Who am I?

Disclaimer: I don't own the show Supernatural or the characters I just like to play with Sam and Dean and then send them home again.

CHAPTER 18

Dean finished helping Sam into the impala before running the borrowed wheelchair into the hospital with a brief thought of keeping it on a longer borrow, but after seeing Sam's reaction to staying in it he changed his mind and ran it back, leaving it just inside the sliding doors.

As he hurried back to the car Dean stopped and stared around, his brows bunching in worry, he felt as though someone or something was watching them, he stopped and turned slowly taking in everyone, everything and all else that didn't fall into those two categories. As he turned back to the car, he saw Sam slump sideways in the seat, cussing under his breath Dean ran to the driver's side and wrenched the door open. 'Sammy?' He cried.

'Dean, take me home please.' Sam begged him, his words slurring slightly, 'no ... protection here.' He tried to push more words out but his throat froze, blocking his voice. He stared miserably up at his brother, his sea-green eyes dark and dull from the pain.

Cursing louder Dean put the car into reverse and then roared out of the hospital carpark every few seconds taking a glance over at Sam as he wove through the traffic.

'Hang in there Sammy.' He kept repeating in a litany to himself more than to Sam.

Semi-aware of his surroundings Sam kept his gaze fixed on the one constant in his life, his brother Dean. Even in his sluggish thoughts, Sam knew that Dean would make sure that he was going to be alright. His right side now completely numb made it hard for him to assess where the new pain was coming from. A lone tear escaped from his eye and trickled down his face in a lonely trip to oblivion.

Reaching Bobby's small house Dean made sure that there were no traps or uninvited guests before he helped Sam out of the car. Bracing himself on Sam's right side he took on the functions of that side and with an arm firmly anchored in Sam's belt and the other, grasping his numb wrist he managed to help his brother downstairs back to the protection of the devil's trap in Bobby's basement.

Easing his exhausted sibling onto the bed, Dean tenderly lifted the numbed leg and stretched it out careful not knock it or cause any injury where Sam couldn't feel it.

Propping him up with pillows he fussed around Sam making sure that he was comfortable before running upstairs to do another recon of the house, lock the car, and then grab the supplies before locking them in for the night.

'So Sammy, whatcha feel like soup or soup?' he called trying to sound cheerful, when he didn't hear a sound he turned to face his bedridden brother. Sam slept snuggled down under the blankets, his face pale against the blue pillowslips but he looked pain free and almost relaxed.

Sighing deeply Dean made himself some soup leaving a bowl to be reheated for Sam and then settled in front of the laptop determined to check up on that crazy old dude who had upset Sam so much.

His eyes widened and he felt nauseous as Dean read the details of the death of Mark Randal. His father hadn't just cut loose on the boy; he was the one who put him in the wheelchair permanently. Seems that he did manage to walk using aids and braces on his back and legs. But after only a day after rehab his father refused to believe that one day Mark may have walked unaided wearing his specially designed braces. He declared that his son didn't need the braces and forced his son out of the chair to walk without his aids and braces. Mark collapsed immediately; his father lost his temper and kicked his son viciously in the back until he caused irreparable damage to the initial spinal injury. Mark spent a week in a medically induced coma while the swelling on his spine went down. Finally released from hospital his father managed to breach the intervention order and tried to force him to walk again, accusing him of being lazy and of foxing his injuries just to defy him. His anger building against the old man Dean brought up the reports on Mark's death, his frown deepening when he saw that there were suspicious circumstances around Mark's apparent suicide, the coroner handing down an open finding at the inquest. 'Fucking bastard!' Dean ground out angrily.

'Dean?' Sam whispered from the bed startling Dean out of his reverie.

'Hey sleepyhead, you feeling better?'

'Yeah I can talk again,' Sam tried a grin but it looked more like a grimace, 'Dean I got pins and needles in my arm and leg.'

'Dude, that's great.' Dean enthused as he hurried over to Sam's bedside, 'the doc said that would be the first sign of getting your healing and getting the use of your arm and leg again.'

'Yeah but tell ya something Dean it fucking hurts.' Sam ground out.

'So want something to eat?' Dean asked not wanting to push Sam too far but with the onset of pins and needles maybe, just maybe the rest of his problems will ease.

'Actually ... I'm starving dude, what we got?'

'Ah soup, for starters, soup for mains and oh let's see soup for desert.' Dean quipped hurrying over to warm the soup up for his brother. 'Your pain meds and a bottle of water next to the bed they had better be gone by the time I come back with the soup.'

