Angel Unaware 2/3
Title: Angel Unaware 2/3
Author: dragonflybeach
Category: Supernatural
Word Count: 17.7k
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Kevin Tran, (briefly Cas, Garth and [Spoiler (click to open)]Gabriel)
Pairings: none
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Season 9 spoilers, blood, gore, frank discussion of physical injuries, vomiting, canon typical ghost on boys whumpage, and a few naughty words. And alternating POV.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but if I did, I'd probably write fanfic about it anyway.
Summary: Goes AU in Season 9, Episode 9 - Sam feels great after the trials - a little too great maybe, because he gets hurt on a routine hunt and doesn't realize it. When Dean has to kidnap him from the hospital after strange things start happening, Sam starts putting together all the little moments that haven't made sense over the past few weeks and quickly comes to the wrong conclusion.
Sam woke as the sunlight began to creep through the closed blinds, slightly disoriented until he remembered that he was in a hospital.
The other questions - what time it was, where was Dean, those sort of things - all took second place to the fact they had given him two liters of fluid yesterday, and he really needed to pee. He looked around the room, but of course the nurses hadn't left him a walker or wheelchair or even crutches.
According to the clock it was right at seven, which meant shift change, and not much chance of getting assistance for the next little while.
He stood hesitantly, testing his leg, and found that it didn't hurt much. He hobbled to the bathroom, mindful to try to avoid putting his full weight on the leg as much as possible.
When he opened the door to return to bed, he found the dayshift nurse standing in his room, and she proceeded to throw a fit.
"What are you doing out of bed? You're not supposed to put weight on that leg! You've probably ruined your surgery! Stop! Just stop right there, don't move, and let me get someone to help you back into bed!"
She grabbed his arm, but before Sam could even think about what he was doing, she was flying across the room to land in a heap in the floor.
She scrambled up and ran into the hall shouting, returning with two male staff members and another nurse pushing a wheelchair. They made Sam sit in the wheelchair, and pushed him the last four steps back over to the bed. The orderly helped Sam lift himself from the chair, and held him steady while he turned on his good leg and got back in bed.
"Now stay put!" one of the men ordered. "Don't get out of the bed for anything! If you need something, press the button," he put the call button on Sam's lap." and someone will come help you. I've got to go call this in."
He rushed out of the room. The orderly and the nurses followed behind, taking the wheelchair with them.
Sam replayed the events over and over in his mind, trying to decide if he had thrown the woman across the room, or exactly what had happened.
The orderly returned a few minutes later with Sam's breakfast tray, but by the time he added sweetener to his coffee, someone else came in pushing a wheelchair and announced he was here to take Sam to x-ray.
Sam took a few sips of the coffee, not mourning over leaving the wet cement looking oatmeal and indistinguishable fruit cup. He would call Dean and ask for a decent breakfast.
Dean arrived on the ortho floor when visiting hours began at 8:30, coffee, oatmeal, pumpkin bread, and a banana from Starbucks in hand in response to Sam's message. Well, to be honest, Sam didn't specifically ask for those items, just some decent breakfast and a large coffee. Yes, Dean was probably overcompensating due to guilt, but well, Winchester.
The young male doctor who had been in Sam's room yesterday was at the nurses' station, looking at something on the computer.
"Mr. Dougherty?" the man hailed. "Could I speak with you a moment?"
Dean's heart leapt into his throat. "Is my brother ok?"
The doctor was already around the end of the counter, waving Dean toward a consultation room.
Dean's feet forgot how to move when he realized the doctor was headed into one of those rooms where they take the family to give them bad news.
"He's all right," the doctor assured. "I just have a couple questions."
Sighing aloud in relief, Dean followed the man into the room and sat while the doctor closed the door and came to sit across from him.
"I'm Dr. Bahri, we met yesterday?" The man prodded, and continued once Dean nodded. "Mr. Dougherty, you do know there's something very strange about your brother, right?"
"I ... I don't ... know what you mean," Dean stammered, praying that it was true.
"Your brother ... " Dr. Bahri shook his head and gestured at the chart on his lap. "This morning, he needed to go to the bathroom, so rather than calling for a nurse, he got out of bed and walked to the bathroom on his own. Without any assistive devices. He said that he was sleepy and didn't think about what he was doing."
"He's always been pretty tough." Dean said with a smile, hoping that his bluff held.
"Mr. Dougherty, he broke his leg and ankle in multiple places," Dr. Bahri explained as if he were talking to a child. A particularly dense child at that. "Yes, he had the surgery yesterday, but there's no way his leg should have even supported his weight today. He certainly should have been in too much pain to even try walking on that leg."
"Well then why did you let him up?" Dean demanded. "Why didn't someone come help him, and stop him from getting up and hurting himself?"
"That's the thing, Mr. Dougherty," the doctor frowned. "He didn't hurt himself. We x-rayed his leg to see how much damage he had done to the surgical repairs. Not only was there no damage, but he's healed to the point that it looks like he had the surgery two or three weeks ago. His incisions are healed enough that we could take the staples out. There is very clear bone regeneration on the x-rays that should not be physically possible. All of this, on top of the fact that your brother was on the verge of being declared brain dead just over a month ago. The nurse who found him claims that he somehow threw her across the room without touching her. I ask again, Mr. Dougherty, what is going on with your brother?"
Dean stared at the coffee cup in his hand, his mind scrambling for an explanation. He sighed. "I don't know, and even if I did, I couldn't tell you."
Dr. Bahri narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Dean bit his lip and gave his best disarming smile. "I don't suppose we could just chalk this one up to ... I don't know, something that may have happened while my brother was in the military, and just let it go?"
The doctor stared at him for a full minute. "I'm going to have to talk to my supervisors about this. I'm still a resident, so I don't have the authority to sign off on something like this, and even if I did, to do so would be putting my medical license in jeopardy."
"Maybe you could schedule some more tests for this afternoon, and if you haven't come up with a reasonable explanation by tomorrow, talk to them?" Dean suggested.
"I can try that," Dr. Bahri nodded, still watching Dean like a hawk. "But you have to understand, I'm not the only one who's aware that something strange is going on here. Hospitals have well-developed gossip grapevines. HIPAA rules or not, people are going to be talking about something like this."
"I suggest you don't let them." Dean ground out as he stood and pushed past the doctor out into the hall.
This time, he noted the security guard casually leaning against the counter at the nurses' station, making conversation with someone behind the desk, but watching the door of Sam's room. He made his way down the hall, plastered on a fake smile, and pushed the room door open.
"Heya, Sammy. Brought you some breakfast." He dropped the cup and bag on the tray table. "You need to eat, keep your strength up, build some bones."
"Dean," Sam frowned. "What is ... "
"Hold that thought," Dean waved as he walked to the bathroom. "Be right back."
He paused at the bathroom door, turned back around, and softly said "Zeke."
Sam's eyes immediately flashed blue, and he sat up straighter, his hands stilling on the bag in front of him.
"Yes, Dean?" the angel questioned.
"How much longer?"
"Just a few days, a week, maybe, and your brother will be strong enough to survive without me." the angel answered. "As my strength builds, his also builds, and we are able to strengthen one another, the speed of which increases exponentially. He won't be fully recovered in that time, but strong enough that he would not require hospitalization. Fully recovery would take two to three weeks more."
