Where to Find God
By: Ridley
Chapter 9
John had almost been surprised to find Sam’s hospital room empty when he returned. It wasn’t as if Dean usually disobeyed his commands, but there was always a chance when his brother was involved that Dean would shrug off all the years of training, and rely on instinct. That innate sense to protect Sam could bring him into direct conflict with his father, and no matter how badly it pissed John off, he had no one to blame but himself.
Still, it was unnerving to find Sam alone. Vulnerable. And John remembered once again why he had always driven Dean to watch out for his kid brother.
It didn’t take much. Dean had been born a protector, and when Sam came along those natural abilities blossomed, and even before Mary was taken from them, Dean was completely swept away by the job of keeping watch over Sammy. It had never been a problem before, except for the few times when John and his eldest had disagreed on what was best for Sam.
But the look in Dean’s eyes earlier, worried John. It was one thing to go to any lengths to protect family from the supernatural, but Dean didn’t seem to see the distinction between the human world, and the other. An old friend had warned John about it once.
Caleb Reaves, a fellow hunter, had told John that the danger in training a pit bull so well was that after a while, it didn’t recognize the difference in its enemies and it wouldn’t be easy to control. It would always be driven by the instinct to protect what it watched over, to the detriment of everyone else around it- pit bull included. It was the man’s subtle way of warning him that Dean could get hurt. That putting one son’s safety above the other was wrong.
Damn him. Caleb had a way of always being right, and it pissed John off to high heaven.
Of course Caleb had known his friend wouldn’t listen, he’d gone behind John’s back and talked to Sam instead. Sam had been fifteen then, and he’d come home one day with a gift for his brother’s upcoming birthday. A gift that Caleb had found for him. The damn protection pendant, that now rested on John’s youngest son’s chest.
Caleb had convinced Sam that the metal it was made from was beyond rare and had amazing qualities that would protect the boy’s protector. Dean rarely took it off, because a young Sam had made him promise not to.
John had questioned Caleb about where he’d gotten it, only to get snide remarks about it being a demonic warning beacon-alerting anything evil about the badass wearing it. Caleb had joked that he had a right to warn his brethren of their impending doom.
The older hunter silently cursed his stinging eyes as he let his hand rest over the pendant, feeling the steady rise and fall of Sam’s breath. He’d fucked up so badly, that even now the edges were blurring for him also. As wrong as it was, he secretly hoped that Dean would teach Wilkerson a lesson. John himself, was half-tempted to do it if Sam didn’t come back to them-or if he was returned, but never again the same, inquisitive, generous spirit that they loved.
“I’m so sorry, Sammy.” John closed his eyes, trying to capture just one happy image that he’d had of his son. “If I hadn’t been gone…” John’s self-recriminating words faded as the machine beside of him started to beep louder and faster than normal. His heart caught in his throat as he jerked his head up to stare at the offending machine when his gaze was averted by another alarm as it blared somewhere on the other side of the bed.
John looked down at Sam, almost afraid of what he might find, but was rewarded by an amazing sight. Sam was looking at him, or at least the one eye that wasn’t swollen beyond capacity of opening was wide and staring. “Oh, God,” John whispered, not caring if the tears he’d been fighting off returned with a vengeance, overflowing the dam of his lashes. “Sammy? Sam? Can you hear me?”
Machines continued to beep, and several nurses entered the room, crowding around the Winchesters, but John ignored them, continuing to watch Sam, afraid if he looked away it all might be a dream. “Son?”
Sam’s mouth moved but at first no words came, and John feared the worst. His son had been returned, but permanently damaged. Then the sweetest sound John had heard since his boys’ first words made it past the teen’s lips. “Dean?”
Dean had found it easy enough to disarm the Wilkerson’s state of the art security system, and had slipped undetected into their beach-side mansion, even in the telling, last rays of evening sunshine.
It appeared that Mrs. Wilkerson wasn‘t home, at least her BMW was missing, but Dean had seen old man Wilkerson‘s Jag in the drive, and he cautiously crept through a first-floor window of what he‘d assumed was a bathroom. It really didn’t matter if the whole Morgana police department was present. At this point, nothing was going to deter him from his mission.
