And here we go on another run. Your reviews are greatly appreciated! Enjoy...
Doctors and Nurses alike try their damdest to convince Sam to leave once Dean is asleep, but Sam has seen the fear in his brother's eyes. He's not sure what Dean was trying to tell him, doesn't know if his fear is just the situation - being trapped, immobilized, in his body - or if there is more to it, but he knows better than to leave Dean to wake up alone.
After several wasted minutes of fruitless arguments, where Sam proves himself to be much stronger than his battered body makes him appear, the hospital staff finally agree to wheel a cot into Dean's room for Sam. He settles into it with a smirk, reminding them he's won. It is only after the brothers are finally alone and Sam is certain Dean is resting soundly that he allows himself to lie back into the cot with a soft groan of discomfort.
His throat is killing him, and the other injuries are issuing their own protests to be remembered and acknowledged. There really isn't a spot on his body that doesn't hurt, and he groans loudly at the immense pain he's in until another bittersweet realization hits him square on his mind. Dean's problem is the exact opposite of his. Dean can't feel a damn thing - no pain, no sore ribs, nothing. And suddenly his own problems seem pretty insignificant.
It's that thought that keeps Sam awake. The fear plagues him. He knows Dean will get better; even without the doctor's reassurances Sam knows Dean will be fine. Because he is Dean. But that doesn't stop the thought from entering Sam's mind that this could have been disastrous. One more millimeter, one more second, and Dean could have sealed his fate.
Sam can't possibly imagine what their life would be like. Of course they wouldn't be able to hunt anymore; if Dean's out of commission than clearly so is Sam. But that doesn't mean the big bad evils of this world won't still come after them. And then what would they do? How would Dean protect himself? They have really dodged a bullet on this one, and Sam can only think that next time they might not be so lucky.
Sam is still lying wide awake in bed thinking about his brother three and a half hours later when he's pulled from his thoughts by a hesitant knock at their open door. He turns slowly, trying to avoid re-aggravating any of his many injuries, and finally gets his gaze to the door just in time to see a blonde head of hair disappear from his view.
"Hello?" he calls nervously. He already knows it's not one of their nurses or doctors; they don't bother to knock. And they don't know anyone in this town, so he can't imagine who would be visiting them. Thoughts of Dean's fearful expression just before the sedative took effect stream back into Sam's thoughts, making him worry once more about what Dean wanted to tell him.
"Hello," he says again, louder, when there is no response to his first call. His senses are on alert now, spine tingling. He knows there is someone standing just outside their door. "Look, if you're gonna come in then do it. Otherwise get out of here."
The sound of someone clearing their throat infiltrates the air, echoing loudly among the sounds of beeping and whooshing. And then a soft voice floats into the room. "I don't mean to bother you, I just–"
She steps into the room, nervously wringing her hands in front of her as her eyes flit about the room, refusing to make contact with Sam's suddenly stunned face.
He recognizes the visitor. It's the doctor zombon. The one who hooked Dean up to that damn contraption in the first place. He doesn't know much about her, doesn't remember much about the half hour or so before their rescue, but he knows that she was somehow a part of this whole thing. He knows that she's partly responsible for his brother lying temporarily paralyzed in the bed beside him, dependent on a ventilator to breathe.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
She stops in her tracks, eyes falling to study her feet as she debates on her next move. The feet seem to shuffle. Forward. Backward. Where to go? What to do? It's obvious, despite her nervousness, that she hadn't expected that kind of a reaction from him. But Sam can't fathom what she might have expected.
"Well? Answer me," Sam demands. His voice comes out hoarse and raspy, not at all the usual timbre he exerts in his demands. But under the circumstances he's proud of the tone he's come up with.
"I– I, um."
"You, um, what? Don't you think you've caused my brother and me enough trouble already?"
Flinching as she takes a step backwards, the woman prepares to leave the way she came. And then changes her mind in the same instant. It's almost as though Sam can see her confidence return, and he, too, shrinks back, fearful of what is to come. He knows there is danger out there; Dean has shown him that much information. This could be the danger.
So the next words out of her mouth leave him speechless and confused.
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything. Wanted to make sure you two were both okay."
Sam just stares at her, truly not expecting an apology of any sort, but certainly not one that sounds so...genuine. And with him in a stupefied silence, the woman has no choice but to continue her explanation. Her nervousness demands it.
