A/N: I have virtually no experience with the medical stuff. Any glaringly obvious mistakes can be blamed on poor research and that lack of experience. Oh, and maybe watching too many episodes of "Emergency" as a kid. This chapter is dedicated to SupernaturalGeek.
Sam hated feeling so helpless. Helpless to stop what happened. Helpless to fix things now. He didn't dare move Dean out of the windshield. He could end up making a bad situation even worse. He had to hope the ambulance would get there quickly. Beyond the helplessness, he couldn't get his thoughts to focus. They refused to see anything beyond Dean, unconscious and bleeding. He was vaguely aware when Marcus arrived and tried to get him to tend to his own injuries, but he didn't care about himself right now.
"No! I have to watch out for Dean. I have to make sure he is safe." He climbed onto the hood of the car next to his brother, took his hand and tried to reassure him everything would be ok, tears flowing freely. "Come on, man. Give me some sort of sign. Let me know you'll be alright."
In response, Dean looked up, pain and sadness obvious in his eyes, and whispered, "Sorry, Sam." He squeezed Sam's hand as a spasm of pain wracked his battered body. "Bye, little brother," he whispered, gasped for air, and closed his eyes.
"Dean? Dean! No, you can't do this to me again! Please just breathe."
His own breaths coming too quickly, he could hear the ambulance approaching. Sam knew he couldn't move Dean for fear of a possible spinal injury, but he couldn't perform CPR in that position. He couldn't stand the thought of losing his brother now, not after all they'd survived.
"Please, Dean. You can't give up now. I can't do this alone. Please! Just breathe!"
From there time was erratic, speeding up to the the arrival of the paramedics. Slow motion as they moved him away and pulled Dean from the windshield onto a backboard, then gurney, careful to avoid causing further injury. Once Dean was mobilized, they worked to get him breathing again. Sam answered the paramedic's questions the best he could, trying not panic. One paramedic began administering oxygen while the other checked vital signs and hooked up the EKG and an IV as they loaded Dean into the ambulance.
"Damn, he's going into cardiac arrest!" They quickly began CPR, mindful of already damaged ribs. When that didn't work, they moved to the defibrillator, reestablishing a heart beat and loading him into the ambulance. "We gotta get him to the hospital now."
Sam's mind stopped at the words cardiac arrest. It was Sioux Falls all over again. The car wrecked, Dean fighting for his life. And Sam left to watch, wait, and hope. He couldn't handle that again, didn't really handle it the last time. He hopped into the ambulance, his eyes never leaving his brother, refusing to look back at the car.
One of the paramedics tried to tend to his wounds, but he didn't care. All that mattered was Dean. The ride to the hospital was a nightmare come true. His heart stopped again on the way to the hospital and it took almost the whole trip to get it started. As soon as they arrived at the hospital, Sam was left in the waiting room, to his worst fears realized. Dean knew it was bad, said goodbye. No sooner did someone approach to ask what had happened, than his own injuries and fears caught up to him. He crashed to the floor as his world fell apart around him.
Marcus knew he was too late as soon as the motel parking lot was in view. Knew that he should've realized sooner the danger. As he approached, he saw something he wouldn't in a million years have believed, would never forget. Dean was sitting on the ground arms wrapped around his chest. Sam standing and reading from a book, and the car, well the car's trunk was open, something pointed at the boys. Before he could scream a warning, the thing fired what looked like an arrow. He watched Sam dodge, saw the blood. Then the car, with no driver, turned around and sped toward the kid.
Dean appeared almost out of nowhere and pushed his brother from the path of the moving vehicle, took the blow himself. The image of that poor boy, struck by his own car, body flying on to the hood and crashing into the windshield would follow him to his dying days. All the accidents at the Killer Crossing were nothing compared to this. As he got closer to the scene, Sam rose to help his brother, stepped back when the car started moving again, and continued to read from the book. Whatever he said did the trick. The car wasn't running anymore. But Dean hadn't moved since being struck.
