Author's Notes: Ok, this is the biggest cop out in all of fan fiction history, but I want everyone to live and I needed a reason for that to happen. Besides, I agree…if evil has such an interest in the Winchesters, wouldn't good have an equal interest?
Criticism and comments welcome.
Sam blinked one eye open, the other too puffy and sore to even consider trying. His head throbbed and his chest ached, and he couldn't remember what the hell he'd been doing that would've caused so much damage.
An annoying beep, one that was all too familiar pulsed in time with his headache. God, how I hate those things…he closed his eye again.
"You'd think that with all of man's glorious creations, they would've invented a better sounding bleep that would make people want to live. Though I suppose wanting to live just so you can beat the machine into oblivion could be what the medical profession is aiming for." The voice was unfamiliar, and sounded decidedly Australian. And female. Sam didn't know any Australians, women or otherwise.
Slowly, Sam cracked his only working eye open again, glancing around to find the source of the voice.
A woman stood at the foot of his bed, holding a chart in her hands as she read it horizontally. Her face was unremarkable, except that it was deathly pale with pointed features. Long white-gold hair tumbled down on either side of her face and she was dressed…like a soccer mom. And now that his eye could focus a little better, he realized she wasn't standing, she was…perching…on the foot of his bed.
Oh, how Sam hated puzzles when he had a headache and just woke up.
"Well, Samuel Winchester, you are one lucky bastard. In fact, you all are. That semi would've killed anybody else, driven by a demon possessed man or otherwise."
"Where's my brother?" Sam asked, surprised at how well he could speak considering how bad he felt. His eye wandered the room, looking for some sign of his brother…or his father.
"In another room. No worries though. He's going to be right as rain. Well, bad metaphor. He'll be good as new. Nothing like a little divine intervention to cure those bumps and bruises in record time," the woman continued.
"Divine intervention?" Sam echoed, concentrating on the words as he said them. Oddly enough, he was beginning to feel better the longer he was awake. Usually it was the opposite. And he still couldn't quite remember what happened. Something about a semi?
"You don't remember the crash? Well, I suppose that's to be expected, considering the knock on your head. By the way, psychic boy, you and I need to have a long discussion about how to use those abilities of yours to see things like this coming. I mean this! This you couldn't see?" The woman hopped off the edge of his bed without moving the bed in the slightest and landing without a sound. She strolled over and gently touched Sam's face.
Her hand was so…warm. Sam leaned into her touch for a moment before he realized that his headache was disappearing. Not fading, like most headaches did, and while the pain was lessened it still hurt somewhere back there, but going away entirely.
He opened his eyes to stare at the woman and startled when he realized that he could now open both without a problem, and his vision was clearing rapidly as things came into focus. He jerked his head away, glaring at the woman. "What are you?"
"That hurts, Sam. Not even a 'who'? Just 'what'?" the woman placed a hand over her heart in mock hurt.
Sam ignored her motion and sat up straighter in his bed. "What are you? And where am I? What happened, and where's my family?" he demanded. "And who the hell are you?"
The woman sighed exaggeratedly. "Oh fine. I was told you were the cheerful one too. If that's true, I hate to imagine the greeting your brother and father would give me. As to where you are, you are in the hospital that you were trying to get your brother to, right before all three of you were t-boned by a semi driven by a man possessed by one of the demons you've been so rabidly hunting after. Rather nasty, I must say, considering your father and brother were already injured and on the side of the car that got rammed."
Sam bolted upright, panicking when he remembered the accident as the truck came out of nowhere.
"Are they okay? How did we get here? How's Dean?" Sam paused a moment. "And Dad? Is he alive?"
"I thought we covered this with your brother. He's in the next room over, and he's going to be giving the nurses hell when they explain the EMT crew had to use the Jaws of Life on that car of his. Poor car. I really liked that thing too, you know? It was what all cars should aspire to be. Purred like a kitten, ran like charm…" the woman sighed. "Unfortunately, an Impala is no match for a semi going eighty miles an hour.
"Anyway, where was I? Right, your father. He's fine too. Actually, they both owe you to their well-being, Samuel."
"Me?" Sam asked, blinking. "How? I was driving and I didn't see that thing come out of nowhere. I almost got them all killed." In reality, as soon as the truck collided with the car, Sam knew it was the end of them. All of them. And all he really wanted to apologize for was not rescuing his brother, the one time he really needed him.
