A/N: Thank you all very much for reading, and for distracting me from work checking my story traffic every five minutes...

My chapter four title is that of a fantastic song by Beth Orton. If you've never listened to her, what have you been doing with your time? Go out and buy her album Daybreaker immediately, for goodness sake! Trust me, you can't live without it!

Disclaimer: Can't trust that Kripke. He never did come back, you know. I don't think he's going to let me have the boys for the summer after all. That rotten son of a bitch!

I actually did have a very weird dream about a week ago that I woke up from sure it would have been the basis of a great Supernatural fanfic. Sadly, as I was getting ready for work the plot drifted away from me... I do remember Dean was wearing a very natty and slightly flamboyant dress shirt and waistcoat combo, so it was definitely AU.

Then: Dean faced the Dothro really pretty sure he'd be able to save his Dad, but not all that sure at all that he'd survive the ritual himself. John woke to find the ritual in full swing, and discovered that not only had Pastor Jim not stopped Dean, he had actually helped him to carry out his cockamamie plan. Unable to penetrate an invisible barrier, John could only watch as the creature sucked the life out of Dean. Just as the barrier fell and John tried to get to Dean, the creature exploded in a blast of light and energy...

Now:

###

He Shines With Your Light

Chapter Four: This one's gonna bruise

The impact winded John and he coughed weakly, trying to force his body to respond. His only thought was for Dean, who'd been at the centre of the blast, already gravely weakened; maybe... he couldn't even finish that thought in his head.

He found strength from somewhere, rolled over, and crawled to Dean's side.

John reached out, laid his hand over Dean's heart as though he could somehow hold in the light that had already been stolen from his son. No, not stolen: that his son had given freely, for him. John sobbed and curled over Dean, pulling him up into his arms. He could feel no breath, no heartbeat. Dean's skin was translucent, his lips blue. He was gone.

"Oh God, John I'm so sorry. I believed he would be able to defeat it before it took everything from him." Jim's voice was filled with horror, but also resignation.

"NO! No, he's not gone, he's fighting. You said he was fighting! Jim, help me!" John felt the adrenaline kick hard and he crushed Dean to his chest.

"Dean, listen to me. You fight this. You stay with me, you hear?" He shook the limp boy slightly. "Dean, hold on. I'm not letting you go. I need you. Sammy needs you!"

He looked to Jim, his eyes wild, "Jim, please! Tell me he's not gone!"

Jim knelt facing John, Dean between them, slumped lifeless against his father's chest. Sick inside, and expecting to feel nothing but emptiness, Jim reached out a hand and laid it over Dean's heart. He was still warm, not just with his body's heat, but with something else, some faint trace of himself; that light that made him such an extraordinary person, the heart that kept his family together.

"There's something, John. I don't know if it's enough but he fought hard enough to keep something of himself inside."

"Get the first aid kit, and get Sam, now!"

"Sam shouldn't see this," Jim protested.

"Get Sam now!" John's growl brooked no opposition and Jim relented, understanding that he had no authority to deny his friend.

John cradled Dean's head gently and lowered him back to the hard ground. He tilted Dean's head back and pinched his nose, quickly giving two breaths, watching as Dean's chest rose and fell with each, then he laced his fingers together over his son's breast bone and pressed down hard, falling into the rhythm of his own heartbeat, thirty compressions, then two breaths. He heard footsteps and Sam's whispered denial and looked up to see the white, shocked face. Jim was right, Sam shouldn't see this, but there was no choice. John would do whatever was necessary to save his son, and Sam would expect to do nothing less.

###

"Sam, get over here. Take your brother's hand. Talk to him, keep him here, help him fight."

Sam nodded and fell to his knees on Dean's other side, snatching up his brother's hand and pressing it hard against his own heart.

John gave two more breaths and continued compressions. He spoke to Jim without being able to look away from Dean. "Jim, there's adrenaline in there."

"Should we call an ambulance?"

