A/N: This story has been special to me since I started writing it, and there are times that it has really gotten to me. It blows me away that other people might find something worthwhile in it and enjoy it.

Thank you so much for your support and feedback. Reviews are a gift and I cherish each one. A special note to casammy--thank you for taking the time for reviews, I'm sorry I can't respond to you directly.

Warning: None. Absolutely nothing. Except the cursing. And the slight spoiler for Season 3's "Very Supernatural Christmas".

Disclaimer: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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From Chapter 14:

He could see the words hit home. Dean hated himself for a moment as the blood drained from his father's face, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize. For the last few days his treatment of his brother had followed a path set out by John. He'd trusted that as harsh as things seemed, ultimately John was doing what was best for his youngest son. He was their father for Christ's sake! Wasn't his son's welfare supposed to be his top priority? But looking back on things…all he could see now were a whole bunch of times when John's harshness bordered on cruelty. And Dean had been right by John's side.

And they expected Sam to fight to survive this? To come back to his 'loving' family?

Out of the corner of his eye he could see medics and police officers crouching down to grab the backboard that they had rolled Sam onto. Dean trotted away from his father without another word, reaching the group in time to take his place at one of the corners. Any hope of avoiding nightmares went out the window when he looked at Sam's face. His slack features and wet tendrils of hair curling across his forehead, the tube taped in place between his lips, the medic keeping pace with them, one large hand holding an IV bag aloft and the other 'bagging' his brother… Yeah, that image was gonna be burned into his brain for a while.

Right next to the knowledge that he and Dad had put Sam on that board.

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Chapter 15 Sweet Dreams For This Little While

Each beat of his heart throbbed in his temples, a slow and sickening tempo, and he began to wonder if it was possible for his head to actually explode from the pressure. He just wanted to know how his brother was. Couldn't somebody just tell him that? He didn't even know if he still had a brother.

The Impala had followed practically on the ambulance's tail all the way in. Right until the big black car had been shunted aside at the ambulance bay. By the time he'd parked and run into the emergency department his brother's gurney was being hustled through a set of swinging doors. Now Sam was hidden behind solid walls that seemed specifically designed to keep Dean at bay.

He'd watched other patients get plucked from the waiting room to head back to the examination area, their families in tow. What did it say about Sam's condition that they wouldn't let Dean back there? He'd tried. It was a no go. And the slab of meat in a security guard's uniform was no fool. He was respectful about it, but he'd made it clear that he had his eye on Dean. There would be no sneaky end run around the man and through the doors.

They'd been nice enough to him. The triage nurse had gently prodded him for information, the administrative clerks had let him get away with filling in just the bare essentials on the stack of forms, leaving the rest till his father arrived. Christ, they'd even given him a set of scrubs to replace his sodden clothing. Although that might have had more to do with protecting the upholstery of the waiting room chairs than it did with his comfort. Bright, airy, modern—this ER even had a fancy coffee machine. Nice place. Didn't change the fact that the wait was killing him.

Months ago when they'd rushed John to the inner city trauma center…now that waiting room had been a pit. Cramped and dingy, claustrophobic with its scuffed walls and no windows. But he didn't remember the wait there being quite the same exquisite torture that he was suffering now. The easy explanation was that he'd had his brother at his side last time. They'd helped each other through alternating freak outs. Kept each other sane.

But the easy explanation didn't go deep enough, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to analyze what lay beyond it. Did he really want to think about why the idea of losing Sam tore something inside of him in a way that hadn't happened when it was John behind the swinging doors?

Dean buried his face in his hands. It wasn't because he cared less about his father. God knew, he loved his old man. Even as angry as he was right now, as betrayed as he felt, that core of deep respect was still there.

Dad was the way he was because he saw all the dark possibilities that were out there. He was far from the perfect father, but he was doing his best to keep his sons safe and still save other people. People who didn't know enough to help themselves. He was still grieving for a wife who had been stolen from them. Sometimes it got to be too much for him. The drinking, the temper, the rigid attitude…Dad was just trying to cope, find ways to handle the constant pressure. Dean got it. Dad was only human.

But he'd gone too far this time, and instead of seeing what was happening, instead of stepping in to buffer Sam, Dean had let himself be blindly swept along in John's wake.

