Sorry this took so long to get out guys, and I apologize in advance for the end of the chapter...it looks like it's probably going to be another week before I can update again...I have a cumulative final and a surgery observation this week as well as packing to go home for break and God only knows what else...I'll try to get the next chapter out as soon as possible...

Chapter 3

"Daddy? I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. It's my fault, but I didn't mean it. Honest. I know you hate me and I'm so sorry I didn't protect him, and I'm sorry I couldn't fix it."

The man's features softened as soon as he saw Dean. He hadn't expected his oldest son to look so horrible, to sound so forlorn, and any thoughts of lecturing the boy about running off unsafely were gone in an instant. Paternal instincts kicked in and he rose swiftly, racing to his son before dropping to his knees and enveloping his oldest boy into the largest hug he could muster. He let out the breath he felt he had been holding since he had first seen Sam.

"What's this nonsense you're talking, son?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy, I didn't mean for Sammy to die. It's all my fault, and I know you hate me now. I failed, Daddy. You told me to keep him safe and instead I killed him. I didn't want this to happen, not at all. I didn't mean for the ball to go into the street, I swear. I didn't…I didn't." Dean trailed off into sobs again, and clutched his father's shirt, bawling into the man's shoulder.

"Shh…Dean. Dean, calm down. Dean…" he pulled his son away from his shoulders and tried to wipe the tears from his son's eyes. "Listen to me, Dean. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known what was going to happen. You…wait," John looked into his son's eyes, seeing the pure despair there.

"Dean. Dean, you didn't kill Sammy."

"Yes, I…" Dean tried to interrupt his father, but the man just put a finger to the boy's lips, silencing him.

"Dean, you didn't kill Sammy. You didn't. He…"

Dean protested again, and John raised his voice to stop his son. "Dean, stop this. You didn't kill him. Sammy isn't dead."

Dean's breath caught in his throat. His hands shook on his father's chest and his jaw dropped. Suddenly, his legs couldn't hold him up, and he felt himself slumping to the floor. He was vaguely aware of being lifted into his father's arms like when he was younger and cuddled close. He buried his face in his father's neck uncharacteristically, and took what comfort he could from his father's rare show of emotion.

The man slumped heavily back into the chair and rocked his son, whispering over and over that it was going to be okay, that Sam was going to be okay, that it wasn't Dean's fault. He rocked the boy until he could feel the boy's back rising and falling evenly; Dean had cried himself to sleep in pure relief.

The dreams that came to Dean intensified his guilt and made him feel even worse. Subconsciously, he felt horrible about the fact that he was safe in his father's arms and Sam was who knows where, alone and hurt. Dean saw his brother's funeral, saw his father crying openly at the loss of his youngest son. He saw them fighting evil, and falling, because they had both been distracted when the demon mentioned Sam. He saw people he didn't even know dying because they weren't around to help. It was a lot of weight to fall on his little shoulders.

Dean woke with a yell and launched himself from his father's slack fingers, yelling for his brother. He didn't know what he was going to do, didn't really even understand where he was as he was still half asleep; he just knew that he had to make sure Sam was going to be okay. He couldn't die; he just couldn't.

Dean snapped to attention when his father grabbed his arms, forcing the boy to look at him and waited for him to wake fully.

"I have to find him, Dad. I have to apologize. He has to be all right."

"Dean, calm down. The doctor's are trying to help him; you have to wait to apologize for running off. He doesn't even know you did. The EMT's said that you saved his life, Dean; you have nothing to apologize for." John wasn't going to let unfounded guilt cloud his son's head. He could lecture the boy about running off scared later; that was no way for a hunter to act.

"Have nothing to apologize for?" Dean's raised voice was incredulous. "Nothing? It's my fault he's hurt! I did it. It's my fault; he's hurt because of me. Me, Dad, don't you get it? It's all because of me!"

"Dean, you couldn't have stopped that car. It's the driver's fault, not yours."

"Do you even know what happened? Sam wouldn't have been in the street if it wasn't for ME, not anywhere near whoever hit him. It's MY FAULT!" Dean was screaming at the top of his lungs and started pounding on his father's chest, stopping the man from quieting him and quelling his guilt. "MINE!"

John looked oddly at his son. "What do you mean, Dean? What happened out there?" He realized that no one had told him why his boy was in the street at all, just that he had been hit by a car and they were doing their best to save him. He had watched, hopeless and dejected, as air was pumped into Sam's lungs until the boy had coughed weakly, called for Dean, and then went silent. There was no one with John to tell him anything else; and, once the ambulance had reached the hospital, he had been led to the seat he was now at, and that was it.

