Actions speak louder
Chapter 5
By teal-lover
Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?
Rating: PG13, T
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)
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Dean pounded down the hallway after the nurse who refused to explain anything to him, instead throwing furtive and nervous glances in his direction. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to hope that it was all some terrible mistake. He slowed his progress when he spotted the doctor from earlier.
She was holding something, studying it intently and hadn't noticed his presence. On closer inspection, he was able to see the object she held in her hand and he froze in his tracks, his heart sinking dismally once again.
He recognized the surprised, wide-eyed stare of his brother's face on the underside. It was the license that Sam had gotten when he joined the real world and entered Stanford. She was reading the information on the back. The donor information that he had checked off.
Dean shook his head vehemently and yelled at the doctor. "No, no, I can not freakin' believe this! You drag me back here for this? You are not cutting him up! I don't care what that dumb-assed card says."
The woman looked confused for a moment before her eyes widened in shock. She spun around to the nurse with barely controlled rage and hissed, "You didn't tell him?"
"I just thought—"
"No you didn't think. Go back to triage, I'll speak with you later." The doctor angrily dismissed the woman who slunk back down the hallway and out of sight. Turning back to Dean, she put a hand to his shoulder and added quickly, "I'm sorry about that Mr. Winchester. But your brother's alive. He was just taken up to surgery."
Too afraid to believe and get his hopes up again, Dean still shook his head in denial. "What? But the card?"
"No, I was just curious, I've never seen a California drivers license before."
"How is this possible? You told me he was gone. ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU MADE A MISTAKE?"
She backed up as he advanced, the intimidating stature alone was enough to make her nervous, but the fire in his eyes suddenly made her fear him. A few of the orderlies near by rushed to her side prepared to intervene, but she held her hand out to keep them at bay. She hoped that it wouldn't be necessary and spoke in hushed tones. "No, Mr. Winchester. There was no mistake. I was there, I worked on him. We had inserted a temporary balloon to expand his collapsed lung and allow him to breath, but we couldn't keep his heart going. There were three doctors—myself included—and two triage nurses in the room when Sam flatlined. At 8:03 pm, he was clinically dead. At that point, there was nothing else we could do, and we called time of death. While I was speaking with you and the nurses were cleaning him up, at approximately 8:07 pm, they noticed the sudden rhythm of the heart monitor."
He blinked back his surprise, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. "I don't believe this…"
"Mr. Winchester, this is also a teaching hospital. Because of that, we record everything that goes on in any operating room. I can show you the tape later, if you like? But right now, I thought you would want to go up and wait for him to get out of surgery?"
Dean could only nod absently, his wheels already spinning on the possibilities as he allowed the doctor to lead him away.
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Meanwhile, John Winchester barreled down the deserted highway, pushing his old Chevy pickup into record breaking speeds. He had been tracking it, so there was just no way for it to have doubled back and gotten a hold of his boys, he reasoned. But then, what did happen, he asked himself thoughtfully. He pounded the steering wheel in anger and frustration, cursing loudly. "Damn it! Sammy, don't you do this to me. To Dean…"
"Why not dad, you've always left me behind."
John's foot locked on the brake causing him to skid off the road, dust kicking up in every direction. The truck's wheels barely managed to keep to the ground as he jerked his head to the passenger seat. He rubbed his eyes, silently praying that the image of his youngest son sitting in the passenger seat with that slightly indignant expression, pursed lips, and clenched fists—was all a hallucination. The product of hours without sleep. He blinked again and the apparition was gone. He paused for a moment to steady his breathing.
More carefully this time, John eased the truck back onto the road, a grim determination setting in. Regardless of the outcome, he was going to be there for his sons.
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John drove up to the emergency room and jumped out of the truck, barely allowing himself time to shut the engine off. He raced up to the counter and addressed the young woman manning the reception counter. "I'm looking for my son."
"Name?"
"Sam."
"Last name?"
John froze for a moment. He had no idea what sort of alias the boys were currently using. Rambling off a list of possibilities just didn't seem like a good idea when this hospital currently held his son's life in their hands.
He pretended as if he missed her question. "He would have come in with his older brother, Dean. Sam's about 6 foot 5, shaggy brown hair, green eyes…"
"Sir—"
"or how about Dean, 6 foot 3, hazel eyes, sandy blonde hair?"
"I just came on shift and I haven't seen them." The woman shook her head and added curtly, "Sir, as I've mentioned—I can't look him up without a last name."
John pounded his fist on the counter, causing her papers to scatter from the vibration. "Damn it! Hasn't this place ever heard of hiring someone with compassion and a brain!"
He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with her, so he fished around in his wallet, frantically whipping out a picture. Taken a few months after Sam turned 18, the edge-frayed photo was the only one he had of his adult son's together. Clutching the cherished item tightly, he mumbled further obscenities and ran past the receptionist, ignoring her threats to call security if he bypassed the double doors.
Unfortunately for her, John Winchester no longer cared about protocol—his sons were back there somewhere, and someone was damn well going to tell him where!
