Author's Note: Before reading this story- it is a spin-off/ sequel to my story "Edge of Oblivion". I suggest you read it first before diving into this one!

Pretext/ Summary: Balthazar fell into the pit of Purgatory after killing Crowley with Sam's help. Now Sam is in a desperate search for his friend & hopes that he is still alive. But no one knows the consequences of falling into Purgatory or if it is even possible to escape. Unbeknownst to Sam, a doctor far away, helps a mysterious man, who looks like an angel we may know...

BTW- this story will contain eventual slashy-goodness & is sexually explicit! u've been warned! ^_-


Chapter 1

Quebec, Canada

Dr. Richard Fick watched the black skies churn. Rain pelted the windows as the wind howled outside the hospital. Lightening streaked the sky and thunder roared dangerously. It had been raining like this for three days now. Weather like this always made his bad leg ache. He reached out unconsciously, touching the scar along the side of his leg. Three years ago he had been careless with a drug-addled patient. Unfortunately for him, the junkie had a knife and stabbed him, crippling him for the rest of his life.

He leaned heavily on the crutch that cupped his wrist. It was only when it rained like this, did he believe in evil. It was as if Hell had reached out and tainted their skies black, Dr. Fick thought glumly. He never in his fifteen years living in Canada had seen it this bad. He was an American but married into the Canadian lifestyle because of his wife. At the moment, he longed for that Californian sunshine.

He glanced down at his watch. It was just past midnight. He glanced anxiously at the front entrance doors of the hospital again. He was waiting for the ambulance that had just called in a severe brain trauma victim en route. It was a relatively slow night so luckily he would be prepared for whatever come bursting through those doors. Or so he thought.

Suddenly the doors slid open. Windswept paramedics flanked their stretcher, hauling in a tall, lean man, his face soaked in blood. The paramedics were drenched with rain, and covered in black mud and blood. Wild eyed, the older of the two paramedics locked his steady gaze onto Fick. "Brain injury- found him down by Lawrence River…"

That explained the mud, Fick thought as he led the way to the operating room with the two men. He used his crutch and steadied himself as they wrapped through the maze of the hospital hallways. He grabbed their report on the man's vitals. He read it quickly, his years of experience as a doctor made able to recognize a severe case when he saw one. Within minutes, the paramedics left the brain trauma victim and Fick with his nurses. He wiped the blood from the unconscious man's face, smearing it slightly. He frowned deeply, his eyes crinkling at the sight of a relatively young man and a gash along his forehead. He prayed for a miracle and began.

A few hours later, the man had stabilized, with only a few stitches along his upper forehead. He had not awaken yet and Fick thought it best to keep him on sedatives while the wound was still so fresh. He sipped his fresh cup of coffee and sighed. The nurses had cleaned up the patient, searched his pockets for a wallet, cellphone or ID. But they found nothing. All he had on him were the clothes on his back and the boots on his feet. Nothing that indicated to Fick the man's identity. Maybe he had been robbed? He'd seen plenty of that in his years as a doctor. Robberies gone wrong with brutal violence inflicted on the victim.

He sat at the nurses' station, listening to the news report on their unique weather and pondering the predicament of the patient. Suddenly the double doors of the hospital slid open and two rain pelted police officers strode in, their youthful faces hard and unreadable. Fick knew they had come to question about the mysterious patient. He stood, his crutch lifting him.

"Hello officers," he responded politely.

"We're here about the man brought in- the one found down by Lawrence River…" the dark haired officer said. His police hat dripped droplets of rain.

"Yes, well I can't be of much help, I'm afraid. He's unconscious at the moment and has no ID on him."

"When will he wake up?" the officer asked in a cold yet insistent voice. The police officer behind him moved restlessly, looking down the corridor to the patient rooms, his eyes surveying everything.

Fick shrugged casually, though alarm bells sounded in his head at the strange anxiousness from these police officers. "I'm not sure- only time will tell."

The officers exchanged dark looks. Fick wondered what was going on. He glanced over the police officers and noted their black boots were thick with mud. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, wondering why these officers would be playing in the mud this late at night. He couldn't explain it, but for some reason, he didn't trust these officers of the law.

"We'll wait for him then," the dark haired officer stated firmly.

Fick frowned, "That's unnecessary officer," he said with a dismissive wave. "He won't be waking for quite some time. I gave him a sedative for the rest of the night."

The officers exchanged yet another look. This time, Fick noticed the blood stain underneath the dark haired officer's chin. A cold shiver ran up his spine.

"How about you give me your card and I'll be happy to give you a call the moment he wakes," Fick said, hoping his sudden nerves didn't get the better of him. Maybe the officer got into a scuffle and split a little blood. Yet they way the two officers seemed insistent on seeing the man, made him wonder if they might have been the cause of the patient's injuries. If that were the case, Fick had to protect him. No one came into his hospital and messed with his staff and especially his patients, no matter who they were.

