Where We Find God
By: Ridley
Chapter 6
Dean's first thought as he slowly regained consciousness was that he had definitely ended up on the bad side of a hunt.
His head felt heavy and thick as if he'd been drinking way too much the night before.
His sluggish arms and legs didn't seem to want to respond nor did his eyelids want to cooperate. But something urgent at the edge of his memory demanded that he try harder.
Harsh overhead lights greeted him and he was instantly aware of a presence near him.
Years of training kicking in as his acute senses recognized it as someone unfamiliar.
Cautiously, he turned his head and as he caught sight of the man in the chair all the events leading up to this latest Dean Winchester debacle came crashing down on him.
Sitting up quickly after being choked out and apparently drugged wasn't the smartest idea and Dean had to fight the urge to toss his cookies all over the lovely white tiled floors of the hospital.
“’Bout time you came around, kid?”
Dean glared at the police officer and tried to run his hand through his hair only to find it handcuffed to one of the metal bar railings of the bed.
He sighed, and swallowed hard. His throat hurt like hell. “Where's my father?”
“He's in ICU.”
Sam. “Is my brother alright?”
The officer shrugged nonchalantly and Dean felt worry and anger clear aside the last of the fog hovering around his thoughts.
“I want to talk to his doctor.” Dean lifted his hand and jerked against the restraints. “And why the hell am I cuffed?”
“You attacked a seventeen year old kid in front of several eye witnesses including his father, the D.A., and a sheriff's deputy-which would be me. You're lucky that you didn't come to on a cot in a jail cell.”
“Did I kill Wilkerson?”
The young officer looked slightly taken aback. “No.”
“Then I'd say that he's the lucky one.”
“Are you telling me that you were trying to kill Jeff Wilkerson?”
“No, he is not, Billy.” Marty entered the room in time to hear Officer Metz ask the incriminating question. “The boy was upset.” He glanced to Dean and then back to Bill. “He was worried about his kid brother. Wilkerson was the one driving the car-while drinking- if my memory serves me well.”
Metz's face reddened. “This isn't any of your concern, Marty. I think you turned your badge in several years ago-if my memory serves me well.”
Marty shrugged off the snide reply. “I was arresting drunks and handing out parking citations when you were still nursing your mama's tit.”
The young cop pointed accusingly at Dean. “If you’re so smart and seasoned then you should know that this kid committed aggravated assault if not attempted murder -on a minor no less.”
“And if you didn’t have your head shoved so far up Wilkerson’s ass then you would know that Jeff committed a DUI offense- as well as vehicular homicide no less.”
Metz didn't have to reply. They both knew what he was thinking.
The situations were worlds apart.
Dean's daddy wasn't some hotshot attorney and John sure the hell didn't have the money to get his son out of a speeding ticket let along a more serious charge.
“It's not up to us to be judge and jury.”
Collins started to reply that it wasn't up to Wilkerson's wallet either, but Dean cut him off.
“I hate to interrupt this freaky territory marking ritual you two have going on, but I want to know about my brother.” He ignored the heated glares the two men were exchanging and focused on Marty. “Is Sam okay? How'd the surgery go? How long have I been out?”
Collins held up his hand to hold off the barrage. “Sam came through surgery fine. Your father's with him. You've been out of it for a while. It's about 9:00.”
Dean shook his head not believing that he'd slept through something as important as Sam's surgery-of course it wasn't like he'd chose to do so.
Marty stepped closer to the bed when he saw the pained look flash across the younger man's face. “How you feeling?” The tow truck driver touched his own face and then nodded to Dean‘s. “That looks like it smarts.”
Dean brought his free hand up to his cheek. The skin was hot to the touch and swollen. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip feeling the small split and tasting the lingering trace of blood. But he could deal with physical pain. “Yeah, Dad knows how to throw one hell of a punch.”
Collins smiled, remembering the way Jeff Wilkerson had looked as they drug him back into the ER to be patched up again. “Like father, like son.” He had a feeling that he wouldn't want to meet any of the Winchesters in a back alley-especially Dean.
“Can I go see Sam now?”
