Chapter 14

Sam stood and stretched, the cracking and popping of various joints a welcome feeling when they settled into their proper places throughout his stiff frame. Reaching for the TV, he turned the volume down instead of off, wanting to keep an eye peeled on it at all times, hoping he could catch something useful. He didn't need them telling him who the dead girl they'd found was, he already knew, and according to Dean, she would be victim number three. Obviously, Dean had been right.

He quickly turned his attention away from the news and towards his brother, who hadn't moved or stirred since he'd passed out after their all too brief conversation earlier in the morning, the conversation that had most definitely not gone the way he'd hoped it would. As he slid up to Dean's bedside, he prayed this attempt would go better.

He stood there for a minute, just watching his brother sleep and dreaded waking him when he noticed how pale and haggard his face had become, everything that had happened to him over the last day or so clearly written across his features in bold, black print that Sam wished he could just erase away. 'If it were only that easy,' he thought while he watched the steady rise and fall of Dean's chest, that being the only movement he'd made since he'd studied him last.

"Dean, can you hear me?" He asked as he gently shook his brother's shoulder, trying to rouse him as softly as possible. The movement and the question did nothing to disturb the deep sleep Dean had lapsed into, the sleep he'd been in for well over twelve hours now.

"Come on man, open your eyes and talk to me," he said a little more forcefully, the nudge he gave him a little more forceful right along with it.

"Leave me alone Sammy… I'm not going to school today. Let me sleep and you can have the rest of the Lucky Charms, ok? I promise I won't kick your ass for it if you just leave me alone." His words were soft and slurred, his voice raspy as it came out. "Where's Dad? Is he back yet?"

"No Dean, Dad's not back yet, and we don't have school today. Can you open your eyes and look at me? Please…I really need to talk to you." Sam had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that this conversation was going to go nowhere really fast now that Dean had seemingly reverted back to their childhood, and he all but begged him with his tone of voice to rejoin the conscious world again.

"Sam, what's wrong? Are you ok?" Dean questioned, his scratchy voice coming out almost totally hoarse and filled with concern as he struggled to sit up when he'd heard the way Sam had said the question.

"Relax Dean, I'm fine," Sam quickly answered as he laid his hand flat against his brother's chest and forced him back down, the move requiring little to no effort against the small amount of strength Dean had in him. He didn't like the warmth he felt coming from Dean's body through the paper thin hospital gown covering him, the feeling causing a frown to instantly form when he laid his hand across his brother's forehead and felt the same heat there as well.

"Sam…the hand," Dean coughed to him in an almost irritated tone as he tried slapping the offending appendage away, but not really being able to lift his arm up enough to make any real contact.

"You're warm Dean…how do you feel?" He posed the question, pretty sure the annoying mothering hand had brought him to his senses just a little.

"Tired…thirsty…head hurts," he whispered, not really wanting to put forth the effort anymore. The more he laid there listening to Sam's questions, the more his head felt like it was in a vice and each word turned the crank a little more. He felt the back of the bed start to rise enough to bring him upright just enough for him to sip at the water his brother, at least he assumed it was his brother, had stuck in his face without choking.

"Here's some water, drink it slow," he'd heard Sam tell him, and he did just that. His mouth and throat felt like he'd fallen asleep in the Mohave Desert, breathing through his mouth all night in a raging sandstorm and the cold water going down it now was like a heavenly oasis sent directly from God himself. "Better?" Sam asked when he'd finally had enough, hearing the straw sucking nothing but air in the now empty cup.

"Yeah, thanks," he answered, his voice still thick with sleep, but no longer sounding like Pazuzu from the 'Exorcist' anymore. It didn't go unnoticed by Sam that Dean still hadn't opened his eyes yet, not even a sliver.

"How bad does your head hurt Dean? Scale from one to ten." He knew his brother would lie to him, but asked anyway.

"Twelve." Totally not the answer Sam was expecting, and he couldn't hide his surprise when he'd heard it.

"Your head hurts that bad? How could your head hurt that bad Dean? You've got more drugs in you then Lindsay Lohan at a Hollywood rave." He'd said it so loud, the dead in the basement probably heard it when it came out.

"Don't know Sammy…it just does, and please stop yelling at me," he'd been awake for all of ten minutes, and he'd already had enough. He loved his brother, but right now he wished Sam would just go away and leave him alone.

