A/N: First of all, let me say a big thank you to everyone who reviewed. I was completely blown away by the reaction to the first chapter, so thanks again, guys! Here's the next chapter, and I really hope you like it. Please read and review.
Chapter Two – Aftermath
Oh my god, Dean could already be dead.
The thought was playing and replaying itself in John's head. Dean could be dead. His son could be dead. John was vaguely aware of Sam's talking, and he knew Sam was right there by his side, he could feel his son there, touching his shoulder, but for some reason, he sounded like he was in another country. The sounds dimmed, and there were these black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He was sweating, his heart trying to pound a way out of his chest, and Dean could already be dead…
John scrambled to his feet just barely, with Sam helping to pull him up, but he pushed Sam away. He was not ready for him yet, not ready for the questions and the expression on his face, not ready to tell Sam that Dean could already be dead. John did his best to make it to the bathroom before he started throwing up.
"Dad, please…" Sam tried, panicking at the way his usually stoic and composed father was acting, but the words only made it worse, and John couldn't stop heaving. He never wanted to hear those words, this tone again, from either of his sons. "Dad, you're scaring me…" Sam wouldn't even go in the bathroom with John, he had stayed on the floor near the phone, watching his old man losing it.
John forced himself to calm down, to stop acting like a scared little boy and start acting like the hunter he is. He had to find answers. He had to find Dean. Bowie. What the hell would Dean be doing in Bowie? John pushed himself to his feet, swaying a little, and rinsed his mouth in the sink.
"Dad?"
"Your brother's hurt." John said once he had control over his voice again. He could see from Sam's expression that he was expecting more. Sam was right there by his side when Dean made the call, he could tell Dean was hurt by himself. Sam gave a slight nod.
"How bad?" he asked in a tiny voice, tears pooling in his eyes. There was no use pretending.
"We have to go. Now." John said, already grabbing the keys to his truck. For once, Sam didn't argue. Praise the Lord for small favors.
John had to stop a couple of minutes later, rushing out of the car to throw up again, because, Christ, he just listened to his son dying over the phone – away and alone and scared, and that thought brought about another bout of dry heaves. Sam got out of the car, leaning against it, his face ashen.
"It's that bad?" he asked, and all John could manage was nodding. "Is he going to die?" Sam's voice cracked and hitched, and he bit his lip to stop from crying when John nodded again. "Then would you stop puking and get in the freaking car?" Sam snapped, getting in the car himself, and for once, John wasn't seeing red at the disrespect Sam's just shown him.
John drove to Bowie as fast as possible, speed limit be damned. He set his jaw, his eyes never leaving the tarmac, heeding Sam's occasional directions. It still took a couple of hours for them to get to the hospital, and John just kept praying he'd get the chance to properly part with his son, praying that Dean wouldn't be alone in his last moments, because his son didn't deserve to be alone.
John didn't even bother looking for a parking space. He parked the truck in the ambulance bay. Both John and Sam leaped out of the car almost before it even stopped, and rushed to the emergency room. John needed to find someone to tell him what was going on, he needed to find someone who'd take him to his son and tell him what was going on, tell him that Dean wasn't dead yet, but he never got the chance. Sam was making such a riot they actually called security on him.
John apologized for his son. He didn't have time for more than that. He needed answers. And he needed to get control of Sam before they got kicked out of this place. He rushed after his teenage son, pushing past the double doors with the words 'Authorized Personnel Only', and farther down, glancing into the examining rooms in search for Dean. John caught hold of Sam three rooms down the hall, stopping him and forcing his youngest to look at him. Sam's face mirrored his own, but he couldn't cave, and John knew it. He still had a son to protect.
"I want you to wait outside." He said sternly.
"No." Sam said defiantly and tried to pull away, but John held him by the shoulders, refusing to let go.
"I don't want you to see this." John said, his voice cracking just a little, and he cursed himself for that.
