Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It's the transition that's troublesome.

- Isaac Asimov

Chapter Thirteen – Vigil

A clasp of thunder shook the sky and the torrential rains came down with a fury as the heavens unleashed their wrath, pounding the dirt trail from the barn to the Impala into a soupy mud within minutes. Jagged bolts of lighting lit up the dusk as John wrapped his wasted son in his strong arms and headed out to the Impala, his feet heavy with the mud trying to impede his progress.

One urgent phone call and Joshua had driven Dean's car up to the derelict barn to transport them back to his cabin. As John placed his son in the back seat he studied the rain soaked features of his face. His strong, handsome face was devoid of any expression, he almost looked peaceful, as if just in slumber. John knew looks were deceiving; his son was engaged in the fight of his life, the ultimate fight for his life.

Ten hours later as delirium wracked his body, his unconscious mind was preparing to take him on a final journey over his life, a last look at the mighty and fragile Dean Winchester. He truly was a dichotomy of contrasts. He was the brave and fearless warrior who faced down evil every day, never wavering and always persevering; yet buried deep within was the terrified four year old boy softly crying through the night, hoping the evil he had witnessed first hand was all a dream and his mom would wake him from his nightmare.

He was forever the protector, doing anything necessary to protect and comfort his younger brother and keep his family intact, vigilant in his duty, deadly in his actions; and yet hidden behind the mask he had so carefully fabricated, he was the sensitive, damaged child seeking reassurance from his absent father that he was loved and he himself was safe and protected from all harm. A reassurance that seldom came and he had learned long ago to forgive the lapse and still faithfully believe in the wisdom and strength of that same father.

Dean tenaciously held undying faith in his dad and as long as he held true to his beliefs, he could face this twisted world. His belief in Dad and his need to protect Sammy the only things keeping him tethered to reality in the evil world he now dwelt in.

Dean was shaking from the fever and chills consuming his body. Sweat beaded on his face and saturated his straining chest. He was lost in agitation, buried deep within himself, oblivious to the presence of his dad and brother once more united in their concern for him. They sat on opposite sides of his bed, sat in silence, waiting and hoping.

The full moon had risen and subsequently set and he had remained Dean. The previous signs of his transformation had receded back into memory. The nails on his fingers were once more normal, his eyes when prodded open were not filled with an animal's rage but were instead sad, hollow human eyes. He was still Dean and would remain as such; the only question now being, would he live?

Joshua could offer no further hope than to say it all depended on Dean now. His body had engaged in the ultimate battle and he had won, now time and his own inner strength and fortitude would determine if the fight had drained too much of his energy for his spirit to survive.

His breathing was ragged and shallow as his body struggled onward. Sam would on occasion rise to his brother's lips listening to make sure air was still passing between them. At other times he would place his hand on his chest, waiting for the slight rise and fall to indicate he was still alive, still breathing, still fighting.

John sat in his chair with his hands clasping his throbbing head, rubbing his temples in slow, steady circles, lost in his own world of regret and despair. Wondering how he had ever let this all happen, reliving Sam's previous angry words and vowing that if he is given a second chance he will be more vigilant. He will never again let his son tread this close to death; he will protect him at all cost.

The pain and guilt of past slights and neglects, of hurts inflicted on both his sons in anger and indifference filled his brain and made his headache worsen with every passing minute Dean remained unconscious. All the times he had put his boys second, behind whatever evil he had been hunting, coming back to haunt him as the realization hit that his boys were always first, that he had simply forgotten and fallen victim to the immediacy of the hunt. Lord knows, I've made mistakes. Give me the chance to make it up to my boys, both my boys.

And yet the reality was John could envision no other life. In the beginning, for a split second, he had tried to forget the evil that stalked his family. He had rashly attempted to put all their pain and suffering behind them, but that had been a fool's hope. Evil wanted his family and would keep coming to claim them, and he needed satisfaction against those evil sons of bitches that destroyed his last chance at a happy life.

His mind and soul demanded vengeance and evil seemed to goad him onward whenever he strayed from that path. Evil lusted for this fight as much as he did, so in his family's defense his only option was to attack with everything he had.

Dean understood they were engaged in a war and there was no opportunity for surrender and a peaceful outcome. Surrender meant death, retreating meant death, ignoring the obvious and pretending to live a normal life meant certain death. Their only choice was to fight, fight with everything they possessed for as long as they could stand and bear arms.

Sam would just have to accept the truth, the inevitability of their participation in this war with evil. Evil would not accept anything less. Evil was not about to back down or surrender, regardless of how menacing the Winchester men could be. This was a fight to the death and it was John's duty to prepare his sons for their part in this cosmic battle.

Sam seemed oblivious to the whole, universal theme of good verses evil. Refusing to acknowledge the larger aspect, he focused on his brother's lone fight with one deadly werewolf. He only saw the personal pain of his brother's sacrifice in his dad's war against evil. Sam could only think of the agony of losing his big brother in this final, absolute way: a reckless, needless sacrifice that didn't change anything except for the fact that Dean might surrender his life.

