AN: Yay! I finally updated again. Just to warn you, this chapter is longer than the others, but I needed it to be. Thank you so much for all of my wonderful reviews, it makes all the writing worth while.
Chapter 9: About Your Car…
The further they progressed down the hall the narrower it seemed to become. More than one of the tubular fluorescent lights had been removed and never replaced. Black, window-less doors dotted the walls; the open ones revealing rows of shadowy bookcases and filing cabinets. Here and there a dusty old portrait of one of the hospital's founding fathers was dispersed amongst the doors; the painted eyes watching the Winchesters behind coke bottle glasses.
Sam didn't know how much longer his stomach could keep the bubbling mix of panic and pain from surging up his esophagus. His cracked ribs hadn't been much more than a twinge up until now, but supporting Dean's solid weight brought fresh crackles of tenderness. The elder Winchester was also trying to play off his weakened condition, but Sam knew he was in no shape to ward off another attack. Sam also knew that he didn't trust the owner of the black heels that clicked loudly on the tile ahead of them. Leading them deeper into the shadows.
"We're almost there!" Carolyn's hushed exclamation broke the rhythmic cycle of silence and Dean's labored breathing. "Hurry!" she called over her shoulder and disappeared around the next corner.
Sam paused and felt Dean's shoulders lurch forward beneath his arm. Dean rotated his head up and around, eyes flashing in confusion.
Sam worried a chapped lip between his teeth and winced at the unasked question. Here they stood so close to freedom and yet he couldn't take the last ten steps. He looked down at his older brother, wanting to request reassurance but not sure how to form the words.
One corner of Dean's mouth pulled up in a smirk, somehow managing to seem like the one holding Sam up instead of the other way around. "It'll be fine, Sammy," he said simply, the words conveying confidence beyond their current predicament. They would be fine, Dad would be fine, and their future together would be fine. He was going to see to it. With a nearly imperceptible wink, Dean shrugged off Sam's arm and rounded the corner.
Sam gulped and followed, unsure of what fate awaited them just out of view…
Carolyn stood just a little ways ahead, holding open a heavy door marked emergency exit. Sunlight coursed through the opening, setting her auburn hair ablaze with a red sheen. No group of black-eyed minions awaited them. No legions of hell's army. No angry mob of pitch fork wielding villagers. There was only an empty concrete loading dock, littered with the remnants of twenty years worth of smoke breaks.
Sam and Dean shared a look, the elder looking a bit smug at his own intuition.
"The main visitor lot is just around to your left," Carolyn was saying. "Any cops should come in through the front, so I think I can buy you enough time…"
"Dad," Dean said evenly. Not a question or a request, just a simple statement. He looked back over his shoulder at Carolyn. "We're not leaving without our dad."
Taken aback, Carolyn flicked a distressed look to Sam. "What?"
"Our dad's here too," Sam explained, turning around with Dean to face their angel of mercy. "When I came to help my brother he told me to go on…he said he would catch up." Sam had trouble hiding the guilt in his voice.
"But he's hurt," Dean added with a scowl. "And he's coming with us." He folded his arms loosely, trying to look tough while careful to avoid contact with his staples.
Carolyn pursed her lips and mimicked his body language. "If you two don't get a move on right now you'll be pushing up daisies behind the county courthouse. Catch my drift?"
"I'm not leaving without…"
"Just go!" she waved a hand towards the world beyond the hospital. "Bring your car around here and I'll make sure your dad gets out. I promise."
This seemed to appease Dean. Both brothers had their doubts, but so far Carolyn truly seemed to want to help them escape. They nodded.
"Good," she smiled quickly. "Now how will I know it's him when I see him?"
"About this tall," Dean waved a hand somewhere in between he and Sam's heights. "Looks like him," jerked a thumb at Sam ", only handsomer like me."
Sam frowned and Carolyn disappeared back into the hospital.
-O-
Carolyn took the last turn out of the back hallway and froze.
