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The constant beeping of hospital machinery and the whirling of the ventilator were the only sounds that could be heard in the small hospital room. Dean was hunched over on the bed, eyes trained on the frail teenage in front of him. Tubes had been placed down his throat and more IVs were shoved into his veins than Dean could count. Bruising was beginning to show under his eye, adding to the busted lip, broken femur, dislocated shoulder, and gash on the kid’s back. A concussion had really done him in and had him seizing, limbs flailing and eyes rolling up into his head. The only way that the doctors could stop it was by sedating him. That had caused the kid’s body to go into shock, forcing them to take extreme actions to keep him alive and deal with the increased swelling in his brain. The doctors had been honest with Dean about the long term repercussions for something like this. Dean had stood stoic, stunned, while listening to what they had to say.
Dean instinctively leaned forward and brushed his finger tips against the hair on the teenager’s brow, tucking it delicately behind his ear. “Your hair is getting awfully long, Sammy. It may be time to cut it.” Dean’s voice broke when he spoke. The fear that Sam may never wake up because of a mistake their Dad made had Dean reeling in fury.
John had been insistent that he needed both of his sons for a case involving a Wendigo. Dean had adamantly opposed, arguing that 14 year old Sam wasn’t ready for a hunt of that caliber. John had brushed him off and given his youngest a blowtorch and told him to stay close. He claimed that Sam would be fine and gave Dean a look that dared him to question his authority. Dean had kept his mouth shut and now realized what an awful decision that was.
The Wendigo had come out of nowhere and thrown Sam into the cave wall. Dean had rushed to his side, but it was already too late. Sam had been knocked unconscious and it had been Dean who had picked up his lanky brother and carried him back to the Impala. He hadn’t even cared what happened to the Wendigo as long as his brother was okay.
John had finally arrived back and driven Sam to the hospital. While he had parked the car, Dean carried him in, screaming for help. A couple nurses had brought a gurney and whisked Sam away while forcing Dean to wait in the lobby. Fuming, Dean stomped off to the corner of the waiting room, arms crossed over his chest as he impatiently waited for them to take him back to his brother. John had stood off to the side, void of all emotion on his face.
It had been almost three hours when a nurse finally came to talk to Dean. She had insisted that he go home and get some rest, but Dean had been adamant that he needed to see Sam. Seeing that nothing she said would change Dean’s mind, she took him to see his brother.
Dean had barged past her, wrists shaking. Each step down the bright hallway seemed to only take Dean farther away from his brother. His heart skipped in his chest, stooping low into his stomach and jumping back into his throat. He kept his hands at his sides in an attempt to calm himself. It wouldn’t do Sam any good if Dean was too worked up to see him.
He stopped at the door for a faint second. Courage roared inside of him like a lion rising inside of him. He crept in to find Sam laying in a bed much too big for him. His skin was ashen and his eyes were closed. The ventilator had already been placed while a screen beside him showed his oxygen saturation, heart rate, and blood pressure. Dean couldn’t bare to see his feisty brother look so frail and lifeless in front of him.
“Sammy.” Dean had brought a chair beside the bed and lifted a hand, hovering it on top of Sam’s head. Ordinarily Sam would’ve pushed Dean off before he could ruffle his every growing hair. However, Sam made no sign that he even knew that Dean was there.
Dean rested his hand on top of Sam’s head and grabbed his hand with the other. He blinked his eyes quickly to force the tears away, holding onto Sam for dear life.
That was where Dean stayed until he saw a flicker of movement from the window across from Sam’s bed. The ER was located on the first floor, directly in front of the parking lot. The nurse had kept the window binds slightly open since she claimed fresh sunlight may be helpful in rousing Sam from his coma. Dean had thought it bullshit, but he supposed it couldn’t hurt. That was when Dean saw John pacing back and forth, head shaking with a bag of something in his hand.
Rage rose inside of Dean. He tightened his grip on Sam’s hand more than he meant to. “Sam, I have something I need to take care of. I’ll be right back.” His voice was gentle and reserved only for Sam at his most vulnerable moments, which was certainly now. Dean half expected Sam to perk up when he heard his voice. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case and made Dean’s palms sweat and lungs clench.
“Come back to me, Sammy.” Dean gave a fierce sniffle to hide any sign that he may have been crying. Sam didn’t need to see that.
Dean struggled to his feet, his back howling in protest. He gave one more tight squeeze of Sam’s hand before slipping out, leaving the door open a crack. Whenever they were lucky enough to have their own rooms at whatever shitty motel their father dragged them to, Sam always slept with the door open just a crack. He claimed that it was so Dean would sleep better at night knowing that he could see him if he so chose, but Dean was more inclined to believe that it was more out of Sam’s request than his own. Still, it was comforting for Dean to keep that tradition on Sam’s behalf even though he wasn’t planning on being in the hospital that long.
