As Sam drove towards the Budget Best Inn, Dean drove away from it towards the hospital and Garth, who didn't know what to do, remained parked on the side of the road. Dean didn't answer his cell and while Garth was certain Dean was fine, he couldn't leave without knowing Sam's brother was alive and well. While fleeing from Sam was the desired option, as he felt the more distance between them until the brothers were reunited the better his limbs chances stood to not resemble a pretzel, he couldn't do it. He couldn't leave if there was even a hint of a possibility Dean was in trouble.
So Garth drove until he found a bar and seated himself at a table with an order to the bartender to keep the rounds coming.
Dean arrived at hospital, parked in the visitor's lot and entered the ER.
Sam found the motel and began a search for a '67 black Chevy Impala.
The hospital was the last place Dean wanted to be. The ten minute drive felt like it'd taken an hour and he couldn't suppress several yawns as he made his way down the hall. He hoped no one on duty would recognize him from his earlier visit. It'd been long enough for a shift change to occur, hadn't it? He should be able to gain possession of the damn phone and slip out before any questions were asked or suspicions roused. That was his plan.
Perhaps he should have had a talk with himself and told his body the plan. Perhaps either himself or his body would have suggested he take a moment to peer into a mirror and take a good look before he oh-so-nonchalantly strolled through the ER doors or perhaps either might have suggested he pay closer to attention to the looks and gasps and whispers from the people sitting around the waiting room when he passed through on his way to the information desk, bypassing the triage counter. Perhaps he might have been informed he should have paid attention to that nagging voice in his head that always sounded suspiciously like Sam about counting pills and the minutes between before taking more. Perhaps he would have been warned that it hadn't been a good idea to continue to allow Garth to pop his shoulder back where it belonged after his first failed attempt and perhaps….well perhaps….it might have been pointed out to him maybe he shouldn't have rushed from the car, through the doors and down the corridor…..because the floor was hard and unforgiving and yeah…..he didn't belong there.
***000***
Finding no Impala in the parking lot of the Budget Best Inn, or any surrounding side street, Sam entered the motel office. He left the car running; anyone dared to steal it, he'd shoot them. That was the kind of mood he was in. He was tired and cold and hungry and tired and worried and angry and tired and pissed and he couldn't spit the taste of blood from his mouth and he was tired and livid that Dean continued to elude him and the drug-addict behind the counter dared to give him an attitude?
Huh, scrawny little dude with a skinny neck and a head bob that reminded him so much of Garth….and if he couldn't wrap his hands around Garth's neck and squeeze, well….the next best thing was right in front of him, sneering at him with that curled, pierced lip and…..did he just quip some cliché at him? Really?
"Doesn't ring a bell?" Sam groused, grabbing the kid by his gelled-spiked hair and banging his forehead against the counter. "Tall dude. Blue jacket. Black car. Checked in two days ago…..any bells ringing yet?" another smack. "How about now?"
"Okay!Okay!Okay!" the kid whined. "Yeah, yeah…right….yeah he's here….checked in…..room 137…. now let me go."
Sam blew his breath out, a bit troubled that he found it hard to catch and tossed a five dollar bill onto the counter. "Buy yourself a pack of Marlboro's."
"Hey!" the kid yelled indignantly. "Five bucks? Dude, a fiver won't even buy generic….."
Sam glared, threw another five towards the corner and slammed out of the office. He let himself into room 137, noticing several things upon gaining entrance from picking the lock. The room was cold, or maybe he was, so he bumped the heat up. The room had two beds, one of which showed signs of someone being on it – if not in it. The room contained Dean's duffel, coat and laptop but no one else's. A soaked towel lay on the bed, cold to the touch, ice all melted.
Calling Dean's cell – again – and receiving no answer – again – he made use of the spare bed. His brother – and it sure as hell had better not be Garth – was sure to come through that door eventually and if Sam were awake, he'd be greeted with a fist, if Sam were sleep, he'd be greeted with an irritated stare and a sloppily slurred, 'where the fuck have you been'.
