What's Dead Should Stay Dead
Disclaimer: Lack of wit today reduces disclaimer to: Not mine. Not now. Not ever.
Thank you: To the fabulous and delightful Wysawyg who never seems to suffer from lack of wit. She's chock full. Couldn't do it without you!
A special thank you: To Heather03nmg for technical assistance. Very, very much appreciated and I won't forget what I promised. Although, I don't think I'll be getting that cookie for another chapter or two. BG.
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Allamakee County Hospital
As promised, thirty minutes later Sam was in his own room. Dean hunkered in the artificial darkness and although the hospital staff had brought him a pillow and a blanket so he could sleep, they sat on the little pull out chair unused. Dean was sitting in a hard folding chair next to Sam's bed watching him sleep. The only machine Sam was hooked to now tracked his blood pressure, heart rate and oxygen levels. The machine automatically inflated the cuff and took his blood pressure every thirty minutes, but unlike the steady beat of the woman's oxygen tank earlier, Dean did not mind this sound. It was a constant reassurance that Sam really was okay.
Dean brushed some of Sam's hair out from under the nasal canula and thought about what one of the nurses had told him earlier. She had gone into more detail for him regarding Sam's injuries. His heart had stopped once during surgery due to the blood loss and Dean obsessed over that one fact for quite some time. Sam had essentially died, if only for moment, and he had not been there. She had also mentioned there had been several internal lacerations, but the only one that had caused Dr. Monroe difficulty was the spleen. Everything else had been minor and easily repaired.
Dean huffed lightly and covered his face with his hands before rubbing one hand up his face and through his hair. Minor. How did one call any injury that required surgery and jeopardized the life of someone you loved 'minor'? It was a clinical, objective assessment, but in some strange way it angered Dean to hear it.
Oddly enough, the remark she had made about the rabies shots had made him feel even more impotent. That Sam was going to endure even such a small, but completely unnecessary pain because they could not admit the truth was another poke at Dean's soul. Another failure, however small, that would roll around in his psyche, bumping into future events and coloring his perceptions.
Dean would not be moving to the pull out chair. Instead he rested his head on Sam's bed, his fingers lightly brushing Sam's and drifted off into a light doze. He would wake up if Sam so much as twitched, but sleep was a welcome escape for however short a time it lasted.
"Why don't we have a mom, Dean?" Sammy asked with a five-year-olds innocence. "The other kids have moms."
"You know, Sammy," Dean replied, stopping on the sidewalk and crouching down to look his little brother in the eyes. "Mom died when you were a baby."
"But why, Dean?" Sammy asked. Jeffrey Summers had called him an orphan at school and he wanted to understand what had happened to their mom. "Why our mom?"
"Sometimes bad things happen," Dean replied. He gave Sam a look of concern. "Why are you asking?"
"Jeffrey Summers called me an orphan today," Sam replied quietly. He knew Dean was going to be mad and he didn't like when Dean was mad even if it wasn't at him. He cast his eyes downward unable to look Dean in the eyes. "I wanted to know why mom left us to be orphans."
"Sammy," Dean replied, gently placing his hands on Sammy's small shoulders. "Mom didn't leave because she wanted to and we aren't orphans. We still have Dad."
Sammy shrugged off Dean's hands and his backpack at the same time. Rummaging around in his backpack he pulled out a crumpled piece of white paper. He handed it to Dean who read the note carefully before handing it back to his brother. "What's the problem?" Dean asked. "I'll go to your conference."
Sammy nodded and mumbled. "I know, Dean, but it says Dad is supposed to go. When I told Ms. Endersen that Dad wouldn't be able to go, Jeffrey heard and that's when he started saying I was an orphan."
Dean's anger bubbled to the surface, clearly visible to his little brother before he squelched it under a practiced mask even at the age of ten. "Don't be mad, Dean," Sammy whispered. "Please."
"I'm not mad, Sammy," Dean lied. "Dad would be here if he could. He's on a trip, but he'll be home for your birthday next week. It just isn't going to be in time for conferences. Besides, our mom is an angel now and she watches over you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week."
"Really?" Sammy asked. "That gives me three people and Jeffrey only has two."
"Three?" Dean asked confusion on his face.
