Disclaimer: As much as it pains me, I have no claim to the Winchester brothers nor any aspect of the "Supernatural" realm and all standard disclaimers apply.
A/N: Ok, folks, it looks like this wild ride is finally coming to its conclusion. I just wanted to take the time to thank all of you wonderful readers and reviewers for coming along on my fantasy spin with the Winchester boys. It was wonderful having such a great bunch out there for my very first Fanfic ever. I've appreciated each and every one of you...and your remarks. I plan to take a hiatus from posting...ah, ah, ah...don't go getting all angsty on me...I said a hiatus from posting, not writing. This time of year is extremely busy for me, both at work (major trauma season will soon be in high gear!) and at home (keeping up the farm, training and showing the dogs and the horses) and I feel the only way I can do right by my readers is to completely write, analyze and edit any further stories prior to posting. You guys deserve chapter postings faster than what I've been able to manage lately and fully completing a story prior to posting is the best way I can think of to achieve that goal. Anyway...enough prattling...back to what's important - Sam & Dean!
The road so far: Bobby, Larry and Dean have hatched a plan to break Sam out of ICU where he's being held against his will by the sadistic Dr. McCune, a physician bent on running tests on Sam in a misguided attempt to further his career. Unbeknownst to our heroes, Dr. McCune has dosed Sam with a large hit of LSD and filled his head with lies that Dean has died at Sam's own hand. After a final confrontation with Dr. McCune, Dean and Bobby burn rubber getting Sam back to the relative safety of the Hoover farm, all the while completely freaked by the horrible and frightening condition of the young hunter.
One Jump Ahead of the Storm
Chapter 41: You Drive, I'll Steer
The drive back to the Hoover's farmhouse had been a silent and desperate dash to put as much distance as they could between Sam and Dr. McCune as quickly as possible. Although no words had passed between them, Bobby's furtive glances in the rearview mirror had more than once locked onto Dean's uncertain eyes; eyes that expressed unvoiced, yet somehow understood, emotions. Fear and helplessness were two emotions Bobby had so rarely seen in the younger hunter that he had found himself unconsciously shuddering at the urgent plea that had wordlessly been laid bare in Dean's apprehensive hazel eyes. "I'm scared, Bobby. Sammy's not Sammy and I don't know what to do to 'fix' him and that scares the hell out of me. Please tell me Sammy's gonna be OK."
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
5:33 AM
Bobby and Dean had had hopes that the familiar surroundings of the Hoover farmhouse would spark something in Sam and bring him around, but they'd been back for nearly an hour already and nothing had changed. Sitting there watching his younger brother, Dean wasn't sure what was more distressing, the Sam he had encountered hysterically crashing down the hospital corridors or the one that was facing him now; the Sam that appeared wide awake yet failed to respond...to anything. The blank, expressionless appearance of his face was amplified by the large, dark pools of his dilated pupils and driven home by the occasional ribbons of drool that continued to slip, uncontrolled, from Sam's lips. It was almost as if the part of his little brother that made him 'Sam' had died on the inside leaving just the physical outer shell and the sight of it had been killing Dean; had him practically crawling out of his skin with worry.
"Damn it," Bobby mused silently. "Where the hell are you, Larry? Nothing with Sam is making any sense, Dean's on the edge, and I'm in over my head, here."
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
The first twitch of a hand, the first blink that said Sam was aware of anything, anything, beyond himself had Dean finding that he was once again able to breathe. A slow but steady realization had begun to fill Sam's eyes and he struggled to focus the tumbling torrent of thoughts that poured from every recess of his mind. Words, letters, sights and noises all formed in Sam's head, melted into one another, then re-fused themselves into a jumble of unintelligible babble that rolled, muffled and slurred, from Sam's dry, cracked lips as he squirmed restlessly on the bed.
Dean had heard the slam of the wooden screen door and the heavy thud-thud of rushed footsteps and breathed a sigh of relief. "Sammy, you're gonna be OK, now. Larry's finally here. He's gonna take care of you, but I won't leave you, I promise. I'm gonna be here the whole time. I won't leave."
Bobby crossed the threshold into the room with Larry not far behind, a large blue canvas bag in one hand, a large manila folder in the other. "How's he doing?"
