Chapter 15

Bobby pulled up to the scene in record time, parking his old, beat-up pickup far enough away from the news trucks and squad cars as he possibly could so that nobody would see it or question why someone in his position was driving such a piece of crap in the first place. He walked up to the yellow police tape and flashed the fresh, young uniformed cop guarding it's border a stern look and a fake badge, and was allowed to cross the line without a second glance. Local and state police stood around scratching their heads and quietly talking amongst themselves, but not one of them had made any move towards the body that lay still in the bed of fallen leaves, most of it's form obscured by a couple well placed police cruisers and totally out of sight of the news cameras. He approached one small group of men confidently and started putting on his show, all each one of them looking at him curiously.

"Detective Roberts, Illinois State Police," he announced, extending a hand in greeting to each and every one of the three men standing in the circle, presumably with their thumbs well up their asses as they waited for something to happen.

"What's the Fibbies doing here?" One of the men asked sarcastically, eyeing Bobby up and down. "That standard dress for detectives in Illinois these days?"

Looking at his attire, he knew that crack was coming, and had already prepared his answer for it, like the seasoned hunter/bullshitter he was. "Was already up here fishing when I got the call. So much for the day off."

They all shook their heads at that, Bobby figuring at least one of them, if not all of them, was supposed to have the day off today too. "Yeah, I hear ya. Illinois huh? I thought they were sending someone from the FBI."

Bobby knew he had to talk fast if the FBI was on the way, he sure as hell didn't want to be there when they arrived. Fooling the Wisconsin locals was one thing, but screwing with the feds was another. "Just checking out what you've got here. We've had four unsolved homicides in the last year, same MO, same victim description. Don't want to rule anything out. Mind if I take a look so I can maybe get back to my fishing today?"

"Nah, knock yourself out, just don't touch anything. Feds want the scene undisturbed for their people."

He walked quickly but carefully to the corpse, and didn't need to get all that close to see why the Feds were coming. She was definitely not the victim of a hit and run, unless the driver had stopped to lay her out on her back with her arms crossed delicately over her blood stained chest, a rosary intertwined with her fingers to make her look like she had simply fallen asleep while praying, one single pink rose resting in the soft spot of her throat, the stem laying between her breasts. Bobby had seen that exact look before, the pose was exactly like Trish's had been when they dug her up, and knew she was definitely victim number three.

"The other victim, she found done up the same way?" He asked, pretty sure he already knew what he would hear.

"Yep, splayed out just like that, white dress, rosary, pink rose and all. Thought the first one may just be a jilted lover or something, but she didn't have any old or new boyfriends that we could find. Investigation's pretty much gone cold, until now. Once we looked in her mouth, we knew we had a repeater."

"Her mouth?" Bobby inquired, wondering if this is what he'd hoped he'd hear.

"Yep, her tongue's missing, just like the first one. Blatant signature, if you ask me. Guy's a sick and twisted freak, taking the tongues like that, but I guess they all want their trophies, don't they. Don't really want to know what's he's using them for."

The light bulb in Bobby's head was suddenly burning red hot when he'd heard that, and he decided to take a shot in the dark to see how bright the light was and what it could illuminate. "Hey, that rich girl that almost killed that kid and died in that accident a few weeks back, wasn't she missing her tongue too?"

"Yeah, how'd you know that?" The only officer speaking questioned, looking somewhat suspicious and making Bobby feel like he'd overstayed his welcome.

"Don't know, heard it somewhere. You think there's a connection with these two?" 'Yeah, there's a connection.' He thought.

"Nope, that was definitely an accident, no doubt about it. So, how 'bout it, does it look like this is your man?"

"Nah, my guy just dumped the bodies and didn't take nothing with him when he did. Too bad, was kinda hopin' we were on to something," he lied, suddenly anxious to get the hell out of there. He didn't need to hear anymore to know why the salt and burn hadn't worked. "Thanks fellas, guess I can go back to my boat. Hope the fish are still biting. Good luck with this one, you may need it."

Bobby didn't wait for any goodbyes as he turned to leave, his pace quick and determined as he made his way back to his truck. He fired up the engine and took off, speeding most of the way back and hoping Sam had had some luck with Dean. Now that they knew what they were looking for, they just needed to know where to look, and unfortunately the only one that could tell them didn't even have a clue where he was or how he'd gotten there. One thought ran through his head as he drove, and it was an almost undeniable fact in his opinion. Trish's death had been made to look like an accident, her body left unceremoniously bleeding behind the wheel in that mangled car crumpled against a tree, but the other two had been displayed with an almost loving care that practically screamed of guilt. Bobby wasn't entirely sure, but had a pretty good idea whoever it was had known Trish personally, and if Dean couldn't remember anything, that was at least somewhere to start.

