Chapter 6

Before she could say another word, Sam enveloped her in a strong embrace. He never felt more alone then he did right now, and was more desperate for familiar human contact then a junkie desperate for the next fix. Standing nearly a foot shorter, she returned the affection, knowing how much Sam needed it right now. But she also knew she didn't have a lot of time.

"Sam, you're crushing me, can you ease up a little? I can't breathe, and people are staring."

"Oh, sorry. You have no idea how happy I am to see you," Sam told her, finally letting her out of the bear hug.

"I think I got a pretty good idea now," she retorted. "Listen Sam, I don't have much time to talk."

"How's Dean? Is he alright? Can I see him?" Sam asked all these questions in one breath, with a little more than a slight urgency in his tone.

"Whoa, slow down. One question at a time. No, he's not alright. I don't even know where to begin. He's in radiology right now, but I don't need to see the x-rays to know he's probably got a skull fracture, broken ribs, and that leg, well, that speaks for itself. I think his spleen has ruptured, and he doesn't have any feeling in his leg. That means one of two things, neither of which I like very much. They're taking him directly to OR, on my orders, so I can try to fix this mess. I've got an ortho specialist on the way to try and piece those jigsaw puzzle leg bones back together. There's a lot of muscle and nerve damage, and the longer that leg wound stays open, the higher the risk of infection. If that happens, that leg will be toast. I wouldn't normally be this blunt, but since you're no virgin to this, and you did go to the John Winchester School of Medicine, I'll cut the crap and give it to you straight. I'll know more when I open him up and take a good look inside. You wanna tell me what the hell happened? How did this get so fucked up. Did I not give you enough specifics?"

"You gave us all the specifics. Dean was, uh, not feeling well and kinda didn't follow your advice about not looking into her eyes.. It obviously went all downhill from there."

"Yeah, well, when did Dean ever listen to my advice?"

"Once, when he was eleven, I think"

"That wasn't advice Sam, I told him that if he didn't stop trying to watch me in the shower, I was gonna kick his ass until his nose bled."

"And he took that advice, didn't he?"

"If you say so. I think he was more worried about being beat up by a girl. I was bigger then him then, you know."

"Not much bigger, and I think he weighed more than you. What are you, hundred pounds soaking wet?" Sam chuckled.

"Ha Ha. Very funny. I can still kick his ass, and yours. Brief me, quickly, Sam on what happened, I need to know. And what do you mean, he wasn't feeling well. Are you saying what I think you're saying? Was he hanging out with Jack Daniels or Jim Beam?"

Sam relayed the events of the last two days as quickly as he could, hoping he didn't leave any important details out. When he finished, she just shook her head.

"Good 'ole Jack. Figures. Dean's gonna be pissed you put that body in the trunk of his precious car. Listen to me Sam. I know you feel the need to attach your ass permanently to one of those chairs over there until we're done, but you need to finish what was started here. You need to salt and burn that body. You can't leave any loose ends. Even dead, we don't know if she still has any kind of hold on Dean. I don't want to take that risk while I'm performing major surgery on him, and I don't think you want to either. You know as well as I do that nothing is really dead until you've salted and burned it."

"But I can't just leave, not knowing what's going on."

"Yes you can Sam, because I'm not going to let anything happen to Dean. We are going to be in there for hours, and I do mean hours. The sun will probably come up well before we're done, and it isn't gonna do you any good to sit around here obsessing about what's going on in there, especially when Dean's blessed baby is sitting out there all alone with some major prison time rotting in the trunk. I think you've got enough problems with the law anyway, who needs more? If anything happens, I will call you immediately. I promise."

"How am I supposed to get back to the car? I rode here in the ambulance. I sure as hell can't walk it."

"Stop whining Sa, I'll take care of that. You wait right here." She walked back through the double doors to only God knew where, returning a few minutes later with a young nurse in tow.

"Sam, this is Iris. Iris, this is Sam. Iris has agreed to drive you back to the car on her way home, since her shift is over. She goes right past there, so it isn't out of her way. And she said she'd be more than happy to do it. She's ready to go if you are, Sam."

"I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be. You promise you'll call if anything happens?"

"In a heartbeat. Don't worry Sam, just take care of business. Iris, do you mind bringing your car up the door, I have a few more things I need to talk to Sam about?"

"Sure, no problem. I'll be right outside those doors."

"Thanks Iris, I owe you one."

"I'll remember that doc," she insisted as she walked away.

"Sam, here are my keys. When you pick up the car, go and check out of whatever flea-bag motel you two were staying in, and go to my house. Here's the address. The code to the garage door is 3572. Pull in the garage, and take that body to the back yard. I have a large fire pit there. There's plenty of salt in the kitchen in the cabinet above the sink, and gas for the lawnmower is in the garage. Salt and burn that bitch in the fire pit. Then I want you to take a shower and get into some dry clothes. Your soaked and filthy. I don't need you getting sick too. Have something to eat, the refrigerator is all yours. Put your gear in one of the upstairs bedrooms, doesn't matter which one. You'll be staying with me. Try to get a couple hours rest, and I'll see you back here later. If we're finished before your back, I'll call you, but I highly doubt it."