He was right about the john, and nearly took a header into a swimming pool-sized tub on his way in, but managed not to make too much noise in the process. Thank God the wealthy invested in sound proof walls, instead of the cheap sheet rock their tiny house was constructed of. Sam and Dean often joked that it was a damn good thing that their father had no interest in dating, because they would definitely been traumatized for life if he‘d ever entertained at home.
The young hunter had really hoped that Wilkerson senior would have been out, planning his case against the Winchester family, or at least trying to come up with ways to get his pathetic excuse for a son out of a vehicular homicide charge. But things weren’t just meant to go his way. No matter, Dean thought as he quietly made his way out of the bathroom and into a lush hallway, he would take care of the father also if need be.
No one was going to keep him from Sam-no matter how powerful or well-placed they were.
Dean heard a voice drift from a nearby room and braced himself in a narrow overhang of a stairwell. It was definitely old man Wilkerson, and as Dean waited for another voice that never came, he surmised that the attorney was more than likely on the phone.
All the better. One less witness that Dean would have to contend with.
Sliding to the edge of the room, Dean glanced around the corner of the doorway and caught sight of the lawyer, sitting in a large leather chair. His profile was highlighted by the red-orange glow of sunset as it flooded through the massive bay windows that afforded a view of the rocky cliffs and sea below. His feet were propped on a grand mahogany desk, and his reclined posture and easy laugh seemed almost blasphemous in the wake of events that were swirling beyond his hill top estate.
Somewhere Jake’s parent’s were trying to come to terms with the fact that their seventeen-year-old son wasn’t ever coming home. Somewhere kids were gathered, talking about a friend they’d never see again, and crying over all the lost moments they’d never regain. And somewhere-in a tiny hospital room-Dean’s little brother was fighting for his life. All because of this man’s prodigy. And Wilkerson thought he was going to get away with it.
For a moment, Dean stepped out of the shadows, standing in plain sight-willing the attorney to turn and see him. To look over his shoulder. To feel fear-even an inkling of the fear Dean had been feeling since that fateful phone call. He wanted the bastard to be afraid.
But a part of him knew that wouldn’t happen. Men like Wilkerson never felt like they had to look over their shoulder. They had no fear while sitting in their ivory towers. But that false sense of security and privilege would be their downfall. With all of Wilkerson’s money and power, his own son wasn’t even safe in his own house, in his own room, in his own bed.
A hunter was in his midst, just a few short footfalls away from the kill. A man who had tasted fear would have smelled the danger a mile away. Wilkerson was oblivious. Pompous bastard. Dean flipped the man the bird and started for Jeff’s room.
Doctor Daniels made it to Sam’s room, just as the boy said his brother’s name for the second time. “Dean?”
Honestly, he’d feared the worst when he’d been paged to come to ICU. So it came as a complete surprise that not only was his previously comatose patient alive-but awake and coherent enough to speak. “Cate?”
The nurse was smiling, shaking her head slightly. “He just came to. The alarm alerted us to the change in his status, and I had you paged right away.”
“It’s okay, Sammy. Just take it easy.” John ran one hand over his son’s hair and kept the other on his chest, in fear that he might try to sit up.
“Dad…,” Sam’s voice was weak, and sounded painful, but he was determined. “Where’s… Dean?” Sam had felt pulled to consciousness by an overwhelming need to see his brother. It was almost like when he’d have a nightmare as a child, and need that reassurance that he wasn’t alone. Now-he just felt disoriented, and afraid.
“Mr. Winchester?” Dr. Daniels pulled out his penlight and positioned it in front of Sam’s face. “Sam? Do you know where you are?”
Sam weakly turned his head away from the blinding light and searched for his father again. “Dad?”
“I’m here, kiddo. Just answer the man’s question.”
“Sam-do you remember what happened?”
“No,” Sam said honestly, and that scared him even more. He guessed he was at a hospital considering the machines and everyone’s outfit seemed to come with a stethoscope as an accessory. Besides, he had that floaty feeling that the really good drugs gave you-the kind of drugs that John Winchester found it hard to keep in supply in their family‘s trusted first aid kit.
“Can you tell me how old you are?” The doctor reached out and held his chin, stopping Sam from moving his head. “What the year is? And what town we’re in?”
