What's Dead Should Stay Dead
Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by CW and Kripke. I'm just playing in their sandbox for awhile.
Thank you: To Wysawyg for the awesome beta'ing! This chapter would still be sitting in a dusty computer file if not for you. (c: And to Jen B for being such a pusher!
A Special Thank You: To everyone who has been reading and an extra thank you to those you have reviewed. To the anonymous reviewers I cannot reply to, please accept this Thank You!
A Special Thank You: To my husband and my son who agreed to hang out in the coffee shop working on our PC's so I could write. You guys are the best.
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Flatt Plains Community Cemetery
"Sammy!" Dean shouted dropping the kerosene and running towards Sam at top speed. The ghoulish creature was on top of his little brother and all he could see was Sam trying desperately to pry the creature off his chest. Time seemed to slow down for Dean and all the minute details sharpened in intensity as he raced to get to Sam.
"Aaaagh!" Sam shouted. He bent his knees up towards his chest and managed to plant his feet on the creature's belly. Thrusting his long legs outwards he pushed against the creature and was able to launch it into the air. Dean felt a momentary rush of relief until the creature was on Sam again before he had time to react.
The creature paused for a moment before its claws were again ripping into Sam with renewed intensity. Sam was still weakly fighting the ghoulish creature when Dean finally made it to his brother. With a fierce roar he rushed at the creature pulling his favorite long knife out of his inside jacket pocket.
In one swift movement, Dean swung the knife at the creature and a moment later it was lying on the ground beside Sam, its head no longer connected to its body. Dean stood there heaving in great lungfuls of air, watching to be certain the creature did not somehow reanimate and go after Sam again. Only moments later, Dean was kneeling down in front of Sam gripping his shoulders tightly. "Sam! Sammy!" Dean shouted. "Stay awake okay, you're going to be okay. Just stay awake."
Dean's face paled and his stomach dropped as Sam's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he passed out. "Sammy!" Dean shouted once more, hoping to rouse his little brother. Nothing. Sam was out cold.
Dean ran his hands over his brother's body taking inventory of the damage. He ripped open what was left of Sam's shirt and sat back on his heels in shock. There was a hunk of flesh missing from Sam's chest near his collar bone. Rain mixed with blood on Sam's abdomen and chest making it difficult to determine how deep the lacerations were, if they extended all the way to the soft tissues and organs concealed under only a thin layer of skin, fat and muscle. It was apparent after a cursory examination that Sam's injuries were beyond Dean's ability to handle alone. They were going to need a hospital.
Dean pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. He dialed for an ambulance leaving bloody fingerprints on the illuminated nine, one and talk keys. Dean continued his assessment of Sam even as a calm female voice chirped through his phone. "Emergency services. Nature of your emergency?"
"My brother was attacked by some kind of wild dog or something," Dean spoke quickly and sharply over the rain. "We're at the cemetery."
"Sir, I'm dispatching emergency services now," the smooth voice continued. "Is your brother conscious?"
"No," Dean replied tucking his phone into the crook of his neck. He wadded up the remnants of Sam's shirt and applied direct pressure to the wound on his shoulder. "He's losing a lot of blood. Hurry up with that ambulance!" Dean demanded for once in his life waiting desperately for the sound of sirens in the distance. In the form of one small blessing the rain started to lessen and showed signs of stopping.
"Sir, emergency services is on the way to you now," the all too calm voice on the phone responded.
"Just hurry," Dean snapped into the phone. He tossed the still open phone into the wet grass and continued to put pressure on Sam's shoulder with one hand. His other hand wiped at the bloody lacerations on Sam's stomach. He tried to see how serious the cuts were, how deep they ran, but the darkness conspired against him.
Dean reached for his forgotten flashlight shining dimly, buried deeply in the thick grass. Fingers slick with blood slipped off the metal Maglite causing it to roll further away from Dean. "Shit, shit, shit," he cursed softly. He did not want to release the pressure he was exerting on Sam's chest, but he needed to see how serious the injuries to Sam were.
Slipper clad feet appeared next to the Maglite and Dean looked up into the craggy face of the elderly caretaker. "Let's take care of that brother of yours," he said handing the light to Dean.
