A/N: Vivi here! This is a long chapter. Didn't notice until I put it in the doc manager. Oh well. Guess you'll just have to suffer through...
John's Boys has 100 followers now! I'm pretty pumped about that. Makes me feel like my writing is at least half decent. Thanks to everyone who followed this, and to those of you who haven't yet, it's a great way to keep up to date on all my random postings...
Previous Warnings Apply.
Enjoy!
Previously on John's Boys:
Sam felt his chest clench up again; he'd nearly forgotten why they were there, sitting in the uncomfortable chairs of a hospital waiting room. "How long has it been, Dad? Does this kind of stuff usually take so long?" He glanced at the hallway behind the desk again. It was just as empty as before.
"I don't know, squirt. I've never had to deal with a kidney injury."
"Dean's gonna be okay, though, right?"
"I sure hope so, son."
"No." Sam whined, resisting the urge to stomp his foot like a child as he stood before his father, arms crossed. "I'm not going. I gotta stay with you. What if they say something about Dean?"
John counted to ten and took a deep breath. I love my sons. I love my sons.
Sam was like a gremlin. Feed him after midnight and he turns into a little monster.
Dad planted a hand on either of Sam's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "If you say no one more time, you won't be coming back tomorrow. Understood?"
"But Dad-"
"No buts. I'll call you as soon as I get any news. You have my word."
"But-"
"But nothin'. I'm your father and I know what's best for you. You need to go with Uncle Bobby and Cas and get some sleep."
"I'm not tired."
"Sam, you fell asleep in the chair right after dinner. You're exhausted."
"Am not."
"Don't lie to me. You're seizing every few minutes. I know you're tired. All I'm asking is that you get a few hours of sleep and come back first thing in the morning. I'll call when they update me on Dean's condition. Now don't be a pain in the ass; you're not doing Dean any favors sitting around in the waiting room, falling asleep every ten minutes. He's going to need you wide awake and alert when he comes to. He'll want to see that you're okay. Do you understand?"
Sam pouted. And he felt stupid for acting like a kid, but he wanted to stay, dammit. "But what if he wakes up when I'm gone?"
"Then I'll call you and Uncle Bobby will bring you and Cas back right away. But, Sam, Dean's not going to wake up until tomorrow morning at the very earliest. And even then, he probably won't remember much of the first few hours. Anesthesia that strong isn't easy to come out of."
"What if Winthrop comes and you're alone?" Sam's voice was so small that Bobby and Cas, standing across the room on the way to the exit, couldn't hear.
"I'll deal with him. Look, Sam, I know this situation isn't ideal. Hell, it's not even acceptable. But it's what's happening and we need to do our best with it, okay? You'll be back here in less than eight hours anyway. I doubt he'll be able to find us in that time; you said Dean was mostly okay when he was in the truck, right?"
"Yeah, he was talking and he could walk a little on his own."
"And the vamp doesn't know you made it off the college campus, right?"
"I don't think so."
"Then there's a good chance he and his cronies aren't even looking at nearby hospitals. He doesn't know I have you back, so even if he is checking clinics, the profile he'll be looking for will be wrong. He's not going to get far looking for a teenager brought in by other teenagers. It's not like he can search every room of a crowded hospital." John gave Sam a tiny smile and squeezed his shoulders. "Those monsters aren't going to get their hands on you boys ever again."
The fight went out of Sam; his father always knew how to make him feel safer, even if Sam didn't want him to. "You promise you'll call when they tell you about Dean?"
"You'll be the second person to know, bud."
"And you'll call Uncle Bobby if Winthrop or Lucy shows up, right? So we can come help you?"
"So Uncle Bobby can come help me." John corrected.
"Whatever. Just… just make sure my big brother is safe, okay? I wanna grow up with him this time."
"I'll do my absolute best, kiddo. I promise. Now go sleep." He let go of Sam's shoulders and nodded to Bobby to let him know that Sam was going with them.
"Wait, I-"
"Sam, I swear, if you-"
"Just listen, Dad. Just listen for once." Sam snapped, louder than he meant to.
