Chapter 12

Dean felt his chest buckle inward, a weight expelling what little air he'd managed to drag in. No....Is this how it feels to die? Maybe this is how it feels to be already dead. I hope not, I can't feel like this forever.... Sammy?.... Mom?...You here?

Wait..... I hurt. I hurt a lot. More than a lot.. Dead people don't hurt, do they? Please tell me Sammy doesn't still hurt. I think....I think maybe I'm not dead.

He fought to draw in another breath, searing heat of the air bringing it all back to him. The fire. He opened his right eye, the left firmly refusing to budge. After Abigail's carving he was prepared for the stinging weight on his chest to be almost anything. Anything except what he actually saw.

"Dad?"

His father's motionless form draped across him; flickers of fire lapping at his jacket cuffs. No, no. I can't kill him, too. I just can't. Should've saved Sammy, should've gotten away. Dad wouldn't have to be here.... My fault... Tears threatened the corners of Dean's eyes. Must be the smoke.

"Dad? Wake up.... D-dad? You have to wake up." The choked rasp of Dean's voice barely reached his own ears, giving him little confidence it would reach his father's. He held what breath he had, tensed until he felt the rhythmic movement of his father's chest against his ribs. "Dad?"

The whisper began to percolate into John's brain, tickling at the edges of awareness. A frail voice he didn't recognize as his son, yet there was no one else there.

"Umppff. Dean." The pounding in his skull, the singed burn of his back didn't matter. Dean was alive. "Y-you okay?"

"Can't. Breathe. Dad." Gasps punctuated his words as he forced some volume behind them.

What? No, he had to be okay now. Not after all the kid had so obviously been through. The fog in John's head dissapated as he focused on his son. "Dean?"

"I'm. Squashed."

A smile ghosted on John's face, hidden from his son in the darkness. Of course. "Sorry."

He set himself to shifting his bulk off his child, ignoring the lancing pain in the small of his back. He had to pull Dean out of here. A final lurch and he rolled off his son onto his grilled back, smothering a dozen tiny fires in the process. Truth be known, he couldn't really breathe either.

"We're getting out of here, Dean, together. Can you stand?"

Dean twitched in an effort to do just that, his legs ignoring his attempts.

John's gut twisted at the sight, doubting he could carry him all the way to safety. "Dean! Get. Up. Now!"

"Yes sir."

Dean got his feet under him, felt his father's arm around his shoulders, both holding him low to the floor and propelling him forward. He doesn't know about Sammy. If he knew he'd leave me here. How am I supposed to tell him?

He looked at his father and then realized what that had to mean. He looked at him. He could see into the cloying blackness. They were moving closer to the light of the blaze. "D-dad?"

John had been certain it was coming to this since the roof collapse. "There's no other way out, Dean?" His son was a Winchester, he would have scouted the exits.

Dean considered the far door to the parlor hallway, still convinced this was a dead end. "No sir."

John nodded, shrugging out of his jacket. He held it out to Dean, covering his hair rather than trying to ease it past the nearly immobile shoulder. "Keep your head down and don't stop no matter what."

Dean managed a nod. His dad was leading him through a solid wall of fire. Never disobey an order...

The fire had roared overhead and at the walls almost since Dean first torched the draperies, and smaller trash had been ablaze all around him, but this was different. This was straight frickin' through. I'm gonna be seeing Sammy after all.

John intentionally hyperventilated, tested the footing on the once polished flooring, and leapt, hauling his son with him.

There was no describing the sensation of jumping into the fire, of feeling his clothes ignite, seeing Dean's do the same. Fortunately, there was no time to try. One second John was convinced he was killing them both, the next they were clear, heavily impacting the marble.

John continued the roll of the fall, ignoring Dean's moans as his tumbling weight worsened every injury the kid had, suffocating the flames. The shirt around his face and the jacket over Dean were a lost cause, abandoned as they skidded to a stop. He counted to ten slowly as they both panted amid the smoldering rubble. Time to move.

Dean allowed John to steer him, sensing they were closing in on the door, feeling his father's fist close on the waistband of his pants to haul him back to his feet with each ragged stumble. He hissed sharply as his bare feet once again extinguished an ember, finally collapsing onto his stomach for good.

"Get up!" John's heart tore, but he relied on the only way he'd ever known to motivate the boys. Dean had already shown him a capacity to shove beyond the limits of endurance, work through the impossible. "GET! UP!"

"Yesss s-s-ssir." The answer was softer this time, slurred. No attempt at movement followed.

Not now. Not when we're this close. The dim outline of the shattered doorway loomed mere feet away. John wormed his hands underneath Dean, rolling him tight into his chest. He staggered with the shift in weight, shutting down the alarm bells in his head at the silence from his older son. Dean wouldn't knowingly permit himself to be carried, even by his dad.

One foot in front of the other John, keep yourself moving.

The dark changed, still black, but cooler, the flickers of orange above replaced by white twinkled dots. It took John's oxygen deprived brain a minute to process what had happened. Once it hit him, he dropped to his hands and knees, gratefully curling his fingers into the earth. Outside. We're outside.

He settled Dean on the ground, fingers seeking the side of his neck. There it was, a thready flutter. Thank God. The movement of the slim chest was slight, no more than a tenuous grasp on life.

"Come on Dean, breathe." He rolled Dean onto his side, flat handing sharp slaps between his shoulder blades until the boy started to cough. Harsh wracking coughs that once started wouldn't stop, gasping inspiratory wheezes interspersed with the spasms.