"Just hurry," Dean nodded.
In the blink of an eye, Sam was back, grumbling that he didn't ask for all this.
Dean shut the door behind him, pulled out his phone, and sent a quick text to Garth.
Need MIB protocol ASAP.
Sam pulled his breakfast out of the bag, dumping the raisins and nuts into the oatmeal and wondering why Dean brought so much food. Sam was never big on breakfast, always preferring to have his main meal at lunch when possible.
He ate the oatmeal, glancing over at the bathroom door when he heard Dean's text message alert sound. A few spoonfuls later, he heard the sound again, and wondered idly if texting with someone half naked in a bathroom counted as an obscene phone call.
He finished the oatmeal and most of the banana by the time the door opened and Dean returned.
"I guess you were pretty hungry," Dean said, gesturing at the empty bowl.
"I guess it's recovery from the past year," Sam shrugged. "Food tastes better than it has in a long time, and I've been pretty hungry the past few weeks."
"You need it," Dean agreed. "Need to get your strength back."
Dean swiped the remote from the nightstand and draped himself over the armchair by the bed.
Sam finished his banana and tossed the peel at Dean's head. Dean didn't say a word, just caught it and tossed it into the trash.
Something was officially up. Dean could not possibly be that into a documentary on some dead NASCAR driver.
"So Dean," Sam began, watching his brother carefully. "What did the doctor tell you on the way in?"
"Huh?" Dean turned after hesitating a fraction of a second too long. "Didn't they come in and talk to you this morning?"
Sam was more convinced than ever that something was going on. "They just said my leg looked really good in this morning's round of x-rays. I thought you might have gotten more info out of them."
Dean nodded and flipped the channel as the current program went to a commercial. He didn't react to hearing that Sam had more x-rays this morning.
Which meant he already knew.
Sam continued to watch Dean, who was now pretending to be completely enthralled with a rerun of Family Feud.
A tech came in to check Sam's vital signs and ask if he needed anything.
"Is physical therapy coming up this morning?" he asked.
She took a step back, color rushing to her face, before she stammered "Uh, um, I'm, um not sure. Orders ... changed."
She rushed out of the room like she was being chased.
Sam glanced over at Dean, who continued to watch tv and ignore the whole incident.
All attempts at conversation were met with one word answers from Dean.
Sam looked toward the door at every sound or shadow that passed by in the hall, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Three hours later, it did.
The door was flung open, and several voices spoke at once.
"... have to know that this is most irregular ... "
"... ma'am, I assure you that you really want to cooperate ... "
"... just let me get my medical director ... "
"... discharge instructions will not be necessary ... "
Two figures stood in the room, both dressed in black suits with sunglasses and ear pieces like secret service agents. They were escorted by a state police officer, two nurses, and Dr. Bahri.
Sam looked from one newcomer to the other. "Garth? Kevin?"
Dr. Bahri's eyes widened.
Dean stood up, completely unfazed, stretched slightly, and put his hands on his hips, drawing his jacket back.
The younger nurse's eyes bugged and Dr. Bahri's mouth dropped open.
Sam looked over to see Dean give him the signal to play along. Dean was displaying a gun and knife in his waistband and the straps of a shoulder holster. Sam suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, not bothering with a bitchface because Dean wasn't looking at him. There was no telling what was going on, so all he could do was go with it.
"We've come to pick up Raymond Samuel Dougherty." Garth announced, waving a handful of papers.
Dean nodded. "About time."
"You can't just take this man out of the hospital!" Dr Bahri protested. "He's still in need of medical care!"
"We'll be taking him somewhere else that he will receive medical care, so I suggest you make sure we have all of his records as I asked." Garth said authoritatively. "We can do this the easy way, or I can make a phone call and have this hospital locked down until we have Mr. Dougherty securely removed."
Dean took a step forward.
"No, no, agent, that won't be necessary," Dr. Bahri made a placating gesture with his hands. "Karen, please make sure someone is printing off Mr. Dougherty's chart."
"X-rays too," Kevin spoke for the first time, his face still turned toward Sam.
"Yes, yes, copies of the x-rays too," Dr. Bahri shot a nervous look at the dark suited men before turning back to the nurse.
"Not copies. The originals." Garth said.
"But our records are computerized." The doctor protested. "There are no originals. We just print out what we need to."
"Then you'll be deleting Mr. Dougherty's records as soon as they're printed." Garth replied.
Another look of panic crossed the doctor's face. "I ... we ... I don't have authority to do that."
"Fine," Kevin shrugged. "We'll handle it from our end."
The nurse nodded quickly and fled the room.
"Now I suggest you do whatever you need to prepare Mr. Dougherty for transport, because we will be leaving this facility in 22 minutes." Garth instructed.
"Grab him a pair of scrub pants, would you, because I cut off his jeans in the field." Dean requested.
Dr. Bahri's eyes widened again and he gulped, nodding. He looked over at the other nurse, but she didn't seem to want to be left alone in the room any more than the young doctor. He walked over to the door and called down the hall "Sheila? Can you grab a clean pair of scrub pants, size large? Extra long if they have any."
Apparently satisfied that she would get the pants, the doctor turned back to the nurse still in the room. "You take his IV's down and check his vitals while I take a look at the leg."
Dean stepped back to let them work and the two of them moved to either side of the bed.
The nurse had disconnected the IV and placed a bandage over the spot on Sam's arm in under a minute, and began calling off his vitals as the doctor cautiously removed the brace and bandage on Sam's leg.
"Mr. Dougherty, tell me if I do something that hurts you," the doctor instructed as he prodded the area.
"No, it's fine," Sam shrugged. "Well, I mean, not fine, it hurts a little, but yeah. I'm still on pain pills."
The doctor looked up at Dean, and then over at Garth. "Should I take the staples out, or do you want to have that done wherever you're taking him?"
Garth looked at Dean, who shook his head.
"Just do whatever he needs to prepare him for transport." Dean said. "We'll handle it from there."
"Get him some crutches so he can transfer." Garth told the returning nurse, who hovered in the doorway.
She took off again, replaced by the nurse bringing the scrub pants. Kevin took them from her hand without a word and laid them over the end of the bed.
The doctor bandaged Sam's leg and secured the brace into place. "He's ready to go."
He moved away from the bed as Dean stepped forward and helped Sam shimmy into the scrub pants which were, of course, too short. He untied the hospital gown in the back and tossed Sam his shirts, which Sam was able to put on unassisted.
The two nurses returned, one with crutches, and the other with a wheelchair, murmuring something to Garth about picking up the chart at the desk on the way out. He nodded and thanked her, while Dean and Dr. Bahri helped Sam to sit on the side of the bed, and then stand and sit in the wheelchair.
"Is he due any meds?" Dean asked.
Dr. Bahri consulted the paper chart in his hands. "He had a 12 hour pain med at 8 this morning. He can take a non-opiate based short acting drug if he needs breakthrough pain relief. Otherwise, he's not due for anything else until this evening."
"Thank you." Dean nodded, took the chart from the doctor's hand, and gave it to Kevin.
