Disclaimer: Still don't own any of the wonderful characters from Supernatural……yet another thing for my therapist to deal with…sighs

Warnings: An annoyed Pastor (never a good thing), swearing and more angst. Oh, and a few tender moment between John and Sam (try not to faint people)

A/N I'm posting twice today because I won't be able to update tomorrow. I'm going to the Easter show! Lots of candy and wild rides! Overdoses on sugar and adrenaline! Always a good combination! Hey, I might even get some inspiration for a new story! Inspiration does strike in the strangest of places!

Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this chapter. I find it challenging to write for both Dean and John so I figured I'd try my hand at both. John is the hardest to write for, because I'm always second guessing his intentions. So let me know how it went, kay?

Enjoy!

Part Six: Lay it on the Line

-

He's a walkin' contradiction when he sings his verse.

He's got a caffeine fix addiction but it could be worse.

And he is loved by many

Understood in time.

But it's easier to love him than to try to read his mind.

He's a mass of words, expression and toil,

and his temples in the trees, the water and the soil --

He's a man of evolution, always changing like the seasons.

He finds the right solution but gets lost in his own reason,

and he's got a ways to go.

-Shawn Mullins, Evolution Man

-

They pulled up Jim's drive in a cloud of dust and desperation. Jim threw open the front door just as John and Dean were running up the stairs. They were exhausted from the trip, but it didn't matter now that Sammy was so close.

"He seems to have gotten a little better within the last few hours, but it's still not looking good," Jim informed them as he stepped back to admit them into his home.

"Where is he?" John asked grimly.

But he was already taking the stairs with Dean and Jim hot on his heels.

"I've cared for him to the best of my ability, John." Jim said softly as the oldest Winchester opened the bedroom door.

Sammy lay twisted within his sheets, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes sunken with dark circles that looked like smudged soot but what was perhaps the worst of all was the gauntness of his youngest. Sammy had been thin before all this had started, having lost his baby fat the previous year, but now he looked like he had been starved for a month.

Dean was rooted to Jim's side, immobile as all the colour drained slowly from his face. But John strode up to the bed and sat on the edge, turning Sam's face towards him with surprisingly gentle fingers.

"Sammy," his voice was quiet but firm. "I need you to open your eyes for me son."

His only answer was a faint moan, but John was not known for giving up until he got what he wanted. This time he tapped Sam's cheek sharply.

"C'mon boy. It's important."

"...'ad?" Sam's eyes were still closed, and his voice was little more than a hoarse whisper but it was something. Just hearing his voice seemed to relax John a little. "Don' feel so good."

"I know, son. I need you to listen to me, okay?"

Sam's eyes opened, mere slits of slate grey and they focused slowly on the form of his father. Dean wasn't sure if he was even seeing his father, or if he thought if that he was trapped within yet another delusion that his fevered mind had produced, but those eyes had never looked so beautiful to him at that moment.

At least he was responding, Dean told himself a little relieved. It was something. And from what he had heard from his father, it was more than what Jim had been getting.

His father tapped Sam on the cheek again lightly.

"Are you listening, Sammy?" he asked again.

Sammy's head lolled on his pillow, turning towards the window but John grasped his chin and turned it back towards him.

"Are you listening to me?" he asked, his voice demanding.

Dean wanted to scream at him to leave him alone. This wasn't a time for giving orders, they needed to get him to the hospital. They needed to look after him, but he bit his tongue and watched with his heart in his throat.

"Tried to be good, Daddy," Sam mumbled beneath his breath as his eyes closed slowly. "Promise I'll do better."

John swallowed sharply and jostled Sam a little.

"Hey. I'm talking to you. Open your eyes for me Sammy."

Obeying for once, Sam opened his eyes all the way this time, seemingly shocked by the abrupt movement.

"Dad?" he seemed a little more aware as well. "Where's Dean?"

Dean cleared his throat. "I'm here Sammy." his voice was barely more than a whisper and he felt Jim lay a hand on the back of his neck.

"Sam, I need you to tell me something. Have you been hearing any strange noises lately? Seen anything around that seemed unusual to you?" John asked intently, his eyes fixed on Sam's fever-flushed face.

"It's important, Sam. You know the kind of thing I'm talking about."

Sam's eyes closed again before he opened them and focused tiredly on his father's face.

"You didn't believe me 'fore," he murmured slowly.

The sadness in his eyes almost crippled Dean. Only thirteen, and his younger brother already had old eyes. The fever was making him say things he normally never would to his father for fear of punishment, and Dean was proud of his little brother for having the guts to even speak them aloud.

But then, he wasn't in his right mind. And that reality came crashing down on Dean as he waited with bated breath for his father's reaction. Jim's hand tightened minutely on Dean's neck.

John merely brushed sweat-soaked hair off Sam's forehead with a tenderness that Dean had rarely seen in all his years and he smiled sadly at his youngest.