Now faced with losing his brother in this tragic manner, he wondered how he had ever thought he could leave Dean. Dean was the best part of himself. His brother had given himself totally over the past eighteen years. Dean was everything. He had been the best brother anyone could ever imagine and Sam shuddered to think of losing that. And I almost willingly threw it away. What kind of brother am I? How could I be so selfish? Dean, I'm so sorry for hurting you like that, please.., don't leave me.

Sam's eyes were now wasted, red pools of despair, his tears long since drained from his body. He could no longer produce any fresh tears. Even his energy had waned as if he had gathered any strength and might he held and channeled them into his brother's spirit, hoping that together they could fight this cure that had saved him, but left his exhausted body perilously close to death.

Dean had always been the energizer rabbit, had always possessed infinite strength and determination yet his battery was now discharged and he lay on his bed like a broken toy. They used to joke that Dean could function on coffee and a bag of M & M's for days, weeks if need be. His passion alone enough to fuel his body. Come on now Dean, show me what you've got. I know you can beat this. I know you can.

"John, Sam, here are some sandwiches. You need to eat." Joshua entered the room with a tray of food and drinks.

"I'm not hungry." Sam responded.

"Sam, Josh is right. You need to eat." John instructed as he took a sandwich for himself.

"I said, I'm not hungry."

"Sam! I don't want to fight with you. Not now. Please." John looked up at his son, locking eyes with him and exerting his will once more.

Sam stared back at him, revealing his own will and refusing to bend to his father's wishes.

"Sam, you need to eat. You getting weak and sick is not going to help Dean, you know that. Do as your father says." Joshua pleaded.

Sam grabbed a sandwich, still glaring at his dad before returning his gaze to his brother's still form.

As Dean lay dying, hovering between life and death, his family once more drew up arms in battle. A battle of wills ensued that had no real purpose except to display the stubborn pride and unwavering determination of the two people Dean was counting on to pull him back to the side of life. The tension in the room magnified and Dean subconsciously moved ever so slightly in his bed.

Both men sat on their chairs, uneaten sandwiches gripped in their hands, all their attention once again focused on the still body lying in the bed, drifting further away, shifting unconsciously away from the sounds of the battle. The shallow breathing once more becoming the focus of all attention.

Minutes, hours and finally a full day passed with no change in his condition. Dean showed no sign of reviving, but he had not made a turn for the worse either. He was suspended in time, trapped between his life and his death, not yet living, but at least not dying. John took what little comfort he could in that.

Joshua determined they would need to hook him up to an IV drip within another day if he didn't improve on his own. He couldn't just remain in this unresponsive state unattended. Dehydration and other complications could hasten his decline if left unchecked.

The longer he remained in this state the further away a full recovery seemed. John took to talking to his son when Sam finally fell into a restless sleep. This might be his last opportunity to tell his son all the dreams and hopes he had long buried concerning his sons. How he had never wanted this life for his boys. How circumstances beyond his control had shaped the lives they now lead. Damn, I want you to have that normal life Dean; I want you to have a home again. I want so much for you….

"You know Dean, when you were a boy….Hell, when was the last time you were a boy? Must have been that night, when you carried your brother out of our old house…. You grew up so fast after that… Every time I looked in your eyes, I saw the pain of that night, the pain of you losing your mom and it broke my heart….

I started not looking at you, cause I just couldn't bear to see what was in those eyes. I know it wasn't right and it wasn't fair, but I just couldn't stand to see how broken you were. I wanted to comfort you, I did…. Sammy thinks I'm a hardass and he's probably right, but every time I saw how hurt you were I just wanted to break down and cry, and I just couldn't let you see me like that….

You needed a father, a strong man to protect you, and God, I felt so weak and broken myself. I'd sneak a look at you sometimes and I could see you looking at me like I was your knight in shining armor ready to protect you, a hero or something…. You'd always looked at me like that and I loved it when we were a family…, when Mary was alive. Mary made me feel like I could do anything, that I was powerful and strong, invincible really, and then I found out I couldn't even save my own wife….

I was such a mess, how could I let you see the real me? But you did, didn't you? Try as I might, I couldn't hide how devastated I was, and that just made me avoid your looks even more. I just didn't want you to see me like that, but I couldn't help it, I just couldn't.…

So you took charge of Sammy…, of me…, of our lives. You took care of us all, and I left you on your own, with no one to take care of you…. Oh, I eventually came around and put food on the table, most nights anyway. And I made sure you had a bed to sleep in, well again mostly. And you never complained, you never asked for anything unless you were asking for your brother. Never once did you ask for yourself. Not once." God, what have I done?

Dean mumbled and again shifted in his bed before once more settling into a peaceful rest. His fever and chills had long since disappeared, replaced by stillness and nothingness. He now lay on his bed as if just sleeping, silently passing the time with no motion or expression. Waiting. Waiting for his life to swell back up within him or vanish completely and deliver him to death.

