---Well, here's chapter four. Again, thanks for the reviews, I really appreciate them. Well, here it is. Enjoy!
Chapter 4: Phone Call
John had already been gone for a week. He'd been tracking down the spirit he'd been hunting the entire time, and was finally getting close.
He'd left the boys home during the hunt because Sammy had been sick with a nasty cold. They were expecting him home the night before, but he was too close to finding the spirit to turn back home. The boys would be fine. They could take care of themselves.
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The hunt took three more days. John had been gone a total of ten days. That was ten days that he was away from his boys. Ten days that his twelve-year-old and sixteen-year-old were alone in some crap motel. But John didn't really worry. Dean had been capable of taking care of Sammy since he was seven years old.
As John made his way down the highway, he noticed the rumble of the Impala. He thought of Dean and the interest he'd been showing in the Impala since he turned sixteen. The kid kept hinting how much he wanted it, saying "It's about time the Impala had a new owner," or "You know dad, if I had car, I could drive geek boy here to school." But John wouldn't give in that easily.
John's mind wandered back to the road as he turned down the street that led to their motel room. A few minutes later, he turned into the parking lot, stopped the car, and headed to the door. It was late, and God, he was tired.
He was relived to be back and couldn't wait to get into bed. But his relief to be home quickly turned into heart-stopping fear, as he opened the door and found the motel room empty. His boys were no where in sight.
John turned around and looked into the dark. Where were they? "Sam! Dean!" he yelled as he searched for them in the night.
"Mr. Winchester?" was the reply he received.
John turned around to find a tall, lanky man in a bathrobe and sweatpants walking toward him. "Who are you?" John asked his voice harsh and worried at the same time.
"I'm sorry to alarm you, Mr. Winchester. I'm the manager of this motel. Your son, he-"
"Where are they?" John interrupted, his voice showing no sign of calming down.
"An ambulance showed up here about two hours ago. Your youngest son was sick. Your older boy asked me to tell you where they were when you got back. Said you were on some kind of a business trip?"
John was confused. Sam was sick when he left, but it wasn't' bad enough to require medical attention. Damn it. How'd it get so bad?
"What hospital?" John asked quickly as he headed toward the Impala.
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The ten minute drive to the hospital seemed to take hours, even though John sped the entire time. He should have called. Should have found a pay phone and made sure that everything was ok. When he got to the ER, he went straight to the receptionist.
"I'm looking for my son, Sam-"
"Dad?" He heard Dean's voice behind him. It sounded shaky.
"Dean, where's your brother? What's wrong?" His voice was harsh.
"Dad, he-"
"Mr. Fisher," a doctor interrupted. John looked at Dean, inquiring about the fake last name. Only when Dean nodded, did he turn to look at the doctor.
"Mr. Fisher, your son, Sam, is my patient. I'm Dr. Matteson." Then man stuck out his hand and John quickly gave it a shake. "First, let me assure you that your son is in good hands."
He just wanted to know what was wrong. "What's wrong with Sam?"
"Your son has Bronchitis. Let me assure you that it's a very common lung infection and can be treated easily with the right antibiotics. In some cases, it simply goes away on its own."
Thank god. It didn't sound too bad.
"However, in your son's case, it may be a bit more complicated. Because the infection was left without proper medical attention for so long, it's spread in the lungs. We had to provide an oxygen mask because he was having a fairly hard time breathing. His condition will improve provided there are no more complications, but we're definitely going to want to keep him here over night to make sure he's okay. Now, if you'll fill out these papers, we'll get everything worked out."
"Can I see him," John asked.
"Sam is sleeping right now. He's had a rough night. I suggest you feel out these forms and then we'll wake him so you can see him."
John nodded, not liking being told not to see his son, but he was too overwhelmed to say anything. Instead, he took the forms and sat down. He started to fill out the blanks on the papers, but stopped and looked up at Dean, anger in his glare. How could he have let this happen to his brother?
"What happened exactly?" John asked, his voice calmer than before, but still firm and harsh.
