REVIVE ▸ d. winchester [2] ✔

Chapter 29

Sam's POV

The rev of the impala dies as I cut the engine. Finally having reached the Jewell County Hospital, I was eager to get inside and find Dean, and to see him with my own eyes. His call had caught both Bobby and I completely off guard, and I still had doubts in my mind. Perhaps I had only imagined his voice over the phone? His call seemed too easy, too good to be true. So until he was in front of me, giving me a full explanation for his disappearance, the pit in my stomach would remain where it was. 

My boots splash through puddles of slush in the parking lot as I make my way to the hospital's entrance. The snow had finally stopped after a night's storm, but the wind had yet to let up. I'm forced to keep my head down as I head towards the sidewalk and the automatic sliding doors that would provide me refuge. 

Once inside, I wipe my feet off on the floor mats. Already soaking wet, I doubt they make much of a difference to my own shoes, but I do it nonetheless. Taking a look around, I find a small receptionist area to the left with a sitting area, and a couple elevators to the right. Two swinging doors close off the room from the emergency care unit, but other than this, the room has little to offer. The hospital didn't seem to be as big as I expected it to be. 

A woman sits behind a desk in the corner of the receptionist area. With her glasses sitting on the tip of her nose, a pen in her hand, and a phone pinched between her ear and her shoulder, she had yet to notice my presence. Only when I make my way over and stand at the counter, waiting quietly for her to end her phone call, does she look up. With a slight motion of her hand telling me to take a seat, she continues her conversation. 

Only a minute later she's hanging up, and I take this as my cue to stand up from a stiff chair and approach the woman again. This time, she welcomes me.

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"I need to see a patient. Evan Walsh." I look down at her expectantly, eager to get Dean's room number from her and to see my brother. 

The woman- Tracy, according to her name tag- sets down her pen and adjusts the glasses on her face. Turning to her computer, she types in a few characters and scrolls through a long list of names. A moment later, she looks back up to me. "Are you related to the patient? Only family can visit him at this moment."

I pause. As Evan Walsh, I have no relation to Dean. I have no identification to prove it, fake or real. So, I'm left to take matters into my own hands. 

"Actually, this isn't a family visit." I dig into my coat pocket and pull out a black, fading badge book. Flipping it open, I slide my identification towards the woman. She looks completely caught off guard, not expecting my FBI status. "Agent Farris," I say. "I just have a few questions."

Nodding, the receptionist has no reason to turn me away. So, she's left to turn back to her computer and search through the Walsh file once again. "He's in room 204. Elevators are around the corner."

Giving her a nod, I return my badge to my coat and turn away from the desk. "Thank you."

The ride up in the elevator is excruciatingly slow. The trip just one floor up drags out for what seems like forever, and the doors themselves take an eternity to open up. But with a ding and a slight screech of the doors, a white, clean hallway finally appears in front of me. 

I step out, my wet shoes squeaking on the pristine tile. With my eyes finding a floor layout on the wall, I direct myself straight towards Dean's room without any hesitation. And when the room comes into sight, the door cracked slightly open, my feet urge me forward.

The room is dimly lit. With the curtains drawn closed and only a small bedside lamp switched on, for a moment I find it difficult to identify Dean. Under the many layers of wrap on each of his limbs, bandaging across his forehead, and the overall terrible state the man in the bed was in, I hardly wanted to accept that this patient was Dean. But it was; I could tell by the way he stared helplessly at the ceiling, obviously agitated.