Clean Slate - Chapter Three
Title: Clean Slate - Chapter Three
Rating: T
Word Count: 2,706
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean, Bobby.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Summary: Death: 'Nasty, those memories. You don't want to know what they'll do to him.'
After an accident, Sam's memories of the last two years are wiped. What
starts out as a blessing soon turns into a curse as Sam's memories are
reawakened.
LIMP!HURT!SAM WORRIED!DEAN
Set S7 Episode 06 - Story picks up at the end of Slash Fiction and becomes AU.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: Up to Season Seven: Episode 6
Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta’ing this fic.
Chapter Three
In a room on the third floor of Bozeman County General, a man slept.
Nurse Charlotte Gaines stepped into the room and took in the sight before her for a moment. The figure in the bed was a big man, tall and muscular, but he seemed diminished by the machinery surrounding him. He was attached to a ventilator, which made a soft whoosh-click sound as it did the work of his lungs for him. Electrodes on his chest recorded his heartbeats and transcribed them to a monitor beside the bed. His arm was encircled by a blood pressure cuff that inflated at regular intervals. There was an IV in each hand, sending vital fluids into the battered body. It was a sorry sight to see, especially as the man was so young.
Charlotte checked the chart at the end of the bed that named her new patient as John Smith. She had heard the rundown on him before her shift started. He was a post-op aortic rupture patient. A rarity. He was still sedated due to the serious nature of his condition, but they were hoping to wean him off the ventilator in the morning.
“Good evening, John,” she said brightly. “I’m just going to check a few things here.” Charlotte always spoke to her patients, awake or sleeping, in the same way. She believed that they could hear her no matter their level of consciousness.
She bustled around the bed, checking stats and tracing the IV lines to make sure they were clear. Everything was good, and she filled in the chart.
She was just turning to leave the room, when the heart monitor alerted her to something being wrong. She turned back to her patient. “Everything okay, John?”
Nothing was okay. At that moment, the figure on the bed began to seize.
Charlotte ran the length of the room and slammed her hand on the code button, calling her colleagues into assist. There was a rush of movement at the door as doctors and nurses flocked in.
“What do we have?” the doctor asked.
“Post op aortic transection from a RTA. Started seizing less than a minute ago.”
“Any history of epilepsy?”
“None known. We don’t have any medical history for him.”
“Okay, let’s drop five of diazepam and check for a reaction. Someone take him off vent and bag him. I want to get control of this stat. We don’t need him tearing a hole in his graft.”
Charlotte drew up the necessary drug from a vial and injected it into Sam’s IV line.
“Let’s give that a moment,” the doctor said.
The room watched as Sam continued to convulse on the bed.
“No good. Drop another five of diazepam.”
The drug was administered, and slowly Sam began to calm. His rigid limbs relaxed against the sheets, and the heart monitor returned to its steady rhythm.
“Okay, good work. Let’s see what we have here.” He pulled back Sam’s eyelids and shone a light across his vision. He took one of Sam’s hands in his own and ran his pen across the palm. The fingers curled in weakly against the pressure. “Has anyone done an MRI on this kid?”
“I didn’t see it in the chart,” Charlotte said uncomfortably.
“Well, let’s get one done. I’m seeing signs of increased intracranial pressure.”
Charlotte darted to the phone to put a call into radiology to inform of the incoming patient. She hoped against hope that there was another reason for her patient’s seizure. As if it was his ICP and he hadn’t been scanned, it meant someone was in trouble.
xXx
A nurse held up the films for Doctor Cunningham to see as he scrubbed in. “Damn, look at that bleed,” he murmured. “Why wasn’t this caught sooner?”
“Apparently, he came in as an RTA with a traumatic aortic rupture. I guess they were so busy plugging the dam they didn’t see the other cracks.”
“A rupture.” The surgeon whistled. “Well, at least we know he’s a fighter. He’s going to need to be to come through this.”
He stepped into the operating room and dried his hands on a cloth offered by a nurse. Another nurse helped him into his gown and gloves.