Either way, he would face the wrath of Sam.
It didn't take long for Sam to fall asleep. He'd made the drive two days ago but man…..after the ER experience he was exhausted. Dean had better be ok when Sam finally got his hands on him because he was going to have to drive them home.
Home. Aaah… such pleasant dreams….the library with its leather chairs and comfy sofas and walls lined with shelves full of books and maps and journals; the kitchen with its large and numerous bins and cupboards and drawers that stored enough food to keep Dean fed for a well-fed Dean was a happy Dean. The gas stove and large fridge and recently added toaster oven and microwave….a dishwasher would be nice. Get Dean on that when they get home. The bathrooms, yes, plural, with an always/never-ending supply of hot water, get Dean to add a Jacuzzi tub while he had on his handy-man's apron.
And….the phone, the ringing phone….man…sometimes…..no….wait, wait…the bunker didn't have a land-line phone. Not that he had found anyway. Oh, no….not a phone….his cell phone with its generic ring that identified no one …..what the….? Aaah, he thought, let it go to voicemail...but no, the fog cleared from his sleep-fuddled brain and he answered. It could be someone with information on Dean.
"H'lo?" he slurred sleepily, nestling his cheek against the pillow. "Dean? This you? Where you at?"
"Hello, to whom am I speaking, please?"
"Yeah?" he mumbled with a yawn. "Who'se this?"
"Would you be Sam?" she didn't want for affirmation. "Sam, this is Eileen Pointer, RN, at Mercy Hospital ER."
He was wide awake, sitting upright and swinging his legs to the floor. "My bro…..Dean?" he'd heard this spiel before, not long ago, from the same freaking hospital. No way could this be happening again.
"I'm sorry to awaken you sir, but you are listed as an emergency contact on….." she went on, ignoring his bumbled attempt to interrupt. "…..into the ER…"
"Dean's in the ER?" he cut in coldly, all patience gone. "Again?"
"We need you to come in….."
"So, this isn't about my brother?"
"Sir?"
He forced himself to take several deep breaths and calm down. He needed to hear what she was saying but reason did not win the mental battle with anger being waged in his brain. He was going to kill Garth. Slowly, painfully, and without remorse. It had been a hunt. A simple every day, run-of-the-mill, routine, salt and burn hunt. How could Garth possibly have found a way to screw it up? There was no other possible reason for Dean to be in the hospital – the same hospital – twice in one day. Least he thought it was still the same day. He didn't really know….didn't the fucking room have a fucking clock so he could see the fucking time and what the fuck was she saying now?
"….is your brother sir?"
"You…you're saying my brother is in the hospital?" Sam got out. "Again?"
"Sir?" she asked confused.
So, they didn't know they'd seen Dean earlier or the day before or….. "Did he come in alone?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm on my way to get him. And lady, you'd better still have him when I get there."
***000***
"Dean Smith."
"You're….you…I'm sorry, you're who?"
Dean frowned, blinking up at the bright light. Wait, he was laying down? "Huh….Dean…Dean Smith….." he repeated, his brow furrowed in confusion. How many times did they need to hear him say it? "I was here earlier….my partner was brought in with a smashed-up hand….I think...I left my cell phone here…." he raised his head, looked around, looked down and used his thumbs and forefingers to lift the sheet. "Aaww…fuck…..not again." he groaned. He was naked, striped-of-all-his-clothes naked, lying on an examine table in the hospital ER, clothes nowhere to be seen, his head hurt and...
"Just relax sir." the nurse soothed. "You're in the ER but you're going to be fine." she gave him an encouraging smile and picked up the wall phone. "Dr. Miffler please."
Dean's frown deepened. Who the hell was Dr. Miffler and – the overhead speaker cackled to life – why was he being paged? Neither he nor Garth had seen a Dr. Miffler and if he hadn't seen Dean as a doctor treating a fainting patient in the ER, why did he need to see Dean now that his name was known?
