Chapter One
Disclaimer: None of the characters or the world of Supernatural belong to me. They are the genius of Kripke, et. al.
Dean's eyelids stickily unsealed to the opening lyrics of Blue Öyster Cult's "Veteran of 1000 Psychic Wars." The song was underscored by a monotonous beeping sound that was already getting on his nerves. The first thing he saw was Sam sprawled in a chair too small for him in a corner of the room. His head was twisted back and to the right, his mouth slightly parted. His left arm was in a sling. At his feet was the source of the music: the laptop. A white-coated figure passed in front of Dean's eyes, and he looked up into a woman's tired eyes. Her face was framed with ash blond hair going grey, and her jacket bore the nametag Dr. Ashcraft.
Dean asked, "Do you have a tongue depressor?"
"What!" she was startled by the request. "What for?"
"Could you just stick it in my brother's mouth? Not enough to choke him but just enough to startle him when he wakes."
"No! How can you be so mean?"
"Huh?"
"Your brother has pretty much lived in that chair for the past three days ever since he checked himself out. He wanted to be here in case. . . Anyway, policy is that we don't allow patients in other patient's rooms longer than a few minutes so . . . I think it was a bad choice for him to be released so early with that head injury, but I was overruled. He was very determined. At least he's been here where I could keep an eye on him."
"Huh?" Dean felt like he'd been hit by a truck and then remembered he had been.
"What's wrong with him?"
"He has a concussion, broken collarbone, assorted bruises, and cracked ribs. He also cannot sleep for very long without falling into a nightmare."
"Oh, that's normal for Sam. He's been having them for about the past nine months."
"Has he seen a specialist?"
"No, but we know what has caused them."
Dr. Ashcraft gazed at Dean, but he clamped his mouth shut on anything else he might have said. She finally shifted topics. "What do you remember about the accident?"
Dean wondered what had already been said and then stiffened and blurted "Dad! How's my father? Where is he? Was he badly hurt?" The last time he'd seen his father flashed through his mind as he remembered what the demon had done to him wearing his father's skin. Dad had chewed Sam out for not killing him. He was afraid to hear the answer.
"You're father's fine. He's in another room. He's visited here a few times but he still needs to be admitted. How did he get shot? You three were hit by a truck."
Dean looked at the doctor not exactly sure what to say. He was sure the others had already told a story, and he was afraid to contradict their tale. "I was asleep in the back seat, so I really don't remember much at all."
Sam had been hearing voices for a while, but it finally penetrated his sleep that one of the voices belonged to Dean. He woke with a start and struggled out of his chair towards the bed with a goofy grin on his face. "You're awake! They said you probably wouldn't wake up." Sam's face was haggard from lack of sleep, and Dean could now see the square bandage covering Sam's right temple.
"Dude. You know how I live to prove authority figures wrong."
Dr. Ashcraft watched the two brothers for a minute, both faces split with grins and matching dimples, marveling at the resiliency of youth. Loathe to break up the reunion she coughed and said, "Sam, I need you to go out into the hall while I run some short diagnostic tests on your brother. Why don't you go grab a bite to eat?"
"Sam, you not eating?"
"I kinda have been forgetting to; coffee is fine for me."
"Look, go get something in you before you fall down. You look like crap."
"Nice…." Sam mock-growled. "I'll be back soon."
Dr. Ashcraft had been making notations in Dean's chart, indicating his memory seemed almost up to date and he was tracking conversations and movements. If there was a neurological problem, she couldn't spot it yet. When she finished, she gazed appraisingly at the older Winchester boy and said, "Will you do me a favor?"
Leery of doctors, Dean answered, "Depends on what it is."
"Send your brother back to the motel. If he doesn't get some rest as opposed to catnaps, he's going to crash hard. I see you can't get him to eat either."
"I can try. We're. . .we just watch out for each other. Usually, I have to patch him up." Dean winced as the doctor latched onto his incautious words. He must still be woozy to make such a dumb-ass comment like that.
"What does that mean? You boys get hurt often? How did your father get shot?"
In a desperate attempt to distract the doctor, Dean said the first thing that came into his mind. "Earlier you said Sam needed to be here in case… In case what?
Dr. Ashcraft sighed, "The injuries you received put you in a coma. Your body received a massive shock, and I gave very low odds of your surviving much less waking up. Sam was adamant that you would pull through. Said you'd survived worse odds before."