It was just about dark by the time Bobby returned, his body tired and his gait slow. He hadn't slept much earlier, the relative discomfort of the chair he was in and the worry he felt for both brother's welfare putting him a little too much on edge to doze for more then the four hours he had. The second he stepped off the elevator and onto the floor, all the hairs on the back of his neck started to stand on end when he realized all eyes were trained on him as he walked down the hall to the door. He knew something was wrong the instant he returned the stares and all eyes immediately drifted to the floor as they busied themselves, the sinking feeling it caused making him step up his pace, feeling all the eyes right back on him again when he entered the room and his mouth dropped to the floor.

The room was dark, the only rays of light coming from the small overhead lamp above the bed that had been set so dim it barely illuminated Dean's face as he lay there, and Bobby could hear more then see that something was very wrong. He knew that sound all too well from years of hunts gone bad, that sound of machines doing the breathing for those that couldn't do it for themselves, and searched the darkness for any sign of Sam.

"Sam…are you here?" He called out into the dark and almost jumped when he got a response from the pitch black corner next to him as a tall, thin shadow emerged from it and into what little light there was..

"Right here Bobby," he answered, his eyes puffy and bloodshot from what he could only image.

"What the hell happened after I left?" He asked the younger brother, desperate to know how things could have gone downhill that much in just under two hours.

"I'm gonna kill him Bobby, I swear to god I am," Sam seethed, his anger painfully apparent.

"Hold your horses boy, you're gonna kill who?" Bobby was shocked, he'd never heard Sam threaten to kill anyone before and knew this had to be bad.

"Dr. Waterson, that's who. He did this to Dean, and I'm gonna kill him."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dr. Horton stood there just outside the door, contemplating exactly how he should handle this whole situation. He could find no good reason for Trent's course of treatment, and frankly didn't really want to ask. His behavior had become rather bazaar over the last few weeks since his sister had died, it damn near bordering on anti-social at times. He hadn't had much of a personality to begin with, but now he was just a walking, talking soulless lump of flesh and bone with almost nothing inside. The only thing he could think of at the moment was that maybe Dean just brought back bad memories for him he'd rather not face, so he'd just keep him drugged up enough to not have to. 'No problem there', he thought, fully intending on removing Trent from the picture altogether. If he was that disturbed with treating Dean, then he just wouldn't have to anymore. He was just about ready to enter and talk to Sam when the door flew open itself, the force behind it smashing it hard against the wall of the entryway as Sam came rushing out in a frantic near run, his voice full of nothing but panic.

His eyes instantly fell on Dr. Horton, who was essentially standing directly in front of him now, and fear started rising in the pit of his own stomach when he saw the desperation on Sam's face. He'd seen that particular look a lot over the last few weeks and was starting to get pretty used to it now.

"Something's wrong, Dean's barely breathing!" He damn near shrieked as he grabbed hold of the doctor's arm and dragged him inside, the sudden movement almost making him stumble. The commotion caught the attention of just about everyone else on the floor, and a few nurses came running as Dr. Horton was pulled inside and disappeared. The nurses were used to this by now too; there was never a dull moment in that room anymore since he'd come out of his coma.

Dr. Horton couldn't initially see anything amiss when Sam pushed him to the bed, and had Sam not already told him what was wrong he would have thought Dean was just in a really deep state of sleep, until he heard the labored breath he sucked in, then nothing after. For the few moments he watched, he'd seen Dean draw in air twice, but other then that, it was the only two breaths he'd taken, his lips starting to turn an ominous shade of blue. He didn't need to tell the nurses what to do, they were already doing it like the well oiled machine they were.

"Blood pressure's tanking and respiration is nearly non-existent," Sam heard someone say, and the sudden need to vomit hit him like a runaway truck on the toll way.

"Sam, how long has he been like this?" Dr. Horton posed, his mind already formulating an opinion of what was going on when he heard what the nurses were telling him.