"Dean, please wake up. Sammy says I sacrificed your life to wage my war on evil. He's wrong about that; I didn't sacrifice you out there in the woods. But I did sacrifice your childhood all those years ago. I made you grow into a man when you should have still been a boy. I stole your childhood from you and made you my soldier. Son, I'm sorry…. I still don't know what else I could have done; I had to make you strong enough to fight this war that was laid at our feet.…

I don't know…. I should have done something…. I should have at least made sure you were all right. I should have comforted you all those lonely nights, instead of you trying to console me. Dean, I'm so sorry for not being the Dad you deserved."

Dean stirred and again mumbled something John couldn't quite hear. He rose to his feet hoping his son was regaining consciousness. Dean's eyes were still tightly closed, his mouth incoherent in his mutterings.

Sam stirred from his rest in his sleeping bag on the floor.

"Did Dean say something?" He excitedly asked.

"He's mumbling. I can't make out what he's saying."

Sam stretched and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, slowly rising to gaze once more at the still form on the bed. Dean looked in peaceful slumber. Aside from the gaunt look to his face and the deathly still of his body he appeared to just be resting. Of course, Dean never slept on his back, so still, for this long.

His head moved ever so slightly as he again mumbled words, so soft his family could barely hear him. Sam leaned in next to his brother's mouth as he formed the words. Sam stood up, a shocked look on his face.

"What did he say? Sam? What?"

Tears again found Sam as they welled in his eyes.

"Sam, what did he say?"

"He said, 'Sorry Mrs. Denton.'"

"What? Who the hell is Mrs. Denton?"

"See, that's what I mean. You don't even know. You don't even know your own son."

"Sam, please... tell me."

With contempt filling his eyes Sam looked at his dad once more. All the times John wasn't there when his sons needed him bubbling to the surface. All the memories of needing his dad only to find he was second, third or fourth best after the evil sons of bitches Dad always found more important, again driving home the fact his sons just didn't matter. Sam once more confronted the irrefutable fact that Dad chose fighting evil over being the father his sons deserved.

"Sam, please."

"Mrs. Denton was Dean's English teacher."

"What? Why would he speak of her? Why would he think of her now?"

"Maybe cause she's dead."

"Dead? How? Was it supernatural? Was she evil?"

"No. Why does everything with you have to be about the supernatural? She was good and important to Dean and she died. All right?"

"Sam…, why was she important? Please, I want to know."

"You never cared before."

"You're wrong…. I know I haven't always been there for you boys. I'm sorry, Sam…. Please, I need to know."

"She was his favorite teacher and she got cancer and she died."

"Why was she important? What did he say about her?"

"You know Dean, he never actually said too much, but I knew."

"How? How did you know?"

"Well for one thing, he was going to the hospital every chance he got to visit her at the end."

"He did? Dean hates being around sick people."

"Yeah, well he was there all the time. He took books to read to her."

"Dean?"

"Yeah Dad, Dean. I bet there's lots you don't know about your son…, either of your sons."

"You're right. Sam…, what else?"

Sam paused, debating with himself how much he was willing to tell Dad at this late date. Wondering if he truly cared or was just covering the bases, protecting his ass.

"Dean wore a suit at her funeral."

"A suit? When was this?"

"I don't know, maybe six years ago. Yeah, Dean had just turned sixteen a couple months before. He was a pallbearer at her funeral."

"What? Did you go to the funeral Sammy?"

"Yeah, I wanted to be there for my brother, to support him. I didn't really know Mrs. D, that's what he called her, Mrs. D., very well. I only met her a few times. She had us over to her house for a barbeque on New Years. She was real nice."

Sam studied his dad's face, he looked puzzled and shocked. Just like Sam had said all along, he didn't know his sons at all, didn't know where they went or who they spoke to, didn't know the important people in their lives, not that there were ever that many people they let into their lives. Dad didn't know anything except how skilled they were at taking down evil.

Maybe that was the saddest part of all, Dean hardly ever let anyone into his life, never let anyone get close to him and here he finally had, and then she died. No wonder he shut himself off from people. She had been fighting a battle Dean was incapable of joining in to save her. I think that's part of what hurt so bad. If it had been evil, Dean would have gone to hell and back to save her. With this, he was just lost, helpless, unable to do anything. Life sure can be cruel.

Dean would probably kill him for this, but since he was lying on his death bed and might never wake up, Sam decided to taunt him. You got a problem with me telling Dad this, then you're just gonna have to wake up and show me. I dare you Dean, wake up and thrash me for revealing one of your secrets.

"Dean cried at the funeral…. and after."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He tried not to let me see, but I knew."

John collapsed in his chair again, once more realizing how much he had given up in his fight with evil. His son cried for a woman he had never even met, a woman who meant so much to him that he was still thinking about her six years later on possibly his death bed. What else don't I know about my son? What else have I missed out on? What other secrets might my son take to his grave?