Dean remembered Roy Le Grange's tent in Nebraska where he'd been healed after a battle that left him fatally wounded. "Yeah, Sam just won't let me die."
Dr. Ashcraft felt Dean really meant it and continued, "He said that you needed to know your family was here; it's the most important thing to you."
Dean was taken aback until he remembered a conversation when Sam said 'I'd do anything for you' right before cutting Dean's legs out from under him by saying that he would go back to school and leave Dean alone again. He felt a yawning gulf releasing him briefly from its maw. A reprieve.
"He said he had to show you you weren't alone." She stopped and giggled. "He drove the head nurse crazy. He parked himself in that chair once he checked out and played music on that laptop the whole time. It wasn't just the noise that drove Nurse Turner crazy; it was the choice of songs. Sam insisted that you would be reassured by 'mullet rock.' "
"That's my boy," Dean chuckled.
"I've read research about people in comas being aware of their surroundings so I authorized it. He just had to endure her dirty looks and rude comments. His single-mindedness almost drove her to distraction. He's very monofocused isn't he?"
"You have no idea. I think it runs in the family." Dean shuddered at the remembered sensation of his brother slamming him into a wall, with an empty look of loss in his eyes. It was echoed by the empty pit of solitude in Dean's soul after Sam hoarsely proclaimed he would die if only it killed the demon. They almost had. "You said Sam was going to crash and burn? You were O.K. with his sleeping here so you could keep an eye on him. Should he sleep unmonitored? You were concerned about the concussion."
"If the nightmares are normal, then he should be okay. Will you help me help him?"
"Yeah."
Dr. Ashcraft went to the room's door to see if she could spot Sam. He lunged away from the opposite wall as the door opened and slipped past her before she could even pull back. Dean was struck anew at the lines etched by stress and worry in his brother's face. He noticed the slightly shaking hands and opened his mouth to cajole his brother when their father, John Winchester, was wheeled in through the door by an orderly, his right leg elevated at a slight angle and tightly bandaged. Sam recoiled and retreated to the far corner of the room hunching his shoulders, loathe to leave his brother yet wanting to put distance between himself and his father. Dean's forehead wrinkled with puzzlement before his father's face filled his line of vision.
Dr. Ashcraft, sensing tension, decided to let the family have its reunion in privacy.
"Dean! You're O.K.?" John seemed to be pleading.
Dean shivered as he remembered his father's eyes being a bilious yellow and filled with glee at the pain, physical and mental, he was causing the brothers. The demon's hateful words, spewing from their father's mouth with his voice, sprang to mind and Dean gave his brother a worried look. Was that Sam's problem? Didn't he remember that demons lied? Surely he didn't believe that he was the reason for everything. The look on Sam's face, however, showed he probably did. Damn! Why didn't Dad set things straight with Sam? The tension between the two was a miasma in the air. Why did the two of them end up at odds so much? Dean would get his brother alone and talk him through whatever was bugging him. "Yeah, I'm O.K. What did you guys tell the hospital? They keep asking me, but I told them I was asleep when we were hit."
John said, "I told them someone tried to carjack us when we pulled over for a pit stop. We were heading for the hospital when we were hit." He barely glanced at his youngest before continuing, "I thought you were dead. We wouldn't have been attacked if Sam had finished the job."
Dean sat upright too fast, grabbed his side and hissed, "That's not fair." His eyes turned pleadingly to Sam to be sure his brother knew Dean did not blame him. Sam didn't look angry or defensive at his father's harsh words. He didn't have that coldness that had presaged his walking out of their lives for Stanford. Instead, he seemed to shrink into himself and became even more self-effacing than usual. John ignored his youngest in favor of his eldest, "Dean, we have to start all over again."
Dean tried to ignore the relief those words gave him. More time with Sam; more time with Dad; more time as a familyhe was guilty at the rush of hope that briefly flowed. It sputtered and died as his father continued, "We'll have to split up again; you boys going one way and me the other."
Dean started to question John when an orderly came to take their father back to his room. The atmosphere lightened, and Sam came from the corner once John's form had cleared the doorway and the door closed. "Sammy? What's going on?"
