Author's Note: Hello! I hope you're all doing well. Please enjoy this chapter!
July 2nd, 1986
"Dr. Tate!" Nancy, one of the nurses, exclaimed rushing into my little personal office. I glanced up from my work—it was amazing the sheer amount of paperwork a little clinic like mine went through—to see Nancy out of breath frantically motioning to the door.
"Nancy?" I asked cautiously, wondering what had startled my head nurse. "Is everything alright?"
"Dr. Tate, please come quick!" Nancy shouted. "There's a man here with two little boys and I don't know—" Quickly and calmly, I rose from my desk and placed my stethoscope around my neck. I followed Nancy out of my office and into the main lobby of the clinic, unsure of what to expect. Nancy wasn't a nurse that got scared easily—she had been here longer than me and she had seen so much more than I had in 20 years of nursing. Her anxiety unnerved me and I forced myself to take a clam breath. Then, I turned the corner and almost gasped in surprise.
There was John Winchester, bloodied and bruised with Sam and Dean in his arms. I could see how Nancy had gotten so alarmed—both Sam and Dean appeared to be running fevers and Dean himself had a few cuts and bruises on his arms. And John . . . well, John looked like he had been through Hell and then got run over by a car.
"Dr. Tate?" Nancy questioned, hovering beside me. I knelt beside John and put my gloves on. Sam opened his eyes—fever glazed, I confirmed with a frown—and I shot him a small smile so as to keep him calm. Sam rewarded me with a grin of his own.
"Get the thermometer, two wash cloths, and two basins with some ice water in them." I ordered and Nancy nodded her head before vanishing into the other room.
"Mariah?" John mumbled, his voice weak from what I assumed was blood loss.
"We gotta stop meeting like this, John," I joked and was rewarded with a small smirk on the man's face. "What happened?"
"Long story." John wheezed. "The boys?"
"Sam's got a fever," I replied as I stole a glance at Dean, whose eyes were on Sam. "Dean does too, as well as a few cuts. And you," I was still cataloging and determining how to fix all John's injuries. "Look like you went a few rounds with a semi-truck."
"Dr. Tate, I've got the stuff." I nodded and picked Sam up in my arms. The toddler clung on instantly and I rocked him back and forth a bit.
"I've got you, Sam," I whispered to him and Sam eased up on the death grip. I passed him off to Nancy. "Check his temperature." Nancy nodded and smiled brightly at Sam.
"Sammy?" Dean questioned, forcing himself to check on his brother.
"He's okay," John soothed and Dean relaxed a bit. "Dr. Tate has him." Dean met my gaze and for once, I saw the seven year old actually relax a bit. Maybe he didn't trust me fully, but it seemed to me that whatever John deemed was okay would get Dean's approval too.
"Dean, can I let Nurse Nancy check you?" I inquired. "I really need to look over your Dad." Dean nodded and Dean shakily walked over to where Nancy was currently patting Sam's forehead with the cloth.
"Dr. Tate, Sam's fever is lowering."
"Good," I answered. "I want him to take some ibuprofen. Is he hurt anywhere?"
"No, Dr. Tate." Nancy replied.
"Good," I said with a relieved sigh. "How's Dean?" I craned my head around and watched Nancy's trained eye scan over the older brother.
"Fever as well," Nancy said. "Shallow cuts, minor bruising, but nothing major. Ibuprofen as well?" I shook my head and Nancy immediately got back to work.
"And Nancy?" Nancy met my gaze. "Take them upstairs to the guest bedroom. They probably are exhausted."
"Yes, Dr. Tate." With that, I let Nancy get back to work and focused all my attention on John. I identified the source of the bleeding as what appeared to be a stab wound in his chest area. Grimacing, I changed my gloves and reached for my suturing bag and tried to determine whether I could handle this myself or whether John needed to get down to the County General hospital.
"You got stabbed?" I inquired, trying to keep the worry out of my tone.
"In a manner of speaking," John replied cryptically. "The boys?" I had to admire his dedication to his sons. Here he was, bleeding out and yet, all he could think about were his two sons.
"Nancy's got them," I assured him. "She'll take good care of them. You need to focus on yourself." John shifted himself in his chair and groaned. I frowned as I quickly formed a game plan. "Can you walk over to the examination table?" John stood up and swayed slightly. I braced him and guided him over to the table. "Lie down." He did so and I quickly dashed around the room, looking for where I had kept the IV. Finding it, I rolled it out and over to the table. I was equipped to do with dehydration and intravenous medicines, but not blood transfusions. If I didn't get the blood stopped immediately, a trip down to the hospital would be unavoidable.
"Bad?" John slurred, his voice thick with exhaustion and I simply chose to give him a rueful smile.
"You might need to go to the hospital."
That struck a cord.
Immediately, John tried to sit himself up and in a panic, I pushed him back down.
"Stop!" I exclaimed. "You'll lose more blood!"
"No hospital." John ground out with such fierce intensity that I almost forgot that he was bleeding out in front of me. I couldn't guarantee that I could avoid the hospital, but for his own safety, I'd have to lie to him.