“Okay, people, we’re working against the clock here, so let’s make it matter.”
He picked up his scalpel and turned his attention to his patient. “You just hang on, John.”
An hour later, Doctor Cunningham had drained the excess blood from the patient’s skull and was placing a catheter to monitor his ICP. The surgery had been a success, but there was no knowing what kind of damage had been done in the meantime; it had been a big bleed.
“Do you think there was much damage?” the assisting intern asked.
“There’s no way of knowing until he wakes up,” Doctor Cunningham said. “One thing’s for sure, the legal department is going to have their hands full with this one.” He examined his work one last time, satisfied that he was done, and stepped back from the table. “Someone close this for me. I’ve got some notes to write up.” He was determined that, whatever happened to the ER and first surgical team, he wasn’t going to be caught up in their mess. He had done his job.
xXx
Two weeks later, Nurse Jane Haralson was walking out to her car when she heard someone call her name. Sighing heavily-she had just finished her shift and didn’t want to be called back into work-she turned to see the EMT Dave jogging towards her.
“Hey, Dave,” she said with a smile.
“Hey. I was worried I missed you. I have something for you.” He held out a scrap of notepaper. “My brother finally worked some magic on the cell phone you gave me.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “John Smith?”
“The very same.”
As a patient that she had only minimal contact with, John Smith would have been forgotten easily had it not been for the trouble that came after. There had been an oversight in his care, and it had almost killed him. The ER doctors were all on edge, waiting to see what would happen to them. It made for a tense working environment.
Jane had heard that John Smith’s family had still not been found, which made the tension even higher, as no one knew what would happen once they learned of their family member’s condition.
“You have a number?” she asked.
“I have a bunch. We got an I.C.E number for someone named Bobby. Weird thing is, we’ve got no family names on there, no mom or dad.”
“Maybe he doesn’t have a family,” Jane said somewhat sadly. “He could be all alone. He is at the moment anyway.”
“Not for long,” Dave said. “He has this Bobby character. I say we call him up.”
Jane was tempted, sorely tempted. She wanted to be the one to find John Smith’s family for him, but she wasn’t the right person to make the call. Shrugging her shoulders, she took the paper from Dave and headed into the hospital again.
“Where are you going?” Dave called after her.
“The ICU. I am going to give this to John’s charge nurse.”
“I don’t get to see how the story ends?”
“Afraid not. I’ll tell you what happens.”
Disappointed, Dave went back to the ambulance bay, wondering how he could initiate a new conversation with Jane. He had banked on being the hero that brought John Smith’s family to him to gain her favor. Now he would have to think of something else.
Jane took the elevator up to the third floor and stepped out onto the ICU ward. The ward was quiet, belying to the amount of activity in each of the rooms she passed. There was always something quiet about the ICU. It was as if people were worried a harsh word or loud noise could cause the people clinging to life in each room to fail.
She scurried along the corridor to the nurse’s station. The charge nurse, Beth Sinclair, looked up at her arrival.
“Jane, we don’t see you up here often. Everything okay?”
“Yes. I have the details for John Smith’s emergency contact. One of the EMT’s, Dave, worked some magic with his busted phone. I was wondering how John was, too. I was on shift when he came into the ER.”
“John Smith.” Beth sighed. “He’s not doing so good. They removed the ICP catheter this morning, he returned to normal, but he still isn’t showing signs of waking.”
“How’s his brain function?” Jane asked.
“That’s the thing. His activity is off the charts. He’s not impaired as far as we can tell. He just isn’t waking.”
“Maybe he needs something to wake up for, some familiar voices,” Jane suggested.
“Could be. Lord knows I’ve seen stranger things happen.”
Jane held out the paper with John Smith’s contacts on it. “Well, here you are.”
Beth examined the list of names and numbers. “That’s odd. No mom or dad. Not many girl names either. Our Mr. Smith is certainly a mystery.
“Are you going to make the call?” Jane asked hopefully.
Beth picked up the phone. “Sure. I think he’s been alone long enough.”
