Hey everyone. Just the usual, I don't own Supernatural...yada yada yada. This idea has been in my brain for a while and I finally wrote it. I was so mad at John in the episode 'Faith' I decided to redeem him. It's not as emotionally written as I wanted it to be so I hope it still works. I may re-write it later...

Anyway, enough rambling. Enjoy! And please review.

Have A Little Faith

John Winchester hated hospitals. Their plain, white hallways, nauseating chemical smell and depressive atmosphere made him feel like he was in another universe the moment he stepped through the doors.

Being a hunter and the father of two boys, he was no stranger to hospitals whether he was in the beds or beside them. When he was in the navy, his hospital stay generally involved a few broken bones or thunks on the head. They were never bad enough to put him out of action for very long because John Winchester was known to many as the man who could bounce back.

After his navy years, he'd married the love of his life, Mary and settled into an old two story in Lawrence. The years had been kind; the only hospital visits were family emergencies such as Mary's grandfather and the death of John's cousin. That was until the boys came.

Mary's pregnancy with Dean was easy from start to finish with the exception of his restlessness. Many times Mary awoke in the middle of the night, craving peanut M & M's with chocolate ice cream and pickles. John could count on eight hands how many times she'd sent him to the store at one o'clock in the morning to get something or another. Dean's birth had been even easier, two hours in labor, twenty minutes in delivery. He'd cried so loud that the doctors had to wear ear plugs and the bodies in the morgue complained. Everyone knew the moment Dean Winchester was born.

It had been different with Sammy. Mary had spent days in the hospital, praying as the doctors ran tests to determine if Sam would even live to see birth. Twenty-four hours in labor, eight hours in delivery and the discussion of a c-section later, Samuel Winchester entered the world, cold and blue. John had held Mary's hand as she'd cried, watching the doctors work on their youngest for what seemed like hours. They hadn't been able to hold the infant for a few weeks, until he got better.

Of course, Mary had died and sparked what Sam had dubbed the Winchester's Revenge Quest (it sounded like a video game) leading them into multitudes of danger and more hospitals. Dean, it seemed, was always getting hurt in one way or another, usually jumping in front of Sammy who seemed to attract trouble as though he wore a neon sign with an arrow saying, 'Trouble Here!'

Not that John had ever worried. The big brother stereotype had long ago been established in his small, broken family. Sammy was the baby, always. Dean was the big brother, always. No matter what kind of trouble Sammy was in, or no matter how freakish he acted, Dean would always be there to bail him out. That was the way John had trained them and that was the way he wanted it.

How many injuries had they sustained? He couldn't remember them all, only the close calls where hospital stay was involved. Sam's nearly broken back in Wisconsin. Dean's coma in Mississippi. John's busted legs in New York. Them and others molded together and created one hospital…this hospital. They never looked any different.

John sighed and leaned against his large black truck, staring at the Impala at the other end of the hospital parking lot. The old car looks dusty and lonely, sitting between two clean red cars, one a new mustang, the other a focus. That car had seen so much blood he was surprised the car didn't bleed crimson when it rained.

Slowly, John moved forward, passing an elderly woman with a walker who was so grey and drawn she was withering before his very eyes. The woman's scrutinizing blue eyes x-rayed him as he passed leaving John feeling a little thin at the moment.

He knew he must look like shit but considering he'd hauled ass to the hospital, an over eighteen hour drive completed in ten, he was bound to look a little ragged. A very reliable, if not completely legal informative had tipped him off to his son's situation and he'd booked it all the way across the country. Now, he was standing in the elevator, the reflection in the door acting as a mirror for him to see his tired, lined face and red rimmed eyes. He looked as bad as he felt…like someone had squeezed him through a pea sized hole sideways.

He'd been sleeping when he'd gotten the call. Half way through a nightmare about Mary on the roof, John's shrill cell phone ring had woken him. Carefully, he'd made his way across the salt coated carpet and extracted his phone from his bag.

Drew had been monitoring the hospitals, jails and morgues for the many aliases John had given his boys, one of which being Dean Burkowichz. With halting breath, he'd listened to the report, his heart sinking.

Dean Burkowichz had been in an accident in one of the lower levels of an abandoned house. Electrocution…some faulty wiring…heart attack…permanent damage…fatal.

Sighing, he fell back against the elevator wall, pressing his back into the wood as though to escape his mind and the terrible ach in his heart. His stomach was clenching painfully, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. Dean was twenty-six. A twenty-six year old wasn't supposed to have a heart attack.

The cardiac ward was silent. As he passed open doors, he peered inside at the many aging faces in the beds, staring back at him. The very thought that his oldest was lying in one of these beds was never something that had crossed his mind. It seemed that if Dean was going to die…and it sounded like he would…he should be downstairs in the emergency room, fighting for his life after being ripped to shreds by some angry spirit. His own heart attacking him had never registered on the possibility list.