Sam would have rolled his eyes, but for some reason only one of them seemed to be functioning, and it was being subjected to the torturous penlight inspection. He was sure he should have been more concerned about that, but at the moment, he just wanted the strange man out of his face. “Seven…seventeen,” he managed.
That was an easy one, but Sam had been forced to think about it for a moment. The others for some reason, weren’t as simple to grasp. Although, they should have been. They seemed to be lurking at the edge of his mind, but would slip away whenever Sam tried to pin them down. That wasn’t normal. Was it? Sam should have known what town he was in and what month it was.
John must have agreed, because Sam could feel the man’s hand tighten around his arm. “Sammy?”
“I…don’t.” Sam licked his dry lips, his throat starting to burn. “Why…can’t I remember?” A light pain flared behind the front of his skull, as if it was trying to gain momentum. Fortunately, it seemed to be held at bay by an invisible force that the teen guessed was being powered by the medicine running through the I.V. in his hand.
“Doctor?” John met the physician’s gaze, a hundred thoughts forming in his mind-none of them pleasant.
“It’s okay.” Daniels held up his hand. “This is normal. Just give him some time. It‘s different with every patient. It‘s a good sign that Sam‘s awake. Let‘s focus on that.”
“Dad?” Sam tried again. “…Dean?” Not only was Sam confused about why he didn’t know what year it was or what town he was in, or by the fact that he was lucky to be awake. But now he was more than a little worried by the realization that his brother wasn’t there to harass him about his lapse in memory.
Because Dean would have already called him Amnesia Boy, or Addled, or some other completely inappropriate but totally comforting thing by now that would have had Sam feeling a hundred times better than the sympathetic twin gazes he was getting from the doctor and his father.
“He’s not here right now, Sammy.”
“Wh…at?” Sam tried to push himself up, but instead cried out in pain when he jostled his restrained arm.
“Easy,” the doctor warned. “You don’t want to mess up the brilliant work Dr. Mills did in surgery.”
“Sur…gery?” Sam grit out, wincing as the words seemed not only foreign but to weigh a ton-almost impossible to push out. “I…don’t…understand.”
“Take it easy, son. You’ve been out of it for a while.”
Sam let his father push him gently back against the mattress. “But…?”
“Your father’s right, Sam. You’ve been unconscious for almost fifteen hours, in a light coma for most of that time.” Daniel’s shook his head, looking at the readings on the computer that Cate had just rolled closer to him. “It’s amazing that you’re as coherent as you are.”
“But that’s good, right?” John was talking to the doctor, but kept his wary gaze on his son. “He’s going to be okay?”
“It’s good. The sooner a patient emerges the less likely it is that there will be any negative effects.” Daniels turned back to the teen. “I’ve seen cases like Sam’s but they’re not common. He’s a very lucky young man.”
“Dad?” Sam tried again, tiring of the voices, that were just mumbles to him, fading in and out at that.
“Sam, your brother’s not here.” John was beginning to get aggravated. Could nothing ever be simple. He’d sent Dean away, and apparently that had been the wrong thing to do. Just like leaving Sam at home alone was the wrong thing to do.
“Why?” Sam asked, sounding hurt and weak and more seven than seventeen. Even the doctor and nurse looked accusingly at the oldest Winchester.
John was sure he groaned. That one word could send spikes of dread through his head on a normal day. It was Sam’s favorite word. From five years on up to the present day.
John hated the sound of it. Mostly because he never had a good enough answer for it. He’d let Dean handle most of the whys along the way. Why is the sky blue? Why is the grass green? Why don’t we have a mommy? Why do we have to hunt bad things? Why can’t we stay in one place? Why? Why? Why?
Why can‘t anything ever be simple for us? “Damn it, Sam. You were in a car accident.” That seemed a good enough answer.
“Car…ac…cident?” Oh God. That’s why his brother wasn’t with him. They had wrecked the Impala.
Sam panicked and another machine alarmed.
Fragmented pictures flashed through the teen’s Swiss-cheesed memory-like scenes of a movie that seemed completely random and out of order. Sam was in a car, and then there was a loud crash, music was blaring, then screams filled his ears. Fear crashed over him and with it came the pain. He‘d called out for Dean. “Dean,” he gasped, “ Please… tell me. ”
At his son’s panicked reaction, John realized he had yet again made another mistake. He bent over Sam, placing both his hands on the distraught teen’s face, and gentled his voice. “Son-your brother’s fine. He wasn‘t in the wreck. I didn‘t mean for you to think that. Take it easy.”
