Warning: This chapter still does not contain Sam.

Dean blinked, eyes fluttering but refusing to open and focus. Ambulance? That meant hospital. Well now, that sounds mighty fine, he thought hazily. Yup, he was okay with that. Comfy bed, free TV, 3 meals a day – catered, nurses, ooooh, nurses loved him…..they'd wait on him, read to him, sit and watch TV with him, feed him, bathe him, oh, oh yeah, now we're talking. Yeah, yup, load me up buttercup, let's go! Weeee-eeeee-eeeeeee-weeee-on the road again, just can't wait to be on the road again…..and crash!

Oh fuck, and here's reality. Hell, you just never go away, do you?

Oh. Oh, no. No, wait. Wait a minute, hold on – no, he really shouldn't go to the hospital. That wasn't a good idea! And why was that again? Think Dean…think, you better think…but….. he couldn't. Trying to think or concentrate was useless. It hurt his head which made his stomach sour which caused chest pains so he gave up without expending much effort. Well, alrighty then, maybe later.

He was quietly and quickly lifted onto a gurney, covered with a blanket, strapped down, carried away, loaded into the ambulance and driven away. He offered no resistance.

"Here now! Stop that!" Maggie batted irritably at the hands reaching to assist her. Someone wanted to hold her hand, someone patted her cheeks, hands were lifting her shoulders from the porch floor, hands supported her neck and held her head still and steady and yet more hands were positioning her feet so that her ankles were side by side. Good Grief! Voices asked her questions, instructed her not to cross her ankles, told her she was okay. Well, of course she was!

Activity continued to whirl around her. People came and went. Noises faded, noises crested. It wasn't until the mention of summoning an ambulance that she popped right up! Oh yes, indeed she did! She sat straight up, back stiff as a board, shoulders square, legs stretched out in front of her with her petite feet perfectly poised with perky toes. Now, what was she about?

"Mrs. Mills?"

Oh right, that. "Yes, yes." she huffed impatiently, waving one limp hand. Hey, lookee that. Her wrists still worked. "Leave off." she experimented with the other hand; yup, flex, bend and waggle. No broken bones there. Thank the good Lord. However would she take care of Dean with a broken hand or arm?

She snorted. Take care of Dean, indeed! Why she…? Er, Dean? Her head whipped around so quickly, had she had her teeth in, they would have clacked. Her eyes darted all about, left, right, up, down, left, right.

"Now, just take it easy. Relax ma'am. You had a fright and suffered a fall. How are you feeling? Anything hurt? Sit still and let me examine you, see if you broke everything."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" she rolled her eyes in agitation, hunched one shoulder then the other. "I'm perfectly fine." her hip throbbed a bit, but she was quite certain she hadn't broken anything in her undignified collapse to the floor. "I'm not broken, now go away."

"We should run you in, just in case."

"Run me in? To where? The hospital! Pah!" she surged to her feet with grace, waving off further assistance. She was a bit wobbly but steady on her feet. "Where is he?" she demanded, once again looking all around. "What have you done with him? Dean?" patience and calm demeanor replaced by frantic panic, she rushed to the railing and doubled over it, all but halfway into her beloved rosebushes, her previous dismay over their fragility completely forgotten in her haste to locate her missing house guest. "Dean? DEAN?! DEEEAAANNNN!" she batted the leafs with her remaining slipper. How it had gotten into her hand, she never did recall. "Dean! Damn you, appear before me, RIGHT THIS VERY INSTANT!"

"Mrs. Mills."

"Where. Is. He?" her palms slapped the railing with each word. "What have you done with him? I will sue you! Sue you, and you and you, and this town, this borough, this county, this state! I will have your job! Produce him. Now!" the slipper flew past several heads. "DEAN!

"Maggie, he's no longer in the bushes." Barry explained gently, coming to lead her away from the railing. "Remember? The firemen extracted him. The ambulance came and he was taken to the hospital."

Her eyes widened.
Her jaw dropped.
Her mouth worked.
Her hands flew to her cheeks.