John could see the impala where he'd left it what seemed like eons ago, weighed carrying Dean there against the approaching sirens. There was still time to escape, avoid the questions. He took another look at his son. No, they'd be waiting for the sirens.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The fire crew screamed up the drive, cutting the sirens as the mansion came into view. Flames roared into the sky, the roof gone, walls collapsing inward. Not much to do but keep it from spreading to the guest houses and staff quarters.

"No way anyone's alive in that. Awful that it had to happen now, though. I heard in town there was some sort of shindig up here tonight." The driver waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the house, wondering how much use the ambulance trailing behind them was going to actually be.

"You kidding, Hank? That party's probably why this happened. Folks get all tied up in their pretty candles and a million extension cords, have a few drinks and presto, you got yourself a fire." He opened the door as the truck stopped. "Let's see what we can do."

Hank climbed from the cab as well, joining the three crew members from the back who were already uncoiling hoses. "Not much left to save...."

"Wait. You see that?"

"What?"

"There, at the side of the house."

Hank followed his partner's finger, spotting the man silhouetted against the crackling house. A man hunched over a smaller form, mouth bent to his face.

The two broke into a run, approaching the pair on the lawn.

"Sir!?"

"Sir, what happened?" The fireman dropped to his knees beside the older man, already beginning to assess the boy on the ground. Carotid pulse was there. How long had the man been breathing for him?

His partner handed him an ambu bag, bleed in line for oxygen attached. Now if he could dislodge the man from the boy to get it in place. He wasn't convinced the man even knew they were there, the rhythm continuing uninterrupted, raising his head, a gulp of air, then sealing his lips on the child's face for another pair of breaths. The desperation etched in the movement was frightening.

"Your son?"

John nodded, peripherally acknowledging the other.

"I can help him, but you have to let me in there, okay? He needs the oxygen mask. You need some help, too."

John shook his head. "Just him." He rocked back on his heels, reluctantly allowing the medic access to Dean.

Hank lowered the mask, squeezing the attached bag to deliver air. His eyes raked over the pair of them before he reached for his radio. Gonna need a second ambulance. He couldn't even find an unscorched spot on the man's shoulder to lay a reassuring hand.

"What's his name?"

"Dean. His name's Dean." John gave in to a coughing fit of his own before continuing. "I'm John."

"Ok, John. I'm Hank. I'm an EMT, the paramedic fellas are right behind me. They'll take over, get you both to the hospital." His hands continued to work as he spoke. "How long did he stop breathing?"

An eternity. "A few minutes at most. He was still coughing when I started to hear the sirens."

"Good, ok." He pulled the mask up a fraction, using a light to peer into Dean's throat.

"Breathing tube?"

So, this one knew a little. "You a medic, John?"

"No. Just helped out a few hurt friends now and again. Well?"

Hmmm. "He's swollen in there, but I think there's something else we can try." He held up a pencil sized red rubber tube, responding to the other man's raised eyebrow. "It's a nasal trumpet, should hold his upper airway open."

He twisted the tube up into Dean's nose, feeling John's stare raise the hair on his neck. Watchful, this one. He waited once it was in place, eager to see if the boy would draw a breath. "You can do this, Dean, come on kid...come on..."

He was reaching back in his bag for an ET tube when they heard the wheeze.

"That's it, there you go, kiddo. That's it." John clasped Dean's hand in his own, barely aware when the promised paramedics traded positions with Hank.

The next minutes passed in a blur, IV's inserted, neck brace snapped into place, a stretcher slid beneath; John only tearing his focus from his son when a foolhardy soul tried to block his way into the back of the ambulance.

"John, there's not enough room. Besides, there's only oxygen hook up in there for one."

"Oxygen?" A surprised hand went the plastic mask on his face. When the hell had that happened?

"Wear it now and you may be well enough to stay with Dean once we get to the hospital."

Bribery always was more reliable than flattery for getting John anywhere.

John somehow managed to stomp and limp at the same time, glowering his way past the empty stretcher to climb into the second ambulance on his own. At least he could see the unsalvageable remains of the house. Save having to come back with Jim to finish it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John had permitted the emergency room an hour to dress the burns on his back and hands, alternating between questioning and cursing the staff. An older doctor with graying hair finally approached him.

"Mr. Connor? I'm Dr. Taylor. I've been taking care of Dean. If you'll ride in the wheelchair, I'll take you to him."

I'll ride in a goat cart and play the tambourine if it gets me back to Dean. "How's my son?"

"Better than I would have expected, actually. He'll need IV fluids and oxygen for a few days, and wound care for longer, but if he can avoid pneumonia he should be fine. He's starting to wake up now. Strong kid you've got."

Damn straight. "Yeah, that he is." He's okay. He's gonna be okay. I got 'em both back, Mary, promised I would.

"You know, I'm sure there was a lot of falling debris in that fire, but some of Dean's bruises are older than tonight. Any thoughts on that?"

"We've had a bit of a rough week, Doc, got involved in a car accident a few days ago." John chose his best sincere smile.

"That explains it then." The doctor smiled back at John, pulling open the door to a dimly lit room. "Go sit with your son. I'll be back in the morning."

He turned to go, then glanced back over his shoulder. "Oh, and Mr. Connor. CPS is pretty involved in this town. They're going to need a copy of that traffic report before we can discharge Dean."

"Sure Dr. Taylor. No problem." Perfect. Just freakin' perfect.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N - It was so nice to come back to the reviews for the last chapter - thank you all so much!!! I want to respond to each of them and I'm getting started on that now. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, figured we just had to get the fellas back out in some fresh air, lol! Let me know what you think, and I always love speculation on where it's headed.