Warnings: Againthis story mentions and reference events of WWII. It also contains some culturally sensitive words and themes. It also has religious references.
Author's Notes for Chapter Two:
The mention of Caleb being beaten is a direct reference to Tidia's story "Rites of Passage". I'm working from the slant Jim, John and Mac had a pretty good idea what really happened.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who Jim quotes here, was a German Pastor, arrested for participation in resistance activities against the Nazis. He was eventually executed on April 9, 1945 at Flossenbürg camp. The quote used is from Bonhoeffer's Letters and Papers from Prison a collection of material he wrote while incarcerated.
Military Notes:
I'm referencing Jim being a sniper from Wings of the Phoenix. There are common misperceptions that Snipers are the 'lone wolves' of the battle field. They really aren't. They are generally always inserted in two man teams consisting of a "Shooter" and a "Spotter". Hence, Jim reference to Dean as his "Spotter". A Spotter in a sniper team looks through the scope and tells the shooter when to fire and in which direction to adjust the scope.
John's military service: Since it's the only way the timeline works with the rank John has been given in various sources. I'm making the assumption John finished up his active duty after Dean was born. With John completing his required years in the Reserves right before Mary was murdered.
I want to thank everyone for their kind reviews for chapter one.
To those of you that asked about Isis: Don't worry that's my next update.
"I want you to know John's little display at the dinner table had nothing to do with you," Jim stated as he walked in to the barn.
"Members of the Brotherhood investigated Winchester's family to make sure there were no Noah Seavers in Dean and Sam's family history didn't they?" Caleb asked softly as he scratched behind Sleipnir's soft velvety ears. The horse nudged his shoulder happily in welcome.
"Yes," Jim answered quietly. There was a cold edge of steel to his tone. "I'm afraid that's exactly what some of them did. John is not happy about having his privacy violated."
Caleb looked up and studied the barn's rafters for a few moments. He wasn't sure how he wanted the pastor to answer the next question. "Did they find anything unusual?"
"Would it really matter if they did?"
Caleb looked down and refused to meet Jim's eyes. "Hell no. Not to me." Then he looked up and laughed humorlessly. "Not like I can throw stones or anything."
"John's mother lost relatives to the Nazis when they took control of Italy in 1943." The pastor informed him quietly. "John finds the entire notion of 'tainted blood' ignorant and offensive. He saw people going through his family tree for that reason as dishonoring his murdered relatives' memories."
"That would explain why John was so pissed off."
"I think pissed-off is John Winchester's innate state," Jim grumbled under his breath as he walked towards a feed sack in the corner of the barn. "The only good that came out of the fiasco is the fact it didn't help my critics case that the Winchesters don't belong here."
"You know, John." Caleb shrugged. "Although his tough guy image really takes a beating when he runs away like a pansy from his silent, irate eight year-old. Blue crayon, Dean's new Red Sox jersey, hot dryer, I think you get the drift. It wasn't pretty."
"I bet." Then the pastor replied with a shake of his head. "John Winchester takes great pride in being objectionable enough without people taking issue with the blood flowing through his veins." The pastor shot him a pointed look. "An attribute you both seem to embrace."
"I suppose." Caleb replied. His shoulders slumped. "Though for some of us…"
Jim responded by throwing out a quote from Dietrich Bonhoeffer,
"To talk about going down fighting like heroes in face of certain defeat is not really heroic at all, but a failure to face up to the future. The ultimate question the man of responsibility asks is not, How can I extricate myself heroically from the affair?, but, How is the coming generation to live? It is only in this way that fruitful solutions can arise . . . For it is their future which is at stake."
The pastor studied him very carefully. "I'll ask you then. As men of responsibility, what should we teach the two children sleeping upstairs?"
"Jim…" Caleb began.
Jim raised his hand to silence the protest. "Should we instruct them the Nazis were correct when they kicked down the door one night and massacred their grandmother's family because of Jewish blood they refused to deny?"
"No. Of course not," Caleb injected without even thinking.
"Would you intervene if someone proclaimed 'Thou shall not suffer a witch to live' and decided to secure Dean to a stake and burn him because he has green eyes?" The pastor asked raising an eyebrow.
"Hell yes, I would," Caleb stated. "That's got to be one of the stupidest questions you ever asked me."
