A/N: Hi guys, hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! As promised, here's another chapter coming up, hope you all enjoyed my take on what happened in early season 2. I had toyed with that and another different idea (introducing Cas and having the boys unaware that he exists, which would still be accurate to season 4, but figured it would be more fitting to have John make his sacrifice, it goes better with the YED storyline and is actually closer to what happened in the show, just a bit earlier and under different circumstances. Anyway, hope you enjoy the next chapter and have a great New Year!

Chapter 9

"Dean?"

Sam sat up with a start, tossing his blanket carelessly on the floor, and rushing to his brother's bedside. The man who had been comatose just moments earlier, with no possible chance of waking up, was sitting up in his bed, gasping for breath, a panicked expression in his eyes. Desperately Sam reached for the call button, pressed it franticly, all the while trying to calm down his brother. A minute or two later, an orderly had rushed into the room, her face showing the same look of shock as Sam's as she reached over to Dean's bedside and administered a light sedative. All the while, Sam stood back, still too much in shock to indulge in the relief and joy that was overwhelming him. A minute or two later, Dean had calmed, and the orderly had left, obviously in search of Dr. Wilson.

Dean, still (at least, for the time being) hooked up to the massive series of tubes and machines which had been keeping him alive not ten minutes earlier, stared at his brother, who was back at his bedside, eyes moist with tears of relief. He stared at his brother in silence for several moments, until Dean gave him the typical macho glare that clearly meant enough with the chick flick moments already. Sam laughed, almost hysterically in his relief, and quickly brushed away his soon to be forming tears. Dean was alive. He was somehow, by some miracle, alive and well, when he had been so close to death.

About an hour later, Dean had been removed from life support, after a thorough report from Dr. Wilson declared that the patient was in a perfect bill of health. "I don't understand," she said, flipping through the pages of Dean's medical charts. "There was no way that your brother could have made such a rapid recovery. There's absolutely no sign of swelling in the brain, no internal bleeding, nothing. It's as if nothing had happened in the first place. I think that this young man has someone looking out for him, if you ask me."

"Thanks doc," Sam smiled, and Dean nodded his appreciation, still a tad groggy from the sedative. The doctor left, finally allowing the brothers some time alone. The past few days had been an emotional roller coaster for Sam, who was still trying to come to terms with the fact that his brother was alive and well.

"What the hell happened, Sammy?" Dean looked up at his brother, trying to look macho, but his emerald eyes clearly revealing the uncertainty.

"Well, that yellow eyed demon stabbed you in the chest, left you for dead. He was about to take me to god knows where when Dad showed…."

"Wait, did you say Dad showed up?"

"Yeah, he had this weird gun, supposedly it's the only thing that can kill a demon, no need for exorcism, and the demon actually stays dead. Anyways, Dad showed up, threatened the thing, and the demon hightailed it. We took you hear and you'd been in a coma ever since."

"How bad off was I, anyways? Bad as in he's in rough shape but he should pull through eventually bad or this guy's fuckin' screwed bad?"

"It was definitely the latter," Sam admitted. "The doc basically said that even if you did wake up, you'd likely be a vegetable. You were really close to being labeled brain dead, man. I was sure you were a goner." Sam shuddered at the thought. He had been that close to losing his brother. Having him not in his life, while he had been at Stamford, had been bad enough. At least then, he had been alive and well. A pain in the ass, for sure, but a breathing one. And then, with one simple action, Sam had been convinced that he was about to lose Dean a second time, a more permanent loss. And after Jess' death almost a year earlier, to lose his brother would have been a devastating blow.

"Sammy?" Lost in his thoughts, Sam had not realized that Dean was trying to get his attention. "Sam!" Rather startled, the younger Winchester looked down at his brother, who had a quizzical expression on his face.

"Yeah?"

"If Dad was supposed to have been here that night, then where is he? I've been awake for over an hour now, he should have found out by now."

Sam froze, and for a brief moment, anger flashed through his eyes. He had been so caught up in the chaos of Dean's miraculous recovery, he had forgotten that his father had been absent the entire time. Your son, your flesh and blood, who an hour earlier had been on death's door, had somehow recovered, and yet you're not rushing to his bedside? For any other father, it would have been shocking, but, Sam, reluctantly thought, it really wasn't that much of a stretch for John Winchester to be nowhere around. He had ditched them pretty well all their lives, why would this moment be any different? He wanted to come up with a good reason for John's disappearance, for Dean's sake, but could come up with nothing but a feeble "I don't have a clue."

"I'm sure there's a good reason why he's not, Sam," Dean said in a low voice, more to convince himself than his younger brother. Sam had been used to John's ways, his tough love, his multiple disappearing acts that had plagued his childhood; but Dean, he was different. He had this blind faith in the man, a devotion which had stemmed practically since that night in November, when he had carried baby Sammy from his parents' burning home. He had done everything his father had asked, everything, and now, when he needed him the most, he had not even bothered to show up when his son had come out of a coma. A fucking coma!