John's smile was gone, replaced with a disapproving frown. Instead of returning the harsh tone, he simply waited for Sam to continue; maybe letting his talkative son talk a little more often would help him feel more respected. If Sam felt respected, John's life was immensely easier.
Sam, who had been expecting a shout or a growled command from his father, was surprised when all Dad did was cross his arms and frown. "I, uh… If Dean wants this, he can have it."
John looked down to see Sam's extended hand, with something resting in his palm. "The charm Uncle Bobby gave you for your tenth birthday? Why?"
"It looks tough, y'know? I think he'd like it. Maybe it'll help him feel better when he wakes up."
John took the charm and pocketed it, tousling Sammy's hair with a smile before the kid could dodge his hand. "I know it will, Sammy."
"Stop it, Dad." Sam blushed and hurried to fix his hair again, hiding the little smile he couldn't contain.
"Go get some rest. Keep your phone nearby just in case, okay?" John gently turned Sam toward the exit and gave him a gentle push.
"Okay."
"Goodnight Sammy."
"It's Sam."
"I'm your father. I'm allowed to call you what I want."
"Whatever."
"Go to sleep, squirt. Dean needs you sharp tomorrow."
John wished they would let Sam into the pediatric ICU. He could be strong for Sam, put on a brave face and act like he was taking the whole situation in stride. From the outside, John could usually be whatever he wanted to be: police officer, FBI, sympathetic parent, beer buddy, and so on. He would be anything if it meant keeping his kid safe and ridding the world of things that could hurt him.
But on his own? Beside that hospital bed? It was all John could do not to break down in tears or punch a wall or scream at the top of his lungs.
The nurse came out of the surgery suite a long time after Bobby took the boys to a motel for the night. He said Dean made it through all the procedures; it was rough, but they managed to stabilize him relatively early on in the OR and keep him stable until Dr. Rhett was finished. The nurse told him they sent Dean to the PICU, the pediatric intensive care unit, to start his recovery.
He also said no visitors except his parents were allowed into Dean's room until he woke up.
John called Sam on the way upstairs to the PICU and had him turn speaker phone on. He told them what he knew and told Bobby to keep Sam at the motel until John called with better news.
Sam didn't sound very happy but Bobby agreed to do his part.
So John just sat there in a cold plastic chair, feeling very numb and very alone.
The ventilator was a constant cycle of hiss and silence in the background. Just quiet enough to tolerate but loud enough to never be unaware of its presence. A kind nurse, one of the many on this floor, stopped in shortly after John arrived to turn the heart monitor's maddening beep off. John almost stopped her- he didn't want anything to happen while no one was watching- but the nurse assured him that they had another monitor attached to him in the nurse's station that would start blaring if anything were to go wrong. That was the first thing anyone had told him that made him feel even remotely better. Unfortunately, that didn't last long.
Hustle and bustle was a given at any hospital and normally, the sounds- talking, carts going by, people walking like elephants, angry beeping machinery from somewhere else in the PICU- normally that stuff didn't bother him. Sam had been in the PICU a couple times after seizure induced falls or injuries, and once or twice because something they were hunting got him. But Sammy was never unconscious when they arrived at the hospital. He was never hurt that badly. They never stayed more than three days at any given clinic; Sam had never gone more than eight hours in the PICU.
The off-white wall paper in the room, complete with tiny, pale, vine patterns, was suddenly way too much to handle; it was nighttime after all. John got up as quietly as he could and turned most of the lights in the room off. He left just one: the very dimmest overhead light in the ceiling. It was dark enough to not cast noticeable shadows, but light enough that John could still see his little boy.
It hurt to even look at him. Not that he had any extremely visible injuries or anything; Dean looked almost peaceful in sleep. He was tucked in tight, a light blanket resting over the sheets, which John adjusted now and then as the building's heating system kicked on and off. The head of the bed was raised so that he could breathe easily without having to struggle against the mucus that was still in his lungs. Not that he was doing most of the breathing; the vent was doing that for him. The clear plastic tube that went down his son's throat was there not out of necessity, but because the doctors didn't want to risk not having it during his surgeries; endotracheal tubes took seconds to deploy, but those were seconds that Dean, in his state at the time, might not have had to spare. It also kept his lungs from expanding too much; a deep breath would hurt like hell, since his diaphragm would have to push his kidneys down for him to breathe.
