Solitary Man – chpt 8
by: sifi
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Dean hopped out of the back of the ambulance and followed the gurney into the hospital. The EMT's had been 'bagging' Sam since they arrived at the bar, that is, squeezing a big rubber bulb with a face mask attached to it, to keep him breathing. They'd had to use the defibrillator twice so far en route and Dean was beyond frantic, moving quickly into that far more comforting realm called shock where everything faded away except the fundamentals of breathing, heartbeat and pain.
He saw, in his minds' eye the shock on the EMT's faces when they arrived, They asked how long he'd been dead…but they got a heart beat… I saw the little spikes… they were bagging him… keeping that ole Oh-Two flowing… I just got him back…they can't take him from me now… his voice was in his head and he showed no resistance as a nurse moved between him and the gurney as it was steered into the first available trauma room and the medical team descended, They're like vultures on a carcass…he thought numbly and heard something he was unaccustomed to hearing in an ER, he heard surprise.
"…does anyone else see this?" a nurse asked from behind a feature obscuring mask and splash guard. She was pointing to Sam's exposed chest and abdomen.
Dean's heart squeezed a giant burst of adrenaline laced blood through his body as he shot forward, literally shoving the medical staff out of the way. He grasped the frame of the gurney and refused to be moved, his eyes locked on his little brothers mottled blue and gray torso as familiar white outlines began to appear on his skin. Even as he watched the numbers and letters rise on the motionless body before him, and his eyes caught sight of the likewise motionless line on the screen he could feel something begin to pound inside him. His heartbeat shook his body, that much he could feel but this was the sound of something horrible about to break down some door inside of him.
"Sir… please…" a nurse whispered solemnly in his ear while trying to pry his hands from the steel he needed to squeeze.
He shook his head, his neck creaked, he breathed, his heart pounded, silent tears slid off his chin in drops, their fall to the floor an audible hiss before they exploded on impact.
"Sam…" the name echoed in his head countering that horrible beast that wanted out, or in depending on which way the wind was blowing.
"No…" he turned his head and looked at the nurse, "…it's not supposed to be him… it's supposed to be me…" he looked around the trauma room, catching the eyes of the doctors and nurses present one by one. Their expressions all too telling.
"Do you hear me! It's not supposed to be him!" he cried turning his eyes to the message meant directly for him.
"Sammy!" he sobbed gathering his baby brother into his arms and holding him against his chest like he'd done so many times when they were children and Sam had been scared or even just lonely.
The medical staff eased out of the room knowing grief was a very personal process.
--
Something was horribly wrong, he could feel it as he raced down the hallway, his sight already fixed on the right door even as he heard the protesting. He pounded on the door as hard as he could and called out but there was no answer save the crushing feeling in his still aching chest and the ambiguous sounds of negation.
"Dean!" he called and pounded again and heard his brothers voice cry hoarsely,
"It's not supposed to be him! It's supposed to be me!"
Sam took a look up and down the hall and kicked the door open just as Dean's tortured howl sounded,
"Sammy!"
Okay that's usually a wake-up call… Come on Dean…wake up now… Sam urged mentally and nearly dove into the room. The bed was a mess, Dean on the floor nearly mummified by his sheets. Sam grasped his torso and lifted, unwinding the binding sheet, hoping it would help to some extent. "Come on Dean please! Wake up!" he called again grasping him by the shoulders and shaking him. "Damnit!" he cursed tossing him over his shoulder just enough to get him firmly onto the bed. "Son of a bitch!"
"Dean! Wake up!" he even tried to push with his mind, to reach in there but all he could feel was that stereotypical wasteland of despair where nothing grew.
"Come on Dean! Don't do this!" he slapped at his face and had a nasty flashback to Carol Guinardi's house as the pencil sheathed itself into his hand then hung him while Dean was unconscious.
But this doesn't feel like that unconsciousness…Dean please, snap out of this big brother, I need you here! Fighting Evil… with me… I can't do this alone… he pleaded internally and even went so far as to pry open Dean's eye only to find the green that would have met him and glared at him for such an infringement had rolled up and back so far Sam could barely see the darker ring of the outer iris.
A hospital isn't going to be able to do anything…he sat beside Dean breathing hard and touched his throat feeling a strong steady pulse despite the shallowness of his breathing. He just needs a little time…he'll come out of it on his own… what are you seeing in there? he wondered as a blue white streak shot across the window.
Sam lurched, his eyes falling on the black shape as it ran across the lot. Son of a bitch! he cursed inside, tapping the pocket of his jacket, assuring himself that the gun was there before he raced out into the hall and slammed through an emergency exit.
Sam stretched his legs following the path he'd seen the figure take. He hoped his dad had been right about them not wanting to kill Dean, I hope to hell he's right about that one thing 'cause dad I got news for you, you sure haven't been right about much else! Aaahhooowch son of a bitch! he heard himself curse as a huge stabbing pain thrust between his eyes and his sight became superimposed with a vision. It was a split second glimpse of a wiry black man running down onto the bank of one of the small "rivers" in the area. Left…he realized and continued the chase.
