As Sam grabbed the steering wheel, a sharp agonizing pain immediately shot through his left arm and across his shoulder. He tried to ignore the pain as he attempted to rotate the steering wheel toward him. But, with the unyielding pain in his left shoulder and the cast in shreds around his right wrist, he had little strength to counteract the effect of Dean's dead-weight leaning against the steering wheel. Sam struggled to gain control of the car, but it veered onto the shoulder and careened into the ditch. The Impala lurched to a halt as it collided with the embankment, smacking Sam heavily into the dash. His head slammed against the windshield, causing it to crack before Sam was unceremoniously tossed back into the seat, smashing his left shoulder as he landed against it. The sudden jolt caused his shoulder to pop out of place and he grimaced against the pain of having dislocated it once again.
As he fought back tears, Sam used his feeble right hand to throw the car into park and to turn off the engine. They wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. As he settled back into his seat, he glanced over at his brother. Dean was still wedged tightly against the steering wheel and Sam could tell he had also hit his head against the window when they crashed. But he was still breathing so at least he was okay.
Well...okay enough for a guy who had passed out from losing too much blood. And for someone who had been poisoned. And just been in a car crash.
"Dean?" called Sam hesitantly. When his brother didn't respond, Sam quietly ventured once more, "Dean?" But even he knew it was more wishful thinking than anything.
Because Dean was out cold. And Sam knew he was alone. He didn't know what to do. It was Dean who always figured out what to do when things went wrong, and Dean who always came to his rescue when he needed help. But as Sam stared at his comatose brother, he knew that Dean wasn't going to be able to help them get out of this mess any time soon. He was going to have to figure this one all by himself. All he really wanted to do was succumb to the tears that kept threatening to fall. Both his wrist and shoulder hurt like hell. His left arm was pretty much useless now and, without the support of the cast, his fractured right hand wasn't much better.
And now he had a headache.
Sam blinked away the tears and took a deep breath; he had to get a hold of himself. Crying like a baby wasn't going to help. He had to pull himself together. So Sam tried to think how Dean would handle this. What would he do? Sam knew for certain that Dean wouldn't be sitting here wallowing in self-pity. He'd no doubt be downplaying his own injuries trying, instead, to put Sam at ease by cracking some stupid joke that wasn't even really that funny. And Sam would probably roll his eyes at him and tell him to shut up.
But now, Sam really wished that Dean would just turn toward him and say something really stupid and unfunny. Or at least tell him everything was going to be okay. But he knew that neither of those was likely to happen and Dean wasn't going to say anything to make him feel better. Nobody was. He'd have to do this all on his own.
So how was he going to get them out of this mess?
Then Sam remembered Dean's cell phone; he always carried it with him. All Sam had to do was find it. But before he'd be able to search for it, Sam knew he had to find something to secure the cast on his wrist. If he could find something to wrap the cast in, he'd at least be able to use his right hand. Then, maybe he'd be able to work on getting them some help.
He scanned the interior of the car. As he glanced behind the driver's seat his eyes fell on a discarded t-shirt lying on the floor. He sat forward in the seat and reached carefully around with his right hand to grab the shirt. Once he had it in his hand, he gingerly sat back in his seat, trying not to aggravate his shoulder any more than he had to. Sam gripped the collar of the shirt between his fingers and clenched the other end between his teeth. Then he extended his arm, pulling the t-shirt taut. Sam slowly wound the shirt around the cast stopping when he had raised his arm parallel to his mouth. He grabbed the shirt from his mouth, taking care to keep the t-shirt pulled as tight as possible and lowered his arm to his lap so that he could tuck the shirt into the cast with his left hand.
Having adhered the cast to his wrist as effectively as he could, Sam set about looking for the cell phone. He didn't think that Dean had taken the cell phone with him when he had snuck into the Leavey residence, which meant that he had to have stored it somewhere in the car. Sam reached over and tried to open the glove compartment, only to discover that it was locked. So he twisted in his seat yet again in order to remove the keys from the ignition. He fumbled with them until he found the key to the glove box and he was able to successfully open it. Looking inside, he saw the cell phone. As he pulled it out of the compartment, he prayed that it would still work way out here. Sam turned it on and was overjoyed to hear the familiar beep that indicated that there was reception. He immediately dialed his father's cell phone number.
John had been going frantic ever since Dean hadn't returned with Sammy over four hours ago. He knew that he should have gone to get Sammy himself; there was just too much going on in this crazy town that he didn't understand. It seemed that Dean was constantly getting into some kind of trouble this week and his conscience had warned him against letting Dean out of his sight. But he had ignored it because he really didn't think that Dean would be reckless enough to involve Sammy in whatever he was planning.