Drew had told him which room Dean was in. He'd been moved from ER to ICU to Cardiac Ward in the last twenty-four hours. John couldn't believe only yesterday Dean had been just fine, probably tormenting his brother with Metallica and making witty comments about some cute waitress in a road side dinner.

At the end of the long hallway he turned right, only to halt in his tracks at the sight of a doctor talking to a tall, scruffy haired young man only a few feet away. Glancing right, he threw himself into a storage room so as not to be seen and stepped in behind a rack of scrubs. He'd been keeping his distance to protect his children. The very fact that he had come to the hospital was jeopardizing his boy's lives but he couldn't just sit back as Dean lay dying. He may have questioned his parenting before but he certainly wouldn't make an effort to see his child through, no matter what the cost.

Standing in the dark, John tried to get the image of Sam at the end of the hallway out of his mind. So many years it had been since he'd seen him that close. With the occasional glimpse of him on the Stanford campus, he hadn't seen Sam in…had it really been over four years? The growling, angry, pained face the night of the big fight was now pushed aside by the ashen, terrified, teary-eyed face he'd just seen.

Sam looked awful, drained and more then exhausted. No doubt he'd been at Dean's side every waking moment, the fact that he was now there, so close John could almost reach out and touch him was more painful then the years apart.

Voices were growing louder, moving toward his hiding place. Sam's deep, strained voice and the doctor's higher, educated, grim squeak barely audible over the general grumble of the hospital hallways. John unconsciously stepped further into the shadows and strained to hear what they were saying. Any scrap of information was what he craved.

"The x-rays are finished. Any amount of stress at this moment is dangerous and believe me, your brother is under tremendous stress. We've given him something to calm him down but as you know, your brother's time is limited."

John felt nauseous. Leaning against the wall, he stared through the folded scrubs at the open doorway as the doctor and his son drew closer. Any moment they would pass by those doors and John would have to keep himself from racing out there and grabbing his youngest.

"If there's anyone you need to call, you should probably do it now. Your mother? Dad? Grandparents. Right now your brother is positively responding to your presence. It seems to calm him. If you could get someone else…"

They were passing the door now, walking so slow that John could see every line on Sam's young face. His eyes were scrunched slightly, as though the bright white hospital lights burned.

"No, there's no one else. It's just us." His voice was hollow. They were gone now, moving beyond his sight and hearing but John's ears had shut down. Sam's words echoed in his mind.

'No, there's no one else. It's just us.' He'd just realized what Sam had said. It was just them. There was no mention of him at all. In fact, he'd heard the news of Dean's illness from Drew, a man of little morals who patrolled secure government information sights for the right fee instead of his own flesh and blood. If Sam had been the one dying, Dean would have phoned him…right?

Feeling more then a little hurt and frustrated, John stood there in the dark, eyes down, tracing the lines on the tiled floor. He didn't deserve that. He was a good father, right? He'd tried his damndest to keep his distance and keep his children safe. It had hurt more then he'd ever imagined when he'd left Dean that fateful day in November. His kids had been in danger and…

Dean had phoned him when he was in Lawrence, but John had already been there a week. His son's pleading went unanswered, as did all the other calls. What had he expected? That Sam would call him just to get his voice mail again? Had he expected his sons to keep faith in him when all their calls went unanswered? When they got hope from an electronic voice recording?

Carefully, he left the small supply room, looking both ways before moving into the hall. Numbly, he passed nurses stations and doctors until he came to room 401. The room was sparse, curtains around the beds blowing gently in the light breeze from a fan over head. An elderly man lay in the bed nearest the door, his curtain open, a television propped up in front of him. He smiled slightly at John as he entered but his smile was weak, his gaze watery.

John nodded a greeting and pushed on through the room, peering around the next curtain only to find an empty bed and lonely monitoring equipment. He found Dean behind the last curtain.

His son was still, eyes closed, pale white face accentuating the dark bruises around his eyes. Monitors sprouted from under the pale green hospital gown that seemed to make him seem smaller. This wasn't his son. There was no way.

Where was the young man who could make women melt with a single smile? Where was the young man who took out a poltergeist at the age of eight? Where was the baby who came a week early and alerted the whole hospital to his presence?

This was Dean Burkowichz, the young man with the bad heart, not Dean Winchester, the healthiest young man in the world. Moving forward, John rested his calloused fingers on Dean's upper arm, surprised and a little more then relieved when Dean didn't even stir.

