Actions speak louder

Chapter 7

By teal-lover

Summary: Sam meant what he said the asylum. So how can he ever convince the one person in his life that knows him better than anyone, otherwise?

Rating: PG13, T

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way shape or form, and I don't get any money for this, this is purely entertainment…hopefully:)

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John only paused for a moment when he walked in the door to his son's room, but Dean held back, watching in horror at the sight of his baby brother hooked up to so many life saving machines.

The doctor that led them into the room noticed his reaction and spoke quickly, hoping to quell some of the fear. "It's not as bad as it looks," he began as he checked his patients vitals. "Most likely, he could breathe on his own right now, but I don't think that's a good idea. We want the ventilator to do the work for him until his lungs are a bit stronger. If he did it on his own, his body would have to work two to three times as hard to keep up, and we don't want to put an further strain on his heart after our earlier scare."

The doctor prattled on about Sam's condition, but Dean found himself unable to focus on anything other than the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator pushing Sam's chest up and down.

"Mr. Winchester? Dean, Right?"

The doctor had apparently called his name several times before he looked up, also noticing his father eyeing him worriedly. "Yeah?"

"I was just going to say that you should try talking to him. He's only sedated right now, so he'll probably hear you. I've found that it helps the patient heal faster when loved ones are near."

John nodded in agreement and moved closer to the bed before looking up at the doctor expectantly.

"Oh, you'd probably like some privacy. I'll just leave you three alone. I'll be back to check on Sam before I finish my shift in a few hours. In the mean time, please feel free to have me paged if there's any change in his condition."

As soon as the door shut, John reached across the bed and stroked what he hoped was still his son's forehead. He hadn't been this close to his baby boy since the night before Sam left for college nearly five years before…

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August, 2001…

It was quiet in the Winchester household as they finished their evening meal.

Sam had lowered his head nervously while he and Dean cleaned away the dishes on the table. He kept fidgeting and looked like he wanted to speak several times before John finally huffed in irritation. "Sam, you've been bouncing around here like a jackrabbit for the last several hours. What's on your mind boy?"

The tall brunette shoved his hands in his pockets, fingering the letter he had stashed there earlier. He had been carrying it around for months now, and the days only seemed to grow closer to the time he was due to report for freshman orientation, and he had yet to say anything to his family. For weeks, he had been rehearsing an eloquent speech that in his mind, would leave his brother and father misty-eyed before they finally pulled him into a group hug and congratulated him.

But rarely is life ever as perfect as in the imagination, and it seemed to hold even truer for the youngest Winchester as he blurted out the blunt facts before he could change his mind. "I got a full scholarship to Stanford and I accepted it."

Dean of course, dropped one of the six plates they owned—two for each man in the household. The oldest Winchester rolled his eyes at his first born, thinking grumpily, 'that's great Dean. Break the other one now too. Sam won't need it.' Instead of voicing his misguided anger at him, he turned it on the person who needed it more in his opinion. From then on, he hated every word that came out of his mouth that night, but even then, knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were necessary.

"Sam, where's your brother?" he asked calmly.

"What the hell kind of off the wall question is that?" Sam shouted at his father in frustration, then backed down a bit when John suddenly shoved his chair back and stood in his face menacingly. For a moment, he just stared at the man until he realized that he was going to have to answer to get any further with this conversation. "He's right beside me," he huffed.

"Exactly," he spat out bitterly. "I didn't let him run off to college, now did I? So what makes you think you're so special that you'd be any different? You think you're so smart. Well I've got news for you Sam, smart don't mean a damn thing when evil finds your family. You're not smart—just selfish and arrogant."

"But dad—"

"No buts Sam! As some of the few who know and believe in true evil, we have a responsibility to eliminate it as much as we can."

"I'll still help you guys whenever I can, Dad. I'm not giving it up permanently—"

John glared at his youngest boy before turning away dismissively. "You're damn right you're not giving it up. Because you're not going, and that's final!" He closed his eyes to the stunned, kicked puppy expression his youngest seemed to have perfected into an art form.

It wasn't like the stubborn, temperamental boy to just accept what he said, making the long silence disconcerting. He chanted silently, begging the boy to fight him on this. If he didn't, he would have to take more drastic physical methods to get Sam to leave and stand up for himself. 'Damn it! Maybe I controlled them a little too well.'

John trudged away slowly, ignoring the triumphant look on Dean's face, then he heard it—a tiny whisper as if he was unsure of he words he was saying. "I'm going, Dad."

