Chapter Sixteen

Was John missing something? He didn't get it. Really, he didn't.

He knew that Sam would be miserable if he accompanied them on hunts so why did the eighteen-year old not jump at the chance to stay at Bobby's?

Why was Sam now so willing to live the life he'd been trying to leave not so long ago?

Sam hadn't been so concerned about being without Dean when he was walking out the door intent on going to college.

John was even giving his sons a month until everything settled down for Christ's sake! It wasn't like he was packing Dean into the Impala and hightailing it out of Sioux Falls as if they had Hellhounds after them.

The confused and frustrated father shook his head as he sat at the kitchen table, beer in hand.

He couldn't help but smile though at the sight of his sons sitting side-by-side on the couch in the living room. Somehow Dean had found a television channel with 'described video' so now Sam could enjoy the shows without having his brother tell him what was happening.

John was amazed at the change in his youngest son's mood. Ever since Rayann Muir had visited, Sam seemed so much happier. At first John wasn't sure how Sam would take to walking around with a cane, he'd thought Sam would reject the idea of needing help, but he was wrong.

Sam moved freely around Bobby's house, even navigating the staircase- something he'd been unwilling to do previously- and the yard under Dean's watchful gaze.

Dean stood up from the couch and entered the kitchen, making it a point to ignore John and opened the refrigerator door, taking out two cans of soda.

"Dean," John called to his eldest before he could leave the room. His beer sat as of yet untouched in front of him on the kitchen table.

"What?" the young man asked, and nearly glared at his father.

"Sam's… uh… he's doing really well, don't you think?" John asked, "It's kind of hard to believe he-"

The eldest Winchester was interrupted in his attempt at sentiment by his son, "If you can't believe it than you don't know Sam as well as you think you do."

Before John could reply, Dean turned away and went back into the living room. John narrowed his eyes at his oldest son.

He was trying, Goddamnit! He was trying to keep things civil! He was trying to take Bobby's advice and think about Sam's position more than his own!

If Dean wasn't twenty-two, John would have stormed into the den and put the boy over his knee. His eldest son had never spoken to him like this before! Ever since Sam's kidnapping, Dean had become more and more disrespectful to him; it was unacceptable.

Forgetting all about his beer, John stood up and left by the back door, stomping down the cement steps and into the yard. Leaves from the nearby trees lay scattered across the grass, red and yellow and orange as a chilly breeze rustled them along the ground.

John's boots crunched over the leaves as he made his way around to the front of the house where he had parked the Impala. Bobby's tow truck was gone- he had left a couple of hours ago to take care of a car that had been driven into a telephone pole in the next town- and wouldn't be home anytime soon.

Sighing, the oldest Winchester sat down in the driver's seat of the Impala and started the engine. He waited until the vehicle had warmed up enough and then quickly pulled out of the driveway.

SPN

Sam tried not to think about his father's ultimatum. It wouldn't help anything to worry about it. Besides, Sam wasn't going to give in that easily. He wasn't going to do what his father said just because John thought 'it was for the best'.

Although Sam loved Bobby like a father and felt that the salvage yard was a second home, Sam knew that when the month was up, he would be leaving right alongside his father and brother.

Sam knew that John would have preferred him to stay with Bobby but if Dean wasn't staying than neither was he.

Dean, bless him, just wanted Sam to be happy Sam knew that his brother would gladly go off hunting with their Dad if that was what he thought Sam wanted.

Sam jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder; he'd been so deep in thought that he hadn't noticed Dean approaching.

"Thinking about Calculus?" his brother asked and Sam blinked, "What?"

"You have this really serious look on your face," Dean explained, "I thought you might be trying to do some really difficult math equation or something."

Sam gave a slight smile, "Not Calculus."

He reached his hand out, searching for his cane he had leaned against the edge of the couch earlier when he'd sat down.

"A little more to your right," Dean commented, his tone belying the fact that he really just wanted to grab the cane and hand it to his brother instead of watching Sam grope for it.

Sam's fingers touched the handle of the cane and curled around it.

"When is Rayann's next visit?" he asked, standing and turning in the direction of his brother's voice.

"Uh, tomorrow," Dean answered. Rayann was scheduled to visit the Singer household every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and every other Sunday. Her first visit had landed on a Friday; forgoing the coming Sunday so Sam had had the entire weekend to learn to navigate with the cane and use the tricks Rayann had suggested for help with eating and personal hygiene.

"Where are you going?" Dean asked and Sam couldn't help but smile at the hint of worry in his voice; he wasn't going to run off, especially not like this.

"I want to go outside," he answered. Sam liked spending as much time as possible in Bobby's yard as possible; Dean had forbidden him from leaving the area until Rayann said it was okay. Though he couldn't see them, the walls of Bobby's house sometimes started to feel as though they were closing in around Sam and with the pervading whiteness obscuring his vision; it didn't take a whole lot for him to recall the whitewashed room that had been his prison as Dr. Bates' captive.

"Okay," Dean said, "Let me get the door for you."

Sam heard his brother's footsteps as he made his way to the front door- a short distance from the living room or exactly twenty steps as Sam counted them- but the screen didn't make its familiar high-pitched squeal of unoiled hinges.

"Dean?" Sam asked, nervous at the silence.

"It's kind of chilly out," his brother answered, "You should put on a jacket if you're going to be outside for a while."

Sam relaxed, "Sure."

Once he'd counted the twenty steps to the front entryway, Sam leaned his cane against the wall and quickly found the door to the hall closet.

The brothers had attached a safety pin to the sleeve of Sam's jacket so that he would be able to find it as it hung amongst the other garments in the closet.