"I wasn't sure what to believe before, kiddo. But I'm listening now. If you tell me, I promise we'll make this better. We'll make you feel better as soon as we can, but right now I need you to help me out."

Sam sighed slightly but didn't take his eyes off of his fathers unshaven and tired face. Dean saw at that moment, a truth that he had suspected for a long time.

Sam didn't have faith in his own father. Sure, he trusted him to keep him safe and to make sure that they both had a roof over their head and something to eat. But he didn't trust him with matters of the heart. He didn't trust him not to break his own heart, nor did he trust him enough to confide in him for fear of incurring his anger.

There was a rift growing within his own family, and Dean could not do anything but stand back and watch it grown wider.

He didn't realise that he was silently praying for some kind of divine solution until the words were spilling from his lips under his breath, random pieces of incoherent Latin and English that he couldn't seem to quell.

Jim put his mouth next to Dean's ear.

"Hush, lad. They'll be time enough for that later. Right now you need to believe in Sammy, and in your father," Jim whispered in his ear.

Dean nodded wordlessly and somehow managed to stem the flow of words behind tightly clenched lips. He took to worrying his leather wrist band instead, twisting it around and around and wrapping the trailing ends around his fingers as tightly as he could as he watched Sam watch their father.

After a long moment, Sam's eyes closed again.

"No dad. Nothing." Sam murmured. "Nothing you need to worry about."

John sighed and ran a hand over his jaw.

"Are you sure Sammy?"

But Sam had already slipped back into restless sleep, his face slowly falling away from his father.

Dean had a sneaking suspicion that Sam had been lying.

-

John closed the door to Sam's room quietly and turned grimly to Jim and Dean. They'd carefully changed Sam's sweat-soaked sheets, and made sure he was comfortable before they'd retired momentarily.

"His fever's coming down slowly," Jim murmured. "At least that's something."

"So he's going to be alright now, right?" Dean asked worriedly, seeking reassurance from either of the adults.

"He should be, as long as that fever keeps coming down. " Jim paused and eyed John. The younger man's eyes were distant and his hand was rubbing absentmindedly rubbing at his forehead.

"What are you thinking, John?" he asked quietly, mindful of the sleeping boy on the other side of the door.

John's sharp eyes focused on him, and a frown creased his forehead but he didn't reply.

"You think there's something wrong with Sam, don't you?" Jim answered his own question.

Dean looked between the two, confused.

"Of course there's something wrong with him. He's sick, isn't he?"

"Something wrong with him supernaturally, is what he meant." John sighed. "I don't think it's coincidence that this sudden illness crops up a few days after what happened back at the cabin. It doesn't make sense."

"No, John," Jim said calmly. "It doesn't. But just because something doesn't make sense, doesn't mean that it's supernatural. You leaving him behind doesn't make sense, but it's not exactly a supernatural phenomena now is it?"

John levelled steady eyes at his old friend, but Dean could see the weariness and the strain in those eyes.

"It was a bad decision, okay? I get it now. So stop rubbing my face in my mistakes, will you? I shouldn't have left him. I wouldn't have if I had known that this was going to happen," John replied his voice rough with emotion and lack of sleep.

"Would you have if you had known for sure that it wouldn't happen?" Jim pressed on, never the less.

"...I don't know."

Dean wasn't sure if his heart could take any more strain during the night. His father had never looked so old, Sam had never looked sicker, and Jim had never looked more determined to get his point across. Dean felt stretched thin, trying to keep track of everything. Add onto that the strain of worrying for Sam and you had the perfect recipe for a nervous breakdown. Sometimes, Dean was amazed at how he managed to hold it all together at times.

"It's not good enough, John. Sam deserves more than this. He's a good kid, and you're punishing him for something that's not even his fault. You need to fix this before you break something you won't be able to mend..."

"I'm not punishing him!" John snapped quietly, showing more fight than he had for hours.

"You might want to reconsider that. He thinks you are, and I'm not altogether sure that you aren't either." Jim replied. "Maybe he wouldn't be in this situation if you had kept him with you. That boy needs his father. And he needs his brother just as much."

John glanced at Dean, who was standing silently against the wall closest to Sam's room and watching the exchange with haunted eyes.

John turned away and ran both his hands through his hair.

"Damn it Jim!" he raged quietly. "I can't...I don't know what to do anymore..."

Dean's heart dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of his feet when he heard that heart-rending confession. If his father, the man who wasted demons and ghosts and had an answer for every fucking thing they came across didn't know what do to, then what hope did Sam have? What hope did he have?

Dean felt like the only thing he had going for him had just disintegrated before his eyes. Like someone had just ripped the carpet out from beneath his feet.

He slid down the wall and covered his face with both hands, rubbing vigorously at his eyes and shielding himself from his father. For a moment, no one said anything but then the words were spilling from his mouth. The bitterness filling his chest and throat was almost more than he could stand, and never had it been directed at his father before. It wasn't a concept that he was pleased with.