It was the officer that answered. “No way. You're in my custody. The only reason your punk ass isn't in jail is because your old man choked you out and one of the doctors sedated you.”
“I wasn't fucking talking to you, Barney Fife.”
Bill stood angrily, his hand going to his side and Marty gave have him and incredulous look.
“Back off, Metz. You might want to read the kids his rights before you shoot him.”
“I read him his rights.”
“If he was unconscious it doesn't count.”
“I know that.”
“I want to see Sam,” Dean interrupted loudly, tired of listening to the bickering that was doing nothing for the hangover-type headache he had.
Collins felt for the kid as he watched him physically struggle to swallow his pride. “Please let me go see Sam.” He looked at Billy and clenched his jaw. “I won't give you any trouble. I just want to see my brother.”
Billy got a smug look on his face and his back straightened as if he had won some victory-the number one contestant in this giant pissing contest. “The only way you'll be seeing your brother, Winchester, is if he checks himself out of here in time for your court date. And that don't seem likely.”
Dean lunged at the man, getting a little satisfaction when the officer jerked back and nearly stumbled over the chair that he'd been sitting in. “Damn it! You can’t hold me here. Let me see my brother.”
Collins stepped in between them, blocking Dean's view of Metz. “Listen to me.” He waited for Dean to meet his gaze. “I put a call into the Sheriff. He said I could take you up to see Sam, but then you'd have to come into the station.”
“Hey, that's not going to happen. He's my prisoner.” Bill suddenly sounded like an eight year old who'd just had his ice cream cone snatched away.
Marty rolled his eyes. “Don't get your panties in a wad, Metz. You can have the honor of taking this dangerous criminal in, I just got permission to escort him to see his brother.”
“I don't believe you.”
Collins turned on the younger man. “Me and Harvey go way back. I may not have Wilkerson's money to buy me a police officer like he does, but I saved the big man's life and he owes me. So you can take it up with him, but I'm taking Dean to see Sam, so hand over the cuff key.”
Billy looked uncertain for a moment but then pulled the keys from his belt. “I'll release him from the bed, but the cuffs stay on.” He glared at Dean. “And I'm reading you your rights before you go, just in case you get in wild ideas.”
Like that will make a difference. “Yes, sir,” Dean smirked. “I wouldn't want you to blow your big bust on a technicality.”
Marty shot him a look. “Don't make this harder, kid.”
Dean frowned. “Apparently my dad never told you much about me.”
Metz released the handcuff from the bed but immediately placed it around Dean's left wrist, pushing it as tight as it would go. He quickly ran through Dean‘s rights- the twenty-one year old making it obvious he wasn‘t paying attention. When he was finished he looked at the tow truck driver. “I'll give you fifteen minutes.”
“We'll take it.” Collins took Dean by the arm and practically pulled him from the bed and out of the room before he could say anything further. Once they were out the door, Marty let go of him. “You sure know how to piss people off, son.”
Dean shrugged. “It's a talent of mine.”
Marty raised an eyebrow. “I can see that.”
The young hunter glanced at him as they continued down the hall. “You didn’t really talk to the sheriff, did you? You were lying.”
Collins grinned. “Yeah. It’s a talent of mine.”
John had always been sure his family had some bizarre talent for attracting trouble on a grand scale, but the previous night had convinced him that they might be cursed after all.
Not only was Sam hooked up to more machines than it took to run a diagnostic on those fancy imported cars these days, but Dean was under arrest.
The hunter ran both hands through his dark hair and then rubbed at his tired eyes. He hadn't had any sleep in over twenty-four hours and it was starting to catch up with him. Maybe he should give someone good reason to choke him out.
He’d nearly drifted off about an hour ago, letting the beeping of the monitors lull his mind away from the present turmoil, but then a nurse had entered the room and he had berated her with questions about Sam’s condition. Questions that she couldn’t or wouldn’t answer.
John sighed and leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, letting his eyes rest on his youngest son.
Except for the darkening bruises and the newly casted arm, Sam looked as if he were merely asleep.