"There were so many times that I wanted to help him. But it was like I was trapped. In my own body. I couldn't–" Fear plagues her eyes as she realizes what she's saying; who she's saying it to. She has no idea that Sam is a hunter any more than Sam knows what she did for Dean after he lost consciousness. In her mind she knows Sam must think her crazy.
Her sincerity has Sam melting, rethinking his position. He may not be happy with the events, but he at least owes it to her to hear her out. And maybe, if not for her, then for Dean. At the very least, Sam needs to know what went on while Dean was missing. "Go on," Sam pushes, finally finding his voice. "He can't talk yet, I don't know what happened."
"You wouldn't believe me. I don't even believe it; it– what happened, it's too surreal."
"You don't know what I do for a living," Sam rebuts. "There's nothing you can tell me that will sound too farfetched. Just try me. Start with your name; I don't know your name."
She chews her bottom lip, drawing a tiny pinpoint of blood almost immediately. Clearly the poor woman has been doing this a lot in the last few hours. Sam wonders just how many people she had to give her story too. How many lies she had to tell.
"Milla. I'm Milla Landly. I'm a doctor here on the neurology floor – well, I used to be anyway. But I'm not so sure now–"
"It's okay, Milla. We'll figure something out. Just tell me what happened. When Dean was awake a bit ago he seemed terrified of something, and I need to know what I'm dealing with so I can help him. Please, just start from the beginning."
Once Sam has relaxed, she relaxes too. There is a small, wooden backed chair in the corner and she slowly retrieves it as she begins to recount her captivity and Dean's torture.
"I was fully aware of what was going on; I had all my mental faculties about me. But I couldn't control my body. That guy - his name was Adam - he would just tell me to do something and I had no way to fight it. I had to do exactly what he said."
Her emphasis on the word gives Sam pause, and he realizes it is probably significant; that she was clearly forced to do some terrible things that went against all reason. His chest clenches at the realization that he's about to find out exactly what happened to his brother for the two days he was missing. It doesn't escape his thoughts that he probably would never know what happened if it were left up to Dean to tell him, but the guilt only sits with him for a second before he turns his attention over to Milla. This is something he has to know about. It's the stuff nightmares are made of. He's got to know how to help Dean through this.
She starts at the beginning, her beginning, a memory of feeling a pinprick in her neck and then waking up sometime later in the abandoned schoolhouse alongside the two nurses. She tells Sam about feeling distant, out of control of her own body, but she was fully aware of everything going on around her. At first, Adam demanded she fix him, repair the damage done to his spine. It had taken days, maybe more, to convey her inability to do so, and that's when Lori Ann had appeared with Dean.
They forced her to feed him a constant dose of neuroblocking drugs through his IV, specially mixed to give him just the right amount of sensation loss. At Adam's demands, Milla had been forced to prepare the 'patient' as though he had sustained the same injury Adam had.
During the first 'surgery,' just minutes after Dean was brought to the schoolhouse, Adam had demanded that she put the wire in his neck, around the spinal cord - insurance, he had called it. And he had ordered the halo screwed into his head to 'stabilize' his neck.
Sam had missed the halo brace on Dean's head, but he's noticed the resulting wounds, now he knows why. He cringes, feeling shame for Dean at the intrusion of privacy and personal space he'd experienced. Once again, Sam wonders if it is fair that he know this stuff when he is so certain Dean would never want him to know.
In deference to Dean's feelings, Sam rushes Milla forward in the story, asking her to tell him what had happened after he lost consciousness. How had they been rescued?
"That's just it," she says, shrugging her shoulders. She leans forward, lowers her voice a bit. "I don't know how we regained control. We had all three been fighting it for so long, but that still doesn't make any sense why we all snapped out of it at the same time. I just don't know."
She's right, it doesn't make any sense. Sam files the information away, promising to return to it soon, but for now he needs to know all she knows. They can deal with the unknowns later.
"That's all right, Milla. What happened after you came out of it?"
"I ran for Dean. He had just started to move forward, to- to activate the pulley and save you. I thought–" Tears rim her eyes and her hands shake.
Sam leans forward, reaching out a hand and settling it gently on her intertwined ones. "You thought what?"
"I thought that I might be able to get to him in time, that maybe I could save both of you. But," Milla's eyes roam desperately over Dean's still form in the next bed, but she refuses to look at Sam.
Squeezing her hands tighter, Sam's eyes soften. "You haven't spoken to anyone yet." It's a statement, not a question.
