CHAPTER FOUR

The FBI was watching Dean intently on the phone.

The second he answered his jaw tightened and his whole body tensed, making them watch in concern and interest.

"Dad?"

The hostility behind his voice surprised them.

"No, I figured she had just left."

Then it seemed like his dad had walked away because Dean held it to his ear but continued with his work.

Then his face went white and he dropped the phone.

Morgan ran over and picked it up, listening to his dad on the other end.

"Dean? Dean, what happened?"

The man was sobbing, and Morgan suddenly felt horrible for thinking what he had about the man for cutting his son off.

"Sir, this is SSA Morgan with the FBI. What's happening?"

"My wife."

He couldn't finish the sentence, but I didn't need him to.

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Dean was numb.

JJ had led him away to the break room, trying her best to comfort him without knowing what was going on.

Morgan finally joined them and he placed a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry."

Dean nodded and looked up with red rimmed eyes.

"I should've forgiven her sooner. I should've…"

"It's not your fault, okay? The firefighter said another guy swerved and ran her off the road."

Dean sobbed at this and Morgan sat down, letting the kid cry into his chest.

There was something about him, he felt responsible for him. He had a feeling that after this case was over he would be seeing Dean a lot.

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The day of the funeral came much faster than anyone was okay with.

John had taken up heavy drinking again. And he hit it hard.

He forgot Sam's medications and treatments for that whole week after she died, leaving him extremely sick and in a tremendous amount of pain.

He hadn't been able to get out of bed since that first morning he spent without her, and now he couldn't even walk.

He knew what had happened. His dad told him but at first it didn't sink in.

His dad walked into his room, sober for once, and he noticed how bad his son looked.

He rushed over and felt his forehead in guilt.

"Oh god Sammy, I'm so sorry."

John lifted his son and he weakly cried out in pain and pushed against his dad's chest as he wheezed painfully.

John barely held back a sob at the state his son was in and he laid him down, realizing for the first time that he hadn't changed a diaper in a week.

As expected, he unstrapped it and there was a huge mess inside, making him feel even guiltier.

He turned the water on in the bathtub and picked Sammy up, cradling him and trying to soothe him as he whimpered in pain.

John quickly got the laundry going and clean up the mess just as the bath was done, beginning to bathe Sam.

He was lying limp against the side and he could barely even move. John washed him carefully with tears in his eyes the whole time.

When he finally finished he carried him into his room and got his diaper on, pulling on a nice onesie and some pants, not knowing what else to put him in.

He picked him up and he weakly wrapped one arm around John's shoulder and put his other thumb in his mouth.

John carried him downstairs to the couch and hooked him up to his breathing machine, having to lay him down to keep it on since he couldn't hold it.

As he was taking the medicine, John got ready, pulling his nicest tux on and making sure he didn't have any lingering smells of alcohol radiating off him.

By the time he went downstairs Sam's treatment had finished and he was just laying there, wheezing heavily, the mask still on.

John winced. He was still too weak to move. He went over and picked him up, sliding the mask off.

He slipped Sam a pacifier that he had grabbed from his room, and told himself just this once he could use it, since it was John's fault he was in so much pain in the first place.

He carried him to the car and strapped him in before getting in the drivers seat and heading to the funeral home.

The moment he stepped out the car is when he saw Dean.

Leaning against a truck, talking to someone with a badge and a gun on his hip. His brow furrowed in confusion and walked over, making sure to keep a close eye on Sam.

"Dean?"

He turned, along with the guy next to him, and his eyes darknened slightly but he didn't decide to be rude.

"Hey dad."

"I didn't know if you were coming," he said.

"Yeah. It was a last minute decision," Dean said with some venom in his tone.

John nodded and looked back at the car once more. "Well, see you inside."

Dean nodded and turned back around. John headed back to the Impala and got in, making sure not to go inside until Dean was out of sight.

He figured Dean would see him with Sam, but he could easily pass it off as a friend's kid. At least he thought.

He got out and picked Sam up, carrying him in and settling in the front row.

And Dean sat right beside him. Why didn't he think about that?

He looked at John then at the child in his arms. "Dad? Who is that?"

John looked down at Sammy and thanked god that he was asleep. "Oh, um, it's, uh, he's…"

He trailed off, not finding any reasonable excuses.

The truth hit Dean like a train. His eyes lit up and looked at John in shock and surprise. "Dad, is that… do I have a baby brother?"

John began to deny it, mumbling 'no,' but Dean knew. He knew by the way John avoided eye contact, gripping the boy in his arms tighter.

The little boy whimpered and John immediately turned his attention to him. "Hey, I'm sorry buddy. I'm sorry. You can go home and sleep soon."

Dean tried getting a look at the boys face but he was turned away and John wasn't letting him go.

He reached his arms out in a gesture to hold him, but John shook his head and held him closer.

Dean sighed in disappointment and thought back to all the times his mom had called. Had she been trying to tell him all this time?