"He's my brother!" Sam demanded. "Dad…" he looked up at John with those brown, puppy eyes, and John knew, he just knew he was going to say that word, and he couldn't stand it. He wouldn't listen. Sam wasn't allowed to say it.
"Sam!"
"Please!" and there it was. And John couldn't handle it anymore. His fingers digging into Sam's shoulders, he pulled him into a crushing hug. "Dad…" Sam gasped, and John let him go, giving a slight nod, and then Sam was off again, searching desperately for his brother. John followed Sam more slowly, afraid of what he was going to see, afraid of what he was going to hear once Sam found his brother. He wasn't disappointed, and quickened his pace to the room his youngest son's shrieks were coming from.
Sam was fighting with one of the nurses, trying to get to Dean as the nurse tried to push him out of the room, saying he had no business being there. At fifteen, Sam was already 5'10, and not a lightweight. Pushing him out of the room wasn't an easy task, and Sam fought her, at least until he felt strong hands wrapping around him, pulling him away. Sam fought the new threat until he realized who it was, and then stopped fighting.
Both father and son stood, watching in horror as the doctors and nurses worked around Dean. John didn't let go of Sam. If anything, he tightened his hold on his youngest, not ready to let go.
Dean seemed far too pale. They ripped his shirt and jeans off, took his boots and socks off, leaving him with nothing but his boxers and the blood that caked his chest, still pouring out of him and onto the table, onto the floor. Numerous blood infusions hung on the IV stand, the IVs stuck in Dean's arm. A nurse was working to put another IV line in.
Another nurse came over, blocking the view from father and brother.
"You really shouldn't be here," she said, trying to sound firm, yet compassionate, "You need to wait in the waiting room. Someone will find you when we have him stabilized. Until then, there's nothing we can tell you, and having you here isn't helping." She said, and though she said it to the both of them, it was clear she meant for John to get Sam out of there.
"He's my son," was all John could say. Please, don't let him die alone. Let us be here.
"It really would be best…" the nurse tried, walking towards them slowly, unthreateningly, and by doing that, she gently forced them back.
"I'm not leaving him!" Sam yelled, fighting to break free of John's hold.
"I'll keep him away." John promised. He wasn't going anywhere. The nurse was about to speak again when one of the machines Dean was hooked up on started beeping wildly and she was forced to return her attention to her patient.
Sam and John watched in horror as the doctor said Dean'd stopped breathing, as they inserted a tube in his mouth and hooked him up to a ventilator to breathe for him. After a moment, the alarm stopped and the buzzing around Dean slowed down a little, and John could get a glimpse of his boy – but then another machine started beeping, and another. Alarms were going off, and the doctors were talking too fast, and nurses were rushing this way and that. John had to hold Sam for dear life, because Dean's heart just stopped, and this time the nurse refused to let them stay.
They didn't leave for the waiting room, though, just stayed outside the swinging door, watching the flurry of people around Dean through the small window. After what felt like ages later, the swinging door was pushed open as Dean was wheeled out of the room and into an elevator, still hooked up to countless machines. Sam tried to follow, but John wouldn't, couldn't, let go. And he couldn't follow.
"What's going on?" John demanded as the nurse that talked to him sooner came out the door.
"You're going to have to wait outside. A doctor will come to see you soon." She said, "It would help if you started on the paperwork." She added.
"Screw the paperwork." John snapped, "What's going on with my son?" he demanded. The nurse hesitated.
"We're not sure." She said, "He's lost a lot of blood, and he has some serious internal bleeding, but other than that, I really can't say. You'll have to speak to a doctor."
"Is he going to make it?" Sam asked in a small, scared voice that tried so hard to sound brave but just ended up reminding John of a five year old Sammy.
"You're really going to have to talk to the doctor." The nurse said, and then left them.
Sam stopped pacing an hour ago. John couldn't help but wonder if he had and any fingernails left, the way he was biting on them. Mary used to do that, too. He could understand his son, though, and shared his angst. They had been to the waiting room for four hours now, and still no one has come to talk to them.
