Mr. Smith Goes Home
Summary: Waking up with jumbled memories & no real idea as to what happened, it doesn't take Dean long to realize what he's missing after his first meeting with Zachariah. Finding Sam is the least of his worries as he soon learns that his brother didn't come out of that world unscathed & he must struggle to not only free Sam from a Psych ward but also bring his brother back to him when Sam's scattered memories make him reluctant to listen. *Angsty/furious/worried/big brother!Dean & Hurt/limp/angsty/confused!Sam.* Set in Season 4 right after 04x17-It's A Terrible Life.
Warnings: I'll warn for language, mild violence(maybe not so much this chapter). Any serious issues and I'll post a warning as it goes.
Spoilers: Maybe only for new viewers who haven't seen too much of the show.
Tags: Maybe. It takes place right after the events in 04x17-It's A Terrible Life.
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys or the show. Those rights belong to Kripke & the CW. This is written for fun and enjoyment.
Author Note: I've been meaning to write something to show what happened after Dean's meeting with Zachariah in 'It's A Terrible Life' since it bothered me that it didn't show the brothers reunite. So this is one thing I've been considering. It began as a 1-shot but of course it's turned multi-chapter. Enjoy!
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A dull ache pounding through his entire head reminded Dean Winchester of the time he'd been seventeen and drank way too much of his Father's stash of whiskey after a bad hunt.
"God, I feel like crap," he groaned, wincing as his own voice seemed to make his head want to explode more while hating even the thought of opening his eyes.
Halfway considering just keeping them closed, rolling over in whatever bed of whatever cheap motel he and Sam had found to…Sam.
A sudden thought pushed through Dean's aching mind and his green eyes popped open. "Sonuvabitch!" he said it between a groan and a harsh curse as bright sunlight shined through the windshield of the 1967 black Chevy Impala that was more often than not both home and wheels to Dean and his younger brother Sam.
Memories were scattered all over the place as Dean pushed out of the Impala, nearly falling as his legs seemed too weak to hold his 6' foot lean body. "What the hell?" he looked to see that the Impala appeared to be parked in some sort of parking garage next to a tiny piece of shit that Dean wouldn't have been caught dead in…even though those scattered memories were telling him otherwise.
Letting his arms bear the weight as he leaned on the hood, Dean fought to clear his head. He knew he and Sam…(where the hell was his brother?) had come to wherever the hell this was for a case but right then all Dean was sure of was he had no memory of the past twenty-four hours, he didn't know where he was and he did not know where Sam was.
The last problem was a huge issue for Dean since despite all the crap that had been happening to them or between them since his return from Hell he still loved his little brother and a cold fist in the pit of his stomach was just screaming that Sam was in some sort of trouble.
The pain seemed to be slowly evening off into something a bit more manageable so Dean decided to try to call Sam's phone only to grit his teeth when the damn thing just went straight to voicemail.
His brother almost never turned that damn phone off so it going straight to voicemail right now just tripled Dean's concern. "Damn it, Sammy."
The past few months since Dean's return had been nothing but strain and problems between the brothers. Sam swore he was fine, that he'd healed from the mess that damn Siren caused and from whatever the hell he did when he pulled both Dean and Castiel's asses out of the fire with Alastair.
Dean had his doubts but he buried them like he did his concern for his brother behind a wall of sarcasm or cold dismissal.
He didn't like Sam's involvement with Ruby or his willingness to use the damn powers being doused with Yellow Eyes blood as a baby gave him and it was those issues that had been able to allow the Siren to get into both of the heads.
A lot of bad stuff had been said on both ends and while Dean regretted what he'd said to Sam and knew his brother hadn't meant the stuff he'd said, the doubt and pain were still very livid in his heart.
Though right then he didn't care about Ruby, the powers, his own doubts about himself or anything else. His main concern was finding his brother and getting them the hell out of here but first he needed to figure out where he was, where he'd been and…
Sitting back inside the Impala, a business card stuck in the dashboard caught his eye and as he looked at the embossed card with the letterhead of 'Sandover Bridge & Iron Inc.,' those scattered memories began to gel and the more they did the madder Dean was becoming.
