Chapter Ten

Deacon kept his word and waited until the Winchesters were miles away before calling in the Feds. By mid-morning the grounds of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital were crawling with Federal agents, state and local police, paramedics, and television news crews. Staff members from the North Hall were arrested and their victims placed into protective custody, transferred to the safety of Marshalltown's general hospital. The body of the late Doctor Arthur Bates was locked in the back of a black coroner's van. Director William Findlay's office in Cathcart Hall was searched and files containing information on nearly thirty missing youths were found. As the photographs were matched to a young man or woman, one file seemed only to belong to a ghost. The boy in the photo, with his shaved head, glaring green eyes and long nose, was not one of the young people found in the North Hall. Known only by the code M-BSPN666, his identity remained a mystery and speculation on who he was spread like wildfire. The FBI's official statement was that the young man was almost certainly dead. The unofficial belief of many of the agents who had read the boy's file was that he was alive somewhere because his rare blood type made him a precious commodity to those who sold organs on the black market.

Despite all the attention the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital was getting, the nighttime rescue mission was never mentioned. Who would believe the orderly who'd been attacked by Caleb Blacker and found inside one of the locked rooms? Who would listen to the nurse who had Ellen Harvelle's shotgun pointed at her for over a half hour before the group of hunters had left the building with the young man whose face became known to every American watching the news that morning?

John and Dean didn't listen to the radio, nor did they turn on the television. All they cared about was the youngest member of their small family. Even though both men were exhausted, sleep was the last thing on their minds.

Sam was lying on his back on Bobby Singer's old brown couch, a pillow underneath his head and a warm blanket tucked around him.

The veteran hunter had practically demanded the Winchesters stay at his house, knowing that if he didn't say anything John would just take the boys to a string of motel rooms and God knew Sam didn't need that right now.

W

Dean had carried Sam out the front doors of North and across the lawn of the hospital, a grim smile on his face and tears in his eyes as he pressed his brother's body to his chest. John trotted right along beside his eldest son, his face pale and concerned. No one said a word but silently formed a protective circle around the three Winchesters until they had put Dunhill behind them.

When Dean reached the Impala he got into the backseat without hesitating; Caleb helping him in so that he could still hold onto Sam while sliding along the leather-covered bench seat. Sitting on the far side with his brother lying beside him, Dean cradled Sam's head in his lap. John hadn't entered the car immediately, talking quietly with the men and woman who had helped him rescue his youngest.

Dean didn't listen in. He couldn't stop staring at his brother's face. Sam's already angular features stood out in sharp relief in the dim light coming in through the passenger windows. Dean picked up one of his brother's limp, chilly hands and rubbed his thumb along Sam's knuckles in a comforting way.

After being pressed into promising to keep everyone posted on Sam's condition- even Ellen, who broke down and hugged him- John got into the driver's seat of the Impala and turned to peer at his sons.

"How is he?" John asked gruffly and Dean took a moment before answering. John didn't know about Sam's eyes and Dean didn't think he should tell his father just yet.

"Still asleep," Dean answered vaguely and he laid his free hand on his knee, saddened by the fact that he couldn't card his fingers through his brother's hair the way he had done when Sam was little.

"Bobby's invited us to stay with him," John had said as he turned back around and waited until all the other hunters but his mentor had driven down the road and out of sight.

Dean didn't even remember being surprised at that pronouncement, even knowing about the fight the two men had had after Bobby had suggested that John be more of a parent instead of a Marine. It wasn't any secret to Sam and Dean that Bobby thought that John should wait until they were older before teaching them to hunt, that he should let them be the children they were instead of trying to make them boy-soldiers. Bobby would go out of his way to treat Sam and Dean like kids whenever the two Winchesters stayed with him, making them macaroni and cheese, playing board games with them and even taking them to the local video store to rent movies. Bobby had a 'no training' policy at his house that often infuriated John when he returned and found that his son had not been practicing at all. Eventually their father had had enough of Bobby undermining him- John's words- and had cut ties with the veteran hunter, not speaking to him for years until his old mentor had shown up at the Roadhouse after getting a call from Ellen.