Exiting his truck, he rushed to see if he could help as he heard Sam's desperate call to 911 describing his brother's injuries, sounding even worse than they looked. "Sam? Hey, kid. You ok?" He looked pretty bad himself, blood streaming from a head wound and what looked like a deep cut on his left shoulder.
Sam looked over, not really seeing Marcus at first. He was dazed and probably in shock. "Marcus? What—how did--?"
"It's alright kid. Why don't you come sit down over here until the paramedics arrive?" He couldn't believe that Dean survived the hit, much less the blood loss. So much blood. How can a man lose that much blood and still be alive?
"No! I have to watch out for Dean. I have to make sure he is safe."
Marcus was relieved to hear the ambulance in the distance. He couldn't tear his eyes from the sight before him. Sam was sitting on hood of the car next to his brother, holding his hand, and reassuring the unconscious man everything would be fine, tears in his eyes. Dean, completely motionless, was covered in blood, his body partially in the windshield of his most prized possession. Please, God, don't let him die. This is all my fault. I should have told them sooner. Sudden, fearful words from Sam brought him out of his guilt-ridden thoughts.
"Dean? Dean! No, you can't do this to me again! Please just breathe." By the end, the words were choked out between sobs. "Please, Dean. You can't give up now. I can't do this alone. Please! Just breathe!"
Knowing there were no words of comfort that would help, he stayed out of the way as the paramedics arrived and did their job. Guilt and fear clenched his heart at the words cardiac arrest and he thought Sam would collapse right there, all color leaving his face. He followed the ambulance to the hospital in hopes of being some comfort, someone for Sam to lean on as the doctors worked to save his brother. He'd just reached him when Sam, obviously in pain, collapsed.
Sam came around to the sounds of the emergency room; heart monitors, ventilators and other life saving machines all beeping and whooshing. He saw Marcus sitting next to the exam room table and nurses coming and going. What he didn't see or hear was the only important thing. Dean.
"Dean?" he managed, only slightly a mumble.
"Hey, kid. How ya feeling?"
"Where's Dean? Is he ok? How long was I out?" he said, trying to get out of the bed and find his brother.
"Whoa, Sam. You gotta stay still. They just finished stitching up your shoulder."
"What about Dean?" he insisted.
"You've only been out for a little while, maybe thirty minutes. We don't know much except he needed emergency surgery. They promise to come tell you as soon as they know more. Can you tell me what happened?"
Sam wondered how much Marcus had seen and whether he could trust him with the truth. Telling even a little bit of truth could get them committed. Or arrested. He tried to find a way to explain that didn't include the real story. His internal debate was cut short by quiet words that weren't at all what Sam expected, but a welcome relief.
"It was Scott, wasn't it?"
"How did you know?" Sam said, almost too quiet for Marcus to hear.
"I didn't figure it out until this afternoon. Some of what I talked with you boys about and some of the local gossip got me to thinking, admitting a few things to myself. I should've figured it out sooner. This is all my fault."
"How could this be your fault? You couldn't know."
"But I should've. Now that I think back, it was so obvious. I had little problems in the salvage yard. Mostly just strange noises near the back. But my dog was always a bit afraid of the yard and none of the kids that worked for me would go back there on their own. One kid, only worked for me for one day, claimed he saw a guy sitting in the Caprice. He quit immediately and never came back to my garage. At the time, I didn't think anything of it. But when Dean asked where the car came from, somehow it all clicked. The weird problems started the day Scott's car was towed to the yard. Over the years, I got used to them and kinda forgot. After fixing the Impala, everything stopped. The dog even seemed less skittish. Then the Impala started having problems. If I'd only said something--"
"Marcus, you can't blame yourself. Dealing with ghosts is part of our job." At that, Marcus looked slightly confused. Sam realized he could trust Marcus with the whole truth. "No, I don't mean the book thing. That's only our cover. It's what we told people so they'd talk to us. Our job here was to end the hauntings at that intersection. To stop it before anyone else died. We've been fighting evil since we were kids. Usually angry spirits, but also other things, things you probably don't want to know about. It's a dangerous gig. We know that going in. Sometimes things are more dangerous than we expected."
