Actions speak louder

Chapter 8

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:)

OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO

Two of the nurses chatted as they exited the room, completely unaware of the patient's family standing off to the corner. "…yeah, that is strange—one minute he looks like he's going into cardiac arrest, and the next, he's completely fine." "Well, you know, Dr. Lacie said that he's the one that died in the O.R. and came back—after they were done!" "That is downright spooky…"

Dean glared after the women discussing his brother so dispassionately. Then a thought occurred to him, not his brother. Sammy was gone, and something more sinister had taken his place. It threw his dad across the room like a rag doll. It went nuts after hearing the sacred name. There was just no other way to explain it. The realization suddenly made him feel as if someone had just shoved a serrated blade through his chest, then twisted to ensure a fatal blow.

He looked to his father sagging against the wall where he struggled to get back to his feet. For the first time in years, he watched his normally stoic father sobbing into his hands. The only time he could even remember the man ever looking so broken and lost was when he was four years old. John had sat him down in the backseat of their car—the only possession they now owned while the firefighters fought to give them back their home. Swinging his legs over the side, he listened with rapt attention when he crouched down telling him that mommy was gone and wasn't coming back.

A four year old shouldn't understand death, but Dean did. Seeing his mother plastered to the ceiling with blood and flames engulfing her body made sure of that. He hadn't cried then as his father struggled to find his voice through the broken sobs, only clutched the tiny bundle in blue to his chest tighter. He had promised silently that he would always keep his baby brother safe. And his father would never have to cry like that again.

But now the evidence of his failure was lying in the bed directly in front of him, and he turned away and tried to ignore it. Instead of finding solace in the action, he was met with the older man's despairing features. Dean had never seen his father cry before or since. "Dad?" he called several times before approaching him.

John either hadn't heard, or just ignored the soft spoken voice. He shrugged out of his grasp angrily while his eyes never left the prone figure on the bed. He finally found his voice, surprising even himself when it came out in a strained whisper. "Take a walk, Dean."

"I'm so sorry…"

"My boy is gone, Dean...after everything I've done to protect him—I couldn't save Sammy from some little punk kid deprived of an allowance."

"Dad, just like you told me, it's not your fault."

The older man craned his head around sharply. "That's because Sammy's not your responsibility, Dean. He's mine. Always has been."

Dean watched his old man's features harden stoicly, but it was his eyes that still held a glimmer of pain, then darkened with a grim determination that scared him. Because now he understood why his father wanted him to leave the room. He was going to kill him.

Hazel eyes widened in surprise. "Dad, no, you can't."

"Dean, I don't want you involved. Like I said, this is my responsibility and I'll be damned if I'm gonna' just allow some hitchhiking bastard to walk around wearing my son's body like a cheap suit! Defiling his memory with every murderous action it commits! Ain't gonna' happen. Not to my son."

"Well maybe there's some way we could still get him back," Dean pleaded.

"If that thing could toss a two-hundred pound man across the room like a feather, then imagine the kind of danger we'd be putting everyone around it in if we allow it to wake up. There's no other way, son. Sammy is gone. At least this way—" he hesitated from the lump in his throat, "—at least we'll have a body to bury. Be honest Dean, could you hunt something that not just looked like your brother, but used to be him?"

Dean blinked repeatedly at the older man, trying to comprehend the question. A shapeshifter was one thing, but this was an entirely different matter. This thing, only hours before had been Sam. He shook his head slowly, before he even realized that he was doing it and mumbled, "I want to stay."

"No Dean. Even though it's not Sam, I don't want this to be your last memory of your brother. Now please, do as I ask?" John didn't give him a chance to protest further as he guided the shell-shocked young man out of the door and shut it behind him with a soft click.

OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO

Lawrence, Kansas…

Missouri angrily slammed her kitchen phone down for the fifth time, cursing under her breath that none of the three Winchester men were answering her calls. That fact alone meant trouble. When she plugged in her phone number and 911 as a call back number, John always dialed her back. And it was rare that at least one of the boys failed to pick up. She shouted up into the air, "Woman, I don't know how to help them if I can't even reach them!"