"I already called the ambulance, they should be here any minute now," Dean replied, turning his attention back to Sam. Blood was soaking through Sam's shirt, Sam's blood.
"In that case, we need to hurry," the caretaker replied. He picked Dean's cell phone out of the grass, closed it and put it in his coat pocket. The old man hunkered down on creaking joints and spoke to his black lab. "Bojangles, you run ahead and hide those shovels." The lab tilted his head as if he was listening and then took off towards the open grave at a trot.
"We need to move Sam now," the old man said. "The ambulance will be here any moment and we can't let them take your brother."
The realization that the strange caretaker seemed to know Sam was his brother dawned on Dean, but that didn't mean he was entrusting Sam's life to the creepy little man. "You're not taking Sam anywhere. Sam needs a hospital. This, this is more than I can fix," Dean admitted brokenly.
"We can help Sam," the blue-eyed, silver-haired man insisted. "But we can't let them take your brother. There is more here to fix than what you can see."
The caretaker moved towards Sam. Dean leaned forward covering Sam with his body, sheltering him from the caretaker's bony hands as they reached for Sam. "Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you aren't touching my brother. He's going to the hospital," Dean snapped.
"Dean, be reasonable," the caretaker replied. "You need to think this through carefully. Sam's life depends on it."
"I take care of Sam. I don't need you telling me how to do it," Dean stated in a carefully measured tone. He ran the Maglite over Sam trying to ascertain the extent of the damage. "I don't know how you know who Sam and I are, but you're still a crazy old man who lives in a graveyard. I'm not placing Sam's life in your hands."
"You'll be killing him if you don't," the old man replied softly, laying a cold hand on Dean's shoulder.
The touch on Dean's shoulder had a calming effect. A cool stream ran through his blood from the man's gentle pressure on his shoulder to his stomach. Dean considered the old man's words and actions. He seemed genuinely concerned for Sam and Dean wavered on the brink of indecision when the distant sound of sirens cut through the silence in the graveyard.
As the ambulance pulled to a stop, Dean was forced from his reverie and noticed the caretaker had somehow managed to disappear. "Son, you'll need to move over and give us some room," the EMT said shepherding Dean to the side.
Dean watched as the EMT's quickly set up lights, assessed Sam's condition and began to administer aid to Sam. Dean could not tear his gaze from Sam's too pale face, but he managed to somehow answer the questions being shot in his direction.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the paramedics moved Sam to a stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance. "We're taking him to the county hospital in Flatt Plains," the paramedic stated. "I'd let you ride with us, but we'll need the room. Follow us."
Dean moved mechanically towards the Impala and slipped inside. He sat there for a minute, his chest heaving, his hands shaking, watching as the ambulance tail lights disappeared down the dirt road. Gunning the engine, Dean pushed the accelerator and headed back to town.
Standing in the shadows of the tall elm trees a shadowy figure and a black hound watched the Impala disappear from sight. He could only wait now and hope the boy figured it out before it was too late to save the other. He patted the dog next to him, turned and hobbled deeper into the graveyard.
Allamakee County Hospital
Dean burst through the door to the emergency room and rushed to the reception desk. "I'm here for Sam Elden," Dean announced briskly. "He was attacked by a dog."
"Sir, have a seat and I'll bring out paperwork to you," the pink jacketed woman at the desk replied.
"I just want to know how Sam is," Dean insisted, leaning on the desk. "He was only brought in here a few minutes ago."
"Look, Mr…?" she began, gathering up papers and snapping them onto a clipboard. The simple sound reverberated in the nearly empty waiting room.
"Dean," he interrupted. "Tell me where my brother is."
"Dean, he is here and the doctors are with him now. They are examining him and trying to diagnose his condition right now. You don't want to delay care for your brother by interrupting them," she replied, coming around the corner of the desk. She laid a hand on his arm and steered him towards one of the padded arm chairs in the waiting area. "My name is Ricky and I'll go check with one of the nurses in a few minutes. Right now, I need you to fill out the paperwork for your brother."
"Yeah, okay," Dean capitulated, taking a seat in the chair. He accepted the clipboard and pen from Ricky and started to fill out the personal information for Samuel Elden.