Dean pushed his knuckles into his forehead, staring at the floor. It was okay to be afraid for his father. It wasn't okay to take that fear out on Sammy.

They'd both used words as weapons against Sam. It was like they were trying to destroy him. But if they'd succeeded, the credit would go to Dean. "You selfish asshole… I can't believe we're brothers… YOU LET ME DOWN… I'm so sick of your bullshit…just stay the hell away from me…" No excuses justified the way he'd ripped his brother. If Sam didn't wake up, if he just let go instead of fighting to come back, it would be Dean's fault.

Yeah, the soul chilling guilt wrapped around him definitely set this trip to the emergency room apart from the last one. But it still wasn't the crux of it. It didn't explain why this time he felt like his soul was being torn out of him.

The strain between Dad and Sam had started when Sam was old enough to realize that it wasn't normal to be left alone with your brother for days at a time. That other parents didn't consistently miss the little milestones. Birthdays. Christmas. But still Sam had loved Dad with the uncomplicated trust of a child. Until the Christmas that Dean had confirmed Sam's suspicions about what Dad was really doing on his trips. After that…Sam had started keeping a piece of himself back from John. He'd given that piece to Dean instead. The absolute trust. The unshakeable belief that somebody in this world would always be looking out for him.

Raising Sam was supposed to be Dad's job, but it had fallen on Dean's shoulders. Dad had been the one to put it there originally, and Sammy was the one who made sure it stayed there. Good times and bad, Dean was the one Sammy ran to first. And Dean let him. Sure there were times he'd resented it, but those times didn't hold a candle to the way he felt about the kid. To the way Sammy filled a hole inside of him.

It had been hard waiting for word when John was hurt. Damn hard. But this was worse. This time was like an icepick going through his heart. Because deep down you knew it was the natural order of things to some day bury your parent. In their world it would likely be sooner rather than later.

But no matter what world you lived in, there was something heartrendingly wrong about burying a child you had raised.

Dean shifted in his seat with a heavy sigh, his eyes skimming the large waiting room. Eric had apparently been a busy boy with his phone. That Kristi girl was sitting on the side of the room, curled up in a seat next to one of Sam's other friends. Frank…Felix…Fred…whatever. They'd asked Dean if there was any word when they first walked in, and then kept their distance. Smart kids. George Jacobs was pacing back and forth near the coffeemaker, his worn running shoes squeaking slightly on the shiny tile floor. Every once in a while he would run his hand through his hair in a worried gesture, and the dark frizzy halo looked even more out of control than usual.

It felt like he'd been here for hours, like dusk should be creeping across the sky. But the bright sunlight of mid-afternoon was still flooding the world outside of the large picture windows. John would probably be arriving soon. Dean had known when he helped carry Sam to the ambulance without a backward glance that John would have to remain at the lake until all of those kids were safely gone. Jenny Greenteeth hadn't been the only threat near the lake.

The thought of his father's imminent arrival should have been comforting, but Dean's stomach began to churn. His anger at John for instigating this whole mess was only part of it. He'd never kept something big from his dad before. And Sam having some connection to the fae? That was real big.

Dean didn't want to think about it, but it was almost impossible to stop his thoughts from circling back there. And each time they did it hurt a little more. After everything they'd put Sam through, he didn't want to feel the small nugget of anger and betrayal inside of him that was aimed at Sam. God, he understood why Sam had never said anything. Why Sam hadn't trusted him.

But did Sam know about the hags and the spriggans before the three of them had searched around the lake? He'd known enough to use a rowan branch against the dogs. Had he put them all in danger without a second thought?

He wrapped his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under them to still their trembling. He wasn't backing out of his decision to keep this a secret. Not supporting Sam when he had the chance might have been the biggest mistake of his life. He'd given Sam no reason to trust him with this stuff and it might have cost him his brother. All he could do was pray that he'd have the chance to make it up to him.

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"Mr. Winchester?"

John shoved the completed forms across the desk towards the clerk and swallowed, trying to work some moisture into his suddenly dry throat before rising to face the doctor who was standing at his shoulder.