"Dr. Miffler will be right with you." the nurse smiled politely. "You just relax…we're waiting on some test results from the blood lab but it appears you might have been overcome from the discomfort of your shoulder."
"I don't understand. I don't need a doctor. I'm not here to see a doctor. I lost my cellphone…just point me in the direction of the lost and found department and I'll be on my way." Dean argued but being naked save for a sheet wasn't doing anything to convince her. "As soon as you GIMME back my clothes!"
"Dr. Miffler would like to speak with you." she had that smug, patient, fake smile that had she been male, Dean doubted he'd have fought the urge to slap right off her face. "He'll be but a moment."
"Fine, fine….fine….hey in the meantime, could you point me towards lost and found? Well, you know, after you gimme back my clothes?" he was starting to feel better, stronger and the need to flee was his first priority. Flee before they somehow found a reason and a way to call Sam...again.
"Describe your phone for me sir, and I will call down and see if one like it has been turned in."
Dean was not getting his way and frustration threated to override his calm demeanor. He wanted his phone and he wanted it now. He gave the nurse the description and struggled to sit up while the call to lost and found was placed. The nurse spoke briefly, smiled, nodded her head and hung up.
"It is there." she announced and before Dean could make his own announcement that he would go retrieve it and return – not that he would – she went on to say someone was on their way up with it. "Now…now….relax…..here, would you like to sit up?" she raised the head of the examine table slightly. "There, is that better? Do you feel dizzy or light-headed? Nauseous perhaps? No? Good, that's good, very good." she chatted away. "Would you like some water? How about we try ice chips first? See how you do with that."
"Yeah, sure." Dean growled. He felt and groped for the sheet and eyed the distance to the door. He could clutch it about his waist and make a run for it; he'd just need to hike it up to his knees to keep from tripping. "Look, I'm fine. Really….just a day of you know….home-made pain-killer." yeah, they'd believe that, half a bottle of rot-gut whiskey to dull the throb in his shoulder. That and….oh. Uh-oh…..how many ibuprofen had he taken? And was there a way they'd know? How many were too many and considered an attempt on one's life? No….oh, for pete's sake…no. He hadn't taken that many, surely not a bottle or even half the bottle….maybe eight or twelve….definitely not more than sixteen. And he'd only taken ibuprofen…hadn't he? Right? Right!?
OH DEAR GOD! What if this Dr. Mifffler was a shrink, from psyche...on his way to commit him?! He had to get out of there..RIGHT NOW!
"Mr. Smith." Dr. Miffler held his hand out. "May I have a moment of your time?"
"Well, I'm rather in a hurry…..not that it appears I'll be going anywhere anytime some. Where are my clothes? Better yet, why ain't I in them? I mighta passed out but I'm fine and ready to leave."
"I wish to talk to you about….."
"Is this about Garth?" Dean let his eyes close. Huh, sitting up seemed to be disagreeing with him. "Man, I'm gonna wring his scrawny neck….."
"Are you associated with a Sam Smith?"
"Sam…..Sam…..who….whoa...wait a minute, hold up….what?" Dean stuttered. Sam? He wanted to know about...Sam? So, not a pysche doctor. "Sam….as in…..my Sam?"
"Sam Smith." Dr. Miffler watched him closely. "So, you are acquainted with him?"
"What about him?" he asked warily. "You….you didn't call him did you? Oh God, not again….how? You got him on speed-dial? Geesch!"
"I don't understand." Dr. Miffler waited but when Dean didn't clarify, he continued. "I was hoping you could tell me more about him. I don't see how he possibly could have walked into this hospital on his own but we haven't….."
"Walk? He walked…..wait. Are you saying...no." Dean shook his head. "He couldn't have walked...not my Sam...not into this hospital….when?" his mind whirling with calculations, he didn't pay the doctor much attention. Even in his tired, pain-filled, confused state, he knew there was no possible way Sam could have received a phone call - either time - in Lebanon, and arrive in Lemay unless…Cas?
"I agree." Dr. Miffler said firmly. "But he did..."