"This isn't a natural injury. Do you think a doctor can help him?" It was an honest question and John tore his eyes from Dean for a moment to judge the honesty of his friend's response.

Jim sighed and shook his head reluctantly, "No. I think Dean needs his family to bring him back."

He pulled the syringe full of adrenaline from the kit and bowed his head over it.

"What the hell are you doing?" John demanded impatiently.

"Sanctifying it. Making it holy water. It can't hurt."

John nodded tightly, "Just hurry!"

Jim raced through the words as John tore open Dean's t-shirt. John completed two more breaths, and then took the syringe in his trembling but determined hand, flipping the cap off and exposing the needle. The force of the compressions had already left an angry red bruise in the centre of Dean's chest, and John winced at the damage he himself was causing.

John didn't allow himself to think about what he was doing, he just brought the needle down and pushed hard through the space between Dean's ribs, wincing and swallowing nausea as the needle broke through the initial resistance and then slid more easily into the softer tissue of his heart.

He heard Sam's gasp of shock and lifted his eyes briefly to offer reassurance, but his youngest, though pale and sweaty with stress, didn't look up; still held tight to his brother's hand and had placed his other hand on Dean's belly to offer more comfort. Sam was scared, but he was a tough kid and he for damn certain wasn't going to fall apart while his brother needed him.

John pressed the plunger to administer the blessed drug then pulled the needle free and dropped it on the ground. He bent to breathe for Dean again and then rose for another round of compressions.

"John, do you need me to take over?" Jim offered, anxious to be of assistance but wary of interfering.

"No." He was getting tired but he knew it had to be him. This was about helping Dean to find strength to keep fighting, and Dean fought for his family. It had to be him and Sam.

He bent again and listened and watched, but Dean's chest remained still. He breathed again, watched the rise and fall and went back to compressions. His heart skipped a beat when he felt a rib give and then snap under the pressure, but he knew that was a risk with CPR; he knew he had to keep going.

It would be another reason for Dean to wake up, so he could give his Dad a hard time about breaking his rib.

The world around him was drowned out, dark; his two sons the only light at the centre of a chiaroscuro. He focused on Sam's words, encouraging, pleading, demanding.

"...can do this Dean, come on you jerk, you better wake up already, or Dad's gonna kick your ass. You need to breathe now or Dad's gonna kiss you again, and I'm gonna tell Maria Tucci that Dad kissed you and you liked it so much you don't wanna go to the movies with her anymore. Come on Dean, wake up, you have to wake up now, man, you can do this. We need you dude, who's gonna make us puke if you're not there with your disgusting table manners? Who's gonna give Donnie Baker a shiner to match mine? Who's gonna kick Brian Dooley's ass when he gives me a hard time about my crappy sneakers? That's your job, dude. Dean, please, come on man, I need you. Come on! Fight harder, you wuss! You gonna let some creepy sewer dwelling soft voiced silvery looking freak take you down without even taking a swing? I thought you were tough! Dean, you jerk, you gonna just lie there and let me insult you? Come on and make me..."

John checked his watch. He'd been going for twenty seven minutes. He was sweating and his shoulders were knotted with cramp but he kept going, there was no way he was giving up.

"Jim, more adrenaline."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! Now, Jim. We're not gonna lose him." He put all his determination into his voice. He had to believe it so that Dean would.

John plunged the second syringe of sanctified adrenaline into Dean's heart and continued CPR. Sam was still talking but his voice was broken with emotion and John felt tears on his own cheeks.

"Dean? It's Sammy, please, can you hear me? Please let me know you can hear me? Dean, please don't leave me. Dean, stay with me. I need you, man. I love you."

John bent low to breathe for Dean, two more quick breaths, infused with all his faith in his son and all his love. He stayed low and whispered in Dean's ear, "Son, I can't do this without you. I love you. Please stay with me."

He rose again, back cracking with tension and went for another set of compressions. He didn't know how much longer he should keep going. If Dean had a chance, he'd force himself to continue for as long as it took, but if he was gone, was John just causing more damage to a body already exhausted beyond its limits?

