Chapter 15

Dr. Hayes lifted the stethescope from Dean’s chest and eyed the young hunter with slight exasperation, though Dean thought the look teetered on disappointment. “It seems that there is no ill effect from the smoke inhalation. Your vitals are good, but I’d like you to stay here overnight for observation.”

“He was only dead for a few minutes,” Morry piped in, looking over the physician’s shoulder at Dean. “Was that long enough for any,” the mechanic made looping motions near his own temple, “you know-damage?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No more so than sniffing formaldehyde and exhaust fumes for extended periods of time." He’d had about enough of Morry’s concern. The big man had first insisted on riding in the ambulance with him, and then had conned his way into the ER examination room, where he had answered for Dean every time that Hayes had asked him a question.

Morry shook his head. “He’s been a bit cranky, too, Doc-a real pill. You think that’s a side effect?”

Hayes raised a brow, and huffed. “No, from what I’ve seen of Mr. Davis here, I believe it’s a condition of his personality.”

“It’s Winchester,” Morry corrected. “His name is Dean Winchester.”

Dean groaned when the doctor again pinned him with a disappointed glare. “I’m sure Agent Hill will want to know that for his report.”

“Look, talk to the sheriff, he can vouch for me.”

“I’m sure he can.” Hayes didn’t look convinced, but instead jotted something down in Dean’s chart. “We’ll get you set up in a room, and then you three can hash it out.”

“I don’t need a room,” Dean pushed himself up straighter on the examination table. “I’m not staying.”

“I suggest that you reconsider that, Mr.Da…Winchester. After all, you apparently suffered an episode of cardiac arrest. That shouldn’t be taken lightly.”

“Listen to him, kid…” Morry started, but then caught on to the doctor’s wording and apparently took offense. “What the hell do you mean by apparently? I know dead, Doc. This boy’s heart was as silent as a church on a Monday.”

“All I am saying, Morry, is that you have been known to be a little premature in your observations.”

The physician started for the door, and much to Dean’s delight the mechanic trailed after him, still defending his propriety . “It wasn’t my fault that old man Gibson was into that meditation shit,” Morry was saying as the door to the small examination room swung shut behind them. The hunter, now alone, sighed and allowed himself to relax back on the table.

Without the distraction, his mind instantly went to his brother and father, and what could possibly be keeping them.

After all, he’d been at the hospital for over an hour, and worry was steadily pacing the feeling of complete exhaustion that was tugging at him. His body was begging for the sleep it had been deprived for the last three days, and in all honesty, the aching in his ribs and chest wasn’t helping matters.

But one thing overshadowed all the other physical and emotional aches and pains-his need to see Sam.

Dean couldn’t close his eyes without seeing his little brother’s face, and the look of complete devastation that had been in his brown eyes as Dean had taken his last breath.

It was a look Dean would never forget, and one he never wanted to see again. After all, it wasn’t natural to witness the grief that your own death brought to those that you loved and then have the memory of it haunt you. But of course, the alternative would have been worse. Sam would have been left alone-unprotected.

With that morose thought as motivation, Dean ordered his protesting body to move and he slipped from the hard, metal table. His feet hit the floor and he had to brace himself for a minute as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

A sharp pain raced across his sternum, and he reminded himself to thank his dad for the great job he did on the compressions.

The hunter had just made it to the chair where his jacket and shoes were stacked neatly, when the bay doors opened again, and he lifted his head in hopeful expectation. Unfortunately, Sam nor his father entered. In fact, no friendly face met his. In stead, Agent Hill entered, and judging by the feral grin on his face, Dean was pretty sure he hadn’t forgotten how he’d received the black eye he was sporting.

“Mr. Davis-it’s so good to see you again.”

Dean dropped his jacket back to the chair and smiled. “Wish I could say the same, G-man.”

The agent shrugged. “Don’t feel too bad, I’m not offended.”

“Yeah, after a while rejection probably becomes old hat to you second string hitter types-huh?”

The agent stepped closer to Dean, using his four inch height advantage to try and seem imposing. “I guess. Sort of like lying and deception become second nature to you criminal types?”

Dean grinned, “Do we really want to let sour grapes come in between what could be a truly beautiful friendship?”

“The doctor said you were doing really well for someone who died, but if you ask me, you look like shit.” Hill scratched at his head. “Funny, I figured your brother would be the next casualty in this whole convoluted mess. Where is he, by the way?”

Dean felt the hair at the back of his neck rise at the agent’s interest in Sam. “My brother‘s none of your business.”

“I don‘t know about that. From what good old Morry said, seems he has miraculously recovered, or at least survived the three day incubation period that the others weren’t fortunate enough to endure.” Hill shook his head. “I’m thinking maybe we need to study whatever helped him do that.”

Dean glared at the man. “Stay away from my brother.”

