Chapter 10
As always, thanks to Soar for the beta and Sinead-Conlan for looking over my medical facts, any left over mistakes are completely my own.
Disclaimer: Still don't own them.
Sunlight streamed through the window of room 222 at Watertown General Hospital. Dean awoke to a feeling of peace that he hadn't felt in weeks. He hadn't meant to explode like that, but it had felt good to get it all off his chest. The young hunter was just glad that his dad hadn't got mad at him for mouthing off. Dean rolled over and was about to greet his dad with a good morning when he suddenly realized that his father wasn't there. That all too brief feeling of peace evaporated instantly as Dean immediately felt himself tense up.
He tried to tell himself not to worry. His dad had probably had just ran out for some coffee, or to get something to eat. Dean really hoped he was bringing him back something. He was feeling hungry and he felt much better than he had.
Feeling his anxiety levels growing, Dean tried to distract himself. He would normally have popped his headphones on his head, as his music, especially Metallica, always seemed to do the trick of calming him down, but destroying his walkman was the one thing he regretted about the previous night. Dean grabbed the TV remote off his bedside table instead and turned on the television. No sooner had he pressed the power button, than his eyes strayed back to the open door way. He'll be back any second now.
Forcing himself to turn away from the door, Dean's attention turned back to the television. He flicked through the small amount of available channels so quickly that if he were to be quizzed later, he couldn't have told you what was on any of them. By now, his gaze was directed only to the open doorway. Any second now, he's just talking to my doc.
Dean could feel his heart beat increase and try as he might, he could not force himself to glance away from the door. What'staking so long? Maybe he sweet talked his way into gettingthe nurses to lethim take a shower. He was starting to geta bit ripe. Along with his nervousness, Dean could feel himself start to grow increasingly restless. He was getting really close to ripping out his IVs and going to look for his father. Suck it up, coward. I mean,what are you, four? You've slept by yourself plenty of times. He'll be here soon, right,but what if he was mad, maybe that'swhy he left?
Finally coming to the end of his rope, Dean decided that his first option was the best one. He was just going to go find his dad. Step one was to lose the IV. He closed his left hand over his right and yanked.
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Nurse Helen Banner was coming to the end of a twelve hour shift. She was tired and cranky and she really wanted to go home. There was just one last patient to check on and then she could sign out.
Having been a nurse for 32 years, Helen had developed good instincts as to which of those in her care were going to be easy, and which were going to be difficult, and every instinct was screaming at her that she wasn't getting out of there any time soon. Her suspicions were confirmed when she stepped into room 222 and found the young man sitting on the edge of his bed, the IV lines dangling and dripping on the floor, blood running freely down his arm.
Taking a deep breath and counting to ten, Helen immediately set to work. First, she reached over and pressed the call button for the doctor and picked up some gauze that she could use to stop the bleeding. Or at least that had been the plan.
Dean had his arm pressed to his body, blood staining the front of his hospital gown, and he resisted when Helen tried to gently pry it away.
"Where's my dad?" Dean asked in a voice that made him sound much younger than his years.
"He went home last night. I'm sure that he'll be here when visiting hours start," Helen replied.
"When's that?" Dean inquired.
"At 10," Helen answered.
"What time is it now?"
"6:45."
"I want to go home. Can you call my dad?" Dean asked, once again sounding like a little boy.
Helen was not unkind, but she was human. She had had a bad day, had lost a patient, and she shared Dean's sentiment of wanting to return to the comfort of her own home. There was also no way for her to know Dean's personal history and she responded with the worst possible thing she could have said. "I'm sure you're old enough to stay by yourself. You don't want him getting here and find you being un-cooperative. He might just decide to leave again."
With that, Dean immediately stood and tried to walk out the door. Helen stood in front of the stubborn young man, however Dean was fully prepared to charge right through her and just walk out the front door. Helen put a hand on Dean's shoulder.
"You can't leave," she insisted.
"I have to. I didn't mean to mouth off last night. He must be mad if he left me. He never leaves," Dean said trying to make the nurse understand.
Helen was confused by the young man's remarks. What did he mean?
"Dad doesn't like it when me and Sammy disobey. He gets mad at insubordination. He yells sometimes. I have to tell him that I'm sorry and that I'll be good."
Helen really didn't like the sound of the young man's remarks. Could his father be abusing the two boys? Is that why the father always seemed to be around, because he didn't want them to leave them alone in case they said anything? She had to get to the bottom of this.
"Does your dad get mad easily?" she asked tentatively.
"Only at the big stuff. He just hates for me and Sammy to disobey orders, especially when we're being mouthy like I was last night. I really need to tell him I'm sorry," Dean explained.
Helen's frown deepened. Orders, insubordination, were these kids in the army or something?
"Can you tell dad that I don't feel good. He'll come if I'm sick," Dean said trying to get the nurse's attention.
