a/n: hey guys. FIY: The rating on this story is CHANGING to an M rating. I have some stuff coming up that I'm worried about, 'cause people are losing their stories because the admin thinks the rating is too low. I don't want my stuff taken. Much love to my readers out there!
Chapter Seven: Let's Not Fight
As it happened, the exact same people that they'd encountered on the first floor were all up in Scott's room now. Dr. Bridge was attempting to tend to her patient, asking nurses for test results, and checking monitors. Scott was doing better, it seemed, but he was still sporting a sickly pallor and unconscious. Officer Clark and the rookie, Officer Mendez, were there too. Apparently, Scott had just gotten in from the CAT scan. Right now he was hooked up to several different monitors and a blood transfusion. Dean and Sam hung back, not making their presence immediately known.
Both Dr. Bridge and the officers were trying to do their jobs. However, both parties were trying to do them at once, the cross over only adding to the confusion and frustration of everyone.
"Has he said anything since he's come in?" Mendez asked, pen and paper at the ready.
"No, he was unconscious upon arrival and, as you can see officers, still is," Dr. Bridge replied, her tone slightly flustered as she took a chart from a blonde nurse.
"Any evidence on him that we can use to nail this…sicko?" Clark asked, the last word obviously being substituted for a more colorful one. "Any bite marks? Skin under the fingernails?"
"Officers, as I assured you before, we have checked Scott Meeson under the proper procedure and the only thing that this 'sicko' left on him were the two holes in his neck," Dr. Bridge snapped irritably, turning to face the officers with a face similar to the one she'd given Nikki Wales earlier. "Now please, just let me take care of my patient! I will notify you when Mr. Meeson is conscious and able to make a statement."
Clark and Mendez exchanged sheepish looks as she turned back to the blonde nurse. "Has his family been notified yet?" Dr. Bridge asked.
The nurse replied apologetically, "We couldn't find a number to call."
Officer Clark raised an eyebrow. "No number? Did you contact the college campus? They might have something."
The nurse shook her head. "They didn't have anything either."
Dr. Bridge turned back to the policeman, arms crossed over her chest. "Officers, please."
"All right, Dr. Bridge," Officer Clark complied, "We'll be out in the hall."
Dr. Bridge offered a curt nod as they left. The two officers passed the Winchesters, glancing at them curiously. Officer Clark whispered something to Officer Mendez. Mendez nodded and remained as his partner continued out into the hall.
Mendez approached the brothers casually, obviously trying to keep quiet so as not to provoke Dr. Bridge's wrath.
"Hey, just a head's up," the rookie said to the brothers, "We'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to any reporters about this. Just us cops and the doctors, okay?"
Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "Why?" Sam asked.
"Well…" Mendez started, but he was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the hallway. Dean rolled his eyes as the voice of Nikki Wales rose, soon accompanied by Officer Clark's. Ms. Wales and the officer were arguing quite vehemently. "That's why," Mendez explained simply, nodding towards the door, "The press. We've had some real cut-throat journalists come out of the woodwork lately."
Sam and Dean nodded. "We understand," Dean replied bluntly.
As the arguing got louder, Mendez started to look concerned. "Right, catch up with you guys later, okay?" Before the brothers could respond, Mendez had gone out in the hall to try and calm the situation.
"Okay, maybe Wales isn't quite my type after all," Dean said offhandedly.
"Gee, you think?" Sam remarked sarcastically.
"Hey man, shut…"
Sudden activity over by Scott Meeson caught both brothers' attention and made Dean stop talking. The heart monitor was beeping louder and Dr. Bridge was standing over her patient with concern.
"Scott?"
Then Sam saw it: Scott Meeson was moving. Had he woken up? Dr. Bridge was apparently trying to figure out the same thing.
"Scott, can you hear me?" She asked the question using a loud and clear voice.
Sam and Dean came over to the bed, but gave Dr. Bridge enough space to work. Scott was still unconscious, but he was moving. His arms were moving slightly, his fingers gripping the sheets. He was breathing fast and, according to the monitor, his heart was speeding up.
Those things and the look on Scott's face told Dean exactly what was going on. He'd seen such a look on Sam's face just two nights ago. Scott was having a nightmare, and Dean guessed by the look on his face and the way his fingers were gripping the sheets, a pretty bad one.
Scott actually spoke. "Don't…Julian…" His brow furrowed, adding anger to the fear. "Don't." The sentence was both a demand and a plea.