Because John knew that Dean would exact his revenge against anyone he thought had wronged him - or Sammy. He just wasn't one to let things slide - he never had been. And John realized that was he probably shouldered most of the blame for that because ever since Mary had been killed, most of their lives had been dictated by vengeance. And Dean had accepted his father's philosophy, swallowing it hook, line and sinker for the past thirteen years. But he had never before gotten Sammy mixed up in it. And Sammy hadn't quite taken to it the same way as Dean had. So John doubted that his youngest son would have been an eager participant in whatever scheme Dean had cooked up.
John had tried calling Dean's cell phone numerous times, only to be told that "the customer you are calling is not available" each time. Not that he had really expected anything different; Dean wouldn't have left his phone on if he knew that his father wouldn't approve of what he was doing. Or if he didn't want to have to explain himself. Besides, if the phone was turned off, Dean wouldn't even know anyone had called until he after turned it back on. And John knew that was unlikely to happen until after he returned to the motel.
John had given them just over two hours to come home before he had gotten in his truck and driven around town looking for them. It wasn't that big a town and the Impala should have been easy to spot, but John hadn't found them anywhere; they just seemed to have vanished completely. He had stopped short of going to the sheriff's station to report them missing, instead choosing to return to the motel and hope that they'd turn up sooner or later.
And when they did, he was going to kill his oldest son.
As the hours passed, John became increasingly troubled. He called the hospital to see if there had been any unidentified accident victims or otherwise unknown patients brought in but the answer to all his questions had been negative. He had been actively considering calling the sheriff's office, when his cell phone rang.
"John Winchester," he answered anxiously.
"Dad?" came a small, frightened voice from the other end.
"Sam! Where are you?"
"I'm with Dean. But he's hurt."
"Hurt? What do you mean he's hurt?" implored John, panic-stricken
"He's unconscious," responded Sam timidly. He knew his father was going to be furious and he wasn't sure exactly what he should tell him.
"Unconscious?" bellowed John. "What the hell happened?"
"Dean passed out and the car crashed."
"The car crashed?" reiterated John in disbelief. "Where?"
"On the highway heading back from Grand Lake."
"What the hell are you doing out there?" asked John, more confused than ever.
"Dean came to get me," offered Sam, "Only we had a bit of a problem."
"What kind of a problem?" asked John, completely perplexed.
"With Rick and his brother," stated Sam hesitantly.
"Are you okay?" asked John, now utterly mystified.
"I think I dislocated my shoulder when the car crashed. And I smashed my cast earlier tonight. But, other than that, I'm all right."
"Was there anyone else involved in the accident?" asked John. "Do I need to call the police? Or an ambulance?"
"No, it was just us," stated Sam. "The car just went off the road after Dean passed out. It kinda crashed into the ditch."
"Kinda?" questioned John irritably. "What the hell do you mean by 'kinda'?"
Sam was on the verge of tears again and his voice was shaky as he tried to explain, "We crashed into the ditch, Dad. The car's gonna need to be towed out." His voice cracked as he added, "And Dean won't wake up. I don't know what to do."
"Okay, Sam," breathed John trying to reign in his emotions so he could console his son. As he picked up his car keys and headed out to his truck he said, "I'm on my way, but you have to tell me exactly where you are."
"We were just turning onto the highway from the road that leads into Grand Lake. You'll see the car in the ditch just before you get here."
John hadn't been able to make head nor tails out of what had happened based on the disjointed information he had managed to extract from his youngest son. He just knew that he had to get out there quickly. He tried to keep his voice steady as he asked quietly "Sam, are you going to be okay until I get there?"
"Yeah," replied Sam. "But…Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think you could hurry?"
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
John had driven like a man possessed until he reached the accident scene. When he arrived, he found Sam sitting on the grass beside the car. As he exited the truck, Sam rose unsteadily to his feet. John could tell by looking at him that he was in a tremendous amount of pain and he dashed over to intercept his youngest son as he made his way toward the truck.
"Sam," he queried when he reached him, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," replied Sam. "But you better check on Dean. He hasn't moved since the accident."
John glanced quickly at the Impala before he turned back to Sam. "But you've checked on him? He's breathing?"
"Yeah, he's breathing. But I didn't want to touch him. I didn't know what else I should do."
"It's okay Sam," confirmed John. "You did good." As he guided him toward the truck, John said, "Let's get you into the truck first. Then I'll go check on your brother."
"But Dad," argued Sam, "Dean really needs help."
"I know he does," stated John, soothingly. "But so do you. And, as long as he's breathing, then he'll be okay for another few minutes while I get you settled. Then I'll go see what I can do for Dean. Okay?"
