-Thanks to my betas, Mish and Sushi. I honestly wouldn't have bothered to write any more if not for them. Well, and Mattie because she actually reviews things. so good for her.-
Chapter Five:
"Dean's gonna be okay, right?" Sam asked quietly, startling Jim. The room had been deathly silent for the past half an hour.
"Sam, Dean's always okay," he said comfortingly. Bobby was still pacing.
"Should we bring him some soup?"
"I think your father will come out if Dean needs anything," the pastor said, gripping Sam's shoulder gently.
"No he won't, he'll just sit there," Sam fretted. "He never does a good job taking care of anyone, it's just Dean, and if Dean's too hurt to do it," the words burst forth like water from a dam, turning into tears. Jim put comforting arms around the little boy, not for the first time wishing that Sam and Dean were his own, because at least this never would have happened. Smiling a little, he remembered easily how much he had disliked children until John had asked him to help babysit Dean and Sam, what? Eight years ago? Ever since then they'd been like family. When Sam was calmer, Jim sighed heavily. "C'mon, let's go check on Dean, okay?" he suggested, wondering why John hadn't put in an appearance lately.
Sam silently pushed into the room, seeing his father resting against the headboard, Dean sideways in his lap, legs stretched out in front of him perpendicular to John's. Both were sleeping, John holding a cloth to Dean's mouth, one that was already soaked with bloody spittle. Neither moved at the sudden introduction of light to the room from the hallway. Looking at Jim, Sam moved away from the Pastor and carefully crawled onto the bed, finding a way to nestle himself in the space between Dean's legs, John's side, and the headboard of the bed. Curling into a ball, he lightly reached out, tangling a small hand in Dean's pajama pants, seeking comfort.
Jim backed out of the room silently shutting the door and turning into Bobby, and stumbled backwards.
"Is he okay?"
"Asleep."
"Are you sure that's safe?"
"It's been three days, who knows if he felt safe enough to sleep. Let him rest."
"Where's Sam?"
"Curled up with them."
"John's asleep, too?"
"All three of them. I figure it's best if we just let them be."
"That neighbor lady keeps asking about Dean, wants to know why she shouldn't call an ambulance right here and now. And possibly, CPS, too, from the way she's talking."
"I'll talk to her."
"And say what that I haven't?"
"I'm a pastor, people tend to listen to me, Bobby."
"No, they tend to fall asleep every morning before they go watch the game," Bobby snarled savagely. Then froze and looked at the closed door, not even breathing until he was sure he hadn't disturbed the worn-down occupants of the room.
Retreating to the living room, Jim saw Emily sitting white faced on the couch, clearly refusing to leave until she knew Dean was alright. "Excuse me, I don't believe we've been introduced, I'm Pastor Jim Murphy," he said politely, holding out his hand. At her skeptical glance, he smiled indulgently. "A pastor can't own a pair of slacks and a shirt?" he asked. "I don't go around in a black suit and collar all the time," he grinned, seeing her sheepish smile when she took his hand.
"I'm Emily Brown, my daughter, Lily, is good friends with Dean. And Pete, the three of them are pretty tight knit. When Dean had surgery they were all camped out on the couch with him, at least until John would get back from work and take Dean back upstairs," she said in a rush. Jim frowned.
"Dean had surgery?" this was news. Where was Bobby? Still pacing the hallway, "When was this?"
"A few days before he got kidnapped," she whispered. "That's why I think he should be in a hospital right now," she confided miserably.
"He's doing alright, Dean's never handled doctors well. In fact on one memorable occasion he punched one and escaped the hospital," he hadn't been too ill, more concerned about John who had been MIA at the time. And Sammy back at the apartment.
"What happened?" she asked, concerned.
"Oh, he…" Jim tried to come up with something plausible. "John was at work, and had left him and Sam at the apartment, and Dean just needed some air, so he'd gone on a walk, the details are sketchy from there, but he hit his head good on something, and ended up in the hospital. So, he didn't really know what was going on…" Jim trailed off. "I'm his emergency contact, and if I can't be reached, it's his Uncle Bobby, and then Caleb," Jim smiled warmly. "So, I'm afraid if we take him to a hospital he'll start fighting it and he'll set himself back in the healing process, John is, too."
"Lily'll be home soon, Pete, too."
"Dean's not up for visitors."
"My daughter's just as stubborn as John's sons," she shrugged.