“Sam-you need to calm down. Just try and relax.” Dr. Daniels shot John a stern look. “He needs to remain still.”
“You’re…lying.” Dean would have been there. Sam’s mind conjured it’s own reality as to why his brother was missing. Someone had been in the car with Sam. Something horrible had happened to them. It had to have been Dean. Dean was the only person he ever rode with.
More scenes assaulted the seventeen-year-old. There was a monstrous tree, and too much blood. He could smell it and taste it. It had been so cold and Death had been there. NO. “He’d…be… here.” Of that Sam was sure.
John sighed. “Sammy, some things happened. I sent him away.”
“I don’t want to sedate you, Sam.” The doctor was now motioning for Cate again, who hovered near Sam’s head.
Sam wasn‘t listening to the physician, instead his gaze was still locked on his father.
Sent him away? Why would his father send Dean away?
“What… ? You…sent…him away?” Tears gathered in Sam’s eyes and John averted his gaze, instead he focused on the doctor.
“Sam, just try and take some deep breaths okay. It’s normal to be confused and upset after your body has been through a trauma.”
“Dean’s okay, Sam. I promise,” John added, finding the strength to face his son again and using his thumb to wipe away the tears.
Sam slowly shook his head. For some reason the feeling of overwhelming sadness and fear for his brother didn’t match up with the words that John was saying. “No.”
John took a deep breath and let it out slowly, releasing his son and standing up. “I swear to you, Samuel. I wouldn’t lie to you about this.”
“Where is your other son?” Daniels looked at John, when it was obvious that Sam wasn‘t going to settle. “I left him here not more than an hour ago.” He lowered his voice, and turned away from his patient. “And I know for a fact that he’s not in custody. The deputy has already interrogated me and my staff.”
John sighed. “I can call him.”
“Do it. I need Sam to calm down so we can take him upstairs for tests. If you can get your son here- make it happen.”
The hunter shook his head. “But my son can’t come back here, there‘s cops all over this place.”
“Then get him on the phone. Maybe if Sam hears his voice, it will get him through what comes next. I’ll take what I can get at this point.”
At this point, Dean would have gone into the Wilkerson house blind, but Jeff’s lovely girlfriend had been so kind to share exactly which floor the punk’s room was on, along with the rest of the layout for the D.A.’s mansion. Funny how a little guilt and a whole lot of fear could go a long way in convincing a person to do the right thing.
Dean only hoped Wilkerson would take to the idea of turning over a new leaf as easy as his girl had. But on second thought, maybe not. After all, Dean wouldn’t mind showing him the error of his ways.
The lights were off, and Dean could hear the background noise of a T.V. Easing up beside the door, the hunter was glad to see it slightly ajar. Soft flickering light from the television screen danced against the wall as Dean quietly pushed the heavy door open, slipped in the room, and then closed it just as soflty.
Wilkerson’s bed was in the middle of the room, and Dean was once again filled with anger as he took in all the comforts around him. Curtains were drawn across the floor to ceiling windows, allowing the big screen television to illuminate everything around it, including a top of the line sound system, that Dean would have quite possibly sold his left arm for. Then there was the brand new lap top computer, it was an exact replica of the one that Dean had seen Sam drooling over in a magazine a few weeks back, not to mention the over-flowing shelves of books, and music and movies.
It wasn’t fair.
And even though money had never meant shit to Dean, the overwhelming scent of it that lingered in Wilkerson’s room left him feeling bitter and nauseous. And even angrier that a kid that had been given everything had tried to take the one valuablething that Dean had. His family.
Wilkerson wasn’t even watching the ballgame that was taking place in ‘big as life’ action in front of him. Instead, he had on headphones, eyes closed, reclined on the oversized bed.
Not a care in the world.
Dean stood over him for a moment, taking in the white bandage around his head, the dark bruises on his face. Like his father, his senses were dull, unable to even detect the very real threat that lurked just inches from him. It was disgusting, and Dean almost relished in the prospect of the rude awakening he was about to dish out to Wilkerson.