"I'm John Winchester." He lifted his hand to summon Dean and realized there was no need. His eldest was already climbing to his feet, hesitating for just a second to wrap his hand around the forearm of the pretty blonde sitting next to him. It was tough to tell who he was trying to comfort with the touch, the girl or himself. Dean had barely spoken ten words to him since he arrived. Just enough to say they hadn't heard anything yet and a brief grunt of thanks when John handed him a paper bag with a change of clothes inside. He'd headed into the restroom to get changed, and had settled himself next to Sam's friends when he reappeared. The paper bag was still in Dean's hand, his fingers clenched tight around its rolled top as though he was guarding the set of dry clothes for Sam that remained inside of it.

"Mr. Winchester, I'm Dr. Bauer. I've been overseeing Sam's treatment." The doctor was a tall woman with a sturdy build, her graying blonde hair pulled back in a no nonsense pony tail. Laugh lines etched into the skin around her mouth and crinkles near the corners of her eyes gave the impression that this was a woman who liked to laugh. Her expression was completely serious now, though, and John's heart began to beat faster. He had faced unimaginable monsters in his life without breaking a sweat, but this woman and the information she held terrified him.

"How's my boy?" he asked quietly as Dean approached. Pushing the words out was almost physically painful. This was his fault, directly and inexcusably, and today was just the pièce de résistance. He'd made the last couple of months a living hell for Sam.

"Why don't we sit down," the doctor replied, nudging his arm to turn him towards a small grouping of chairs in an empty corner of the waiting room.

The non-answer smacked John like a physical blow. Dean was looking at him in wide eyed fear, the kind of look he used to give John when he was young enough to still believe that his dad could make even the most horrible of situations better. John grabbed his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze, immeasurably grateful when Dean didn't shrug his hand off. They followed the doctor towards the chairs and John's breath hitched in his throat. These could be the final moments of blessed ignorance before his world fell apart. If they'd lost Sam…

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that George Jacobs had been joined by his wife and the couple was sitting with Sam's friends. Eric and Justin had also arrived. They looked like a small grouping of statues, frozen in place as they watched the Winchesters sit down with the doctor. John was torn between resenting these outsiders who were pushing their way into his family and being strangely thankful that Sam had people who cared about him.

Doctor Bauer waited until they were both seated and facing her before she began talking. "I'm sorry I couldn't come talk to you sooner but I was waiting for some test results so I could give you a more complete picture. I'm sure you're aware that Sam's condition was critical when he was brought in. Unconscious and in respiratory arrest. Both are signs of severe insult from the drowning. Statistically they indicate that the victim's chances of making a full recovery are not good."

The paper bag in Dean's hand crunched audibly as his fingers tightened on it and John grabbed his son's shoulder again, trying to steady himself. John was falling. Even if Sam survived, the specter of him never waking up, of severe brain damage, was very real.

"That's why we were so excited when—" The doctor broke off, looking back and forth between them and taking in their stark expressions. "Someone did come out to tell you that Sam regained consciousness and is breathing on his own, didn't they?"

John slumped back in his seat and ran a shaking hand over his face. Next to him Dean was staring at the floor, his face working as he brought his emotions under control. "No, nobody told us that," John answered, his voice thin and reedy.

Her face softened and a small grimace of embarrassment tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I apologize for my blunt statement then. Yes, Sam woke up and we were able to successfully extubate him. He's a little hazy on exactly what happened to him, but other than that he is aware of his surroundings and able to answer our questions. They are very positive signs."

John shook his head, bemused. Of course Sam was 'hazy' about what had happened to him. Until he knew exactly what story the Winchesters were spinning he wouldn't say anything that could hang them up. Even in the middle of this nightmare the kid was sharp. "So he's going to be okay then? Can we see him?" He caught the quick glance Dean sent his way. He was a little surprised himself at just how shaky and hopeful his voice had sounded.

"When he gets back. I sent him for a chest x-ray. We're checking for any signs of aspirants in his lungs or edema or sections of atelactasis…lung collapse."

"If the x-ray is clear will he be able to go home?" Dean asked, still fidgeting with the bag in his hands.

