A/N: First of all, sorry for the wait on this…Finals are coming up and my computer crashed so I lost an initial draft of this chapter, so my apologies for how long this took me. Secondly, I have absolutely no idea how CPS agents act, or even how that whole process works, so if this is completely wrong, my agents have gone rogue. Thirdly, the boys are 10 and 6 in here, sorry if it isn't clear. Fourthly, I am now 19!
Having said all that, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
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There was something about CPS agents that seemed to be uniform throughout the entire agency. Not that John Winchester had had a lot of experience with them, but he'd had more encounters than most, and the pair in front of him gave off that unmistakable aura. This time it was a man and a woman, both with absurdly serious expressions on their faces.
"Mr. Winchester?" The man repeated his name, and John grit his teeth.
"Can I help you?" He asked, looking up defiantly. He could feel Sammy pressing himself against his side, felt the small head burrowing into his side and tucked a protective arm around his youngest's shoulders.
"I'm Agent Weston and this is my partner, Agent De Luca. Can I speak to you alone please?" The man looked meaningfully at Sam, and John tightened his grip on his son. "Agent De Luca can look after your son for a few minutes."
Sammy whimpered from behind John's back, and John didn't say anything, glaring up at the agents.
"You're not going anywhere with my son," he said, low in his throat. Weston sighed and De Luca shook her head slightly.
"Mr. Winchester, we need to speak. Sooner rather than later." The way Weston said it made it clear that he was, in fact, threatening John, and as much as that pissed him off, John knew that Weston could theoretically make good on that threat.
"Sammy," John said quietly, shifting Sam so that they were face to face. "I need you to go with this woman okay? I need to talk with this man and then we'll see about checking up on Dean." Sam seemed to perk up a bit at that, drawing his head up and glaring at the female agent.
"Hi Sammy," De Luca said, kneeling down next to the young boy. "Why don't you come take a walk with me?" Sam continued to glare at her from beneath the fringe of his bangs, but he finally stood up and followed her. For a moment, John watched with a faint smile on his face as Sammy walked silently alongside De Luca, firmly ignoring her attempts to speak to him, staying as far away from her as he could in the small hallway. John grinned at his youngest's stubbornness. It would probably be hell to deal with when he was a teenager, but for now, John was proud of the little guy's tenacity.
"Mr. Winchester?" Weston said, one eyebrow raised expectantly. John sighed.
"Look, Weston? Let's just get this over with, okay? I have one son on the verge of melting down because my other son is lying in a hospital bed, and I would like to get back to them."
Weston ignored him. "Would you care to explain how it happened that your son got hit by a car, then neglected to get care for nearly two full days? Where were you when that happened?"
"I'm a mechanic," John said, his stomach churning slightly. Weston seemed aggressive, blunt. "Sometimes, when money's tight, I take jobs in other areas. Mostly working on restoring classic cars for rich bastards who don't know a sparkplug from a piston. It's not something I do often, but my boys have to eat, and I do what it takes to make sure that happens."
"Really? Dean was showing early signs of malnourishment when he was brought in, Mr. Winchester. That, coupled with the injuries he's sustained, is hardly indicative of a loving and caring father."
"Dean's always been small for his age, and things haven't been exactly optimal lately, but I'm doing the best I can-"
"John?" John looked up, startled, and noticed a diminutive nurse standing in the hallway. Weston glared at her.
"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but Mr. Winchester and I are having a discussion-"
"Excuse me, but I came to get Mr. Winchester because his son, Dean, the one who is currently lying injured in a hospital bed, needs his father. Right now. I'm sure that you can find another time to continue your discussion." John was simultaneously impressed with the small-statured woman for standing up to the agent and horrified to think of what had led her to do so.
"Is he okay?" John gasped, feeling his stomach tug uncomfortably. Weston took a step back as the nurse gave him a grim look.
"He needs you," was all she said, turning, and John followed after her without a second glance at Weston. He entered the room just behind the nurse, his height allowing him to see over the nurse's head. His heart sank at the sight before him.
"Aww, Dean," John whispered, walking to his son's bedside. Dean was thrashing weakly, face flushed and sweaty but with a blue tint to his lips. He was wheezing horribly, his labored breaths audible from where John was standing in the doorway. A doctor looked up and approached John with a weary expression.
