Spirit Fall, chapter ten

A/N: Thanks to everyone that reviewed last chapter and Boy Blue. I'm surprised to be getting such great feedback from everybody. You're all awesome. Unfortunately, these chapters keep getting shorter. I say what needs to be said and don't even realize the length of it until I'm done. I'll try to update soon though. Much thanks to chocolate rules, my confidence booster. And, hey, I titled the chapters. Just for fun. :)

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John sits in the car for a full hour before twisting the key to turn over the engine. Mary would never leave their boys alone like this, no matter what. Even twenty-four hours is too long and too much could happen in that space of time. Their circumstances are different, but… he still can't do it. He turns out onto the main road and swings in at the first fast food place he sees to get them some burgers.

He needs to prove Sam wrong. He does care. A lot. More than he wants to sometimes. But his son was right about some things too. As much as it hurts to hear it, it's true. Even when he's with them, his mind is often a million miles away. He's let Dean take care of Sam and himself and all John has had to worry about is hunting.

He hasn't been on a hunt for weeks now. Over a month even. Huh.

John's too driven for his own good most times. He can't even see where people, his kids, should come before the mission. And Sam's too smart. He knows where this life will take them. Specifically, no where good. Dean's sacrificed too much for this family, without hesitation, but there has to be some point where he'll give in. They can't go on like this forever.

He imagines the final fight would involve the three of them, standing in an angry circle, necks extended, screaming full force at the other two: "I can't do this alone!"

And that's the truth. They need to take care of each other, not just watching backs and bandaging wounds, but really caring. The kind of stuff that comes easy to normal families.

Things will change now. No doubt about that. John will be sure of it. It took a possession, leukemia, arson, and an evil spirit to make him realize it. He can only hope now that it won't be too late.

He parks back at the hospital and pauses to say a quick prayer to Mary before going inside. A true man of few words, he always says the same thing, brief but meaningful, and he's sure she gets the message.

'I love you. We miss you. I'm sorry.'

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John doesn't have to go far to find Sam. He's sitting in the hospital lobby, slumped back in a chair, scuffing his shoes along the floor. John drops the bag of food into his lap wordlessly.

After Dean was born, Mary's father had given John one single piece of advice. As a father, everything you do or say must instill either fear or love. There's no middle ground and you can't be their friend. His own old man had leaned heavily toward the fear side and John had always known he didn't want to be that guy. But eighteen years later, he scarcely knows his kids. Every time they follow an order, he isn't sure maybe Dean does it out of love, but Sam for sure follows him out of fear. That isn't working so well anymore though. So, when your kids don't love you and aren't afraid of you, it must mean that you seriously screwed up somewhere. Probably with all that demon hunting business.

"Thanks," Sam says quietly. John stares down at him, wondering if it's too late. He moves to sit next to his son. Sam pulls a sandwich out of the bag and unwraps it carefully, picking at the bread. "They wouldn't let me back in," he says after a moment. John nods. This hospital is pretty lax about kicking you out, but they won't let you in after hours.

"We'll wait then," John huffs. Sam glances up at his father sharply. He recovers quickly though and nods. He goes back to his food then, eating faster, realizing that his Dad isn't about to start yelling. John watches his son carefully as he eats, for some sign of the argument they just had and as Sam glances up at him again, he realizes, he's doing the same thing. Like watching prey on a hunt, waiting to see who will make the first move, they study each other. Finally, Sam is finished eating and there are no distractions. John sighs and straightens his stiff posture.

"I guess we need to talk Sammy."

Sam continues to watch his father, waiting, always waiting for what will happen next. John leans toward his son and carefully lowers his voice.

"First of all, you ever talk to me like you did out there again and I can't make any promises as to what I might do. Understand?"

Sam nods quietly.

"Yes sir."

Fear, John realizes. It makes him a little anxious to see Sam like this now, all the fight gone out of him, but he wagers on anyway. Now, for the hard part. He sits back and clasps his hands in his lap.

"You need to know, Sam, that I'm not going anywhere." He looks over at his son and carefully constructs his next words. "Not until this whole thing is over and your brother is well again. I know I can get a little lost sometimes. You just have to remind me what's important here," he says simply, keeping his voice steady and in check. "And what's important to me is you and Dean. Nothing else comes close. You understand?"

Sam nods again, wide eyed. Was his father actually admitting wrong?

John blinks sharply, as suddenly turning off whatever he'd given with those words.

"Okay then," he says, scooting over on the thinly cushionedbench. "Lie down. Just because we're staying here, doesn't mean your not going to sleep." Reluctantly, Sam does just that, the top of his head against his father's thigh.

So, they aren't going anywhere, but all that means, Sam thinks, is that they'll be here when Dean…

"Dad?" he asks. From the corner of his eye, he can see John lift his head away from the wall and stare down at him. Sam looks away. "That ghost? That spirit, he said that Dean was going to, that he was, that this…" He'd thought it so many times and yet he couldn't say it out loud. Thankfully, John interrupts him.

"I know."

"You do?"

"I know what the spirit said, Sam. That doesn't mean I know what's going to happen."

"Oh," Sam blinks, and after a moment, "But he knew about everything else."

"I know," John sighs again, tipping his head back against the wall. Sam props himself anxiously up on an elbow.

"He might've been right about that too, then," he says, sounding so much like his brother right then that John has to blink a few times to clear his eyes. He doesn't offer Sam the same response though. Proof, he thinks, that he knows his kids pretty darn well after all.

"When have you ever known your brother to listen to what some old ghost has to say?" He laughs lightly. "Some spirit says he's going to die, he won't do it. Just out of spite."

Sam smiles a bit.

"Yea," he falters. "But how can you know--"

"Sam. Even predicted futures can be changed. What happens, or what's going to happen, isn't set in stone on some great plan." He pauses. They don't really have conversations like this and he isn't sure how much to give. "Listen, Sammy," he continues slowly. "I like to think there's some order to things, some purpose for everybody, but no set way as to how we get there."

"Masters of our own destinies," Sam intones, lying back down and curling his fists under his chin.

"Yea," John smirks. "Something like that."

Sam doesn't say anything then so he closes his eyes, content that his kids are okay for tonight. The hospital is quiet now and no one bothers them.

"Dad?" Sam asks after a moment.

"Go to sleep," John says, absently rubbing Sam's shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

John pauses.

Love.

He can only whisper.

"Me too."

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In the morning, Dean's doctor finds them before seven a.m. when the dawning light is just beginning to slant through the wide glass front doors. John stands to meet the doctor while Sam sits up behind him.

"What's going on?" he asks urgently. "What's happened?"

The doctor stands there for a moment, staring forlornly at the ever-present chart. A few pieces of paper detailing every up and down of Dean's recent existence right there in his hands.

"Doctor…" John prompts. Sam stands up next to him.

The doctor raises his head then, an amazed smile beginning to creep over his features.

"The fever's broken," he says. "Dean's awake."

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tbc