Sam straightened up, load of clothes just removed from the dryer in his arms. Shivering, he hugged the bundle close, burying his face in its warmth. He felt the flush of warmth through his entire body and reveled in the feeling. Whoa….okay, yeah, overly warm and leaning or bending over... not such a good idea. He dropped the clothes on top of the dryer and braced his weight with both hands against the washer.

Once his head cleared, he began to fold, separating his clothes from Dean's. He eyed the new appliances, wondering how Dean had afforded to pay for them as well as new bed mattresses and decided he didn't care; wasn't like anyone was going to come repossess them. He grinned, envisioning Dean's struggle to haul the washer and dryer into the bunker, down the steps and into the room that housed them. The previous set had been decades old, therefore smaller with different fixtures for plumbing. Not that it would have been a problem for Dean. He did love to tinker with his tools.

Sam snickered.

The clothes folded, he carried them to his room, tossing Dean's on his bed as he passed. He yawned when he entered his own room. He hadn't been tired until he'd seen his bed but now, a nap was beckoning and he saw no reason to deny himself the afternoon treat. Setting the pile of clothes on a chair, he kicked his sneakers off, retrieved his tablet – another extravagant item Dean had purchased – and stretched out on his bed. He'd catch up on the alumni blog from college. He hadn't been in contact with anyone for years, but it has hard to let go of that time of his life completely.

Dean was off on a hunt with Garth. Dean hadn't wanted him to go and though Sam's feelings were hurt, he'd agreed there was no need to accompany them on a simple salt and burn. Sam had a lot of research to do and he'd get to it, after reading the newsletter and blogs from a professor or two that still taught at the college.

He swiped his finger, skimming over an article…..an alumni banquet….in St. Louis, MO. Dean and Garth were not far from St Louis. Sam stared at the screen…several names speaking at the gala were ones he knew; some were professors, others merely a classmate. The world thought him dead but it was unlikely anyone would recognize or remember him. On the chance someone did...well, he could get around that, claim undercover work for the government or some such thing

Dean had asked him not to hunt; nothing had been discussed about where Sam should remain…nothing to stop him from going….no, no not a good idea. But then, he'd be close to the town where Dean was…no..no, no. He sighed rubbing his eyes…..he was supposed to rest and eat and get some sleep…..he'd promised Dean he would, but he'd never promised where he would do so.

He drifted off to sleep, trying not to worry that Garth - Garth - had Dean's back or that Cas was class-A weird and MIA again…..that Garth being with Dean was what had him seriously contemplating driving off to Missouri. The alumni banquet an acceptable excuse to leave home and drive to where Dean was.

***000***

Sam sat back from the table, plate pushed away so he could rest his elbows. He was tired, but not exhausted. He'd arrived in town a day before the banquet began, registered for attendance then crashed in a motel room. The drive hadn't been difficult but driving took concentration and attention to detail that took a mental toll. Sleep was the best way to overcome his depleted strength and rebound.

He reached for his glass of water, content if not truly happy. It was great catching up with old acquaintances even if he wasn't able to reveal who he was or make contact with anyone who had known him. He sat at a table with strangers but they were polite and friendly.

His cell rang. The group around the table groaned and made faces and laughingly told him to ignore it. He smiled gamely, made a lame comment about being on call for work, pulled it from his pocket and looked at caller id. Dean.

"Yeah dude." he answered. "Hey, how's it going?"

Silence settled over the table as one by one, the people surrounding it became aware of Sam's facial expression.

"What?" Sam broke in. "Where?" he was digging for his wallet. "When?" he shoved his chair back from the table and stood up. "I'm on my way." without a look, a word or money tossed onto the table, he walked – ran – from the restaurant.

***000***

Dr. Mian strolled down the hallway, head lowered, stopping frequently as he read the contents of the blue file that had been handed to him from the ER. Avidly reading because his curiosity was roused, no ER report in his career had ever been complied so quickly. And such detail! What he was reading was…..wow. Holy cow - no freaking way - wow. He couldn't begin to comprehend what the file revealed and he was on page one. The internal injuries…..hell, the physical symptoms alone should render the patient catatonic. No man with these symptoms and injuries should be alive. Upright and walking? There was no medical explanation to explain that. It defied modern medicine.