Helen realized than that she really should check her patient's blood sugar. Moods, feelings and stress were all factors that could play havoc with a diabetic's blood sugar, and if it was too low, it could be contributing to some of the things Dean was saying now. She performed the test and realized that it was indeed low. Dean was still coherent so she gave him some glucose tablets, she didn't want to have to give him the shot because his chart said that they made him sick.
"I'll make you a deal, you get back in bed and I'll call your father and tell him everything, okay?" Helen asked.
"You promise?" Dean asked. "He'll be here when I wake up?"
"Yeah. I want you to lay down now and go back to sleep," Helen said firmly.
"Is that an order?" Dean asked.
Instinct told Helen what to say. "Yes," she replied.
Dean immediately closed his eyes so Helen paged Dean's doctor. Dr. Conlan wasn't in yet, but he called in an order for a sedative and had Helen restart the IV to keep Dean's blood sugar up.
Helen told him about the conversation she had had with the Winchester boy and her suspicions. Dr. Conlan informed Helen that he would take care of everything, he knew she had been on all night so he sent her home.
Dr. Conlan's initial impression of John Winchester was that while he may be strict, he seemed to care about his boys, and he didn't get the feeling that the kids seemed afraid of their dad, still, he had been wrong before and he wasn't about to take any chances. He had a friend at DCFS who could make some discrete enquiries and who had helped him out in the past when Dr. Conlan had been really iffy about something and didn't want to make a formal inquiry. First, he called John and told his brother Bobby that he needed to see Dean's father right away. Then he called his friend.
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Needless to say, Bobby was shocked when John walked in the kitchen the next morning.
"Did they release Dean?" Bobby asked.
"No, they want to hold him for a few more days," John explained.
"Then why are you here?" Bobby accused. "Who's with Dean?"
John realized his mistake. "I needed to get out of there for a bit, I was going back and then I heard about Sam and I didn't even think."
"Where's the Impala?"
"I put it in the garage. I was going to do an oil change later today."
Before Bobby could answer, the phone rang. Bobby excused himself and picked it up.
"Johnny," he called sombrely. "It's the hospital. They need you there right away."
"Is Dean alright?" John asked worriedly.
"If he was, do you think they would be calling? God, Johnny, what in the hell were you thinking?" Bobby snapped.
"I didn't mean to," John defended himself.
"You know how he reacts. How could you have left him?" Bobby accused.
"Look, Bobby, we can argue later. Right now, I need to get to the hospital."
"You go, I'll wake Sammy and bring him after," Bobby offered.
"Thanks," John said as he took off out the door.
Once again, John managed to make it to a destination in half the time it would have normally taken. He didn't even stop at the nurses' station, he just had to get to his son. In his haste, John almost ran into Dean's doctor.
"Mr. Winchester, I really need to talk to you," the doctor informed him.
"Is my son alright?" John asked with concern.
"He became rather agitated when he awoke and pulled out both his IVs. We've given him a sedative and restarted him on fluids."
"I have to see him," John said anxiously as he tried to move around the doctor. He was surprised when the doctor stepped over and blocked his way.
"I need to speak with you first," the doctor said firmly.
That's when John realized the doctor wasn't alone. There was an official looking man with him and John felt his mouth go dry and his heart skip a beat. John knew what agency this man represented.
"Mr. Winchester, my name is Douglas Mansfield, I'm with DCFS. Your son made some rather troubling comments to his nurse and Dr. Conlan called me. I would like to speak to you for a moment."
"Can it wait?" John questioned. He could see Dean's doorway from where he was standing. "I really have to check on Dean."
"I need to speak with you first," the social worker insisted.
"Did Dean's nurse promise him I would be there when he woke up?" John asked.
"Yes, it was the only way she could get him to calm down," Dr. Conlan explained.
"Then this has to wait," John replied and with a hunter's agility, darted around the two and made it into his son's room. John relaxed when Dean appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Of course, it wasn't long before the others showed up.
"Mr. Winchester, please don't force me to call security," Dr. Conlan threatened.
"I'll answer whatever you want, you ask me here though. I can't let him wake up alone."
The social worker looked like he was going to protest, he could tell that the only way he was going to get the boy's father out of this room was to have security drag him out, and he really wanted to avoid that. "First, Mr. Winchester, I want to say that this isn't an official investigation. Alex is a good friend of mine and I'm doing him a favour. He seems think you're okay, but he wanted to make sure."
"I don't hurt my sons," John started out firmly. "I'd kill myself before I ever did that."
"I just want to understand some of Dean's remarks. He said you get mad when they don't follow orders and he seemed awfully concerned about mouthing off to you last night. Insubordinate he called it."
"He didn't mouth off last night," John said in confusion.
"He seemed convinced that he did. Kept saying he had to tell you he was sorry," Douglas explained.
"Mr, Mansfield, Dean didn't mouth off," John insisted. "My eldest was recently diagnosed with diabetes. He's had a hard time with it and last night he finally told me how he felt about everything he's going through. He wasn't rude, or mouthy, he was honest," John replied.