"Then how can we possibly teach the two children sleeping upstairs that it is acceptable for you to be singled out and assaulted because of who your grandfather might have been?" Jim pointed out quietly. "Dean would be the first to loudly raise his voice against our hypocrisy. Then Samuel would follow his big brother's lead and effortlessly swoop in and pick our feeble logic apart."
"Okay, I see your point." Caleb ran a hand through his hair.
Jim's eyebrow lifted a little higher toward his hairline. "Do you? Humans have an amazing ability to segregate and butcher each other over irrelevant differences. And they are just that, Caleb, irrelevant differences. We are all human, no more, no less. Always remember that."
"Okay, you win," Caleb replied quietly. "I get it. Bad me. I'm human."
"Yes, you are," the pastor stated-matter-of-fact. "It's a pity that was too easy. I was just getting warmed up."
"I'd save your deviousness for our paintball games in the woods," Caleb grumbled. "I never stood a chance did I? You had me in your crosshairs from the very beginning and were simply waiting for me to meander down this particular path to pick me off."
"Of course," Jim replied cheerfully. "In some ways you are delightfully predictable. One reason why you keep walking in to Dean's brilliantly crafted ambushes."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"I would." The pastor gave him a smug look. "If you don't, you're going to continue coming home covered head-to-toe in paint. I don't know about my Spotter, but I will forever hold the memories of painting the Jarhead pink near and dear to my heart."
"That only proves you and Dean are both ruthless and evil. I'm starting to agree with John about not letting the two of you play together anymore." Caleb cleared his throat and lifted his chin stubbornly. "But I already told you it was a poltergeist. I wasn't beaten by anyone."
"Of course, how foolish of me, I keep forgetting," Jim said lightly. "My memory must be going. I keep scrambling the details of the hunt that put you in the hospital with an assault that had a completely dreadful cover story."
A skull- splitting sensation suddenly bashed in to the middle of Caleb's skull. The teenager grabbed his head. The world faded. Everything itched. He couldn't breath.
The next thing Caleb knew Jim's hands were on his shoulders. A concerned set of water-blue eyes met his as the pastor held him steady. "Caleb, are you all right?"
The sixteen year-old nodded. Then he shook his head to clear it and ground out, "There's something wrong. Dean."
"Pastor Jim!" Sammy busted in to the barn at a full, panic fueled run. "Mac told me to get you and for you to get the Church's medical kit."
Jim scooped the boy up before Sammy could plow in to him. "Samuel, stay calm and tell me what's wrong."
Sammy took a deep breath. "Dean's real sick. Mac wanted you to bring the church medical kit because it's where you keep Sarah Webster's epine… e…"
"Deep breath, Runt," Caleb said. He tried for soothing instead of panicked.
The little boy gave them a frustrated look and looked like he wanted to cry. "I can't say the word."
"Epinephrine?" Jim offered.
Sammy nodded. "That's it. Mac said to hurry."
Jim nodded and quickly started towards the house. "Now, Samuel, slowly, what's going on?"
"Dean took his medicine," Sammy began. "Then pretty soon after that he started itching and got a rash. Then his eyes and lips started swelling. I got scared. So I went and got Mac. Mac told us Dean was having a bad allergic reaction, probably to the penicillin. Then Mac ordered Dad to go call 911. I asked Mac if it was like Sarah Webster's reaction to peanuts. Her mom even gave you a special shot to carry with us when we go out with the youth group because Sarah could die if she even touches peanuts. Then Mac told me to go get you, and for you to bring the church's med kit with Sarah's shot."
"Anaphylaxis," Jim stated grimly. He put Sammy down. "I keep the pen kit in my office together with the rest of the youth group supplies. Stay with Sammy." Then the pastor bolted for the house at a full run.
Sammy and Caleb didn't exchange a word as they ran for house. Caleb shortened his longer stride to stay instep with the youngest Winchester.
"Will Dean be okay?" Sammy asked. A pair of frightened eyes met his.
"Dean will be fine. Dad's on the case." Caleb refused to think about the fact that Sarah Webster was only four and half Dean's size and weight.
They walked in the farm house and in to chaos.
