Chapter 18
Dean laid perfectly still in his bed with his head pressed hard against his pillow in total silence and pretended to be asleep, carefully listening to every sound Sam didn't make. Silence said it all, and he knew he'd either angered or upset his little brother with the crude comment he'd made, but as Sam stood there without making a sound, he really couldn't determine which emotion it had been. He didn't know where those words had come from either, and had really only meant half of what he'd said, but they had come out of his own mouth so fast he had no chance of stopping them, and once they were in the open, he couldn't take them back, so in silence he sat, feigning sleep and hoping Sam would just let it go for now. He got an inkling that wasn't happening when he heard the footsteps echoing against the hard floor and pounding heavily into the room, the first set he instantly recognized, the other he wasn't too sure about.
"I know you're not sleeping Dean, open your eyes and look at us," Sam had damn near ordered with an extreme lack of patience, and by the tone, Dean finally settled on Sam's demeanor being of the angered variety instead of merely upset. "The doctor's here and wants to talk to you."
'Ok, maybe I did mean all of what I just said,' he thought to himself before speaking. Well, maybe I don't want to talk to him," he grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest, sounding more like a spoiled rotten, little brat then the tough as nails hunter he was.
"Dean, stop being such an a…" Sam's tone was becoming even more irritated now, and had Dean's eyes been open he would have seen Mark shaking his head at him with his open hand raised and shooting him a look that said getting annoyed wouldn't help, it would only make things worse. Sam took a calming breath and tried again, in a much more soothing voice this time, keeping it short. "Dean, please, just for a minute."
Whether it was guilt or sheer irritability, Dean decided he'd fulfill Sam's request and jerked is lids open, glaring first at his brother, then at the man in the white coat standing directly in front of him with a stupid, fake grin plastered across his face. He bit his tongue almost all the way through to stop the new string of thoughts that were threatening to come rolling out of his mouth, and for a second he thought he actually tasted blood.
"Dean, do you remember me?" Mark asked him in a slow, quiet voice. He'd only had the pleasure of speaking to Dean once before, and that first experience hadn't been very pleasant. It had also been conducted prior to his body being overloaded with drugs that were obviously emphasizing that particularly negative personality trait in the man.
Dean stared at him long and hard for a minute, somehow knowing he should recognize him but not being able to pull any memories out of the fog in his head yet. That lack of memory only seemed to agitate him more as he answered, "Sorry to burst your bubble doc, but I got no clue who you are, other than the nice white coat you're sporting there."
"Well, I'm not surprised. How are we feeling this evening?"
"Well, "he mocked Mark, "I can't really speak for you, but as for me, I'm feeling just fine."
"That's funny Dean, that's not what you said to me a minute ago," Sam interjected, knowing full well Dean was not 'fine'.
"I didn't hear the doctor asking you Sam, so why don't you just shut your fucking mouth and mind your own business?" Dean growled at his brother as he shot him a deathly glare that said 'If looks could kill, you'd be dead, little brother.'
Mark ignored the slightly heated exchange of looks the brothers shot at one another when Sam angrily stared right back at Dean and continued undaunted, "Good, I'm glad to hear you're feeling fine tonight. Are you in any discomfort or having any trouble breathing?"
"I said I was fine. Was there a part of that you didn't understand, or are you just a fucking moron?"
"DEAN!" Sam yelled at him, but Mark cut him off.
"It's ok Sam. Now that we know you're 'fine', I guess we'll let you go back to sleep. Maybe in the morning you'll be in a little better mood."
"Yeah, don't count on it," he grumbled and shut his eyes again, wanting more than anything to keep his own mouth shut. He could hear himself, and he didn't like the way he sounded, but he just couldn't help it. His mouth seemed to have a life of it's own.
"Good night Dean, I'll see you some time tomorrow," Mark said, motioning for Sam to follow him into the hall, closing the door behind them. "What did he say to you before we came back in?"
Sam shrugged first, then answered. "He said his head hurt, his stomach hurt, and he thought he was going to throw up. You know, he can be a real prick when he's sick, but this is a little extreme. How long is this going to last?"
"Hopefully just a couple days, but I can't say for sure. You just need to be patient and understanding. Remember, he can't help it, that's just it. I'll get him something for the pain he's not in and we'll let him sleep, but in the morning I'm sending Julia in there with him, attitude or not. The sooner we get him mobile, the sooner he'll get out of here, and I'm sure that will make both of you a whole lot happier."