Sam nodded reluctantly as he let his father take him to the truck. Before John helped him into the cab, he made a makeshift sling out of some old bandages he had in the first-aid kit and secured Sam's arm to alleviate the strain on his shoulder. Then he covered him gently with an emergency blanket to keep him warm and help ward off any chills that might surface when shock finally set in. After he had finished, John cautioned Sam against the pitfalls of falling asleep after sustaining a head injury before he grabbed a flashlight and headed over to the disabled Impala.
Thankfully, the incline into the ditch wasn't very steep and the car had simply plowed down the hill and stopped as it bulldozed into the embankment on the other side. The nose of the car was embedded in the dirt and, at quick glance, it didn't appear that there was too much damage to the car. But John wasn't at all concerned about that now; he had to find out what kind of shape his oldest son was in. The Impala was still sitting on all four wheels, so John was able to open the door and climb into it without too much difficulty.
He entered through the passenger door and immediately checked Dean's pulse. It was amazingly strong considering the amount of trauma that was evident on his body. Satisfied that Dean was stable at the moment, John checked out the rest of his injuries. He aimed the flashlight at his son and was taken aback by the amount of blood visible on the back of his shirt. What had he done to himself now? John cautiously rolled Dean's shirt up to reveal three seemingly fresh gauze pads completely soaked with blood. If his memory served him correctly, John was positive that each pad covered a claw mark made by the Aswang. And he had stitched most of them up twice already. As he stared at his son's back, John could see the telltale signs of bruising beginning to emerge on his side. Based on the size and shape of the marks, John was pretty sure that they had been made by a shoe or a boot - no doubt when someone had kicked him. And that would definitely be sufficient to open up at least a couple of the wounds.
John shook his head slowly and wondered how Dean could have ended up getting kicked in the torso. He was a proficient fighter and didn't usually end up on the losing side of too many battles with other teenagers. Unless, of course, he had been fighting against more than one opponent. Which was, of course, entirely possible. And it wouldn't be the first time either. Sometimes Dean just seemed to invite trouble.
Like they couldn't find enough of it in their line of work already.
Regardless, John knew instantly that Dean was in need of medical attention. There was no way he would be able to avoid it this time. By his own rough estimate, Dean had to have been unconscious for at least half an hour now and it was evident that he had lost an overwhelming amount of blood. And he would still be suffering from the after-effects of the Aswang poison too.
Obviously Dean had ignored his warning about overexerting himself.
John pulled out his cell phone and called for a tow truck. Seeing as there was no other car involved and the only damage was to the Impala, he just told the operator who answered the phone that he had lost control of the car and it had gone into the ditch. A friend was here to take him home so he would leave the keys under the front seat of the car. If they just towed the car to their compound, he would be there in the morning to pay the bill and claim the car.
After he hung up the phone, John ran back to the truck to check on Sam and let him know that he was going to put Dean in the truck and take them both to the hospital. He dashed back to the Impala and opened the driver's door, taking extra care to ensure that Dean didn't tumble out. Then he carefully lifted him out of the seat and cradled him in his arms in order to carry him back to the truck.
As he sped back to town, John tried to glean more information out of his youngest son as to what had transpired that evening.
"Sam," he began, "How did you and Dean end up way out here?"
"Well," conceded Sam hesitantly, "I came out with Rick and his brother. And Dean came out to get me."
John wasn't sure that he had heard Sam correctly, so he asked incredulously. "You came out here with Rick and his brother?"
"Yes Sir."
"Now…why would you do that?" asked John quizzically.
"Because Rick came up to me at my locker after school and told me that his brother and his friends had grabbed Dean at school and that if I didn't go with them, they'd really hurt him."
"And you believed him?"
"Well, at first I didn't. But when Dean didn't show up at the school, I figured he must be telling me the truth. And Robin was there when I went outside. He said he'd take me to Dean if I got in his car. So I did."
John didn't respond immediately; he didn't quite comprehend what had happened. Dean had left in plenty of time to get to Sam's school before it let out for the day. Why hadn't he been there when Sammy got out? Where the hell had he gone?
John wanted to ask Sam what he thought he was going to accomplish by going with them. Even if they had Dean, what was he going to do about it? And how would it help if both of them were captured by Rick and his buddies? But he refrained from following that train of thought; it wasn't really the issue right now. Sammy had gone with them because he thought he should. Now John had to find out what happened after that.
Instead, John decided to state the obvious and see if he was right. "But I gather they didn't really have Dean."
"No Sir," replied Sam timidly. Now that he could reflect on the events of the past few hours, he was beginning to feel rather foolish for having gone off with Rick and his brother, even though, at the time, it has seemed logical. "But I thought they did."