Breathing, compressions, breathing... Thirty one minutes... On and on. He counted thirty and sank down again, stroking Dean's forehead as he tilted to open his airway. He listened in vain once again, and then gave the first breath, watching the gentle rise and fall. As he went to give the second, he felt something, a slight movement of air on his cheek and he waited, watching with bated breath for another sign to confirm the first. Dean's chest rose very slightly and then he felt a second tickle of breath on his cheek and hope leaped within him.

"Yes, yes, that's it, come on Dean, you can do it!" John checked the pulse in Dean's neck, finally finding a beat, weak and slow, but regular. He rested his hand on Dean's cheek and felt the next shallow breath against his wrist, and then the next a few seconds later.

"Dean? Can you hear me?" Sam's voice was shaky, hesitant.

"Dean, time to wake up buddy, can you open your eyes?" Dean wasn't waking up. John felt another breath, but it was still too shallow. He was still so pale, the skin under his eyes dark and bruised looking. The next breath was a long time coming and John felt his confidence waning. He checked for a pulse again, keeping his fingers there, monitoring. The beat remained steady, but very slow.

"Come on Dean, keep breathing, come on!"

"Dad?"

"Sammy, hold on tight, keep talking to him. He's fighting. Give him something to hold on to."

"Dean, breathe!" John kept his chin lifted; keeping his airway clear, but Dean was fading again, his lips bluing from lack of oxygen. John leaned closer and gave another breath, hoping Dean just needed some support while he regained his strength. He could still feel the pulse, there was still hope.

He gave a few more breaths until the blue faded then straightened a little, giving Dean the chance to take over. His chest rose and fell unaided for half a minute and then slowed and shallowed again.

John couldn't hold back his tears for his boy. Dean was beyond exhausted, fighting back from the brink of death, fighting for every breath when every other victim had just given up and died. But Dean's heart was beating again. Whether it was for himself of for his father and brother, he wanted to live, he wanted to stay.

John gave him more air. His knees were aching from kneeling on the hard earth. His back and shoulders were killing him, and he was still feeling the effects of the Dothro's attack, but that was just background noise. His focus was all for Dean.

###

He was breathing again, just, but still unresponsive. Sam was still talking, a never ending stream of comments, questions, insults and endearments, anything to keep Dean's attention in the here and now.

"Jim. What do we do?"

Jim shook his head, at a loss. He hadn't expected the CPR to work after so long, but the boy's will to live was impressive. Jim had decent first aid skills, like John but this was a way beyond his experience and expertise. They needed help. He couldn't imagine a hospital would know what to do anymore than they did, but having the boy on oxygen and properly monitored couldn't hurt, and then maybe they could figure out the next step. Maybe there was someone who could help.

"Let's get him inside. I know someone, a doctor who knows the life. He'll come here and he'll be discreet."

John nodded. In spite of the day's events, about which he would be having words with Jim as soon as Dean was on the mend; he did trust Jim as a hunter.

He checked Dean's heart rate and breathing again, still weak, but still there, and went to stand. He nearly keeled over in the attempt. He hadn't realised how much the last hour (had it been only an hour?) had taken out of him. He tried again, more gingerly this time, and managed to make it to his feet. He crouched down and slid his arms under Dean's shoulders and lifted him to his chest, Jim taking his legs. Sam didn't let go of his brother's hand until he had to at the doorway, then immediately took it again as soon as Dean was lying in his bed.

###

John sat on the bed at Dean's hip, studying him, watching for any change in his breathing, any flicker of returning awareness. He was holding on but he wasn't waking up. Jim had gone to call his friend and the room was quiet.

"Dad? Is he gonna be ok?"

"Yes, Sammy he's gonna be fine." He wasn't nearly as sure as he sounded but he wouldn't risk voiced doubts affecting the outcome. He stroked Dean's short hair back off his forehead gently. It was only when Dean was sick that he felt comfortable with such caresses.

