Chapter 5

"DEAN!" Sam screamed after his brother as he watched in horror. He couldn't believe he had just seen his brother nose-dive out a second story window, and into darkness. He ran to the window and looked out, trying to get a glimpse of Dean through the pouring rain. The rain was too heavy, and the night was too dark. He couldn't see anything.

"It's too late, he is mine. He was mine the moment I saw him this morning. I could see it in his eyes. There is nothing you can do about it." She sneered at Sam, growling almost like a rabid dog.

'Shit, Dean saw her this morning' Sam thought, but he couldn't figure out how, or when. They'd searched the whole house and come up empty. Then it hit him, Dean was the only one in the attic. He knew Dean had subconsciously been under her spell all day. Then he thought about what she had just made his brother do, and all he saw was red. The red of rage.

It was that rage that drove him to swing his machete with all his might, aiming for her throat. He didn't even think or hesitate. It was a quick, fluid motion, and the only thing she had time to do was strike a look of shocked disbelief on her face. A look that would remain on it forever. As her head lolled to the side and landed on the floor with a hollow thump, her body dropped to it's knees, slumping over in the opposite direction.

Sam didn't wait around for the show. He just dropped the machete and bolted out the door. Desperate need to find his brother propelling him, he raced down the stairs as fast as humanly possible. He felt like he was in some horrible nightmare, the kind where you're running, but going nowhere.

Reaching the front door, he threw it open with such force he splintered the wood at the hinges. Out into the pouring rain he ran, searching the ground for any sign of Dean. There was nothing, anywhere.

Sam was becoming frantic when it finally dawned on him. The master bedroom windows look out the back of the house. He was on the wrong side. He turned around and ran back into the house, figuring it quicker to cut through.

He was running as fast as his legs would carry him. He forgot about the pool of water in the kitchen, until his foot hit it, and he was ass over face on the floor. "Shit!" he yelled. Scrambling back to his feet, he was pretty sure that was gonna leave a bruise somewhere. Regaining his balance, he ran out into the night, still searching the ground for his brother.

He finally found him, about ten feet from the house, laying in the overgrown grass, his body deathly still. Sam reached him quickly, not liking for one bit what he saw. He knew this was bad. He knelt down next to his brother, instantly hearing the ragged breathing coming from his lips. "Thank God you're still alive. Hang on Dean, I'm gonna get help," Sam told him, hoping he could hear him.

Reaching into his pocket for his phone, he flipped it open, intent on calling 911. He didn't notice Dean open one eye and look at him, but he did just barely hear him whispering. "Did you get her Sam? Did you get that bitch that just made me play Geronimo?" He choked out the words, blood trickling from his lips.

"Yeah, I got her Dean. Don't worry. She won't be a problem anymore."

"Good. Help me up Sam, we need to salt and burn her. We can't leave this unfinished," Dean said, actually making an effort to sit up. Sam knew that wasn't going to happen.

"You're kidding, right? You are not getting up Dean. You're staying right there and I'm calling an ambulance. I don't think my medical expertise will ever scratch the surface on this one." Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. His eyes were telling him one think, his brother's lips another. Dean obviously didn't know how bad he really was.

"I'm 'k Sam, really. I just need some help sitting up. Help me up so we can finish this. I wanna get back to the mo….." Dean couldn't finish what he was trying to say, his body started jerking violently with horrible convulsions. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he had stopped breathing.

"Oh Shit, Dean. Come on man, breathe. Don't do this to me." Sam was trying to hold his brother down, but it was use. His body writhed on the ground like a worm on cement after a hard summer rain, desperately trying to get back underground. He knew he couldn't wait anymore. He flipped open the phone and punched the numbers.

"911, what's your emergency," the droning voice barked at him. The voice that was his only possible rescue from this nightmare.

"I need help, my brother fell from the second floor window of the old farmhouse on Rt. 173. He's in bad shape. He must have hit his head pretty hard. He's having some kind of seizure. He has blood coming from his mouth and I don't think he's breathing! Please, hurry!" Sam was becoming panicked as he helplessly watched his brother jerk and twitch on the ground.

"Sir, calm down. What's your name?" The operator asked, her voice becoming soft and compassionate.

"Sam," he answered, trying to calm himself.

"Ok Sam, I need you to check if your brother's breathing. Can you do that for me? If he isn't, you may need to begin rescue breathing for him.?"

