Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ We Didn't Start The Fire ❯ The Waking Hours ( Chapter 3 )

We didn't start the fire.

It was always burning since the world's been turning.

We didn't start the fire.

No, we didn't light it but we tried to fight it.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

 

Dr. Richardson was just leaving the room when his patient woke up. He was almost out the door when a series of small gasps drew his attention, and he turned around.

 

Dean Winchester was sitting bolt-upright in his bed, and the doctor's first instinct was to check for torn stitches, but something told him not to move just yet. So, against all of his medical training, he ignored the potential for further injury and instead waited to be noticed.

 

Dean's eyes met his quickly enough, and Dr. Richardson was surprised at what he found there—not the fear that he would have expected, or even pain, but rather, confusion and even a touch of…anger?

 

XXX

 

Dean wasn't exactly surprised to be in a hospital. He wasn't sure why, but he wasn't. What did surprise him was that he was alone, except for the gawking doctor in the doorway. Even if John couldn't truly be expected to stick around, Dean would have thought his brother would be there, hovering in his usual, annoying fashion.

 

He finally looked at the doctor, and found himself summing all his thoughts up in one sentence.

 

“What the hell?”

 

XXX

 

Dr. Richardson took the murmured curse as a chance to move, and so he walked to the end of the bed and picked up the clipboard hanging there, while Dean Winchester stared at him, his expression now unreadable.

 

There was silence in the room as he did a quick exam, checking Dean's pulse, double-checking the stitches, all the while trying to figure out what it was about this man that made him so damned uncomfortable.

 

Finally, though, he just had to speak—no matter what he said, he just had to break the silence.

 

“You've been here six days,” he informed Dean, because that was the first thing most patients wanted to know.

 

Dean didn't respond in any way—he seemed to be waiting for something.

 

“You've been in a light coma as a result of your injuries in the accident—you remember the accident, yes?”

 

Dean nodded, but he didn't speak. If he hadn't heard earlier, Dr. Richardson would have thought that the man couldn't talk at all.

 

“Well—uh—anyway, you don't seem to have any lasting damage, but just to be safe I'd like to keep you here for a while, at least until the stitches in your chest can come out.”

 

Still no reaction, and Dr. Richardson began to feel truly creeped out.

 

“I can't tell you anything more about your condition until we run some more tests, so I'll set those up for as soon as possible if that's all right.”

 

Dean didn't seem to give a damn about a single thing he'd said.

 

Okay, this guy is off-the-chards weird…he thought as he turned to leave, adding some vague comments about the things Dean could expect in the next couple of days. I mean, first he goes into the strangest coma I've ever seen, and now he doesn't even seem to care that he was in a life-threatening car-accident…

 

“Is there any point in asking you where my family is?”

 

Dr. Richardson stopped dead, jolted to the core.

 

Family? But…there was no one to call…

 

And then something occurred to him—something that, sadly hadn't come to him earlier.

 

There had been another man in the car. Dr, Richardson hadn't thought of it before, because if Dean had been really close to anyone, they would have been on the contact list, right? But now he was beginning to think that maybe…

 

“Was your father the one with you in the car, by any chance?” he asked carefully.

 

“If I said yes, would it matter?”

 

Dr. Richardson sighed heavily. He isn't going to make this easy on me…

 

“Mr. Winchester—”

 

“Don't ever call me that.”

 

“Uh…Dean, then?”

 

“Just tell me what's going on, man.”

 

The doctor shook his head slightly and, seeing no other option, dropped into his doctor's mask and reconciled himself to imparting the bad news.

 

“There was someone in the car with you. No ID, so we never found out who—”

 

“You know, the Gettysburg address was only a page long, and that was about a war. Skip to the punch line.”

 

Dr. Richardson gritted his teeth, trying to remember that this guy probably wasn't always this…abrasive, and that just because his patient was being this way, it didn't mean that he could just blurt out what he was forced to say.

 

“The man we found—I can only assume it was your father—was…he was DOA, Dean.”

 

He waited, trying to gauge the man's reaction, predicting anything from tears to denial to rage.

 

What he didn't expect was for Dean's features to harden into a mask to rival his own.

 

Then he spoke, and a shiver went through Dr. Richardson when he noticed that Dean's voice had gone absolutely flat.

 

“And my brother?”

 

Dr. Richardson's face must have shown his confusion, even through the mask, because Dean went on to clarify, still in that disturbing monotone.

 

“The guy who was driving. Where is he?”

 

“Uh…I'm sorry, Dean, but you must be confused. There was nobody else in the car.”