No, Dean was a sight for sore eyes to John. It brought a comforting reassurance to his mind to be able to see Dean and know that he really was alive. But even being in his presence was a painful reminder of just how much John had failed.
He failed Dean when the kid was four and John couldn't stop his mother from burning to death.
He failed Dean when he was five by leaving him and his brother alone and open to attack.
He failed Dean when he was six and John let Bobby convince him to abandon the raid on that nest, while Dean was there, in the shed, yelling for his Daddy.
He failed Dean each year after that, each year that they weren't together, that John couldn't protect him, that Sammy didn't know he had a brother.
He failed Dean when he didn't immediately take him to the hospital after finding him, both in the woods and in the city.
He failed Dean when he didn't make his own son feel safe enough to stick around, to stay with his family. Dean ran because John was keeping things from him.
He failed Dean when a vampire showed up close to home and he didn't know.
He failed Dean when he watched helplessly as the boy was thrown into that van.
And when hours went by and he couldn't find either of his kids.
And when all three of the boys were bit; when part of them became food for a hungry fang.
And when Dean nearly died because John didn't have the sense to figure that the van had left the city. He hadn't been able to drive fast enough to get there when Dean was still awake and coherent.
John failed his oldest son. Period.
He wondered if he should get that tattooed somewhere. But then again, it wasn't like he'd ever be able to forget.
Hopefully seeing Dean's smiling face every day until he moved out- and then still after that, but not as often- would be reminder enough.
At least the kid wasn't dead pale anymore. Five units of blood, a whole two and a half quarts, had to be used to keep him alive. Dean lost so much blood that his heart rate was through the roof and the general surgeon wasn't sure if the natural pump would make it long enough for them to stop the bleed and keep the transfused blood in his veins.
Doc said there might be some organ damage because there wasn't enough blood to supply oxygen to his whole body for a pretty long time.
John's heart fell.
Now, waiting mostly patiently at his son's side, John just wanted him to wake up. He needed with every fiber of his being to convince Dean that he was his son. That he was loved. And treasured. And wanted.
But until those dinosaur green eyes opened, John would be there with one hand monitoring his son's pulse at his wrist and the other arm serving as a pillow while he rested his head on the side of the hospital bed, at Dean's good side.
"I'm sorry, son. I'm here now. Promise."
At first, John hadn't been sure if Dean was sleeping with the help of some heavy duty pain medication, or unconscious due to all the trauma.
Turns out he was sleeping, sedated.
And having nightmares.
"Shh, kiddo. Hey, I'm here. You don't have to be scared. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, okay?"
It was already well after one in the morning. The father really hoped that his littlest was having a much easier time sleeping than his oldest was because if he had to deal with two- or three, counting Cas- pissy teenage boys tomorrow, he may well lose his mind. That being said, John chose not to call Sam when Dean started having nightmares. He'd call if Dean woke up, of course, but this new development didn't seem particularly ground breaking.
Definitely not as ground breaking as the meltdown John would have if Sam pushed too many buttons tomorrow. The man hadn't slept since Bobby forced that two hour power down on him back in Temple.
"You're safe, Dean." John frowned at the pain and fear that was etched onto his son's face. The kid was wriggling around- tiny movements, really- kicking or trying to bat at something every now and then, only to be thwarted by the tightly wrapped blanket. Dean was turning his head just a little at John's voice, but still seemed completely absorbed in whatever was scaring him.
A heavy sigh left John. He knew Dean hated to be touched, and he thought monitoring his pulse for so long would be pushing it, but there was nothing else he could do to calm the kid when he was unconscious and fighting against his own mind.
Sam usually felt better after some chick flick stuff, as long as they silently agreed not to talk about it ever again. Hopefully Dean would feel the same.