Dean pushed Sam in the wheelchair out of the room, down the hall, pausing while Garth picked up the chart at the nursing station, and to the elevator.
Dr. Bahri accompanied them as far as the elevator door. "What should I tell anyone?" he asked.
"Just tell them a couple of feds came in for the patient with a court order." Dean shrugged. He moved his hands to rest on his hips, drawing his jacket back again to expose his weapons. "No one else really needs to know anything."
The doctor nodded, and stepped back as the elevator dinged open.
Dean rolled Sam in and turned him to face the door. Garth, Kevin, and the police officer also stepped inside.
"What the actual ... " Sam began as the doors closed.
"Take me around to get my car," Dean spoke over him to Garth. "Then we'll convoy out of here, get about five miles down the road before we stop and sort out."
Garth nodded.
"This is unbelievable." Kevin grinned.
Upon reaching the ground floor, they rolled Sam out to a black SUV that was parked along the curb behind a police car. Dean and the officer helped Sam into the back seat, and then Dean buckled in beside him. Garth and Kevin got in the front. The officer went to his own car and flipped on the lights, but did not sound the siren.
Following Dean's directions, Garth drove them around to the side parking lot, where Dean hopped out and got into the Impala. The three vehicles pulled out onto the main road, the police car escorting the SUV and Dean following in the rear.
"Garth, what in the hell is going on?" Sam demanded.
Garth looked up at Sam in the rear view mirror. "Dean said we needed to get you out of there ASAP."
"What's with all the cloak and dagger crap?" Sam gestured at the two men in the front seat. "And how did you get a real cop involved in this?"
"Oh, that's my cousin Harlan," Garth smiled. "He hunts a little on the side, so when I told him that we needed to get a hunter out of the public eye pretty quickly, he was glad to help."
"By pretending to be the NSA?" Sam huffed.
"That was Dean's call," Garth shrugged. "I just did what he asked."
A little over five miles outside town, the police car pulled off the road and around to the back of an abandoned store. The SUV and Impala followed.
Harlan and Dean helped Sam out of the truck, and Dean held him up while Garth adjusted the crutches for Sam's height. Harlan shook their hands, hugged Garth, and excused himself to get back where he was supposed to be.
"Kevin, you'll ride with us back to the bunker," Dean thumbed toward the Impala.
Kevin grabbed a backpack out of the back of the SUV, loosened his tie, and climbed in the backseat.
"Here," Garth handed Dean some prescriptions. "You'll need these. What?" he shook his head at Sam's raised eyebrows. "I still have my dental license. I can still legally write prescriptions. There's an antibiotic, a medicine to prevent blood clots, and a pain pill. If you need something for muscle spasms, let me know. I can call that to a pharmacy."
Sam shifted his right crutch so that both crutches were under his left arm, and held out his hand to Garth. "Thanks, Garth. We owe you."
"Oh don't be silly," Garth grinned, carefully hugging Sam's right side as to not pull him off balance. "We don't keep score here. We just help whomever needs it."
He released Sam, and then hugged Dean. "Call me if you have any questions, but try to keep him off that foot for at least a few more weeks."
"Sure thing, man." Dean nodded. "Appreciate everything you did."
"Ok, well, I'm gonna tell Kevin goodbye and then I gotta get this truck back." Garth tipped his head toward the SUV. "You guys take care and I'll talk to you soon."
He walked over and pulled the back door of the Impala open, leaning down to speak to Kevin.
"Ok, Dean, what is all this?" Sam demanded quietly.
"I had to get you out of there ASAP." Dean whispered urgently.
"And what? Our usual slipping out the side door too tame for you this time?" Sam snorted.
"Sam! They had security watching your room! Did they really not tell you what they found when they examined you this morning?" Dean asked.
"No," Sam shook his head.
"Your incisions are closed! They could have taken the staples out already. And they can actually see bone regrowing already on your x-rays!" Dean hissed. "This whole trial thing is working some kind of freaky mojo on your system. Your doctor thinks you're Wolverine or something! I had to get you out of there before someone really did call that super secret scary branch of the government and you ended up in some top secret lab being probed!"
"Ok," Sam sighed.
"Ok?" Dean repeated.
"Ok," Sam said. "I get why you did it, and I agree, even if I do think all this was a little over the top. Maybe I need to send you LARPing again to get it out of your system."
"Shut up," Dean grumbled, walking over to get in the driver's seat.
Whatever Kevin was doing in the backseat, he did it quietly, and the familiar roar of the engine in combination with a strong dose of morphine derivative soon lulled Sam to sleep.
Dean shook him awake gently as he pulled into the garage at the bunker.
"Don't know who thought it was a good idea to put so many fucking stairs in this place." Dean grumbled.
"It's fine, Dean," Sam said. "My bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, and the library are all on the main level. I'm not going to need to go up and down stairs much."
Dean insisted on going downstairs first, so that he could catch Sam if he fell. By the time he got Sam settled in the library, Sam's stomach was growling, and Kevin announced he was hungry too.
"How about a couple sandwiches for now, and then I go get Sam's scripts filled? I can pick up something better for dinner." Dean offered.
"I really don't think I need ... " Sam began, but Dean cut him off.
"You're taking the medicine to prevent the blood clots," Dean replied in a voice that didn't leave room for argument. "You're not gonna survive all the shit you've been through and die of something like that. Or an infection, so you're taking the antibiotics too. The pain pills? I'll leave that up to you. But even if you don't need them, it would be good to have them on hand for when we do need them."
Sam really couldn't argue with that logic, so he just just told Dean to plan on a big dinner, because he was starving.
After the sandwiches, Sam picked up his book of Sumerian mythology, and Kevin went back to work on the tablet, both so engrossed that they didn't realize Dean was back until he told them to clear the table for dinner.
Sam ate three servings of salad, two of Dean's jumbo bacon cheeseburgers, all of his fries, and was reaching for the few fries left on the plate Kevin had pushed away when he realized that Dean was staring at him.
"I told you I was hungry." Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, we see," Kevin agreed.
"I'll feed you as much as you want to eat," Dean said. "Just remember, though, that you're not going to be moving around much to burn off all these calories."
Sam nodded, stifling a yawn.
"Ok, Sasquatch," Dean stood. "Bedtime."
"Dean," Sam growled.
"C'mon," Dean tugged at Sam's arm. "You need your rest if you're going to get better. I'll carry your book for you."
Sam told Kevin good night and made his way down the hall slowly. His only previous experience with crutches had been nearly fifteen years ago, and he was still a little unsteady on them this time.
Dean followed behind, opened the door and flipped on the light for him, and grabbed Sam a t-shirt and sweats from the drawer.
"I can handle this, Dean," Sam grumbled.
"Ok, you change, and I'll go get your meds." Dean hesitated a moment until Sam gave him a dirty look.
Dean returned to find Sam changed, propped up against pillows on his headboard. Sam took the antibiotic and anti-clotting medicine, but balked at the pain pill.
"You may not be hurting right now, because you had long acting pain medicine this morning, but it's going to wear off." Dean warned.
"Dean, I'm fine," Sam grumbled. "It didn't hurt that much before they started giving me pain meds."
Dean didn't answer, just watched Sam like he was waiting for something, long enough that Sam angrily barked "What?"