The doctor shook her head, her expression turning serious again. "Sam is doing much better than we could have hoped at the moment, but there are some things that need to be monitored. Near drowning is a complicated issue. Direct injury to the lungs and the immediate effects of the lack of oxygen are just the start. Hypoxia and a build up of carbon dioxide can cause metabolic changes with far reaching results. We ran an ABG…that means we checked the amount of oxygen in Sam's blood, and we've been running other blood tests. Sam's oxygen levels are still a little low. Right now we're keeping an eye on it to see how he responds to the oxygen we're giving him, but if his O² levels drop we may have to take more aggressive action."

She placed the chart she was holding onto her lap and rested her palms flat on top of it, leaning forward to speak to them. Her eyes moved back and forth between them, making sure they were both hearing her. "Our biggest concern right now is a very serious one. There could be damage to the lungs that will not show up yet on the x-ray."

"But if the spasm in the throat kept any water from getting in, that shouldn't be a problem, right?" Dean asked.

The doctor shook her head, dashing their hopes. "Even if nothing was aspirated, the lungs can be damaged by the metabolic changes I mentioned, or even by the act of straining for air. It all leaves Sam at risk for something called ARDS—acute respiratory distress syndrome. You might hear it called secondary drowning. In very simple terms Sam's lungs could begin to fill with fluid. If Sam had been asymptomatic when he was brought in, we'd still be keeping him here for a good six to eight hours to monitor him. You've got to remember that Sam's presenting symptoms were actually severe. I'm going to be admitting him to our observation unit so we can watch him closely for at least twenty-four hours."

"You can treat it if that happens, though, right?" Dean asked quietly.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, we can treat it. But it is a serious condition and even with treatment can cause permanent damage to the lungs or…worse."

John was the first to find his voice. "Is that it?"

"Isn't that enough?" Dean muttered.

Dr. Bauer gave them a sympathetic smile. "Renal impairment is also not uncommon in this type of case. Sam's urinalysis results were acceptable, but the creatinine levels in his blood were a little off. So we're going to monitor his kidney function and recheck the blood in a little while. Hopefully that issue will resolve on its own. The rest of Sam's blood work was about what we expected, and we'll be repeating tests to make sure everything keeps going in the right direction."

An undercurrent of fear wormed its way back into John's chest, guilt hot on its heels. He tuned out the rest of her words, questions about Sam's bruises and tetanus boosters. He let Dean field them with his usual skill. It wasn't just appropriate, it was necessary. He couldn't even remember when Sam had gotten his last tetanus booster. Dean gave the date without hesitation. His stomach churned with nausea when Dean began answering searching questions about Sam's bruises. John had no clue if Sam had suffered any dizziness or ongoing symptoms after the 'rock climbing' injury. He had been too consumed by his own screwed up anger towards his younger son. He'd never even bothered to make sure his son was okay.

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"There you go sweetheart, how's that? Are you warm enough?" The dark skinned nurse pulled the blanket up to Sam's chest, careful not to dislodge the sticky pads partially hidden under the neck of his hospital gown and the small clamp on his index finger.

"I'm fine, thank…" Sam trailed off. The nurse couldn't understand a thing he was saying through the oxygen mask. She grabbed his wrist when he reached up to pull the mask out of the way and lowered his hand back to his side.

"You leave that in place young man. Just nod your head. Are you warm enough?"

He sighed into the mask and nodded 'yes', earning himself a gentle smile from the motherly woman. When he'd first regained consciousness fine chills had been running through his body, brought on by mild hypothermia. The chills had been the least of his worries, overshadowed by the panic of choking as he began to fight the tube in his throat and the air being forced into his lungs. He wasn't sure who was more surprised when he opened his eyes, him or the medical personnel surrounding him.

He'd never expected to open his eyes again. When the soft voice had told him that his brother had pulled him from the lake he'd stopped fighting everyone around him and relaxed into their care.

She jotted something onto his chart and gave him a smile. "You keep up the good work and we may be able to get that thing off of your face in no time. We'll trade it in for the sleek sports model," she joked and then lifted one eyebrow at him. "Maybe then I'll get to see those dimples I heard you were flashing around before?"

Sam nodded again and let his eyes slide shut. A warm hand patted his shoulder. "You're gonna be just fine sweetie. Dr. Bauer will be in to check on you in a little bit, but if you need anything you just give me a call, okay?" He didn't open his eyes and he heard her sigh softly. "Is your family out in the waiting room, sweetie? You want me to go fetch somebody for you?"