"I don't know, Larry," Dean admitted as he painfully stood up and stepped slowly away from Sam's bed. "For the last hour he's been staring off into space, not responding to anything. He's starting to come around now, but he's not making any sense and he looks horrible."
"The same could be said about you, too. I'm going to look after Sam," Larry asserted. "I gave Bobby some supplies. He's going to take you down the hallway to the bathroom and get you cleaned up...again...and then you're going to lie down. When I'm done with Sam, I'll come make sure you didn't undo any of my hard work."
Dean bristled at the thought of being taken from his brother once again. He didn't care that Bobby and Larry were people that he could trust; and the same for Gordy and Brenda Hoover. Lord knows, if it hadn't been for all of them, he and Sam never would have survived their stay in this God-forsaken little Hamlet of Hell. What Dean cared about was Sam, and the promise he'd made to him, and the force of his reply left no one questioning that. "No way! I told him I was staying and I am!"
Although Sam was obviously in need of medical care, Dean had been through so much himself that Larry was determined he was going to get the rest and care he needed, as well. Larry had known this was going to be a fight but he was determined to stand strong and matched Dean's tone with one of his own. "He's going to get the care he needs and you are, too! Now, go with Bobby and let me tend to Sam!"
"I don't need anything, Larry! I'm fine! I'm not leaving him! I just got him back!"
"Guys..."
"You are not fine! Look at you! You've been stitched together more times than some kid's rag doll, your ribs are almost certainly broken, and you can't even stand up straight!"
Dean stifled a wince as he stood a little taller. "Give it up, Larry! I'm not leaving unless it's in a body bag!"
"Keep ignoring your own injuries and you just may get your wish!" Larry bellowed.
"GUYS!!"
Larry and Dean turned at Bobby's shout to find that Sam had pulled himself into a seated position on the bed, his knees folded tightly to his chest. His elbows rested heavily on his knees as his arms curled protectively over his head and ears, the long fingers of his hands twisting large clumps of chestnut hair between them as he rocked agitatedly back and forth. Tears streamed down his face as he ranted incoherently. "My fault...did it...evil...died...he died...my knife...I killed him...turned evil..."
Dean returned to Sam's side, sitting gently on the edge of the bed and quietly spoke to his baby brother. "What's your fault, Sammy? Everything's OK, buddy. Come on, look at me," Dean consoled as he gripped Sam's forearms, carefully avoiding the bruised, raw areas on each of Sam's wrists, and tenderly tugged his arms away from his head. Hooking the side of his right index finger under Sam's chin, Dean tilted his brother's head up until he looked him squarely in the face.
Sam stared blankly at Dean for an instant before a look of horrified surprise swept across his face. With a sharp intake of breath, Sam scrambled desperately backwards, knocking the lamp from the bedside table as he spilled from the bed. "No! Leave me alone! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it!" The young hunter sobbed pitifully as he struggled to rise from where he'd fallen.
"Jesus, Sammy! Are you OK?" Dean rose from his spot and started around the end of the bed to help his brother, but pulled up short when Sam scrabbled quickly away, terror flashing in his eyes.
Dean once again moved in his brother's direction, the shock of Sam's behavior and his own fatigue showing up in his words and harsh tone. "What the hell's wrong with you?!"
Sam shrank back, his panic-stricken eyes frantically searching for any escape while he pushed as far into the corner of the room as he could. "Stay away from me! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it! It was an accident! Please, no! I didn't know it was you! I swear, I didn't know it was you." Sam's voice trailed away as his breath hitched in stuttered gasps.
"Sammy, what is it? What the hell are you talking..." Dean's questioning was cut abruptly short as Sam flailed wildly in an attempt to get away from his older sibling and Larry and Bobby descended on Dean, firmly pulling him away from a now clearly irrational Sam.
"What are you doing? Let me go! Something's wrong with him! I've got to help him!" Dean struggled in their grasps, headstrong in his resolve to return to Sam's side.
"Get him out of here, Bobby," Larry hollered as he pushed Dean roughly towards the door.
"No! Don't! Sam!" Dean bucked furiously against Bobby's restraining arms. "Let me go!"