Sam slumped down in his previously vacated chair, his frame shaking. When he lifted his head, Dean saw tears glistened in his eyes but stopped before flowing down his cheeks. Hollow eyes met Dean's, causing his heart to clench with rage at his father and despair for his little brother. Voice soft and shaking, "Dad's still mad at me for not shooting the demon. He said if the demon had died, you wouldn't have been in a coma on the verge of death. When I went in to see him two days ago, he chewed me out for not following his orders. Don't you get it? He was ordering me to shoot him; you were begging me not to. All I could think about was how much you'd hate me if I killed both our parents!" His voice cracked with tension.
"Both?" Dean knew without a doubt that Sam did blame himself-idiot kid shouldering more guilt than he should bear. "You can't believe what the demon said, do you?"
"Dean, it makes sense. Remember Max and Rosie? Why their Moms? Why our Mom? Why Jess? We were able to save Rosie's Mom, but the other died because of us…and our gifts." His voice began rising in pitch until he was just short of shouting. He stopped, visibly regained some composure and continued. "You said Dad and I are all you have. I'd do anything for you and there you were on the floor, bleeding and pleading. I won't destroy you again. I took Mom from all of us. If I had shot Dad to kill that son-of-a-bitch possessing him, I would have killed you too." Sam's voice sank until Dean could barely hear him. "I've caused too much death already." Sam buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking in the silence left behind by his anguished words.
Dean, shocked, finally shattered the silence with a coughing spasm he'd been trying to suppress. It yanked Sam out of his pit of despair to focus his energy on making his brother comfortable by getting some water and helping him sit up to drink it. Dean gently batted Sam's hands away, knowing he needed to comfort his older brother to assuage his needless feelings of guilt, yet fighting against years of being aloof toward open displays of need. Here was another fine mess, and it was once again up to Dean to fix. Dean took time to figure out what to say. He knew his brother was tearing himself apart with a guilt that had no basis in reality. A small part of Dean's mind wondered if maybe it was true about the demon's attacks, but he ruthlessly squelched that thought. No time for that. Dean in no way blamed his brother. Even if Sam and his gifts were the reason Mary and Jess had died, he didn't choose to develop the gifts; they had appeared all on their own. "You're a victim too, Sammy. You lost Mom before you even got to know her and Jess…You loved her, and her death is haunting you. You saw Mom's spirit. She did not blame you; and neither do I." Dean forced every bit of emotion into his words to drive away the despair he saw in his brother's eyes. He needed to break through Sam's wall and maybe, just maybe, he'd talk and maybe Sam could sleep again. Sam seemed to settle a bit. The glassy look in his eyes receded, and he took a deep breath before giving Dean a one-sided grimace, probably meant to be a reassuring grin. Dean settled back, fuming, not at his brother, but at their father. John could be so single-minded. He couldn't see, maybe he didn't want to see, what his careless words were doing to his sons. Dean's hero was becoming more tarnished as time went on. As soon as he'd sent Sam back to the motel, he and his father would have some words.
"When's the last time you slept? Or ate?"
"I was asleep just now and got some coffee in the cafeteria," said Sam defensively.
Dean snorted with disgust. "No dude, I mean when was the last time you wrapped your stomach around some real food, lay down on a real bed, took your shoes off and slept for more than an hour?
Sam's eyes went out of focus as he tried to figure it out. Dean broke in.
"Look, the doctor said something about a motel? Do you have a room there?"
"Yeah, it's five blocks away. I needed a place to stash our weapons since the Impala's in the shop."
"My car!" Dean's heart plummeted at the thought of the damage to his beloved car. He briefly calculated the potential damage from the impact and winced, waiting for the news.
"It's parked in back of a garage until some parts arrive. It needs new windows,
fenders. . ." Sam's voice trailed off. "I was waiting to see if you wanted to do the repair work yourself or…"
Dean passed his hand over his eyes and sighed. That car was his life just as much as Sammy and Dad. At least it hadn't been totaled. When he got out of there, he'd start working on it until it purred and growled again. He shook his head and refocused on Sam. "What time is it?" It was dark outside his window.
Sam glanced at his watch after peeling back the edge of the sling. "8:15."
"All right. You're going back to that motel, picking up something to eat on the way, sleeping for as long as you can and NOT coming back here before 9 a.m. Look, you want to help me. Be sharp. Those things are still out there, and I need you to watch my back until I'm out of here."
Sam straightened slightly. His brother needed him and he wouldn't let him down again. "You want the laptop to listen to music?"
That earned Sam a genuine laugh. "I heard how you were terrorizing the nurse with the music," Dean chortled. "Nah, take it so they will get off our backs."