She shakes her head. "They wouldn't tell me anything. Patient confidentiality and all that. But I can see–"
"He's going to be okay. There's some swelling, that's all. But Dr. Prentiss assures me that he'll make a full recovery."
"So he's not–" The tears pooling in Milla's eyes finally spill over and her body quivers as relief encompasses her soul. "Oh, thank god."
As Sam watches her all remaining doubts disappear and he relaxes his body back against the pillows as he allows her to shed pent up emotions.
"I was so certain that Adam had won," she continues. "He was so powerful. And then when he disappeared after–"
"Wait, he what? He disappeared?" Immediately Sam's feeling of relaxation escapes him and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention as his whole body tenses. Ignoring the multitude of pains screaming throughout his battered body, Sam swings his legs over the side of the bed and scoots closer to Milla, staring her dead center in the eyes. It's all he can do to stop himself from grabbing her collar and forcing the information from her.
"Y-yes," Milla stammers, suddenly feeling nervous in the hunter's presence. "I thought you knew."
Sam shakes his head, inching closer. His voice raises as his teeth clench tight. "You're telling me that Adam and Lori Ann are not currently locked away? They're still out there somewhere?"
She nods, lower lip trembling. "They sssomehow managed to escape in all the confusion of the rescue. They w-were gone by the time the police showed up."
"Damn it!" Sam is off the bed in a split second, taking no notice of the pain that shoots up his leg at the unwanted pressure. He makes it to Dean's bedside and grabs for the call button, frantically pressing the red button over and over again until Holly, the nurse from before, scuttles into the room in a frenzy of activity.
He doesn't even wait for her to cross the threshold before he's spewing demands. "They're still out there. How could you not tell me? He needs protection!"
"Honey, I don't know what you're talking about." Holly is noticeably confused by Sam's ranting, and she holds out her arms in a placating gesture, trying to get Sam to sit, to calm down.
"The people that did this to him! They're still out there. They got away!"
Holly's eyes widen and her hand goes to her mouth before she looks at her patient with sadness. "I had no idea, Sam. But I assure you, Dean is safe here. No one can hurt him while he's here."
"You don't know that."
"Sam, please, sit down." Milla is talking again, scooting her now vacated chair closer to where Sam is barely balanced on his feet. "Holly is right, Dean is safe within the walls of the hospital. There's plenty of security here."
He refuses the chair, but does take hold of the bed rail on the side of Dean's bed for support. "Oh yeah? Then how did they manage to get to you? The parking garage is still within the walls of the hospital, is it not?"
Milla flinches noticeably, but doesn't back down. Instead, she turns back to Holly. "Could you go get one of the security guards? Maybe they can work something out. Or they can coordinate with the police."
Holly nods and turns shakily on her heel, disappearing quickly out the door. "Did he know?" Sam demands, looking down at his brother and then back at Milla. He misses the flutter of Dean's eyes as the frenzy of the room starts to bring the older hunter back to consciousness. "Is that what he was trying to tell me before they sedated him?"
Nodding hesitantly, Milla offers more explanation. "He was conscious through the entire rescue effort. A little groggy, but awake. He knows."
Coming back from sedation is like wading through a thick fog in the dead of night. It's dark, dense, oppressive. Dean has to fight with everything he has to bring himself to the surface, to the light. But he's determined to do it. He can hear Sammy's voice, desperate and frantic, and knows he has to come back to him. It comes down to a simple case of need; Dean is the big brother, the protector, and right now Sam needs him.
His eyes open slowly, the crusty feel of sleep lingering in the corners. It is with a heavy sinking feeling that Dean remembers he lacks the ability to wipe away the crud and he blinks several times instead, trying to improvise.
The motion works enough to bring the room into blurry focus, and a few more tries has him able to make out the figures hovering near his bed. There are two; a man and a woman. He knows on instinct that the man is Sam, even before he can see his face.
The woman takes longer to place, and when he does his emotions linger on the border of fear and acceptance.
On the one hand, this is the woman who did the physical torment while he was held captive. Adam may have had the control, but she did the work. She drilled the holes and screwed the screws into his head. She cut the hole in his throat. She gave him the drugs that kept him in the paralyzed state while he was there.
But rationally, he knows it was mind control. It's a laughable thing, because to anyone else that would not be rational. But to Dean Winchester, with all the things he's seen and done, this is by far one of the least irrational things he's dealt with. Adam had her under his control; she didn't have a choice in the matter.