"That sounds like it'll be fun. You are going to warn her what she's in store for, aren't you?"
"Don't worry, she can handle him. I'll be back in a few minutes and we'll see if we can at least make him comfortable." Mark turned around and marched down the hall as Sam went back inside, feeling the silent tension in the air.
"I'm sorry Sam," the apology came from nowhere, and Sam had to shake his head to make sure he'd actually heard it as he looked in Bobby's direction, knowing he'd said something to Dean that was probably going to stay between him and Dean. "I…umm…I didn't mean…I wasn't…I'm just sorry, ok."
As much as Sam wanted to be furious with his brother for the way he'd treated Mark, he knew it had taken a lot to spit that apology out, and the tone was so sincere he just couldn't hold onto his irritation anymore. "It's ok Dean, just get some rest. Tomorrow will be better." 'Yeah, sure it will.'
"I sure hope so, because today totally sucks so far."
Mark came and went, and whatever he'd given Dean obviously worked fast when he watched him start to relax. Sam wasn't sure, but he thought that maybe Mark had ignored the IV route and given it to Dean directly in his ass as some sort of revenge, the question Dean shot out of "Did you really have to do that," being quickly responded to by Mark with, "I could have given it to you rectally," and amazingly that shut Dean up instantly. He'd left something for Sam to give him later, if necessary, and instructed him that it had to no less than eight hours from now. The rest of the night was spent quietly watching TV while Dean slept, again, until Sam finally dozed off sometime around midnight.
"Sam…you awake?"
'No, I'm not'… "Yeah Dean, what's wrong?"
"I can't sleep," he told his brother in a near whimper.
"You need something?"
"Water, please."
Sam dragged himself from his bed and shuffled across the room in the dark to the bathroom, the light momentarily blinding him when he turned it on without shielding his face first. He ran the cold water into a glass, then shuffled back out, trying to navigate the room through the spots before his eyes. He couldn't help but notice how miserable his brother looked as he lay there flat on his back in the bed, but he had a hard time reading why. The usually open book seemed to have closed itself for the time being.
"You wanna sit up?"
"No, I want to roll over. I can't stand lying on my back anymore." Sam did just as Dean asked and turned him slightly to his side very carefully, not wanting to jar anything that he shouldn't.
"Your stomach still hurts, doesn't it?" 'Of course it does, why should stomach cramps be the one after effect of the drugs that doesn't get to make an appearance?' Sam thought, running that list through his head one more time to make sure he had it memorized. He got a good view of yet another one on the list when he tried handing Dean the water he'd poured for him, the hand that extended itself to reach for the cup shaking uncontrollably and unable to grasp it. 'Yep, the tremors, he's got those too'. "That been going on long?"
"Not really. It'll stop, just give it a minute. Is anyone ever going to tell me what's wrong with me Sam?" He answered his brother's question and asked his own before sipping the water from the straw Sam had already placed against his lips and handed him the pills Mark had left behind.
"Do you really want to know?" He asked as he watched his brother force down the mouthful of drugs and water he'd taken in, wanting to answer that question immediately.
"Didn't I not just ask?" There was that irritated tone starting again.
'Keep it mellow Sam, don't rile him up…"Do you remember what happened the other day? When you fell out of bed?"
"Sam, I can barely remember why I'm here. Will you please just tell me?" He begged in a near whine.
He took a deep breath before thinking of just how to answer Dean's question, knowing full well he couldn't tell him the truth, not yet anyway. "You had to have surgery the other day, and you had a reaction to some of the drugs they had to give you. They're finally starting to work their way out of your system, and you should be ok in a few days, then maybe we can see about getting out of here. I think six weeks in a hospital is long enough, don't you." 'Close enough to the truth,' he thought.
"Please tell me everything still works right," he begged, remembering what Sam told him the night before when he mentioned the 'surgery' again. He had a pretty good idea what happened when he fell to the floor, even if he couldn't remember doing it.
"Yeah, it's fine. Don't worry, you don't need to change your name to Deana."
"Thank god for that." He said with a sigh of relief.
"You two know it's only 6 a.m., don't you? The damn birds aren't even up yet." Bobby mentioned as he threw on his boots and coat. "I'm heading out for some coffee, you guys need anything?"
"Yeah, coffee would be great; and some donuts while you're at it. You know, the chocolate kind, with sprinkles," Dean told him, it actually sounding like a good idea.
