Here's the next chapter. Hope you like it. Thanks for all the reviews.
Standing outside of the hospital, John Winchester checked his voicemail again. It had been three days of Sammy being sick, of having to just stand there useless as Dean cared for him. He was frustrated to be here when someone might actually need him. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that neither of the boys needed him. They needed each other, but not him. Dean had taken over the role of father to Sammy so beautifully and Sammy needed him when he was sick. Over the last couple of months, he had stood around uselessly and he was starting to become restless. There was a message for him on his phone now. He listened as an old friend stumbled over his words, asking for help with something that was in his house. John knew he should stay with the boys, see this out, but he needed to leave eventually. If he sat around here waiting for Sam to get better, he might be here for a long time, time that the thing that killed Mary would need to escape him . . . if he could even find it now.
He sighed, turning off his phone. David could wait for a little while. Deciding to give it a while longer, he made his way from his car to the hospital doors. If his boys really needed him, he could always stay. He took the elevator up, enjoying the relative quiet. As soon as he got back up on the floor, he had a feeling something wasn't quite right. A feeling of anxiety developed in his stomach as he neared his son's room.
Dean sat next to his brother, trying to get him to drink a Pepsi that he'd gotten for him. The doctor had told them that if Sammy didn't start keeping food and water down that he would be put on a feeding tube for a little while. Sam had just been nauseous. He had told him that he got dizzy every time he moved his head. "Well, stop moving your head then." Dean joked. He had been joking with him until he realized that it was serious. Earlier in the day, Dean had asked their father to go get Sam some Pepsi. It wouldn't be much as far as nutrition went, but he might be more willing to drink something that he actually liked. The thought had crossed his mind to have him go get a beer- 'and get one for me while you're at it' - but he figured the doctor and even the nurses wouldn't appreciate that. With how much weight Sammy had lost, it would be hard to hide with even one drink. So, he sat there now, trying to get Sammy to drink the thing. And to eat the peanut m&m's he'd gotten, too. Sam had drunk and ate a little, but he kept telling Dean he didn't feel good so he couldn't eat.
"Come on, Sammy. You don't feel good because you won't eat. I know you're dizzy and it makes you feel sick, but eat just a little. For me?" He knew he shouldn't be using the ploy for something that wasn't an emergency, but something in his mind justified that this was an emergency.
Sam tried to eat what Dean had given him, and as Dean watched, he figured he could always just tell the doctor that at least his brother had eaten something. It didn't matter what it was. "Thank you, Sam."
Dean looked around at their dad, just now noticing that he was there after several minutes. He had already had time to take off his coat and sit in the chair at the foot of the bed. Dean was puzzled as to why he would just sit there and let him handle things, but let it go. Maybe he didn't need the oldest Winchester manhandling Sammy into doing something anyway. "What's up?" Dean asked him, a sudden feeling of unrest regarding John coming over him.
"Nothing. I just went to go check my voicemail and call Missouri. I've been telling her about how Sammy's doing." He figured he may as well tell his son's the truth, seeing as he was going to disappoint them again. Neither had noticed his presence in the room, and he once again felt jealousy toward Dean. Sam was doing much better. The transplant had obviously been successful so far. They didn't need him.
"Okay." Dean said, and looked back at his baby brother, taking the finished bag of m&m's and the almost empty bottle of Pepsi from the sliding table separating him from Sam. He was happy that it had all been finished. He needed to go tell them that Sam had eaten. See, he would eat, just not hospital food. Dean couldn't blame him. It could wait though until Sammy was sleeping. "Thanks for doing that, Sam."
"I still don't feel good." Sam was complaining, and to Dean he sounded exactly like a little kid would. The flu had made his throat sore and scratchy and so he sounded like a frog. Usually, the whining would have gotten on his nerves, but now, it just served as a reason to smile. Not only was he actually eating and talking a little bit above a whisper, but he was being a whiny bitch, which meant that he was on the road to recovery.
"I know, but it'll get better, I promise." He told him, reassuring him as much as he could. "Why don't you try to get some rest, Sammy?"
