Warning: Angst, drama… oh, and I know, shocking, but there's swearing too.

Chapter 17: Demon's Doing

The interior of the hospital seemed far too bright after the dim lighting of Mahone's prison and the dark back of the squad car as it had sped back to town after the ambulance ferrying his dying brother.

Dean's hands were shaking as they held the steaming cup of coffee, the one he hadn't touched yet. The nurse said it was shock, and he was inclined to agree. He just hadn't really gone through it since he was four and a demon burned his mother on the ceiling.

Ash paced in front of him, but Dean could only see the kid out of the top of his eyelids. He was staring down, waiting. Waiting for some news on Sam, anything. No, not anything. He needed to know Sam was going to be okay. He couldn't lose his brother, not now.

Morgan, the cop he and Sam had spoken to about Laura Jennings' disappearance only two days ago – God it felt like a lifetime – was sitting in a seat two up from Dean. He was waiting patiently, like it was his job to just watch them. Dean knew the officer wanted to ask them a few questions, such as who were they, why had they been after Mahone without police help, and why were they pretending to be journalists.

Dean was just grateful the man was waiting quietly. He knew that in his current state of mind, he would have been likely to answer truthfully.

He put his cup on the ground and rubbed his eyes. The only good thing that had happened so far was that he no longer smelled like shit. The nurses had given him the order to shower before the stink made them drive him out of the hospital, dying brother or not. At least they had let him shower at the hospital, and given him and Ash a set of scrubs each to wear. He could change out of them when he got the Impala back.

A door swung open and Dean looked up hopefully, feeling frustrated when it was only Anya. Still, he stood up as Ash stopped pacing and all but ran to his twin sister.

He followed at a slower pace, but took her in. She had stitches from a fresh cut above her eye, a wound from the fight, and her left arm was in a sling, though it was only bandaged, not in a cast. Apart from that she was just looking battered, though the angry hand mark around her jaw looked painful. Dean smiled as she paused a few metres from the door, wearing her own set of scrubs. Dean wondered absently if the hospital had enough to go around.

"Any news on Sam?" she asked hopefully. Dean looked away, shrugging.

"They had to take him up to surgery…" Ash told her. "We don't really know any specifics. But they took him straight up. They haven't told us anything."

Anya nodded, biting her lip, and giving Dean a sympathetic look that he ignored. He didn't want their pity. He just needed his brother.

The frustration building inside his chest, he returned to his seat, basically collapsing into it. Anya came to sit beside him, wincing as she knocked her elbow on the plastic arm.

"What's the verdict?" Dean asked quietly before she could say anything. The look in his eyes clearly told her to back off with the intended chick flick moment.

She leaned back, waving her arm slightly in the sling. "Not too bad. Fractured wrist. And that's just a scratch," she said, motioning with her eyes up at the stitches. "Not even a concussion. I got off easy."

Dean held back a laugh. She had no fucking clue. Compared to Sam… Dean was no doctor, but he knew his little brother was in deep shit.

He sighed instead and leaned back into the chair. He felt Morgan flick a glance at him before the cop stood and went to the coffee machine. Anya watched him with a curious look.

"What's he doing here?" she asked in a quiet voice. Dean glanced up at the man and shrugged.

"Damned if I know. He knows we're not exactly going anywhere until Sam's out of the hospital." His little meltdown back at Mahone's prison should have been proof of that. Nearly every cop in the city had seen that. He didn't care. "What I'd rather know is how they found us out at Mahone's place?"

Anya gave a startled jump. "I can answer that. One of the medics, in the ambulance I was in, she told me. Apparently Mahone's wife left a message on her phone, and then hid it when Landly broke through the door."

At his questioning gaze, she swallowed. "Landly's the guy… he's the one who helped Mahone question Sam," she told him quietly. Dean felt fury erupt in his chest. That prick he had stopped Sam from killing! "Sick freak, he… he was basically Mahone's right hand man. I saw what he did to that woman, Mahone's wife. And he would have loved it."

Dean pushed nausea away. "At least she's alive. I'm just surprised Landly didn't find the phone and take it."

Anya shook her head. "He didn't have time to find it. The cops showed up, when you called them, and they would have had to leave before they were discovered."

