Chapter Twenty-Eight
The date was set.
In three days Sam would receive his new kidney. Dr. Greene had told the brothers the good news during the eighteen-year old's dialysis appointment before reminding Sam to take the medicines he had prescribed, like any good physician would.
Back at the Salvage Yard, Bobby and the Winchesters were in a celebratory mood. The grizzled hunter had taken some steaks out of the freezer to thaw and had set out eight potatoes- slathered in onions and butter- wrapped in tinfoil to go on the barbeque with the beef later.
"Bobby, I'm not supposed-" Sam began to object to the night's dinner menu but Dean interrupted.
"Live a little, Sammy," he exclaimed, gripping his younger brother's shoulder, "Some red meat isn't going to kill you!"
Sam- chagrinned- nodded and decided it would be all right to forget about his special diet for one night.
W
"So Sammy, what are you going to do when you have your new kidney?" Dean asked.
The younger brother chuckled and shrugged.
"I'll just be happy to not have to go on dialysis anymore," he commented. Although Sam had so far only gone to two appointments, the prospect of months or years of having to sit in a hospital room for hours on end while a machine cleaned his blood because his remaining kidney wasn't doing its job, terrified him. He would have one more appointment before the surgery- and Sam hoped that it would be the last one- but he told himself it was a small price to pay for health.
SPN
Dean watched as Sam meticulously cut up his steak. He was glad- overjoyed, really- that his brother was on the road to recovery so quickly, what with a new kidney from a mysterious donor.
He just wished they could do something about Sam's eyes.
"Ah!" Sam gasped suddenly, dropping his knife and fork.
"Sammy!" Dean exclaimed and saw red blossoming against the skin on his brother's hand.
Both John and Bobby stood up, the grizzled hunter grabbing a dishtowel hanging from the handle of the oven and the father rushed around the table to Sam's side.
Dean took his brother's wrist and examined his Sam's left thumb. A vertical cut bisecting the pad wept blood down the digit and onto the palm of his hand. He took the offered towel and pressed it against the wound, raising his brother's hand above his heart.
"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, "Yeah, just clumsy."
"I'll get the First Aid kit," John announced and left the room, his footsteps receding as he headed to the first-floor bathroom.
After a minute Dean lowered Sam's hand and peeled back the dishtowel.
Dean hissed at the sight of the red wound and Sam flinched.
"Sorry," Dean apologized, "I think this is going to need a couple of stitches, three at least."
Bobby peered at Sam's injured thumb and nodded, "Sliced yourself good, Son."
John returned with the First Aid kit and pushed the dinner plates to one side to give Dean some room on the table.
Although the cut wasn't bleeding as much as it had been- the gush was now an ooze of crimson- it still looked angry and painful.
Dean carefully set Sam's hand- palm facing up- on the table and opened the kit.
"This'll only take a minute," he assured his sibling.
Sam nodded, milky eyes narrowed.
"You want anything?" John asked, "For the pain?"
Sam shook his head, "I can handle it."
John looked to Dean, "You don't have to be tough, Sam."
Sam's head shot up, face turned in the direction of John's voice, "I'm fine, Dad, really."
John nodded- knowing Sam couldn't see him- and spoke, "Alright, alright."
Dean grabbed an alcohol wipe from the kit and pressed it against Sam's thumb. His brother didn't even flinch. He had an idea that this pain was nothing compared to what had happened to Sam at Dunhill- but John didn't know that- and he hoped their father would think it was just Sam being stubborn.
Laying the alcohol wipe aside, Dean then lightly pressed the edges of the wound as close together as he could. As he had been doing that, Bobby prepared a needle and suture for him, which he now handed to the younger man.
Carefully, Dean began sewing the cut in Sam's thumb up. He had been right. Three stitches were all it took. A small wound but a bad one nonetheless.
Once the stitches were in, Dean grabbed a roll of gauze and wrapped some around his brother's thumb, securing it with a strip of medical tape.
"You okay?" Dean asked his brother as Bobby started clearing away the First Aid kit and its accessories.
"Yeah," Sam muttered then turned his head in the direction of his father.
"Sorry Dad," he apologized, "I just…"
John reached out and put a hand on his youngest's shoulder, "I understand. I shouldn't have assumed."
There was a beat of silence before Bobby spoke up, "Dinner's getting cold here folks."
The tension melted away at that simple sentence and moments later the mood was once again lighthearted as it had been before. This time though, Dean cut Sam's steak for him.
"I warned you, Sam," Dean reminded him, catching sight of the scowl on his brother's face.
"I didn't cut my thumb off, Dean," Sam complained.
"No, but it was close," he commented.
Sam sighed.
"You'll just have to suffer this until your thumb heals a bit, okay?" Dean promised.
"Okay," Sam relented and awkwardly picked up his fork.