"Scott? Scott, if you can hear me, open your eyes," Dr. Bridge tried. But it was useless. Scott's face calmed as he ceased moving. His breathing and heartbeat returned to normal.
"Julian…" Sam repeated the name ponderingly.
Dr. Bridge turned to see the Winchesters, apparently just realizing that they were in the room. She looked tired and frustrated. "You two shouldn't be in here now," she said firmly. "You both need rest and to put on some clean clothes."
Sam looked down and realized that his shirt was stained with Scott's blood. He'd forgotten all about it. He swallowed his disgust. He had to deal with it, the way he had been taught. Hunters had to learn to deal with things a lot worse than blood.
"Dr. Bridge, we want to talk to you," Dean said briskly. It was time to get down to business. They had to pick up the pace if they were going to make some real headway against the vampire tonight.
The doctor held up her hands, cutting him off. She looked like she'd had enough. "No. I have a patient to look after and I can't do that with all of these distractions. Now please, leave and listen to my advice. Rest."
Of course, both Sam and Dean knew that they couldn't comply with at least half of her request. No rest for the wicked meant just as little rest for those who fight the wicked. But they could leave. Scott Meeson was safe here. Meanwhile, their vampire was still on the loose, wreaking whatever havoc he wanted as long as the sun was down, and the night was still quite young.
So, the brothers partially gave in to the good doctor and left without another word.
"Okay, I say we just go," Dean said as he and Sam walked down the hallway, dodging doctors, nurses, patients, and families.
"Go where?" Sam asked pointedly as he made way for an older woman in a wheelchair, "I told you; the murders happened all over town. This guy's taken the entire city as his hunting ground."
"Easy, we go back to square one," Dean explained, as though this had been obvious the entire time, "Back to where he attacked Scott."
Sam paused, not really liking the way Dean had phrased the location. "You mean, where you hit Scott."
Dean stopped dead in the hall, looking at him with an almost confused look. "Uh, yeah, after he was chased into the road."
Sam shook his head in disgusted disbelief. "You really aren't going to take any responsibility for this at all are you?"
Dean turned to face him now, looking angry. But there was betrayal in his eyes. "You're really not going to shut up until I start pounding my chest with grief about it, are you?" he said, imitating Sam's tone.
Sam eyed the dark circles under Dean's eyes. He could tell what had happened. "Just admit you made a slight mistake. That's all."
Dean pointed at Sam's chest with two fingers. "The guy was chased into the street, Sam!" This was not his fault, and he was sick of Sam acting like he first pushed Scott into the street before running him over.
"And you were almost asleep at the wheel!" Sam shot back, his voice raised a bit more than he would've liked.
Dean looked like his brother had slapped him. He stared, slightly taken aback because he was surprised Sammy was pushing the subject, but also because Sammy was dead right. He had been falling asleep. Maybe if he hadn't, he would've seen Scott. Maybe. There were no guarantees. And, really, what was the point of worrying about what could've or couldn't have happened? It had, the guy was going to live, and that was that.
Sam continued, not really so angry anymore, but more just wanting to get his point across and be done with it. "Don't drive while sleep deprived, Dean! There, it rhymes. Maybe that'll help you remember."
Dean just shook his head and started walking, purposely stepping right in front of a passing gurney to add more distance between him and Sam. Damnit, why did Sammy have to push it all the time? Why did he always have to start shit?
Sam watched Dean go, but made no effort to catch up. He knew Dean needed his space right now. He almost wanted to kick himself for pressing him. Almost. Dean had hit a human being. He could have killed that human being. He had to realize that and take responsibility for it.
Then again, who was he to tell Dean what to do? He owed Dean a lot. The accident could have been worse, sure, but they'd already been told that they'd saved the man's life, right? This was a bad time to have a fight anyway. They had a hunt to focus on and execute.
Sam swallowed his pride and quickened his step to catch up with Dean. He managed to catch up just in time to make it to the elevator. Dean didn't acknowledge Sam as he stepped next to him, giving the cold shoulder treatment. The shiny metal doors of the elevator closed. Sam looked at their reflections and spoke rather to Dean's reflected image than his actual physical self.
"Look…"
Dean cut him off before he could even begin. "No chick flick moments." It was more of an order than a request.
"Fine." Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
There was a beat of silence, but Dean's icy exterior melted as he gave his trademark grin. "But that doesn't include begging for my forgiveness."
Now Sam turned to him. "You're an ass," he stated quite matter-of-factly.