"How many minutes out is that ambulance?" Mac asked urgently. They had Dean up on the now cleared kitchen table. The doctor had Dean's head tilted back as he attempted to keep the boy's airway open.
"Dispatch says at least fifteen, possibly closer to twenty," John replied holding the phone. "The ambulance is having trouble due to the slick roads. They can't get a Life-flight in the air either because of the damned weather."
"The ambulance is too far out," Mac stated. "Tell them we're securing the patient for transport and we'll meet them half way."
Caleb looked at his friend over his father's shoulder and wished he hadn't. Dean looked monstrous. His puffy face was all lips and eyelids. His face was so swollen his eyes were practically sealed shut. There was saliva dribbling down one side of his mouth.
Mac looked down at Dean. "How's the stomach?"
"A little better," Dean wheezed. What frightened Caleb was the whistling sound Dean was making as he took a breath.
The doctor nodded. "Dean, that shot we gave you wasn't enough to break this attack." By the expression on his father's face Caleb knew they'd only bought Dean some time. "Right now we're going to secure you to a back board. It will hold your head in to position to help you breath if you get tired. It's also a precaution in case the swelling moves down in to your vocal cords and I have to insert a tube down your throat to hold open your airway."
"Always…fun… times," Dean gasped out.
"Tell me about it," Mac replied tilting the struggling eight year-old's head back a little more. "The lengths you do for attention around here sometimes."
"You know. Middle…child…" Dean whispered.
Jim ran in carrying a backboard, towels, and duct tape.
Sammy stood there frozen watching the activity surrounding his brother. Afraid the little boy might get run over in all the chaos. Caleb grabbed the four year-old and gently yanked him out of the adults' way.
"Jim, help me lift Dean on to the board," Mac ordered.
The pastor nodded and positioned himself on the other side of Dean opposite from Mac.
"On three," the Doctor urged, "One, two, three." They lifted Dean up and gently laid him down on the board. Mac started positioning towels around Dean's head. The duct tape came next to secure the boy's head to the board. "How's the wooziness, Dean?"
"Not so good," the little boy rasped.
"Not surprising, your blood pressure is dangerously low. I need you to stay awake. You also should inform me immediately if you feel sick to your stomach again," Mac ordered calmly. The doctor grabbed a few more towels and elevated Dean's legs. "John what's our current ETA?"
"Dispatch confirms sixteen minutes," John replied grimly.
Mac threw Jim his keys, "Go bring my vehicle around."
Jim caught the keys and went running.
"John, relay to dispatch we're meeting the box at our designated rendezvous and ETA should change to eight minutes," the doctor continued. "The patient's reaction is wide-spread and his blood pressure is bottoming out quickly. We can't wait. Notify them to have epinephrine, diphenhydramine, and hydrocortisone ready for us when we get there."
John repeated what Mac said in to the phone. Then John replied, "Dispatch confirms."
Jim ran in, "I brought the car around."
"Good," Mac nodded. "Jim, help me load Dean in to the back seat. John, can climb in front." Jim grabbed the side of the board opposite from Dean.
John shook his head. Then without any hesitation, "I stay here with Sammy. Jim goes with you. He's EMT certified. In case you need to…" John took a deep breath. "Caleb can drive me and Sammy to the hospital. Now get moving."
Mac nodded. He turned to the pastor, "We lift on three."
"Understood," Jim nodded.
On the count of three both men lifted the board.
"How are you doing down there Dean?" Mac asked smoothly.
"Not so good," Dean wheezed weakly. Caleb could hear the whistling deep in Dean's lungs was getting worse. "Things I need… to do… for a new Red Sox's jersey."
Not even losing a step as they made they're way with the board towards the door. The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Well, your father is notoriously cheap. What happened to the one you got for your birthday?"
"Blue crayon," Dean gasped, "Dad. Dryer."
"Really? That's awful. How about I buy you a nice New York Yankees one to replace it?" Mac replied. The doctor and Jim carefully angled Dean out the back door towards the waiting vehicle.
"Rag," Dean panted weakly, "Impala."
"Nothing Yankee is ever touching my car," John grumbled. Then he ran a soothing hand through Dean's hair as he hobbled along side of them. "Ace, you're brother and I will be following right behind you. Your job is to stay awake and list off to Mac all the reasons the Yankees suck. Understood?"