"What about the orders?"
"I guess the only way to explain that is I'm an ex-marine. If I want the boys to know I'm serious about something, like a curfew or a chore that has to be done, I tend to follow it with the words 'that's an order'. It's an old habit and one I don't think I can break, and I do get mad sometimes, but what parent doesn't," John said defensively.
Douglas could understand that, he had three kids of his own and Lord knows they tried his patience sometimes. "What about discipline?" he asked.
"Sammy, my youngest, I tend to ground him and Dean's not allowed to drive the car," John replied. He really wanted this to end and he knew just the way to do it, even if he had to admit the full story behind Dean's fear. He didn't like it, but it was necessary. He took a deep breath and confessed.
The social worker stared at John when he finished his story. He felt sorry for the man standing in front of him. He had reviewed John's record and hadn't seen anything suspicious in the files. Dean's medical record showed no unexplained injuries and the records that were there indicated nothing that would set off an alarm. He felt strongly that the Winchester brothers were in no danger from their father.
John once again had to thank his lucky stars for Jefferson. He had hacked into wherever it was records were centrally kept and had doctored John's records to show a steady employment history at Singer Salvage and medical records were doctored for all three of them.
"Mr. Winchester, I hope that your son gets better. I don't think my presence is required here any longer," Douglas said as he left, leaving John to breathe a sigh of relief. That had been way too close.
Dr. Conlan didn't miss the daggers John seemed to be throwing at him once Douglas left.
"I know you're angry, Mr. Winchester, but I had to do it," the doctor tried to defend himself.
"You could have spoken with me first," John said angrily.
"I had to make sure. I ignored my instincts once when I was fresh out of medical school. I had a patient, a three year old boy who was admitted with a broken arm. The father seemed liked a good guy and there was a perfectly logical explanation as to how his son had gotten hurt, but I noticed that the boy would sometimes flinch when his father was near him. It was nothing overt, but it happened. I felt something was off, but the father reassured me that his son was just afraid of doctors. I listened to him and a few days later, I discharged the boy. He was back two weeks after that, his father had beaten him into a coma. He held on for a few days and then died as a result of complications from the other injuries. It almost ended my career and ever since then, I vowed that I was never going to take a chance again. I would rather file a hundred reports and have them turn out to be groundless because you never know. To be honest, I didn't think there was anything to Dean's remarks, his blood sugar was low so it could have been causing him to say things he didn't mean, but again I'd rather be safe than sorry."
"I can promise you, I would never hurt them, they're everything to me," John admitted tenderly as he stepped towards his sleeping son and soothed the hair off his forehead.
"That's why I called Doug. He's a good guy and I really didn't want to make an official report, he does favours like this for me from time to time. Can I ask you why he reacted that way?" Dr. Conlan asked curiously.
John decided to tell the whole story. He was decidedly uncomfortable with it, but if the doctor knew the truth, it might make things a little easier, especially if Dean was going to be here for a while. He told him about Dean's outburst and how he had really needed some air, and about not paying attention to what he was doing, ending up back at his brother's. Dr. Conlan was confused until John filled him in on what had happened when Dean was four and suddenly everything was crystal clear to him. Dr. Conlan had left the room to answer a page when John had first told the story to the social worker.
"Poor kid, that must have been rough. I'll make a note on your son's chart to exempt you from visiting hours."
"Thanks doc, and I don't like what you did, but thanks for looking out for my boys."
Dr. Conlan knew what John meant and he said that he would check in with them later.
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John sat next to Dean's beside. Sam and Bobby joined him shortly after and it was about an hour after that before Dean started to stir. John asked Bobby to take Sam to the cafeteria for some breakfast. Sam protested that he didn't want to leave again, but John said he needed to speak to Dean alone, and even Bobby agreed with him on that one so he dragged a still protesting Sam with him.
Dean's eyes popped open. Looking immediately for his dad, he visibly relaxed when he found him sitting next to his bed.
"Hey, buddy," John said gently. "I'm sorry I wasn't here before. I promise, Dean, it won't happen again."
"Are you still mad at me?" Dean asked tentatively.
"Why on earth would you think that?" John asked.
"For mouthing off last night," Dean explained.
"You didn't mouth off, Dean. All that stuff you said last night, you needed to say it and I needed to hear it."
"It didn't change anything," Dean replied. "I still have diabetes and I made you so mad that you left."
John felt terrible and his heart really went out to his son. "Sometimes, kiddo, we just need to vent. I didn't leave because I was mad, Dean, I just had some things I needed to go over in my head. It had nothing to do with last night," John said forcibly. "Please don't think that, Dean. Even if I was mad, I would never leave you alone on purpose."
"I'm sorry," Dean said wanting to change the subject.
"For what?" John asked.
"Being such a wimp. I don't blame you for leaving my worthless ass behind. God I'm such..."