"I'll see what I can scrounge up," he replied as he left, letting the brother's talk in private.
"You want more water?" Sam asked Dean, breaking the heavy silence that had settled in the room since Bobby had walked out. Sam was afraid to say anything at this point, never knowing what would set Dean off. Their conversation had gone well enough so far, but Sam didn't really think that would last very long. He remembered the little bag of candy he'd tossed across the room nearly a week ago, and figured now was the time to dig it back out. If it would keep his brother happy for a little while, he'd take it. The longer Dean was happy, the longer everyone else was happy too.
"No, I'm good for now," Dean offered back, keeping the fact that he was ready to toss up the water he'd just swallowed to himself. Sam didn't need to hear it, and he didn't want to share it. He heard Sam rummaging around for something, but since he'd decided he liked it better with his eyes closed, he couldn't tell what.
"Here, I've got something for you," he smiled and ripped open the bag, dropping a few M&Ms in his brother's sweaty hand.
"Oh Sammy, you shouldn't have," he almost laughed, pretty sure that if he ate those, they'd end up on the floor with the water, but tossing them in his mouth anyway in the hopes that it would put a smile on his little brother's face. 'So much for the donuts', he thought, knowing he'd never get those down later.
"You better now?"
"Yeah, thanks," he lied, needing to tell Sam what he wanted to hear. He didn't feel better, in fact, he was pretty much a sack of misery, but there wasn't a damn think he could do about it. "Sam, why don't you turn on the TV?" He'd asked, hoping to avoid anymore conversation at the moment.
They passed the time watching cartoons, neither one of them realizing it was Saturday until they'd turned the TV on. At this point, the days didn't really matter anymore anyway. Dean had finally settled into a comfortable position and was in some sort of animation heaven as he sat through The Transformers first, then X-Men, and on to the one that really made his day, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on what must have been the Saturday Morning Guy Channel. He was actually starting to feel a little better too.
"You know something Sam, that Raphael is one B.A.M.F. I think we have a lot in common, don't you? Now you, you're more of the Donatello type," Dean joked, causing Sam to actually laugh out loud.
"Does that mean Bobby is Splinter, cuz I'm not telling him he's a rat," that drew another round of laughter from both men, which ended the second The Powerpuff Girls started.
"Aww, come on…how do you go from Turtles to that? What the hell is a PowerPuff Girl anyway?" Dean groaned, and Sam turned the damn thing off before it got any more annoying.
"Did I hear laughing just now?" Mark stated, announcing his arrival. Sam was quick to his feet to greet him, suddenly nervous when he saw him pushing an empty chair before him. "Feeling better today Dean?"
"Yeah, I guess so," he answered, still not remembering the damn doctor's name.
"Good. How about we get you out of that bed for a little while today? Would you like that?" He asked his patient with that fake smile again. There was something about it Dean found annoying.
"How about you stop talking to me like I'm six? That's what I'd really like." He snottily replied.
"Fair enough. I can either call for a couple orderlies, or Sam and I can do it, it's your choice."
"Hmm, that one requires a lot of thought," he nearly barked. Sam already knew the answer to that, and was already sitting Dean up as the answer came out. "Sam can do it all by himself."
"Ok, let's do it then."
It wasn't easy, but Sam had done it himself, surprised at how light Dean had become. After some careful maneuvering though, Dean was sitting upright for the first time in weeks, and he had to admit, it did feel pretty damn good. As much as he hated doctors, he was actually considering being nice to the man for a change. Mark secured the various tubes in various places, and Dean was ready to go. Breakfast arrived shortly after, and as quickly as Dean's mood had gone up, it crashed right back down. He'd only just gotten rid of the need to vomit; he sure as hell didn't want it to return, but once again, he just decided to keep his mouth shut. After yesterday, he thought it was probably for the best anyway. He turned his head away from the tray in front of him, and instead of Sam, it was Mark that caught it first.
"I'll make a deal with you Dean, you get that meal down, and we'll take that IV out. It'd be nice to free up your hands, wouldn't it?" Dean said nothing, just raised the arm with the cast going up to the elbow, and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "…and we'll see about taking that off today too."
