A/N: Just want to throw thanks to the people that reviewed that I seem to be unable to express personal thanks to. (Not because I don't want to, but because I'm just too forgetful) Thank you one and all!

Chapter 12

Sam stood dumbstruck in the now nearly empty room, empty except for himself, Bobby, and the orderly left behind to clean up the pools of Dean's blood that had been left on the floor. Sam just watched as little by little the mess was wiped away until all reminders of what he'd just witnessed had been eliminated from his sight. He just wished someone could clean out the memories that were still stuck in his head, the last one being the look of almost sheer terror as they took his brother away from him yet again. Sam didn't know what that look had been for, he could only assume the thought of more surgery, and surgery THERE at that, was more then he could take. He drifted in the direction of the orderly still at work and dropped to his knees, asking if he could help him but not really sure why. Bobby knew why as he stood there totally unnoticed by both brothers the entire time. He'd followed right behind Sam when he'd come into the room, and heard every word Dean had said.

"You know it's not all blood, don't you," the man cleaning the floor told Sam after declining his offer of assistance, as if knowing the large pool of fluid his brother had left behind wasn't all the blood he'd had in him at the time would make him feel better. Well, when he thought about it, it actually did. If that had all been blood, Dean would probably be dead by now. The man just finished what he was doing quickly, leaving a wet spot of some kind of disinfectant on the floor and excused himself, leaving Sam on his knees, mindlessly staring into space.

"You know, you gotta stop beating yourself up Sam. I know what you're thinking, but you had no way of knowing this would happen," Bobby spoke to him as soothingly as his husky voice would allow, knowing it probably wouldn't make a difference to the young man, but at least he had to try.

"Bobby, did you see his face? He was in so much pain, again, and did you see the look in his eyes when they took him away? How much more can she do to him before she kills him? God Bobby, he could have bled to death while we were gone, and for no damn good reason since everything we did was pointless. It didn't solve a damn thing and we're right back to square one!" Sam's voice was getting louder and angrier with each word he spoke, it almost reaching a yell by the time he'd finished. Bobby knew he was angry too, and also knew he better redirect that anger somewhere else, and soon.

The older hunter was smaller, but it didn't matter as he grabbed the younger man by the arms, looking him right in the eyes, and started in on him. "Sam, listen to me. We did what we thought was right. We didn't know, hell, your brother didn't even know until now what was going on. Now that we know, we can do something about it and finally make it right. You need to get off the guilt trip train at the next stop and get your ass onto that computer of yours and find out everything you can before they bring him back up here, because believe me, the first thing he's gonna ask you is what you found out, and you better have some answers for him."

Sam tried calming himself as Bobby spoke, his voice the only voice of reason that either one of them ever seemed to hear anymore. He was right, he had to see what he could find out, and he had to do it now, if anything to at least distract himself. Sam's shoulders slumped as he silently got up off the floor and made his way to his own little corner of the room, booting up the computer and waiting as patiently as he could for it to be ready to use.

"First thing you need to look up is that doctor. There's something that rubs me the wrong way about that one," Bobby requested, trying to say it as vaguely as possible.

Sam really didn't like the sound of that, and wanted a little more elaboration. "Bobby…" his questioning tone along with the spike of his brow asked it all in just one word.

"It's just a feeling Sam, that's all," Bobby told him, keeping his answer short. Sam was enough of a basket case without Bobby giving him more material to weave with.

Sam searched Trent Waterson through Google, somewhat impressed at what he'd found and handed off the laptop to the older hunter when he'd heard the knock in the doorway indicating they had company, his pace to the door quick when he saw who it was.

"Dr. Horton?" Sam was surprised to see the orthopedic doctor that had saved his brother's leg, even after the other doctors said he probably wouldn't ever walk on it again. That somber look had returned to his face, the smile he'd seen the other day for the first time since they'd met once again gone, replaced by that concerned frown Sam was used to seeing.

"Sam, can I talk to you for a minute?" If Sam didn't like the look, he sure as hell didn't like to tone either. Taking in a deep breath, he gave the doctor permission to deliver whatever news he'd come to give. If he was going to be buried in shit, they may as well pile it all on now so he'd know exactly how much he'd need to dig himself out of later.