He got half his wish when he'd heard his brother start talking to someone else and tuned his ears to semi listen, not really caring to much about what they were saying but somewhat paying attention, knowing they were talking about him.

"Hi Sam. We just saw your uncle leave and thought maybe Dean was finally awake," one of the nurses announced as she came in.

"Yeah, he's awake. Where's the doctor? I think he has a fever, and he says his head hurts, hurts bad." He heard Sam's reply and felt a little tinge of guilt when he noticed it was filled worry. He felt guilty, but there really wasn't anything he could do about it, even if he wanted to.

The nurse had a calm, soothing voice as she responded to Sam's worried comments and he wished he could open his eyes to see the face that went along with it, but he knew that would be a bad idea right now. "The doctor already knows Sam, and he's on his way. We noticed it hours ago while you were sleeping, but your uncle said not to disturb you, so we didn't. He thinks it's just a reaction to the drugs, nothing more. It happens all the time, so you really shouldn't worry about it. As for the headache, I think I can help that right now," she told him as she shot Dean up with something that would probably send him right back into La La Land again.

"Is that going to knock him into next week like it usually does?" Sam asked, wondering if he was ever going to be able to talk to his brother today.

"I hope not, because now that he's awake, his doctor wants him to eat something. Liquid diet for now I'm afraid, but it's better then nothing," she slowly started raising the bed up just a little more and made a move towards Dean before Sam stopped her right where she stood.

"I'll do it. Trust me, he won't drink that if you try to give it to him. Just leave it here and let me take care of it," he smiled at her and somehow she knew he was right.

"Promise? It's my job if he doesn't," she smiled back.

"I promise," he reassured her, and she believed him. She left the room, half closing the door behind her, but Sam could almost picture her standing just outside in the hallway and listening, making him want to chuckle somewhat.

"Not hungry Sam…don't want it," he'd heard Dean mumble and knew his brother had heard every word.

"You haven't had anything in your stomach since early yesterday afternoon Dean."

"Neither have you Sam. You drink it, you need it more then I do," he retorted, finally finding the strength in his defiance to open his eyes now that someone finally silenced half the jackhammers in his head. Sam knew this game all too well and wasn't playing it this time. No, he was going directly for checkmate.

"Dean, I'm not eating or drinking a damn thing until you do first, so what's it gonna be? You going to make me starve to death?" He knew exactly where to hit him where'd it hurt the most.

"Blackmail Sam? That's not fair," he whined as he stared at Sam's puppy dog eyes.

"No Dean, it's more like extortion. Bottom's up then?" He grinned as he pointed another straw in his brother's direction and waited.

"Bitch," he mumbled, begrudgingly giving into his brother's demands.

"Jerk," he whispered back as the small grin spread wider across his face. They sat in near silence for the short time it took Dean to carry out Sam's order, the chocolaty crap he was drinking a little chalky, but really not all that bad.

Sam waited until he was almost done before bringing up the subject now that Dean seemed to be a little more 'with it'. "Dean, do you remember anything? Anything at all about last few days?"

"Bits and pieces, that's it," he told him as his eyes started drifting closed, the lids almost too heavy to keep open anymore. 'Guess he's not as with it as I thought.'

"Hey, stay with me Dean, just a little longer. Can you tell me what you do remember?"

"Her. I remember her," he answered, his eyes barely open and his voice not more then a mumble now.

"What about her? Come on Dean, it's important." He hoped Dean couldn't hear the desperation in his voice, but knowing him, he probably did.

"He killed her Sammy, and now she's stuck in my head with me," he trailed off even more, barely holding on the consciousness he had.

Sam frantically tried to get more out of him now that he remembered, giving Dean a hard shake this time, needing to get the memories out of him before they were lost in oblivion again, not sure how long he'd be able to retain them now that he had a hold of them. "Who killed her Dean? Tell me who killed her."

"Excuse me, I heard voices. Is Dean awake?"

The overly chipper voice echoed throughout the room, pissing Sam off more then he'd ever been pissed off before. He was two seconds from an answer, two seconds away from being able to finally end all this and give his brother the peace he needed to recover. Looking down at Dean and seeing him right back in that deep sleep he'd dragged him from, he knew the moment was lost, and he was still standing at the door, waiting for someone to open it and let him inside.

"He was, but he's not now," Sam told him, irritation filling his voice to the brim at the unwanted intrusion.

