Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or its characters; I only play with them to amuse myself and those who enjoy the story.
Author's Note: I am so sorry that I left you all hanging for so long with this story! My brain just wouldn't go anywhere with it, so I left it alone. Hopefully, this will not disappoint! Don't read if you are sensitive to the subject of rape, craziness, or are too young to be reading this! Reviews are appreciated as they encourage me to write faster! Enjoy!
Bobby was pretty sure that he'd broken every speed limit between his salvage yard and the county hospital. Dean continued to draw in shuddering breaths and release occasional whimpers, his fingers becoming more lax in their hold on the sheet and Bobby's pants. He was horrified at the tears that continued to fall down pale cheeks and the blood that dripped from the boys lips and spread from his throat.
The battered old truck flew into the emergency lane of the hospital, tires screeching to a halt. Bobby catapulted from the truck, screaming for help. Without waiting to see if he was heard, he began to slide Dean's limp body from the bench seat. He hefted the young man into his arms and ran for the doors to the ER, leaving the truck door wide open. "Help me! Somebody help my son!" he shouted.
They were swarmed by doctors and nurses, and just as suddenly as they came, they were gone, taking Dean with them. A nurse was helping Bobby to a chair, a clipboard of paperwork in her hands. "Sir, if you'll just fill those out, we can get things moving for your son," she spoke softly. The older man nodded and began to complete the standard paperwork with shaking hands. He took the finished papers to the receptionist, unaware of anything other than his fear for Dean.
The nurse at the desk took the clipboard, sympathy clear on her face as she glanced from Bobby to the bloody papers. She disappeared through an office door and returned with blue material bunched in her hands. "Why don't you go wash up and change your clothes, Mr. Singer? I'll keep an ear out for anything about your son while you clean up," she offered, pushing the bundle into his shaking hands. Bobby simply nodded and staggered towards the restroom. He stared at his reflection, taken aback at the sight of himself. His face was pale, his blue eyes wide and panicked. His flannel shirt was buttoned up wrong and smeared with blood and he'd forgotten his ball cap. This would be funny if it was anyone else he thought as he washed Dean's blood from his hands. He quickly changed into the scrubs the nurse had given him, put his bloody clothes in a garbage bag, and then headed back out to check for news on Dean.
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It had been silent in the house for almost two hours. Or at least, that was by Sam's best calculations. He was frustrated and overwhelmed with the sheer amount of emotions that he had experienced as a result of his earlier actions. Part of him was angry for giving in to his desires while another part felt shame at listening to what a demon had taught him.
One thing was for sure, Sam knew himself, and he knew that neither demon blood nor Ruby had anything to do with what happened with Dean, no matter how much he wanted to put the blame on anything or anyone other than himself. He had wanted it, pure and simple. He could admit to himself that he had looked at his brother in a very non-brotherly way for several years. He assumed Dean had similar feeling towards him since they were so finely in tune with one another, and Sam had never considered that Dean only saw him as a pain in the ass little brother.
Another side of him argued that Dean had not reacted favorably because he had been badly injured and Sam had exploited that weakness. A part of him wanted to track down Bobby and his brother and talk about what had happened and hope that Dean wanted that kind of relationship with him. Sam knew that even if Dean was unsure of his feelings, or was caught in the "it's wrong" argument of why they shouldn't sleep together, he knew for a fact he could manipulate his brother into at least trying to have a relationship.
Bobby, on the other hand, had looked at Sam with absolute disgust on his face. Again, the logical side of Sam rationalized that, of course Bobby would be upset, they had made a huge mess out of his spare room, not to mention Sam had ruined the stiches the older hunter had painstakingly put into Dean's stomach. That was all, everything would be fine. A small part of Sam's mind realized that his thoughts made no sense and he was terrified. I'm going crazy. Nothing will ever be fine again.
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Bobby had been waiting for what felt like hours. Looking for any kind of distraction, he'd indulged himself in strong hospital coffee and was currently debating with himself if coffee could be stale. His tactic for distraction worked so well that he practically jumped out of his chair when the nurse touched his arm. "I'm sorry, Mr. Singer, I didn't mean to startle you," she said softly. Bobby blinked tired blue eyes up at her, then gathered his wits enough for a reply. "No, it's okay. Any news on my boy?" She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, you want go up and see him?" He was on his feet in an instant, the tiredness wiped off his face. The nurse took his actions as a yes and began to lead him towards an elevator that led to the ICU.
Bobby could admit to himself that he was worried; she hadn't said Dean was fine, just asked if he wanted to see him. Fear began to curl the older man's stomach and his face scrunched up at the thought that this could be the last time he saw his boy. The nurse noticed his sudden rigid posture and sour face. She offered him yet another smile as she patted his arm. "He's going to be okay." Bobby felt the agonizing need to beg her for a promise that that was true. Instead, he gave a gruff grunt of acknowledgement and nodded. Her smile only widened as she continued rubbing his arm.
The elevator doors parted and she pulled him into the quiet hallway. Bobby was always uneasy with how quiet and still the ICU wards were. He was led down a short hallway to a room where the blinds where closed over the glass and it was fairly dark in the room. Was it night already? He could hear the beeps and whirs of machines and the whoosh of the ventilator from the doorway. The nurse prodded him in the back gently. "Go on, the doctor will be here to talk with you in just a few minutes. I thought you might want to see him first." Bobby again nodded his gratitude towards her.
He stepped into the room in a complete daze. Dean lay pale against the sheets, the ventilator pushing air for him. Bobby crept closer to the bed, almost fearful of waking the young man up, even though he knew that wasn't possible. He was sure Dean was sedated. He gently picked up a limp hand, first examining the bruises that wrapped around his wrist, then the hospital band that stood out stark white against the purple skin. Dean Singer. God, I wish I could have spared both of these boys from this life. And maybe we'd be going fishing or something instead of this. He stared at the band for a few more minutes, thoughts of Sam and Dean being normal young men, his boys to have brought up differently. He was still angry with John for raising his sons as hunters, but knew that if he had let them be normal they would never have graced Bobby's life. Guess the bastard did do me a favor.
He returned his eyes to the boy in front of him. Dean's left wrist had matching bruises to the right, and he noticed the same mottled purple creeping from his right shoulder to his throat. The hospital gown covered whatever injuries littered his chest and stomach, but Bobby's eyes were drawn to the mass of white bandages that covered the left side of Dean's neck, from his chin to his shoulder. His face sported a single bruise on the right side, and four smaller bruises on the left. After a moment of staring, Bobby recognized the marks for what they were: Sam's hand.
He was jerked from his musings by a short knock on the glass and someone clearing their throat. He turned to meet the dark eyes of a middle-aged woman in a white coat. She nodded to him. "I'm Dr. Bourke, Mr. Singer. I am the treating physician for your son. We need to talk about what happened to him," her voice was strong and confident, but not overwhelming. She reminds me of Ellen. Bobby squeezed Dean's hand before reluctantly following her out of the room and down the hall to her office.
TBC…. Please review!