"I just wanted to come up and quickly let you know I ran into Dean on his way down. I'm a little concerned about that fall he took. It wasn't far, but it looks like he landed hard on that bad hip. There are a lot of pins and screws in there that may not be quite ready for that kind of pressure yet. I'm going to take a look around in there while Dr. Waterson already has him sedated. Try not to worry too much, we'll bring him back in one piece. 'Jesus Christ, did they all have that one piece line in their bedside manner book?' Sam couldn't help but wonder since it was the second or maybe third time he'd heard it in less then an hour.

"You're gonna be there during the surgery?" Bobby piped in from his corner, dropping the laptop on the seat in front of him and walking over to the two. That nagging feeling he had about Dr. Waterson was still somewhat eating at him, but he still wasn't quite able to put his finger on why yet.

"I will be, unless you have any objections. I won't be doing anything too invasive, not today anyway. If there's any real damage it'll have to wait, but at least I'll know what I'm getting into," he thought the question to be a protest and he sounded like he was trying to convince them, not knowing the real reason Bobby had posed the question in the first place. Bobby felt a little wave of relief wash over him when he heard the answer, the thought of someone he did trust being right there to watch everything that was happening.

"You'll be there the whole time?" Sam asked this time, finally sensing the concern Bobby felt.

"Do you want me to be?" Dr. Horton questioned them both, the feeling of tension first coming from Bobby, then from Sam, starting to make its way to him as it started to fill the entire room oppressively. "Is there something wrong you'd like to tell me?"

"I'm just not that crazy about the choice of doctors, that's all, considering who he is. I think both Sam and I would feel better with a familiar face in there." It was the only way he could think to answer without raising all kinds of red flags that he couldn't even justify to himself.

"I understand how you must feel, but rest assured, Dr. Waterson is one of the best in his field. He would never let his personal feelings interfere with his performance. Trust me, Dean's in excellent hands. If it will make you feel better though, I'll be more then happy to assist the whole time," he offered, hoping to put their minds at ease.

Sam took his turn to speak as he shot Bobby a curious look. "If you wouldn't mind, I think we'd both feel a lot better." Bobby silently shook his head in agreement.

"Well, I guess it's settled then. I'll come back as soon as I can to let you know how everything went. It may be a few hours, so try to relax and be patient." Shaking both men's hands, he turned to leave, Sam tossing him one more 'Thank you' as he left the room.

"I don't give a rat's ass if he's the best doctor in the state. Hell, he could be the best damn doctor in the whole universe, I still don't trust him," Bobby confessed to Sam when they were alone again, making Sam's own unease increase even more. He didn't really like the idea of Dean's temporary soul mate's brother cutting his own brother's most sensitive parts apart, but he thought the same thing Dr. Horton did. Guilt for what his sister had done would drive him to make sure everything went smoothly, but for some reason, Bobby thought differently.

Bobby decided he needed to leave it at that though and quickly changed the subject, needing to divert Sam's attention elsewhere. It was going to be a long few hours, and with both men working on very little sleep, it was definitely going to make it easier on both of them keeping Sam's mind occupied. The last thing he wanted was Sam's mind drifting back to that dark, guilt ridden place he really had no business being in in the first place. He prayed someday the damn Winchesters would just accept the fact that occasionally bad shit happens and everything wrong in the world wasn't all their faults, but knew that, unfortunately for him, it wouldn't be today.

"What were those names he told you?" He asked Sam as he stared at the screen that had made it's way back into Sam's lap when he'd sat, prompting Sam's already drifting mind to focus back on the task at hand.

"Jennifer Thompson and Claire Talbot. He said they were victims, all three of them, of a serial killer."

Sam typed in the first name along with a keyword or two, the name itself being way too common to use alone. The first two hits instantly peaked his interest, both of which were archived articles from the local paper. Sam clicked on the first one and started reading out loud what he'd found as Bobby listened carefully.

"The body of twenty-three year old Jennifer Thompson was found deep in the woods just off Rt.14 early this morning, her disappearance three days ago ending in tragedy when she was stumbled upon by a set of hikers. The cause of death has yet to be determined pending the results of a full autopsy, however police have stated they do suspect foul play…the rest is just a bunch of bullshit, but Bobby, this report is two weeks old. Take a look at her picture, a good look."

