Where We Find God
By: Ridley
Chapter 5
Dean could feel his father’s arms around him, offering more comfort now than restraint.
Something about it was vaguely familiar- from his childhood perhaps- but mostly it reminded him of how wrong the situation was.
His father didn’t comfort his sons. Not for a very long time.
If they did get solace it was from each other and Dean had come to accept that. He and Sam may have long since outgrown the moredemonstrative forms of it, but they were always-always-there for one another in other ways.
That’s why Dean couldn’t stand to see his brother so obviously broken. The whole side of his face was a pallet of purples and blues, and one eye was swollen completely shut. Bone had been protruding from his left arm, and more blood was coming from somewhere on his side. Those things had been enough to drive Dean to the edge, but the attack Sam had experienced had sent the older Winchester over-wind milling off a cliff he’d never expected.
Sam could die. He can fucking die.
The shear realization of being without his brother and the sharp pain that it sent through Dean’s chest had him trembling. His family was the one thing he had left-the one good thing he'd found in histhis life.Please don’t die, Sammy. Don’t leave me.
The older doctor that Dean had pushed against the wall suddenly looked up from his work on the still seizing patient and shouted at the orderlies. “Get his family out of here!”
It had barely been a minute since the fit started but to Sam’s brother and father it seemed like hours.
“No.” His son's voice was full of determination and John felt Dean tense in his arms again as the two men approached them. “I’m not leaving him,” he growled.
“Sir, you both need to go now,” the taller of the two spoke, motioning to the door behind them. “We will call security if you don’t.”
When John automatically braced himself for an attack and looked almost as reluctant and angry as Dean, the shorter, dark-skinned man raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture and nodded towards the table. “This isn’t helping your son,” he glanced at Dean, “either of them.”
John could almost imagine what the man was thinking. ‘Do you really want this to be the last memory he has of his brother? That you have of your child?”
John swallowed hard, thinking instantly of the last image he had of Mary. No amount of beautiful memories could erase that picture of horror from his head- or his heart.
“Dean-let’s go.”
The younger Winchester stiffened as betrayal sank in, and heshook his head. “No.”
“Dean,” John gave him a hard shake, “we need to let them help Sam. We’re in the way.”
The taller orderly-the one apparently itching for a fight- moved directly in front of Dean and John waved him back. The man obviously thought he was dealing with a punk kid and not the trained killer that his son was. He hardened his voice. “Don’t make this more difficult.”
Dean pulled away from his dad and glared at the cocky clown in the scrubs. He could wipe the floor with his ass-no problem. But one look at the circle of people still crowded around his brother and Dean knew it wasn’t worth it. He wouldn’t risk Sam-not even to be with him. I’m so sorry, little brother.
With one final heatedglare at his father, he pushed past the older Winchester and stormed out of the treatment area.
“I’m sorry,” the obvious smarter of the two orderlies stated sincerely. “It’s never easy…”
“You have no idea,” John cut him off gruffly. He looked towards Sam once more and prayed he’d have a chance to make more memories with his son to replace the awful sounds, smells and images that were now etched permanently across his heart. With a resigned sigh-fighting every fatherly instinct thathe had left-he turned and went after the one boy he could help.
Dean burst back through the silver bay doors that led into the ER waiting room in the same fashion that he’d gone in them-like a man on a mission.
He by-passed Marty, who stood quickly as he caught sight of the young man, and instead went straight for the two girls he’d noticed when they had first come in. Dean Winchester rarely walked into any situation where he didn’t take account of all the players on the field. His father was nothing if not a good teacher.
At any other time the women might have caught his eye for an entirely different reason, but when he’d come for Sam-they were just a reminder that something else was here at the hospital that he needed to take care of.
He watched the guileless blue eyes widen as he stalked closer and felt a distinct pleasure in it. There had been a time when he’d considered hooking up with the expensive trophy that Jeff liked to flaunt around town-just to piss the dickhead off. It would have been like taking candy from a baby tooand it would have been so justified considering how Wilkerson and his other rich friends had treated Sam. But his brother had talked him out of it jokingly making two very good points-she’d been with Jeff and she was jailbait.
