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Chapter 13
John was greeted, as he walked through the doors of the intensive care wards, to the indignant shouts
of his eldest child. He smiled at the mere sound of it. After ten days of silence, he was glad to have at
least one son back to him. It did not even matter that he seemed to be pissed about something.
"What is going on?" He asked as he reached the bed. His head turned from Dean on the bed, to a
harassed looking sandy-haired doctor and back again.
"I am just trying to explain to your son that he is not able to get out of bed at the moment." The
doctors' tone had a note of pleading which John did not miss.
John shook his head at Dean's audacity. The guy was out of a ten day coma not half a day and he
was already looking out of bed.
"The second my back is turned, huh?" He asked Dean, good-naturedly.
Dean lifted the oxygen mask from over his mouth. "I want to sit by Sammy."
"But…but… he is just there. He is right beside you."
Dean shook his head stubbornly. "It is too far. I want to be beside him… he needs to know I am
here… not to be afraid... in case-"
"Nothing is going to happen to Sammy." John said in a voice he hoped sounded soothing.
"I am not seven dad" Deans voice was harsh, "He is not going to be fine just because you say so."
Dean closed his eyes.
John glanced at his youngest child. He smiled. The light from the window had fallen on his face. He
looked angelic. It comforted him slightly. If John ignored the gaunt face and the masses of tubes
attached to him Sammy looked, to him, as though he were sleeping. Because, if he were sleeping, then
he would wake up. If he were sleeping, he would not be laying there fighting for his life. John sighed.
"Ahem." The sandy haired man cleared his throat. John glanced at him. Dean glared up at the man. He
was still angry that he was not allowed to move and his dad was arguing against him.
"You and your brother have become quite famous around this ward. The brothers who have-" John
coughed. The doctor stopped, looked at him, caught his warning look and moved hastily on. Dean
noticed. His eyes narrowed.
"My point is, if you do not mind me saying, that your brother is not ready to die yet. He has come
through so much and is still there. He is fighting his corner. He is just taking longer than you as he has
had more to come through."
Dean nodded. John glanced, involuntarily towards Sammy. He looked back at Dean who was still
nodding.
"Thanks doctor." He hinted, smiling. The man left quickly, moving onto another patient. John and
Dean were alone.
"It is okay to cry," John commented, guessing Dean was close to tears. Dean stopped nodding. He
looked away.
"No." He replaced the oxygen mask. He took a few deep breaths before continuing.
"So what protection you got going on the ward?" Dean asked, trying to change the subject.
"Amulet under both your beds, crucifix and I trace salt rings around the ward every night."
"I bet the janitor loves you." Dean commented dryly.
"How do you feel Dean? Is there anything I can get you?" JOhn asked seriously.
Dean's smile disappeared from his face. "I do not deserve anything." He spat, half to himself, half
answering the question. John was silent for a second. Dean's face turned blank. He stared straight
ahead, refusing to meet John's eyes.
"Where did you go dad?" He whispered after a second.
"A hunt."
"What?"
John carefully chose his words. "It does not matter now." He tried to change the subject. He probed,
"Why do you think you do not deserve anything son?"
"Ask my brother." Dean replied sarcastically.
"Do you think that this is your fault? Do you think, somehow, that Sams injuries are because of you?"
John frowned. Dean shook his head. He groaned. "You do not get it do you?"
John was about to reply. His mouth opened. The words died on his lips. An alarm sounded off the
heart machine in the bed next to them. Johns head flew around. His heart caught in his throat.
"Sammy."
"SAMMY!" cried Dean desperately.
Sam Winchester did not hear the cries. His heart had stopped.