Dean shook his head, before rubbing his face, frustration boiling. "Nothing turned out the way it should have," he told her. "I mean, you and Sam getting caught was just the first, and the worst." He glanced up to where Morgan was returning to his seat. "The club should have given me and Ash all the answers we needed, and instead an innocent girl was killed. Mahone's house should have been easy, and we got tripped by a fucking alarm, not to mention nearly getting Holly killed… And then Mena's the one who shoots Mahone. I just kept…"

He trailed off, looking wistfully at the doors where the doctors were bound to come out of. And then jumped when Anya punched him sharply in the ribs.

"Ow, what!" he cried, glaring at her. It was nothing on hers though.

"Don't you dare start blaming yourself, you arrogant son of a bitch!" she whispered, trying not to alarm the various others waiting in the hospital. "You did what you could, and whatever you like to dream, Dean, you're far from infallible. You're human, you're bound to come across hiccups. You did what you could, and no one but yourself is going to ask anymore."

He gave her a disgruntled frown. "You know for some whiny kid, you're pretty smart."

"That's what they tell me," she told him in a low voice. "But if you call me kid again, I will have to bitch slap you."

Dean gave a laugh, before the smell of hospital hit him once more. He sighed, grabbing his lukewarm coffee from the floor. "How long is this going to take?" he demanded of no one, looking around. He shifted his weight as Ash sat in the chair on the other side of Anya.

He yawned as he felt sleep creeping up on him, but shoved it away harshly. He couldn't sleep yet. Not until he knew Sam was going to be okay.

The wait was hours long. Dean alternated between sitting and pacing when he could feel himself slipping towards the sleep that both Ash and Anya had fallen to. She slept on his shoulder while he rested his head on hers. Dean tried not to disturb them as he got up and down.

Morgan left around dawn, sneaking away so quietly Dean didn't even hear him leave. He noticed the empty chair and stared for a moment, before shrugging and grabbing another cup of the liquid the hospital claimed was coffee. Whatever it was, it was hot and it was keeping him awake, which was all he wanted. He didn't care that it tasted like crap.

It was early morning and he had just sat down once more when the door swung open and a tired looking doctor came through. Dean swallowed, giving Ash and Anya a nudge. They both jumped awake instantly, the doctor being the first thing they set their eyes on. Then they both looked at Dean, who had gone a little pale.

"Family of Sam McKinley?" the man called out, and Dean jumped up, striding over before he gave into the urge to hurl. His heart pounded away beneath his chest, and he had to take a deep breath as he came to a halt before the doctor, Ash and Anya not far behind him.

"I'm his brother, Dean," the older hunter said breathlessly, in a small voice. He couldn't bring himself to go on.

"I'm Doctor Ellis," the man greeted, the shadowy circles under his eyes more noticeable as he glanced at the twins. "Are they family too?"

Dean nodded. "They helped save his life. I'd count that as family." He swallowed, before continuing in a rush. "How's Sam?" Please tell me he's alive.

The first thing the doctor did was sigh and Dean felt the room spin. But then Ellis looked up at him, and Dean saw no grief in his eyes. The room slammed to a halt.

"He's alive," Ellis confirmed. "I have to tell you, he's only just alive. What that bastard did to him…" he trailed off into a growl, but Dean wasn't surprised that he knew. He figured half the town would know about Mahone by now, if not the specifics of his victims. Victims like Sam.

Ellis shook his head, before pinning Dean with a stare. "But he came through surgery. We almost lost him twice… Right now he's being moved into ICU. You can visit him after I finish speaking to you, but I'm afraid you won't be able to stay all the time."

Dean nodded, saving the argument for later. "So why'd the surgery take so long?" he asked.

"He had a lot of injuries. A surprising amount considering the medics said he had been conscious not long before the cavalry arrived. Well, we were surprised. But… but I'll go through it from the start."

He shifted from foot to foot and Dean found himself growing impatient. "The bullet wound in his shoulder was infected. We had to cut a bit of the dead matter away, but we're hopeful he'll regain full use of his arm, once the infection backtracks. The bullet in his hip was fresh, and should have been causing a lot of pain," Dean frowned at the 'should'. "Especially considering the bullet was very close to the bone. But he's lucky, there should be no lasting damage, after some rehabilitation. He had some internal bleeding into his stomach, but again, no lasting damage. Um, concussion and a cracked skull. Broken ribs, and one of them managed to half-puncture his right lung in that last fight before the cops arrived. Though how he would have been able to stand, let alone fight, is well beyond me. Which brings me to my second biggest concern."

Dean didn't speak as the doctor paused, didn't dare to. He was trying to take in the extent of Sam's injuries.