Dean sniffled and lifted bloodshot eyes to search his father's. Tear tracks marred his face, and he refused to wipe them away. "Sam wouldn't have been in the road if it weren't for me. I didn't mean for the ball to go in the road, Dad. He was bugging me when I was trying to talk to Emily, and I kicked the ball over his head. I didn't know he was going to chase after it; I just wanted him to leave me alone." He paused to sniffle and breathe before starting again. "The ball must have gone into the street and he chased after it. Emily yelled and I saw the car run Sammy over. He…he flew so high in the air, and I didn't know what to do. He was so bloody; his arm was a mess. I fixed it like you showed me, but then he stopped breathing. Emily and her mom helped, and then the ambulance came, but they said there was no hope and…and…and…" he whispered the rest, "I ran away."

John had started backing away from his son when he realized that Dean had placed some girl as a higher priority than his younger brother, and was now pressed up against the wall behind him. Any sympathy he had had for the boy beforehand was gone, replaced with anger borne of fear for Sam. The man wasn't thinking straight, and could only feel the rage that stemmed from his helplessness to protect the boys. He didn't even realize how cold he sounded.

"I can't believe you, Dean. You let him down and worse, you caused this. He's lying on some cold hospital bed by himself because your hormones took charge. I trusted you to protect him, thought you were mature enough to realize that Sam is all we have left…all I have left of your mother." John stalked off, leaving his son heartbroken in the middle of the hallway.

"You have me too," Dean whispered before breaking down, falling to his knees and covering his face with his hands. Tears pooled in the palms of his hands and spilled over, soaking into the torn jean shorts that he sported.

John caught sight of his oldest in a window as he continued to stalk off, berating himself for losing it, but something in him snapped. He turned back to the boy and lifted him by the arm until he was standing. "Don't ever let me see you cry like this again, do you hear me? These tears are pointless and can't do anything to help Sam now. Do you think he would want to see you like this? Do you think that would make him feel better? You need to think of him, not yourself first, and crying like a baby girl is not a good way to show it."

Dean's eyes dried instantly, his face paled, his mouth clamped shut. Fear stoned all of his features, and he slowly nodded, gulping when his father threw his arm down and stormed off again. Unconsciously, the boy grabbed his arm where his father had clamped down on it, and he curled into the nearest chair, staring straight ahead and breathing brokenly. He knew his father was worried about Sam, and could hear it in his voice even as the man was yelling at him, but the words still etched into his memory. If his tears would make Sam worse off in anyway, then Dean wouldn't hurt him anymore. He vowed only to let himself break down again if he lost his brother for good. It was the last time Dean would cry for ten years.

Dean must have fallen asleep or zoned out, because the next thing he knew, his father was standing in front of him again. The boy could see his father's lips moving, but he couldn't make out the words; he was consumed in his worries for Sam. They should have heard something by now, they should know if Sam was going to be okay of if he was going to…Dean couldn't finish that train of thought. His brother was strong; there was no way that some car was going to beat him. Sam was destined to help Dean and his father rid the world of evil, nothing as normal as an out-of-control driver could take him away. The boy realized that he didn't know how to live without the boy tagging along at his side; he couldn't remember life before Sam other than the few scattered memories of his mother.

"Dean…Dean, can you even hear me? Are you listening to me? Dean?" John was worried. He had been standing in front of his son for almost twenty minutes, trying to get the boy to understand that he hadn't really meant to sound so angry with him; that he was just worried. But Dean was staring off into space, and seemed almost catatonic. John was starting to feel true fear that he would lose both of his sons tonight. He hadn't meant to be gone so long, and had tried to make it back early to surprise the boys, but, he mused, he supposed he shouldn't have left them in the first place. He wouldn't anymore, he decided. From now on, wherever John went to hunt, the boys went too. Sam could stay locked in the Impala until he was old enough to help, but never again would he leave the boys so unprotected.

"Dean." John shook his son finally, having been truly frightened by the blank stare that his son was locked in. He smiled grimly as his boy shook his head and locked eyes with him, fear shooting out at him as Dean was unsure of what his father was going to say next. He gulped.

"Dad. I'm sorry, really I am. I know you trusted me with Sammy, and I messed up. I guess I'm just not good enough to look out for him. I guess he isn't safe with me." The pure shame and remorse in the simple words cut John's soul to shreds, and he had to make it right with his oldest boy.

"No, Dean. I didn't mean it like that. I know you're getting older, and you don't always want your baby brother hanging around, but that's the life we lead and he doesn't have anyone else. I…"

"I know that, Dad. I don't know why I did what I did. Sammy shouldn't be around me, I understand that, I'll just get him hurt."

"No. Dean. Listen to me. You protect your brother better than anyone else in the world could protect him; better than I could ever hope to. Your mother called him your little shadow and that's what he is. He's your responsibility, and it would be a poor way to show how mature you can be if you just dumped him off on someone else; on me."

"I would never dump Sammy anywhere." The vehemence that showed only in Dean's voice when someone dared to question his and Sam's relationship was icy and harsh. It made John smile; his son, at least his older one, was going to be all right. And this would teach him a lesson too; the father was sure that Dean would be much more concerned for his baby brother's well-being now that this had happened. John hated to use the boys like this, but in their line of work, he would have had to be completely oblivious to think that he would always come out of every hunt. If something happened to him, he needed to know that the boys could survive. He was more sure of that now than ever. If Sam came out of this, that is.