He accosted everyone he literally bumped into and showed the picture, "Have you seen my sons, Sam--Dean? Sam was brought in here tonight…"
After his run in with the fourth doctor, John felt, rather than saw the security guards moving in to restrain him. His jaw clenched reflexively and he whirled on them like a wild animal backed into a corner. Pocketing the photo, he threw his hands up prepared to fight if necessary. He emitted a warning that came out as a low growl, "I need. To find. My sons. Just tell me where they are…"
He heard the soft clicking of heels before he saw the petite woman sidle up and insert herself protectively between him and the guards. Though with the wild look in his eyes, she wasn't quite sure who she was protecting from who? She gestured for the guards to back up and turned to him, extending her hand politely. "You must be Mr. Winchester?"
To say that John was floored by the use of his surname would be an understatement. If Dean had slipped up and used their real names, then he must have been highly agitated and upset at the time. And the only thing that could ever make Dean loose track of his training and senses, was if Sam was in trouble—deep trouble.
His heart pounded again frantically as he tried to focus on the woman's words. "I'm Dr. Lacie. I just took Dean up to the waiting room on the 3rd floor. Sam's in surgery right now."
"He's alive?"
"Yes, very much so. Sam's a fighter, but he needed a little bit of help. I'm not sure if you are aware of what happened, but Sam was shot. The bullet entered through his back and lodged itself in his left lung, which then collapsed. They're repairing the damage now."
John felt relief wash over himlike a tidal wave and he sagged against the wall, but a secondary thought brought the worry right back again. The doctor looked to be phrasing her words guardedly, and his instincts told him that there was something else she was just not telling him. He asked hesitantly, "But he's going to be ok, right?"
"I won't lie to you, the next few hours will tell. But from what I've seen of your son, I think he's strong enough to fight this."
Something in that sentence nagged at him, but John brushed it aside when she led him up to wait with his oldest.
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When John approached, he expected to find his eldest son bouncing around anxiously or worriedly, or pestering the receptionist in the waiting area every few minutes for updates on his brother. Anytime that one of their hunts went bad in the past and one of his boys was hurt, the other would be out in the waiting room with him doing just that—and driving the oldest Winchester crazy in the process. They were like little Mexican jumping beans that had to be contained in a bottle, and it didn't subside until they knew the other was safe.
That's one thing he admired about his children, they were both highly protective of each other and he could depend on them to watch each other's backs. But even that protectiveness had its limits. Today was proof of that fact.
The closer he came to his eldest son, the more worried he became for him. John took in the boy's haggard appearance while he slumped down in the seat, his head wearily resting on one of his hands. He looked defeated. His normal mischievous glint was gone. The now bloodshot, watery eyes held nothing but a vacant stare, and John eased himself into the chair beside him.
He worried more than ever now because the younger hunter had yet to notice his presence. It wasn't until John placed his hand on the back of his son's head did he finally look up with a hint of surprise. He hadn't seen this look of such devastation and despair since the night they lost Mary, and it broke his heart that he saw it now. He pulled the younger man into his arms, somewhat surprised that he didn't resist as he usually would.
"I'm sorry, Dad."
"Why should you be sorry, Dean?"
"Because I got Sammy killed."
John allowed his son to pull back, the guilt clearly weighing on his shoulders. He listened quietly as Dean described the events that lead them here, and he didn't interrupt until he ran out of steam.
"Dean, none of this is your fault—and Sam's not dead. He's alive! He's a fighter, you know that! He wants to live."
"I know that, but I also know that we're Winchesters, and luck like that just doesn't happen to us.
"The doctors believe he'll pull through, Dean. And I believe it to. You have to trust—"
Dean shook his head sadly, his eyes pleading with his father to understand. "You know what I trust? Facts. And the facts are--Sammy's a powerful psychic, even Missouri thought so. She pulled me aside, and do you know what she told me? Evil gravitates toward him because of it. I know it's true, they always go for Sam. I mean just last week--and every time he's just a little bit vulnerable, they jump on him like they would a dog at a flea circus."
"I don't understand your point, Dean."
The younger Winchester jumped up from his seat, arms shaking with anger as he pointed at his father. "No, Dad, I guess you don't. You haven't been with us since this psychic crap all started. You couldn't possibly understand. They may be in there fixing him up after his little Lazarus impression, but Sammy was dead for four whole minutes, Dad. FOUR freakin' minutes!"
John glanced around nervously at the strange looks they were receiving as Dean's voice raised. He stood up and roughly pulled his son into the corner, only just now hearing his words sink in. Four minutes. That was a lifetime. He looked into the wide, bright hazel eyes of his son and finally understood the sadness in them that had little to do with guilt.
"How many times have we both seen this, Dad? Somebody comes back to life after some miraculous brush with death, only to turn right around and wreak havoc on everyone's lives around them—because it's not really them? Because something jumped at the chance to hitch a ride back to the land of the living."
John hadn't even needed to hear the words spoken, but Dean needed to say them, so he listened.
"Even if those doctors come out and say he's going to be fine--you know as well as I do dad…what are the chances that it's really gonna' be Sam?"
TBC…
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far.