"Mom, Dad and you," Sammy replied ticking them off on his fingers. "You're the best though because you make chocolate milk and read me bedtime stories."
Dean ruffled Sammy's hair and said, "Let's go. We're supposed to call Dad when we get to the motel and we're running late."
"Okay," Sammy replied, slipping on his backpack and running to keep up with Dean.
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"Dean, I've been thinking," Sam started.
"Well, that's never a good thing," Dean interrupted tossing his leather coat over a chair.
"I'm serious. I've been thinking, why would this demon, uh whatever it is, why would it kill Mom and Jessica and Max's mom? I mean what does it want?" Sam asked, shoving research papers into his messenger bag.
"I have no idea," Dean replied, rolling his shirt and stuffing it into his duffel bag.
"Well maybe, you think it was after us…after Max and me?" Sam asked.
"Why would you think that?" Dean asked, giving Sam his full attention.
"I mean, either telekinesis or premonitions. We both had abilities, you know?" Sam asked. "Maybe, maybe it was after us for some reason."
Dean returned to rolling his clothes and shook his head. "Sam, if it wanted you it would have just taken you." Sam looked away as Dean continued. "Okay? This is not your fault. It's not about you."
"Then what is it about?" Sam asked, still not meeting Dean's eyes.
"It's about that damn thing that did this to our family," Dean insisted. "The thing that we're gonna find, and the thing that we're gonna kill, and that's all."
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"I'm not even supposed to be here, Sammy," Dean replied the hurt in his eyes almost too painful for Sam to bear. "Dad made a deal with the demon and look what's become of it."
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"What's dead should stay dead!"
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Sam's heart broke into little pieces along with Dean's voice.
Sam gasped as he awoke. "Sammy?" Dean asked his voice sounding so much more like Dean than in his dream. It was worry laced with sleepiness, but not the raw hurt of recent memories.
"Mmhmm," Sam hummed through his nose. He didn't open his eyes, they were too heavy and he was too tired.
"Sam, open your eyes," Dean commanded. Sam never could resist that tone. His eyelids fluttered and he managed to pry them open at least for a moment. "Come on, Sammy," Dean tried again softening his tone. "You can do it."
With supreme effort Sam opened his eyes and held Dean's gaze for a moment before closing them again. "Tired," he apologized.
"That's okay," Dean reassured him. "Are you hurting?"
Sam took mental inventory. "No," he said, surprise evident in his mumbled reply. The last thing he clearly remembered was the ghoulish creature on top of him, taking a bite out of him.
"S'goo," Dean's distant voice replied. "Mebidee still working." Dean's voice faded in and out like a bad cell phone connection.
"Dean?" Sam asked. "I didn't catch that. What'd you say?" Sam never received a reply, but it did not matter. He was enveloped in dreams once more.
Dean looked up as a nurse entered the room. He had seen her once already. Her name was Sharon or Shelly or something like that. "He was awake, but only for a minute," Dean informed her. He caught the name on her hospital I.D. badge. Cheryl, that was it.
"That's good," Cheryl replied. "He should be awake longer next time. Make sure you call for one of us when that happens." Cheryl straightened the blankets on Sam's bed and pulled out an ear thermometer. It beeped in only seconds and she examined the display. "99.6, not bad," she stated. She turned to Dean. "How're you holding up?"
"I'm good," Dean replied with a smile half the wattage it normally was.
"Uh-huh," Cheryl said. "I can tell. You haven't slept at all, have you? And when was the last time you ate anything?"
"I did sleep," Dean snapped petulantly. It sounded false even to his own ears. "And, I'm not really hungry." He fingered the white thermal cotton blanket on Sam's bed, but did not make eye contact with Cheryl. "Really, I'm fine."
"I'll have a sandwich sent up with the patient trays," Cheryl stated decisively. "You'll eat it and be quiet about it."
Dean did look up now. He gave the five-foot-two red-head the Dean Winchester death glare. "I don't know why everyone keeps trying to get me to eat, but I'm not hungry."
""Would you let him get away with that?" Cheryl asked, gesturing towards Sam. She took in Dean's look and continued. "No, I didn't think so and there's a reason for that. You'll need to eat to keep yourself healthy for your brother. You said you were his only family, right?"