"Oh shit."
Four uniformed state patrol officers were sniffing around the deserted ER like a pack of bloodhounds while Barney Fife himself was holding court with two of her interns. This particular deputy was one of the sheriff's favorites and he cruised around town with his chest puffed out like a prized game hen. Deputy Kline was overweight, overbearing, and an all around dickhead. If he knew the rest of the town called him "Barney", there was a good chance his ego might deflate marginally.
Carolyn mussed up her hair a little more, composed her features into a distressed expression and rushed forward. "Oh! Deputy Kline thank God! It's been horrific!" she cried in a performance worthy of an Oscar. "The shooting and the screaming, I just don't know what happened!"
The two interns, Becca and Amber, gave their boss perplexed glances.
"Calm down, Miss Carolyn, calm down," Kline's beefy face split in his imitation of a smile. "The state boys are going over the scene now since we don't have a crime unit to call in. Your staff tells me the shooters got away."
"Uh…yeah, that's right," Carolyn shot a look to Becca who was nodding animatedly at the deputy.
"Yep, just like I said earlier," the high school grad assured. "They took off out the front in a green Jetta."
Carolyn made a mental note to bake the girls two batches of brownies that afternoon. She was looking at them both, trying to keep her warm smile of thanks hidden when she noticed movement in the distance. The door leading from the stairwell had opened and someone was coming through. She took a step back and craned her neck for a better look. Deputy Kline, lost in conversation with Becca, was completely oblivious to her actions.
The mysterious figure came into view. It was man, she couldn't tell his age, but guessed he was older than he appeared. Dark hair, dark, sharp eyes, a vaguely familiar face. He was dressed in obviously pilfered scrubs, the legs and sleeves gapping well above ankles and elbows. He leaned heavily to the right, and she noticed a bulge beneath the too-short right pant leg. This was the father.
He scanned the room with the ferocity of a wolf at the hunt and his eyes landed on Carolyn. She met his gaze momentarily, found it too intense and looked away. With her second dramatic performance of the afternoon, she put one hand to her stomach and one to her mouth.
"Excuse me, I don't feel well," she pushed past the deputy and flashed a thumbs up to Becca behind her back.
"You know," she heard the girl tell Kline. "Come to think of it, one did have dreadlocks…"
-O-
"God, Sam. How far away did you park?" Dean whined as he paused in a crouch behind a minivan.
The younger man was busy peeping over the roof of a Saturn to glimpse the state patrol cruisers slanted in front of the emergency room doors. He figured they had maybe five minutes to drive around back. He hoped against all odds that their father would be waiting and they could finally get the heck outta dodge.
"Sam, did you hear me? Where's the car?"
Sam ducked below the Saturn once more and continued slinking down the row of cars. He was trying to avoid Dean's question as long as possible.
But apparently, avoidance wasn't going to be an option. He felt Dean's knuckles dig into his back as the older man snatched up a handful of his shirt. Sam stumbled and went down on his hands and knees, the pavement biting into his palms and the jolt radiating through his bad shoulder.
"What?" he hissed angrily, turning to face his brother.
Dean's jaw was set in that stubborn mule face of his, the one that refused to go unanswered. "Where-is-my-car?" he asked dangerously, eyes glittering.
Sam rubbed the back of his head unconsciously. "Yeah…um…about your car…"
"What about it?"
"Well…you see…"
"Saaaaam…"
"Dean, I'm real sorry, but…"
"But…"
"You're not gonna like it."
Dean's eyes widened. "Dude, if you scratched her again, I swear…"
Sam held up a hand, halting the other man mid-threat. He took a deep breath. "First you have to promise you won't yell or scream or do anything to draw attention to our locale. Deal?"
"Sam…"
"Deal?"
A sigh. "Deal," he said grudgingly.
Sam took an even deeper breath, preparing for the worst. " Dean, when we…crashed, that semi hit us pretty damn hard. Man, I'm really, really sorry, but the car…just…isn't drivable."