"No, he didn't." Dean disputed just as firmly. "He couldn't have...I mean...he'd have to have already been...here." couldn't have been Sam. Not without Cas and Cas was...fuck, he couldn't think straight. Why couldn't he think straight? Just how many ibuprofen had he taken and what shelf had that liquor come from? "He's not in town...he's...home...in Kansas."
"Mr. Smith, are you saying...the reason you believe Mr. Smith did not walk into this hospital is because you believe he's not in town?" Dr. Miffler stepped aside so the nurse could approach with the cup of ice slivers. "I just require a few more moments of your time to ask some further questions and then I will leave so they may get you settled. Now…."
"Huh? What? Settle me? Settle me where?" Dean pulled his attention back to the doctor who patiently waited for answers. "Uh…..yeah." he rubbed at his forehead as his head began to pound with a vengeance. "Aahh, tall guy, mop of brown hair? He's my brother but…he wouldn't be here." he started to raise his arm, caught the movement with a wince and bit back a gasp of pain. "He's….not in town…with me." he obediently opened his mouth for the insertion of the spoon loaded with slivers of shaved ice.
"Apparently, he came in response to a call placed to him regarding…..you."
"Me? Well, ok yeah, I was here…..but…..he…..I mean no, we live in…he couldn't have been here. It's what, an eight-hour drive and….." he trailed off as thought overwhelmed speech. "Was he alone?" he asked. The doctor shot him a look then nodded. Dean growled. If Sam had walked into the ER - alone - because the hospital contacted him when Dean had kissed the floor the first time, he'd already been in town. "I'll kill him." Dean muttered. "I'm gonna kick his ass to Mexico."
"It would appear someone has already done so. His test results….."
"Wait… HIS WHAT?!" Dean braced his weight on his good arm with his palm against the mattress and pushed himself upright. "Did you say tests? He had tests? He allowed that? Was he admitted?"
"Oh yes. Yes, indeed he was. Admitted that is." Dr. Miffler frowned. "The damage to his lungs and the internal bleeding, his blood pressure and white cell count, along with the swelling of his….."
"Where is he?" Dean interrupted. No sense sitting around being asked questions he could never explain. He had to get to Sam and get him the hell out of the hospital. "I need to see him. NOW!" and he would just as soon as he found his clothes. "AND where the HELL are my CLOTHES?"
"Yes, yes, well see, that's simply not possible." the doctor sighed. "We don't have him."
"Say what?"
"I called three surgeons for a consult…..by the time they got to the ER…he was gone."
Dean flopped back against the mattress, groan turning into a grin. Good ole Sammy.
"We need to find him. I've contacted the local authorities. Your brother is a very ill man. His injuries….."
"Yeah, yeah…yeah." Dean waved him off, no longer actively listening to a word the doctor was saying. "Oh…uh….huh? Authorities? What the…no…no need….I know about his illness….he's uh…under a doctor's care…."
"Really?" the doctor responded doubtfully. "May I have his number?"
"Sure…sure…..soon as I get my cellphone." Dean supplied smoothly. "And my clothes." even out-of-the-blue, Kevin would be able to weave some cockamamie story to temporarily satisfy the doctor so Dean could make his escape even if clad only in a sheet.
"So, you're aware of his…..condition?"
"Yeah, yeah….he's….you know…young. He'll…..uh….well, what do all the experts say?…youth and all that."
"Mr. Smith. I think you fail to understand the severity of your brother's condition. You need to take this seriously."
"I do." Dean said quietly. Sam had been in town when the hospital had called. He'd walked into the hospital in response to the call and apparently had walked out again. Dean was missing something….something didn't make sense….something didn't add up. "How…..did he…..? He submitted to treatment? Why?"
"No." Dr. Miffler was studying him closely. "He became quite agitated with the nurse at the desk when she couldn't tell him where you were. Before it could be explained to him that you were no longer here….he began to cough up blood and he passed out."
Must be something about the ER's floor that attracted Winchesters.