Dean's hair was flat, almost plastered to his forehead, face so white that his freckles had nearly vanished. Below the thin hospital blanket, his chest rose and fell weakly and the beeping of his heart monitor was erratic and slow.

"Oh God, Dean." John whispered, grabbing a chair and pulling it closer to the bed. Dean's head rolled to the left, toward him but John knew he hadn't woken. "Look at you." Suddenly, military training kicked in, over powering his pain. It was a technique he'd taught his sons. Smother the pain before it smothers you. "What have I taught you, soldier? You let a Rawhead take you out? My grandma could have taken a Rawhead in her sleep." He pain was lessening now, being crushed beneath the hard rock of discipline and training.

"Dean, answer me." He didn't really expect an answer but it felt better to say it. He'd always expected so much of Dean, now would be no different. "What the hell is wrong with you, letting it get you like that? Water and electricity don't mix! I though you learned your lessen."

When Dean was six, he'd knocked the toaster in the water filled sink. John had been sure Dean would know better then that by now. How dare he let his guard down like that! How dare he almost leave Sam! How dare he almost leave him…

The pain was building again, like a fire in his chest. Oh God, his son was dying! Leaning forward, John grabbed his son's hand and squeezed it. He didn't want Dean to wake up but in the same breath, he wanted nothing more in the world.

"Dean." John whispered, bringing his face closer to his son's. Dean's breath caressed his face lightly, smelling of medication. "Dean you have to be okay because I can't lose anyone else. Dad's aren't supposed to bury their children, no matter how stupid and reckless they are." He smiled. "I forgive you for denting the car, and that stunt you pulled with Carrie Alekson five years ago…remember her, the blond with the breasts?"

Dean's heart monitor beeped slowly in answer. Bending his head forward, John touched his forehead to his son's cold hand. "You have always been more trouble then I could deal with. My mom always told me I'd have a son just like me, so I could feel the same pain she felt. She was wrong. I have a son just like me who I have always been proud of. I've never told you that. That's why I left. I want to keep you safe, Dean."

Reaching up, he stroked Dean's forehead, pulling back as Dean's head titled away from his hand. "Your brother may have lost faith in me, but I don't want you to. I'm gonna find a way to help you. Don't worry…and besides," John got up slowly, moving to the curtain. Standing there, watching his son, John drank in every bit of the image before him. This very well could be the last time he got to say what he really felt. Even so, Dean had never been one for 'chick flick moments' as he called them, and John was sure, unconscious or not, Dean's 'chick-o-meter' was now full. "You owe me another game of cards."

He turned, about to leave when something caught his eye. Moving forward, he peered at Dean's scrunched up right fist and the tip of black string peeking from between his fingers.

He bent down and pried his son's loose grip open, extracting a gold charm from his palm. It was Dean's necklace. Carefully, John opened the clasp and placed the necklace back around Dean's neck, positioning it carefully over the wires and tubes. "Protect him."

Leaving the hospital was the hardest thing he had ever done. The walk seemed like it stretched for miles, a weight dragging him down, almost gluing his feet to the floor. In a haze, he got back into his truck, scanning the parking lot for the Impala which was no where to be seen.

The cheapest motel was on the edge of town, located next to a bar and across the street from a camp ground. Although he was in a sort of stupor, he still had enough wits to notice the '67 Impala parked outside of a motel room at the end of the row. Smiling, John carefully bought his room and settled into it, watching for Sam from the safety of his curtained windows. He'd only been hiding in the shadows a few minutes when the young man came out, shrugging on a tattered jean jacket as he fished for the keys in his pants pocket.

Sam glanced around as he reached the Impala, making John hesitantly lean back, further into the shadows. He'd bought the truck after Sam had left for school, leaving the Impala for Dean. With two vehicles, they could cover twice as much ground and John was free to go off in his solitary search for the demon that killed his wife.

Once Sam was gone, John moved to the bed and began researching; needing anything to save Dean…even the barest spark of hope. He'd bought a laptop after he'd split from his sons. Although technology wasn't his strong suit, it was easier to understand then some of the shit he'd faced over the years and the internet was a great tool when you knew how to use it.

He'd been searching for hours when something popped out at him. A news article, from Nebraska…

Grabbing his phone, he dialed his old friend, Joshua. The time zones were different John realized too late when Joshua's groggy voice answered with a muffled, half yawned "Hello?"

"Hey, Josh, it's John." John pulled himself off the bed, stretching his stiff legs as he moved to the window. Night had fallen and Sam was still gone. "Has Sam called you?"

There was a pause. "Yeah, he called. I'm so sorry about Dean, John." John nodded into the dark, realizing suddenly how black it had gotten in the room. He moved to turn on the lights but stopped himself. With the lights on, Sam was more likely to look at his room then with the lights off. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to know he was there…no matter how much worse it made Sam's view of him become.