Dean gasped loud enough to wake the dead, his breath hissing inward violently as he reeled back. "Liar!" he accused, waving a finger at Sam's chest and covering his mouth in shock.
"Keep it down!" Sam grumbled. "And no, I'm not lying."
"What did you do with her? God, did you just leave her on the side of the road?" Dean exclaimed too loudly for Sam's comfort.
"Dean," Sam matched his brother's earlier loaded tone. "You need to calm down, right now."
Dean scowled.
"Your car is seriously fucked up, and we can't stick around while we wait on it to be fixed."
Another scowl.
"I did, however, pay to store it for a while until we can get back. Until then, we need alternate transportation. I had to make an executive decision. I'm not exactly happy about it, but I did what I had to."
There was smoke coming out of Dean's ears but he remained silent. He sat there for several moments, hugging his knees and shooting dirty looks at the ground. Finally he raised his head, brow furrowed with deep distress. "Fine, but if you picked some fairy pink girl car…I swear…" he let the threat hang because Sam was already stalking his was through the parking lot again.
Sam was trying his best to stay low; not an easy task for someone of his height. His last peek at the front of the hospital from underneath a Jeep had revealed two deputy cruisers joining the fray. Not for the first time in his life he was amazed at the casual air of the uniformed men strolling through the double doors. Law enforcement at its finest.
"The truck's at the end of the next row," he whispered over his shoulder, slipping between an Accord and a Grand Prix.
Dean snorted with disgust, then the sound morphed into a grunt as his head connected with the Accord's side mirror. "Damn this car!" he gave the door a well measured kick in passing. "Damn it to hell!"
Sam figured this reaction to be Dean's way of coping with the news of his treasured Impala's demise. Secretly, he hoped his brother wouldn't continue to release his frustration upon their new ride. He really did like the truck.
"Alright, here we go," Sam came around the second to last car in the row and arrived at the rear end of the truck. He looked over his shoulder to see that Dean had halted and was scrutinizing the vehicle intently. He cocked his head to the side like a dog, no doubt taking in the shine of the chrome bumper and step rails, the deep gloss of the midnight paint and the contrasting white and red 4x4 decal positioned just behind and above the rear wheel. The tall, beefy tires glinted with protective gel.
"Well…" Dean began.
Sam raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"I'll ride in it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."
Sam smiled slightly. "No one ever said you had to."
-O-
John shaded his eyes from the mid-afternoon sun and watched in disbelief as a black monster of a truck came flying into the loading bay in reverse. Its deep, throaty rumble echoed against the concrete ramps, intensifying the sound. He continued to stare as the vehicle was thrown into park and his youngest son came spilling out of the driver door.
Sam's eyes immediately snapped to his father, his relief evident. "Dad, come on!" he called, already opening the rear door.
John nodded then turned to the young woman standing beside him. "I can't…thank you enough," he told her softly. "I can't thank you for the help you've given my boys and me."
Carolyn smiled up at him, adjusting her grip on the door she held open. "Thank you for giving me a story worth telling my grandchildren some day. This is the most excitement I've seen since Keith Urban's tour bus broke down on his way through to St. Louis." She chuckled at the memory.
The truck's backseat ready, Sam came bounding up to them. "You alright, Dad?" he asked, allowing a look of confusion over his father's wardrobe before turning to Carolyn. "Carolyn, thank you so, so much." He dug a scrap of paper bearing his name and cell number from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. "If you ever need help call us."
She divided a look between the two men, curious, but not quite doubtful as to what sort of help they might mean. "Good luck," she told them and watched as the wounded father was helped to the truck by his son. Yet again she was struck by an unnamed emotion, something that panged in her heart for these strange men. It was as if they were larger than life somehow, so much more important than the people they encountered everyday yet oblivious to the fact.
"Good luck," she whispered quietly to herself this time. Then with a growl and a squeal the truck was off and the Winchesters were gone.
TBC