John Winchester came close to losing his children more than once.
Chapter two: Good intentions
"Daddy, wake up!" Sam rocked him, and John groaned. He was so tired. "Daddy, get up! I need you to write me a note for school." Sam insisted. John groaned again. That kid was way too psyched about school. It just wasn't normal. Now, Dean was never that much trouble when he had started school, but Sammy…
"What'd you need a note for anyway?" John demanded groggily, his eyes still firmly closed.
"Because I'm late for school, and Ms. Sophie said we had to get a note if we're going to be late." Sam said, referring to his first grade teacher. John forced one eye to open and glanced at his watch.
"If you get your ass to school right now, maybe you won't be late. Where's your brother, anyway?" John sighed, turning to look at his six year old son.
"Dean won't wake up." Sam said. That kid just loved telling on his brother. He would have to have a little talk with him someday. For now, he liked knowing what his sons were up to.
"Then go over there and tell him to get his ass out of bed and go to school." John said gruffly, rearranging his pillow. "Tell him I say it's an order." He added before he went back to sleep. He barely got the pillow all nice and comfortable when Sam started poking him again.
"Daddy, I told him what you said, but he still won't wake up! I'll be late for school!" Sam pouted. John let out a long sigh. It was obvious Sam wasn't about to let him go back to sleep. He sat up, trying to get his bearings together, and pulled his jeans on. Sam waited impatiently at the door to the boys' room. John scratched his week's growth of bristles, making his way to his sons' room.
"Dean, wake up, kiddo. Time for school." John said tiredly but assertively. Dean didn't move, not even giving an indication that he had heard his father. John neared his bed. "Come on, sport. I really don't care if you have a test today, you need…" the words got stuck in John's throat. Something was wrong. He didn't like the way Dean looked. Sitting on the edge of his Dean's bed, John felt for his son's forehead. His look shot to his youngest.
"Sammy, go to the bathroom and turn the cold water on all the way. Now, Sammy, go!" he ordered. Dean was burning up. He was soaked in sweat. John slapped his red cheeks gently, trying to get Dean to open his eyes, but it didn't work. He could hear the water running in the shower and quickly scooped his ten year old son off the bed and carried him to the shower, dropping him in with his pajama still on. John hoped that the water would wake Dean up, help lower the fever, but Dean still didn't wake up.
"Dad, why is Dean taking a shower with his clothes on?" Sam asked. It didn't seem right. Remembering his youngest, John stood up.
"Sammy, come here." He said and Sam came over. John knelt down beside him so he could look the boy in the eye. "I want you to watch over your brother. Stay right here with him, do you understand?" John asked urgently. Sam nodded lightly, a little frightened by his father's reaction. "I'm going to get some ice from the machine," John explained, "If anything, anything happens, call out for me, do you understand?" John demanded, and Sam nodded again, now more than a little frightened.
John rushed outside, grabbing the small complementary ice bucket on his way out to get the ice. John cursed at the small amount of ice the bucket actually held. He rushed back to the motel room, getting quickly in the shower. Dean still showed no sign of coming to. He slapped his son's cheeks again, a little stronger this time, but with the same result. The cold water helped lower his son's fever, but not by much. Dean lay unconscious against the shower tiles, his head drooped to the side. John dumped the ice under Dean's shirt and went to get more. He stopped at the door, and rushed to the couch he used as a bed instead, ripping his pillow out of its case. The pillow case would carry a hell of a lot more ice than the ice bucket. John filled it all the way up with ice, rushing back to his son's side. Sam seemed scared, sitting on the closed toilet seat and watching with unusual silence as his father showered his brother with ice.
"Daddy, won't Dean get a cold?" Sam asked. John had always told him not to shower in cold water and go outside or he would get a cold. Why was he doing it to Dean now? But his father paid no attention to him. And he was definitely late for school now.
Fifteen minutes later, when John still couldn't make Dean wake up, he wrapped him up in a towel and carried him over to his truck, Sam at his heel. John ran four red lights on his way to the hospital.
John paced back and forth, biting his nails nervously. The doctors had been in Dean's room for quite a while now, and so far, no one had come out to talk to him, to explain to him what was wrong with his boy.