Looking over that the piece of shit Prius sitting next to his Impala, Dean's lips curled in a snarl. He and Sam had come to Ohio in search of a spirit. They'd checked into a motel outside of town and settled in for the night. That was when it all went wonky in Dean's opinion.
His next memory was like a bad dream or nightmare. He'd been some suit and tie type in charge of sales or marketing or something. He'd driven that damn Prius, didn't like rock music and ate crap that not even his healthy eating brother would've touched and Sammy…
His geeky little brother had still been a geek but only a tech geek in yellow but it had been Sam who began to see that something had been wrong…though Dean did promise himself to kill those Ghostfacer morons the next time they met.
He and Sam hadn't been brothers but when things went weird they still acted like a team and took out a ghost only for Dean to lose Sam in the confusion of meeting Castiel's boss face to bald son of a bitch's face and his opinion of Angels hadn't improved by meeting Zachariah.
The older, bald, fatter Angel in a suit gave Dean the same vibes that used car salesmen or con men did. He didn't like the Angel and didn't give a rat's ass about his destiny.
His destiny, as far as Dean was concerned, was finding his little brother, healing the rifts between them, drop kicking that demon bitch off the planet and keeping Lucifer locked up.
Right then he needed to find Sam and if that meant checking every motel in the area he would while silently hoping it wouldn't end up with him searching the hospitals too.
Dean checked his pockets for motel receipts and had found one that matched the dates in his head. Grunting that he'd at least found a place to start his search for Sam when he nearly jumped out of the car as his cellphone suddenly started blaring.
"Sonuvabitch!" he rasped, hoping his heart went back into his chest from its place in this throat as he flipped the phone open then scowled at the unfamiliar number. "What?" he growled, voice dropping to the gruff and hard one he'd been hearing out of himself more than he liked these days.
"Are you Dean Winchester?" a hesitant male voice asked from the other end where a garble of other sounds could be heard, sounds that Dean knew well: a hospital.
Squeezing his eyes shut against the building pain between his eyes and the fear nagging him, he let out a shaky breath. "Depends on who you are," he returned, not willing to admit to anything until he knew more.
"Do you have a brother named Sam?" the man asked, clearly aware of the 'I'm not saying anything until I know more' game Dean was using.
The knot in Dean's stomach turned into a great big lump while his heart returned to his throat and the pounding in his head increased to a jackhammer. "6'4" guy with floppy hair, big feet, hazel eyes?" he was half-heartedly hoping the guy had the wrong person but knew in his gut where he needed to go.
"Well, since his pupils are so dilated it's hard to tell about his eye color but you nailed the rest of it," the man on the phone admitted with a clear frown in his voice. "He was found wandering in an alley. He stumbled out and was nearly hit by one of our ambulances. Is he on drugs?"
Fury passed over Dean but he pushed it down while starting the Impala. "No, he doesn't do drugs," he gritted, fingers tight on the wheel as he quickly drove out of the parking garage onto an early morning street. "What's the address?" he asked, not asking Sam's condition since he didn't feel like throwing his phone yet and knew he would if the guy pissed him off more.
Hearing a name and address rattled off, Dean snapped the phone shut before even thinking to get the guy's name then his thoughts were on his brother and how the hell he'd rip the lungs off that Angel if he had anything to do with Sam being hurt.
"Stupid freakin' Angels and their damn destiny crap," he muttered to himself, tossing a text off to Bobby after a moment of hesitation. "He's gonna be pissed."
Bobby Singer had been the saving grace in that mess with the Siren. Dean hated to think about what would've happened if the older man hadn't arrived when he had.
Lectures and bitching aside, Dean could already hear Bobby screaming about this latest mess but he knew he'd need help with Sam if the kid was hurt too bad or worse…if his head hadn't totally cleared yet of that other life Zachariah had created.
Dean's memories were beginning to fade but what he did recall made him mad. Having his own life screwed with again just to prove a point was one thing but no one screwed with his little brother, no one tried to take Sam out of his life or try to treat him like canon fodder and expect not to piss Dean off.