"Nothing," Dean shook his head and turned to the door. "Call me if you need me."
He flipped the light off and closed the door behind him.
Sam, surprisingly, fell asleep much sooner than he would have thought.
Sam woke two hours later, and he hurt.
After spending a few minutes shifting around to accommodate his leg, he realized that it wasn't the only thing that hurt. He literally hurt all over.
He closed his eyes and focused on breathing deeply and relaxing his body as much as possible. When the pain didn't subside, he tried to distract himself by mentally cataloging the books he wanted to read over the next couple weeks.
He briefly debated getting up and getting a pain pill, but quickly realized that he didn't know where Dean had put them, and banging around on crutches in the dark would probably wake the other residents of the bunker.
He spent half an hour telling himself that it wasn't worth proving Dean right before he finally decided that it wouldn't be the first time his brother had rubbed his face in an impulsive decision.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and dialed Dean, rather than yell and wake Kevin.
Dean answered on the second ring, his voice rough and sleep slurred. "S'mmy? Wha's wrong?"
"I'm sorry, but could you get me that pain pill?" Sam sighed.
"Be righ' th'r," Dean said before hanging up.
Sam pushed himself up in bed and turned on the lamp. Dean came in momentarily with two pain pills and a glass of water.
"Garth says you can take two if you need them," Dean explained.
Sam didn't argue, just took both pills, popped them in his mouth, and washed them down.
Dean's forehead creased. "You ok? You want me to get you some ice or a hot pack or something for your leg?"
"No," Sam shook his head. "I'm just ... I hurt all over. I know it's probably from falling into the grave, but ... "
"But what?" Dean's eyes widened.
"I don't know," Sam shook his head again. "It's almost like when I was going through the trials. I just hurt all over, especially my chest."
Dean's hand immediately shot out toward Sam's forehead. "You're not running any more 105 temps or coughing, are you?"
"No, nothing like that." Sam let Dean touch his forehead and both cheeks before shoving his hand away. "I guess you were right. I was pushing myself too hard and I'm not as healed as I thought I was."
Surprisingly, Dean didn't answer as Sam thought he would have. He just looked at Sam speculatively, and said "I'm gonna make sure you get fixed this time."
"Dean," Sam huffed.
"I shouldn't have let you go on hunts so soon," Dean said.
"It was my decision to go," Sam reminded him. "In fact, I'm the one who found this last hunt. I just ... it's frustrating, this not feeling like myself. You know, before Charlie came, and before we went after Cas, I felt better, and then afterwards, I felt bad again for a few days. I should have learned by now."
"I'm sorry," Dean whispered.
There was guilt in his eyes, and Sam knew he wasn't apologizing for letting Sam work cases. Before he could ask, Dean stood, patted Sam's good leg, told him to get some rest, and left the room.
The pain began to ease, but Sam's mind raced, convinced there was something huge he was missing in this whole situation. He mentally pictured a wall, and began placing all the disjointed pieces of the puzzle on it, like Dad working a case.
Laying on the ground beside the car, outside the church, watching the angels fall, knowing he was going to die.
Waking up thirty-two, thirty three? hours later in the car, wondering why Dean didn't take him to a hospital.
Finding out later that Dean had taken him to a hospital, but didn't tell him.
Injuries that should have been fatal, inexplicably healing.
Waking several times the first week with the taste of blood in his mouth.
A very vivid snippet of a dream, Dean saying "There ain't no me if there ain't no you."
Being in the abandoned diner with three demons, while Abbadon had Dean trapped outside. Waking up to find the three demons dead and Dean standing over him.
The demon in Iowa, who took one look at Sam and smoked out.
Dean claiming to have found April's address on the other reaper when he obviously hadn't.
Seeing Cas seriously wounded in April's apartment, being knocked out, and waking up to find Cas healed and April dead.
Dean telling Cas to leave the bunker and then lying about it.
Telling Dean that he is happy, despite everything going on around them.
Running into the doorway to see Dean leaning over what appears to be Charlie's dead body. Dean yelling "Zeke!" Waking up beside Dean and Charlie, who is awake and talking, not knowing how he got to be across the room and unconscious.
Dean not appearing to be concerned about the fact Sam had been unconscious.
In the restaurant, finding himself covered in blood, but no wound. Chef Leo asking "What are you?"
Dean refusing to let Sam come to Idaho to help Cas.
"You're all duct tape and safety pins inside."
Missing blocks of time, time that Sam thought he had just zoned out, although he had never done so before.
The nurse flying across the room.
The guilty look in Dean's eyes, not just tonight, but several times now.
The diner. There was something about the diner, and the three dead demons, if Sam could just put his finger on it. He concentrated, and it was almost as if he felt something in his mind shift.
He saw Dean run into the door of the diner. He saw the demons dead on the floor. There was something wrong with the picture, but he didn't know what.
Dean is in the doorway, shocked. The demons are dead on the floor.
Sam wasn't sure how long he fixated on the scene before he realized what was bothering him.
The demons were dead on the floor.
Dean wasn't holding the knife.
Sam was.
Dean didn't kill those demons.
Dean was lying to him.
But about what, and why?
Sam continued to make a mental tally of the facts he knew.
He had been on the verge of death, and then miraculously healed.
He physically had felt great for days or even weeks at a time, but relatively minor exertions had set him back significantly.
He woke up several times with the taste of blood in his mouth.
A demon had been afraid of him.
Chef Leo didn't think he was human.
Vesta said he shouldn't be alive.
Dean wasn't freaking out over Sam's missing chunks of time, or the apparently frequent unconsciousness.
Dean had obviously done something which had precipitated Sam's healing, and he didn't want Sam to know about it.
The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he had killed the demons in the diner, not Dean, and that he had thrown the nurse across the room when she grabbed him.
He felt fine after falling down a grave and breaking his leg in multiple places, but felt like he'd been hit by a bus after nothing more strenuous than a car ride.
He tried to remember the last time he felt as bad as he had when he woke up this evening. The trials? Almost. This didn't feel quite the same. Actually, it felt more like the first time he had been drying out from demon blood.
He woke up with the taste of blood in his mouth.
"Dean, no." he whispered into the darkness.
He suddenly realized why the King of Hell was in the dungeon, rather than permanently removed from earth.
Running into the doorway to see Dean leaning over what appears to be Charlie's dead body. Dean yelling "Zeke!" Waking up beside Dean and Charlie, who is awake and talking, not knowing how he got to be across the room and unconscious.
Obviously, Dean had called for Ezekiel to heal Charlie, and Sam had been knocked out when the angel appeared.
Why would an angel knock Sam out? Because he was an abomination.
Giving up on sleep for the time being, Sam began to weigh out the possibilities of confronting Dean. Unless he had proof, Dean would deny everything.
Sam reached over into the nightstand drawer, fished out a flask of holy water, and took a drink.
Nothing. But then again, when he was drinking Ruby's blood, holy water didn't bother him until he had consumed quite a bit of demon blood.
Surely the Men of Letters had something about how to detect demon blood. He could start looking in the morning.
Now that he had a plan, he consciously cleared his mind, focused on a blank spot in the darkness, and tensed and relaxed each of his muscles until he was able to fall asleep.
