Weston didn't look happy when John arrived, Sam in tow, and was about to direct his partner to once again look after Sam when Bobby showed up.
"I've got him," Bobby said gruffly, wrapping Sam up in a hug and glaring at Weston. John was suddenly immensely grateful for the support that Bobby had provided, and for how quickly the older man had grown to care for his children.
"Mr. Winchester, we've just looked through your sons' school records. Dean hasn't been in the same school for longer than a 6 month period since he started the first grade, and Sam has already been to two different schools."
"We have to move around a lot as part of my job, I've told you that!"
"That doesn't explain why Dean has missed a full third of the days he should have been in school."
John remained silent, and the CPS worker sighed.
"Dean was also, as you're aware, bordering on malnourishment when he was brought in. He's severely underweight for his age."
John continued to remain silent, hands clenching into fists under the table. Weston looked down at his hands and then back up.
"Mr. Winchester, we think it best if we take over custody of your sons temporarily."
"What?" John asked, his voice low and stunned. "No. No way in hell."
Weston shook his head.
"I'm sorry, but Sam needs some stability right now, and you are in no position to provide that for him."
"And Dean?"
"You'll be allowed to see him, but only with a guard."
"How the hell is this supposed to make things better? Sam needs Dean, and Dean sure as hell needs me and Sam. Your meddling is going to make things worse!"
"Mr. Winchester, please. As I said, this is only a temporary arrangement. Once Dean is recovered enough to be released, we'll reevaluate your position."
"You're killing Dean, you son of a bitch. He needs his family. You're killing him!"
"There are no need for melodramatics, Mr. Winchester. My partner is going to accompany you and Sam back to your motel room to gather his things, and then Sam is going to be placed with a temporary family. We've gotten the best family we could; this couple has worked with dozens of children over the years, and they're one of our greatest success stories."
"Well that's great," John snarled. "I'm glad you're putting my son with a 'success story.' That makes this shithole of a situation so much better."
Weston ignored the comment, gathering his papers together and standing up.
"Ms. DeLuca will take you and Sam back to the apartment to get his things. When you get back, we can sit down and talk about what you need to do to increase your chances of getting full custody back, and we'll go over more thoroughly what happened to Dean, okay? I'm not here to steal your kids. I'm just trying to do what's best for them."
John listened blankly, noting in a detached sort of way that Weston was no longer smug and threatening. Must've gotten a tongue-lashing from someone. Not that that really mattered; what mattered was that Sam and Dean were being taken away. He didn't care if it was a 'temporary measure,' his boys were being taken away from him.
"Mr. Winchester? Are you ready to go?" It was Ms. DeLuca. She was smiling at him. John managed to tamp down the urge to yell at her to wipe her smirk off her face, and instead went to get Sam from Bobby.
"John?' Bobby asked as John crouched and wrapped his arms around Sam. John met his eyes over Sam's shoulder and shook his head slightly. Bobby felt his stomach sink.
"Come on, kiddo. We're going back to the room."
Sam looked as if he wanted to argue, but he apparently picked up on the solemnity of John's tone, because he looked at his father with wide eyes and frowned.
"Dad?" He whispered. "Is Dean okay?"
John nodded, tears in his eyes, as he stood up, Sam clinging to him like a monkey.
"Dean's fine, kiddo. He's okay."
"You're sad," Sam said gently, touching John's cheek. John barely held in a sob.
"It's okay, Sammy. Things are going to- they're going to get bad for a little while, but I love you, and I'll never leave you, okay?"
"Okay," Sam said, frowning. He looked at John with a confused expression.
John walked down to DeLuca's car with Sam still wrapped around him.
"Daddy? Where's the Impala? Dad?"
"It's okay, kiddo. We're riding in this car with Ms. DeLuca."
"I hate Ms. DeLuca," Sam said, folding his arms as John buckled him in. John managed a weak smile.
"Do we use that word, Sammy?" He asked, looking his son in the eye. Sam's gaze never wavered.
"When it's true," Sam answered. John had to turn away so that Sam couldn't see him struggle between crying and laughing.
They got to the motel and DeLuca walked in with them, leaving John glad that he'd had the time to clean up most of the room.
"Okay Sammy, we've gotta pack up your backpack, okay? Get your clothes and your favorite toys."
Sam stared at him suspiciously, eyes hardening, little hands on his hips.
"Why?" He demanded.
John took a deep breath and knelt down in front of Sam, resting his hands on Sam's slender shoulders.
"You're going to be staying with another family for a few days, kiddo. Just for a little bit, until Dean's better."
"No," Sam whispered, taking a step back. He shook his head. "No."
DeLuca stepped forward.
"Sammy-" She started. Sam snapped abruptly.
"You don't call me Sammy!" He screamed, punching at her legs, her stomach, anything he could reach. "You don't call me that! I hate you! I hate you!"