"Yeah," Dean replied warily.
"So, you're going to need to rest, keep up your own strength and keep yourself healthy. He's going to be more than a little sore here," Cheryl lectured. She sat down next to Dean and placed a hand on his arm. "He's going to need physical therapy, strengthening exercises and even help with basic needs at first. I think I'm correct in assuming you're going to want to do that yourself?"
"He's my brother," Dean replied simply. He squirmed from sitting so long in the uncomfortable chair and the intense scrutiny from Cheryl. "Send in the sandwich," he conceded. "And a paper."
"You got it," Cheryl said smiling, proud of her win. "You should try to sleep too."
"Don't push it," Dean warned her. When Cheryl turned to leave he added, "Do you know where Sam's personal stuff is?"
Cheryl looked puzzled for a moment and said, "His clothes were bagged as biohazard waste. Oh, but I think his shoes and phone were put in a personal bag. Check the cupboard." She gestured towards a small door at the foot of Sam's bed as she continued out the door.
Dean unfolded his six-foot-one frame from the tiny metal chair and reached for the cupboard door. There on the floor was a small plastic bag containing Sam's shoes and cell phone. His brother's life reduced to the contents in a plastic bag. He knew Sam's laptop was in the Impala as they never left it in the motel room anymore, but their clothes bags were still in the room. Dean figured he would have to fetch them at some point, but now was not the time.
He opened the drawstring bag and pulled out Sam's cell phone. He was planning to call his own phone and confront the little house elf when Sam's phone started ringing. Dean stared at it for a moment in complete disbelief. DEAN'S CELL clearly showed on the LCD display. The battery on Sam's cell phone was low, but Dean decided to answer the phone and give him hell for as long as the battery would allow.
"Listen, I don't know who you are and frankly I don't care," Dean snapped into the phone. "Sam is fine now. You need to drop this."
"Sam is not fine now," the old caretaker remarked, his scratchy voice emanating from the cell. "He is in grave danger and you must bring him to me."
"Not going to happen," Dean replied. "Why'd you steal my phone?"
"I needed to be certain I could reach you again," the caretaker replied. "And more importantly, that you could reach me."
"Yeah well you better not break it," Dean quipped. "I've got all my favorite songs downloaded on it. I'll be back for it."
"I know," the old man replied knowingly and the line went dead.
Dean checked the battery display, but it still had one bar. He had been deliberately hung up on by the quirky caretaker. Dean rolled his eyes and turned off the phone to conserve the battery. He pocketed Sam's phone and stretched. He was tired of sitting, but there was not a lot of room for pacing. All the rooms in the hospital may have been private rooms, but they were also small. He doubted he could pace in here without tripping over something.
Sam moaned and shifted on the bed. "Hey, you awake?" Dean asked, his hand latching on to the arm without the I.V. He was dismayed by how warm Sam felt.
"Dean?" Sam moaned. "Hurts."
Dean frowned. Sam did not complain about pain, he suffered through it in true Winchester fashion. "I'll get someone in here," Dean reassured him as he reached for the call button.
Sam registered the movement and grabbed Dean's shirt sleeve. "Don't leave," he begged.
Now Dean was worried. Sam yelled, lectured and even nagged him, but he rarely begged. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," Dean said. "I'm just calling someone in."
"Is he awake?" Cheryl asked from the doorway. A shaft of light from the hall hit Dean square in the eye and he turned away from Cheryl to answer.
"Yeah and he's in pain," Dean answered.
Cheryl flicked on the lights over Sam's bed and Sam pressed his eyelids together tightly. "On a scale of one to ten, ten being very painful, how strong is the pain?" she asked slipping the thermometer into Sam's ear again.
"Five," Sam replied tightly as the thermometer beeped.
"Sam," Dean chastised. He turned his attention from Sam to Cheryl. "It has to be at least an eight for him to be complaining about it."
"His temperature is up to 101.2 degrees," Cheryl remarked, keeping her expression carefully neutral. She lightly tapped Sam's arm. "Hey there, sweetie, I'm going to check your incision site, the one on your stomach, okay? Do you want me to ask your brother to leave?"
"No," Sam managed to force out. Dean gently squeezed Sam's elbow. He hated being helpless to help Sam, unable to soothe the pain, but this went way beyond his ability fix.