On to Chapter 3
Author: dragonflybeach
Category: Supernatural
Word Count: 17.7k
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Kevin Tran, (briefly Cas, Garth and [Spoiler (click to open)]Gabriel)
Pairings: none
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Season 9 spoilers, blood, gore, frank discussion of physical injuries, vomiting, canon typical ghost on boys whumpage, and a few naughty words. And alternating POV.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but if I did, I'd probably write fanfic about it anyway.
Summary: Goes AU in Season 9, Episode 9 - Sam feels great after the trials - a little too great maybe, because he gets hurt on a routine hunt and doesn't realize it. When Dean has to kidnap him from the hospital after strange things start happening, Sam starts putting together all the little moments that haven't made sense over the past few weeks and quickly comes to the wrong conclusion.
Sam woke as the sunlight began to creep through the closed blinds, slightly disoriented until he remembered that he was in a hospital.
The other questions - what time it was, where was Dean, those sort of things - all took second place to the fact they had given him two liters of fluid yesterday, and he really needed to pee. He looked around the room, but of course the nurses hadn't left him a walker or wheelchair or even crutches.
According to the clock it was right at seven, which meant shift change, and not much chance of getting assistance for the next little while.
He stood hesitantly, testing his leg, and found that it didn't hurt much. He hobbled to the bathroom, mindful to try to avoid putting his full weight on the leg as much as possible.
When he opened the door to return to bed, he found the dayshift nurse standing in his room, and she proceeded to throw a fit.
"What are you doing out of bed? You're not supposed to put weight on that leg! You've probably ruined your surgery! Stop! Just stop right there, don't move, and let me get someone to help you back into bed!"
She grabbed his arm, but before Sam could even think about what he was doing, she was flying across the room to land in a heap in the floor.
She scrambled up and ran into the hall shouting, returning with two male staff members and another nurse pushing a wheelchair. They made Sam sit in the wheelchair, and pushed him the last four steps back over to the bed. The orderly helped Sam lift himself from the chair, and held him steady while he turned on his good leg and got back in bed.
"Now stay put!" one of the men ordered. "Don't get out of the bed for anything! If you need something, press the button," he put the call button on Sam's lap." and someone will come help you. I've got to go call this in."
He rushed out of the room. The orderly and the nurses followed behind, taking the wheelchair with them.
Sam replayed the events over and over in his mind, trying to decide if he had thrown the woman across the room, or exactly what had happened.
The orderly returned a few minutes later with Sam's breakfast tray, but by the time he added sweetener to his coffee, someone else came in pushing a wheelchair and announced he was here to take Sam to x-ray.
Sam took a few sips of the coffee, not mourning over leaving the wet cement looking oatmeal and indistinguishable fruit cup. He would call Dean and ask for a decent breakfast.
Dean arrived on the ortho floor when visiting hours began at 8:30, coffee, oatmeal, pumpkin bread, and a banana from Starbucks in hand in response to Sam's message. Well, to be honest, Sam didn't specifically ask for those items, just some decent breakfast and a large coffee. Yes, Dean was probably overcompensating due to guilt, but well, Winchester.
The young male doctor who had been in Sam's room yesterday was at the nurses' station, looking at something on the computer.
"Mr. Dougherty?" the man hailed. "Could I speak with you a moment?"
Dean's heart leapt into his throat. "Is my brother ok?"
The doctor was already around the end of the counter, waving Dean toward a consultation room.
Dean's feet forgot how to move when he realized the doctor was headed into one of those rooms where they take the family to give them bad news.
"He's all right," the doctor assured. "I just have a couple questions."
Sighing aloud in relief, Dean followed the man into the room and sat while the doctor closed the door and came to sit across from him.
"I'm Dr. Bahri, we met yesterday?" The man prodded, and continued once Dean nodded. "Mr. Dougherty, you do know there's something very strange about your brother, right?"
"I ... I don't ... know what you mean," Dean stammered, praying that it was true.
"Your brother ... " Dr. Bahri shook his head and gestured at the chart on his lap. "This morning, he needed to go to the bathroom, so rather than calling for a nurse, he got out of bed and walked to the bathroom on his own. Without any assistive devices. He said that he was sleepy and didn't think about what he was doing."
"He's always been pretty tough." Dean said with a smile, hoping that his bluff held.
"Mr. Dougherty, he broke his leg and ankle in multiple places," Dr. Bahri explained as if he were talking to a child. A particularly dense child at that. "Yes, he had the surgery yesterday, but there's no way his leg should have even supported his weight today. He certainly should have been in too much pain to even try walking on that leg."
"Well then why did you let him up?" Dean demanded. "Why didn't someone come help him, and stop him from getting up and hurting himself?"
"That's the thing, Mr. Dougherty," the doctor frowned. "He didn't hurt himself. We x-rayed his leg to see how much damage he had done to the surgical repairs. Not only was there no damage, but he's healed to the point that it looks like he had the surgery two or three weeks ago. His incisions are healed enough that we could take the staples out. There is very clear bone regeneration on the x-rays that should not be physically possible. All of this, on top of the fact that your brother was on the verge of being declared brain dead just over a month ago. The nurse who found him claims that he somehow threw her across the room without touching her. I ask again, Mr. Dougherty, what is going on with your brother?"
Dean stared at the coffee cup in his hand, his mind scrambling for an explanation. He sighed. "I don't know, and even if I did, I couldn't tell you."
Dr. Bahri narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
Dean bit his lip and gave his best disarming smile. "I don't suppose we could just chalk this one up to ... I don't know, something that may have happened while my brother was in the military, and just let it go?"
The doctor stared at him for a full minute. "I'm going to have to talk to my supervisors about this. I'm still a resident, so I don't have the authority to sign off on something like this, and even if I did, to do so would be putting my medical license in jeopardy."
"Maybe you could schedule some more tests for this afternoon, and if you haven't come up with a reasonable explanation by tomorrow, talk to them?" Dean suggested.
"I can try that," Dr. Bahri nodded, still watching Dean like a hawk. "But you have to understand, I'm not the only one who's aware that something strange is going on here. Hospitals have well-developed gossip grapevines. HIPAA rules or not, people are going to be talking about something like this."
"I suggest you don't let them." Dean ground out as he stood and pushed past the doctor out into the hall.
This time, he noted the security guard casually leaning against the counter at the nurses' station, making conversation with someone behind the desk, but watching the door of Sam's room. He made his way down the hall, plastered on a fake smile, and pushed the room door open.
"Heya, Sammy. Brought you some breakfast." He dropped the cup and bag on the tray table. "You need to eat, keep your strength up, build some bones."
"Dean," Sam frowned. "What is ... "
"Hold that thought," Dean waved as he walked to the bathroom. "Be right back."
He paused at the bathroom door, turned back around, and softly said "Zeke."
Sam's eyes immediately flashed blue, and he sat up straighter, his hands stilling on the bag in front of him.
"Yes, Dean?" the angel questioned.
"How much longer?"
"Just a few days, a week, maybe, and your brother will be strong enough to survive without me." the angel answered. "As my strength builds, his also builds, and we are able to strengthen one another, the speed of which increases exponentially. He won't be fully recovered in that time, but strong enough that he would not require hospitalization. Fully recovery would take two to three weeks more."