Dean shrugged, like he really didn't care. "Fine. Then you can walk around the south side of Chicago in the middle of the night and look for our new friend." He used the more subtle term because of the young man with bleach-blonde hair leaning casually against the rear wall, chewing gum.
Sam slumped his shoulders. He really had to steal those keys someday. But he tried to stay on the important topic. "Okay, Scott lived. This time. What about the next time, Dean?"
Dean shook his head dismissively. "Like I'm gonna let you drive my baby? After you marred her perfect body? No way."
Sam raised an eyebrow at him. " 'Marred'?" he quoted dryly.
Dean fixed him with a slightly annoyed look. "Yeah. You think only college boys can own a dictionary?"
Sam shrugged. "Still. 'Marred'…" He smirked slightly. "You make it sound like I took your car's virginity or something."
Dean tried to cover up his own smile with a scowl. "That's it. You're not allowed in that car until you get on your knees and beg for forgiveness."
Now the bleached passenger decided to join in the conversation. "Ooo…kinky."
Both brothers turned to look back at the guy. He looked a lot like Ryan Seacrest, only without the spray-on tan. Their glares were so cold that the guy shut up immediately and went back to playing with his gum. When the doors finally opened, Bleach practically sprinted out of the elevator. Sam and Dean stared after him, still a tad disturbed by the short comment.
"Okay, why does everyone think we're a gay couple?" Dean asked, slightly dumbfounded.
"Well, you kind of started it," Sam pointed out, remembering their whole experience with the bugs. He was still on some level disturbed by being slapped on the ass by his brother.
"Yeah, but still… Maybe it's 'cause we look alike?" Dean wondered aloud.
Sam smirked. The brothers both knew very well that, through some genetic cause, they looked nothing alike. "Maybe."
It was still raining outside when they exited the hospital, and the brothers had to sprint to the parking garage, sadly still arriving soaked. Dean didn't seem to mind that much though, using the rain to clean up his face-careful to keep the stitches dry. He had had stitches enough times to remember all of the ways to care for them. Following his brother's lead, Sam had washed off most of the blood from his hands. The shirt was a different story though. It was probably ruined, but Sam hadn't really liked it much anyway.
Sam had thought the 100-yard dash in the rain was going to be the worst part about getting to the car. He was, unfortunately, wrong. Dean, in all of his Dean wisdom, had parked the car up on the 7th level of the garage to protect it from thieves.
It was when they were on the 4th that the cussing had started, but by the 6th both brothers were too tired to get into any intense arguing.
"I hate you," Sam breathed in exhaustion.
"Right back at ya," Dean replied, equally tired.
"And I hate your car."
"Hey," Dean said, a bit of energy returning to his system for the sake of his baby's defense, "She can't help it if she's pretty. And if you're gonna blame anybody, blame the Mercedes Benz on the sixth level."
"Why?" Sam asked, not understanding what a Mercedes Benz had anything to do with what level Dean parked his car on.
"I had to park my baby above that, because any car thieves would see the Benz first, and take it without even bothering to go up another level," Dean explained dubiously.
Sam just shook his head at his brother and tried to keep himself from just collapsing right here. Just focus on moving. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. He couldn't believe that after all this they still had to set out and hunt something down. That Miami Beach idea was looking pretty damn brilliant right now.
"Finally," Dean announced with relief at the sight of his baby on the seventh level.
They walked over to the car, really too tired and relieved to bother to say anything to each other.
Yet with the hunt about to begin, Sam thought he should make one point as he opened the trunk to get a new shirt. "Hey, Dean?"
"Yeah?" Dean was switching shirts as well, wanting to get into some warm clothes. He was slightly disappointed that there weren't any lovely ladies around for him to show off his godly body to, but oh well; maybe next time.
"How're we gonna find our way back to where the accident happened?" He chose to use the neutral term 'the accident' to avoid another fight. "I mean, could you tell what street we were on?"
Dean froze, midway between putting his new shirt on. "Uh…" He hadn't really thought of that. "Well…" He put on a more reassuring face. "It's all in here, Sammy," he said, tapping his temple with a grin. "Like Mapquest. I'll find our way back."
Sam shrugged skeptically, but didn't push it. They really didn't have anything else to go on.
When both of them were dressed, Sam moved to close the trunk, but Dean blocked him. Sam looked at him questioningly, Dean just grinned in response.
"Here, I gotta show you these."
As Dean moved the duffel bags out of the way and started to open the hidden stash of weapons, Sam realized that he was about to see the new toys Dean had been talking about earlier.