“What the fuck did your boy friend do to my little brother?”
This wasn’t a time for pleasantries or charm. Dean didn’t need them.
The fear was unmistakable as he leaned his body into the blonde’s space. The hunter could feel it rolling off her in waves and it only added fuel to the fire.
Dana Sentelle’s heart leapt into her throat as she found herself nearly pinned in her seat by the muscular form of one very pissed off Dean Winchester.
This wasn’t what she’d hoped for when she’d told Lisa she’d like to get up close and personal with the new guy from the wrong side of the tracks. Dean’s face was so close to hers now that she see the gold flakes in his simmering green eyes and could feel his hot breath on her cheek. She pushed back and tried to sound calm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean.”
Dean grabbed her arm and gave it just enough of a squeeze to elicit a slight gasp. “Don’t fuck with me, sweetheart.” There were only a few other patrons in the ER and considering that it was after two on a Saturday night, Dean didn’t expect there to be anyone coming to rescue the lovely damsels. If they were at the hospital, they probably had enough troubles of their own. And besides, Dean hadn‘t found the ‘hero’ gene to be prominent in the typical human DNA. “I don’t have the patience for your dumb act.”
Being man-handled by the sexy bad boy might
have crossed her mind more than once since his family had moved to
town, but all thoughts of romance left Dana’s mind as she recognized
the barely controlled rage contained in the handsome face glaring at
her.
“I…it’s not an act.”
Dean would have laughed if the sickening scent of her perfume hadn’t mixed so badly with the smell of blood and vomit he could still vividly recall from the moments he had spent with Sammy. “I’ll say it very clearly and slowly for you then. What…did…Wilkerson… do to …Sam?”
It was the brunette, Lisa, who finally spoke up. “We had a party at the beach-that’s all. Sam came with Jake and Jeff.”
Dean let go of Dana and glared at her friend. “And?”
The girl shrugged-not quite as intimidated as her companion. “And we hung out-blowing off steam-you know.” Her eyes were glassy and blood shot. She gave Dean a deceptively innocent smile.
Dean took a deep breath and willed his hands to stay steady and away from around the blue-blooded bitch’s throat. “My brother thinks a five mile run for no reason or reading a freakin’ novel he's not been assigned at schoolis blowing off steam-not partying with a bunch of strung out losers.”
Again the brunette shrugged. “Sam’s a nice guy.”
That only seemed to make Dean angrier and he grabbed hold of the chair the girl was sitting in and gave it a hard shake. So much for being subtle. “He’s too damnnice for his own good sometimes but he wouldn’t have gotten into a car with trash like Wilkerson if the sonuvabitch was drinking.”
“Sam was out of it,” Dana piped in. “He was messed up.”
Dean glared at her. “And I suppose giant mermaids were coming up out of the water and flopping around in the sand too-huh?”
The brunette sighed as if she were bored with all the drama and Dean began to realize she was more than a little wasted. “Look, man-Jeff doctored his drink. Get off our cases.”
Even though he had suspected it, the confession sent a wash of cold fury over Dean-like he’d been hit with a bucket of ice water. “He did what?”
“It was just a joke,” Dana added, as if that explained everything. “Sam’s so straight laced and up-tight. Jeff was just having some fun with him.”
Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and he shook it off, fighting the urge to slap the idiotic smirk off Dana’s face. “What did he give him?”
“Dean.” Marty had been watching the confrontation and came over when it seemed to take a turn for the worse. He’d known the kid hadn’t been offering his words of concern to Wilkerson’s girl, but he was now afraid that Dean might push things a little too far-especially in light of what he’d just heard Lisa Henderson admit to. “Let the police handle this.”
Dean ignored him. “Tell me!” Sam was far from stupid. He wouldn’t have trusted Wilkerson.
“GHB.” Again it was Dana’s high friend that came clean. “I don’t know how much.”
The hunter stood up, brushing past Marty and going straight to the nurse who had tried to stop him only a little while before. “Tell the doctors working on my brother-Sam Winchester- that he was dosed with GHB.”