He rounded the corner, floppy film of an x-ray held out in front of him, seeking the right angle to get enough light to….he didn't know what. Holding it up to fluorescent ceiling lighting would not enable him to read it and surely those markings were an error. Shaking his head, he tucked it back into the large file in his hand and flipped a page to continue reading.

Caucasian male - late twenties/early thirties

Height - approximately 6'2 to 6'4

Weight - approximately 165 to 175

Identity - unknown

Medical history - unknown

He was a surgeon specializing in vascular surgery and even reading the file didn't give him a clue why he'd been contacted to consult on the baffling case in the ER.

"Dr. Mian?"

Dr. Jamshid Mian, referred to as Jamie among his co-workers looked up in surprise as he was hailed by Dr. Dixit, trauma surgeon. Jamie came to a stop, scratching his head through his surgical cap.

"Helen." he greeted. "Odd place to see you…..on your way to the cafeteria?"

"No." she smiled warmly, cup of coffee in one hand, blue file in the other. "On my way to the ER for a consult." she waved the filed about, eyes narrowing when he waved his identical blue one back. "You?"

"Same."

"Ever seen the like?" she resumed walking. "Don't know if I'm intrigued or petrified. Definitely doubtful."

"Trying to wrap my head around it." Jamie admitted, punching the button for the elevator. "Thought I'd take a visual, talk to the ER doc then sit and review these x-rays and scan results."

"Mmm, we think alike….." she flipped the file open expertly with one hand. "Tuberculosis? Really? In this day and age, in this country, with no sign of HIV? Hard to believe?"

"Yet, a consult with both a vascular and a trauma surgeon is requested?"

The bell dinged, signaling the arrival of the elevator and its doors slid open to reveal the cars sole occupant.

"Dr. Mian." the small, bespectacled man reading a blue file greeted with a bare glance over the rim of his glasses. "Not my floor, oh Dr. Dixit, how do, ma'am."

"And a thoracic surgeon." Helen mused. "More and more interesting."

"What?" Dr. Patel finally made eye contact. "I say….oh, what see…same files?"

"Consult in the ER on a patient?" Jamie guessed. "Rather curious to see this guy."

"Agreed." Helen smiled. "Doctor?" she waved a hand to the elevator.

"Ladies first." Jamie beckoned.

The three surgeons entered the ER as one, comparing notes and opinions they'd gained from reading the file. Each had a different opinion but agreed on some speculation and diagnosis.

"Dr. Miffler." Jamie approached the cluster of nurses, aides and orderlies around the ER doctor on staff. "Here we are…where is our patient? Curiosity has gotten the better of us all."

"Yes." Helen nodded her agreement. "We are anxious to see him."

Dr. Miffler pointed to an empty table. The white sheet was mussed, spotted with various stains and discarded medical supplies. A pair of shoes sat on the floor under the examination table but their owner was nowhere to be seen.

"You sent him for further tests?" Helen guessed. "Even knowing we were on our way?"

"I didn't send him anywhere." the doctor retorted waspishly. Man, surgeons with their superiority complex and we-rule-all attitudes irritated the shit out of him. Their time and knowledge made them a good doctor, not a better person.

"Then where is he?" Jamie asked in annoyance. Man, he really hated it when these ER doctors wasted his time.

"Who took him?" Dr. Patel asked absently, file up to his nose, flipping papers back and forth.

"Far as we can tell - no one." Dr. Miffler retorted.

"Then where is he?" Jamie asked again.

"While the file is very detailed, we need to examine the patient to determine the extent of its accuracy." Helen smiled. "We are three very different surgeons. If – IF – he requires the assistance of the three of us, and I really don't see how that can be, then we need to consult to see whose skills he requires first."

"We have security looking at the cameras." a nurse spoke up. "One minute he was here, the next, gone."

"People just don't disappear." Jamie snapped. He didn't know why he was so peevish. It was a tie between having his time wasted and his disappointment over being denied the opportunity to see this…..medical marvel with his own eyes.