John stepped forward and enfolded the writhing body in his arms, buried his face in Sam's hair.
"It's okay, Sammy. It's okay." He kept whispering as he gathered Sam's things and tucked them into his Ninja Turtles backpack. Sam had finally settled down and was sobbing into John's shoulder, bawling as if his heart was breaking. John thought that it probably was.
"Here," he said finally, handing the backpack to DeLuca with a seething glare. He marched out the door without another word, one hand firmly on Sam's back, and DeLuca couldn't help but wonder if this was a big mistake.
xxxx
Eleanor and Daniel Kelly had taken in numerous children over the years, some more damaged than others. So when the social worker brought Sam Winchester over and he wouldn't talk to them or even look at them, they weren't too panicked.
"Hi sweetheart," Eleanor said, kneeling down to look at Sam. "What's your name?"
Sam turned his head away. The hand clutching a Transformer was trembling.
"Why don't you come with me, and I'll introduce you to the rest of the family?"
Sam trailed along behind her silently, head down.
"This is my husband, Daniel," Eleanor said, pointing to her husband. Sam didn't acknowledge that he'd heard her in any way.
"And these are our children, Sally and Kyle. They used to be foster children too, Sam, but now they're part of our family."
Sam's trembling increased, and he let out a small sob.
"Sam? Sweetie, what's wrong?"
Eleanor could only watch as Sam's shoulders shook with soundless cries, his gaze never leaving the floor. She exchanged a concerned glance with her husband, then turned back to the little boy in front of her.
"Okay, why don't I show you your room? You can lay down there for a little while. I'm sure this has been a very stressful day."
Sam nodded ever so slightly, tear tracks still visible on his cheeks, Transformer still tightly gripped in one hand. Eleanor wanted to reach down and hug the little boy, or at least hold his hand, but she instinctively knew that that was the wrong thing to do. Instead, she made sure he was following her and walked to the little room they'd set aside for Sam; normally, they would have had him share a room with Kyle, but under the circumstances, it seemed that giving him his own room might be a better option.
"Here you go, Sam. You can set your things down in here."
Sam didn't respond. He climbed up on the bed, backpack still on, and curled into a little ball. Eleanor watched with an aching heart, unsure how to help.
"I'll come get you when dinner's ready, okay?"
Again, Sam didn't respond in the slightest. Eleanor backed out of the room and paused outside his door, biting her lip when she heard a small, muffled sob from the room.
"Oh, Sam," she whispered. "What are you doing here?"
xxxx
"Have you told him yet?" Bobby asked, staring angrily at Weston.
"Not yet, no."
"Then I want to."
"Mr. Singer, I don't think that's a good idea."
"Am I banned from his room?" Bobby demanded, standing toe to toe with Weston. "Do you have a police order or any kind of order at all that will keep me from his room?"
Weston shifted.
"Not yet-"
"Then I'm going in."
"Mr. Singer-"
Bobby ignored him and walked into Dean's room. Dean blinked hazily, then offered a wobbly smile.
"Hey Dean. How you feeling?" Bobby asked, pulling up the chair next to the hospital bed.
"Hot," Dean whispered. Bobby frowned and rested a hand against Dean's forehead. It was definitely warm.
"We'll get a nurse in here to check up on you, okay?"
Dean nodded weakly. "When's Dad coming back?" He whispered. Bobby looked down.
"Bobby?" Dean said, trying to leverage himself up on trembling arms.
"It might be a little while, buddy. CPS-"
"No," Dean said, his voice trembling. "No! Where's Sammy? Where the hell is he?"
Bobby winced as Dean continued to yell, his voice hoarse and gravelly. Weston came into the room and shot a glare at Bobby before crouching next to Dean's bed.
"Dean? Listen, it's just temporary, okay?"
"No," Dean said, thrashing weakly. Sweat was clumping his hair and trickling down his forehead, his cheeks flushed. His breathing was starting to come in harsh gasps. "Where's Sammy?"
"He's staying with a really nice family until you can get better, Dean."
"No," Dean whispered, his whole body trembling. "No."
"Dean, come on kid, you need to calm down, okay?" Bobby said, resting a rough hand on Dean's cheek. "Look at me. Sam's okay, and we're going to get him back, you hear me?"
"Sammy," Dean gasped. "Sam."
"I know. I know. It'll be okay, Dean. We'll get him back."
Dean finally went limp, breaths rattling in his chest, mouth open as he struggled for air. Bobby pressed the nurse call button, then leveled a look at Weston.
"I think you should probably leave now," he said, standing protectively in front of Dean. "You've done enough here."
Weston, to his credit, got up and left without a word. Bobby turned back to the boy in front of him, running a hand through his hair.
"Hang on, kid. Your daddy ain't going down without a fight, and neither am I."