Sam's brow furrowed in concentration as he felt for the safety pin on the sleeve of every coat or jacket he touched. Dean had suggested that they just leave his jacket out so that it would be easier to find and they wouldn't have to wait for Sam to find it but the young man had refused having his coat in a special location. Dean unthinkingly had asked his brother why he wanted to make everything so hard for himself; the comment starting the first fight he and Sam had had since his younger brother had been rescued.

"I need to do this Dean!" Sam had nearly shouted, "It might seem stupid to you but it means the world to me!"

"I never said it was stupid, Sam!" Dean had tried to defend himself, "I just don't see why you have to make things more difficult than they already are!"

"I have to know how to do this, Dean! Now! It's not going to help me if I am suddenly thrown into a situation and have no idea how to maneuver!" Sam had shouted angrily, his blind eyes narrowing in his brother's direction.

"I'm just trying to help you, Sam!" Dean had snarled, "I don't know why you won't let me."

"Because Rayann said I need to do this alone," Sam had tried to calm down, not wanting to fight with his brother, "Because, like it or not, you're not always going to be around to hold my hand."

Dean had been stunned by Sam's words. Of course he knew they were true but unconsciously knowing it and hearing them were different. After that, Dean hadn't said anything more about his brother's 'tests' as he decided to think of them. He knew Sam was right, Sam needed to learn to do things on his own again and helping him would only end up hurting his brother in the long run, just as Rayann had said.

Sam smiled triumphantly as his fingers brushed the cool piece of metal on the sleeve of his jacket and he pulled the garment off its hanger.

"Great, that only took a half-hour," Dean joked and Sam rolled his sightless eyes, "No it didn't."

"I did," Dean corrected, "I thought I was going to grow old just watching you."

Sam shook his head and shoved his hands through the sleeves of the jacket and grabbed his cane again.

The screen door creaked as Dean slipped out and held it open for Sam. A brisk breeze made Sam shiver unexpectedly.

"Told you it was cold," Dean commented from Sam's right, a smirk in his voice, "You want a hat?"

"I'll be okay," Sam said and stepped out onto the porch. The cane thudded dully on the wooden boards that made up the porch as Sam walked farther from the front door.

He stopped when the end of the cane hit nothing but empty air and took a deep breath.

"You wanna take a walk?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged.

"The stairs are to your left," Dean told him, "About four steps."

Sam moved in that direction, relieved when the end of the cane came into contact with the wooden stairs. Sam took the stairs slowly and frowned when he didn't hear his brother's footsteps behind him.

"You coming?" he asked without looking back.

"Nah," Dean said casually, "Think I'll stay here."

Sam's heart skipped a beat. Dean was letting him go alone. Dean wasn't coming with him. What if something happened? What if he tripped over a piece of scrap metal or a tire or walked into one of Bobby's old junk cars?

Then he would.

That was just the risk he had to take. Sure he could get hurt but that was all about going out there- into the salvage yard- and experiencing life.

Sam suddenly thought about kids learning to ride their bikes without training wheels. Yes they could fall and get hurt but that was all a part of the learning process. All they had to do was pick themselves back up and get on the bike again.

Besides, Dean would never let him go by himself if he thought that Sam would get seriously injured.

"Okay," Sam said, "Don't wait up for me."

Sam didn't really like the gravel that made up most of the salvage yard- it was too loose and made it difficult to pinpoint his location- so he walked slower than usual, even with the cane.

Sam kept close to the house for as long as he could- his left hand touching the side of the building- before breaking off and venturing into the yard.

SPN

Dean watched Sam move slowly around the side of the house. He knew that Sam was as safe as it was possible to be in Bobby's salvage yard; they had walked through it a dozen times since Sam had received the cane and his brother would be careful where he walked. Unlike Dean, Sam was less reckless, less likely to take risks.

Besides, Sam needed to do these things on his own. Sighing, Dean went back into the house. Sam would be able to find his way and once he had, he would find that his big brother had made them both hot chocolate and put some store-bought oatmeal cookies on a plate.

SPN

William Findlay, former director of the Dunhill Psychiatric Hospital, did not give up easily. Even in the custody of the FBI, Findlay was not alone. He had friends in low places, friends who would help him.

He had learned all about the event that had led to his arrest, the strange late-night rescue of one of the subjects in the North Hall.

Gerald Elridge described the discovery of the two young men in the hallway where the prisoners were kept and the- losing- fight with one of them. Unfortunately he didn't know who they had been after, when he'd woken up to find a pair of Federal agents staring down at him he hadn't had time to ask what had happened.

Findlay knew, however, exactly who those young men had come for. According to one of his friends- masquerading as a doctor to gain entry into Marshalltown General and close to the patients' documents- claimed that all but one of the subjects was accounted for. The young man with the green eyes- or M-BSPN666 as Bates had referred to him- had been the intended target.

Although William Findlay may not have been a direct participant in the Black Market organ trade, he had connection, and as always, his greed won out. If Findlay could find the young man, he would be able to auction him off to the highest bidder.

William Findlay smiled. If his lawyer could get him released on a technicality- and he was certain he could- then he would become a very rich man.

Now all he had to do was wait.

Author's Note:

1. Thanks to SamDeanLover28, nupinoop296, mandancie, doyleshuny, cold kagome, MysteryMadchen, L.A.H.H, Dorianimeyaoilover, murphy9202, supersamkan, babyreaper, SPN Mum, and judyann for reviewing.

2. Thanks to everyone who alerted, favourited or followed.

3. Please take a moment to leave a review. Sam's troubles don't seem to be over just yet!