'Yes Mum.' Sam sighed reaching over for the two white tablets and water, actually feeling relieved that Dean had thought of them, along with the tingling he had an aching all encompassing pain pounding through him from head to toes.

'What were you researching?' he asked noticing that the laptop was still on.

'Nothing much, just adding to your porn collection, for you know when you feel better.' Dean smirked as he carried the bowl of soup and bread carefully back to the bed.

Sam scowled up at him, his gaze flickering over to his laptop and back to Dean, 'you know even though I don't remember everything I do know that you were the one with the porn collection, not me.'

'Whatever gets you through the night Sammy, now eat up before it gets cold.'

The brothers sat in quiet companionship, neither needing to talk just enjoying each other's company. Sam finished the bowl of soup by running his last slice of bread around the bowl to catch the last drops, smacking his lips he passed the empty bowl back to Dean and eased himself down onto the pillows, not bothering to smother a huge yawn.

'You feeling okay Sammy?' Dean asked a small nerve jumped under his eye as his regarded his brother closely.

'I'm fine Dean honestly,' Sam smiled and yawned again, 'just so damned tired.'

'Well dude you know that what means.'

'But I don't feel like sleeping,' Sam whined, 'I wanna do something.'

'What?'

'Play a game? Anything?' Sam said, not wanting to add that he was terrified to go back to sleep. The voice was back with a vengeance and kept Sam from sleeping properly. The way it said, 'I took your memory I can take you whenever I want.' Replayed repeatedly in his mind, the mocking laughter and the images of a slain Dean flashed in the background, like some grotesque slide show.

A loud explosion outside the house made both brothers jump startled, 'Dean?' Sam whispered his face paling in seconds, 'it's here.'

'Calm down Sammy, it might be nothing.'

'Uhhuh.' Sam sighed unconvinced, when he started to choke. 'Dean?'

Thick black smoke started to fill the small basement, 'fuck they're trying to smoke us out.' Dean mumbled gasping for breath he quickly ripped the arms of his shirt off wrapping one around his own mouth and nose he hurried over to Sam and did the same with him. 'Stay low.' He bellowed as he helped Sam up and over to the stairs, his glock fixed firmly in one hand. 'Keep hold of my shirt Sammy.'

Sam clung to his older brother and tried to get his stiff and immobile body working enough to move without aid. His lungs were bursting starved of fresh oxygen and his eyes watered constantly.

'Ready?' Dean yelled turning to face his struggling brother.

Sam nodded and focused his concentration on staying with Dean. They burst through the door and moved stealthily through the kitchen to the back door. Just as he put his hand on handle, Dean heard the ever so familiar sound of gunfire, he span around to move Sam out of the way when he looked down at his own body. A crimson stain started to form low on his side, a spreading fire coursed through his body, igniting his nerve endings. Lifting his shock-filled eyes up to Sam as his knees startled to buckle and he fell forward crashing into his terrified brother.

'Dean?' Sam cried out hoarsely.

'See told ya that ya didn't need that wheelchair, you fucking little shit, so typical preferring to play fox then to get up and move.' A cruel voice taunted Sam, looking up Sam faced the shooter, staring into a pair of eyes filled with maniacal lust. 'Just like Mark, weak and useless. Can't do a fucking thing to help ya self.'

Sam covered Dean with his body when he saw the gun being lifted to aim at his heart, bracing himself for the end of his life at the hands of a madman.

'Nah I aint shootin' ya, that's too fast, I wanna see you get up and move, I wanna see you moving and hurting. Mark was weak and I had to put him outta his misery ... so I wanna see what you can do.' Randal pushed the gun into Sam, 'get up now.'

'Dean, he needs help.' Sam said trying to move attention away from himself to talk Randal out of doing something bad. 'We have to get an ambulance for him.'

'Get up afore I decide to send ya brother to his maker now rather than later.' Randal threatened moving the gun slightly aiming at Dean's exposed temple.

'Okay, please don't hurt him anymore.' Sam begged as he slowly and unsteadily climbed to his feet. His numb leg refusing to come to life again and threatened to crash him to the floor again.

'Get going.' Randal ordered, 'now.' He shoved the gun into Sam's spine and pushed him towards the door. As Sam stumbled he felt a vice-like grip on his arm and a resounding blow across the back of his head, 'fall again and I will shoot ya now move.'

TBC