And in the end she did save him. That should count for something - right?
As he lies there, listening to Sam's anxious voice demand answers from the blonde doctor - answers about him - Dean wants nothing more than to be able to make a sound and get Sam's attention. He wants them to stop talking about him; wants Sam to stop asking questions about things Dean can't protect him from.
Sure, Sam needs to know about Adam and Lori Ann. He needs to be aware that they're still out there, that they might be coming after them. But he doesn't need to know all that other stuff. And Dean wants nothing more than to put a stop to the spewing of information. But he's reduced to waiting in silence, hoping that Sam will look over at him and see that he's awake.
Sam finally does look over on his way to running his hands through Dean's greasy, disheveled hair, and he does a double take before realizing that his older brother's eyes are wide open and staring pleadingly at him.
"Dean. You woke up."
Dean rolls his eyes at Sam. No shit, Sherlock. Quite the genius you are. And then points his gaze at the woman intruder in the room, the zombon doctor that helped to torture him.
"She's okay, Dean. This is Milla Landly. She came to check up on you, but she's not under Adam's control anymore. She's not going to hurt you."
Sam's assurances go a long way towards calming Dean down. He immediately feels comforted by the fact that he and Sam have spent so much time together. They know what each other is thinking and feeling without exchanging words – even if neither one ever wants to admit weaknesses out loud.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am about all of this," Milla says, leaning over the foot of Dean's bed and hovering just within his eyesight. "I tried to stop it, I really did. He was just too powerful."
It's okay. Mind control is a bitch. He blinks and bites on his lip, about the only thing he can think to do in the way of offering reassurances to the woman, and once again curses his inability to do much else.
Sam comes to the rescue yet again, reading Dean's mind and stepping over to console the upset doctor. "My brother wouldn't want you to blame yourself for this. He understands what it's like to not be in control."
"I just don't understand how Adam did it in the first place. And I don't know why neither one of you thinks I'm crazy. If it hadn't happened to me personally I know I wouldn't believe a word of what I've told you."
"You would be surprised the things we believe," Sam offers off-handedly. He quickly moves on, and Dean knows he's avoiding a conversation about the Winchester career path.
She chuckles nervously and brushes her bangs out of her eyes before clutching her purse in front of her. "Yeah, well, maybe you can accept it so easily, but I still need some time to process this. And I think the two of you need some time to talk."
It is quite a way to break from the conversation. Dean knows his brother, can see it in Sam's face that he's toying with the idea of making it an emo moment and encouraging her to stay with them and work out her feelings, her questions. But in the end Sam chooses to let her go, and he finally nods his head in agreement of her leaving.
"If you need to talk..." he starts, leaving the cue open-ended and welcoming.
Milla nods self-consciously, still playing with her hair with one hand. "Maybe I can stop in and check up on you two later?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that would be good."
She turns to Dean and puts out her hand, about to lay it on his shoulder, but stops just before she touches him when she sees the bit of a flinch in his face. He isn't quite ready to trust her yet.
Hand hovering just above Dean's shoulder she offers a pinched smile before curling her fingers tightly into a fist and pulling away. "You take care of yourself, Dean. I– I'm so sorry about all of this."
Dean flashes a lopsided smile back at the woman he's still unsure whether to call her his attacker or his savior, only able to provide that small bit of forgiveness for the time being.
Sam walks Milla to the door, thanks her for stopping by, and then immediately returns to Dean's side.
"Wellll," Sam begins nervously. Dean can well imagine Sam is feeling uncomfortable about talking. Neither one of them has ever been much for small talk or soul bearing conversation. But as serious a situation as they currently find themselves in Dean knows jokes are out of the question. It doesn't matter that on the surface Dean is screaming for Sam to make some stupid joke about laying down on the job, or the cat having his tongue. Underneath all of that even he has to admit that he's scared. Frustrated. Confused. And thank God he doesn't have the voice to admit that.
Locking eyes with the sad puppy dog eyes of his brother Dean can tell that Sam has to say something; silence was never his strong suit. So little brother forges on. "That was nice of her to stop by. She seems okay, I think."
Dean raises an eyebrow.
"I mean, I don't think she's quite had a chance to process it all," Sam amends. "It will probably hit her all at once, and then who knows how she'll react."
Yeah, well, right now I'm not exactly concerned with how she's dealing with this. I've got bigger things to worry about.