The dark haired officer smiled thinly at him and handed him a business card. "Let's hope for your sake- you call, Doc." He said menacingly. Fick took the card and glanced up at the officer. He nearly dropped the card as he watched in horror the man's eyes flicker into an inky black then vanish back to normal. The officer smirked and left. Fick's hand trembled in unexplainable fear. Lightening lit up the inside of the hospital, with the harsh thunder rattling him to his bones.

Fick finished up his shift and went home for the night with a strange uneasiness. Maybe the black he saw in the officer's eyes was just his imagination? After all, he'd been dwelling on the terrible weather and how it was somehow evil- so maybe he set himself up to see something malevolent? Fick shook his head, rubbing a hand over his old, slightly wrinkled face. He was only in his mid-forties but felt decades older. Refusing to think about the scary officers and the mysterious patient, Fick fell into a fitful sleep.


The next evening on shift, he went straight to the head trauma patient. A nurse stood over the sleeping man, charting his progress.

"He's vitals are good, Doctor." The nurse said, surveying her chart. "He's been sleeping the whole day. We're just waiting to see when he wakes."

He nodded gravely. He turned to leave when he heard a beep from the pulse machine. He spun on his good leg and saw the patient suddenly opened his eyes.

Fick stepped forward suddenly hopeful. "Hello there, I'm Dr. Fick," he said softly. "Can you hear me?"

The man stared at him blankly, then after a few seconds, groaned painfully. He hissed out angrily and reached to touch his forehead. The nurse stopped him with a quick hand. "You shouldn't touch the stitches."

The blond man frowned, "Stitches? Bloody'ell!" he suddenly waved his hand over his forehead without touching himself, just waving it. Fick watched him curiously repeat this motion several times.

"Sir, you were hurt," he explained. The man seemed to be ignoring him as he continued this weird gesture. "Can you tell me your name?" he asked trying to engage him.

Suddenly the bright blue eyes of the man locked onto him, violently angry. "What have you done to me?"

"Nothing- you were brought in last night. You're at Mercy General Hospital in Quebec. You've have a severe cut that we had to stitch up. But we still don't know if any brain damage has occurred from this injury."

The man's eyes widened in shock, "Brain damage? To me?" He snorted, and then gasped out painfully, touching his stomach.

"You were severely beaten when they ambulance brought you in," he explained.

The man looked around, suddenly noticing where he was. "I'm in a hospital?"

Fick noted the thick British accent. "Yes, can you tell me your name?"

The man glanced up at the machine which beeped his vitals and the IV stuck in his arm. A sudden sorrowful look crossed his reasonably handsome face. "I'm mortal…" he murmured to himself, staring down in shock at his body, as if it had betrayed him.

"Excuse me?" Fick asked, wondering if he heard him right.

The man's eyes went from utter loss to sudden determination. "My name is Balthazar. I need to call someone."

Fick frowned down at him, "I can give a family member a call for you. Right now, you need to rest. We still don't know what possible damage was inflicted on your brain…"

"I don't give a bloody hell about my stupid brain," he said irritably. He noticed the shock on both him and the nurse's face and rolled his eyes. "Fine- call my cousin Sam Winchester- he'll come get me."

The nurse nodded and wrote down the information.

Fick approached the bed, looking at the man severely, "you had no identification on you when you were found. The police came last night to speak with you."

Balthazar stared at him blankly. No hint of recognition in his eyes at the mention of the police. Maybe the police hadn't been the ones who had beaten him?

"They will be back to take your statement," Fick exclaimed.

Balthazar nodded in understanding, "fine then. I'll tell… whatever," he said dismissively. He cringed suddenly, touching a spot near his stitches.

"Are you in pain?"

"Yes, unfortunately. I'd love some of what you call- painkillers. If at all possible?"

Fick motioned to the nurse. She nodded and injected the morphine into the IV. Balthazar suddenly relaxed as the drugs took effect. Fick stared curiously at the man. He was certainly strange and the police that came for him were equally strange. Fick decided then to call this Sam Winchester himself and get this Balthazar character out of here as fast as possible.


The phone rang a few times before a youthful voice answered, "Hello?"

"Mr. Winchester?" he asked cautiously, hoping that Balthazar's memory had not been affected from the injury.

"Yeah," the man responded, but sounding just as cautious as Fick was. He nearly smiled at this, no one trusted anyone these days.

"I'm calling from Mercy General in Quebec…"

"Quebec, Canada?" the man asked puzzled. Fick realized then that the man's voice was American- not British. Maybe he expected Balthazar's cousin to be English born.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Richard Fick. I'm calling in regards to a patient here who claims you're family. He has no passport, ID, wallet… he was found down by Saint Lawrence." He explained, "He's suffered a pretty bad head injury and has been banged up quite a bit. He was also is slightly delusional. However he did say he had family and that you, Sam Winchester, would come for him."

"What's his name?"

He sighed heavily over the phone, hoping that this man would claim him. If not, he would have to call the police next. And Fick wanted to wait as long as possible before that happened. "He says his name is Balthazar."

TBC