"By the way, the nurses aren't your type, so I guess you'll be out of here pretty fast." Sam grinned slyly at his brother. He knelt, unplugged the computer, and stuffed it in his battered leather bag before heading for the door. He stood in the doorway, leaned against it, gave his brother a genuine grin and said, "Man, it's good to have you back." His grin faltered, "I don't know what I'd have done if…"
"You get some sleep, Sammy."
"It's Sam" came through the door before it clicked closed.
Dean leaned back into his pillow and scrunched his eyes shut. Once again, John had pushed Sam away. Maybe his goal was to toughen his boys. That worked for Dean, but not for Sam; it never had. At least this time, Sam didn't seem inclined to leave. John was no longer the infallible warrior. His non-response regarding Lawrence. Sam's news about Dean's imminent death after being electrocuted. The pleas to fight together being shunted aside. His father would no longer be allowed to ignore his sons' angst. Dean needed his family together, not pushing each other away. He was reaching for the nurse's button when Dr. Ashcraft walked in.
"Is there a way for me to talk to my Dad face to face?" The cold tone in the young man's voice caused the drained doctor to take a step back. She had been aware of the tension between Sam and John; tension that the older brother was aware of and responding to. It was touching. The brothers were devoted to each other's well-being, ignoring all else for the sake of the other. Dean had to be feeling the pain now, yet he wanted to fix something for Sam's sake. At least she hoped it could be fixed. There was some mystery here, something beyond the gunshot wound, yet connected somehow to it, that she couldn't fathom yet.
"I can have an orderly bring him here. You shouldn't get up until tomorrow at the earliest. Your wounds healed some while you were in a coma."
"Please. I have to talk to him before Sammy comes back."
"Where did he go?"
"I told him to not come back until tomorrow so I hope he sleeps. Is there a restaurant or something between here and the motel you told me about?"
"Several. This hospital is on the main street and there are restaurants and fast food joints all up and down it."
"Good. Sometimes I have to force him to eat."
"Same cause as the nightmares?"
Dean flashed her a guarded look. "Yeah." Hopefully, he could straighten things out with his dad without having to divulge too much to the doctor. "We do what we do, and we shut up about it." He'd broken that rule once, and he'd paid for it.
"I'll see what I can do to get your father up here. You're sure you're up to it?"
"This is something I need to take care of now." The steel in the words was matched with the tight muscles in his jaw.
Fifteen minutes later John Winchester was wheeled in through the door. "What is so important that you had to speak to me now? Couldn't it wait until morning?" His voice was hoarse from exhaustion that his son ignored.
"What the hell are you trying to do! Didn't you listen to what that demon said to us through your mouth?"
"What are you talking about?" John was still recovering from hitting his head on the Impala's passenger window and things were still confusing and disjointed sometimes.
"You. Hurting this family. Again. No," Dean chopped his hand down as his father started to speak. "Don't say anything. Don't you realize how that demon hurt Sam?"
John was confused. "Out of us all, he was hurt the least."
Dean wanted to strangle his father. All the man saw was blood from wounds. He never saw the hurt from words or actions that caused inner wounds, some that hemorrhaged beyond repair. "No! The demon confirmed Sam's belief that he caused Mom's death. Jessica's death. All that guilt was running through his mind, and you order him to kill you! Then you blame him when he doesn't. If it had been one of us possessed, would you have pulled the trigger? Is your need for revenge that strong that you would take your own life and leave us behind with that guilt? I know Sammy would be destroyed if he had followed your order!" Dean's voice had risen until he was shouting.
John's memory sluggishly reached towards the confrontation in the cabin. Fragments of events shot through his memory as he had struggled to gain control of his body again. Hearing his eldest plead, "Dad, don't you let it kill me!" pierced his heart once again. Seeing his son's body slump, held up only by the demon's will while blood dripped down to splash on the floor. That had actually given John the strength to fight back. Enough time for Sam to react as he was released and grab the Colt. Good boy. John's thigh throbbed with the memory of the bullet shattering flesh. Kill me! Sam's refusal. The demon abandoned his body and escaped once again. John's despair about catching it again. The car wreck. His boys' damaged bodies loaded into the ambulance. Angry words with Sam. The disdain in Dean's eyes as he stared his father down in the hospital demanding to know why.