John ran his fingers through Dean's hair, gently and slowly.
"I'm right here."
It didn't take long for his son's face to relax, his body to go limp, and his breath to even out. Once again, Dean looked peaceful in sleep.
And John had his first tiny burst of hope. Something in you knows me. You still trust me, even if you have a hard time admitting it to yourself. One day there won't be a doubt in your mind that you can rely on me, kiddo. I promise you.
A hand whacked John's head. Not hard enough to trigger a violent response, but enough to wake him from where he'd fallen asleep in the chair with his head and arms on the side of Dean's bed.
"Dean?" The father had his eyes open and his head up within three seconds. What if Dean was finally awake? What if he needed something, or something was wrong? What if there was something in room that he was trying to alert John to?
The seventeen year old was still sound asleep. His hand rolled back and forth under the blanket, knocking into John's arm shortly after it collided with his head. There was no one else in the small room.
"What are you looking for?" John wondered if that was even what Dean was doing; for all John knew, the kid could've just been trying to get his wrist out of John's grasp. Maybe he felt confined.
He was, but John didn't think he'd be able to tell while he was so deep in sleep.
Dean let his wrist be captured by John's hand. He stopped moving it, but the same pained, fearful expression returned to his face. This time, though, Dean's hand was clenching, squeezing whatever it could find in a kind of desperate, weak search.
For what, John didn't know.
"Hey, kiddo. Can you wake up for me?" John asked quietly, both watching and feeling Dean's pulse get quicker. "What's wrong? What's happening in there?"
It seemed like Dean was trying to breathe against the ventilator, his ribs moving automatically instead of from the force of the air pushed into his lungs.
"Calm down, son. You're safe here, no one's going to hurt you."
The clenching quickened and he fought harder with the machine.
"Just let the ventilator do its job, Dean. It's helping you."
His words didn't stop Dean from trying to breathe on his own.
John really hoped putting something in Dean's hand would calm him down. He had a feeling that the kid wanted his beads, but John didn't know where those were at the moment. So he tried to get creative.
The sheets, blanket, and hospital gown were already rejects.
John tried his own hand. As expected, Dean squeezed for a moment before releasing and trying to move away, the fearful look only growing more defined in his expression.
Gauze: rejected.
Remote: rejected.
Dry erase marker: rejected.
John's wallet: rejected.
Part of an extra pillow: rejected.
Looking around, John tried to think of anything else he could try. Maybe something that felt like the beads would work.
He couldn't find anything that would feel like four chunky little beads. Not even in the supply cabinet near the door.
"I don't have the beads, Dean. I'm sorry." John said softly, scrubbing his hands over his face while Dean's panic only seemed to get worse.
The thought that popped into John's head wasn't of his own creation.
'I, uh… If Dean wants this, he can have it.'
'The charm Uncle Bobby gave you for your tenth birthday? Why?'
'It looks tough, y'know? I think he'd like it. Maybe it'll help him feel better when he wakes up.'
Sammy to the rescue. John reached into his pocket and pulled out the little tribal charm that his youngest had kept on his backpack for years. "I really hope this works."
Slowly, gently, John worked the charm into Dean's palm, careful not to let his fingers get in the way when the hand closed. For thirty tense seconds, Dean held onto the thing, his expression still just as heartbreaking as it had been earlier. But then, all at once, Dean relaxed.
John checked under the sheet. The boy was still holding tight to the charm, just as John had hoped.
"You think he's ready to come off the vent?" An older nurse with long brown hair held a clipboard and pointed at John with her pen. She'd seemed unconvinced when John told her that Dean was trying to breathe on his own. "We'll have Doc decide on that one."
"Can you call him, then? I can tell he doesn't like fighting that thing." John motioned to the tube coming out of his son's mouth. "And the doctor said earlier that he wouldn't need it for very long."
"Dr. Evan went home for the night, Mr. Valent. Dr. Leoncio is in now. I'll tell her what you told me." The nurse, Yolanda, turned and walked out before John could say another word.