Hill smiled. “He could be important in saving other lives, and you wouldn’t want to jeopardize more people in this town, would you?”

“This town is safe,” Dean replied. “And even if it wasn’t, my brother still wouldn’t be your lab rat.”

“You really think you can stop the federal government, son?” Agent Hill rolled his eyes. “You can barely stand up on your own, and I’m not distracted this time.” He motioned to his own bruised face. “You got lucky once, it won’t happen again.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it. Unless you’re talking about the fact that you were lucky I didn’t take your head off for touching my kid brother. Because you were. And believe me-that won’t happen again.”

“I don’t like you, Davis-or whatever the hell your name is. I plan on pressing charges for the assault on a federal officer and for the obstruction of justice, and then I’ll place your brother in custody as a material witness to the ongoing investigation of the recent deaths. He’s liable to disappear in a mound of paperwork while you’re cooling your heels in a federal pen.”

Dean swallowed hard, fighting off another round of dizziness as his heart rate and muscles reacted to the implied threat to his brother. “Or you could just as easily end up the next casualty in this whole convoluted mess.”

The CDC agent leaned in closer, pointing his finger at Dean. “Tell me where your brother is. If you cooperate, things can go easy for you.”

“Fuck a bunch of easy,” Dean shoved the man out of his face.

Agent Hill smiled and without any warning rammed his fist into Dean’s mid-section, the force of the strike doubling the younger man over.

The hunter could have blamed his slow reaction on his slightly blurred vision and the ringing in his ears, or on the whole dying and coming back to life incident, but in all honesty, he just hadn’t thought the dickhead in the cheap suit had it in him.

He was wrong. Hill proved that with another vicious blow to Dean’s ribs, and the hunter had to give him some credit for knowing how to throw a hell of a punch.

And as the breath rushed out of him and his knees gave way, Dean cursed his overconfidence, and his unresponsive reflexes and weakened body.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have too long to ponder his own ignorance or his incapacitated state as Hill followed up with a hard downward jab to Dean’s face that had him seeing stars and his sorry ass kissing the cold tile floor.

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed, as breath rushed back into his lungs, and his face throbbed in time with his pounding heart. He managed to catch himself before his face met the same fate as his posterior, but each breath he pulled in sent a hot wave of agony through his already bruised ribs and aching chest. “When I get…up…off this…floor, I am…so going to kick your ass.”

“Sure you are,” Hill stayed out of Dean’s reach, and squatted down, smiling at the hunter, but cautiously watching him as if he were an injured, wild animal. “Now let’s try this again. Where is your brother?”

Dean lifted his head to tell the man just where he could go, when the very person in question entered the room, followed by Sheriff Buck Landry. Both men seemed to connect the dots quickly and Sam stepped between the older Winchester, who was still on the floor, and the CDC agent, who had quickly stood at the interruption.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam demanded, as the relief of actually seeing his brother alive and breathing was dampened by concern. He turned to the older hunter, torn between the need to tear into Hill and his instinct to check on Dean. “Dean? Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m good. Agent Hill was just showing me some interesting interrogation methods.” Dean looked up at Buck. “You might want to see if he can teach a class for you and your deputies, Mayberry. They‘re pretty effective.”

“What the fuck are you doing, Hill?” Buck stepped toe to toe with the agent. “This ain‘t some fucking bad cop show on HBO.”

“Come on, Landry. This punk assaulted a federal officer, not to mention the fact he’s a material witness in the investigation into several mysterious deaths, and now an arson investigation.”

“Deaths that took place in my town!” Buck pointed out, poking a finger in the other lawman’s chest. “Deaths, by the way-not homicides. And that arson you mentioned that also happened to take place in my jurisdiction was an accidental fire, in which this punk saved some lives.” Buck shook his head in disgust. “And as far as the assault goes, I’d say you better hope that doesn’t come up in any report that might call your character in question, because these boys have a damn good case for police brutality. I‘ll back them up.”

“That kid could hold the answer to this virus.” Hill nodded to Sam. “I have every right to take him into custody.”

“That ain't going to happen,” Dean growled, trying to push himself up from the floor.

“I think you’ve been working too hard, Hill.” Buck jerked his chin towards Sam. “The kid had a cold and he‘s fine now. You want to explain how he’s going to help the CDC with their sloppy investigation. I doubt if your superiors will enjoy the press on something like that.”

“You know-I’m really beginning to smell a cover up, Sheriff Landry.”

Buck snorted. “Sort of smells like a bunch of rotten Paraguayan fruit, now doesn’t it, Agent Hill?”

The government official’s face turned three shades of red, and he stormed out of the room without another look in either Winchester’s direction.

Sam watched him go, and sure the threat was gone, turned all his attention to his brother. “Dean?”