Dean had looked up when the Impala started moving, placing one hand on his brother's chest lightly to prevent Sam slipping off the seat.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean had muttered to his sleeping sibling, "We're not going to let anyone hurt you anymore."

The five hour drive to Sioux Falls seemed like five years to Dean; the hours trickling by slowly as he waited for his brother to wake up. Every so often- Dean was pretty sure it was every ten minutes- John would ask how Sam was and receive the same answer.

Dean had breathed a sigh of relief once they passed under the rusted sign at the entrance to Singer Salvage and rubbed his brother's chest.

"We're here, Sammy," he whispered, "We're at Bobby's."

Dean refused to let the two older men help as he wrapped his arms around his sibling and shuffled awkwardly out of the back of the Impala. Knowing he wasn't wanted at the moment, John had opened the trunk and grabbed the duffel bags.

Once inside the house, Dean had settled Sam on the couch, knowing that his brother would not be able to navigate the stairs when he woke up. Bobby took extra blankets and pillows from the linen closet so Sam would be as comfortable as possible.

John sat down in one of Bobby's armchairs and just watched his youngest son sleep. Dean lowered himself onto the floor beside the couch and held onto his brother's hand protectively.

Bobby, realizing that the only one who was going to get any sleep that night was Sam, went into the kitchen and prepared the coffee maker for a long-haul.

W

Dean stared into his empty mug, frowning at the dark ring of dried coffee at the bottom. John was dozing in his chair, chin propped up by the heel of his hand. Bobby flipped idly through a thick tome sitting on his desk, squinting at the book in the early morning light.

Dean immediately turned to look at his brother up when he felt Sam's fingers twitch in his. Leaning forward, Dean grimaced as he felt the beginnings of pins and needles in his butt.

"Sammy, hey, you with me?" he asked as his younger brother's eyebrows furrowed in response.

John snorted and woke up at the sound of Dean's voice in the quiet room. He pushed himself off his chair and landed beside his eldest son, shoving the coffee table out of the way.

"Sam!" He exclaimed, excited and anxious.

Dean rubbed his brother's knuckles as Sam's eyes moved beneath their lids.

"D-Dean?" Sam asked; his voice barely audible.

Dean smiled, "Yeah, Sammy, I'm right here. I've got you."

"Sam? Son?" John shifted closer to his youngest boy and put a hand on his chest.

Dean watched as Sam propped himself up on his elbows, hissing in pain and tried to sit up.

"Let me help," Dean gripped his brother's upper arms and pulled him into a sitting position, leaning his back against the pillows for support.

Sam took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. Dean frowned at the sight of his brother's milky irises and John felt the air rush from his lungs, felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He grabbed his youngest son, holding onto the eighteen year old tightly, Sam's face pressed against his broad shoulder. Sam did not reciprocate the embrace but simply remained limp in his father's arms. Dean could see his brother's grimace in pain and he closed his milky eyes.

"Sam," John whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I never should have let you go."

SPN

Sam felt the tenseness leave his shoulders as soon as he heard the front door close behind his father.

Sam hadn't been sure how John would react when he realized he couldn't see. He had expected his father to be angry- John's default emotion- and had been shocked when his Dad had instead been apologetic, nearly crushing him in a rare hug.

Sam had become nervous, shifting in John's hold as the moments passed, unused to his father displaying such emotion. John's words cut into Sam like a knife; I never should have let you go circling around in Sam's brain in mockery. Over the past weeks, Sam had said similar phrases to himself- I never should have left- knowing that they wouldn't change what had happened.

Thankfully Bobby had taken pity on the youngest Winchester and cleared his throat, catching John's attention.

"I got some stuff to get in town, John," he explained, "An' I wouldn't mind the company."

Sam had held his breath until he felt his father released him and heard the older man stand up. Dean sidled into the spot vacated by their father, still holding onto Sam's cold fingers as the two elder hunters walked out the front door.

"Sammy, you okay?" he heard his brother ask, Dean's warm breath tickling his ear.

"Yeah," Sam sighed and tugged at the collar of his t-shirt with his free hand, realizing that he was still wearing the clothes they'd given him at the hospital.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam asked, turning his head, "Can I change out of these clothes?"

Dean squeezed his hand, "Sure thing. I have your duffel bag upstairs."