"Come on, Dean. Let's go," Bobby commanded, Dean struggling against him as he wrestled the younger hunter to the door.
"No! Let go of me! Sammy! Sammy!!"
"If you really want to help him," Larry protested disapprovingly, "then you'll get the hell out of here!"
"Why?! What's wrong with him?!"
"You, Dean!," Larry blurted, not realizing the impact of his words until he saw the shocked and wounded expression cross Dean's face. When Larry continued, he softened his words and his tone. "I don't know why, but you're upsetting him. Your being here is making things worse, not better. Now, please...just go so I can take care of him. I'll come talk with you as soon as I can."
Dean wrenched his arm free from Bobby's iron-fisted grip and with a final anxiety-laden glance at his brother who was huddled, trembling in the corner, turned and exited the room.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
8:09 AM
It had taken nearly forty minutes before Larry's soothing and quiet demeanor had finally won over the distressed boy's trust and he'd quietly allowed the physician to settle him once again on the bed. Now, two hours later, Larry had been able to review the information in Dr. McCune's folder and the pieces had fallen all together. Confident that Sam was past the worst, and leaving an attentive Brenda to watch over the now peacefully sleeping boy, Larry quietly slipped from the room.
As he descended the steps, Larry wondered just what he was going to say to Dean. Well, not so much what he was going to say as much as how he was going to say it. Dean had a right to know what he'd found out, needed to know, because Sam would most certainly need the support of his older brother in the days ahead. But Dean was as stressed and incendiary as anyone Larry had ever seen and the wrong approach was more than likely going to set off a firestorm of emotion that would do neither boy any good.
"Hey, guys," Larry called out quietly as he entered the cozy farmhouse living room where Bobby, Dean and Gordy sat silently nursing mugs of coffee, each man lost in his private thoughts. Dean still wore the same wounded expression Larry had last seen him with and he knew that Sam's apparent rejection of the older boy was eating away at him.
"How's Sammy?" Dean had scooted to the edge of his seat when he'd seen Larry come in and waited expectantly for news of his brother. "Can I see him?"
"We need to talk first," Larry advised.
Dean's face turned a pallid shade as the blood drained from his face and a whispered, "Oh, God" passed unconsciously from his lips.
"No, no, no...Oh, God, no," Larry gushed out. Geez, he'd only just started and already he was making a mess of things. "No, Sam's doing fine now. It's just...well, there's a few things...some of the..." Larry took a deep breath and blew it out tiredly. He had to handle this just right because Sam was going to need his big brother to be as calm, understanding and strong as he could be. "This isn't going to be easy to hear, but I'll tell you as long as you promise me you won't go flying off the handle. OK? You've got to hear me out and deal with this. Sam's going to have a hard enough time dealing with it himself, so having his big brother going all 'John Rambo' isn't going to help him. He needs your calm, quiet support, OK? You hear what I'm saying?"
Dean simply nodded, his fists clenched tightly together and pressed to his lips, too anxious to trust his voice not to waver.
"From what I can tell, Sam didn't take much in the way of food or fluids in the past few days and he was rather dehydrated. After I got him calmed down, I was able to start an IV for him and I pumped him full of fluids. While the IV was infusing, I had some time to review McCune's notes and the pieces make a hell of a lot more sense now. McCune did a real number on him, Dean."
Bobby saw Dean's jaw clench and his posture stiffen suddenly and he laid a supportive and slightly restraining hand on his shoulder. "But he's OK now." Dean's statement lacked confidence and came out sounding more like a question.
"Dean..." Larry continued, "the first EEG...um, brainwave test...that was done after the seizure he'd had after his surgery was lucky enough to pick up when Sam had one of his visions."
"Yeah," Dean agreed, "the one about Joshua getting killed. That vision saved Joshua's life."
"Well, believe me, the EEG results are like nothing I've ever seen before...and that's all it took for McCune. He was bent on making Sam his own personal lab rat, even having him restrained when he resisted. Once McCune got tired of pumping him full of legal drugs and watching their effects, he went for something a bit more...should I say, hard core. Dean, Sam was tripping on lysergic acid diethylamide when we rescued him."
"LSD," Dean whispered quietly. "I suppose that explains him flipping out on me."