W
After dinner Sam decided to continue practicing reading Braille and went upstairs to get the novel he'd borrowed from the library.
While Sam was out of earshot, Dean turned to his father.
"What are we going to do once we have the Good Samaritan's files?"
"I'm gonna contact him and talk to him," John answered, "I want to know who he is. This is great, Sam getting a kidney, don't get me wrong, but it seems just a little suspicious to me."
Dean nodded. Through some unspoken agreement, Dean and John had decided that he would slip into Sioux Falls General later that night and filch the files from Dr. Greene's office.
Bobby, overhearing the conversation, rolled his eyes, "Why do you two idjits want to look a gift horse in the mouth?"
John turned to his friend, "I want to know what kind of person is giving my son a kidney. Is that so wrong?"
Bobby shrugged, "Just don't do something stupid and jeopardize Sam's chance at this, Johnny."
John's expression softened, "I won't."
The three hunters clammed up when they hear Sam coming down the stairs.
"You sure you don't want to wat- uh, listen to a movie, Sammy?" Dean asked as Sam set foot on the first floor, "I'll even find one with that Descriptive Video."
Sam shook his head, "No thanks, Dean. I just feel like reading for a while."
Using his cane, Sam found his way into the living room and sat down in one of the wingback chairs.
"Well, I'm going to watch something," Dean announced and turned the television on, turning the volume down so the noise wouldn't bother Sam and found an old horror movie. John drifted over to the couch where Dean was and sat down beside him.
Bobby remained where he was, seated behind his desk, a thick tome in front of him as he took notes from its pages on a yellow legal pad.
"C'mon Bobby," Dean looked up and saw the veteran hunter scribbling away, "Watch the movie with us."
The older man looked up, "I've gotta get this to Mackey. He's waiting on me."
"All work and no play makes Bobby a very dull boy," Dean said in a singsong voice.
From his seat, Sam snorted laughter.
Sighing, Bobby stood, "I guess Mackey can wait. He has this long. And it ain't like anyone dying."
"Yeah, c'mon," Dean encouraged and the older hunter joined the small family, moving the second wingback chair around so that it faced the TV screen.
SPN
John looked up expectantly as Dean came down the stairs. It was past midnight but the father and son were wide awake.
"You sure he's asleep?" John asked and Dean nodded.
"He was exhausted," he confirmed.
They hadn't wanted Sam to know what they were up to and had decided it best to wait until he was asleep. Sam's deviation from his diet earlier that evening had come back to bite him and he had spent a good three hours in the upstairs bathroom, vomiting and spiking a fever.
John felt bad for his son but was immensely grateful that he was getting a kidney and would soon be healthy.
Dean sighed and wiped a hand down his face. He looked completely beat.
"It wasn't your fault, Dean," John told him, "You didn't know Sam would have that reaction."
Dean however shook his head, "Dr. Greene told Sam to stay away from that stuff for a reason and I pressured him into it."
John didn't know what else to say. If Dean wanted to feel guilty about it, he would and nothing his father said was going to stop that.
Instead, John changed the subject, "If you can make copies of the files, do that, so Dr. Greene doesn't miss the originals."
Dean rolled his eyes, "I've done this before, Dad."
"I know you have," John replied, "I just want everything to go smoothly. This isn't just for a case; this is for your brother."
Dean nodded, "I won't fuck up."
"Get back as soon as you can," John said and handed Dean the keys to the Impala.
The twenty-two year old took them and headed outside, careful not to let the screen door slam behind him.
Dean started when he caught sight of Bobby sitting on the old porch swing from the corner of his eye.
"Good luck, Son," the grizzled hunter said.
"I thought you were in bed," Dean commented.
Bobby shrugged and looked up, "Thought I'd bid you farewell… and enjoy the stars. Don't get 'em in the city but out here there's a million of 'em."
Dean looked up and he saw that there were thousands upon thousands of diamond-like pinpricks in the sky.
"You feeling okay, Bobby?" he asked the older hunter.
Bobby nodded, lowering his gaze to Dean's face, "I just don't understand why you an' yer Daddy wanna go mess with this. Can't you be happy Sam's getting a kidney?"
Dean frowned, "We just want to make sure this guy's kosher, that he doesn't have some ulterior motive up his sleeve. Sam's already been through enough that he doesn't need some asswipe on his case because he gave him a kidney."
Bobby gave a half-shrug and once again hoped for Dean's good luck in pilfering the donor's files.
Dean nodded, promised he'd be back soon and stepped off the porch and trotted across the driveway to the Impala.
W
Dean was surprised- and slightly disturbed- to find how easy it was to break into Sioux Falls General after hours. He parked the Impala at the far end of the empty Visitor's Parking Lot, hiding the Chevy in the darkness cast by a broken streetlight and hurried silently towards the back of the building.