John finally broke a couple of hours ago and filled the insurance papers. Now there was nothing more to do but sit and think. And he hated that. He tried dragging Sam with him to the cafeteria, but neither really had an appetite. John couldn't let go of the thought that this was taking too long and that he didn't make it. He sent Sam to get more information from the nurses. It amazed John how tenacious Sam could be, how downright scary he could be as he demanded information about his brother's condition. It would have been amusing any other time. He would have loved throwing it in his youngest's face – showing him he could be a fearsome hunter had he put his mind to it – but now was not the time.
Now he waited for word on his eldest. Now he had time to think. Now he had time to overthink. Now he had time to panic. Dean could already be dead…
Another twenty minutes or so later, someone finally came looking for them. John hesitated; the need to protect Sammy from the bad news conflicting with the need to have his son by his side, never to let him out of his sight again. Sam made his choice for him.
"How is he? How's my brother?" he demanded.
"We should sit down." The doctor said, and John felt his chest constrict as the doctor took his scrub hat off, showing them back to the chairs.
"Is he…?" John let the words hang. He couldn't say it, not out loud. Not yet.
"Your son is in the recovery room. You should be able to see him in about half an hour or so." The doctor said with a small smile. John closed his eyes as the room started spinning. He let out a breath of relief, hearing Sam whimper by his side. He pulled his youngest to him, offering whatever comfort he could.
"So, he's okay?" Sam asked once he'd found his voice again. The doctor somber face was all the answer the Winchesters needed.
"He hasn't regained consciousness." The doctor said, "And there were several complications during his surgery." He added.
"Complications?" John's voice with thick and raspy. The doctor looked from father to son and back again.
"Maybe we should…" he started.
"I'm not going anywhere!" Sam was quick to interject. John gave a slight nod. The doctor licked his lips, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on the end of his shirt, before putting them back on.
"Alright." He said, looking at John. "Your son arrived here with sever internal bleeding. He was already in shock, suffering from internal damage to several of his organs." He said in a clinical, businesslike tone of voice. "It took us a long time to stabilize him enough to allow surgery." The doctor continued. "Your son has lost a lot of blood. At one point, he stopped breathing on his own, and his heart stopped." The doctor hesitated, glancing at Sam, but John nodded for him to continue. "We put a tube down his throat to help him breathe, and resuscitated him, but I'm afraid his heart gave way during surgery. We got him back, your son is one hell of a fighter, sir, I'll give him that." The doctor went on. John frowned.
"But?" he asked. The doctor took a deep breath.
"But we won't be able to assess the exact extant of his injuries until he wakes up. If he wakes up." He said carefully.
"What do you mean, if?" Sam snapped, and John squeezed his shoulder, but didn't reprimand him. The doctor sighed.
"Sir, you need to understand – the shape your son was in when he got here, the fact that it took so long to get him here and stabilize him… the length of time his heart had stopped…" the doctor trailed off. "We've notified the police, of course." He added a moment later. John raised a brow, frowning.
"The police?" the doctor's face traveled from father to son and back again.
"They didn't tell you?" he asked, and John's frown deepened.
"Tell us what?" Sam chimed in quickly. The doctor exhaled loudly.
"Sir, your son's injuries… The multiple bruising, the internal damage, the chest wound, the head injury…" his look alternated between the two of them again, "Someone did this to him. Someone did this to him with the intent to cause as much pain as possible, and it looks like they enjoyed doing it." The doctor said slowly. "I'm sorry." He added.
"But he'll be okay, won't he?" Sam asked in a small voice. The doctor offered him another small smile, but no words of reassurance, before he left. "Dad?"
John swallowed hard, his heart pounding so painfully in his chest he thought it was a good thing they were at a hospital, because he might just be having a heart attack. He pulled Sam into his arms.
"He'll be alright, Sammy." he said. And it's the last freakin' time Dean's ever hunting on his own. John didn't care how much he'd beg or say he was old enough, Dean was never hunting alone again!
TBC