12. Not Your Fault

When John stepped into the room, he was sure Dean really was four years old all over again. He looked so small, so fragile in the big hospital bed, that John felt a sudden urge to run to him and take him in his arms, telling him everything was gonna be okay. But all he could do now was sit next to his son and wait for him to wake up.

Sam was sitting on the edge of Dean's bed and had Dean's hand in his own. He was on the verge of tears again and was doing his best not to look at the tube in his big brother's throat. The ventilator slowly hissing next to the bed seemed to mock them, reminding them Dean would die without it.

John slowly walked in, staring numbly at the scars on his son's cheeks. They were even more apparent than before. Images of Dean's cheeks opening wide came flashing through his mind as the sound of Dean's scream went to his ears, so vivid that for a second he thought his son was awake. But one look at his son's peaceful face was enough to remind him his son wasn't waking up anytime soon.

"Hey Dad?" Sam started, not letting go of Dean's hand, "These guys, they're not gonna… I mean, they won't get away with this, right?"

John looked at him, hurt apparent in his eyes "You think I'd let them?" he asked, anger boiling inside him.

"No, of course not." Sam said quickly, not wanting his dad to explode right there. "It's just… when Dean wakes up, we should go after them."

John's heart skipped a beat. 'He said "when", not "if"' he thought. "We will." He vowed, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

He went to sit on the plastic chair next to the bed. They stayed like that for a long time in silence, Sam holding Dean's head and John silently praying he'd wake up. That was until Sam's phone rang, startling both of them. Giving his father a sheepish smile, he lightly put Deans' hand back on the bed and exited the room quietly.

"Hello?" he answered his phone as he came out of the hospital, shivering a little as the cold air hit his skin.

"Hey Sam, it's me." Came a familiar voice.

"Hey Bobby." Sam did his best to keep the tremor off his voice.

"What's wrong?" apparently, he wasn't much successful. "Tough hunt?"

Sam ran a hand through his messy hair. "It's not the hunt."

"Then what is it?" Bobby asked, his voice full of concern.

"Some bastard wanted revenge on Dad, and he used Dean to get to him." Sam heard Bobby curse under his breath.

"Is he ok?"

Sam could feel tears start to form in his eyes again. "No, Bobby. He's not okay."

"How bad?"

"He's in a coma and… the doctors say they don't know if he'll wake up."

"What hospital are you in?"

Sam smiled through his tears. Bobby always said families don't end with blood. And he always proved it. He barely had time to tell him the name of the hospital and Bobby hung up. Sam could almost see him grabbing his keys and his jacket and run out the door like his life depended on it. Feeling exhausted all of a sudden, Sam walked back in the hospital and went straight to Dean's room. What he found when he came in the room made his heart ache.

John was still sitting in the chair, but not in the same position though. He had an arm on Dean's bed and his head rested on this arm. The other hand was holding Dean's, clinging to it for dear life. His even breathing told Sam he had fallen asleep like that, holding his son's hand. Sam smiled sadly and went to find another chair. When he got one he settle himself in it, next to his dad. And as he leaned back in his seat, he thought it would be okay to let sleep catch up with him.


Sam was in that basement again, watching as Heverson tore his brother's cheeks apart. He was trying to get free, trying to use telekinesis even, but nothing worked. He looked around, but his Dad was nowhere to be seen. A hand came and grabbed him by his hair and forced him to look back at Dean.

His brother was on the floor, bleeding and panting, and he looked at him in the eyes. "Sam, why won't you help me?" he asked, his torn cheeks moving sickeningly as he talked.

"I'm trying." Sam said, and he really was, but Dean gave him a hard look.

"Try harder." He said, and Sam couldn't help but think he sounded like Heverson.

"I can't he said lamely."

"You can't cause you're too weak." Dean spat. "Look at me. I'm dying here, at your feet, and you can't even help me. You're useless, Sam."

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered.

"It shouldn't be that way. I should be unharmed and you should be bleeding to death. That's all you deserve!" Dean barked.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop being sorry, do something! I'm dying here!"

"I'm doing my best." He promised.

"Then your best isn't good enough. You're a failure."

Sam looked down. "I'm sorry."

Sam woke up as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He looked up to meet Bobby's eyes. "Hey kiddo."

Sam rubbed at his eyes, the nightmare lingering in his mind for a while. "Hey Bobby." He looked around only to find an empty chair beside him. "Where's Dad?"

"Went for a coffee. Met him in the corridor." Bobby offered him a smile. It vanished as he took a look at Dean though. He came closer, looking at his battered face. "Oh, my… What did they do to him?"

Sam swallowed hard. "They tortured him." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And they made us watch."

Bobby turned to look at Sam's haunted eyes. "You okay, Sammy?"

"Yeah." Sam lied. Bobby just rolled his eyes.

"Okay, cut. That was fine, Sam, but could you do it again please, this time with a little more truth? Alright, action."

Sam chuckled dryly. "What do you want me to say? How it hurt like hell to see them do this? How I would have given anything to take his place? How I felt useless as I watched him being tortured?"

Bobby sighed and sat in the chair John had been occupying. "You've got nothing to feel guilty about. There was nothing you could have done."

"Bullshit." Sam snapped. "I had a vision of all this. If I had been able to remember it at the time, none of this would have happened."

"Yeah, yeah, and if you'd been a little older at the time you could have saved your mother." Bobby said sarcastically. "Sam, this is not your fault."

Sam let Bobby's words slowly sink in then finally nodded. He looked at Dean, again avoiding looking at the tube in his throat. He glanced at his watch. 'Ten a.m.'

He sighed and sat back in his chair. He looked at Bobby and gave him a small smile. "Thanks for coming, Uncle Bobby." Bobby looked at him in surprise then smiled back.

"The last time I heard you call me that, you were ten years old." Sam shrugged.

When John came in, they'd both fallen silent again.

TBC…


See you tomorrow for next chapter!

Reviewsstill love!

nerwende