The nurse looked up from her computer screen and frowned at the young man. When she didn’t move quick enough to suit him, Dean slammed his fist down on the counter in front of her. “Now! Damn it.”
“Dean!” John had just made his way back into the ER waiting room after taking a moment to collect himself and was greeted with the sight of his oldest in full on rage mode.
He had his hands wrapped in Dean’s jacket before he could stop himself-frustration and worry finding a perfect target in his irrational acting son. “Back off.”
“Dad-you don’t understand.”
I don’t understand! John saw red. He slammed Dean up against the white block wall behind them and held him there. “Stop acting like a teenage punk and get a grip before I send you home.”
A look of hurt flashed through Dean’s red-rimmed eyes, but it was quickly replaced with one of defiance. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen. Nobody is making me leave here until I know Sam’s okay.” Not even you.
“Take it easy, John.” Marty came up behind the two Winchesters ready to break them up if need be. He’d thought when he’d resigned fromthe force that he’d left such domestic drama behind him. Apparently not. “Dean was trying to give the nurse some information about Sam.”
The tow truck driver looked at the woman. “Call them Martha. What the boy said is true. Tell them that Sam took GHB.”
“He didn’t take it,” Dean spat heatedly and his father finally released him. The younger hunter straightened his jacket and looked at his father. “Wilkerson drugged him.”
John turned away from his son and faced Collins. “He did what?”
“He apparently gave him GHB at the party.”
“What the hell is that?” John asked, never having heard of the initialed substance. Was it some kind of new drink?
Marty sighed. “Originally-it was an illegal muscle builder. Now-it’s a highly popular party drug. Comes in liquid or powder. Big rush. Colorless. Odorless. Nearly undetectable and deadly as hell.”
“Liquid ecstasy,” Dean spoke up behind his father and the man turned on him as if he were something demonic.
“What?” How the hell did one of his children know what GHB was? He’d laid down the law from an extremely early age that alcohol and drugs would not be a part of either of his son’s lives. Do as I say-not as I do was the creed.
Dean shrugged, looking all too knowledgeable and confident for his father's liking. It was almost the lookhe got when he talked about cars or weapons. “Salty Water, Poor Man’s Heroin,” he laughed bitterly, “Easy Lay-that’s my favorite. It has lots of names, Dad, but Sammy wouldn’t know anything about it.”
“Goddamnit!” John rubbed harshly at his eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with kids these days?” Sneaking cigarettes and an occasional beer was big time when he and his brother Richard were teenagers.
He glanced wearily at the nurses station when she hung up the phone and cleared her throat to draw their attention. “I gave Dr. Daniels the information. He said to tell you that they had managed to stabilize your son and that someone would be to speak with you as soon as possible.”
John nodded to the woman and roughly took hold of his oldest son’s jacket and led them both to some chairs lining the wall. He shoved Dean down in one and received an expected glare for his trouble. Marty joined them.
“I take it Sam wasn’t doing too well.”
John sat down and shook his head. “No-he wasn’t.”
“I know this doesn’t mean much, but it could have been worse, John.” Marty swallowed hard as an image of Jake McGhee’s mangled body solidified in his mind’s eye. “It could have been much worse.”
Dean ignored the men as they talked-choosing to focus on the evil clock on the wall in front of him. He was sure the damn hands were bewitched as they slowly crept around the face-slower and slower-like some strange time warped reality.
He was aware that Dana and her burned-out friend was staring at him. It gave him little satisfaction that somewhere in the hospital Wilkerson and the other punk were being treated. If they were able to walk away from the crash then they were no where close to being in the shape Sam was in. Dean would rectify that though.
Jesus. He raked a hand through his hair-trying to get the picture of Sam’s convulsing body out of his mind. The look of pure terror that had been in Sam’s eyes.
His brother didn’t scare easy, and was damn good at handling pain. Better than he should have been. And the raw emotions written all over his face was something that Dean hadn’t witnessed in years and it was eating away at him now.