As she asked the question, Dean's body relaxed, going still and lifeless. Sam heard him draw in a gagged breath, though, indication he was finally breathing again. "He's breathing now, please, just hurry!" Sam could hear the operator starting to say something, but he closed his phone, turning his attention back to Dean.

Dean's strained voice was the what he heard next. "Sam, listen to me." It was such a whisper, Sam barely heard him. "You have to hide that body. Don't let the cops find it. They'll wanna know what we were doing here, and we can't explain it. Go, do it now before they get here. Hurry up, I'm fine."

"But Dean…"

"NO BUTS SAM, JUST DO IT!" It took all the energy he had left, and that was the last thing Dean would say before he passed out.

"This so sucks out loud!" Sam shouted. Making sure Dean was still breathing, he ran into the house, up the stairs, and into the master bedroom, trying to mentally figure out what the hell to do with the body. He knew Dean was right, they couldn't let that body be found. Feeling he had no other options, he grabbed the head with one hand, and a leg in another, and dragged the body down the stairs and out to the Impala. Popping open the trunk, he laid out a black garbage bag over the floor and stuffed the body into it. Shoving her head into another bag, he tucked that away also. He slammed the trunk closed, locked up the car, and ran back to his brother's side.

He finally took in the full extend of Dean's injuries as he stood there staring at him. He had pieces of glass of varying size embedded in his face, chest, arms, and hands. All of which were oozing blood at a pretty steady rate. Mix that with the rain slamming his face, he was one big, bloody mess. His favorite leather was missing, allowing for one very large piece of glass to lodge itself in his left shoulder. He also had blood trickling from his mouth and out of his right ear, down his neck.

None of that compared to the right leg though. A blind man could have seen that it was broken. The bone tore a hole in the denim as it cut it's way through the skin, leaving little pieces of tissue behind in it's wake. It jutted out like a mountain peak, and the denim was soaked with blood. A lot of blood.

Sam just stared at his brother, his face contorted in obvious pain, even in unconsciousness. "Where the hell is that ambulance," he screamed, hoping to hasten someone's arrival. It felt like forever since he'd called for help.

Like the answer to a prayer, he heard the sirens off in the distance, getting closer with every passing second. Reluctantly leaving his brother's side, he ran to the end of the driveway, knowing full well they'd never find Dean in the dark. Not in this storm.

He waved down the driver, beckoning him as close to Dean's broken body as possible. Over the grass they drove, through the mud, until he stopped them a few feet from his brother's side. The two EMTs climbed out of the ambulance, both carrying various pieces of equipment. "What happened here buddy, can you tell me?"

"My brother fell from that window up there. He's messed up pretty bad, He had some kind of seizure before you got here, stopped breathing. Started breathing again on his own when it was over. He must have hit his head pretty hard. I think maybe some of his ribs are broken too, he was breathing pretty ragged before the seizure hit him. And the leg, guess that one's obvious."

"Jeez, you a med student or something, you got a lot of detail in there?" The medic was surprised. Usually, he was answered with nothing but hysterics.

"Just been through this too many times before," Sam said, letting out a deep sigh.

"Has he been out the whole time, or was he conscience?"

"He was alert before and after the seizure, then he just passed out."

"When he was alert, did he know who he was, or did he vomit?"

"Yeah, he knew who he was and who I was," And that we needed to hide the body of the piece of shit they'd just killed. Coherent enough to make that priority number one. "No vomiting."

"That's good. OK, let's see what we got here. BP ninety over fifty, pulse 120, pupils are responsive but unequal. Slight bruising under the eyes. Let's get him into the bus and outta the rain. The sooner we get him to the hospital the better. Harry, get a collar, backboard, and bring the cot. We need to move it before we drown." The medic told his partner.

Harry took off, quickly bringing back the necessary items to immobilize their patient and ready him for transport. "Phil, you get the collar on, I'll brace that leg."

"When you're ready, say the word." Phil replied.

When both men were finished, they started the task of getting the backboard in place. One at the shoulders, one at the hips, they turned Dean's limp body enough to slide to board under him, pulling the straps as tight as they could without cutting off circulation. They did not want him going anywhere, not that he could. Once they had Dean loaded on the board, they lifted him onto the waiting cot. The ground was so muddy now, they just collapsed it and carried it the few feet to the awaiting ambulance, loading it in with almost no effort.

"You riding with us, or you gonna follow?"

"I'm riding with you. I'm not leaving him, and I don't think I could drive right now anyway," Sam said in a shaky voice. He couldn't seem to hold his hands still either.