The boy nodded weakly, as the whistling noise became even louder.
Jim and Mac picked up the pace. Once they had Dean down the few back steps, they practically ran towards the waiting vehicle.
John closed the back door as the tail lights disappeared down the road. He took a deep, centering breath. Then John barked out, "Samuel".
His father's voice broke Sammy out of his daze. The little boy blinked owlishly, "Sir?"
"Sammy, go get dressed. Next, pack a bag for your brother and yourself." John ordered calmly. "Assume they're going to be admitting Dean tonight and we might be staying in town for a couple of days. Now go."
"Yes, Sir," Sammy replied with a nod. The four year-old went running.
"You want me to pack a bag for you?" Caleb asked.
"Yeah, and Jim too," John replied. "I don't even think your father had a chance to unpack. I need to find…my…crutches." Then he muttered something obscene under his breath as he looked around. Next John ran a wobbly hand over his face. "Eight minutes out. Fuck."
"Deuce will be fine." Caleb stated with confidence.
Any other ending was absolutely unthinkable.
--888--
The hospital nursery was the last place Mac had even thought to look for his friend.
John Winchester never ceased to surprise him.
"John?" Mac asked gently as he approached.
"If you're here to ask me any stupid questions like: Are you alright," John stated quietly. His dark eyes never left the glass window and the new lives behind it. "Don't even bother."
Mac ran a weary hand over his face. God, he was tired. The hospital's plastic lounge devices of torture were starting to look soft and inviting. "Jim sent me to get you. They are preparing to move Dean up in to ICU soon. We figured you'd want to be there."
John turned from the window and positioned his crutches so he was facing Mac.
Mac crossed his arms over his chest. "I know that look. I'm about to tell you the exact same thing I told Jim and Caleb. Dean had an extreme anaphylactic episode, in other words, a severe Type I, allergic reaction. It was most likely triggered by the penicillin he took orally. Stop blaming yourself for this. There's no way any of you could have prevented it."
"So the kid-faced, ER doctor informed me. Dean's not responding like they hoped to the medications. He also told me, due to the major organ involvement, they need to keep Dean on the ventilator for twenty for hours to see how well he reacts," John stated flatly.
"So listen to me then, John," Mac stated. "This was not your fault. There was no way you could have seen this coming or protected Dean from it."
Sometimes guilt was completely ridiculous and irrational.
"You ever wonder what this jobs cost us, Mac" John asked quietly. "I mean really cost us? I do. I look at my boys, see them growing up with out me, and I wonder if it's worth it."
"Sometimes," Mac answered honestly.
"I still remember the day I got my first look at Ace. I looked down at this squirming, howling bundle and panicked. Not even enemy fire was as scary as knowing I was now responsible for protecting and molding this fragile, little life." John shot him a dry grin that didn't make it to his eyes. "I almost handed Dean back to Mary and bolted. Then Ace looked up at me and smiled. From that moment, I never wanted to put him down."
Mac nodded in understanding. "I still remember the day I signed the adoption papers for Caleb. It just suddenly hit me I was a parent. It was the happiest and scariest thing I've ever done in my life. I still wonder if I was completely out of my mind signing those papers."
"Being out of your mind is a prerequisite for being a parent," John responded thoughtfully. "Kids disappoint you. They drive you crazy. Scare you to death and test you in every conceivable way until you have one last nerve left. Then they do something so amazing it takes your breath away. You look in to their eyes and you see the person you want to be. That's the moment you remember why you love every minute of the madness."
"Please remind me of that the next time Caleb manages to get himself expelled." Mac rolled his eyes. "Lately, all I've wanted to do is throttle him."
"I was hardly home for the first two years of Dean's life. You know that?" John informed him sadly. "I was still on active duty with the Corps. The day Dean was born, I was a prisoner in some bum-fuck, Central American hell hole."
Mac put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Sammy is scared and needs his father right now."
"I know," John replied. "I just needed some time alone to put on my 'dad' face."
Mac squeezed his shoulder. "I understand. Come to us whenever you're ready."
"Yeah, I will," John whispered after his friend had left. Once again looking in on the nursery he muttered under his breath, "Dean not responding to medication. Not like, we haven't been here before."