Sure enough, Dean opened up the weaponry stash, dug carefully past a long knife and two wooden stakes before he revealed something that made him light up like a kid on Christmas. He pulled it-them, Sam realized as he saw more of the weapons-out with both care and eagerness. Dean proudly displayed two hair-trigger crossbows.
Sam raised his eyebrows. Hey, he was a guy too. And he had to say, the cross bows looked pretty sweet.
"Very nice," he said appreciatively as he took one that Dean handed him. It was light and sleek. "Where'd you get em?"
"I got my connections," Dean replied coolly.
Sam held the weapon, getting used to its feel.
"A bit safer than stakes, 'cause you can get the leech from a distance, instead of up close," Dean said, adding, "And way cooler too."
No denying that, Sam agreed silently.
"But, we've only got four bolts each," Dean stated as he took back the other crossbow and started setting them back in the stash, "So don't take any wild shots." He added, "But given the way you took out Dracula earlier, I don't have to tell you that."
Sam smiled inside at the pride he heard in his big brother's voice. He started to get in the car, but paused in mid-step as something caught his eye. It was a black car, a DeSoto.
Dean started to shut the trunk, ready to go, but then he caught sight of his brother.
"Uh, earth to Sammy?"
Sam turned back to him, but in a weird slow way that made Dean on edge. Something was wrong.
"I've got a bad feeling, Dean," Sam said, rather vaguely.
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Like your Miss Cleo-type bad feeling or…?"
"More like a 'the car that was behind us on the way to the hospital is now parked over there' type feeling."
Sam and Dean looked at each other, their hunter instincts kicking in. Both knew that the car wasn't a coincidence; they'd been followed. And there was little question as to by whom. Sam's eyes silently looked to Dean and asked what to do. Dean wordlessly replied with a meaningful glance to the open trunk. The crossbows.
But they had to be subtle, act casual. If the brothers were being watched, they couldn't let whoever was doing it in on the fact that they knew. The element of surprise is always one you want to keep hold of.
So, Dean's left hand reached instead for the laptop next to the duffel bags. But Sam saw his right hand moving towards the secret compartment.
Dean was counting down under his breath, just loud enough for Sam to hear. "Five…Four…" Sam just moved his arms towards the trunk, as if he was preparing for Dean to hand him the laptop. "Three…Two…"
Sam could hear his heart pounding in his ears, but he muted it out. It was just the rush of the hunt, something he'd learned to ignore in order to get the job done. Now both of Dean's hands were on the door of the compartment. Sam took a step closer.
"One."
In a flash, the door was open, the crossbows were out, and the brothers were racing towards the DeSoto, their recreated medieval weapons ready to fire at anything that moved. But, as the brothers soon found, the car was empty. Dean lowered his weapon, looking somewhat disappointed.
Sam gave his brother a wry smile. "Oh-kay, well…good to know we're prepared…"
Dean gave a half-hearted smile in return, but he wasn't so quick to simply laugh this off. Something was wrong; his instincts told him so. He was totally convinced that their 'new friend' had been driving this car. And it was empty now, so… His eyes widened as he realized that this could mean only one thing.
He turned to his younger brother, his voice urgent. "Sam, we need to get back in the hospital, back to Scott. Right now."
Sam quickly followed Dean's line of reason and nodded, but he hesitated. "Uh, Dean, we can't barge in with these," he said, hefting his crossbow. He glanced around. Man, if they'd been caught just now, they would've been in big trouble. He spotted two men down at the other end of the level. Too far away to have seen the little false alarm, but still a bit too close for comfort.
"We grab stakes from the back," Dean replied as he headed back to the car, Sam following.
Dean appeared to be completely in control as he put the crossbows back and removed the two stakes-which looked rather pathetic compared to the weapons they now replaced. But Dean was actually quite off-kilter, though not as much as when he'd hit Scott. After he was chased into the road, he mentally reminded. They'd made a pretty big error with the DeSoto. They should've realized that the car had been following them…but they'd been bickering, hadn't they? Dean made a quick mental note that he and Sam had to stop arguing tonight. There was too much was on the line to risk it.
The other blaring error had been assuming Scott Meeson was perfectly safe in the hospital…the public hospital. The vamp wouldn't need an invite to get in. He could stroll in at his leisure. Stroll in to a buffet of helpless patients, just waiting to be fed on.
well, that's it for that chapter. if you're not too pleased, I totally understand. This is one of those 'I hated writing it, but it's kind of necessary' chapters. Better stuff coming up though, I promise.