Chapter 13
Sam paced the room in silent agony, having long since abandoned his internet search of both women now that he'd read just about everything that even remotely applied to either victim. The resemblances all three shared were entirely too coincidental to be left to mere chance, that was painfully obvious, yet not one newspaper article even remotely indicated there was a connection when a third blonde haired, blue eyed woman went missing. Either the police were keeping everything under wraps pretty damn tightly, or they were just too stupid to put two and two together to make four. Dean had told him it was a serial killer and had even told him their names, but in a weird way, he did have some pretty unbelievable inside information from an equally unbelievable source. If Dean was right though, Sam could only assume that calling her a victim meant Claire Talbot was already dead, she just hadn't been found yet. 'But what if she isn't?', he couldn't help but ask himself. Dean had also told him he knew everything, and Sam could only hope that meant he knew who the killer was, he just didn't get a chance to tell him before the drugs wiped him out again. As each thought raced faster and faster through his mind, he paced more and more, until Bobby couldn't stand it anymore.
"Sam, if you don't stop pacing this room like your waiting for the jury to come back with your verdict of either life or death, I'm gonna personally break both your legs so you can't even stand anymore!" He nearly yelled at the younger man, his patience already worn so thin it was almost transparent.
Sam stopped dead in his tracks and glanced at Bobby, the look he was returning Sam's blank stare with indicating he wasn't even remotely close to kidding. Sam had been unconsciously pacing for hours now and barely even realized he'd been doing it anymore, until the older man broke into his intense concentration with a few sharp, well said words. He was exhausted, and yet he couldn't sit still. The pacing paused only briefly before he mindlessly started it again, his attention now focused elsewhere, at least temporarily.
"I can't help it Bobby, it's been hours. What the hell could possibly be taking them so long?" He blurted in an overly whiny tone, and Bobby could tell there was a lot more on his mind in that one sentence then just the obvious.
"They told you it would be hours before they'd even started Sam, did you think they were yanking your chain? You, of all people, should know when they say hours around here, it means just that, and plenty of them too. One means two, two means four, you know the drill. Now, do you think you could just sit for five minutes and give me a break? All that pacing is starting to drive me insane." Bobby nerves were just about shot right along with Sam's, and Sam's agitation was only making it worse.
Sam ignored the question and continued his pace, scratching his head and rubbing his chin, then verbalizing exactly what was on his mind in the hopes of clearing it a little. "What if she's still alive Bobby? Claire Talbot, they haven't found her. What if she isn't dead yet? Maybe Dean knows where she is, maybe we still have a chance to save her." There it was, the thing that had been eating at him for the last hour or so, finally out on a plate for Bobby to pick at with a fork.
"You heard what your brother said, she was one of his victims. If he even remotely thought for a second she was still alive, he would have said so and made us promise him we'd go find her before he let them take him anywhere. I'm sorry Sam, but you know that brother of yours better then anyone, and you gotta know that's the truth." Bobby wanted to believe it just as much as Sam did, he just couldn't. He knew deep down inside that the girl was dead, just like the other two.
"I don't know Bobby, he was pretty out of it when we were talking, and I know there's a lot more he needs to tell us. What if he just didn't get a chance to? They did take him out of here pretty quick. What if all those drugs just knocked him out too fast and he was going to tell us where she is? What if he…"
"What if you quit starting every phrase with 'what if'? Damn it Sam, stop torturing yourself. There's no way in hell Dean would let that girl die if there was something he coulda done about it, you know that. Hell, that boy woulda crawled outta here and tried to save her himself if he thought he had half a chance." Bobby bit his tongue the second he said that, knowing Sam was not going to take it the way it was meant. No, he was going to put the Sam Winchester spin on it.
"Bobby, you don't think that's what he was trying to do, do you?"
"No Sam, I don't. He was trying to stop us from torching those remains, remember? That's all, nothing more. He said so himself, so just let it go for now, will ya? There ain't a damn thing we can do 'till we talk to him, so sit your ass down and wait before I sit you down myself." "Why is talking to a Winchester like talking to a brick wall sometimes?' He wondered to himself, and on a regular basis at that.