He hesitated for just a second before shaking his head 'no'. Dad would be off with Travis. Even if Dean reached him, he doubted John would rush back for the screw up son who had landed himself in the hospital this time. And Dean…Sam getting hurt just loaded more weight on his big brother's shoulders. Shoulders that were already carrying too much. Dean shouldn't have to waste his time sitting with Sam. He needed to go after Dad, make sure Dad was okay.

The hand on his shoulder gave it a little squeeze. "You just rest a bit. We'll be in here checking on you so much you're gonna get sick of us."

Her footsteps were soft on the floor as she left the room and he kept his eyes closed. He knew he'd been rude to her, zoning out like that, but he just didn't have the energy to care. His entire body was sore, but the deep ache in his chest and throat and pounding in his head took center stage. And over it all he was just so damned tired.

"Hey." Dean's voice from the doorway was soft, hesitant.

Sam kept his eyes closed and turned his face away. He wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready to face the way he'd let his family down. He'd broken his promise to his brother. He'd screwed up with Dad and left it to Dean to handle the fallout. Again. He hadn't even been able to save those kids without screwing it up and letting Jenny bite him. He didn't blame Dean for being sick of it.

When Dean spoke again he was next to the bed, hovering over Sam. "How are you doing Sammy?"

He couldn't continue to hide in the dark like a child. Dean wouldn't walk away and go after Dad until he knew Sam was okay. Sam could do that much for him. He opened his eyes and turned his head to face Dean, bracing himself for the disappointment that was sure to be in his brother's eyes.

All of the resolve to be strong for once in his god damned life, to not put anything else on Dean's shoulders, went out the window when he saw Dean's face. "I'm sorry," Sam breathed out softly into the mask before he could stop himself. A soft plea, begging for forgiveness and the chance to be a family again. It hurt so much to be alone.

Where the nurses seemed to have trouble understanding Sam through the obstruction, Dean had no problem. His face flooded with guilt at Sam's words. "Dude, you don't have a damn thing to be sorry about." He held his hand up when Sam opened his mouth to reply. His eyes were intense, boring into Sam. "When you called me from the Cove you told me not to say anything, just to listen. Now it's your turn. I know you think we hate you, but Christ, Sam, that's so wrong."

He didn't understand. It felt like his feet were being swept out from under him. "But you said—"

"I know what I said," Dean bit out. He looked away, his throat working as though he was swallowing down strong emotions, before taking a deep, shaky, breath. "I'm gonna have nightmares about what I said. I'm so, so, sorry Sammy. It was all bullshit. I was scared, and pissed off, and I took cheap shots trying to hurt you. I thought—" he cut himself off and wiped his hand over his eyes. When he dropped his hand he hesitated for just a second before reaching forward and placing it on Sam's shoulder. "It doesn't matter what I thought. I was wrong." His fingers tightened, twisting the thin material of the hospital gown. "I didn't mean any of it and I am so friggin sorry."

Sam wanted to believe it. God, he wanted so badly to believe it. But it was going to take a while. Dean's words over the phone had struck deep. They'd made him doubt himself. They'd made him doubt the bond between them. Sam's throat tightened and the ache in his throat and chest sprang back to vivid life. He lifted his hand to his neck with a grimace.

Panic flooded Dean's face. "Sammy! You okay? Can you breathe?"

"Breathing fine. Throat's sore from the tube," Sam explained softly.

Dean sank down onto the chair next to the bed. When he looked up his eyes were suspiciously glassy and he began to shake his head slowly. "Don't do that, dude. You're going to give me a freakin' heart attack." He gave Sam a shaky smirk. "I thought I was gonna have to give you mouth to mouth again," he shuddered.

It was such a stereotypical big brother Dean reaction. Worry, caring, and snark all rolled up together. It did more to reassure Sam than a hundred apologies would have. "I thought I tasted onions," Sam said. He hoped Dean could see his small smile through the mask.