"Stop it now, Jonathan Dean," John said firmly. "I won't listen to you put yourself down. You're not a wimp, or worthless." John took a deep breath. He needed to see how much Dean remembered. "Dean, did you ever stop to think that there might be a reason behind your fear of hospitals. Do you remember when you were four?"
Dean shuddered at the thought of the fire. The months after were a blur. "Not much."
John sat on the edge of Dean's bed so he could face his son.
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January 16, 1983
"Jonathan Dean, eat," John Winchester snapped at his eldest son.
"I'm not hungry," the four year old protested stubbornly with a pout, as he crossed him arms in front of him.
"I don't care. I said eat and I mean it," John said in a frustrated tone. It had been just over 2 months since he had lost his beloved wife. They had been staying with his friends, Mike and Kathy, for the first month, but John found that he'd had to get out of there. The Gunthers were good people, but John was really getting tired of them telling him how to run his life. It was none of their business. So John had taken a small apartment and he was now trying to deal with a cranky four year old and a fussy 8 month old. Dean tried. He kept Sammy quiet, but today, Dean had been just as fussy and John felt himself losing his temper.
"I don't want it," Dean said on the verge of tears.
"If you don't eat, then there'll be no dessert," John threatened. "You can just head right to your room."
Finding an opportunity, Dean left and ran to his room. John knew it was a losing battle, so he scraped the last remaining bit of congealed macaroni and cheese into the garbage. If John had been thinking clearly, the fact that Dean went to bed without protest would have told him something was wrong, but he was tired and irritable too.
"Daddy," he heard a weak voice from down the hall call him.
"Too late, Dean. I warned you," John replied, thinking Dean was going to tell him that he was hungry.
Dean didn't call to him again and John finished feeding Sammy. Just as he was cleaning the eight month old up, and wondering if any food had actually made it into his son's mouth, he heard Dean call out to him and then begin to cry.
"Damn it, Jonathan Dean," John growled as he picked up Sammy and stalked off toward the bedroom. He got about 3 steps from the door when the smell hit him. John instantly felt bad, as he hadn't noticed that Dean was sick.
He stepped into the room and took in the sight of his eldest. Dean's top was now orange, as was the carpet by his bed, and John decided that he was never eating macaroni and cheese again for as long as he lived. Putting Sam in his crib so he would be safe, John picked up his eldest. He was shocked by the heat coming off him.
What am I supposed to do, John thought helplessly. Mary, I need you. You were the one who took care of the boys when they were sick. I don't know what to do. John did the only thing he could think of. He called Mary's best friend Kathy.
Kathy Gunther and her husband Mike were old friends of the Winchesters and they had felt the loss of Mary almost as strongly as John did. She and her husband were worried about John. They understood that John was going through a rough time, but his boys needed him and they tried to tell him that. They were tired of seeing Dean have to take care of Sam all the time. The kid was four years old and had just lost his mother. He needed someone to take care of him. John seemed to resent them for it, saying that his boys were his business. He had moved out a week ago and the Gunthers were keeping tabs on him. In fact, she and her husband were discussing whether or not to get social services involved and file for temporary custody of the boys when the phone rang.
"Hello," Kathy answered.
"Dean's sick," came the frantic voice on the other end.
"John is that you?" she asked.
""Yeah, Kathy, please. Dean's sick and I don't know what to do," John said and hated himself for feeling so helpless.
"I'll be right there, John," Kathy promised as she and John said goodbye. She informed her husband of the situation and drove through the heavy snow that was still coming down. When she got there, she found the situation under better control than she had thought it would be.
Sammy was secure in his crib and laying peacefully, it was almost as if he had sensed that his father needed him to remain quiet. She found that John had taken Dean's temperature and had him laying in bed while his father wiped at his head with a cool wash cloth. She also noted that the trash can was close by and that Dean had been sick again.
"John," she said softly. She had let herself in as John had given her and Mike a key.
"Kathy, thank God," John said with relief.
"What's his temp?" she asked.
"104.5," John said.
Kathy let John know that most kids ran high fevers when they were young and she suggested that John take Dean to the hospital, because he probably needed some antibiotics.
"Thanks," John said gratefully.
"I'll stay and look after Sammy if you want. That way you can concentrate on Dean," Kathy offered. She and Mike were unable to have kids of their own and she loved to spend time with Mary's boys.
"I don't know. Maybe I should take him with me," John replied.
"It might be easier if I stayed. That way you don't have to worry about diapers and feedings. You can concentrate solely on Dean."
"Okay," John agreed reluctantly and he got his son ready for transport. When he left, the snow was coming down heavier than it had been before and it was slow going, so John flicked the radio on to hear the weather bulletins. All it said was that the storm system was supposed to miss them and they were expecting about 6 inches of fresh snow, and that it should clear up later that evening.
The ER was packed and John had to wait a good two hours before Dean's name was called. He was seen by a resident who looked barely old enough to shave. Concerned about the boy's temperature, the doctor immediately admitted the youngster and started him on IV antibiotics.