Dean reached down to his boot, and slid his knife from the sheath he had strapped there, before inching closer to the bed. The hunter gripped the hilt of the knife between his teeth, freeing both his hands. In one fluid motion he used one hand to tear the headphones from Jeff’s head and the over to cover the teen’s mouth.
With practiced skill he pinned his surprised prey to the bed, and made sure that Wilkerson felt the blade that was now precariously perched against his carotid artery.
The teen’s eyes widened, first in shock and then in complete fear as he realized who his attacker was. He screamed something, but it was muffled beneath Dean’s strong grip.
The hunter smiled. “Hello, Jeffrey. Funny how we keep meeting up like this. Nice place you got here. I wished you’d invited me over before you took to killing people.”
Wilkerson tried to buck free, mumbling wildly again. Dean pressed the knife harder, eliciting another look of fear. “I wouldn’t move around so much if I were you. I just sharpened this baby.”
The teen stopped moving and the hunter smiled coldly. “Now you and I are going to have a little conversation, and just so we don’t get interrupted, I need you to be very quiet.”
Wilkerson’s terrified gaze darted around the room. “Don’t worry. We’re all alone. No one will hear if you start crying like the pussy we know you are.”
Dean shifted his weight, pressing his knees harder into Jeff’s arms. “You so much as raise your voice above a whisper, shit for brains, and I’ll make a mess of you on these fancy silk sheets and this lovely white carpet that you’re Mommy’s maid will never be able to erase.” Dean leaned closer, his face just inches away from Wilkerson’s. “Do we have an understanding, Jeffey?”
Wilkerson whimpered, but nodded. “Good.” Dean released his grip, but kept the knife pressed against the boy’s jugular. “This doesn’t have to be ugly.”
The knife was resting so snugly against Wilkerson’s neck, that Dean could swear he felt the racing pulse through the blade, traveling along the hilt, into Dean’s steady hand. “I can make it real fast if you like, Jeff.”
“What…do… you want?” Wilkerson stuttered, making sure to keep his voice at a whisper.
“What do we all really want, Jeff? Food for the hungry. World peace. Justice.”
“You’re… crazy,” the teen wheezed, as the knife bit into his skin. .
Dean grinned. “Hey, I never claimed not to be. But, I’m not the one boozing it up and then getting behind the wheel of a car. A piece of shit Ford to beat it all. And I’m not too big on killing my buddies either nor am I going around making deadly designer cocktails for kids who didn’t request them-now am I?”
“It was a joke man,.” Jeff sobbed, as the realization of what was going down finally seemed to sink in. A single tear rolled down the boy’s bruised face. “I swear, man. I didn’t mean for this shit to happen.”
The crying incensed Dean as he remembered the tears that had streaked his own little brother’s bloodied face as he lay naked and vulnerable on the ER examination table. Sam’s tears were justified, not a sign of weakness like Wilkerson’s. The knife dug deeper, eliciting a gasp of pain. “I hate to tell you this, but death’s not all that funny. But wait-maybe I’ll just let you find that out first hand.”
“Please!” Jeff gasped. “ I‘m begging you…”
“Do you think that kid that died in your car begged for his life while he was choking to death on his own blood? Do you think he was scared? How about my brother? You think he’s scared right now-fighting for his life?”
“I really didn’t mean to wreck. I didn’t want Jake to die.”
“But he did,” Dean growled. “And why the fuck did you mess with my brother? He’s nothing to you.”
Jeff swallowed hard, wincing as Dean’s knife dug deeper into his skin. “ I just wanted him to know I meant business. To stay out of my territory.”
“Your territory?” Dean couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “This was some fucked up pissing contest?”
“He was always strutting around school, talking with the coach, flirting with my girl. He acted like he was better than everybody else.”
Dean laughed. “Have you met my brother?” Dean brought his free hand up and placed it around Jeff’s throat and squeezed. “He wasn’t interested in your stupid basketball team, or in any kind of popularity contest. He sure the hell wasn’t fucking with your girl.” Dean squeezed harder. “That was me. Sam just wanted to go to school. But you got one thing right-he is better than you and your idiot friends.”
“I’m…sorry,” Jeff gasped, as more and more of his oxygen was cut off, and Dean let go of him, pressing harder with the knife.