"Okay, no hospital," I assured him. "Just relax." He chuckled dryly.
"Bad liar," John mumbled, fading into exhaustion. "Gotta learn how to lie better, Mariah."
With that, he fell unconscious.
Three hours later, John Winchester was sleeping peacefully in a bed that an old hospital had donated to me. Beside him, two ancient, yet reliable monitors beeped reassuringly and an IV stood guard, administering medicine to my unlikely savior. It had been close there for a bit—I almost took him to the hospital—but after some massive stiches and bandages on all his other cuts, John seemed to be out of the danger zone.
"Dr. Tate?"
"How are the boys?" I asked, keeping my eyes focused on the monitor, waiting to see the reassuring line move up and down once more.
"Both asleep," Nancy answered, coming to my side. "What do you think happened?"
"Car accident." I lied quickly.
"Yeah," Nancy replied. "That makes sense." In actuality, I knew that John hadn't been in a car accident, but what could I say to Nancy? No, sorry, he was out hunting ghosts? That would go over well. Nancy sighed softly and then made her way to the door.
"Oh, Nancy, you ran over your shift!" I exclaimed, guilt surging through me.
"It's alright," Nancy said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Tom won't mind. It was an emergency after all."
"Well, go on home." I ordered softly.
"You'll be alright with all three of them?" I shot her a grateful smile.
"I can handle them." With a small bob of her head, Nancy headed out the door. I checked John's IV and wished that he would wake up. I had so many questions to ask him—why did he come here, what had happened—but I knew that was selfish of me. Whatever happened was none of my business.
Even if it was killing me that I didn't know.
"Daddy?" I spun around to see Dean standing at the top of the stairs. I was relieved to see his eyes no longer had that odd glaze in them and that he was looking considerably perkier and more awake than he had before.
"He's asleep." I told the young boy. Dean scanned his father with an unusually critical eye before making his way towards the bed. Dean held his father's hand within his own and then nodded his head, like he had proven to himself that John was okay.
"He'll be okay?"
"Yeah," I assured him with a small smile. "How are you feeling?" Dean shrugged dismissively and tentatively placed his hand over his father's. John stirred and Dean eyes filled with panic as he turned to me. The monitors beeped more loudly but as I checked them, I could see that they were just informing me that John was returning back to the land of the conscious.
"Dean?" John whispered and the panic in Dean's eyes faded slightly.
"I'm here." Dean told him. John forced his eyes opened and a small grin filled his face. Dean beamed and immediately ran upstairs calling for Sam. I chuckled softly—John meant the world to those two boys.
"Mariah." John greeted and I glanced at the monitors, checking his vitals once more.
"You gave all of us quite the scare, John." I confessed.
"Sorry." John sheepishly apologized.
"What happened?" I asked. "You looked like you had in been in a crazy fight and both of the boys had fevers—"
"They're alright?" John questioned, urgency coloring his tone as he forced himself to sit up. He winced and I sighed as I quickly eased him up.
"Fine." I replied.
"Good." John mumbled, a seemingly invisible burden lifting off his shoulders.
"So . . .?" I began. John shot me a puzzled look.
"So?"
"What happened? Why were you injured so badly?" I asked. John shifted uncomfortably in the bed and refused to meet my gaze. "Was it . . . a ghost?" It was hard for me to talk about ghosts like they were real because a part of me had wanted to forget that night John had saved me—had wanted to pretend like ghosts were nothing but fodder for cheesy horror movies.
"No," John answered, meeting my gaze for the first time. "Werewolf."
I blinked.
"Werewolf?" I echoed.
"Yeah," John replied. "I left the boys for a few hours to go hunt it down—I didn't know they were sick—and needless to say, the thing fought hard." I nodded, trying to process the whole part about werewolves being real. "By the time, I got back to the room, Dean and Sam were both sick and Dean had managed to hurt himself trying to help Sam." He sighed and I wondered if Dean hurting himself for Sam was a regular occurrence.
"And then?" I prompted.
"Drove over the state line and came straight here."
"You drove all the way here from another state?" I exclaimed. No wonder John had been on his last legs when he had gotten here—the blood loss alone had to have been bad. "Why?"
"Because." John answered.
"Because?"
"Because." John's voice was firm and I knew that he had decided that he had said enough and I sighed. Dean and Sam bounded down the stairs and Sam immediately crawled onto the bed and nestled himself on his father's side. Dean grinned and began telling his father a story that didn't make any sense to anyone other than Sam.
A few hours later, I found them all asleep together. Grabbing a blanket, I covered the three of them up.
The next morning, John piled the boys up in a black Impala and stood in the doorway of my clinic once more.
"Thank you, Mariah." I smiled.
"Try to keep yourself out of trouble." I said with a hint of concern in my voice. John smirked.
"See you around."
With that, he and the boys drove away once more.
Author's Note: Next chapter, Mariah has to baby-sit the boys! Please review!