Author's Note: Thanks you for the people who took the time to review last chapter. I really appreciate it. Please continue to read & review. Thank you for the support.

Ignorance Is Bliss, Chapter 11

Silence.

Silence was probably John's worst enemy. The stillness gave his mind a chance to run free, travel to the darker parts of it and allow them to take over. And the darker parts of John's mind were places best kept hidden. There, he kept all his worries, all his emotion, all the things he seemed to think of now and again but didn't dare to speak of. The most negative thoughts in his mind seemed to take over when he was in nothing but silence. Therefore he learned to embrace the noise because it was louder than his thoughts.

The room was pretty bright, one son on either side of him, his back was to the door. In the middle of their two beds was where he was seated. Sam on his right, Dean on his left. Both were dressed alike - in the usual hospital attire: plain, bright white shirts and light blue pants. The beds they were lying on were better than any of the motel beds they've had over the years and it killed John to know that it had to come to his - them being hospitalized, to finally being able to have a comfortable bed. The sheets the cocooned their bodies were also white with a blue folded blanket at the foot of the bed. Each had two pillows supporting their heads and neck, with the bed at a slight incline.

In between them was a nightstand with thin magazines that John wasn't interested in. In the oak wood nightstand were two drawers that John's hadn't been curious enough to open and rummage through. To the left of Sam and the right of Dean were the machines that were hooked up to their body. John had been there for some of it and he got to see how the nurses and doctors pressed the suction-cup looking things onto their chest and suddenly the heart monitor was on. For a moment or two John was mesmerized at the rhythm of their heart beat. He liked the sound.

Dean had one thin tube in each nostril to help his breathing. The tube tucked around his ears like glasses, then formed together about his chest area, then connected to yet another machine at his side. Sam, on the other hand, had one tube that went in his mouth, and down his throat John could only assume. Dean's was more of a 'safety-net' the doctor had called it, whereas Sam's was necessary . He needed to have the breathing tube. And that's what scared John.

Pale.

They were both pale. Like all their color, all their blood, all the life had been sucked right out of them. With their eyes closed, hands placed on their stomachs, and breathing nice and easy it made the room seem very eerie. Every once in a while he'd find that he couldn't resist the urge to reach out and grab their hand, even if it was just for a second, fearing that it'd gone cold and lifeless.

He'd stare at them almost as if he was trying to will them with his mind to wake up, to start complaining, to start crying, to do something - anything. But them there: quiet, calm, still… that's not the Sam and Dean he knew.

John missed them. He missed his children. And in that time he sat their in silence, he realized how much of their lives he had already missed. But he would take everything back if he could just see Sam smile again, or watch Dean as he chases Sam around whatever room they're staying in for the time being. More than anything he just wanted to see give him that nod as he drives away, going on another hunt. The nod that said, "I'll watch out for Sam. Don't worry. We'll be fine." But this time they weren't fine, were they?

Ashamed.

Ashamed and angry is the only ways John could think of describing how he was feeling right now. How could he have let his happen? How could he even think that he could trust Kris? Sure, she was nice. Sure, he was beautiful. Sure, she seemed promising. But what's one of the very first rules you learn in Hunting 101?

Never. Trust. Anyone.

John had broken that rule. He was stupid and he honestly didn't know if he'd be able to forgive himself for it. As he sat there, looking at both his sons, he just knew that what he'd done - trusting Kris, was something that didn't deserve to be forgiven. This was his fault.

Broken.

Everything was broken. Dean - his head. Sure, the doctor had said that if everything goes the way it's supposed to, it'll fix itself. But who's to say that everything will go the way it's supposed to? John fixed his attention on his oldest for a moment. His eyes closed gently, his face smooth and plain. He looked at ease, at rest. That's what was different from other times he'd saw Dean sleep. He was at rest this time. The true definition of rest. Usually, Dean was close to sleeping with one eye open. He's be taught to always stay alert, to never put his guard down, and he'd slept just like that. Any little noise and he was awake, ready to fight or protect his brother from whatever was happening. Most of the time John was proud; after all he had taught well, but he was beginning when he'd stopped treating his kids like children and more like soldiers in a battlefield. It was sad that it took all of this for Dean to finally get a good rest, wasn't it?

His eyes drifted to Sam. Little Sammy. In that moment he looked younger than five years old and John began to wonder where the time had gone. When did he get so big so fast? Even closed, John could see in the pain in Sam's eyes, written all on his face. The way his eyebrows scrunched inward and up just slightly. The way the little creases around his eyes were tighter together. The way his lips were tight and would've been pressed into a flat line hadn't been for the tube pushing oxygen into him. He was uncomfortable, that was apparent. John let his hand grasp Sam's from off his stomach. He just held it there, letting his hand (which suddenly seemed a thousand times bigger than Sam's) shelter his. John's thumb slid back and forth over the topside of Sam's hand. He was careful not to push the red wire that snaked around Sam's wrist and into what looked like a splint for his index finger. But it kept track of his pulse.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Sammy."

John's voice shattered the silence like broken glass. It almost felt like a sin to talk. They'd been in nothing but quiet for so long that even hearing his voice seemed odd. But hearing his voice, hearing their breathing machines and heart monitors beeping consistently, feeling their hands under his, all of that let John know it was real. That this really happened. That Sam really was in 'critical condition' as the doctor called it and Dean was really in 'serious condition'. All of it sort of blended together for John, even thought he made sure he had a pretty good knowledge of medial terms. He knew that to do in serious emergencies, but when something like this happens. Something like this to not one, but both of his sons, all of that goes out the window for a while. He's not John Winchester : expert hunter, heartless soldier. Suddenly, he was just… dad. A father worried for his children's life.