"Dean's sleeping right now, when he's awake, if he wants, I'd be happy to come get Lily and Pete," Jim offered; trying to play damage control, since he didn't have Bobby to back him up.
"I don't think any of us are going to have any say in whether or not those two break the door down and burst in here," she said, "But I'll talk to her," she added. Just to make sure, but all the same, Dean could probably use all the support he could get.
John woke up when he felt something cold trickle down his arm to his elbow. It had started out warm, but by the time it got past his wrist it was chilled. Hand tightening compulsively as he shifted, he ended up squeezing the blood-soaked washcloth a little, causing the viscous liquid to leave its previous home and to drip on his son and over the back of his hand. Making a face, John noticed Sam there for the first time. Startling slightly, he realized his youngest had fallen asleep. Now he was trapped between the two of them, he noticed. Dropping the washcloth into the trash can because he couldn't put it down on anything, and there was nothing else he could do with it, he grabbed a tissue and wiped off first his hand and arm, and then Dean's mouth. Still too swollen for him to get his lips closed, and so with his head tilted down like that, it wasn't like he had a choice.
Dean groaned at John's slight movements, shifting and pushing his injured face deeper into his father's shirt. Responding to his sibling, Sam lifted his head, blinking owlishly around the room. "Sokay?" he slurred, still half asleep.
"Yeah, he's fine, Sammy," John said, using his free hand to lightly tousle Sam's hair. Shifting himself slightly, Sam curled up again and went back to sleep. It had been almost impossible to sleep without Dean in the room, and the ten year old was exhausted.
After a while Dean's occasional shifts became more frequent, and John sat up more to accommodate his son, who woke up blearily, pushing away ever so slightly from John's chest. "Sick," he slurred out, and John understood instantly, reaching over Sam to get the trashcan before it was too late. It was mostly just dry heaving, which couldn't be good for him at all, but there was some water that John had given him earlier.
Wondering if half the nausea was just his body's way of reacting to starving, John knew that when he decided not to eat for long periods of time, he would start to feel like puking. Maybe the soup wasn't such a bad idea. If nothing else, at least Dean wouldn't have to dry heave, it was worse than actually vomiting, John had always felt.
"Hey, lets get you some water or something, okay?" he grabbed a tissue and ran it over Dean's lips. "C'mon, we'll take a walk or something, your legs are okay, right?" they weren't really, but John planned on carrying Dean. If he thought he was moving of his own volition, then it was all the better for the both of them. Sam was out of the bed, door open, peering back into the room.
"Dad," he protested.
"It's okay Sammy, I got him," John snapped, surprised at the venom in his voice. Lifting Dean out of the bed, he felt his throat tighten when Dean's head flopped against his chest. "Still with me Deano?"
"Y'ss'rrr" came the slurred reply just when John thought Dean had passed out again. Carrying Dean into the living room, Emily was up on her feet and out of the way, moving to prop some pillows up to accommodate Dean better. Jim was already moving out of the room, returning with a washcloth. Once Dean was settled on the couch Jim gently wiped his face down again, the white cloth stained in smears of shocking crimson.
"John," Jim cautioned.
"I think it's just his gums, I had some teeth pulled back when Dean was just a baby and I was spitting blood for weeks," he shrugged, John was an optimist. Bobby stopped pacing, frowning.
"Too pale, he needs to eat something." Then Bobby looked up. "All his teeth intact?" he asked sharply, wondering how John could be so incompetent as to not check. John carefully swabbed a finger inside Dean's mouth, checking all his teeth were in and rooted firmly. One felt like it might be a little loose, but it was better to leave it alone, in that case. John just nodded, and Bobby breathed a sigh of relief, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Dean made a slight face, seeming to reject the taste of what had to be betadine and blood.
"Can't feed himself," John whispered, holding up one of Dean's bandaged hands by the wrist. He was already losing the boy again. "Stay with me," he begged, lightly touching Dean's cheek, careful to avoid the stitches.
"Sam, get some soup in a cup, wouldja?" Bobby suggested, and the little boy disappeared for a matter of minutes before reappearing.
"Not too hot is it?" John asked worriedly. The last thing he needed to do was burn the inside of Dean's mouth. Amos had taken care of the outside of his body, scalding it badly with the hot water. Some places were blistered in patches.
"No," but he took a small sip to make sure before passing it to his father.