He didn't like it, but a deal was a deal. He forced down everything in front of him, it not really being that difficult since it had no taste whatsoever, and smiled like a little kid when he was done, silently sticking out his arm to his brother and staring at his hand. His end of the bargain met, he fully expected his reward now. Sam just shook his head and walked out into the hall to find Dr. Horton hanging around at the desk. The doctor was starting to grow on Dean, and he found it harder and harder to dislike him, especially after he'd removed the uncomfortable nuisance in his hand; then removed the nuisance on the other one and giving him two good arms to use again. That was a small accomplishment alone. He didn't care that he felt like tossing his cookies into his lap, he was that damn happy…until she walked in.
"Oh hell no, not today…Sam…" he glared, first at her, then at him. There went the good mood he was in.
"Hi Dean, it's been a while. It's good to see you sitting up. It'll make what I have planned for you today a whole lot easier," Julia said with a smile as she dragged a heavy bag behind her, totally unaffected by Dean's sudden foul mood.
"Sam…" he seethed again, but it didn't matter. There was no way out of this. He'd actually considered forcing his breakfast back up to make her go away, but when did his body ever cooperate with him?
"You want me to stay Julia?" Sam asked, hoping and praying for the answer he wanted to hear.
"No, I think Dean and I would like a little privacy. Why don't you give us a little while alone together?"
"You got it." Sam grabbed his laptop and ran more then walked from the room, closing the door behind him and leaving his brother alone with his worst nightmare. He liked Julia, but somehow knew that she was definitely not someone you wanted mad at you. He wandered down the hallway, running into Bobby; who had finally found his way back to the floor.
"Where did you go Bobby? You've been gone for hours."
"I had an idea about our good fella Trent, decided to get a list of property owned by the Waterson family. Damn thing is almost as long as my arm. Way I figure it, he's gotta be hidin' his activities in one of them, and it's gotta be pretty close by too," He pulled out the folded up pages from his pocket and sat in the waiting area to thumb through them, and Sam was right there next to him. "Safe to say we can eliminate anything not in Wisconsin or northern Illinois. That takes care of about half the list. Guess we need to check out the other half. Boot that damn thing up and start mapping these so I know where the hell I'm going and how to get there."
It took nearly two hours to make it through half of what was left on the list, and both men were half blind and ready to call it a day when Sam saw Julia finally exit the room and head in their direction, the exasperated look on her face hard to mistake. Sam knew more than anyone that Dean had that effect on people, almost as much as John had had.
"Well…" Sam one word asked, anxious to know what had taken so long, and wondering what he'd be walking into when he went back in.
"That was the most fun I've had in a long time, Sam. That brother of yours is one stubborn man, but not stubborn enough in the end. Hopefully he'll realize by tomorrow that that will go a lot easier and faster if he cooperates. He's all yours again Sam, and good luck. I didn't leave him in the best of moods. I'll see you same time tomorrow," she winked as she walked away, not interested at the moment in answering any questions Sam may have had, and Sam didn't want to push it. He just looked over at Bobby, shrugged his shoulders, and slowly walked back into the room, which he found surprisingly empty.
"Dean…" he called out, seeing no sign of his brother. He had to be there, it's not like he could get up and walk away. It took a few long moments before he heard him call out from behind the closed bathroom door, curious as to why he'd heard the toilet flushing when he pressed an ear against the wood and wondered how Dean had gotten in there in the first place. He figured it out pretty quickly when he heard the water running, then spitting, and was pretty sure his brother wasn't just brushing his teeth.
"Sam…I can't get the door open." he finally said, the sounds of him fumbling with the handle from inside an obvious ploy. Sam grabbed the door and shoved it in, smashing it hard into the chair directly behind it.
"Dean, you need to get out of the way or I can't get the door open." Sam waited for longer than he thought necessary before pushing the door open a second time, this attempt ending with it opening wide to reveal the scene behind it. There Dean sat, his face pasty white and his forehead coated in sweat as he shook spasmodically from head to toe. Sam dropped to his side and rested a hand on his arm, hoping to calm him. "What's wrong Dean? Do I need to get the doctor?"
"Sam, what happened to my hair?" It wasn't the question he wanted to ask, but he wasn't quite prepared to pose the other one, and when Sam heard him, he knew that Dean had obviously seen himself somehow.
"They had to shave it when…" he stopped and swallowed hard, not wanting to remember that day if he didn't have to.
"When what, Sam?"
"They had to relieve the pressure on your brain, right after the accident. You do remember the accident, don't you?"
"Yeah Sam, I remember the accident," the pause was agonizing until Dean found a voice to continue, "Sam, what's wrong with my eyes? Why is one of them blue?"