But John understood enough of what Dr. Daniels had told him earlierto know that a coma was more than a state of simply being deeply asleep. The patient couldn't respond to stimuli like the sound of their name or even pain. He'd demonstrated that one with a needle and Sam's foot. Not something a parent likes to witness, but it had driven the point home. Literally.
But they could still have reflexive movement, and many patients that awoke ,or emerged as the doctor had put it, from comas reported that they could recall almost everything that had gone around them. So, Daniels had encouraged him to talk to Sam.
John had nearly laughed at that. He and Sam rarely talked these days unless you counted shouting and vulgar expletives as talking. Somehow an argument just wasn't the type of one-sided conversation that you carried on in moments like these. Not without being kicked out of the ICU ward anyway. What kind of person yells at their comatose child? The same kind that places him in danger on a daily basis.
So,John didn’t feel like talking, but he did do the next best thing. He'd read to Sam-out of his journal of all things. It was the only book he'd had with him. Sometimes the words written in the leather bound pages were the only things that kept John going- maybe they'd do the same for Sam. At least until Dean could take over.
As much as the hunter hated to admit it, Dean knew how to get through to Sam. Always had. And right now, John couldn't help but to hope his oldest son could work some of that magic very soon, and he'd have his little family put back together again. It was scary sometimes how much he depended on his oldest boy. Maybe he'd leaned on Dean way too much.
His morose line of thinking was interrupted as the door to Sam's room opened and the son in question entered, looking a little worse for wear.
“Hey, Ace,” John said softly. “Bout time you got here.”
Dean glanced at his father but continued walking towards Sam's bed. “How is he?”
John stood and groaned as his knees and back protested. He made it to the other side of the bed with some effort. “Hanging in there. The doc says that the coma may be lighter than he thought. The pressure thing is looking good, so they're hopeful that it's an after effect of the drug and not some sort of physical trauma.”
“That’s good.” Dean seemed unable or unwilling to remove his eyes from his lifeless brother. "So he's going to be okay?"
"I hope so, son." The oldest Winchester took in the condition of the younger man. Dean’s clothes had blood on them, whether it was Sam’s, Wilkerson’s or his, John wasn’t sure. His cheek and eye were swollen and bruised, and his lip was busted. He looked like he’d ended up on the wrongside of a bar fight-which had happened on occasion when his son’s pool hustling had caught up with him.
John looked down at his own hands and had to wrap them around the rail of Sam’s bed to keep them from shaking. “You feeling alright?”
Dean finally lifted his eyes to the other man’s and there was a touch of amusement there in the green depths. “You mean after you beat the crap out of me and choked me out.”
His father sighed heavily, feeling a hint of irritation scratching at his emotions. Sometimes Dean's sense of humor eluded him. “It’s better than what would have been done to you in prison. Trust me.”
A faint crooked smile tugged at Dean’s mouth. “Then I guess I should thank you.”
“Thank me by staying with your brother while I go get some coffee. I’m dead on my feet.”
Dean held up his hands rattling the cuffs. “Not like I’m going anywhere.”
John nodded. “We’ll see about that.”
The young hunter watched his dad leave before pulling up a chair and sitting down as close as he could to Sam’s bed. Sam was so pale and quiet that it was eerie and it scared the shit out of him. Dean remembered times when they were little, that he’d poke Sam or punch him to wake him up-just to make sure he was still breathing. Dean, himself, never slept very soundly-always wary of the night and what it could bring. Or maybe-what it could take.
He maneuvered his restrained hands through the rails and wrapped his fingers around his brother’s wrist, careful of the IV that was in Sam’s hand, but needing some kind of physical contact to reassure himself. “Hey, Sammy. This is some fine mess you’ve gotten us into.”
Dean hadn’t expected Sam to respond, but it still hurt when painful silence followed his own voice. “You’re really starting to freak me out here, pal. You need to wake up and make some smartass remark about this brilliant shiner I’ve got going on.”
He laughed. “We both look like we’ve gone a couple of rounds with Tyson. Don’t get me wrong, you look a whole hell of a lot worse than me, but that’s typical-huh?”
Dean leaned in closer, resting his chin on the rail. He lowered his voice despite the fact that he and Sam were alone. “Come on, Sammy, you got to fight this, alright? It was just a little car accident. You’ve had worse from a pissed off poltergeist.”