"Aah, there's your phone. Let's see about finding your clothes. Perhaps you can attempt to contact your brother while I call his physician."
"Sure…sure." Dean took the phone, hugged it with his hand and resisted the urge to kiss it. "Okay, here we go, Dr. Tran." he read off the number and the doctor wrote it down on the clipboard he held. "My clothes?" he prompted the nurse. Ten missed calls, five voice mails, at least fifteen texts with a question mark. Oh yeah, Sam was floundering off in the deep end all right.
He thumbed history, curious to see what time the hospital had called Sam….let's see…..okay, there…yeah, no way Sam had made it to the hospital from Lebanon. The lying, sneaky son of a bitch had already been in Lemay when the hospital had called. The question was why and where the hell was he now?
He'd have his own motel room…so…..
"Hey…..you have yellow pages anywhere around?" he asked the nurse who offered him more ice that he greedily accepted.
"You mean, a phone book?" she asked. "I suppose…..no one uses it anymore, do they? Do you require a cab? I'm not sure the doctor has authorized your release but if he allows you to leave, we have a cab company we always call."
"Say what?" he became aware the nurse was talking to him and he hadn't been listening. "Yeah, sure…huh, no."
"You have someone you can call to come pick you up then? We don't let patients who faint in our hall and regain consciousness drive themselves off hospital property."
"I didn't faint! And I wasn't unconscious!" Dean seethed. "Not then! I mean, I was but now I'm not and then I wasn't and not then!"
"Relax sir, no need to get excited." she tsked-tsked, offering him more ice. "Now….."
"Get away from me!" he threatened. "Good God, leave a man alone why don't you?"
Now that he had the doctor's phone number of the man who defied modern medicine, Dr. Miffler left the room to place a call and the nurse gave up her attempt to coax Dean into eating more ice and went in search of his clothes. Finally alone, Dean scrolled for Sam's number. He really needed to add it to speed dial. He wanted to simply send a text but two things stopped him: One, Sam would blow up should he receive a smiley-face on the screen - and he would, for Dean would be unable to resist baiting him - and would use more than his fist to thrash Dean's ass when the inevitable fight happened and Two, Dean couldn't see clearly enough to make out any of the letters to try to type. His thumb was ready to hit send when the phone rang in his hand.
Garth.
Dean wavered…..he really wasn't in any mood to deal with Garth. Though…..well, there was Sam. If – because Dean was having a hard time believing he was – if Sam was in town, in his current state of mind and the way he felt and crossed paths with Garth….…..Dean would have to unknot Garth from a position that would make a Cirque Du Soleil performer jealous.
"Garth…this better be good."
"Sam's in Lemay." Garth promptly said. "I don't know how or why or when but he's here and I think he's mad."
"You think?" Dean asked, amused despite the situation. "Tell me Garth, what was your first clue?"
"Uh, nailing my toes to a roof and hanging me upside down and tying my arms into a French knot and I think he threatened my face with his fist and oh yeah, wishing to see me in traction. I gotta tell you Dean, I don't think I like your brother much."
"You've spoken to him?"
"Oh yeah, he called." Garth said breathlessly. "I'm not coming back to meet you. Gonna give him some time and a lot of distance to cool off."
"Naw….he's harmless." Dean chuckled. "But dude, seriously, eat a burger…...you know? Maybe have a side of fries and a chocolate shake. You put some weight on and he won't be able to twist you like you're made of play-doh."
"Ha-ha…not funny!" Garth disagreed. "I'll see you a postcard from….you think maybe Arizona's far enough to run? Or maybe Mexico. He can't cross the border into Mexico, can he?"
"Yeah, Garth, pretty sure he can." Dean struggled not to laugh outright. Scared of Sam? Sam. Really? "Not like if he crosses the line, he'll go poof!"
"No…..I meant…..he doesn't have a passport and his fake credentials wouldn't hold up to…."
"Garth….hey…..hey…..easy pal, calm down." Dean coached. "You're good…Sam can't cross the border into Mexico….."
