Thanks everyone for reading! This chapter is in Dean's POV, so I hope everyone enjoys! Please let me know what you think, it really means the world to me! Hugs, Ember
Chapter Two
I shouldn't have let him go. Dad drilled it into my head from the time my mom died to protect Sammy, but I let him walk out the door. Now two and a half hours have gone by and he's still not back. Sure it's only a twenty minute drive to the nearest diner, and sure even in bad weather the most it should have taken him is about an hour, but Sam's a good driver. I taught him to drive after all – a fact he threw in my face when I tried to trick him into staying at the motel while I went to get dinner. But for as good of a driver as he is, the painful twist in my gut is screaming that something is wrong.
A million little scenarios flash through my head, every one of them ending bloody. How could've I let him go? If anything happens to Sam, how am I suppose to explain it to dad? How do I explain it to myself?
No – he's going to be fine.
Yeah, this is what I kept telling myself as I stalked a back and forth path in the crappy box of a motel room we rented for the night.
"When he gets back here, I'm gonna kill him," I said aloud, sidestepping a broken chair blocking my path. "I'm taking my car keys away from him, and he's never driving again – not ever." Sure, I sound like a crazy person talking to myself, but that's what people do when they're going out of their mind worrying about someone. "If he was alright, he would've called." Raking a hand through my hair, I glanced toward the door. "He's not alright – something happened to him, and I'm just standing here doing nothing."
Another few treks back and forth in the tiny space, and I'm looking toward the door again. I should have gone searching for him after the first hour past. I should have stolen one of the crappy little foreign jobs parked outside, found him and kicked his ass, but I'm still here – staring stupidly at the door.
"What the hell am I doing? I have to find him." Grabbing my jacket off the chair, I rushed to the door, and threw it wide open. A blast of icy air slammed into my face as I stepped over the threshold and headed toward the nearest car. A shiver ran the length of my spine, but whether it was from the cold or from the fear welling from deep within me, I couldn't be sure.
Within a matter of minutes, I'd broken into a dark blue sedan and had hot-wired the engine. After sputtering briefly, the car revved to life. I peeled out of the parking lot, and fishtailed on the road, nearly colliding into a snowbank. With my heart pounding painfully hard within my chest, I eased up on the gas, and maneuvered back into the right lane. It was worse outside than I had first thought. The roads completely covered in slick icy snow, made it almost impossible to stay on the right side of the street. Snow pelted against the windshield faster than the wipers could swipe it away, making it virtually impossible to see more than a few feet in front of the vehicle.
With sweaty hands, I gripped a tighter hold of the steering wheel as the car slipped and slided through the snow, veering dangerously close to a deep trench at the edge of the road. "Sonuvabitch," I swore under my breath, gut twisting as I imagined Sam lying near death in a ditch somewhere.
The sound of my phone ringing startled me from my thoughts, and I hurriedly fished it from my jacket pocket. Sam's name flashed on the small screen, and a wave of relief flooded through me as I hit the button to accept the call. "Sam, where the hell are you?" Sure I sounded pissed as all hell, but Sam knew me well enough to know that beneath my feigned anger I was absolutely terrified. I could hide my fears so well from everyone else. But not him – never him.
"I-I'm at the hospital," he responded after a momentary pause, and I could hear his breath hitch as he went on to add, "This woman's car slid through a stop sign – she hit into the Impala. I don't think there's much damage . . . or maybe there could be. I don't really remember. Think I must've blacked out or something."
Hearing the confusion in his tone as he spoke, my stomach flip-flopped. "Damn it, Sammy, I don't care about the car – just tell me you're alright."
"Mm'okay," he slurred – definitely not a good sign and definitely not okay in my mind. "Concussion, couple of bruised ribs, an' a broken arm . . . no worse than a night of hunting." He chuckled weakly.
"What hospital are you at?"
"Mm'not sure, lemme check." He was silent for several very long moments and then he spoke again. "Wil-sshhire Memorial." I could hear his teeth chattering, and it struck me he had gone outside to check and see what hospital he was at.
"Sammy, what the hell are you doing outside?"
"Ch-checked mm-myself out." His teeth chattered even louder, a clear indication he was still outside in the frigid weather instead of inside where it was warm.
"Dude, get back inside before you freeze to death."
"I just wanna g-go back to the motel an' sleep," he mumbled tiredly, and with that I picked up speed, wanting to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.
"I'll be there in like ten minutes, so go inside and wait for me."
"Mmhhmm . . . ."
Mmhhmm is not what I wanted to hear. Mmhhmm told me Sam needed to not only go back inside the hospital, but also needed to stay there. But like me, he wouldn't stay in a hospital unless his legs weren't strong enough to carry him out of there. And even then, he would probably convince me into signing him out against doctor's orders.
"Just stay awake for me, Sa – " The words died abruptly on my lips, and my mouth dropped open as the headlights of the sedan reflected against the crumpled hood of my Impala. Two men busied themselves hooking up the wreckage that once was my perfect baby to a tow truck. My teeth clenched, watching one of them kick the flattened front tire.
Gut reaction – I hit the brakes. Upon reflection – so not a good idea.
The right front tire hit a patch of ice, and the car spun round and round like one of those puke inducing carnival rides before I once again gained control of the vehicle and brought it to a complete stop. One of the workers headed toward the sedan, but before he could make it halfway across the road, I hit the gas and took off. From the rearview mirror, I saw him scratch his head in confusion, and then after a moment he trudged back to the tow truck.
I laughed . . . don't ask me why. Not like any of this whole screwed up night is humorous in the least – course it was one of those sorta hysterical my brother's in real bad shape and my car's totally fucked up kind of laughs, but hey, at least I'm not crying.
It took a little longer than I'd expected, but finally I pulled into the hospital parking lot, and saw Sam leaning against the wall with his head lowered. With a slew of curse words, I ground the car to an abrupt halt at the ER doors, flung the car door open, leapt out of the car, and rushed over to him.
"You look like hell, Sammy."
Okay, now that I've become Captain Obvious, it's time for a little game we Winchesters like to call 'How Many Injuries Can You Spot Before the Injured Party Passes Out'.
Check list:
bandaged forehead – equals concussion – √
stitched left cheek – √
swollen left eye – √
arm holding ribcage protectively – injured ribs – √
cast on left arm – broken limb – √
limping and favoring right leg – possible sprained ankle – √
Diagnosis – Captain Obvious is right, Sam looks like hell.
"I thought I told you to wait inside for me – just for once it would've been nice if you'd listened."
"Can we just go, Dean?" he asked without looking me in the eye. "Please . . . I really wanna go."
My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach. Usually if he's trying to push me into doing what he wants those sad little puppy-dog eyes come out in full-force, but when he's trying to hide something from me, he's never been able to look me in the eyes. He wasn't telling me something. Something was definitely wrong with him, and he was purposely keeping it from me. Right here I could have pulled rank, could have said we weren't going anywhere until he told me what was the matter, but in true Winchester fashion, I gave a curt nod and said, "Alright, Sammy."