"Good." It was all he offered Dean, but it was all he knew how to do. He pulled the boy out of the seat in the hallway. "There's a television down the hall, and some vending machines. What do you say we head down there? The nurses said they'd find us there if they heard anything on your brother."

Dean just nodded, still unsure of what his status would be with Sam when…not if, but when…the boy would wake up. He knew that now, more than ever, he had to protect his little brother from everything he could, and even everything he couldn't. He had to make this up to Sam somehow.

Dean and John both stared at the television, neither sure of what they were watching, not really aware of the passage of time. They were both berating themselves for putting Sam at risk, and making promises that they would never do it again. There was no way for either of them to know how long they had been at it when something grabbed the younger Winchester's attention.

Dean's eyes focused on the television again, taking in the breaking news broadcast that was filling the screen. He watched as some reported talked into the microphone, but the volume was muted and the boy had to wait for the cameraman to widen the shot again. He could have sworn he saw it, but couldn't be certain until it came into view again.

And there it was. A red sports car with New Jersey plates. The numbers matched. It was the wreck of a car that had tried to steal Sam's life away from him.

"Dad," he barely breathed, and a shiver coursed through him. Immense hatred flowed through his veins, and the boy hoped that whoever had been driving the car was in pieces on the road somewhere. He hoped that the driver was dead and had died painfully. He knew that if he hadn't, then Dean wanted to find him and rip him limb from limb.

John looked up at his son's voice and caught the glimpse of absolute loathing in the boy's eyes. He followed Dean's gaze to the television and saw the news footage of the car wreck.

"Dean, you don't know that that is the same…"

"Yes. Yes I do. The car is the same make and year, the plates are the same, and I can feel it. That's the car that hit Sammy."

"You're sure?"

Dean turned to look at his father, and the man had never trusted his son's word more than he did in that moment. His boy didn't normally wear his heart on his sleeve, and it took a lot to pull his emotions out to be plainly seen, but John had always been able to read his son through his eyes; the boy would tell you exactly what he was feeling if only you took the time to really see him.

"Then it looks like he got what he deserved, doesn't it?"

"I hope he's dead. If not, I'm going to find him, and I'm going to kill him. I swear it on Mom. He won't get away with this."

The absolute evil that came from Dean's mouth shocked his father, and the mention of the boys' mother almost sent him out of it. In that instant, being reminded of Mary, John agreed with his son. But age also brings reason, and despite the blinding hate, he was able to put it aside to reason with his son.

But no amount of reasoning could sway Dean, and John fervently hoped, for both boys' sakes, that the driver of the red sports car had already traveled on to whatever awaited him.

It was only a short while later when Dean saw a pair of paramedics slowly walking in beside a stretcher. He only heard the letters "MVA" and "DOA" uttered, but he understood them and rose to see the body. He wandered over unimpeded, and stared with utter contempt. He listened as the medic spoke to the nurses at the front desk and could tell that the man was trying to get a phone number, but was more concerned with what he said next.

"Yeah, this is the one from that wreck on TV. It's a pity too. Kid was driving without her seatbelt on and was drunk. She had her whole life ahead of her too. Wonder what she would have become?"

Dean was livid as he stared at the bloody blonde hair and the delicate, red hand. "She would have been dead one way or another." He wasn't even aware that he was speaking out loud, but he garnered everyone's attention nonetheless. "I would have killed her if she hadn't died. She got the easy way out." He was almost shaking in anger.

"What do you mean, kid? You should have more respect. She's dead, you know."

"Respect? Did she have any respect when she screamed around the corner near my home and hit my brother? Did she have any respect for the fact that she just drove off after she hit an eight-year old without even stopping to see if he was okay? I won't have respect for someone like that. Not ever."

"She hit a kid? Wait, was your brother the one we brought in earlier; had stopped breathing and the like? You're the kid that ran away when we got there?"

Dean rolled his eyes and just nodded.

The medic licked his lips. "Well I'm sorry, then kid. But maybe we don't have the whole story, you know? There could have been a reason behind why she was going so fast."

"A REASON? SHE NEARLY KILLED MY BROTHER! SHE MAY STILL MANAGE IT, WE DON"T KNOW YET!" Dean glared at the man before being grabbed from behind and wrapped into a strong embrace.

"Dean," John soothed. "Sammy's going to be okay, we have to believe that right now. It'll be all right."

Dean didn't even notice as he was led back to his chair. He slumped back down, only to jolt up a moment later.

"Are you with Sam Winchester?" The doctor was covered in blood, and his eyes had no sparkle to them. The man looked nervous and absolutely hopeless. Dean's heart plummeted.

TBC...

Sorry...review?