Will have language and violence.

Summary: When Dean fails to reveal how sick he feels, he gives the black dog the upper hand. SickDean, WorriedSam/John. Dean is 17, Sam is 13.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sam, Dean, John, or anything Supernatural related, but the story is mine. Enjoy!!

Thanks to everyone who voted!!! I tried to satisfy everyone with this chapter and hopefully will continue to do so in however many I can squeeze in before it ends! Please let me know if I succeeded!!!!

"How is he?" John grilled Bobby the moment he entered the kitchen.

"Not sure yet. He's breathin' better and his cuts are healin', but he has abdominal pain."

"What does that mean exactly?"

"Not sure yet, John. We'll just have to wait it out I guess. See if anything comes of it."

John turned away in anger. "He shouldn't have kept it from me! He could've gotten himself killed!"

"You know why he did it. That's how you raised the boy."

"Are you blaming this on me?!" John got up in Bobby's face.

"Blame can't be given to one specific person in this case. Everyone played a part, but it was the beast that did the most damage."

"If he wasn't sick, he could have outrun the damn thing. He should've made it to the car. He should have gotten away. He should've kept a hold on his damn gun!"

"I don't know exactly what happened out there, John. I wasn't there. But there's nothin' we can do about it now. What's done is done, and you need to get out of my face right this goddamn moment."

Jim quickly stepped in when John refused to back down.

"That's enough! Both of you! This isn't helping anyone. It doesn't matter who's to blame but no one better blame that poor boy in there. He was just trying to live up to hunter standards. He wanted to be like you, John."

"Like me?! I don't have a freakin' death wish! If I wasn't up to a hunt, I would hold off rather than risk my life and everyone else's!"

"That's a damn lie and you know it," Bobby disrupted. "You've always put the demon in front of everything else, including yourself and your kids!"

"Do you have a death wish, Bobby? Cause if you keep pushing me, I'll fulfill it for you."

"Just stating the facts. If you can't swallow 'em, spit 'em out."

"I love my kids."

"Be nice if you showed them that once in a while!"

"STOP IT!!!!"

All heads turned to the youngest Winchester who stood just inside the kitchen, tears in his eyes and fury all over his face.

"Sam, I…" Bobby tried.

"No! I don't want to hear it! Dean's trying to sleep and all you guys can do is scream at each other about whether you give a shit about us or not!"

"That's not what…"

"Save it dad. If you can't be here to help Dean, then just go." With that, Sam turned and walked straight back into his brother's room and sat down by his side, tears finally spilling down his red cheeks.

John gaped at the place where Sam used to be. Bobby placed a hand over his mouth, horrified at what had just happened.

"Congratulations men. Once again, you've managed to have a child put in the middle of an argument."

"What do you mean once again?" John demanded.

"Oh, John. You're so blind sometimes. When you and Sam argue, which is practically all the time, who is the one that sooths things over in the end? Who's the one that is forced to become the adult and has been since the age of four?"

"Dean…" John rubbed at his tired eyes. "You're right. My boys shouldn't have to play the peacekeepers. We're the adults. We should start acting like it."

"That's more like it. Now are you going to check on them or am I?"

"I'll go." John sent one final glare at Bobby, then headed quietly into the boys' room, careful to not wake Dean.

His heart stopped as his eyes fell on his wounded soldier. No. My eldest son, he berated himself. He's just a boy, not a marine. For the second time that day, he felt the urge to break down, something that prior to yesterday he had never allowed. He had failed as a father. No more.

He walked quietly to Dean's bedside, sending an apologetic glance at Sam who, after a moment, nodded his acceptance. John's heart began to flutter again with hope that maybe he hadn't failed just yet. Maybe he was given a second chance. He didn't know if he really deserved it, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He'd take what he could get.

John reached a shaking hand (which was usually rock steady due to his hunting skills) out for his son, to make any connection he could. Just to know he was still alive. To know that his son hadn't given up on him yet. God, the shit he put his kids through over the years…

They were still just boys. Sam just made it into his teens. Dean was still four years shy of being able to drink. And yet we just poured half a bottle of scotch down his throat. This was no life for young boys. Though he acknowledged this, John also knew that there was nothing he could do about it. Mary's killer had to die, end of story.

His boys were all he had left. His only reminders of the beautiful wife he had fallen in love with so many years ago. Dean especially. Dean had Mary's eyes. But Dean's eyes weren't open. It his mind, it was John's fault they were closed. If John's eyes had been open, he would have seen that his child was sick. He would have been a real parent.