“Sammy,” Dean sighed, and forced a slight smile as his brother finally knelt beside him. “Seems like a lifetime ago since I saw you, kiddo.”

Sam shook his head at his brother’s attempt at humor. “Yeah, like forever has gone by.”

Dean raised a brow at the old phrase he hadn’t heard in years. “You okay?”

Sam laughed, tears stinging his eyes. “I think I should be asking you that, you jerk.”

“I’m good.”

“Sure you are,” the reply came from Landry who reached down and took one of Dean’s arms. “Let’s get the hero here off the floor, Sam.”

Sam took his brother’s other arm and the two of them managed to help the older Winchester back onto the bed. Once Buck was sure that the kid wasn’t going to take another nose dive, he looked at Sam. “I’m going to go get the Doc.”

“Thanks,” Sam replied, keeping a firm grip on his brother, who appeared resigned to his fate of playing the patient a while longer. “You sure that you’re okay?” the younger hunter asked Dean once they were alone.

Dean sighed, but held his brother’s worried gaze. “I’m okay, Sammy. Good as new.”

Sam reached up and touched the quickly darkening bruise on his brother’s face. “I was so…,” he quickly pulled his hand away and ran it through his own hair, trying to keep himself together. “God, Dean, I watched you die. Do you know what the fuck that was like?”

The older Winchester watched his little brother struggle to hold onto the control he could see slipping away from him. “Well for me it was a little disappointing. That whole life passing before your eyes thing is a bunch of crap. And I was really looking forward to that part.”

“I don’t think it’s funny, damn it!” Sam was pacing in front of him now, the solace of finding his brother alive and in one piece, quickly being replaced by anger born of guilt and grief. “You died-for me. In my place!” Like everybody else he’d ever loved.

“It was the only way,” Dean said, trying to keep his own temper in check, puzzled by how the conversation had veered off into left field. “I wasn’t going to let you die.”

Sam turned furious eyes to him. “What the hell makes my life more important than yours? Why do you get to choose something like that for me? Who made you God?”

“What do you want me to say, Sammy?” Dean gestured angrily. “That it was all a mistake, that I’m sorry? Because I’m not! I did what I had to do.”

“And you didn’t think for a minute how that would make me feel, you selfish jerk.”

Dean felt as if his brother had hit him. “- Selfish? I took a knife for you. I’ve taken shit for you, - your whole entire life, Sam. What the hell else do you want from me?”

Sam stopped in front of the older hunter, his breath coming in harsh pants, his fists clenched. For a minute he thought about continuing where Hill had left off, might have if he thought it would pound any sense into the man in front of him. “I want you to live, damn it. For yourself, not for me. I want you to have a life besides being my protector. My fucking savior.”

“You don’t get it, Sam! Twenty-two years and you still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what!” Sam yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. “Get that you're crazy? Believe me-I understand that. That you place no value on your own worth? What? What the hell am I missing, Dean?”

“I love you, Sam.” Dean shouted back, and Sam was sure he felt the earth move.

The world was surely coming apart.

“I’m your brother. But it’s more than that. Haven’t you been paying attention to the story, Geek Boy? You’re not the fucking sidekick in this melodrama. I am. And we all know what happens to the sidekick in the end, Sammy!”

“Shut-up!” Sam grabbed him by the shirt and gave him a hard shake. “Don’t say that!” A memory of being seventeen and watching his brother throw himself in harms way against a demon that had kidnapped Sam flashed through the younger boy’s mind. It was the moment he had admitted to himself that Dean was doomed from the beginning-that he would die tragically if things didn’t change. It was that night Sam had decided to go to Stanford. But hearing his brother voice the fears he‘d locked away all those years ago was too much. “Just shut the hell up!”

Dean felt his eyes sting, but he held his brother’s gaze. “Whether I say it or not, little brother, it’s true! This is just a reprieve.”

Sam shook his head, feeling the hot trail of a tear as it slid down his face. He was teetering on an invisible ledge, one he was bound to topple over any minute, and the trembling ground beneath him wasn‘t helping matters. “I won’t let it be true.”

His fists tightened in his brother’s shirt and he shook him again. “I’m not losing you again.” Sam could not be responsible for his brother’s death. It would kill him. “You‘re the hero-Captain One Hell of a Fucking Big Brother. You‘re invincible! And don‘t you forget it!”

Dean couldn’t help but to grin at the ridiculous statement, said with such heartbreaking sincerity and ferocious determination. His brother almost had him believing it. “I hope you’re right, Sammy, because like it or not our buddy Geronimo only gave me one Get Out of Hell Free Card.”

Sam laughed, despite himself, and leaned his forehead down until it rested against Dean’s. “God-you are such an ass,” he sighed, feeling more tired and utterly exhausted than he could ever remember.