Sam's head was swimming. He was almost grateful that someone else was taking charge and giving orders, he didn't think he could right now. "You sure are bossy, you know that?" He joked, feeling a slight sense of ease for the first time tonight.

"I know. I wonder who I learned it from."

"I got a pretty good idea," Sam finished, and left to compete his mission.

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Sam saw Iris sitting in her car, right in front of the doors, exactly where she said she'd be. He groaned inwardly when he saw she drove a bright purple Dodge Neon. It wasn't saying "Hi" to him, it was saying "Yeah right buddy, you are so not gonna enjoy this ride." He wasn't sure he'd even be able to get his whole body in, let alone ride in it. "Oh well, I've been in worse, I think," he sighed to himself as he pulled on the door handle.

Mercifully, Iris had already put the seat back as far as it could possibly go, which still wasn't far enough. Sam climbed in, knees pressed hard against the dashboard, and head pushing it's way out the top. He felt like Fred Flintstone's Dino trying to catch a movie.

Iris pulled out of the hospital parking lot, and headed in the direction of the old farmhouse. Sam wasn't really looking forward to being back there again. He'd be happy if he never saw it again. He couldn't get the vision of Dean lying there broken and bleeding in the grass from his mind.

Iris broke the silence. "So, you guys were checking out the old farmhouse, huh?" Sam just looked over at her and shook his head in the affirmative. She was a young girl, probably a little younger than Sam, but not much. Her shoulder length, brown hair pulled back into a plain pony and sad brown eyes screamed wallflower to him. She wore no make-up, no jewelry, and her plain white scrubs made her look just, well, plain. 'Always a bridesmaid, never a bride' was Sam's first impression.

"That was your brother we were just working on?"

"Yeah, it was. Were you in there with him?"

"Yes, I was. He's a very strong willed person, isn't he?"

"You have no idea. What makes you say that, anyway?"

"He woke up and tried to pull the tube out of his throat. He obviously didn't like it much. Dr. Carpenter yelled at him though, that seemed to do the trick. He just dropped his hands like they were hot rocks. She's just got one of those voices, you know? She can be an authoritative bitch sometimes. He was semi-conscience when they took him to radiology. That was the last I saw of him."

"He tried to pull out the breathing tube? What an ass. He's such a pig-headed jerk."

"You really don't mean that, do you Sam. You know, people just say things like that as a defense mechanism to hide the pain, fear, and uncertainty they are really feeling in situations like these."

Sam thought about that for a moment. What was she, some friggin' wanna be shrink? "No, I don't mean it. Honestly, Dean is the most stoic, self-sacrificing, courageous person I have ever known. He is always putting others in front of himself. He puts himself in harms way to save other people from pain and misery, and I know he would die for total strangers if it meant they could live. He's always trying to protect me, he never thinks about himself, and sometimes that scares me. I'm afraid of what would happen if I lost him, he's all I have left." Sam was spilling his guts to a perfect stranger, and didn't know why. He didn't care either. She opened the floodgates, and it was all just flowing out, and he was helpless to stop it.

"He sounds like a wonderful man Sam. I could see that back there. He was in so much pain, but he still held his shit together."

"How do you know he was in pain?"

"Dr. Carpenter asked him. He couldn't speak, but she did the old "squeeze my hand yes and no" bit. And I think she could see it in his eyes. She could read him like a book, and he was reading her too. I almost thought I could tell what they were thinking. He has very expressive eyes. He seemed pretty coherent though, and I think that's a good sign. You're very lucky to have each other Sam. Some people never have that kind connection with anyone, ever."

"I think I'm luckier then Dean is." Sam knew that was undeniably true. He was lucky to have Dean. And God forbid he lose him now.

"I hope I get to meet his when this is all over, he sounds like a extraordinary person."

"Maybe you will," Sam answered. He wasn't sure that would be such a good idea. Dean wasn't the sharing and caring type when it came to women, more of the Wham Bam Thank You Ma'am type if guy. Don't get close, don't let anyone in.

"So, how long have you known Dr. Carpenter? You're obviously not strangers."

"We go way back. I've know her for as long as I can remember."

"Well, don't worry. She'll take good care of your brother."

"I know she will."

Sam was more than thrilled when he saw the Impala in front of him. He was starting to get a little creeped out by this conversation. He was also grateful that there were no cops in sight. Either they hadn't come yet, or they just didn't care. Hopefully, they just didn't care. Then there would be no explanations necessary,

"That's your car?" Iris asked, surprise in her voice.

"That's Dean's car. It's his baby. Treats that car better then he treats himself."

" I can see that. He's wrecked, the car's mint, oh, sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud. Well, it was nice talking to you Sam. I'll probably see you around. I'm sorry to say, I think your brother will be staying with us for a little while."

"Thank-you Iris. Thank-you for everything."

"It was my pleasure Sam, any time."