"No one saw him leave?" Helen asked amused. "So what, you're saying he just up and walked out of here?"

"Hardly." Dr. Miffler snorted.

"Was he at any time left alone?" Helen pushed. Looks were exchanged and Dr. Miffler shrugged. "So, he was." Helen guessed. "And it's entirely possible he walked out."

"No." Dr. Miffler insisted. "It is not possible. You were sent a report…you've read it….." his implication was clear. He'd expected the surgeons long before now.

"I was home." Dr. Patel hummed. "Came in straight away, was handed the file upon entering the hospital."

"Just came out of surgery." Jamie added.

"Was on rounds." Helen supplied.

"Whatever." Dr. Miffler pushed through the small group. "He's gone. No need for any of you now."

"If he was in need of help from any of us, required our skills and expertise as a surgeon, he did not walk out of here." Jamie said. Silence. "People come on, he didn't go poof. There's no such thing as: 'Here one minute, gone the next' or 'disappeared before my very eyes'.

"How did he come in?" Helen asked. "Ambulance?"

"Nope." Dr. Miffler faced the three surgeons. "He walked."

"Huh." Dr. Patel closed the file. "Nothing to see here then."

***000***

Sam staggered down the street. He was pretty sure he wandered in the direction he'd left his car but thought he should have reached it by now. He needed to find it and seek sanctuary within before he passed out on the sidewalk. If he were found and returned to the ER, there'd be no second escape. The ER staff would consider him mentally unstable and this time take the precaution of restraining him to the bed.

He paused, bringing his head up to look around and gain some idea of where he was. White building on his left, good, good, yes, he should find the car on the other side. Trying and failing to remember why he hadn't parked at the ER, he stumbled forward, wondering if the ER would send security to look for him or call the police to report a seriously injured, possibly deranged man wandering around the city streets with no shoes.

Either way, best not to be found.

He had no idea how long he'd been detained at the ER. He'd rushed in, frantic to find Dean, barking orders and demanding answers. The girl at the receptionist desk had been patient and calm and had tried to help him locate Dean. It had been her persistent need to ask questions he couldn't answer that had led him to start cursing Garth and throw out accusations before promising to end Garth's time on 'God's Green Earth'.

She had picked up the phone, probably to call security when his traitorous body had rebelled. Coughing into the sleeve of his elbow, he'd spit up blood he'd been unable to hide from her. A heavy nosebleed had followed and he'd hit the floor.

He'd woken up on a gurney in the ER, found his clothes minus his shoes, gotten dressed and slipped out of the hospital. Now if only he could find the fucking car! It was blue, no black…..aah white? Silver! There it was...no, not his.

He'd knew he'd been taken for tests and x-rays and cat scans and MRI's and ultrasounds or whatever and while it'd been time wasted, it'd also been time spent calming down and regaining control. Three things had worked their way through his befuddled brain while being poked, pinched, prodded, probed, positioned, patted, petted, penetrated and punctured.

*** First - He'd hug his brother when he found him, and then knock him the fuck out. The counts against him for receiving such a punishment were numerous: Leaving him. Going with Garth. Being taken to the hospital. Going with Garth. Not being at the hospital when Sam got there. Worrying him. Going with Garth. Disappearing on him. Depending on Garth. Still being missing. And oh yeah, going with Garth.

*** Second - He was going to take every spindly limb on Garth and twist the tooth-pick bean-pole into a pretzel. Wrap those boney ankles behind his head and tie his elbows to his knees and shove the cellphone he hadn't bothered to answer up his ass.

*** Third - Find a way to eliminate the letter P from the alphabet.

This, of course, assuming both were alive and well and ever seen again.

Aah, at last, the fucking car! Huh, red? It was red? Son-of-a-bitch! He fell against the trunk and hand-walked his way around to the passenger side to the backseat door - yup, unlocked and that was his coat in the passenger seat. He got into the backseat and gratefully laid down. Nothing he could do now until he got some sleep. He had neither the strength nor the know-how in his current condition to hot wire the car. He could only hope no one came along and found him who knew he'd escaped from the ER.