"Not entirely, Dean," Larry cautioned gently. "McCune was pushing him...hard. His notes indicate he intentionally set Sam up for a bad trip hoping the test results would be even more impressive." Larry wrung his hands nervously. "Dean, McCune told Sam that he...that you..." Larry took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "McCune told Sam that you'd died from a stab wound to the chest and Sam, himself, was the one who'd killed you."
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
10:55 AM
The revelations of the suffering that Sam had endured at McCune's hands had impacted Dean incredibly hard. Both Bobby and Larry had seen Dean's unbridled rage bubbling just under the surface and wondered just how long the young man could contain it. Bobby knew from past experience the explosive power of Dean's bottled emotions. The images of Dean pummeling the trunk of his beloved Impala with an iron rod after the death of their father were still so fresh in Bobby's mind that he warily observed Dean from across the room for any indications that his anger was reaching the point of critical mass, the point where an eruption of visceral rage was imminent.
Bobby was having a hard time reading Dean and it was really starting to spook him. "You doing OK, boy?"
"Yeah," Dean acquiesced with a sigh. "Don't get me wrong, I'd love to open up a whole can of Winchester-style whoop-ass on that bastard McCune, but Sammy needs me more."
"I see you took our little talk to heart," Larry called out from where he was leaning casually against the doorframe. "That's good, because Sam's awake. I've talked with him a little and I think he's ready to see you now."
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Dean had stood outside Sam's door gathering himself, putting on a face of confident cool that he didn't feel inside, before knocking lightly on the bedroom door.
A small, distant voice Dean hardly recognized as Sam's called out from behind the door. "Come in."
Dean cautiously pushed the door open and quietly stepped inside. Sam sat upright in bed, his back resting against the heavy oak headboard. His flushed and sweaty appearance of earlier had given way to a rather pasty and sickly appearance. In the past, Dean had always marveled how Sam seemed to always look through eyes that shone with a resolve to find goodness and light in everyone and everything around him. Now, Dean saw eyes that only brimmed with unshed tears; a dark sadness replacing the hopeful optimism usually found there.
Dean settled softly on the bed next to his younger brother, unsure what to do or say. Sam stared silently at his hands while he fidgeted with the hem of the quilt Brenda had spread out on his bed. Tense, noiseless moments passed as Dean weighed his next move. Never before had he felt the need to pull back from Sam, to be distant and detached. Yes, Dean mused, he often tried to pull back and avoid it when Sam got into one of his particularly emo, "chick-flick" moods, but it was he that needed that distance, not Sam. But recently, Dean's presence had upset his little brother and Dean wasn't certain how much brotherly bonding Sam could handle just yet. Dean wanted desperately to be there for his baby brother, but he didn't want to push too soon and make matters worse. Damn you, McCune, Dean cursed silently, I ever run into you again, you slimly piece of shit, I will kill you without a guilty thought.
The boys sat in silence for several more minutes before Sam lifted his head, his doleful eyes regarding his brother with an expression of poignant regret. Sam took a breath and appeared as though he were going to say something when he suddenly stopped and looked away, his eyes squinted closed and his face twisting in an attempt to hold back his surging emotions. Pushing back his emotions, Sam whispered, "I thought I'd...," before the pain and sadness of his still vivid memories once again had him choking back tears.
"I know, Sam," Dean murmured quietly, "I know. But that wasn't real. I'm here and I'm OK."
Dean reached out and tentatively laid his hand on Sam's forearm, uncertain what reaction his touch would illicit. Sam drew back and quickly gathered Dean into his arms, pulling him closely to his chest. No longer able to hold back, his emotions crashing down around him, Sam broke down and wept in Dean's arms.
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
Hoover farmhouse
Two days later
09:20 AM
"Here, let me help you with that," Larry offered as Dean struggled his way into his button-down shirt.
"Nah, I'm good. Thanks." The involuntary wince that crossed Dean's face as his ribs indignantly protested his movements somehow making his assurances particularly less than convincing.
"Look, Dean, I get the whole 'gotta-be-strong, don't-admit-any-weakness' routine, I really do. Remember, I was a hunter once, too, and I knew your old man. But that doesn't change the fact that the both of you have been through a lot and you need to take it easy, take care of yourselves."