Tired and momentarily defeated, Sam did just that, plopping into a chair across from the older hunter as he crossed his arms over his chest, threw out a pouted lip, and started sulking, the repetitive tapping of his foot on the floor a welcome change from the constant pace now, but annoying in it's own way nonetheless. No matter how hard he tried, Sam couldn't get the thoughts out of his head. Everything Bobby said made perfect sense, but until he heard it from Dean, he just wouldn't believe it. After sitting for all of five minutes with his leg bouncing a mile a minute, Sam uncrossed his arms and stood, needing to start his pacing once again. Bobby's look silently said it all, and Sam knew he better take his pace elsewhere.
"I'm going to get some coffee, you want some?" 'Yeah, a nice, long hall to pace while I continue this grueling wait.' was what that translated into.
"Sam, if it'll keep your pacing out there a little longer instead of in here, then I'll take a whole damn pot," he told him, not trying to sound too irritated, but lack of sleep and lack of patience making it come out that way anyway.
Sam just dropped his head and made for the door, his gaze fixed firmly on his shoelaces as he walked and thought. He'd made it out the door and just a few short steps down the hall before he slammed into the back of the man standing just outside the room, the clipboard he'd been writing on and the pen he'd been writing on it with both sailing through the air and clattering on the floor as he fell forward into the nurse directly in front of him, all three landing like dominoes tipping over one after another. Sam was the first to his feet, followed by the poor nurse, both of them extending a helping hand to the third domino still sprawled out on the floor.
"Oh god, I'm sorry Dr. Horton, I never saw you there. Are you ok?" He asked, giving the man a quick yank to pull him upright.
"Yeah Sam, I'm fine. Just on my way to talk to you as a matter of fact," he replied as he stood, waving off the nurse now standing before him with his unfinished paperwork to indicate he'd take care of it later.
"How's Dean? Where's Dean?" Sam anxiously asked before the man had any chance whatsoever to speak.
"He's fine Sam. He's probably on his way back up right now and will be here any minute. Everything went well, no permanent damage anywhere. I've decided not to replace the cast. I think we can go without that heavy thing from here on out, as long as he stays in the bed and off the floor. Dr. Waterson has opted to continue the epidural for now, so don't expect your brother to have too much feeling in his legs any time soon. Don't worry, that's normal. I'm sure Trent will be up in a while to talk to you too. Dean is still pretty heavily sedated still, which means he'll probably be asleep for a while, and from what I see, I'd suggest you do the same. You look like crap, if you don't mind me saying so. Get some sleep before I come back this afternoon, doctor's orders."
Sam visibly relaxed more and more as Dr. Horton spoke to him, one very heavy weight finally removed from his shoulders, but still leaving one behind. He didn't want his brother to be asleep for 'a while'. He wanted to talk to him now. When he finally resigned himself to the fact that it just wasn't going to happen, he slumped his shoulders and decided to take the doctor's advice.
"Sleep sounds like a great idea. Thanks again, for everything," Sam shook the man's hand before heading back down the hall, never once realizing Dean was back inside until he heard the voices coming from the room. 'So much for a while. Guess he doesn't know Dean very well, does he?'
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Dean watched as images paraded around in his head with no real particular order, memories he somehow knew were his that he just couldn't put into any sort of chronology. He felt like he was floating weightlessly in a sea of nothing, his arms and legs limp and useless at his sides, his eyelids too heavy to open, even just a slit. He tried as hard as he could to force them up, but something was preventing them from coming apart, he just wasn't sure what.
"Sam," he called out, his groggy voice raspy as it came out of his parched mouth and throat. He felt a hand on his shoulder before he heard the voice that wasn't Sam's talking back to him, and it immediately made him tense up, his mind somewhat on alert now.
"Hey Dean," Bobby said in a rather calming tone, one he'd never heard from the man before as it made him tense up even more.
