A/N: A little oneshot that came to me during some free periods at college.
Dean is 16, Sam is 12.
Disclaimer: I am the mastermind behind Supernatural, didn't you know? *Note the heavy tone of sarcasm*
John rubbed a tired hand over his face before letting it run through his hair, ruffling it up worse than it already was. He had decided only a few minutes before that he was never leaving his boys alone for that long again. His subconscious told him that he was lying to himself; that as soon as Dean was well again he would do the exact same thing again. He firmly told it to 'shut up' but it promptly ignored him and kept nagging at him in the back of his mind.
He had tried to avoid looking at Dean, and tried to block out the beeping of the heart monitor constantly confirming that his son was alive. He glanced at the chair next to him where Sam was curled up, sound asleep, though looking rather uncomfortable. John attempted to ignore the ugly bruise forming on Sam's left cheekbone, but it was getting harder the longer he looked at the sleeping form of his youngest son.
Still avoiding looking at the hospital bed, John sighed deeply and pushed himself out of his chair. He picked up his jacket, which he had thrown over the back support of his chair, and closed the distance between himself and Sam. He carefully draped his jacket over his youngest, stroking his hair gently as Sam mumbled slightly in his sleep.
He walked back to his chair and sat down, resting his head in his hands as he closed his eyes and thought of the course of the last twenty-four hours.
He had been gone for three weeks, hunting a werewolf in Idaho, when he got a phone call from Dean. He told his son he was busy, hung up the phone and switched it off. He had to concentrate on his hunt. Dean knew this which annoyed John slightly because it was not exactly like he wanted to spend an extra week than he had originally planned, hunting down yet another werewolf. He told himself that his oldest was most likely just calling to ask when he would be coming back. Dean was sixteen after all; he was perfectly capable of looking after his brother for a couple of weeks. Not that Sam needed a huge amount of looking after; the youngest Winchester was turning into quite the little fighter himself.
By the time the full moon rose high in the sky, John had tracked down the man in question and the job was finished without too many complications. He had bruised his right side slightly from where he had been thrust into the side of a building before shooting down the monster.
When he arrived back at the Impala he switched his phone back on feeling a twinge of guilt when he saw ten missed calls and five messages. The guilt was quickly followed by concern as he wondered why Dean had been so desperate to get hold of him. He started listening to the messages left by his oldest whilst he had been too preoccupied.
"Dad, it's Dean. Look, I think there's some trouble here. Please call back."
Dean hardly ever said 'please', it was the one thing hardly ever did. He just didn't beg.
The second message had a more urgent tone but otherwise pretty much the same message. By the time John reached the fifth message his heart was racing.
"Dad! I can't do this alone! I-I-I can't do this…Please Dad, just come home."
That was another thing; Dean had called the motel 'home', which was something he never did, only when he felt completely lost and needed some sense of security and familiarity.
It didn't take long for John to gather his things and get on the road. He tried to call Dean but he didn't pick up the first three times he tried. On the fourth attempt the phone was picked up but there was no voice on the other end. He had said his son's name several times when finally something happened.
"Dad? Is that you?" It was Sam. Why was Sam answering Dean's phone? John felt his heart thump even harder against his chest and he pressed his foot down harder on the pedal, urging the Impala to go faster.
"Sam, what the hell is going on?" John snapped, his voice sounding harsher than he intended.
"Dad, please come, please." Sam begged and John felt his blood run cold at the sound of quiet sobs coming from his youngest.
"I'm on my way, Sammy." John answered gently before continuing more sternly, "Now, tell me what's going on over there."
"Dad, please." Sam whimpered again.
"Sam, I'm not much more than an hour away; just tell me what's wrong." John said urgently yet trying to be patient.
"Okay, okay." Sam said quietly as though to assure himself that it was 'okay'. "Dean found out that something was going on at the school and tried to call you." John didn't miss the slight blaming note in Sam's voice. "It was a salt and burn, quite simple really and we figured out who to dig up pretty easily. Dean finished the job."
"So…what's the problem?" John asked, hearing a slight note of irritation enter his voice.
"The salt and burn was fine, Dad, but we ran into some trouble on the way back to the motel." Sam paused and John imagined his son running his hand through his hair, ruffling the mop up worse than it already was. "Some guys jumped us, wanting us to give them our money. We didn't have anything, so they assumed we were lying and hit me…"
"Are you okay?" John immediately asked, feeling the father in him surface momentarily.
"I blacked out, so I can only imagine Dean flipped out. I woke up in time to see the guys running off down the street."
"Then what?" John urged on when Sam paused again.
"I thought he was fine, Dad," Sam sobbed into the phone, and John felt his heart quench, "he said he was fine. He called you again and left you a fifth message when we came back to the motel. He'd gone into the bathroom so he didn't think I could hear him. He sounded scared, Dad. Dean's never scared." No, Dean was never scared in front of his brother. "I kept asking him if he was okay and he kept insisting he was fine. But…but he's not, Dad, he's not fine."
"Sam, calm down and tell me what's wrong." John said, surprised at how calm his voice came out when inside he was freaking out.