"But Dean almost died because of me." Sam knew it would be a while before Marcus could forgive himself, no matter what he said. But he'd still try.
"Trust me. With our family's luck, even our simplest jobs go wrong. Even if you'd told us sooner, something would've gone wrong. It always does. So you have to stop blaming yourself." It's my fault Dean is hurt now. I should've stayed away from the car as soon as I knew the truth. Instead I tried to hide it until it almost killed him. "Have the cops come to question me yet? They're usually here already."
"They were here. I told them I saw some of what happened and you told me the rest. I felt getting them off your backs was the least I could do after all that you've been through."
"What exactly did you tell them happened? Not the truth or I'd be in the psych ward or worse."
Smiling, Marcus said, "I told them it was carjackers. A couple of big guys driving through town in an old Buick saw the Impala and decided they'd take it. They didn't expect the driver to fight back. Or his brother to come from the motel to help. I told them I saw one of the guys drive right into Dean. He freaked, saw me and took off with the other one in their car. I think they'll still want to question you, get your side of things. But now they can wait until you know Dean will be ok."
"Thanks for that. I still wasn't sure what plausible lie I was going to tell them. It's hard to explain being hit by a driverless car. It's definitely a first for us and hopefully the last. Where's the car now? The cops didn't search the trunk, did they?" Sam knew if they found the arsenal in the trunk, it wouldn't matter what happened.
"They got what evidence they needed for the case and are letting me tow it to my garage."
"Your garage? Damn, I forgot! You need to keep everyone away from the salvage yard, especially the Caprice."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"The incantation I used to get the spirit out of the Impala didn't get rid of it. It just sent the ghost back to where it was created, back to Scott's car. Only now, he's more pissed because we didn't die and he's stuck again. No one can go near it until we get rid of him." Sam was terrified that someone else could get hurt, or worse die, before they finished what they started.
"Get rid of him? He's dead. How do you kill a ghost?"
"Same way we helped Suzanne. We have to salt and burn the bones."
"So you did do something to stop the accidents at Killer Crossing. I can't believe that sweet girl would kill anyone."
"Actually, she wasn't to blame. The bastard who killed her put a curse on her, forcing her to relive her death. She was trapped and couldn't move on. By salting and burning her bones, we freed her of the curse, once and for all."
"Damn, I knew that man was a sick son of a bitch! But what about Scott? He was never a mean person. In fact you boys kind of remind me of Scott and his little brother, how close you are. They were inseparable too."
"His spirit, trapped in the car, was never able to move on. In time, it drove him crazy. In fact, I think he was so angry at the end because we reminded him of all he'd lost. He even told Dean he wanted him to know exactly how it felt to lose a little brother." He told him all that happened after Dean left the garage, including those anguished minutes when his brother stopped breathing the first time. It felt good to be able to talk about it, to get past it.
After a couple of hours of telling Marcus about some of the crazy things they'd seen and hunted over the years, the door to his room finally opened. The doctor that entered had the typical, unreadable expression. Sam managed to sit up without pulling any of his new stitches.
"Is my brother ok? Can I see him?" He really needed to see Dean. To see for himself that he was going to be alright.
"He's being moved into ICU after a couple of close calls in surgery. We'll take you to see him as soon as he's settled."
"What do you mean close calls? And what was the surgery for?" He felt sick thinking he'd almost lost his brother again while he and Marcus were sitting, chatting about the damn spirit.
"There was extensive damage to his chest, cracked ribs and bruises. The impact of the car broke one of his ribs and punctured one of his lungs, causing it to collapse. After re-expanding the lung, his heart stopped again. There was also damage to his right leg, right arm, and a serious head wound. We have him stable now and want to keep a close eye on things. He isn't out of the woods yet. The next 48 hours will be critical."