"You with me Dean?" John asked again.
"Wh't w'nt?"
"Care to buy a vowel there buddy?" John teased gently, "I need you to drink a little of this for me, okay? Just a little bit."
"I c'n do that," he slurred out.
"Good," holding the cup gently to Dean's lips, John figured a lot of the soup wasn't going to make it into Dean's mouth. He got luckier than he'd hoped. And Dean didn't just want a little bit, he drank the contents of the entire cup, trying to sit up when John removed the empty cup, seeking more. "Hang on, just hang on," John told him.
"I got it Dad," and Sam was gone again.
"John, he needs a hospital."
"He's not sick, there's no fever, the stitches in his stomach held, despite whatever that psycho did to him, he's staying here," never again was John letting things get out of his control like that. He wasn't leaving Dean or Sam alone, and they weren't staying in one place for that long ever again unless they had to. Less time for anything like this to happen. No more of this. And he'd never…hadn't prepared his boys for something like this. Failed them as a father, and he'd be damned if he was ever that soft again, so soft that his boys suffered for it.
Holding the cup against Dean's lips again, he forced Dean to slow down, only letting him have a few sips at a time. It wasn't like he needed the boy throwing everything up just as he'd gotten it down.
"Well for all you know he has new damage on the inside!" Bobby exploded, no longer concerned about upsetting Dean. "You saw the bruises, I can see the bandages, Jim tells me he's not in good shape!" Looking at Sam, it wasn't like he could hide this from the boy, for all he'd give his life to protect Sam from hearing any of it. "Damnit John, look at his head! Look at his face! You think that's going to get better on his own?!" Lip curling in a sneer, "You tell me you know if there's brain damage, or if there's pressure or bleeding inside his skull, 'cause I can tell it's cracked from across the room, even if you did stitch it up and put a pretty white bandage over it!"
Jim put a hand on Bobby's shoulder. "You tell me John," Bobby snarled, not done, as he shifted his shoulder out from under Jim's grip. "What the hell you can do for him that a hospital can't!"
"Protect him," John said simply.
"If he dies it won't matter!"
"He's not going to die!" John shouted, half rising from his seat until Dean cried out in pain. The door swung open with a bang, punctuating Dean's agonized protest. Lily with Pete right behind her, stared white faced into the room.
"We heard yelling," she said, looking at Sam before her eyes rested on Dean, realizing what she was seeing was her friend. "Oh god," she breathed, at his side in an instant, hands trembling when she reached one out over his chest hesitant to touch him before dropping her hand back to her side. "What happened!?" she cried, begging the adults around her to have an answer. A good one, one with a 'why' attached that would make sense of things. That would make it okay. Make it make sense. Because seeing Dean like that didn't make sense. Even when he'd been medicated and asleep he hadn't looked like that.
His eyes opened as much as they could, and he glanced at her. "Hey," his throat was bruised and his voice came out gravelly.
"Hey yourself," she told him, forcing a smile. She could feel her lip trembling, and blinked impatiently to hide the tears. Dean forced his head up a few inches, and Lily lightly slipped her hand under the back of his neck, fingers digging softly into the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Lon' time no see," he pointed out.
"Yeah," her voice quavered. "A little too long. I'd forgotten how much I don't like you," she teased him. He grinned slightly in response. Letting him down gently, she felt Pete come closer, knowing her friend was having just as hard a time dealing with this as she was. Although how Dean could still smile…that was beyond her.
"Pete!"
"Yeah," he ran a hand over his head before finding a place next to Lily. "Ready to come back to school? Teachers are actually worried about you."
"E'en Mr. Engels?"
"Especially Mr. Engels. He wants to know what could possibly keep you down for more than a few days. Figured you'd talk the wacko to death, and argue with him until he wanted to smash his face into a wall."
"Sa' all that?" Dean's brows contracted.
"Well, in less words. Said whatever it was, he figured it'd end up in worse shape than it started out in."
John thought of the bullet and the screaming howl Amos had sent him. Yeah, it was in worse shape, wasn't it? And the house. They couldn't stay long. Jim and Bobby were both refusing to help John move Dean anywhere, saying keeping him in the same place until they knew for sure he was stable was the best course of action. Bobby had stopped pacing, and was in the kitchen talking quietly with Jim. Emily kept trying to catch her daughter's attention so that they could leave. Dean looked like he needed the sleep. Lily didn't seem willing to leave Dean. Neither did Pete, who had settled in more comfortably, idly picking at the pillows and loose threads on the couch.