"There's so much blood, Dad, there's so much blood." Sam cried out but it was enough for John to urge the Impala even faster, daring any cop to pull him over.
"Put pressure on the wound, I'm coming." John said quickly before terminating the call and concentrating on getting to his sons as quickly as possible.
By the time he arrived, John had had to take Dean to the hospital. His son had suffered a stab wound to the lower abdomen and was loosing too much blood for John to even begin to think clearly. John and Sam had followed the ambulance to the hospital, Sam shivering slightly beside his dad, his fingers curled around the side of John's jacket. John had told himself he should say something, anything, to comfort his son but his mouth would not obey.
Dean had been in surgery for the good part of two hours, the whole time of which John had paced and Sam had sat stone-faced, staring at nothing. It was first when the doctor came out and told them that Dean would be okay that John could collapse in a chair next to his youngest son who had yet to move.
"Sam, he's going to be okay." John had said almost gently.
Sam had flinched before slowly turning his head to look at his dad. John saw his son's longing for comfort and felt his chest constrict when he realised that it was Dean who usually comforted Sam, not John, which made John wonder if it was Sam who comforted Dean when he was in need, because it was certainly not him.
John tentatively put an arm around Sam and squeezed his shoulders lightly before giving in and pulling Sam close, allowing his son to cling onto him for a while. The role of the father was to comfort his sons when they needed it, to be there for them, to encourage them; John did none of those things. His obsession was killing his family and killing him without him even realising it. He promised himself that he would try harder from now on. The impending question was, would he really?
By the time the doctor came out again to take them to Dean's room Sam had calmed down considerably. He had even felt strong enough to argue against getting his bruise checked out before he had seen Dean and John had relented because, one, he was too tired to argue, and two, he also wanted to see Dean alive and well as much as Sam did.
It had been a shock to see a normally lively Dean, lying so perfectly still surrounded by hospital equipment. Dean's face was stark white which contrasted with the purple bruises, though he was thankfully breathing on his own. Sam had rushed to Dean's side, apologising profoundly until John took him aside and told him it was not his fault. He wasn't sure Sam believed him but at least he stopped apologising.
After being in Dean's room for a good half an hour, John insisted on taking Sam to be checked out, revealing a minor concussion. John realised with a sigh that when Dean woke up he would not only have one guilty son, but two, which did nothing for his own guilt.
They had returned to Dean's room after Sam's exam, where they were now, John neither more nor less guilty than before. Sam was still sleeping soundly under John's jacket and John almost felt bad knowing he could only let his son sleep for another half an hour before he would have to wake him to make sure he was okay. John forced himself to look at Dean's sleeping form, taking in all of the bruises and the bandage he knew was around Dean's side, hidden by the covers.
When Dean moved slightly, John jumped up so quickly he almost fell over again in his hurry to get to Dean's side. His son was on a pretty good dose of morphine, so a normal coherent Dean was not something he was going to get, but he was suddenly desperate to just see Dean open his eyes.
"Hey there buddy, can you hear me?" John said as he took Dean's hand in his own as Dean wearily opened his eyes.
"Dad?" Dean asked groggily, looking a lot younger than his sixteen years.
"Yeah it's me, Dean." John assured him, but Dean just kept staring at him. "Look, Dean, I'm sorry it took me so long to get back…"
"It's okay, Dad." Dean said quietly. "Where am I?"
"We had to take you to the hospital, remember?" John asked thinking back to the disjointed Dean he had come home to.
"Yeah." Dean said vacantly.
"Do you?" John questioned.
"Do I what?" Dean asked, his eyes drifting around the room slowly.
"Remember coming to the hospital." John prompted.
"No." Dean said equally as vacantly as before. "Is Sam okay? Some asshole hit him."
"Sam's fine, he's right here." John answered stepping slightly to the side so Dean could see his brother.
"That's good." Dean said.
"What about you?" John inquired while gently running a hand through Dean's hair.
"I'm okay, Dad." Dean said, rather convincingly John noted.
"No, you're not." John retaliated. "You were stabbed and then you hid the injury."
"I'm sorry." Dean mumbled quickly.
"Don't apologise, Dean. I'm the one who should have listened to you when you first called." John said before remembering what Sam had said about the salt and burn. "Good job on the salt and burn by the way."
"Really?" John almost cringed at the note of surprise in Dean's voice.
"Yeah, really. You did real good." John assured him. "But next time you get hurt you have to tell someone, okay?"
"Okay." Dean agreed.
"Nearly gave your old man a heart attack." John joked with a light chuckle.
"You're not old, Dad." Dean said as his eyes started to drift closed again.
"Thanks, Dean." John said and smiled at his son whom he was sure would have said something along the lines of 'sorry sir' or 'won't happen again sir' had he not been on morphine. Perhaps he should drug Dean up on morphine more often. He immediately scolded that thought because what parent would even think such a thing.
Dean snickered slightly from the bed causing John to look at him wondering what on earth his son could possibly find amusing about their current situation.
"You're ancient."
Ah yes, Dean would definitely be just fine.
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