"Thanks. Let me know when I can see him." He wondered how many more times he'd have to go through this, watching Dean throw himself in the way of danger to protect his little brother, before it really did kill him. Sam knew that day would kill him too. He couldn't live this life without Dean at his side, driving, joking, and being a general pain in the ass. He needed his big brother as much as Dean needed him. Besides, Dean never left a job unfinished. He had to be fine to finish taking care of Scott's spirit.
"Did you know we're only a little over an hour from the city where your baby was originally assembled? I'm sure you did. You're probably the one who told me that."
A full twenty-four hours after they moved Dean to ICU, Sam sat watching his brother, waiting for him to wake, talking about anything and everything. The doctor said it was normal that he hadn't woken yet, that he was showing excellent progress. They didn't think he'd wake until the critical period passed. Sam had to hope they were right.
Marcus came to visit a couple of times, making sure he took care of himself, that he ate something and slept a little. Reminded him that his brother would be pissed if he didn't. He managed to eat, but sleep wouldn't come. He needed to see Dean wake, hear his voice before that was possible. As much as he'd never admit it, he missed all the lame jokes and smart ass remarks, all the teasing. He missed his brother and needed the conversation to be less one-sided.
When they'd first brought him in from surgery, the blood was gone, revealing just how badly he was hurt. His entire right side was now a nasty shade of purple, hidden in a few spots by the bandages on his head, arm, and shoulder. He could only imagine what the lower half looked like, thankfully free of a cast. But the scariest part was seeing him on a ventilator again. Machines breathing for him, monitoring his every breath and heartbeat were a constant reminder. He held Dean's hand, worried at how still he was, but in need of the contact just the same.
Now the ventilator was replaced by a nasal cannula. There were a couple less monitors connected and his color was better. He still hadn't regained consciousness. Nurses came in regularly to check the monitors, adjust the IV drip, or clean and redress his wounds.
"Hey, Dean. You'll be happy to know one of your nurses is named Heather. And yes, she is hot. Who knew this small town would have two hot Heathers?"
Another six hours with no response, Sam was running out of things to say. He was losing hope that Dean could even hear him, would ever hear him again. With the head injury, he knew they were monitoring brain activity, worried that he might slip into a coma. After a couple more hours, the stress and lack of sleep won out and Sam fell asleep, head resting on the bed, hand never letting go of his brother's. He awoke to what had to be the best sound in the world.
"Sam?"
The gravelly tone to Dean's voice was to be expected after hours on a ventilator. It was still music to Sam's ears.
"I'm here, Dean."
"You ok?" It was just like Dean to worry about how Sam was doing when he was the one in the hospital bed.
"I'm fine. Just a few stitches. How do you feel?" He didn't expect the truth, but the answer would still give him an idea.
"Like I got hit by a car." Typical.
"That's not funny."
"Aww, come on. It was a little funny."
"No, it isn't. Damn it, Dean! You almost died. Again. I can't keep doing this, watching helplessly while you leave me, one day for good." He was trying to hold back the tears that threatened to overcome him. Yelling at his brother wasn't going to make him feel any better. "Sorry. It's been a long couple of days."
"That long, huh? And I'm guessing you haven't left for a second. You look like crap." His voice broke a little on the last word and he grimaced slightly.
"Right back at you. Seriously man, you feeling ok?" Dean looked panicked and tightened the grip on Sam's hand. "Want me to get the doctor? I need to let them know you finally woke anyway."
"Hard to breathe. I don't feel so good, Sam." Sam was pressing the call button when Dean coughed up blood, breaths now short and rapid.
"Dean! Help, I need some help in here!" The grip on his hand got tighter, then slacked completely.