Asleep in the backseat, anyone would assume he was sleeping off having tied-on one too many.

***000***

Dean unlocked the motel room door, pushed it open with his foot, entered the room, dropped his duffel bag, kicked the door shut behind him and tossed his keys onto the table against the wall. What a fucking night. Oh, he'd had worse, but man….bruised, battered, beaten and bottomed-out all he could think about was drinking until he passed out.

Garth made a decent hunting partner, a fighter – not so much. A nurse…..Dean snorted, twisting and dipping and contorting to get his coat off one-handed without moving his other arm. He'd rather be tended by an enemy then Garth who lacked the physical strength to get done what needed doing. Couldn't blame the guy for having the gumption and heart to try though

Armed with a bottle, he eased onto his bed, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. He started to lie down then thought he hadn't better, doubtful he'd be able to get back up on his own. He eyed the other bed – he'd wanted two rooms but the motel had one vacancy, thank God it'd had two beds – then got to his feet, snagged the pillows from the other bed, piled them with the ones on his bed up against the headboard/wall and sat down. He took a moment, then swung his feet onto the mattress and settled his back against the pillows.

Not very comfortable but it would have to do. He waggled a foot, decided he lacked the ability to remove his boots and let his eyes close. Wouldn't be the first time he'd slept fully dressed. His shoulder continued to give him fits. He'd dislocated it and only hoped he hadn't cracked or broken his collarbone. Sam would know and would know what to do to make it feel better.

Maybe he should have remained at the ER for evaluation but once he'd been assured Garth hadn't been seriously injured, he'd denied treatment and found an excuse to leave the hospital.

Garth, bless his screwy, scrawny little ole self, had managed to pop his shoulder back into place but lacking Sam's strength and ease from years of practice, he'd accomplished success on his third attempt. It had hurt. Sam thought Dean cried like a baby when he did it? He should have been around to hear Dean when Garth failed!

Sitting semi-upright did not relieve the pain. His shoulder ached and pain radiated along his back, across his neck and down his spine. His eyes pin-pricked with tears that neither spilled nor abated. He'd taken ibuprofen but so far, it hadn't done anything to bring relief. Ice….well that would require getting up, going for a walk and finding the ice machine. Not gonna happen. His bottom-shelf bottle of whiskey, even if it required the entire bottle and it probably would, would be just the thing to make awareness cease to exist.

He had time to get some sleep before checking in with Sam. He wormed his ass about on the mattress, feeling for the familiar lump of his phone in his back pocket – nothing. Huh, must be in his coat pocket or maybe out in the car, didn't matter, he wasn't getting up to retrieve it now. No biggee, he'd retrieve it in a couple of hours and call Sam when he was due to check in with his sappy sibling tucked safely into the security of the bunker.

It didn't occur to him that perhaps he'd lost his phone or someone had taken it.

***000***

Garth was driving his ole beat-up jalopy, singing to corny tunes on the radio when the angry ring of his cellphone vibrated the device across the dashboard. Turning the music down, he flopped his hand among papers and trash on the dash until his fingers came up with the phone and he rooted it out. How could a ringing phone sound angry?

"Talk to Garth and tell him all your problems." he chirped cheerfully. "How can I help you?"

"Where the fuck is my brother Garth and so help me, the next words coming out of your mouth better be 'he's on his way back to you."

"Uh, Sam? This you? Hey dude….what's up?"

"What's up? That's what you want to know? Fine, what's up is my ire, my anger, my dander, my desire to tie your arms into a French knot."

"Ho-whoa, hold up dude." Garth chuckled. "Chill out."

"I got a call from the ER Garth! In Lemay, Missouri. Where the hell is he?"

"Okay, ok…yeah….we were at the ER….sure…but…"

Sam was off the chair and stalking to the men's room….if he could wrap his hands around that little chicken-shits neck he would squeeze until his eyeballs popped right outta his head. "And you didn't call me why?"