"Don't worry kid, we got some of the best docs in the state here. We're gonna have to go to the southern end of town though, the roads all west of here are flooded. That's what took so long to get here. Hop in, we're ready to roll."

"Thank-you." Sam climbed up into the ambulance, Phil behind him, and Harry into the drivers seat. Within seconds, they were off and running, siren screaming, going as fast as they could in the downpour. Sam was grateful just to be headed away from that god forsaken house.

"What's your name kid?" Phil asked, trying to occupy Sam's mind.

"I'm Sam, he's Dean. How far is it to the hospital?"

"Gotta go a little out of the way, but it'll be worth it. Mercy's got the best medical staff in the state, maybe the whole Midwest. Easy on the eyes too, if you know what I mean," Phil gave Sam a mischievous wink at that one, hoping to lighten the mood. Sam gave a slight smirk back, knowing exactly what he meant by that.

"Yeah, well, Dean hates hospitals, so whatever it takes to keep him there, I'm all for."

"Hey Harry, who's manning the ER tonight?"

"Who do you think, same one's manning it every night, The Iron Maiden." Harry answered.

"Lucky man, your brother. Best doctor they've got, and if I may so, I'm sure she'll keep him there for a while. He may not want to leave."

"Don't count on it," Sam huffed. She better be one hot doc, or he'll be outta there the first chance he gets.

Sam's thought was broken by the pounding he was suddenly taking to the knees. He was so lost in his thoughts that he never noticed Phil screaming at Harry to pull over. "He's seizing again, Harry, pull over!"

Even strapped down to the board, Dean had found a way to go into violent convulsions. He was jerking hard enough to break the strap over his chest, which was hitching up and down like someone was torturing him with a tazer. And his lips and face were turning blue. After a few agonizing minutes, he was deathly calm again, but one thing was very different this time. There was no desperate gasp for air, no ragged breathing, no nothing. This time, he didn't start breathing again.

"He's not breathing Harry, we gotta bag him," Phil called for his partner, who climbed in the back, just behind Dean's head. Grabbing the tube, he gently slid it down Dean's throat, attaching the bag and began pumping air into Dean's uncooperative lungs. Phil felt for a pulse, relief showing in his face when he found one, weak, but there. "I'll bag him, just drive!"

Harry didn't waste any time, and was back in his seat and on the road faster then Sam could comprehend what had just happened. When it finally hit him what he had just seen, Sam couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe what was happening. How had this night turned into such a disaster. He knew how though, but really didn't want to admit it to himself. Dean got careless, and when Dean gets careless, Dean gets hurt. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and over his face, hoping that it was all just a bad dream and he would wake up any minute. The longer he sat there feeling every bump the ambulance hit, the more real the whole situation became, taunting him that it wasn't a dream, it was very, very real

"Don't worry kid, they'll have him up and around in no time," Phil said Sam. 'If he lives' he thought, knowing the situation was even worse then it looked, and it looked like a train wreck already.

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Eternity wasn't as long as the ambulance ride in Sam's mind. He thought he'd rather burn in hell for all of it than experience that again. The sight of someone else doing Dean's breathing for him was almost too much for his brain to take. He'd only seen it once before, and once was enough.

The ambulance backed up to the waiting bay, as two nurses waited to open the doors and bring their patient inside. Phil followed along side, still pumping the bag, the only oxygen Dean's haggard body was getting. Sam was right behind them, fully intending on following them wherever they took Dean, even if it was straight to hell. He didn't want to let him out of his sight, or he just couldn't.

Sam heard a few of the words Phil spoke, like seizure, tracheal intubation, intraparenchymal hemorrhage, cyanotic, blah, blah blah. And when had he started that IV? He heard, but wasn't listening as Phil relayed the severity of the situation. His mind had pretty much shut everything out, and his body was now on auto-pilot. He didn't notice the petite nurse that stepped in front of his as they rolled Dean through the double doors to the medical bay, and he almost knocked her over.

"Excuse me, sir. I'm sorry, but you can't go in there. They need all the room they can get. Do you think you can answer a few questions for me, they will help us treat your friend better."

"My brother," Sam corrected her.

"OK, your brother. Can you tell me his name?"

"Dean, Dean Kilmister," 'Oh, Dean, you'd be so proud of me', Sam thought. Dean would appreciate that one.

"Ok, Mr. Kilmister, do you know your brother's blood type?"

"A , no he doesn't have any known allergies, and he's not on any medications. He doesn't have any diseases and he's not a drug addict. Anything else, or does that about cover it? Can I go see my brother now.?" Sam didn't really have patience for this. He just wanted to be with Dean.