Dean’s job was to protect Sam. He’d made that promise to himself years ago-and to his dead mother-but most importantly, he’d made it to his baby brother. The baby brother he’d rocked to sleep on countless nights, the one he’d tucked into bed and told stories to. The same little brother he’d taught to throw a football and baseball, and to swim, and to ride a bike. Shit. Did I not teach him to look out for guys like Wilkerson?
The thought of the punk who’d caused all this sent another wave of fury over the hunter and he longed to get up and throw a punch at the wall or at the very least to pace the floor. But one glance at his father and he knew the big man would be all over his ass again. Dean’s hyperactivity and impatience wasn’t shared with his father or Sam. They could drive him fucking crazy with their calmness.
Instead of physical action he let his mind run through the ways he could torture Wilkerson. Despite the strict code of ethics about the sanctity of human life shit that John had instilled in both his sons, Dean was afraid that Jeff’s luck was about to run out. After all, Dean had been trained to protect the innocent and the afraid from the evils of the world.
Sam was innocent, afraid and hurt. And Wilkerson was evil. That pretty much summed it up for Dean.
He’d been working it all out in his head for almost an hour before the doors finally opened and the young doctor who had let Dean stay with Sam for the moments before the attack walked out.
“Mr. Winchester?”
John stood, only seconds behind Dean. “How’s my son, Doctor?”
Dr. Daniels motioned for the men to take a seat again and he grabbed one of the uncomfortable yellow contraptions and slid it around to face them.
He sat down and took a deep breath as if he was about to launch into an all too familiar and unpleasant speech. “Sam is being taken down to surgery as we speak. His arm has a compound fracture and it needed to be taken care of.”
“Why do I get the feeling that’s the least of my concern?”
Dean looked at his father as the man spoke and then glanced back at Daniels. “Because it is, Mr. Winchester. Your son experienced a significant blunt trauma to the head. The force of it sent his brain colliding with the skull.” The doctor used his curled fist as demonstration-striking itagainst his other open palm with some force.
Dean flinched.
“When that happens-you get severe bruising and sometimes bleeding into the cranial cavity-causing a lot of pressure to build.”
“Is that what caused the seizure?” Dean finally found his voice, and didn’t give a shit that his dad looked irritated that he had joined in the conversation unbidden.
Daniels looked at him. “Seizures are not uncommon in a brain trauma. Basically, your brother experienced what used to be called a Grand Mal seizure. We now refer to it as a Tonic-clonic seizure-and I‘ll be honest with you-it‘s not reassuring.”
The physician looked at John now. “Basically a head injury disrupts the pathways of the brain causing -in layman’s terms- a short circuit of sorts of the brain’s electrical functions.”
“But you said this was normal?” Again Dean interrupted-searching for some kind of reassurance he wasn’t getting from the doctor’s dumb-downed spill.
Daniel’s nodded. “About 5 percent of concussions can cause seizures, but when there is severe bruising that number jumps to about 50 percent.”
“So, my son’s injury is severe?”
“That’s where things get a little cloudy,” he looked at Dean again, “in light of the information we got.” Daniels sighed. “Gamma Hydroxy Butyrate- GHB-is very toxic to the brain. It can cause the same types of side effects as a severe concussion. The vomiting, blacking out, disorientation and aggressive behavior. It can also cause severe seizures followed by coma. Until I can get the blood workup back-I won’t be able to properly rule out what exactly Sam is suffering from.”
“Coma?” That was the word that lashed out at Dean. “Are you saying my brother’s in a coma?”
“Yes.”
Dean felt as if the doctor had punched him quick and hard in the gut. “Does that mean…”
Daniels held up a hand to cut him off. “That means that his body has shut down to recover-whether it was drug induced or traumatic in nature-I’m not sure yet.” He stared hard at Dean. “I’m taking heart in the fact that your brother recognized you-he spoke coherently to you-that’s a very positive sign.”
When Dean didn’t reply, John cut in. “What are your treatment plans?”