--
Leaping a narrow spot in the stream the demon turned its hosts head and smiled in the shadows as the sound of his pursuer's footsteps drew closer. The images were situated deep in the eldest son's mind, if he managed to come back to reality he should be little more than a psychological jigsaw puzzle about to fall apart. He knew he was supposed to have gone after a few more women and he still might just for fun… he'd learned quite a lot inside the boys head even for just those few minutes after he initially dozed off, but when he'd found the extent to which his biggest trigger was woven into his being, he couldn't have resisted if his 'father' had been right at his side. It was too tempting, and this way, he still got the potential bargaining chip he wanted. Now it was just a matter of time to let the string of events he'd planted to set their roots deep. Will they go deep enough? That should have been enough to shatter him if everything Eddy told us was true…what a shame to have lost him so soon… it's not every human who learns how to transcend…he could've been quite an asset, but at least he gave us this much…he had felt resistance at first, that much was true, something metallic that seemed to sing deep inside the boy, it flashed like a streak of silver and then it was gone. He thought he'd gotten around it though, he was pretty sure he had anyway.
Don't you worry young blood…I'll be back around, gotta keep an eye on my handiwork. He silently assured Sam who slowed realizing he'd lost his trail.
--
Dean sat slumped in the waiting room chair, there were no more tears in him. He didn't know how long he sat there, each minute he wasn't going to hear his brothers' voice challenge him, or argue about their dad and his tactics, or call him a jerk was going to be an agony. It already was and he was still in shock. He realized that much.
The words he'd spoken into the phone, well choked into the phone circled round his head, "Dad… I know you're avoiding me…I know you all are… just thought you should know though…It's Sam…You'll find him at Cook County Hospital… or at the Coroner's office a couple doors down… they'll hold the body till you get here…."
He pushed himself off the chair, his face a mask of stone and emptiness and forced himself not to think about Sammy at the morgue, lined up against the wall, just another untimely suspicious death to be investigated. He wondered if John would show.
He shambled out into the velvet smoothness of just before pre-dawn no more than a wraith among the living. Half of his world was gone and it was doubtful the other half would forgive him for failing.
As he walked down the street what few nocturnes there were even at this hour seemed to avoid him except one. He never even looked up into the black within black eyes of the man who's lean wiry chest he nearly bounced off. He didn't even give his words a second thought as he stepped around him and continued on his way, the words seeming to bounce off of him, "Now that's one cracker that's got some seriously big bad demons all up in his head…" as he continued walking his path, Dean didn't notice the laughter either.
--
Sam sat in the chair he'd pulled up next to Dean's bed his left hand resting on his brothers shoulder and the fingers of his right hand pinching the bridge of his nose, it wasn't visions, he hadn't had another after losing the lanky man by the river, it was the strain of trying to reach through the turmoil inside. Whatever was going on in Dean's head Sam could feel its weight bearing down. He had an image of one of those 'I dare you' type shows that kept coming up, a guy on the ground with a plank over his chest and abdomen that a bus was supposed to drive onto and stop just so the guy could, in Sam's humble opinion, prove how crazy he was. Still it was an apt parallel. That was the kind of weight he was feeling in his big brothers' chest.
I'm going to have to call dad if he doesn't wake up soon… why? asked that little voice of contention that always bristled when John's name was mentioned, So he can tell me to leave again? So he can 'order' me to turn my back on Dean? All he's ever done is look out for me… all dad's ever done is drag us around and… oh just skip it…he waved off that little angry voice, he was tired of having this argument with himself, exhausted by it and more than just a little bored by the constant cycle of accusation and recrimination. A stronger voice he hadn't known was in there finally, after twenty three years of moving and fighting and straining against this life, stood up and cleared its throat, The only thing that matters right now is getting my brother back, if it's not geared toward that purpose, take it outside.
--
Ouch! Laura thought weakly as her head bounced off the sidewalk and a split second later half a ton of marble landed straddling her torso. She cracked her eyes open while tasting blood in her mouth, and grimaced at the carefully sculpted face meant to scare off evil spirits, atop her.
"No way you live human… you murdered my mate…" her voice was like a dozen harpies shrieking all at once.
"Actually…" Laura started to protest then stopped and nodded, "…nevermind you're right… I did…" she admitted turning her head to the side in an effort to avoid the wicked stony fangs that were about to rip her throat out. Just a little closer now…ha! she held back the grin as she plunged the steel spike into the female's body, just under the wing attachment and straight into her stony heart from behind.
It took several moments for the statue to crumble, leaving Laura half pinned by nearly a half ton of rubble but she wasn't going anywhere anyway. Slowly she swept away the debris and dragged herself out from under. Her whole body was one enormous ball of pain, bruised from head to toe with several cracks and fractures in between she lurched to the wall of the building fighting for breath, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the sidewalk.
Free of the debris she slid down the wall and sat with her knees in her chest. She had no concept of time as the last few nights of cat and mouse rolled through her memory, every move she made was analyzed, every aspect of the hunt scrutinized to see if she could have done better, saved one more life.
"You alright miss?" a soft thick voice asked from the darkness.
Laura cracked open her eyes, I must look like complete hell, she thought looking into the deep brown eyes before her. "I'll be fine thanks…" she nodded.
"You want I should call an ambulance 'r something? I saw that statue come down on you y'know… that musta hurt something awful…" he said.
She shook her head, "Nah thanks… Just help me up?" she asked extending her hand.
"Sure thing… if ya think ya should move at all…" he sort of asked.
Laura nodded wincing against the pain wondering if this skinny little black man would have the strength to haul her to her feet. She felt heavy, as if she were made of stone herself.
He was stronger than he looked however and hauled her easily to her feet, so easily in fact that she crashed into his chest and felt his arm come around her in a vise grip as he breathed into her ear, "Your boyfriend is broken bitch… your turn…"
--
tbc….
probably won't get to write till the weekend…
Please, sorry it's kinda lame…
sifi