She dialed the number for Bobby and waited while it rang.
xXx
“Say what you like about psychics, they know how to keep things interesting,” Bobby said.
Dean grunted in response, and Bobby sighed. He knew where Dean’s thoughts were, and they weren’t with their recent hunt in Lily Dale.
Bobby knew Dean had been hoping they would come across Sam. The psychic deaths had made the national news, and it smacked of the supernatural. But, for whatever reason, Sam hadn’t tracked the hunt, and they were back to twiddling their thumbs and waiting.
“He’ll call when he’s ready,” Bobby said.
“You’ve been saying that for two weeks,” Dean said. “And he still hasn’t called.”
“He’s obviously not ready yet,” Bobby said reasonably.
Dean exhaled in a gust. He was worried Sam would never be ready. He had tried calling Sam’s cell a hundred times and had been put straight through to voicemail every time.
“So, where next?” Bobby asked.
“I thought you wanted to get back to Montana.”
Dean had called Bobby out when he caught wind of the hunt in Lily Dale. He could probably have handled it alone, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. He liked working with a partner, and since his usual partner MIA he had called on Bobby who had made it clear this was a onetime deal.
“Let’s just say, hunting with you wasn’t the nightmare I expected. Besides, it’s been a while since I have been on the road; it’s not all bad.”
“Yeah, crappy motels and bad diner food.” Dean scoffed. “It’s the good life.”
“Quit bitchin’. You wouldn’t have it any other way, and you know it.”
“I don’t know, Bobby. I’m getting tired of the life. It seems no matter what we give up, there is still more to lose.”
Bobby knew exactly where Dean’s thoughts were heading, and it was dangerous territory.
“You haven’t lost Sam. He’s just taking time out to deal with some stuff. He’ll be back soon enough.”
Dean gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Soon wasn’t enough for Dean. He wanted Sam back now so he could kick his ass for worrying him. As he was worried, not to mention guilty. He knew he had done the right thing in killing Amy, but he felt bad about lying to his brother about it. Those lies had dropped him in the crap-storm he was currently living in. Not knowing where his brother was or what he was doing. Sam may be ‘dealing’ but he still had Lucifer and a head full of hell rattling around his brain. Anything could be happening to him.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Bobby said. “Where are we heading next?”
“Vegas!” Sudden inspiration struck Dean. “I say we head west and blow our stack on the tables.”
Bobby frowned. “Isn’t that something you and Sam usually do together?”
Dean focused on the road, avoiding Bobby’s scrutiny. “Maybe.”
“And you want to one up your brother by taking me instead?”
“I never said that,” Dean said defensively.
“But you were thinking it.” Bobby cursed under his breath. “Dammit, boy, what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I’m thinking that I’m tired of waiting for him to call, Bobby. I’m tired of worrying that he’s off somewhere with only the voices in his head for company.”
“That’s enough!” Bobby snapped, finally driven past his point of patience. “Your brother isn’t crazy.”
“I didn’t say-”
“I’m talking!” Bobby growled. “He’s not crazy, and he’s not a child. He can take care of himself. If he's decided he needs time away, that’s his choice to make. No amount of tantrum throwing from you is going to change that. Now suck it up and act like a man.”
Dean bit back his anger at being spoken to like a child. Bobby had a temper, and while it didn’t show itself often, when it did it was better to sit down and shut up.
Bobby was still breathing heavily, but he battled to calm himself. “Now, let’s get ourselves back to the cabin. We can regroup from there.”
Dean dutifully turned onto the highway and flicked on the radio. He had a feeling conversation wasn’t on the cards for a while.
xXx
They had to stop overnight in Minnesota for sleep and food, so it wasn’t until late evening that they crossed the state line into Montana.
“I’m bushed,” Dean said, raking a hand over his face.
“You want me to take a turn?” Bobby asked.
Dean shook his head. He was used to being in the driver’s seat. Despite the fact he was no longer using his baby-they had stolen a crappy Ford on their way out of Lily Dale-he wasn’t going to ride shotgun.