"This is a shit hospital, kid." John grumbled to his son, who was still sleeping peacefully. The father looked his boy over and sighed. "We need to get you far away from this place as soon as possible. Won't be long before the fang comes sniffin' around here."
John would have liked to think that Dean agreed. But all he did was try to breathe against the vent again and squeeze his eyes a little further shut when air was forced down his throat anyway.
An hour later, Dr. Leoncio cleared Dean to be taken off the vent. She told him that Dean was her third stop of the day and she'd already been there for two hours. "This really was a priority, Mr. Valent. I had a surgery and a psych case to handle before I could make it down here. I wish the nurses could take the endo tubes out but this hospital has the weirdest insurance. I just don't get it most of the time. Anyway, would you like to be in the room when I take it out? Some parents can't handle the procedure."
"I'll stay." I sewed him up. I think I can handle this.
"Suit yourself."
It happened fast. And then it was done. Dean took a deep breath and winced, releasing a pitiful whimper and a series of shallow, weak coughs. "He was on an inhaler, I take it?"
"Yeah. Albuterol, got it after his stay for pneumonia."
"Makes sense. Dr. Evan put him on IV antibiotics, correct?"
"Sure did. For the pneumonia and the chlamydia."
Dr. Leoncio frowned. "May I ask how he got an STD? He's only seventeen."
"He was raped." John returned the doctor's frown and that ended that conversation.
"Oh. Sorry to hear that. The nurses will be by every fifteen minutes to check on him. Push the button if you need someone. And let us know when he wakes up. Should be any time now." Dr. Leoncio smiled- very stiffly- and left.
John looked at his son, who looked much happier now that he didn't have plastic forcing air into his body. "Hopefully we can get those infections under control before you're discharged. I don't want to know what those bugs were up to when you didn't have your meds."
Dean coughed.
The only downside to having Dean breathe on his own was that now, he could make noise.
John had fallen asleep again after a long conversation with Bobby about how the kids were doing. They were both asleep when Bobby answered, and doing okay, given the circumstances. Bobby mentioned that some of his contacts were reporting vampiric activity nearby, from a few days ago they thought. They seemed to think it was just one lone fang, but they weren't sure.
The pair agreed that it was time to fly the coop.
John let Bobby know, however, that the hospital wouldn't allow Dean to be transferred to a different hospital until he was awake and stable. Bobby had a few choice words about that, but relented once John told him that Dean could wake up anytime now. They wouldn't be around past three in the afternoon if he could help it.
And John was really hoping that the noises coming from his son meant that he was waking up.
But of course, that wouldn't be his kind of luck.
Dean was having another nightmare.
"N-nah, I- stop… lemme- lemme go. Please." The soft mumbles tore at John's heart. He watched the too familiar pain and fear color his little trooper's face, this time with a dash of panic added in.
"'m sick, st- stoppit. I don'- no, lemme- Da-"
"Dean, you're dreaming. Wake up." John called gently but firmly. "We need to go-"
"No, no, Sammy… n- leave 'im- let 'im go. Let him go!" Dean's shout made John flinch and the scared sounds and struggling against the sheets afterward didn't help anything.
"Sam's fine, son. He's okay." John said, tentatively resting his hand over Dean's, which still had a death grip on the little charm.
"I can't… Sam-my… Wi'throp's gonna… Dad's gotta…" Dean's nose wrinkled and his eyes squeezed shut even tighter, forcing a drop of saltwater out. He looked like he was weathering some intense pain.
John watched the tear roll down Dean's cheek as he struggled against the sheets and- for just a moment- his new shoulder brace. Maybe he needs more pain meds?
"Sam's safe. You're safe. I'm here now, and I plan to stay." John said, finally giving up on trying to respect Dean's wish to not be touched. Just as Dean started to mumble again, John carded his fingers through that sandy blond hair, gentle and slow. And Dean fell silent and still, but didn't relax.
And John felt like shit. "You never should've had to go through all that, Dean. I take full responsibility. And I'm gonna take care of you no matter what. I promise."
The father let his hand fall to the back of his son's neck, which he squeezed lightly in hopes of lulling his child back to into a peaceful sleep.