Sam knew that was going to take a little more explaining, and Dean by the way he was still slightly shaking, it didn't look like he was in any condition to hear it right now, but he'd try anyway. "Dean, do you remember the woman from the accident? When you died…"
"I brought her back with me, yeah, I think I remember. She didn't make it. We were in the street together…she's connected to me somehow, right?"
"Right. Do you remember the rest?"
"Not really. You gotta salt and burn her, get rid of her."
"I know. Let's just talk about that tomorrow; you don't look very good right now. Do you want to get back in bed?" 'Damn it, how do I explain the rest?' He wondered.
"No, I think I just want to be alone for now."
The last thing Sam wanted to do was to let Mark's warnings go unheeded and leave his brother alone for any length of time, but for some reason, he just couldn't say no. He wheeled Dean back into the room and into a corner that he would be clearly visible from the door, leaving him there as he'd asked before stepping out into the hallway, not straying far enough to be unable to at least hear anything that may go on inside. Bobby had been patiently waiting in the corridor, not wanting to intrude.
"You gonna be ok if I leave and check some of these places out? The sooner we find his hideout, the sooner this will be over?"
"I'll be ok here. Call me if you find anything, please."
"You know I will."
Lunch had been delivered to Dean promptly at 1:00, and he sat picking at it for nearly a half hour with no intentions of eating it. Lunch wasn't part of his deal with the no-named doctor, and he figured there was no point in putting in the effort of eating, since it would just end up in the toilet later anyway. He was sore from the workout that sadomasochistic woman had put him through, depressed he could barely lift five pounds in his good hand and even less in the other, and sick to death of feeling nauseous and cramped up all the time. All that, and it was barely two p.m. Sam made no attempt at conversation, he knew that if Dean wanted to talk, he'd talk, and not a minute before. Back to the TV they went until well after five, when dinner and more pills showed up, delivered by Mark personally. He didn't stay long when he caught wind of the mood, not wanting to make Dean any more upset than he already appeared to be, and not in any kind of mood for a verbal barrage of any kind at the moment. After another half hour of sliding what was supposed to be food back and forth across the tray and occasional picking, Sam finally decided he had to say something.
"Dean, you have to eat something. Please stop playing with your food and eat it."
"I'm not hungry Sam."
"You're never hungry Dean, but you've still gotta eat. Don't make me get Mark back in here."
"Hooray, no-named doctor's name is Mark! Yahoo, something positive accomplished today.' he thought as he caved into Sam's threat and just started forcing what looked like turkey with some bread-like pile of crap that must have been stuffing coated in some jellylike substance he assumed was gravy in, fully planning on leaving it in Sam's lap should it decide to come back up the way it had gone down, which it did about an hour or so later. It didn't make it to Sam's lap though. Dean had opted to spill his guts in private for the second time today when Sam had slipped out to call Bobby, wondering where the hell he'd been all afternoon.
By seven that evening, Dean had had enough, and decided that if he didn't just go to bed, he would probably start spewing things that he really didn't want to subject his little brother too now that his mood had degenerating to well beyond foul. Sam had gotten him out of the chair and back into the bed much more easily then he'd gotten him out, but it didn't help Dean's attitude any. If anything, it made him even more cross to know that he couldn't even get in and out of bed on his own, and he hated having to ask Sam for help. He pretty much just hated himself altogether at the moment. He surfed through the channels on the TV for all of an hour before finally drifting off to sleep, trying to mentally prepare himself for another trying day tomorrow.
Sunday morning came, and to Dean's horror, it was an exact repeat of Saturday. Sam dragged him from the bed he really hadn't wanted to be out of anymore, wishing everyone would just leave him there and let him continue to rot, forced him to eat what they called breakfast again, then let that Brunhilda in to torture him for the second day in a row as he slipped out into the hall and abandoned him. She was ruthless, but today he gave her no fight now that he was focusing all his energy on keeping his breakfast down, which he'd actually managed to do, until she finally left, that is. He'd done it quickly and silently right after she'd left, but before Sam could find his way back into the room to catch him. He was weak, sore, tired, sick to his stomach, and really didn't think he could take much more.
He wondered why Bobby had snuck off again to only god knew where at the crack of dawn, and it was really starting to piss him off that neither him nor Sam would clue him in on what was happening outside the walls of the hospital. The sheer fact that Bobby was still here after what Sam had told him had been six weeks since the accident meant they had to be up to something, and he knew it by the way they whispered to each other when they thought he wasn't listening, or sneak into the hall when they thought he was sleeping. Something else was going on here, and damn it if he wasn't going to find out exactly what it was. By early afternoon, Dean and Sam had been sitting in silence most of the day, but when Bobby came back at the same time lunch showed up, Dean saw it as a golden opportunity to corner both men and get some answers.