"Hey now, Sam, chill out a minute. We weren't there 'cause of Dean. I smashed my hand…"

"I've called you over ten times Garth! I've been calling all night….you couldn't call me back in response to any of the messages I left? Or the text's I sent? What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Huh…..pain meds." it was dawning on Garth that perhaps Sam truly was pissed and not joking around. He gave a passing road sign a thumbs up. Boy, was he glad he was nowhere near Lebanon, Kansas.

"You'd better be in traction with a tube up your dick and a nurse holding your head so you can drink your meal from a straw when I find you because if that ain't how it is, trust me, it will be."

"Say Sam….it's ok, everything's good. Now see, Dean took me to the ER…..but he left… …he didn't stay and he wasn't treated…"

"They called me Garth…"

"Who did? They did?" Garth cut in. "What did they say?"

"They had his phone…but when I got there….."

"You..? You got there? What do you mean...wait, you went to the hospital? You're in Lemay?"

"Yeah Garth, I'm in Lemay." Sam drawled sardonically then exploded. "Just where the HELL do you think I'D be?" he demanded. "Jesus CHRIST Garth…..did you just LEAVE him there?"

"How'd you get there so fast? Ain't you supposed to be home?" Garth made quick mileage and time distance calculations in his head. "How could you be there?" he pulled an audible pout that sent Sam into yet another rage. "Thanks for the help on the hunt." he teased but Sam didn't bite.

"You'll need more than traction to put yourself back together if I come across you before I find him." Sam threatened, voice promising violence. "And when I do find him, he'd better be hale and hearty and all in one piece."

Garth gulped, the 'or else' was left unsaid but hanging ominously over his head. "Find him? He's…wait Sam….you lost him?" he winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Sam's sharp intake of breath and utter silence said Garth's fate, when Sam laid eyes on him, was doomed. "I…..wait Sam…he was fine when I last saw him at the ER. They took me off for x-rays….I didn't need surgery by the way, thanks for thinking of me. He said he was going back to the motel room."

"You left him alone?!"

"Aaah…no?" he guessed, searching for the right thing to say. "See Sam…we left the hospital separately…we each have our own cars….but….the motel…."

"Where is it?"

"Aaah, did you try calling him?"

"Yeah, Garth, I did." Sam seethed. "He's not answering his phone."

"Did you track it by GPS?"

"Yeah Garth, I did." Sam spit each word out like a physical smack upside Garth's head. "And hey, guess what? It's at the hospital I just left. The hospital he's not at."

Garth chewed his lip as he pulled to the safety of the side of the road and put the car in park. "I…I'm not, left….about an hour ago. Honest Sam….he was fine….other than…"

"Other than what?"

"Uh…..did the hospital say why they called? I mean…I don't see why they'd have his phone…..he…."

"I will nail you by your toes off the roof of the tallest building I find when I get my hands on you. Your only thought will be what will kill you first. Your toes ripping free of the nails or death by the blood pooling in your skull…. "

"Okay, ok, ok….violence not required…..we finished the hunt, was just a spirit but he – Dean – went down some steps, dislocated his shoulder is all…..probably a bruise or two but we both thought my hand was the worse injury either of us suffered so…we came to the ER."

"They reset his shoulder?"

"Oh no. I did."

"You…" Sam swallowed, a mental visage of 80lb Garth with a bum, broken hand straddling Dean to put his whole body's strength behind his efforts to pop a stubborn, worn joint back where it belonged. "You did. You?"

"Took a couple tries, but…."

"What motel are you at?" Sam wiped a hand across his forehead, grimacing in distaste. He was sweating.

"Aah, Budget Best Inn off Rte. 30. Say Sam…..he's ok. We….."

"Don't ever call Dean for help with a hunt again, you hear me?"

"What? Oh now Sam, no need to over-react…..you two are the best….."

"Am I clear or would my fist help you understand?"

"No, no….we're good." Garth assured him. "Say Sam, when you….Sam? Hello? Sam?"

Sam flung the phone against the wall of the bagel shop restroom. Great, break it Sam, way to go. He splashed cold water on his face, washed his hands, retrieved his phone from the floor and set out in search of a phone book. He didn't relish the looks he'd get until he finally found one.

