okay, so new Dean chapter update...sorry it is short, meant for it to be longer, but it was just a really good place to end it...hope everyone enjoys...please, let me know what you think, i do so love reviews!!! bambers;)

Chapter Seven

Dean stood beside the hospital bed, staring in forlorn hopelessness at the pale shadow of the man who had always been his hero. Stark white bandages, covered tufts of his father's dark brown hair, a ventilator forcing oxygen into his lungs. The slow, irregular beat of the heart monitor, echoed throughout the stillness of the room.

Taking hold of his Dad's hand, Dean bit at his lower lip, trying to think of the right thing to say. This is all my fault. There's nothing I can say to make up for what I've done.

He swallowed hard, the tightness in his chest, nearly unbearable. "I never got to thank you, Dad. You gave up everything for me. Everything. The Colt. Your life. Your soul." Dean lowered his head, blinking back the tears threatening to fall. "Why did you do it? Why didn't you just let me die? Sometimes I think it would've been better if you had."

Dean waited breathlessly for a response he knew would never come. The words the doctor had spoken haunted him. Severe brain damage . . . massive heart attack . . . coma . . . vegetative state . . . prepare yourself for the possibility he may not survive.

"No, you have to fight for me, Dad. You can't die on me again — not again."

Turning, Dean stared out the window, the inky indigo sky peeking through the blinds. He rubbed his tired eyes. "How do I say I'm sorry for killing you, not once but twice." He laughed wryly. "Betcha, Hallmark doesn't make a card for that occasion."

This isn't real. Dad's already dead. He died saving my life. Dean squinched his eyelids shut, temples throbbing mercilessly. He kneaded the sides of his head with his palms, trying to drive the ache away. But he's not dead. He's right there. He's alive and needs me.

He swung to stare at John, eyes glistening. "Come on, Dad . . . you're a Winchester. You're a fighter . . . fight for me." Dean held his breath, praying his father would open his eyes, that he would wake up and be all right."Please. I'm begging you. You gotta live. Sammy needs you . . . I need you."

The steady pulse of the monitor counted down the seconds as Dean waited. Nothing. Not even the slightest movement.

Dean slumped onto a cushioned chair beside the bed, elbows on knees, fingers curling tightly around his hair. He sat for the longest time, lost in thought, fears curdling his stomach like spoiled milk. Where are you Sam? Are you even alive?

Not looking at his father for dread of losing what little of himself he had left, Dean spoke in earnest, "I don't know what to believe in anymore, Dad. I've been your good little soldier for as long as I can remember . . . for so damn long, I don't really think I am a person anymore . . . if I ever truly was."

Dean drew a shuddering intake of air, lungs burning with each ragged breath. Wincing, he clutched his chest and hunched when the pain wouldn't subside. Dean closed his eyes. He pushed forward, knowing he might not get another chance. "I've killed more things than I can even begin to imagine and have lost everything in the process . . . and maybe I am being punished for that now."

Sammy . . . Damn it, I've lost everything else, I can't have lost him too.

"It wasn't right you know — you had no right to ask me to kill Sam if I couldn't save him." Coughing spasmodically, Dean tasted blood at the back of his throat, and on his lips. He swiped his hand across his mouth, pulling it away tinged crimson.

There was blood splattered everywhere . . . I was sick . . . Sam and I had a fight and he left.

He stared at the blood trying hard to recall more of the haunting vision. He touched the scars on his wrist, glaring at the hateful reminder.

"I have to believe Sam is alive, Dad . . . have to believe I can save him — it's all I have left. It's the only legacy you left behind for me. I can't fail you or Sam — I won't." Dean sighed in resignation. "So, if that makes me insane, then I guess I always was."

A knock at the door shattered the silence, startling Dean from his introspective ramblings. Dean stared slack-jawed at the man standing at the entrance. No, it can't be . . . he's in jail. I saw the police take him away.

"Hello, Dean. It's good to see you again."

"What the hell are you doing here, Gordon?" Dean blurted incredulously. He leapt to his feet, glaring at the dark-skinned man.

"It's Doctor Gordon." Gordon smiled, the warmth of it, not reaching the depths of his deep brown eyes. Stroking his goatee, Gordon bit his lip thoughtfully. He shook his head as he looked beyond Dean to where John lay unmoving on the hospital bed. "This is what we were afraid of isn't it, Dean? Such a tragedy. You know that, don't you?" He glanced at Dean, feigning a look of sympathy. "I've come to take you back to the Mt. Holy Oak Sanatorium, so you can get the help you need."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You tried to kill Sam, you bastard!"