The action had the opposite effect.
Dean breathed in deep- not deep enough to hurt though- and let it out slowly. He waited for the onslaught of screaming nerves and burning pain to come, but they never did. His whole body felt relaxed, pain free. Is this what Heaven feels like?
Wait- is Sammy safe? Did Cas make it out?
Most of his body was chilly; he had goosebumps everywhere. The only warm places were his face and the back of his neck. And the longer he waited, the cooler his face got; his neck stayed blissfully warm. Really, truly warm.
Something on his neck moved, but it wasn't… it wasn't bad or scary, he didn't think.
And then there was warmth in his hair and his neck was cooling down. The soothing feeling had him frustratingly curious and all at once, he realized his eyes were closed.
It wasn't easy pulling them open. Everything was so blurry but not too bright. Not a hospital, then. No blinding lights, no pain, no fear? Gotta be Heaven.
"There he is."
What the hell? Dean forced his eyes open further and blinked slowly a few times to try to get them adjusted and focused. He rolled his head to his left- realizing that he was laying down at the same time- toward the voice and blinked some more, taking comfort in the fact that the warmth wasn't gone yet. It was still working its way slowly through his hair, over and over, from front to back.
He was so tired. Why would he be tired in Heaven?
"Let's see those dino eyes, huh?"
Dino eyes? But…
The room finally came into focus.
And then everything came into focus.
John smiled when his son's eyes locked on him, widening for a split second before the tension visibly rolled out of the kid's shoulders. "I'm here, son. You're safe."
Dean just blinked for a minute, staring at the one man he couldn't believe was actually there. Not Heaven, but close enough. Dad to the rescue. "Sam?" He croaked, coughing weakly for a few seconds afterward and wincing when a mild ache tugged at his side. There's the pain. Haven't been out too long, then.
A grin tugged at the edges of John's lips. Of course that would be the first thing out of his mouth. "He's safe, too. He's at a motel with the other kid. With Cas. My very trustworthy friend is watching over them while they catch a few z's. It's just you and me right now."
Dean didn't know if it was John or some drug or a brain injury or something else, but he felt safe. He felt utterly and completely safe with the man he'd only known for a few weeks watching out for him. Even so, a simple nod was all Dean could manage in reply.
"You're in a hospital, Dean. Do you understand?" John asked, removing his hand from the kid's head and dropping it to rest just beside Dean's wrist, on top of the blanket.
Dean nodded again, closing his eyes for a few seconds to suppress a coughing fit he felt coming on. When he opened his eyes again, he found a set of concerned albeit relieved eyes looking back.
"The vampire hurt you. You lost a lot of blood because of a damaged kidney and your shoulder is pretty thoroughly screwed up now; got yourself a brand new, heavy duty brace. This is a hell of a lot harder to take off than the sling. Doc's hoping you think twice before ditching it next time. You missed a lot of antibiotics, too, so the doctor pulled out the big guns again to keep your bugs from getting superpowers while we aren't looking. And you're on the nausea med that doesn't make you crazy. Do you understand?"
Another nod. Dean remembered the man at the park kicking him; if he ever saw that shithead again, he'd make sure he suffered the same kind of pain. And maybe more. In his mind's eye, Dean saw the blood in the urinal and nearly growled. All that blood loss wasn't from Winthrop, though he certainly didn't help anything by taking a few sips. Dean knew it was his own fault his shoulder was messed up worse now; honestly, he was surprised that he could tell it was there at all. It wasn't completely numb anymore.
John swallowed hard, his grin completely gone and forgotten. "You, uh… Sam and Cas kept you safe until we got there, but by the time we figured out what was happening, you… They gave you five units of blood, kiddo. You were almost out when they got you into the OR so…" He sighed again, wiping a hand down his face and taking a deep breath before continuing. Dean needed to know what was going on as soon as possible so they could get out of that city as soon as possible. "Doc said the lack of oxygen might have damaged some organs. Not your brain, but…"
Dean nodded. He knew the consequences of significant blood loss, having been through it a time or two. Then again, he hadn't gone through organ damage those times and he really didn't know what that would mean for the future. Oh. Gotta think about the future again. I have a future again.
