Chapter 5
He couldn't believe it. His son was fading right before his eyes and he had not realized it earlier. John blamed himself for having waited outside Dean's room this whole time, thinking that everything had been fine, that Dean had simply been asleep after the surgery while the effect of the anesthesia was wearing off. John had only begun to see when he decided to sit by the bed and watching the monitor he realized that Dean's blood pressure and heart pulse kept dropping in alarming constancy. Dean was slowly dying and he hadn't known it.
But the even worse thing came later. Doctors could not find what was wrong with Dean. He had no fever; there was no sign of infection inside or outside his body. He had not lost any more blood; the stitches on his back were neat and clean. The look in those doctors' faces told how confused they were, and they decided to give a thorough check over Dean. They took his blood to be tested though they could not assure John they would find anything in it.
Those white-suited men were right. They didn't find anything abnormal in the blood. Pity surged as they told John there was nothing they could do anymore and saw how the man, clearly shaking, sat himself on the edge of the bed and hesitantly touched his son's face.
John didn't even hear it when the last doctor closed the door soundlessly behind him.
Sam, John thought suddenly. The boy had all the right to know that his big brother was leaving him.
Fishing down into his pocket, he found one missed call from the youngest son.
"Sam?" John whispered to the receiver when his call was picked up after the first ringing.
xxx
Sam thought his heart might burst at John's call. He was not ready. He simply wasn't ready if his dad delivered the bad news confirming his vision, no, nightmare, just now. Dean could not have come to say goodbye to him. Dean could not have gone.
"Sam?"
"Dad?" he croaked, unable to say anything else.
"Sam, your brother might… might not be able to make it. You might not see him again."
Sam couldn't bring himself to explode at his father for not telling him earlier that something awful had befallen the person he loved most. All he could do was curl up in his seat and tremble.
"Tell – tell him to wait for me." Sam wasn't aware of tears streaming down his cheeks. "Dad, make the doctors do whatever they can to cure him." He could not sound more like a little boy.
"Sam, listen. The doctors can't find anything. Dean—he looks as if he's sleeping. He's not in pain, not even a frown in his face, thanks to all those painkillers. Though perhaps, whatever is eating his life seems to have won."
"That's not Dean," Sam shot out at once. "He'd fight. He always fights."
For some time there was no reply from his dad, and Sam couldn't think of anything amidst his grief.
"Dad," he said quietly after some moments. "Can't you try to find out what's happening to him?" Sam knew John really didn't need him challenging his own father as always, but the boy guessed the older man's mind might have been too obscured by fear and panic of losing his oldest that he could no longer think sharp.
"Dad?" Sam called again when he only heard his father's breath.
"Sam, I was thinking," his father choked out. "Are you coming, son?"
"In two hours, Dad."
"Better get here sooner. I need you to help stop Dean from kicking the bucket."
Sam's ears perked up at the different tone in his father's voice. Apparently he might have discovered what was wrong, or better yet, how to solve it.