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Lights. The lights were bright. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to fall back to sleep. He was not sure where he was, but he did not like it here. Loud. The air around him exploded in noise and he groaned in protest. Pain. There was a pain in his chest and he suddenly felt very cold. He shivered against the coldness seeping into his body, chasing away some of the numbness that had been keeping him blissfully unaware of how much pain he was truly in.
Voices. He could hear voices now. Voices shattered the silence, the melodic sounds of many voices rising and falling in the emptiness surrounding him. They sang to him, beckoned to him, drawing him out of the dark recesses of his mind and back into the light.
Pain. There was pain again, sharp and insistent. It grew in intensity until it blocked out the chanting of the voices, until the light grew white hot bright, until he fell back into the darkness and the world grew silent once more.
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Dean was ready to start climbing the walls. There had been no word on Sam in nearly an hour. Ricky had given Dean a status report during the first thirty minutes of his arrival. She reported that while Sam's condition was serious it was deemed fair. They had given him a blood transfusion and stabilized his heart rhythm before taking him to surgery. Ricky was not wearing a pinched or worried look upon her face which proved to Dean she was not lying to make calm him down.
This event was at the top of the list of fears that Dean refused to acknowledge, even privately. That something would happen to Sam and he would be powerless to stop it, or to fix it. There was nothing he could do to help Sam right now and he hated the loss of control over Sam's well-being that represented.
He stood up and paced the small waiting area yet again. He was the only person waiting aside from a very old woman whose oxygen machine's steady 'psssst' was going to drive Dean over the edge. He was convinced the tank must be possessed by a demon or angry spirit to be that damn objectionable.
"Dean," Ricky called softly. "Hey, why don't you go down to the cafeteria and get a sandwich and a cup of coffee or something? I'll page the cafeteria if I have news."
"I'm not leaving here until I can see Sam," Dean stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "But, I should give you my cell phone number just in case I have to...well, if I'm…" Dean struggled for words that would not offend Ricky.
"Temporarily indisposed?" Ricky suggested with a small smile.
"Yeah that," Dean agreed readily. He reached for a pen on the reception desk to write down his phone number.
Ricky handed him a sticky note and Dean jotted down the number. She stuck the note to her monitor and said, "Now go. I promise I'll call you the minute I hear anything."
"No, I need to be here when someone comes out with word on Sam," Dean insisted, his green eyes capturing Ricky's brown in a penetrating gaze. "I have to."
"And if you pass out from exhaustion in the meantime?" Ricky chastised. "Look, I'm not going to be stupid enough to suggest you leave and actually get some sleep or anything. I'm talking about a short break to stretch your legs and artificially rejuvenate with the oh-so socially acceptable drug of caffeine." Ricky caught the look fierce determination and threw in a sucker punch. "You'll want to be awake for Sam, won't you?"
Dean narrowed his eyes in recognition of the blatant blackmail job. The sad thing was it was going to work. "Alright, I'll grab a cup of coffee," Dean stated. "I have a feeling it's going to be a long night anyway."
"It already has been," Ricky corrected, gesturing to the clock on the wall. "It's almost five o'clock."
Dean raised an eyebrow and asked, "You'll call me if you hear anything?"
"I promise," Ricky reaffirmed, holding up three fingers in the Girl Scout salute. "Go."
"I'll be back in ten minutes," Dean promised. He pointed at Ricky as he walked past her. "Call me."
"Go!" she shot back, turning to answer the phone.
Dean headed down towards the cafeteria to shoot his veins full of caffeine. The initial adrenaline rush of panic had ebbed and he was feeling the effects of being awake for nearly twenty hours. He hit the button to the elevator and the doors immediately opened. He climbed into the elevator, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for a mini power snooze in the short trip down three stories.
"Family for Sam Elden?" Dr. Monroe called from the surgery doorway. When no one responded he strode over to the receptionist who was just hanging up the phone. "Is there anyone here for Sam Elden?"
"Yes, his brother is here. I was finally able to convince him to go get a cup of coffee not more than two minutes ago. I'll call him," Ricky replied. Picking up the phone she dialed Dean's number.