"No, Dean, I never tried to harm your brother. Sammy died in a car accident a year ago." A snide smirk settled on Gordon's face.

Dean stalked to Gordon, stopping within mere inches of him. "It's Sam. Only I get to call him Sammy." He crossed his arms defiantly, glaring at him. "And you did try to blow him up, twice, but he outsmarted you." Dean laughed sardonically. "Tell me how did it feel to be hauled away by the police and thrown in jail? Must've really pissed you off."

"That was just another one of your many delusions," Gordon chided.

"Delusion or not, I still pegged you right. You were an asshole in my reality and you're still one here."

"I'm not here to argue with you, Dean." Gordon stepped away from the door and a police officer entered. Gordon reached in the pocket of his jacket, withdrew a piece of paper, and held it out to Dean. "This is a court order for your involuntary commitment."

Dean snatched the paper from him, scowling at the document. He ripped it to shreds without bothering to read it. "I'm staying right here with my father." Balling his hands into tight fists, Dean took a step closer to Gordon, glaring at him. "And God help the man who tries to make me leave."

"Your father is here because of you, Dean. Can't you see you need help before you hurt yourself or someone else?" Gordon cajoled.

"I never meant to hurt my Dad." Dean reluctantly conceded, his mind racing, trying to figure out a plan of escape. "It was an accident."

"I know."

I have to get him to leave, have to make him believe I am going along with this. Dean shook his head, a forlorn expression crossing his features. "I don't want to hurt anyone else."

"Then come with me. I promise I'll help you get better."

Dean bit at his lower lip, pretending to mull over Gordon's words. "If I agree, you let me stay here with my Dad until I know he is going to be all right?"

Gordon eyed him warily.

Come on, you sonuvabitch, agree to it. "You can post the guard outside the door if you don't trust me. I won't be any trouble. Just let me stay with my father."

Gordon was quiet for a second, then gave a curt nod. "All right, Dean. We'll try it your way; as long as you promise you'll come with Officer Lewis when it's time."

Grinning, Dean raised two fingers, curling his thumb over the other two in an oath. "Scout's honor."

Doctor Gordon regarded Dean briefly then nodded to the policeman at his side. "This is Officer Lewis. He'll be right outside the door. You understand that, Dean?" Dean nodded slowly and Gordon turned to the patrolman. "When Mr. Winchester is ready to leave, please escort him to Mt. Holy Oak."

Officer Lewis moved to a position just outside the door, and leaned against the wall. "Sure, Dr. Gordon."

Dean silently crept to the door and listened until he heard the sound of Gordon's footfalls growing fainter. He turned and strode to his father's side, and held his hand. "I'm so sorry, Dad, I don't want to leave you behind." Dean's throat constricted, a dull ache tearing away at his heart. His grip tightened around his father's fingers. "I don't want to lose you again. For you to be gone like . . . like you have to be if this isn't real. But I can't believe in this. So you can't be real. And I can't stay with you." Tears fell unabashedly down his cheeks as he drew in a staggering breath. "Sam is out there somewhere searching for me. I can't give up on him — I don't think you would want me to." Reluctantly, Dean let go of his hand and glanced at his father one last time.

Dean grabbed the heavy bedside chair and dragged it loudly across the floor, the legs screeching in protest. With a muffled cry, he slammed his fist against the blinds and window, then rushed across the room to the door, holding his breath in anticipation.

The door swung open and Officer Lewis rushed inside, his head swivelling and eyes narrowed as he peered across the dimly lit room. Dean grabbed hold of him, swung him and smashed his fist into the man's face repeatedly. Lewis blocked, a solid punch connecting with Dean's mid-section. Dean clutched the man's arm, twisted it and kicked him in the back, sending the officer sprawling head first into the wall. Lewis crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

Hurrying to him, Dean quickly checked for a pulse, then undressed the officer. Dean hauled him to his feet, dragged him across the room, righted the chair and dropped him down onto it. Handcuffing Officer Lewis' hands behind his back, Dean then jerked down the cording from the blinds and bound his feet. He yanked off his shirt, tore a long strip of it off and gagged Lewis.

The man opened groggy eyes just as Dean finished dressing in the uniform. Placing the police officer's hat on his head, Dean strode to him. "So what do you think? Pretty convincing, huh?"

Lewis glared at him, snarling something from beneath the gag.

Dean leaned in, grinning. "What was that? It looks better on me than you. Hmmm . . . thought so."

He turned and headed for the entrance. He swung to glare at Lewis. "Tell Gordon for me that I'm no damn boy scout. I'm a Winchester, born and bred. And warn him that when cornered, we're more deadly than you can possibly imagine."