“Damn straight you’re sorry! You don’t know what he went through. You have no fucking clue what my whole family went through, just to get to this point. No one fucks with my brother’s life. Ever!” Blood pooled on the surface of Wilkerson‘s skin, bubbling onto the blade in small droplets. “Not without consequences.”
“I’ll do…anything…Please…just…don’t hurt me.”
“You’ll do something, all right. You’ll confess that you drugged my brother. You’ll tell the cops that he had nothing to do with any of this sick shit, and then you’ll drop the charges against me. You and your daddy will back off, or I swear I’ll find you Wilkerson.”
“I’ll hunt you down like the bitch that you are. There is no where, and I mean no where that your rich daddy can hide you that I won’t find you.” Dean leaned in closer again. “Trust me when I say that I have buried things for doing less than what you did to my brother. I’ve burned the corpses of ass holes who even touched Sam the wrong way. And I won’t hesitate to do it again.” It was true in a sense. Of course all those things had already been dead or not of this world, but Jeff didn’t have to know that. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes.” Jeff nodded, tears still flowing freely. “I’ll…do…it. I swear. I’ll even pay you…whatever you want. Just name it, man.”
Dean couldn’t believe the bastard was offering compensation, like he was some thug trying to shake him down. There was no amount of money that would make up for Jake’s life, or for Sam’s. The thought of the smug bastard trying to put a price tag on his kid brother sent a whole new wave of anger coursing through the hunter.
He saw red, and wasn’t sure if he could control the bloodlust that surged from the darkness that he kept hidden in the deepest recesses of his soul. The knife edged deeper against Wilkerson’s neck, blood flowing a little freer now. Dean could smell the coppery scent as it mixed with the heady stink of fear, and it was enticing and dizzying.
“Ple…ease,” Jeff gasped at the same time that Dean’s cell phone rang. The ringing snapped him out of it, and he eased up on the knife as he pulled the phone from his jacket pocket.
“Dean?”
Dean swallowed hard, averting his eyes from Wilkerson. His father’s voice sounded rough over the phone, as if he might have been crying. John Winchester never cried. “Dad? What’s wrong?”
“You need to come to the hospital.”
“Why?
There was a long pause, when all of Dean’s fears rose to the surface and his steady hands, began to shake. He could hear Jeff whimper as the blade moved slightly, but it was faint over the rush of blood in his ears as his heart thundered in his chest.
This was it.
The blow he’d been waiting for.
His father was going to say those awful words that had once before destroyed Dean’s world. Your mom’s gone, son. She’s not coming back. Only this time it would be worse. His brother had left him.
“Dean?” The voice was hoarse, and weak, but fucking beautiful-and unmistakably Sam’s.
“I’ll be damned,” Dean laughed, but it came out sounding more like a sob. “If it ain’t the Coma Kid, himself. Damn it’s good to hear your voice, Sammy.”
“I…need you.”
The desperation was sobering, killing off the level of adrenaline that had been spiking through Dean’s body. The smile faded from his face, and his hands steadied once more. He hadn’t heard his brother say those words in years, and it was worrying and for some reason-painful. “I’ll be there, Sammy. I promise.”
“Son?” His father had taken the phone from his brother. “ The boys in blue will be waiting.”
Sam glanced at Wilkerson. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’m bringing my own personal ‘get out of jail free’ card.”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“Dad-tell Sammy…” That I love him…that I’m so glad he’s awake. “…tell him that I’ll see him real soon.”
“Be careful, Ace.”
“Always.”
Dean closed the phone, and slid it in his pocket. He grinned down at Wilkerson. “You must have a guardian angel, Jeffey. Because my brother just saved your ass.”
“You’re not going to kill me?”
“I guess that’s up to you.” Dean eased himself off of Jeff, wrapping his fist in the teen’s shirt and pulling him off the bed. “We’re going for a little drive.”
Jeff’s face paled a shade whiter than it had been. “Wh..where?”
“To
visit a sick friend.” Dean turned and scooped the fancy laptop off of
the desk, tucking it under his arm, keeping the knife trained on Jeff.
“Don’t want to forget to take a gift.” Dean glanced at the computer.
“Sammy will just love this.”