"Did you try calling him on his phone before you went with them?" asked John, trying his best to understand Sam's reasoning while pointing out that there may have been other options available to him.
"No Sir, I didn't," whispered Sam.
"Why not?"
"I guess I never thought about it," ventured Sam, who was by now more than a little embarrassed by his actions. "But Dean wasn't there and I was afraid of what they'd do to him."
"And it never occurred to you that they might be lying?" queried John in disbelief.
"No Sir," responded Sam warily. Hoping to explain his actions, he clarified, "It wasn't until we pulled away from the school that they told me it was a lie. They had been planning to ambush him after school but I guess Dean had been suspended from school earlier in the day so they had to change their plans. That's when they decided to trick me into thinking they had him so that he'd come looking for me."
"Okay…" replied John hesitantly. He was beginning to get some sort of a picture of what had happened - at least from Sam's perspective. "But how'd you end up way out here?"
"Rick's family has a vacation house on Grand Lake. That's where they took me."
"And how did Dean find you out here?"
"I dunno," shrugged Sam uncomfortably. "I didn't see him until one of Robin's friends carried him in unconscious a couple of hours after I got there."
"Carried him in unconscious?" reiterated John, dumbfounded.
"Yeah," replied Sam. "He dropped him on the floor and kicked him a couple of times, hoping to wake him up. Only he didn't wake up."
Well, at least that explained the bruises. And the open stitches.
"Then what happened?" asked John, unsure whether he really wanted to know.
"Dean was still unconscious when Robin made Rick take me out of the room. Then about 15 minutes later, some guy came up and told Rick to take me down to the kitchen. And that's when Dean showed up."
"Sam," warned John, now completely exasperated, "Do you think you can try to be a bit clearer with your explanations? Like…what exactly do you mean that 'that's when Dean showed up?'"
"He just came into the kitchen holding onto another one of Robin's friends. And then he and Robin started arguing."
"What were they arguing about?" asked John, not sure how this related to anything.
"Somethin' about Dean taking Robin's girlfriend out. And me having to pay for it," explained Sam.
John sighed. Why did it not surprise him that this had something to do with Dean and someone else's girlfriend? He rubbed his eyes, unsure what direction to take his questions in now.
But Sam continued before he had a chance to think. "That's when Rick slashed my cheek with his pocketknife."
John turned and stared wide-eyed at Sam. He had only vaguely noticed the cut on his cheek and assumed that it had occurred during the car accident. But now that he looked at it more closely, it was obvious that it had been an intentional incision. He blinked as he asked, "Rick slashed your cheek with a knife?"
"Uh huh," affirmed Sam. He spoke rapidly as he tried to recreate the scene in the Leavey's kitchen. "And that's when Dean lunged at Rick and got the knife out of his hand. But Rick's brother jumped him. And Rick was trying to pick up the knife so I kicked it out of the way. Then he and I ended up in a bit of a fight that ended when I smashed my cast into the side of his head and knocked him out. That's when I noticed that Dean was still fighting both Robin and the other guy so I went over to help him. He tackled Robin and I tried to fend off the other guy until Dean grabbed him and told him he'd break his neck if he didn't stop." Sam took a breath before he added, "Then Dean and I left."
John shook his head slowly. Why was getting a cohesive story out of Sammy like pulling teeth? Or trying to understand a Reader's Digest Condensed Story. It was always missing some crucial elements.
"So, you left the house and went back to the car?" asked John, hopefully.
"Yeah," agreed Sam. "And then Dean passed out while we were driving home."
John nodded but he refrained from asking any more questions. He'd wait to hear the rest of the story from Dean. And there was no way in hell he was going to weasel out of explaining it this time. Not after all the crap that had happened.
They had reached the outskirts of town and John turned his full attention back to the road. He drove quickly through town taking care not to alert the attention of law enforcement. All he wanted to do was get his sons to the hospital so they could get the medical attention they needed. Once they were being treated, he'd deal with the hospital personnel regarding any questions they had about the stitches on Dean's back - because he was sure there were going to be some. Especially seeing as they had obviously been made by claw marks. But from what? And then he'd have to explain why there were traces of poison in Dean's system. And then they'd want to know why he had driven his boys into the hospital without calling the sheriff to report the accident, which, of course, they'd be obligated to do.
He just needed a bit of time to figure out how he was going to explain everything without raising the suspicions of some well-meaning - but nosey - nurse. And, once the sheriff got involved, he'd know that it was more than just coincidence that the accident had happened out by Grand Lake and involved both his sons.
And somehow or another, John just knew that Greg Leavey was going to get involved.
This was turning into a wonderful night.