"Bobby?" The sound of the man's voice confused him somewhat as he ran a hand awkwardly over his own face, trying to pry his eyelids apart, but somehow not being able to find them. He just gave up after slapping himself hard in the face a few times and let his arm fall back to the bed. The memories that had been hazily hanging around earlier had apparently made themselves pretty scarce now, not one of them deciding to stick around and help him remember where the hell he was, and that only made him even more jittery, especially since he still hadn't heard a word from Sam yet. "Bobby, where am I." He knew he should know, but he just couldn't remember and really didn't have the energy to try.
"You're back in your room," he told him, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible, not liking the fact that Dean didn't know where he was.
"My room? What room?" Dean was starting to sound a little panicked, and Bobby knew he'd have to choose his words carefully.
"You're in the hospital. Don't you remember?" Bobby watched as Dean's forehead scrunched up in concentration as he tried to remember what he should already know, where he was and what he was doing there for some reason still escaping him. 'Hospital, Bobby said hospital. Accident, we had some kind of accident, didn't we?' Still now word from Sam, and a vague recollection of an accident put Dean in just about full blown panic mode now.
"We had an accident, didn't we?" He asked as he tried sitting himself up, his eyes still glued shut and his body taut as he struggled to pull himself up from the bed. "Oh god Bobby, what happened? Where's my brother, where's Sam?"
"Calm down Dean, Sam's…"
"I'm right here Dean," Sam interrupted as he took Bobby's place next to the bed, the older man stepping down to give the younger brother room as Sam rested his hand on his Dean's arm when he heard the fear and anxiety dominating his usually cool voice. He felt a little of the tension coming from Dean abate when he touched him, but only a little. There was still something wrong, he could feel it.
"Sammy, are you alright? Tell me you're alright," he demanded, the sound of Sam's voice and the reassuring grip he felt still not enough to calm him yet.
"I'm fine Dean. You do remember what happened, don't you?" Now it was Sam's turn to feel confused.
"I think we had an accident, right? My car, is my car alright Sam? Please tell me I didn't wreck my car!" The demand was less frantic then the first, and Sam was starting to really worry about his brother's lack of recollection. How could he have forgotten the last three days?
"The car's fine too, we didn't have an accident in the car. Dean, are you alright?"
"If you're alright and the car's alright, then I'm alright," he told his brother, his body finally relaxing when he realized all his ducks were still in a row. "What happened Sam? I don't know why I can't remember, I just can't."
"You really don't remember, do you?" Sam questioned, his own mind feeling some sort of panic start to creep inside. 'This is not happening, he has to remember, he just has to."
"Not really. Everything's too fuzzy. Please Sam, what's going on? Why can't I open my eyes? Why can't I move?" Fear and confusion were now starting to mix together, and Sam could hear it in the begging tone coming out.
He studied his brother's face carefully and could clearly see why Dean's eyes wouldn't open, the dry crust of sleep fusing the lids together to keep them shut. He reached for the water on the bedside tray, and finding nothing else readily available, bunched up the corner of the blanket that was covering him, soaked it, and tried to moisten his brother's eyes enough for them to open. He wiped at Dean's face gently, prying the lids apart himself as he watched his brother blink a few times and focus his blurry vision in Sam's direction, the sigh of relief at the sight of an alive and well Sam clearly audible.
"That better?" He asked, seeing Dean relax just a little bit more, but feeling his body was still a little wired about something yet. He shook his head in response to Sam before asking his next question, needing to gather a little courage before he did.
"Sam, why can't I feel my legs? Am I …" there was that tension again, his body going rigid as he tried to say the last word, and Sam felt it coming from him waves. He didn't let him finish, knowing what he was about to ask and wanting to spare him from having to say it.
"No Dean, you're not paralyzed. You just got out of surgery and you're still numb, that's all. Really, you're fine, I promise. God, I can't believe you can't remember anything," Sam shot Bobby a 'What the hell are we going to do now' look when he saw Dean's eyes drift closed again, the need to sleep now that he knew his world was all in order too great to resist. That's all the conversation Sam would get for now, at least from Dean as he silently fell back asleep.