"Dad, I'm sorry. I thought he was getting better," Dean began. John heard the fear and guilt in his son's voice, but continued staring angrily. "He said he felt ok, but then this morning he started coughing and it sounded really bad. Later on he told me it was hard to breathe and I didn't know what to do." Dean paused for a moment, staring back at his father's angry gaze. "I should have brought him here sooner, but you said to only go to the hospital as a last resort."
"You should've made sure he was ok! You should've taken better care of him!" John yelled loudly enough to catch the attention of a few passersby. "You should have called!" John stopped, listening to his words. This wasn't Dean's fault. There was no way for Dean to reach him. He should have called.
If John had known that Sam was still sick after ten days, he would have told Dean to take him to the hospital. If he'd just had the common sense to pick up the phone and check on his boys, Sam wouldn't be in this condition. How could he forget something as simple as a phone call?
"I'm sorry dad. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Sammy." Dean said, guilt still strong in his voice.
John took a deep breath. "Look, son, this wasn't your fault. You didn't hurt Sam. You did the right thing bringing him here." His voice was calm now as was his face. He forced a small grin and Dean did the same.
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After filling out the forms and waiting for the better part of an hour, a nurse came up to the two waiting Winchesters and told them that Sam was awake and asking to see them. She led them to his room and closed the door, leaving the three alone.
John went up to his son's bed and smiled softly. He looked tired, but alert. "Hey there Sammy. How you feeling?"
"Pretty good," Sam replied. His voice was extremely course and he winced from the pain of talking.
"Good," Dean said, sitting at the edge of Sam's bed. "'Cuase you look like crap."
John watched Sam roll his eyes, but studied him at the same time. He did look like crap. His hair was messy, his face was pale, and there were small bags under his eyes.
"I'm glad you're feeling better son. The doctor says you're gonna be fine."
"Yeah Sammy," Dean began, his voice soft, putting a hand on his little brother's shoulder. "I'm glad you're alright too."
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The next day, Sam was ready to be checked out. A nurse came into his room while John and Dean were getting him ready to leave.
"It's going to be too bad to see you leave, Sam," the pretty nurse spoke up. She was young, John thought, probably in her early twenties. "You're son is quite the cutie, Mr. Fisher. All of the nurses here wanted to be his nurse." She patted Sam on the shoulder and left the room.
Sam chuckled, John smiled, and Dean rolled his eyes.
"Come on cutie," Dean mocked. "Stop playing the pity card and let's get you home. You need a shower, you smell."
"You're just jealous."
"Of you? Please." Dean was wearing his cocky grin again. "All I'd have to do is sneeze and I'd have the nurses eating out of the palm of my hand."
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John drove his sons back to the motel. Sam was doing a little better, although they would have to keep him in bed for awhile and make sure that he got the proper care. It took Sam almost two weeks to fully recover.
Dean had been at Sam's side the entire time. John felt guilty, not only for being the cause of Sam's ill condition, but for making Dean feel as though it was his fault. He told the kid there was nothing he could have done, that he did his best in taking care of Sam, but Dean wouldn't hear it.
John had really messed up this time. And it made him angry to know that all of this could have been avoided if he'd just taken the time to call his boys. To check on their condition. But he was too busy with the hunt. That was the most important thing at the time. More important than checking up on his sons? John should have apologized. He should have told them that he would make sure to call regularly the next time he left them alone for a hunt. But he never was one for apologies.
John would make it up to his boys. Not in the form of an apology, but he would make it up to them. He would give Sam some money when he got better and have Dean take him to a book store, or to a museum, or whatever the hell it was he liked to do. Then John thought about Dean. The kid was always looking out for his brother. Always protecting him. Dean would have been happy with a simple apology, or with a simple, "I'm proud of you, son," but John couldn't find it in him to say those simple words. Besides, he had an even better way of saying those things, and it came in the form of a '67 Chevy Impala.
----Well, at least John made it up to them this time, right? Thanks for reading, that one was tougher for me to right for some reason. I've had a touch of writer's block lately. As always, reviews are appreciated and help get rid of that pesky writer's block. :)