John failed his children in every way possible when it came to parenting. But he succeeded as a drill sergeant. That's what he was best at. That's what he knew. And he clung to the profession like a lifeline. It's what got him through the crisis he called a life. It was the only connection he made with his children.

He placed his hand gently over Dean's, rubbing his calloused thumb over his son's still childishly smooth skin. The boy didn't so much as twitch. John had taught him better than that. He had taught him to wake at the drop of a feather, to protect his brother at all costs. But it was Dean who needed protecting now. Dean who needed to sleep peacefully without having to worry about the dangers that lurked in the dark. I will protect you now, son. You just get better for me. Please…

John couldn't break away his gaze from his son. Dean was so still with his right hand across his stomach and his left behind his head, under his pillow. It broke John's heart knowing that his once innocent boy's hand was currently wrapped around the steel knife he kept with him at all times for protection.

The fact that it was already in Dean's hand proved to John how scared his son really was and that even the boy knew his reaction time was going to be slower right now so he got a head start on whatever beast may try to claim his brother while they slept.

Sam curled up next to Dean's side, wrapping his hands around his brother's thin arm. He laid his head on Dean's shoulder but refused to fall asleep. Now it was his turn to be the protector. His turn to watch over his brother. He wouldn't fail him, just as Dean never failed Sam.

John smiled and gently placed his hand on top of Dean's right hand, not realizing that the added pressure to the boy's abdomen would cause him pain. Dean groaned and his head began to toss on the pillow. His muscles tensed from his neck down to his toes and his body became rigid.

"What the… Dean?" John wasn't sure what had just happened or if his son was awake or not. Then he remembered Bobby's words. He's breathin' better and his cuts are healin', but he has abdominal pain.

John eased his son's stiff right arm to the boy's side and gently lifted the hem of his shirt. In the dark he couldn't see much, but he could feel. He moved his hand carefully over Dean's torso. He found places on Dean's chest that caused him pain in addition to the one just below his ribcage. Hasn't my boy been through enough? Just give him a break, I'm beggin' you here…

He ran his other hand over his face in pure exhaustion. What was he supposed to do? How could he help his son? He wished he could just take away all his pain. He would gladly bear it instead.

John quietly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

The next morning, Bobby was the first into the boys' room. Unlike last time, he had no qualms about waking them up. It was physical therapy time.

"Howdy boys! Up and at 'em. We've got some work to do!"

"Bobby?" Dean groaned using his left hand to rub at his eyes. "What are you on about?"

"We've gotta keep you in shape."

"Right… hunting…"

"No, not for hunting. Because you're a human being. Yer not gonna be hunting anytime soon."

"Is that supposed to cheer me up?"

"Did it?"

"Not at all."

"No then. Listen son, there's more to life than hunting."

"Yeah, but it all sucks."

"You are your father's kid through and through."

"Damn straight." Dean smirked and Sam rolled his eyes and he stretched and sat up next to his brother.

"You gonna join him, Sam, or go get somethin' ta eat?"

"I'm out. You guys have fun."

"Don't leave me here with him!" Dean only half kidded.

"Sorry, but you brought this on yourself bro."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dean's eyes narrowed as he challenged.

"You shouldn't have gone on the hunt in the first place." Sam made his way to the door, his shaggy hair sticking out all over the place.

"Hey! Dad needed me!"

"No, Dean. You wanted dad to need you. He could have taken anyone for backup. You could have gotten yourself killed out there."

"Yeah, well, I didn't."

"Not this time. Don't ever do something that stupid again, okay?"

Dean stared at the bed sheets, refusing to lie to his brother's face. He knew if the situation came about again he'd probably do the exact same thing. What could he say? He was stubborn and selfless.

"Dean! Tell me you won't do that again!" Sam demanded.

"I can't," his brother whispered out, keeping his eyes downcast.

Sam huffed in frustration and anger, then left the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Yer brother's right, ya know. It wasn't your fault that you boys all got attacked. That was poor research and plannin'. But you shouldn't have put yourself in that much danger."

"I was just…!"

"Nope. Don't want an excuse. But if I ever get a call saying you did somethin' that stupid again and needed me to sew you back together again I'll kill ya."

"Before or after you stitched me up?"

"Both. Am I makin' myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Alright then. Let's get to work."

TBC

How'd I do? Dean's got an exhausting road ahead of him to get back his strength and fitness (and a bit more pain due to the stomach issue that'll I'll address soon), but I think the majority of the torture is over. There's plenty more in my other stories if you're interested!! Thanks for sticking with me and for all the encouragement!! You guys are amazing.