"Good to know." Garth breathed in relief. "Whew man! Had me sweating!"
"Legally." Dean finished, laughing out loud at Garth's wail. "Sorry, sorry…..yeah…..couldn't resist…seriously Garth….he ain't coming after you so chill out."
"You sure?"
"Yup. He's going to be too busy trying to kick my ass to worry about you."
"Maybe not right away…" Garth paused. "Just…..he was freaking out over you being at the ER, you know?"
"Yeah, I bet he was." Dean sighed.
"You know where he is?"
"No…..but the hospital's looking for him, called the cops."
"So, that's not good."
"Working on getting back to him, you go on back to the motel."
"Hell no. That's probably where he is." Garth took a breath. "Look Dean, remember that odd object Casper had in its hand when it threw you down the stairs? You should be more careful, you know. Fighting at the top of a flight of steps isn't wise..."
"Garth." Dean warned wearily. "No wandering off on a tirade, huh?" he hadn't been the one to make the error at the top of the steps that had resulted in his tumble to the bottom. It had been Garth. Best Sam never found that out.
"I had a call in to a buddy, another hunter, good guy…..likes to read and do more research then hunt but…."
"Garth, the path, get back on track here buddy."
"Right, right, you're probably tired and want to get some sleep. How's the shoulder? Oh, by the way, Sam knows about that too and yeah, he wasn't happy. He yelled at me Dean. Man, you shudda heard him. Heck when he called, he pissed my phone off. Did you know a phone can have an angry ring?"
"You just told him?" Dean cut in. Nothing new there, never could hide anything from Sam. "Just popped right up in conversation, huh?"
"Sure….yeah, right." Garth sounded perplexed. "Sam wasn't happy Dean. Does he ever yell at you? I gotta say, I was glad he was on the phone….gentle giant Bobby once described him. I think not. Why he….."
"GARTH!" Dean barked. "Sitting naked in the ER here, got one hand…..get to the point."
"Right, right….it didn't touch you did it?"
"Casper? Yeah Garth….you watched him do it." Dean said bitterly. A fighter Garth was not.
"Yeah, yeah, ye…NO, no, I mean no!" Garth backtracked. "Not the ghost….the talisman in its hand."
"No…I don't….I…..why?"
"Dude….did you get a good look at it? Would you recognize it? You know, if you saw it again? Like, in a picture?"
"Yeah….yeah, I get you Garth." Dean frowned. "Why?"
"It was a talisman to ward against evil….."
"What?" Dean cut him off. "Evil? I'm not evil? How could anyone think me evil?" he asked affronted.
"Not you, you. You as in the person wishing the holder of the talisman harm." Garth explained.
"It was a spirit Garth…they can't wield talismans." Dean said exasperated. "And if they could, I doubt it'd have any powers or have the ability to do me harm. Now, look….I…."
"So, it did touch you? How do you feel? Do you feel ok? Soon as I find a safe haven from Sam, I will research…."
"Garth, there's no need." Dean broke in hastily. "I can recognize it and Sammy's happiest when researching. So cool dude, we got it covered." he looked up and smiled at the girl who hovered in the doorway with his clothes in her hand, so involved giving her a wink and saucy grin, he missed whatever Garth had said and he didn't feel the need to ask him to repeat it. "Yeah, my clothes are here so let me go….."
"YOU'RE NOT GONNA TELL SAM!" Garth shrieked.
"Garth….Garth…..Yo, Garth!" Dean eyed the nurse. Yeah, he was gonna need help getting dressed. "Calm down buddy. Look, wherever you are….stay there. Let me get outta here and catch up with Sam. I'll give him a call once I'm in the car, okay?"
Dean had no reason to suspect the staff had taken his phone and placed a call to Sam before it'd been handed over to him so he had no idea Sam was on his way to the ER to get him.
"Yeah, look, here's the doc to release me. I'll call you in a bit." he hung up and grinned up at the doctor. "So, can I go?"