Chapter 6: Something About His Eyes…

Ordinarily, one would not consider a desk receptionist's job as all that exciting. Sure, it was a position crucial to any well-run business, but there weren't all too many thrilling tales of adventure and romance that focused on taking calls and pushing papers. Carolyn, however, begged to differ. She was going on four years now behind the hospital's front desk, and she wouldn't have traded the job for anything in the world.

Carolyn had always been fascinated by the medical practice, but an intense fear of needles had kept her from medical school. Well, fear of needles and academics that is. But that being beside the point, Carolyn had flourished as the head receptionist. She was a bit of a busy-body and loved being in the know when it came to the entire town's medical history. Not to mention the excitement of watching the ER all day; witnessing every life or death case that came bursting through the glass doors. It was better than watching General Hospital.

This day had been no different from any other. There had been an infant with scarlet fever, a teenager who'd earned a broken elbow from a skateboard accident, an elderly gentleman with chest pains, and two expectant mothers that had gone into labor. Everything was run of the mill; check the sign in sheet, give out insurance paperwork, and boss around the interns.

Carolyn's morning progressed in a typical and orderly fashion into the afternoon. One 'o clock announced the arrival of her lunch break and she pushed herself up from the rolling chair, knees popping in protest. She had asked Leslie to please cover the desk for her and was just gathering up her purse when he came in.

He was in his late thirties, Carolyn guessed, about 5'10", medium build and dressed in a dark suit and tie. A second man followed him, a patrol officer all gussied up in his police blues, and she figured the first man must be an escorted detective.

"Ma'am," the suit called, crossing the ER in strides that seemed too long considering his height. "A word please." His tone was loud and commanding, rooting Carolyn in place.

"Oh…sure," she set her purse down and smoothed the front of her khaki skirt. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

The suit was standing at the counter now, hands limp at his sides. He flashed Carolyn a smile, or at least that's what she assumed, because the man's expression was anything but warm and friendly. Something about his face sent little tremors down her spine, she couldn't put her finger on it, but something seemed off. Maybe it was because the patrol was standing there like a zombie, his rigid face looming over the detective's shoulder like some giant parrot.

One of the detective's hands seemed to snap from its trance and reached inside the wool jacket to emerge with a Polaroid clenched between thumb and forefinger. "We're looking for this man," his words held weight, like his entire mission in life was focused on the subject of the photo. Dark eyes commanded Carolyn to look and she forced the shakiness from her hands as she grasped the corner of the snapshot.

The man in the picture was young, probably in his early twenties and more than handsome with a long, masculine jaw, rounded nose, and deep-set brown eyes. He wore his hair a little on the long side and purposefully shaggy, but it suited him. His jeans, dark rugby shirt and canvas jacket were well-weathered and stained. One lean-fingered hand rested on what appeared to be the shoulder of someone not captured in the photo and his chocolate eyes glittered with an emotion Carolyn couldn't guess. Fear? Bravado? Anticipation? She wasn't sure.

"Have you seen him?" the detective's voice was like cold rain falling and it snapped Carolyn from her analysis.

"Yes," she said slowly, meeting the man's gaze. "He came in yesterday with his father and brother. It was a car crash…"

"Thank you, Carolyn," he cut her short and withdrew the Polaroid.

Carolyn glanced at his empty face once more, feeling yet again that there was something vitally wrong with this man. Something about his eyes…

She watched as he and the patrol officer turned and headed for the elevator, recalling that she hadn't told him her name.

-O-

Dean watched as Sam poked his head through the bathroom door first, not really minding that the younger man was taking the lead role. He didn't exactly feel like being the fearless older brother at the moment. Sam made the "okay" signal behind his back and pushed out into the hallway, leaving Dean to catch the door on his way out.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Sam chewed his lip worriedly as he continued to scan the hall. He flicked a glance to Dean's still pale face. "I can try and buy us some more time…"

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean answered too quickly, checking for the fifteenth time that his gun remained secure in his waistband. "You just worry about getting Dad outta here alive." He squared his shoulders as best he could without wincing and managed to look like he was only half-way to Death's door. "I'm serious, dude!" he hissed at Sam's dubious raised brows and waved the younger man in the opposite direction.

"I'll meet you outside, then," Sam's words held more of a fearful question than an instruction.

"Yes you will," Dean said with finality and turned towards the elevator. He felt Sam's eyes linger on his back for several seconds, then registered the muted scuffs of the other man's retreating sneakers. "Yes you will," Dean whispered to himself as he made his way laboriously down the hall.

Sam had made it seem so easy, jogging merrily from the elevator, okay, maybe not so merrily, but Dean had not guessed that his destination was so far from the bathroom. When he was halfway there, he began to wish he'd taken that extra Tylenol, perhaps then he wouldn't be shuffling along like Quasimodo.

A nurse emerged from a side hall and he immediately jerked upright. The staples grabbed at his stomach and it was all he could do to force a tight-lipped smile as she passed. As soon as she was out of sight, he doubled over, nearly going to his knees, and staggered the rest of the way to the elevator. His face felt hot and flushed as he reached out and pressed the "down" arrow and little trickles of sweat wove their way down his back.

"Damn," he pressed his forehead against the cool wall as he listened to the car come clattering up the shaft, the sounds muffled by the pounding of blood in his ears. He was starting to think that maybe he should have left the IV in place.

With a soft ding the doors slid open and Dean stumbled into the empty car, his finger barely grazing the "lobby" button as he fell against the side railing. He swallowed thickly as the doors closed, his head throbbing.

Distraction, that's what I need he thought to himself, and suddenly found that he was whistling Smoke on the Water as loud as he possibly could. He wasn't exactly a huge Deep Purple fan, but the song was one of those legendary metal standards, and one of the few tunes from his collection that he'd found Sam humming along to. Despite his whining, his little brother actually didn't hate his "mullet rock".

Dean pulled himself up a little straighter on the railing and found that Smoke on the Water had somehow morphed into We are the Champions and he frowned in puzzlement. He searched his cerebral rock 'n roll archives, trying to retrieve the classic riff, but instead found himself whistling Welcome to the Jungle.

Something was terribly wrong; he would never confuse Queen and Guns 'n Roses, what was the matter with him? He gave up whistling and gulped hard, wishing like hell for a glass of water. Or, wait a minute, Scotch. Yeah- that would make everything better. A little glass of Glenlevet, maybe a can of mixed nuts…

His feet were sliding across the tile, sliding right out from under him. Huh, that's funny. He watched his shirttail ride up as his body sank closer to the floor while his elbows remained propped on the rail. He looked at the floor, had the tiles always been white and black? His jeans too, and his boots, it was like someone had flicked black paint over everything.

Polka dots are for girls he thought sourly as the spots grew bigger, blocking out the overhead light. Damn spots!

There was a lurch as the elevator reached the ground floor and Dean's elbows lost their hold on the railing. The unforgiving steel kissed the back of his skull as his upper torso joined the lower on the floor, and the spots consumed everything in darkness.

TBC