"Grabbed your homework for you, although I'm pretty sure you won't have to do it," Pete offered. Dean grinned weakly. Jerking his fingers in an attempted 'whatever' movement, Lily noticed his hands. Very carefully, she slipped her smaller palm under his, lifting it up. Bandages ran between thumb and index finger, looping around over the base of the thumb and up again, completely covering his palm. Both of them. His fingers seemed fine. Unwilling to ask what happened, because she really didn't want to know, she carefully laid his hand back down on the couch. Eventually Emily gave up and went into the kitchen sitting down at the table, and John joined her, talking quietly.
When Bobby went in to check on Dean, he saw all four kids asleep, Sam curled up at the other end of the couch, legs folded up to his body so he wouldn't accidentally bump Dean in his sleep. Lily's arm was draped over Dean's ribcage, her head on the edge of the couch, black hair a fan across the muted fabric. Pete slept with both arms folded under his head on the space of the couch between Dean's body and the edge. Unwilling to disturb any of them, he returned to the kitchen, settling in the chair across from Jim, while Emily and John sat across from each other. At John's look, Bobby shrugged.
"They're all asleep," he said, not particularly concerned.
Emily eventually fell asleep at the table, Jim getting up to watch over Dean, fell asleep in the chair next to the couch. Bobby had paced up and down the hallway until leaning against the mantle, lost in thought before he fell asleep standing up; which took some considerable skill to not keel over. John didn't sleep, he just stood watching the kids sleep, and wondered how he was supposed to justify taking Dean away from friends like that. But if he didn't, then the police would come knocking, and then they might take his boys away, and John wasn't sure he could handle that. Not again.
Dean's breathing started to get labored and Sam woke up, peering intently at his brother's face until things sounded okay again, and he settled against the armrest facing Dean to watch over him.
John left the apartment quietly, to go make sure that Amos would not be coming after him or his boys ever again. Hopefully the coroner hadn't had too much time to do anything with Dillinger's remains, so that it would be easier to just salt and burn them. Again. Just to make sure.
When he returned, he found the apartment completely empty. "Dean!?" Rummaging through the bedding, and overturning a few chairs in his anger, he knew exactly where everyone was, for all no note had been left. Rubbing hard at his face, he combed his fingers through his wayward hair, and tried to make himself presentable. Straightening his jacket, he glanced once in the mirror of the bathroom before leaving to go get his wayward son.
Earlier, when John had left, Jim had looked at Dean, and fought an inner battle with himself, before turning to Bobby. At Emily's urgings, the two men decided bringing Dean to the hospital was not the worst thing they could do, unlike what John claimed, especially if he had just had surgery. At the hospital, the nurses kept asking questions Jim didn't know how to answer, and Sam finally burst into tears screaming that they needed to help his brother, because he was hurt, and they were wasting time.
Jim and Bobby didn't have much to do. Other than come up with a damn good cover story. Because the truth? The whole reason John hadn't taken Dean to the hospital in the first place was the truth. It wasn't like it would do any good now to get John investigated by the police and charged with murdering Amos Dillinger. Although self defense was a rather legitimate excuse, given the condition Dean was in.
In fact, the best Jim was hoping for was that Dean would be there just long enough to get a good round of fluids and antibiotics to keep him alive long enough so he could heal. Along with replacing the blood and hopefully re-cleaning the wounds. They were stitched well, Jim was sure of that, but it didn't mean they were cleaned out right, or that there was no internal damage. Especially with the holes through the boy's hands…Jim wasn't so sure that Dean didn't need a doctor for repairs. Otherwise the pastor was convinced the boy would never have the use of his fingers again.
Getting him out of the apartment had been tricky, considering John's reaction to the suggestion. It had upset Dean to the point they had been worried he would hurt himself, until Sam started to cry and beg Dean to go. Of course Dean caved, and stopped fighting so much. But Bobby had carried him out to Jim's car –considerably more comfortable than Bobby's truck- and between the three adults they carted everyone to the hospital. Pete had settled himself into a chair by the window, more or less making sure it stayed closed so Dean could sleep, while Lily often sat on the edge of the bed just talking to Dean. Sam had, against the doctor's orders, crawled into bed with Dean, on top of the covers. Managing to nestle himself so flawlessly against Dean's side, the doctor didn't even try to reprimand the young boy and just let it go. If he wasn't hurting his brother, or obstructing the nurses from doing whatever it was they needed to do from time to time, then he could stay right where he was.