Sam was more than relieved to be free of the little purple deathtrap and stretched out in the lap of luxury of Dean's metal beast. The familiar feel and smell a small comfort. He waited until Iris was well out of visual range, and left the comfort of the car to check on the contents of the trunk. Thankfully, they were just as he had left them.

Returning to the driver's seat, Sam cranked the engine to life and pulled away from the god-forsaken house he'd wished he'd never laid eyes on. He headed in the direction of the motel, intent on getting their stuff quickly and getting the hell out of there.

The drive to the motel was long and silent. No obnoxious banter. No snarky comments. No overplayed radio. No nothing. Just Sam, and his thoughts. And Sam alone with his thoughts was not a thing good for Sam. His mind drifted back to when Dean and he were kids. Dean always protected him from the nasty things that went bump in the night. Sure, their dad had taught them to hunt, but Dean was the one that watched over Sam while he ate, drank, slept, and lived. He began to wonder if Dean ever really had a life of his own, or was his life just an extension of Sam's.

He quickly entered the motel, hoping the lobby would be empty. It was nearly one in the morning. Who could possibly be around anyway? Thankfully, the lobby was dark and deserted, not a soul in sight.

Sam crept as quietly as he could, like a teenager sneaking back in after a late night rendezvous. Entering the room, he was grateful that the power had been restored. There was no way he was cleaning out that room in the dark.

He rounded up their stuff quickly, booted up the laptop to Mapquest Lou's place, and scribbled a note to leave at the front desk. With everything in check, he shut down the computer and exited the room. Stopping at the desk to leave the note and keys, he left.

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The directions to Lou's house were easy enough to follow, until Sam was out of town. The rural roads were mostly unmarked, with houses were few and far between. He thought for sure he'd missed his turnoff, he'd been driving so long.

The yellow sigh appeared in front of Sam so fast, he had to jam on the brakes not to miss the road he needed to take, sending dirt and gravel in every direction as the Impala fishtailed all over the road. Quickly regaining control, he turned onto yet another desolate stretch of road, in search of some indication there was a house somewhere out here.

It was at least a mile, maybe more, before Sam saw a mailbox. Slowing to a crawl, he read the numbers 329 on it. This was it, it had to be the place, the mailbox the only indication a house even existed. He turned and made his way down the long, winding driveway.

A look of surprise struck Sam's face when he saw the house. It wasn't an ancient relic like the houses that usually graced the landscape of the rural Midwest, but a rather large, newly constructed, two story beauty.

Sam pulled all the way up to the garage, locating the panel on the side of the door. Punching in the code Lou had given him, he was relieved when the door started rolling up it's track. He knew for sure now he was in the right place.

Sam got back in the car, turned it around, and backed it into the large, empty space, careful not to hit anything. Dean would kill him if he scratched his car, and Sam didn't want to give Dean anymore wounds than he already had. The car was a part of Dean after all.

He hit the button that would lower the garage door, and dug the house keys out of his pocket. He unlocked the door, and entered the house. He felt weird being in this house alone, like he was some kind of violator coming to desecrate it.

He found himself in what appeared to be a large laundry room/pantry combination. That room led to a large kitchen. Rummaging through the cabinet above the stove as he was instructed, he found exactly what he was looking for right were he was told it would be.

The kitchen had a large patio window that led out to an elevated deck. Down the stairs of the deck, Sam found the fire pit that would double as a crematorium tonight.

He went back to the garage, locating the full can of gas. He fully intended on using every last drop. He popped open the Impala's trunk, cringing at the smell emanating from inside. "Oh shit, I hope that's not permanent," Sam said to himself, his voice breaking the oppressive silence. It made him feel better to talk to himself, made him feel less alone.

Grabbing a roll of duct tape he'd found, he taped the black bag under the corpse closed and dragged it from the trunk, not caring how or where it landed. He grabbed the bag with the head, picked up the gas can in the same hand, tucked the salt under his arm, and took the body by the feet, dragging it through the kitchen and out the door.

Sam felt a sick satisfaction as he dragged the body down the stairs, hearing a distinct crunch with each step he descended. Finally down all eight stairs and on the ground, he continued on towards the pit.

The pit was about a foot deep, dug down to make way for some decent bonfires, or salt and burns. This was Lou's house after all, salt and burns were more likely. He dragged the body just up to the edge, but didn't shove in quite yet. Taking the head out of the bag by it's hair, he hurled it into the pit, enjoying the sickening hollow thump he heard when it hit bottom.

He then bent over to unwrap the body, once again taking in the smell of death. Suddenly, an overwhelming anger overtook him, and he was instantly transformed into a frenzied mad man. He just started kicking whatever life may have been left in the bitch out. Each kick harder than the last, Sam finally fell breathlessly to the ground when he was completely exhausted and could kick no more. He took a few moments to compose himself, got up off the ground, and with one last forceful kick, landed the destroyed mess of bone and flesh into the pit.

Dumping in the whole box of salt and the entire can of gas, he struck a match and tossed it in, igniting the pyre. He fell to the ground and just watched her burn.

"Go to hell, right where you belong bitch. That's what you get for fucking with a Winchester." Sam wasn't moving from that spot until the last flame burned out.