Illness and general fatigue caused Dean to drift quickly into a heavy sleep and John found himself wishing once again that he had taken Sammy with him. He was aware of the concerns Kathy and Mike had and he didn't want them thinking he wasn't taking care of his boys. Should he stay with Dean, or go home and look after Sammy? Mary, I need you. Tell me what to do. John found himself thinking once again.
The doctor ended up making the decision for him. Back then, visiting rules were no different for children than they were for adults and he was reminded that visiting hours were over. He gave Dean a quick kiss on his forehead and noted with relief that it seemed cooler already, then he promised him that he would be back the next day.
He also noted that the snow seemed to have slowed down. He parked the car, locked it and went back into his apartment.
"John, how's Dean?" Kathy asked with concern.
"They want to keep on him on antibiotics over night," John replied.
"You didn't stay?" Kathy asked. She knew Mary would have put up a fuss and refused to leave.
John ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "What do you want from me?" he snapped. "You tell me that I'm not taking care of my sons. I stay with Dean and you accuse me of not taking care of Sammy. You're the one who told me to leave Sammy here, that meant leaving one of them, I'm only one person."
"I'm sorry, John, I didn't mean it that way," Kathy said contritely.
"Look, I'm tired and I'm worried about Dean. I want to send some time with Sammy. Thank you for your help, but I'll take it from here," John said firmly and Kathy knew that she was being dismissed.
"I'll call you tomorrow to see how Dean's doing," Kathy said as she collected her purse. She could understand what John was saying. He couldn't be in two places at once.
"Thanks," John said as he collected Sammy from Kathy's arms.
John thought long and hard that night and came to the conclusion that he really needed to get his life back on track. When he had thought about that evening, he realized that he could have handled it. He had known to take Dean's temperature and bathe him with cool water, and he could have taken Sammy to the hospital with him. Making a decision, he grabbed the three bottles of whiskey he had stored under the sink and poured them out. He decided to get things back to normal. He would take Dean to kindergarten, Kathy would baby sit Sammy, and John would go to work.
All those plans went out the window when he woke up the next morning. He could hear the wind howling and John noticed that the power was off. He bundled up Sammy and went to leave for the hospital. He opened the door and stopped short.
The weather station had apparently been wrong, outside there was a complete white out. You couldn't see two feet in front of you. The roads were impassable. He immediately picked up the phone to call the hospital, but there was no dial tone. John was trapped, he had no way to get to, or contact the hospital. He knew this wasn't good. Dean tended to stick to him like glue since losing his mother and he was not going to react well at all when he awoke.
The storm continued for two days, leaving John stranded. He did try, he made sure that Sammy was secure in his crib and sleeping peacefully and he got out the shovel and tried to dig the car out. The wind almost knocked him over and filled the snow in faster than he could clear it. He knew it was a losing battle and he gave up reluctantly and went back to the house, praying for a miracle and that the phone would be working.
On the morning of the third day, it finally started working and John called the hospital immediately. He was given the run around before he finally got someone to tell him the truth and it wasn't good. When the four year old had woken and found his father wasn't there, and hadn't come all day, he became hysterical, screaming for his daddy asking why he had left him like his mommy had done. John felt terrible. He asked to speak to Dean and was told that Dean had been sedated to avoid hurting himself.
It was still several hours before John could dig himself out and drop Sammy off at the Gunthers, and by the time he got there, Dean was non-responsive and almost catatonic.
John crawled into Dean's bed and cradled his son in his arms. "I got you, buddy. I'm here. I'm so sorry, Dean. You're the bravest kid I know. I'm so proud of you." John repeated this mantra over and over again. It was almost two hours later when he heard a small tentative voice whisper, "Dad." It was the sweetest sound John had ever heard.
"Yeah, buddy. It's me. I'm here and I'm not leaving."
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"I'm sorry, Dean," John addressed his eldest son with a mixture of guilt and sadness. He realized that after that incident, Dean had stopped calling him daddy. He had become dad.
Dean was still trying to process what his father had just told him. He didn't even have the vaguest recollection of that time, but it wasn't his dad's fault. "For what?" Dean asked, truly unsure as to what his father could be sorry for.
"For leaving you alone that night," John said.
"How was it your fault? You couldn't control the weather," Dean said rationally.
"I shouldn't have left that night," John said regretfully.
"You don't have to feel like that, dad. You were doing your best. You had to get home to Sammy."
"You're just as important to me as your brother, Dean. Sammy was safe with Kathy," John said.
"It's not your fault. You didn't cause the storm," Dean said, trying to offset his father's guilt.
John couldn't believe this. He had screwed up and Dean was trying to make him feel better. It was typical of his eldest though and this caused a thought to form in his mind. Was this how his son felt? Blaming himself for his family's financial troubles, even though it was something he had no control over. Maybe he could use this to his advantage.
"I'll make you a deal. If I'm not to blame for the weather, then you're not to blame for developing diabetes," John said.
