extended Dean's weapon of choice; the Smith & Wesson .45 with the mother of pearl grip and received a small smile.
"What about you?" Dean slipped his favorite gun into his own waist band and folded his arms with some difficulty.
Sam revealed the Glock 9mm tucked away against the small of his back with a smug look. "I can take care of myself, thank you."
There was an awkward pause in which both young men recognized the falsity of the statement, and then they shared a quiet look.
"Guess it's back to the grind, huh?" Dean said, cracking his fingers.
"I'll meet you in the parking lot," Sam assured, rubbing his tender shoulder unconsciously. "And don't…"
"…You do anything stupid, kiddo," Dean finished with a smile. "I'll be damned if we're gonna die in a hospital without cable."
TBC