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The cafeteria was packed with people which surprised Dean based on how empty the emergency waiting room was. He noticed most people walking around or eating breakfast were in hospital scrubs so he assumed it was the dayshift crew grabbing coffee or breakfast. Conversations were hushed, but it echoed in the tile and concrete cafeteria resulting in a dull roar of voices.
Dean waded through the crowd to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup. He popped a lid on the cup and headed back to the check out line. There were at least ten people in line in front of him and Dean was glad he had given Ricky his phone number. As it was, he still felt an anxious need to return as quickly as possible. He did not like being this far away from Sam.
By the time Dean made it to the cashier he had already sucked down nearly half of the twenty-four ounce coffee. "Is that all for you, hon?" the cashier asked. "Are you sure you don't want a bagel or a muffin? They're fresh."
"I'm not really hungry," Dean mumbled. He took another swig of the hot, black coffee and handed her five dollars.
"Okay, hon, here's your change," she said, handing Dean his change and flashing him a winning smile.
Dean did not reply nor did he notice the cashier's smile. He was preoccupied with thoughts of his brother and what was taking so long in surgery. He knew some of the cuts were pretty deep and the possibility of damaging something vital was a high probability. Mindlessly pocketing the money, Dean headed back towards the elevator.
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"I'm sorry, I must have misdialed," Ricky apologized to the person on the other end of the line before hanging up the phone. She looked up at Dr. Monroe and said. "I don't know what's wrong. I dialed the right number. Dean should be back any minute now."
Dr. Monroe sighed impatiently and snapped, "Tell Mr. Elden when he desires information regarding Sam's condition he can have me paged. I will do my best to get back to him. Until then, Sam is in recovery, but he should be moved to his room within the hour. He can visit him then." With that, Dr. Monroe turned on his heel and strode out of the emergency waiting room and back through the surgical doors.
No sooner had the doors swung shut than the elevator dinged and Dean stepped out into the hall. "Dean!" Ricky called. Dean diverted his course to intercept with the reception desk.
"What's up?" Dean asked, his face turning serious at the expression on Ricky's face. "Did something happen? Is Sam okay? Why didn't you call?" he fired questions at her in rapid succession.
"I did try to call," Ricky replied. "A strange man answered and he seemed to think I was you at first. He said he's still waiting for you to realize you need help. It was very strange. Are you sure you gave me the right number?"
Dean leaned over the counter and looked at the sticky. It was his number. His mind flashed to an image of slipper clad feet and a thin, gnarled hand reaching for his phone that was lying in the grass. "That creepy little bastard," Dean muttered under his breath. "He snaked my phone."
"Dean, are you okay?" Ricky asked, the concern visible in her brown eyes.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Dean replied his gaze reverting from inward to focusing on Ricky. "Why were you trying to call me? Any word on Sam?"
"Dr. Monroe said that Sam was in recovery right now, but that he would be moved to his own room within an hour. He said you could see him then, but in the meantime I can page Dr. Monroe and he will fill you in on Sam's condition," Ricky informed him.
"Where's recovery?" Dean demanded his green eyes flashing.
"Dean, you can't go back there," Ricky said not answering Dean's question.
"Screw that," Dean snapped. "Tell me where recovery is?"
Ricky saw then, the reason the other staff members were giving Dean a wide berth. His eyes were intense and his body language spoke of restrained power. "I'll, I'll page the doctor and he can explain Sam's condition," she stuttered taken aback by Dean's abrupt change in demeanor.
"If he's not here in five minutes, I'm not waiting for him," Dean stated. He thumped his palm on the desk causing Ricky to jump in her seat.
Ricky picked up the phone and paged Dr. Monroe. She certainly hoped he did manage to extricate his pompous ass quickly and join them in the waiting room. Ricky knew she wouldn't be able to stop Dean from leaving if he did not show up and she wasn't even going to try. After Dean left here he would be Dr. Monroe's problem, not hers.
"I paged the doctor," Ricky informed Dean. "He should be here soon."
Dean nodded at Ricky and stormed over to a chair to wait. He was not really angry with Ricky, but he was frustrated that he had missed the doctor and that Yoda had kyped his phone. He paced the room in a tight circle for several circuits until he became impatient and decided to leave to find Sam.