He watched the man walk fully into the room, his attention caught momentarily by the images on the silenced TV before redirecting it to Dean, who seemed blissfully unaware of the doctor's presence as he approached him. He was mumbling in his sleep something neither one could make out, other then the name he'd mentioned. Dr. Waterson stood calm and cool, hiding his surprise when he clearly heard the name 'Trish' come from Dean's lips, his curiosity fully peaked at just what the man knew of his dearly departed sister.

"Good evening Sam," he addressed the younger brother in an overly boisterous tone, a tone that only seemed to irritate Sam more.

"Dr. Waterson, feeling better this afternoon," the question was filled with nothing but sarcasm as he asked it.

"Much better, thank you… and it's Trent, please. How about our patient here, I hear we may have a problem or two cropping up."

"You heard right…wait…a problem or two? What's the two?"

"He's got a low-grade fever and his blood pressure is still a little higher then it should be. It may just be his body reacting to the various medications, but we're going to run some blood tests just to make sure there's no infections brewing anywhere. You really don't need to be worried Sam, it's probably nothing," Trent smiled what looked to be a rehearsed, totally fake, plastered on smile at him, and Sam was fully starting to get the same feelings he was sure Bobby had had the night before, his own mind being too preoccupied to notice at the time.

Sam watched as Trent pulled back the blanket, but looked away when he lifted the hospital attire up as he caught just a momentary glimpse of the stitches he really hadn't wanted to see, letting his eyes fall on his brother's still sleeping face. He could see out of the corner of his eye that the doctor was pushing here and pressing there, and for a second he actually thought he saw Dean's face twist up in pain, but as quickly as it came, it was gone, and he wasn't even really sure he'd seen it at all. Trent had made various sounds as his examination continued, all of them not really ominous in any way, and that made him feel just a little better.

"Everything seems to be fine," he said with that damn smile still spread across his features, only this time it looked genuine. With the ice finally broken, at least in his opinion, he asked Sam what he really came to the room to find out. "So, did he have any recollection of the last few days when you spoke to him?"

"I don't know, a little, but you interrupted us before I could finish asking him, then he fell back asleep," he'd said, that irritation returning to his voice when he thought again about how close he'd been to learning the whole truth.

"My apologies for the bad timing," Trent unconvincingly told Sam, but it was just what he'd wanted to hear. Somehow Dean knew something about Trish, and he had to keep him quiet until he could find out for himself exactly what it was. He had the syringe already loaded and ready to go in his pocket, and he was glad he did now that he'd learned the memories were starting to return. He pulled it from his pocket and casually added it to the drip all before Sam could say or do anything.

"What was that for?" Sam wanted to know, the question coming out when the deed was already done.

"Just something to keep his muscles relaxed, that's all. You really worry too much Sam. We're the doctors, let us do our jobs." Again, that arrogant attitude and phony smile Sam already hated flashed before him, and he just wanted to punch it right off his smug face. He was angry now, and he was going to spill, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He looked the man dead in the eyes as his own eyes narrowed and his nostrils started flaring, and let him have it.

"That's my brother, and he's damn lucky to be alive. Do NOT tell me I worry about him too much. If anything, I don't worry about him enough. Maybe if you'd worried about your sister a little bit more, my brother wouldn't be laying there like a zombie right now without a clue as to what the hell happened to him!" Sam knew that wasn't fair, it really hadn't been his sisters fault, at least according to Dean, but the man had pushed him too far with his arrogant 'holier then thou' attitude and he intended on putting him in his place. He watched Trent's face go blank, and the cold look he'd gotten in his eyes was a little unsettling.

"My apologies again Sam. You're right, and you're brother is a very lucky man to have someone that cares for him as much as you do. If you'll excuse me, I think I've worn out my welcome here today. Have a nice evening Sam, and I will see you some time tomorrow." He turned and walked out the door silently, closing it behind him as he did.

"Sam…he's…one…" Dean was trying to say something, it just wouldn't come out in complete words.

"Yeah, I know Dean, he's an asshole. Tell me something I don't already know."

"No…he's…" He couldn't finish the thought as his mind drifted back to that dark, sleep filled place once again, the place he'd rudely been pulled from but really didn't want to go back to now. He fought to stay awake, but it was a losing battle, and within seconds, his lights were out once again.

