AN: Hello, everyone! I can't believe people are still FAVing and reviewing Paloma. I honestly thought that, though I liked the idea of a father/son relationship between Gibbs and Dean, mine wasn't a super rendition of it. The attention to that story did not go unnoticed, though, so I want to thank every last one of you and ask forgiveness for not replying to those reviews. I was worried I would get carried away and promise more and not be able to deliver. Trust me when I say I've done it before.

So that being said, this is my long in coming sequel to Paloma. You would not believe the number of roads I traveled to get to this one and in the end I realized I had been over complicating things as I am want to do. I hope you like it and that it lives up to your expectations. :-)

What He Needs

Five days. Five days wherein he'd been poked, prodded, drugged and operated on. And Dean wished it wouldn't end for the simple fact that as long as the doctors kept on him he wouldn't have to tell his ten year old cousin that he had essentially gotten his father killed. There was very little consolation in the fact that the plastic surgeon was able to do wonders with the destroyed tissue on his chest that would leave a minimal amount of scarring once it healed. Gotta love those military doctors.

Now though, most of the narcotics had worn off and he was just on prescription strength pain meds, he was staying awake longer with the change in meds and he no longer had an excuse not to talk to Sam now that Big Sam, Grandpa Campbell, had okay-ed the visit.

"I'm going to go grab something from the cafeteria," Samuel Campbell said. "You boys want anything?"

"No, sir," came the echoed response.

"Be right back."

Sam stood nervously near the door, watching it swing close then stopping a couple inches from completion. His hands clasped and twisting in front of him. Dean hadn't seen his cousin slash like-a-brother in about four years. He had talked to him over the phone as much as he could but that had become more sporadic as time went by and Sam had become more active with friends and soccer. The last time he'd talked to Sam had been at Christmas and even that had been a short call. Dean supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised. Time and distance did tend to do that. Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder clearly didn't have prepubescent kids in mind.

Sam looked up at Dean and cautiously approached the bed. Dean finally analyzed the changes in his little cousin. Most notably the fact that he obviously wasn't so little anymore. He'd sprouted at least a foot and was well on his way to losing that baby fat Dean used to tease him about. The boy needed a haircut.

"Hi Dean."

"Hey Sammy. How you doing, kid?"

"I'm okay. Are you okay?" Sam asked, reaching the chair by the bed and sitting in it.

"Yeah, I'm okay"

"You don't look it." Sam stared at the the bruises on Dean's face, particularly around a partially closed eye, and all the evidence covering Dean's body that screamed 'not okay' and snorted.

Dean chuckled at that. He glanced down and picked at a non-existent loose thread on the blanket before glancing back up.

"Well...just a little banged up, but I'll heal."

Sam looked dubious.

"Remember that time I tried to teach myself to ride a motorcycle and I crashed it. That was way worst and I came out okay after that didn't I?" Dean smirked at the memory.

"You mean the time you stole one from the neighbor so you could impress those guys in Montgomery and crashed into Mrs. Nataka's shed or the time Brad Williams dared you to pop a wheelie on his dad's motorcycle and you ended up flipping the bike and it landed on you?"

"You and your freaky ass memory," Dean mumbled. "That first time it was a dirt bike, not a real motorcycle, and Old Man Miller said he planned on selling it anyway. I just wanted to test drive it is all. And he didn't dare me to pop a wheelie just ride down the street. The so called wheelie was an unfortunate happenstance. He didn't tell me his dad's bike had that much torque. But yeah," Dean chuckled, "it was the second time. I came out of that okay didn't I?"

"You had a cracked skull, Dean," Sam huffed, "and five fractured ribs."

"Yeah. And now I only have some bruises, a few stitches and a minor concussion. So ya see? I'm in much better shape now than I was then."

"Yeah. Sure." Sam scrunched up his nose as he examined the bandage on his older cousin's head. His mouth slightly hanging open as he thought about that last time and the apparent freshly cut hair partially hidden beneath the gauze and bandage. Sam did not see how this was any better in the grand scheme of things.

"You were pretty stupid trying those stunts. Dad was pretty mad at you."

"Dude, I was like eleven."

"I'm ten and a half and I know better than that, dude. You would think that after the first time and all the calisthenics dad made you do you would have learned."

"Heh. You'd think. That's why you're the smart one, Sammy."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Is dad really dead?"

"Who told you that?"

"I snuck in that first night we came after grandma and grandpa got the call about you and you were talking in your sleep."

"Oh."

"Are you sure? Because I was hoping he would have..."

"Would have what?"

"Nothing."

"Come on. Would what?"

"Come back for me," he mumbled. Guilt festered in Dean's chest at that quiet admission.

"Hey. The old man loved you Sammy."

"Then why did he keep you and give me away?"

"Sam..."

"He never wanted me did he, Dean? I wasn't enough like you so he gave up on me. You're better at shooting, researching..."

"Sam..."

"You always know what he needs!"

"Sammy..."

"Why did he have to die!?"

Dean didn't know what to say and some part of him that he didn't like was asking the same question. Was telling Dean it should have been him. Anything to spare Sam this pain of loss for a man who had barely been a part of almost half Sam's life.

Sam scrubbed tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and let out a heavy sigh as he stared at his sleeves, tugging them down as he attempted to pull himself back together. Dean took Sam's distraction to try to do the same.

"Do you think if I pray hard enough he'll come back?" Sam asked as he glanced back up at Dean. "It didn't work for mom but maybe it'll work for dad."

"It doesn't work that way, Sammy," Dean whispered. "You're old enough to know that."