Swearing as he nearly missed the hospital, Dean winced as he heard the Impala's tires scream in protest to the tight turn he forced from her then quickly found a parking spot not too far in case he needed to grab Sam and bolt.
Since the man on the phone had used his real name, Dean didn't bother grabbing any one of the number of fake IDs that he could've and just wondered how many of those Sam had on him when they got him here.
"Shit, I hate hospitals," he scowled the moment he stepped through the main doors to smell the same antiseptic odor that all hospitals seemed to carry.
Too many memories of hospitals came to Dean as he stalked down the hall in search of a desk or a way to find his brother.
His Dad and brother had been in hospitals too many times while Dean refused to think of the times he'd been admitted to one or the few times he nearly didn't come back out. It was those times that he knew would make Sam even more uneasy about being in a hospital.
Catching sight of a nurse's station, he made himself calm down and tried to keep his tone level even when his first instinct was to snap demands.
"I got a call that my brother was here," he spoke to the first nurse who noticed him. "His name's Sam…Winchester," he prayed that was the last name Sam used or the ID he had and felt some relief when the woman, a matronly looking older woman, nodded briskly. Then his relief left at her next words.
"Yes, Doctor Webster had him moved to the Psych floor," she reported after checking the computer, looking up and obviously recognized Dean's expression. "He's a very sick young man, son."
Forcing himself to swallow the lump that wanted to stick in his throat, Dean managed a nod then got the floor number and was told the doctor in charge of his brother would meet him at the elevator when he got up there.
Keeping his face calm, Dean waited until the elevator doors slid closed to allow the first cracks to show. Leaning against the back wall, he kept hearing the nurse report that his brother had been put on the psych floor and was sick.
Those two things brought very different emotions out in the elder Winchester. Fear and concern for just what the hell had happened to Sam when they'd finally been separated in that other reality and the more logical concern that Sam being on a locked down floor would make it even harder to get his brother out of here.
Hospitals, ERs, clinics, intensive care wards were things Dean knew how to handle. He knew how to handle the staff so they didn't get too curious about wounds. He'd learned how to work the system so most times he could get himself or Sam released AMA.
He'd been confident that he could do that here as well…until he learned the doctor moved Sammy to a floor for mental patients. Then he realized he needed to be a lot more convincing because if there was one thing Dean was positive about even as the elevator was stopping on the fifth floor…he was not leaving his little brother locked in this place.
'Here we go,' he told himself, steeling himself for the worst but was not expecting what he got the moment the doors opened.
"Mr…Winchester?" a rather tall doctor in his middle forties with graying black hair was waiting for Dean but quickly held up a hand as if to ward off the now furious younger man. "Wait, let me…"
"What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. My. Brother?" he ground out very distinctly, the vein in his forehead and the muscle in his jaw twitching like they usually did when Dean was beyond rage and at the sound of his little brother screaming and shouting from somewhere in the midst of closed steel doors he'd gone beyond that and was closing in on the urge to kill. "What did you do to him?"
Not the littlest bit intimidated by the now snarling young man in the battered leather jacket, Doctor Sean Webster held his ground while explaining the situation as efficiently as he could in a short amount of time since he had a feeling he wouldn't have long before his patient's brother either went for his throat or went for the source of the screaming.
"As I told you on the phone, Sam was brought in after nearly being hit by one of our ambulances. He was dazed, clearly injured physically so we suspected he was jumped in the alley, and by the way he was talking when he'd come around it was assumed he was also stoned but…" the doctor sighed as a fist clenched in his white jacket.
"I told you, Sam does not use drugs," Dean resisted the urge to hurt as his heart ached at just hearing the tone in his clearly frightened and confused brother's now hoarse voice.
Nodding in agreement, Webster carefully dislodged the fingers and silently wondered just how soon that fist would be used in violence. "Which is what the blood tests also showed," he replied, motioning two interns away who had started to come closer. "I'll take you to him and explain.
"Physically, Sam is hurt but nothing that won't heal though he has a few wounds that were infected. He has a couple cracked ribs and a slight concussion which could be a part of his confusion," the doctor watched Dean carefully as he led him down the hall to a more isolated room. "He goes from calm and almost coherent to fighting like a madman, screaming for his brother…for you…to not hate him for something. Then there was his confusion over his name.