Standing completely still, the psychic listened for any sign that her message had been received. A moment later, she had her answer when the television set that had been broken for weeks, suddenly roared to life. On the screen was a commercial for one of the small airports nearby.

She sighed grumpily as she grabbed her car keys, "Getting on a plane doesn't help if you don't know where to go…"

Mere seconds later, her cell phone began dialing the speed dial number for Sam, though she hadn't expected to get an answer. She listened despite her misgivings, surprised when a woman picked up. "Who is this?" Missouri demanded immediately.

"I'm sorry, this phone was just ringing off the hook and I couldn't reach it before."

"Who are you, and where is the boy that this phone you've got belongs to?"

"Oh, you must mean Sam Winchester. I'm sorry to tell you this, but he's been in an accident. He's a patient here at Clearview Memorial Hospital, and I'm one of his nurses. Hold on a minute—I think I see his brother up ahead. Do you want me to get him for you?"

With a firm destination in mind, Missouri practically flew out the front door, "Dean? Yes, please hurry—it's imperative that I speak with him."

OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO

Dean wandered down the hallway, trying to figure out what he would do now. Most of his life had been spent looking after and taking care of his little brother. It had always been his purpose. And now, well, now it just didn't feel real. He trudged past the nurses station in a fog, oblivious to the woman calling his name.

OoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoOOoO

"Sir! Mr. Winchester! DEAN!" The shorter woman ran down the hall chasing after the sandy-haired blonde man. It looked like he was headed for the men's room, so she picked up her pace before he went were she couldn't follow. How had he gotten that far away so fast? Finally reaching him, she spun him around quickly and shoved the phone in his hand while he stared at her questioningly. She murmured breathlessly before walking away, "This fell off your brother in the emergency room. There's a woman on it and she needs to talk to you—it sounded urgent."

He was certainly in no mood to deal with some 'hysterical chick' in need of a little supernatural help. He sucked his teeth, preparing to dismiss the caller before they could explain their problem. "I'm sorry, but I don't have—"

"Dean, listen to me—"

"Missouri?" Not who he was expecting.

"Yes, it's me. Oh my goodness." The woman covered her mouth in shock as she read his thoughts with that one sentence, suddenly understanding what she was supposed to do. She screeched into the mouthpiece, "BOY! You get your behind back there and stop that crazy fool!"

"What?"

"You have to stop him or he is going to kill your brother!"

Dean frowned and tried to play off the surprise that she was aware of what was going on, until he remembered that she couldn't see his face. "Missouri, I don't know what you're talking about," he added in hopes that she couldn't detect his outright lie through the airwaves.

Wishing he was within arms reach to smack him, she continued instead with her best scolding tone. "Damn it boy! Don't play dumb with a psychic who can read your mind. Now you get your ass back in that room and stop your father from making the biggest mistake of both of your lives."

"Mis-"

"That is Sam in there! Not some evil thing waiting to pounce. Trust me on this!"

The color seemed to drain from his face as Dean listened to the urgency in her voice. If that was really Sam—shit! He nearly dropped the phone as he sprinted back down the hall as fast as his shaky legs would carry him, cursing that he hadn't gotten Sam's height that would get him there that much sooner. Hold on Sammy!

He didn't remember coming this far from the room. Why did everything seem like it was moving in slow motion? Out of the corner of his eye, he noted thankfully, that all of the doctors and nurses at the station seemed to be otherwise occupied and hadn't noticed his mad dash.

He skidded to a halt as John emerged from the room, closing the door behind him gently. If he was coming out…

"No…" Dean whispered in a panic, shoving his father aside and darting into the room.

The alarms that had brought the team of emergency workers before, had been silenced. The cord from the ventilator 'accidentally' pulled from its socket in the wall. To add to his horror, the ashen figure on the bed seemed even more so now that his chest had ceased rising and falling without the aid of the machine.

TBC…

An: Wow, thank you to each and every one of you who has read and reviewed. They really make my day and I appreciate it—takes away from the stress of homework—that I now have to get back to.

Anyway, I hope this answers all of your questions on whether it's really Sam:) and kudos to all of you out there who guessed. I've already gotten a good part of the next chapter written—not typed—so, I'll update as soon as I get a break from work & classes. Hopefully soon…