Seth Weston was not having a good day. John Winchester's uncle, Jim, had arrived, and he'd ripped Weston a new one for separating the boys. Weston had explained his reasoning, pointed out Dean's malnutrition and school records, gave all of the reasons that totally justified what he'd decided to do.

Or at least, that shouldhave justified what he'd decided to do.

Somehow, though, he was starting to realize that maybe he'd made a mistake.

"Seth," DeLuca said, walking into the room and sitting on his desk. "I just got a phone call from Daniel Kelly." Seth looked up. "He said they can't get Sam to eat, and that he hasn't been sleeping. It's been two days, Seth, and the kid hasn't eaten anything."

Seth scrubbed at his eyes and cursed under his breath.

"Damn it. Dean isn't eating either. They've got him on an NG tube."

DeLuca sighed heavily.

"I think we screwed up here, Seth."

"But you saw the same thing I did, Jenna. John Winchester has been neglecting those kids."

"I know. I know it seems like that to us, but these kids are different. Somehow, I think that they're capable of fending for themselves if they need to."

"They shouldn't have to," Seth mumbled.

"They need their father, Seth. They need each other."

Seth was quiet for a minute, flipping aimlessly through Dean's file.

"You know what bothered me the most?" He said finally. Jenna shook her head. "Dean was malnourished, but Sam was fine. Totally fine. Dean's been starving himself for his little brother."

"It's sad," Jenna agreed, "but isn't there something kind of beautiful about that too? That Dean loves his brother that much?"

"Maybe," Seth said, shrugging. "But who the hell watches out for him? Who loves Dean that much?"

Neither had an answer.

xxxx

Jim sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. Dean wasn't doing well, and John was an absolute wreck. When Jim had gotten there, he'd found John hammered, almost passed out on the floor of the motel room. He'd started sobbing as soon as Jim walked in, a startling show of weakness that Jim had never witnessed from his friend before. As soon as John had calmed down, Jim had silently taken all of the booze out of the room and watched as John crashed, collapsing into bed and falling asleep in minutes.

Jim shook his head again, recalling the scene that had greeted him upon arriving at the hospital. Bobby was sitting with Dean, who, though conscious, was absolutely silent and still, curled up on his side.

"Hi Dean," Jim had said, sliding next to him on the bed. Dean hadn't responded, just continued staring with unfocused eyes until finally falling limp, asleep or unconscious.

Bobby had explained the situation out in the hallway, shaking his head as he recounted what had gone on in the past two days, nervously lifting his hat and running his fingers through his hair and then replacing it and lifting it again.

Jim had listened quietly, apprehensively, had felt a flurry of emotions rising, outrage and sorrow and, maybe most strongly, fear. Fear because he knew what had driven John to drink, what Bobby was figuring out after knowing the Winchesters for less than a week, what the social workers needed to understand.

Dean wasn't going to get better without Sammy.

As if to prove his point, Dean's doctor stepped into the room, pressing his stethoscope to Dean's chest, checking machines, looking at charts. Then he shook his head and asked for a nurse.

"What's going on?" Jim demanded, feeling Bobby stand behind him.

"We're going to have to put an NG tube in. He's not getting enough nourishment."

Shit."That will help?"

The doctor sighed and took off his glasses.

"It might. At this point, though, a lot of this is up to Dean. And frankly, he's taken such a drastic turn since his brother- well, it just seems like Dean was doing a lot better with his family here."

Jim almost said something most un-pastor like, but managed to keep his mouth closed.

"What about his knee?" Jim asked, and the doctor shrugged.

"I'd like to get him into surgery to fix it up as soon as possible, but I'm hesitant to put him under anesthesia at this point."

Bobby swore from behind him.

A nurse arrived and helped the doctor thread the tube down Dean's nostril; Dean thrashed weakly for a second before going completely limp, staring past Bobby with an unfocused gaze. The doctor spoke soothingly, telling Dean what they were doing as they were doing it, but Dean gave no response.

"Dean? Come on, kiddo, help me out here," Bobby said gruffly, thumbing the back of Dean's hand. Dean made no move to indicate that he had heard what was going on.

"Dean, you need to stay strong. You hear me? Your family still needs you. Stay strong, Deano," Jim whispered, running his hand through Dean's sweaty hair. "We'll get them back, Dean, and they need you."