"Just hurry," Dean nodded.
In the blink of an eye, Sam was back, grumbling that he didn't ask for all this.
Dean shut the door behind him, pulled out his phone, and sent a quick text to Garth.
Need MIB protocol ASAP.
Sam pulled his breakfast out of the bag, dumping the raisins and nuts into the oatmeal and wondering why Dean brought so much food. Sam was never big on breakfast, always preferring to have his main meal at lunch when possible.
He ate the oatmeal, glancing over at the bathroom door when he heard Dean's text message alert sound. A few spoonfuls later, he heard the sound again, and wondered idly if texting with someone half naked in a bathroom counted as an obscene phone call.
He finished the oatmeal and most of the banana by the time the door opened and Dean returned.
"I guess you were pretty hungry," Dean said, gesturing at the empty bowl.
"I guess it's recovery from the past year," Sam shrugged. "Food tastes better than it has in a long time, and I've been pretty hungry the past few weeks."
"You need it," Dean agreed. "Need to get your strength back."
Dean swiped the remote from the nightstand and draped himself over the armchair by the bed.
Sam finished his banana and tossed the peel at Dean's head. Dean didn't say a word, just caught it and tossed it into the trash.
Something was officially up. Dean could not possibly be that into a documentary on some dead NASCAR driver.
"So Dean," Sam began, watching his brother carefully. "What did the doctor tell you on the way in?"
"Huh?" Dean turned after hesitating a fraction of a second too long. "Didn't they come in and talk to you this morning?"
Sam was more convinced than ever that something was going on. "They just said my leg looked really good in this morning's round of x-rays. I thought you might have gotten more info out of them."
Dean nodded and flipped the channel as the current program went to a commercial. He didn't react to hearing that Sam had more x-rays this morning.
Which meant he already knew.
Sam continued to watch Dean, who was now pretending to be completely enthralled with a rerun of Family Feud.
A tech came in to check Sam's vital signs and ask if he needed anything.
"Is physical therapy coming up this morning?" he asked.
She took a step back, color rushing to her face, before she stammered "Uh, um, I'm, um not sure. Orders ... changed."
She rushed out of the room like she was being chased.
Sam glanced over at Dean, who continued to watch tv and ignore the whole incident.
All attempts at conversation were met with one word answers from Dean.
Sam looked toward the door at every sound or shadow that passed by in the hall, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Three hours later, it did.
The door was flung open, and several voices spoke at once.
"... have to know that this is most irregular ... "
"... ma'am, I assure you that you really want to cooperate ... "
"... just let me get my medical director ... "
"... discharge instructions will not be necessary ... "
Two figures stood in the room, both dressed in black suits with sunglasses and ear pieces like secret service agents. They were escorted by a state police officer, two nurses, and Dr. Bahri.
Sam looked from one newcomer to the other. "Garth? Kevin?"
Dr. Bahri's eyes widened.
Dean stood up, completely unfazed, stretched slightly, and put his hands on his hips, drawing his jacket back.
The younger nurse's eyes bugged and Dr. Bahri's mouth dropped open.
Sam looked over to see Dean give him the signal to play along. Dean was displaying a gun and knife in his waistband and the straps of a shoulder holster. Sam suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, not bothering with a bitchface because Dean wasn't looking at him. There was no telling what was going on, so all he could do was go with it.
"We've come to pick up Raymond Samuel Dougherty." Garth announced, waving a handful of papers.
Dean nodded. "About time."
"You can't just take this man out of the hospital!" Dr Bahri protested. "He's still in need of medical care!"
"We'll be taking him somewhere else that he will receive medical care, so I suggest you make sure we have all of his records as I asked." Garth said authoritatively. "We can do this the easy way, or I can make a phone call and have this hospital locked down until we have Mr. Dougherty securely removed."
Dean took a step forward.
"No, no, agent, that won't be necessary," Dr. Bahri made a placating gesture with his hands. "Karen, please make sure someone is printing off Mr. Dougherty's chart."
"X-rays too," Kevin spoke for the first time, his face still turned toward Sam.
"Yes, yes, copies of the x-rays too," Dr. Bahri shot a nervous look at the dark suited men before turning back to the nurse.
"Not copies. The originals." Garth said.
"But our records are computerized." The doctor protested. "There are no originals. We just print out what we need to."
"Then you'll be deleting Mr. Dougherty's records as soon as they're printed." Garth replied.
Another look of panic crossed the doctor's face. "I ... we ... I don't have authority to do that."
"Fine," Kevin shrugged. "We'll handle it from our end."
The nurse nodded quickly and fled the room.
"Now I suggest you do whatever you need to prepare Mr. Dougherty for transport, because we will be leaving this facility in 22 minutes." Garth instructed.
"Grab him a pair of scrub pants, would you, because I cut off his jeans in the field." Dean requested.
Dr. Bahri's eyes widened again and he gulped, nodding. He looked over at the other nurse, but she didn't seem to want to be left alone in the room any more than the young doctor. He walked over to the door and called down the hall "Sheila? Can you grab a clean pair of scrub pants, size large? Extra long if they have any."
Apparently satisfied that she would get the pants, the doctor turned back to the nurse still in the room. "You take his IV's down and check his vitals while I take a look at the leg."
Dean stepped back to let them work and the two of them moved to either side of the bed.
The nurse had disconnected the IV and placed a bandage over the spot on Sam's arm in under a minute, and began calling off his vitals as the doctor cautiously removed the brace and bandage on Sam's leg.
"Mr. Dougherty, tell me if I do something that hurts you," the doctor instructed as he prodded the area.
"No, it's fine," Sam shrugged. "Well, I mean, not fine, it hurts a little, but yeah. I'm still on pain pills."
The doctor looked up at Dean, and then over at Garth. "Should I take the staples out, or do you want to have that done wherever you're taking him?"
Garth looked at Dean, who shook his head.
"Just do whatever he needs to prepare him for transport." Dean said. "We'll handle it from there."
"Get him some crutches so he can transfer." Garth told the returning nurse, who hovered in the doorway.
She took off again, replaced by the nurse bringing the scrub pants. Kevin took them from her hand without a word and laid them over the end of the bed.
The doctor bandaged Sam's leg and secured the brace into place. "He's ready to go."
He moved away from the bed as Dean stepped forward and helped Sam shimmy into the scrub pants which were, of course, too short. He untied the hospital gown in the back and tossed Sam his shirts, which Sam was able to put on unassisted.
The two nurses returned, one with crutches, and the other with a wheelchair, murmuring something to Garth about picking up the chart at the desk on the way out. He nodded and thanked her, while Dean and Dr. Bahri helped Sam to sit on the side of the bed, and then stand and sit in the wheelchair.
"Is he due any meds?" Dean asked.
Dr. Bahri consulted the paper chart in his hands. "He had a 12 hour pain med at 8 this morning. He can take a non-opiate based short acting drug if he needs breakthrough pain relief. Otherwise, he's not due for anything else until this evening."
"Thank you." Dean nodded, took the chart from the doctor's hand, and gave it to Kevin.
Dean pushed Sam in the wheelchair out of the room, down the hall, pausing while Garth picked up the chart at the nursing station, and to the elevator.