"You understand. Good. Uh… They- you had surgery on that busted kidney. They managed to save it, so you still have 'em both. Fixed your shoulder, too, while you were under." John motioned to the bulky brace encasing Dean's right arm. "Tore a tendon, a muscle or two. It'll take a while to heal."
Dean rolled his eyes and grinned just a little when John smiled at the action he was so familiar with. "Sam told me what you did. You knew it would hurt like a bitch and wreck your rotator cuff but you did it anyway."
Dean just nodded.
John sighed, his smile lost. "I don't agree with what you did, but you saved three lives doing it. And I probably would've done the same thing. Especially for Sammy. I'm proud of you, but if you ever pull that shit again, you'll be grounded until you're thirty."
That got a weak snort and a smile out of the exhausted kid in the bed. It was everything John needed at that moment. "We'll get you all fixed up, after we move again. But for now, we need to get out of this city. We took you to the nearest hospital, Dean, so we're only twenty minutes from that college. It's way too close for my liking."
"Why?" Dean's voice only sounded marginally better than the first time. At least he didn't cough again.
"Why? Because your kidnappers could still be nearby, that's why. I can't let them find you again."
"No."
"No what?" John couldn't figure out what his son was getting at.
"Why… why are you… still here?" Dean winced at the pain in his throat and the ache in his teeth and jaw. He was pretty sure he knew what that was from, and it wasn't anything terrifying; he'd been intubated before. Werewolves, and some hunters, liked to strangle kids who didn't follow every rule to a T.
John wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm not leaving you, Dean. We aren't going to let you go off and get hurt- or killed."
"But 's my fight." Dean hardened his eyes and frowned, choosing to ignore the slur in his words.
John did the same. "Like hell it is. You are not going near that vampire or that woman again, y'hear me? That's final."
"Not the boss a'me."
"Oh yes I am. I'm your father, dammit, whether you believe it or not. What I say goes. And I say we're moving far away and laying low until I can find those SOBs and end them. Without you or Sam within a hundred mile radius." John crossed his arms and sat back in the uncomfortable chair. "You two are all I have and I'm not risking my sons like that again."
"Really?" Dean asked after a long while of tense silence. The fight was slowly going out of his posture and expression even before he spoke. You… you make it seem like I'm important, but… how can I know you're actually my father? All that other stuff could have been made up, or lucky guesses. I need solid proof. Something only Dad would know, or have. I can't keep living like this, not knowing if I belong. But… does it really matter if we're related? He makes me feel like I belong. And he already treats me like I'm his flesh-and-blood kid. Maybe… maybe he doesn't have to be my dad to be my Dad.
"Yeah, really. The last time I screwed up that bad, you were kidnapped by a vampire whose mate I killed while there was no one to protect you. I should've been there, Dean. I should've protected you like any half-decent father would have. You and Sammy were- and still are- the only reasons I get up in the morning. And I messed up so bad that I spent the next twelve years writing missing child reports and grilling hunters for any information on the vamp who took you or any nest that held humans or preyed on kids. I never stopped looking, Dean. You should know that I- I posted a missing child report in Orem, three days before we went after the wendigo. It took me so long to find you…" John said quietly, unable to look at his baby until the very end of his rant.
Dean was crying.
And John felt even worse. "I'm sorry, kiddo, I never meant- had I thought for even a second that you were in danger… I…"
"No, not that. Are you… really…" Dean swallowed hard and braced himself for the answer. "Are you my Dad?"
John's eyes started leaking, too, and he looked at the floor; must've been something in the air. With a sad smile, unable to look at his kid, he replied. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm the idiot who lost you. You're my little trooper."
"And I can handle anything."
John's eyes shot up and met his son's equally as shocked gaze. The kid had his mouth hanging open, eyes wide as saucers, face pale; he hadn't meant to say anything at all. The response was just automatic, something engrained in his very soul. Then, all of a sudden, Dean's face flushed bright red.
