Hope the delay in posting this wasn't too long. Thanks again to everyone following this story – really appreciate! Hotshow and I are really overwhelmed by the response. Over 100 people have this fic on alert now!!!! WOW!! Thanks again!!
Chapter 13
"Dean!"
Bobby watched the irritation disappear from Dean's face, replaced instantly with a hard countenance. Dean hit the floor running, pausing only long enough to wrench open the door that barred him from his brother.
Bobby grabbed his book and Dean's other shirt as he followed. "Sammy!" Dean bellowed, his voice echoing in the tiled halls. Bobby nearly slid into a sharp corner that Dean took easily, the younger man's stride never breaking. Assuming the boys stayed with him, Bobby figured that in a month he would either be in top physical condition for a man his age, or two weeks dead. He doubted there was any actual middle ground there.
"Deeeeeeean!"
He thought Dean grumbled, "Keep your shirt on, I'm coming." They reached post-op, where four people in blue and green hospital garb wrestled with a man in the far bed. Dean slammed into the nurses or orderlies, whatever they called them, scattering two like balls on a pool table.
"Easy, Sammy. I'm here." The older Winchester's voice carried clearly in the otherwise quiet area. As if Dean's touch were magical, Sam's thrashing limbs stilled instantly. The other two who were trying to hold Sam down backed up, looking a little confused but overall relieved. Bobby caught their attention and waved them back, before Dean noticed they were still there.
Sam's hands reached up to wrap around Dean's biceps, squeezing pretty hard by the look of it. "Dean! I don't want the test! I don't want to!" His head lashed side to side violently.
"It's okay, Sammy. They're all done. It's over." Dean held Sam by the shoulders, leaning over to keep his brother down on the bed.
As Bobby approached, Sam's head stopped and he looked up at Dean. "All done?"
"Yep. All done. Ready to leave soon?" He heard the smile in Dean's voice.
Sam grinned. "Now?"
Dean let go of Sam's shoulders and slapped his leg. Sam scooted over, allowing Dean to sit next to him. Dean slid onto the bed next to Sam's knees, which looked like white-sheeted mountains. "Soon."
"Dean?" Bobby held out the other shirt. "Want this?"
Dean glanced back, took the shirt from Bobby's hand without a word.
"You said you'd be here when I woke up," Sam accused, shaking a finger at Dean. "You said."
Doc Wayne picked that moment to walk in. "That's my fault, Sam. I refused to allow your brother back here until he let me take a look at that shoulder." He checked Sam's eyes with one of those penlights. Bobby never could figure out how looking in a person's eyes told the docs anything about what was going on inside.
"Dean!" One hand shot out, grabbing Dean by the arm again. "You said nothing was going to happen to you!"
"It didn't," Dean insisted, peeling Sam's fingers off his arm. "I'm fine."
Doc Wayne said nothing, but he held out a dark blue sling. "Put that on," he ordered Dean.
Dean glared at the doctor, ignoring the sling. Bobby suspected they were not getting Sam's release papers until Dean put the damn thing on. He cleared his throat. When Dean's head snapped to look at him, Bobby nodded at the sling. "Unless you want to be here all night?"
Dean took the hint then. He put it on, rather clumsily. Bobby suspected Dean rarely followed doctor's orders anyway. Apparently Doc Wayne came to the same conclusion as he leaned over to help Dean adjust the sling.
"Sam? Your brother's shoulder is hurt. He needs to wear that everyday, all day, for three weeks." Doc Wayne's face was serious as he leaned over Sam. "I'm making it your responsibility to see that he does."
Sam's face scrunched up. "But Dean looks after me," his voice quivered with confusion.
"Brothers look after each other." Doc Wayne replied. While Sam processed that, he turned back to Dean, handing over a card. "This is your appointment in three weeks. I expect you to be there, and don't worry about the bill. We will be tacking it on to Sam's payment plan. I'll have them get Sam's release papers ready." He smiled down at Sam.
"Dean? I like Doctor Wayne. He lets me leave." Sam grinned.
"But I want you to take it easy today. No running around, no playing outside, no getting hurt." Doctor Wayne held up Sam's bandaged hand.