Awake and well, Dean was so independent and self-possessed. The most he dared usually was the occasional pat on the back or one arm shoulder hug for a job well done. Any more than that and Dean would look at him suspiciously, as though he felt John thought him soft or incapable. How had that happened? It couldn't be further from the truth.

The truth was he couldn't be prouder of Dean. Not if he was elected President. He wasn't kidding or humouring Dean when he'd told him he couldn't do this without him. Dean's back up, his unstinting support, his quiet affection and loud sense of humour, not to mention his care and protection of Sammy, had kept John sane all these years when he could so easily have lost himself in the bottle and recklessly got himself gutted in a backwoods hunt or a drunken bar fight.

He wished he could say those things to Dean when he was awake, but when those soft green eyes were looking at him, wide with sadness or dancing with laughter or serious and focused on the hunt, somehow the words wouldn't come.

But today, Dean had saved his life. Not only that, he'd been willing to die to do it. He'd killed a creature that had stolen countless lives over countless centuries, leaving empty husks to fade away.

That creature had taken John down without breaking a sweat. He hadn't been prepared for the fight, hadn't researched well enough, and that was on him, but the truth was, no matter how well armed with information he'd been, he would have lost that battle. The Dothro was right: he didn't have the heart for it. But his boy did. He wasn't the best father, and Dean had raised himself as much as John had raised him, probably more so if he was honest, but John had met and married Mary, he'd seen her value, and she'd given Dean his generous heart. John had that to be proud of.

When Dean woke up, when he did, John would force the words out. He'd tell Dean this time.

Dean was struggling again. His breathing was far too shallow and more uneven, like he was too tired to keep going. Sam shifted onto the bed, cross legged facing his brother, hands still joined and started up another rambling monologue. John couldn't say how he knew, but somehow he did, that it was helping. Dean could never ignore Sam, would listen patiently to his stories of school and homework and friends; his jokes and his worries when other big brothers would've given their younger siblings a wedgie and ditched them in favour of friends and girlfriends. That he was unconscious didn't seem to change that.

John grabbed the pillows from Sam's bed and, lifting Dean a little tucked them underneath his head in the hope the raised position would make it easier for him to breathe. Where the hell were Jim and this friend of his? John debated whether to keep waiting or to just get Dean to a hospital. He didn't care what questions they asked as long as they kept his son alive.

###

He was on the verge of calling an ambulance when he finally heard footsteps on the floorboards of the corridor and he turned as the door opened and Jim ushered a second man into the room.

The man was young, probably late twenties and looked more like a hunter than a doctor; pale and unshaven, badly cut too long hair, torn and faded jeans and a plaid shirt with a dubious looking stain on the hem. Frankly the guy looked pretty dishevelled for a hunter, let alone a doctor and John was loath to allow him any closer to his son.

"John Winchester? Heard a lot about you. I'm Ryan Edgely." The young man repositioned a heavy looking bag over his shoulder and offered a hand.

John looked sourly at the hand and made no move to accept it, "No offence, kid but I haven't heard shit about you. What are your credentials?"

Edgely raised an eyebrow and looked past John to see Dean lying behind him, noting his pale, bluish skin, "How about we get your boy on some oxygen, then we can look at my academic records."

He strode into the room, unruffled by John's unwelcoming attitude, and dropped his bag by the bed, unzipping it and pulling out a stethoscope, blood pressure meter, oxygen canister and mask, dropping each item on the nightstand.

"Ok Dean, I'm Ryan. I'm here to help. It sounds like you're having some trouble breathing there, so I'm gonna put an oxygen mask on you to help with that," He quickly had the mask in place.

He sat on the edge of the bed and fitted his stethoscope to his ears, "This'll be a little cold Dean. I just need to listen to your heart and lungs." He moved the stethoscope over Dean's chest. "Heart beat's slower than I'd like but it's regular. Breathing's shallow and erratic but the oxygen will help with that until it improves." He wrote the stats down in a notebook he fished from his breast pocket, and then pulled a penlight out of the same pocket.