Sam's eyebrows raised in shock, "You found my duffel? I never knew what happened to it after… after I got taken."

Sam flinched slightly when Dean patted his shoulder and then lowered his head, blinking as tears formed in his eyes.

"I thought you wanted to get into some clean clothes," Dean's voice scolded amusedly from above Sam. He must have stood up.

Sam nodded and pushed the blanket down towards the end of the couch. Swinging his feet onto the floor, Sam felt his heart flutter in his chest for a moment. Reaching out to where he thought his brother was standing; Sam grabbed a handful of Dean's shirt and got shakily to his feet.

Sam's knees felt as if they were made of Jell-O and the incision in his side sparked with pain at his sudden movement.

"Maybe I should go grab your duffel and bring it down here," Dean suggested and Sam felt his brother's hand on his, ready to pull his fingers away from his shirt.

"NO!" Sam exclaimed and he felt Dean go rigid.

"No," Sam said again, quieter, "Don't leave me down here alone."

Sam could almost envision his brother's furrowed brows, his pinched eyes as Dean said, "Sam, you're shaking like a leaf. I don't think you'll be able to get up those stairs- even with me helping you. I'll be really fast and then we can get you into some clean clothes."

Sam bit his lip. He stared straight ahead but the white fog gave up no answers.

"Okay," Sam gave in and sank back down onto the couch cushions. He wrapped his arms around his middle when he suddenly shivered. He listened to his brother's footsteps as Dean headed for the staircase.

Sam's stomach felt hollow and cold, reminding him that he had not eaten anything in a long while. Sam sighed and felt tears well up in his eyes yet again.

Swiping a hand angrily over his face, Sam turned his head in the direction of the stairs, hearing his brother's footsteps.

"You need any help?" Dean asked as his voice came closer until Sam was sure he was standing in front of the couch.

Sam shook his head, "As long as I know where the front is I should be okay."

Standing again, Sam reached his hands out and felt the soft, slightly grainy texture of denim against his fingers; his blue jeans.

Sam lowered the pants, "Dean… did you bring down some boxers?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Dean took the jeans and replaced them with a pair of boxer shorts.

Sam rolled his sightless eyes when Dean commented, "I'll turn around."

After being stripped naked by a couple of complete strangers, the thought of his older brother seeing him without clothes didn't bother Sam in the least. But he didn't say anything to Dean.

Sam shoved the dark blue drawstring pants down around his ankles, balancing precariously for a second as he tried to slip the legs off his feet while still standing and finally kicked them to one side and out of his way. Sam shivered again and quickly pulled the boxers on, feeling a weird sense of relief at having underwear once again.

"Okay, Dean," Sam said, "I need pants."

This time Sam held onto his brother's shoulder as he lifted one foot and set it in the pant leg, pulling the trousers up and then doing the same with the opposite foot, fumbling with the zipper and button for an annoyingly long amount of time when he had the jeans where he wanted them.

"You know, that would have been easier if you had sat down," Dean commented and Sam glared at him.

"Shut up," he growled and pulled the t-shirt up over his head.

"Sam! What the hell is that?!" Dean cried loudly, startling his brother.

"What?!" Sam asked; fear filling his belly.

"That cut," Dean explained and Sam jerked when his brother touched him, just underneath the ribs on his left side.

Swallowing, Sam let the white t-shirt fall to the floor.

"He took my kidney," Sam whispered, suddenly feeling ashamed.

His brother didn't respond and Sam looked up.

"Dean?" Sam croaked.

"Is that… Is that all?" Dean's watery voice asked and Sam shook his head.

"He took blood," Sam's left hand instantly went to the crook of his right elbow, touching the tender skin that was surely still bruised.

Sam sucked in a deep breath, "And b-bone m-m-marrow."

Sam felt his brother's hands on his bare shoulders, felt Dean's warm, coffee-scented breath on his face and wished he could actually see him, even when it was clear his brother was upset. He wished he could see that little vertical line that always appeared between Dean's eyebrows, see the water in his eyes make their hazel colour turn a rustic gold, see his brother's lips turned down in a worried frown.

Sam's eyes pricked with tears and the whiteness seemed to shimmer, "And my sight… he took that last."