Sam flushed red. "Yes, sir."
Doc Wayne walked towards the nurses, but as he passed he mumbled Bobby's name under his breath. Curious, Bobby followed. After asking for Sam's release, Doc Wayne led them out into the hall.
"Bobby? I have a problem." Doc Wayne looked back down the hall, as though he feared someone appearing around the corner any second.
"What's that, Doc?" Bobby leaned against the wall, studying the younger man.
"Well, I have this patient." Doc Wayne paused, fiddled with the folder in his hand. "He has this really protective brother who has already put two men in the hospital. And I need to tell the brother some potentially bad news, but I'm not sure how to break it to him, without him becoming…agitated."
"Agitated? You'll be lucky if Dean just becomes agitated." Bobby sighed. How much more crap did they have to take on? "Tell you what. Tell me the bad news, and I'll tell you if you need to tell Dean."
Doc Wayne shook his head. "Doctor-patient confidentiality."
Bobby groaned. "Why don't you change the last name on that file to Singer. I just adopted both of them."
Doc Wayne chuckled. "Wish I could, Bobby."
"Fine. Why don't you tell me about a hypothetical man who needs to be told what's wrong with his brother?" Bobby pressed. If this was going to upset Dean, he really wanted to know what it was first. At least it would give him an idea of how much glass there would be to clean in the salvage yard later.
Doc Wayne pursed his lips, weighing Bobby's demand. Bobby waited, trying to be patient. Again he wondered how Dean did it. That boy had the patience of a saint where his brother was concerned. After last night's antics in the ER, Bobby was ready to turn Sam over his knee, all six foot four two hundred what-ever pounds of him. But not Dean. Oh, no. Dean kept it together until they were back home, where the boy could escape for a few minutes.
"Let's say there are these brothers. They're very close." Bobby nodded, encouraging Doc to continue. "One has an odd form of amnesia where it appears he has regressed into childhood. But his new doctor has made some calls to colleagues who specialize in the field of amnesia and discovered that this man's amnesia does not fit the regular pattern. One specialist even suggested that the strange form of amnesia does not stem from any brain trauma, that is it all psychological."
Bobby let out a low whistle. "So you're saying, hypothetically, that there is nothing medically wrong with Sam, uh, I mean, the brother's memory? That he wants to be five?"
"It is a possibility. Of course, we'll only know for sure with time." Doc Wayne looked tired, worn out. "I wish I had more answers, I really do. I could arrange a meeting with one of the psychologists who specializes in amnesia, but that would alert Elizabeth Jeffries."
"And that would be, uh…" Bobby searched for the right way to ask if this was 'that bitch doctor' Dean mentioned.
"Catwoman."
"Right." Bobby nodded. "Doc, let me tell him. After we get home. I don't know that he'll take it any better from me, but at least he won't be knocking out any of your windows."
Doc Wayne's eyebrows rose. "He does that?"
Bobby shrugged. "Usually car windows. Got plenty of those." Doc Wayne continued to stare at him. "Hey, everyone needs some kind of stress relief." The way Doc Wayne stared at him made Bobby uneasy, like there was something wrong with that. Hell, if Dean wanted to bash in a few windows later, that was perfectly fine with him. If anyone deserved to let off steam that way, it was Dean.
"Mind if I ask something personal?" Doc Wayne said, but the man was still staring at him like he was walking around with a leashed tiger or something.
"You can try," Bobby answered. He liked Doc Wayne, but the man was starting to make him feel just a teensy bit uneasy.
"Sam believes he's five, right? Why does he keep calling for his brother? Why didn't he wake up screaming for his mother or father?" Doc Wayne looked genuinely confused.
Bobby considered telling the man it was none of his business, or that he didn't know. But that didn't seem right; especially considering the good doctor was shielding the boys from that crazy bitch in the next state. He adjusted his cap a few times, trying to make it feel a little more comfortable.
"Their mother died when Sam was a baby. Their father raised those boys by himself. Others offered to help out, but he never did take anyone up on it for too long. And he would need to leave on business trips," Bobby stressed the word business, not caring if the doctor got it or not, "which left the boys alone. Then Dean looked out for Sam."