"Ok, Dean, I'm gonna shine a light in your eyes now. Feel free to wake up and stop me." He lifted Dean's eyelids in turn and flashed the light in and then away from each eye, "Pupil response is normal. That's something."

He met Sam's eyes across the bed, "You're Dean's brother, Sam, right?"

"Yeah. Dean calls me Sammy," Sam found himself instantly at ease with the doctor's manner. That he cared to talk to Dean and let him know what was going on even if he wasn't awake scored him major points in Sam's book. Half the doctors they saw barely spoke to them when they were awake.

"Ok, so I'll call you Sammy in front of Dean then. Glad to meet you."

"It hit him too, the monster. It threw him into the wall when he tried to get it away from Dad. He nearly passed out," Sam offered, his voice small.

John looked up in alarm; he hadn't even known Dean had been hurt in the tunnel.

"Ok, thanks Sammy, I'll check him for injuries."

Without quite realising how it had happened, John found himself shuffling down the bed to sit at Dean's feet, allowing the doctor room to work.

Edgely put a blood pressure cuff around Dean's biceps and pumped it up with one hand while positioning his stethoscope on the inside of his elbow. He released the air and marked the reading in the notebook. "75 over 55. Not great, Dean, but we'll keep an eye on it."

"You performed CPR."

John nodded, "Yeah."

"How long?"

"Thirty eight minutes. And he hasn't been breathing right since, like he's too tired and he can't keep it up. I still had to give some rescue breaths after we got him back."

Edgely nodded and sniffed, "And you gave adrenaline."

"Two shots, yes."

"Straight into his heart?"

"That's right."

Edgely scratched his cheek with a forefinger, "That's...unconventional. Still, I guess if it worked."

John's belligerence abandoned him and he found himself unable to meet the younger man's eye. Should he not have done that? Should he have called an ambulance right away? "I broke a rib," he admitted faintly.

"Happens. No sign of haemothorax. I'm not worried about that. How long since you got him back?"

"About half an hour now. I'm still worried about his breathing."

"Yeah. He's still struggling with that, but the oxygen's staved off the cyanosis for now."

Edgely turned back to Dean and raised his voice a little, "Dean? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?" Not getting a response, he slipped his hand into Dean's, "Dean, Sammy and I are holding your hands. I want you to squeeze our hands if you can hear me." He raised his head and made eye contact with Sam. "You feel anything?"

Sam shook his head, "No."

He slipped his hand out of Dean's and rubbed his knuckle hard along his sternum, "Dean? You wanna wake up now and stop me doing this?" Dean didn't respond to that or the hard pinch to his trapezium muscle.

"Is he gonna wake up?"

"I can't promise, but we're gonna do everything we can to make sure he does."

Edgely pinched Dean's finger tip, examining the nail bed, then addressed Sam again, "Where was he injured?"

"His back. I think he hit his head too. He was mostly winded, but he was dazed at first and I think he was trying not to hurl."

Edgely warned Dean again as he moved him to check for damage, first feeling for the bump on his head, "Ok, little bit of a goose egg there, but better the bruising's outside than inside. He's not cut and there's no evidence of brain injury from his pupil reaction."

He took a quick look at the Dothro hand shaped bruise on Dean's side, then rolled him onto his side to get a look at his back, wincing at the sight, "Some pretty deep bruising, but nothing's obviously broken and I can't feel the sort of swelling that would indicate internal damage. I think you're right, Sammy, just winded and little dazed. I'm gonna keep him on his side for a bit just in case he changes his mind about hurling. It'll help him keep his airway open too."

"The pastor filled me in on what went down on the way over. Can't say as a scientist I'm all that familiar with the concept of inner light, but you learn pretty fast when you get pulled into this life. I can understand you not figuring a hospital would be all that useful under the circumstances, but he was in cardiac arrest and his breathing and blood pressure still aren't great, so I'll be keeping a real close eye on him and I'm gonna pull rank if he starts going downhill."