"And you let him go?" she exclaimed. For a moment, she did nothing then recovering, waved off everyone's attempt to answer or calm her down. "How long was I out?" she ran down the few steps that lead from her porch. "Wait! WAIT for ME!" she scurried down her sidewalk, darted left, then right, then left, whirled in circles, searching for the departed ambulance. Distantly, she heard someone telling her she couldn't chase the ambulance on foot. "You sent him without me? How could you? Why? Why would you do that? What is wrong with you people?" she balled her hands into fist and stalked the nearest person in uniform. She didn't care who he was or what he did; he wore a uniform, therefore he was the object of her ire. "Quickly. Drive me to the hospital. Right. Now. Right this very minute. Fire up that there rig, hit the sirens, turn on the lights and make way! Mild Mannered Maggie Mills is on a mission!"

"Perhaps you should get dressed first." Barry suggested calmly. "Then I'll drive you…"

"No time! No time!" Maggie clapped her hands. "If he dares to die before I get the chance to kill him myself, I will stuff and mount him and find a museum to put him on display!"

***000***

Dean was resting comfortably. He had no idea if he was mildly sedated or if he had been given some kind of muscle relaxers or some other such medication. All he knew was; he was comfortable, he felt no pain, no fear and no threat, therefore, he was content to remain where he was – lah-la land. The fact he didn't know exactly where lah-la land was had yet to become a problem for him.

He was dozing, lulled by the familiar, if unknown, sounds of activity around him when a door opened, a cart crashed and the curtain surrounding his bed was pulled back on screeching metal hinges. Ow, he winced, raising a hand to his forehead. What that instinctive reaction did, he really didn't know, but hold a hand to his head he did.

"Oh Goody!" Maggie exclaimed happily, clapping her hands in glee, like a 3 year-old anticipating an ice cream treat for good behavior. "You're awake! Come now, we should go before they know you woke up. They have plenty of questions I simply cannot answer." though what good fleeing would do, she didn't know. Everyone knew who she was and where she lived. If the authorities truly wanted to find him, they'd know where to look.

She paused. A devilish gleam lit her eyes.

But oh, it felt soooooo good to scold him. Heck, some yelling and ordering him about were definitely called for. Oh, yes. After everything he'd ever put her through, he deserved some payback. She grinned gleefully, smirking in anticipation of the fun she was about to have.

Dean blinked, working his tongue to bring saliva to his dry mouth.

"Get yourself up off that table, find your clothes and march yourself directly out to my car!" she raged, chest heaving in barely controlled outrage. Despite her need to play with him, she well knew authorities and doctors, for whatever reason, were people he avoided. "NOW!" she was not going to lose her temper. She was not going to give anyone further reason to talk about her. She. Was. Not. "Right this very instant young man!" she barked in her no-nonsense, five sons and one husband had always fallen-in-line voice. "I've talked to your doctor, you're fine." she said briskly. As long as he didn't do anything else stupid, he'd be fine anyway. Oh there'd be pain, a lot of pain and extreme discomfort but he'd be fine. "But you're checking out of here AMA, so move it."

"Say….what?" he yawned, nuzzling his cheek along the pillow. He sure as hell didn't feel fine! Not fine at all.

"It's a white Subaru." she seethed, searching through drawers for his personal belongings. "Surely you remember it? Well.," she conceded with a huffy snuff. "Maybe you don't. Your brain was scrambled worse than eggs that week."

"Aaaah…..what?" he was having scrambled eggs for breakfast? All right! High-five.

"So far, you've managed to interrupt my breakfast, disrupt my morning, intrude into my home, try my patience, break my furniture, double my electric bill, gather a crowd, cause a scene, make me the talk of the town, cause gossip, round up the entire town, bring out the POLICE, a rescue vehicle, an ambulance, a hook and ladder firetruck to a one story rancher, AND brought me to the hospital looking like a homeless bag lady!" she was puttering around, opening and closing drawers and doors. "And!" her finger punched the air for emphasis. "For God's sake, you accomplished ALL that in less than 30 minutes."

Dean squinted, managed a one-shouldered shrug to relate his helplessness in understanding her tirade and let his eyes close. A homeless bag lady was in his room yelling at him why? Had he unintentionally invaded her squatting shelter?

"Look at me. Look. At. Me." Maggie hissed, turning in a circle, arms thrown wide. She bared her gums, tugged at her hair, the curlers dangling against her cheek, her chin, and pointed to her squinted eyes. "Do you see me? Do you? Do YOU see ME? I can't see me! Everything is a blurry blur! And you know why? Because of you! This is your fault! All YOUR fault! They think I'm a patient! They've tried to return me to my room THREE TIMES!"