"Then why don't you go in there and tell him that you're giving up on him ? Would that be easier than facing your own problems? You can face down any evil son of a bitch but you can't stand up and fight for your own son?" Dean finally looked up at his father, who was looking back at him with unreadable eyes. "Honestly Dad? That bites. I don't understand this any more than you do but we're going to lose him if we don't do something. You may be able to stand losing a son but I can't deal with losing my brother. So if you won't do anything, then I will."

John was still looking at him, and Dean met his gaze squarely and unflinchingly. He had always followed orders, even if he didn't like them. He had been a good son, and a good soldier, and never had he talked back to his father or openly defied him as he was now. But when it came to Sammy, there wasn't much he wouldn't do.

John gave a hoarse laugh and turned away slightly, one hand on his hip and the other covering his mouth.

Dean didn't fail to see the small smile of pride on Jim's face, and it was directed at him. The cold ball of misery in his chest warmed a little.

"I never thought I'd see the day when I'd let one of my sons get away with talking to me like that," John laughed again, and turned back to Dean. "You're right, son. As much as I hate to admit it you're right. Hell, you're both growing too fast for me to keep up. Just when I think I've got you figured out, you both go and change on me."

Dean smiled weakly at his father. Never let it be said that Dean Winchester couldn't be stunned to silence. Such an admission from their father was colossal. He'd have to remember to tell Sammy if he got better.

When, he amended silently. He'd definitely tell Sammy when he got better so they could gloat in the darkness of their room at night over the small victory.

"Alright. We're partially responsible for this, so we're going to fix it," John said, his determination and familiar fierceness showing through as he shook of his lethargy. "Ideas?"

They were quiet for a moment.

"I noticed he was quiet on the drive over here," Dean began slowly. "Like he was always tired. He slept a lot though. I didn't think much of it then."

"That's good Dean." John encouraged. "Any little thing could help. Jim? You notice anything strange?"

They watched the quiet Pastor as he looked down at his shoes thoughtfully.

"Yeah actually."

He didn't elaborate however, and John snapped his fingers impatiently. Dean smiled. Once his father caught scent of something he thought could turn into a gig, he was like a terrier with a rat, refusing to let go until he had shaken every final piece of information from whatever the source.

"He stayed beside me for practically the whole week. Spent a lot of time in the church too. In fact, he didn't set foot outside the whole time," Jim said slowly, as realisation began to dawn on all three of them. "And he kept looking up at those windows as if..."

"As if what, Jim?"

Jim looked at John sadly.

"As if they would give him answers. As if they would save him."

"Fuck..." Dean whispered, eyes wide. John and Jim shot him simultaneous glares.

"Language, Dean," they said in unison.

But Dean just looked at them.

"He knew something was after him. He could sense it."

"I think you may be right, Dean." John frowned, then growled softly. "I don't understand why he never said anything to anyone. This shit is serious. You don't mess around with spirits unless you know what you're up against."

John ignored the glare Jim directed at him as he began to pace.

"He told me he thought he'd done something wrong. Like he'd made a mistake that caused all this to happen. I think he thinks this is his problem to deal with, his burden to bear," Jim told him quietly.

"God damn him and his stubborn pride," John cursed.

"That's enough blasphemy for one night, thank you very much," Jim said sternly. "I don't think my ears can't take much more."

"You've heard worse," John replied unsympathetically as he continued pacing. "Caleb and Bobby..."

"Don't get me started on those two," Jim rolled his eyes.

"This is all very nice," Dean interrupted, not impressed by the banter passing between the two. "But what about Sammy?"

John sighed.

"I have no idea what this could be. It sounds like a spirit, but Sam had no connections to any, I'm positive."

"Maybe we put one out of commission that had a companion," Dean suggested, his eyes lighting up at the possible solution.

"Is that even possible?" Jim asked uncertainly.

"I haven't the foggiest." John admitted. "I've never even heard of anything like that before. And I've put a lot of spirits down."

"Maybe Bobby would know."

"Good idea. Right, he's where we start. "John said decisively, straightening from his hunched slouch. "I'm gonna call Bobby, see if he had any ideas. Dean you hit the good Pastors library, and see if you can dig anything up."

Dean groaned as he got to his feet.

"Research is more Sam's cup of tea. God knows if you gave him the chance he'd be in there faster than you can say por..."

"Dean," John levelled a warning glare at him and shot a look towards the scowling Pastor.

"Right. I'm going." Dean flashed a grin, a weight easing off his shoulders, knowing that he was doing something to help Sam at last.

"I've got to go into town and pick up a few supplies..."Jim said to his father.

"Mind picking me up a few things as well? I have a few ideas..."

Dean smiled and sent a silent prayer for someone to watch over Sammy and keep him safe while he worked at killing whatever sorry mother-fucker that had decided to pick on his little brother.

The lord knew that no one got away with doing that unscathed. Not while he was around.

TBC