John found himself trusting Edgely in spite of himself. He'd still want to hear about those credentials at some point though.

"If you say he needs a hospital, we're going to a hospital."

"Ok then. I'm gonna set up some fluids. He's looking anaemic, so I'm gonna give some iron by IV too."

"Then what?"

"Then we wait. I'm no expert, but my guess is a guy'd need a lot of rest to get over having most of his inner light drained out by an ancient evil. I'll take care of the medical stuff and you guys do whatever you usually do in this sort of situation."

John gave an incredulous huff, "Whatever we usually do?"

Edgely nodded, "Yeah, supernatural injuries, supernatural treatments."

"We've been talking to him. Jim blessed the adrenaline, but we're flying blind here. As far as we can tell, no one's ever survived a Dothro attack before."

"I thought you did."

John reddened, reluctant to admit what had led to Dean's attack, reluctant to expose his poor judgement on the hunt as much as his bad parenting. But the guy would find out anyway if he was going to hang around for a while, "The Dothro reversed what it did to me when it took Dean."

"Oh right... Ok... Well... talking to him can't hurt. I'd suggest that with any unconscious patient." He turned to Jim, "You wanna bless the IV fluids too?"

Jim nodded and pulled out his rosary.

###

When the doctor had finished writing down everything he'd observed and everything he'd done for Dean, John stood and spoke up, "Ok Doc, how about you and I step outside and have a chat about how you come to be someone who does discreet house calls and writes up patient charts in a reporters' notebook?"

Edgely gave a wry half smile, "I'm happy to answer your questions John, but let's look at this room as an unofficial ICU. Not leaving my patient right now."

John sat back down abruptly. The doctor's calm ministrations had put him at ease to the point where he was starting to assume it was just a matter of time before Dean woke up and started cracking jokes. It was a bad habit of his to always assume Dean would be ok. He recognised the paradox; that he spent so much time worrying about where the next supernatural threat would come from.

"Right, of course. Go ahead then. Let's hear it."

Edgely met John's gaze with an assessing look of his own and then looked away, nervously rubbing his neck. It was the first hint that the young man was anything other than totally at ease in the world.

"I was an ER resident until sixteen months ago. Until my fiancée was killed. It was a werewolf. The pastor here killed it; saved my life. But Janey...she died in my arms. I guess you don't really come back from that. I couldn't just go back to the ER anyway. You know, pretend to believe it was a dog or a wild animal or something. Wasn't up for making other people feel comfortable about what happened to the love of my life, you know? So Jim showed me the ropes a little and now I'm hunting and patching up hunters on the side."

"I'm sorry about your fiancée."

"Yeah. Well, I guess none of us is here just for kicks."

"No kidding."

###

The four of them sat vigil. Periodically Edgely would repeat his checks and make notes in his book, and the others would look at him hopefully. He didn't want to keep telling them "No change," but it was sure better than the alternative right now. Dean's blood pressure was a little better from the fluids, and considering the pounding he'd taken from the CPR and those hits of adrenaline to the heart, his pulse was pretty steady, if still slower than he'd like. He'd had Dean on 100% oxygen for six hours now, and he was still fighting to pull in those frighteningly shallow breaths. And he was still totally unresponsive. Whatever that creature did to him, he wasn't getting up of the mat any time soon.

And yet, they all seemed to think the kid was just going to wake up and start entertaining them or wiping their asses for them or something. They none of them seemed to know what to do with themselves without him. Only Sammy spoke, and only to Dean. John didn't take his eyes off the unconscious boy, but Edgely kind of hoped Dean didn't wake up until he'd got whatever it was out of his system, because John's glowering expression was enough to curdle milk. He sure wouldn't want that to be his first sight when waking from a fight for his life. And Pastor Jim, who'd been such a steady, reassuring presence over the last heartbreaking, confusing, terrifying year? Holding his bible, but staring blankly into space, the man looked somehow lost, guilty and rudderless.