"We need him to cough the gunk out of his lungs, but he's tired and delusional and coughing is hurting his side and ribs. We're hoping you can help calm him down." John nodded, swallowing painfully past the lump in his throat.
"And if he doesn't?" He asked quietly.
"We'll have to put him under and suction his lungs. If it gets to that point, we'll likely have to put him on a ventilator, and we're really hoping to avoid that."
John was silent a minute. "Guess I'd better get him to cough then." He knelt next to Dean's head, gently running a hand through his son's sweaty hair.
"Hey buddy," he whispered, and Dean blinked up at him, red-rimmed eyes wide over the oxygen mask shrouding his face. "I hear you're being stubborn." Dean stilled immediately, taking in a stuttering breath.
"Hurts," he whispered, and John nodded, thumbing his son's forehead.
"I know Dean. I know, but you've gotta cough it up. You've got a lot of crap in your lungs and it's making it hard for you to breathe. So even though it hurts, you need to cough it out, okay?"
Dean weakly shook his head, staring determinedly into his father's eyes. John smiled faintly. His oldest could be stubborn too.
"I know, kid. But I'm gonna kick your ass if you don't, okay? You know that, right?" He said it teasingly, grinned as Dean managed a faint smile and finally nodded.
"Okay, John, I want you to help with this, okay?" The doctor smiled warmly at John, who nodded in agreement. The doctor squatted next to John, making eye contact with Dean. "Hi Dean. My name's Becky, and I'm a respiratory therapist. Your dad's going to help you sit up, and I'm going to pound your back to help loosen the stuff that's clogging you up. It's gonna hurt a lot, but I've heard that you're pretty tough and that you've got a little brother who thinks you're the coolest thing since white bread."
John felt a pang of guilt at the mention of Sammy, realizing that he didn't know where his youngest was. He winced a split second later when he felt Dean tense up under his hand again.
"Sammy?" He mumbled, straining to see his younger brother.
"Sam's okay," John soothed, but Dean wasn't listening. His breathing started to get raspier as he panicked, his eyes rolling. "Dean, listen to me, you need to calm down. Right now, son, come on. Dean!"
Suddenly, there was a cry that John thought strangely like a battle cry, and Sam came bursting into Dean's room, the CPS agent right behind him.
"Dean!" Sam yelped as De Luca finally caught up with him and reached out to grab his arm. "Don't touch me!" He spat, cocking back a small fist to punch the woman in the nose.
"Whoa there, kid, hold on," John said, catching hold of Sam's fist and wrapping it in his own hand. "You can come see Dean right now." John looked up at the agent, daring her to say something to him, then picked Sammy up and settled him on the edge of Dean's bed.
"Sammy?" Dean mumbled, a flailing hand reaching out for his brother.
"I'm here, Dean," Sam said, and John was surprised by the sudden maturity he heard in his son's tone. "It's okay, Dean. I'm here." Becky looked at them with a sad smile and nodded.
"Are you ready to start, Dean?" She asked softly, and Dean nodded. John helped him sit up, sliding behind him on the bed and putting his broad hands on his son's chest. John felt the heat rising from his son, felt the reassuring beat of his heart, and hoped Dean was taking the same comfort from him. Sammy was curled up next to Dean's other side, both hands gripping Dean's right.
"Okay buddy, you gotta be strong," John whispered into Dean's hair, closing his eyes as Becky started thumping his son's back. Dean cried out weakly then fell into a coughing fit that seemed to shake his whole body, rattling in his chest before erupting painfully out his mouth.
"Good," Becky murmured, moving to hold a basin under Dean's mouth. John peeked over the top of Dean's head, noticed the dark, thick mucus dripping into the bowl and looked away, rubbing Dean's shoulders. Sammy remained determinedly holding Dean's hand, though tears ran down his cheeks as Dean kept coughing.
Ten minutes later, Dean was exhausted and spent, and collapsed weakly against John. Becky gave them a reassuring smile and left the three Winchesters alone. The room was silent except for Dean's weak gasps and the soft whir of the oxygen flowing through the cannula under his nose.
And then, as John continued to rub his son's back, continued to inhale his smell and reassure himself that his boy was still alive, Sammy's small, thin voice drifted through the room, and John could feel his eyes well up as he recognized the tune.
Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song, and make it better…