Sam turned the laptop again in the older man's direction and Bobby took his good look as Sam had instructed. She had long, blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes, and could have passed for Trish's twin. The picture actually sent a chill up his spine when he looked at it, his suspicions at what Dean had told them being right already building. He turned the computer back in Sam's direction and waited as he read the other article, it pretty much telling them exactly what the first one had told them.

"What about the other one? What's her name again?" Bobby asked as Sam started clicking away again.

"Claire Talbot," he told him, typing in the name and the same few keywords. The results were slim, only producing one hit that applied to them, but an ominous hit nonetheless. Sam clicked on the lone article of interest, the picture he saw sending his own chill up his spine and telling him they were in a boatload of shit. "This article was just posted an hour ago. She's been missing since early this morning, or technically yesterday morning. I guess you don't need to wait a full twenty-four hours to report someone missing around here."

"Not when you look exactly like a recently murdered dead girl you don't," Bobby commented back. "Sam, I think we have a problem, a really big problem. We need to talk to Dean."

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As much as Dean wanted to protest what he knew was about to happen to him, he just couldn't seem to make his tongue or lips work anymore, his half open eyes staring at the pocket of the person pushing him down the hall and quite possibly to his permanent demise. He forced himself to stay awake as long as he possibly could, hoping against hope he could find the strength to say something, anything, to end this current nightmare. He really couldn't gauge time very well anymore, everything he saw and heard passing by him in one big blur, some of the voices he heard were familiar, some were not, but he noticed right away when they'd stopped in a very sterile smelling room with very bright lights.

He was still curled up in his tiny little ball, the drugs they'd given him making him loopy but not really easing any of his pain. He heard someone behind him say something presumably to him, then start tapping against his back, really unaware of what was going on until he felt the stick, then the burn. He finally got some sound to escape from him as he let out a slight moan, the burning not really all that bad and not lasting all that long, but just adding to his misery. Once that finally passed completely, he felt something else he didn't like, a hard pressure in just about the same place, then something that felt like digging, and once again, another groan found it's way to escape. It wasn't long after that though that he really didn't feel anything anymore, the pain was gone, the pressure was gone, but for some reason he just couldn't uncurl himself. He didn't need to though, someone was kind enough to roll him over onto his back, giving him a good view of the ceiling now.

Moving again, they took him here and there and everywhere, back and forth, rolling him over and back like a rag doll, until he finally ended up right back where he'd started from. He was pretty sure he'd seen someone familiar poking at his hip, but he couldn't really place the face at the moment, he just knew he'd seen it before. He was getting to the point that he didn't care anymore, he wasn't in pain, and with that being the only thing he'd had to keep him slightly coherent, it was pretty much all over but the shouting.

The sounds he starting hearing around him next were starting to make him nervous, the whine of what was most definitely a saw totally out of his eyeshot and somewhat terrifying as he tried to figure out what the hell they were going to do with it. It seemed to go on forever, that horrible noise it made as it burrowed into something he couldn't see, but then blessedly it had stopped. 'Ok, still breathing, not cut up in little pieces, that's good.' He thought to himself, his fuzzy mind making him forget the reason he'd thought it in the first place, until he saw the face towering over him like a giant, the face that made it all come crashing back down and into his thoughts like an atom bomb. If he was going to die at the hands of a crazy serial killer, at least he was going to get his last words in, and with all the strength he could gather, he stared into those eerily familiar blue eyes and spit out what he thought would be his final words.

"I know what you did, you killed her," was all he could get out in the most accusatory voice he could before his eyes closed shut, drugs finally sending him off to another world, a world he may just find himself in forever.

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He'd been a little more than irritated when he'd run into his esteemed colleague earlier and was not asked but told that he'd be joining him in surgery. That would just about ruin any plans he'd had to finish his job and he just resigned himself to patching the poor lucky bastard up and sending him on his way. He'd get his kicks later, one way or another. That was until he'd looked the man directly in the eyes and heard what he'd had to say before he'd lost his hold on consciousness.

The comment had been shocking as it sent goosebumps up his spine. He could have only meant one thing, but how could he have known? He'd never seen him before, not even at the accident scene. There was no way he could have seen him as he lay there bleeding on the side of the road, so how could he possibly know what he'd done? 'It must just be the drugs talking. No problem, I'll fix that,' he thought as he excused himself to prepare for what he would need to do.