Dr. Bahri accompanied them as far as the elevator door. "What should I tell anyone?" he asked.
"Just tell them a couple of feds came in for the patient with a court order." Dean shrugged. He moved his hands to rest on his hips, drawing his jacket back again to expose his weapons. "No one else really needs to know anything."
The doctor nodded, and stepped back as the elevator dinged open.
Dean rolled Sam in and turned him to face the door. Garth, Kevin, and the police officer also stepped inside.
"What the actual ... " Sam began as the doors closed.
"Take me around to get my car," Dean spoke over him to Garth. "Then we'll convoy out of here, get about five miles down the road before we stop and sort out."
Garth nodded.
"This is unbelievable." Kevin grinned.
Upon reaching the ground floor, they rolled Sam out to a black SUV that was parked along the curb behind a police car. Dean and the officer helped Sam into the back seat, and then Dean buckled in beside him. Garth and Kevin got in the front. The officer went to his own car and flipped on the lights, but did not sound the siren.
Following Dean's directions, Garth drove them around to the side parking lot, where Dean hopped out and got into the Impala. The three vehicles pulled out onto the main road, the police car escorting the SUV and Dean following in the rear.
"Garth, what in the hell is going on?" Sam demanded.
Garth looked up at Sam in the rear view mirror. "Dean said we needed to get you out of there ASAP."
"What's with all the cloak and dagger crap?" Sam gestured at the two men in the front seat. "And how did you get a real cop involved in this?"
"Oh, that's my cousin Harlan," Garth smiled. "He hunts a little on the side, so when I told him that we needed to get a hunter out of the public eye pretty quickly, he was glad to help."
"By pretending to be the NSA?" Sam huffed.
"That was Dean's call," Garth shrugged. "I just did what he asked."
A little over five miles outside town, the police car pulled off the road and around to the back of an abandoned store. The SUV and Impala followed.
Harlan and Dean helped Sam out of the truck, and Dean held him up while Garth adjusted the crutches for Sam's height. Harlan shook their hands, hugged Garth, and excused himself to get back where he was supposed to be.
"Kevin, you'll ride with us back to the bunker," Dean thumbed toward the Impala.
Kevin grabbed a backpack out of the back of the SUV, loosened his tie, and climbed in the backseat.
"Here," Garth handed Dean some prescriptions. "You'll need these. What?" he shook his head at Sam's raised eyebrows. "I still have my dental license. I can still legally write prescriptions. There's an antibiotic, a medicine to prevent blood clots, and a pain pill. If you need something for muscle spasms, let me know. I can call that to a pharmacy."
Sam shifted his right crutch so that both crutches were under his left arm, and held out his hand to Garth. "Thanks, Garth. We owe you."
"Oh don't be silly," Garth grinned, carefully hugging Sam's right side as to not pull him off balance. "We don't keep score here. We just help whomever needs it."
He released Sam, and then hugged Dean. "Call me if you have any questions, but try to keep him off that foot for at least a few more weeks."
"Sure thing, man." Dean nodded. "Appreciate everything you did."
"Ok, well, I'm gonna tell Kevin goodbye and then I gotta get this truck back." Garth tipped his head toward the SUV. "You guys take care and I'll talk to you soon."
He walked over and pulled the back door of the Impala open, leaning down to speak to Kevin.
"Ok, Dean, what is all this?" Sam demanded quietly.
"I had to get you out of there ASAP." Dean whispered urgently.
"And what? Our usual slipping out the side door too tame for you this time?" Sam snorted.
"Sam! They had security watching your room! Did they really not tell you what they found when they examined you this morning?" Dean asked.
"No," Sam shook his head.
"Your incisions are closed! They could have taken the staples out already. And they can actually see bone regrowing already on your x-rays!" Dean hissed. "This whole trial thing is working some kind of freaky mojo on your system. Your doctor thinks you're Wolverine or something! I had to get you out of there before someone really did call that super secret scary branch of the government and you ended up in some top secret lab being probed!"
"Ok," Sam sighed.
"Ok?" Dean repeated.
"Ok," Sam said. "I get why you did it, and I agree, even if I do think all this was a little over the top. Maybe I need to send you LARPing again to get it out of your system."
"Shut up," Dean grumbled, walking over to get in the driver's seat.
Whatever Kevin was doing in the backseat, he did it quietly, and the familiar roar of the engine in combination with a strong dose of morphine derivative soon lulled Sam to sleep.
Dean shook him awake gently as he pulled into the garage at the bunker.
"Don't know who thought it was a good idea to put so many fucking stairs in this place." Dean grumbled.
"It's fine, Dean," Sam said. "My bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, and the library are all on the main level. I'm not going to need to go up and down stairs much."
Dean insisted on going downstairs first, so that he could catch Sam if he fell. By the time he got Sam settled in the library, Sam's stomach was growling, and Kevin announced he was hungry too.
"How about a couple sandwiches for now, and then I go get Sam's scripts filled? I can pick up something better for dinner." Dean offered.
"I really don't think I need ... " Sam began, but Dean cut him off.
"You're taking the medicine to prevent the blood clots," Dean replied in a voice that didn't leave room for argument. "You're not gonna survive all the shit you've been through and die of something like that. Or an infection, so you're taking the antibiotics too. The pain pills? I'll leave that up to you. But even if you don't need them, it would be good to have them on hand for when we do need them."
Sam really couldn't argue with that logic, so he just just told Dean to plan on a big dinner, because he was starving.
After the sandwiches, Sam picked up his book of Sumerian mythology, and Kevin went back to work on the tablet, both so engrossed that they didn't realize Dean was back until he told them to clear the table for dinner.
Sam ate three servings of salad, two of Dean's jumbo bacon cheeseburgers, all of his fries, and was reaching for the few fries left on the plate Kevin had pushed away when he realized that Dean was staring at him.
"I told you I was hungry." Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, we see," Kevin agreed.
"I'll feed you as much as you want to eat," Dean said. "Just remember, though, that you're not going to be moving around much to burn off all these calories."
Sam nodded, stifling a yawn.
"Ok, Sasquatch," Dean stood. "Bedtime."
"Dean," Sam growled.
"C'mon," Dean tugged at Sam's arm. "You need your rest if you're going to get better. I'll carry your book for you."
Sam told Kevin good night and made his way down the hall slowly. His only previous experience with crutches had been nearly fifteen years ago, and he was still a little unsteady on them this time.
Dean followed behind, opened the door and flipped on the light for him, and grabbed Sam a t-shirt and sweats from the drawer.
"I can handle this, Dean," Sam grumbled.
"Ok, you change, and I'll go get your meds." Dean hesitated a moment until Sam gave him a dirty look.
Dean returned to find Sam changed, propped up against pillows on his headboard. Sam took the antibiotic and anti-clotting medicine, but balked at the pain pill.
"You may not be hurting right now, because you had long acting pain medicine this morning, but it's going to wear off." Dean warned.
"Dean, I'm fine," Sam grumbled. "It didn't hurt that much before they started giving me pain meds."
Dean didn't answer, just watched Sam like he was waiting for something, long enough that Sam angrily barked "What?"