"You think I could get a sandwich or something?" Edgely wondered aloud, not really sure who, if anyone would respond. He figured they could all use something though.

John and Sam snapped to attention like marionettes brought back to life by an unexpected yank on their strings. The pastor blinked as though coming out of a trance, "Right, of course. Yes. I'll make something to eat." He sat for a few moments, indecisively, then stood, tucking his bible in his jacket pocket and walking unsteadily to the door.

John too seemed to need a long time to consider his next move, and then he too stood, following the pastor after pausing to place a surprisingly gentle hand on his son's forehead.

Sam watched the two men leave and then turned back to his brother. "Hey Dean, Dad and Pastor Jim just went to make some sandwiches. You hungry, man? You must be starving. You've been sleeping for hours now..." He tailed off then sought eye contact with the doctor.

"Dean takes care of us. Dad doesn't know what to do when he's sick," He observed sadly. "It's not fair 'cos Dean takes really good care of Dad when he's sick." He paused and then continued, guiltily. "I don't know what to do either. I should have tried harder to stop him."

Edgely felt a little ashamed at his uncharitable thoughts. He didn't know this family's story. Janey's death had hit him hard. He wasn't exactly firing on all emotional cylinders these days. And this kid, what, twelve, thirteen years old? He was trying so hard to hold it together, knowing he might well lose his brother, who seemed to be the centre of his life.

"How could you have tried harder, Sammy?" He'd already heard Sam half-heartedly tell his brother off for handcuffing him when he'd tried to stop him from going after the monster. Obviously too scared to tear him a real strip in case it did some sort of damage, made Dean give up fighting because his brother was pissed at him or something dumb like that.

"I helped with the plan. But I should've thought it through. Maybe he wouldn't have gone through with it if I hadn't encouraged him. But I was scared for Dad and I thought, Dean's strong enough to carry Dad all that way out of the tunnel; he must be strong enough to do this. I didn't even think how that would've tired him out even before he started fighting the Dothro. I was stupid to think those half-assed protection symbols would be enough keep him safe."

"From what I hear your brother isn't an easy guy to convince when there's monsters to kill and people to save. Especially his family. Don't you think it was better he had those symbols than nothing at all."

"You think they made a difference? He might still die, mightn't he?"

"I can't lie to you Sam, he might. But he's hanging on." He checked his watch again, "I hear over seven hours is a pretty good showing after a Dothro attack. In fact, the Pastor said no one's ever made it out with anything left to fight with before. Like your Dad. He was definitely going to die, right?"

"Pastor Jim could feel his light was gone," Sam's heart lurched at the thought of his Dad lying there, just an empty shell waiting to die, and he was grateful he was back, of course he was, but not at the expense of Dean.

"When Dad gave him CPR, I thought it wasn't going to work. I thought Dean was gonna die right there on the ground and I wanted it to be the other way around. I wanted Dean to be ok. I know I'm a bad person, but all I could think was Dad took us on that hunt. Dean and me would never have even known what a Dothro was. If Dad wanted to fight it, he was the one should have paid the price." Sam flushed with shame, "I know I'm a bad person," he repeated in a whisper.

Edgely put a hand on the kid's shoulder, at a loss. What the hell did you say to something like that? Hell, yeah, the Dad should be the one taking the hit. He was pretty sure John would agree with that assessment wholeheartedly. But soothing words from a virtual stranger weren't going to solve anything. Still, who else was gonna say them?

"Sammy, that doesn't make you a bad person. It just means you love your brother. Look, I'm gonna tell you a secret about me. After my fiancée was killed, all I could think was how she didn't deserve to die and I looked at everyone else and measured them against her. If they'd been there, I thought, I'd have thrown them to the werewolf to save her. Every single person, including myself and Pastor Jim. So maybe I'm a bad person, but I think it's normal to feel that way."

