Disclaimer: I do not own "Supernatural" or any of its characters.

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments! They really make my day! :D And thanks to the lovely Lembas7 who beta'd this for me, any remaining errors all mine.

The majority of this chapter is Jess and John, just because I could! ;) I had fun having these two interact (despite the circumstances) and I hope you all enjoy it.

She couldn't move any further into the room. Her feet stuck to the tiles just inside and to the left of the door. Her eyes stuck to the pale figure lying on the bed. Sam was standing further into the room and to the right somewhere. He was talking to someone, the doctor, Jess supposed.

... serious injury...

... blood loss...

... contusions to the liver...

... to the kidney's...

She covered her mouth with her hand, trapping sound; her nails unconsciously digging into her cheek.

... head trauma...

... cerebral edema...

Sam was talking, asking questions, but his words were indistinct to her, as if her brain could only attune to the words coming from the doctor's mouth.

... if he wakes up...

... realistic expectations...

She shook her head, forcing her eyes away from the bed, from Dean on the bed; and looked over at Sam in time to the catch the expression of grief dawning on his face. Shock slithered back into his eyes, mixing with denial. Sam shook his head no and the doctor's face shone with sympathy.

A moment later the doctor excused himself, informed them he'd be by later this evening and offered the location of his office in case they had any further questions.

She didn't think either of them acknowledged him in any way, but she couldn't be sure, couldn't even be sure how long they stood there in silence, save for the mechanical beeps of machines, after the doctor left. All she was sure of was that when Sam finally moved, edging his way closer to Dean, when he reached out and grasped Dean's arm just above the wrist, thumb smoothing little circles on the skin, and whispered a quiet hey, man, her control wavered and the tears finally spilled.

They'd run out of coffee cup sleeves in the cafeteria. The hot liquid inside the frail paper cup was burning her hand.

The thought registered dimly, like the cold metal of the plastic chair and the occasionally flickering fluorescent lights of the waiting room; like Kerrie's increasingly panicked voice at the other end of phone line. Already she'd fielded calls from Jill and Lacey on her way to and from the cafeteria. She and Sam had left Palo Alto in such a rush she hadn't done more than leave a hasty voice mail for Kerrie with bare-bones news and a request that she tell the others.

Kerrie's voice cut through her thoughts, high-pitched and anxious. "Are you sure you don't want us to -"

"Yes," she cut in, her voice oddly hoarse in her own ears, "I'm sure." She'd been assuring Kerrie for the last ten minutes that there was no need for anyone to come out to Iowa, assuring her that she was handling things fine, that Sam was as well as could be expected, that Dean was stable.

Dean was stable; is stable.

Dean is stable.

She kept those three words on a loop in the background of her mind; they helped keep her voice steady when she spoke.

Vaguely she wondered what loop Sam was using. Sam, who had stopped shaking and seemed to have shouldered off the numbness completely. Sam, who had ensconced himself in his father's hospital room, because John had indeed been admitted, and not come out for almost an hour, whose yelling could be heard through the door even though his words had been indistinct—possessed colts? Sam who had left on an errand – and that alone rocked her.

Sam had left.

His loop must be better than hers.

"We don't want you guys to be alone," Kerrie insisted. "And we're worried about Dean, we want-"

"I'll keep you updated," she promised again, the words coming smoothly.

"Jess, you don't sound okay."

I'm not.

Her mind responded, but her mouth said nothing. Sam had left, asking her to please stay with Dean, that he'd be back soon. She'd meant to ask where he was going, what he could possibly have to do when Dean was –

But she hadn't processed the thoughts, hadn't formulated the words fast enough and Sam had pressed a kiss to her mouth and vanished; leaving her alone with his estranged father and dying brother in a hospital hundreds of miles from home.

The palm of her hand was burning. The sensation made her fingers begin to twitch. She should put the cup down or switch it to her other hand; her grip on the cup tightened.

"I am," Jess lied, "And we're not alone, their Dad is here."