"Nothing," Dean shook his head and turned to the door. "Call me if you need me."
He flipped the light off and closed the door behind him.
Sam, surprisingly, fell asleep much sooner than he would have thought.
Sam woke two hours later, and he hurt.
After spending a few minutes shifting around to accommodate his leg, he realized that it wasn't the only thing that hurt. He literally hurt all over.
He closed his eyes and focused on breathing deeply and relaxing his body as much as possible. When the pain didn't subside, he tried to distract himself by mentally cataloging the books he wanted to read over the next couple weeks.
He briefly debated getting up and getting a pain pill, but quickly realized that he didn't know where Dean had put them, and banging around on crutches in the dark would probably wake the other residents of the bunker.
He spent half an hour telling himself that it wasn't worth proving Dean right before he finally decided that it wouldn't be the first time his brother had rubbed his face in an impulsive decision.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and dialed Dean, rather than yell and wake Kevin.
Dean answered on the second ring, his voice rough and sleep slurred. "S'mmy? Wha's wrong?"
"I'm sorry, but could you get me that pain pill?" Sam sighed.
"Be righ' th'r," Dean said before hanging up.
Sam pushed himself up in bed and turned on the lamp. Dean came in momentarily with two pain pills and a glass of water.
"Garth says you can take two if you need them," Dean explained.
Sam didn't argue, just took both pills, popped them in his mouth, and washed them down.
Dean's forehead creased. "You ok? You want me to get you some ice or a hot pack or something for your leg?"
"No," Sam shook his head. "I'm just ... I hurt all over. I know it's probably from falling into the grave, but ... "
"But what?" Dean's eyes widened.
"I don't know," Sam shook his head again. "It's almost like when I was going through the trials. I just hurt all over, especially my chest."
Dean's hand immediately shot out toward Sam's forehead. "You're not running any more 105 temps or coughing, are you?"
"No, nothing like that." Sam let Dean touch his forehead and both cheeks before shoving his hand away. "I guess you were right. I was pushing myself too hard and I'm not as healed as I thought I was."
Surprisingly, Dean didn't answer as Sam thought he would have. He just looked at Sam speculatively, and said "I'm gonna make sure you get fixed this time."
"Dean," Sam huffed.
"I shouldn't have let you go on hunts so soon," Dean said.
"It was my decision to go," Sam reminded him. "In fact, I'm the one who found this last hunt. I just ... it's frustrating, this not feeling like myself. You know, before Charlie came, and before we went after Cas, I felt better, and then afterwards, I felt bad again for a few days. I should have learned by now."
"I'm sorry," Dean whispered.
There was guilt in his eyes, and Sam knew he wasn't apologizing for letting Sam work cases. Before he could ask, Dean stood, patted Sam's good leg, told him to get some rest, and left the room.
The pain began to ease, but Sam's mind raced, convinced there was something huge he was missing in this whole situation. He mentally pictured a wall, and began placing all the disjointed pieces of the puzzle on it, like Dad working a case.
Laying on the ground beside the car, outside the church, watching the angels fall, knowing he was going to die.
Waking up thirty-two, thirty three? hours later in the car, wondering why Dean didn't take him to a hospital.
Finding out later that Dean had taken him to a hospital, but didn't tell him.
Injuries that should have been fatal, inexplicably healing.
Waking several times the first week with the taste of blood in his mouth.
A very vivid snippet of a dream, Dean saying "There ain't no me if there ain't no you."
Being in the abandoned diner with three demons, while Abbadon had Dean trapped outside. Waking up to find the three demons dead and Dean standing over him.
The demon in Iowa, who took one look at Sam and smoked out.
Dean claiming to have found April's address on the other reaper when he obviously hadn't.
Seeing Cas seriously wounded in April's apartment, being knocked out, and waking up to find Cas healed and April dead.
Dean telling Cas to leave the bunker and then lying about it.
Telling Dean that he is happy, despite everything going on around them.
Running into the doorway to see Dean leaning over what appears to be Charlie's dead body. Dean yelling "Zeke!" Waking up beside Dean and Charlie, who is awake and talking, not knowing how he got to be across the room and unconscious.
Dean not appearing to be concerned about the fact Sam had been unconscious.
In the restaurant, finding himself covered in blood, but no wound. Chef Leo asking "What are you?"
Dean refusing to let Sam come to Idaho to help Cas.
"You're all duct tape and safety pins inside."
Missing blocks of time, time that Sam thought he had just zoned out, although he had never done so before.
The nurse flying across the room.
The guilty look in Dean's eyes, not just tonight, but several times now.
The diner. There was something about the diner, and the three dead demons, if Sam could just put his finger on it. He concentrated, and it was almost as if he felt something in his mind shift.
He saw Dean run into the door of the diner. He saw the demons dead on the floor. There was something wrong with the picture, but he didn't know what.
Dean is in the doorway, shocked. The demons are dead on the floor.
Sam wasn't sure how long he fixated on the scene before he realized what was bothering him.
The demons were dead on the floor.
Dean wasn't holding the knife.
Sam was.
Dean didn't kill those demons.
Dean was lying to him.
But about what, and why?
Sam continued to make a mental tally of the facts he knew.
He had been on the verge of death, and then miraculously healed.
He physically had felt great for days or even weeks at a time, but relatively minor exertions had set him back significantly.
He woke up several times with the taste of blood in his mouth.
A demon had been afraid of him.
Chef Leo didn't think he was human.
Vesta said he shouldn't be alive.
Dean wasn't freaking out over Sam's missing chunks of time, or the apparently frequent unconsciousness.
Dean had obviously done something which had precipitated Sam's healing, and he didn't want Sam to know about it.
The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he had killed the demons in the diner, not Dean, and that he had thrown the nurse across the room when she grabbed him.
He felt fine after falling down a grave and breaking his leg in multiple places, but felt like he'd been hit by a bus after nothing more strenuous than a car ride.
He tried to remember the last time he felt as bad as he had when he woke up this evening. The trials? Almost. This didn't feel quite the same. Actually, it felt more like the first time he had been drying out from demon blood.
He woke up with the taste of blood in his mouth.
"Dean, no." he whispered into the darkness.
He suddenly realized why the King of Hell was in the dungeon, rather than permanently removed from earth.
Running into the doorway to see Dean leaning over what appears to be Charlie's dead body. Dean yelling "Zeke!" Waking up beside Dean and Charlie, who is awake and talking, not knowing how he got to be across the room and unconscious.
Obviously, Dean had called for Ezekiel to heal Charlie, and Sam had been knocked out when the angel appeared.
Why would an angel knock Sam out? Because he was an abomination.
Giving up on sleep for the time being, Sam began to weigh out the possibilities of confronting Dean. Unless he had proof, Dean would deny everything.
Sam reached over into the nightstand drawer, fished out a flask of holy water, and took a drink.
Nothing. But then again, when he was drinking Ruby's blood, holy water didn't bother him until he had consumed quite a bit of demon blood.
Surely the Men of Letters had something about how to detect demon blood. He could start looking in the morning.
Now that he had a plan, he consciously cleared his mind, focused on a blank spot in the darkness, and tensed and relaxed each of his muscles until he was able to fall asleep.
On to Chapter 3