"I'll take it easy when Sammy and I are as far away from McCune as we can get," Dean growled.
"I don't think you'll have to worry about McCune any time soon," Larry stated with a wry smile. "Let's just say a few well-placed sheets of leftover LSD blotters happened to find their way into McCune's pockets...and bloodstream."
"So that's what took you so long getting here!" Bobby's eyes twinkled with vengeful delight.
"It seems," Larry continued conspiratorially, "McCune was found slumped, unconscious and bloody, in a hospital corridor amid a bunch of overturned supply carts. An exam and drug-screen confirmed that the good doctor was high on LSD at the time. Since he was on duty, the hospital administration wasn't too happy and suspended him from practicing. The State Police are investigating him and it's almost a certainty that the State Board will yank his medical license faster than you can say 'poltergeist'.
"Even still," Dean quipped, "I would have felt better if you and Bobby would have let me go back to salt and burn the bastard."
Larry and Bobby laughed knowingly, realizing had they given Dean even the smallest hint of approval, that he would surely have done just that. "By the way," Larry continued. "I've taken the liberty of making some arrangements for the two of you, with Bobby's OK, of course, for whenever you hit the road again."
Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you mean you 'made arrangements'?"
"Being on the road, in a strange town, unfamiliar with the hospitals and emergency medical services is not the time for either of you boys to have a serious complication, so I've contacted a friend of mine in Nebraska. Steve's a good guy, real open-minded. Better yet, he's a doctor with a 'no questions asked' sort of attitude."
Dean snatched the small slip of paper from Larry's outstretched fingers and peered intently down at it. "King? You're serious? You're sending us to hook up with some doctor named Stephen King?! And this is supposed to be making me feel more comfortable, how?"
Larry and Bobby chuckled heartily. After everything that had gone on it wasn't hard to see where the man's name would freak Dean out a bit. Larry placed a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder. "Steve gets that reaction quite a bit, actually."
"Who'd have thought it," Dean barked sarcastically.
"...but, he has connections with some bar or something, a place called Harvelle's Roadhouse, I think. It's run by some mother-daughter duo but the word is that they're like 'Hunters Central' and can set you up with lodging while Steve looks after you."
"I don't know, Larry," Dean hedged. "Can't say I'm ready to trust anyone right now."
Sam silently shook his head in agreement. Although he'd interacted with everyone and engaged in conversation since coming down from the LSD, he had been quieter and more withdrawn than usual, a fact that had Dean watching his every move, his every expression, and analyzing his every word. Sam hadn't spoken much at all, and even less about what McCune had done to him, and Dean was in full big brother mode making sure Sam was dealing with it.
"Too bad, Dean," Bobby asserted. "The arrangements are made and Steve's to call if you two don't show up within a reasonable time of leaving here. Doc, here," Bobby said as he nodded towards Larry, "says your busted ribs put you at greater risk for developing pneumonia. I've nursed your sorry ass through that before. It wasn't pretty and I'm not about to do it again."
"Even just the fact that you've had pneumonia before increases your risk, Dean," Larry explained. "Anyway, somebody's going to need to tend to Sam's broken wrist and make sure his spleen is healed enough before you head back into the game."
Dean looked apprehensively at his younger brother trying unsuccessfully to read Sam's thoughts from his impassive expression.
"I don't know, Larry," Dean objected. " I really don't think a bunch of new people's the right thing right now." He'd intentionally left off the "for Sammy" but Larry and Bobby could sense it.
Before Dean could protest any further, Sam interrupted in the same small, hushed tone he'd adopted since his ordeal. "I'll go."
Dean couldn't get over how childlike Sam's voice sounded amidst the earnest quibbling of he, Larry and Bobby. "What did you say?"
Sam stared absently at his boots, not even looking up as he repeated himself. "I said I'll go. We can't stay here anymore. I found this during breakfast." Sam held out a copy of the local newspaper. "Police Seek Men in Animal Preserve Incident" was emblazoned in large, black letters across the top of the Ida County Herald-Tribune.