Lame joke or not, it had the desired effect. The tense set of Dean's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Christ, Sam," he said softly "I am so freakin' sorry about everything. And we are going to talk about this later. But right now I've got to tell you something and I don't have a lot of time. I convinced Dad to let me come in here alone for a while, so he's out there with the doctor. But you know that's not going to last long."

"Dad?" Sam's forehead creased in confusion. "Isn't he off with Travis?"

"Sam, Dad felt so bad about the things he said that he never even made it out of town. He was getting ready to find you to apologize when everything happened."

Sam dropped his gaze to the bed, not sure if it was safe to believe his brother's usual 'John is a good dad' spin. Sam was skating on a thin edge, wanting so hard to believe that he hadn't completely lost his family. But he couldn't get his hopes up when it came to John. The fall would hurt too much if it turned out nothing had changed between him and his father.

Sometimes Sam didn't have to say anything, and his brother still heard him. He punched Sam's arm lightly. "It's the truth, bitch. I'll let him tell you later. But right now you've got to listen to me. It's important."

He nodded tiredly. It was a lot easier than trying to get his throat to work.

Dean's mouth set in a grim line and a prickle of fear went through Sam. "Dude, I know you've got some kind of connection to the fae," Dean said quietly. "I know you've been working with them, or talking to them, or something."

It felt like he'd been doused with a bucket of ice water. Sam's heart rate jumped as panic slammed into him. "Did you…are you…" he couldn't get the words out through his tight throat.

"Ssshhh…" Dean clasped his arm, trying to calm him, his eyes wide and anxious. "Sam, it's okay. I'm not going to tell Dad about this. Do you hear me? I'm not telling Dad." He waited until Sam's breathing had evened out a little before he continued. "I get it, Sam. I may not agree with you about them, but I understand why you kept it to yourself and I'm not going to say anything. But you're going to have to tell me exactly what's going on." Footsteps passed by in the hallway outside of the door and Dean leaned closer to whisper the rest. "I've let you down too many times lately, Sammy. But I promise you, I'm not letting you down this time. I've got your back on this."

The words sank in slowly, so quiet and serious, and he let himself start to relax. Just a little. Just enough so he could breathe without wheezing.

He couldn't let go of the fear completely, though. Because he didn't know how Dean was going to be able to keep this from Dad. It seemed almost impossible.

Dean lowered the side rail and leaned over the edge of the mattress, resting his head next to Sam's on the upraised top of the bed. His quiet voice continued to calm Sam as they waited for John to appear. He moved away from the secrets they would keep and on to reports about the children who had been saved and tales of his fan club in the waiting room. He rested his hand on Sam's arm while making a point and then left it there, the warm weight of it anchoring them even closer together.

Sam let his eyes drift to half mast. The comfort of his brother's presence soothed him, quieting his fears, and his doubts began to slip away. Bit by bit the tears in the bond between them started to knit back together.

Dean's attention was solely on his brother, leaving Sam to notice the figure in the doorway first. Sam was exhausted, hurting, his defenses crumbling. Before they'd pulled him back, he'd stepped into a dark oblivion. He knew what it felt like to lose everything and it left him hollow and aching. Dean had filled some of the emptiness, but not all of it.

His chest ached as he looked at the quiet figure. Tall, strong, watching over them. For just this little while he didn't want to think about the anger and recriminations that seemed a constant between them. He wanted to forget the secrets and the lies.

For just this little while, he wanted to forget the wall they had built between them over the years. He wanted to remember what it was like to believe that this man loved him fiercely. For as long as he could have him, he wanted his father back.

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John halted beyond the edge of the doorway. He could see into the room but the boys hadn't noticed him yet. Their heads were close together, caught up in one of their private conversations. A pang went through John at the sight. The scene before him used to be an everyday occurrence when they were younger, one that made John think he must be doing at least one thing right to have sons who were so close. But those moments had dwindled down to almost nothing. The more he pulled Dean into hunting the farther he seemed to be pulling him away from Sam. He hadn't realized until he saw it now just how much he missed seeing those times of quiet closeness.

If he missed them as an outside observer, what must their loss have meant to Sam? Sammy always thought his big brother hung the moon. Maybe he should mark this down as just one more thing he had taken away from his younger son.

