Disclaimer: I do not own these characters- they belong to Eric Kripke and I wouldn't have it any other way!

Summary: Dean tries to break the news to his father that Sammy isn't interested in carrying on the family business. John handles it like an ex-Marine would, and Dean storms off to the shores to cool down after the heated debate. There, he is entranced by a water succubus. Will his father realize what happened before it's too late?

Tag to "After School Special." Dean is 17 and Sam is 13.

Once Dean was relatively comfortable on the floor again, Bobby disinfected his hands and took up the stitching needle John had abandoned. He moved Dean's right arm up so that it was perpendicular to his body, then sat down in the "L" he had just made, making sure Dean couldn't bring his arm back down on a pain reflex.

"Here goes nothin'…" Bobby warned before carefully piercing Dean's skin, threading the needle through to the other side, then drawing the first section of the wound closed as he tugged on the thread.

Dean's arm twitched the second he felt the familiar pinch, instinctively wanting to wrap it around his side protectively. He settled for latching onto Bobby's pant leg, just above the man's ankle.

Bobby knew he needed to get the boy's mind off of the pain, so he launched into the first topic that came to mind as he tied off the first stitch and began the second.

"So what happened with you and your daddy earlier… You know it was an accident, right?"

Dean looked directly into Bobby's eyes, surprised that the man had found out about the little "dispute" he had had earlier with John. But then he quickly looked away again.

"Yeah."

"He wants to keep you boys safe is all. He's scared he'll lose you both."

Dean grimaced as Bobby pulled the second stitch tight. "I know."

"Do you? He loves you two more than anythin'. I also happen to know you're Sammy's great protector and that he worships the ground you walk on. You really think you can just let him walk out the door and start a whole new life?"

Dean grunted in pain, but he wasn't sure if it was because Bobby had started the third stitch, or because of Bobby's words. "Jus' want him t-to be h-happy."

"You're a good kid, you know that? Stronger than anyone else I know. What's your secret, huh?"

Bobby moved on to the fourth stitch while Dean took a moment to think over his question.

"W-wheaties."

Bobby snorted. "Should've known you'd say somethin' witty like that, smart-ass. You think you've got muscles in these little toothpick arms o' yours?" Fifth stitch…

"M-more than you, old m-man."

"Who you callin' old man, tyke? Just cause you're barely outta diapers…"

"B-but you'll be b-back in 'em soon."

Obviously, Dean preferred humor right now than psychological chit chat, so Bobby verbally jousted with him as he neared the end of the wound.

"Don't make me shoot you myself, boy…" Final stitch.

"I'll g-give you a f-free sh-shot."

"I'll take a raincheck. I just finished patchin' your ass up. Not gonna waste my talents by makin' a new hole for the fun of it."

He cleaned around the wound again, dabbed disinfecting cream over the stitches, then smoothed a thick bandage over them, taping it in place.

"Done and done. You alright, kid?"

Dean smiled as he released his death grip on the man's calf. "Th-thanks, B-Bobby."

"Anytime, sport. What do you say we get you back into a nice warm bed now?"

"Th-thought you'd n-never ask. D-dad okay?"

"I'm sure he's fine. Probably just sulkin' cause he was startin' to prune. I'll go check on him. Don't you go anywhere now." He patted Dean's shoulder gently before rising stiffly to his feet and cracking his back.

Dean glared good-humoredly as if to say like I could go anywhere even if I wanted to…

Bobby smirked, winked, then went into the bedroom to make sure John was coping with everything.

"John? You all set?"

John was stripping the drenched sheets off of Dean's bed and tossing them into a corner of the room. He was dressed in a dry set of clothes, but he was still shaking a bit.

"'m good," he mumbled, focused on the task at hand.

"If I don't let Dean pull that shit with me, what makes you think you're so special?"

John paused at the mention of his son. "He alright?"

"Patched up and ready for bed."

"Good... Good." John dropped his head to his chest, too tired to hold back the guilt anymore.

"John, he doesn't hate you, ya know. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's already forgiven you."

"That makes one of us," he grumbled as he returned his attention to the task at hand.

Bobby stepped forward. "I've got this, John. Go see to your son."

John paused again. "Yeah. Okay. You sure you…?"

"I think I can handle makin' a bed. I wasn't exactly born yesterday."

John chuckled. "More like a century ago."

"You ain't so spry yourself, ya old geezer."

Bobby pulled a set of spare sheets from the only closet in the room and took up where John had left off.

"Water's ready again, dad!" Sam called from the kitchen.

"Pour some in a glass, would ya? Then meet us back in the bedroom," John replied before heading towards the bathroom door.

"Hey, John?"

"Yeah?" He turned back just in time to catch the sweatshirt that was thrown his way.

"He'll be needin' that."

"Thanks, Bobby." For everything.

"Mhm. Let me know if you need some help in there."

John nodded, then entered the bathroom to find Dean laying on the floor, right where Bobby had left him.

"How's the side, kiddo?"

"G-good as n-new," Dean forced a half smile, trying to comfort his father.

