Where are you?

Chapter Thirteen

The Impala moved, smooth and slow, through the dark night, lights blazing. In the illuminated shadows Dean could make out the occasional sharp movement, bodies slinking back into the inky blackness, the whisper of voices, the cold air of suspicion.

In a million years Dean never thought he would be searching these areas; over run by drug addicts, vagrants and the homeless; looking constantly for his little brother. Sam; Sam who had a two beer limit; Sam who, before his amnesia, he had only once seen drunk and, even then, he had been driven to it by desperation.

It had been eight weeks since Sam had checked himself out of rehab. Eight weeks of fruitless searching; he and Bobby trailing through towns and cities; calling hospitals, homeless shelters and, god help him, morgues.

No one, it seemed, had seen Sam. And Sam wasn't hard to miss. Dean had lost count of the amount of people he had showed Sam's photograph to and he had lost count of the number of sympathetic glances and soft words of comfort that he had heard.

The worse thing was he blamed himself. Bobby, in his own rough way, had told Dean that he shouldn't, that he had to remember he himself was still rehabilitating, that it was hardly surprising that he had had such a reaction to his memory returning. Dean listened, but he didn't really hear. Sam had been fragile, his own sanity stretched thin and taunt. One push from Dean and Sam had broken and Dean didn't know if he was going to find enough pieces of his baby brother to put back together again.

But there was one other fear; one that he had kept from Bobby and could, only now, admit to himself. He was terrified that Sam had turned again – that he had pushed him right into the welcoming arms of that yellow eyed bastard – that Sam was – even now – wandering through some bum fuck town – killing and maiming everything and everybody in its path.

He pulled out his cell "Bobby?" he tried to keep the panic from his voice "Anything?"

"Nothing" Bobby kept his own voice neutral "It's like he's vanished off the radar Dean – I just don't understand it"

"He didn't even have a car Bobby – how could he have gotten so far so quick?" Dean bit back anger and tears "I don't know what to do" he wasn't ashamed anymore, to admit his weakness "I just want him back"

"I know son" Bobby's tone was quietly comforting "I know – don't you worry – we'll find him – I'm sure – we'll find him"

Dean pulled into the motel lot and sat in the car, staring aimlessly out of the window. It was raining and there was a cold wind blowing. He was now over two hundred miles from Nevada and from the clinic from which Sam had vanished and he was no closer to finding his brother than he had been then. Sam's cell phone was turned off; he had no leads; no hunches; no clue. He buried his head in his hands "Fuck Sam" he whispered "Where are you?"

The motel receptionist looked up wearily as he entered; going to the pigeon hole to get out the key. She glanced at Dean for a moment and thrust a piece of paper into his hand "Hospital called" she said, abruptly, as way of an explanation "They think they have found your brother"

The ICU room was silent; apart from the incessant bleeping of the monitors. Dean swallowed hard as he sat by Sam's bed, his fingers stroking Sam's wrist, his eyes fixed on Sam's inert body.

Sam's face was a mess; his nose was most certainly broken and there were scratches and contusions all over the pallid skin. One eye was so black and swollen it was impossible to see the pupil, whilst the other was purple and blue. His lips were puffy and he had lost three of his front teeth. His body was not much better, three broken ribs, a fractured skull, a cracked thigh bone and numerous lacerations to the muscle.

"He was found like this" the doctor stared at Dean – sympathy in his eyes - "In a dumpster – outside one of our more tasteful bars" he smiled, ruefully "The cops believe he got into a fight over drugs – he didn't have anything to pay the dealer with – fatal mistake in these parts" he sighed, patting Dean's arm "One of our nurses remembered your visit here a few days ago and still had your brother's picture on file – although – state he was in when we got him here – he was very hard to identify"

"Will he…will he be ok?" Dean hated the way his voice wavered, hated the weakness

"The outside wounds are just scratches on the surface – internally he is a mess – his system is shot to hell – he was high when they attacked him and we couldn't even operate on him till we had gotten all the drugs and alcohol out of his system" the doctor paused, letting Dean take it all in "I won't lie to you Mr Winchester – your brother is going to need long term care and rehabilitation – it could take months – even a year – to get him back to anything close to normal"

"Normal huh?" Dean's laughter was forced and a little choked "I'll settle for that Doc – cos that is really all he's ever wanted to be"

TBC