That was the last thing Dean was expecting. "That's not fair," he pouted, reminding John of his little boy.
"Those are the last words we're going to say on the either subject," John offered.
"Deal," Dean agreed.
"I really am sorry for last night, Dean," John apologized. "I just wasn't thinking. Go ahead and say it," John immediately added as he his son bite down on his lip.
"Do you ever?" Dean said with a chuckle.
John knew that Dean would never hold a grudge.
"You can make it up to me by signing me out of here," Dean suggested. He knew the answer already, but he had to try.
"I will when your doctor releases you," John replied.
"I meant…"
"I know what you meant and no, I'm not signing you out AMA," John said firmly and in a tone that meant Dean knew the subject was closed.
Before Dean could reply, Dr. Conlan showed up with the supplies for Dean's morning injection. Given last night's tirade, John honestly didn't know how his son was going to react. He didn't know why he was surprised when Dean accepted the items without protest and took his meds. Dean would always do what he had to.
After Dean had eaten, Dr. Conlan came and tested his blood sugar before removing the IV, much to Dean's relief. His father didn't leave his side and Bobby and Sammy returned from the cafeteria and spent the morning with him.
Bobby had some work to do though, so he reluctantly left for the afternoon and promised to be back later. After Dean's next injection and lunch, he asked for and received permission to take a shower. He had just finished drying himself off when he heard voices.
"You must be Mr. Winchester and Sammy," he could hear a familiar female voice say. It sounded an awful lot like Kelsey. He was going to kill Bobby if he had said anything.
"Yeah. I'm guessing you're Kelsey," he heard his father reply. Yup, no doubt about it, Bobby was a dead man.
"Dean's taking a shower, he'll be out any second," John explained.
"How'd you like the giraffe?" he heard a second female voice ask. It sounded like Miranda. Dean looked around the bathroom for an escape route. Not finding one, he contemplated just staying where he was. They had to leave sometime.
"What giraffe?" he heard Sammy inquire.
"The one your brother won for you the other night," Kelsey said.
Dean realized that it was still in the trunk. He hadn't given it to his brother.
Before Sammy had a chance to reply, he heard a third voice, male this time, ask his father about where he'd gotten his car.
Great, they were all there. Dean knew he couldn't stay in the bathroom much longer or his father would begin to think that something was wrong. He opened the door and stepped into the room. He didn't really look at anyone and climbed back into his bed. He desperately wished he could just ignore the world.
"Hey, Sammy," John said addressing his youngest. "I'm getting hungry. Want me to bring you back anything?"
"I'm good," Sam replied.
"Dean?" John asked.
"My release papers," he suggested, earning another glare from his father. "Never mind, just bring me back a diet soda, please."
"How'd you know Dean was here?" Sam asked the visitors curiously.
"Bobby called me yesterday," Kelsey said.
"What exactly did he tell you?" Dean asked, the hope that Bobby had just said he was sick fading fast. Bobby wasn't one for lies.
"You could have told us you were diabetic, you idiot," Miranda said, but there was no real anger in her tone.
"It's just..." Dean trailed off, he wasn't really sure what to say.
Kelsey seemed to read his thoughts. "Okay, I guess we didn't help," she conceded. "Next time, just say no if we offer you junk food, okay?"
"Sure," he said giving her a small, grateful smile. He would never admit it, but he liked the fact that Kelsey had said next time. She still wanted to see him.
"Do you really have to take needles everyday?" Todd asked suddenly.
"Todd," Miranda said in an exasperated tone. "You can't ask him that."
"Why not?" Todd questioned.
"Because," Miranda said as if that explained everything.
Dean figured that if they were going to be friends, then they had to know. He didn't want to go through this again. "It's okay," he said. "Yes. I take insulin injections."
"Do they hurt?" Miranda asked. She had been curious herself, but was afraid to ask.
"No," Dean said. "The needles are really small. You hardly feel them."
"I don't think I could do it," Kelsey said in an admiring tone.
"You could if you had to," Dean replied as they exchanged another smile.
Sam watched the scene play out. He had a feeling that his big brother really liked this girl. It just gave him more ammunition to tease Dean with later. They stayed for the better part of an hour, asking Dean a few more questions and Dean became a little more at ease when he realized that they weren't going to walk out on him, although he did notice Todd seemed a little uncomfortable. He was grateful though when Sam changed the subject. When they left, they told him they would be in touch.
Dean spent a total of three days in the hospital. Dr. Conlan's plan to have him start physio worked. Dean was really tentative at first, but Chris, the physiotherapist, found out that by challenging Dean, he would rise to the occasion. He also spent a lot of time with the dietician, who worked really closely with the young hunter on counting calories and carbohydrates, how to save his carbohydrates for when he had a "game" and how to time his meals and injections. Plus, Dean realized that when he had an intensive work out, he could have a treat.
