Fatal (Winchester Sister 2)

The Aftermath

And I see them in the streets
And I see them in the field
And I hear them shouting under my feet
And I know it's got to be real

"In My Time of Dying" - Led Zeppelin

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"He's sustained serious injury: blood loss, contusions to his liver and kidney. But the head trauma... He's showing early stages of cerebral edema."

"What about my sister?"

"Few broken ribs, broken wrist, blood loss and, like your brother, signs of cerebral edema but much, much harmless. We won't know they're full conditions until they wake up. If... They wake up."

"If?"

"I have to honest. Most people to this degree of injury wouldn't have lasted this long. Your brother is fighting very hard. Your sister should be up within the next few minutes with possible amnesia. She won't know about anything the day of the accident. As for Dean, you need to have realistic expectations."

John Winchester sat up straight in his uncomfortable hospital bed, arm in a sling. "Here," he awkwardly pulled out a card and handed it to his son. "Give them my insurance."

"Elroy McGillicutty?" Sam questioned.

"And his three loving kids," John smiled. Something he did on rare occasion. "What did the doctor say about Em?"

"Broken ribs, arm, blood loss and a minor head injury. She might have amnesia when she wakes up."

"How far back will she remember if she does?"

"Only a couple days." Sam looked down solemnly. Emerson Winchester was the youngest of the three kids at almost fifteen. She's been in the life for several years, ever since her mother, Mary, and sister, Blayke, were killed in a house fire. "So what now? Do we just sit around with our thumbs up our asses?" Sam asked, standing up and walking over to the window.

John sighed, "no. I said we'll look alright? I'll check under every stone." He sighed again. "Where's the Colt?"

Sam walked back towards the bed. "Your son is dying and you're worried about the Colt?"

"We're hunting this demon, Sam and maybe it's hunting us to. That gun may be our only card."

"It's in the trunk. They dragged the car to a yard off of I-83."

"All right. You gotta clean out that trunk before some junk man sees what's inside."

Sam paced back and forth, "I already called Bobby. He's like an hour out and then tow the Impala back to his place."

"Check Emz then meet up with Bobby. You get that Colt and then bring it back here to me. And watch out for hospital security."

"I think I got it covered."

-------------------

Why am I in here? What the hell happened? Last thing I remember was getting Dad out of that hotel room. The sign on the wall above my bed read car accident. Oh, no. How long was I out? Is Dad ok? Is Dean ok? Oh God, is Sammy ok? I heard the heart rate moniter speed up and I think it triggered something 'cause a nurse walked into the room and diagnosed me. "Where are my dad and my brothers? Are they alive? Are they ok?"

"One of them's coming. They're all alive, sweetie," she smiled comfortingly. "What hurts the most? On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst."

"My ribs. Probably about a four and a half. Is that normal?"

"With your degree of injury it's perfect. The doctor issued a paper that says you can walk around as long as your supervised. You can get up now if you want." She placed the clipboard back on the end of the tiny and extremely uncomfortable bed.

"I'll wait," I told the nurse as she removed an IV drip. We both turned to the door when it was knocked on. That was a terrible sentence.

"I'll leave you two to it. Just remember sign in and out if you leave." The nurse smiled at my brother as she left the ward.

"Hey," I greeted, reaching for a jug and glass. Damn things not in my damn reach. Sam did it for me instead. Good brother. "Thank you. Where's Dad and Dean?"

"Dad's cool. You woke up earlier then I thought. Doc said not for a couple hours."

"Sam..." I said accusingly starting to get worried. "Where's Dean?"

"Why don't we go see him?"

"Well, thank God he's alive." Little did I know, barely.

-------------------

"I'm heading over to Bobby's for a few things. Come on, little one."

"Can I stay here? Please? I don't want to go," I whined, leaning against the bed and looking up through my lashes at a lifeless Dean, playing with his fingers. Tubes and wires poking in him from every angle. He can get through this, I don't care what the doctors say, he's tough enough to fight.

"He's scheduled for an MRI in like twenty minutes and Dad won't keep a proper eye on you. Are you okay?" He questioned just as I held my head when a headache came through.

Sam didn't even get to finish his sentence. Dean's hand gripped mine and pulled me over him to the other side of the car as the passenger side, my side, of the Impala became a twist of metal and shattered glass.

"Yeah... Just a headache. He's like this because of me, Sam."

"Why do you always say that?" Sam asked, leaning his hand against the door frame.

"Just as the car crashed, he pulled me over to the other side."

"It's not here because of you. It's our priority to look after you." He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, "he'll be fine. Let's go sign you out for a few hours."

-------------------

"Dean is gonna be pissed!" I exclaimed, following Uncle Bobby through a junk yard. My brothers beloved 1967 Chevrolet Impala... No words. It's torn to friggin' pieces. I just recently found out that I'm stuck in a cast on my right arm for a month and a half. This is fun. At least it's not my good arm.

"This ain't even worth the tow. I say we empty the trunk and sell the rest for scrap," Uncle Bobby kicked a piece of metal that had fallen off the bumper.

Sam laughed sarcastically, "Dean would kill me of we did that. He's gonna wanna fix this when he's better."

"There's nothing to fix. The frames a pretzel, and the engine's ruined. There's barely any parts worth salvaging."

"C'mon, Uncle Bobby. Even if there's just one working part, that's enough. We're not just going to give up on-"

"Okay... I got it."

"Here," Sam gave him a list. "Dad asked you to get some stuff for him."

Uncle Bobby frowned as he read it. "What's John want with this?"

"Protection from the demon," Sam replied, squinting because of the sun. Uncle Bobby gave us a knowing look.

"What?" We asked in unison.

"Nothing. It's just, uh..."

"Bobby. What is it?"

"It's just... This ain't for protection. This is to summon one."