“Then quit bitching,” Bobby snapped. He didn’t much like being the passenger, but he let Dean drive in hopes that it would distract him from his worry for Sam.
Bobby was confident that Sam was fine despite the fact they hadn’t heard news of him. He was a capable kid and had survived alone before now. He just needed some time to think. In his position, Bobby would want some time alone, too. Admittedly, the fact his phone was turned off was troubling, as was the fact he hadn’t called Bobby to check in on the leviathan situation, but Bobby wasn’t worried. At least that’s what he told himself.
At Dean’s suggestion, they stopped in Billings for breakfast. They found a small diner, and Dean pulled the stolen car up in front. Bobby’s joints creaked as he climbed from the car. It had been a while since he had pulled a road trip like this.
They had just settled into a booth when Bobby’s phone rang. Dean’s head snapped up, hoping it was Sam. When Bobby shook his head, Dean returned his attention to the menu.
Bobby didn’t recognize the number, but it was local, so he took the call thinking Sam might be using a phone booth to call as his cell had been out of service. “Bobby Singer.”
“Hello, Mr. Singer. This is Beth Sinclair. I am calling from Bozeman County General. Do you know a John Smith?”
“John Smith?” Bobby said skeptically.
Dean’s head snapped up and he nodded vigorously. “It’s Sam’s new alias,” he whispered.
“Yeah, I know John. What’s happened to him?” Bobby asked.
Dean’s heart sank at Bobby’s words. What was wrong with Sam? He wanted to snatch the phone from Bobby and demand information from whoever was calling, demand information about Sam, but he resisted the urge. It wouldn’t get them the information any faster.
“He’s been involved in an accident. Can you come?”
“Of course,” Bobby said. “I’ll be there right away.”
“Thank you, Mr. Singer.”
Bobby ended the call and turned haunted eyes to Dean.
“What’s happened?” Dean demanded, his fear making his voice hoarse. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Sam. He’s been in an accident.”
Rating: T
Word Count: 2,706
Characters/Pairing: Sam, Dean, Bobby.
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst
Summary: Death: 'Nasty, those memories. You don't want to know what they'll do to him.'
After an accident, Sam's memories of the last two years are wiped. What
starts out as a blessing soon turns into a curse as Sam's memories are
reawakened.
LIMP!HURT!SAM WORRIED!DEAN
Set S7 Episode 06 - Story picks up at the end of Slash Fiction and becomes AU.
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.
Spoilers: Up to Season Seven: Episode 6
Thanks go to SnarkyMuch2 for beta’ing this fic.
Chapter Three
In a room on the third floor of Bozeman County General, a man slept.
Nurse Charlotte Gaines stepped into the room and took in the sight before her for a moment. The figure in the bed was a big man, tall and muscular, but he seemed diminished by the machinery surrounding him. He was attached to a ventilator, which made a soft whoosh-click sound as it did the work of his lungs for him. Electrodes on his chest recorded his heartbeats and transcribed them to a monitor beside the bed. His arm was encircled by a blood pressure cuff that inflated at regular intervals. There was an IV in each hand, sending vital fluids into the battered body. It was a sorry sight to see, especially as the man was so young.
Charlotte checked the chart at the end of the bed that named her new patient as John Smith. She had heard the rundown on him before her shift started. He was a post-op aortic rupture patient. A rarity. He was still sedated due to the serious nature of his condition, but they were hoping to wean him off the ventilator in the morning.
“Good evening, John,” she said brightly. “I’m just going to check a few things here.” Charlotte always spoke to her patients, awake or sleeping, in the same way. She believed that they could hear her no matter their level of consciousness.
She bustled around the bed, checking stats and tracing the IV lines to make sure they were clear. Everything was good, and she filled in the chart.
She was just turning to leave the room, when the heart monitor alerted her to something being wrong. She turned back to her patient. “Everything okay, John?”
Nothing was okay. At that moment, the figure on the bed began to seize.
