Where We Are and Where We've Been
Part Two
A/N: I always like to get my first chapter out, THEN do my author note. I'm not quite sure why. But, anyways—thanks for all the alerts, favoriting and reviewing y'all have done over the past couple of days. I truly do appreciate it—I work so hard during the week and to have time to write something is extremely rare. Keep reviewing and I'll keep posting.
Also, all you What If…fans, I'll try my hardest to get the next Chapter written and uploaded soon. Sorry for the wait.
On with the show!
Dean: age 3
Dean was a normal, three-year-old boy. He had friends, he played with toys, and he even threw the occasional tantrum. He'd usually been an extremely healthy kid, no few illnesses and none that could be considered "severe". Dean usually just got sidelined by the occasional runny nose or light cough. Nothing major. Until now.
Dean sat down on the floor of his preschool. His throat hurt, his nose was runny and he was sneezing a lot. He sniffled and leaned against the cool wall. He'd never felt this yucky before.
"Dean, are you alright?" asked Miss Julie, a preschool teacher of Dean's. He nodded lethargically in response. She lifted a brow, unconvinced. Before Dean could react, a cool palm rested on one of his rosy cheeks.
"You're running a little fever, honey."
"I don't feel good," he whimpered, tears making his sick voice quiver. Julie lifted Dean up, and carried him gently to the nurse's office. She didn't like the heat coming off the sweet little boy one bit.
After a few minutes, the nurse dialed Dean's mommy and said to come get him. Needless to say, Mary Winchester wasted no time to get to her sick son. Within minutes, she came running into the building—five months pregnant belly and all. She walked in to where she was told she'd find Dean.
"Mrs. Winchester, he's right through here." The nurse said, smiling wanly.
Mary walked into the curtained off room, and her heart throbbed with a mother's hatred to see her son hurt or sick like this. She brushed her hair back, and felt the warmth of his forehead. His glazed eyes opened slowly, and he started to cry after a few minutes. "Aw, sweetheart," She lifted him up, and whispered soothing words in his ear. "My poor baby," She took Dean home, and tucked him into his bed. Dean sniffled, and sneezed into his hand. Mary got a tissue, and gently helped Dean clean himself up.
Dean's green eyes looked into hers with such sadness. "Mommy…"
***EIGHTEEN***
Dean whimpered, and flipped over. He coughed, more rough than previous coughs. His body ached more now, the gentle throbbing he'd had before he went to sleep had morphed into an overall explosion of pain. It hurt to cough, it hurt to sneeze, it hurt to sniffle, and it hurt to blink.
John was jolted awake by the sound of Dean's cough, and immediately went to his son's bedside. Dean was paler than before, and extremely sweaty. "No…no…" he cried, still somewhat asleep. John suddenly realized after a few minutes that Sam was sitting next to him. John ordered Sam to get some damp washcloths and some more of that cough medicine. For once, Sam didn't argue. He simply did as he was told.
"Deano, come on. Let's see those green orbs of yours," John coaxed gently. Sam came back in, his hands full. "Dad, let me try." John nodded, desperate and knowing the bond between his boys. "Dean? Wake up for me? Please? You're scaring me, man."
Dean groaned, cracking an eye.
"Sabby?"
"You're burning up, jerk. Take some medicine." Dean tiredly held out a palm.
Sam was kind of concerned at the lack of response from his big brother. Sam slyly slipped a thermometer in Dean's mouth before he could try and fight it. Dean scowled sleepily at the blurry image of his brother. "101.7, Dean. Way to try and cook your brain." Dean shrugged. "It's a taledt." Sam helped him slide back down under the covers.
"I'm taking him to the doctor tomorrow." John said, mind clearly made up. Sam nodded, in total agreement. "Good." John laid back down on his and Sam's bed. Hopefully, Dean would sleep peacefully now.