He found an unlocked employees' entrance. Some idiot had propped the heavy door open with a rock. Dean saw that a keycard was required for entrance and thanked the moron who had left the door ajar.
A humid stairwell greeted Dean- yellow numbers on the cement walls indicated the floors- and he hurried upwards.
Stopping at the appropriate floor, Dean tried the door and was happy to find it opened easily. He stepped out into the quiet, dimly lit hallway and tried to look natural.
No one met him as he strolled down the hall to Dr. Greene's office. Hoping that his luck was about to continue, Dean tried the doorknob but found it held fast, his hand slipping from its smooth surface when he tried to turn it.
No problem, Dean had his lock pick kit.
Peering down both ends of the hallway- apparently it was in between the night shift's rounds- Dean took out a thin piece of wire from his jacket pocket and inserted it into the keyhole of the doorknob.
Working quickly, Dean gave a smile when he heard the lock click and this time the door swung open when he turned the knob. Dean stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. In the darkness, he fumbled around until he found the lamp on the doctor's desk and turned it on.
Turning his attention to the large black file cabinet behind Dr. Greene's desk, Dean got straight to work.
Small cards on the fronts of the drawers listed Dr. Greene's patients in alphabetical order by surname. Dean crouched down so he could open the last drawer and find his and Sam's last name.
The drawer was stuffed full of plain buff-coloured file folders, some almost bursting with papers.
"Watson, West, Winchester…" Dean muttered and pulled out a file that read, 'WINCHESTER, SAMUEL'.
Taking his brother's file to the desk, Dean flipped it open and flipped through Sam's medical reports.
"C'mon," Dean murmured, "C'mon you son of a bitch, be in here…"
"HA!" Dean announced loudly as he pulled out a form for organ donation. There was a second form with Sam's information also in the folder but Dean ignored that one. He had the one he wanted.
"'Randall Oswald Gorman'," Dean read and grimaced at the Good Samaritan's name.
Dean scanned the information until he found the man's contact information. There was no photocopy machine in Dr. Greene's office but the physician did have a newspaper on his desk. Grabbing a pen from the holder- shaped like Garfield the cat- and tearing off a corner of the newspaper, Dean scrawled Randall Gorman's phone number. Interesting, he had a cell number but no home one.
Maybe he is a hunter, Dean thought, though he had never heard of him.
Shoving the scrap of paper into his jacket pocket, Dean replaced the pen and the donor information form. Then he crammed his brother's file haphazardly into the drawer, between 'WEINSTEIN' and 'WESTMINISTER' before closing it.
Dean crossed to the door, turning the lamp off as he went and listened carefully for the sound of footsteps in case a nurse was walking down the hallway.
All was silent. Dean opened the door and peeked out. There was no one. Stepping out, he closed the door after himself, forgetting to lock it in his haste and headed down the hall.
SPN
John looked up, relieved, when he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine. Too eager to wait inside, he stepped onto the porch and greeted Dean.
"Did you get it?" he asked even though he knew his son wouldn't come home empty-handed.
Dean took a small slip of paper from his pocket and held it up triumphantly.
"His cell number," he told his father and John took the paper.
"His name's Gorman," Dean told John as they moved into the house, "Randall Gorman."
"Hm, don't know him," John commented.
"Maybe Bobby does," Dean offered, "Where is he, anyway?"
John looked up at Dean, his expression unhappy, "Sam woke up while you were gone. He's still sick."
Dean felt his heart clench.
"Shit," he swore, "I should have been there. What did Bobby say?"
"You were out getting him some eggs from the convenience store in town," John replied.
Dean frowned, Sam would never believe that, he thought and said so.
"Sam's spiking a fever," John told him, "If Bobby told him you were flying a pink elephant to Mars, he'd believe it."
"I've gotta see him," Dean said and left his father, his thoughts no longer on Randall Gorman but on his poor brother.
John listened to the slight commotion as Dean stepped into the upstairs bathroom where Bobby was with Sam, before taking his cell phone from his pocket.
Once the sounds from upstairs had died down, John opened his phone and pressed the numbers that would connect him with the Good Samaritan.
Raising his phone to his ear, John held his breath and waited as the phone rang and rang.
Author's Note:
Thanks to Jenjoremy, Ghostwriter, KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar, SPN Mum, L.A.H.H, Ashae7, BranchSuper, MysteryMadchen, AlonzoLovesPie, mara-isamoose, mechachic, CommChatter, whimsicalbarwench, Souless666, mandancie, angel1718 for reviewing.
Thanks to everyone who alerted, followed and favourited.
I am sure that just one meal wouldn't affect a person with renal failure so quickly but this is Sam we're talking about and he's gotta suffer a little bit more before things start getting better.
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