"It's probably the sedatives," announced the voice of Dr. Waterson from the door as he approached, both men startled when they'd heard it, the third one in the bed just continuing his slumber. "They tend to have that effect on the brain. Not to worry, memory loss is perfectly normal."
"You mean he may never remember the last couple days?" Sam asked, pretty sure it was the last thing he wanted to hear right now.
"It's a possibility. He may remember, he may not. Only time will tell," Trent smiled, knowing that if Dean couldn't remember anything, he couldn't remember him, and that would buy him some time to figure out exactly what to do with the elder brother. All he needed to do was keep him doped up enough to suppress his memories, but not enough to arouse any suspicions. That would be the easy part. Getting rid of Dean permanently, well, that would be the hard part. Yeah, that was going to require some thought.
"Anything else we need to know," Bobby questioned, the hairs on the back of his neck starting to stand on end when he realized the doctor had probably been eavesdropping the entire time.
"He'll probably be in and out of it like that for the next few days. It's the only way to make sure he's not in any more pain then he needs to be in. But don't worry, with all the rest he's going to get, he'll be as good an new in no time. Now if you'll excuse me, I've been up all night, and frankly I'm about ready to drop. Don't hesitate to call me if you have any questions, and good night gentlemen." He didn't even wait to see if there were any question, he just rudely walked out the door, leaving both men speechless with their mouths hanging wide open.
"What the hell was that?" Sam asked first, finally finding something to say that didn't require the use of four letter words other then hell. "Great bedside manner. Glad I didn't have a million questions that still need answers."
"He sure is an one arrogant son-of-a-bitch, isn't he. I told you I didn't like him," was all Bobby could think to say in response.
"Bobby, what are we going to do if he can't remember anything? How the hell are we supposed to figure this all out without his help?" Sam asked the obvious, leaving only 999,998 questions left.
"I don't know Sam, and honestly, I'm too damn tired to try figuring it out, and so are you. First we're gonna sleep, then we're gonna think. Maybe by then, something'll come back to him. Turn off the light and get some rest." Bobby rested his head against the back of the chair he'd sat himself in and closed his eyes, ending the conversation. Sam just did as he was told and shut off the lights. His eyes were closed and his body deep into sleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
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It was nearly five in the afternoon by the time Sam woke up, and he could have continued to sleep if it hadn't been for Bobby shaking him rather vigorously and bellowing in his ear for him to rise and shine. He just let out a groan and rolled over, turning his back to the human alarm clock disturbing his much needed snooze.
"Damn it Sam, wake your ass up, we've got work to do," he heard the man say, and in a rather annoyed tone of voice at that.
"What do you mean, 'we've got work to do'? What work?" Sam mumbled as he rolled over again, this time facing Bobby as he fully opened his eyes, quickly bolting upright when the thought crossed his mind that maybe Bobby knew something now that he didn't know the night before. "Is Dean awake? Did he remember something?"
Sam couldn't hide the excitement in his voice as he stood, but was totally deflated when his first glance was at Dean, who hadn't moved a muscle all day, then to the TV that was on next to him. He watched the live news report as police started spreading out yellow tape from tree to tree, and listened to what the reporter was saying very carefully.
'Responding to an anonymous tip, a Channel 4 news crew made a grisly discovery just minutes ago. The body of a young woman was found in a ditch just off this road that I'm standing on right now, the apparent victim of a hit and run. Although police are refusing to comment at the moment, the body does fit the description of missing local woman Claire Talbot, who disappeared early yesterday morning. As you can see behind me…"
"I'm going out there to the scene to see what I can find out. You try waking his ass up and see if you can jog his memory somehow, because I'd really hate to have to figure this all out the old fashioned way. Who knows how much time we have before he gets the itch again, so the sooner we stop him, the better." Bobby threw Sam a wave as he walked out the door, leaving Sam with what could quite possibly be an impossible task, and obviously the clock was ticking.