“I know,” Dean reached his hand up and patted his brother’s chest. “Kind of evens out the fact that I’m so unbelievably good looking though.”

Sam laughed again, straightened to his full height and finally let his hands drop from his brother’s shirt. But he remained close. “And Dean?”

The older hunter looked up at his kid brother. “Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

Dean grinned. “Good to hear, seeing as how I took a knife for your whiny, ungrateful ass.”

Sam rolled his eyes, and started to turn away, but Dean’s hand snaked out and fisted in his jacket.

Before he could react or say anything, he found himself pulled into his brother’s arms and wrapped in a firm hug. Dean didn’t say anything-just held him like he might disappear if he let him go.

He held him until the ground stopped shaking and Sam found his footing again.

When he did push Sam away, he kept one hand on his shoulder. “And Sammy?”

Sam had to clear his throat before speaking, and even then it came out as only a raw whisper. “Yeah, Dean?”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Don’t ever shake me again.”

Sam grinned. “Sorry.”

His older brother let him go and sighed, wincing slightly as he pulled his arm around his bruised ribs again. “Now that we’re clear on a few things, what the hell did you do with Dad?”

The relief he’d felt only moments before seemed to slip from his grasp again. “He…uh…”Sam licked his lips, hating the way his brother was looking at him now with such hopeful anticipation. “He…”

“Went for coffee.” The deep, rich voice rang out behind Sam and he whirled around in surprise to find his father standing just inside the doorway.

He heard Dean laugh and it sounded so damn good, that all the previous anger he‘d felt for his father was shoved aside for the moment. “What is it with you and Sam and your coffee?”

John grinned, dimples flashing. “What can I say? He takes after his old man. I use to put it in his bottle when you weren‘t looking.” He stepped along side his youngest son and handed him one of the steaming Styrofoam cups.

Sam took the drink and stared at the man before him. “Thanks.”

John winked at him and then looked at Dean. “So, Ace, Morry tells me he’s concerned that there might be some brain damage?” Their dad made a looping gesture at his temple.

Dean rolled his eyes and groaned. “Only of his own.”

“I don’t know,” Sam smiled, and looked at his father, relishing in the chance to stick it to his brother. “Morry might be on to something, Dad. Dean did use the L-word just a minute ago, and then he hugged me.”

“Shut-up!” Dean glared at his brother.

John looked shocked. “The L-word. Our Dean? And he hugged you?”

“Yep. For at least a whole minute or two. It was a total chick-flick scene.”

“I only did it because he was crying, Dad.” Dean shot his brother another heated look. “Like the girlie- boy that he is.”

The oldest Winchester shook his head and looked extremely concerned. “I think we should take Morry’s advice on the CAT scan, just in case.”

“The man’s a mechanic for crying out loud,” Dean protested.

“And a taxidermist,” Sam replied, after taking a long drink of his coffee. “Don’t forget that.” The youngest Winchester looked at his father. “Real good, too. I’ve seen his work.”

John nodded. “And he’s a damn fine volunteer firefighter and EMT. You should have seen the way he got right to business with your brother. Didn’t even bother using that sanitation mask thing, just dove right in for the life saving breath.”

Dean made a gagging noise. “Geez, just kill me now!”

“Don’t be ungrateful, son. The man saved your life.”

“And the Impala. Don’t forget that.” Sam piped in. “He even burned a body for you, Dean. Nothing says loyalty and devotion like a good bone toasting. You can‘t even teach a dog that trick.”

John raised a brow. “You let him burn a corpse?”

Sam and Dean shared a look, and before Sam could reply Dean saw his chance. “It was Sam’s idea. He even suggested bringing Morry in on the whole hunting gig with us.”

“I was joking.” Sam stammered, seeing the evil twinkle in Dean’s eyes as their father turned on his youngest, all kidding on his part apparently forgotten.

“Samuel, you know the rules.”

Sam sighed. Great. Not even five minutes and things had already deteriorated to Samuel.

“I think he’s forgotten them, Dad,” Dean chirped in again. “Maybe you should refresh his memory.”

“It looks that way.”

“Can I watch?” Dean asked, gleefully.

“You can do more than watch,” John looked at his oldest son. “You can join him.”

“What?” Dean’s smile faltered and Sam smirked at him from behind John’s back. “But, I’m injured here. Remember-brain damage?”

“You have brain damage all right.” Sam shook his head.

“Hey-I wasn’t the one who opened their big mouth about the whole Monroe corpse thing.”

“Shut up.”

“No. You shut up.”

Hiding a huge satisfied smile behind his cup, John took another drink of the bitter brew, and soaked up the beautiful sounds of family that he’d for so long been deprived.

Sam had been right. Sometimes boys just needed their father.

Maybe, the hunt could wait. At least one more day.

Onto Chapter 16

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