Charlotte ran the length of the room and slammed her hand on the code button, calling her colleagues into assist. There was a rush of movement at the door as doctors and nurses flocked in.
“What do we have?” the doctor asked.
“Post op aortic transection from a RTA. Started seizing less than a minute ago.”
“Any history of epilepsy?”
“None known. We don’t have any medical history for him.”
“Okay, let’s drop five of diazepam and check for a reaction. Someone take him off vent and bag him. I want to get control of this stat. We don’t need him tearing a hole in his graft.”
Charlotte drew up the necessary drug from a vial and injected it into Sam’s IV line.
“Let’s give that a moment,” the doctor said.
The room watched as Sam continued to convulse on the bed.
“No good. Drop another five of diazepam.”
The drug was administered, and slowly Sam began to calm. His rigid limbs relaxed against the sheets, and the heart monitor returned to its steady rhythm.
“Okay, good work. Let’s see what we have here.” He pulled back Sam’s eyelids and shone a light across his vision. He took one of Sam’s hands in his own and ran his pen across the palm. The fingers curled in weakly against the pressure. “Has anyone done an MRI on this kid?”
“I didn’t see it in the chart,” Charlotte said uncomfortably.
“Well, let’s get one done. I’m seeing signs of increased intracranial pressure.”
Charlotte darted to the phone to put a call into radiology to inform of the incoming patient. She hoped against hope that there was another reason for her patient’s seizure. As if it was his ICP and he hadn’t been scanned, it meant someone was in trouble.
xXx
A nurse held up the films for Doctor Cunningham to see as he scrubbed in. “Damn, look at that bleed,” he murmured. “Why wasn’t this caught sooner?”
“Apparently, he came in as an RTA with a traumatic aortic rupture. I guess they were so busy plugging the dam they didn’t see the other cracks.”
“A rupture.” The surgeon whistled. “Well, at least we know he’s a fighter. He’s going to need to be to come through this.”
He stepped into the operating room and dried his hands on a cloth offered by a nurse. Another nurse helped him into his gown and gloves.
“Okay, people, we’re working against the clock here, so let’s make it matter.”
He picked up his scalpel and turned his attention to his patient. “You just hang on, John.”
An hour later, Doctor Cunningham had drained the excess blood from the patient’s skull and was placing a catheter to monitor his ICP. The surgery had been a success, but there was no knowing what kind of damage had been done in the meantime; it had been a big bleed.
“Do you think there was much damage?” the assisting intern asked.
“There’s no way of knowing until he wakes up,” Doctor Cunningham said. “One thing’s for sure, the legal department is going to have their hands full with this one.” He examined his work one last time, satisfied that he was done, and stepped back from the table. “Someone close this for me. I’ve got some notes to write up.” He was determined that, whatever happened to the ER and first surgical team, he wasn’t going to be caught up in their mess. He had done his job.
xXx
Two weeks later, Nurse Jane Haralson was walking out to her car when she heard someone call her name. Sighing heavily-she had just finished her shift and didn’t want to be called back into work-she turned to see the EMT Dave jogging towards her.
“Hey, Dave,” she said with a smile.
“Hey. I was worried I missed you. I have something for you.” He held out a scrap of notepaper. “My brother finally worked some magic on the cell phone you gave me.”
Jane’s eyes widened. “John Smith?”
“The very same.”
As a patient that she had only minimal contact with, John Smith would have been forgotten easily had it not been for the trouble that came after. There had been an oversight in his care, and it had almost killed him. The ER doctors were all on edge, waiting to see what would happen to them. It made for a tense working environment.
Jane had heard that John Smith’s family had still not been found, which made the tension even higher, as no one knew what would happen once they learned of their family member’s condition.
“You have a number?” she asked.
“I have a bunch. We got an I.C.E number for someone named Bobby. Weird thing is, we’ve got no family names on there, no mom or dad.”
“Maybe he doesn’t have a family,” Jane said somewhat sadly. “He could be all alone. He is at the moment anyway.”
“Not for long,” Dave said. “He has this Bobby character. I say we call him up.”
