Hospitals on the Frontier
Three very skilled paramedics wheeled the bruised and still-bleeding Sam Wolfe into the emergency room of a local area hospital. One of the nurses on duty took a look at him and started barking out order so fast I couldn't even begin to keep up with her.
On the ride over, I'd seen some of the boy's injures up close and it made my heart ache. Angry red marks circled his wrists and ankles; dark purple bruises covered his arms and chest. Thin precise cuts littered his arms and legs – someone had sliced at him with a knife. A steel-eyed paramedic mentioned the possibility of broken fingers on his right hand. I'd been thankful that Sam was unconscious and not feeling this pain.
At the hospital more nurses came and moved the young man from a gurney onto a hospital bed that they wheeled into a room in the ER. I followed them numbly and watched with a kind of horrified amazement as they cut away his clothes, revealing still more injuries. Deftly, these three miracle workers dressed him in a loose green hospital gown and pants.
"Is he going to be all right?" I asked a passing nurse as she walked by.
"Of course, dear. Why don't you have a seat for a few minutes and let us work, all right? Once we have him stabilized, a doctor will come talk to you."
"Thank you."
"Don't you worry. We'll take good care of your friend."
As she was talking to me, a doctor in a lab coat walked in and strolled over to the hospital bed. He flipped through Sam's medical chart, nodded to himself, and then hooked the boy up to an IV and several other machines. He jotted something down in his notes and walked out again.
"Am I invisible or something?"
The nurse who was stitching Sam up laughed. "Nah, it's not just you. The doctors around here are just too damn busy. Don't take it personally."
A technician came by with a portable x-ray machine and another nurse bandaged Sam's arm. They worked meticulously and efficiently, as if this was routine. Brawls happed often enough out here, where cops took almost half an hour to arrive. Nothing to see here, nothing out of the ordinary.
I was, by that point, shaken and only inches away from panicking. Relief washed over me when Dean strode into the room, shotgun in one hand. Without even thinking, I gave him a quick hug before sitting down on a rickety, plastic chair.
The whole place smelled like disinfectant to me, and I couldn't even begin to imagine how much worse it was for my boss. He had the nose of a hunter; blood and fear were a language he spoke well.
"How is he?" asked the alpha curiously.
"I don't know to be honest. No one's said anything."
"I'll find the doctor."
"One of the nurses said he'll be around shortly." I glanced at the clock on the wall. "How'd you get here so quick?"
"I drove," Dean said, totally deadpan.
"Drive or did you fly?"
"I teleported, Jo. Seriously."
"Sorry."
Eventually, the doctor from before stepped into the room and glanced between us. "Are either of you Sam's family?" he asked kindly enough.
"Afraid not," Dean answered with his most charming smile, "but we might be as close as he's got to one right now, and if there's anything we can do to help..."
"All right, well, are you an alpha, sir?"
I could see gears turning in that Winchester head. My boss nodded after a moment. "And if I am?"
The question left me stunned and more than a little embarrassed. I stared at the floor between my feet, wondering if Dean might yet punch the idiot in the lab coat. Civilized people didn't ask about designation, in the same way most people don't discuss genital in public. It's not exactly every day conversation. Unless, you happen to live in Backwater, USA, apparently.
"In that case, my name's Doctor Richard Williams," said the balding doctor and shook Dean's hand. "I'm the doctor assigned to take care of your friend."
My gaze lingered on the boy in the hospital bed, still and silent, pale underneath the hospital's harsh lights. Not at all the vibrant, happy child that I remembered chasing through the mud. We'd been friends for a month one summer. It seemed like an eternity ago.
"How's he doing, Doc?"
"He's in pretty bad shape, but it's nothing that won't pass in a few days. For the moment, at least, he's stable and in fair condition," Williams explained as he looked over Sam's chart.
"That said, he has experienced some extreme trauma. It's possible that he was raped, and furthermore, that whoever did so, then performed a forced designation change, potentially after shooting him up full of horse tranquilizers."
"What?" I couldn't help myself. "That's illegal in all fifty states."
"Correct," agreed the doctor with a frown, "but the damage has already been done.
"We've administered sedatives, a pain suppressant, and hormone blockers to slow the progress of the change. It will still happen, of course, but slower and with less discomfort. We've also patched up some of his other injuries." Williams gestured at Sam's bandaged arm and stiches on his chest. "And we've added his name to the Registry."
The Registry existed to keep omegas safe and protect them from a world practically hell-bent on killing them, usually slowly. Some cultures believed that drinking their blood brought immortality while others preferred omega partners to the rest of the population. Whatever the reason, most of the states had specific laws that protected their rights and treated them as equals.
In some places these laws worked well, but this wasn't some state. Texas was one of the few states that still hadn't ratified the Equality for all Designations Act; the rules of the Registry didn't apply here. Sam wasn't safe.
"Thank you, doctor," Dean said mildly. "When can Sam check out of the hospital?"
"I'd say at any point after he wakes up. I would recommend against it, though, unless he has someplace to go for a few weeks. The change is brutal at any age; it's not something that anyone should have to face alone."
"Of course. We'll take good care of him. Thanks again, doc."
"If you need anything, feel free to ping a nurse, all right? I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on him." The doctor smiled at us and left the room.
"What the hell was Gordon thinking?" I demanded as soon as the door closed.
Dean put a hand on my shoulder and shook his head. "Won't know until Sam wakes up, but let him sleep for now." He glanced out the window. "I've known Gordon for close to a decade now, Jo, and he was always a little out there. Nothing like this, though. This is... unforgivable."
"What did my mother say?"
Dean sighed, deflating somehow. "She confirmed my suspicions about Sam's prior designation. No one's been keeping an eye on Walker, though, so she's going to do some information gathering tonight, see if anyone knows where he's holed up."
"Dean, what do we do now?" I couldn't keep the panic out of my voice. "About Gordon and Sam. What if that monster is doing the same thing to others?"
"We do what needs doing, Jo. Like any hunter. Sometimes, evil wears a perfectly human skin. For now, let's worry about Sam; his wellbeing is top priority. I'm going to go clear out the spare bedroom above the garage, so Sam has a place to stay for a little while."
"You going to be OK?"
Dean's eyebrows rose a notch. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, you're, you know, an alpha, and he's basically catnip. Or he will be when he wakes up."
"I'll deal with it."
"What about the Roadhouse?"
"Gordon knows its whereabouts and he knows you were there, so odds are good that if that prick goes hunting, he'll show up there. I'd rather he not slaughter your mom's patrons, if I can at all avoid it."
"If you're sure, Boss."
"About as sure as I normally am. When Sam wakes up, help him get checked out and then call me. I'll pick both of you up."
I looked over at the bed uncertainly. "He probably doesn't remember me."
"He's not likely to remember a whole lot of anything right now, Jo. Don't worry about it. Just hang out for a while. If it looks like it's getting late, call me and then go home. We'll figure this out."
"Yeah, OK."
"See you in a few hours."
"See you, Dean. Be careful, please? I don't think Gordon will either forgive or forget."
Dean patted his shotgun and grinned. The look in his eyes scared me. "Next time I see that son of a bitch, he and I are going to have a heart to heart."
When he left, a wave of fear snaked its way down my back. Alone in this room, with only the sleeping omega for company, I didn't feel safe. Gordon frightened me and the implications of what he'd done left me utterly sick.
I pulled one of the plastic chairs over to the bed and sat down in it. Gently, I took Sam's free hand, the one without bandages, and wrapped my own fingers around it. I'd never been particularly religious, but then it felt right to pray.