This is Not Going to Be My Life
The following couple of minutes are a blur. Jim manages to redefine the perimeter by carving a sigil in the Northeastern point where the Wisp had penetrated. Dean kept the creature at bay.
"Get the hell away from him, you son of a bitch," Dean swore, nailing the Wisp with a round through the chest. The brothers used the momentary pause to move quickly to John's side.
Sam shook at the sight of John's blood pouring into the ground. "Dad!" he yelled, blind to anything else. His first aid training surfaced and he knew that they needed to apply pressure to stop the bleeding, but John's whole side was torn to shreds.
By this time John was only half-conscious and Sam watched his father's labored breathing like a life line.
There was an unearthly shriek as the Wisp realized it was trapped and Sam's face jerked up in horror and surprise.
Then Dean was there, issuing desperate orders and hoisting John into his arms. "Help me!" he screamed and Sam blindly took hold of John's legs, scrambling to his feet. Together they hauled him out of the circle, the sound of Jim chanting the expulsion ritual ringing in their ears.
Sam stumbled backward as they lay John down.
Dean immediately tore open their Dad's ripped shirt to get a look at the damage. "Shit," he hissed through his teeth. John continued to gasp in pain, eyes unfocused.
Sam felt his heart beat hard against his chest and his stomach rebelled. He struggled to keep from puking.
Jim completed the ritual, watching the Wisp disappear in a burst of hellfire. Moving quickly, he scrambled to John's side, shedding the light of his flashlight onto his friend's wounds. "Alright, Johnny, just hold on," the pastor said.
John's eyes flickered up and then closed, breathing still labored.
"We have to get to the hospital," Jim stated. "Sam, you get the gear. Dean, help me carry him," he ordered. Both boys blinked at him in a daze.
"NOW!" Jim barked, rousing the boys from their stupor with the sharp command.
"Yes, sir," was the automatic reply as both sprang into action at once.
"Be careful with those," Dean almost snarled a Sam gathered the short guns and flashlights and extra bags. Sam gave him a blank look before nodding convulsively.
"Everything's gonna be fine, boys," Jim said, trying to ease the obvious tension and sooth the two children. The last thing he need was for either of them to sink into shock. "Sam, light the way," he ordered.
They wove their way back to the car, the older men straining under John's weight and the youngest pushed to his limit with guilt, panic and fear.
Sam's sense of direction was sure, but they came out on the road a little North and had to backtrack to find the Impala. They kept to the shadows, Sam snaking ahead with the keys and throwing open the doors so Dean could slide into the back with John.
"Move, move, let's go." Dean ordered ungently as Sam tried to help clear John's leg of the door. Sam immediately backed away, throwing the supplies in the trunk and slipping into the front as Jim fired up the engine.
Thee were no flashing lights, but Sam's ears rang as loud as an ambulance siren as they barreled toward the hospital.
"Come on Dad, stay with us," Dean choked from the back and Jim pressed hard on the accelerator.
Sam was shivering in the front and Jim cranked up the heat, glancing worriedly at the pale faced eleven-year-old next to him. The boy was curling into himself, looking out the window but seeing nothing of the dark highway. He was too young for that kind of blankness. You didn't have to know him very well see that he was wracked with guilt and the thought of it made Jim want to scream.
Dammit John, he thought, catching a glimpse of John's pale face, which was beaded with sweat. You can't do this to them. There wasn't much in the dark world he and John had been living in that put things into perspective, but the panicked look on the fifteen year old's face in the back was one.
Sam was out of the car before Jim had even come to a complete stop. "It's my dad, it's my dad," he yelled to the paramedics, who quickly converged on the car, lifting John expertly onto a stretcher and moving him inside. Jim moved quickly to catch up, answering their questions with half-truths.
Their way was blocked as the stretcher moved into the restricted area. Sam and Dean, who had been right behind, pulled up abruptly with twin looks of loss.
Dean recovered first, whirling on Sam with vehemence born of panic. "Dammit, Sam," he growled, seizing fabric of the younger boy's shirt and getting in his face. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
Sam flinched as if Dean had struck him, tears surfacing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he choked from his constricted throat.
"That's enough! Dean, let him go," Jim commanded, putting himself protectively in front of the younger boy. Sam continued to cry, desperate wracking sobs as Dean turned the intensity of his gaze on the pastor. Jim glared back in reproach and finally the older boy dropped his eyes, swallowing hard and no longer able to look his friend in the eye.
"Go move the car," Jim ordered, knowing Dean needed something to do to keep his mind off the seriousness of their situation. "Then come straight back here, understand?"
Dean drew a short breath and accepted the keys Jim held out for him, nodding curtly and turning on his heel.
As the older boy left, Jim turned immediately to Sam, who was trying to get a hold of himself. Jim put his hands on the boy's shoulders and looked into the younger boy's watery eyes. "This is not your fault," Jim said steadily. "It's just an accident, you hear me?"
Sam shook his head in denial, trying to turn away from the Pastor's gentle grip, but instead the Pastor pulled him into a crushing embrace. At first Sam stiffened, but after a moment Jim felt him melt in his arms, renewed sobs shaking the boy's wiry frame.
Jim wanted nothing more than to scoop the miserable boy up in his arms and carry him away from this horrible night, but Sam was eleven, with a pre-teen's tender sensibilities and so Jim settled for leading him over to the waiting room chairs. Jim settled Sam against his shoulder and rubbed the boy's back while he cried himself out.
Sam was still drawing shuddering breaths when Dean returned. Jim saw how Sam's ravaged condition hit Dean almost physically. The older boy stiffened with guilt and concern. Jim knew he hadn't meant to jump on Sam, knew the outburst really wasn't like him. Dean's jaw was stiff as he returned the keys to the Pastor, but there was anguish in those eyes.
Jim tried to send him some reassurance, but Dean politely refused it.
"Sammy…" Dean said, voice full of remorse, and Sam glanced up at him with a powerful look hurt and fear before burying his head in the pastor's shoulder again. Dean pursed his lips and swallowed hard. He reached out to squeeze Sam's shoulder, but the boy flinched at the touch. They were too raw tonight.
Dean gave up, drawing in a deep breath. "Have you heard…?" he asked.
Jim shook his head.
"I'll get the paperwork," the teen volunteered. Jim smiled at him.
As Dean went to do that, Jim dug a handkerchief from his pocket and Sam took it, blowing his nose and again sucking in air like he had forgotten how to breathe.
"It's gonna be a little while before we know anything," Jim said gently. "I want you to lie down for a while." He settled Sam so the boy's head was in his lap, draping his jacket over the boy's shoulders.
Sam's squeezed his eyes tightly shut, denying the harsh light of the waiting room and closing himself off from the world. He curled up to an impossibly small mass of misery and out of pure exhaustion, fell asleep.