He headed down the hallway and out of the hospital. The long sidewalk took him to find his father leaning heavily against the Impala. He looked worse than Dean had seen him in a long time, which was certainly saying something considering all the times Dean had found his father drunk or worse.
“Dad?”
John looked up and offered a paper bag in Dean’s direction. He paused to consider it until his stomach let out a deep growl. Dean swiped it from John’s hand and opened it, allowing the tantalizing scent of meat to cause his mouth to water. “Smells good,” he commented lamely.
“Thought you might be hungry,” muttered John as he rubbed the back of his neck subconsciously, unable to meet Dean’s eyes.
Dean rolled the bag back up. “They say that Sammy should wake up anytime now. The concussion and seizure is worrisome, but he’s in the best place.” That was a complete lie. However, there wasn’t anyplace better that Dean knew of that they could’ve taken him. The small county hospital was going to have to do.
“That’s good.”
The two stood in uncomfortable silence. Dean rocked back and forth on his heels while John looked from his mud caked boots to the pristine black shine on the Impala.
“I saw a cop talking to your earlier. What did he want?” Dean knew he was treading dangerous waters even bringing it up. However, he couldn’t see a way around it.
John shrugged. “Just wanted to talk to me about what happened. I think that they may want to charge me with child endangerment.”
Dean stayed relatively quiet. He didn’t dare trust himself to speak without completely throwing his father under the bus.
“Say I can plead guilty and I may get probation.” John kicked his foot against the ground. “Or I could fight it.”
“Why the hell would you do that?” Dean’s response fumbled from his mouth before he could even realize that he was speaking. His jaw set as he reminded himself that he couldn’t just say whatever he thought.
Slightly abashed, John regarded Dean questioningly. “Why wouldn’t I do that?”
“Because you’ll get convicted.” Dean’s grasp tightened on his bag of goodness, paper crinkling to the point of almost ripping.
John glared at his son. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Dean’s right temple twitched, the vein beginning to show thanks to how hard he was clenching his teeth. “One of your stupid hunts almost got Sam killed. You knew that he was too young for this type of hunt and you took him anyway. It was your fault,” Dean whispered, fiercely and dangerously as though egging his father on to see what he would say.
John pushed off the Impala and began to pace in a tight circle. The toe of his boot struck the ground when he walked, sending pieces of gravel rolling across the parking lot. “Don’t you think I know that? You don’t think that I feel guilty enough as it is so I need you to remind me of it?”
“You almost killed Sam.” Dean fought to keep his words even so that rage didn’t spurt from his mouth. There was so much more that he’d rather say, but the parking lot of a hospital right outside where Sam was fighting for his life was not the place to do it.
John narrowed his eyes. “If Sam had been quicker this would never have happened.”
“How long would you go away for if you lose,” Dean asked sharply, ignoring John’s last comment.
It took a moment for John to shift back to reasonable thinking. “Five years, maybe longer.”
Although Dean would’ve loved the break from his alcoholic father for five years, he couldn’t imagine it actually happening. What would he do? Should he still hunt or should he get a real job to look after Sam? Would they stay in that town or still move around? Should they move in with Bobby? There were so many questions that rushed through Dean’s mind thanks to a couple simple words from John.
“So, I’ll be 23, a high school dropout taking care of his fourteen year old brother. Yeah, that’ll look real good,” Dean spat venomously.
“I know that I can win.”
“Neglectful alcoholic father takes son out to hunt something supernatural that ends up almost killing him. Yeah, you could totally win.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“But it happened on your watch.”
John raised a hand to push his short hair back from his sweaty forehead. “I turned my back for a second. You were supposed to be watching him! It’s your job to take care of Sam.”
Dean straightened. A look of hurt flashed across his features, quickly chased away by the fierce protectiveness he still felt for his almost fifteen year old brother. It didn’t matter how old Sam got; Dean would always look after him no matter what anyone said. It was his responsibly, but that didn’t mean John was exempt from looking after his own son.
“You’re his father. You’re supposed to care for him just as much if not more than me,” Dean growled, finger pointing fiercely at his father’s chest. Other families didn’t expect the eldest to care for the children while the parent sat idly by. Yet, that was what was expected in the Winchester family. It didn’t help the sting for Dean to remember what a deadbeat John could be. None of this was Sam’s fault and yet he always seemed to one to get the short end of the stick.
John ran his hand against the side of his face, nails trailing against his jaw and through his beard. The tips rested against his chin, pulling downward roughly. “I can’t not hunt for that long. There are people out there that need us, Dean.”
“And you want me to drop everything and continue the crusade because you insisted that he come,” Dean continued bitterly. His heart ached in his chest at the thought of Sam laying in that hospital bed, kept alive by machines because of their father’s negligence. Dean had told his father that Sam was too young for this sort of hunt. It was fine when he was back at the motel doing research, but the minute he stepped into the field it was a different story. John hadn’t listened. He never fucking listened.
John rounded on Dean, teeth bared and voice rising. “I’m not guilty!”
