John turns back to the first bed, dropping his cleaned boots.
"Sammy… Dad…"
Hand on Dean's chest, the other rummages his oldest's shivering frame for additional bleeding at the increasing fever. Two more cold packs across Dean's bare thigh, across the large burns but it's the stuttering whimpers as Dean settles that brand John's heart.
"Sparkles…" a choked whisper and suddenly Sam's across the foot of Dean's bed, lying close, his bandaged hand gripping John's leg.
Sparkles the clown, the flame demon who tortured his children, whose stomped, drowned and stirred twice ashes now littered the circus midway.
John smiles.