"Yeah…looks bad." Clearing the growing blockage in his throat, John blinked away the burning pain in his eyes. "Um, I found something and I was wondering if you knew anything about it. It might help."

Joshua sounded awake now. "Yeah, shoot." In the back ground, John could clearly hear the grumbling of Joshua's wife.
"Um, his name's Roy La Grange. He's in Nebraska, near you. I was wondering if you'd heard of him."

"Course, he's in the papers. Sounds like a fraud. Have you told Sam?" John squinted into the darkness beyond the window.

"No. I can't talk to them. No communication, it's too dangerous." Joshua was silent and John was grateful that he didn't push. All of his friends knew the dangers the Winchesters were immerged in, and knew even better not to go into details or ask for them. "I need you to find out what you can and phone him back."

"I'll get right on it. I probably won't have anything until tomorrow." John suddenly felt anxious. Dean was dying, every moment he had was precious. "John? Will that be okay?"

It would be three days since Dean's accident. "Yeah, it'll be okay. Thanks."

"Yeah, Dean's a tough kid, he'll be okay." John smiled. It was almost a relief to hear someone say that.

"I know." The conversation ended and John sat up all night, watching Sam's motel room window long after the young man got back. Sam's light burned bright all night long, both Winchester's sitting awake that night.

The next day was long and cold. Sam went to the hospital around noon and came back two hours later, looking more stressed then ever. Twice, John called Joshua to get an update on his research and was excited to hear the news. La Grange looked like a more and more suitable candidate to save his son. John's sense of failure slowly dropped, and hope began to burn like a beacon for the rest of the day.

That night, he sat in a chair by the window, staring at the Impala with the laptop open beside him and his cell phone clenched in his fist, watching cars flashing past on the road.

The cell phone ring in his lap made him jump. Sam. The shock of seeing his son's phone number on the glowing cell phone screen almost made him answer…almost. He waited for a pain staking minute while the call went to his message box, a small yellow taxi catching his eye.

The taxi stopped in the middle of the motel parking lot, right behind the Impala. Sitting up straighter, John watched the dark shape in the back seat slowly opening the door, leaning out of the car painfully…slowly.

Dean's hunched, weak figure was struggling to get out of the car. John's heart broke. Oh God, he wanted to go to him…he wanted to wrap Dean's arm over his shoulder and help him walk to Sam's door.

Dean leaned on the Impala, watching the taxi pulling away, his head twisting around as he searched for any watching eyes. John's pain increased. Dean hated showing any weakness…That little shit was out of the hospital, AMA John was sure, and attempting to run a marathon. John felt hope rising.

His son was moving now, taking one painful step and then another toward Sam's motel room door. Dean wasn't going to die; there was no way John would let that happen. He watched in silence as Dean disappeared inside with Sam before picking up his phone and checking the message.

Sam's voice was laced with stress, worry, pain and a hint of anger. John knew the anger was for him and he deserved it, in part. He sounded almost breathless…with desperation and a hint of hopelessness. "Hey dad, its Sam…uh... you probably won't even get this but uh…it's Dean," Sam let out a steadying breath. "He's sick and the doctors say there's nothing they can do. Um…but they don't know the things we do right, so, um…don't worry cause I'll do everything it takes to get him better. Alright, just wanted you to know."

John smiled and dialed Joshua back. "Good news, John. I phoned Sammy, told him I had some info for him. He knows about Roy and he's about as stubborn as you." John smiled, watching the light burning in his son's motel room. "He's taking Dean there tomorrow."

"Thank you, Joshua." John whispered, chocking on his words. There was a respectful pause and John spoke again spoke. "Thank you."

"Take care, John. Phone me when Dean's better." John smiled.

"I will." He closed the phone and leaned back in his chair.

The next morning he watched Sam helping a disgruntled Dean into the car, the older Winchester not even noticing the truck parked a few feet away. The motel was in the shape of an L, John's room facing Sam and Dean's almost straight on. Dean would get better because Sam was a pushy little bastard, like his father. Neither of them would give up and that's the way it should be. John left right after them, driving in the opposite direction.

A week later he got the call he'd been waiting for, a voice mail from his oldest son, healthy and strong. "Hey dad, it's Dean. Sam told me he called you so I wanted you to know I'm fine. There was a reaper, but we took care of it, no sweat. Nebraska was just a bunch of dead beats." John rolled his eyes and in the background he heard Sam's groan. "Yeah, that was bad. Just wanted to tell you I'm okay and not to worry. Bye dad."

John lay down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Dean was okay, Sam was fine…all that was left was the looming battle and this time, there may not be a miracle or a second chance.

FIN