'I don't know, I noticed it right after Julia left. He started breathing heavy, then just stopped breathing altogether. God damn it, what's wrong now?" Sam was obviously way beyond panic as he watched them stick that infernal tube back down his brother's throat and start pumping away at that god awful bag and Dr. Horton could clearly see in his eyes he was about to lose it.

"Sam, look at me," he ordered, forcing him to turn his gaze away from the scene and at him instead as he walked him away from the bed. "Who's been in here to see him today, other then Julia?"

"That nurse over there,' Sam pointed in the direction of the woman currently pumping air into Dean's lungs, "and Dr. Waterson."

"What did Trent have to say? Did he indicate there was any problems, anything we should be watching?"

"He said Dean's blood pressure was too high, told me not to be worried about the fever he had, then gave him something before we…had words, then he left. If his blood pressure was too high then, why's it so low now?"

"Did he say what he gave him? It's important Sam." he continued interrogating, ignoring Sam's question for the time being.

It hadn't been that long ago, but Sam had already forgotten what Dr. Waterson had said, other immediate concerns pushing the memory from his mind. "I think he said a muscle relaxant or something, but I'm really not sure."

Dr. Horton nodded and raised a finger indicating to Sam he'd be right back Sam watched him walk in seemingly slow motion back to the bed and directly to the nurse Sam had pointed out to him. He said just a few words before she handed off the bag to someone else and stepped away with Dr. Horton on her arm. They exchanged words for a few moments, her doing most of the talking as his face silently announced his aggravation, then mouthed something back to her as she shook her head, before returning to Sam.

"Sam, we need to talk, in private. Let's go outside," he told him, grabbing him by the arm and starting to walk him towards the door, Sam's defiance coming almost immediately.

"No, I need to stay here…I need to know what's wrong."

"Dean's going to be fine Sam, trust me. Just come outside with me and I'll explain everything to you," he once again tried pulling Sam away, and this time he followed, the promise of being told what was happening an enticing piece of bait.

Dr. Horton walked quickly out the door and down the hall with Sam close behind, stopping only when he knew they were totally alone. Sam wasted no time once they'd stopped walking , his stomach tied in so many knots now he could barely breathe himself. "Dr. Horton, please…what's going on? He was ok when he woke up, except for the headache. We were talking, and he was even starting to remember some things he couldn't this morning. What the hell happened?"

Dr. Horton could se Sam was overly agitated and rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder as he spoke to him in as calm a voice as he could gather, "It's about time you just call me Mark, ok?" Sam nodded as he continued, "What I'm about to tell you needs to stay between us for now Sam, it cant' go any further until I can take care of a few things."

"Dr. Hor…Mark, what the hell are you talking about?" Sam's patience was wearing very thin now as he watched them wheel something into Dean's room he really hadn't wanted to see. "What's so wrong with Dean that they need to put him on a ventilator? Why can't he breathe?"

"Calm down Sam, and I'll explain," Mark waited and watched as Sam forced himself to relax, or at least appear relaxed before he proceeded to tell him what he wanted to hear, knowing the kid was going to get very angry when he heard what he had to say, that knowledge making him choose his words very carefully. "The drop in blood pressure and poor respiration are indicative of an overdose. I think Dean may have accidentally been overmedicated Sam, that's why he's not breathing. If that's the case, all we can do is keep him breathing and ride it out until it's over."

It took a few seconds for what Mark had said to sink in, but when it did, Sam's face changed instantly. "Let me get this straight, my brother can't breathe on his own because the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing? How exactly does someone get 'accidentally' overmedicated anyway? Don't you people keep track of what you're doing?"

Mark had seen a lot of emotions in Sam over the last few weeks, but he'd never seen this one yet, and knew the man was angry, just as he'd suspected he would be. Hell, he was angry too, and Dean wasn't even his brother. "Sam, since your brother first woke up, he's had one setback after another, each and every one of them overseen by a different doctor, with the last one being the most serious one yet. They are all very good at what they do, but they do all tend to have a one track mind at times, and sometimes accidents do happen, even though they shouldn't. I don't want to blame anyone here, but I think Dr. Waterson may have miscommunicated his instructions to the nurses. He ordered a sedative for Dean, which I don't think he really needed in the first place, and the nurses gave it to him as ordered, then he must have either misread the chart or didn't read it at all and gave it to him himself mistakenly. I know he's had a lot on his mind lately and it must have been a shock for him to have to actually treat your brother as a patient. I can understand the mistake considering all the extenuating circumstances. I'm not trying to make excuses for what's happened, I just want to make sure it doesn't happen again."

