Sam woke
to the sound of his cell ringing. He
picked up the phone and looked at the time on it. The younger Winchester sat up, turned on the
lamp, and answered, “Dean? Where the
hell are you? It’s 3:50 in the morning!”
“Sammy?”
“Dean? Are you all right?”
“No,
Sammy. I need you. Please.
Come get me,” came a soft, whispery voice.
“Okay,
where you? Where does your latest
one-nighter live?”
“Not
there, Sammy. I’m on a road. I can’t drive any further. I’m hurt bad.”
“Is your
gps on?”
“Yeah. Hurry, Sam.
I’m not doing good. I can’t stop
the bleeding.”
“What? Okay.
I’ll be there as fast I can.”
Sam hung
up the phone, dressed and looked for the items that would be needed to stop whatever bleeding
Dean had. He made sure the med kit was
full and left the motel room. He found a
van at the end and broke into the vehicle and hot-wired it.
It took
fifteen minutes to locate his brother.
The car was on a dirt road outside of town. Sam pulled his gun out as he left the stolen
van.
He opened
the driver’s door of the Impala. Dean
was unconscious. Turning on the overhead
light, he saw a large cut in Dean’s abdomen and inhaled at the amount of blood.
Working to
stop the bleeding, he wrapped tape around a large pad and used a belt to
tighten the pressure on the wound. He
slowly moved the man over to the passenger side and drove the Impala towards
town. He called Garth and asked for a
hunter’s doctor.
Garth came
back to him with a doctor who lived on the other side of town. Sam was grateful that the other man had
called and paved the way.
Dean moaned and Sam glanced over. It was too dark to tell if the man was
okay. He figured any sound was good at
this point. Frustration mounted as the
younger hunter tried to figure out how his sibling had managed to turn a one
night stand into such an injury.
The doctor
was standing outside of his clinic with a gurney. The two men worked to place the injured man
onto the equipment and rolled him inside the building.
“What
happened to him,” the physician asked.
“I have no
idea. He had a date, if you know what I
mean,” Sam replied in disgust.
“Girlfriend?”
“I doubt he knew her more than thirty minutes before
he took her out.”
“Ahhh. Let’s see the damage,” the man responded as
he undid the bandages.
“He’s slit
open. Cara, prepare 101 for surgery, please.”
Sam looked up as a woman in jeans and t-shirt entered. She looked at the situation and ran towards
the back to prepare.
“Cara?”
Sam asked.
“My
nurse. Damned good one too.”
Sam stood
there as the nurse returned and helped the doctor take Dean towards the
back. Sam told them Dean’s blood type
and went to sit in the waiting room.
Time
passed slowly and Sam dozed off.
At 8:15,
the doctor woke the taller man.
“How is he,
Doc?”
“You need
to find a place to stay awhile. The cut
was deep and I had to do some repair work.
The muscle will take time to heal.
No hunting or any extraneous movements.
He has to take it easy. I’d say
for at least three or four weeks.”
“Are you
serious? With Bobby Singer dead, there’s
no one who can make him stay still,” Sam ran his fingers through his long
hair. “Damn it!”
“There
must be someone he will listen to?”
“Cas,
maybe. If I can find him.”
“Good. He can’t stay here. This is a clinic. You need to find a place and take him there.”
The clinic
door opened and a man in an over-sized trench coat walked in.
“I have a
place where he can stay, Sam. Let’s
remove him.”
Before
anyone knew what was happening, Castiel, Sam, Dean, and the Impala were gone.
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