"Family for Sam Elden?" Dr. Monroe announced from the surgical door for the second time. So help him, if the brother wasn't here this time, he wasn't going to make time to do this again this morning. It had been a long rotation and he was ready for some well-earned shut eye.
"Here," Dean said moving to stand in front of Dr. Monroe. Dean was at least three inches taller than the good doctor and a great deal more muscular. He noticed Dr. Monroe stepped back a half step from Dean when he approached. Dean raised an eyebrow, but did not otherwise acknowledge it.
"Sam lost a great deal of blood, but we were able to stabilize his condition with transfusions and surgery to repair the damage," Dr. Monroe stated. "He had muscular and tissue damage in his upper right anterior quadrant that appeared to be caused by an animal bite. We were able to repair the site and there will be minimal scarring, but he will have reduced muscle strength and will need to work to regain strength and mobility in his shoulder."
"What about the cuts in his stomach?" Dean replied his green eyes flashing in concern. His experience with doctors indicated they gave you the least serious injuries first and worked their way up to the more serious concerns as they went.
"Several of them, as well as the majority on his chest and legs were fairly superficial and were easily sutured," Dr. Monroe stated. He paused briefly and Dean interjected.
"And the others?" Dean asked growing impatient with the 'ease him into it' approach.
"Two were deep enough to seriously damage muscle," Dr. Monroe said. He quickly continued on at the look on Dean's face. "One was quite troublesome. We repaired a small nick in his spleen, but only time will tell if it was truly successful. The laceration was quite deep and soreness, weakness and infection are all a strong concern."
"When can I see him?" Dean asked. He could get the full scoop later. The only important fact he already knew. Sam would be okay.
"We'll be moving him to his own room within the next thirty minutes. He won't be awake for several hours however so I suggest you leave, get some sleep and come back around noon. He should be awake and able to talk by then," Dr. Monroe suggested.
"Not gonna happen," Dean responded. "Where is Sam?"
"Sam is in recovery right now. It won't be possible for you to see him right now anyway. As I suggested…" Dr. Monroe replied haughtily.
Dean stepped in closer to Dr. Monroe and the shorter man shifted nervously. "Where. Is. Sam?" he asked slowly and deliberately.
"Through those doors, down the hall, fourth door on the right," Dr. Monroe caved with a sigh. "Mr. Elden?" he called at Dean's disappearing form.
"Dean," he replied turning to look back at Dr. Monroe.
"Dean," Dr. Monroe corrected. "All of our rooms are private rooms and the chair in Sam's room will pull out into a small bed. It isn't comfortable, but you won't have to leave." Dr. Monroe supplied correctly anticipating Dean's future actions. He knew when he was licked and Dean Elden struck him as persistent man.
Nodding his head in acknowledgement Dean continued on to the recovery room. He walked through the door and was assaulted by the scent of antiseptics and ammonia. Dean hated the smell of hospitals. He spotted Sam easily and walked past two other patients as he made a bee-line for his brother. Unbeknownst to Dean one nurse moved to intercept him, but was stopped short by Dr. Monroe who had tailed Dean into the room.
Sam was pale, his face almost as white as the sheets that surrounded him. His brown hair stood out in dark contrast to the lack of color on his face. He was attached to three different machines that beeped out his vitals at regular intervals. Two bags hung down from his bed, one filled with a reddish fluid, the other yellow. Another two full bags provided a steady drip of fluids and medication to Sam via an I.V. drip, while one empty bag still dangled from the I.V. pole.
"Sammy," Dean whispered.
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When he awoke, he was still cold. Opening his eyes slowly he focused on the flickering candles surrounding him. The voices had stopped chanting, but he knew the others were still here. He could still feel them, hovering, waiting for something.
He tried to move, to sit up, but the pain in his chest, stomach and legs were too intense and he fell back against the bed struggling to breathe through the pain. The others moved closer to him and the chanting began again in earnest. His breathing quickened as the pain and fear grew and when the knife was plunged into his chest he felt a rush of searing pain and then relief at the knowledge that it was finally over.
Outside the mausoleum, the wind blew through the trees whispering in angry conspiracy. The crescent moon shone through a break in the cloud cover and a lone, black dog howled.
TBC
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AN: Thanks for reading!