Dean grabbed the paper from his younger brother and began reading aloud. " 'Police seek to question three men in regards to a break in that occurred at the veterinary facilities of the Los Barba Wildlife Refuge last week. Refuge owner, Phil Collins,'...you've got to be kidding me. Phil Collins?" Dean asked incredulously before going on. " 'Refuge owner, Phil Collins, told police that three men entered the offices of the refuge dressed in dark suits and identified themselves as agents from the Exotic Animals Division of the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Mr. Collins was told the three 'agents' were there investigating reports of a lioness that had escaped from a traveling circus, but later investigation found no circuses or other shows in or around the area that were missing any animals. A similar inquiry to the U. S. Department of Agriculture failed to turn up any agents by the names of Crosby, Stills or Nash, the names given to Mr. Collins at the time the three gained entry to the refuge. To date, all refuge animals are accounted for."
"Mr. Collins reports the veterinary clinic at the rear of the preserve had been broken into, presumably in a search for Ketamine, a common veterinary anesthetic often sold illicitly on the street. Inventory of the clinic is still on-going but officials acknowledge no drugs or other equipment of street value have been found missing to this point. A late model Toyota pick-up was stolen from the rear of the clinic but was later recovered at a near-by hospital. Indications at the scene are that at least one of the perpetrators was injured. In an attempt to identify the individuals, a search of hospital records is currently underway."
"If anyone has any information that could assist police in their investigation, they're requested to call the Ida County Sheriff's office at..."
"I'll meet you in the car, Dean," Sam whispered and strode sadly out the front door without saying 'goodbye' to Bobby, the slam of the screen door punctuating the finality of the situation.
Dean stared after his melancholy younger brother and breathed out a sigh. As usual, it seemed like the Winchester brothers just couldn't get a break. As he brushed past Larry on his way to retrieve his duffel, the English doctor seized Dean's upper arm emphatically. "Before you go...you need to walk a fine line with Sam for awhile. Sam's going to need some space, space where he won't have to live up to certain expectations. But he's also going to need support from you. He needs time that he can work through everything that's happened...the injuries, McCune, the drugs."
"Got it, doc. I should let 'Timothy Leary' deal with things in his own time. Be there for him, but don't push. No problem."
"Dean, I'm serious," Larry scolded.
Hazel eyes searched Larry's face and the sudden gravity of the doctor's expression twisted a knot into Dean's guts.
"I know it was only one hit, but it was a very significant dose for someone that's never used before and acid's nothing to take lightly. LSD's known for causing repeated effects, flashbacks, weeks or months after the fact and often just as vivid as the initial trip. A bad trip like Sam's seems to increase the likelihood of flashbacks. And we haven't even factored in Sam's 'gift'. It's just that we have no real idea how the LSD's going to impact Sam in the future. You need to keep an eye out for him. You ever need anything, you know where I am. OK?"
Dean gathered Larry up in a loose man-hug, clapped him heartily on the back and then did the same with Bobby. "I'll call you when we get to Nebraska."
Bobby nodded quickly, not trusting his voice not to crack and warble. Although he'd never had children of his own, Bobby supposed this is what it felt like when they grew and moved away. As Dean turned and walked through the front door, Bobby and Larry were left staring after him.
"You boys take care of yourselves," Bobby said to no one in particular as the throaty growl of the classic Impala slowly dissipated into the distance.
END.
About the chapter title: "You Drive, I'll Steer" is a song from Cheap Trick's 1980 album, "Busted", one of their somewhat less successful albums.
A/N: For those of you too young to get the reference to Timothy Leary. Dr. Leary (1920-1996) was a psychologist and 1960's counterculture icon that promoted the use of LSD for both "therapeutic" and "spiritual" benefits. He coined the particularly famous 1960's phrase, "Turn on, tune in, drop out."
Also, as you can see by the ending I've chosen, we're left wide open for a potential sequel...maybe something like a "Dean gets pneumonia" sequel or a "Sammy has a wicked flashback" sequel, or even possibly a "Dr. McCune gets out of jail and is bent on revenge" sequel. I'm sure there are other sequel ideas, as well, that I've yet to think of. Reader interest in any of these scenarios, or others that you may suggest, will figure largely in whether I write a sequel, or not. If you'd like to see a sequel, you'll have to let me know what you think/want. I would like to tackle another plot idea I have first, though, before doing any sequels.