"Sammy, dear, your brother holds nothing against you. You already saved his life once when even he had given up. That's not something to be taken lightly. And that's not what I meant, either. Those protective symbols you put on the trunk? They didn't just protect the trunk, boy, it protected the whole car, and everything and everyone inside it. You didn't read the fine print on that page in Bobby's book." The woman plopped down in the chair next to Sam's bed, folding her legs underneath her Indian style. "The demon driving probably would've finished you off right then and there, but the barrier kept him out. I suspect it was more of a warning shot, letting you know you didn't finish the job."
Sam inhaled slowly as he processed everything the woman was saying. His family was alive. Maybe not well, but alive, and that was all that mattered. The demons were still out there, biding their time, but they hadn't finished the job when they totaled the car.
"How did the EMT's even know there was an accident?" Sam asked. "If the driver was possessed he obviously didn't call for help."
"No, he didn't…I whispered in their ear that there was an accident and to send every available unit. And voila! Here you are, safe and snug in the good old hospital," the woman replied smugly, smiling like the proverbial cat that ate the canary.
Sam stared at the woman. "Who are you?"
The woman looked at her carefully manicured nails. "Sam, let me ask you this. You believe in demons right? And that there's evil in the world?"
"Yeah," he answered, staring at her like it was the stupidest question he had ever heard in his life. "Kinda hard not to, in our line of work."
"Then why is it so hard for you to believe that there are forces of good out there as well? With all that you've done, all that you've accomplished for this world, you didn't think that we would just sit idly by and let darkness take your family?" the woman stood, stretching arms clasped above her head as she arched her back. "We may have a different set of rules to play by, Samuel Winchester, but that doesn't mean we sit on the sidelines when the other team plays dirty. We've got our eye on you, and we're not letting anything happen to you. Not for a long time."
"You think this is a game?" Sam growled. "What we do is for shits and giggles and some kind of point system?"
"Of course not. I was being Shakespearean. You know, 'all the world's a stage' and blah blah blah? I thought it was a clever metaphor, albeit overused," the woman said, smiling. "But fine, if you would like it in layman's terms, let me spell it out. God's taken an interest in you and your little family. Fight the good fight and all that junk, and He tends to reward you. Not saying you won't get hurt and you won't suffer, but this is life, kid. No one gets that guarantee. However, it does mean you have divine intervention on your side when shit hits the fan. Thus, here you are, safe in the hospital with surprising little damage to yourselves, living to see another day," the woman said, leaning close to Sam so she was not an inch from his face.
"I don't believe in God," Sam snarled.
The woman shrugged. "It doesn't matter if you do. The important thing is, he believes in you."
Sam looked away, focusing on his hand clenched tightly around the blanket's edge. At one point in his life, Sam had actually believed in God. Not that there was a general good in the world, but that there was some higher level, higher being that took care of people the way his brother had taken care of him and his family. Truth be told, his brother was probably why Sam had believed, for a little while. Because his brother needed someone to look out for him. But time after time, his brother was ignored, belittled, and battered and bruised, and Sam lost any faith that there was anybody watching out for them, and they were on their own.
Sam took a breath and looked up to ask the woman another question, but she was gone. He hadn't heard her leave. The door was slightly ajar, but it had been that way since he woke up. He sighed. Leave it to him to come up with a vivid hallucination with angels looking like soccer moms and a passion for Shakespearean prose. Dean would have something to say about that.
There was a loud clatter from the room next door, the sound of a tray being hurled against the wall followed by a shout of protest from a nurse. "Mr. Winchester!"
"You did fucking what to my car!"
Sam couldn't help but smile. At least his hallucination hadn't being lying about that.
Author's Notes continued: Yes, yes, cop-out of all cop-outs. And I'm not entirely satisfied with how I ended it. Seems a little abrupt. But I don't know about any of you, but when you hallucinate (I speak from experience with exhaustion), things rapidly appear and disappear and don't make a whole lot of sense. Also, I don't know if it rings a little too religiously. I'm not religious myself, but I like reading up on "mythology" like angels and demons and whatnot. No offense meant.
If you have constructive criticism, I'm all ears and I will rewrite it if you give me a good enough suggestion for it.
PS – I have a new kitty, and guess what his name is? Winchester.