Kerrie's focus shifted at the mention of Sam's Dad, just as Jess had intended.

"Yeah, I forgot you mentioned he was there. What's he like?"

Jess bit back a bubble of hysterical laughter. She had the feeling she'd never know what John Winchester was like.

Instead she answered calmly, "He's worried, but okay – like me and Sam."

She knew that wasn't what Kerrie had meant and rushed on before her friend could point it out. "I have to go now, Ker, but thanks for calling, okay."

Kerrie wrangled another assurance that Jess would keep her updated, promised to keep the others from calling anymore, and then murmured a sincere goodbye.

Jess brought the phone down from her ear and stared at it for a moment in the palm of her hand before pressing end with her thumb. She closed her fist around it then, eyes shifting to the coffee cup- it had cooled while she talked, the steam billowing out much more slowly, the burning against her skin fading.

"Lotta phone calls?"

The question startled her, making her jump a bit, but she covered quickly by slipping her phone into the pocket of her jeans. She sensed 'jumpy' wasn't something her father-in-law would appreciate. He was shuffling over to the seat next to her, lowering himself into it, before she realized his question required an answer.

"A few," Jess responded.

He nodded, settling back against the seat, stretching his leg out in front him.

"Friends?" he asked, eyes locked onto her face.

She nodded, shifting the coffee cup to her other hand. "They're worried," she offered, bringing the cup to her lips.

"About Dean?"

Something in those two words made her freeze, cup midway to her mouth, and turn her face to look at him.

The question hung between them, meaning more than those two simple words. His intense eyes holding hers steady, asking her things she suddenly knew he would never say; saying words she sensed he would never form.

Do they know him? Care about him?

Have you let him in?

Will you keep him?

"Yes."

The word slid smoothly into the space between them, swirling with the unformed words and unasked questions. Her eyes burned and her throat tightened for no reason. That hooded gaze was doing something to her, showing her something she couldn't quite see.

She blinked, looked away before she embarrassed herself by bursting into tears. If Sam could hold it together, could go out on errands,then she could sit here and not bawl. Jess cleared her throat. "Should you be out of your room?" she asked, eyes on the coffee she'd yet to drink.

A short chuckle, then, "Trying to get rid of me, Jessy?"

The question had a patronizing air to it and she felt herself scowl a little. "No," she answered shortly, looking up at him again, not feeling the need to expand on that response.

He smirked at her, Dean's smirk-- with Sam's dimples. "Just a question, kid."

"My name is Jessica."

He nodded, smirk fading, "I know."

Her eyes narrowed a little, his tone implying that he knew more than just her name. "How surprising. I'd have thought you didn't even know Sam had married."

Despite this not being the time or place, Jess was suddenly furious at this man; this man who had boycotted his son's wedding.

The smirk disappeared completely, his body shifting a little towards her. "You have something you'd like to say to me Jessica?" he asked, an eyebrow lifting archly.

She held his gaze for a moment, but it was such a Dean look, that pointed gaze, that lift to his brow, that the fury evaporated as suddenly as it had appeared.

She shook her head, tearing her eyes from him, shifting the coffee cup to her other hand again. She had nothing to say to this man, not here.

"You should say it," he continued, tone shifting again and she noted that the mercurial moods must be genetic. "If you do."

She remained silent, because it didn't matter right now. It didn't matter if it was despite or because, if he had helped or hindered, if he deserved them or not; right now it made no difference. Right now only one thing mattered, Dean is stable.

She could feel his gaze studying her profile, wondered if when she had a son he would inherit those heavy eyes the Winchester men seemed to carry.

"You'll never be on the inside, you know."

The words were pitched in the most neutral tone she had ever heard from anyone. Not conversationally or warningly, not friendly or darkly—just words, without an iota of inflection. The Winchester World Secrets flashed in her mind, the teasing name she'd given Sam and Dean's quiet conversations and abrupt departures. The name she had given the looks they shared that she couldn't begin to decipher, the way they communicated with signals no one else could see. An inside world surrounded by Winchester Walls she'd never breach, she knew that; having confirmation from their possibly dead-beat Dad didn't change anything.