The concept of visiting hours had been laughed away completely, and no one left the room for more than a cup of coffee, a snack, or a short bathroom break.
Pete was currently the only person in the room, in a chair next to Dean's bed. Well, Sam was there, but he was completely asleep, having stayed up watching over Dean the entire night before. He was more possessive than most guard dogs. The nurses thought it was cute. Dean was on so many drugs he hardly noticed. Otherwise he would have had good reason to call Sam a bitch.
A nurse came in, ignoring Pete and Sam entirely, and started moving covers out of the way along with the horrible hospital gown. She was inspecting the saw cuts and other gashes in Dean's legs, but wasn't being particularly diplomatic about it. She'd probably had a long night shift and just wanted to go home and get off her aching feet. To Pete she looked like she probably could pull the age card on the Crypt Keeper. Eyes snapping open, Dean's back arched slightly off the bed, his arm curling tighter around Sam, who didn't wake but snuggled closer. Pete looked directly at Dean's face, doing his best to ignore the nurse.
Lightly gripping Dean's forearm as gently as he could, he felt Dean try to grip his forearm, but it didn't work very well. Shifting his grip, Pete managed to get Dean's hand on top of his arm near the elbow, his own hand palm up and still gripping gently. His breath hitching, Dean lifted his body up off the bed again, starting to breathe shallower and shallower. Without turning his head, Pete took a breath.
"Excuse me? Ma'am?" his mother always told him to say 'ma'am' because it was polite. Even if he hated the person. He didn't hate the nurse. But, all the same, the principle still applied. "I think you're hurting him," Pete kept his eyes on Dean's, seeing the pain through his friend's bloodshot eyes. In an undertone, "it's fine, it's almost over, whatever it is, it'll be okay," Pete told him, believing it because he really had to. And the doctors were saying that Dean had to believe he was going to get better, or he would just give up. And as stubborn as Winchesters are, they still had limits. Pete had no idea if the nurse paid him any mind or not, because Dean didn't start to look or sound any better. When the heart monitor finally started freaking out the nurse moved over to Dean's head and around the machinery as a few other nurses came running in.
After they left, Pete woke Sam up, feeling horrible. "Can you stay awake for about ten minutes?" he asked softly; Dean had been drugged into a peaceful sleep. But who knew how long it would last. Getting up, he carefully removed Dean's hand from his arm, letting it rest on the mattress before glancing back once at the frail figure in the bed and leaving.
At the nurses' station Pete straightened his shirt and did his best to look presentable and serious instead of like some punk kid. "Excuse me," he said quietly to the woman at the reception desk for that floor.
"How can I help you?" she asked.
"Well, I don't, I don't want to be rude," he said hesitantly, unsure of how to ask this. "But, I, my friend, he's in room 408, and…the nurse, I mean he's in bad condition, and…she was…I just, I'm sure she's one of the best, but…"
"I can have a different nurse transferred over to your friend, if that's what your asking," she told him, figuring she would talk to the patient's legal guardians about it before she did anything, but she would note the concern. It wasn't the first complaint about the particular woman, and the receptionist felt like it was just time for the old girl to retire.
"Thank you," Pete said gratefully, trying not to act too relieved before he returned to his friend's room. Hopefully that nurse wouldn't be coming back that day, because Pete was fairly sure he would do his best to keep her out of the room, and it would probably cause a huge fuss. But it wasn't like he would forget the fear in Dean's eyes, or the helplessness and pain. Especially when he'd been so calm just moments before. It wasn't like Dean had been doing well, but he'd been doing better. He kept asking about his dad, for all it had only been hours, not days. Pete kept wondering when John was going to show up, figuring that if it had been his parents, despite their workaholic ways, they still would have showed up. In fact, they would have taken him to the hospital. Although they would have let the police find him, and by then it might have been too late.
"It's okay Sam, you can go back to sleep," he said softly when he saw the little boy sitting up watching the door and then Dean alternatively.
"Kay," he said sleepily, rubbing at his eyes, before he curled back up against his big brother and fell promptly asleep.
-reviews please?