Cheryl missed her second dose of Dean's death glare as she focused on Sam. She pulled down the blanket to his hips and lifted his gown enough to check his incision. His abdomen was slightly distended and very warm to the touch. Lifting the bandage, she could see the staples pulling angry red skin tightly together, made worse by the swelling. She pressed gently near the site and asked, "Is the pain dull or sharp?"
Sam gripped the bed sheets in his hands, his knuckles turning white. "Sharp," he hissed.
Dean watched Cheryl closely. He didn't like her poking Sam, but he knew it needed to be done. There was obviously something wrong. He noticed the moment her eyes changed from cautious concern to panic. "Is everything okay?" he asked in carefully measured tones.
Cheryl shot Dean an unreadable look as she replaced the dressing and covered Sam back up. She checked the drainage tube for kinks or blockage and lifted the drainage bag slightly to look at it before replacing it on the bed rail. "I'm going to get the doctor in here, Sam," Cheryl replied at last. "He'll want to look at your incision too and he'll probably prescribe additional pain relief. Can you hold on for a few minutes?"
"Yeah," Sam replied, opening his hazel eyes and catching Cheryl's. He had not missed the slight edge in Dean's voice before and it worried him. "What's wrong?"
Cheryl caved under Sam's puppy dog expression and turned to face Dean's jade green eyes of concern. That was not any better. "Has anyone ever been able to deny him anything?" she asked with an attempt at levity.
"Not that I'm aware of," Dean deadpanned. "You may as well spill it because I'll find out and then I'll tell him. What's going on?"
"Maybe nothing," Cheryl replied looking a little cornered. "Look, I'm a nurse, not a doctor. I can't diagnose. I can only assess a patient's condition."
Dean shook his head. "I don't know what the difference is and frankly I don't care. We won't say anything," he said using his best smooth-talking voice.
Cheryl pulled on the stethoscope around her neck in nervous frustration before making a decision. "Sam really shouldn't be in much pain right now. We still have him on strong painkillers. I think it's possible Sam is still bleeding internally. The swelling, pain and fever are all indicators, but the biggest one is the color of the blood in the drainage bag. It's still bright red which indicates oxygenated blood."
"Go," Dean ordered. "Get the doctor and come back. I want someone in here until that doctor shows up."
"Dean, don't do anything stupid," Sam stated weakly. "We still need the doctor in one piece."
"Dr. Monroe isn't on duty right now," Cheryl informed them as she rushed out of the room. "You'll be seeing Dr. Chadwick."
"All the better," Dean muttered. It would save him the trouble of beating the good doctor soundly, at least for now.
"Dean?" Sam whispered, gripping Dean's shirt sleeve again. "Something's not right."
"I know, Sam," Dean replied with uncharacteristic softness. "That's why Cheryl is getting the doctor."
"No, I mean something isn't right," Sam tried again. He scrunched his face in pain and gripped Dean's arm tighter.
Dean did not have an opportunity to respond before the door opened again and a very young doctor walked in followed closely by Cheryl. "No way am I letting Doogie Howser here near Sam," Dean protested loudly.
"You have to," Sam stated. For a moment Dean saw the five-year-old, afraid of thunder storms Sam and it caused his heart to clench. Sam was scared.
"Yeah, okay, but I'm keeping on eye on you," Dean replied, pointing at Dr. Chadwick.
"Sam, do you mind if your brother stays while I examine you?" Dr. Chadwick asked ignoring Dean.
"You try making him leave," Sam quipped weakly.
Dr. Chadwick's young face broke out in a grin. "That bad, is he?"
"Worse."
Dr. Chadwick chuckled lightly and repeated the actions of the nurse earlier. Sam was unable to suppress a moan when Dr. Chadwick prodded his stomach. Only super human self-control kept Dean from coming unhinged. It was next to impossible to simply sit here while others deliberately caused Sam pain, however necessary they deemed it to be. "You did fine, Sam," Dr. Chadwick replied. "I think it is possible something was missed in surgery and I'd like your permission to perform exploratory surgery."
"How soon?" Sam asked.
"Now," Dr. Chadwick replied. "We really shouldn't delay."