Dean opened one eye, looked up, down, left, right and stared. Then let his eye flutter shut.

"Oh. No. You. Don't!" she stomped and waved and waggled her finger. "You get your ass off that table and out to the car in the next 5 seconds or so help me I will take Mad Myrtle up on the offer she made while I was suffering the indignity of allowing her to drive me here. I will board you with her and I will leave you there! And oh, don't look so smug, I'm not done." she stressed with overly dramatic flair. "And I will plead ignorance when Sam comes looking for you!"

Dean had no idea who the fuck she was or what the hell she was rattling on about, but the mere mention of being 'boarded with a Mad Myrtle' despite knowing nothing about who or what a Mad Myrtle was, was enough to prod Dean into prompt and… ineffective action. His toes twitched, one foot moved and his head came off the pillow. Yeah, that was lean mean fighting machine Dean Winchester hopping-to-it to obey a petite, toothless, blind, scraggly haired old woman who was vaguely familiar. He squinted, blinked, rubbed his eyes and blinked some more. Oh. He knew her.

"Why does this keep happening to me?" she wailed mournfully. "I'm an old woman. Old I tell you!"

He stared, blinked, frowned. What the hell was that in her hair? Was that even hair?

"Oh, for the love of God!" Maggie cried impatiently. "What on earth do they have you hopped on?" leave, turn around, walk away, don't look back, just start walking and keep walking. You can do it. You walk very well for a woman of your age. "And here I thought God tested me when he didn't bless me with a daughter! HA!" she tossed his jeans in his face, tucked one heavy boot under her armpit and wrote the t-shirt off as a loss. Socks….socks, let's see…nope, no socks. Oh well, no loss, he didn't need them to walk anyway. "Why aren't you dressed? What are you doing? No lollygagging around. Come on now. Chop-chop, hop to it!"

Whether it was the frightening thought that Mad Myrtle was apparently worse than….than….this, aah….lady or some subconscious need to avoid hospitals whenever possible, Dean sat up and swung his feet over the side of the examine table. The sheet across his legs slid off and he was relieved to discover he still wore his underwear.

While Maggie rattled on, searching for the elusive second boot, Dean's head began to clear. Right, yeah, the little bundle of spitfire was Maggie Mills and he'd arrived on her doorstep, tired, in pain and in search of a place to rest for a couple of hours. Why he'd ended up in the hospital and how he'd gotten there remained a blur and he wasn't in any mood to figure it out.

Pain stabbed, then flared, then spread and the room dipped and spun with dizzyingly speed. Oh right, short-ass trolls with the ability to land high kicks. Yup, pain was an instant and good reminder. It was all coming back to him. Except who or what a Made Myrtle was.

"Ribs?" he asked, putting his feet through the legs of his jeans one at a time then sliding off the table. "Cracked, right? How many?" he was moving in slow motion. He simply couldn't make himself move more than one limb at a time. He was on his feet but remained doubled over, hands supporting his weight with a death grip on the table. Jeans were at his hips and he willed himself to find the strength to button and zip the fly.

Maggie froze. For a moment, she couldn't move. Nope, she was completely incapable of reacting in any way. Her mind tried to work, tried to process but…..nope brick wall. She frowned, huh…..something….something…..

"You knew." Maggie whispered. Might as well talk to herself, no one else was apt to listen. "He knew, he knew, YOU knew." she straightened up, the search in the cabinet under the sink for the missing boot abandoned. "How dare you!" she flew at him, caught herself up short before knocking him over, and took her frustration out on the table pad, flailing at it with her fists. "You knew you had hurt ribs and still you drove to my house and knocked on my door and never said one word about it!"

"Now's not the time." Dean panted. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet, it hurt to breathe, he couldn't stand up straight, and whatever they had given him made him dizzy and loopy. Yes, loopy.

"Where did you come from? How far did you drive? You know you endangered every innocent person on the road." Maggie demanded. "I've a mind to give you the good licking you soooooo deserve!"