He whirled around, startling both of his sons as he stalked over to Sam, backing him up against the kitchen sink. "Excuse me?" he hissed.

Sam gulped a bit nervously and repeated again, this time with a little more conviction. "I said I'm going."

"Oh, are you now?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm only your father. Who am I to stop you if you want to abandon your family."

Sam didn't even try to hide the flash of pain that the words caused as he defended his intentions. "Dad, it's only college. It's not forever."

"Like hell it isn't. You walk out that door, you walk out on your family. Don't you dare think about ever coming back!"

Silent the entire time, Dean couldn't keep the surprised tone out of his voice when he complained in outrage. "DAD!"

"This doesn't concern you Dean."

"But you can't—"

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do in my own home boy! If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it. Otherwise, you keep your mouth shut." He turned back to the other as soon as the blonde pursed his lips complacently.

John poked a finger into his chest, and Sam almost lost his balance and fell in the sink that he had been leaning so far into. "What's it going to be Sam?"

Sam wanted to scream at the unfairness of the situation. This was not how he planned for things to go when he finally told them. He knew his father would be angry, but to give him an ultimatum? How dare he do that to his own son! In all of his 18 years, Sam had never even thought about hitting his father, until now that is. His chest heaved furiously as the anger built inside of him and he pushed himself off of the sink, raising his voice to the man who raised him louder than he ever had before. "ALL I WANT IS A CHANCE AT A NORMAL LIFE, DAD. WHY DO I HAVE TO CHOOSE?"

Unfazed by the outburst, John glared at his youngest son and answered as calmly as if he were reading from a dictionary. "That's just the way it is, Sam. Now make your choice."

Sam's only answer was to lower his head, wiping away the tears that flooded his eyes before they could tumble down his face. John took the silence to mean that his son still intended to go.

Both relieved and heartbroken at the same time, he turned his back to the youngest Winchester, muttering coldly, "Pack your shit and get the hell out of my house. I'm going hunting & I'll be back by tomorrow afternoon. I want you gone by the time I get back. Dean, let's go."

Before he could turn around and take back everything he said, John quickly climbed inside of the impala and steeled himself for what lie ahead. He began rifling through his wallet, then the glove box, then the seat cushions, and finally, he barked an order for Dean to hand over his own wallet. He pulled out everything save a 20 and counted the wad he had just collected from their various money stashes. "I'll get you this back tomorrow," he said to Dean's confused expression, then handed him the roll of cash. "Listen to me carefully Dean—take this and stow it in his bag—don't let him see you do it. When he leaves, trail him—make sure he gets there ok. Stay far enough back so he doesn't see you."

"You're really going to just let him leave like that? Dad, what's all this about?"

John growled in frustration. "Dean, just do as I ask, please? And don't ask me any more questions. I don't have answers for you." He looked toward the living room window and saw the closed blinds crack open. Pulling the car in reverse, he peeled out of the driveway and out of sight.

Heading around the corner, he threw open the door, somewhat relieved to be leaving the confines of the small space where stony hazel eyes bore down on him harshly. He lowered his head to avoid him as Dean slid into the drivers side. "Go Dean, before he takes off."

Listening to the roar of the Chevy's engine pulling away, he closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that it was the cold of the night air making his eyes tear up. "I'm sorry boys," he whispered to himself as he turned in the opposite direction and headed for the nearest bar. He hadn't touched alcohol in years, but tonight—he planned on drowning in the stuff.

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Nearly five years later, John found himself whispering the same apology as he stared at the far too skinny chest rising and falling with mechanical precision. He waited for Dean to move in closer before he leaned down to whisper another word to the young man lying in the bed.

The familiar Latin name always sent demons cringing and scrambling to back away from it. Dean held his breath as he listened and watched intently. He knew the best reaction would be none at all, because if something had taken Sam's place, it would try and retreat even if the body it inhabited were unconscious. And if it were as vicious as the one that had inhabited the co-pilot they had run into a few months back, then it would be ten times as dangerous with no human soul waiting in the recesses to reclaim its rightful place.

John brushed the strands of long, dark hair away from the man's ear tenderly before he spoke. No sooner had the words left his mouth that he was thrown backward into the wall by an unseen force.

Dean stood by the foot of the bed in disbelief as Sam's body twitched, his eyes fluttered, and the heart monitor's suddenly beeped wildly in alarm, indicating some sort of distress. He barely even noticed when the doctors and nurses brushed past him to get to their patient.

TBC…

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