Sam was pale, the skin under his eyes smudged with black. Bandages swathed his right arm where the worst of the cuts had been. John's throat began to tighten. His baby boy was surrounded by machines, beeping and whirring, flashing numbers. The wires and tubes snaking away from him were all too familiar after his own time in the hospital, but that didn't make their presence any less shocking. They weren't supposed to be coming from his son. Not from his Sammy.

Everything he put these boys through…the strict discipline, the painful training…all designed to help keep them safe, and it could all be gone because he had forgotten the most basic thing. That their greatest strength was in each other. Listening to each other and standing by each other. And somewhere in there, there had to be room for loving each other.

He did love his sons. More than anything else on this earth. He just lost sight of it sometimes. He let himself be blinded by his thirst for vengeance, his quest to find the evil that had taken Mary from him. The longer his revenge was denied him, the more viciously he released his rage on every other creature that threatened and harmed innocents. He protected people, saved them, like no one had done for his wife. Like he hadn't done for his wife. He destroyed every supernatural creature he could because something had to pay for the pain he was in.

But the one paying the most for John's loss was not supposed to be his son. An ache started in his chest and spread through his body as he watched his two boys, huddled together in front of a bank of machines that would ultimately tell them if Sam was going home with them. The doctor had filled him in on all of the possible complications after Dean left. She had made it clear just how dim the prognosis had been when Sam was first brought into the hospital. Unless there is serious hypothermia involved, the statistics were grim for drowning victims who arrived at the ER unconscious and in respiratory arrest. Sam was damn lucky, and there were still no guarantees here. And John was the one who had put Sam in that bed, as surely as if he had thrown him into the lake himself.

John realized that Sam had noticed him, was quietly staring at him. Dean's murmurs died out and he sat up, turning in his chair to face the door. He kept his eyes trained on John as John neared the bed. His expression was wary, his hand still placed protectively on his brother's arm, and John sighed. It hurt, but Dean was right to want to protect Sam from his own father. He'd sure as hell seen John hurt the kid enough times.

He lowered himself to sit on the edge of the mattress. Sam' eyes were fixed on him, but he wasn't saying anything. The anger and petulance that he expected to see weren't there and he was having a tough time interpreting the look in his son's eyes.

"Hey kiddo," he said softly. "Guess you're feeling kind of crappy, huh?"

Sam's shoulder twitched in a small shrug, not denying it.

"Doctor said you'll be feeling a little better after you get some sleep." John's eyes ran over the numbers on the monitors. He was such a coward, unable to make himself say the things that needed to be said. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dean staring at him, waiting.

C'mon Winchester, be a man. Be a freaking father for once. "Sammy, I'm proud of you kiddo," he finally said softly. "You did good out there. And I…" he raised his eyes to Sam's face. "And I was a first class bastard. I was so wrong." The tears in his son's eyes broke something loose inside of him and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. "I should have listened to you, and I'm sorry."

He lifted his hand to gently brush the bangs off of Sam's forehead. "You scared the hell out of me, buddy," he whispered. Sam's eyes searched his face and John finally understood the emotions filling them. Recognized the look of need…and hope. His own vision began to blur and his hands shook when he reached out to grasp Sam's shoulders. Slowly, and so carefully, he pulled Sam forward until his forehead was resting on John's strong shoulder. He wrapped his arms around his son and held him gently, careful of tubes and wires. Sam's back trembled under his hands and he could hear his breath hitching into the oxygen mask.

"I thought I lost you, Sammy," he said, his voice choked. Dampness spread on his shoulder as Sam began to relax against him, tears slowly escaping. The small bundle of warm innocence that he used to hold was gone, grown into a man who was tall and strong. A man who challenged him, fought him, doubted him, but was still his baby boy.

John ignored the tears that ran down his own face as he held his son.

-SN-SN-SN-SN-SN-

Dragon tales and the "water is wide"
Pirate's sail and lost boys fly
Fish bite moonbeams every night
And I love you

Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings
Godspeed
Sweet dreams

The rocket racer's all tuckered out
Superman's in pajamas on the couch
Goodnight moon, will find the mouse
And I love you

"Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)" written by Radney Foster

Performed by Dixie Chicks

A/N: Because sometimes it's not complicated at all, and a father and son can remember, for at least a little while, that they love each other.