"I'm sorry, but until the doctor comes to speak to you, you'll need to wait right here. Can I get you anything?"

"Yeah, a backstage pass to the greatest show on earth. My brother dying without me."

"Mr. Kilmister, please try not to think like that. We are going to do everything we can for him. And Dr. Carpenter is the best. If anyone can help him, she can."

"I hope your right."

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The trauma room was bustling with activity. Phil's pumping of the ambu-bag had been replaced by a portable ventilator, which was filling Dean's lungs more efficiently. His lips and face were no longer tinged blue, but were dark red, mostly from the dried blood. A nurse were plucking out pieces of glass from Dean's head and face while another was attaching leads to a heart monitor.

"Can someone cut these pants off so I can get a good look at this leg, and call radiology. Tell 'em were coming with a severe trauma patient and have a unit ready when we get there. I don't wannna be screwing around in there. Call upstairs and get an OR ready. Who's the ortho specialist on call?" Dr. Carpenter barked one order after another, knowing every second counted.

"Dr. Klein is on call, should we page him?"

"No, call Dr. Scott, I want him here ASAP. This is not gonna be an easy one. Tell him I need him here, and he owes me one, no, make that two. Tell him to get here yesterday! You get that heart monitor going yet?"

"On now," the nurse said, flipping the switch that brought the machine to life.

"Good, get that shirt off too," she told another nurse as she started to examine her patient.

The heart monitor started screaming at just that moment, warning them all that something was terribly wrong. "Shit, he's awake, he's trying to pull out the damn tube! Hold his hands down!"

One of the nurses tried to pull Dean's hands away from the tube, but he was fighting her with every ounce of strength he had left in him, which considering his current condition, was quite a bit. He partially awoke, and felt like he was suffocating. He had to pull the damn thing out, if it was the last thing he did. In his fight, he ripped the IV line out, sending blood shooting in every direction as his hands flailed at the tube that was currently choking him.

Dr. Carpenter wasted no time in handling the current situation. "DEAN, GET YOUR HANDS OFF THAT DAMN TUBE RIGHT NOW!' The authoritative tone pierced through the haze in Dean's brain like a bullet, immediately making his hands go limp at his sides. She hovered over his face as close as she could get and looked him dead in the eyes. He recognized that voice, and those eyes. "You keep your hands off that. It's the only thing supplying your body with oxygen at the moment." Then, in a much softer, more compassionate voice, she went on. "Just relax, and let it do the work for you for now. I don't want to have to go into the waiting room and tell your brother that you died because you wouldn't leave the breathing tube alone. Now please, let it and us help you. Do you think you can do that?"

She took Dean's hand in hers, and continued. "Squeeze my hand once for yes, twice for no, OK?

He squeezed once for yes.

"Are you in a lot of pain?"

Once again.

"OK, can you tell me where?"

One squeeze.

"Your head?"

One.

"Ribs." She gently pressed against his right ribs.

One

"Abdomen." Starting at twelve o'clock above his navel, she felt clockwise until she got to two o'clock.

One. A hard one.

"Legs?"

Two.

"Did you just squeeze my hand twice Dean. Does that mean no?"

One again. Oh shit. She went to place Dean's hand down, when he squeezed it one last time, this time, holding on for dear life. She just looked him in the eyes, wordlessly relaying her concern, and gently placed his hand onto his chest.

"Radiology and OR are ready Dr. Carpenter, and Dr. Scott is on his way." One of the nurses told her, seeing the look in her eyes at Dean's last response.

"Let's move it then, I want a complete set, head to toe, and make sure they take the vertebrae from T-1 to T-12, then bring them up to OR. Get him prepped while I go talk to his brother, and I'll be up to scrub."

"I can go talk to the brother if you want.." one of the nurses began to volunteer.

"I want to talk to him myself. I'll be up there before he is. Now go."

"Just relax Dean, we'll make this alright'" she whispered to him, then left the room.

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Sam was pacing the waiting room like wolf on the prowl. Every second pass he made across the room, he stopped to look through the windows to see what was going on. The curtains were closed, he couldn't see shit. After about the millionth pass by the window, he finally saw activity. She was still wearing her mask when she came through the doors, but would Sam know that red hair, those intense hazel eyes, and that determined swagger anywhere. She took off her mask and started to speak. Sam cut her off.

"Lou?" He asked, not for lack of knowledge, but lack of belief.

"Yeah Sam, it's me. Let's talk."