Sam visibly slouched when the doctor finally went silent, somehow unable to sustain his anger when he'd heard what amounted to an apology from Mark, pretty much on behalf of the entire staff, even though it wasn't the fault of the entire staff. No, once again, the Winchester's problems were caused by a Waterson, and he was really starting to hate each and every one of them. Sam didn't chalk up his lack of attention to the poor man being torn up over his sister's death, he chalked it up to the fact that the man was an arrogant, self-centered prick, and now really wished he'd never been given a chance to lay a hand on his brother. He let a loud sigh that was filled with oppressive sadness, which was exactly how he felt. "I don't want it to happen again either. What do we do now?"

"The first thing we need to do is get all the damn drugs out of his system. I don't think they're helping as much as they are hurting him. I'm stopping the epidural first, and when he wakes up we'll see how much pain he's in. I'd be willing to bet it will be manageable with just oral analgesics. Once he's clean, we should really think about getting him out of here. I think he'll recuperate much better in a more comfortable environment."

"You make it sound like he's a junkie," Sam remarked, every word he heard making perfect sense.

"Sam, if we keep pumping him full of sedatives and pain killers like we have been, he will be. I should tell you too that once Dean is conscious and breathing on his own again, the real problems will probably begin."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"There could be some side serious effects from an overdose like this. I'm still trying to figure out why the hell he was giving him that particular drug in the first place, but it really doesn't matter now. Just keep in mind that your brother may be extremely agitated, even suicidal for the next couple days, and in all honestly probably won't even remember it later. He'll probably feel sick to his stomach and won't have a lot of muscle control either. We just need to get him through the next few days, then I think everything will be fine. By then, we should be able to find someplace decent for you to stay other then here, and if I have my way, on Mr. Waterson's dime."

Sam's mind was reeling, not only from everything Mark was telling him, but from everything he was thinking as well. "Mark, what would have happened if I hadn't noticed Dean breathing like that?"

"It doesn't matter Sam, you did, and that probably saved his life. Try not to think about that, it'll only make you crazy." Mark could see that anger starting to return, but this time Sam kept it well in check, other then the occasional flare of his nostrils as he contemplated what he wanted to do.

"You just do whatever you need to do for Dean, and make sure Dr. Waterson doesn't set another foot through that door again. I don't want him anywhere near my brother as long as he's still a patient here."

"Ok, you got it Sam. I'll talk to him, don't worry. Why don't you go back now, I'm sure they're done, and it's probably going to be a very long night for you. Just remember what I said, he's going to be fine once we get him out of here, I promise."

"Thanks," Sam mumbled half-heartedly as he turned and walked back down the hall, the knots in his stomach now replaced with the anger he felt, which was only amplified when he walked back into the room and saw Dean laying there helplessly, relying on a machine to keep him alive yet again.

He turned off all the lights in the room, except the one directly over his brother's ashen face and just stared at him while he slept, never once seeing him move, twitch, or flinch. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear Dean was dead. He was sure, absolutely sure as tears started streaming down his face from either fear or rage or both, that this was no accident. He didn't know how long he'd been standing in the dark corner he'd sunk into, his increasing anger at what had happened starting to consume him when he heard Bobby come in, the shuffling of his feet in the dark unmistakable. He said nothing at first, he just wiped the little bit of moisture from his eyes that remained and waited.

"Sam…are you here?" He heard the older man call to him, his voice filled with nothing but confusion as he spoke.

"Right here Bobby," he answered as he pulled himself from the corner of the room he'd hidden himself in.

"What the hell happened after I left?" He asked in a desperate tone, shocked at the sudden turn of events in just under two hours.

"I'm gonna kill him Bobby, I swear to god I am," Sam hissed, anger just about taking control of him.

"Hold your horses boy, you're gonna kill who?"

"Dr. Waterson, that's who. He did this to Dean, and I'm gonna kill him."

"What do you mean 'he did this to Dean?' He did what to Dean?" Bobby was really confused now. He knew the doctor was an asshole, but what reason could he possibly have for killing Dean, unless…

"I think he tried to kill him Bobby. I don't know why, but I think he tried to kill Dean."

The older hunter shook his head at that, and knew it was time for a sit down, before Sam did something stupid he'd only regret later. If Bobby was right, they needed to handle this very carefully.