The doctor moved his eyes back to Sam’s father. The man was a picture of calm determination, although worry was easily read in his dark eyes. “After surgery, we’re going to monitor his cerebral pressure. If necessary we can perform a CSF drainage. We could also use a high dose of barbiturate therapy to relieve the pressure if need be, but that could be highly risky considering he already has an unknown amount of drugs in his system.”
Damn Jeff Wilkerson to hell. “Is my brother going to be alright?” That was all Dean cared about. He could give a flying fuck about the medical mumbo jumbo that the guy was spewing. All that mattered was him saying five little words-Sam’s going to be fine.
“He has a good chance, son.”
Dean felt like screaming at the man that he wasn’t his son- and that his answer wasn’t acceptable- but instead he clinched his fists and held his tongue.
“How long will the surgery last?”
How the fuck could John be so calm? Dean wanted to strangle him.
“No more than an hour. We have an excellent orthopedics staff. Sam should have full use of his arm after some follow up therapy.”
If he wakes up from the coma! Dean could feel the rage building, pulsing through his body like a sledgehammer. His hearing started to cut out and in.
“When can we see him?”
Dean heard his father’s voice as if it were from far off. Black spots danced in his peripheral vision.
“As soon as we have him back from recovery, I’ll send someone for you. We’ll be keeping him in ICU.”
Dr. Daniel’s stood at the same time the doors to the ER treatment area opened again. An older man dressed in an expensive suit walked through them, followed by another doctor and a young freckle-faced police officer.
But all of them faded into the background as Jeff Wilkerson emerged.
He was flanked by another boy and both of them sported stark white bandages on their heads, and various band-aides on their faces.
The man in the suit and the officer were talking-smiling.
Dean stood, unnoticed by his father and Marty who were still talking with Daniels.
It wouldn’t have mattered. At this point, it would have taken an army to keep Dean from getting a hold of Jeff Wilkerson.
Jeff noticed Dean less than a moment before Winchester threw the first punch.
It was delivered with such force that Wilkerson heard his ears ring and blood exploded from somewhere. He would have hit the floor even if Dean hadn’t tackled him, sending them both sliding across the slick tiled surface- smashing through chairs as if they were life sized bowling pins.
“I’m going to kill you!” Dean growled, as he drove his fist into Wilkerson’s face again. “You no good sonuvabitch.”
The impact of each blow fed Dean’s thirst for vengeance. The fact that Jeff was struggling and whimpering beneath him fueled his hunger to inflict just as much pain on him as Sam had gone through.
Maybe if he hit him hard enough Jeff would have a seizure. Maybe Jeff would throw up all over himself and black out. Maybe if he applied just enough pressure Dean could snap the bones in Wilkerson’s arms.
He’d just wrapped both his fists in Wilkerson’s shaggy blond hair and had begun to beat his head up against the floor when he finally noticed the hands on him-tearing at him-prying him off of the now nearly unconscious teen.
Dean’s hearing slowly returned-the ringing subsiding enough for him to hear the shouts and screams coming from around him.
He heard his father’s voice. “Dean-you‘re killing him.”
Dean felt like laughing hysterically. Duh, Dad-did you think you raised an amateur?
Jeff’s old man and the other kid was yelling. Doctors were scurrying. Stupid Dana was crying. Bitch. Wonder how much she’d cry at McGhee’s funeral. Or Sam’s.
With inhuman strength Dean tore free from his father and Marty and lashed out with his feet this time. He’d managed to land several well-placed kicks to Wilkerson’s side and head, when he felt a fist slam into his own face.
His head snapped back but he didn’t feel the pain that the well placed punch delivered.
Arms were around him again, pushing him away from Wilkerson who was rolling around on the ground moaning. Fucking pussy.
Another punch caught him on the chin this time and he went down to his knees-some of the red haze that had surrounded him started to fade.
“Let me go,” he heard himself screaming. When had he started screaming. “I’m going to finish the bastard!”
Then a muscled arm was around his throat, pressure was knowledgeablyappliedto his neck.
As he was denied precious oxygen he thought he heard his father mumble something about being sorry. Damn right you’re sorry.
He saw a bright light. Was that Sam waiting for him? And
then the darkness claimed him, and he saw nothing at all.