All of this felt foreign to him.

-Ignorance-Is-Bliss-

The clock has just struck ten o'clock pm on the nose when Bobby found the Winchester's room. He'd slowed his pace just a little as he caught sight of John's back, hunched over to his right with his hand over Sam's. Bobby squinted at the sight and he felt something twinge in his heart as he tapped the door twice and walked in. John's head whipped around, like he was expecting an intruder in a public place like this. But then again, no one was ever really safe, were they?

Bobby sighed as he took a look at both the boys. He came up behind John and laid his hands on John's shoulders. He let his fingertips press into John's shoulders, trying to help him relax. He patted John's arm.

"How are they?"

John's head dropped. His hand slid off of Sam's and came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"They've got machines breathing for them, Bobby," John breathed out heavily as he spoke. "Not good."

Bobby nodded, not seeing much else he could do. He'd been out taking care of all the paperwork John had been to busy to take care of. They paid with Bobby's fake credit card and John's fake health insurance. He knew that John had a lot on his mind - to much, so Bobby felt it was only right that he take it upon himself to do the dirty work. He'd sat with the secretary for about an hour trying to get everything straight while John sat with his sons.

"What did the doctors say?" the elder man asked. Bobby walked up to Dean's bedside. Gently, he let his hand fall on Dean's shoulder. He noticed the white wrapping around his head and where it stuck out a little for the padding.

John cleared his throat. He started with Dean first.

"Dean's got twenty-three stitches in his head. The doctor says he's got two fractures in his skull," John stopped for a minute. "They said... they found blood collecting behind his ear, near his eardrum." John made a twirling motion with his right hand by his ear. His voice was slow and dry. "He said that if everything goes the way it's supposed to, it'll pretty much fix itself-"

"But if it doesn't?"Bobby asks, he always tried to look at all the possibilities.

John shrugged. "They said they'll try to catch it before something goes wrong. But, if it doesn't heal the way it's supposed to, the blood can build up too much pressure and beginning draining from his ear. The blood could be strong enough to rupture his hear drum. Basically...," John looked for the right words, but he figured that being blunt is the only way. "He could lose his hearing."

Nodding, Bobby asked, "But his head is okay, right. Nothing's wrong ?"

John knew what he was getting at. He shrugged. "I think he said something about a little swelling around the stitches. But I don't think anything's damaged." John's mind roamed a little at the possible thought of Dean having some kind of brain damage. His hand come up and covered his eyes. "God, I hope nothing's damaged," he mumbled to himself.

Bobby snapped his fingers. "What about Sam? Tell me about Sam."

"They don't really know what's causing all the blood, but he's in bad shape, Bobby. He's got to have surgery either tomorrow or the day after. They said he can't wait any longer."

"Any longer?"

Bobby had departed from Dean's side and was now leaning against Sam's bed. He stroked the front of his hair. It killed him to see him this way.

"They said when they gave Sammy his stomach pump, they found Tramadol in him."

"Tramadol?"Bobby's voice was full of concern. Clearly, he knew what that was, but then again, what didn't Bobby know? "Where did he...Kris."

John nodded. "I'm gonna kill her."

"Not if I kill her first," Bobby snarls.

-Ignorance-Is-Bliss-

Bobby has gone to the closest motel, which was only up the street.

John has stayed , of course and was in a pretty deep sleep considering the circumstances and the fact that he wasn't in a bed. It took a couple of hours, but he'd finally found that if the laid his head on the edge of Dean's bed, using his arm as a pillow, it wasn't so bad.

4:28 am, was the time.

In the back of his mind, John heard beeping. At first it seemed like nothing, just a fragment in his dream. But quicker and quicker it got louder and louder; more real. Suddenly, he shot up, his head whipping toward Sam's bed.

The machine next to him was screaming, a red light above it was flashing.

What was happening? What's wrong?

John jogged to the door, yelling for help before he went back to Sam.

Everything was racing. It was all too much for just waking up a minute ago.

John yanked on the line that was connected to the light above. Suddenly the room was lit.

Sam looked the same except he was shaking. Hard.

John pressed his hands to Sam's shoulders in attempt to keep him still.

"Shh, it's okay. Sammy, calm down. The doctor's are coming. Hold on," the father coached. He found himself shooting glances at the door wondering what the hell could be keeping the nurses and doctors when something important like this was happening.

But just like that, they came rushing in.

Before he knew it, John was pushed out of the way, and back toward Dean's bed.

The machine still yelled, but John noticed the lime green in a wave-like motion was beginning to become straighter and straighter.

"...we're losing him!" a piercing voice cut through Johns' haze, snapping him back.

'We're losing him'. Him as in Sam. Sam. His Sammy.

"We need paddles! Quick!"

John could feel his heart slapping against his chest, almost so loud that he couldn't hear anything else.

There was chaos.

Things that John couldn't explain, even if he wasn't to.

There was yelling, orders being called, but John kept his eyes on Sam's heart monitor

"Quickly, quickly!"

"We're losing him," came the nurse's voice again,

John felt weak.

The blankets that were covering Sam were thrown off the bed and his shirt was being cut open.

And just as soon as the scissors reached the top of his shirt and broke it open, the machine made a screeching sound, it was no longer just a simple yell.

By the time John looked up at Sam's heart monitor again, the line was flat.

Soooo...thoughts? Comments? Anything? SOMETHING?

Please review, I'd really appreciate it :)