Jane was tempted, sorely tempted. She wanted to be the one to find John Smith’s family for him, but she wasn’t the right person to make the call. Shrugging her shoulders, she took the paper from Dave and headed into the hospital again.
“Where are you going?” Dave called after her.
“The ICU. I am going to give this to John’s charge nurse.”
“I don’t get to see how the story ends?”
“Afraid not. I’ll tell you what happens.”
Disappointed, Dave went back to the ambulance bay, wondering how he could initiate a new conversation with Jane. He had banked on being the hero that brought John Smith’s family to him to gain her favor. Now he would have to think of something else.
Jane took the elevator up to the third floor and stepped out onto the ICU ward. The ward was quiet, belying to the amount of activity in each of the rooms she passed. There was always something quiet about the ICU. It was as if people were worried a harsh word or loud noise could cause the people clinging to life in each room to fail.
She scurried along the corridor to the nurse’s station. The charge nurse, Beth Sinclair, looked up at her arrival.
“Jane, we don’t see you up here often. Everything okay?”
“Yes. I have the details for John Smith’s emergency contact. One of the EMT’s, Dave, worked some magic with his busted phone. I was wondering how John was, too. I was on shift when he came into the ER.”
“John Smith.” Beth sighed. “He’s not doing so good. They removed the ICP catheter this morning, he returned to normal, but he still isn’t showing signs of waking.”
“How’s his brain function?” Jane asked.
“That’s the thing. His activity is off the charts. He’s not impaired as far as we can tell. He just isn’t waking.”
“Maybe he needs something to wake up for, some familiar voices,” Jane suggested.
“Could be. Lord knows I’ve seen stranger things happen.”
Jane held out the paper with John Smith’s contacts on it. “Well, here you are.”
Beth examined the list of names and numbers. “That’s odd. No mom or dad. Not many girl names either. Our Mr. Smith is certainly a mystery.
“Are you going to make the call?” Jane asked hopefully.
Beth picked up the phone. “Sure. I think he’s been alone long enough.”
She dialed the number for Bobby and waited while it rang.
xXx
“Say what you like about psychics, they know how to keep things interesting,” Bobby said.
Dean grunted in response, and Bobby sighed. He knew where Dean’s thoughts were, and they weren’t with their recent hunt in Lily Dale.
Bobby knew Dean had been hoping they would come across Sam. The psychic deaths had made the national news, and it smacked of the supernatural. But, for whatever reason, Sam hadn’t tracked the hunt, and they were back to twiddling their thumbs and waiting.
“He’ll call when he’s ready,” Bobby said.
“You’ve been saying that for two weeks,” Dean said. “And he still hasn’t called.”
“He’s obviously not ready yet,” Bobby said reasonably.
Dean exhaled in a gust. He was worried Sam would never be ready. He had tried calling Sam’s cell a hundred times and had been put straight through to voicemail every time.
“So, where next?” Bobby asked.
“I thought you wanted to get back to Montana.”
Dean had called Bobby out when he caught wind of the hunt in Lily Dale. He could probably have handled it alone, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. He liked working with a partner, and since his usual partner MIA he had called on Bobby who had made it clear this was a onetime deal.
“Let’s just say, hunting with you wasn’t the nightmare I expected. Besides, it’s been a while since I have been on the road; it’s not all bad.”
“Yeah, crappy motels and bad diner food.” Dean scoffed. “It’s the good life.”
“Quit bitchin’. You wouldn’t have it any other way, and you know it.”
“I don’t know, Bobby. I’m getting tired of the life. It seems no matter what we give up, there is still more to lose.”
Bobby knew exactly where Dean’s thoughts were heading, and it was dangerous territory.
“You haven’t lost Sam. He’s just taking time out to deal with some stuff. He’ll be back soon enough.”