 

XXX

 

For a long moment, Dean sat rock-still, looking unseeingly at the doctor, without a thought going through his mind. Then it passed, and he found the doctor watching him sympathetically. Normally, that would have put his temper over the edge, but now he just felt cold.

 

In choppy, mechanical movements, Dean tore the IV needle out of his hand, and detached himself from the machines, ignoring the stings. Then he swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as the stitches in his chest pulled tight. For a moment, he was worried they would tear, but somehow they held strong as he stood up straight and began to search for his clothes.

 

“What are you—?”

 

“I need something to wear,” Dean said. “And my wallet.”

 

“But…but you can't possibly mean to—”

 

“Get the hell out of here? That's exactly what I mean to do,” Dean replied.

 

“Dean, you've just woken up after surviving a crash that should have killed you. You have thirty-five stitches in you just to keep your chest from ripping open again, and your internal injuries—not to mention your head injury—are just beginning to heal. And—”

 

“I don't care about any of that,” Dean said flatly. “I can still walk, so I'm leaving.”

 

“I really have to insist—”

 

“Clothes, automaton. Now,” Dean barked, and this time he managed not to show it when pain shot through his chest. “And whatever stupid forms will get me out of here…within the next fifteen minutes.”

 

XXX

 

He's lost his mind, Dr. Richardson thought, staring at Dean, who looked completely serious as he spat out his ludicrous joke.

 

It has to be a joke, right?

 

But apparently it wasn't, because when he didn't leave right away, Dean snapped, “Would you go?!”

 

So, the doctor went, with no idea why he was following the insane orders.

 

Clearly I've lost my mind, as well…

 

XXX

 

Dean sat back down on the bed again as soon as Dr. Richardson left, his legs almost too shaky to hold him. The confrontation had nearly drained him, and already he began to wonder if he should do this after all…

 

You idiot! Don't even think that! he berated himself, unable to believe the sudden turn of his thoughts.

 

So, in order to take his mind off his pain, he turned his thoughts to a much more important matter.

 

Sam.

 

The quack doctor had said something about him being here for six days. That was six days that Sam had been God-knew-where, because he had to have been taken sometime after the accident but before the ambulance arrived. And there was no doubt in Dean's mind that his brother had been taken—in fact, he was sure that was the entire reason behind the crash.

 

But where did the dreams factor in?

 

Because Dean did remember the dreams—every second of them. He remembered watching Sam calmly burning John and Dean himself, and he remembered watching Sam talk to a strange man who seemed to appear and disappear without warning. He remembered watching Sam as his brother sat in his trance-like state for three days and nights, and he remembered more talking. And he remembered jumping to another place entirely—a warehouse's back entrance, at the end of a wide alley.

 

That was where Sam was now. Dean had no idea how he knew it, but he did.

 

So now, all Dean had to do was find the right ally, and the right warehouse.

 

In an entire city of alleys and warehouses.

 

Without a car.

 

Or an internet connection.

 

Or any name to go on.

 

Damn it.

 

XXX

 

Dr. Walter Richardson stood with the nurse at the front desk, watching as Dean Winchester walked gingerly out the door to meet his taxi. It looked like every move pained him, but he never faltered, not once.

 

“It must be something powerful that drives him,” the doctor murmured. “Something that caused him to push past injuries that should keep him bedridden for at least a couple of weeks…he shouldn't even be standing, let alone checking himself out.”

 

“It may be something more powerful than you think,” the nurse murmured, her voice gone quiet with shock.

 

“What do you mean?” Dr. Richardson asked, turning to look at her. He was surprised to see that her face had gone white, and a thrill of alarm went through him as he took a step toward her. “What's the matter?”

 

Shakily, the nurse pointed to her computer. “I just ran his file. According to this, Dean Winchester was wanted for several murders.”

 

“…Was?” Dr. Richardson asked, his mind reeling as he tried to grasp the idea that he'd unwittingly been harboring a known murderer for the past six days.

 

“Yes. It says here that he was killed three months ago, in St. Louis.”

 

- - - - - - - - - - -

 

We didn't start the fire.

It was always burning since the world's been turning.
We didn't start the fire.

But when we are gone,

It will still burn on, and on, and on, and on…

 

- - - - - - - - - -

 

AN: I know, that was kind of a random place to end the chapter. I was going to just end it with Dean, but then this little scene popped into my head and I couldn't resist, so voila! Sometimes you just gotta go with it…

 

Anyways, we're drawing to the conclusion here, folks! And it's seriously not as complicated as it looks…I hope…

 

Review, please!