The new injection schedule seemed to be working as well. Dean found that for the first time since his diagnosis, his blood sugar was starting to get under control. He was beginning to allow himself hope that he might actually get to hunt again.
He had been really happy to get back to Bobby's. He felt like he had been given a chance to start over. He and his father had even come to an understanding. Dean started bringing his father his diary before he turned in, not because John asked for it, or expected it, but just so his father could see that Dean was indeed fine. John had taken to asking Dean how his supplies were holding out, Dean knew it was his dad's round about way of asking if he was taking his insulin, because if he needed more meds, then obviously he was. Dean still appreciated the fact that his father was trying though.
He also returned to training full time, his fear of hypos getting less and less, but he never let them out his mind completely, that would have been asking for trouble.
John had joined the local parent's support group and he really wished that he could convince his son to join the diabetic's equivalent. He felt it would do him a world of good. He watched as Dean showed Sam how to improve his knife throwing technique and he had an idea on how to convince Dean to attend.
"Hey, Dean," he called to his son. "Come here for a minute."
"Yeah, Dad," Dean said, telling Sam he would be right back before he went to his dad.
"I want to make you a deal," John said.
"About what?" Dean asked suspiciously.
"There's a support group meeting at the hospital tomorrow night," John started.
"Dad," Dean groaned. His feelings on the subject hadn't changed.
"Hear me out," John said, cutting off Dean's protest. "I'm not ordering you, but I'm asking. If you agree to one meeting, I'll lift the remainder of Sammy's punishment." He felt awful for using Dean's tendency to do anything for his younger brother, but it was the only thing he could come up with.
Dean glanced over at his younger brother. He had met Miranda's brother, who was right around Sam's age, and Dean felt that the two would get along well, but he really didn't want to sit around discussing his feeling with a bunch of strangers. Still it was Sammy.
"What if I don't like it?" Dean asked.
"One meeting is all I'm asking, but you have to give it a real shot. No attitude," John said.
"Then I get to take Sammy to the carnival, without you," Dean said adding his own condition.
John was nervous about Dean going out by himself again, but school was going to start again soon and he had to trust his son sometime.
"Okay, but you have to show me your blood sugar readings before and after."
"Deal," Dean agreed. That was fair considering how badly he blew it last time.
Dean went back to his brother and told him he was no longer grounded. When Dean told him why, Sam just hugged his brother.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The following day, John drove his son to the hospital. He was glad that the two groups met on the same night.
"Hey, dad, do you think they'll make us hold hands and sing We Shall Overcome?" Dean asked his father.
"Dean, we had an agreement," John warned.
"I know, lose the attitude," Dean mumbled.
"I'll meet you here in an hour and a half," John said as he continued down the hall.
Dean mentally calculated his chances of ditching the meeting and just showing up here an hour and a half later. He figured out they landed exactly between slim and none. He did stand in the hallway until 3 minutes before the meeting was due to start, then he took a deep breath and stepped into the room.
Upon entering, Dean could see several kids seated in a circle. They all eyed the new addition curiously. Dean just slunk in and took a seat.
"Hi, you must be Dean," the woman in charge said in a welcoming tone.
The young hunter debated saying no, but a deal was a deal. "That's me," he admitted.
"I'm Lisa Kerney, but you can call me Lisa, we're pretty informal."
"Thanks," Dean said politely.
"Since you're the last to arrive, we can get started. Everyone, as you can see, we have a new member joining us," Lisa said.
Don't count on it. This is a one shot deal.
"This is Dean Winchester," she said introducing him to the others.
If everyonesays 'hello Dean' in unison, I swear I'm getting up and walking out of here. The deal be damned. "Hello," he mumbled.
"Since Dean is new, I thought that we could introduce ourselves. I'll start."
One by one they went around to room. Dean learned that Lisa was a teacher who volunteered her time, and that she had been a type one diabetic for eight years. The rest of the group followed her lead and stated their age, how long they had been diabetic and a couple of facts about themselves.
Must be a script or something. When his turned came, he opened his mouth and said "I'm Dean." The deal was to come. I didn't say I'd participate. This must be when the touchy feely,self help,yoga crap starts. Dean checked his watch and saw that he had killed 15 minutes, now all he had was an hour and 15 minutes left to go.
Lisa soon came to the conclusion that Dean wasn't going to say any more. He wasn't the first one to be like this, but she had a feeling that if she left well enough alone, Dean would eventually come around.
"Dean, we keep things pretty informal here," Lisa explained. We just talk about whatever you guys want. If you want to talk about the upcoming school year, or diabetes, it's entirely up to you," Lisa explained.
I know what you're trying to do and it ain't going to work. I'm not talking.
"Who wants to start?" Lisa asked.
A kid name Al, who had said that he enjoyed playing baseball, said that his team had won their game and were going to the playoffs. The rest of the group congratulated him. This led to a discussion among the group about who was going to win the World Series.
The Yankees, Dean wanted say. Having stubbornly made up his mind that he wasn't talking though, he didn't say it out loud.