Dean pulled his brother into a hug, careful not to squeeze too hard.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean whispered, "I'm so damn sorry."

Sam felt his tears overflow and run down his face. Dean's words, although similar to their father's, did not seem to convey the same meaning and Sam allowed his brother to hug him for a long time.

When Sam began to shiver despite the warmth of the room, Dean let him go.

"Ah, here's your shirt," Dean muttered and Sam felt the soft fabric of a long-sleeved button-up being pressed into his hands.

Sam shrugged the shirt on over his shoulders, stuffed his hands into the sleeves and straightened it. Sam gave an irritated sigh when Dean brushed his fingers out of the way and began doing up the shirt's buttons.

"You want the cuffs rolled up?" Dean asked gently and Sam shook his head.

He sat back down on the couch and sank back against the pillows, his feet on the cushions. His legs trembled and he felt exhausted.

Sam heard Dean shift his weight and sniff, "Can I get you anything, Sammy? Some water?"

Sam nodded and smiled, "Thanks."

SPN

Dean walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Wiping a hand across his face, he peered into the den at his brother. Sam was staring straight ahead, his milky eyes slightly unnerving.

What are we going to do? Dean wondered. He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

Remembering what he was supposed to be doing; Dean pushed away the worrisome thought in his head and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Turning on the kitchen tap, Dean waited until the water was almost icy before filling the cup.

Glancing over his shoulder, Dean noticed that Sam was fiddling with the plastic hospital bracelet still on his wrist. Dean frowned and moved to the junk drawer, fishing a pair of scissors from the mess of elastic bands and batteries, before picking up the glass of water and heading back into the living room.

Dean watched as Sam turned his head, listening to his footsteps.

"Here's your water, Sammy," Dean passed his brother the glass and watched as Sam carefully raised it to his lips, holding it with both hands.

Once his brother had gulped down all the liquid, Dean took the glass and set it on the coffee table.

"Need anything else?" Dean asked, tapping the closed blades of the scissors against the palm of his hand.

"I'm starving," Sam said slightly sheepishly, "I haven't eaten anything since… well, not in a while."

Dean nodded, "Let's wait until Dad and Bobby get back, okay? We should tell them about, uh, what else went down at that hospital."

Sam turned to his brother, "Tell them about the kidney."

Dean lowered his gaze and cleared his throat, "Yeah."

The two Winchesters remained silent for a moment before Dean shifted, "Gimme your right arm, Sammy."

Sam complied and Dean cut the laminated bracelet, letting it fall onto the floor. Bending it over to pick it up, Dean saw the serial number that had been under Sam's picture on the website.

"What does this mean? M-BSPN666?" Dean asked out loud and Sam shrugged, "Identification, I guess."

"Couldn't have asked for your name?" Dean said with a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"It's probably hard to cut someone's kidney out of them if you know their name," Sam whispered, "If you think about them as another person."

"Sam," Dean almost gasped his brother's name, crunching the laminated bracelet in his fist.

Before he could say something sappy, Sam sighed, "I'm kind of tired, Dean."

Swallowing past the lump of emotion in his throat, Dean nodded, "Okay, get some rest, Sammy. I'll wake you when Dad and Bobby come back."

Sam shifted down until his head was resting on the pillow and he rolled onto his right side, hands tucked against his chest. Dean paused long enough to pull the blanket up to Sam's chin and then trudged back into the kitchen, tossing the scissors onto the counter and the bracelet into the trash. Dean stared at the refrigerator before opening the door and grabbing a beer.

Author's Note:

1. Thanks to Lyra152, cold kagome, Samstruck, SPN Mum, Priya723, Sparkiebunny, mandancie, SupernaturallyEgocentric, DjinnAtwood, judyann, 12tree, TheOtherExWife, 2012summerstar, doyleshuny, MysteryMadchen, L.A.H.H, DianaLadris802, sarah, Supervillegirl, Jeanny, SamDeanLover28, Miuda22, Souless666, MyUnlikelyHero, BranchSuper, babyreaper, Shannanagins and Guests for reviewing.

2. Thanks to everyone who alerted, favourited or is following this story.

3. Please keep those reviews coming! This story isn't over yet!