Chapter 21: Father vs. Son

2 days. 2 endless days it took for the father to reach the son. For 2 days Dean Winchester kept a constant vigil by his brother's bedside, and for 2 days John Winchester drove to get to him. It seemed the longest 2 days in both their existence, only it was made worse for Dean who was torn by thoughts of vengeance and loyalty.

Finally, after pacing Sam's room for 2 days, Dean laid down to rest on the couch in the hospital room. He was exhausted physically and emotionally. Resolving to rest only for a few hours, he fell into a deep sleep. And John Winchester found him thus when he entered the hospital room.

"Sammy," he murmured aloud as he stood by his younger son's bed side.

How did this happen? He wondered, What were they hunting?

John heard the door open behind him and he turned. A nurse came in with a blanket and a pillow.

"Oh," she said in surprise, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," John answered.

"I brought these for him." She indicated Dean with her head, laying the blanket and pillow down on the table and leaving quickly.

John walked over to the couch. Gently lifting Dean's head, he slid the pillow beneath him, then pulled the blanket up to his shoulders.

It's been years since I've tucked him in, John thought with a warm smile.

Then something on Dean's wrist caught his eye; a hospital bracelet.

He told me he wasn't hurt, John thought with a frown, fingering the bracelet. He also noted the bruises that covered Dean's arm and once again wondered what it was the boys had been hunting.

He remembers being shot as he ran to save Dean. Emily had warned him of the danger. He also remembers his brother's tears, and that alone fills Sam with agony. He doesn't even remember seeing Dean that way. Except once, a long time ago on Mother's Day.

But what Sam doesn't remember is how he got here, wherever exactly 'here' is. All he remembers is the darkness and the fear, and the nothing. And now he is somewhere, only he's not sure where.

"Heaven or Hell?" he asks himself.

"Neither."

He turns at the sound of her voice.

"Jessica," he says, "where are we?"

"You," she answers, "are actually lying in a hospital bed in a coma. That, I'm sorry to say, is my doing."

"What do you mean?"

"I need your help again," she tells him, "but not on the physical plane. That is why I brought you here, leaving your body in a coma."

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"My mother believes I told Dean that she was the one who murdered my sister. She had forbidden me to say her name to you two, ensuring that you were both kept ignorant of her past. But, like I said, she believes me to have told Dean, and so she has sealed my mind away from my body. I'm in a coma, like you. Only I have the power to send you back, and I am practically in limbo."

"How can I help?" Sam asks.

"Come with me."

Jessica holds out her hand and Sam reaches out and takes it. He is instantly surrounded by darkness again, but it soon melts away and he finds himself standing in the train station.

"We are like spirits," Jessica tells Sam, "Separated from our physical bodies."

"But I don't understand," Sam tells her, "what do you want me to do."

Jessica walks forward and pushes open the door to the empty room with the painted walls.

"I want you," she says turning to face him, "to summon my spirit back to my body."

"You want me to perform necromancy?" Sam asks.

"No," Jessica replies, "that only works on the dead. This is different. Since you're a psychic like me, you can summon my spirit."

"I don't know how," Sam replies.

"I'll talk you through it," Jessica insists, "Look, Sam. We don't have any other options."

"Put me back in my body and I'll do it." Sam suggests.

"I can't," she replies, "I can't do anything for you until I'm in my body again. Besides, you've just been shot; you're not going anywhere. And Dean can't do this. It has to be you and it has to be now."

Sam frowns. He sees no way around this, only he's still uncertain of what to do. He wants to get back to Dean, to tell him he's alright, but he knows that he has to help Jessica.

"Alright," he says to her, "show me what to do."

He had been too tired to dream, but now that damn beeping was waking him up.

That beaping's a good thing, he reminded himself as he opened his eyes, it means Sammy's alive.

"You slept all day."

Dean jumped at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Dad?" he asked, looking up.

John Winchester sat close by. He now studied Dean with his piercing eyes.

"How long have I been out?" Dean asked, rubbing his eyes.

"A good 12 hours," John replied.

"And Sam?"

John sighed. "No change."

"When did you get here?"

"Early this morning." He paused, "It's good to see you again, Dean."

"Yeah, I'm just sorry it wasn't under better circumstances," Dean replied, sitting up with a groan.

"What were you hunting?" John asked.

"A trigger happy bitch with a god-complex," Dean answered as he swung his legs over the side of the couch, running his hand through his hair.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence between them before John asked, "How'd this happen?"

"It's a long story," Dean answered immediately.

"I have time."

"Well, I don't," Dean replied, standing and walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" John asked, grabbing his arm. "You're just going to leave him here to hunt the thing that did this?"

Dean's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with anger. "That's hypocritical of you," he sneered, "accusing me of running out."

John felt the sting of the comment, but only stared evenly back at Dean.

"Let go," his elder son demanded.

"I want to talk to you," John insisted.

"What's there to say?!" Dean snapped angrily. "I know I screwed up!"

"Dean…" John's voice was sad, tired, "This isn't your fault. What I said over the phone…I didn't mean-"

"But it is my fault," Dean whispered, and John could see the tears standing out in his eyes, "It's always been my job to protect him. And now he's in a fucking coma because I was too damn blind to see what was happening until it was too late!"

"Dean, sit down," John insisted softly, noting that his son didn't resist as he led him back to the couch.

"How come," Dean asked quietly, "you come to him, but you never came to me when I was dying?"

Despite the question, John didn't see any anger in Dean's eyes, or hurt. There was just the desire to know.

"Dean, I don't love Sam anymore than I do you." John told him.

"That's not what I asked."

John took in a breath and let it out slowly. "Try to see it from my point of view, Dean. We both know that the demon come for Sam. It was after Sam. So I feel a natural desire to protect him more, since I know he is in danger. That doesn't mean I love him more. The same's true for you, Dean. If given the choice, you would choose him over me."

Dean looked disgusted to what his father had just said. "That's not true," he whispered, "I would never be able to choose between the both of you."

"Dean-"

John stopped as his son stood again.

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"Back to the hotel," Dean snapped, "I have to get cleaned up."

John couldn't help but note the clipped tone Dean spoke in.

Let him go, he told himself with some effort. You'll only push him farther away; he needs to be alone right now.