Consciousness was less painful the third time around. Listening for signs of where he was, the beeps and hisses of machinery could only mean one thing. Hospital. Damn. Guess that's what happens when you get run over. He would've laughed if he thought he could do it without causing more pain. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw Sam sleeping. He hated to wake him, knew what the kid had probably been through, but he needed to see and hear him to know he was fine.
"Sam?" Hell, even talking hurts. The look of relief on his brother's face easily made up for the pain.
"I'm here, Dean."
"You ok?" he knew the answer before asking. But the question was automatic, asked as much for a bit of their version of normalcy.
"I'm fine. Only a few stitches. How do you feel?" Dean considered telling the truth for maybe a second. He didn't want to worry his brother, so he went for his usual kind of response.
"Like I got hit by a car."
He saw the rapid succession of emotions cross Sam's face, from sadness to fear and lastly anger. That's how Sam's fear fully manifested, as anger. But the fear was still there in his eyes.
"That's not funny."
"Aww, come on. It was a little funny." Then the anger was real. Maybe he'd pushed that joke too far.
"No, it isn't. Damn it, Dean! You almost died. Again. I can't keep doing this, watching helplessly while you leave me, one day for good." The fear quickly returned, bringing back the sadness. "Sorry. It's been a long couple of days."
Two days? No wonder he's so freaked. How bad did things get? He was distracted from his thoughts by a painful pressure on his chest.
"That long, huh? And I'm guessing you haven't left for a second. You look like crap." He tried pulling in more air, but that made it hurt worse. Sam was saying something. He couldn't focus as the pain increased and his air intake was dwindling. He squeezed Sam's hand to let him know something was wrong, not sure he could even get words out. Sam said something about getting the doctor. Don't think he realizes how much this is hurting.
"Hard to breathe. I don't feel so good, Sam."
The increasing pressure felt like his ribs were being crushed again, but the fear that something much worse was happening took away his focus. He couldn't understand why something as simple as breathing was suddenly not working. He wanted to cry out in pain. But he couldn't even get enough air for that. He coughed. It felt like he'd coughed up his lung. He tasted the blood and started to panic. The pressure and pain worsened, beyond what he thought possible. He heard Sam scream for help, gripped his hand tighter as the pain became unbearable, and then lost the energy to fight, practically begging for unconsciousness.
He sensed the commotion more than heard, the pounding in his head muffling most of the noise. Sam was still gripping his hand, trying to tell him something. The doctor had that neutral look, the look they all get when things are bad and they don't want you to know it. He managed to catch a couple of words and wished he hadn't. Something about a blood clot and a pulmonary embolism, neither of which sounded good. At the sight of the ventilator, he panicked again. He hated those things and was terrified at the thought of it being inserted while he was awake. Fortunately the lack of oxygen finally took its toll and he was able to let go.
The next time he woke, the pressure on his chest was gone, as was a lot of the pain. Again, Sam was asleep, head resting on the side of his bed, still holding his hand. Normally he'd give him crap for it, but he could forgive it this one time. If he were honest, he'd admit he needed the contact almost as much as Sam did. He was about to go back to sleep, stopped by the sound as someone entered the room. Marcus was the last person he expected to see.
"Hey, you're awake again. Good to see ya." The man whispered, obviously trying not to disturb Sam. "How ya feeling?"
"Marcus? Didn't expect to see you here. I'm ok. Most of the pain is gone. Must be the good stuff they serve here." His voice came out low and rough, throat still sore from the ventilator. Noticing the take-out bags, he asked, "You making sure Sam eats? Thanks, man."
"Least I could do. He refused to leave until you woke. It was easier to make him eat than sleep. Looks like his body had other ideas."
Dean chuckled at that. "Yeah, that sounds about right. How long was I out this time? Couldn't be too long. It's still light outside." At the hesitant look on the older man's face, he realized he wasn't going to like the answer.
"It was...Maybe I should let Sam tell you."