"When he first woke up he said his name was Sam Wesson, said he worked as a computer technician at some place I've never heard of then he began fighting someone or something, he shouted as if whatever it was really was hurting him then the next moment he was gasping for breath but seemed more lucid," Dr. Webster laid a hand on Dean's arm and felt it tense as he went on grimly.
"That time he was able to say his name was Sam Winchester, which matched his license. He told me, rather he begged me to call you so he repeated your name and cell number even though he couldn't even tell me his date of birth but told me your date of birth…and that you were four years older and four inches shorter," the medic didn't bother to hide his amusement when Dean closed his eyes and muttered a promise to make Sam pay for that.
Trying to both pay attention to the doctor and wonder how he'd handle this, Dean finally made himself focus past his basic older brother instincts when all of those just wanted to kick in the damn door separating him from his clearly upset kid brother and fix all of this crap.
It took a lot for the more logical side of his brain, the side John Winchester trained to be calm in the face of danger or trouble, to take over to face the doctor who seemed to be waiting for a response. "How…bad is he?" he asked tightly, making the fist that had curled inside the pocket of his jacket to uncurl. "Why lock him in…is he…is this permanent?"
Wanting to ask if Sam was a danger to others was out since Dean knew better than the doctor just how deadly his brother could be and that was when Sam was thinking right. If he was scared and confused, he'd be lethal without even meaning to be.
"I…don't know, Mr. Winchester," Webster admitted with a grim sigh, looking between the door to Dean. "I'm hoping if he sees you that he'll calm down and maybe in a day or two whatever caused the shock to his system will allow his mind to revert to normal but until then…I'm afraid he'll have to stay here."
"Yeah, well, that ain't gonna work, Doc," Dean sighed, knowing he needed to get Sam out of this place before his brother babbled off about something that got them both locked away something a little more severe since as Dean knew well when Sam was sick or confused he tended to get mouthy. "Can…can I see him?"
Knowing it was usually against hospital protocols to allow family in to see a patient, Webster had a feeling that not letting this young man in would be worse for everyone than any possible flak he'd get from his bosses.
"You can," he acknowledged, looking back up the hall before making a choice. "While I was cleaning a wound on Sam's shoulder I couldn't help but notice his tattoo," he also didn't miss the way his patient's brother tensed and knew he was on the right track. "It's…interesting."
Wanting to just see Sam, gauge what he was dealing with before choosing how best to try to get him out of here, Dean really didn't feel like coming up with an explanation for the tattoo they both had since he sure as hell didn't plan on telling the man what it really was.
"Yeah, Sammy got drunk one night and came home with it," he hedged, nerves on fire as Sam began shouting again and his cries tore at Dean's heart only seconds before that heart dropped to his shoes.
"I saw one like it in a book once," Webster made certain to meet and hold the now more suspicious gaze of this young man. "I did my internship in a small town in Minnesota and often volunteered on weekends at a shelter. A man who came there to hold Sunday services every other weekend had a book he dropped once and I asked him about it and after I bugged Jim for months he finally told me that it was an anti-possession tattoo."
Debating on banging his head in or screaming in frustration, Dean gave in to silently offering Jim Murphy a few choice words before offering the doctor a bland look. "You're better off not knowing too much, Doc," he advised, nodding to the door. "Can I see my brother or not?"
Unlocking the door, Webster hesitated before moving aside. "He's…not going to look good," he warned, knowing that would be an understatement and also knowing what the next reaction from Dean would more than likely be. "I'm…sorry."
"What? Sorry for what?" Dean tried to look at the doctor when his gaze instantly shot inside the room he stepped into the moment he could.
A quick look at the padded walls froze him but it was what he saw next when he looked for the near sobbing voice that immediately had his brain going numb, his heart stopping, and his head starting to pound again.
"Sammy?" he whispered, feeling true and honest fear and near horror at what he saw upon laying eyes on his younger brother. "Sonuvabitch…"
A/NII: Yep, another evil cliffey. Update soon.