Having enough of the sports talk, one of the girls, Ashley, changed the topic to the latest movie. This led to another discussion on everyone's favourite movie
That's a no brainer. The Shining is the best movie ever made.
"The only thing I really hate…" a kid named Sandy said. She had just been diagnosed three weeks ago. "I miss being able to have my chocolate covered peanuts. I used to dump them right into my popcorn."
Tell me about it. I have to get up at 5 am to sneak a bowl of Lucky Charms.
"I know," said another kid, Dean thought his name was Peter. "I hate diet soda. I really wish I could have regular. It's so hard to resist."
Especiallywhen you're out with friends.
"Halloween is the worst," a kid named Jamie said. "I remember making myself so sick from eating friends' candy that I ended up in the hospital."
Been there, done that.
"To me it's not the food," a girl named Pam said. "I like to eat healthy anyway, because I want to be a dancer, but I can't get used to the needles. I mean, I've had this disease for a year and a half and at two shots a day, that's how many..." She trailed off as she tried to calculate how many that was.
"Approximately 1095," Dean blurted out before he could stop himself.
"What he said," Pam replied and shot Dean a small smile, impressed that he had calculated that in his head. Maybe she could ask him to tutor her. If her other math tutor was as cute as he was, she might not have flunked and had to go to summer school.
"I agree. I hate having to inject myself twice a day," added another kid said and a couple more added there agreements.
Try four a dayand then get back to me, Dean thought bitterly.
"What was that, Dean?" he heard Lisa ask.
Please tell me I didn't say that out loud. "Um, no I didn't say anything," he mumbled.
"Sandy, how are you handling the injections?" Lisa asked, moving on before Dean became any more discomfited.
"I take three a day and I hate the fact that I have to stop what I'm doing to go take one. If I skip it, then I just feel crappy. I can't win," Sandy replied.
I'm right there with you one that one.
"How many do you take a day, Dean?" Pam asked. She had developed a king sized crush on their newest member and she wanted to get to know him better.
Dean didn't want to talk about this, but he didn't want to appear rude so he answered. "Four."
"Four, ah man, and here I thought three was bad," Sandy replied.
"So is that what you find hardest to deal with, Dean, the injections?" Lisa inquired. The young man had been quiet for most of the night and she wanted to keep him in the conversation and guessed correctly that he would answer if you asked him a direct question.
"No," Dean admitted. "They're a pain, but I can live with them. It's when others look at me like I have something wrong with me. My brother lost a friend because she was convinced I was contagious." Dean,what the hell did you say that for? You hate this kind of stuff.
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard," Pam said. "But I can understand it. When I first went back to dance class, my instructor was so afraid that I was going to keel over at any minute that she wouldn't let me do anything. I am pretty good and I used to get called on to demonstrate a lot of moves, but all that stopped. I really had to work hard to prove myself. I started making progress, but one day, I pushed too hard, ran low and passed out, and then I had to start all over again."
"It was my parents that were the worst," a boy named Michael added. "They used to be pretty cool but after I was diagnosed, they became super protective. They dragged me to doctor after doctor. I swear, next they were going to try to find some supernatural cure."
Actually, I can help you out there too. If they want to look,let me know and I'll give them Josh's number. "My dad was always protective." Shut up Dean, he tried tell himself again. He was more than shocked when he found out that he didn't actually want to though. "He became even worse. I couldn't even walk to the next room without him wanting me to check my blood sugar."
The others echoed their sentiments before Lisa broke in, "Alright everyone, I hate to break this up, but our time's up. I'll see you all next week. Dean, we're going to the movies for the next session. If you're interested in coming, I need your father to sign a permission form."
Dean answer surprised him. "I'll ask him."
Dean met his dad in the hall. "How was it?" his father asked him.
"I didn't hate it," Dean admitted honestly, which was the closest he would ever come to saying his dad had been right about the support group.
John had to hide a grin.
"They're going to the movies next week. Lisa said you needed to sign this for me to go," Dean said as he handed his father the permission slip.
John didn't hesitate to sign it. He wanted to see Dean get something out of this. Plus, John knew that everyone he was going out with was a diabetic, and so was the leader, so it would be less tempting for him to break his diet.
Later that week, Dean took Sam and Miranda's brother to the carnival, and this time he made sure to stick to his diet, he took his injection and got himself and Sammy home on time. John relaxed when Dean's blood sugar remained within normal ranges.
Dean had been doing so well that his father allowed him to accompany him and Bobby on a hunt. It was just a simple salt and burn, and Dean wasn't allowed to do much more than hold the flashlight, but he didn't care. He was just happy to be out again.
Sam forgot all about his vow to never make a new friend, quickly becoming close to Miranda's brother. Dean continued to attend his support group and began to participate more. He even took Kelsey out on several dates.
John and Bobby were glad that things seemed to be looking up. Then John made his next announcement.
TBC
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