Sam woke to quiet voices. Dean! He's awake. He waited, listened in on the conversation for a minute. He hoped Dean might be more honest about how he was feeling if he thought Sam was still asleep. The last few days had been long and exhausting. As soon as he heard his brother ask how long he'd been out, he knew it was time to wake fully.
"Dean?"
"Sorry, Sam. Didn't mean to wake you."
"How are you feeling? And no jokes this time." He needed to know everything would be fine. Dean could be an ass later. Now he only wanted the truth.
"I'm good, Sam. Really. Breathing isn't so hard anymore. How long was I out? What happened? I heard the doc say something about a blood clot before I passed out."
"It was from the leg injury where the car struck you." He had to take a breath and calm his nerves before continuing. Even the memories of what happened still scared him. "A clot traveled to your lungs and caused a pulmonary embolism, basically stopping your lungs from working. It was pretty touch and go, especially since you were recovering from emergency surgery when it happened."
"Surgery for what?"
"One of your ribs broke and punctured a lung. It collapsed. And your heart stopped again." Sam tried to keep it together. Too many close calls in such a short time had his emotions too close to the surface. He'd even lashed out at Marcus a couple of times. Though not as badly as he had at Dean right before the embolism. He just wanted it all to be over. As far as he was concerned, they should avoid Texas altogether. Nothing good ever happened in the godforsaken state. Between the tulpa in Richardson, being found by Meg in West Texas, and this nightmare, the whole place could be overrun by demons for all he cared.
"Again? When did it stop the first time?"
"Right after the ambulance arrived." Sam tried to hold back the tears and almost succeeded. "And again in the ambulance. It took them the whole trip to get it started the second time, over three minutes. I thought for sure you were gone this time." The last part, said in a whisper, broke the dam.
"You still haven't answered my other question. How long was I out this time?"
"Another three days. After the cardiac arrest and the embolism, they weren't sure if you would wake again."
"Three days? Damn. No wonder you still look like crap." Despite himself, Sam couldn't stop from laughing. Leave it to Dean to find the right smart ass remark to lighten his mood instead of piss him off. It was a good sign that he was being honest. The insensitive jokes only came out when he felt too bad to think about something before talking.
"Right back at you, dude."
"So how much longer am I stuck here?"
"As long as it takes for you to get better. Hopefully not more than a few days. Then we can finally finish things. I seriously considered taking care of it while you were out. But I didn't want you to wake up alone."
"And you knew I'd kick your ass if you went alone. You know it's too dangerous--" He could tell Dean was worried he'd said too much.
"Don't worry, Dean. Marcus already knows. He figured things out on his own. He was coming to warn us when everything went to hell. The Impala is ghost free and at his garage. Though the repairs will have to wait until the Caprice is safe. All we have to do is deal with Scott." Sam hoped that would be as simple as Suzanne, but doubted it.
"So what's the plan? Salt and burn?"
Like it could ever be that easy. "No. Like his brother, Scott was cremated. I think he's still tied to something in his car. I planned to check it as soon as I knew you were out of danger. Marcus offered to help."
"The hell you will! You have to promise me you'll stay away from that car until I'm with you. Both of you!"
"But, Dean--" He wanted to be ready to leave town as soon as his brother was released, should have taken care of it without mentioning anything. He should've known Dean would go into full big brother mode.
"NO! It's too dangerous. You already promised we'd do this together."
"I know, but--"
"No buts. You wait for me. Promise?"
Sam sighed, knowing it was no use arguing when he got like that. "Fine. We wait." At least he knew Scott's spirit was pretty much stuck at the salvage yard. No one else was in danger. They had time.
It took another week of rest, anticoagulant medication, and constant monitoring before the doctors were willing to release him. By the third day Dean was going stir crazy, driving the entire staff and his little brother crazy. But he still tired easily and was asleep more than he was awake. Even after they let him leave, he would be on strict bed rest for another few more days.