“Besides how much fun will I have with you not around. I mean, I love the guy, but Dad just doesn’t get me, Sammy. Without youto take care of, I might just outlive my usefulness to him if you know what I mean. Hell, you’ve only been out of it a few hours and we’ve already come to blows.”
The twenty-one year old forced a grim smile and squeezed the other boy’s wrist tighter. “I need you, little brother. So, you’ve got to open your eyes so I can end this really sickening Waltons moment we have going on here-got it.”
The annoying loud beep of the heart monitor was really starting to piss Dean off. He sighed and withdrew his hands, shoving them through his mussed hair. “Damn it, Sam, Dad needs you too. He might not say it, but I don’t think he could handle it if something happened to you.” I know I couldn’t. “Don’t even think about running out on us.” I won’t let you.
There was still no reply, no movement, and Dean stood up from the chair frustrated with the situation and feeling his least favorite thing-helpless. This was cosmic bullshit-fate screwing them over yet again. If anyone should be laying unconscious in a hospital bed it should have been Wilkerson.
If anyone should have died, it should have been that fucking idiot driving the car.
But now Sam’s only friend in the stinking town was dead, and his brother was doing a damn good imitation of coma boy.
Damn it to hell.
Dean would have took his frustration out on the wall if he’d been able to throw a punch with the cuffs on. Instead he sat back down and buried his head in his hands and did something he hadn’t done since he was a little boy-he prayed.
“How’s Sam?” Marty had been waiting for John just outside the door, and the two moved towards the elevators together.
“The same.” John pushed the button for the car. “Thanks for bringing Dean up. Hell-thanks for staying through this whole mess.” He looked at the other man. “You don’t even know us that well.”
“I had a family once.”
John raised an eyebrow, neverhaving recalled hearing the other man mention a wife or kids.
Marty looked relieved when the doors to the lift opened. “Saved by the bell.” He smiled and motioned John on in front of him.
Winchester didn’t ask for further details, somehow recognizing the pain hidden in the simple admission. “No matter the reason, I appreciate your help.”
“I don’t know how much I helped. Dean could be in some real trouble here.”
“Wilkerson has the law in his back pocket, doesn’t he?” John already knew the answer.
“I’m afraid so. This is a small town, John. Big fish-little pond.”
“And my son is the worm on the hook.”
Marty laughed. “No-your son is more like a shark out of water.”
John smiled in spite of himself. “He has got a temper, and a dislike for the law I’m afraid.” The hunter shook his head. “I’m not sure where he got it from.”
“I think I have an idea.”
The elevator opened again, allowing them to exit onto the first floor where smells from the cafeteria had John’s stomach grumbling. “I can’t let my son go to jail.”
Marty nodded, and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “If I thought he’d get a fair trial, I’d tell you to do just that.” Empathetic blue eyes met the determined dark gaze. “But I can’t promise you that your son would even make it to court. Wilkerson has strong ties to bigger enterprises-he won’t take kindly to what Dean did.”
“But his son killed another boy-drugged and nearly killed my son.” John lowered his voice as some of the patrons in line stared at him. “There has to be a penalty for that, Marty. All anyone seems to care about is the fact that Dean kicked the little bastard’s ass. He had it coming.”
“I wish I could tell you for certain that there would be justice, John, but I can’t. It’s one of the reasons I left the force. Even as a State Trooper, I couldn’t touch the Wilkersons, and believe me I had reason to want to.”
“Then what am I suppose to do?”
Marty picked up two cups of coffee and put them on the hunter’s tray. He looked at John and nodded to a far corner table where Officer Billy Metz sat with his back towards them. “You’re going to treat the good officer over there to a cup of coffee, and a donut.” Collins picked up a pastry and tossed it on the tray.
John took some bills out of his wallet and handed them to the cashier, still feeling a little confused. Collins picked up the serving of food and winked at Winchester. “I’ll keep him busy for as long as I can.”
“You could get in trouble for this.”
Marty laughed. “Nah, Dean’s Billy’s prisoner-not mine. I‘m just the
fucking tow truck driver.”