He snuck into the room that housed the stock of drugs and rummaged through the various bottles until he'd found what he was looking for. Loading a syringe quickly, he snuck back out without ever being noticed. Being a Waterson did have its advantages, because even if he had been seen, nobody would dare say a word. He returned to his now relatively prepared patient, who was now totally out like a light, fully scrubbed and ready to begin, and slowly added the additional drugs to the mix, Dr. Horton questioning what he was doing the second he saw him doing it.

"What the hell was that for? He's already heavily sedated, are you trying to kill him?"

"Just giving him a little 'Mind Eraser'. No good reason for him to remember what he's been through the last few hours, is there? Hell, if it were me, I'd want to forget it too." He answered in a nonchalant tone, tossing the now empty container into the biohazard bin.

"Was that sterile?" Dr. Horton asked somewhat suspiciously.

"Of course it was, do you think I'm an idiot?" He answered, somewhat angry at the question, but chuckling to himself and hiding a grin behind his mask when the truth actually ran across his head. 'Of course it wasn't sterile, what did he think I am, an idiot?'

"Let's just get this done please, I don't want to be here all day."

With that, both men went about their business, Dr. Horton making his incisions, feeding in his little camera and looking around, and finishing rather quickly, happy with what he'd seen. He'd redirected his attention to what Dr. Waterson was doing when he was done, watching like a hawk as the man seemed to be enjoying what he was doing just a little too much. He'd stitched up the obvious tear that Stevie Wonder could have seen, but was seemingly ignoring the other smaller tear to the blood vessel right next door that was continually oozing somewhat non-stop. Dr. Waterson was just about to say he was finished when Dr. Horton opened his mouth as he seriously wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

"Umm Trent, you gonna take care of that bleeder there, or are you letting it close up on it's own? If you are, I think you may want to reconsider that idea, since it hasn't stopped bleeding yet."

"Yeah, I'm getting to it Mark, just hold your pants on." Now he was angry. Yes, he'd seen the bleeder, and No, he didn't plan on closing it up. He was planning on making it just a little bit bigger before sitting back and watching Dean slowly bleed to death over the next couple days. He was really starting to dislike the good Dr. Horton, dislike him quite a bit.

He silently finished putting everything inside back together the way it was supposed to be and stitched Dean back up, the hope of watching him slowly and painfully bleed to death now taken away from him. Damn it if Dean Winchester wasn't the luckiest guy he'd ever met. Tossing his instruments onto the tray next to him and ripping off his gloves in irritation, he started to leave, Dr. Horton once again confronting him with yet another question about his performance.

"Trent," he said coolly, "Aren't you forgetting something? You planning on him using the bathroom anytime soon, because if you are, you may want to reconsider that idea or he's never gonna heal up right."

Now he was really pissed off. How dare he question what he was doing? He was a bone and joint doctor after all, what the hell did he know when it came to his field of medicine? No, he had no intentions of putting that catheter back in, he wanted it to hurt like hell every time Dean tried to empty his bladder, knowing the lacerations going all the way out would never heal properly if he just left it alone, and now Dr. Horton had taken that pleasure away from him as well. Anger was flooding him from head to toe, until one bright thought made it's way to the forefront of his mind. He smiled that devious smile no one could see behind his mask and pulled on another pair of gloves, everything he needed already ready and waiting for him.

"Thanks Mark, don't know where my head is today," he said casually, like it was no big deal.

"Yeah, that's obvious," Mark sarcastically shot back, having no clue what was going through Trent's mind at the moment. Maybe Sam and Bobby had been right after all.

What was going through his mind wasn't what he was doing at the moment since he could probably do that in his sleep. No, what was going through his mind as he stared at Dr. Horton with nothing but contempt was the question he already knew the answer to, and it almost made everything all better. Wasn't Dr. Horton's fiancée young, blonde, and blue-eyed? Yeah, he was pretty sure she was, that little physical therapist he always saw roaming the halls of the hospital. She was a little older then he liked them, but considering how much enjoyment Dr. Horton had just stripped him of, she'd do.