And John grinned wider than he had in a very long time.
"Oorah." The pair spoke at the same time, leaving John a sentimental mush of chick flick emotion and Dean a shocked, excited, amazed, shaking mess.
That's- how did he- but that was our thing. Dad and me, we used to- that was 'love you'. That was our thing, when he went out… How… There's no way. There's… there's no… Daddy?
"Dad?" He exclaimed, louder than he meant to. You found me? You really found me? The normally warm feeling that flooded his chest when Dad struck a cord with him showed up, but it was much hotter, and frantic, and almost painful. It was like twelve years of warm feelings fighting to squeeze into his ribs all at once.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you." John said through the tears and the grin and the relief of finally having his son back. Really, actually back.
Hopefully forever.
Dean had been away from his family for a very long time. He'd forgotten what he used to look like, what Mommy and Daddy looked like, and what the baby looked like. He lost his own last name and that of his brother. He forgot how Mommy died, and what Daddy's car was; he remembered spending ages in the backseat, next to the baby's rear facing car seat. He remembered making faces at the baby when he got fussy to buy Daddy a few more minutes before he had a meltdown. But he forgot his brother's giggle, his laugh, and Daddy's voice was just a distant rumble. Anything that didn't have to do with survival was pushed aside to keep him alive, even if survival wasn't really living.
Sam's name had been Dean's biggest regret; he hated himself for losing it. But now that he knew the baby's name, now that he knew the baby, there was just one more thing to ask. Just one more bit of information that he had to know.
The first words off of Dean's lips were not what John expected.
"When's Sam's birthday?"
"Why do you want to know that?" The question puzzled John and his smile was lost. Why on earth would Dean want the very first bit of real, tangible information about his actual life to be his brother's birthday?
"Cuz I spent twelve years… wondering what season he was born in." Dean had to close his eyes and breathe; he had a million questions but he was exhausted, still shaking, and he knew he couldn't hold on for very much longer. He had to get the most important information before anything else.
A small smile returned to John's face. Kid never left his mind. He's a big brother, through and through. "May 2, 1983. He's thirteen now."
"May." Dean's grin was huge. He knew the kid was a springtime baby. The world was never quite so awful in the spring. There wasn't perpetual ice to fall on and crack your skull when anything- or anyone- shoved you. There weren't blisteringly hot days that left horribly painful burns on your skin after you spent the afternoon burying or burning a dead werewolf. There wasn't the ominous cooling weather that made you run inside before she had a chance to realize you were back and lock the door. There wasn't any issue with sleeping in the shed out back; in fact, sometimes you'd just sleep, voluntarily, under the stars and wonder where the people who meant the most to you were at that moment. Because in the spring, there was life and there was hope for a better year than the one before.
"Yours is January 24, 1979. You're seventeen, kiddo."
Dean's eyes met John's again and a hint of true excitement shone through. "So… so I'm almost eighteen, for real?"
"Yeah. You're practically all grown up."
Father and son shared a lighthearted grin until Dean's eyes lit up again, his smile growing bigger than John thought he'd ever seen it.
"Can we get pie for my birthday? Like- like cherry, or apple?"
"Kiddo, we'll get both if that's what you want."
It didn't go unnoticed by John when Dean's eyelids started to droop despite the infallible grin. Try as he might, the kid couldn't work up the energy to stay awake very much longer. He couldn't stop beaming, though; this was one of the best days of his life. "You're the bes', Dad."
Suddenly, Dean became aware of something in his hand. The hand he could feel. "Wha's this?" With more effort than Dean thought it should've taken, he lifted his hand and opened it to reveal a small piece of metal shaped like a head. It looked familiar, but it wasn't his. He knew that much.
"Sammy left that for you. He thought you might like it, hoped it would help you feel better. He's probably had that thing strapped to his back pack for three years by now."
"I feel bett'r a'ready." He closed his hand and returned it to the bed, holding tight to the gift from his little brother. My little brother.
"Get some rest. I'll keep you safe and I'll be right here when you wake up."
"I know."
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