Dean didn't answer.

xxxx

Eleanor Kelly had never dealt with a boy like Sam Winchester before. He was quiet and withdrawn, which wasn't unusual, but he was also stubborn. He didn't want to eat, so he didn't, no matter what they offered him. He didn't want to watch TV, he didn't want to read a book, he didn't want, well, anything that they could think to offer.

When they did ask what he wanted, his answer was the same every time, without fail. Dean.

Eleanor Kelly was starting to think that they had better get Sam back to Dean, or the child was going to waste away into nothing, just fade until he was gone. As it was, he was pale and had the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes, and Eleanor was getting concerned.

"Sam? Why don't you try to eat some cereal this morning, huh? I've got Cap'n Crunch, or Frosted Flakes…anything sound good?"

Sam shook his head and refused to make eye contact. The Transformers doll he'd had since arriving was still clenched in one hand.

Eleanor was at a complete loss. Biting her lip, she knelt down in front of Sam, taking one of his hands in her own. He was trembling.

"Come on, sweetie, you need to eat something. You're going to get sick."

Sam shook his head.

"Not hungry," he muttered. Eleanor bit her lip.

"Please, Sam. You need to eat, sweetheart."

Sam shook his head again, lip trembling.

"Can you get me Dean?" He whispered, tears gathering in his eyes. He looked so tired, too weary for a six year old.

"You know what, Sam?" Eleanor whispered, brushing Sam's bangs from his eyes. "I'm going to do everything I can to get Dean for you. How's that?"

"Really?" Sam asked quietly. Eleanor nodded, standing up with her hand outstretched. Sam tentatively put his tiny hand in hers, and she squeezed it.

"Come on, Sam, let's go make a phone call."

xxxx

Dean was getting worse. John had finally been allowed in to see his son, and Bobby and Jim had gladly exited the room so that he could have as much privacy as possible. That wasn't a lot, not with the door open and the security guard inside with him, but it seemed like the right thing to do anyway.

Bobby sat down heavily on a small bench outside Dean's room and let out a sigh.

"How you doing?" Jim asked, sitting next to him. Bobby snorted.

"This is all your fault, Murphy," he said finally. Jim laughed.

"Yes, I suppose it is." There was a beat of silence before he continued. "They have a way of getting to you, don't they?"

"Stubborn as hell, both of them. All of them."

"Yeah."

"I'm stuck with 'em now, ain't I." It wasn't really a question. Jim shrugged.

"You don't have to be. You could go back to hunting and forget you ever met them."

Bobby was quiet a moment.

"Aw, hell. I couldn't do that now if I wanted to."

Jim suspected that part of him did, in fact, want to; Bobby certainly hadn't been looking for a family, nor for a chance to open himself up to the potential for heartbreak again. But he'd found one, and Jim knew that he wasn't likely to give it up now.

"Jim!" John's voice startled him out of his reverie. "Dean needs help! I need a doctor!"

Bobby stood and ran for the nurse's station as Jim tore into the room.

Dean was flat on his back, head thrown back and neck distended, gasping loudly for air that wasn't coming. His lips were already turning blue, as were the fingernails that were so tightly gripping the sheets.

"Dean, hang on buddy, help's coming, okay? Hang on, son," John said, running his hand through Dean's hair. Dean continued to gasp, though more weakly now, his chest heaving. His eyelids started to flutter.

"Hey, none of that, stay with me," John whispered. "Stay with me."

In response, Dean went limp- completely, unnervingly limp.

"Dean!" John yelled, just as a few doctors burst into the room, quickly shoving him and Jim to the side. Jim watched as they shoved a tube down Dean's throat, squeezing a bag over his head before hooking him up to a ventilator. A nurse settled some cooling packs around Dean, and Jim realized that the kid had a raging fever that he hadn't even noticed.

"You need to leave, sir," a nurse said, ushering Jim out the door. Jim followed without argument, glancing back at Dean's still form as he left.

The doctor came out a few minutes later, and Jim took the opportunity to corner him.

"How bad is this?" He demanded. The doctor shrugged.

"It sure as hell isn't good," he answered with surprising candor. Jim blinked.

"But how bad is it?"

"Honestly, it'll be a miracle if Dean makes it out of here. The antibiotics we've been giving him haven't killed the infection in his wound, and he's spiking a fever again. His lungs are starting to get fluid buildup in them, and he's simply too weak to breathe right now. Your nephew's in pretty bad shape."

"Damn it," Bobby swore, and Jim could see him scrubbing at his eyes. Jim blinked back tears of his own, then straightened up and looked at the doctor.

"I need to talk to Dean's social worker. Right now."