John held up the sweatshirt. "Brought a peace offerin'."

"I'll t-take it."

John helped his son sit up and pulled the towel from his shoulders before easing the boy's head through the collar. The arms were a bit more difficult to maneuver but with a little teamwork, they managed. For the final touch, John pulled the hood over Dean's head to keep in the warmth.

"Alright. Bedtime, sport. Think you can stand with some help, or should I get Bobby back in here?"

"I can d-do it."

"Let's take it slow." He moved behind Dean and secured his arms underneath his son's shoulders, hoisting him up onto his feet.

Dean's knees immediately gave way, but having had plenty of experience carrying wounded soldiers and hunters over the years, John was able to adjust his grip and take on the majority of Dean's weight.

They made their way, step by slow step, into the bedroom and John gently deposited his son back on the now dry bed. He pulled the covers up to Dean's neck.

Sam came back into the bedroom with a steaming glass of water in hand which he passed to his father. John sat on the side of the bed.

"I want you to drink as much of this as you can, dude. Little sips though."

"Wh-what, no hot ch-chocolate?"

John smiled, remembering how Mary used to make the comfort beverage for their eldest whenever he came in from playing outside in the snow. "Maybe later. Don't want to push our luck right now."

Dean was able to lift his own head, but John wasn't about to risk his son spilling hot water all over himself if he couldn't grip the cup, so John kept control of it instead.

He moved the cup to Dean's lips, sliding it between his chattering teeth before tilting it enough to allow some of the fluid to pour into the boy's mouth.

Dean spluttered as the relatively hot water wormed its way down his frozen esophagus, coughing some of the water back up, but managing to get at least half of the gulp down.

"Nice and slow, pal…" John coached, tilting the cup some more.

Dean managed a few more sips before pulling his head back, clearly stating he had had enough. John wasn't fully satisfied just yet though. He moved the cup as Dean moved, refusing to let his son quit.

"Bit more, Dean. Come on. It'll help."

He forced the boy to swallow a few more mouthfuls before finally conceding to Dean's protests and putting the cup down on the nightstand.

Dean dropped his head back to the pillow, feeling completely drained once again. It had been a very long night. If only he could stop the shaking, he was sure he'd be fast asleep by now. But as it was, all he could manage was to curl up into a tight ball on his left side.

John sighed, wishing there was some way he could do more to ease Dean's distress. Then it hit him. "Sam, I need you to slide in next to your brother. He needs to share your body heat for a while."

John would have done it himself, but he was shaking almost as badly as his eldest at this point.

Sam didn't hesitate. He pulled off his brother's jacket that he was still wearing before crawling under the blankets. He plastered his chest to Dean's back and threw his right arm protectively around him, taking care not to put too much pressure on his big brother's bruised abdomen or to rest his arm on the newly stitched wound.

He flashed back to a time when Dean used to do the same for him after a horrible nightmare or during a bad storm when dad was off on a hunt. He smiled to himself as he remembered how Dean would hum Metallica songs until Sam fell asleep. Though the roles were reversed now, he still felt that extra sense of security being so close to his brother.

It appeared that Dean felt the same way. At first he tensed, feeling a body grab hold of him from behind again, but once he was able to grasp the fact that it was Sammy, he relaxed against his brother, grateful for the added warmth. It was also comforting to know someone had his back now. He finally felt safe.

"If you start to feel too cold, you tell me, Sammy," John ordered, aware that a hypothermic person could lower the body temperature of those next to him if they weren't carefully monitored.

"Yes, sir." Sam tightened his grip fractionally, clearly negating his words. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he was terrified by the bluish tint that remained on Dean's skin. It made his brother appear to be dead.

But with Dean's back up against him, he was able to feel the older boy breathing and that comforted him like nothing else could. He was also close enough to hear the breath ghosting out of Dean's recovering lungs. Though it sounded painful at times, they were at least functioning again.

John, who was still shaking as well, shot a look over and caught Bobby's eye who glanced at the second bed before meeting his gaze again, looking uncomfortable but resigned. John shook his head.

"Don't even think about it, Bobby. I'd rather freeze to death."

"Fine with me, ya stubborn bastard. I'd rather you froze to death too, trust me. At least take the comforter from the other bed. That shade of blue ain't really your color."

John glanced down at his hands and had to admit his skin was tinted blue from the icy water. But Dean was much worse off, considering he was also cyanotic from temporary oxygen deprivation. John couldn't care less about his own state while Dean was suffering only a few feet away.

John's mind drifted off as his eyes locked onto his sons, playing out all the horrible outcomes that could have occurred had things gone a bit differently. He was startled out of his reverie when a heavy blanket was laid across his shoulders.

"Just take it, ya idjit," Bobby grumbled before pulling a chair over and taking up his post next to Dean's bed. "And stop playin' 'Worst Case Scenarios.' There's no need. The boys are right here, and they're both alive. That's all that matters now."

John sighed before softly stating, "I wish that were true, Bobby. But you and I both know it's not."

TBC

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