"Well it should." Sam huffed as he crossed his arms. "What did he die for, Dean? What did he do to deserve to die?"

"Nothing, Sam," Dean replied, struggling to keep his voice from wavering. "Your dad didn't do anything. It wasn't his fault." The fact Dean felt it was his own fault remained unsaid.

"He was your dad to, Dean," came the muffled reply.

"Sure, Sammy. Sure."

"Why don't you believe me? He talked about you all the time when he called to see what I was up to."

"He...he talked about me?"

"Well...yeah," Sam's obvious 'duh' remained unsaid.

Sam turned young perceptive eyes to Dean and watched as Dean again started picking at the non-existent loose thread. He remembered always looking up to him. So to see Dean so unsure of himself left Sam a bit flabbergasted. He remembered Dean being fearless and always so sure of himself. To see him unsure...well, the only word Sam's ten and a half year old mind could come up with to describe it was - weird. He wasn't quite sure what to do with weird so he handled it in true Winchester fashion. He changed the subject.

"So, Agent Gibbs is really your real dad."

Dean was glad for the slight change of subject but not by much.

"That's what the paperwork says."

"Are you going to live with him now?"

Dean shrugged his shoulder, wincing as the movement pulled on the wound on his chest. "I thought I might come live with you guys."

"I think you should live with Agent Gibbs." Sam caught the hurt look that flashed across Dean's face before he could hide it by looking down and Sam quickly amended his statement. He leaned forward and gasped Dean's wrist and earnestly continued. "I mean to say that it would be good to get to know him. I heard him talking and it sounds like he feels bad about what happened. One of us should have a dad that cares, right?"

Dean looked up and saw the sincerity in Sam's eyes. He could also see the pain of loss so clearly painted on his young face and thought that maybe Sam was correct in suggesting he live with Gibbs but maybe not for the reason Sam had stated. Sam didn't need the reminder Dean's presence would give him of why Sam would never see his father again.

"Don't say that, Sammy. The old man did care. He loved you. He wanted you to have stability and all that normal shit. It's why he didn't object to the Campbells taking custody of ya."

"Did he really, Dean?" Sam asked earnestly.

"Don't ever doubt it, Sammy. Ever. You hear me?"

"Yes." A tiny smile turned up the right side of Sam's lips and he tried not to tear up as a little knot in his chest loosened. Good feelings aside, he wasn't going to be deterred from his question. "So, are you going to live with Agent Gibbs or not?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Tenacious little shit.

"He doesn't know anything about me and feeling bad isn't a good enough reason for him to take me in."

"You wouldn't think it the way he talked."

Dean was almost afraid to ask. Despite evidence to the contrary, Gibbs coming down to Mexico to save some kid he wasn't even sure was his, Dean couldn't fathom Gibbs feeling any obligation to him outside his duty as a law enforcement officer. Curiosity, however, won out as it always did.

"What did you hear?"

"Not much, honestly," Sam answered apologetically. "It was a whole bunch of legal stuff with you needing a legal guardian and all. Grandpa is worried the state may take you." Sam started twisting his hands together again and biting his lip. Worry returning to mark his young face as he stared at the older boy. "They said that since Agent Gibbs is listed on your birth certificate as your father, he'd have better chance of keeping you out of foster care. But you have to want to if it's to work, Dean. That's what grandpa said. And Agent Gibbs said he would take you even before grandpa finished saying what he said about foster care. Said he'd lost enough time and if it were in his power to protect you he would."

Dean remained silent. He didn't know what to think about the whole situation. He'd just lost the only father he'd ever know and he wasn't looking to replace him. And now he had to think about the only family he had left. It was too much. He was afraid to believe that what Sam heard Gibbs say was true. Afraid that if it were true then something would happen if he allowed himself to care. He couldn't handle another loss. His insides started to tighten up with the anxiety of an uncertain future and his heart rate started to speed up. The steadily increasing beep of the heart monitor did not go unnoticed by the perceptive ten year old and Sam's own anxiety level began to rise as was evident by the rush of words that followed the observation.

"Please, Dean! You gotta stay with Agent Gibbs or the state will take you and I'll never have a chance to see you again! I already lost mom and dad and I can't lose you to!"

Dean grabbed a hold of Sam and pulled him in, gripping him tightly in a hug that was reciprocated. He ignored the pain in his body and sought only to give what comfort he could. Putting as much conviction as he was able into the words, Dean told him it would be okay.

"You don't have to worry about a thing, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere." And with those words Dean acknowledged what, up until then, he hadn't quite believed. That despite the state of their current relationship and how he believed he and Sam had lost the brotherly closeness they used to share, Sam still wanted Dean in his life even if that meant Dean had to live with Gibbs in order for that to happen. And with that realization he determined that Sam would never learn the role he had played in the death of Sam's father.

Gibbs stepped away from the door only feeling the tiniest bit guilty for listening in on the unexpected conversation. He had had a feeling Dean had issues outside the death of his uncle – no, father, he mentally clarified, because despite the lifestyle, for all intents and purposes, that was exactly what John Winchester was to Dean even if Dean didn't think that John saw it that way. Yes. Dean had issues that had to be addressed. Gibbs could read it in the little shifts in body language. The way he tried to hold in his pain while trying to ease Sam's. It looked like Dean was well practiced in giving his family what they needed without expecting it in return. Dean needed the security that someone would be there for him, that it was okay to let go of his pain instead of holding onto it. And so with a resolute set to his shoulders he entered the room determined to give his boy what he needs.