Sweet Child of Mine
John lied Dean down on a bed, covering him up and tightly tucking the blankets around him.
"Stay here a minute, Dean. I'll be right back, okay?" He said gently. Dean nodded weakly.
The thermometer in Sam's mouth beeped. John took it out and read the numbers. He went slightly pale.
"Alright, Sammy, you come with me, I'll be right back, Dean," he said, walking into the bathroom.
Dean shivered under the blankets, burying his face in the pillow under his head. He heard the water start to run in the other room, filling up the bathtub.
Bobby came in the room and looked down at Dean, putting the back of his hand on his forehead.
"Alright, sit up, kid," he said gently. Dean did with Bobby's help. Bobby tipped the medicine into Dean's mouth. Dean grimaced at the taste. "I know, Dean, I know. Drink it all, okay?" Dean obliged and lied back down.
The water in the bathroom shut off. Then Sam started to cry, hard and loud.
"No, no, no, no!" He sobbed. "'S t'old, Da'ee!"
"Shh, I know Sammy. Just for a little bit, alright."
"Daaaa'eeeee…" Sam bawled.
Dean started to cry, confused.
"It's alright, Dean," Bobby said, rubbing his back.
"Why is Daddy hurting Sammy?" He sniffed.
"No, Dean, he's not hurting him. He's trying to get his fever down, that's all," he assured. Dean stared at the bathroom door, his chest hurting from his brother's tears.
"Dee'," Sam called. "Dee'!"
"Sammy," Dean croaked.
"It's alright, Dean. Sam's okay," Bobby said. Dean continued to look at the door until John came out holding Sam, who was dressed and wrapped in a blanket, hair damp. John carefully lied him down in the large recliner across the room, draping another blanket over him and rubbing his forehead.
"It's okay, Sammy," he whispered. He sat there for a moment, stroking Sam's hair back, waiting for his eyes to close. Sam hugged his battered teddy bear and shut his eyes, falling asleep. John stood gingerly and went to his oldest son, who was crying and shaking. John nodded to Bobby, who stood.
"Come get me if ya need help," he said before leaving the room.
John looked down at Dean.
"What's wrong, buddy?" He asked, smiling lightly.
"Wh-why'd you hurt Sammy?" He asked, innocent eyes swimming. John's heart clenched.
"I…I wasn't hurting him. His fever was too high, buddy. I had to cool him off, okay? I wouldn't hurt Sammy," He assured. Dean nodded and shut his eyes, crying still.
"It hur's Daddy," he sobbed, "It hur's bad." John scooped Dean into his lap, draping the comforter over him.
"Shh…It's alright buddy. It's okay. Shh…" He soothed.
"I want Mommy," he whimpered. John shut his eyes, the words hitting him like a sledgehammer to the gut. Dean sobbed into John's shirt. "Mommy…Mommy…"
John blinked tears back, swallowing the large lump in his throat.
"It's alright, Dean. I miss Mommy too. Shh…" There was nothing he could do. And he hated it.
"Mommy…" John rocked his little boy, trying to calm him and get him to sleep, and trying to stop himself from crying with little success.
"Daddy?" Dean looked up at him. John sniffed and blinked furiously before looking back at him, smiling lightly.
"Yeah, Dean?"
"Can you sing her song for me?" He asked, lips shaking. Another sledgehammer, bigger tears, fake smile.
"Yeah," he nodded, "Yeah Dean." He took a breath, holding Dean to him, tears slipping down his cheeks without his consent as he began to sing the song he'd sworn to never speak of or listen to again.
"Hey, Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better…"
Tbc…
--aww--