Well, thanks to Mish for Beta'ing, thanks to Sushi for her comments and encouragement. Thanks to Mattie for poking at me to upload things... repeatedly.I think I'm just going to end it at chapter 8, rather than bother to continue the story, and I'll slap a nice short epilogue on there to end things.

Chapter Seven:

"Dad?"

"He's not here, he left. Like he always does," Sam muttered in a tone much too dark for any ten year old.

"Whuh?" Dean twisted with a pained grunt to face his sibling.

"Dean," Sam whined, wishing his brother would just stay still and take care of himself.

"I don't, where's Dad, Sammy?" he slurred half the words together, and Sam pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"He's gone, Dean," Sam snapped, then his mouth went into a perfect 'O' shape. "Sorry. He's coming back soon," he lied. It wasn't like their father was ever around when they needed him. But when the man's oldest son was in critical condition? He couldn't be bothered to be around.

Pete walked in holding a small plastic bag, Dean eyed it as best he could through his bloodied vision.

"Brought this for you," Pete told him.

"Wha' issit?" Dean half asked half mumbled.

"Sweat pants, figured you weren't a big fan of that weird papery nightgown thing," he shrugged.

Dean managed a lopsided grin. Not that he was sure he'd be able to get them on by himself, but no one had to know. "Than's," he said, tipping his chin up the slightest bit in acknowledgement. His face was still pretty swollen, and it made it hard for him to talk clearly. Pete grinned a little, settling the bag within arms reach.

"I'll leave you alone so you can get them on, if you want," Pete offered.

Dean nodded, winced at the sudden pain, and then tried to act like he was fine. Waiting until Pete left, Sam took the sweats out of the bag, figuring asking Dean to do that was a bit much. He glanced at his brother, wondering how this was going to go down.

Dean grinned weakly, "Dun' think I c'n do this, Sammy."

"I can help," he offered.

"Dun' want help," Dean pointed out.

Fifteen minutes later Sam let Pete back into the room, and Dean had the covers off, revealing very baggy grey sweats. Pete nodded. They both knew that Dean wouldn't be around much longer. Not in a dead sort of way, in a John was up to something and they were leaving kind of way. Having told them when they first became good friends that he'd moved around a lot, and didn't expect to stay very long. It was hard to face the reality. With a wan smile, Dean settled back onto the bed more comfortably, wishing that a nurse would come in to administer more pain killers. It was starting to overwhelm him again.

"Where's Dad, Sam?" Dean asked, talking slowly and fighting his mouth for clarity. The swelling was starting to go down, but he was still barely recognizable. It would be an improvement once his hair grew back, but it would take a while. His scalp had to heal first.

"I don't know," it was too late to keep lying. Dean wasn't stupid, and even Sam could tell the drugs were starting to wear off. "He didn't say when he'd be back, either," Sam added defensively, knowing that Dean would ask him almost immediately. And he didn't have the patience to deal with it. Their father was being a jerk, and he was hurting Dean, and Sam was sick of it.

Dean's eyes rounded at the snap in Sam's tone, and then his expression softened. Sam's jaw clenched, Dean was always being so understanding and tolerant of everything. He never let anything go, he just took whatever life handed out and acted like he deserved it. And their dad did the same, letting Dean think that all the crap that happened was just part of life. Something you had to live with, something you couldn't fight. And it pissed Sam off.

Crawling off the bed, he saw Pete in the chair, just waiting, being there if Dean needed him, but just acting like part of the scenery. Walking out of the room and slipping through the door Sam figured Jim would be in the lobby. He was always in the lobby. Just waiting. Trying to make sure that he could be there when John wasn't, because John was just too busy with more important things. Like anything was more important than his son.

"Sam?" Jim wasn't too surprised to see Sam sit down next to him, eyes downcast as he fought tears. He didn't make a move to comfort Sam, because he knew the boy would reject it and start crying, two things that neither of them wanted to have happen.

"Where's Dad?" he asked. Sam wasn't the type to start with the whole preamble. Dean was the one who didn't want to admit to having questions, and did his best to avoid directly asking them.

"He's taking care of a few things so he can take care of you guys even better, okay?" Jim told him, hoping to God it was the truth. He figured it would be, John always did everything for his family, even when it was incredibly stupid to an outsider, it was still something John believed was in his family's best interests. He would die for his boys at the drop of a hat, but it didn't mean they wanted him to, or thought it was the only solution. "All your dad has to do is make sure some things are in order so that you guys can be safe, okay?"

"Hiding our tracks so the police can't find us when we go to Bobby's, huh? And Dean gets to leave his friends behind, and they won't be able to find any trace he ever existed," Sam mumbled, feeling the anger well up along with his tears. "Does he hate us?"

"Your dad?" Jim asked, shocked at the abruptness of the question.

"Yeah," Sam whispered, eyes downcast. He had to know, for real, whether or not it hurt him worse to know the truth, he had to know.

"Sam," Jim said softly, forgoing the male taboo and wrapping his arm around the little boy. "Sam, your father loves you with everything in his heart," Jim started.

"I don't think Dad has a heart," Sam mumbled, "That's why we always move, he never has a heart to care about anything enough to stay."

"That's not true, Sam! That's not true! Every move hurts him just as much as it does you and Dean, even more, because he hurts for both of you, and for all the people who care about you that you have to leave behind."

Sam looked up at Jim, eyes full of pain. Slipping off the chair, he retreated to Dean's room, crawling back onto the bed, he hated hospitals, and sighed. Dean shifted his arm the slightest bit to allow Sam more room and to avoid being jostled. His body ached constantly and the last thing he needed was Sam bumping him and hurting him worse.

Jim stood up; hands on his lower back as he arched his spine trying to relieve the pain from sitting slumped in a chair all day. Wincing when his back popped and crackled, he hadn't thought he was that old. Trudging into Dean's room, he forced a smile for the boy half swallowed by blankets and pain. Sam was sleeping again, something he probably needed, but not as much as his sibling.

"Hey there Dean, how're you feeling?"

Dean shrugged, then winced, his face going white with pain. Eyes watering he blinked quickly several times, before looking like he wanted to sink into the bed and disappear.

"No worries, it'll get better," Jim smiled. He pushed the call button, figuring another dose of morphine wouldn't hurt Dean. In fact he might go back to sleep, which would be good for the boy. He was starting to look a little better, less swollen, more like Dean. When the nurse came in, Jim could have sworn he heard Dean sigh in relief.