“Sammy almost died!” Dean stormed forward so that he was standing nearly chest to chest with John. The elder hunter slightly stooped over him, but Dean wasn’t small by any means. He stood his ground, eyes blazing and heart aching from under his rib cage. “And that was you.....all fucking you!” Dean pushed his hands against John’s shoulders, sending him back and stumbling into the side of the Impala. No doubt it would leave a scratch, but Dean couldn’t care less in this moment. “Your revenge quest; your life you forced us into; your fucked up life! Not mine! Alright?”
John blinked slowly at his son. A flicker of fire shone behind his gaze, but quickly faded away and was left with a slightly shaking hunter that didn’t know how to answer his son’s words.
Dean panted hard. The anger that had overwhelmed him to boiling levels was still there, lurking just under the surface. This argument was one that was a longtime coming. Still, it wasn’t something that Dean actively sought out like Sam often did when it came to their father. Sometimes these fights were inevitable and Dean couldn’t keep his disappointment with his father for much longer.
“Mr. Winchester?”
Both John and Dean turned around to see one of the nurses rush toward them, hands clasped around the stethoscope around her neck. She hung back, looking between John and Dean. The hostility between them was palpable and even she knew that she shouldn’t get involved between them.
Dean turned back to hear, hoping that John wouldn’t try to step in when he knew damn well that Sam wouldn’t have wanted him there. “Yes,” Dean croaked.
“Sam’s awake and fighting his ventilator. Do you think one of you could try and calm him before we have to restrain or sedate him,” the nurse requested.
Dean nodded, already following her back through the hospital doors. Dean could hear Sam’s grunt and cry of terror before he even caught a glimpse of him.
He emerged into the room and raced around one of the nurses that attempted to keep him from the room. “Sammy!” He ducked past another and came beside his brother’s spine, piking up his hand and giving it a tight squeeze, massaging each finger to the beginnings of painful to really gain Sam’s attention.
Wide, moist, brown eyes found Dean’s face, tears threatening to roll down ashen cheeks. Pain sparked deep in Sam’s gaze, chest rising and falling rapidly with each hyperventilated breath. The nurses around Dean were trying to calm Sam down, unable to find anything shy of medication that was going to snap Sam out of his panicked trance.
There was only one thing that was going to calm Sam down and it wasn’t going to come from a vial or syringe.
“Sam, Sammy, you need to look at me. Really look at me,” Dean began, voice rising over the commotion from the machines and other people in the room. If he could have Sam block all that out, he may be able to calm him without the use of sedatives.
Sam whimpered, unable to speak around the ventilator. His hand came up toward his mouth to pull the tube free. Dean lunged forward and took his other hand, resting it on top of Sam’s chest and holding it tightly. “You can’t do that, Sammy. You need to leave it in.”
Sam’s eyes grew even wider, if that was even possible.
“I know. I know. It sucks having that shit down there. I know, but you have to let it do it’s job.” Dean flashed Sam a reassuring smile as he tried to keep Sam from giving into the fear. “You don’t think that I wold ever do anything to hurt you, would I, Sammy?”
Sam’s body began to grow still.
“Good, good. Alright, you have to stop fighting it so it can help you breathe. If I let go of your hand do you promise me that you won’t pull at it?”
Sam stared blankly ahead.
“Uh, blink once for yes and twice for no, okay?”
Sam gave one deliberate blink.
Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, I’m letting your hands go now.” He released Sam’s hand on his chest and was about to release the other when Sam forcefully gripped harder, almost begging his brother not to let go even without using words. No matter how much Sam tried to play off that he didn’t need Dean and he was becoming an adult, there were also times that Sam very much needed his brother to look after him. He was still the same kid that had worn Dean’s jacket so that he could look like his big brother, and had followed him around until he was nine. That Sam was there right alongside the Sam that bitched and moaned about hunting and being treated like a child.
“Sir, it may be best to leave your brother to—“
“No!” Dean surprised even himself with the ferocity of his response. “I’m not going anywhere. If you want me out of here you’re going to have to drag me.”
The nurse seemed more than surprised by Dean’s response. She nodded her head albeit reluctantly, stepping back and raising her arms as though resigned to the fact that anything she said to Dean wasn’t going to be followed.
Dean winked at his little brother. “I’m not going anywhere, kiddo. Not until you ask me to.”
Although battered and broken, laying with bruised ribs, a broken femur, and a concussion, Sam couldn’t remember being more relieved to know that his brother was beside him. It didn’t take words to communicate thanks to the deep bond that they had shared from the moment that Dean had carried his baby brother from their burning house all those years ago.
Unbeknownst to everyone, John stood just outside the room. He couldn’t help but feel a glow of warmth stretch through him when he saw his eighteen year old son comfort and take care of his fourteen year old brother. That was something that couldn’t be taught no matter how much John had tried to instill it in Dean. It just came naturally to him.
They didn’t need him. They were fine on their own. They would always be fine as long as they had each other.