"Did you talk to Sam or just chew him out?" John's expression changed from puzzlement to stricken acknowledgement as he remembered the angry words he had said and the wounded look in his youngest's eyes. That was the only answer Dean needed. "He began to believe he was the reason Mom and Jessica died while we were in Saganaw. I told him he wasn't, but I don't think he believed me. That demon convinced him he was, and he's ripping his own heart out. He doesn't need you to do it for him." Dean paused. "I don't believe it! If the demon had wanted Sam, why didn't it just take him? Why? Because of his gifts? If that's the case, Sam is in danger, but he believes he is the danger. To us! Pushing him away from us is the dumbest thing you've ever done!" Dean was shocked at the words pouring out of his mouth. This was his father, his role model, his hero, that he was attacking with poisoned verbal darts. Yet Dean was Sam's shield, had been most of his life, and nothing, not even their father, would be allowed to hurt Sam again. Dean was panting with the exertion caused by his tirade and suppressed rage. He felt the heat of it wanting to overcome him, but he held it off. "Dad. Do you blame him? Can you look him in the eyes and say it was his fault the demon escaped?"
John saw himself on the edge of an abyss. He had acknowledged to Sam that he'd stopped being their father and had become their drill sergeant. It was time for him to try to be the father again, but he wasn't sure how. Seated on the bed in front of him was Sam's father figure. Dean had raised his boy. The Marine, the demon hunter, had needed to harden himself and his boys against all the things out there if they were to survive. Dean had thrived on the training while Sam had not. John stepped back from the edge. "Where is he?" he asked hoarsely. It was time to try to set things right. If only. . . A million if onlys marched through his mind.
Dean warily replied, "What do you plan to say? I sent him off to sleep. He was practically falling down."
"Where?"
"Dr. Ashcraft mentioned a motel to him. She'll know which one. What do you plan to say?" Dean repeated. He really needed to make sure his father wouldn't slide into a tirade if Sam talked back.
"You're right. I need to talk to him. Did I say I blamed him? I don't remember."
The confusion in his father's voice took Dean aback. They had all been hurt and probably doped up. Who knows what had been said now. Who knows what was heard. Now, all they could do was go forward and bandage all wounds.
"You say anything that sets him off and I'll. . ." Dean's protectiveness rose in a wave inside him and overwhelmed the disciplined respect John had drilled into him. "Don't you dare knock him down." Dean hissed. "He's hurting and needs to heal. He needs to know we don't hate him."
"I'll talk to him tomorrow when he comes back. Under Dean's gaze, he winced, "Believe it or not, I love you and Sam. I'm just afraid for him. With that demon
still alive. . . I had hoped to stop that fear."
"What have you found out?"
"Nothing concrete." A shadow fell over John's eyes, and Dean knew he'd never get the information out of him until John was ready.
"Don't even talk to him about continuing the hunt. Convince him he's not to blame for anything." Dean pleaded. He pressed the button for the nurse to come and retrieve his father. Dean nestled into the pillows, drained. Would his dad be able to convince Sam? Did he even want to convince Sam? Dean had to believe that he did. Both of them were so ready to throw their lives away just to kill the demon that they refused to see Dean standing alone.
Dr. Ashcraft walked in and saw the look of utter despair on her young patient's face quickly vanish into a look of watchfulness. "I heard some of that. You were pretty angry with your father. You care to explain?"
"Nope. It's family stuff."
"Really," she drawled. "Well it's my business to deal with your injuries and it sounds like"
"Look. I appreciate your concern, but I can't explain. Trust me," he snorted, "you don't want to know." Dean's eyes were shadowed when they met hers.
She took another tack. "Your wound was very unusual. It looks like you were cut from inside. I know that's impossible, care to give an explanation?" She paused, hoping he would fill her in. The half-heard conversation with words like "demon" kept popping up in her mind. Inscrutable, Dean stared back. She knew she'd never get any answers tonight.
"Which motel did you send him to?
"Motel 6. Turn right as you exit the front of the hospital and go five blocks. I take it you convinced Sam?" At the nod of affirmation, she continued. "Well, then I'll take my own advice, and I hope you will as well. Good night." She exited hoping things would get better in the morning for all three men.
Dean tried to get comfortable in his bed, shut his eyes, and tried to ease the memory of his heart-wounded brother. Dean would give anything to erase the demon's words now acid-etched in Sam's memory. His breathing slowed as he fell asleep. The only sound in the room was the beeping of his monitors.