More knocking at the door, and Sam really thought he'd had his fill of visitors for the day, his mood not really being able to handle anymore. He ignored the new intruder, and hoped it would just go away, but wondered who he thought he was kidding. He was in a hospital after all, the knock wasn't requesting permission to enter, it was a warning that someone was coming in whether he liked it or not.

"Sam, you in there?" The familiar female tone called out from the partially open door, and it did wait for his permission before it entered, which he gladly gave.

"Yeah, I'm here. Come in, if you dare." He belted back as his anger subsided a little.

He watched the pretty, blonde woman cautiously come through the doorway, closing the door behind her as she did. "Had a run in with the personable Dr. Waterson, huh? Great doctor, but man, he's the biggest dickhead I've ever met." Julia giggled, trying to make Sam feel better, which it did, a little.

"Did you hear any of that?" He'd asked, turning slightly red with embarrassment at the thought that someone had been listening to his outburst.

"No, I just saw him come through the door and storm down the hall to the elevator. You must have gotten him good, I've never seen him lose his cool like that before. He's usually an emotionless machine, nice to see he's actually human after all." She chuckled, enjoying Sam's small victory.

"That's debatable," Sam laughed right back, feeling somewhat better still, but not much.

"Hey, you don't think you're brother keeps having these episodes because he's avoiding me, do you? It might give me a complex." She continued the lighthearted conversation, trying to help Sam release his pent up tension before round two of the doctor visits of the day came.

"Nah, he's never been intimidated by a women. I think he's just doing it for the attention."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it's not me. Seriously, if we don't get working with him soon, he's never going to get out of that bed. Tell him when he wakes up to stop avoiding me, and his life will become a whole lot easier," she smiled one more genuine smile at him now that he wasn't ready to blow a vein anymore and threw him a wave as she left.

She walked out the door, oblivious to the set of eyes that watched her from the elevator as she approached the nurses station and engaged one of them in conversation. He watched her every move, studying her carefully as she chitchatted and flipped through the paperwork on the desk. Her mannerisms were much like Trish's had been, and he couldn't believe he'd never noticed it before. She would make a fine addition to his collection, but this one he wouldn't end right away. No, he was going to make this one last. He had plans for her. He ducked into the stairwell when he'd seen his nemesis approach, not wanting any sort of confrontation to draw attention to the two of them and raise suspicions.

Julia frowned slightly when she saw him coming, and he saw the facial expression she shot him immediately. She wanted to head him off before he went into the room to see for himself what the hell was going on inside, and she planned on giving him the 'heads up' before he even made it through the door. She wasn't a doctor, but she knew there was no good reason for Dr. Waterson to be keeping Dean that drugged up, to the point that he was nearly comatose again, and she fully intended to voice her opinion about it.

"Dr. Horton, can I talk to you…in private," she'd quietly asked, all eyes within earshot suddenly trained on her. He nodded as he grabbed the chart from the desk and motioned for her to walk with him to the door. She stopped him when they were well out of range for anyone else to hear before she let her feelings fly. "Mark, what the hell is going on with that patient? Other then his muscles being weak, there was nothing wrong with him the other day, and now he's practically a vegetable. Look at his chart. Why is Dr.Waterson giving him Ativan post-op? What could he possibly still need that kind of sedation for, along with all the pain meds too? I know I'm overstepping my boundaries, but come on, how's he ever going to get better if he's always drugged out of his mind? I'd be surprised if he can even remember his own name right now with that dosage."

Mark said nothing, just flipped through the notes that Trent had written before leaving only minutes before, and asked himself the very same question. He'd been suspicious of Trent during the surgery, but was more suspicious now. There was something wrong here, very wrong. He made his own notes here and there before responding to Julia's concerns, but when he did, he knew shit may hit the fan. At this point though, he really didn't care. He could dodge flying shit with the best of them.

"Julia, can you try finding them a decent place to stay that's close? I have a feeling the only way he's getting better is if he's out of here, and maybe the change of environment will do him good."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" She questioned, now regretting she'd even opened her mouth.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm stopping all these damn drugs now, and I really want him out of here by tomorrow afternoon, and completely out of Trent's care as of right now. I'm calling Mr. Waterson the second I walk out of that room, and I'm going to tell him exactly what we're doing, and why. It's high time he put a leash on that kid."

"Ok, if you say so. You know I love you, I just hope we don't end up mopping floors next week." She kissed him on the cheek as she walked away, leaving him to figure out exactly how he was going to pull this off.