Ellis nodded before continuing, seeing that Dean understood the magnitude of what was happening. "My second biggest concern is that even after surgery, even with drugs, Sam doesn't seem to be responding. He has a small case of pneumonia, from being in a cold cell for a few days without a jacket, but the antibiotics aren't working as they should be in order to fix it. It's only early, so it may start working. It may already have. But like I said, Sam should have been in a lot of pain… and yet he was fighting, and walking, and conscious."

"What are you trying to say?" Dean demanded in a small voice. Behind him Anya was finding it harder to breath, knowing the demon had messed with Sam somehow.

Ellis sighed. "For some reason he's not responding to his injuries. Like they're numb, or a part of someone else. He doesn't feel the pain. He mustn't have felt the wound in his shoulder… It's almost as if he's separated from the injuries he's sustained."

"Which means?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows hopelessly.

"Which means his body isn't working at fixing them," the doctor explained in a rush. "We did what we could in surgery, stopping the bleeding. That at least, got into gear after we gave him some clotting agents, something we really didn't want to do considering the anaesthetic and concussion. But we had to give it to him as he was coming off the anaesthetic, because we couldn't keep on giving him donor blood."

"What happens if his body doesn't start responding?" Anya asked from behind. Ellis gave a half shrug, obviously not wanting to explain this bit.

"If the antibiotics don't start working, the pneumonia will take hold. If his lung doesn't heal, he could start taking in fluid there. What we did in surgery can only do so much… And then there's my biggest concern. His heart."

Dean so didn't want to know. "What's wrong with his heart?" he felt his traitorous mouth ask.

Ellis sighed once more. "In layman's terms, it's beating irregularly. It's strange, almost like something pulled it out of rhythm and then shoved it back in however it pleased. There were signs of some kind of stress, but his heart should have been able to correct itself. Only, with his… injury disassociation, it hasn't, and it's only getting worse. The shock to get him back probably didn't help all that much, despite keeping him alive. His heart is getting weaker."

"What are you saying?" Dean asked, fingers itching to throttle the doctor for every bit of bad news he had given them.

"I'm saying…" Ellis began, before his eyes clouded over. "I'm saying, that at this rate, the way Sam's going now, it's a race. A race to see what kills him first."

"How long?" Dean asked, finding it harder to breathe. "How long until he… until he… until…"

He couldn't finish the question, but Ellis got the idea. He shook his head, obviously thinking. Then he sighed. "A day, at most. I'm sorry."

The room began spinning again and Dean's breath hitched in his chest, making it hurt. "No fucking way," he breathed, feeling perilously close to tears.

Ellis dropped his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry," he repeated, looking back up. "But we can only do so much. We've tried everything… It's up to Sam, now. Look, he's still fighting, he is. His body just isn't responding to his mind. He's comfortable, and he'll stay that way. Hopefully something will start healing, or something will happen."

Dean bit back tears. "Can I see him?" he asked hoarsely. Ellis nodded.

"Follow me, I'll take you to him."

Leaving Ash and Anya in the waiting room, he followed the doctor, not really paying attention to where he was going. Not until Ellis stopped.

"I have to warn you," the man said quietly. "He won't look good. He's got the machine breathing for him, and there are a hell of a lot of IV lines. It looks messy. But talk to him. I'm sure he's still in there."

Dean nodded, staring at the doctor. He put his hand on the door, and prepared himself. He stopped though when Ellis put his hand on Dean's arm.

"I am sorry," the man told him earnestly. "After everything Mahone put him through, this isn't fair. I wish I could help him more."

Dean nodded once more, and slipped through the door before the doctor saw his tears. And then he turned to his unconscious little brother.

His breath caught again, and he felt tears rolling down his face. The sight hit him hard, of Sammy, looking so little and so broken, so hurt and bruised beneath the too-white sheet.

Crying silently he dropped into the chair put there for his convenience. And then he laid his head down on the sheets and sobbed, praying Ellis was wrong and that Sam couldn't hear his hopelessness.

So, A, I'm no doctor, and usually avoid hospital scenes where I'm likely to have to explain something. All knowledge for this came from resistant memories of year 12 biology a few years ago, so don't blame me if it's a bit skewy.

Ok, B, normally I'm not a huge fan of all this drama, aka, limpSam, I think that's what it's called. But, I thought, what the hey.

And C, cause I'm feeling generous, here's another chapter!