Sam closed his eyes, reaching out to grab the hand that had become so comforting and tried to go to sleep. In twenty minutes or so when he knew Sammy was sleeping by the soft snores that came from being congested, Dean got up from his seat next to the bed. He looked at his dad, and the two of them just stared for about a minute. He knew something was off, but didn't question it. "Dad, can you stay here for a couple minutes? I'm going to go talk to the nurses, tell them he ate something."
"Sure, Dean." He told him, and then watched as he left. Right now would be the only time he had for saying good-bye to his youngest. He didn't want to deal with Dean when he found out what was going on.
He stepped over to the bed, looking down at his baby and swept his hand over his hair. "I love you, Sammy. Don't forget that." Kissing his forehead in a gesture he was sure the kid would never remember, he stood up and grabbed his jacket.
John was grabbing his jacket as he stood over Sammy saying his good-byes to the sleeping boy when Dean came back. He looked at his dad and knew immediately that something was off, really off. If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that he was leaving. "Dad?"
"Dean. I was hoping to do this without any emotions, but I'm leaving. I've been called for a hunt in Maine, and since you boys can't do it, I'm going." He said it so concisely, giving no room for comment.
"But you'll be back?" Dean looked perplexed. Why would he leave them now, when Sammy was struggling and still sick? They needed him, and he was just taking off...again.
"No, Dean. I'll contact you later. I've got to go." He said stepping around him. Dean clenched his hands into fists and drew a deep breath, finally understanding a little of where Sam was coming from in his feelings toward their father.
"He needs you." He fought the urge to deck the man, not knowing how else to contain the kind of anger he was feeling.
"He doesn't need me. You do everything for him, Dean. The two of you will be fine." He started to walk down the hallway, deciding that since Dean seemed to be following him, the stairs would be quicker.
"Dad, he needs you. And if he doesn't need you, hell dad, I need you!"
They were already down two flights of stairs and John stopped for a moment to look at Dean. "You're leaving him alone. What happens if something gets to him?" He tried to play on his oldest son's guilt, the guilt that he himself had instilled in him long before the young man was old enough to know how to deal with it. It was usually necessary for survival, but right now, he was hoping that it would stop Dean's theatrics.
"I layered salt under and around his bed a long time ago, dad. Cut the crap." He nearly yelled as they entered the lobby at ground level. He followed closely behind his dad, all the while restraining the urge to hurt the man who had raised them.
"Dean..."
"Dad! What the fuck? You're just gonna leave us again? Just like that? And if something happens? If he takes a turn...then what? Are you even gonna come back and be with me while I bury him?" They were outside and it was late in the afternoon, around seven. The sun had already gone down and there weren't many people near this area of the hospital. For this, Dean was grateful. Tears started to gather in his eyes, and he could hear the watery quality of his own voice. It was hard to breathe, his heart was pounding in his chest, and he started to get light-headed. He was so frustrated, but more than that, he had said the dreaded words aloud. Sammy needed them both here. He would get better, but he needed them both here.
"Dean, I have to do this." He stated again in the firm voice that had always made Dean listen in the past, while continuing to walk to the parking garage. Once he got to his car, he looked back. Dean was fuming.
"Dad, if you leave right now, don't bother coming back. Leave Sammy and me alone. This is it." He threatened, for once knowing that it was a threat that he could live by. They had spent all that time looking for the man, Sammy knew about his illness and so was worrying about that and where their dad was, and now he was abandoning them again. Hell, thinking back on it, John Winchester always knew what was going on with Sam while he was at college. He had probably known all along what was wrong with Sam and he didn't do anything. Dean was starting to shake with anger.
"I'm sorry, Dean." John said before getting in the car. Dean started punching the roof of the car, as John started the engine. The car started backing up, and Dean took a step back, eyes wide. He was really leaving. As the car drove away, Dean started kicking and punching anything within reach.
"You sonofabitch!" He yelled at the car that had already left. Calming down a little bit, he reminded himself that Sam was upstairs alone, vulnerable. Despite him wanting to go after their dad, Dean trudged back towards his brother's room. His baby brother needed him more than he needed to be angry at their father. What was he going to tell him when he woke up and their dad was gone?
Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please feel free to review with anything that you want.
There are a couple words in here, and if it's a problem, either review the problem or send me a message and I'll go edit it.
Also, everyone thought that John had left in the last chapter, but he wouldn't leave them in that big of a lurch. He would at least say "good-bye."