As if on cue, soft footsteps could be heard down the hall, the telltale strong, heavy stride of John Winchester. Moments later, their father peeked in the room, smiling tiredly at Dean. "Hey, son," he said faintly, and walked over to his boy's bed, gently patting him on the shoulder. Dean smiled back, his faith in his father newly restored. Of course his dad would have come! He must have been away from the hospital when he had awakened, and had been caught in traffic or something. That explained why he was so late! Beside him, Sam smiled at his father, trying to swallow the suspicion that something was wrong. What, he had no idea, but something just didn't seem right about John's sudden, fashionably late, appearance.

"How are you feeling kid?" John had pulled up an uncomfortable plastic hospital chair, and was scooting it across the tiled floor, to Dean's bedside.

"Fine, I guess," Dean replied weakly. "Pretty good for a guy who's been on Death's ass for a few days." He smiled weakly at his joke, but the others found no humour.

"That's good," John nodded, and his eyes brightened as he struggled to hold back tears. Dean noticed the moisture in his father's eyes, but said nothing. Beside him, Sam was about to open his mouth, bitch at his father for showing up so late, but thought better of it. Sure, he was late, but he had showed, and that was what was important. Besides, as angry as he was at his father, he was too relieved to see his brother safe and sound to pick a fight.

"I'm so glad to see you, boy," John continued. "You too, Sammy," with a nod to the younger of the Winchester brothers. Sam looked at his father, and that uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach returned. What was with the Hallmark crap? Why was his usually strict, no nonsense father, who rarely showed any signs of obvious affection, suddenly acting like father of the year? And Dean was seemingly oblivious to their dad's sudden change of attitude.

But Sam was wrong. Dean suddenly looked curiously at his father, his own something's fishy radar starting to go off, faintly at first, but then building, like a pressure gage. "Is everything ok, Dad?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," John smiled, and now the tears were starting to gently trickle along his cheek. "I'm just glad to see you awake, is all." And then, to the brothers' surprise, John got up and walked to Sam, giving him a hug. Sam pulled back initially, taken by surprise by his father's sudden gesture, then allowed himself to be held.

"Dad, are you sure you're ok?" Sam asked nervously, as John finally pulled away from his son. "Something's wrong, isn't it?" John shook his head, patting a firm hand on his son's shoulder. "It's going to be ok, Sam, I promise."

John hesitated a moment, having felt slightly uncomfortable with his sudden sharing of his feelings. Judging by the puzzled looks on Sam and Dean's faces, his boys were also finding the moment rather awkward. The Winchester patriarch continued nonetheless. This was the only way he could say goodbye to his sons, not without outright blabbing that he had made a deal with a crossroads demon, who was waiting impatiently in the hallway outside.

"I just…" A brief hesitation. "I just wanted you boys to know just how proud I am of the both of you. You put up with a lot of bullshit growing up, stuff that no normal kid should have to live with." To Dean: "You have done so much for me, and for your little brother, more than you'll ever know. You had to be a man when you should have been watching Sesame Street, and that's something no child should ever have to go through." John then turned to Sam, and his eyes were again moist. "Sammy, I know we haven't always seen eye to eye. I wanted you to be a hunter, and you wanted your own life. A college education. At the time, I resented that. Was angry that you'd left your brother and me. Guess I was just scared of you out there without anyone keeping an eye on you. Not that you weren't trained by the best."

Sam could only stare at his father, shocked into silence by this sudden confessional. After a moment, he stuttered: "Dad, are you ok? Are you sick? I mean, you aren't normally the share and care type of person."

John shook his head no, still smiling sadly at his youngest. "No, Sammy, I'm fine. I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of the both of you. I never said it to you growing up, but I hope you never thought I didn't love you. But I do. I love the both of you so much it hurts." He turned to Dean, leaned against his bedside, and whispered something into his ear. Suddenly Dean's eyes widened in surprise and horror. "Dad?" he murmured faintly. By now John was no longer trying to control his tears. "Take care of Sammy," he mumbled, and without looking back, turned and headed out the door. Sam, unnerved by his brother's horrified expression, watched, terrified, as his father left the room. He called for his father, who did not answer; instead he made his way down the hall to where the crossroads demon stood, fidgeting in annoyance.

"Sure took you long enough," she bitched, leaning against the wall near the janitorial closet. The door was open, waiting. "Don't feel like alerting the neighbours," she explained when John gave her a quizzical look. "Now," with a devilish grin, "I believe you have something for me."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time Sam and Dean had found their father, it was too late. One hand peeked from outside the door to the janitor's closet, the only hint that someone was lying in there. Sam carefully opened the door wider, afraid of what he would find, but knowing that he had to know. When he found John Winchester's unresponsive body, he let out a pained wail, one that chilled his brother to the very core. Dean thought he remembered yelling for someone, anyone to help, but the entire episode was a blur. The brothers could only watch helplessly as John's body was whisked away, as the doctors tried in vain to resuscitate him. Minutes seemed like hours as the two listened to the incessant whine of the heart monitor flatlining, and finally silence, cut only by Dr. Wilson's voice as she glanced up at the clock: "Time of death, 6:42 AM."