When she turned to face him again, she felt tears hot and thick building up inside her. He didn't have to tell her that, she knew that, had been watching it for going on a year now; had wondered if having Dean in their lives was worth knowing the pain of being an outsider, had decided the answer was yes.

"I don't need to be." She told him, words tight from the effort of holding in those tears. She wouldn't cry in front of this man.

Again those dark eyes, Sam's eyes, Dean's lashes, bored into her. She wondered what he would say now, wondered what the purpose of saying anything to her at all was.

And then he smiled at her; not wide or happy, but just sincere. "You're a good fit for Sam," he offered and then looked away from her, eyes focusing somewhere across the waiting room, leaving Jess to study his profile in surprise.

She blinked, looking away too, the tears still too uncomfortably close to the surface.

She knew that as well, knew that she and Sam fit, wouldn't have married him otherwise. It didn't matter if this man saw it too, if he saw both core tenants of her relationship with his son – that they fit and that she would always be on the outside somehow.

"You're not a good father."

The words slipped out, no conscious effort or thought except that if he was going to tell her things she already knew, she could return the favor. She waited to see if he had anything to offer, a denial, an explanation, anything. But the silence stretched and she wondered if he hadn't heard her at all.

"I tried to be," he offered a moment before she was about to continue, his voice distant, quiet; almost as if he weren't speaking to her at all. "I could've tried harder."

The admittance was barely audible and so raw she wondered suddenly why he'd voiced it at all.

"You love your sons," she offered after a beat, still not looking at him, his confession still echoing in her mind. She didn't doubt that now, wasn't sure why she didn't doubt it; had only seen Sam in the presence of his father for maybe five minutes, hadn't seen this man with Dean at all.

Still, Jess knew he loved them. It was in his eyes, in his gaze, in the way he held himself when he looked at Sam, when he was thinking of them.

She was holding the coffee cup with both hands now, staring down at it. It wasn't hot at all anymore. The thought of drinking it made her feel nauseous. Silence stretched around them, heavy and sickening, and she wished he'd go back to his room, wished he'd leave her alone to worry and cry if she wanted to.

"So, Dean tells me you read trashy romance novels."

Her head snapped up, eyes fastening onto his profile in shock. It was such an outrageous thing to say right then, right now, here; such an arbitrary thing for him to know, such a random thing for Dean to share with his father, that it came as no surprise when her tears spilled even as she released a breathy laugh.

He turned to her, his eyes the kindest she'd seen them yet and suddenly she was shaking, laughing or maybe crying all at once.

He took the cup from her hands before she could spill any; set it down on the floor on the other side of him. Then her hands were in his; she drew in a shuddering breath, not meeting his gaze, pulling one hand free of his so she could wipe her tears. "I've given him a couple for the road, ya know," she whispered.

"Dean is going to be okay," he said calmly, assuredly.

She swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. "Yeah, I know – I just -"

"He will be," her father-in-law insisted confidently and she frowned a little at the certainty there. He must have the same loop Sam had, she thought weakly.

"Sam too." John continued.

And her frown intensified; a spike of fear making her sit up straighter. He was scaring her.

"They do that for each other, make the other okay; they hear each other, save each other," he squeezed her hand. "Remember that."

And then he released her, patted her knee, and began shifting forward, gathering himself up to leave.

They didn't make sense; those words, that tone – they had no place in what was happening now.

She didn't say anything, just watched silently as he stood and shuffled back down the corridor towards his room. Then she took a moment to replay their conversation-- when it filled her with a sense of misgiving, she brushed the episode from her thoughts; letting Dean is stable begin its loop in her mind once again.

She'd think of her father-in-law's words tomorrow, if she had the sanity to spare.

For the time being, she sat sipping her cold coffee and waiting for Sam to return.

TBC.