"I didn't want you putting ideas in his head. Making him turn against me like you did."

Dean looked at his father incredulously. "Are you kidding? Dad, you needed to let me make my own decisions. And if you don't do that with him, you'll lose him too."

"How old is he anyway?"

John sighed, "4."

Dean gasped. The boy barely looked 2. It had been five years since he left.

He thought back to the last day he saw his parents. His mother, rubbing her belly with a small smile on her face. Him, getting a call in class, realizing now almost exactly nine months later.

She had called him, probably when she went into labor. And he ignored her.

He had left her all alone, to go to the hospital and have a baby, and her own son was too petty to answer.

John spoke up. "I was with her. Just so you know. You probably think I wasn't, but I left work straight away. She wasn't alone."

Dean nodded in relief. "Good."

"Does he like cars?"

John laughed. "Yeah, he does. He'll stand up there with me and help."

Dean smiled. "What's his name?"

John hesitated. "Sammy. His name is Sam."

"Sammy. I like it."

At the sound of his name, Sam turned his head, blinking tiredly up at Dean.

Dean smiled at him. "Hey there. I'm Dean."

Sam looked up at John. "The De Mommy said?"

"Yeah, buddy. That Dean."

Sam nodded weakly and laid his head back down on John's chest, sucking absentmindedly on his pacifier.

John took a moment, then looked at Dean, telling him to hold his arms out. Dean obliged slowly, and John slowly moved Sammy to Dean's chest, making him whimper.

Dean shot John a worried look. "Is he okay? Why does he keep whimpering?"

John sighed and looked away. "No. He isn't."

Dean looked up at him again with a horrified expression. "Wait, is that why mom sounded so exhausted on the phone?"

He nodded. "She was constantly taking care of him, trying to find anything that would help him. She barely slept, barely did anything but worry over him."

"So every time I didn't pick up…"

"She always called when she had given up. Lost hope and wanted someone to talk to.

Dean looked down at the tiny body in his arms and tears welled up in his eyes as he noticed for the first time how badly the boy was wheezing.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He was born with chronic lung disease. The doctors said it would either kill him or he'd recover before the age of 2, but now he still has really bad issues."

"Will it ever go away?"

John sighed. "The doctors don't think so."

Dean nodded. He looked down at Sam again and noticed how painful the wheezing seemed to be.

"Is he in pain?"

"Yeah. Most of the time he can't even sleep because of how bad it is."

Dean's eyebrows rose at this. It was horrible.

He just found that he had a baby brother and now he discovers that he's in pain most of the time. He wanted to cry for him but he knew it wouldn't do any good.

And even though he would never say it out loud, he felt bad that his dad was all Sam had now. At least Dean had his mom.

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John left Sam on Dean's lap, knowing he couldn't bring him up with him when he said the eulogy.

It was the hardest thing he's ever done, talking about his wife like that.

But looking at his son, not even the motivation of knowing what his wife would want for him made him stop drinking.

Dean had handed Sam back over right as John sat down, as John had held his arms out for him.

John and Dean said quick goodbyes, Dean staring longingly at his father's back as he headed back to the car with his little brother.

Morgan walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, again."

Dean nodded. "Thanks. For everything. I mean, you didn't have to come."

"I wanted to. You're a good kid, Dean. And I've approved it with my boss. He said you can come back with us, to the BAU. Starting now. But only if you want. We've been down two men for forever now. You'd really be helping us out."

Dean thought for a moment. "You're in Virginia, right?"

Morgan nodded. Then Dean nodded back.

"Yeah. I think I'd like that. Thanks, man."

Morgan smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "No problem."

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John sped home angrily. Not only had Dean met Sam, but the reality of his wife's death had hit him again full force.

He looked at his son in the rear-view mirror and focused on his labored breathing, his occasional whimpers of pain.

But it was only to keep his mind off the whiskey. He knew the moment he picked it up he wouldn't be able to stop.

It was a miracle he had been able to stay sober today so far. But he knew it wouldn't last.

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And he tried. He tried so hard to keep control of his sobriety. For Sam.

But he slipped. He had just set Sam up to his machine, 2 weeks after Mary's death. He had gotten better about taking care of Sam, even rivalling the care Mary used to put in.

He went to the kitchen to make Sam breakfast, since it was only 8 in the morning, and he forgot about the bottle he left in the pantry, right next to the bread.

He glanced over at Sam and figured he was doing much better. He grabbed the bottle and greedily took a swig.

He stumbled a bit on the way to the couch and he collapsed next to Sam.

His son looked at him with concern in his eyes as he kept breathing in his medicine and John took another swig.

It hurt how much his son looked like Mary. He couldn't help it, obviously, but it still killed him to see it.

Sam's expression turned almost fearful and he couldn't take it, lashing out and slapping Sam across the face.

Sam started crying and John stared in shock at what he had done.

Then someone started knocking at the door and he quickly got up and stumbled over, answering it.

It was Dean.