Sweet Child of Mine

"Daddy?" John engulfed his son in his arms, hugging him tight and close. Dean started to cry again.

"It's okay, it's okay, son. Shh…" He soothed. "Everything's okay now, shh…"

"S-Sammy, where's S-Sammy?" He gulped.

"Shh, he's with Uncle Bobby. He's alright," John assured. Dean shook his head, pulling away from his father.

"N-n-no, Daddy, he-he's sick. I tri-tried to take c-care of him, D-Daddy, but-"

"Hey, hey, Dean, listen to me. It's okay, buddy. I know you took care of him. You did good, you did so good," John said softly. He looked down at him. He felt Dean's forehead, cringing once he did. "Dean, you're burnin' up."

"I 'on' feel good, D-Daddy. B-but Sammy-"

"Shh, Sammy's gonna be fine. He'll be just fine, okay?" He moved to cup his son's cheek again. Dean whimpered when his hand touched a scraped bruise on his cheek. John frowned. "What's wrong, buddy? What's the matter?" He asked frantically.

"M'-m' face, D-Daddy," he mumbled. John gently touched Dean's chin, turning his face into the light. He was shaking with chills, his cheeks were flushed. There was a large bruise on his cheekbone and a cut above his eyebrow. The other side of his face was scraped; there was a deep blue bruise on his jaw.

"What happened, Dean? Did they hurt you?" He demanded. Dean nodded.

"He c-coulda hurt S-Sammy," he choked. "I m-made him h-hurt m-me." A wave of sadness and a deep, burning hate washed over him.

"And those sons a bitches hurt you?!" He bellowed. Dean winced away from him, scared. John's expression and tone softened, chastising himself for scaring his son. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm not mad at you," he hugged him again. "They won't hurt you anymore, buddy. I promise," he smiled lightly at him. "You're my brave boy, huh? My big boy?" Dean nodded again, trying to hide his tears. John winced, taking off his leather jacket and draping it over Dean's shoulders. Dean sniffed, crying again but trying hard not to.

"It's alright, Dean," John assured, hugging him again. Dean cried harder.

"I w-wanna go ho-home, Daddy," he sobbed, nuzzling his face in John's chest. "Pl-please."

John's heart twisted at the raw plea in Dean's voice. "We're goin' home, buddy. It's okay."

Something blocked the light in the door. John hugged Dean a little tighter and turned, one hand on the .45 in his waistband.

Bobby was holding a crying Sam, bouncing him lightly to try and calm him down.

"I 'un Da'ee," Sam bawled. "I 'un Da'ee…"

"John," Bobby said over Sam's cries. Dean winced at his brother's tears.

"Sammy…" He whispered. John rubbed the back of his head. Bobby stepped forward and handed the baby to his kneeling father.

"Da'ee," Sam sobbed. John held Sam on his hip and hugged Dean on the other side. He had his boys back.

Sam wrapped his tiny arms around John's neck, sobbing into his shoulder.

"Da'ee, Da'ee…" he cried.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay, Sammy."

"I 'un home."

"Okay. Okay, it's alright, Sammy. We're goin'," he stood. "You're safe now, boys. It's alright." He walked to the door, holding his sick boys close. He looked at Bobby once he was close enough and whispered very quietly,

"Keep that blood-sucker alive. He thinks he can get away with hurting my boys he's dead wrong."

"He's locked up tight with some dead man's blood in 'im. He's not goin anywhere," Bobby assured, equally as quiet. "I'll drive you guys. My place is closer than that stinkin' motel."

"Thanks," John said. Sam squirmed in his arms. Dean groaned softly. "It's okay, boys. We're goin'."

"Da'ee…" Sam sniffed.

"Daddy," Dean cried.

"Shh…it's alright, it's alright. I'm here now, boys. It's okay." He hugged them a little tighter before walking out of the room.

Tbc…

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