Dean stirred, muttering something querulous, and the two men paused, looking over at him.
When Dean had settled back into sleep, John said softly, "I said some things I didn't mean, Sam."
"Like it was my fault Mom died?" Sam said acidly. "And Jess?"
John reddened.
"You're sorry you said it, Dad. Doesn't mean you didn't mean it. Doesn't mean you don't still think it."
"No." John shook his head. "Me saying that, that was crap. I'm sorry."
"You're always sorry." Sam's voice rose. "Then the next time I piss you off, the next time you get drunk, it's the same shit all over again."
Dean stirred again. This time, neither man noticed.
'I've got a lot to make up for," John admitted. "If you'd just give me a chance –"
"No!" Sam glared at him. "You - damn it! I'm not getting sucked into your shit again!" He spun away from his father and strode quickly to the door, only to stall there, unwilling to leave his brother.
John stood and took a couple of steps after him, but stopped at Sam's warning glower. They two stared at each other; Sam thrumming with angry tension, John with no clue what to say to his son.
"Sammy," Dean's voice was a faint croak. "What – what's going on?"
Passing John with a hard look, Sam went swiftly back to the bed. "Sorry we woke you, man." He tested his brother's forehead for fever, found none. "How do you feel?"
"Crappy," Dean shifted, winced. "With a side order of shitty."
Sam looked at his watch. Deciding enough time had passed for the next set of meds, he got them down Dean with a minimum of fuss, along with some bottled water.
John came, a little hesitantly, to the other side of the bed. "Dean."
"Dad!" Dean looked at Sam and saw trouble in the now impassive expression on his brother's face. "What are you – is everything okay?"
"It's fine." John looked to Sam for confirmation, but was studiously ignored. Sighing, he clasped Dean's shoulder. "It's good to see you, son."
Vaguely remembering what had gone down earlier that night. Dean said slowly, "You were at the stadium."
"I heard about the kids disappearing. Came to check it out." John smiled ruefully. "I was too late. Your brother kicked El Cucuy's ass."
"Course he did. He's –" Dean's reply was interrupted by a huge yawn and a slight shiver. "Sorry."
"You need some more sleep, bro. You guys can talk tomorrow." Sam pulled a blanket from the other bed and spread it gently over his brother. "Better?"
"Thanks." Feeling drowsier by the second, Dean murmured, "Sammy?"
Sam's eyes flicked over to John, then back to his brother. "We're okay," he said reassuringly. "You just get some sleep."
Nowhere near convinced, but too tired to deal with it now, Dean closed his eyes and fell back asleep almost immediately.
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