Doc Wayne studied him for a moment. "So Sam has depended on his brother most of his life? To take care of him?" The doctor nodded. "Well, at least that makes sense. Explains a few other things as well."
"Yeah? Like what?" Bobby demanded. If he had to give up information, then the doc did too.
"Well, it explains how quickly the older brother has adapted to the circumstances. He's done it before. And it explains why Sam might want to be a child again. If they're in the same line of work as their father," he looked meaningfully at Bobby, guess the bastard did get it, "then maybe he has mentally taken them back to a time where neither of them can get hurt. Where he can depend on his brother to protect him from things like hit-and-run drivers."
Bobby frowned. That made too much sense. Dean was not going to like this. "Doc? What if I don't tell Dean all of it? How about I just let him know the amnesia may be psychological? Let him draw his own conclusions."
"I would like to hear those conclusions. Maybe at Sam's next appointment?" Doc Wayne asked. "Dean's insight into this would be invaluable. I doubt there is anyone else who has that kind of insight into his brother?"
Bobby sighed, thinking of John. "Nope."
"If he does want to set up the appointment with the staff psychologist, just have him call my office." Doc Wayne shook his hand again. "Thanks, Bobby."
"Thank you, Doc. We really do appreciate all this."
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It heard the rumble of a man machine. It blinked wide its deep gold eyes, squinting in the daylight. Why did men insist on being active during the day? It stretched, popping its back and stretching its claws. When it peered out of its home, high atop Singer's discarded machines, it saw the shiny black machine pull up to the house. Was the tall one injured again? It ran a long, red tongue over its teeth, anticipating such a delicacy.
The men emerged from the machine. The other man, the one it wanted to study more, had something wrong with his arm. It squinted against the sunlight, hoping for the men to move into the shade so it might see better. Yes, the other man's arm was held against his body, wounded.
It smiled to itself. Although the tall one appeared to be a perfect target, his reflexes surprised it. The fact it could not instill fear was another problem with the tall one. But the other, perhaps it could work with the other. The other was wounded and cared for the tall one, that was obvious. It could even use the tall one to create fear in the wounded man. It needed to watch and learn more, but the beginnings of a new plan took root in its mind. It needed to be cautious, so that it may inflict as much pain on Singer as possible. It decided Singer needed to watch when the time came, its enemy needed to be present when it destroyed the two men. Singer was dangerous but this time he would be alone. It would make certain of that.
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Dean fiddled with the strap on his sling again. It cut into his neck, rubbing the skin raw. The way it held his arm still caused an ache in the muscles, like his arm was screaming to be freed. He tried taking it off earlier, after they got back to Bobby's, but both Bobby and Sammy jumped his case. Sammy he could understand, but Bobby? He expected Bobby to side with him, or just not care one way or the other.
He let his eyes wander over the salvage yard, taking in the rusting hulks. Dean had often wondered how Bobby made a living this way. Then again, he often wondered how anyone could stand to stay in one place, go to one job, day after day. The sounds of cartoons on Bobby's television filtered out through the screen door. He took another swig of beer, enjoying his last day off for a while. The beast he needed to restore was supposed to arrive by ten in the morning. He might have protested starting a day early, but it was for Sammy.
The legend about werecats, how they came from an older species that infected humans, played through his mind. If that were true, then they were cat-like during the day, too. Probably more vulnerable during the day, he decided. Most cats were nocturnal. If they could figure out where the damn thing holed up when it wasn't hunting, it should be easier to kill.
He shifted in his chair, liking the feel of the gun pressed into his lower back. He had double-checked to make sure the clip was loaded with silver bullets before coming out here. Now Dean wondered if he could draw it out, face it on his terms. It already targeted Sammy, so Dean was determined to kill it before it got another shot at his brother. Bobby might have some ideas for drawing it out.
"Hey, Dean," Bobby dragged another chair over to sit by him.
Bobby had that look on his face, the same look he had the other night when he asked how Sammy was really doing. Dean cringed inwardly. As he opened his mouth to discuss the creature they needed to kill, Bobby said, "There's something we really need to talk about."