"He'll do it," Dean stated from his position by Sam's bed.
Dr. Chadwick looked from Dean back to Sam. At Sam's slight head nod he replied, "Good. I'll get someone in here to move you to surgery immediately." He turned to Cheryl and said, "I'd like to run a CBC first. Have the lab send the results directly to the OR." Cheryl nodded in understanding and Dr. Chadwick quickly left the room to prep for surgery.
"Dean, there won't be room in here for you when they come for Sam," Cheryl stated. "Your sandwich and paper are out on the nurses' desk. Why don't you grab them and take a break? Sam's going to be awhile. I'll have you paged when he gets back to his room."
"I'm not leaving until they get here," Dean replied. He had caught the look on Sam's face that Sam had immediately tried to hide, but it was too late. Dean knew his brother too well. "And then I promise I'll step out of the way. I don't want to do anything that will delay help for Sam. Trust me."
"I know," Cheryl replied. "I'm going to step outside and wait for the orderlies." And with that, she was gone in a swirl of white and soft rubber-soled shoes.
Dean smiled. "You know, I think I really like her."
"She's nice," Sam agreed a small hint of his usual smile on his face. "But she likes me best."
"Nobody's perfect, Sammy," Dean replied squeezing Sam's arm lightly. "Hey, I'll be here when you wake up again."
"I know," Sam replied a look of complete trust on his face. He grimaced against a fresh wave of pain. "You always are."
Two orderlies appeared in the doorway and Dean stood up. "I've got to step out now. They're here for you," Dean stated.
Sam only nodded when Dean left the room. He waited outside the door until the orderlies emerged, pushing Sam down the hall towards surgery. Dean was not sure what he was going to do while he waited, but sitting in the waiting room doing nothing was not at the top of his list.
Dean grabbed the sandwich and the paper and headed down to the Impala. There was no way he was going to leave the hospital to grab their bags and check out of the motel while Sam was in surgery, but he could grab the laptop and check for any research notes Sam may have stored on the hard-drive.
The parking garage was cool, dark and smelled vaguely of car emissions and urine. It only took Dean a moment to remember where he had parked the Impala early this morning. Dean opened the door and snagged the laptop from the backseat. He tucked the paper under his arm, pulled the messenger bag over the other and headed back inside.
If Cheryl was going to page him he could afford to wait in the cafeteria for awhile and eat his sandwich. If he had to sit with the old woman and her oxygen tank again this afternoon one of them wasn't going to make it.
Unlike this morning, the cafeteria was quiet and nearly empty. Dean purchased a cup of coffee and took a seat at a back table. He smoothed out the paper and the front page headlined blared out at him. Mayor's Son Missing. The article went on to mention he had been missing for nearly forty-eight hours and no ransom demands had been made. There was some speculation it was connected to the three other missing family members of city officials. Damn, Dean thought. They're going to kill him.
Dean mulled over the new found information and ran his hand across his face in frustration. He couldn't leave Sam here alone. Today had proven that to him a hundred-fold. However, he couldn't leave the job unfinished until Sam was well. People were dying and…'undying.' Lack of sleep, stress, worry and frustration all warred against him until he broke down into chuckles over his own joke. He caught the concerned looks he garnered from the two other patrons, but he didn't care.
Regaining his composure, Dean reached a decision. He pulled out Sam's cell phone and turned it back on. Dialing a number he now knew by heart, Dean waited through the first two rings before the phone was answered. "Sam's been hurt, he's hurt pretty bad," Dean said speaking quickly, rushing to get through his explanation. "I can't leave him here alone and I need help." Dean's voice cracked slightly and he swallowed hard before continuing. "How long would it take you to get to Flatt Plains, Iowa?"
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Umholtz pulled the hood on his robe over his head and walked down the candle lit aisle towards the altar at the back of the room. The other members of the Chevalier de Saxe chanted in perfect harmony and rhythm, their voices echoing in the large chamber. Umholtz smiled as the ceremony began. Soon the pieces would fall together and then his true power would be revealed.
He poured the goat's blood out of the silver chalice and over the altar in the traditional beginning ritual. Lighting the red candles, he chanted the incantation of the dead. Soon another would be subjugated under his control and his realm of influence would grow.
TBC
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