He started off innocently enough, playing with the food in front of him while Sam and Bobby hung out in the hallway, having an intense conversation about something that he just couldn't hear, and waited patiently for the two of then to join him, knowing full well his brother would get on his case for making it look like he was eating. He could feel the irritation building inside, and after the shitty day he'd already had, he was going to make his brother feel as crappy as he did.
"Dean, you're not eating…" 'Ding-ding-ding…round one begins,' Dean thought, surprised that it only took Sam a millisecond to say it after coming back into the room with Bobby right behind him.
"Hey Bobby, where you been?" He ignored Sam's comment and went straight to the older man first, trying to feel him out.
"Just taking care of some business," he answered him suspiciously. He knew Dean well enough to know he was fishing.
"Business, right. Would I be interested in this 'business'?"
"Dean, if you've got something to ask, just come out and ask it and quit playing games. They may work on Sam, but they don't work on me. I've been hunting since before you were in diapers, and I can see a load of bull crap from a mile away, and right now, you're a big, steaming pile of it."
'Damn, round one didn't go so well, maybe I'll have better luck in round two.' "Fine. What the fuck have you two been doing behind my back, and what the hell's been going on here for the last six weeks? I've got a fucking blue eye, sketchy to no memories of the last few weeks, and nobody seems to want to tell me how or why. Sam just keeps asking me if I remember anything, like the fate of the world hangs on my every word, and you aren't hanging around here after all this time just to hold Sam's hand. Somebody better start telling me what the hell's going on, because I really don't think I can take a whole lot more."
"Dean, would you please calm down," Sam asked when he saw Dean start to shake, his face turning an angry shade of red the longer he spoke.
"Fuck you Sam, I don't want to calm down! I want some fucking answers, and someone's going to give them to me or else…"
"Or else what Dean?" Bobby seethed, his patience with the man totally tapped out. "You really want to know where the hell I've been? I've been trying to find the son-of-a-bitch that wants you dead, that's where I've been. That accident, it was no accident. He may not have meant to hit you, but he did, and he's already been here once trying to finish the job, which he damn near succeeded in doing, if Sam hadn't saved your ass."
"Bobby…please don't, you know he doesn't mean it," Sam begged him to stop, but the older man was just as angry as the younger one now, and as tempers flared, so did the heated words.
"Shut up Sam, this is between Bobby and me," Dean barked at his brother, relegating Sam to a corner to let the two of them duke it out.
"No, you shut up Dean. Someone's trying to kill you, and your brother and I are the only ones that know it, and can stop it."
"Let him kill me, I really don't give a shit anymore. It sure as hell beats living like this. I should have just fucking died when he ran me over then, it would of saved everyone a lot of trouble," Dean screamed as he launched the tray in front of him at the nearest wall, sending it's contents spattering in various directions.
"That's it! Sam, I'm sorry, but if I don't go, I'm gonna kill him myself!" Bobby screamed right back as he stormed from the room, taking nothing but his coat with him.
"Bobby…wait," Sam called out as he ran after him, leaving Dean sitting in the room alone, his shaking elevated to nearly uncontrollable now as every inch of his body screamed out in pain.
Dean had had enough. He couldn't help but notice the bag Bobby had left behind sitting on Sam's bed, and with an idea in his head, wheeled himself the few feet over to it. He knew what he'd be looking for would be in there, it was Bobby's bag after all. The man was always prepared for just about anything. He found it right where he'd expected to, it was in the exact same spot he would have found it had it been his own bag, and dropped it in his lap before turning from the bed and rolling into the bathroom, not bothering to zip the bag back up. By the time Sam saw it, it wouldn't matter anyway. He knew the blade would be nice and sharp, and it would probably slide through his skin relatively painlessly, because Bobby was as anal about keeping his weapons in as tip top a shape as he was. Hell, the knife he now had resting in his lap could very well be sharp enough to cut his hands clean off it he tried hard enough, but he wouldn't go that far. No, one deep, clean cut to a major artery, and it would all be over, and he looked forward to that peace.
"I'm sorry Sam, I just can't do this anymore," was all he said as he closed and locked the bathroom door behind him.