"She, uh, she told me about Adam. About how he and Lori Ann disappeared before the cops showed up. Is that," he sucks in a shuddering breath and leans closer to Dean, lowering his voice. "Is that what you were trying to tell me before? Is that what you were so upset about?"
Dean squeezes his eyes shut tight and mouths 'yes' at the same time. God, yes, Sammy. They could come back at any time.
"I'm not going to let them hurt you," Sam says. "I know this has to be hard for you not being able to…" his voice trails off as Dean widens his eyes. Don't say it, Sam. They both know what is going on physically with Dean right now, but saying it will make it real. No matter how long or short a time this will affect him, Dean doesn't want to talk about it.
"Just know that you're safe," Sam finally settles on. "You're safe and I'm going to take care of you until you're back on your feet."
Like hell you are, Sam. I'm not letting you be some nursemaid to my frozen ass. We'll figure this out. Dean swallows against the dull pain of tubing in his throat. He loathes the feel of it, and more than that, despises the fact that it could have been prevented. All of this could have been prevented if he'd just paid more attention, been more prepared.
Dean wants to berate Sam for even thinking about talking the way he is, wants to reach out and slap his idiot little brother. But he can't. And it's beyond frustrating. How do you communicate with just eyes and lips, without sound? How can he reassure his little brother that he's not alone when he can't even voice the words?
'I'm okay,' Dean finally mouths when Sam looks at him.
"No, you're not. Not this time." Sam protests. "You're far from it, Dean. Damn it, you are so blasted stubborn. I'm not leaving your side. Not with Adam and Lori Ann still out there somewhere."
I don't want you to leave. Just don't want you wiping my ass and giving me a sponge bath. That's what hot nurses are for. Outwardly, Dean smirks, putting on his game face.
"Dean, I've seen the nurses on this floor," Sam says, reading his brother like an open book. "They're nice enough, but at least twice your age. You're going to be extremely disappointed."
A frown quickly replaces the smile Dean had worked so hard to conjure up as he blatantly pouts at his poor luck.
"This is total crap, Dean. I can see right through you. Stop trying to be big and strong. It's my turn for a change. Do you have any idea what I went through trying to find you?"
And here we go. I knew emo Sam would make an appearance sooner or later. And me with no defense for my poor sensitive ears. Narrowing his eyes, Dean realizes he has no choice but to hear Sam out. It's impossible to relax but he at least tries to focus, telling himself that the least he can do is internalize what Sam has to say so that he can reply when he's finally able to do so. Sooner or later he'll be able to have his own chance to talk.
Long after every other patient on his ward has gone to sleep Dean lies wide awake in his bed listening to the soft sounds of the nurses shoes, their hushed whispers at the station just a little ways from his door. He can hear the subtle snores emanating from his brother's sleeping form on the bed next to him. By his ear, Dean can make out the gentle whoosh of the ventilator still keeping him alive and breathing, and the steady beep beep beep of the heart monitor.
With his head immobilized, the only things in Dean's line of sight are the yellowed ceiling tiles dotted with little black holes, illuminated only by the dim glow of the light over his bed. He has already counted the holes twice, coming up with three thousand seven hundred and twenty four on the first count and three thousand six hundred and eighty seven on the second. Now he is just starting on the third count as he furtively fights the draw of sleep that beckons him.
If Sam was awake Dean would have gladly given in to the pull, but Sam returned to his bed just after dinner, on Doctor's orders, and has ended up falling asleep. Even if Dean had the means to wake his little brother he doesn't have the heart to do so, instead forcing himself to stay awake and keep watch. He is reluctant to admit his uselessness, though deep down he knows there is nothing he can do to protect either himself or Sam.
The ward is quiet, almost eerily so, and he finds himself continuously having to blink his eyes in an effort to stay awake. It is getting more and more difficult to fight it and Dean begins to get lost in the hazy abyss that signifies the halfway point between awake and asleep.
Sometime later, he jumps back to full alert as an alarm sounds down the hall and the soft footsteps became frantic and heavy. His eyes spring open, nostrils flaring, hearing on full alert. Sam doesn't stir beside him, lost somewhere in the dark void of heavy sleep.
He strains his available senses, wishing he could hold his breath and stop the heart monitor to enhance his hearing. Just out of reach are the frantic voices of the hospital staff responding to the emergency down the hall. His focus is so deep on hearing what they're saying that he completely misses the soft whirring of a wheelchair and light tapping of a pair of rubber soled shoes as Adam and Lori Ann make their way into his room.