"Daddy?" John stopped his pacing. Sam looked fearfully at him, sitting on the uncomfortable chair where John had told him to wait. Clenching his jaws, John sat down next to his youngest, wrapping his arm around Sam's shoulders. Sam rested his head against his dad. He didn't really understand what was going on, but he didn't like being in a hospital. He hated the smell, he hated that look in his dad's eyes, and he hated that Dean wasn't there to joke with him and make him laugh and make everything okay, like he had always done.
A few nerve-wracking moments later, a seriously looking doctor came out of Dean's room. John quickly stood up, squeezing Sam's shoulder, and neared the doctor.
"Mister O'Connell, I noticed your son has some pretty nasty cuts on his stomach." The doctor started. John swallowed, nodding lightly. He was wrong to bring his sons with him on that hunt. He knew it then, but he couldn't find a place for them to stay. He was sure they were both asleep in his truck, or he never would have left them alone. But obviously, Dean got out. John got to him merely seconds before that thing ripped him apart.
"Well, you know how boys are," John forced a smile on his face, "always getting in fights."
"Mister O'Connell, I don't think you understand the gravity of your son's condition." The doctor said seriously. "Dean is not breathing on his own." The doctor said, and John nearly collapsed. "We had to put a tube down his throat, to help him breathe. Those cuts he has got contaminated." John was afraid of that. He taped Dean up quickly, and told him not to get the bandages off, hoping it would be enough. Dean had seemed a little off this past week, but it was flu season after all. "We gave him IV antibiotics and got his fever down." the doctor went on. "We just have to wait and see."
"But he's going to get better." John said, waiting for the doctor to confirm it. The doctor gave him a long look.
"I hope so." He said. That really wasn't the answer John was looking for.
"Can I see him now?" he asked. The doctor gave him a slight nod and walked away. Sam refused to get in Dean's room. He was too scared. He sat there patiently until John came out of Dean's room.
"Come on, sport. You must be hungry." John said in a husky voice. He was glad his son didn't see him cry, the boy seemed scared enough.
"I'm not." Sam said in a small voice. John crouched next to him.
"What is it, Sammy?" he asked, looking up at his son.
"Is Dean going to be okay?" Sam asked in a tiny voice. John smiled at him.
"Of course he is." He said, trying to convince himself as well as his younger son. "Now come on, it's nearly lunchtime, and if I remember correctly, you haven't even had breakfast today."
"I'm not hungry. I want to stay here." Sam said. John sighed, ruffling his son's hair lovingly.
"Dean would want you to eat." He said. Sam looked at him.
"Daddy, do you think Dean's hungry too?" he asked.
"No, they gave him something to eat. Come on. I'll get you anything you want." John promised, getting to his feet. Sam barely touched his meal. John hasn't, either.
By evening, Dean was awake and, on most part, alert. They took the tube out of his throat, but he was still hooked up to the IV. The color still hasn't returned to his face, but he still teased Sam about missing school.
The doctors gave him more tests. Many more tests. And John was getting nervous. He kept asking the doctors if there was something else wrong with his son, but got the feeling they didn't really feel like sharing. When Dean had asked for a burger, John knew it was time. Doctors had a pesky habit of asking too many questions, and he couldn't afford the hospital bill anyway. He signed his son out of the hospital, against medical advice, and took his boys back to the motel, stopping at a drive through and buying them all burgers. He let Dean stay in bed in the next couple of days. Actually, he had to force him to stay in bed. The kid just wouldn't lie still. John took that as a good sign. He had nearly lost his son, and this time, it was entirely his fault. No way are these boys coming on any more hunts with him. Not until they're old enough. Sitting on the edge on Dean's bed, he caressed his sleeping boy's hair and smiled at Sam who insisted to share the bed with Dean. He was going to protect his sons better from now on. They were all he had left from Mary.
TBC
A/N: This was supposed to be longer. Frankly, it's just the first half of the story, but I don't like making the chapters long, so I split this chapter in two. Waiting for your reviews to help me write the next part!