"Is it normal for me to be angry with Dean for not protecting himself better?" His hand squeezed his brother's tighter on reflex at the traitorous thought.

Edgely sniffed, "I'd say so. I'd say when he's awake, he owes you big time for all this trouble, and for cuffing you to the bedpost for trying to be a good brother."

"Dean's a good brother," Sam assured him, large serious eyes meeting his, willing understanding.

"I know. Except for scaring the crap out of you today, though, right?"

"Yeah, except for that."

###

"Jim, we need to talk. Now." Jim led the way to his study. He was resigned to a confrontation and frankly, he was glad to get it out of the way sooner rather than later.

John stopped at the book case and didn't immediately turn around. Jim closed the door and took a seat in one of the easy chairs. He wouldn't try to make excuses and it was for John to open the discussion.

John's mind was in turmoil, there was so much wrong with this situation that he didn't know where to start. The pastor, the friend he'd trusted all these years, who he trusted to look out for the boys when he couldn't, had betrayed him. Had just stood by and let Dean face that evil son of a bitch alone. His heart was pounding with rage and disbelief and he couldn't stop his hands from shaking, even drawn into white knuckled fists.

"What the hell Jim? Dean's just a kid! I trusted you and this is what you do? I trusted you!"

"John, I'm really not sure what you're angry about right now. You brought the boys on this hunt. You risk their lives every time you take them on a hunt. Now you say Dean is just a kid?"

"He's seventeen for Christ's sake! He doesn't hunt by himself, he hunts with me. He shouldn't have risked his life for me. You shouldn't have let him!"

"He's not an ordinary seventeen year old, John-"

John cut him off, his voice shaking with anger, "Yes he is! You're the one who said I shouldn't be putting this responsibility on his shoulders!"

"On his shoulders! John, he carried you three miles out of that tunnel!" Jim shook his head at the hypocrisy of the man, "I said that, yes, but that was years ago when you allowed a ten-year-old boy to believe he was responsible for harm done to his younger brother by a vicious and powerful shtriga when in reality it was your failure to protect both boys that nearly led to tragedy!"

John opened his mouth to interrupt but Jim raised his voice, determined to make his point, "Yes, John! You made him responsible for your failure and you can't take it back now! That experience, along with so many others, shaped him. He's not some green rookie straight out of boot camp and I didn't let him do anything. He is seventeen years old and he's been doing this for years. He followed the research and he made his decision. I showed him the respect of backing him up."

"Respect!"

"Yes John, respect! Respect for a fellow hunter. You trained him for this life and now he is what you made him. He's a warrior, a hero. He saw you, his father, taken down by a supernatural enemy and he saw all the future victims and he could not walk away from that. He found a way to both save you and destroy that evil creature."

Jim sighed, "John, I tried to talk him out of it. Of course I did. But he never would have forgiven himself if he didn't try everything he could to save you. You know this John, my God you know it!

"He's still my boy. Jim, he's still my child. Him and Sammy; they're why I do this. It's all to protect them."

Jim's voice became gentle, "I know. But I also know you understand that you and Sammy are why Dean does this."

"A son shouldn't die for his father. It's not right."

"Nothing in this fight is right. Evil will always be drawn to innocence. What it cannot corrupt it will try to destroy. But we do what we have to and we try to survive. Dean's strong. I have faith that he'll survive this."

John's anger deflated and he felt nothing but exhaustion and fear. He slumped into the other armchair and scrubbed his face with a shaky hand, "I wish I still had faith."

"Well I have it and so does Sam and maybe you don't need faith in God for this one, John; just faith in Dean and that obnoxious optimism of his. I hear Maria Tucci and her little shorts are more than enough reason to live."

John's huff of laughter was dangerously close to a sob of despair. Maybe it was both.

"How the hell did he carry me three miles?"

"Up that ladder too," Jim reminded him, shaking his head.

"Jim, I..."

"I know John. There's no need to say anything; we've known each other too many years. Just go be with your boys. I'll be here if you need anything."

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Continues soon...

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