In the aftermath of Chrissie's accident, John confronts his eldest.

Murals of rainbows and dragons illustrated the walls surrounding the paediatric ward at the hospital, several children huddled under their blankets as they lay in their allocated beds. Chrissie glanced around fearfully at the other children around her, several were hooked onto machines that helped them breathe or maintained their heart beat. The five year old curled under her covers, holding the stiff white sheets close to her fragile chest, eyes wide with trepidation. After falling head first into the lake and almost drowning, the poor child seemed to be a shadow of herself. It was as if she had become a calm and had shut herself out from the rest of the world. Maybe it was her way of coping with the ordeal that had put the fear of God into her.

Her thirteen year old brother, Sam, who was sitting patiently at her bedside, could only gaze at his baby sister and worry about what could have happened if he and his older brother arrived at the scene too late. The idea sent shivers down the teenager's spine and he hastily shoved the thought into the very back of his mind, deep in the dark shadows. He couldn't lose another loved one, not since losing his mother at eight years old. The pain was still raw inside, and this incident had brought it all flooding back. Tears clouded his vision but he forced them back as any sign of weakness would only cause Chrissie more distress. Chrissie noticed her brother's angst and gazed up at him with her radiant green eyes, bottom lip stuck out in a trembling pout. She wriggled across the bed and wrapped her skinny arms around her big brother, patting his back in an act of comfort.

Blood trickled down ten year old Sam's knee, the large cut had been the result of trying to vault the fence outside, only it hadn't went according to plan. Instead, the boy went flying over but catching his knee on a ragged corner of the wood.

Now he sat at the bottom of the stairs, glancing at his injury, feeling sorry for himself with fat tears dripping down his face. He was crying because his Dad scolded him for messing up a simple vault. Life wasn't fun anymore, he wanted his Mom but knew that was impossible.

The sound of small clumpy footsteps caused the boy to lift his head from his hands. Before him stood his two year old baby sister. Chrissie, dressed in scruffy overalls and a dinky red t-shirt, squatted down and gazed at her big brother with curious eyes and an endearing head tilt.

"You kay, Hammy?," she asked. "You cwying. Why you cwying?"

"Yeah, I'm okay Chrissie," sniffed the boy sadly. "I just cut my knee. It's a bad cut."

The toddler looked at the wound and wrinkled her nose at she inspected it further.

"Dat a bad cut," she commented adorably. "Bad cut."

She then placed her tiny hand over her brother's uninjured knee, and patted it gently. For a two year old, the compassion and love the toddler expressed was no doubt a beacon of light to the upset ten year old.

"Der now," added the toddler. "You no cwy. No cwy. You bwave boy. No baby."

The boy smiled weakly at his baby sister.

As the little girl consoled her sibling, her father and eldest brother were outside the ward, watching from behind the door. John was amazed at his little girl's sense of loyalty and empathy, how could someone so young convey such emotions. It was clear that his only daughter shared her late mother's nurturing spirit. John bit down on his bottom lip fiercely, drawing blood in the process.

"Tell me again," he asked his eldest son. "What happened."

Seventeen year old Dean, gulped as he confronted his obviously pissed father.

"I told you, Chrissie was playing outside and somehow she ended up in the lake" explained the older teenager.

John nodded his head slightly before marching his son down the corridor and pushing him into the men's restroom. Rage exploded within John and he grabbed his son's t-shirt and crushing him against one of the cubicles. Guilt was evident within his eldest child's green eyes, his expression sorrowful and pleading. John rattled him into the cubicle several times before squeezing his son's jaw with vice like fingers.

"Do you have any idea what could've happened to your sister?," he growled menacingly. His grip tightened, causing the teen to wince slightly in discomfort. A thunderous exclamation erupted from the man "Do you!"

The teen quivered in shock as his father continued his tightened his grip on his jaw, the bone creaking under the pressure.

"Dad, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry" implored the teenager in heartfelt misery

"You should've been watching her, taking care of her. It's your job!" hissed John angrily.

Dean had reached the end of his tether with his father. Those words stung like a thousand killer bees.

"Am I responsible for everything in this damn family!," he declared in a broken yet firm tone. "Why is it my job. I'm not her father. You are. You go on about responsibly, Dad, so why don't you take some responsibility for this family too, for fuck sake!"

With that statement, John realised his fingers from his son's jaw, only to suddenly backhand the boy. Dean recoiled in astonishment at his father's action, he could sense blood in his mouth, before noting the small cut on his lower lip caused by the harsh slap. The strength of the slap had even forced him onto the ground.

John glared at his boy before hauling him onto his feet and ramming him against the cubicle once again.

"Never use that tone with me, boy," threatened John, eyes burning into that of his son's. A cruel statement uttered from the older man, chilling words that haunted his son's damaged ego "This is all your fault."

That declaration stabbed into the boy's heart, increasing the remorse and torment. Dean hitched his shaking breathe as he gazed at his father with crestfallen eyes.

"You don't need to remind me, Dad" he whispered brokenly, tears stinging at the back of his eyes.

John glanced at him for a second before letting him go. Without even looking at him, John shoved him rudely away.

"Get outta my sight," he grunted. "I can't even look at you."

Dean didn't need a second telling. The teenager slowly left the restroom, nursing his wounded self esteem before he fled the wards and found sanctuary within a disabled restroom. The seventeen year old could feel the barricade holding back his repressed emotions buckling. His chest tightened as he slammed and locked the door, his vision growing cloudier and cloudier. Soon the barricade was destroyed, sending the young hunter into despair as his back collided with the door. Tears streamed freely as he slid down the door, quiet sobs racking his frame. Pulling his knees to his aching chest, and folding his arms around them, the teen rested his head as he continued to cry.

He had screwed up. He was a disappointment to his father, and had put his precious baby sister in peril, that could've easily resulted in death. The image of his mother appeared in his mind which caused his heart to splitter further.

"I try so hard, Mom," he whispered through his tears. "I just want to keep her safe, like you told me. But I messed up. I'm so sorry. I failed you."

The tears thickened and flowed more openly as the distraught teenager broken down completely. The words of his father terrorising him and the image of his baby sister floating in the water. He was glad he was alone during this process as his siblings would only get upset and pester him with questions on his emotions.

"I'm the world's worst brother" he wept.

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