"Say what?" what the hell was she blathering about? No matter, more important things were on his mushed-up mind. Like ribs. Ribs healed themselves. It was no longer recommended to bind ones torso with compression bandages because it prohibited the ability to take deep breaths and that could lead to pneumonia. Sam wouldn't care about that though. He would tape him up anyway then torture him by sitting on his bed and coaching him through breathing exercises.

Dean rolled his eyes then frowned in confusion, then grimaced in pain. Huh, where was Sam anyway?

"Aah, Mrs. Mills." the ER doctor strolled in. "And Mr. Winchester? I see you've made it to your feet. That's good. Good progress indeed."

Dean raised his chin from his chest, eyes peering up but he didn't speak. The doctor droned on but the next several minutes went by in a blur and whether he wanted to or not, Dean had to let Maggie take charge.

Yes, Dean did indeed have broken ribs, three of them.
He needed to remain in bed and off his feet as much as possible for the next 2 or 3 days or risk puncturing a lung, rupturing a blood vessel or damaging internal organs, such as but not limited to: liver, spleen, and kidneys.
Yes, it would be safe to resume normal activities before the ribs healed.
No, do not wrap them. Ribs need to move. (yeah, Sammy, hear that? Huh, do you?)
Yes, he could travel by car but it would be wise to wait, say two weeks.
No, he could not drive.
Surgery not required unless he did something stoo-ooooo-ped. (you know, such as head-diving off porches, over railings into hedges, after breaking glass coffee tables.)
Sure, ice might help.
He really should remain for a night or two for further observation.
Did he have somewhere to stay?
Did he have someone to take care of him?
Would he like pain medication?
Did he need a wheelchair to get out to the car?

"What?" Maggie tuned back in to the doctors droning diatribe. "He…he's…huh. No, he's not related to me, thank the Good Lord above." she glared disapprovingly at Dean. "He's my son's wife's brother." she gave it some thought. "Does that make him my son-in-law? No, I suppose not."

"Is there someone you can contact?" the doctor asked. "Does he have family? A wife perhaps?"

"Why? I mean, yes. I mean, who? Yes, of course. No. Well. His brother Sam." oh fuddle, she was babbling like a fool. And here she thought she had it – herself – pulled together, but nope, she didn't because reality had just slapped her silly. She held her palm against her forehead, boy was her head pounding. Reality = she had to take Dean home with her.

"Is he local?" the doctor continued. "You really should rest. Perhaps you should stay until you can stand upright. It will be easier for you to travel when you can breathe."

Maggie shot a dirty look at Dean when he remained silent. "Well?" she demanded. "Say something."

"What?" Dean held his one boot. "Well, what?"

"Sam." she spit out through clenched jaw. "Where is he?"

"Sammy?" Dean repeated slowly. He blinked, licking sweat from his upper lip. "He's in…Wyoming."

Maggie's dander went up. Again. Sky high.

"You drove here from Wyoming knowing you were hurt?" she twitched. "That's it. That. Is. It." smack him, box his ears and leave him here, let him fend for himself, let him get in his car and keep driving. "You are in big trouble mister!" she shook her finger in his face. "You are grounded! No TV, no internet, no phone. You will eat what I cook for you and you will eat it without complaint."

He was grounded? No big deal. He didn't like to fly anyway.

"Will you be taking him home with you for the time being?"

A devilishly evil look crossed her face. "I suppose I have to, don't I?" she swiped her palms together repeatedly as if ridding them of powder. "Can't very well leave him on the side of the road with a sign, now can I?" she paused. "Or can I?" she perked up then her shoulders drooped. "No, I can't. Jody would never forgive me." she chewed on her lip, gnawed on a knuckle, blew her breath out then shrugged. "Myrtle offered to take him in."

"Not mad Myrtle." Dean panted appalled. "No mad Myrtle." he grabbed the sheet that had been over his laps and wiped the sweat from his face. "She's mad." he told the doctor. "Just gimme the meds. Ain't like I haven't had broken ribs before. I'll find a motel, get a room. No big deal."

The doctor frowned.
Maggie pursed her lips and frowned.
The nurse with the most-hospitals-don't-use-these-anymore prescription pad gasped, and frowned.
Dean went home with Mild Maggie.
And met Mad Myrtle.

***END***

* Though I very well might add an additional chapter where Sam arrives. In fact, I think I shall.