***000***

Dean woke, stiff and achy, missing his bed at home with a longing he'd never thought possible. Funny, it hadn't been home for long yet he missed its comforts and familiarity and safety with a pang that hurt. Blinking his eyes open, he waited until his vision settled and focused then raised his hand to wipe his face.

A bleary look around the room and the silence told him Garth had yet to return.

"You gonna play nice?" he asked his numb left arm. His thumb responded but his hand joined ranks with his wrist, elbow and shoulder and told him, in case he'd forgotten, where hell could be found. "Yeah, thanks." he told it and rolled to his side and off the bed to his feet.

Chewing on a stick of spicy jerky, he shuffled to the bathroom. After washing up, he popped more ibuprofen, exchanged the bottle of whiskey for one of water, grabbed the ice bucket and went in search of the ice machine. He returned to the room, made an ice pack by wrapping ice up in a bath towel, held it to his shoulder and turned the TV on before sitting down at what served as a table.

Half an hour later, feeling somewhat better, he set the ice aside and went through the pockets of his coat and flannel for his phone. Failing to find it, he went out to the car. By the time he admitted defeat and accepted he no longer had it, he was dizzy and nauseous and had to lie down with more ice.

The last he remembered having the phone was at the ER. Apparently, wandering into the hospital, dirty and disheveled, bruised and bloody ensured a person wasn't to be taken seriously when they claimed to be fine and didn't require treatment.

Okay, ok…perhaps some of what had transpired could be blamed on his….inability not to flirt with the nurse and submit to her sure, firm hands as she gave him a 'professional' look over. He grinned as he recalled her willingness to…no…no, he'd behaved and had regretfully informed her he was fine and didn't need to see a doctor.

At what time, had he lost his phone? Oh…..right….probably when he'd stood up too quickly to greet the doctor who'd come to see him with news of Garth. Yeah, now he remembered…..his face had greeted the floor before the doctor had been able to greet him.

Great…just great.

Well, no need to try and figure out what had happened next. His phone had been retrieved from his unconscious self and his emergency contact would have been called.

And…Oh Fuck That Would Have Been Sam. Dean groaned and buried his head in the pillow. There'd be no getting out of the ass thrashing coming his way. Sam would be ballistic.

He gave a moment's concern to Garth and set a prayer to Cas that the quirky hunter remained safely out of Sam's reach. It would take Dean days to talk Sam down and coax him into a mood where he wouldn't want to test his theory that 80lb hunters had hollow bones and the ability to fly. He glanced at the empty bed. They'd parted ways at the hospital but had meant to meet up here at the motel. Garth hadn't shown up or called…..and if Sam was on his way, Garth had best be headed North or South or West…by flight….

Discomfort and pain and exhaustion pushed aside, his priority was calling Sam. He eased onto his side and reached for the phone. His hand hovered over the receiver. Huh….home…..yeah, it didn't have a land-line phone, did it? He tried to recall if he'd ever seen one in the bunker then his face scrunched up in a scowl when his brain kicked him; even if it did, he had no idea what the number was and no way to find it out.

Okay, fine….fine….he'd just call Sam on his cell…. He squished the receiver between his chin and good shoulder, finger poised over the push buttons on the phone…what was the number? 876 - 867 - 678 - 687….aww fuck! The numbers were new and if he'd memorized it, it sure as hell wasn't coming to him now. Neither was Garth's.

"Great." he hung up. Nothing to do but return to the hospital and ask after his phone. The pain from his shoulder left him uncomfortable and tense but he retained the ability to function. Good thing he was still dressed for he doubted he'd be able to worm his way into jeans or his boots.

Ignoring the voice in his head that warmed him to be cautious about taking too many to soon, he swallowed more ibuprofen and with one last longing look at the cozy bed, grabbed his keys and left the room. Luckily, the distance to the hospital was only a ten minute drive. He'd be back within an hour and then nothing and no one was getting him to leave that bed again.

The door closed behind him with a schnick and he failed to hear the ringing phone he'd declared useless.