Dean gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Soon wasn’t enough for Dean. He wanted Sam back now so he could kick his ass for worrying him. As he was worried, not to mention guilty. He knew he had done the right thing in killing Amy, but he felt bad about lying to his brother about it. Those lies had dropped him in the crap-storm he was currently living in. Not knowing where his brother was or what he was doing. Sam may be ‘dealing’ but he still had Lucifer and a head full of hell rattling around his brain. Anything could be happening to him.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Bobby said. “Where are we heading next?”
“Vegas!” Sudden inspiration struck Dean. “I say we head west and blow our stack on the tables.”
Bobby frowned. “Isn’t that something you and Sam usually do together?”
Dean focused on the road, avoiding Bobby’s scrutiny. “Maybe.”
“And you want to one up your brother by taking me instead?”
“I never said that,” Dean said defensively.
“But you were thinking it.” Bobby cursed under his breath. “Dammit, boy, what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I’m thinking that I’m tired of waiting for him to call, Bobby. I’m tired of worrying that he’s off somewhere with only the voices in his head for company.”
“That’s enough!” Bobby snapped, finally driven past his point of patience. “Your brother isn’t crazy.”
“I didn’t say-”
“I’m talking!” Bobby growled. “He’s not crazy, and he’s not a child. He can take care of himself. If he's decided he needs time away, that’s his choice to make. No amount of tantrum throwing from you is going to change that. Now suck it up and act like a man.”
Dean bit back his anger at being spoken to like a child. Bobby had a temper, and while it didn’t show itself often, when it did it was better to sit down and shut up.
Bobby was still breathing heavily, but he battled to calm himself. “Now, let’s get ourselves back to the cabin. We can regroup from there.”
Dean dutifully turned onto the highway and flicked on the radio. He had a feeling conversation wasn’t on the cards for a while.
xXx
They had to stop overnight in Minnesota for sleep and food, so it wasn’t until late evening that they crossed the state line into Montana.
“I’m bushed,” Dean said, raking a hand over his face.
“You want me to take a turn?” Bobby asked.
Dean shook his head. He was used to being in the driver’s seat. Despite the fact he was no longer using his baby-they had stolen a crappy Ford on their way out of Lily Dale-he wasn’t going to ride shotgun.
“Then quit bitching,” Bobby snapped. He didn’t much like being the passenger, but he let Dean drive in hopes that it would distract him from his worry for Sam.
Bobby was confident that Sam was fine despite the fact they hadn’t heard news of him. He was a capable kid and had survived alone before now. He just needed some time to think. In his position, Bobby would want some time alone, too. Admittedly, the fact his phone was turned off was troubling, as was the fact he hadn’t called Bobby to check in on the leviathan situation, but Bobby wasn’t worried. At least that’s what he told himself.
At Dean’s suggestion, they stopped in Billings for breakfast. They found a small diner, and Dean pulled the stolen car up in front. Bobby’s joints creaked as he climbed from the car. It had been a while since he had pulled a road trip like this.
They had just settled into a booth when Bobby’s phone rang. Dean’s head snapped up, hoping it was Sam. When Bobby shook his head, Dean returned his attention to the menu.
Bobby didn’t recognize the number, but it was local, so he took the call thinking Sam might be using a phone booth to call as his cell had been out of service. “Bobby Singer.”
“Hello, Mr. Singer. This is Beth Sinclair. I am calling from Bozeman County General. Do you know a John Smith?”
“John Smith?” Bobby said skeptically.
Dean’s head snapped up and he nodded vigorously. “It’s Sam’s new alias,” he whispered.
“Yeah, I know John. What’s happened to him?” Bobby asked.
Dean’s heart sank at Bobby’s words. What was wrong with Sam? He wanted to snatch the phone from Bobby and demand information from whoever was calling, demand information about Sam, but he resisted the urge. It wouldn’t get them the information any faster.
“He’s been involved in an accident. Can you come?”
“Of course,” Bobby said. “I’ll be there right away.”
“Thank you, Mr. Singer.”
Bobby ended the call and turned haunted eyes to Dean.
“What’s happened?” Dean demanded, his fear making his voice hoarse. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Sam. He’s been in an accident.”