Dean can't remember the last time he was this scared. He thinks it was something to do with Sam at the time, probably his last hospital visit. And here he is again, in another waiting room with another set of papers asking for insurance details and another set of medics giving him sympathetic looks.
He shouldn't have to be doing this. Not at his age. Most kids his age are hanging out in the park, swigging beer from a can and feeling adventurous for outstaying their curfews. Most kids his age don't have the worries he has. They worry about whether their parents will find what they keep under the bed, the latest skin mag, or illicit cigarettes. They worry about the next test, about graduating, about getting into college.
They don't have to sit in this stark, white waiting room, worrying about being taken away from their family, about being separated from their kid brothers. They don't know squat about the things Dean knows about.
As the words on the form blur and swirl, blend into one, Dean suddenly can't remember what name Dad said to use in an emergency this time round. He can't remember where the insurance cards are, can't remember who he should be calling, can't even remember what address they're using at the moment.
As a burning sensation builds up in his eyes, he becomes aware of a little hand on his arm and earnest eyes looking up at him.
"Dean?"
He scrubs at his eyes and tries to pull himself together. He might be scared but he's not going to pass it on to Sammy. The kid's only eleven. He doesn't need to know that Dad might be dying behind those doors, doesn't need to know they might be split up. CPS does wicked things, but with a steely determination Dean resolves not to let them take his brother away from him.
So he turns to his brother and smiles. "It's okay, Sam," he reassures him with a confidence he wishes he could feel all the way through. "Dad's going to be fine."
Sam nods with the faith of a child. He trusts his brother and Dean would never lie to him. But he can't help the knot of tension in his gut. He bites his lip and scrunches up his nose. Dean wonders if he's going to sneeze, or cry.
But he does neither. He simply slips his hand under Dean's and asks, "Did you call Pastor Jim yet?"
And the world stops turning for a second. Dean can't believe he's been so stupid. Can't believe Sam has thought of Jim when his own mind was drawing a blank. He looks back at the form, finds the 'next of kin' box and writes 'Murphy, James' on the paper.
And the act of writing one thing opens the floodgates and now he can remember. He knows who they're meant to be this time round, knows exactly where that particular card is and the words flow from the pen to the form.
He gives Sam's arm a gentle squeeze and wonders for the hundredth time when Sammy got so clever.