Marcus, feeling responsible for Dean's injuries, offered to put them up in a better room, one without dinosaurs staring back from the walls. Dean wanted to refuse, insisting that Marcus wasn't to blame. Silently, he was grateful. They didn't often get to stay somewhere nice. A clean room and cable television made the idea of days of bed rest not so torturous.
He'd gotten dressed as soon as the release papers were signed. Now he was waiting for his ride, probably Marcus' truck, since the Impala wasn't fixed yet. It was weird to leave and not be leaving in his car. The only other time that had happened was when they'd lost their father. It brought back so many memories he was only too happy to leave buried.
This was the first time he was ever hesitant about his car, and that scared him. His baby was the only thing he could truly count on. Sam left. Dad left. The Impala was always there, through everything that went wrong, carrying them away from danger, delivering them to safety. Her trunk holding the arsenal that constantly saved so many lives, theirs included. Her rumbling engine and creaking doors were the sounds of home, stability. Now some damned ghost took that too. His sanctuary had almost been his undoing.
He was distracted from his morbid thoughts by Sam's arrival, wheelchair at the ready. He'd learned long ago not to fight the ride out in a wheelchair. Either he rode in the chair or he stayed in the hospital. That was a no-brainer.
"Ready to get out of here?"
"Hell, yes. I've been ready for days. But what's wrong with you?" Sam sounded way too chipper. He was trying to hide something. Cheerful was his tell. On closer inspection, Dean noticed his brother was using his left arm instead of his hand to push the chair.
"Nothing."
"Right, Sam. Nothing. That's why you aren't using your left hand. You went back to the car, didn't you?"
"No!"
He gave Sam the look that told him how pissed he was. That he knew he was lying. "You are full of crap and you know it! Now tell me what the hell you were thinking going without me."
Sam huffed and gave him a look in return. "Fine. My research was no help, so I took the EMF to the salvage yard. I was trying to figure out what part of the car the spirit was attached to so we wouldn't have to burn the whole thing."
"If it's the safest way to get rid of the spirit, why wouldn't we burn the whole car?"
"Because a lot of its parts can be used to repair the Impala. That was the quickest and cheapest alternative I could think of to get the car fixed back up. You know how hard the parts are to come by. Especially after all you went through to put it back together after..."
Whatever answer Dean was expecting, it wasn't that. He now understood that for all the crap Sam gave him about the car, it was never really about the car itself. It was more about his obsession with it. Sam needed the car as much as he did. It was home to both of them. For that, he could cut his little brother some slack.
"Are you ok? Anything broken?"
"Nah. Just a minor sprain. One of the doors opened before I could grab the handle. Better that it hit my hand than my head, right?"
"Very funny. So did you figure out what he's still attached to?" For all of his griping, Dean hoped he had. That would save them time later. Time spent getting out of town and on to the next hunt.
"Not quite, but I did narrow it down to something in the trunk. It is stuck between a couple of other cars and a wall. Marcus is working on getting it free so we can check the trunk when you're feeling better."
The trip out of the hospital and to their new hotel room was quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts, Dean mostly trying not to fall asleep before they got there. Getting dressed, then arguing with Sam used up more energy than he'd like to admit. It irritated him to no end that it was barely past noon and he was ready for a nap.
The room was nicer than any they'd stayed in for a long time. Maybe ever. It had no odd colored wallpaper, no horrible theme, and most importantly, no bugs. Even better, the huge tub in the bathroom had the jacuzzi jets. That would do wonders for his sore leg and shoulder. The only thing missing was Magic Fingers on the beds, but the jacuzzi made up for that. The first thing he would try out was the bed, softer and cleaner than what they left behind in the dinosaur room. Then they'd have lunch and discuss options for getting rid of the spirit once and for all.
Part of him still felt bad for Scott. He could easily put himself in the guy's place. If he lost Sam, he'd be just as broken. But he couldn't imagine killing someone else so they could feel the same pain. No one deserved to hurt that bad. He fell asleep with those thoughts.